#<- this tag has the rest of the post of me discussing this
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Hey is it just me or do certain fans complain about how much they hate the other groups instead of loving theirs.
I don't think calling out the misogyny in this fandom is wrong, not in the slightest (my most popular post is calling out the way people treat ena versus akito because of their gender), but most of the time these call out posts just result in more negativity and arguments rather than any like. Productive discussion.
I don't wanna hear about how minoharu and anhane are more canon than ruikasa and akitoya and are Therefore More Valid And Liking Ruikasa More Is Wrong And Bad (exaggerated but most of the time people do insult a ship in order to promote their own) (also sometimes implies that rarepairs are less valid which is a dick move). I wanna hear about the interesting (and I mean very interesting) relationship that an has with kohane, her feelings of inadequacy and slight envy, I wanna hear about how minori (and the rest of mmj) inspired haruka to get back on the stage, and how minori finally got to "repay" haruka in a way.
I didn't start liking ichika because of people endlessly complaining about how underutilized she is and how You Guys Just Don't Get Her, Read The Stories And you'll Discover That She's Actually Perfect Actually (this one isn't an exaggeration but it was on YouTube not Tumblr so in it goes), I started liking her because I learned about her character, her sheer determination and love for her friends, and her want to resonate with people's hearts from people who really like her.
I'm not gonna pretend the Ruikasa fandom and akitoya fandom can't be annoying, a lot of them are toxic and have a habit of making everything about Ruikasa/akitoya while reducing their relationships with other characters to push their shipping narrative. It pisses me off. A lot. I could write (and probably will write) an entire essay on how entitled and bitchy Ruikasa/akitoya fans can be, and I definitely understand how it can build up resentment towards a ship, and how their mass popularity is most definitely attributed to the fact that they are men (which results in an extreme lack of understanding of their actual characters and overall dynamic, reducing them to "top tall sexy one" and "bottom cute feminine one" which upsets me to hell and back). And calling this out is not wrong in the slightest.
but needlessly attacking a ship that someone likes is not a call out. calling Ruikasa and akitoya "a stupid ship" is not a call out. Actively insulting people for liking it is not a call out. Adding Ruikasa and akitoya tags to your post bashing them is not a callout. It's being a dick. You are not doing anything productive by calling Ruikasa and akitoya shippers idiots or stupid or insulting their taste you are only going to piss people off and you know that you are going to piss people off.
Acknowledge but do not attack. Be civil. And if you cant be civil then save everyone some time and keep it private.
Oh yeah. And be annoying about your blorbos. Make KING kanamafu art. Put shizuairi in Fragile. Talk about how much you love your girl ships and your girl characters and don't event mention the guys, make fanfiction and fanart of the girls, I really really want you to, genuinely, because they do get less rep in the fandom than their male counterparts, so more content of the girls is always great. It feels a lot better than complaining about a ship you don't even like, I promise
(Btw I mention this in the tags but if anyone wants to add input or correct me on something you totally can. My words aren't law and this post is just me stating my thoughts, and I invite you to share yours if you want.)
#also if anyone has anything they want to add or correct me on and add some input that's fine btw#and one more thing. “be civil” applies to everyone. including akitoya and ruikasa fans. dont call other ships irrelevant dont attack them-#DONT ATTACK THE OTHER RUI AND TSUKASA SHIPS BECAUSE YOU DONT LIKE THEM. FUCK#project sekai#prsk#my writing
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Zero context WIP game ! Thank you @clawbehavior for the tag, excited to do this because I've got like 10 different wips and kept resisting the temptation to post snippets. These fics don't have definitive titles yet so the ones here are approximative descriptions
1. Ms Ji & the Kangs
“Yohan-ah, I love you, don’t cry” Isaac says, patting his baby brother’s stomach when he fusses. They’re both laying on Isaac’s bed after lunch, a bit drowsy in the early hours of the afternoon. Young-Ok watches the two as she folds laundry.
“Nanny, why does Yohan have no eyebrows ?” Isaac asks curiously.
She chuckles at the question, taking a tiny pair of socks out of the basket and folding them together. “Most babies are born without much hair, he’ll grow them later on.”
2. Conversations
Gaon swipes ‘accept call’ and props his phone against a utensil holder as Elijah’s lovely face comes into view. She has cut her hair into a bob, even bangs forming a curtain on her forehead.
“Gaon, it's an emergency ! You need to come to Geneva and do something !” Elijah’s voice immediately comes through the phone speaker, loud enough to be heard over the sound of meat sizzling on the stove. “Yohan is serious about growing that ugly mustache and the clinic receptionist keep trying to hit on him !”
3. Yohan through Isaac's photography
October 1991, Yohan showing me his teeth
Gaon chuckles at the photo. It’s blurry like the objective had gone out of focus at the last minute. Yohan is giving the camera a smile and scrunching his nose, eyes closed under his fringe like he’s shielding them from the flash. Some milk teeth are missing from his gums, two permanent ones just peeking above the surface. He must have been no more than six or seven here.
4. Gaon scrolls online forums
"Judge Oh, I have this file I wanted discuss with you"
Jinjoo comes up behind him to see just as he is about to unlock his computer. What greets Gaon after entering his password is the previous night's research topic brightly displayed on the screen. Shit. Carelessly, he had simply shut the laptop before going to bed, instead of closing the tabs and erasing his search history.
Panic and embarrassment seize Gaon on the spot. He's about two hundred-percent certain that Jinjoo got a glimpse of what was written on the screen. Omegaverse fanfiction of him and their boss. Gaon wants to explode.
"You have…a lot of open tabs, Judge Kim."
5. Another snippet from Conversations
“You have something under your eye”
“Hmm ?” Yohan hums, closing said eye when Gaon’s thumb gently swipes across his skin.
“Eyelash.” Gaon flicks it away “crap I should’ve told you to make a wish”
They’re laying on the couch in a tangle of limbs, Gaon on top of Yohan like a weighted blanket, chest to chest, book long abandoned on the coffee table. Kkomi is on the armrest behind Yohan’s head, sniffing at his hair. Gaon yawns into Yohan’s collar.
“We should go to bed.” Yohan says, voice hoarse.
6. Sunah lives
It is routine until her ears catch familiar voices, ones she thought she would never hear again, along with the cries of a fussy child.
“Gaon-ah, give her to me”
Sunah turns around to see, to her surprise, peering over the café’s balcony, Kang Yohan, his niece, his former associate, passing over an agitated toddler.
“I told you we should have brought her stroller,” Kim Gaon’s reprimands are a refreshing thing to hear “She gets tired.”
“It would have been inconvenient though, with all the stairs and narrow streets.” Kang Elijah chimes in. She is on crutches now, standing just a few centimeters shy of her uncle’s height.
“That’s fine” Kang Yohan hauls up the little girl against his chest so that her head rests on his shoulder, pats her back. “Appa will be the stroller today."
Tagging @thedeviljudges if you feel like doing it !
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@crippled-sheep I don’t know that I feel up to an actual back-and-forth so it may require further revisiting, but I did want to more clearly explain my actual point of disagreement from the other day while I have the (many, many) words for it.
so first a point of clarification, I strongly strongly prefer the term “neurodivergent” over “neurodiverse”. I know they’re nearly identical and probably come from the same linguistic root but neurodivergent pairs much more clearly with neurotypical, and “neurodiverse” has “handicapable” vibes to it for me. neurodivergent (or neuroatypical, which is harder to parse and less ideal) also still has a connotation of Weird, divergence rather than diversity.*
my primary issue with broadening “the neurodivergent/neurodiverse community” to cover the entire mental illness community is that “the neurodivergent community” already meant something specific. the term is already in use. and it’s really really valuable for autistic/adhd folks (and folks with other closely related disorders by internal experience, not by behavior, behaviorists can kiss my grits) to be able to find each other easily. we’re not being offered a replacement term and there wasn’t one already in use, so as an autistic person who required access to community in order to figure myself out, it feels very much like nt mentally ill folks going “mm, no, ours now” and actively taking something away. (also see how useful a quick recognizable distinction is even in this sentence.)
if we had a replacement term in common use it really wouldn’t bother me that much! I’d still have some qualms with it** but I probably wouldn’t bother raising a fuss directly when other people used it.
it’s kinda like how the nonbinary community has moved away from using “nb” as a shorthand for ourselves, because we were told that the black community had already been using nb to mean non-black presumably longer than we’d been using it to mean nonbinary, so our use was causing unnecessary confusion and potential distress.*** broadening “neurodivergent” to mean the whole mental illness community and its offshoots/relatives causes unnecessary confusion and distress, as it was already being used to mean something more specific and losing that specificity breaks up community and muddles meaning (which distresses me lol).
I absolutely do think there should be a destigmatized umbrella term available for the broader community! which I did say even in my initial dissent. but I don’t think it should be chosen by actively taking away from a subcommunity, and I also don’t think a word change will magically fix any prejudice against mental illness. based on my own experiences as an ad hoc practitioner, a mentally ill person, and an advocate, I feel efforts are much better directed at destigmatization of existing community terms rather than finding (appropriating) one that might be more mainstream palatable and pouring effort into widespread adoption while leaving the subcommunity it was appropriated from in the lurch.****
tl;dr: the only actual point of disagreement I have is over recent appropriation of This Specific Preexisting Term as the umbrella term due to the additional harm I see from it compared to using the preexisting umbrella term of “mental illness/disorder”. everything else you said about community and subcommunity and representation I genuinely totally agree with.*****
I hope that makes things a little clearer, even if we still disagree about the relative levels of harm between the two.
---
* (and I don’t think using “neurodivergent” for one and “neurodiverse” for the other would work, as others will definitely struggle to parse the distinction. to the point where I genuinely couldn’t remember which one you used in the original context until I scrolled back to look. you were using “neurodiverse” and I was using “neurodivergent” and we both proceeded as if it was the same word.)
** (mostly demedicalization of some genuine potentially medical concerns to a degree that smells suspiciously like unexamined internalized ableism, which will significantly negatively impact people’s willingness to seek proper support and potential treatment at a time when we already have tiktok folks going “oh there’s nothing wrong with you you’re just a ~star child~” or whatever to audiences of millions. “oh I wouldn’t benefit from medication or therapy or other forms of treatment/support for mental illness I’m just ~neurodiverse~” yknow? which to be fair in my current usage of nd isn’t generally the case, we’re very big on medication and other supports for folks who would benefit from it even though there’s a very strong push for total demedicalization of autism in particular.****** I just feel that’s how I often see it used by people outside that subcommunity.)
*** (altho there is an even older use as a shorthand for “nota bene” often used to highlight important context, which I’ve picked up from friends that have done academic writing and very nearly used a couple times when writing this :v still think the black community wins custody of that one through a combination of both precedent and priority, especially given the “nota bene” use is generally very distinct contextually and not in direct connotative competition.)
**** (like how the disabled community as a whole is pretty firm about using the term disabled, or the chronically ill community is pretty firm about yes really I am Sick.)
***** (I think, to clarify the original original point of contention, the reason most people use “neurodiverse” to mean “autism and adhd” is because. that’s already the subcommunity term that was in use. we’re focusing on our subcommunity because that’s always been what we mean when we say neurodivergent. and the fact that usage is actively in flux seems to be causing distress and confusion for those who mean the broader usage as much as it is for those who mean the more specific usage. there absolutely should be community and resources for the broader usage gathered under an umbrella term, but I just would really prefer it if a different term could be used, such as the preexisting “mental illness/disorder” umbrella. because while I don’t think the specific usage has any distinct priority over the broader usage, it absolutely has precedent, and ignoring the precedent causes harm in excess of the harm I see in deferring to precedent.)
****** (but not the common secondary disorders that can come from existing as an autistic, importantly - I think the distinction is mostly just “treatment” for autism is generally far more harm than good, with some exceptions that are focused on functioning in a neurotypical world rather than actually treating symptoms. which is generally not the case outside of autism, at least for modern outpatient treatment of the mental disorders I’m familiar with as an ad hoc practitioner. also I’m so sorry for putting a footnote in a footnote lol I just have Many Opinions and A Very Large Character Limit)
#long post#ableism ment#ask to tag#crippled-sheep#text wall sorry :/#the nd urge to clarify every single point vs the nd struggle to read densely packed text: fight!#(note that I'm using my current usage of nd not the broader use under discussion - generally doesn't apply much outside the subcommunity)#(at least certainly not as consistently)#I tried moving my parentheticals down into footnotes to make it slightly more readable#I have no idea if this is better or worse.#(personally I find it worse I have more difficulty with footnotes than I do with text walls)#(but hollyrose has been making an effort to make her text posts more accessible)#(so I figured I should at least make an effort when addressing em directly)#(even if the rest of the blog remains personal blog textwall hellscape)#(since I'm really not that bothered about others being able to parse it)#(as long as y'all can filter out what you need to avoid)#(but this post isn't just for me so :v )
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I’m not trying to attack you, but do you know that proshipper means someone who supports and romanticizes pedophilia, incest, and abuse? Your reblog on that post seems to read that you think antis just hate on people for having ships they don’t like. But it’s completely different than that. Just looking on the proshipper side of Tumblr and the internet and you can see people happily shipping children and adults and making nsfw content of such things.
i appreciate that you're not being outright hostile, but i have to say, that on its own put you above basically every anti i've interacted with.
i understand where antis are coming from, i really do. there are a lot of things on the internet that make me deeply uncomfortable, including the minor/adult ships that you mention. i don't want to anything to do with those kinds of ships and i would be happiest if i never saw them again. which is why i'm proship.
nine times out of ten, if i see that kind of ship brought up on my dash, it's because i was following an anti without realizing it, and they brought it up unprompted and untagged, to talk about how bad it is that they exist. they are the ones putting that kind of content in front of my face and making it harder to avoid.
the thing about people who ship those ships is that they're generally very aware that not everyone wants to see that kind of content, and so they tag it. they make sideblogs to talk about it. they don't go out of their way to shove it in people's faces. that means i, and everyone else who doesn't like it, can avoid it.
what antis want is for it to not exist at all. they want the tags to be purged and blocked, and for anyone who uses those tags to have their accounts deleted. and sure, that might get rid of some of it, but do you know what would happen to the rest? it would stop being tagged. people who don't want to see it wouldn't have the tools to avoid it. this isn't just a hypothetical, that's what's happened any time a fan space has tried to do that.
that's not even getting into the rabbit hole of what should be banned and what shouldn't. obviously any content that depicts real children or real life abuse shouldn't exist and shouldn't be allowed to be posted, but basically any platform that people use already enforces those policies, and there's not much of a slippery slope to go down there. if it involves real living breathing people being abused, it's bad. end of discussion.
but the same can't be said for fiction. ask ten antis for a specific list of all the content that should be banned, and you'll get ten different answers. what about kink? what about roleplay? what about horror and murder and anything that involves fictional characters being graphically tortured? what about people using art to process terrible things that have happened to them? what about art that uses dark themes as a horror element? if you just want to ban anything questionable to anyone, that's the line of thinking that gets any mention of lgbt existence banned. and again, this isn't just a hypothetical, this has happened before, and that's generally where it leads.
i know, from personal experience, that antis do, in fact, send harassment to people just for shipping things they don't like. i've gotten accused of absolutely vile shit for shipping two fictional characters who were both consenting adults. i've seen ship wars turn into moral battlegrounds, over ships that an average person wouldn't bat an eye at.
the thing about "romanticization" is a whole other can of worms. the anti logic goes like this: if someone sees something (even if it's very obviously fictional) in a positive light enough times, they will start thinking it's okay in real life, and go on to hurt real people. the problem with that is that it's just. blatantly untrue.
if it were true every horror movie fan would be a serial killer, every person that studies dark media would be an unhinged psychopath, and everyone who is into ddlg would be a pedophile. but they're not. they just aren't. people have directed movies just as fucked up as the darkest shit on ao3, and are still capable of being normal human beings who know right from wrong in real life.
even if someone is that impressionable, scrubbing away the existence of every piece of questionable content isn't going to solve their problem, because they're still going to be vulnerable to con men, scams, and cultists. the only thing that would actually materially help someone like that is developing their own morals and critical thinking.
children are also more impressionable, and there's a lot of content that's not suitable for them, but that doesn't mean that content shouldn't exist. it just means that they should stick to spaces designed for them (which most social media sites, tumblr included, are not) or, if they're old enough to be responsible for their experience online, they, or a trusted adult in their lives, should block and filter out things that they aren't comfortable with.
which is what everyone on the internet should be doing. it's what i do, and it's made the internet a much more pleasant place to be. and it's why i sometimes worry for antis mental health, especially teenagers, because they're being told it's right and moral to seek out content that makes them uncomfortable and to engage with the people making it. and that's just. really bad. it's not good for the creators that they're harassing obviously, but it's also really bad for them! it's not healthy to seek out things that make you feel bad, and it's a terrible internet safety lesson to teach minors that it's okay for them to seek out and engage with people making adult content.
individual harassment and crusading is never going to succeed at removing dark content from the internet. it just isn't. at best you might get a small percentage of people who create that content to stop sharing it, at worst you're just going to make people stop tagging it, and either way, you're exposing yourself to things that make you feel bad, when you don't have to.
if you want to materially change the type of content you see, you can. the block button is your friend, use it liberally. same with content filtering and tag blocking.
#oops this got really long#cd.ask#proship#disk horse#tw pedophila mention#uhhh what to tag#tw shipping discourse#this doesn't even get into the antis that i've seen proudly professing that they care more about fictional characters than real people#because i don't know how to explain to someone that real humans matter more than cartoon characters#or how to avoid content on platforms other than tumblr bc frankly thats a lot of the reason i don't use them#i don't trust an algorithm#also im turning anon off after posting this so if you want to send me hate you cant be a coward about it#also be prepared to get blocked and ignored#the only reason i answered this person is bc they weren't being hostile
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Dec ✮ 12 ✮ 2024 – update
Part of me hates doing these mostly because it's a whole lotta nothing and me just repeating everything I said the last update (lol) but I do like doing it because I like keeping people updated, even if it's a non-update. I may sound like a broken record (pun not intended) but I know a lot of people don't catch my updates every time so it's nice to just keep people informed yk yk
✮ — Part 2 + rewrite
Fun fact: I had written an entire essay about my excitement for the rewrite and chapter 3 and beyond but it got too long!
It boiled down to me wondering why I'm so excited for this rewrite and realizing it's because I feel comfortable enough to approach it with complete creative freedom. I wrote the first iteration of the demo with the constant worries swimming in my head like "I hope people understand what I'm trying to say here" and "I hope this situation is being read the way I intended for it to be read." And I think I sort of had those thoughts tenfold while writing Part 2. If you paid attention, you can probably see where I was trying to shut down certain discussions in the narrative lmao
Recently I had a tiny epiphany and reminded myself that it's not always about what I intend to write, but what is being understood by each reader. And yes this is basic writing 101 but let me have this moment of clarity okay. Embracing that means I can proceed with Infamous without holding back and sticking to my guns in regards to what I want for this story aka I'm just going to write what I write and like....not worry about the rest you feel (while of course integrating the common critiques and suggestions and improving on the things Infamous falls short in—I am not Shakespeare lmao)
ANYWAY my point is that I'm excited to fix up the demo !!! and just go back to it with complete confidence in myself and write whatever the heck feels right to me (and write the rest of the story lolol) and return with a better story than I have now for everyone!!
✮ — December will be for
planning what I'm going to improve and squeezing that in a reworked outline so it can flow much better narratively.
Outlining Chapter 3 and hopefully have the bare bones first draft drafted up which is mostly just be writing blocks of descriptions
I'm not sure I'll have anything substantial to justify looking for beta testers so soon yet but maybe!
work on my spice writing babey writing/reading spice makes me actually physically recoil but im determined to get better! which reminds me to finish the 6k follower gifts!
And also take a small breather because I am moving!
✮ — Patreon
I've already mentioned this on Patreon and a few times on here, but I do want to reiterate that Patreon content is coming out in bulk this month, in case anyone was wondering why I'm not posting as frequently. The content is still the same in terms of the quantity, it just won't be released every few days! thank you guys for being understanding of that <3
✮ —
My activity has is decreasing little by little due to my move but I do read every question and try to at least answer one question a day. I get quite a few mentions lately so I have to sort through those since I do get tagged in things, but I miss them due to my notifications. Usually I hope for the best and hope tracking the tag puts it on my dashboard <3 im not ignoring anyone!
That's all for now! Hope everyone has a happy December and Happy Holidays!
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Casual - The Continuation
Warnings: Fluffy!!, Maybe slightly angsty?, Not a whole lot of warnings but this has no smut!
Word count: 1k (literally three words from 1.1k 😭)
Authors Note: Pretty sure this is like the first fic i’m posting here without smut, LOLLL. This has taken too long for me to get out but I felt randomly motivated to write it so enjoy! I listen to Snow Angel two times while writing this. 😭😭(There with be an alternative ending for this)
Tags: @mrsrushman @sgm616 @nikkinss
First part
It had been a few weeks since that night with Natasha, and to no one's surprise she had made no contact. Not with anyone. You tried reaching out every single way that was possible, but before you had gotten the chance all way were unavailable to you.
You had spent most days and nights with Wanda, you couldn't stand being alone. The moment Wanda was gone all thoughts had consumed you, eating away at your emotional state.
A knock came to the door, anytime there was one you would scurry to the door to check if it was Nat. Hoping she'd have shown to apologize, to tell you how she really felt. The person behind the door though was a girl you had only met a few times. Yelena Belova.
Yelena was Nat's sister, you only new this because of the few times Natasha had mentioned her family to you. One of the many reasons you thought she was in love with you, who discusses their family with someone they're supposed to only have a casual relationship with?
"Hi? Yelena right?" You asked, trying to make it seem like you haven't previously spent the past few weeks stalking her instagram for some news on Natasha. "Yea, hey. My sister said she had some stuff here, asked me to grab it."
The strength it took to fight back the tears that welled in your tear ducts was almost impossible. "Yea, come in. I'll go grab it."
You led Yelena into your apartment and told her to wait in the living room part of your place. As you wondered off down the hall, you let the tears slip. Why did she have to send her sister?? She wasn't woman enough to face you? After SHE broke YOUR heart? You weren't sure if the tears were tears out of anger or out of sadness.
What you hadn't known was that Natasha was too facing the worst, if not worse than how you were. She could barley leave her bed, rarely ate anything. She had asked Yelena to retrieve her stuff, not because she wanted it back but because she feared it was just in your way.
The lack of clarity between the two of you was what was tearing you two apart even more. Natasha feared you now hated her, and you thought Natasha had played with your heart.
You returned to the living room to find Yelena looking at a collection of pictures. They were polaroids taken by Wanda of you, and all your other shared friends. One of the pictures showed you and Nat, your arms wrapped tightly around her neck as you at on her lap. Natasha's hand rested on your thigh, and the widest grin plastered on her face.
"What happened between you two?" Yelena questioned, offering you a sympathetic look as she saw the tears stained to your reddened face and puffy eyes. "I thought we had more, clearly we didn't. I mistook her false overbearing love for me as real love." You mumbled out past your sobs that you held back.
"Mistook? Natasha does love you. She's talked about you, a whole lot. She's not left her room barely in weeks." You facial expression contorted into a look of shock, confusion, and worry.
"She hasn't tried to even talk to me, how could she be so upset?" It came out harsher than you intended and immediately apologized. Yelena understood your attitude, and offered to take you to Nats place. You were hesitant at first, but she insisted that she could convince her sister to talk to you.
The drive to Natasha's was awkward, which only made your anxiety worse. The skin around you nails had been picked away, alone with the skin on your lips. It was a short drive, but enough to ready yourself.
Yelena unlocked the door of Nat's apartment, silently leading you in just incase Natasha was to appear. Yelena left you to stand in the hallway while she took Nat's stuff in. You tried listening into what Natasha had to say, but her voice was so horse from her crying.
Finally Yelena spoke up about Natasha finally speaking to you, which Nat quickly denied. "Yelena I cannot speak to her, she probably hates me guts. I can't handle anymore of this situation." Yelena gave into her own feelings, "Natasha stop it! You're acting as if this whole time she did something to you! You shatter that poor girls heart by closing yourself off to her."
Natasha stared at her sister, realization came crashing into her mind. She felt so stupid, so very stupid. After a moment of silence Natasha finally spoke up, "I need to talk to her." Yelena nodded, "Lucky for you I brought her with me." Natasha's eyes widened.
"Let me go get her, I'll have her come in and talk to you." Yelena quickly turned the corner, motioning you to follow. You entered Nat's room, clothes strung on the floor. Bottles upon bottles on her nightstand.
"Sorry for the mess." She muttered in shame, you dismissed her apologies. "I am so sorry, I know that's not enough. I- I should've.. been honest. I shouldn't have ran from you. I love you, I love you so much. I was just so scared of committing to a relationship, I was scared of getting hurt."
"It's okay Nat, but you know that I would never ever, hurt you." You wrapped your arms around her, her head resting on your stomach and tears clinging to the fabric of your shirt. "I know, I'm so sorry. I understand if you hate me, I do. I just need you to know I'm so sorry."
"I don't hate you, I could never hate you. I love you Nat, I love you so much. I wanna start over, I wanna forget all the hookups. I wanna start a fresh new relationship with you, okay?" Natasha nodded, "Okay." Smiles grew on both of your faces. "You better hope Wanda doesn't beat the shit out of you." You both chuckled, "That girl couldn't lay a finger on me." You both laughed even harder.
Nat pulled you down onto her bed, her arms wrapping around your body. Her scent and warmth swarmed you, something you missed crazily. "Wait we should tell Yelena." As soon as the words left your lips, Natasha's phone lit up with a message from Yelena saying, "Bye".
You and the russian burst out into laughter, then shared a soft kiss full of love and passion. You'd finally be able to be happy with Natasha.
Masterlist
#natasha romanoff#natasha fanfic#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha marvel#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha x reader#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff x reader angst#natasha romanoff x female reader#natasha romanoff x you
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gggOoooOOOOD MORNING ‼️‼️ ive been eating up your masterlist esp your racer au UGHHHH that was the last thought in my head before sleep and the first when i woke racer!geto was just. so. fking. h o t. u dont understand like that has a G R I P on me rn UGHHHH I LOVE IT SM do u have any spare hc for geto in this racer!au? if u dont thats okay! just know i ate that fic up 🫶🏻🫶🏻🥺🥺
a/n: thank u anon 4 the support im glad u liked the racer!au hehe. the original au here, how did you meet and geto’s own elaboration post for context. tagging @na-t0 @crysugu @omgeto @slttygeto / 2.4k
warnings: (in second half of post) mentions + discussions of semi-public sex, filming, fingering while driving, oral (f and m receiving), protected and unprotected sex, f and m masturbation, phone / webcam sex, sharing with gojo & nanami
AAHHH i might have !!! racer!geto has a special place in my heart huhu i would love to develop more
to start off i would say that he’s just… such a good bf. like i know it’s obvious but also the next day after your late night drifting he texted you to ask if you wanted to go back to the cafe :D
he paid for everything again and he was so happy seeing u get another cinnamoroll trinket !!
so when the cafe has another sanrio event you BET hes bringing you there again. it just so happened that it was a berry and cherry event too ahhhh geto’s so cute getting all excited and stuff
he got you two matching coffees with berry and cherry foam art
that cafe has become a monument in your relationship — your first date, the place where geto officially asks you to be his partner with a big bouquet of flowers that you’re hiding ur face wherever you go for the rest of the day cause it’s huge 😭 he brings you there with his racer friends as well (gojo cheers and nanami scoffs that these things weren’t for him but he loved their pastries wheeee)
attentive, attentive! always leaves his jacket in the car for you if you get cold in his Mazda. resorts to a jacket he doesnt like to wear much but bc he always puts you first, he doesn’t mind :(
geto doesnt like to race with outerwear on him so he always loves seeing you greet him after a successful race with a big grin on your face, jacket swallowing ur physique as u keep urself protected against the tokyo chill !!!
said this before but he looooves seeing you in his car. it just ignites something in him, seeing you propped up on the leather seats and looking out the window when you’re driving. it just gets him sort of feral
ALSO also bc his Mazda was his first proper and real racing car he’s very selective of who he lets touch it / sit in it etc
so when gojo does it he swats him away like a fly and asks him not to dirty his finishing as also geto is the only one to be seen in his car until you come along and gojo sees you sitting on the hood
hes reaching forward to tell you to get off bc he knows suguru doesnt like it but your bf only walks up between your legs to greet you with a big smile. the betrayal gojo felt 💀
overall the relationship with geto is quiet and calming. no need for talking if you dont feel like !!! all racer geto needs is his hand on your thigh that’s always stroking the skin there and you
but loves it when you do talk! he tries so hard not to turn to you cause if he does he’d crash the car 😭😭 he just loves ur beauty and the way you ramble so much !!
one time he swerved and almost hit a car because he was watching you talk about the recent research you did on cars and also running back the terminology he’s been patiently teaching you
to hear his partner talk about cars >>> he’s so excited that you’re finally entering his world that he gets so engrossed and almost collides 😭
NO MORE pls omg he was more scared than you were
but also running off on that, geto is understanding when he teaches you about terminology about racing, abt the parts in a car. he took apart an old car in his garage just to teach you and he loved that you were trying your best to memorise everything 🥹
getting into an rs with geto also has given you more confidence, so he loves how you strut your stuff. he wasnt complicit in anything truly !!! didnt force you to wear anything or do anything you didnt want to, so he was very proud of you when you came out of your shell
geto would love you either way :3 hes just a sweet boy like that
i also relate him to han very closely from f&f… always eating his snacks in tokyo drift LMFAO - geto is chill, letting you feed him his snacks as you cuddle up on him on his hood and watch the new race
ok so, he LOVES racing and geeking out about them but he finds sometimes he watches you way more than the races and before then the race is already over 😭
“suguru! did you see how i crushed the other guy?” gojo emerges and shouts across the parking lot and geto is just like “huh? sorry i wasnt looking was too busy looking at my lover” LMAOOO
when you can’t attend his races you always make it a point to send a selfie with your cherry keychain and he sends one with his berry one back and its just soooo cute youre giving him so much wallpaper material!!
also likes to bring you on drives at night - if you need to rush something or study you bet he’ll be there. he’ll try not to interrupt you, looking at your knees tucked in your arms and memorising your notes
he plays those subliminal audios as a joke and annoys you in the process 💀
and then just pecks your forehead in apology as he watches or helps you with assignments while occasionally looking out the window and smoking
geto always has a hand on you. it shows his possessive streak and just a general love for physical touch
like i said doesnt pressure u into anything but you’ve expressed interests in his tattoos before
you get a tramp stamp with him for your first one! the pain wasnt that bad, more from lying on your stomach for like 2.5h because of the shading lol. it’s a simple one, but a popular one because of the culture
geto offered to pay for you and you rejected, and he said “alright. half at least” and you didnt exactly oppose that because you were running low on jpn yen for your overseas exchange stay
the tattoo looked so good omfg geto was like . going INSANE it was lowkey funny
gojo and nanami wouldnt hear the end of it for like 3 weeks 😭😭😭
had the photo of you and your tramp stamp as his lockscreen for the longest time
as always tattoos are very addictive! you got a few more in the short span of 6 months (maybe 2-3 small ones) but what really made geto go like. clinically insane was this super big on on your thigh (peep the very first post of this au!!)
it’s a spider with chinese traditional ropes and it was by far your biggest one, taking a dent in your account that you had to lie and ask ur parents for more money after and promise to pay back by working part time
ok i need to preface this part first that geto adores your thighs - you didnt show much of it at first but when you start to be more comfortable with the racing scene he almost came in his pants when you first wore a miniskirt
so to see such beautiful ink on YOUR thighs oh my days felt like you were a goddess walking down the steps to his garage
has a little matching tattoo with you :( it’s not too obvious, but has features of berry and cherry on the both of you <3 down the line he would get other vague and subtle couple tats with you but if you want to mark up your body however you wanna he’d like that too :3
so i actually left the latest fic on a cliffhanger… bro was so heartbroken after you left :( couldnt race properly, couldnt focus in uni, poor boy
even gojo or nanami couldnt get thru to him, but over time he got used to the distance and timezones. moves his whole set-up to the garage just so he’d get better wifi there and also show the latest upgrades to his car !!! the webcam quality is pretty shitty on both ends though so you get disappointed more than once trying to talk to him bc the call isnt connecting well :/
continues to send those berry / cherry pics where you’re miles away, and more than once suguru has gone to bed crying :(( but i will keep these sad ones short bc i hate angst and also i might wanna write a next part uh… we’ll see
geto also mails things to you which take ages to ship and you only get the presents one month before you finish uni for good and 💀 it’s so funny seeing his shock at you having just received his gifts
a sweet, sweet bf who takes care of you immensely <3
n*sfw hc’s under divider
now >:) i also dont want to go into too much detail because. i might. MIGHT. continue. do not ask for the next part explicitly tho that shit annoys me. but geto loves to see your body on his car and the risks that come with it
you guys fuck more in his car compared to his or your room looool.
fingers you when he drives sometimes. when you’re feeling needy all you need to do is drag his fingers to your throbbing core and let him feel how wet you are.
he tries so hard not to look at you bc you know what happened the last time, so he relies purely on his touch and your hands, fingers slipping inside your panties and he grabs onto the steering wheel with the hardest grip
geto has the patience of a monk, however, letting you use him for your high and grinding down on his fingers. it’s usually not after the race or errand that he properly fucks you bc he knows if he starts he will. not. stop. not even lying
has adrenaline high after racing and will fuck you always unless he’s roughed up, but unlike gojo he probably will drive to a more secluded area. the car is there, the risk is there, it gets geto all riled up
one time he was pissed his opponent scratched his Mazda while racing and while he still won, he pushed you into his leather seats to slam into you. he was going so hard the car was shaking, and he teasingly shows you the brief video gojo sends you later, caressing your very sore legs (you were fine with the recording)
“guess i went too hard, huh?”
you shove him and tell him jokingly, “tell your pervert friend to stop filming us!”
“you like it. me showing everyone who you belong to.” geto is so possessive i swear
loves fucking you in the mountains bro is freaky asf. brings you on late night drives and lays on the hood with you to watch the stars - sometimes it ends cleanly but most times you’re feeling up each other until you’re bent over his Mazda letting him fuck you raw
has fucked you while in the driver’s seat, riding him. has given u oral as u lay on the hood of his car, done a full nelson in his backseat whew you name it he’s so gross and filthy.
when u contrast it properly with how loving and generous he is and to him when it comes to you and your body the difference is insane. but it also sometimes seeps through when he can’t handle your cute outfits and just has to land a smack and squeeze to your ass
ok this isnt n*sfw but it’s so hot of him - he HAS done this before. made you sit in gojo’s car as he drifted around you in a quiet tokyo crossing late one night and oh my god you made sure he knew how attractive you thought he was. gojo left right away when you two started flirting 💀
likes to both give and receive, so the first time you go down on him was possibly just right after he’s done the drifting around you and you couldn’t resist palming him from the passenger’s seat. you asked him to pull over immediately went to the driver’s side and started pulling at his pants.
you didnt even think that your knees were going to be on gravel so before you could kneel down to suck him off he took his jacket from the back seat to put on the ground …. and then proceeded to get the best blowjob of his life LMFAOOOO
getos a little crazy it’s ok i can take him ! but yea hes filthy thru and thru and dude he missed you sm when you left back to your country.
of course, of COURSE has jerked off at the thought of you, to photos you’d send of a new outfit. also has proposed having phone sex. webcam sex is reserved for special occasions because the sight of you playing with yourself is enough for him to book a flight 😭 he possibly couldnt handle it so he settles for your voice only
he doesnt like to share you, but when you do ask if youve ever thought of getting gojo and nanami in on the fun …. ooh. good luck
again his possessiveness shows so he doesn’t let them fuck you raw lol but rather ask them to get their own condoms 💀💀
his friends r freaks too you realise but it’s time to time where the three of them will organise dates to have some fun with you, but only when youre comfortable. geto putting ur comfort first always 🙏
so sometimes you reject them bc you have an exam comin up etc and geto just treats you in his car or your bedroom alone and even with just him, hes already enough to make you go crazy and moan <3
peep that op has that same exact spider tattoo on her thigh~ teehee
#anon#asks#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#geto x reader#geto smut#jjk geto#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru#getou suguru x reader#getou fluff#geto fluff#getou suguru smut#suguru geto x reader#geto x you#jjk fluff#jjk thirsts#jjk headcanons#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen headcanons
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The Girl in IT - 7. The All Hands Meeting
A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU
The LIST │ Series Masterlist
Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)
Chapter Summary: A look into a typical day at Miller Construction Group. Chaos ensues (naturally).
Chapter Warnings and Tags: No outbreak AU, Boss x Employee Relationship, Sugar Daddy Lite, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger woman, So much dirty talk, Office sex, Desk sex, Inappropriate usage of PowerPoint, Tommy fucks around and finds out, No Beta we die like men!
Word Count: 4.4K
A/N: And the hijinks are back! I wanted to try something new this week, and it was the perfect opportunity to showcase all of our fun supporting characters in 'The Girl in IT'! I thought what better way to introduce everyone was to include their commentary, like an episode of 'The Office'! This one is a doozy, and I hope you all enjoy!
#MCG ADMIN
50 members
Sarah (HR)
Good morning, Team!
I hope you're all doing well. I'd like to announce a mandatory All-Hands HR Meeting today at 11 am in Conference Room A, co-facilitated by Tess and me. We'll have a brief presentation, and for those working remotely, please log into Zoom to join the meeting. Following the session, thanks to Bill, we'll have lunch and refreshments provided.
Feel free to reach out if you have any questions. Looking forward to seeing all of you soon!
Tommy
Sarah, are you gonna bust your Papi's balls in front of everyone for posting that naughty photo? 💀☠️🪦
Frank (Interior Design)
Will there be an opportunity for discussion following the presentation? I'm eager to delve into the minds of SlackGate and understand the motivations behind their actions the other day.
Connie (Reception)
It's clearly because they're fucking, Frank. 🍆🍑🦪
Frank (Interior Design)
Who is? Our fearless leader and our shy girl in IT?
Until one of them makes it official, it's just hearsay!
Is this meeting a hard launch for a new power couple? 👩❤️💋👨
Sarah (HR)
Yes, there will be an open-forum discussion after my presentation but NO, we will not be talking about the events of the other day in detail.
Connie, this is a professional space and we will conduct ourselves as such.
Connie (Reception)
Why am I always being singled out?? Frank started it!
Frank (Interior Design)
Did I not professionally conduct myself? Geez Connie, I'm not the one sending nudes to our Boss when clearly, he has a girlfriend.
Wait.
Oops?
(Sorry Connie 🤡)
Bill (Civil)
Frank!
What do I have to do to get you to behave for once?
Frank (Interior Design)
Oh, I could think of a few ways...
Why don't you come and find out once you're done handling your bratwurst out there?
Sarah (HR)
I don't get paid enough for this shit.
"Thank you, everyone, for coming together at such short notice. While I'm aware this all-hands meeting was abrupt, recent events in the past few days have made it essential. Tess and I genuinely appreciate your presence as we address these important matters," Sarah says with a bright smile, handing out materials. "Here's an updated Employee Handbook with a few edits. I thought it would be beneficial for us to go through it together. Are there any questions before we begin?"
"Yeah!" Tommy exclaims from the back of the room, his feet casually resting against the edge of the table. "How long until we get to the part of this meeting where we discuss just how much of a bad boy your Daddy was the other day?"
Tommy
Look, I love my brother, I do. He's always so serious, so noble, providing for everyone and all that, making sure we have a roof over our heads. Shit, he's gotten me out of a lot of binds in my life-
[He looks a bit uncomfortable and clears his throat, nodding.]
... anyway, it's a rare thing to see my brother slip up like that, you know? Didn't think he had it in him, honestly. It's been a few decades since I've seen his twig and berries, but shit, I know he's packing! He's a Miller, for fucks sake!
[he puffs his chest out a little at that, chuckling to himself]
But Sugar? She's been a fucking godsend! Never in my life have I seen my big ol brother act a fool, especially over a woman! What can I say? It's great to not be the fuck-up brother for once! I'm gonna milk out SlackGate til the end of time!
"Tommy," Joel warns through his teeth, glaring at his brother. "Cut it out."
Sarah rolls her eyes in response as she fiddles with her laptop, the projector behind her illuminating with her PowerPoint presentation. "Like I was saying, this presentation is just going to go over the changes we have implemented in the last few days, including proper Slack etiquette and conduct. You would think that as grown adults, we would know better than sending inappropriate images and messages through company property and time," she clears her throat, glancing over at Joel, then to Tommy, who winks in her direction knowingly. "...including those who decide to engage and participate in unsanctioned secret channels-"
Frank's hand suddenly shoots up, his face awash in mock outrage. "I'll have you know, the watercooler channel serves a purpose, folks! When I caught wind of this 'secret channel' gossip circulating among the Nosy Nancies in the breakroom, I was appalled! Who would dare to stoop so low—"
"Frank, you invited me to the chat just this morning," Jesse remarks, casually holding up his phone as evidence. "It's titled 'Frank's-secret-slack-chat.' I thought it was some kind of exclusive club or something."
Frank
Hi, [waves to you] is this on? Yeah?
Hi. I'm Frank.
Listen, Sarah was getting a little too vigilant about monitoring Slack ever since Tommy sent us a little treat last year [he laughs] so I had to do something about it, you know?
[It pans out to Frank leaning against his desk chair, typing away on his secret Slack Chat.]
The chat started as an open forum for discussion on the everyday going-ons of Miller Construction Group. Do we just so happen to discuss the private lives of our peers? Maybe. Do we mean any harm by it?
[He gives you a wicked smile] Maybe.
"You guys, you know, the longer I keep getting interrupted, the longer we're all going to stay here in this conference room, and the longer we have to wait to eat Bill's food. You know how he is," She looks outside of the window, the smoke from Bill's grill swirls like a plume as he flips over a juicy steak. "He hates it when he has to serve his food cold. As I was saying, it should be obvious that we shouldn't be sending inappropriate images or photos to one another through Slack or e-mail."
"Hey! It was just one time, and it was an accident!" Tommy retorts, "Besides, it was hardly inappropriate, I was just only trying to show Maria this weird rash I got-"
"What does that mean, anyway?" Connie cuts in, casting a glance your way. "Inappropriate photos? And is there a difference between accidentally sending them or doing it on purpose?"
"Yeah," you shoot her a pointed look. "Sending nude photos to someone who doesn't want them is actually considered sexual harassment," you say, raising your voice a bit and turning in your seat. "I mean, you could get arrested for that, Connie," you add with a sing-song tone, a smirk playing on your lips as you glance at her. "You have nothing to worry about though, right?" you challenge, rolling your chair towards Joel, and taking his hand in his. "Not unless you did send naked photos to my boyfriend?"
Connie
Look, I didn't know that Mr. Miller and Sugar were boning. I know how this looks- like I don't believe in girl code or something. I am a girls girl! If Sugar was just forthcoming about who gave her those damn hickeys before SlackGate happened, I wouldn't have sent her boyfriend nude photos of myself! A girl's gotta try, you know? I was only trying to shoot my shot!
[She looks a bit uncomfortable, picking at a hangnail.]
... but you have to admit, Mr. Miller is H-O-T hot. God. I love me a graying man in flannel. I always thought to myself, there must be a story here. How does a millionaire who looks like that be single all this time? does he have anyone? is it a sugar baby? does he have a secret love child? I mean-
[she looks over her shoulder where Joel is, arms around his chest as he winks at Sugar. There's a hint of jealousy in Connie's eyes.]
Is it true, though? Is it really sexual harassment if I send unsolicited photos of myself? Do you think he's gonna press charges?
"It's true. Sending unsolicited photos of yourself to unsuspecting parties is sexual harassment, Connie. Not to mention creepy," Sarah winces, shooting you an apologetic smile. "So please don't be sending any photos of that nature to anyone that you work with, especially not in the admin group Slack."
"Yeah, Joel!" Tommy chides. "Keep that shlong in your pants, brother!"
Sarah
You would think that working for my family is a cakewalk? Please. I've been diagnosed with IBS and GAD since I started working here five years ago. I sometimes take half an edible just to make it to lunchtime.
[Her head rests on her desk, and as the events of SlackGate unfold, an endless barrage of messages from the admin Slack channel floods her monitor. She can't help but groan in response.]
Listen. I love my Dad. I've never really had to worry about his behavior at work before, not like how I have to with Uncle Tommy... but what the hell was he thinking? I can't unsee that! What if Ellie was on that chat? Could you imagine the trauma? My trauma?
"Okay, let's turn to page 12, where we'll go over all the recent updates," Sarah announces, clicking through her PowerPoint. A collective gasp echoes in the room as the slide projects onto the screen, revealing an image – the image of Joel. However, where his exposed package would be, an eggplant emoji tastefully takes its place. It resembles one of those generic memes easily made with a phone app, complete with the semi-imposed words 'Keep Calm and Shlong On!' in big bold letters.
"Shit!" she exclaims, hurriedly pressing the ESC button as she tries to close out her PowerPoint. She slams her laptop shut, the tell-tell sound of a crack echoing throughout the conference room. You hear Tess silently scoff in the distance, and Sarah closes her eyes in embarrassment as the room falls silent.
... and then, all hell breaks loose.
Tommy is beside himself, his face red, and his eyes filled with tears as he doubles over in laughter, clutching at his middle. "Shit, Henry! When I asked you to do this, I honestly didn't think you had the balls to go through with it, but I so owe you, my man!" he exclaims, enthusiastically high-fiving his nephew-in-law. "This is the best fucking day of my life!"
"Henry?!" Sarah exclaims, her face flushed with rage. "This is what you needed to do in the office at 6 am this morning?!"
Henry's expression crumbles as he witnesses his wife's ire, suddenly realizing that he's just dug himself into a deep hole. "Sarah," he stammers, attempting to regain composure. "This isn't what it looks like—"
Henry
Yeah, Tommy asked me to put that meme into Sarah's PowerPoint last night. I would have done it at home, but Sarah doesn't like to bring her laptop home, you know, work-life balance? So I had to make an excuse to come to the office this morning. Was it a dumb ass idea? Yeah, probably. Did I kind of want to get back at Sarah's dad for making my life a living hell?
[He looks at you awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.]
Honestly, when you're like five beers in, drinking with Tommy- everything seems like a good idea. He dared me, you know? Said that I'm such a simp, trying to always please Joel. Called me a fucking pussy and everything! What else was I supposed to do?
Sarah's going to kill me, huh? Do you think that she's gonna ask for a divorce?
"It's a meme. A meme of my Dad's dick pic with AN EGGPLANT EMOJI?!?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??! WHAT DID YOU MEAN FOR IT TO LOOK LIKE?!" she screams, pulling at her hair. "AND YOU, TOMMY MILLER!" she points at her uncle furiously, "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK??!"
"Baby," Henry replies, his hands raised in an attempt to calm her down. "It's just a harmless prank, look—"
"No, you look, Henry! Does it seem like it's just a harmless prank?" she gestures to the room, her eyes wide. "Don't even think about coming to bed tonight. I can't even look at you! How dare you collaborate with Tommy, do you really want to go this way? Because I see you fucking around, and you're about to find out-"
"Oh come on, Sarah! you know these all-hands meetings are dull as fuck, I don't even know why you even bother, no one ever listens anyway!" Tommy exclaims, looking around the room. "Isn't this fun you guys? Come on, lighten up! It's not like y'all haven't seen my dick before! Your Papi's gonna live another day, I think we should all feel as comfortable as we want, fuck the rules!"
"...but Joel's is much bigger than yours!" someone yells amid the chaos, laughter, and banter echoing through the room. Sarah looks around helplessly in a panic, trying to grasp the situation unfolding.
"Hey! I'll have you know that I ain't small!" Tommy yells in retaliation.
"Do you think that this is helping, Uncle Tommy? I'm beginning to believe that the only reason why people don't take me seriously is because of all of the shit that you pull!" Sarah groans, looking like she's at the end of her rope. "I could mention that Tess is helping me facilitate this meeting to scare everyone but she's just off to the side, pretending to not be drinking under the table!"
Tess
[She is sitting off to the side, smiling to herself as the chaos ensues, shaking her head.]
I am drinking, because who else thinks it's appropriate to call an all-hands meeting first thing in the morning? I don't even want to be here. It's so fucking pointless, trying to get these shitheads to conform to a set of rules.
[She witnesses Joel storming up to Tommy, his face full of rage and irritation, finger pointed right at him.]
This is the consequence of hiring friends and family, isn't it? I tried to tell them it was a bad idea, but who's listening to me? I get it, everyone thinks I'm a bit of a bitch, and well... yeah, I am. Alright, time to rein this in—
[She suddenly stands from her seat and walks over to Sarah, who appears to be disassociating into madness.]
"HEY!" Tess bellows, clapping her hands together. The room abruptly falls silent, Joel's hands frozen mid-grab on Tommy's flannel. Forty-eight pairs of eyes pivot towards Tess, a blend of shock and embarrassment spreading across their faces, reminiscent of children caught sneaking cookies from the jar by their mother. "Okay, that's enough!"
Her eyes are narrowed, hands on her hips. "This is what's going to happen. You're going to stop sending each other dick and tit pics through Slack, because as much as it is amusing," she smirks, winking at you, "I would really rather not have to deal with the fallout that comes with it," she shoots a pointed look at Connie, whose eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.
"The next time someone tries to fuck around and find out? I'm going to take that dirty photo, print a thousand fucking copies of it and stick that shit all over the office. Every fucking inch, every fucking nook and cranny is just gonna be dick and tit central," she paces around the room, placing a warning hand on Frank's shoulder. "As for this secret Slack chat, I'm going to give you all one chance to come clean. If you don't, and Sugar's report doesn't match who outs themselves right now," She scans the room, a smirk on the corner of her mouth appearing in satisfaction. "Yeah, you didn't think that we were monitoring that shit, huh? Well, I'll throw you all a bone: raise your hands if you are in this secret group chat, and I'll consider not docking your pay for insubordination. Your choice."
Frank
[Looking at Tess as she slightly stumbles from where she's standing.]
Yeah, she's toast.
The majority of the room begins to raise their hands, except you, Tess, Joel, and surprisingly, Frank.
Tess scoffs. "Really Frank? Really?"
"I have no clue what you're trying to imply, and seriously Tess? Are you really going to play that card? Are you going to dock your pay too?" Frank retorts. "I mean, just last night, you were drunkenly telling me that you heard Joel and Sugar-"
"If you utter another word, I'll fire you on the spot, Frank!" Joel shouts from across the room. "I mean it this time!"
Joel and Sugar
[Joel wraps his arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss your forehead while gently pushing a strand of hair behind your ears.]
There, that's better. Don't hide your face, Mami; you're too beautiful to be hiding all of that, okay?
Right, [he clears his throat.] You would think that people would be a little more professional around here, show me a bit of respect—
[His gaze shifts to Tommy, who's engaged in laughter and banter with the team, his chest puffed out in triumph. Joel glares at him, shaking his head.]
I'd like to think I try really hard to be a good boss. I pay fairly, I allow remote work, and damn it, I take pride in offering the best employee benefits in all of Austin. We even take a company trip to Hawaii every year, for fucks sake!
[You squeeze his hand, pressing a kiss to his temple as he takes a frustrated breath.]
Papi, if it means anything, I think you're the best boss any of these folks could ever ask for. They don't deserve you.
[Joel nods.]
Look, I don't know what to tell you. I got the ride of my life that morning, my sweet Mami riding my cock just right, you know? I would have been okay, going into my meeting with blue balls, just as long as Sugar got hers. Your pleasure is my pleasure... but I was just so fucking horny! I started to work out, yeah? Wanted to keep shit tight for my baby, and fuck, I was... what do they young kids say?
Feeling yourself?
[Joel nods again, smiling at you.]
Yeah, 'feeling myself' or whatever. Anyway, I was in the meeting, and you messaged me, right? saying that you weren't going to be in for lunch? and I don't know if was the disappointment, or if I was just too horny, but fuck. I quickly excused myself and took a quick dick pic in my bathroom. I thought I was in the right Slack channel... so I sent it, and then the guys at The H Group asked me a whole bunch of questions, and then an hour later-
Chaos.
The messages kept flooding in! Frank was asking about how long I was, and Connie was sending me nude photos of herself- in my fucking office!
Wait, what?
[Your gaze meets Connie's, nervously seated as Frank goes on and on beside her. Her hands twitch like a possum that just got run over by an 18-wheeler. Yeah. Squirm for me, you think to yourself.]
Yeah! And I just sat there, in shock, you know? Like this is the kind of shit that Tommy pulls, and I couldn't believe that I was so fucking stupid! Can you imagine the kind of therapy Sarah's gonna need? What if Ellie saw this?
"Who's up for some snacks?" Tommy calls out to the team, holding a basket filled with rather sizable cucumbers, bananas, and eggplants. "Help yourselves, compliments of Joel!"
Ellie
[at the job site across town, hard hat fixed crookedly on top of her head.]
Yeah, I saw it. There is not enough bleach in this world that could ever erase that image from my existence.
[she glares at Sam, who just shrugs.]
Thanks a lot, asshole!
"Alright, you degenerates!" Bill booms, bursting through the conference doors wearing a 'Kiss the Cook' apron, tongs in one hand, and a tray piled high with thickly cut steaks in the other. "This steak isn't going to eat itself!"
The team swarms Bill like seagulls spotting a tasty piece of bread on the boardwalk. Tommy grabs a t-bone with his bare hands, biting into it with the enthusiasm of a caveman.
"Hey," Joel whispers to you, his shoulder gently bumping yours. "Want to help me with something?" You nod eagerly as Joel swiftly guides you out of the conference room, heading towards the executive offices. You giggle as Joel ushers you into the room, pulling you into a kiss, his foot playfully kicking the door shut.
He moves the both of you over to where Tommy's desk is, pushing aside its contents off the tabletop in one fell swoop, the items clattering onto the floor. "Papi, what are you doing?" you ask cheekily as he bends you over the desk, lifting your skirt.
Joel growls and shoves you down onto the desk, his hands harshly grabbing onto your hips. Your arms scramble to find purchase as you knock over a framed photo of Tommy and Maria, watching helplessly as the image of their smiling faces falls onto the floor. His palm travels across your back, pinning you in place as he fiddles with his zipper with his other hand. "Line item 6," Joel murmurs as his hands begin to travel across the globes of your ass, squeezing and spreading and slapping them until you're so wet you can feel it dripping down your thighs.
Joel hums in appreciation. "Thats right Mami, get nice and wet for me, okay?" You can feel him pump his cock against you, notching his head at your entrance. "You gonna make a nice mess for me, baby?" he asks through gritted teeth as he strokes through your folds with his dick.
"Yesss," you moan, pushing your ass back toward him.
Joel pushes into you to the hilt in one brutal thrust as you cry out, grabbing onto the edge of the desk as he begins to pound into you in earnest, his thrusts so hard and punishing that the desk begins to rattle. You squeeze your eyes shut as Joel gathers your hair in his hand, pulling you back towards him. "Fuck baby, I'm gonna come so fucking hard, fill this pussy up and watch as it drips out of you, maybe fuck you again if we still have time-"
You gasp, taking a deep breath as his thrusts become so erratic it pushes you up the desk, lifting one leg onto the surface as Joel angles himself higher, hitting a spot so deep within you that you bite your lip from crying out, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. You squeeze around his cock as you chase your high, hoping that Joel can maintain his composure long enough so you both can finish together. "No Mami, stay with me, come with me-"
He leans over you, pressing you onto the desk as he grabs onto your shoulders, pounding into you, his breath hot against your neck as he buries his face into it, huffing from exertion. "I'm so close Mami, I'm gonna... Fuck!" He bites your shoulder as he cums in one last brutal stroke, his hands harshly grasping your thighs as you feel his hot spend flow deep into your belly. You rock your hips onto him as his hand goes to your clit, rubbing until you are weak in the knees, your body trembling beneath his. "Fuck Joel," you say a little breathless as you slump onto the table as Joel pulls out of you, his finger probing into you as he pushes his leaking cum back where it belongs. "Come on, lets clean this up and head back before they notice-"
Joel just snorts as he zips up his jeans. "No," he replies nonchalantly as he catches his breath.
"No?" you ask as you straighten yourself up, frowning at him.
"Line item six says I bend you over his desk and leave a little souvenir," he motions to the mess on the floor, pens and papers scattered about.
"He's going to fucking murder you, Joel," you chuckle, pulling him into a kiss.
"Yeah? Well, he shouldn't have fucked around, because he's about to find out." He simply replies, taking your hand in his. "Come on, little Mami, quickly now, before he realizes we're gone..."
You share a laugh as he guides you back into the conference room. Bill raises an eyebrow at both of you, handing over a plate with steaming steak, as if he just finished cooking it. "I thought I'd save your lunches for last, figured you guys needed some extra time," he says, clearing his throat and nodding towards Tommy, who seems entirely oblivious to your brief disappearance. "You know Tommy, can't resist a good piece of steak," Bill continues, gesturing at Joel. "It's like everything around him disappears for a moment; you could rob him blind, and he wouldn't even notice," he adds with a small smile, placing a hand on Joel's shoulder and giving him a knowing look. "Enjoy your lunch, you two."
Bill
Look, I wouldn't call myself a nosy person, but I am perceptive.
[He glances at Frank whispering and giggling to Connie off to the side, rolling his eyes.]
Look at them. They think that they're the eyes and ears of this operation, but what they don't know, is that I. Know. Everything. I am a survivalist. I gather intel on all of my surroundings, even if I am surrounded by absolute morons.
[Bill takes another sip of coffee, subtly glancing around him before making eye contact with you, the reader, once more]
So if you want to know the real scoop, the real ins-and-outs of this company, and not have to deal with the lunatics in Frank's not-so-secret shit talk club, come to me, I'll set you on the right path. At least I have snacks.
[He looks off to you and Joel, giving a curt nod as he starts to cut into his own steak.]
As much as I respect Tommy, he's not the one signing my checks at the end of the day. If there's anything that I value more than anything, it's loyalty. I don't like to play around, hate it when people bite the hands that feed them. People like that need to be taught a lesson. Joel's a good man, and sometimes, we fuck up... but it's how we handle ourselves after the fact that matters. If that means I help out an old friend, well-
[he smiles as Tommy walks towards the conference room doors, heading back to his office. Bill smiles out into the distance.]
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Before I Leave You (Pt. 56)
(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)
Summary: In the wake of Namjoon’s rut you and Hobi try to get yourself back on even footing, if only his co workers weren’t so...creepy towards you.
Tags: Depression, anxiety, ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, excessive babying, courting, omegaspace, mommy kink, Mommy! Tae, nipple play, m/c sucks on tae’s tits for mental health reasons, Non-detailed sexual content, mentioned omegaspace sex, discussions of past abuse, discussions of mental health issues, eating disorder recovery, implied self-harm
W/c: 9.7k
A/N: LISTEN, i know the nipple play stuff might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it reads very comforting if you’re willing to give it a chance. That being said it may go further into the realm of mommy kink than some of you are willing to go and toes the line into extreme kink as it highly sexualizes Tae’s brests and the m/c in omegaspace. It's not really nursing per say cuz there isn’t any milk involved, but the m/c does suck on tae’s breasts to soothe herself.
I tried to make it as ‘skippable’ as possible it’s under the section ‘Tae, sometime at night’ I firmly encourage you to skip it if you feel the need too.
Previous Chapter - Masterlist
(16 days post rut. The day after Halloween, Yoongi)
Yoongi lets out an inhuman screech.
He’s holding his sweater in his hands, nude from the waist up interrupted by his changing. Staring at you open-mouthed while Jungkook rolls in the remnants of your nest. Remnants- because you honestly hadn't put it together much after Namjoon's rut.
You’ve been spending the last few weeks slowly bringing everything upstairs, alternating between sleeping spots, not a single one of them still feels right. The pack had kept their mattress in the living room, but yours they'd moved back. Last night you spent your first night upstairs with Jimin, Jungkook, and Tae. Four pups all cute and nesty with the rest of the Halloween candy between the three of you in multicolored bowls.
Yoongi had gotten to watch as you all giggled and completely abused the projector he’d installed for a movie night of the Addams family and some horror movie that you'd changed in the first 15 minutes.
There are more and more moments where he gets to appreciate his hard work these days and he savors them whenever he can. He’d been a little worried that the bed would be too big or too small but it looks just the right size. Just enough space for the others.
After you’d fallen asleep, he’d carefully tiptoed around you and removed the bowls of candy, kissing each of your heads like a special spell to guard your dreams against monsters and cousin it.
Now Jungkook grins up from the last little bit of the nest that’s still down here, hugging a pillow to his chest, “I knew something happened.” It’s not often Yoongi squeaks, like a cat suddenly picked up, heart all in a tizzy just thinking about it.
“What do you mean you and Hobi kissed? And you didn’t tell me!?”
You go red ear to ear, “It wasn’t-I don’t even think he meant to do it- it wasn’t like a kiss kiss-“
“Ahh,” Jungkook drags out the syllable. Reaching for your hand and tugging you to sit. Closer, because Jungkook’s wandering fingers have half a mind of their own. You look so good- have been honestly glowing a bit since Namjoon’s rut, something about the health of you that makes him want to touch more and more.
His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs appreciatively and you squirm away, “Heat of-the-moment kisses are so hot- not to mention first kisses.”
Yoongi sits on the edge of the bed. Knees pulled together. “Tell me everything.”
Yoongi has always been terribly involved in your dating life in the beginning you'd gushed to him about every new kiss. The ones with Jk, a memory now as he drags his mouth up your waist, resting his cheek against the curve of your hips and smiling up at you. The one with Tae in that dressing room, your first soft moments with Jin and Namjoon. Everything. The fact that he hadn't heard about this one immediately after the fact stings only a little,
The rest is clouded over with excitement.
Hobi had initiated kisses. He’d been the one to break first.
Yoongi remembers how their relationship began with coyly phrased jabs said over dusty records not long after he'd broken up with his last pack and moved in. When they’d gone from best friends to sort of roommates and started spending almost every minute together.
Yoongi liked Hoseok. Just liked him. Liked seeing him smile. Heart skipping beats and saving them for him. Spending hours standing just far enough apart with some sleazy jazz playing over the loudspeakers and Hobi’s lips all mischievous. Their first kiss hanging there, on the edge, just where Yoongi could see it but not have it just yet. Teasing him endlessly.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were flirting with me Hoseok,"
"You'll know when I'm flirting hyung."
Hobi had turned off the jazz and turned on Yoongi’s favorite music instead and Yoongi had been substantially wooed just by that.
Hobi had been shy with the rest of the pack. Freer with Yoongi he said, because he always knew where he stood with him. Not like with the other alphas where Hobi had to worry about showing his throat or not- or Jungkook and Jin- where he had to worry if he has too dominant or not dominant enough. Their firsts had felt truly new, untied of expectations. Just loving. None of the other stuff.
Sometimes, Hobi still feels this way.
Now Yoongi watches you and knows how it feels, the way your eyelashes flutter as you look down and away, flopping back against the nest scent going sweet with the memory of it. "I bet it was so hot-" Koo chimes kicking his feet when he rolls onto his tummy and continues to pinch at your thighs, hand sliding up gradually under your baggy pajama shorts. Tickling the hairs there.
"Hobi’s such a good kisser too-“ The omega swoons and your belly swoops at the sound.
Yoongi licks his lips, trying not to think of it.
"It wasn't hot, it wasn't anything-" But the blush on your cheeks tells a different story. You groan, hiding your face in your hands. "I shouldn't have said anything." Yoongi gently pries your hands away from your face. His heart is racing a mile a minute like it's his first kiss and not yours.
"Even if it was something, I’d still be happy sweetheart.”
You bite your cheek; I just want to know if he regrets it. “I can’t ask him about it or I’ll make it weird.” You whine.
Jungkook’s fingers press into your chin, he looks awfully devilish, hair damp from a shower, his classes for the day passed. “You’ve been thinking about it a lot. That’s why you’ve been so quiet.”
You flush, but not for the reason he thinks.
The truth is you’ve been spending a lot more time on your own these days, painting the back-room space and finding excuses to head upstairs when everyone’s home, or downstairs when everyone goes up. There’s no reason. You tell yourself there’s no reason but-
Sometimes it’s hard, being sad without a cause. A gnawing emptiness like there's no point in enjoying anything anyways when sooner or later the rug will be yanked out from underneath you. A sense of a foreshortened future. An end that is simultaneously ridiculous to consider and yet nearby like a shadow in the corner of your eye that isn't there- not really.
Maybe it would be easier if you and Yoongi weren’t mated yet, and you’d have had that to look forward to. You’ve been thinking about mating marks a lot recently. Spending long hours looking at yours in the mirror, fingers hovering over the glass when you pull back blocking out parts of it with your fingertips. The parts that Geumjae left that you’ll never be able to quite get rid of.
You asked Jin about his and Namjoon’s the other day- but the omega had only sighed and told you not to worry about it.
You eagerly snap up the excuse handed to you now. It's better having them assume than explaining the real reason to them. For the most part, they believe you. Like there isn’t that taught line of something running through you like the very essence of you wants to snap. A discomfort at being happy.
A feeling like maybe, you don't deserve it.
If there is anything you deserve it’s certainly not Hobi’s smile when he comes home and asks you if you’ll help him move a few more plants in from outside. “You’ve got a good eye” he tells you. “I swear without you and Tae this place would look like a bachelor pad”
Hobi hasn’t been avoiding you since the rut but maybe it would be easier if he was.
He’s no less likely to ask you for late-night car rides, no less likely to bump shoulders with you playfully over dishes or offer you his headphone when he found you dozing two nights ago on the outdoor furniture. Your big blue blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders to keep out the fall chill.
He’d even accepted you when you held back the edge for him to get under. The warmth from his body trapped by it and transferred to yours as you talked. Mostly about Hobi’s job; his plans to leave early and help manage a specialty order from the city; nearly three thousand burgundy roses for a fall wedding.
“How do you even fit that many into a car?”
“Very, very carefully”
Last night as the pack had handed out Halloween candy, He’d been giggly and close. Eager to pick your favorite candy out of the bowl of bulk-bought candy bars and set them aside for you. He’d even given you a pair of little devil ears, similar to the halo on Tae’s head, a vision in a light pink dress that she’d been just itching to wear. The only one truly dressed up, the only one with the energy to go all out.
The fabric was soft and silky with cutouts for her body, which had you looping your hands around her waist at every available opportunity and maybe kissing places hidden when you’d helped her undress later, hands sneaking underneath the fabric just to touch.
No one had time to plan their outfits or decorate the house because of Namjoon’s rut. You improvised with eyeliner lined and drawn whiskers on Yoongi’s cheeks, grumbling half-heartedly as Tae dotted his nose with bright pink blush and attached a pair of cat ears to his head.
The one person who hadn’t escaped Hobi’s costumes was Noddle, hissy in his little black and yellow bee costume, you’d given him tuna as a special treat. The neighborhood kids had ooohd and ahhed at him in the window, grumpily guarding your house from any intruders.
It’s funny, noodle only hisses at the people dressed up as other cats.
Independent from your musings, your packmates hover on the edge of the bed. “who says you can’t ask him? Just talk to him-“ Yoongi tries to convince you.
"We can ask him for you!" Both of them pop up, their eyes all wide, matching black heads all fuzzy, your mate bobs his head, the picture of polite eagerness.
"Oh fuck no- You'll do no such thing-"
“Come on, let us play matchmaker with you."
A loud ring interrupts your conversation, coming from deep within the confines of your nest. It’s Yoongi's phone- discarded. Jungkook grins as he answers for him, smirking all the while.
"Hyung! We were just talking about you- No it's fine, Joonie forgot his lunch too-" Jungkook playfully shoves away Yoongi’s hand reaching for his phone. He pauses as Hobi says something on the other line.
Jungkook’s grin is nothing if not scheming.
"Yoongi's busy right now," he licks his lips, eyes on you. Yoongi is certainly not busy, the only thing he had planned for today was bringing Namjoon his lunch, another stop is hardly too much.
"But Y/n's free, I’ll have her drop it off. Bye, hyung. Love you too hyung."
~-~
Hobi is drawn to the front room of the flower shop because it’s his break time, someone forgot the last box of roses out back, and also because one of his coworkers is shouting again.
It's a semi-normal occurrence by any standard of measurement, but still, the sound of his shrill voice shouting in protest is just as grating as the feeling of dirt under Hobi’s fingernails.
They're sensitive and pricked too, he's spent the better part of the morning prepping the red roses, bundles, and bundles of them. The last one
He pauses, ignoring the commotion for as long as he can to take a sip of water, The cold drips down his throat, soothing the heat there. It might be cold at night but the lot out back is still unforgiving in the autumn sunlight, the occasional breeze telling stories of knit blankets and cozy sweatpants that Hobi will need within the month. He can’t wait for it to get colder.
The flower shop is structured in layers. The breakroom with the cubbies, a dilapidated old fridge, and a small table directly off the lot. A narrow hallway connects it first to the stock room and then to the counter and the retail space out front. The commotion comes from the stock room. The sound of a box falling over with a loud clang and then the softer sound of people arguing in hushed tones.
Three of his coworkers- two of which are the same ones who don't like him- shove each other to get through the door. One holding around the other middle.
"No, I've got this one-" Hobi stoops to pick up a roll of orange-red ribbon, half unrolled on the dusty floor.
"Come on- I took the granny for you this morning you owe me-"
"You're an omega, Felix."
"So? Like being a horndog is a uniquely alpha affliction?"
"Too late!" The third one darts through the door. Unencumbered by the other's scuffle. Tossing a kiss over his shoulder at the other two. Their frustrated groans resounding a hissed whisper. "Chan! You've already got an omega you don't need two-”
At his appearance, both of his coworkers straighten up. "What’s all the fuss about?" he asks with a tired sigh. Not that he really wants to make conversation with them about what client they're thirsting over this week. Hobi has never joined in with them, their near-running commentary on who comes into the shop.
“A pretty client.” It's nothing new, but what is new is the way that Hyunjin rolls his eyes and scoffs.
"Pretty is not a word reserved for the hottest omega I’ve seen this year- she looks like Kate Moss and Zendaya had a love child with an angel-" he swoons, Hobi sighs and pushes through them to put the ribbon back on its holder. They probably knocked it off in their scuffle, his two coworkers practically fall through the door after him.
Hobi blinks.
It's just you, standing in the doorway looking at the hanging epiphytes and other little suncatchers that hand in the flower shop windows. You’re wearing one of Tae's big sweaters that fall to your upper thigh and a pair of semi-translucent leggings. When your hands go up to touch a suncatcher Hobi can tell you’re wearing shorts underneath, but the implication that you might be not is still there. There’s A little bit of flour on your front from whatever you were baking today.
The first thing he notices is a band-aid on your finger.
His sleazy coworker lays it on thick, leaning over your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. You don’t seem to realize that he’s snuck up on you. Hobi watches as you flinch and step back, clutching a small pink package to your chest. Turning around quick.
Hobi swallows back a growl. Instincts grating.
"Can I help you find anything beautiful?” he drawls, casting you a dazzling grin that Hobi's sure has gotten him many first date.
"I was just-" Hobi drops a bouquet of roses into a nearby bucket with a loud thud. Your eyes shoot up, and Hobi sees the visceral way your shoulders relax, the way you instantly brighten.
"Hey! I got your lunch."
Hobi's coworkers splutter. Gazes darting between you and Hobi like they can’t make sense of it. “What?!" One of them hits him on the shoulder playfully like they're friends and Hobi's jaw ticks. "Yeah, Hobi what the fuck-"
Hobi's fingers are still on the roses as he looks at you, he doesn't tear his eyes away for a second, "She's my newest packmate," they've got a good sense to be embarrassed to try and recoup the situation.
“Oh- we didn't think Hobi could have such pretty packmates."
Oh, you don't like that one bit.
Your switch flips, Hobi sees you make the conscious decision to turn on the part of yourself that can be very charming, that makes his alpha ask ‘how high?’ if you even think about asking him to jump. You're very good at playing this game, encouraging their instincts out in just a few words.
You step closer looping your arm through Hobi's (He swears he won't be thinking about it later, how you push your body up against his just so, the faint warmth of your chest surrounding his upper arm, your fingers weakly tangling through his) You tilt your mating mark into the light so that they see it. tucking your hair behind your ear like you’re shy. your sleeve falls down, leaving your scent gland open to the bear air.
"You've obviously never met Jin then.” You pout up at him in mock distress, making it as cute as possible. “but- I would have thought he'd have told you all about me what with the car I gave him."
Hobi doesn’t believe your sudden sniffle for a second even though his face heats. And renewed incredulity hits their faces, near devastation that their written-off coworker has a packmate like this.
You blink back faux tears, “Did you not like it?” there is nothing cuter than a pretty pouty omega near crying because they think they've disappointed their alpha. Nothing that tugs on their instincts quite like this.
The men blink dumbly. This creature- is surely representative of another life, one that they hadn’t imagined for their coworker. Surely when they called Hobi a sugar baby, this isn’t what they had in mind.
"He talks about it so much!"
"I swear everyone slows down when they see it which is why the boss lets him park it out front."
"It's a really pretty car like really pretty," Felix says, eyes definitely not on your face but oh well.
Hobi grasps his little lunchbox hard, wrapped up in one of Tae's pink patterned silk scarves. Too intimidated to respond. You have them wrapped around your fingers in just a few words.
"Show me the flowers?" you offer, clearly done conversing with them, Hobi takes the easy out without a look in his coworkers’ direction.
The slick of the refrigerator doors slides close, blocking out the three of them clearly peering in. Your closeness is disguised by the condensation on the glass. Let them think something more of the way you stand close.
The mask falls in a second and where one moment you’d looked forcefully cute, the next, you just look tired.
"You're a menace."
You huff, wrapping your arms around your waist. "Only when I need to be"
"You didn't have to do that." He says because he doesn't know exactly what to say. How to express that he’s thankful without making it weird. Now that you've stepped away from the others there’s something vaguely wilted about you, something still. He’s noticed the last few days, since Namjoon’s rut if he’s being honest.
The truth is, nothing's been normal after Namjoon's rut.
The first day after Namjoon’s rut you’d avoided each other's company like the plague, fielding Namjoon’s numerous apologies and in general clingy behavior. But after a day or two you'd reached an unspoken agreement to just forget everything that had happened just like Jimin and Tae.
(That's a lie. Jimin and Tae have slept on opposite sides of every bed they've slept in in the last week.)
Hobi’s not sure why he thinks that there's something wrong, why he finds himself watching you and waiting. Measuring your plate at dinner for maybe the first time in weeks. Watching you when you cook, just…. keeping an eye on you in a way he might not have before.
Is it just him, or have you seemed less interested in cuddling and nesting as usual? There's something in you that just wants to get the nest in the upstairs over and done with and back to normal. Hobi had watched while he'd helped bring the countless blankets up there, every one of your movements rehearsed and perfunctory.
And yesterday, he’d walked into your room (your old room he should call it) And found you and Yoongi deep in conversation, sitting on the edge of your bed. And when Hobi had asked Yoongi had just said, “We’re gonna keep the nest in here for a few more days.” You'd ended up turning your bed around and tucking it into the wall by your dresser, making room for Tae's makeup desk.
At first, He thought that maybe he’d hurt you with his leaving. That you took it as an ultimate rejection of not only your friendship but your presence in the pack. But it seems like you’re as determined as he is to keep things as they were before. To act as though your relationship is just as it was. Just this. packmates that bring each other lunch and give each other cars and definitely step closer to make Hobi's nosey coworkers a little jealous.
Strange. All of it feels strange like deja vu. There’s a familiar stillness that he hasn’t seen in you in months really, not since late spring. Since before you started talking again only this time he's seeing the process in reverse.
You tap the lunch box with your fingertips, a faint flush coming to your cheeks, “Yoongi made it for you, not me.”
“Does it matter?” you flush harder, skin heating under his raised eyebrow,
“Yes.”
Hobi thinks your hands might be shaking a little bit when you gesture to the shelves piled high with flowers and buckets. "Which ones are your favorite anyway?" you ask, classic misdirection.
A few weeks ago Hobi had convinced his boss to order the flowers by color and not type to make arranging and picking out designs easier. Granted, Hobi is her most talented employee and the one she trusts most to handle their big-budget items like weddings and funerals so it was a relatively short argument.
This refrigerator is a mess of cream pinks, whites, and yellows. The big dinner plate-sized sunflowers hovering around your knees, and the dusty roses at the ceiling.
He points at the simple daisies, is it just his imagination, or do you make your giggle just a little bit louder, leaning into his arm. Hobi swears one of his coworkers is going to burst a blood vessel with how hard he's trying to contain his screech of indignation. You just grin and roll your eyes.
“Are you trying to make my life easier or harder?” He can’t stop his smile though, no matter how much he wants to.
“A bit of both probably.” You lean in close, the way an omega would to an alpha they were flirting with. Let them wonder what we’re saying, let them wonder what I mean by this. Your fingers dance over a nearby bucket, skimming the velvet soft blooms, “I would have pinned you for a Lily type of guy."
Hobi fingers one of the long stems, playing with it too. "Nah, these are Jungkook’s favorite, not mine." Hobi's shy when it comes to you, but still, he musters up the courage to take a spare bloom of daisy and tuck it behind your ear.
"As a thank you, for my lunch. Jungkook shouldn’t have made you come all the way here."
You shrug, "It’s no big deal. I- ugh- i put a few chocolates in there, the coconut ones." You might have noticed Hobi grabbing some last night, and he gravitated toward those in the big bowl of Halloween candy. Seeking out the little blue packages.
"I like those," he says, but you already know that.
There’s a loud crash, and when you look back Hobi’s coworkers have knocked one of the dysplays over in their quest for a better vantage point. they scramble to put it back together and look busy like they weren’t watching you.
Chan gives him a thumbs up and Hobi scoffs.
“I’m sorry for them.” He says, “They’re kind of always like this,” his jaw ticks. Some alphas have no manners.
You shrug, “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Are those the same ones that say shit about you behind your back?”
“Yes.”
You hesitate for a moment, standing toe to toe with him. “We should give them something else to talk about then.” Hobi’s hands are hard on the lunch box.
You step closer. Your worn boots brushing his sneakers as you lean up on your tippy toes. The scent mark looks more intimate that it is as you lightly drag your cheek down Hobi's neck. You know how to make it look sensual.
His caramel scent and your baked one together smell like flan or maybe something vaguely that belongs in the family of a Snickers bar, sparking hot and heady. Filling the refrigerator with it and the smell of flowers. He catches your waist, alarmed but not entirely displeased.
It has the desired effect.
Hobi sees the other alphas, the way their egos deflate. Tail tucked between their legs. Immediately looking dejected. Hobi barely has time to process your hand threading through the hair at the back of his neck, the way you sway closer before you're darting away.
He catches you just before you pass back through the refrigerator doors (you should know better than to run from an alpha, there's hardly anything more exciting than the prospect of a chase). A real giggle fills the small space making the other 3 perk up. Hobi can’t stop himself from smiling even if he feels a little dizzy.
He catches your hand, tugging you a little bit back. “Hang out with me? Later?”
The stillness in you eases just a little, and your smile is twice as bright as the sunflowers. “Sure.”
He lets your hand go even though he doesn't want to, even though you could eat together. He imagines it; sitting in his car, Yoongi’s parked out front, you in his passenger seat having a few of those chocolates. But you have no reason to stay and keep him company through his lunch break.’
Hobi is too shy to ask.
Before you pass through the door you pause, looking at the suncatchers that hang by the windows again. Reaching out a finger to touch one so that rainbows swirl through the room. The sun's light misdirected to spill and swirl in a dizzying display of color. The door clangs closed with a faint jingle.
He sets his hand over the back of his hot neck. Heart thundering, something in his instincts relaxes by having you out the door and away from his other...competitors. They instantly descend on him, badgering him with countless questions.
“I didn’t know you could pull like that hyung," "How did you even meet?" does she have a sister?" "Does she have a favorite type of nesting supplies?”
Hobi shoots that last one a glare. "I think she's got everything she needs in that department." he says tightly.
He’d have thought your mating mark would be enough of a deterrent. The fact that it isn’t makes him even more annoyed if that's possible. They don’t get a single answer out of him- just the freezer door closed and locked in their faces. He sits there to eat his lunch, glaring at them through the foggy doors.
When he opens his lunchbox, he sees that you've shoved 7 chocolates into a space that should only logically fit 5. Rows of sliced meat and a dollop of sauce over rice in the shape of a heart. A sandwich just the way he likes it, cut-up fruit too, probably a whole pint of Strawberries cut into little hearts.
(The other alphas don't stand a chance.)
~-~
(Tae, Some time later)
Autumn brings with it lazy nights and the need for more blankets. You often find yourself curled up on the couch in Tae's room. Alternating between watching the autumn rain drip from the eves, going on tic-tock, napping, and watching Tae work at her desk. Sometimes on work nights, she's got her hair set into little pin curls, or a face mask on.
It's kind of silly that you can spend just hours watching her but you are that in love.
Her typing is gentle, a companion to the pitter-patter of the rain and the tv in the other room. Someone talking, someone showering, the faint thump thump thump of your heart, noodle meowing to be let in from outside, homey domestic and Awfully lonely.
It’s silly, you shouldn’t feel alone with Tae right there.
You stir sometimes, stretching your feet out and yawning. Cheek resting on the pillow. "I can shut the light if you want" Tae says, recognizing the feeling like she's being watched. She doesn’t turn because she knows it's you.
"No, I'm not tired" but the slow rising of your chest says something different. You've let the blanket slip off of you a little bit, folding your body onto her small couch fitting just barely. She rolls herself over to you to fix it and tuck it around your feet. Then goes back to writing.
"You've been typing one thing for a long time now”
Tae hums, agreeing. Pausing for a second and going back to delete one sentence and replacing it with another before her cursor moves on stepping in time with the clack of her fingers. She's gone with a shorter manicure this time to make typing easier, smooth little almonds that flash like fish scales. Pretty and pearlescent.
“You were writing the same thing yesterday and the day before that too. Is it a story?" you ask. Tae likes how you always ask that first, is it a story or a poem, by stanza or by prose. Which part of your soul are you working on today? is it more comfort or a bit of hurt?
Her fingers hesitate, "it is." She admits. “I’ve got like, maybe 30,000 words of it written already but yeah, it’s a story.”
“You don't write stories often."
she tips her head in agreement. "What could I add to the world you know? there are so many good books out there," she sighs heavily, "But-" she trails off, eyes full of faraway faces and a love that maybe feels a little bit like yours and Hobi’s. She always was better at catharizing her emotions about their relationships by comparing them to others. Namjoon and Jin are all Claire and Jamie. Yoongi and Hobi Westley and Buttercup.
But You and Hobi are something different. Maybe she took hobi's advice and found another outlet for her feelings about you two rather than get involved. then again, the main male character is actually a lot more like jungkook sometimes when he speaks.
Bits and pieces of Tae’s loves and muses are all over the story, but the main character? She’s all you.
"What's different about this one?" You ask, hair spilling over your shoulders in an uninterrupted tangle that has Tae itching for a brush. You'd tried her pin curls out a few nights ago but had complained about the pinching so Tae quiets the part of herself that wants to use you as her own mini dress-up doll.
"Usually my emotions are brief, but" she presses her palm to her chest, "I have all this pain here. All of this pain and all of these thoughts and I don't think I know what to do with it besides write it down." You pull yourself up and closer to her, phone slipping out of your lap and sliding onto the carpeted floor. But Tae’s smile is already comforting even if it is a little sad.
She wheels herself over again and presses her lips to yours, your needy fingers almost instantly find her waist, the way you grab at her when you want to cuddle. Tae knows your body language so well.
"It’s not something you can make better darling," she says, and she means it, the way she looks at you means she means it. "But I think- I think giving it to other people might make it better, a little."
You lean your cheek into her palm, sleepily sighing. "What’s it about?"
Tae launches into the beginning, and the rest is history. She talks about her own story the same way that she talks about the books she reads. Fast and excited, like it's right there in front of her eyes on a movie screen.
“It starts with a library- only it’s not like a normal library. This library is kind of magic-”
~-~
(Namjoon, 7 days after rut)
In the wake of Namjoon's rut, all of the alphas have been feeling their instincts a little more keenly; this has expressed itself in only one behavior one that you didn't think you'd see the return of after it had sort of calmed down at the beginning of your relationship.
You don’t know how to feel about the fresh return of the courting presents.
But with the nest upstairs, you suppose that you don't mind the veritable collection of new nesting pillows, blankets, and specially made Egyptian cotton sheets for your Alaskan king-sized mattress- courtesy of Jimin. In a variety of colors of course; black for his preference, and pink for Tae’s.
Namjoon doesn't like being one-upped by anyone. Although his gift takes several more days to arrive and set up. (Yoongi stayed up the night before with Namjoon to help set it up because Namjoon is notoriously bad about any sort of home improvement let alone when there's an Allen wrench and six pages of instructions involved)
You giggle as Namjoon's fingers tamp over your eyes. He almost steps on the back of your heels with how close you're walking. "Here, there's a wall" You reach out and help him lead you so that the surprise isn't spoiled. Bright shafts of light slip through his fingers.
"Joonie-"
"Here, step down- there you go pup. Here-"
Namjoon takes his hands from your eyes and resists the urge to bounce up and down, your wide blinks, your suddenly sweet scent all of it, soothing to the cloying discomfort of instincts not expressed in his chest. Lips parted into a cute little oh.
You're in the backroom, the last coat of paint was finished yesterday and the pack has gone to work putting it together with the new velvet green couch and many of Hobi's plants. But what you don't expect is the item just left of the door.
The nesting couch, or more correctly nesting pod has high walls that peak at the top somewhat like an onion. The interior of it is upholstered with smooth non-irritating fabric and a thick cushion at the base and up part of the walls. a soft little bowl almost like a human-sized dog bed (a pup bed).
A small dark soft space, perfect for nesting. With a little curtain that you can zip closed, that should enswathe you entirely in darkness. The interior of it is Piled high with a new duvet and more than a dozen new pillows (all freshly scented) like a bowl of colorful candies. Some of them are vaguely stuffed animal shaped and a few actually are stuffed animals.
You blink down at the croissant and the cake, the disembodied blueberry.
“Jungkook might have helped me pick them out, he went a little over the top.” Namjoon rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s rut or a” he coughs, “first knotting present, I guess. As a thank you and an I’m sorry for biting you present.” Namjoon shifts back and forth, feeling vaguely nauseous but in a love-sick sort of way. “Do you like it?”
Nesting nooks are expensive gifts, this one alone must have been several thousand dollars. Although Namjoon's anxiety ticks higher as you continue to not say anything. Staring at it and blinking like you can’t believe it’s there. “I thought you could maybe, use a bit of space because of the upstairs, I know you’re used to nesting on your own.” Yoongi had told him about your need to keep your downstairs nest still set up. You know the second the sentence slips past his lips that they've talked about it, that Namjoon’s worried.
It's nothing personal you just, you feel like you might need a little spot, like Tae does for her library room, a little spot that's just yours. A spot for you to be quiet
And Namjoon's just given you it.
Your mouth twists and Namjoon tilts your jaw up to his so that he can duck in close and nose along your hairline. "Hey I didn't mean-"
You take the nearest cushion and crush it to your chest, this one the shape of a graham cracker. "I love it." Your gaze darts away, heart in your throat. "Can I? Try it out?"
Namjoon steps aside hastily, watching as you ease inside it. Pulling yourself into the dark cavern. it’s soft and comfy. protected in a way that has you instantly feeling hazy. Quiet and mostly scentless, the noises from outside Dampened, the feeling of everything butter soft beneath your fingers.
It's so safe here.
You start to knead a pillow, softly, the way that noodle might. Flopping over onto your side. Back against the cushion wall. Rolling a little in it. And a slow purring slowly fills the room, soft and first, and then stronger. You rub your scent across the border, making it smell like yours.
Namjoon drops to his knees and watches you. when he sticks out his hand you nuzzle into it, cheeks pink, scent omegaspace sweet. you chirp happily and he smiles down at you.
“There you go pup.”
~-~
(Tae, sometime at night)
(Content warning)
Namjoon isn’t the only one who's gotten you courting gifts recently.
Tae presents yours to you with pink cheeks, the small rectangle pretty when you unwrap it, green warn fabric, and embroidery on the cover.
It’s a copy of Alice and Wonderland, delicately illustrated with watercolor splotches of characters on every other page. It smells like vanilla the way that Jimin smells like vanilla, the musk of it soft and smooth.
The next time you get small and pupish Tae reads to you, her soft voice lulling you into a softer, smaller headspace. So fuzzy that you can’t feel your toes, mind dumbly repeating ‘mommy, mommy mommy’ with little else on your mind.
Page after page of pictures that your wide eyes follow without so much as a word, small whines when Tae pauses to see if you’ve fallen asleep yet tell her everything she needs to know about if it had been a good decision or not. the right gift.
Tae is the only alpha in the pack that can give you this, who can trigger omegaspace in you with as little as a raised eyebrow.
She has a fantastic reading voice. She and makes the voices of the white rabbit and the mad hare just funny enough to have you huffing soft giggly purrs.
It's not the last book she gets you. Far from it, over the next few weeks, you quickly fall into a routine: after dinner, she’ll find you in the nesting nook, in your room, or in the bathroom washing up. And she’ll pull you in the direction of the library room and produce another wrapped volume. Some of them illustrated and some not.
You’ll curl up together on the couch, one ear pressed to her heartbeat, another that inches to hear her words and a soft croons. Her hair tickling your forehead where it lingers, just around her shoulders. Grown out now and faster since she started to use a fancy hair serum.
There are other, slightly more scandalous times, when you squirm at certain parts, unable to find a properly soothed position. When you turn to nuzzle into her shoulder. Nosing along her collarbones and searching for something that makes Tae’s chest tight in all the best ways. Bright eyes glassy, too shy to ask for what you wanted.
What you needed.
The first time you’d face planted into her chest into her barely there but steadily growing tits. She’d laughed, the skin there new feeling and vaguely sensitive. Little white stretch marks shine like a silver lining over the hem of her lace top.
“You looking for something pup?” she’d teased, she wasn’t necessarily surprised after all, you hadn’t been looking at the book for a few minutes, watching her soft inhale and exhale. The faint imprint of her nipples under the shirt.
“Can- can I” you’d stuttered, words too hard for you to string together, looking down at Tae’s chest, fingers bunching up the fabric of her dove-colored night dress.
Being in omegaspace is easier than being totally up these days. Tae knows you need this, without saying why, something is going on in your head that seems too big for it, something that makes you listless and quiet when no one’s around. There’s a reason- there has to be.
her hand cups your cheek and directs your gaze to her face and not her chest, and you blush, having been caught looking. “Good pups use their words, honey, even if they’re feeling small and needy.”
You struggle when you pull back, sorting through your pupils brain is a difficult task when preoccupied with Tae, mommy, want, pretty, mommy alpha smells so nice, looks so safe.
“Can I- can I put my mouth on Mommy?” heat laces down her chest, a fire like none other that has her body growing warm everywhere you touch, the smooth line of your inner thigh pressed to hers, your stomach as you inhale to whine. You squirm away from the embarrassment of asking for something so taboo.
Her hand grips your waist, and you know you aren’t going anywhere.
“Take what you need pup.”
Her spaghetti straps are down around her shoulders before you can blink, dress rucked down to her rib cage. Her chest has swelled so prettily from the hormones her nipples little puffy peaks. She’s maybe a b cup at best but your mouth waters, a whine slipping from your lips without you trying to summon it.
Tae guides you to them with her hand threaded through the hair on the back of your head. Fingers rubbing soothingly against your scalp and oh
With Tae so close, you can smell all of her. It’s so natural when your mouth guides into a suck, Hot and gentle where she’s sensitive. Your nose nudges against her skin taking deep lungfuls of her scent, greedy in the way that you curl around her body. Your brain is truly quiet for the first time in months. Resting your head in the crook of her elbow.
Tae sighs and stretches out while you settle. It’s not exactly not sexual but intimate, the attention at her chest isn’t something that makes arousal stir in her stomach, not when it's like this. Sucking softly, never too hard, with the same pressure that you might mouth at a soft blackberry, lips teasing but only just teasing.
She picks back up the book and keeps reading, ignoring the way her breath hitches with every harder suck.
There is something about tucking your face close, hands tangling in her dress, that feels like the most natural expression of your dynamic. The way she pets over your shoulders and reads to you while you set down your heavy worries. Clinging to her until your fingers go slack and your sucking slows. Lips parting to let out soft sleepy breaths across her sensitive skin and Tae knows you’ve fallen asleep.
Tae is the only alpha who can give you this.
After the first time, all bets are off.
Tae often finds you tugging at her top at dinner time, fingers curious and needy on her ribcage, unwilling to touch where you need to under the gaze of so many other.
Bending under the need, the haze of omegaspace tugging at you, begging for the couch and her in the green room. It’s especially bad if she wears anything low-cut. You’re squirmy in her lap during movie nights, a little breathless any time she hugs you (she might be a little mean and tug you up so that you're face to face with the object of your desire)
You're more than a little nervous around the rest of the pack.
But she agrees this is a secret. A habit that should be just yours. Tae never would have said there would be anything too intimate to share with them after coming out but maybe this is.
One time and one time only does Jimin accidentally walk in on you,
Namjoon is close behind, she isn’t sure what their reasons are. Luckily your head is blocked by a blanket and Tae only has to hiss a “get out” for them to turn tail and run. Thankfully, they hadn’t prodded that much about it later.
It’s not always so innocent, sometimes Tae’s thigh presses up between your own guiding you into a slow grind or her fingers wander, gently parting your thighs and pressing up and under your sleep shorts. fingers curiously exoloring between your thighs insistent to taste your pleasure in the air and hear your needy moans.
But every time you stop sucking, she stops touching. leaves her fingers just there tugging on your clit or just around them. Caught between a rock and a hard place, as you keep going, looking up at her, hips jerking against her fingers. Your sucking near frantic as you cum and Tae's wicked smile and mean laugh above you as you gush and drip around her fingers. rubbing gently over your clit at the same rhythm which you suck.
Worse are the times that she says, “Mommy’s turn” with a smile on her face. Switching your positions entirely. Holding your wrists so that you can’t try and cover yourself as she licks and sucks with abandon. Rubbing your frustrated tears away with her thumbs as she sucks at your nipples until they’re bitten and sensitive. So sensitive that you feel them every time they rub against your shirt, constantly distracting you and reminding you of her touch.
There is something about you needy and squirmy in omegaspace, dripping messy all over her nightdress, upset and tearful at being teased for so long that makes Tae’s alpha purr, makes her almost addicted. Those moments usually end with her cumming over your tummy and you grinding one out against her face or her thigh and once, her tits.
She’s cum on yours before, had you hold up her skirt like a good girl, standing there with your nipples wet from her mouth to let her jack off all over you. listening to you babble about how pretty her cock looks, how beautiful she is, it never takes her long.
The walk of shame to the bathroom had drawn the stares of quite a few of your packmates, Jimin had nearly walked into a wall as Tae led you upstairs for a shower.
It's intoxicating being needed, being the bearer of your needy whines and these delicate moments. When one nipple gets too sensitive and Tae transfers you to another, cheeks pink, lips wet and kissable, tasting like Tae's skin when she leans down. fussy, unwilling to be parted from her for even a second.
Tae looks and feels her most beautiful with her chest sucked pink, nipples glossy from your mouth when you inevitably fall asleep like that. And Tae has to pull up her dress and call for one of the alphas to help carry you to the nest like you weren't just doing something so salacious
When you’re alone, and your fingers instantly gravitate towards the buttons on her blouse, needy whines mean only one thing as you struggle to unfasten the buttons. Fingers clumsy from your wanting.
"My sweet little pup, so cute and needy for mommy that you can't even wait for a second, what am I going to do with you?"
~-~
(Hobi, the same day as before)
Not many people use the beach this late in the season. The businesses on the boardwalk are half-boarded up now that the tourist rush is over and half of the lights are empty and vacant of their usual neon splendor.
But maybe if Yoongi were here, he’d say that this is the way that you and Hobi flirt. With jabs back and forth like crashing waves. Jests of Are you tired yet? and not at all as you run and giggle, splashing through the dark waves. Happy and zoomy in the way that dogs get when you give them wide open spaces to run. Until the late hour drags your bones down and exhaustion makes you giggly and innocent. The way you and Hobi maybe never get to be when you’re not alone with each other.
But you can trust him, with your sensitive parts and your darkness too.
The beach is quiet at night, the hem of your pajama pants soaked 3 inches up from the cold water. Your shoes sit discarded in the sand and the cold salt air tickles your forehead and your bare toes. A pair of headphones between the two of you tangle in the sand like a string of fate. You bob your head to Hobi’s most recent favorite song and shiver.
Hobi notices and starts to shuck off his jacket, thick sweatshirt balmy underneath. You make a noise in protest but he doesn’t listen. His next words a mess in the middle of so much base, “I’ve got more meat on my bones than you do.”
You take his headphone out of your ear. “You sure?”
“Yeah,”
You ease into the warmth like it’s what you’ve been waiting for, and Hobi pulls himself closer to you to block the wind. You know you'll smell like him tomorrow morning, that the others will hover and breathe deep, appreciating your combined scents.
The moon is bright tonight, casting everything in shimmery pools of silver. You can see him in near-perfect blue-grey detail. It’s what drew you out tonight, the promise of an extra high tide and the glittering splendor of the ocean on a full moon. The drag of waves has the same tempo as Hobi’s soul, the tide higher than usual.
You fold the sleeves over your hands in the semi-darkness and it strikes him as oddly fragile, the way you curl in on yourself. One second happy and zoomy, and the next almost conservative. Like you think you won’t have enough joy for later. Your happiness reseeding like a tide.
Hobi turns his knees to the side. "You've been acting different since the rut." Was it me? Was I the one who made you look a little smaller, a little sadder than you were yesterday? You deflate at his words and Hobi struggles. “Not weird! It’s not bad I’m just-” worried- so fucking worried.
“Was it the alphas today?” he trails off, unsure of what he's asking.
You turn towards him, shoulders resting against the sand. All rocks made small, and time and energy that's made boulders movable. The sand curves to the shape of your body. Your cradle and your grave.
"No- your coworkers were fine just-" You shrivel your nose at the stars, maybe fate is taking notes. "Alphas, you know?"
"Hey, I’m an alpha too." He pushes at your shoulder playfully, trying to make the mood lighter so that you’re more likely to tell him what's really wrong. There’s sand in your hair when you turn away hiding your small smile like the sliver of a crescent moon. He feels like he should have anticipated that and brought a blanket or at least a towel for you to lie on, if not to make you warmer than to at least make sure you didn’t get sand in your hair.
"Yeah, but you're one of the good ones."
He settles back against the sand, faintly warm from the sunshine still. At odds with the cold wind that whips at the two of you. “I’m okay, you don’t have to worry about me, I’m just-“ your face twists with melancholy. “Tired.”
Tired. Hobi had found you dozing in the nesting nook tonight. Why had you slept there and not upstairs? You could have waited for him in either place- so why did you choose the one that made you alone? Why deny yourself the comfort at your fingertips?
Hobi swallows, “do you want to head back?”
Your eyelashes flutter whisper soft against your cheek, your voice thick like you might be about to cry. But you can tell Hobi these things, the restless half-exhaustion of not knowing when it will get easier, the exhaustion of having to try so hard for so long and still feel like you haven't gotten anywhere.
“I don’t think it’s the kind of tired that sleep can fix Hobi.”
Hobi blinks back the tightening in his chest like someone has stretched a rubber band around his lungs, pulling himself up so that you’ve got to look at him and see the sincerity in his face.
"You don't have to be okay you know. You don't have to, it would be okay if you weren't. We'd make it okay."
You swallow and it takes you a long time to answer, long enough that Hobi gets a little worried. You pick up the sand and let it fall through your hand. Dry, movable, changing. When the words come, they’re like a flood.
"It didn't fix me.”
You look like you don’t want to admit it, but the truth is so hard to contend with sometimes when expectations are proven false.
“The rut- being with Namjoon- Proving I could handle it. It didn't fix what was broken with me. I think I wanted it to like- make me feel whole, make me feel normal. It's what an omega in my position should be doing. Helping their alpha. Being good.”
Your breath hitches, and you know that there are so many many ways to be good. Being good for Geumjae meant starving yourself and staying quiet. You thought that maybe being good for Namjoon would be easier, that taking care of yourself would become easy because he wanted that for you.
But maybe it's not the alphas you're with that are the problem.
You liked the rut, you would swear on your mating mark that nothing happened during it that you didn't consent to and fully anticipate. So why do you still feel so fragile? Like you should be apologetic for it, like somehow- you didn't live up to their expectations.
He rolls back onto his ass letting you sit away from him because distance feels like what you might need.
"Good, I didn't want you to choose that."
As much as Hobi and the others are loathed to admit it, regardless of the bite mark now yellowing against your thigh, you being there actually did help during Namjoon's rut. Usually, at least one of them is left looking gaunt and in need of a few days’ rest. Jungkook didn’t even have a seizure this time. And to everyone's surprise, the pack had gone mostly back to normal sort of instantly.
Everyone had been able to walk just fine the following evening, they'd take it slow, but maybe they hadn't needed to. Hobi would have never called them unbalanced before but it's clear now how much their pack benefits from having a third omega.
But none of that would matter if you decided that you'd taken that step too quickly.
Your hand tangles with his, tangles with the sand. His fingers are strong and birdlike in yours, warm and rough.
He waits for a few long breaths "Was it bad that I said that?" Double checking, because you're both allowed to double-check when you need to. Both you and Hobi struggle to trust your internal narrative because you know how easy it is to twist it.
You take turns like this often, being vulnerable, being the one to break apart. Your laugh is something jagged, tearing up bits of yourself that you don’t want to keep, don’t want to hold onto, you swear.
How is it so easy to be hurt and yet so difficult to let the things that hurt you go?
"Yes," your laugh is sadder than he likes, you tuck your face back into the crook of his shoulder. “No. It’s fair. I think I’m just overwhelmed a little, I just wish I knew how to hope like you do. Every time I’m sad it feels like it’s like it’s the saddest I’ve ever been. Like there’s no coming back from it. It's exhausting always trying to be hopeful. How do you do it?"
Hobi likes thinking about it like that; hoping as a learned skill and not as an affliction. He gets cynical every time he gets sad and You know this best. He wonders when exactly you became the person he goes to with all of his contradictions. He doesn't know when he became this person for you either but he likes it.
He likes it.
He pulls himself a little bit closer to you. Nudging your shoulder with his and leaning. Rubbing quick up and down your calves to warm you up. The flannel of your pajama bottoms are rough against his fingers, he thinks they might be Yoongi's.
"I don't know, guess just I have to hope the healing adds up one day. When I'm not sad I don't know what else to do but hope."
You sit like that in silence for a good long while, the headphones buzzing on the sand between the two of you, quietly watching the ocean.
“I think you might be my best friend.” You admit quietly. Hobi’s smile makes the moon shine just a little brighter.
“I think you might be my best friend too.”
You sit like that, your body pressed up against his for a long time watching the ocean. Long enough that Hobi thinks you both might turn into statues, turned to marble pearly ness underneath the moons light, like it's trying to keep you here in this moment for as long as possible.
Hobi thinks you might have fallen asleep but then You stiffen and freeze. It's not him you're looking at when he turns. Your eyes have lost their glassiness, squinting into the ocean at something in the distance. Bobbing too close to be a buoy and too hard-shaped to be a patch of seaweed.
"Hobi, I think there's something out there in the water."
~-~
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~-~
Extra’s: Tae’s angel halloween dress + the nesting nook
#bts omegaverse au#bts a/b/o#bts x reader#bts poly au#bts gang au#bts mafia au#bts polyamory au#bts au#bts fluff#bts hurt/comfort#bts werewolf au#bts angst bts omegaverse fic#bts hybrid fic#min yoongi fic#kim namjoon fic#kim seokjin fic#kim taehyung fic#park jimin fic#jeon jungkook fic#jjk#pjm#myg#knj#kth#ksj#jhs#jung hoseok fic#min yoongi x reader#kim namjoon x reader#kim seokjin x reader
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Close Encounters of the Spiderkind Pt II
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Single Mother!Reader
Summary: Your daughter needs a sitter at the last minute and no one else is available, at least that’s what you thought..
Warnings: Fluff, Miguel is still a softie around kids, your daughter is a menace to society, this is basically the Miggy and Vada show, I’m not fluent in Spanish so correct me if I mess up
A/N: Here’s the part 2 ya’ll wanted so bad! Thank you for the lovely feedback from the last post, I appreciate you guys 💞 If you want to be tagged for future parts, be sure to join the TAGLIST
MASTERLIST | TAGLIST
Another month had passed since your little home visit with Miguel. Halfway between then and now, you had decided on sharing your little secret with the rest of the Spider Society. It was no surprise when the other spiders wanted to know more about your daughter, many insisting that you bring her in some time for them to meet. It was especially rewarding when Peter B and Jess heard the news. Granted, Jess was a bit annoyed that you had kept Vada a secret for so long and Peter thought you had deprived Mayday of a potential friend, but after the initial shock they were just as eager to meet her as the others.
Everyone was surprised at how anticlimatic Miguel’s reaction was. “I already knew,” he would reply when someone would question his behavior, “it’s my job to know.” Ever the cocky asshole, O’Hara.
The biggest pro to the whole of Spider Society knowing you had a kid was the near infinite amount of babysitters. And trusted ones at that. Except Ben...he was on probation for encourging Vada to hit a new PR with very big, very real weights. Hobie was on thin ice as well, in your opinion Vada was too young to be ‘sticking it to the man’ as he so generously put it.
When Miguel finds you, you’re in the Go Home Machine control room. Weird, he definitely remembered assigning you an urgent mission. He saunters in, welcomed by the sound of Spider-Byte and you in a very heated discussion.
“Come on Margo, it’s only for a few hours. Vada is a good girl, she won’t get in the way of your work.”
“Nope, not gonna do it. It’s way too last minute, do you see how many anomalies I have to send out today? Plus, I don’t do kids. They're sticky and my equipment doesn't do sticky,” Margo says dismisively, her holgogram zooming around the room as she continues her work.
"My daughter is not sticky," you retort, spinning around in place trying to keep up with her, arms crossed, suited up and ready to go. Miguel recognizes the annoyed look on your face, glad he’s not on the receiving end of it for once, but he’s about to be.
“What’s the hold up? I told you to be on Earth-76C ten minutes ago.”
Your head snaps in his direction, frustration fading only slightly as you huff, “I know. I’m supposed to pick up Vada in an hour, but now I need someone to do it instead and watch her until I finish the mission,” you deadpan him, fidgetting with the Gizmo on your wrist.
“Did you try-”
“Yes, yes, I’ve asked everyone. Jess is doing date night, Peter said Mayday is sick...” Miguel listens as you rattle off the excuses every spiderperson threw at you, listing every close friend of yours in the society. “...Her grandparents are out of town and my neighbor is the one watching her now, but she has plans tonight as well. So if you have any bright ideas-”
“I can watch her,” it’s so surprising to hear those words come out of Miguel's mouth that even Margo has stopped working to look at him, but his eyes are focused solely on you. Your mouth is moving, but no sound comes out as you try to form a coherent sentence.
“I couldn’t-”
“It’s really no problem.”
“You’re probably busy-”
“I’m actually very free right now.”
You scoff, hands moving to your hips, “Did Lyla lock you out of your lab again when you went to go grab food from the cafeteria?”
His eyebrows furrow and his jaw tightens, “Do you need a sitter or not?”
Miguel had lost track of how long he was standing in the hall of your apartment building, holographic suit materialized into more fitting clothes for your universe. It felt like an abnormal amount of time, but was probably only a few minutes. Only one old lady going into her apartment looked at him funny, but that was most likely due to the uncomfortable look on his face. It’d been a long time since he’d had to look after a kid by himself, let alone one as young as Vada.
He had seen her in passing, whenever you would pick up or drop her off with one of the other spiders who had agreed to watch her. You even introduced them one time, saying he was your boss. Vada had just stared at him, he couldn’t tell if it was with a look of fear, confusion or awe. He had no idea how she would react to him picking her up rather than her mother.
His knuckles rapped against the door and Miguel could hear someone approach from the other side. When it opened he was greeted by a woman, looking to be around your age, maybe even younger. She did a double take when she saw him, but Miguel was used to that. There weren’t a lot of universes where being six foot nine was considered normal.
“Can I...help you?” she asked him finally.
“M’name’s Miguel...I was told to pick up Vada,” he said simply and her eyes lit up in understanding.
“Oh! You’re who she was calling about,” she called Vada’s name over her shoulder, letting the little girl know it was time to go. “How do you know Y/N again?”
“We’re coworkers,” it wasn’t a lie technically. Miguel parroting what you had told him to say so he could pretend to be someone you knew from your day job.
“You’re a scientist?”
Miguel paused, confused by the question until he realized she was talking about his...physique. Her eyes not very subtly giving him the up and down. “I...work out when I’m stressed.”
The corners of the woman's mouth briefly turned down in a 'hmph' before returning to their normal position, “Must be hella stressed.”
There was the pitter patter of feet, making Miguel glance past the woman as Vada came to the door. It was almost comical how small she was compared to him, the top of her head barely making it to his hip. The pig tails that were meant to be on top of her head were lopsided, one still in tact while one sagged sideways, and there was a wet spot on her t-shirt. Is that...drool?
“She woke up from a nap about ten minutes ago,” the woman seemed to pick up on his confusion. She knelt down beside Vada, the two hugging goodbye, “Are you okay going with him back to your apartment?” she asked the toddler.
Vada bit her lip in thought, looking back at Miguel as if to stare him down....or rather up. “Hmmm...yeah. Bye Aunt Harrie,” Vada responds in a neutral tone, stepping through the doorway with a backpack almost as big as her slung over one shoulder.
Miguel exchanged pleasantries with her aunt before the three parted ways. He easily tugged the backpack off her shoulder and followed the little girl down the hallway. She seemed to know the way home, their destination only a few floors up. The rickety elavator opened for them and Miguel stepped in, stopping the doors from closing at the last minute when he saw Vada had yet to get in.
She...just stood there. Staring at him. Is she scared? Toddlers can get irrational fears, maybe the elevator freaks her out? Then she wouldn’t be looking at that instead of staring at me? “Are you coming?” he finally asked, meeting her gaze when she looks back up at him.
“You have to say superhero jump.” Well that was blunt.
“¿Perdóname?”
“Huh?”
Miguel cleared his throat, “I mean, what are you talking about?”
“Mama always says ‘superhero jump!’ and then I do a reeeally big jump from here to there,” Vada talks with her hands, pointing at her feet and then the elevator.
That’s ridiculous, was what Miguel was going to say before he stopped himself, sighing. “Superhero jump.”
“You have to say it in a happy voice.”
“Superhero jump~,” Miguel’s voice raised an octave in mock enthusiasm, but it seemed to do the trick as Vada did her bathetic jump over the elevator gap. “...Wow, good job.”
“Thank you,” she said proudly as she stood on her tip toes to hit the button for their floor.
The rest of the short trip was uneventful. Miguel did give Vada a sideways glance when she didn’t request he say ‘superhero jump’ when they got out, calling her actions inconsistent in his head. Like he wasn’t referring to a toddler. When he opened the door to the apartment, Vada was off. She started by running into the living room, stuttering to a stop before going to her mother’s room, then her own and even the bathroom.
Finally she stopped back in the living room where Miguel waited, “Where’s Mama?”
“She’s working, I’m watching you, remember?”
Vada’s nose scrunched at that, “I want Mama.”
“I’m sure you do, but you’ll just have to wait.”
The toddler’s foot stomped defiantly, “I want Mama now!”
“Vada,” Miguel huffed, squatting to be level with her. “Cálmate, your mother will be home in a couple hours. You’re a big girl right? You can wait,” Vada glared at him, but it was hard to take a three year old’s anger seriously when she looked cute expressing it. She then gasped dramatically, cheeks puffing out as she held the breath, little hands covering her nose and mouth. There was a moment of awkward silence as they stared at one another.
What was she-oh. Oh.
“Stop that, throwing a tantrum isn’t gonna change my answer,” Miguel said a bit more firmly, making sure to be somewhat gentle still. She didn’t budge. “Vada, ay coño, that’s enough.¿Quieres desmayarte?”
Do you want to pass out?
He reached a hand out to grab her, maybe jostle some sense into her, but didn’t get the chance as she erupted into giggle when his hand grazed her side. Miguel was confused at first before realization hit, “Are you ticklish?” he teased.
Vada giggled again, her bad mood seeming to fade away almost instantly, “Noooo~,” she cooed.
Miguel scoffed, the corners of his mouth turning up, “Alright, you’re not ticklish, but come on. I’m sure you don’t want to just stare at each other until your mom comes home. There’s gotta be something you want to do? Maybe play? What do you and your mom do for fun?”
The afternoon went by surprisingly fast. Vada was...quite the little firecracker. Very much her mother’s daughter. Not only did she look like a carbon copy of her mom, but she had the same mannerisms. The way her nose scrunched when she was displeased with something he said, the way she bit her bottom lip when thinking hard about something, it was like he was babysitting a tinier version of you.
Vada played him like a fiddle, getting him to play pretend with her little toys, even convincing him to do different voices for each of the dolls she had assigned to him. Miguel was just glad no one else was around to witness this, he’d be spending the rest of his life threatening them to keep quiet. He became very aware of the drama at Vada’s preschool, the little girl filling him in on all the latest gossip, to which Miguel was listening to with an embarrassing amount of intrigue.
“...now Becca isn’t talking to Daina because Daina laid next to Teddy during nap time,” Vada rambles on, absentmindedly rolling a toy truck across the floor.
“Uh huh, because Becca like likes Teddy,” Miguel affirms, his deep, monotone voice a stark contrast to hers. He sat next to her on the ground, watching Vada as she continued to play, while detangling the hair of one of her dolls with a tiny, plastic brush.
“Yup! And then Becca got mad and pushed Daina into the sandpit, so now Becca can’t play outside for pickup.”
“Tch! Puta...” Miguel mutters the phrase without even registering it, catching himself when he realizes how invested he’s gotten in petty gossip. A child’s petty gossip, no less. Domínese, O’Hara...
“Puta.”
Miguel’s eyes widen, looking back at Vada. Did she just.. “Don’t say that word.”
“Why?”
“It’s a bad word.”
“Nuh-uh, my mommy knows all the bad words and she's never said that one.”
“It is.”
“Poooootaaaaah~” Vada enunciates, giggling at how annoyed Miguel gets when she says it. Before Miguel can scold her once more, the clicking of the front door alerts them of your arrival, both Vada and Miguel’s head snapping to watch as you come in and shut the door behind you.
It had been a more difficult mission than you had anticipated. The Sandman from your earth was reeking havoc in another dimension. Seemed like an easy fix, until you discovered there was another Sandman from a different universe also in the mix. After some sloppy web work, a little assistance from the spider of that universe and a few bruised ribs, you had them captured and returned to HQ to be sent back to their respective earths. The damage to your body was minimal, for someone with superhuman abilities, a good night’s rest would have you back to normal.
The door had hardly been shut when the familiar tapping of Vada’s feet on the hardwood approaches you. And as usual, you crouch down to accept her embrace, this time wincing slightly as her little body collides into yours, your toddler oblivious to the injuries you had sustained. She wastes no time talking your ear off, telling you how her day was at Aunt Harrie’s and her evening with Miguel.
Miguel, speaking of, stood in the archway that connected the kitchen to the living room to watch the interaction unfold. You don’t see it, but the sight of you watching as Vada eagerly chatters brings a smile to his face, just a small one, as he admired the relationship between mother and daughter. When you glance his way, he averts his gaze to the ground and clears his throat stiffly.
“Well, sweet girl, it sounds like you had a busy day,” you say, looking back at your daughter. She’s beaming at you, a sight that always warms your heart no matter how many times you see it. “Come on, let’s get dinner started.” Vada moves like someone who’s never eaten, bolting to the kitchen counter and crawling onto one of the bar stools.
“Can Miggy have dinner too?” she asks, fidgetting excitedly in her seat. The question makes you pause, stopping just as you were about to fill an empty pot with water. After hemming and hawing for a moment, Vada decides to turn her attention to the man in question, “Can you, Miggy? Can you?”
Miguel’s eyes narrow, jaw set as he thinks of what to say, Vada waiting with bated breath. “Well...”
“It’s fine.” You finally find your voice again.
Miguel turns his attention to you now, “It is?”
“Yeah, I don’t see why not,” you shrug simply, “that is if you want to stay for dinner.” Miguel purses his lips as he thinks over your offer and you try not to chuckle at the sight.
“...What are you making?”
“Boxed Mac n Cheese.”
He scoffs, “That doesn’t sound very-”
“Mac n Cheese is my favorite!” Vada chimes in, “Mama always gets the one’s shaped like unicorns and rainbows cuz they taste better.”
Her words make Miguel pause again, finally letting out a deep breath through his nose, “Sure, I’ll stay for dinner.”
You smile mischievously, “We’re happy to have you, ‘Miggy~.’”
“Don’t push your luck.”
Dinner with you and your daughter was surprisingly pleasant. Miguel didn’t say much as he shoved the cheap pasta and cheese down his throat, watching you interact with your daughter. It was domestic, almost peaceful. Afterward Miguel offers to do the dishes while you put Vada down for the night. He excuses himself once done, thanking you for the meal and making sure to leave out the part that, for dinner being a cheap box of mac n cheese, it was the best meal he had had in a long time.
Tags:
@l0sert0wn @deputy-videogamer @arctic4life @sasaleleselfships @autismsupermusicalassassin @snert-bees @qundadedingle11 @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @fangirlreice7 @mouse-teagreat @andr3wgarfieldsupremacist @yellieeeee @thesrtuggleisveryreal @escherichiacolli @sweeteaacorner @marvelouslovely-barnes @meeom @candlewitch-cryptic @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @melovetitties @ilovemycat6808 @vegas-writing-den @pippethealien @shibble @mommyhange1 @chiikasevennn @pokhouu @jenniferdixon05207 @m0sscr3ates @momos-peaches @insanelycrazyanddelusional @miggyoharaswife @justtnat @imliquidesmooth @thedevillovesflowers @mvc2019 @starrynightnight @risinglightmoon @charming4u @whitetearx @blueparadisecollection16s @idontknowwhatimgoinghere @ziyahshinez @migueloharaslxt @obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @viriexo @futuristicpandakid @louderfortheback @tomhollandisabae @itzsab @blue-pears-blog @geraskier-thots @saintskully @johnny-pie @keenzinemugstudent @rizahawkeye1380 @realalpacorn @prettylittlebrowngirl @leahnicole1219 @fandom-ash
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#x reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099#miguel o'hara headcannon#reader insert#close enounters of the spiderkind#miguel o'hara x single mother!reader
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Not gonna lie, the “Peeta: Katniss you can’t kiss me but btw can I smell your neck, I need it to sleep” tag you had has been living rent free in my head. Because I always feel like we always discuss how insane Katniss was for him during the Quell but we never touch how unhinged he was during the Quell too when he thought he was going to die . He did not have to have his lips touching her neck during that hug, especially since it was lingering and neither of them were letting go.
And don’t even get me started on the constant flirting starting back up . “You’re perfect to me” , the weakness for beauty like, wanting to spend every minute of his life with her, extra married couple kisses.
him saying “i want to spend every minute of the rest of my life with you” like??? he’s clinically insane. sick with love.
honestly i love how desperate they are for each other. i really really enjoy how much they get along and how easy their relationship is, but it’s so wonderful that there’s this undercurrent of urgency. i do fully read their relationship as being codependent and i don’t think that’s something they ever really break away from. i don’t know if they can. i think the reason mutually-frustrated-mutually-obsessed post mj!everlark is so fun for me is because i Love the idea that they attempt to set up walls between them that they continually breakdown solely because they can’t stand to be apart from each other. katniss doesn’t want to be in love. cant stand to acknowledge love. but if she doesn’t see him at least once a day, she feels sick. peeta can’t run the risk of being tortured by his feelings for her anymore, and therefore refuses to engage in it unless it’s the Real thing, but he can’t stand not touching her. not being around her. they drive themselves and each other crazy with their need because they’re soulmates and there’s nothing but themselves who are in the way of them being together and it’s. ugh. it’s so so fun to think about.
and also related but unrelated: i really do love how much chemistry SC wrote them with. it’s so delightful to see just how attracted they are to each other. katniss thinking things like how it’s a luxury to sleep beside him, or how good peeta’s lips feel against her neck, or her constant commentary on his looks and the strength of his arms. it’s just cute. it’s really really cute that they’re so into each other. i love them so much.
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| ◆ ch. vago mundo ⑊ zhongli
--⟢ i. tales passed down for generations
| the people of liyue know of many tales…
𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡
◇ tags ◇ (all tags from the series masterlist), sagau, pure fluff, dragon!li
◇ a/n ◇ yk what i told myself i won't post this until after i wrote the liyue chapter but ✨i✨don't✨care✨anymore✨ hsdlkfjskldjf i have no idea when i'll update universe abound and this has been sitting on my drafts for FAR too long... besides, it can be read as a standalone anyway. now. once again i am here to tell you that dragon!zhongli is love, dragon!zhongli is life. thank you for attending my ted talk-
you stare.
dark brown scales, decorated with shining gold lines seem to pulse under the sunlight filtering through the curtains.
you stare harder.
the long appendage twitches before it shifts to hide behind the man standing right in front of you.
"your grace," morax coughs awkwardly into his fist and upon being greeted with your silence, decides to go back to fiddle with the coat he was halfway putting on before you barged in, "i believe it is still… thirty minutes before our scheduled stroll. is something the matter?"
instead of answering, you blurt out in an amazed voice, like a young child that just spotted their favorite candy, "you have a tail!"
"i… yes, well, considering that i am a dragon, and they do have tails-"
"it's so pretty! why don't you have it out more often?"
the genuine enthusiasm in your voice makes him smile.
"it's- ah, it could be an inconvenience sometimes."
you blink, not understanding the meaning of his words. he gives you a bashful look and proceeds to focus on his garments instead. knowing that he's not going to elaborate anymore, you choose to study the scaly appendage - unlike morax's still body, it's twitching and swaying around where it rests on the floor, almost as if…
….. hmm?
"zhongli."
"yes?"
"i love you."
the sudden confession makes him go still, and you observe his reactions in interest.
"i love you too, dearest."
aside from the short pause and the elegant smile on his lips, the man looks as dignified and unaffected as ever. however, your impossibly wide grin strains your cheeks as you eye the rhythmic thumping of his tail against the floor.
"rex lapis," you gasp, "… are you wagging your tail???"
"ahem. c-certainly not, i don't-"
"oh. my. god. that is the cutest thing ever!"
"............ beloved….."
"no no no no no if you hide your tail then i'm revoking our daily walks and regular kisses!"
zhongli's tail perks up and begins to sway anxiously, and you feel like crying from how adorable this whole thing is.
"now, let us not take such drastic measures, darling. i believe this matter can be discussed, perhaps over some tea-"
"please please please let me pet your tail!"
your lover's cheeks flush pink, and you feel like the happiest deity in teyvat.
people of liyue have heard of many tales. stories about adeptus protecting liyue behind the city itself, of fearsome plains drenched in monster dust as they were struck down by their god, of the stone gate collapsing and effectively cutting off supply routes from the city of freedom - not that it has been used for quite some time now….
people of liyue have seen many things. terrifying disasters almost sinking their whole city into oblivion, their beloved archon appearing once more and taking charge against vicious monsters overrunning teyvat's landscapes, their own creator coming into liyue after continuous years of prayers and offerings…
but never in their life they would have thought the day would come when they see the god of contracts himself - known for hurling stone pillars that now stand as guyun stone forest, vanquishing countless gods in the archon wars, and sealing many divine beasts who have run rampant across the land - stroll about the city arm-in-arm with the divine creator, his draconic tail proudly in full display and gently swaying side to side as the two converses softly, eyes staring deeply into each other's akin to lovers who hadn't seen each other in eons.
they see it, and they think: yes, this tale too, shall be passed down to the younger generations.
© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!
◇ taglist ◇ @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @diebischesther | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ladylofspades | @sup-zfam | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @nachotrash | @algrimmammon | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @pvbbyb0y | @shipperxchaos
#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#rex lapis#morax#zhongli#zhongli x reader#universe abound#rin writes
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It’s ace week again and I want to start by saying I appreciate the constant and consistent rise of overt queer representation in media. I really, really do. This post is not about that, but I did want to start by recognizing that we are definitely seeing a positive trend of queer rep and I’m not begrudging anyone that.
On the other hand.
Why is it that Sex Education, a show lauded for its depictions of teenage sexualities of all kinds, only openly discusses asexuality in one Very Special Episode?
Why is it that Brooklyn Nine Nine, a show respected for its diversity, only mentioned asexuality once and it was clearly meant as an insult?
Why is it that Faking It, a show inclusive of many teen sexualities and groundbreaking in its inclusion of a main intersex character, only references asexuality in a single throwaway line meant as a “we’ve collected them all” joke?
Why is it that Heatstopper, a show that gently yet explicitly includes all sorts of different identities in its main teen characters, doesn’t have a single reference to asexuality? And if Isaac or Tori were meant to be included as ace rep, why weren't they identified as such the way the rest of the characters were?
Why is it that Jughead, a character known in the entire run of comics going back to 1941 as having two defining characteristics: a disintrest in girls/dating and an obsession with food and who was made explicitly asexual in a 2016 run, was not made asexual in Riverdale when the opportunity presented itself?
Why is it that when fandom was presented with Good Omens they chose to call it “not queer enough” when the option to see Aziraphale and Crowley as ace or aro was very obviously there?
Why is it that I’ve seen BoJack Horseman, a show that has earned every Emmy it has won, praised as groundbreaking for having main reoccurring character Todd Chavez’s asexuality be a part of several different storylines only ever from asexual sources?
I know why. Do you?
Happy Asexual Awareness Week.
Edit: I did address this in a reblog but since a lot of recent people seem to be finding this through the tags and this is happening with enough frequency I will add it here.
To all the helpful people in the notes telling me that a) Alice Oseman is aroace or b) that there are plans for explicit ace representation in season 2 of Heartstopper or c) that there are other publications within the Heartstopper universe that examines aspec characters...thank you. I know. That is actually most of the reason Heartstopper made it onto this list.
Because what that means is, a creator that *has* explicit aspec rep in other works, *has* explicit aspec rep in the main work that is the subject of the adaptation, and *is* aspec themselves made the choice to relegate explicit aspec rep to a second season that had not yet been secured at the time of writing season 1.
Setting aside that I know fuckall about what the adaptation/creative process was like or what TPTB were like during said process, from my perspective that fucking sucked. A lot.
Happy Asexual Awareness Week.
#rant#personal#tw aphobia#asexual awareness week#ace week#asexuality#a riley special#continuing my grand tradition of soapboxing during this week
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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 7: Keep Quiet, Nothing Comes As Easy As You]
A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading and loving this fic. 🥰 We are now officially halfway done with WTWICD, can you believe it?! I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. 💜
Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…
Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, the smallfolk having a bad time everywhere you look, Aemond being a menace, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), discussions of pregnancy/babies, dragons, murder, some new perspectives! 🥰
Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.
Chapter title is a lyric from: “Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner” by Fall Out Boy.
Word count: 6k.
Link to chapter list: HERE.
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In the Eyrie, Rhaena is praying for one of the three dragon eggs in her keeping to hatch. In the shadowy ruins of Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are bathing in rooms thick with steam, while outside by the lakeshore Baela brings plump goats to Moondancer. In King’s Landing, Rhaenyra’s Master of Coin Bartimos Celtigar is levying heavy taxes on the smallfolk: taxes on wine, taxes on ale, taxes on inn beds and shop goods, even taxes on the bittersweet parody of love purchased in brothels, taxes on every possible distraction from the ceaseless bloodletting that has infected the world like plague. In the North, Cregan Stark is following the Kingsroad towards Moat Cailin and imagining what you will say to him when you are rescued from the clutches of the Usurper: Oh my love, my champion, my savior, my lord. But south in the Reach, Daeron is flying.
Tessarion’s scales are a blue sheen like light on the ocean; the flapping of her wings is a deafening, roaring wind. She is nimble in the air, lethally quick, banking seamlessly when Daeron asks her to turn towards the Hogs Head, an inn from which torrents of men and women run shrieking. They do not run fast enough. Tessarion’s flames are an electrifying cobalt blue like lightning. Flesh melts away, bones are charred black, screams evaporate as lungs are singed, consumed, destroyed. Daeron’s own lungs work perfectly fine; he is cackling, almost loud enough to hear over the wings and inferno of his dragon. After the inn, Tessarion burns the sept, the marketplace, the castle that is the seat of the disloyal House Caswell. There is a stone bridge, after which the town is named, traversing the Mander River. People are fleeing across it. There are children on the bridge, but this does not stop Daeron. Maelor was a child when these traitors ripped him apart with their bare hands. Jaehaerys was a child, and so is Jaehaera, who may be alive in Storm’s End or may be dead but in any case has suffered the decimation of her family, her brothers and her mother and her grandsire. Daeron is burning Bitterbridge for the Greens, yes. But he is also doing it for himself. And in the wake of Tessarion’s fire, Lord Ormund Hightower’s forces pour into the rubble of the town to seize whatever treasures it has left.
In the Riverlands, Aemond and Vhagar are setting fields of wheat ablaze and incinerating cattle, pigs, sheep, forests that can no longer be used by the Blacks and their supporters for timber. In the Citadel, white ravens are being sent out to the great houses of Westeros to proclaim the end of summer. And on Dragonstone, the Beggar King heals.
He spars with guards that Larys found, is tended by maesters that Larys recruited from the turncoat houses of the Crownlands, rules over a microcosm kingdom that Larys built for him. Aegon tires quickly, sleeps often, aches and collapses and bleeds, gets sunburned when he is outside too long on those rare clear days. But he always rises again. “Perpetual Resurrection,” he says, grinning through the pain when you caution him to be patient, to be careful. “I’m not dying. I’m becoming brand new.”
You hunt for softshell crabs together on the rocky shoreline, fill a basket with them, bring them to the cooks to serve the skeleton crew of the castle for supper. You walk through the gardens, a pine-smelling woodland of towering coniferous trees, thorny rose bushes, blood-red cranberries, indelicate creatures that can thrive in the thin, inhospitable earth here. You study the books of the castle library—an impossibly vast, ancient collection, safeguarding texts from Old Valyria—while Aegon swims in the ocean with Sunfyre, laughing and diving as the dragon glides around him in large, lazy circles. Sunfyre can fly, but only a very short distance at a time; he is ungainly when he walks on land with his improperly-healed right wing. But in the water, he and Aegon are both unbroken again. Soon they will be ready for battle. Soon they will have to leave this island, this mist-and-smoke haven, to rejoin the war effort; soon they will have to leave you.
You crave Aegon like some people need wine, rum, gin, gold, power, violence, milk of the poppy. He is ecstasy, he is consolation, he is a spell. He is your home; and any place you’ve ever mistaken for home was only an echo of the truth that you would one day find him. Even on that very first night, as the storm raged outside, you whispered to Aegon when you both woke long before sunrise: “I want you again.”
“You’ll be sore,” he warned, a warm murmur against your forehead. “We can wait. I can wait.” But already his hands were moving, and your thighs were opening, and he followed your body and your words when they told him yes, now, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next day too.
You smile when Aegon calls you insatiable, but you know that’s not quite it.
You are acutely aware that nothing lasts forever, not even him, not even you.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Are the days getting shorter?” you ask, your bare feet ankle-deep in wet sand. Sunfyre is out in the waves eating dolphins; a slippery-looking grey tail hangs from his snaggletoothed jaw.
“I think you just want the nights to be longer.” Aegon winks up at you. His head is in your lap, his arms linked around your waist. You are weaving his little braid for him. His hair is just above shoulder-length and as choppy as ever. He periodically takes his dagger to it and hacks away haphazardly, determined to never look like Aemond, Daeron, Daemon, his father. He burrows into the softness of your belly and shuts his eyes. “Perhaps winter is coming.”
In more ways than one, you think bleakly, picturing Cregan Stark on the Kingsroad with snow in his long dark hair and dirt on his hands. “We should ask Lord Larys if he’s heard anything.” As the Citadel—and most of the rest of Westeros—believes Dragonstone to be unoccupied, they would not have sent a white raven here. But several times each week Larys receives visitors from Eagle Harbor, and they bring him rumors in exchange for gold coins and promises that when Aegon once again sits the Iron Throne, their faithfulness will be generously rewarded.
Aegon hums agreeably; he is dozing. After a moment he says: “I keep dreaming of her.”
“Who?”
“Helaena,” Aegon says, his voice lethargic and eyes still closed. “She brings me things. Butterflies, crabs, snakes. Things that are reborn. She puts them in my hands or in my bed and won’t take them away when I ask her to. She keeps telling me: Don’t fall, don’t fall.”
You finish Aegon’s braid and comb his unruly hair back with your fingers, soothing him, listening to him. You try not to think of the way Helaena died, crushed and hemorrhaging on golden sandstone. Instead, you picture her living: strange yet gentle, tragic but kind. You see her children as well, white-haired and beautiful and doted on not by their parents but by Alicent and Otto and you…and Aemond. You remember Aemond’s quiet resentment, his simmering and dangerous envy. You recall Aegon’s half-flippant accusation: You’re always developing attachments to things that are mine. Targaryens have wed brothers to sisters since long before the Conquest, but that doesn’t mean they always got the combination quite right. “Aegon, was Aemond…was he in love with Helaena? Did he desire her?”
“No. Not like that. He cared for her, but I don’t believe he had any lust for Helaena. He just thought he would have been a better husband to her than I was. That he would have caused her less misery. That he was more worthy of carrying on the bloodline, of being the children’s father. And he was right, of course.”
“What happened to Helaena is not your fault,” you say. “And neither is what happened to Jaehaerys or Maelor.”
“I’m glad Daeron burned them all,” Aegon says quietly, meaning the people of Bitterbridge, a tale ferried to Larys from one of his numerous, nameless informants.
“I know you are, Aegon.” You can’t bring yourself to agree with him. Does one dead child bring back another? Does each swatch of flesh burned away from a supporter of Rhaenyra replace one that was sheared off the bones of a Green? No, of course not, but the wheel goes around and around and around.
In the sky, another sort of wheel: a sun that burns cool and muted behind a thicket of iron-colored clouds. High above where you and Aegon are entwined on the beach, something crosses in front of the shrouded sun, casting an impossibly large shadow. You gasp; at the sound, Aegon bolts upright onto his palms and knees and follows your gaze. There is a profound, archaic rumbling, something old and intractable like thunder, earthquakes, floodwaters rising.
A dragon, you know immediately. You try frantically to determine whether you recognize its voice. Too large to be Tessarion or Syrax, too deep a roar to be Caraxes. Sheepstealer?? Vermithor?? But no, you have heard this beast before after all, it’s—
“Vhagar!” Aegon shouts, and scrambles to his feet. As the massive swamp-green dragon disappears behind the castle, soaring rather sluggishly, Aegon sprints as fast as he can up the stone steps towards the entranceway. You follow Aegon into Dragonstone and there the visitor meets you both, sailing down a staircase with eerie lightness, his boots hardly making a sound, his long silver hair secured in a single thick braid. Larys arrives as well and stands in the dreary, torchlit chamber, appearing as he always does: face servile and tactfully intrigued, hands laced together overtop the handle of his cane, back stooped as if to make himself smaller, less threatening, more invisible.
“I got to thinking you might be here,” Aemond tells Aegon. He sounds pleasantly surprised. “You look better.” Then he notices you. “Oh. Perhaps that accounts for some of it.”
“Where’s Criston?” Aegon asks. Meanderingly, so it is sufficiently subtle, he takes several steps until he has placed himself between you and Aemond.
“Somewhere near Saltpans.”
“You left him?” Aegon is incredulous, furious.
“Temporarily,” Aemond says. “It is not the first time. Between battles Vhagar and I raze the farms and villages of the Riverlands. Criston and his men are more than capable of fending for themselves. I’ll be back in a day.”
“You’re supposed to stay with Criston,” Aegon insists, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child who might have difficulty understanding. “You promised that you would. The war is on the battlefield, not on goddamn farms.”
“And what feeds Rhaenyra’s forces? Is it not grain and cattle? And so if I destroy their food supply—while our own soldiers are still receiving regular shipments from the Westerlands and the Reach—am I not inflicting catastrophic damage to the Blacks?”
“You’re burning…civilian property?” you say to Aemond. “You’re killing women and children and old people? You’re laying waste their homesteads?”
“It’s total war.” Aemond stares at you defiantly; there is no suggestion of self-doubt in his face. “It is a well-documented strategy employed across continents and centuries. We kill soldiers on the battlefield. We endanger their families back home. Many men will desert to return to their imperiled wives and children. Others will starve. All are broken. All are rendered ineffectual to our enemy’s cause. And thus we will triumph.”
You and Aegon gape at him, not knowing what to say, not knowing what is right or wrong in a world where children are slaughtered and grown men murder with impunity. When will this war be over? How can we end it? Will any of our souls survive the choices we’ve made with our backs to the wall?
“My prince, you chose an excellent time to pay us a visit,” Larys offers diplomatically. “I have just received news that may be of interest to you. And you can bring it back to Sir Criston and his men when you return to the Riverlands tomorrow.”
“What news?” Aegon asks.
“Wait,” Aemond says; and he smiles, dark and hungry like a wolf, like a dragon. “I want to see the place where my ancestors made their war plans. I want to sit in Rhaenyra’s chair.”
On the top floor of the Stone Drum, the main keep of Dragonstone that booms and growls during storms, servants light the candles beneath the Painted Table and bring wine, ale, bread, cheese, honeycomb, jam, candied walnuts, red cherries and violet grapes. The map of Westeros, older than the Conquest, is striped with snakes of fiery luminance like lava. Aegon twists the gold dragon ring on his finger, its jade eyes sparkling. You gave it back to him the day after you arrived on Dragonstone; he says that when he wins the war, he will have a matching piece made for you, but with a crab in place of a dragon.
Larys cautions before he begins: “I cannot tell you the perfect truth. I can only tell you what I’ve heard from the whispers that make their way to me.”
“And what have you heard?” Aemond says. Aegon glances petulantly at him, as if debating whether to remind his brother that a prince regent is not quite a king.
“The Dragonseeds known as Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White—and with them, Vermithor and Silverwing—have officially declared for the Greens.”
“Yes!” Aegon beams and raises his wine cup. He refuses milk of the poppy, even on his worst days; he does not want to be senseless, he does not want to leave you unprotected. But he drinks red wine often and grows ill if he is without it for long. Aemond is laughing victoriously. The brothers are momentarily united.
“There was a battle at Tumbleton in the Reach,” Larys continues. “Lord Ormund Hightower was slain by Roddy the Ruin who, allegedly, managed the feat after one of his arms was severed clean from his body. These Northmen are formidable beasts, to be sure.”
Aegon looks at you, a fleeting, fearful look.
“The people of Tumbleton believed the battle to be over, but then Vermithor and Silverwing joined Tessarion in torching the city. All the Blacks’ commanders were killed, along with most of their soldiers. And the city was sacked. There are reports of looting and…well, all manner of indecencies being committed against the civilians of Tumbleton, mostly women and children. Even septas and silent sisters.”
Now an awkward silence settles over the Painted Table. Ruin, heartbreak, agony, death; but somebody else’s. It could have been yours instead. Perhaps tomorrow it will be. Perhaps there is no end to suffering, only a reallocation of it to people who you do not know, do not love. Perhaps the debt can never be satisfied but only passed to another.
Larys goes on: “The people of King’s Landing are petrified that the Greens and their dragons will descend upon them and subject the capital to the same atrocities that Tumbleton experienced. Rhaenyra had to order the gold cloaks to seal the city gates to keep her supposedly loyal subjects inside.”
“The smallfolk’s support for her continues to weaken?” Aemond says.
“It does more than weaken. Many people there detest her. Bartimos Celtigar has imposed heavy taxes upon the city. The smallfolk fear that Daemon has abandoned Rhaenyra, and therefore that they cannot expect protection from Caraxes and Sheepstealer. And…” Larys peers around the Painted Table apologetically.
“…And?” Aegon presses.
“Rhaenyra’s youngest son…Viserys…” Larys sighs, an anemic, perfunctory breed of sympathy. “He is dead. Of illness, it seems. The luckless lad.”
“He was always sickly,” you say, remembering his unwaveringly watery eyes and dripping nose. And you almost say Poor Rhaenyra, but then you remember how the Blacks celebrated Maelor’s death with cheers and rare, bloody boar meat.
“Yes,” Larys concurs. “That is what the people believe, that he perished due to natural causes.”
Aemond is watching the Master of Whisperers closely. “What does Rhaenyra think caused it?”
“She suspects poison,” Larys tells him. “She is convinced of poison, I should say. She raved and she threatened and she spewed accusations. She executed a dozen people, none of whom could be connected to the death of the boy with any certainty. The smallfolk feel she has gone mad. And there is one more crime the people have branded her with.” Larys turns to you.
Your heard pounds wildly, hot blood thuds in your ears. “Has something happened to Everett—?”
“Not him. The Celtigars themselves are safe from her wrath. Bartimos is too near to the throne, and Rhaenyra trusts him. But the servant girl—Autumn, you called her—she went into labor a month early and was delivered of a boy.” Now Larys’ eyes flick to Aegon, whose face goes pale and panicked. “A boy with blue eyes and silver hair.”
Aemond rocks back in his chair and shakes his head.
“Oh,” Aegon moans. “Oh.” He clutches his chest with one hand and looks to you. He says weakly: “I’m so sorry, Angel. It didn’t mean anything. The child…it…it will never really be mine—”
“It won’t be anyone’s,” Larys says. “Rhaenyra had him run through with a sword.”
“What?!” Aemond exclaims. “A baby? An infant? In her own castle, in the Red Keep?”
You are horrified. “Did Autumn witness this?”
“I’m not certain, my lady,” Larys replies. “What I have heard is that Rhaenyra proclaimed it vengeance for agents of the Greens murdering her youngest son. She declared all bastards of the Usurper to be enemies of the realm and thus sentenced to death. She has offered rewards for anyone who brings a white-haired child to her for execution. And the smallfolk are absolutely, viciously appalled by her. The Street of Silk in particular is rife with people plotting the so-called queen’s downfall. She is surrounded by enemies. And she has only two male heirs left.”
“Two more than Aegon,” Aemond mutters.
“Is Autumn alright?” you ask Larys. “Did Rhaenyra harm her?”
“Your brother Everett attempted to advocate for Autumn and the child. He was ignored; your father and eldest brother were vehemently in support of the murder. Shortly after the baby was killed, Autumn disappeared from King’s Landing. I’m sure Everett facilitated this escape. No one knows her present whereabouts.”
“She’s just gone? No signs whatsoever?”
“Nobody ever knows anything.” Aemond waves at Aegon. “They think he’s in Dorne.”
“Seven hells,” Aegon whispers, rubbing his face with his hands.
“Rhaenyra is destroying herself,” you say. “She is doing the work for us. If you try to take King’s Landing with dragonfire raining down on Green supporters who are effectively held captive, there will be ill-will against you in the capital that will last for generations. But if they overthrow Rhaenyra on their own, you can reclaim the city bloodlessly.”
Larys taps his fingers meditatively against the Painted Table. “I do wonder if Daemon would intervene to support her. His present motivations are…somewhat nebulous. To Blacks and Greens alike. But he controls their most powerful assets.”
“You haven’t crossed paths with Caraxes and Sheepstealer in Riverlands, I assume?” Aegon asks Aemond.
“No. We are locked in a dance of sorts. I’m not certain that Vhagar can win against two dragons of that size; they must know that it is almost certain that at least one of them would be killed in the struggle even if they defeated me. This Nettles girl’s dragon riding skills are unclear. Perhaps Daemon is training her, perhaps he is now sufficiently attached that he does not want her in combat. So we avoid each other. But when the girl is gone—when Daemon tires of her, or when Rhaenyra sends assassins to murder her, or when she is removed from the board by some other means—I will meet Daemon in battle and end him.”
“Your priority is protecting Criston,” Aegon orders; but there is trepidation in his large, ocean-blue eyes, there is defenseless worry there. “Wherever Criston goes, you go with him. I’ll be ready to fight again soon. I’ll be able to help you.”
“Daemon is mine. I want to face him alone.”
“I am the king!” Aegon thunders, and you can see the strength leaving him like birds taking flight from cold, bare winter trees. “You will not behave recklessly. You will not abandon Criston. We are winning in the Reach, and we are winning in King’s Landing without even being there, and we will win in the Riverlands too if you don’t sabotage us with your relentless fucking pride.”
You and Larys study Aemond. He examines the flame-colored light of the Painted Table, tracing the etchings of rivers and mountains with his fingertips. “Fine,” he concedes, very quietly.
“And one more thing,” Aegon tells his brother.
With great reluctance, Aemond meets his gaze. “Yes?”
“If you have the opportunity to burn Cregan Stark, take it.”
~~~~~~~~~~
When Aegon collapses into the bed you share, you curl up against his scarred chest, listen to his heartbeat, breathe in heat and rose oil and the salt of the ocean. He does not ask you what is wrong. He does not speak of Autumn or her child, his child, no matter how indifferent or remorseful he might have been. He holds you knowing that there is nothing he can say to make the world whole again. He can only rest until he is well enough to fly into battle, where he might be further maimed or taken captive or murdered. And what then? What was this all for?
“Somewhere there are people just living,” you marvel. “They’re reading books, they’re having supper, they’re getting married, they’re tending to their crops and their animals. And none of them are thinking about war or massacres or dragonfire.”
“Yes,” Aegon says simply, pulling you in closer, one palm pressed to the small of your back and the other brushing your hair away from your face so he can kiss you, soft and slow. “But they’re not us.”
When Aegon is on the edge of sleep, you tell him that you love him, as you do each day. He has not heard it enough in his life; you are trying to remedy that now. And as always, Aegon does not say it back. Instead, he murmurs something in High Valyrian that you cannot understand. Now you commit it to memory, repeating it silently to yourself again and again until Aegon is sleeping deeply and you can rise from the bed without disturbing him. You go to your writing desk and scribble it down on a small piece of parchment: the way this word sounds in the letters of the Common Tongue. You have no way to translate it. There are books written in High Valyrian in the castle library, but you do not know the alphabet of the language, and you have yet to find a text that can teach it to you. When you ask Aegon for lessons, he demurs and says that he doesn’t know High Valyrian well enough to teach you. You think he just wants a way to say things you won’t be able to comprehend. You squirrel the parchment away in the pocket of your gown and slip out of the bedchamber you share with Aegon.
It is far too early for your mind to stop racing, only sunset. You wander down halls of shifting shadows and iron dragons, fantastically high ceilings and narrow slits of windows. Questions fill your skull like rushing blood in the chambers of a heart: Where is Autumn? Is she alright? Is she safe? Is Everett, is Jaehaera, is Alicent? Are Criston and Daeron? Are any of us?
When you cross through the doorway and onto a balcony that overlooks the ocean, Aemond is to your left. He is nursing a cup of wine and leaning over the stone wall that separates you from a long, treacherous fall onto black rocks that jut out of the sea like the hilts of daggers from a corpse’s back. You whirl away from him and towards the craggy staircase that leads down to the beach.
“Now you’re going to pretend you didn’t see me?” Aemond calls out.
You halt mid-step, consider it, then return to him. “You’re just so undistinguished in appearance. So easy to miss.”
He gives you one of his enigmatic, teasing smirks. His hair blows in the breeze that tastes like salt and sulfur and mist. He wears a dark, lush green. Then he peers avoidantly down into his wine. “I…I don’t think I ever adequately apologized for what transpired regarding the brothel. The Pink Pearl.”
“You didn’t.”
“It is a place…” Aemond pauses. He chooses his words cautiously, like handling something that could easily break, a glass goblet, an egg, a butterfly in an open palm. “It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. I made assumptions about where your loyalties lied. I felt that you had hurt me, that you had caused me to suffer. And I wanted you to suffer in return.”
“It was a horrific thing to do,” you say pitilessly. “It was cruel. It was evil.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that now. That’s why I’m apologizing.”
“Then do it properly.”
“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. It takes some effort. “I was wrong.”
“You were.”
“And I’m glad Aegon was able to haul himself out of bed to rescue you. It’s not often that he gets to be the noble brother, the gallant one.”
“It happens more often than you’d think.”
Aemond raises his eyebrow. Beneath his eyepatch, you know, is a winter-cold sapphire in a bed of mangled flesh, a treasure steeped in corruption. “How long have you been here?”
“Two months.” No, more than that. “Two and a half, or thereabouts.”
“And I assume there has been no shortage of…horizontal activities with my brother.”
“Not exclusively horizontal,” you snap, to make him regret being so forward, to make him uncomfortable. “We are more inventive than that.”
It works; Aemond flushes a gory mottled pink. Still he manages: “And you have not yet conceived?”
You glare at him, ice and fire at once. “No.”
“Why do you think that is?”
You shrug, exasperated, dismissive. “Aegon has been through so much physical trauma, perhaps he is no longer capable of having children. Perhaps I never was. Perhaps it will happen in a month or six months or a year. Perhaps it is not meant for us. Only the gods know.”
“You aren’t at all concerned?”
In truth, no; you are so consumed by whether Aegon will survive the war with any vestige of humanity intact that anything beyond this seems hopelessly distant, a constellation, a shadow on the moon, the silvery gleam of a comet. “It’s not something I spend much time thinking about.”
“It should be,” Aemond insists. “If the Greens expect men to go to war for us, for women to give up their husbands and sons to us, we should have a stable succession to offer them in return. Jaehaerys and Maelor are gone. Jaehaera is a girl and cannot inherit even if she is alive and well in Storm’s End. Aegon needs an heir.”
“Aren’t you next in line for the throne, Aemond?” you say cuttingly. “And isn’t that the role you believe yourself best suited for? Being king? Proving how worthy you were all along?”
He is uneasy, perhaps ashamed, evading your eyes. “Regrettably, I cannot begin trying for my own sons until the war is over and I marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter, as I pledged to in return for his support for our side. Daeron will not be able to marry for several years. In the meantime, there is this…disquieting lack of certainty. To complicate matters, Aegon has bastards in King’s Landing, I’m sure. The red-haired girl was far from the first whore to lie with him. If he does not have a trueborn son, claimants will appear to challenge mine or Daeron’s for the throne.”
You search yourself—unspoken longing and ancient cobwebbed fears—for any desire for a child of your own. You cannot find it. You are fond of children, you find fulfillment in caring for them, but the need to carry and deliver one yourself? It is not something you can remember ever yearning for. It always felt like yet another way in which your body would be used to further some man’s legacy, to give him pleasure at your expense. “Can you tell me what this means?” you ask, handing Aemond the folded piece of parchment that you’d tucked into the pocket of your gown. He takes it with one long, lithe hand. “I’ve probably spelled it wrong. I’ve never seen it written, only heard it spoken aloud.”
Aemond opens the parchment. His river-blue eye narrows; thoughtful creases appear in his brow. “Aegon has said this? To you?”
“More than once.”
“What prompted it?”
“Does your translation depend upon the context?”
“Hm.” Aemond skates his thumbprint over the dried black ink. Then he looks at you. “It means: To your misfortune.”
The alarm must show on your face.
“Not like a threat,” Aemond clarifies. “It is a common expression. It suggests that someone has entrusted something of value to the undeserving. It implies naivety. Unwise benevolence. But it is certainly not malicious. It is usually said fondly, like a backhanded compliment.” He returns the parchment to you. You rip it over and over again until it is only scraps that vanish in the wind, Aegon’s voice speaking to you: I ruin causes. I ruin people.
“Why did you kill Luke?” you ask Aemond, not accusingly but with hushed, weary wonder. “There was very little strategic advantage in it. There was great peril as a result. Rhaenyra will never surrender, never negotiate. You will forever be known as a kinslayer. You could have taken him captive. You could have humiliated him, you could have shown the world how weak he was. Why did you have to kill him?”
Aemond says nothing for a long time. He stares out over the ocean where the sun is setting, dolphin fins cut in swift arcs through the surf, Sunfyre dozes on wet sand, the sky glows dream-lavender and blood orange. He sips his wine and contemplates things that are mysteries to you. Aemond keeps his thoughts like untrustworthy animals: in cages, in darkness, turning fierce and feral, snapping jaws and rattling chains. At last he says: “They’re all dead anyway. They were from the moment Aegon was born and my father refused to name him the heir. It’s all of them or all of us. You think there is any scenario in which Aegon reigns as king while Rhaenyra’s children survive? No, no. Someone will always be willing to fight and die for them. Just like Green loyalists would have been willing to fight for Jaehaerys and Maelor.” Something shifts in his face like the breaking of a wave, and for a second you can glimpse the deep well of dark, helpless misery inside him, filling up drop by drop since he was a boy. Then Aemond is steely again. “Luke had to die. So did Jace and Rhaenys and that eternally sniffling toddler Viserys. And all the other Blacks will follow. Unless you care to see Aegon’s blood spilled. And mine, and Daeron’s.”
“No,” you say softly, an agonized little whisper that understands, that surrenders. “No, that cannot happen.”
Aemond takes another swallow of his wine and drums his fingertips restlessly against the cup. “Any heir our side puts forth must have undisputed parentage and Valyrian features. Aegon’s wife is dead. He can marry you. You are a Celtigar, you share our blood, you carry the memories of silver hair and rare magic in the marrow of your bones. These attributes are dormant in you, yet could be passed on to a child. A son of yours could secure the succession and one day inherit the Iron Throne. But the father has to be a Targaryen.”
You turn to Aemond, perplexed and wary. His wording is strange. “Well, it has to be Aegon.”
Aemond is impatient, irritated. You have not been keeping up. He says, his eye on the darkening horizon: “There are other Targaryens.”
You stare at him. You don’t understand, you don’t understand, and then suddenly you do. “What?”
This is not the reaction Aemond had hoped for. He gulps down the last of his wine, leaves the cup on the stone wall, storms down the staircase to reunite with Vhagar and resume burning the noncombatants of the Riverlands to ash.
~~~~~~~~~~
He finds her at the shore of the Gods Eye, rippling blue like a vast mirror. The Isle of Faces—forbidden, undiscoverable—is a faint mirage in the distance. Moondancer is circling overhead. Baela is perched on a large rock by the water’s edge and fishing; she is intrigued by tales of the strange creatures that dwell here, the hungry currents, the way this corner of the world has only a translucent, threadbare veil between our world and the realm of spirits, ghosts, demons. She has always been curious and bold by nature. She has always been his most beloved child.
“You found your way out of Nettles’ bed,” Baela pitches, a jest but not a judgment. She is already developing an appetite of her own that renders monogamy woefully lacking. She mourns Jace, but not the woman she would have had to pretend to be for him. “I’m shocked.”
Daemon smirks, tilting his head to the side like a wolf does as it’s listening. “You know how sheets have a way of getting tangled. Around ankles, around wrists…sometimes it is difficult to free oneself.”
“You were fighting hard, I’m sure.”
“Yes, all morning.”
Baela chuckles, reels in her fishing line, recasts it. She cares deeply for Rhaenyra and is loyal to her still, but Baela shares her father’s pathological aversion to weakness. She feels that Rhaenyra has driven Daemon away with her moodiness, her melancholy, her unmooring from the fearless, ardent woman she once was. Daemon says that being with Nettles is like being with a young Rhaenyra again. It would not be just to condemn him for seeking out what Rhaenyra took from him and has no intention of returning.
Daemon says: “I want you to go to Dragonstone.”
Baela is aghast, betrayed. “You are getting rid of me?”
“I am entrusting you with a vital enterprise.”
Now she is intrigued. Now she is considering it.
“Moondancer is too small to fight Vhagar, Tessarion, Vermithor, or Silverwing,” Daemon says. “If Caraxes and Sheepstealer meet Vhagar in battle, you cannot go with us. Nor should we leave you here unprotected. And I know you have been impatient for an opportunity to play a more…consequential role in the war.”
“I long to be useful,” Baela agrees. “More than anything.”
“Go to Dragonstone,” Daemon says. “It is vacant, it is safe. But it must remain under the Blacks’ control. Patrol it and ensure the Greens do not try to take the island and find riders for Grey Ghost or the Cannibal. Rhaenyra will return to Dragonstone if she is ever forced out of King’s Landing. I have tasked you with making it ready for her.”
“And I have permission to execute any traitors who might appear there?”
“Yes. You may swing the sword yourself. Or feed them to Moondancer, whichever you prefer.”
Baela smiles, a slow, toothy grin that spreads across her face like plague, like fire. “When can I leave?”
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon ii#aegon targaryen ii#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon ii x y/n#aegon ii x you#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii x reader
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@steddiemas Day 4 Prompt: Questionable Holiday Movies
Like many, I chose Gremlins.
Tags: Post Season 4, Everyone Lives, Movie Nights At The Harrington's House, Established Relationship
wc: 1225 | Rating: T
Read on ao3 | ao3 collection
When Eddie pulls up at the Harrington house he’s come to frequent in recent months, the driveway is full of bikes. Those damn little shits, Eddie thinks, shaking his head as he parks the van on the curb in front of Steve’s house. The curb where said bikes should be instead of taking up prime parking real-estate for actual cars. He’s going to get ahold of one of his damn sheep and scold them for their carelessness. It’s one thing to leave them littering the lawn, but the driveway? Have some decency!
Moseying his way to the front door, Eddie makes it all of a few steps onto the bike cluttered driveway before he hears familiar voices shouting at each other. All the blood drains from his body in an instant. Mind raising through a hundred and one ways that something might be wrong.
He was a pessimist before, but his brief stint with the Upside Down has really taken a toll.
Double-timing it, Eddie bursts through the front door and down the hallway into the Harrington’s open living room. Thankfully, he doesn’t find any signs of blood, floating bodies, or otherwise distressed children. Instead, his eyes land on Dustin and Steve who are glaring at each other by the television set.
“You’re uncultured!” Dustin shouts.
“Shut up, Henderson,” Steve snaps, hands on his hips. “I am not uncultured. You’re uncultured!”
Dustin gasps, more offended than he should be. He takes a step closer to Steve, puffing out his chest to make himself look bigger. “You take that back.”
“No.”
As the heated argument morphs into a silent stare-down, Eddie takes a moment to assess the rest of the room. Robin, Max, and El are on the sofa, leisurely enjoying a bowl of popcorn. The rest of his Sheep are scattered around, attention focused on the mountain of Family Video rental tapes on the coffee table.
“What the hell did I walk into?” Eddie asks when he realizes no one is going to fill him in.
“Dingus and Dingus Jr. are arguing,” Robin supplies.
“S’nothing new,” Max agrees.
“We are not arguing,” Steve grumbles.
“That I can agree on,” Dustin says, nodding his head. “I am having a discussion with Steve and his lack of taste in Christmas movies.”
“First of all, Henderson, taste is subjective or whatever,” Steve says, hand abandoning his hips for a moment to flounder through the air. “Secondly, it’s not a discussion if you spend the entire time yelling at me for something you’re wrong about.”
“I’m not wrong! Dammit!”
There’s a part of Eddie that wants to see how this plays out. He’s no stranger to the epic Steve vs Dustin arguments conversations. There’s still a stain on the carpet in his own bedroom after an innocent debate over the best ice cream float combinations turned ugly. On the other hand, Eddie’s had a long day of getting yelled at my stupid customers, he could use some quiet.
“Gentleman,” Eddie says, clapping his hands. He moves between the two scowling men — well, man and teenager. Though, maybe Steve doesn’t deserve to be called a man right now either considering he’s arguing with Dustin in the first place. Whatever. He’s standing between them is all that matters. “What seems to be the issue today?”
“Why do you make it sound like we always have issues?” Steve asks at the same time Dustin snatches a VHS tape from the floor and practically shouts, “Steve says Gremlins isn’t a Christmas movie.”
“Because it’s not!”
“It takes place on Christmas Eve!”
“That doesn’t make it a Christmas movie!”
“Are you even listening to yourself, Steve? Of course that makes it a Christmas movie!”
“No, it doesn’t! It has nothing to do with Christmas!”
Eddie’s sandwiched between the two of them now, ears ringing from the volume their voices have reached. No one else seems to be interested in refereeing this particular argument and Eddie can’t really blame them. Maybe he should have let them hash it out themselves. Too late now.
“Alright, alright,” he sighs, nudging them both backward with his outstretched hands. “Valid points have been made on both sides.”
Eddie playing mediator does nothing to pull the scowls off Steve and Dustin’s faces. If anything, he thinks they might have deepened. He’s in too deep to stop now though, so he powers on.
“But unfortunately one of you is correct,” he says, clasping his hands together under his chin. He rocks on his feet, head swaying from side to side as he offers both Steve and Dustin apologetic gazes. “Stevie, sweetheart, I’m afraid Dustin is right on this one.”
“Ha!” Dustin shouts, throwing his hands up in victory. “I told you!”
Steve scoffs. “You’re a shithead, Henderson.”
“A shithead who is right!”
“You know what,” Steve says, trailing off.
Eddie catches the mischievous glint in his eyes. The same one he used to sport down the halls of Hawkins High with Carol and Tommy as they bitched about everything and anything. Eddie was never on the opposite end of Steve’s bitchy attitude, not important enough back then, but he certainly witnessed it more times than he can count.
Eddie’s willing to bet Steve gearing up for something that’s going to make Henderson retract his victory. Sure enough, he slinks up close to him and slings an arm around Eddie’s waist.
“Hey, baby,” Steve says, voice dripping in sweetness.
This isn’t going to be good for Eddie.
Steve's hand trails into Eddie’s back pocket and gives his boney ass a light tap before retreating.
“If you want more of this,” Steve says, slipping his hand into Eddie’s back pocket. He lets his hand hover there for a moment before he gives Eddie’s boney ass three lighthearted, teasing taps. “I suggest you join my side of this little discussion.”
A loud gasp escapes Eddie as Steve squeezes his ass cheek before withdrawing his hand completely. Glancing over, Eddie finds Steve staring at him with that same glint in his eyes and a cocky smirk on his face.
“No,” Dustin shouts, shaking his head. “No! That’s not fair. It’s illegal!”
“Sorry, Henderson,” Eddie says, genuinely apologetic in tone. He does think Gremlins is a Christmas movie, but the threat of not having Steve’s hands on him ever again? Well, that’s not worth defending Gizmo and the rest of those evil bastards. “I’ve had a change of thought. I don’t think it is a Christmas movie.”
“God dammit!” Dustin swears, stomping his foot. “See, this is why I didn’t want you two dating! You’re ruining my life!”
“Oh, quit being dramatic, Dustin,” Lucas says, rolling his eyes. “Let’s just pick something else.”
“Yeah! It’s just a movie, dude,” Mike chimes all.
“Screw all of you!”
As the room resumes its chaos in a different form — the boys arguing over what else they can watch seeing as Gremlins is out of the question. Eddie finds himself being ushered over to the recliner, where he’s promptly pulled into Steve’s lap.
“You know Henderson is right about that movie?” Eddie whispers, nuzzling into Steve’s chest.
Steve hums, closing his eyes for a moment as Eddie places a featherlight kiss to the two moles dotting his neck. “Don’t tell him, but I’ve actually never seen it.”
Eddie pulls away swiftly, nearly sending himself toppling off Steve’s lap. Thankfully, Steve’s reflexes are fast and he steadies Eddie with a firm around his torso. “You’re evil, Harrington,” he quietly chuckles, shaking his head.
“Gotta keep his ego in check somehow.”
#steddiemas#steddie#steddie ficlet#steddie fic#steddie fan fic#steddie fluff#steve harington#steve harrington fic#steve harrington ficlet#eddie munson#eddie munson ficlet#eddie munson fic#dustin henderson#stranger things#stranger things fic#dani writes
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i was a trans man until after a lot of build up of doubting myself, i finally realized that we are putting ourselves further into boxes by not accepting that we are the biological sex that we are and we can do WHATEVER we want at the same time.
clothes and makeup and certain interests do not equal gender.
and not liking being a woman is an unfortunately natural symptom of puberty and/or experiencing society’s deeply ingrained misogyny. and everyone deserves support for those problems.
but we can all fight together against gender social constructs in a healthy way without prescribing people hormones and invasive cosmetic surgery to make them more like the sex they “should” be according to… social constructs…. and help them be comfortable in who they are
Alright. Its been like 9 fucking months that I have been staring down this ask. What better time than to give TERFs some nuance than right in the middle of a fucking hate campaign going on where people (well... singular person probably) are calling me a TERF. This wont backfire.
This post arrived in my inbox shortly after I made another post about gender, and just how fucking weird it can be, and how I genuinely believed every single person on this planet has a fascinating relationship with gender, and so much nuance and personal identity in theirs. Even cis people. Even TERFs. In the tags, I even begrudgingly encouraged TERFs to talk about their gender on that post if they wanted. I genuinely think that TERFs do have really cool relationships with gender. As I mentioned in those tags, the quickest way to explode a group of TERFs is to get them to start talking about their own relationships with gender, and see how vastly different it is, and watching them stab each other in the back over it. So I told them to ramble away about how they view gender, as long as they stayed the fuck away from the rest of the blog WHICH THIS ANON CLEARLY FUCKING IGNORED.
But... this anon does bring up another topic I want to talk about.
Detransition.
Read More
I am a huge supporter of detransitioning. This is... surprisingly... not a very common stance in the trans community, and it breaks my fucking heart. Like, I get it. I understand why. A LOT of detransitioners, like the person in this ask, end up weaponizing their feelings of gender against other trans people.
My support of transition comes from the intersection of two very central beliefs of mine:
Everyone should explore their gender without feeling a need to commit! This is a pretty common belief in the trans community! Damn near universal in fact! We even have a fun little term we use for people who decide to play around with gender, only to end up a bit closer to where they started and being perfectly happy with that: Cis+. Someone who is cis, but at least put in the work to understand the trans experience, and actually CHOOSE to remain Cis instead of just defaulting to it with societal pressure. Many trans people are much more comfortable around 'Cis+' people, because they know these are people who have taken the time and put in the work of being an ally. Self examination isn't easy, especially not publicly, and doing so is genuinely one of the strongest ways a Cis person could ever show their support.
It is never too late to transition. This is also a pretty common belief in the trans community! It is... sadly not quite as universal though. But it is something very important that needs to be said. You could be 80 years old, sitting in a retirement home, and go "You know what? I think I'd rather wear a dress and be treated like a lady. I don't want to be buried as a man." And I think every single trans person should have that freedom!
I was discussing this with @thydungeongal the other day, far more paraphrased than this post, and she said something incredible that has been knocking around in my head ever since.
"Gender is an ongoing process"
Those five words they said to me sum up my feelings far more than this entire post could. Gender IS an ongoing process. My gender has changed SO MUCH over the past three decades. From the straightjacket of assigned gender that I was once forced into; to the very stylish and still lovable finely tailored suit of femininity that grew a little too stuffy to wear constantly, even though I do still enjoy it and try it on from time to time; to the wonderful and freeing losely fitting clothing of being aegogender, finally feeling free to be myself and just act naturally and feel natural without having to keep up an appearance!
And I think, there is no length of time you can try out being trans, and trying out new genders, before eventually coming to the realization you were cis all along. Even if you started HRT. Even if you got SRS. Heck, I don't even think you should have to call yourself trans to do either of those things in the first place, why would I be upset that someone did them and then realized they weren't trans? No single moment in your life should EVER lock your gender in place into some unchanging, set in stone thing.
So I support detransitioners completely, with my entire heart. They deserve just as much support as every other 'Cis+' person out there.
So anon, while many people may hate you and lash out at you for detransitioning, I want you to know, that I am not one of them. It sounds like your detransition might have been forced by peer pressure, which is heart breaking to hear. No one should ever force their own gender expectations on another. I hope that wasn't the case. I hope you came to the decision yourself, after realizing whats right for you. I will never give you hate for your detransition.
I WILL ABSOLUTELY GIVE YOU HATE FOR BEING A FUCKING TERF THOUGH. YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE WITH GENDER DOES NOT GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO POLICE THE GENDER OF OTHERS, FUCK OFF. GET THE FUCK OFF MY BLOG, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!
#I think I'm gonna start doing that for Read Mores#so you can find your place easier after click it#since my 'style' in these long posts is like... a fairly longish NON-readmore post. followed by the actual readmore. Let me know if it work#text essay#gender#detransition#I uh... also have some more... complex feelings of detransitioning#that may be a LIIIIIIITTLE more controversial.........#none of it goes against what i said here#its more personal stuff with my own gender and how detransition specifically is something that exists not as gender itself#but as the societal perceptions of a persons gender#but thats a more complex topic that I'll add on to this at another date#also I am absolutely taking this ask at face value for the sake of this post#but I am not so naive as to believe that the blatant TERF that sent it was being genuine#this is ABSOLUTELY the kind of thing they send people to drive a wedge in the community#I'm not even going to fucking dignify that part of it with any mention in the body of this post#edit: ........... okay the readmore accidentally moved somehow#I fixed it now though
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