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dyaz-stories · 2 months

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you know my tongue is a weapon || gojo satoru x reader

synopsis: Shoko suggests a study night, but Gojo's bored and he doesn't want to study. So, instead, he offers to play a game, when all the others have left to get some food: every time he gets an answer right, he gets a kiss.

As you soon find out, Gojo can be very good at studying, as long as he gets something out of it.

word count: 3.8k

genre: college!AU, mostly fluff i think

cw: kissing, making out, semi-public kissing, unresolved sexual tension, reader is insecure and is therefore an unreliable narrator, dry humping ig, fem reader (the word girl is used once)

a/n: first time writing for jujutsu and for gojo! any feedback is appreciated, and i hope you enjoy yourselves :)

soundtrack

prequel

Exam season is never a fun time to be on campus. Stress fills the air, the hallways, the always full libraries, even the coffee shops where people usually meet to relax between two classes. It’s the only conversation subject between sleep-deprived students, looming over their head threateningly at any time of the day and night. It’s stifling, a weight on their chest that never quite wears off.

As for you, well, you’re doing alright.

Oh, for sure, it’s a lot of work, and you’re not thrilled about it by any stretch of the imagination, but academia is your thing, so you don’t find it nearly as crushing as others do. You’re more terrified of the time period that comes afterwards, while you’re waiting for the results like Judgement day.

In the meantime, you’ve given up on trying to find a spot to study in the library, and you’ve been doing most of it in your small student room. You haven’t stepped outside in days when Shoko texts you to suggest a study night. You suspect that she hasn’t started working and intends to cram, but you take her up on the offer nonetheless.

You show up at her place right on time — you always are — with your notes and some snacks. You wait quietly after knocking, trying to make sense of the chatter you hear on the other side of the door. She had mentioned she would ask a few other people if they wanted to join, which you had assumed would be fine, but faced with the reality of it now you can feel a lump growing in your throat. Academia might be easy for you, but people… aren’t.

When the door opens to reveal Gojo Satoru, piercing blue eyes meeting yours through white locks of hair that he pushes out of his face a second later, you fully consider turning around and leaving.

“You made it,” he says, shooting you a wide grin.

“Hi,” you squeak in reply.

Gojo is a… friend. Ish. Kinda. You think. Well, he’s a friend of Shoko’s, anyway, so the two of you have hung out, socially, before. Up until last summer, you assumed he didn’t even know your name.

“Thank God you’re here,” Shoko says, appearing from behind him to grab your hand. “No one here wants to work. We need to whip these imbeciles into shape or something.”

“I’m working,” Nanami sighs from the table in the living room, where he’s sitting alone.

“I was just waiting for everyone to be here, Shoko,” Geto says, his voice soft and even, as he approaches the table.

You set your bag down, giving Nanami an sympathetic smile, and he pushes his glasses higher on his nose. When he nods at you, you’re pretty sure it’s a silent way of saying ‘thank you for not leaving me alone with them’.

“What are you guys starting with?” you ask, pulling some books out of your bag.

Everyone here has different majors, but with some classes in common. You’re not sure how efficient this enterprise is going to be, if you’re completely honest, but as Gojo lets himself fall on a chair with a dramatic sigh, you suppose it can’t be worse than if he was left to his own devices.

“I’m doing literature, algebra and physics tonight!” Haibara announces, perhaps a tad too enthusiastic. You don’t want to crush his hopes and dreams, but—

“You’re never going to get through all that in one night,” Nanami says with a frown.

“Don’t listen to him”, Gojo intervenes, “you can do anything you set your mind to.”

There are stars in Haibara’s eyes when he looks at him, but you notice the glances Gojo is stealing at Nanami, and the way his smile widens when Nanami grits his teeth in annoyance. You bite your lip so you don’t let out a chuckle.

“Do you want to start with literature with me?” you offer. “Nanami, you’ll have to handle algebra because I’m not taking any algebra classes this semester.”

The corner of Nanami’s lips curves to form a smile.

“It’s good that someone here is taking this seriously.”

“Ugh,” Gojo mutters. “Fine. Hey, Suguru, do you know what tests I have next week?”

Nanami buries his head in his hands with a pained groan, and you laugh again, lump gone from your throat now, as you move your chair to come sit next to Haibara. Gojo’s eyes follow your movement silently. When you lean over the same textbook as Haibara, shoulders brushing against his as you push a lock of hair behind your ear, his expression turns thoughtful. It’s only when Geto drops a book in front of him that he snaps out of it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do shots instead?” he asks, tone sour.

“Man, don’t tempt me,” Shoko whines as she sits down as well. “The shots will have to wait.”

Truly, Gojo thinks, sadder words have never been spoken.

Nanami calls it quits right before 10 pm. He’s tried to leave a few times by then, usually because of one of Gojo’s quips, but Shoko’s managed to keep him around until then. It doesn’t help how delighted Gojo gets by his reactions, and you can’t blame him for abandoning you. You don’t doubt for a second that he would have been much more productive without everyone else around.

“If they pass their exams, we should give ourselves all the credit for that,” he comments at your intention, right before walking out the door. “Good luck with them.”

Then he’s gone, before Gojo can start to protest about why he is not getting any encouragements, even though he’s suffering so much, and everyone is mean, and nothing about this is fun, and—

Haibara, despite his best intentions, falls asleep on the couch less than thirty minutes later. It was just supposed to be quick nap, but by midnight he’s still down, and you can’t bring yourself to wake him up. Plus it’s not like you were making a lot of progress with him anyway, so he just might be better off sleeping.

It’s not long after that that Shoko starts to get real antsy. So far, she has kept on track despite Gojo’s attempts at distracting her, but you can tell she is starting to get incredibly bored. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to be Gojo’s case, even if the way his leg bounces underneath his chair tells you he’s itching to do anything other than sit here doing nothing.

“Fuck it,” Shoko says, finally giving up. “I’m going to get something to eat.”

Geto frowns.

“Now? Alone?”

“As if anything would happen to her,” Gojo says, spinning a pen between his fingers. “She’ll be the scariest person out there.”

Geto rolls his eyes.

“I’ll come with you,” he tells Shoko, and she shrugs. “Do you want to come too, Satoru?”

Gojo lets himself fall down on his chair, looking at Geto with his head hanging behind the back of the chair.

“Nah,” he says after a few seconds of intense deliberation. “Can’t abandon the teacher here.”

You feel your face heating up.

“Oh, I mean, I’m sure I’ll be fine. If you want to go, you should—”

“It’s fine,” he handwaves your protests away. “I’ll finally get some work done without Shoko here to constantly distract me with—”

He bursts out laughing when Shoko throws her pen at him.

“We’ll be right back,” she announces, standing up. “You,” she points at Gojo, “play nice. And you,” she gives you a severe look, “don’t hesitate to hit him. I’m not joking.”

She leaves the room, escorted by Geto. Haibara doesn’t even stir when the door slams.

“Alright,” Gojo says, not wasting a second to reach for your chair so he can pull you closer to him, “it’s my turn to get my own personal tutor.” His fingers brush against your leg as he pulls you in, and you know, from how his eyes seem to drink in everything about you, that he doesn’t miss your quiet gasp nor the way your breath quickens. You’ve noticed this before, too. If he likes annoying Nanami, he seems to delight in your reactions at least as much — though he tries to make you laugh or to fluster you rather than piss you off.

“Um,” you say, with the eloquence that characterizes you around him, “what do you need help with?”

He tilts his head to the side as he studies you. You find him breathtaking, you always do, but you think you’ve gotten better at hiding it, so even if it feels like he’s looking right into your soul, you give him an easy smile.

Somehow, he is the one who ends up averting his eyes.

“How about philosophy?”

Right, the two of you share that one class on the history of ideas.

“Sure,” you say, already grabbing a book and thumbing through it. “I’ve taken quite a few notes for that class, actually, I can give them to you if you—”

“That’s boring,” he interrupts you. “We should do something else.”

You put down your book, intrigued, and something twists in your stomach when you see the look he’s giving you. He’s like a cat with a mouse, with exactly the same hunger in his eyes.

“What—” you clear your throat when your voice cracks. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well,” he leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and putting his chin in his palm, “I need an incentive to work, you know?”

You swallow. Sure.

“So how ‘bout I get a kiss for every right answer I give you?”

And you almost choke on air.

“What?” you manage to croak. Blood is rushing to your face, and it feels like your brain is short-circuiting. Your heart’s beating faster, hammering in your chest, and you feel your palms grow sweaty.

“C’mon,” he teases, reaching out to pull on a lock of your hair and twirl it around his finger, and you know, you know, he knows he’s got you right where he wants to, “help me study.”

“Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he all but purrs.

“Satoru,” you say, “what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” he blinks innocently. “Just trying to find a fun way to study.”

You examine him carefully, try to figure out what, exactly, is going on behind these beautiful eyes of his. You’ve had— moments, with him. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car once. He held your hand through a busy festival, teasing you about not wanting you to get lost, and later helped you get on his shoulders so you’d get a better view of the stage. The one time you agreed to accompany Shoko to the club, you remember his hands on your hips, his breath against your ear, the ghost of his lips to your neck. But nothing actually happened between the two of you. You’d told yourself that it was all a distraction for him, that he didn’t want more.

This isn’t exactly confirmation. You don’t doubt that it’s all in good fun still, and knowing you, and how hard you tend to fall, you should walk away while you have the chance.

But you really, really want to kiss him. Want to know what it would feel like to taste his lips, to have his body pressed against yours, to feel his hands all over you.

You always take the smart decision. This is not the smart decision. But…

“What if you get it wrong?” you ask.

Satoru blinks.

“You can, uh, spray me with a water bottle?”

You let out a brief laugh.

“Isn’t that a dog thing? That feels unethical, Satoru.”

He preens at your use of his name.

“You should take your chance,” he drawls. “Shoko says it’s really cathartic.”

You’re not sure you need catharsis, but you feel a little lighter now. It’s all a joke to him, clearly, and from what you’ve seen in the past couple of hours, he hasn’t seriously studied once. He’s not going to get the answers right. You don’t think he’s even trying to.

“Fine,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes, reaching out for a water bottle and positioning your chair so you’re facing him. “Who came up with the notion of civil disobed—"

“Thoreau, 1848, but the essay was republished with that name in 1866.”

You stare. Gojo gives you a lazy smile.

“Now where’s my kiss?”

“Um,” you say. You feel incredibly awkward now. He’s leaning back against his chair, with eyes that have not left you once since he’s suggested that idea. You— have to move, now, don’t you?

Very slowly, very hesitantly, you push yourself to your feet. Satoru doesn’t move at all, and you don’t know if it relieves you or stresses you out even more. The position is quite uncomfortable, too, with you standing and him sitting down. You don’t know that you’ve ever towered over him like that. Gingerly, you put a hand on his shoulder, and then you’re leaning over him, and then you’re kissing him, and then you’re moving away as fast as you can. This was just a peck, really, a press of your lips to his that lasted a second, tops, and that you’re already trying to forget about.

You’re not a teenager anymore, and you know this shouldn’t be getting to you that much, but it’s— it’s Satoru Gojo. You’ve worked very, very hard not to think of him like that, because you didn’t want to let yourself get hurt. And now, you’ve let yourself be dragged into this so easily? Ugh. You wish you could slap yourself.

“Okay,” you say, voice more high-pitched than you’d like, but still understandable, which you’re grateful for. “Next, um, can you explain what philosopher kings are?”

Surely—

“Of course,” Satoru pretty much sing-songs. “Plato thought that cities should be ruled by trained philosophers, because only a philosopher would know and act for the good of a city.” There’s a brief pause, before he adds, “Aristotle thought that was bullshit, though. For the record.”

And then he waits. You narrow your eyes at him.

“When did you study for that?”

“I never study,” he answers lightly.

Instead of standing up this time, you scoot your chair closer to him, and you lean forward. Satoru chuckles, but humors you — even if the temptation of leaning further back to make you come to him, because you’re just adorable when you’re flustered, is great. This time, when you kiss him, though, he presses forward before you can move away, his nose brushing against your cheek as he chases after you. And oh, what a sight you are after that, wide eyed, lips parted, hands tightening on your notes.

“Next?” he asks.

“Right,” you say. You’re— not sure what’s happening here, to be quite honest. Should you stop this? You— don’t think you want to, but you’re also not sure what this charade is all about. “Um. Spinoza thought that free will—”

“—could only be reached through knowledge, and that most people never obtained it.”

Okay.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a physics major?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely amused.

“Determinism’s a pretty big deal in science, actually, but let’s not change the subject here.”

You bite your lower lip, and his eyes track the movement like he’s starving for you.

You’re feeling hot all over, anticipation burning inside of you, and this time, you can’t pretend that he hasn’t done this on purpose. That he wanted to kiss you. You can’t quite reconcile the way you see yourself with that thought — how could Gojo Satoru want you, of all people? — but you find that it doesn’t matter.

You lean towards him once more, and this time, you let yourself kiss him. Really kiss him. You press your lips to his, soft at first, but when you don’t move away immediately, you feel him pressing against you, one hand coming to cup your cheek. His teeth pull at your bottom lip, and you let out a involuntary gasp. He doesn’t waste the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, and you keep inching closer to him, hands coming to his shoulders for support. You can feel yourself melt into him, and you curse your common sense when it leads you to break away from the kiss.

It doesn’t deter Satoru, though, because as you do, his hand slides under your knee, and next thing you know, he’s pulled you into his lap. His face is deliciously flushed, pink hue under the pale skin. He looks up at you, long fingers tightening around your thighs.

“We should waste less time like that,” he says.

Shoko likes to say he’s insufferable, and you can see why. Everything all seems to come so easy to him, and you’re defenseless against the way your heart races. When his eyes are on you, it feels like you’re the only person in the world. You’re not usually the type to indulge in that idea, but, ah, what’s the harm, as long as you know how to come back to earth later on?

You shake your head as you take him in.

“How are you even doing that?” you ask, mildly peeved.

“Haven’t you heard?” he grins widely. “I’m a genius.”

You roll your eyes at him. You’ve heard about that, of course, about how he maintains stellar grades without breaking a sweat. You just hadn’t seen that in application until now. In class, he’s usually asleep, or taking great joy in bothering the teacher. You’ve never seen him try to get something.

“Well, where’s my question?”

You sigh, putting your arms around his neck. You left your notes on the table, meaning that you might be less prepared than he is, actually.

“Descartes famously said—”

“Cogito ergo sum. C’mon, rational doubt is at the heart of science. I’m starting to think you’re just trying to kiss me.”

You do want to kiss him, but you have the self-control to shrug.

“Well, if you don’t want to—”

His mouth is on yours before you can think of how to end that sentence. He kisses you hungrily, hands gripping your hips as he tries to pulls you closer to him. Your chest presses into his, and you tighten your hold around him, fingers running through his hair. He grunts when you pull on it slightly, tilts his head back a little more to give you better access to his mouth, and when his tongue brushes against yours once more, you can’t help but to rock your hips against his. The friction makes you gasp into his mouth, and one of your hands falls down to his shoulder, fisting his shirt as you try to find better support.

“Fuck,“ you hear him mumble underneath you, right as you feel him grow hard. He pushes up against you. His fingers dig into your skin, one hand slipping under your shirt to run over your skin, leaving a trail of fire behind. It moves higher, brushing against your bra.

Against your better judgement, your hands travel down his body, tracing over his muscles. You feel him twitch under you, and when you roll your hips once more, with much more intent than the first time, he groans.

“Satoru,” you whisper, though even you don’t know if it’s a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

His eyes widen, and you feel him lift you up easily, pushing you onto the table. You lean back slightly, resting your weight on one hand. He’s red all over now, from his ears to his neck. His pupils are wide, his lips swollen, his hair messy. He looks like sin.

You don’t want to think about what you look like.

“C’mon,” he says. “Last question.”

“Haibara’s in the living room,” you point out. Even you know where this is leading.

“He’s dead asleep,” he merely shrugs. He’s mesmerizing, but you note that the glimmer of amusement that always dances in his eyes. This feels— serious.

“Um,” you say, licking your lips and watching how he bites his as his grip on your waist tightens once more — like he’s holding himself back. “Confucius—”

And then, the front door opens.

Gojo clicks his tongue and reluctantly steps back as you jump down from the table, beelining for the bathroom — you know that kiss is written all over your face.

You glare at yourself in the mirror. Your body’s still tingling, and you’re aching with want, now that release has been denied to you, but you know better. You’re supposed to know better. You take a few seconds to comb through your hair with your hands, and when it no longer looks like someone’s, well, kissed you senseless, you cautiously step back outside.

“We got you some fuel,” Shoko announces loudly, before getting shushes by Geto. He points in Haibara’s direction, who’s started snoring slightly.

“Thank you so much,” you say sweetly. “I’ll— Why are you wet?”

Gojo deadpans as he looks at you but, well, there’s water dripping from his hair, down his chin, and onto the shirt your hands were fisted in just a few minutes earlier, so, you think the question is valid.

“He was splashing water on his face when we got here,” Geto supplies helpfully. “Gojo runs hot.”

“And now it’s all over my floor,” Shoko mutters. “Next time, just wait ‘til the bathroom’s free, huh?”

Gojo looks like he has something to say just on the tip of his tongue, but he glances at you and seems to swallow it back.

“If anything, I made it cleaner,” he proclaims, leaning back on his chair. “Shoko, how long has it been since you cleaned in here? We really need to find you a partner who’s willing to do that stuff, otherwise you’ll keep living in fil—”

Shoko’s pencil case lands right in the middle of his face.

“You absolute brat,” she spits out, “I can’t believe you’d have the nerve to tell me something like that when you rely exclusively on Geto to—”

The bickering continues, but you tune it out. Under the table, Satoru’s knee brushes against yours. It’s almost hesitant at first, before he leans his leg against yours, when he realizes you’re not moving away. This isn’t the smart choice, either, but, ah, you’re always, always the smart girl. Is it so bad to have a night of fun? Is it so bad that you want to know what it would feel like to have him, even if it’s just once?

He’ll break your heart, the voice of reason says in the back of your mind, but then Satoru looks back at you, checking to see if you’re laughing at how he’s making fun of Shoko and, well.

You think you’ll let him.

Any and all feedback in the form of asks, reblogs, comments, tags is highly encouraged and appreciated~ If you enjoy my work, interactions are what keep me writing and motivated!

I haven't written anything in months and I think it shows but, well, I have to restart somewhere lol, so I hope it was still fun for you and you enjoyed yourselves here for a little while. Thank you for reading <3

prequel

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brayneworms · 5 months

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prompt: l lawliet + food play + pink

wc. 2.8k. gn!reader, foodplay, virgin!l, handjobs, sliiiight come eating, reader is a wet cat in a cardboard box kinda, safe sane and consensual, no real power dynamics.

L contextualises things in the way he sees the world.

Strings of numbers, statistics, behavioural patterns that he's memorised to a 'T' until he can tell guilt from the aversion of an eye or fury from the remnants of nails pressed into the palm of someone's hand. It's why maybe something like sex or desire is a struggle for him. It's not that he doesn't understand it, it's more like he doesn't see the—the need for it, or whatever. You chalk it up to him being extremely busy and also probably totally asexual and don't think about it.

(Don't think about it much.)

It sort of surprises you that it's you he corners with his questions about. Maybe he's more embarrassed than he lets on—as it is, he looks cool as a cucumber save for the faintest shade of pink across his cheekbones. There's no way he would escape a conversation about it from anyone on the squad without a degree of ragging. Misa would squeal like a pig if L dared to broach the topic with her, you're sure. Matsuda would blush bright red and trip over all his words, and Aizawa would probably stare at him like he'd set his firstborn on fire.

And Light is Light. He probably knows little more than L, for all the airs he puts on.

So it's you he comes to. When it first starts, you think it has something to do with a case or lead he's hunting. Tell me, have you had sex before?

Perched like a frog, licking whipped cream off his finger. You don't know if he's doing to be provocative or not; don't know which is worse, that he's aware of what he's doing or not.

"This isn't exactly proper workplace conversation L."

A flicker of a smile. Cheeky, omniscient. "Feel free to report me to HR, in that case."

You do answer—honestly and concisely, if not with a shade of awkwardness. He's essentially your boss. But L seems so far removed from the worlds of sexuality and desire that it seems harmless, occupational, and eventually it stops feeling embarrassing. Out of nowhere—what is the purpose of restrains in an intimate context? Why do you think some people like to feel as though they have no control in the bedroom? Would you say that visual pornography has given watchers unrealistic expectations of actual intercourse?

One night, the two of you alone in front of a big glowing screen, turning to him and asking. "Why do you ask me this stuff, anyway? Is it for a case?"

"No," he says neutrally. A quick glance from his dark eyes you could almost describe as coy. "I'm just... curious."

"Curious," you echo, deadpan. "You?"

"Does that surprise you?" he murmurs. You almost feel that your honest answer—yes—would be insulting now, so instead you just shrug and mumble something incoherent under your breath. "You're not completely wrong. I thought having a better understanding of things like sex and power dynamics would be beneficial in the long run. Most people have a greater knowledge of it than me, which—puts me at a disadvantage." He says these last words with an air of revulsion, as though the very concept of knowing less than someone sours in his mouth, and you chuckle at his childishness.

"That makes sense." You pause. Wonder if you're reading this all wrong, then barrel ahead anyway. "Wouldn't actually experiencing it for yourself lend a better understanding than anything else, though?"

L's eyebrow raises. His smile has vanished, leaving him bug-eyed and unreadable. "What are you suggesting?"

He's not stupid, and you're not subtle. He knows exactly what you were suggesting. The fact that he's trying to get you to go into more detail rather than firing you on the spot is probably a good sign, and further than you expected to get. You squirm in your seat.

"You know. It's like being told about how something feels rather than knowing," you say awkwardly. "I'm just—can I ask—"

"It only seems fair," L says slowly. "After I've been badgering you with my own questions for so long." His chair spins; he rests his wrists on his rucked-up knees, fingers steepled in front of him. "Please."

Hot-faced, you spin your chair aimlessly. "Okay, well, uh—have you? I mean, before?"

L hesitates before he shakes his head, an almost imperceptible twitch that has his dark hair floating. You swallow the sudden large dry lump in your throat.

"Okay. So. Probably somewhere to start," you mumble.

L seems to consider this. "Would you be willing?"

You don't have the right to be surprised, with all the dancing around the subject, but you are, still. You choke on your spit and fly around to look at him, which is a mistake. His gaze is so dark and intense, and you think he can see right through you before you even open your mouth to answer.

"I'm not—" you stammer, with no idea what you're going to say. "I mean—"

"I had assumed you would be," L goes on calmly, but you catch the slight flicker of his eyes, a ghost of uncertainty that makes your chest squeeze. "If I have read your responses incorrectly, though, feel free to forget I asked. I can guarantee no awkwardness tomorrow."

"It's not that," you blurt. L blinks at you, go on. "It's just... do you have any idea what you're, you know. Into? Where to start?"

L's eyes flicker, the barest furrow knitted between his brows. You can tell he hasn't thought too hard about it. "What would you suggest?" he asks, curling his long fingers over his knees.

You swallow. "Well... anything you like the idea of, I guess. Something familiar, to ease you into it."

L's eyes roll over to his desk, where a perfectly glistening slice of strawberry cake waits for him. Pink sponge and halved red berries, topped with pale pink cream. "Familiar," he echoes. "I may have a suggestion."

So you feed L a strawberry just to get started.

Hold it up. It's distinctly awkward; L just stares at it for a moment, the berry dusted with frosting that glistens between your fingers. You tell him, "If you're not comfortable with this, sex is probably going to be—"

He leans forward and plucks the fruit from between your fingers; you feel the barest ghosting of teeth, the sweep of his tongue sharp and curious against the pads of your fingers before he leans back again. You watch the motions of his jaw and throat as he chews and swallows. Pins you with his headlamp stare, wide and dark.

You deconstruct the strawberry cake carefully, removing the berries and setting them to the side. Cast a look over at him. "Take off your shirt?"

L twists the hem of this shirt for a few moments before removing it. It feels so strange to see him devoid of clothing, like a knight removing their armour. Pale ribs, pinched waist. He's not whipcord-thin like you had imagined—there's lean muscle packed under the skin, his stomach flat and somewhat soft. It flexes almost nervously when you look at it. He reclines back on his bed without being told, bracing his weight onto his elbows, legs dangling off the side.

"You sure about all this?" you ask, glancing from the smooth planes of his white skin—shit—to the plate of crumbling pink dessert. "Didn't think you'd be into, you know. All the mess."

"I have a shower," L says reflexively.

You take that as permission to approach with the plate. You place the strawberry halves in a red dotted line, starting at his clavicle, watching him shiver and flex at the cold touch. Down—one at the bottom of his ribs, one above his bellybutton, one at his naval just above the low sling of his jeans. He's started to flush, prettily pink down his chest. It makes you slightly dizzy.

"Okay. So. Okay." You try not to feel so nervous, but it's more like you feel out of place, or time, or space. It feels surreal, basically. Standing between L's legs with your fingers stained pink from fruit and frosting. Him looking up at you like that, all big dark round eyes and slightly parted lips. Damn it. You take a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, so, I'll start now if you're okay. And just say if you don't want—if you want to stop, or if you don't like anything, just say, okay?"

"I understand the basic premises of consent, if that's what you're trying to affirm." The words are all L, but there's an element of breathlessness to them.

"Just making sure we're clear," you mutter. You lean forward and smooth a palm over his collarbones. They're sharp, they jut up to meet your hand like cut diamond, and you hear and see his breath hitch, which is slightly intoxicating. His skin is warmer and softer than you thought it would be. You run your hands over his shoulders and neck, which he squirms away from with a wrinkled nose.

"No neck?" you ask.

He shakes his head. So no neck.

Once you're done exploring this part of his body, you lean forward, close your lips around the strawberry and bite the end of it, sinking your teeth into the flesh. Pink juice runs down your chin; L's eyes follow it, transfixed, as you tilt your head forward and push your mouthful against his lips. They part unquestioningly, and you push the strawberry into his mouth with your tongue. Your lips brush together, tantalising and sweet with sugar. A mimic of a kiss, a palimpsest of intimacy. You don't want to overwhelm him, anyway.

This goes on; your hands over his chest next, the soft pectorals. An experimental brush of your thumb over his left nipple that makes his whole body shudder. He's so sensitive, reacting to every prod and touch and tweak with a jerk and a shiver. Gooseflesh blooms up his skin, pebbling his nipples, and when you tweak the other one gently he lets out a choked sound.

Finding the strawberry nestled under his ribs. Taking it between your teeth and passing it to him. His face gets pinker with each one. Stomach, concave, flexing with every hard breath. A ticklish spot over his belly button. Strawberry, bite, pass. The flex of his jaw as he chews.

Fingers over his waist, indenting the skin as much as you dare. You try not to think of how easily he would bruise. Brushing your touch over his lower abdomen makes his breath catch again. You find the strawberry, hold it between your lips. L cranes his neck, searching this time—he thinks he knows the game, has memorised the steps, found the pattern, the sequence. He doesn't know that the best sex is the unpredictable kind. This time, you press your lips against him and when your tongue pushes the strawberry into his mouth it stays there. His lips part, slack against yours, either in shock or inexperience. You allow yourself the briefest twirl of your tongue against his before pulling back with a wet pop.

L stares at you as you retreat. The strawberries leave pale pink residue on his skin. Pulling back fully reveals the hardness between his legs, pushing up against the dark denim of his jeans. He grunts when your eyes land on it, either out of embarrassment or frustration. You swallow and its like sandpaper.

"Still want me to...?"

"I have not changed my mind," he replies, slightly hoarsely and a beat slower than usual. You shrug, smooth your hands over the tent at his crotch, and he whines. It's the most searing noise you've pulled from him yet, and all from some halfhearted palming over the jeans. It sends a thrill zipping through you, hot and addicting. His arms shake with the weight of holding himself up, neck craning to follow as you sink to your knees between his legs.

You unzip him, pop the button, and he groans slightly at the freedom from the constraints of his clothes. He's fully hard, straining against his dark underwear. You experiment, rubbing at the tip, feeling for the wet spot, and he keens and thrashes, losing his stability and crashing to the mattress. He makes a frustrated noise just after, as though cursing himself for his own lack of control.

"That—" he swallows hard, breathes shakily. "That feels..."

Your hand hovers. "Am I stopping?"

"No, I don't..." He scrambles. L scrambles over his words. "Please, continue."

You stroke him over his underwear for a few concentrated minutes, mostly enjoying the way he twitches and huffs and occasionally makes soft, whiny noises, the way he starts to rut his hips against your hand. No technique, no rhythm, just some sort of baseless desire that you find incredibly hot. There's almost a frustration to it that makes you want to laugh—of course there would be nothing more agonising to someone like L than seeing what he wanted so close to him but being unable to accomplish it himself.

When he starts gritting his teeth, you pull his boxers down to his thighs and he makes a choking, embarrassed sound. When you wrap your fingers around his cock for the first time, finding it velvety-soft and leaking, his eyes roll back and his hips arch into the loose wet tunnel of your hand. "Oh," is all he says. Small and soft like he's surprised. His neck twists and his mouth presses into the starched white sheets. "Oh," he says again as your fist moves slowly, stroking with intent, up and down. He's not overly big, fits nicely in your hand, makes swiping over the head where the pre beads with your thumb nice and convenient. And you love the way he shudders and thrashes when you do it.

"How does that feel?" Your voice is lower than you remember it being. L cracks a bleary eye open; his face is flushed bright pink now, a flush that bleeds all the way down his chest, blending in with the strawberry stains.

"It feels," he starts, before his brow pinches. "I—I am not sure how to—how to describe..."

"It's okay," you tell him. His thighs shake, flexing against the edge of the mattress. When he tips his head back the cords in his pretty throat bulge, so biteable. "You can come whenever."

"I wasn't—oh," he gasps, squirming. "I wasn't aware I n-needed your—permission, oh."

"Yeah, well," you say intelligently, a little struck dumb by the sight before you. "Just making sure we're on the same page."

"A-and what page is that?" he pants, thrusting his hips messily into your hand. He's so fucking sensitive that you swear you can see his eyes growing shiny.

"The one where I help you out, so don't be a brat," you murmur. L laughs breathlessly, trying, you think, to summon some retort. You twist your fist around him and it died, half-formed in his brain, his eyes rolling back and fingers flexing hard in the sheets.

After another minute, he reaches out and grabs your wrist hard enough to bruise. He doesn't say it—can't, maybe. But you know. Your pace speeds up just a touch and he honest to god moans, spilling out of him soft and breathy before he comes, streaking over his stomach in pearly arcs. You watch him flinch at the contact, fingers slipping on your wrist. His chest flexes—in, out, in, out.

You collect a big scoop of pink frosting on your finger and dip it in the come starting to cool between his pecs before pressing it to his lips. L's brow wrinkles, startled—but he opens his lips and lets your fingers pass into the hot cavern of his mouth. Like a cat he licks your finger clean, pointed pink tongue prodding with no technique or flourish, just something steadfast, something stubborn.

You do him the dignity of tucking his softened cock back into his underwear and zipping up his jeans. Unsure how to proceed until L sits up rather abruptly. His hair is even more tousled from his tossing and turning as he reaches for a tissue to wipe himself down.

He looks at you. "I understand it's customary to offer some sort of equivalent exchange in these circumstances." A pause whilst he gathers his breath. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm not quite feeling up to the task."

His tone is normal, if a little shaky. You rock back on your heels. "Did you like it?"

L blinks at you. "My curiosity has been sated," he says, carefully. "Yes, I believe I did enjoy it."

Well, that's a relief if nothing else. The pink remnants of the strawberry cake it on the plate; the shade matches his blush.

#death note x reader #l lawliet x reader #l lawliet smut #death note smut #🫀.scribes #dom!reader #gn!reader

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deacons-wig · 2 months

Text

I'd prefer if we never got to see the origin of Vault Boy and Vault Tec's branding in the same way I'd rather not get a canon answer of who started the War or how. That's the point of War Never Changes.

Vault Boy is a sinister figure in his cheerful embrace of Armageddon. Giving the Vault Tec brand a face and a name and a backstory feels so unimportant to what is actually interesting about Fallout. What's important to me is the big picture pre war, and the details of what comes after.

What is interesting to me is exploring how propaganda is designed to convince people how close they are to annihilation--or homelessness, unemployment, obscurity, or being The Other and therefore destined to suffer--in hell, in oppressions, being ostracized. Honestly insert any sort of marginalization or suffering here. Crony capitalism uses propaganda to market products designed to manipulate people into buying distance between themselves and that annihilation. Putting themselves "behind the thumb" of Vault Boy, so to speak. Buying a lifestyle. Vault Boy does it with a wink and a smile, inviting those who can afford it to buy their way to safety while using capital and fear to perpetuate the cycle. I don't need the specifics to understand this.

Some ghoulnaysis below the cut:

I'll admit, my initial reaction to pre-war Ghoulgins being the inspiration for Vault Boy was funny! Mr. Cooper Howard, washed up actor experiencing an existential crisis being shoehorned into corporate propaganda that then haunts him for the next 200+ years? Selling manifest destiny, racism, the Rugged Individual, the revisionist history that cowboys were a) white and b) more than a brief footnote in the history of the colonization of North America's west. The commodification of entertainers/creatives/public figures. Selling identities to be packaged into a product that will outlive them? Only to have that person live alongside that role they regret (?) playing... kinda tasty, if we have to give Vault Boy a backstory, though I didn't get a clear sense of his actual feelings about being used as a propaganda guy which I think is a failure of the show to commit to the narrative they set up, which happens with a lot of the show's (lack of) engagement with Fallout's larger themes anyway.

But The Ghoul (stupid name!!! weird and boring choice!!!) is just such an uncompelling and repellent character to me. I love a good bad guy or even anti-hero, but honestly he lacks any interiority. He's an evil karma character (eats people, waterboards and mutilates people, sells people to organ harvesters...like? that literally makes you evil in the games...) but the narrative pushes him as an antihero or someone with gray morality because he what..."likes" dogs? And isn't as decayed or unsettling looking as other ghouls (implying handsome=good or interesting). People aren't afraid of him because he is a ghoul, they're afraid of him because he's evil and will hurt them! Sometimes for no reason! I see the callback to the director telling him to shoot his co-star and Cooper saying he's "the good guy," but is that why he becomes so fucking evil post war? Really?

I don't know why he does what he does other than...the world sucked before and sucks now so he might as well represent the basest of human behavior? That seems to be the thesis of the show--unless kindness and community is engendered (by the vaults, by Management, by a civic government, by corporations) people will descend into chaos.

So why have this poorly executed anti-hero be the origin of Vault Boy? What are the narrative choices being made here? Is it just Rule of Cool?

Personally I would like a pathetic, rotting wet cat of a ghoul, some sort of carved out husk of a washed up movie star either trying to relive his glory days, or avoid them--having given up hope of finding his family after 200 years--being dragged into Lucy's orbit and being constantly reminded of his Vault Boy fame, that she is a walking Vault Girl with her Okey Dokey's and Golden Rule. He'd be a joke, a footnote of the old world. He'd be mean and snarky, even unpredictable and uncooperative--have a public persona of friendly curiosity and a private, cynical one.

Pathetic Ghoulgins would remind audiences of the cost of capitalism and imperialism without resorting to the thesis that war never changes means that people are inherently cruel and will resort to violence, rather than existent corporate and political power structures intentionally create the conditions in which people accept perpetual cycles of exploitation and harm for the sake of their own safety and comfort, despite knowing the cost of maintaining the status quo, and not seeing or believing that distance between the status quo and total annihilation is measured by the smiling thumbs up of a cartoon mascot.

I'm sure there are other ways The Ghoul could have been a successful character as well but.... That's satire. That's interesting. That's Fallout.

#fallout #fallout tv #fallout prime #fallout tv show #the ghoul #cooper howard #vault tec #“let people enjoy things” well i enjoy critical analysis #i dislike the big picture of the show but i love fallout enough to dig through the mess #fotv critical #fallout critical

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

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AITA for being condescending towards an asexual kid in GSA?

🙃🏳️‍🌈 to find later

Long post so buckle up.

I (17, they/it/he) am one of three co-leaders of my school’s GSA, along with R (18, she/her) and N (17, he/him). All three of us are openly bi, and I’m also openly trans and (most importantly) very loudly aromantic. We’re all in 12th grade now but we were leaders last year (in 11th grade) too. The school/GSA is small enough that all four grades (9–12, so around 13–18 years old) are in the same GSA, there’s no separate upper grade and lower grade groups. We also have two advisors, both cis queer teachers; and some younger queer faculty members also join sometimes for formal events. We take turns running events during club time, such as fun crafts or watching music videos. Sometimes we also do educational stuff or documentaries, including having teachers come in to facilitate discussions.

I’ve been planning (since early December) to run a two part series of discussions about asexuality and aromanticism (separate discussions of each). I really just wanted to do one day about aromanticism, but R said that if I did that, people would derail it and just talk about asexuality anyways, which both N and our advisors also agreed made sense. So, it’s two days, and the asexuality one is first so that the aromanticism one can be closer to Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week (ASAW).

There’s a girl in GSA, let’s call her A (16, she/her), who’s in 11th grade. She’s very socially awkward and if someone points out that she’s accidentally said something rude or offensive she’ll make a big deal out of not knowing and generally derail the conversation. Also, two years ago A made a ton of “jokes” about me and my little sibling (16MtF) being “secretly dating.” When I asked her (politely at first) to stop, she said she was just joking around, and kept doing it. I asked her again and also asked the theatre teacher and school counselor for help, and eventually she did stop. But A kept following me around and trying to be friends with me, and I was super uncomfortable to the point that I asked the school counselor to facilitate a conversation between A and I so that I could ask her to fucking stop. It somewhat worked. Now she still keeps trying to start conversations with me in the hallways and such, but I just brush her off or ignore her.

The one place I can’t do that is during GSA. Since I’m a leader, I have to be civil to everyone and actually talk to people (R, N, and I set norms at the start of the year during our planning meetings). A is asexual but not aromantic, and today she showed up like 5 minutes into lunch (cafeteria lines are annoying) and loudly asked if she was late. We weren’t doing anything in GSA today, just chilling. At some point during the meeting I announced casually that next week we’d be discussing asexuality, and then the week after that we’d talk about aromanticism, which leads nicely into ASAW during February break. When I said this, A immediately said that she would be extra ace that week [during ASAW]. I was like, “during aromantic spectrum awareness week?!?!” in the same tone of that “during pride month?!?!” meme. She looked like someone had just given her an F on the most important test of the year and said she hadn’t known.

I also made a comment about how there’s way more openly aspec people at our school than at most schools, and N said that maybe the presence of role models is part of that (clear subtext: he was referring to me). I said pretty loudly (more people could hear) that it was kinda funny that I’m the “ace role model” when I’m literally not asexual. A looked super lost and confused at this, and I think she might’ve thought I was ace, even though I’m super open about not being ace, and have told her directly more than once.

Here’s where the potential assholery comes into play. There’s an ad for PrEP that was fairly common on the back covers of theatre playbills in the past year. The ad shows a Black man dressed in ripped leggings with fishnets, shiny knee-length heeled leather boots, and some sort of white leather harness, doing a bridge pose with one leg extended upwards so that the “r” in PrEP is resting on the sole of the boot. The ad has a bright red background and text that says “you cast of PrEP options is changing” along with a small QR code and website link. The pose is somewhat provocative, but not out of place on a playbill for an all-ages show.

During GSA, A was saying that she thought the ad was bad, because of the leather being “fetish gear” and “weird” (basically the same arguments people use to say that gay people shouldn’t be allowed in public). I told A that there’s nothing wrong with someone wearing leather, and she said that “it’s fetish gear and that’s disgusting and degenerate and just bad advertising!”

I explained calmly, like I would to a child (although I probably wouldn’t talk about this topic with a child), that PrEP is a medicine that people take if they anticipate having sex with someone who’s HIV-positive, so it’s okay that the ad is somewhat suggestive. She seemed to accept that, but still said that the leather was weird, and the ad should’ve shown “a diverse group of people getting pills at a pharmacy” instead, because “fetish gear” was too much.

I asked if she thought that all leather clothing was inherently fetishistic, to which A said yes, and then I asked, “do you know that people can’t just choose fetishes?”

She hadn’t known that, but she still said the ad was too sexual. I pointed out that it was a fairly well-targeted advertisement, using theatre references, but maybe A was not part of the target demographic. I also said that sometimes outfits are just hot without there needing to be any fetishes involved, which she didn’t refute, and that even if it was a fetish, that wouldn’t make it inherently “bad” or “degenerate” at all.

A said that she still didn’t like it, and I told her that she was entitled to have whatever feelings she wanted to have, but that doesn’t mean the advertisement itself is a problem.

Another person (17, he/him) called out “[OP], what do you think about kink at pride?” in a sort of nonchalant way, so I walked over while saying “i’m pro–kink at pride.” The conversation eventually moved in other directions, and then club ended and we had to go to our next classes.

TL;DR: given my position of power and responsibility as a GSA leader, AITA for being kinda condescending towards an ace person who’s 2 years younger than me because she was being very sex-negative about an ad for PrEP?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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all-mirth-no-matter · 5 months

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Fourteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Startling revelations ensue after drinking the tea. While you wait for Tommy to return, Benji comes in search for another date. Ada takes you shopping for a new dress to wear to the races.

Warning: language, slight supernatural (kinda?), harassment (not anything explicit but not fun), less tommy in this one but promise next chapter will make up for it!

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 14: Raise Hell

I found myself an omen, and I tattooed on a sign. I set my mind to wandering, and I walk a broken line. You have a mind to keep me quiet, and although you can try. Better men have hit their knees, and bigger men have died.

It came upon a lightning strike, and eyes of bright clear blue. I took that tie from around my neck, and gave my heart to you. I sent my love across the sea, and though I didn’t cry. That voice will haunt my every dream, until the day I die.

— Raise Hell, Brandi Carlile

The tea cup landed on the rug with a soft thud, the hot liquid spilling at your feet — though you couldn’t feel a degree of it.

Your mouth gapped open at the sight before you — your mother, sitting on the rug across from you, her legs crossed same as yours, as she smiled at you.

“This isn’t real,” you whispered, still too surprised to move, your heart racing.

Your eyes searched over your mother’s features, looking for some hint of something fake to indicate the trick that was being played here.

But there was your mother — as plain as day. There was no otherworldly glow or translucent quality. She looked solid, wearing the same kind of modern shirt and jeans that she would have been wearing back when she was alive, looking very out of place against the 20th century backdrop.

The only difference between the person in front of you and the memory of your mother was the smile on her face.

“Real is quite relative, don’t you think, Y/N?”

Her voice sounded the same as well, if not maybe stronger than it had in her last handful of years.

Instinct to combat your mother reared its ugly head as you scoffed and responded involuntarily, “Quite relative to whether I’m hallucinating or dreaming, sure.”

Your mother chuckled, “I’ve missed you, my darling. We have so much to talk about.”

Swallowing, you accepted that whether dream, hallucination, ghost, or indeed real, you’d done this for a reason. You’d been given this opportunity by the Delphi for a reason. It was now or never, and you couldn’t let a little thing like freaking out over talking to your dead mother stand in your way.

“Do you know what’s happened to me?” you asked, feeling yourself sit up a little straighter.

Her smile fell, eyes moving around the bedroom before landing back on you, running down the clothes you were wearing. “The curse. It finally came for you, too.”

“Too? Are you saying—“

“Yes. I too was pulled from my present and into the past. As was my mother, and her mother, and her mother before that.”

You couldn’t believe it. Of all the things you had expected, this hadn’t even crossed your mind. “How far back?” you wondered aloud.

She shrugged, “Centuries, I suppose. All the first born daughters of this cursed lineage. Cursed to know the future, because it’s our past.”

So that was the schtick, you realized. You couldn’t predict the future, but you could recall it from a past that hadn’t happened yet — as long as you’d been paying attention. Your mother’s insistence of learning history now made more sense.

And yet, there was still a big question, one you asked aloud, “Why?”

“I don’t know. That is still a mystery.” Your mother dropped her head slightly out of shame, “Even in death, I’m still searching for answers.”

I curse you, Cassandra! The voice from your dreams echoed through your head and a crazy realization hit you. “Who was the first?”

Your mother swallowed. “When you were born, I saw a vision of my daughter. A woman who would know the future, just like I did. I heard the whisper of a name. It should have been a warning, but I was under a lot of drugs and hormones and thought the name was pretty. So did your father. We already had your first name picked out so on the spot agreed to name you Cassandra. I had no idea it was the name of our matriarch — of the first to be cursed.”

“So it’s true, we come from the original Cassandra of Troy?” Your mother nodded and you shook your head. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Say the stories are true — say the Greek Gods really existed — she could actually tell the future and she’s from the ancient past.”

“Another mystery.”

You huffed, so sick of the ambiguity.

“I’m sorry,” your mother said softly, causing you to meet her eyes again. “For lying to you all those years, for confusing you. For causing you grief and madness.”

You felt a lump in your throat, your chest tight at hearing the acknowledgment you’d wished for your whole childhood. Your brain wanted to comfort her, tell her it was alright, but your heart was more wounded than you’d ever realized.

You swallowed down the rise of tears that were threatening to build and changed the subject. “When were you born?”

She blinked, aware of your deflection method, and answered. “The early 2020s.”

“But that’s so—“

“Close?” your mother sighed. “Yes. I grew up blissful — my mother never mentioned her own displacement. So when I was stripped from my loved ones in 2040 to 1990, I was distraught. I was lucky to meet your father, though regretfully I was never able to open myself up completely to him, still mourning the loss of my first love. I would jump from fits of madness to total denial. After we had you, I thought things would be different. But as you grew, I became more suspicious that you would also be stripped away from me, or I you, and the fear drove me mad. So I tried to prepare you. But the closer I got to my own birth date, the madder I became and more desperate for answers I grew. Eventually, I became convinced that I’d made the whole thing up. The line between reality and delusion became nonexistent.”

You felt the tears begin to pool again as you thought about your own struggles with reality since arriving here. Madam Despoina had told you that you were stronger than your mother. But that wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“I’m sorry for your father, as well,” she went on. You opened your mouth to protest, but she stopped you. “I was able to warn him about certain events — terrorism, the housing bubble, natural disasters — but I couldn’t save him, not in the end.”

“Did you ever tell him? Properly, that is?” You found yourself asking, thinking about Tommy.

Your mother shook her head. “Not directly. The best I could come up with was the gift of prophecy. After a while of telling that story, a part of me began to believe it. Believe it for you.”

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying, “for being so hard on you. I didn’t understand—“

“And now you do,” she said with a soft smile, “more now than ever. And unfortunately, darling, I’m going to have to put pressure on you one final time.”

“What do you mean?”

“The curse — it must be broken. You have to find a way to break it.”

“Me? Why—“ your words stopped as you thought about Madam Despoina’s prophecy. “‘You have a chance to mend ancient mistakes. Break the cursed chain, end the line of travel.’ A woman from the Delphi family who said she was a descendent of the Pythia told me that.”

She smiled knowingly again, “Your tattoo, ya?”

Your mouth dropped slightly, “You knew?”

“I have the same one. I had the same impulse before I was pulled away. I didn’t even know you had it until I—“ she cut herself off, looking somber again before clearing her throat. “It’s the tree of knowledge, of balance. But how were you able to find them?”

“I’ve met some people since arriving here. A Romani family that I’ve grown quite close to. One of the brothers specifically, he— he helped me find them.”

Your mother hummed as she listened, her eyes moving again to the space around you. “What year is this exactly?”

“January 1919.” Your mother’s eyes widened. “I’ve been here a few months now.”

“And I thought fifty years was a shock,” she murmured. “Remarkable. Although the interwar period has it’s merits I suppose. Roaring 20s, jazz, rise of automotives, electricity, women’s suffrage. Though suppose it also has it’s negatives: Great Depression, prohibition, facisism, gangsters—“ You must have had a reaction, because your mother paused. “This man, is he a nice man?”

You swallowed at that, your eyes shifting. “I think he wants to be. But the circumstances are a little more complicated.”

“Complicated like organized crime complicated?” She retorted, and you were surprised at her humor in the situation. “Oh sweetheart, you didn’t—“

You scrunched your face, “I didn’t mean to. There’s been odd coincidences between us since even before we met. I had a vision of him the night I woke up here. He had one of me as well. And then there’s the other dreams—“

“What dreams?”

You took a deep breath, feeling once again like you were in a room filled with puzzle pieces trying to figure out which was the right piece to pick up and share with your mother. “I’ve had dreams. Very real feeling dreams of myself as Cassandra in ancient Troy. They’ve just been pieces though, it still feels incomplete.”

“You’ve got a strong connection to her,” your mother mused. “There has to be something in those dreams, that story, that can help you?”

Shifting in your place, she rose her brow at you. A wave of nostalgia hit you as you recalled the look many times from your childhood. She knew you had more.

“The Delphi woman, Madam Despoina, she— she called him Apollo. It’s his face I see in my dreams when I, as Cassandra, am with him, as Apollo. But I— I don’t know what that means.”

Her eyes narrowed as the muscle in her cheek flinched, “And does he mean something to you?”

Her question caused your brow to furrow. “What does that have to do with this?”

“Mother’s intuition, I suppose,” she smiled. “It’s been good to see you, my darling.”

“What do you—“

You blinked.

She was gone.

——-

You woke up the next morning on the cold floor of your apartment, the empty tea cup still laying on the rug.

“Mum!” you exclaimed with a jolt upward, looking to the spot in front of you.

But of course, no one was there. You were as alone in your apartment as you’d been when you arrived last night.

You reached for the tea cup and knew that it didn’t matter. Yesterday you might have tried to argue with yourself that you’d simply been dreaming or hallucinating, but the time for denial was over.

Whatever this stuff had been that Madam Despoina gave you had given you the ability to talk with your mother last night.

As you got ready for your shift at the Garrison, you tried to go through everything your mother had said to you, trying to commit it to memory, afraid that any little bit of it could slip away.

You were going through it for about the twentieth time when a patron cleared his throat at the bar.

“Apologies, I was—“ you turned and your customer service smile fell, “Oh, Benji, hello.”

“I was just coming by to see when you were available next,” he said, offering you his most handsome smile. “No deaths or births or any other excuses this time, eh?”

Your brow lifted, finding that statement slightly rude. It’s not as if you’d blown him off for a headache or something minor — someone had died.

But you knew what you had to do. Benji had been nothing but nice, if not a little forward, with you since you’d meet. It’d been wrong of you to accept his invitation when you were feeling alone and rejected. You couldn’t allow him to continue to believe he had a shot, but there was no reason to be rude about it.

“I’ve been thinking about that, Benji, and I just— I don’t think it’s such a great idea.” His smile slowly began to fall as you talked, his brow creasing. “I shouldn’t have accepted in the first place,” you continued, feeling awkward and guilty.

“Come on, love, you haven’t even given me a chance,” he tried to defend, pulling another smile on his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I wasn’t ready to start anything. I’m still— I’m still adjusting and I—“

“Hmm,” Benji shoved his fists in his pocket. “And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the rumors going around of you and Tommy, would it?”

Your mouth opened slightly at the allegation, but you couldn’t form any kind of defense. Instead you crossed your arms, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Liar,” he hissed, slamming his fist to the bar top. The handful of patrons in the pub looked toward them, curious by the commotion. Benji noticed the eyes and cleared his throat, lowering his voice as he lifted his finger. “You’re making a big mistake, Y/N. Tommy-boy can’t sit on the throne forever, I’ll make sure of that.”

He gave you a wicked smile as he turned and left the pub, slamming the door on his way out.

You contemplated whether you should tell anyone about your interaction with Benji. Unsure if his threats were real or brought on simply by rejection and jealously, you decided to stay quiet for now.

Things had been quiet for a few days afterwards, but slowly you began to notice some major irregularities in the books. Benji’s numbers were showing signs of stealing again. It started off small, similar to what it’d been when you originally became suspicious of him. But now it was quite obvious.

Finally, you came to the conclusion that you had no choice but to bring this to Polly’s attention. It was early in the morning before the shop opened. Polly was helping with John’s kids while Ada was MIA (though if you were a betting woman, you’d say she was with Freddie), and you found yourself sitting alone at the kitchen table, book open in front of you as you felt weirdly conflicted over Benji’s malfeasance.

In the past, you hadn’t been aware of what happened to the people you reported. But now, you knew that there were physical repercussions for stealing from the Shelbys, even as extreme as death. And whether it was guilt for leading him on or some piece of you that still believed that deep down he was a good guy — you began to contemplate whether he deserved a fair warning before you officially reported him. If he knew that he wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was, that someone was paying attention to him, maybe he’d realize his mistake and end it before something bad happened to him.

You got up to get some tea, trying to think through how exactly you were going to warn him without giving yourself away, when the front door opened.

“How were the kids?” You asked over your shoulder as you poured, assuming Polly had returned.

“Y/N?”

A deeper voice than you expected came from behind you. Spinning around, you were surprised to find the man himself standing in the kitchen doorway.

Your heart rate surged when his eyes moved curiously from you to the table, the open diary and pencil next to it.

“You–” he started, the gears in his head turning to process the scene in front of him. “It’s been you all along.”

“What are you–” you tried to discreetly walk toward the other set of doors, but Benji rounded the table quicker than you, cutting off your escape routes.

What was the saying about good intentions?

“Benji you shouldn’t—“ you tried to lift up your arms between you.

His eyes narrowed and he took a step toward you. Your back hit the counter behind you as he caged you in. “It’s you isn’t it? I kept trying to figure out how it was Lenny and Jackson got stitched. And there you were all along — the little mouse hiding in plain sight.”

“Get off me!” You shouted as you tried to push him away, but he grabbed your arms. You tried to use some of the self defense moves you’d learned, but Benji was stronger than you’d anticipated, and much more sober than the last man you had to fight off of you in the pub. He spun you around and pinned your arms behind your back, pressing his weight onto you so you were pinned even tighter against the shelves and counter. You tried to kick, but he had your legs locked between his.

You were completely defenseless.

“You think you can fuck with me—“

“I wasn’t— I haven’t said anything–,” you gasped out, your face against the shelves as you tried to catch your breath while still struggling to get him off you. You felt the tears begin to fall down your face as you felt helpless.

“And you fucking won’t! You killed my mates. I’m gonna make you wish you’d never met Tommy—“

“Oi!”

Polly’s voice shouting from the doorway finally caused Benji to release you. At the slightly feel of freedom, you pushed him off and ran for the other other end of the kitchen. You grabbed a near empty bottle near you and threw it at him. He ducked as it broke against the wall behind him.

“Out!” Polly shouted, grabbing his arm and pushing him out the door. “And don’t you dare come back!”

Benji was shouting as well, raving that he was a Peaky Blinder dammit, and no one could stop him from getting what he wanted.

He looked back at you as he said that and you shivered.

Sure, you were shaken by being manhandled like that by someone you thought was a good enough man. But more than that, you were angry. This had been the second time since you’d been here that a man thought he could toss you around like you were some kind of doll.

Polly turned back toward you, and immediately got busy pouring you a cup of tea. She let you take your time as you finally launched into explanation. At the end, she calmly rose from her seat and found Scudboat in the betting den, who’d shown up at some point in all your distraction. You watched as she whispered in his ear and then calmly again walked back toward the kitchen. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a small handgun.

“You know how to use this?”

Nodding, she handed it to you and told you to keep it on you from now on.

“Go back to work, Y/N. Benji won’t be bothering you again.”

——-

Polly had been right. Another week went by and you hadn’t seen or heard a peep from Benji. Part of you wondered if the bastard was dead, and you weren’t sure how exactly you felt when you realized that you didn’t really care.

You also wondered if Tommy knew now about what happened with Benji. You hadn’t heard from him since he left again, but knew from Polly and Ada that they’d be back by the following weekend.

In all the excitement, you’d forgotten about Tommy’s invitation to the races. When Ada burst into your apartment to announce that they were going shopping, you’d been surprised. It’d been a while since you’d been to the shops, but you weren’t going to deny the opportunity to find something nice to wear to your first race.

“I’ve been crying nonstop for weeks,” Ada explained as you both walked around, looking at different fabrics as she pointed out some options. “Every little thing sets me off, I tell ya. I thought it was because of the funeral, but Martha and I weren’t really that close. Suppose it’s sympathy for the kids. Dunno. It’s been making me so tired though. I think I may be ill or something.”

“Maybe,” you mused, grabbing the dress she handed you.

A woman caught the corner of your eye. At your gaze, she dropped her head and turned.

You ignored her, used to people staring when she was out with Ada. You hadn’t understood it when you’d first become friends, but now you realized.

When you saw her again at the next shop, you began to feel less like it was accidental.

“Hi,” you greeted when you met her eyes again. She looked away and tried to leave, but you spoke again, “Can I help you?”

The woman stopped finally and turned, her head down slightly sheepishly. She wore a small hat and trendy dress, her hair was cut short like most women of the day, and you could tell she was quite tall, though she seemed to slouch slightly. Her facial features were sharp, complimenting her slim body shape. She was quite beautiful, and in your day could see her being the ideal supermodel. But the bags under her eyes and wornness of her skin led you to believe that her story probably wasn’t that simple. Not here, in Small Heath.

“Pardon?” She finally said innocently, trying to subtly give you a once over as well.

You shrugged, “It just seemed like you were needing something from me. My mistake.”

You turned to leave but she spoke again. “This is incredibly improper of me, but I saw you and I just— you and Tommy, ya?”

As you turned back to her, your brow creased. Instinct had you looking around for Ada. Ever since your encounter with Benji, you’d been edgier than you’d ever been, always looking for the exits and for familiar faces to run toward. It made you feel incredibly vulnerable and you absolutely hated it. You felt your fingers grip the strings of your handbag, knowing the gun Polly had given you was safely tucked away inside.

Swallowing, you resounded yourself to shake it off, to toughen up, and you straightened your shoulders as you addressed the stranger once again. “Excuse me?”

“My sister saw you both walking home often late at night. I suppose he’s moved on, I shouldn’t be surprised.” She was rambling now, her cheeks blushed as if she were embarrassed by her own words. “I know we shouldn’t be speaking of this, not in public at least. It’s just hard, y’know, losing a customer. Especially one like him.”

Customer. You looked over the stranger in front of you again and tried to think of any other instance where her phrasing would make sense aside from the very clear one that came to mind.

Ada called for you, reaching you with a handful of dresses. You turned back to the woman who nodded and made her leave.

“Ada, who was that?”

She craned her neck and clicked her teeth. “Ah, that was Lizzie Stark. Surprised you haven’t seen her around town. Though why would you, less you were payin’ I suppose. Here, try these on.”

——-

It’d been a while since you’d been on a real date. Even before you’d been sent to this place, dates had started to dwindle as you got older and got more choosy. For a while, starting in college, you’d easily been able to flirt with someone new, get to know them, and then start a fling for a while until one or both of you got bored. The couple serious relationships you’d had were harder for you. Being vulnerable hadn’t come easy for you, and it created commitment and trust issues. Dates became more complicated than they were worth.

Tommy had greeted you at your place, and you surprised yourself with how much you missed him in the few weeks he’d been away. There was something about his presence, knowing that he was here, in the city, gave you a wave of some kind of safety and security that you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

He looked tired, though he smiled at you warmly as he walked you toward the family car, and offered you a hand in as you climbed in.

This had been the first time you’d actually been excited for a date since possibly high school.

And of course, Harry had to go and buzz kill your mood the day before the races. He hadn’t meant to, of course. After the Benji incident, he’d been extra protective and cautious. You’d explained the situation (without the stealing money from the Shelbys part) and he’d been surprisingly sensitive. But he believed his recent pub decision would make you feel better instead of make you sour.

“Somethin’ the matter?” He asked when you were quieter than he expected. “If this is about Hancock—“

“No,” you answered, already knowing from Polly that Tommy and the brothers had learned of Benji’s malfeasance, but he’d disappeared before Scudboat and Lovelock could find him. You’d cursed your previous self for trying to be sympathetic toward the man — it seemed like you’d just made everything worse. “It’s nothing honestly, just something silly.”

“Go on, then. I can handle silly.”

Your cheek flinched as you looked over toward Tommy, humored by him even saying the word ‘silly’. He rose his eye brow as he looked over to you, offering you a smirk before pulling his eyes back to the road.

“Harry’s putting in an advertisement in the paper for another barmaid.”

Tommy’s smirk turned into a frown, “Is he mad? The place wouldn’t be standin’ without you — I’ve seen the numbers, I know. I’ll have a word with Harry—“

“He’s not replacing me,” you quickly corrected. “I thought the same thing, but he wants me to concentrate more on the books and said he’d rather bring someone in part time to fill in behind the bar.”

“Ah,” his brow creased as he gave you a short look. “The problem, then?”

You sighed, knowing that you were being childish. “I’m just feeling territorial, is all. I know I’m not technically being replaced, but part of it feels that way. Did I mention I have a small case of control issues? I blame it on being an only child.”

Tommy chuckled softly and shook his head. “You have nothing to worry about. If anything it’ll leave more time for you to do your real job.”

“My real job?” You asked him curiously.

“The Shelby business, ‘course. Wheels are already in motion, and today we’re going to enact the second part of my plan.”

“And that is?”

Tommy smiled, “Gonna buy a horse.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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#Peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x ofc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagines #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #fanfic #mine #time after time

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pepperkettle · 5 months

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k so slay the princess is rotting my brain but currently one big thought is chilling in my brain, and like- hear me out (sorry if my wording doesn't convey my thoughts well skskfjdjg)

but I don't think the damsel is entirely as shallow as some may see her as. HEAR ME OUT- compared to the other princesses, yes, she definitely more shallow. and she is also (at least when looking at deconstructed) poking fun at those trying to have an easy and work free romance route where the princess does whatever you like and loves you so, so much. i'm not saying she's supremely deep and that no one understands her but me, but I also don't think she exists solely to mock players with absolutely nothing to say about the nature of human permanence either.

does that make sense? more thoughts below- they're a bit disjointed though so warning ^^;

I personally think the damsel can also represent a very real form love, so to speak.

gimme a min to explain. I think what initially led me to this is a line from the narrator equating the smitten and the damsel to acting like teenagers in love. and that line sorta shifted my perspective a bit on her a little? seeing that kinda made me go "ohhhhhhh makes sense" like it really did remind me of two kids who don't entirely get what dating entails but still want to be together, and given the endgame sequence the damsel's section just kinda cemented this mindset for me.

for clarification the damsel has two(?) bits of dialog depending on whether she's deconstructed or not. If she isn't she says something along the lines of (iirc) "you had a desire and you set that desire free/not caring about what it took or costed you in the process" annnd?? like that's kinda wholesome to me?

like the damsel's love with the player isn't nearly as in depth, complicated, or complete as say the thorn, but it's a passionate love. it's also a naive love. the sort of love you'd find with, well, teenagers having a crush. of course when people get older they see those old crushes as frivolous and flat, but to the people experiencing them in the moment, it's real! it's serious! they were still willing to risk a lot just to be together. and at least at the start, you're willing to be killed by the princess if it means she's safe after having a battle of control against the narrator. it just reads as very human to me. they truly felt that their love could conquer anything.

I feel the thorn is a more 'adult' version of the damsel. it's that passionate love taking on a more mature form. it has more hardships to go through and way more pitfalls and mistakes that one can make compared to the more childish love like the damsel's. there's less theatrics and fanfare, and to me it feels more somber and quiet. it's a contrast between the high stakes emotion filled damsel, and the more intimate, tense, and self-aware thorn. ultimately in the end for both of them, they come to a realization that love is a powerful tool almost in a way that mirror each other.

some of the same occurrences leading up to the route are also shared between the two. like having the princess stab you in the prior route. I also think it's worth noting that in the thorn, the thistles can be seen as/can be referred to a prison of her own making. something she can leave if she was willing to make the effort to do so. it's similar to the damsel's shackles being easily slipped off her wrist. she could free herself.

also by extension, say what you will about the smitten but he loves the princess no matter what form she takes. even when she kills him he still adores her. he is content with being cooked alive by the princess if that's what she wants. i think he's a lot like the damsel in that sense. whatever she wants, she will have. if the damsel is molded to love the player, the smitten is absolutely molded to love the princess in the same way.

#ok that got really long #halfway through i realized the thorn and the damsel have a lot of parallels and my brain exploded sorry #i really love this game and have so many more thoughts but those need other posts :((#someday soon someday soon...#slay the princess #stp spoilers #slay the princess spoilers #♡ -> post time !

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ok-sims · 9 months

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Things in Good Omens 2 I still find weird after maaaaany rewatches

Yep, brace yourselves, it's exactly what's in the title:

Maggie making the spelling mistake ("urgrency") in one of the very first scenes of S2.

It is in the very first scene set in the present day. It is the first time we are presented to Maggie. And the spelling mistakes being very much connected to demons all through the season (specially in The Ball episode, with the note about the "angles" and Shax spelling "T-O-S-T-E", not to mention Furfur mispelling Aziraphale's name in 1941).

It is stands out so much because Maggie's mispelling is never brought up again, but the demons' is. And again, it was the audience's first contact with Maggie (even if she is offscreen). It might be just a callback joke (which does not make much sense to me, to be honest), it might be just red herring, or it might be to reinforce the "Maggie is a mirror to Crowley" theory (which does not make much sense to me either, because while Crowley is/was demon, we never see him making spelling mistakes himself).

I'm honestly at loss about what was the intention here. Seens to specific to be just random, given the demons do it many times. My best guess is that it is pure and intentional red herring, to mess with us. But then again, what for?

Miss Cheng (specially in E5S2, "The Ball")

Since my first watch, the brief scene when Miss Cheng is entering the Bookshop for Aziraphale's thinly disguised excuse to have a Jane Austen ball, she has a very... particular look in her face. It is when the weather is getting darkier e gloomier, resembling Michael Jackson's "Thriller" videoclip, because Shax and her "legion" of demons are arriving. The thing is, Miss Cheng does not look afraid at all, or even like she is suspecting something is going on. Miss Cheng looks suspicious herself! I feel like this scene is off in so many levels. First of all, it did not need to be included at all. So why add this scene to the final cut? Miss Cheng does not have a very clear role in the narrative, while all the other shopkeepers have at least something that not only sets them apart from everyone else, but adds something to the narrative and/or callbacks something else in the series.

Beside the obvious Nina and Maggie, Ms Sandwich brings to the table the comical relief, Mr Brown is there to set the excuse for the Jane Austen ball, Mr Arnold provides the fancy classical music for the ball AND the Doctor Who jokes, Justine is an excuse to bring up Aziraphale's bad French again, and give us a callback to the Bastille scene in S1, and Mutt is a callback to the magic shop shown in the zombie minisode.

But Miss Cheng on the other hand brings none of those things. We don't even get to see what is her bussiness. Of course, her scene discussing Ms Sandwich's work is a delight, but honestly, it could have been any other character asking about Ms Sandwich's job. And opportunity to have Ms Sandwich ask what Miss Cheng's work was there, but it was not taken.

Now, the only other scene Miss Cheng is in focus is in the very end of E6S2, when Maggie and Nina decide to sit down with Crowley to have The Talk. Nina asks Miss Cheng to look after the coffeeshop for a few minutes. Again, seens kinda random to have Miss Cheng there, and I really think this specific scene, by itself, might not have any further meaning. But when viewed along her other scenes (and specific lack of better fleshing out, which was given to all other shopkeepers), it just seens weird. Again, might just be a red herring to mess with us, but Miss Cheng is presented in a very sus way.

Aziraphale not having a replacement

Odd phrasing, I know, but I could not find better words to describe it. We are presented very early on to Shax, who is replacing Crowley in his former job in Hell. Shax is an important character all through the season, yet we never get a hint at who is replacing Aziraphale's job vacancy. We don't even get a hint if there is a replacement, or if it was decided Heaven would not be replacing him. We just get radio silence about who is Heaven's representative in London now, or if something happed to that position and why. Maybe if Shax simply did not exist, it wouldn't have bothered me. But since she does, and it is made clear many times that she has Crowley's former job, it stands out to me that nothing is ever said or even alluded about Aziraphale's former job position.

There are some other things that stand out to me, but these are the more obvious ones to me. I would be delighted to hear other people's takes on these matters, as I might have missed something. Oh well, I guess here is my first piece of Good Omens meta.

#good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #miss cheng

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amyispxnk · 7 months

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Back home

Summary: Javi returns home and you guys have some fun 😜 (I'm bad at summaries haha)

A/N: I wrote this before Halloween ended so forgive the Halloween activities. I can't be bothered to change it. Also I don't really know what perspective this is written in..?

I have not proofread this so I'm sorry if there's any confusing bits or mistakes. Lmk if there's anything major!

Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: 1858

Warnings- pet names, smut (oral f receiving, PiV) fluff

DO NOT COPY THIS WORK IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°

He turned off his car and walked outside, unlocking the door to his apartment and stepping inside, admittedly a little excited to finally see his girlfriend after a long mission abroad.

As he opened the door, she jumped up and ran over to him, crushing him with a hug as she practically jumped on him.

"Javi! I missed you so much!" She squealed.

He laughed heartily, catching her in his arms as she leaped towards him. He spun her around once before setting her back down on the ground, kissing her passionately. "I missed you too, mi amor. It feels good to be home."

Pulling away, he took a step back to look at her, taking in every detail of her appearance. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and there was a new sparkle in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

"You look more beautiful than ever." He said sincerely, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "How have you been holding up while I was away?"

"Been good.. kinda bored though, without you. I did some decorating as you can see..." She said, nodding her head in the direction of the Halloween decorations strung up thoughout the apartment.

His eyes lit up as he took in the festive decorations adorning their home. Skeletons hung from the ceiling, cobwebs were draped across corners, and pumpkins sat on every available surface.

"Wow, you really went all out." He remarked with a grin. "Looks like we're ready for Halloween."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer as they surveyed the scene together.

"So what do you say we make the most of my first night back? We could watch a scary movie, eat some popcorn...maybe even carve a pumpkin or two."

"Oh, scary movie marathon was already on my list of stuff to force you into. Sit, I'll go bring some popcorn. Put a movie on too, you get first pick as a courtesy of mine." She winked before kissing him again then going to get the popcorn ready.

He chuckled, watching her walk away before turning his attention to the television. Flipping through the channels, he settled on a classic horror film - one that had given him nightmares as a kid but seemed strangely comforting now.

By the time she returned with a steaming bowl of popcorn, the opening credits were rolling. She handed him a large handful before settling in next to him on the couch, resting her head against his shoulder.

"This better not give me nightmares," she teased, reaching for another handful of popcorn. "But if it does, at least I know who to blame."

Halfway through the movie, she moved to sit between his legs on the couch and pulled the blanket on top of them, muttering something about being cold and Javier's body being a 'fucking heater'.

He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. As the tension mounted on screen, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over him - there was no place he'd rather be than right here, with her.

She moved to tug the blanket tighter around them as she complained how cold it was when it was barely November.

"You're cold?" He asked playfully. "Let me help you with that."

With a mischievous grin, he began to tickle her sides, eliciting a fit of giggles from her. When she tried to retaliate, he captured her wrists in his hands, holding her still as they both dissolved into laughter.

"Okay, okay," she gasped, breathless. "I surrender!" But he didn't let up.

"Javi, stop!" She shrieked as her face went red from laughing so hard. "I'm gonna piss myself, stop!"

His eyes twinkled with amusement as he relented, releasing her wrists and leaning back against the couch. But even as the movie continued, his gaze remained fixed on her - taking in every curve of her body, every freckle on her skin.

"You know," he said softly, running a finger down her arm. "There's only one way to make sure you don't have nightmares tonight."

Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss. She responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair as they lost themselves in the moment.

"We need to make sure you stay awake," he whispered, making her breath hitch slightly as she turned to face him fully.

"How do you plan on doing that?" She pressed, any attention she was paying to the movie before long gone.

A smile played at the corner of his mouth as he traced a finger along her collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His voice was low and husky when he spoke, sending shivers down her spine.

"I have a few ideas," he murmured, leaning in to capture her lips once again. This time, there was nothing gentle about their kiss - it was fierce and hungry, fueled by weeks apart.

Breaking away, he looked into her eyes, his own dark with desire. "Are you game?"

"Am I game?" She laughed before moving to sit completely on his lap.

"Yeah, I'm game."

His heart raced as she straddled him, her warmth enveloping him like a second skin. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply before trailing kisses down her neck.

"Good," he growled against her skin. "Because I've missed you too much to wait any longer."

With that, he stood up effortlessly, carrying her bridal style towards the stairs. She buzzed with excitement as he climbed each step, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"It's really hot how you can just carry me like this." She said with a little giggle as she looked up at him.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before answering.

"Years of working in the DEA have paid off, I guess." He flashed her a grin as they reached the bedroom door. Setting her down gently on the bed, he took a moment to admire the sight before him - her flushed cheeks, her tousled hair, the heat in her eyes.

"Now," he said softly, crawling towards her on the bed. "Where were we?"

"I think we were here." She said as she straddled him once more and leaned back slightly to pull her top off.

His eyes widened in appreciation as she revealed her perfect breasts, her nipples already hard from their earlier encounter. Leaning in, he took one into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue before switching to the other.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he groaned, his hands wandering over her body. Reaching behind her, he unclasped her bra completely and let it fall to the floor, revealing even more of her smooth skin.

She gasped as the cold night air hit her breasts before her hands came to grab for his shirt, fumbling to get it off.

Laughing softly, he helped her remove his shirt before moving on top of her. His lips trailed down her stomach, leaving a path of kisses in their wake. Reaching her jeans, he undid them quickly, sliding them down her legs along with her panties.

"So wet for me," he murmured appreciatively. "Just like I knew you would be."

Dipping his head, he ran his tongue over her clit, causing her to cry out in pleasure. Her taste was intoxicating - sweet and tangy at the same time. He lapped at her folds greedily, drinking in her essence.

"Oh my god" she moaned, head tipping back as she fisted his curls tightly, begging him for more.

Encouraged by her reaction, he redoubled his efforts, using his fingers to massage her clit while his tongue delved deeper inside her. She was so close - he could feel it in the way her body trembled beneath him.

"That's it, baby," he growled, adding another finger to increase the pressure. "Come for me."

And with a loud cry, she did just that, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. He held her through it, his arms wrapped around her waist as she rode out the aftershocks.

"Wow," she breathed finally, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"You're really good at eating pussy." She said with an airy chuckle as she leaned forward on her forearms.

He grinned at the compliment, leaning in to steal a kiss. "I aim to please," he said cheekily.

Rolling onto his back, he pulled her on top of him, enjoying the feeling of her naked body pressed against his. Her breasts were soft against his chest, her thighs slick with sweat where they rested on either side of his hips.

"Your turn," he said, reaching down to cup her ass. "I'm not done with you yet."

"You better not be." She murmured against his lips before pushing herself up and steadying herself with her palms against his chest, starting to rock slowly against his erect length.

His breath caught in his throat at the sensation of her moving against him. It felt amazing - the friction of her wetness against his cock driving him wild. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, but he didn't want it to end yet.

Reaching up, he grabbed her hips, guiding her movements until she was riding him just right. Her moans spurred him on, and soon they were both lost in the rhythm, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

"Querida," he groaned, unable to form coherent words anymore. All he knew was that he needed more of her - needed to be inside her.

"What?" She teased as she slowed her movements slightly, head resting sideways on her shoulder.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to hold back, but it was no use. He lifted her up and pulled her back down on him in one swift movement, barely giving her a chance to breath before he was thrusting rapidly inside of her.

Her head fell back and he bent down, attaching his lips to her nipple once more and swirling his tongue around it, his pace inside of her still relentless.

Her hands tugged on his disheveled hair when he angled his hips a little differently, making his cock hit that perfect spot inside of her.

"Fuck, don't stop! I'm gonna come, Javi!" She moaned.

"Come on baby, come on. Soak my cock. Come on." He urged, moving faster and faster until she finally came undone, clenching around him and making her pussy impossibly tight around his dick.

With a final thrust, he came inside her, his release so powerful it left him weak and breathless. As the last of his orgasm subsided, he pulled her down onto him, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"Fuck," he breathed against her neck. "That was...amazing."

She smiled, pressing a kiss to his jawline. "It certainly was," she agree before resting her head in the crook of his neck until her breathing slowed and they both came down from their highs.

He lay down in a more comfortable position after a moment and she shuffled to the side slightly so her head was resting on his chest, slowly drifting to sleep.

°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and requests are open! 💞

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #javier peña smut #javier peña angst #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #narcos #javier peña narcos #amyispxnk fics

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the-eeveekins · 5 months

Text

The 25th Day of G-Witch

For the first time in her life, Suletta goes against her mother's wishes. Pushing back against her mother, who reveals she'll soon be fully paralyzed and doesn't care about her fate, Suletta rejects the plan that would lose her her mother.

Elan 4's appearance here is a surprising one, especially because there was no reason to believe people could be passively uploaded to the Data Storm until this moment. Even more confusing is that unlike the other "ghosts" seen in this episode, he seems to fully co-exist with the Data Storm like Eri. Suletta finally gets some much needed closure with her first friend, and Elan helps bear the load of the Data Storm so Suletta can connect to Quiet Zero and reactivate Aerial.

Suletta has always struggled to voice her wants and needs, to express her desires. But here, finally, she calls herself a greedy person, because she doesn't want to accept a future without her mom OR Ericht, and she expresses that desire to Eri. Working together, their hearts aligned, Suletta and Eri surpass Permet Score 8 and create a massive Data Storm that even reaches the moon.

Rainbow Calibarn is my favorite mobile suit ever.

Miorine's is so brave. We finally see the results of the deal she made with Shaddiq in the last episode. She dissolves the Benerit Group and transfers it's assets to Earth, just like Shaddiq had wanted to do. And with Shaddiq's testimony, the world will know that the Space Assembly League had a hand in the various terrorist attacks at Plant Quetta and Asticassia.

Despite that, the SAL still intends to fire the laser cannon, reasoning that they can still justify wiping out millions as long as Quiet Zero still exists.

Suletta's crowning moment of awesome, as she uses the Gundam and Quiet Zero to create a massive Data Storm and override the laser and shut it down, all while The Witch From Mercury plays triumphantly in the background. It's the climax of the action in this series, and for a show titled "The Witch From Mercury", it's appropriate that it ends with the titular Witch casting a massive magic spell to save the day while her theme and the theme of the show itself plays. Suletta turns the Gundam's Curse into a Blessing.

This scene breaks me every time. The culmination of the Samaya/Mercury storyline. Suletta's validation of Prospera's choice to save Ericht, the moment where the mask breaks, Prospera "dies" and Elnora sees her daughter for the first time in 17 years. As both her daughters tell her they're ready to move on and live together, Elnora finally gives up on her crusade and makes a tearful apology to both of them. Wish playing in the background is the cherry on top to this cathartic climax.

My only complaint was the implication that Prospera had long ago completely given up on revenge for Eri's sake. It's true that she set aside her hatred of Delling to work with him on Quiet Zero because she believed it was the only way to give Eri a future that wasn't trapped in a mobile suit, unable to directly communicate with anyone. But that also goes against her portrayal in multiple scenes. She's seen to be revenge minded in Cradle Planet, and one of her most iconic moments in the show is whispering in Miorine's ear that she wants revenge against Delling. And then immediately dragging Miorine through hell for seemingly no reason than as revenge for her father's actions.

It kinda felt like something added to the script at the last second to tone down the "harshness" of her actions while ignoring the fact that she was openly revenge-minded 8 episodes ago.

I was firmly in the camp that believed they wouldn't kill Suletta at the end of the show. It just didn't make sense from a narrative standpoint and would've just been a downer ending for the sake of being a downer ending.

But despite that, the first time I saw this scene, they absolutely got me. The deafening silence of Miorine's screams and the absolute horror on her face sold me for a moment that they had killed Suletta, and I just felt my heart absolutely sink. And then Suletta finally responded, and I shared Miorine's relief and joy.

Shaddiq's ending is often a contentious one, especially the fact that he ends up in jail and on trial for his crimes while the former heads of the Benerit Group seemingly escaped justice. But I think a lot of people take too much of a black and white stance on this topic.

Shaddiq is in jail and may even face the death penalty for his actions, something he was fully prepared for, but through Miorine's actions, Shaddiq achieved all his goals. The Benerit Group was dissolved, with Earth gaining the assets that once belonged to their greatest oppressor. His testimony likely did severe damage to the Space Assembly League in the process, exposing the crimes of it's members. And the girls he cared for have their freedom, working for Miorine as part of GUND-ARM Inc, free to make their own impact in the future. And as one final gesture to Miorine, he even takes the blame for Quiet Zero, so Miorine's newfound family won't have investigators trying to jail them. Shaddiq may not be a free man, but I believe he is a satisfied man, no matter what happens next.

As for the leaders of the Benerit Group, yes, they survived and have thus far escaped imprisonment for their various crimes. But their empire is over.

The Benerit Group is no more, the empire Delling built over two decades dissolved by the very daughter he neglected and tried to control. Delling himself doesn't even appear in a scene with Miorine in the epilogue, in stark contrast to the scenes she shared with her new family, and I don't think they're close. She definitely doesn't let him come around her family after all the pain he caused them. And he's under inquiry for this actions that led to Quinharbor and Quiet Zero, a sign that he may still face justice for some of his many crimes.

Likewise, yes the Peil Ladies appear to be in a retirement home and likely had some wealth hidden away so they can have a nice, comfortable retirement. Something 99% of us would be satisfied with, but not people like them. They lost their entire business empire, their plans to come out on top after QZ completely ruined, and even 3 years later they still look miserable that their vast wealth and power is gone.

These people did not come away with a happy ending, they're miserable, even if they're free. For now.

Speaking of miserable, I wonder if Guel is truly happy with this path in life. Guel was an awful person at the start of the show, and through his often horrible experiences, he did grow into a more mature person who wasn't a raging asshole to the people around him, and maybe even learned to trust the people closest to him and not push them away.

But ultimately Guel is the only one not to escape the shadow of his abusive parent, still running his father's company 3 years later. It's unclear, but he's still likely running the company as a weapons manufacturer and possibly still contributing to the problem. I just wonder if he'd ultimately be a happier person if he wasn't trying to live up to his father and instead pursuing his own path like he did when he was "Bob." Regardless, he now has a short-term future of being absolutely sassed to death by Elan and Secelia.

Another slightly contentious topic is Eri's fate. Is being trapped in a keychain really much better than being trapped in an 18m tall killing machine. For a few reasons, Eri is definitely better off now. She's still beyond score eight, something which allows her to reach out and connect to or override any Permet device. Her "body" may be a small keychain, but it comes across to me that Eri's consciousness has been extended and she can see and interact with things beyond her body now, and that when Suletta pushed her beyond score eight, it granted her the freedom that would have been possible under Quiet Zero, but without the massive Data Storm oppression the entire Earth Sphere. And of course, we're shown in this scene that Miorine wears a device on the back of her neck that Eri can connect to and directly communicate with (Suletta is also shown to be wearing one).

Even if she's still "trapped" in an object, she's far more free and mobile than she was as a mobile suit, able to travel and see the world with her family. And her family wears devices to accommodate her unique situation so Eri can communicate with her family. She's no longer trapped in a weapon, unable to communicate with her loved ones. Her existence may not be perfect, but it's undoubtedly better and I think Ericht is happy she's survived this long to once again experience a loving family.

Oh, and "Sister-in-law." It's not as common now, but when the show finished airing and there wasn't an on-screen kiss or wedding, there was a lot of complaining that the show was subtextual bait. And a lot of people overlooked or ignored the fact that Suletta and Miorine being married was explicitly confirmed in the text of the show with this one line. You'd literally have to invent another sibling for Eri that didn't exist 3 years ago for this line to mean anything else, but a lot of people ignored it to argue the show was only subtext because they only see textual romance as specific words and kisses.

Three years have passed, Suletta and Miorine have married and live together on Earth with Ericht and Elnora. A family they fought hard to earn. Suletta was disabled as a result of piloting the Calibarn, with visible Permet scarring on her cheeks. But she's thriving and happy, and clearly loved by her family and friends, ultimate proof that she is loved for who she is and not her abilities. And she's accomplished all the dreams we saw her set for herself during the show: She's built her school on Mercury, married Miorine and saved her mom and sister so they can all live happily together.

It's an severe exaggeration to say that Gundam protagonists always have bad endings, but they're usually more bittersweet. But Suletta fought to earn her happy ending, and to see the first female main character in Gundam earn a happy ending while also being queer, disabled and a person of color is so inspiring to see.

Miorine too, is probably the happiest we ever see in the show. It was rare to see her genuinely let her guard down and smile, something she pretty much only did around Suletta. But she's all smiles when she's with her wife, and after pushing her away once and almost losing her forever at QZ, she just will. not. let. go. of Suletta now, both physically supporting her but also making sure she'll always hold onto the person she loves.

In the first episode, Suletta was hungry, but too shy and nervous to ask for food when she saw Miorine tending to her tomatoes, and Miorine gave her food (and love). Now Suletta has grown and can comfortably express her wants and needs to the people around her, even if it's just the simple act of saying she's hungry. And Miorine responds with the warmest smile possible.

Suletta & Miorine go home together to the house they share. Surrounded by friends and family, sharing a warm meal that symbolizes the love they've nurtured together. They're in love and they're happy, and they leave us with one final wish...

May All Blessings Find Their Way to You, I'm Wishing It

I love The Witch From Mercury and I love SuleMio, and I love sharing my love of this show and these two wonderful characters with others. Is G-Witch perfect? No. But I love it far more than any other piece of media in my life.

Thank you for joining me during these 25 Days of G-Witch. If you celebrate, I hope you have a Merry Christmas, and if not, I hope that you're enjoying the holiday season.

#25 days of g witch #I took 96 screencaps for this episode #g witch #the witch from mercury #sulemio #gundam #g witch spoilers

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bunnyywritings · 2 months

Text

to be seen...

BAKUGOU KATSUKI X GN!READER

[a/n: i lowkey love the hc that bakugou is partially deaf/hard of hearing cause of his quirk like...it just makes so much sense to me ?? anyways i just wanted to get this one out of my system! it's not the best so...sorry but yeah...enjoy!! - bunny]

wc: 1.6k words

warnings: none that i can think of...kinda angsty tbh, there's also more of a focus on bakugou than reader

This couldn’t be real.

He’s not weak so…why?

Why did this happen?

Bakugou’s hands shook as these merciless thoughts ran through his head as Doctor’s poked and prodded at his ears. Their touch was bothersome but he supposed he was grateful he couldn’t really hear what they were discussing, any tangible noise was muddy and replaced by a ceaseless ringing.

He had gone through all the motions. Denial being the most violent. He had screamed and cried in a clearing a ways away from the dorms where he had thought that no one would hear him but when he returned and immediately clocked your glossy eyes and trembling bottom lip, he realized how mistaken he was.

Oh, you. Sweet, caring, you.

He almost felt guilty for how much he had pushed you away. All you wanted to do was make sure he knew he wasn’t alone, make sure he felt loved and cared for but he mistook your empathy for pity and blew up at you. This time around it was much, much louder and much more terrifying because he couldn’t hear how loud and rude he was really being.

He had scoffed when you clutched your fists to your side as big fat tears rolled down your cheeks. He couldn’t read lips very well but he didn’t need to when the word ‘mean’ had been formed so clearly by your lips before you ran off to your room.

Now, he was just numb. Having accepted that this was his reality, Doctor’s poking and prodding and the uneasy sight of his mother so broken and…sad. Having to practically be held up by his father.

This wasn’t right. She wasn’t weak. She was never weak but once again, he had mistaken her love and empathy for pity…for weakness.

School had been on break for the spring and he was desperate to get back, he was being run through the wringer and as much as he hated to admit it, he wanted the mundane rhythm of his life back. He wanted to attend his classes again. Quirk training. English. Hero Law.

He actually missed those idiots he calls friends. To sit with them in the cafeteria and hear about the stupid shojo that Denki was reading. Hear how Kiri can’t beat some boss level on the stupid game he was playing. Hear Mina complain about how her cuticles were as healthy as ever. Hear Jiro ramble on about a new band she found and how she thinks he’d actually like them.

Hear…

Would he still be able to do any of that?

He couldn’t quite remember what his condition was. The ringing was gone but all that's left is a muffled sea of jumbled up noises. He was getting better at reading lips and he was put through the master class of sign language in a week. His instructor was surprised but he knew that if you had been there, you would’ve given him a bashful smile and said, “I expected nothing less from our future top hero.”

Ah, that’s right.

Most of all, he missed you.

Your smile. Your wit. Your eyes…the very same ones he made shine with tears. Your laugh…the sound he’d miss the most out of anything.

Despite having left the way he did, you still texted him. He hadn’t responded but you still thought about him.

“You’re doing an awful lot for a guy who told you to piss off…” Shoji eyed you carefully as you set up the classroom, helping you place workbooks on the desks and open the windows.

“Yeah but you know as well as I do that Bakugou uses anger like a shield. He’s probably confused and in pain about all of this, it’s only fair that we help out as much as we can.”

Your caring nature was worrying sometimes. Shoji had seen your heart shattered multiple times by people who brush you off or take advantage of your willingness to do hard work, he was worried that Bakugou didn’t deserve this kindness.

He remembered holding you as you sobbed into his chest, it took everything in him to not run out to the common room and knock some sense into the blonde but ultimately, he decided that staying and comforting you was more important.

And despite all that pain he caused you had gone straight to Principle Nezu and pleaded for the school’s help. Going as far as offering to do all the work in finding an instructor and getting all your classmates on board. Now, here you were setting up the classroom for the first day of sign language classes.

The Friday before school started up again, Mitski got a call from the specialist they had been working with and with the influence of UA, Bakugou’s hearing aids were ready for him. She was ecstatic, enthusiastically waking her son and shouting at him to get ready.

He was…startled to say the least. If he had been able to hear the yelp he had let out when he was shaken awake, he surely would’ve been a bright red.

And so, with the promise of heading to a nice restaurant for breakfast before heading back home, Bakugou shoved himself into the backseat of the car and off they went.

The school had covered two pairs and he almost scoffed at the design of the devices. The first pair’s earpiece was clear, swirled with red and orange and the part that hooks around the ear, an almost gaudy, bright red-orange. The second was just his hero costume earpieces with hearing aids attached. Both pairs were specially made to muffle his explosions while still being able to hear others clearly. They also had a bluetooth feature so he’d be able to listen to music comfortably.

The doctor and his parents looked on expectantly as Bakugou slipped them on for the first time, surprised by how comfortable they were. He switched them on with shaky hands and everyone waited in silence before he looked into his mother’s teary eyes.

“Katsuki…honey? Can you hear me?”

His eyes widened. Had her voice always been so tender?

It brought tears to his eyes, he got up from the uncomfortable exam table, fists clenched at his sides. She looked up at him from her seat and her face crumbled. His eyebrows were pinched, a pitiful frown on his wobbling lips and tears slowly leaking from his eyes.

“Oh, honey…” He threw himself into her embrace and cried into her neck like he had done many times when he was little. Masaru watched on in tearful wonder, remembering that this was still his son. His baby boy and he was hurting more than he let on. Shouldering an exhaustingly heavy burden on his shoulders all by himself.

The image of his little boy, only 4 feet tall tearfully struggling to hold a boulder up above his head, arms and legs trembling with exhaustion and desperately calling out for his mommy and daddy shook him to his core.

He wrapped his arms around both of them, his hand cradling the back of Bakugou’s head. “It’s okay, son. We’ve got you.” At the sound of his father’s steady and calming voice, the boy cried harder. “We’ve got you.”

Standing in front of the dorms was more daunting than he thought it would be. Hiking up the steps was like attempting to trek Mt. Fuji. The only comfort being that he was expecting the common room to be empty. He expected everyone to be in their room attempting to settle back in after a week long break.

He hated how wrong he’s been recently.

When he opened the door, he was met with everyone cheering. It was all so loud and disorienting that, despite his hearing aids, he had no idea what the hell anyone had said. Then, you stepped through the crowd and suddenly everyone faded into the background.

“Guys! I thought I said no shouting! It’s probably still too much for him!”

“But you’re shouting right now…” Denki snickered, earning an unamused glare from you.

His eyes filled with tears, heart constricting in his chest. Twisting and throbbing almost painfully.

God, he missed you.

“So scary when you look at me like that!” Denki shuddered playfully.

You had opened your mouth to refute but were cut off by Bakugou suddenly roaring with laughter, squeaking the slightest bit as he hunched over, arms wrapped around his middle as he laughed.

Shock ran through everybody’s spines, jaws on the floor.

He wasn’t quite sure what came over him but it was an involuntary reaction. Maybe to camouflage the fact that he had a river of tears sliding down his chin.

Once he had finished, he stood upright. Out of breath and wiping his eyes. Meeting your eyes once again made the butterflies in his stomach go berserk. They went downright psycho when your hands were held up in front of you, trembling as you carefully signed, ‘welcome home.’

He was silent once again. Absolutely dumbstruck.

Midoriya watched on fondly, as did everyone, emotions overwhelming and tears filling their eyes.

Bakugou was in complete disbelief.

“When…” He breathed, hands coming up to sign the rest. ‘When did you learn that?’

It took you a second to register what he said before responding. ‘We learn over break…’ your signing was a little sloppy, he had missed a few things but caught on immediately at the end, ‘...love you. Want you feel normal as possible.’

He didn’t let you finish, grabbing you into his embrace and holding you tight. “Thank you.” He mumbled into your hair, you held on equally as tight.

“You’re welcome.” Your voice so up close and intimate was a blessing.

#bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha #mha x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki angst

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rae-raewrites · 6 months

Note

Can I request the BTAS dork squad + Harley Quinn for a s/o who’s scared of being abandoned? Please and thank you

You got it! And happy turkey day ya’ll I know who I’m thankful for. (Spoiler it’s you)

BTAS dork squad +harley with a s/o who’s scared of being abandoned

Riddler

Normally that suave,charismatic personality is enough to put anyone’s mind at ease. Just one of his many talents.

So when he plans to go out with jervis for the evening he automatically notices the uncomfortableness that has found its way onto your face.

“Dear? Is something a matter?”

He tries to pry gently. Years off and on in the mad house teachs you that some don’t have the ability to easily talk about some things.

Now when you actually do tell him he’s going to be a little stunned for a moment

You wouldn’t think that about him would you? Oh criminal he may be but he’s not-

Jervis can wait,he needs to set this straight immediately

He knows that words can only go so far

If he can he pretty much brings you wherever he can if not nothing is stopping him from taking a page out of the dark knight and investing in trackers

“Me abandon you? That would be stupid! And I’m the smartest there is!”

Scarecrow

Literally the perfect one to tell this too

His time teaching psychology

Does it originates from a specific incident? A group of incidents that culminated into a single reaction?

You don’t have to tell him of course! But it would be pretty nice for the personal notes………

But make no mistake he’s becoming your rock in this conversation

Lots of reassurance on his end

But also help you deal this healthily

I mean even he knows fear toxin in this situation isn’t going to help.

“Let me be the first to assure you that I’m going nowhere no matter how much you think you don’t deserve me so.”

Mad hatter

The idea of him leaving you alone is already such a crazy idea.

I mean cmon what’s a hatter without his Alice?

Automatically stunned when he realizes you’re worried about him abandoning you.

“Is that what you think? What utter balderdash! Never!”

Congratulations now he’s going to do everything he can to 180 this entire thing entirely

Pining for you entirely.

Like twice as many tea parties as normal

He NEEDS to assure you he’s not going anywhere

Alice isn’t getting abandoned on his watch!

Harley

Wether she will admit it or not this hits home for her

Years of being abandoned off and on again has given Harley a sense of knowing this kinda stuff

Especially if you’re staying attached to her like glue

“Sweetie you afraid I’m going somewhere?”

If you’re choosing to be open about it then be prepared for Harley to be Harley

All the over reassurance in the world with a heaping amount of love and affection

She’ll just make it a point to include you in everything now

#batman #batman rouges #asks #headcanon #x reader #batman the animated series #the riddler #scarecrow #mad hatter #btas riddler #btas mad hatter #edward nygma #jonathan crane #jervis tetch

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simpingcowboy · 5 months

Text

Pedro boys and why I'm swiping left on their tinders

This is all to be silly!! I love them all very much <3

Frankie Morales

His name there says Frankie (Catfish)....with his main profile picture being him holding you guessed it...a catfish. He doesn't have many other photos on there, with the exception of a few older military photos that are so blurry you can hardly tell which one he's meant to be.

The rest of his page is pretty empty aside from the music section, where you actually get the first real glimpse at what this man is about. While his music selection is very respectable, it does not overshadow the glaring issues with his profile.

In short, Frankie's profile makes you think "Am I dating the man? The fish? Or a catfish?" Swiping left fs.

Marcus Moreno

This one isn't his fault! His profile is perfect. No really. All the women at The Heroics made sure to help him with it! His photos are cute and show off all his best assets. The bio is a little cheesy in an endearing "yeah he's definitely a dad" way. The problem then? It's Marcus fucking Moreno!!! Leader of the Heroics!!!!!! On Tinder???? There's no way anyone is going to believe it's really him. I believe there's a verification option on Tinder now, but really...even then Idk. Unless he fully comes out on an interview or something to super casually mention he's on Tinder, it just ain't working. No one likes a catfish! (Sorry Frankie!)

Jack Daniels

Mr. "Tinder What?" himself!!!! Let's say he manages to figure out how to set up a profile and all that. It's gonna be inTERESTING to say the least. His photos are actually pretty solid. An intriguing mix of photos of him on the ranch and photos of him in the Statesmen HQ looking very well put together. Opening line is definitely "Save a Horse! Ride a Cowboy! 🤠♥️" Very on brand for him. Followed by something very pro-american about the flag or serving his country and honestly... that's where I'm gone 😅. We get to see a bit of Jack's political mind in Kingsman and let's just say i don't wanna know the rest of it.

I'm grateful this is Tinder and not Bumble. Because if Jack used the audio prompt and I heard that smooth Kentucky accent...forget EVERYTHING I just said. I would be taking a chance on him. Sorry 😔 I can't fix him, but I will have fun trying!!

Joel Miller

For namesake, we're gonna set this pre-outbreak. There's no time for swiping in the apocalypse. Profile isn't bad just very empty. He's not really trying and it's kinda obvious. His bio reads something along the lines of "Single dad of a spoiled teen" with mostly photos of himself and Sarah on his profile. A few photos of him and Tommy out camping or on a work site.

And as handsome as he is, the profile feels like something his kid forced him to make as a way of getting him off her back. I wanna sympathize and help her out, but I don't know I have the heart to attempt to win over this very clearly emotionally unavailable DILF. So for that reason, I'm swiping left.

Pero Tovar

If for some ungodly reason Pero was given Internet access and had a dating profile... it'd be a disaster. His bio reads something along the lines of "I don't open this app. If you wish to see me meet me at this pub" with approximate days and times he's there.

The first picture on his profile is a way too far away blurry shot of him training. If I was feeling brave enough to continue scrolling through his photos...the rest would certainly be borderline explicit highly suggestive photos of his torso and groin. And whilst I might think about it for approximately .25 seconds any remaining sense of dignity would kick in before I actually did anything about it. It'll sting momentarily, but I will be swiping left.

Ezra

Another man on this list who should absolutely NOT be given internet access. His photos are beautiful but uninformative...the only shots of him are blurred and artistically obscure. He pads the rest of his profile with photos of books he's reading and grainy shoots of the forest.

The bio...if there's a word limit best believe that Ezra has hit it. He used every given character at his disposal and managed to say very little with all of it. Something about a wandering spirit longing for companionship and a couple sexual innuendos for good measure.

While visually and verbally not the worst profile on this list, his pretension is so utterly palpable through the screen I actually don't think I'd be able to make it through the end of his bio without cringing...also his music selection is all just banjo instrumental???

#am writes #pedro pascal #pedro boys #ezra prospect #pero tovar #joel miller #jack Daniels #marcus moreno #frankie morales #pedro pascal characters

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littlexscarletxwitch · 10 months

Text

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗻𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗹

paring: yelena belova x fem!reader

tag(s): nsfw, smut with no plot, needy yel

warning(s): MDNI, +18 ONLY read at your own risk, explicit wlw smut, wlw sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, kinda public sex, kinda cnc, grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 2.6k

requested?: yes, you can find the request right here

note: The winner of the poll is hereeee!! Nonnieeee, it's finally here! I really hope you like it, it was so thrilling to write this lol. Thank you, anon, for this request ily. I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Love you, guys <3

requests are open! + check my rules + masterlist <3

Yelena squinted her left eye as the other one adjusted her vision through her rifle's sight.

Her mind was set on one thing only, and that was the man she was currently staring at. She didn’t know who he was, she was barely given his name and the place where she and her team would find him and that was the end of the story. She didn’t need to know more, nor that they would have let her either way.

She was supposed to take him out, making it look like an accident, a shooting, a terrorist attack. The Red Room didn’t care how, they just wanted him out of the picture and that was exactly what she was going to do.

Yelena didn’t know what she was doing, well, technically she did. But she wasn’t aware of it. She was one of the first subjects to have been tested the mind control gas on and now she had lost all senses of a moral compass. Her mind was completely clouded, full of her own thoughts but her mind wouldn’t listen to them. Her mind listened to The Red Room and did as she was told to.

“I’ve got eyes on the target,” she muttered, her voice being picked up by her team through her earpiece. “Where are my explosives?”

“We’re almost done.”

“Come on, guys. He’s about to leave, we have to be quick,” she said anxiously.

When she was given her target’s file, she was instructed to memorise his routine. The man woke up at 7am, left for work at 8. On mondays he would go out for lunch, on tuesdays he would just order something to have it delivered at work. At 7pm he would be ready to go back home, but before that he would always stop at his local cafe. It was now Yelena realised that he always did so so she could see the lovely waitress tending to his table.

And any minute now he was going to walk out the door and Yelena would pull the trigger, the bombs would go off at her command, distracting everyone and she could get a clean shot. At night the local news would communicate the tragedy, her target being the only casualty and she was sure they would claim it to be a terrorist attack or something similar, still she did not care.

“Guys, hurry the fuck up!” she couldn’t fail this mission, they couldn't fail or they will all face the consequences.

“We’re done, bombs are to explode in minus 2 minutes.”

“Roger that, let’s get this over with,” she said, adjusting her rifle aiming right at her target.

She was already annoyed, she appreciated the fact that being hidden on the rooftop of a building meant none of her partners could see her. She was almost going to lose it. Things didn't go as smoothly as she had planned but it was fine, she wouldn't fail them.

An explosion was heard a couple of metres away from her, people started shouting and running in fear afraid for their lives. Yelena watched as her target did the same, she could tell he was terrified, his eyes were wide open in horror.

She was ready to finally pull the trigger when something else got her whole attention —you.

You were running back and forth, helping people up, getting them to a safe place. She could tell you were worried and afraid, and your forehead was slightly bleeding, but that didn’t stop you from helping as many as you could. Her brows furrowed as she stared at you, her heart sinking into her tummy, her heartbeat speeding up and it felt as if someone was hammering her brain.

“Yelena, status on target,” the voice took her out of her thoughts, burying all the new emotions deep down inside.

“I’m on it,” she said, once again adjusting her rifle, this time there won’t be any inconveniences.

But she was wrong. Another bomb went off, this time a car set on fire, and you were right there watching the whole thing. You cried out loud, scared for your life. But you weren’t alone, the target was right beside you. She couldn't take a shot while you were right there. There wasn’t supposed to be any collateral damage, that was how Widows did things, the only casualty being the one who they were supposed to take out.

“Fuck!” she needed to get you out of there.

“Yelena, what’s—?”

“Lerato, I’m gonna need you to take my spot. Take him out.”

“What? But you are—”

“Do as you are told, I’ve got something to deal with,” she said, leaving the rifle on the rooftop for her partner to find.

Her eyes were set on you as she ran down to meet you. She didn’t think twice and just grabbed your hand and pulled you towards her. You were so shaken that you didn’t realise you were being pulled away by a stranger until the both of you started running away.

“What are you—? Who are you?” but Yelena wouldn’t answer you. “Hey! No, stop! Please, don’t take me. Please!”

“Just keep going,” she said, getting a firm grip on you, scared that you would run away.

The two of you stopped five blocks away from the chaos, she gently pushed you inside an abandoned building.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, not waiting for you to freak out even more.

“I, I— I can’t breathe,” you said, gasping for air.

“Hey, it’s okay. You are safe now, it’s okay,” she got closer to you, reaching for your hand and resting it on her steady heartbeat. “Here. Focus on my heart, try to steady yours.”

“I can’t—,”

“It’s okay, just breathe,” she motioned for you to copy her as she took a deep breath in and then she breathed out.

After a minute of breathing in and out, you felt your heart beating at a regular pace again. Still you were scared of what you had just witnessed and being alone with a stranger didn’t make things better.

You cleared your throat, “why did you take me?” you ask carefully.

Her green eyes found yours, her brows were slightly burrowed. She was lost in her mind, going over the last few minutes and everything that had happened before she took you away. She didn’t know why she did that. She could have had someone take you away and she could have taken the shot. But for some reason she couldn’t quite explain, she didn’t.

She didn’t take her eyes away from you but still she didn’t answer your question.

“Lerato, did you take the shot?”

“Yes, the target's dead. Just got confirmation from Helen. We’re heading back,” she heard as the girl struggled to breathe. She was probably running. “Where are you, Yel—?”

Before she could finish, Yelena took the earpiece out, throwing it to the ground and stepping on it, losing all sort of communication with her team. Something she will regret later but now she wasn't thinking properly.

“Shot? What are you talking about? Who are you?” your tone was filled with worry and fear.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise,” she smiled at you, trying to comfort you.

“What’s going on? I don’t, I don’t understand…” you sounded desperate. And you were, a fucking car exploded right in front of you, you were about to lost your shit again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered gettin closer to you. You could feel the warmth radiating from her body. “This doesn’t make any sense, I know, I’m sorry,” she dropped the tough act, wanting to be as gentle as she could with you.

“What are you—?” you swallowed hard as you watched her tug a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I just,” she licked her lips, your eyes watching her carefully. “There’s something a need to do.”

The closer Yelena got to you, the more she felt like herself again. There was something about you that just felt right. She couldn’t put her finger around it, but she felt good, you felt good and she wanted more of that. She needed more of that, of you.

Slowly but surely her lips found the soft skin of your neck, you let out a moan as soon as she made contact. You lost all sense of reality for a few seconds as she bit and kissed your sensitive skin. But then you came back to your senses and pushed her away from you.

“No. Don’t…” you said, but deep down you wanted to eat your words. “Who are you? What is this?

Yelena backed up, confusion written all over her face as she also didn’t quite know what was going on with her.

“I don’t know either, okay? This has never happened to me before but… Look, I don’t have much time, they’re probably already looking for me—.”

“Looking for you?”

She nodded, “You are doing something to me, alright? I don’t know what it is, I’m not in control,” you noticed her breathing was getting heavy. “You are doing something to me, and I— I need you…”

“You need me?”

“Will you help me out?”

“I, I don’t under—.”

“It’s okay, just do as I tell you, okay?” her voice was so soft that you just couldn’t deny her.

You could only nod at her, getting lost on her mesmerising bright eyes. Her lips found yours, in a desperate kiss, tongues fighting one against the other, her teeth bit your bottom lip, moans escaping from the both of you. You felt your body warming up under her touch and felt your tummy setting on fire as her finger squeezed the flesh on your waist.

She pressed her chest into yours, making you take a few steps back and finally you hit the cold wall, a shiver crawled up your spine. Yelena slipped her knee in between your already slightly parted thighs and gently pressed it against your clothed core.

Her fingers traced the curve of your ass to finally get into your panties, you were already wet for her and she had barely touched you. She felt like she could get used to this, to you. Seeking for both comfort and pleasure in each other, two things The Red Room had taken away from her. But maybe, with your help she could get that and more back. You groaned into her lips the moment she pushed two of her fingers inside of you.

“Shit,” you mumbled.

“You like that?”

“Yeah. Don’t stop, please,” your hips moved into her fingers, wanting her to keep on thrusting them in and out of you.

“I won’t.”

Soon enough her fingers picked up their pace and the only thing that could be her was Yelena’s finger sloppily thrusting into your cunt and the loud moans coming out of your mouth, which were quickly silenced by Yelena’s lips.

You had just met the woman and she had you almost falling to your knees. You could feel it too, she was different than any other person you had ever met before. It was as if she was intoxicating, and the only thing you wanted at the moment was to get drunk on her.

“Faster, please.”

And she did as told, like she always had. But this time she felt like she had a choice, and she chose to please you, she didn’t mind being at your mercy. She could tell you were close to your release, so she got on her knees, took your trousers and panties down and pressed her lips to your soaking wet cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned out, your hand reaching out for her shoulder in some kind of support.

She bit, licked, sucked and kissed your core like a starved woman, which she was actually. She could count with her fingers all the times she had been intimate with someone else in The Red Room. She didn’t have time for things like this in there, she barely had time to take a breath.

So she enjoyed this, eating you out, getting whimpers and groans out of your pretty lips, making your legs tremble. She slipped her tongue inside of you, her nose hitting your clit and you felt like it was all becoming too much for you to handle. She felt your nails digging into her shoulders and then a second later you cried out, getting your juices all over Yelena’s lips.

Yelena moaned into your cunt and she sucked all of your juices, not wanting nor even one bit to go to waist. Once she was done, she pulled your trousers and panties back up, stood up and crashed her lips into yours, wanting for you to have a taste of yourself as well.

Your legs literally gave up on you as she kissed you, and then your butt hit the ground. Yelena took that opportunity and decided you needed to return the favour. So as best as she could, she took part of her suit off for you to work her magic on her cunt.

Yelena knew that she wasn’t going to last long, she was already so wet and on edge, she just needed some of your help to finally come. She knew you had to be quick for her to get her sweet release, so without a warning she pushed your head in between her thighs and soon enough she felt your lips beginning to work. You pushed two fingers inside of her while you sucked on her clit.

She could feel her orgasm getting closer, it was a shame she couldn’t keep this going on for a while more, but any minute now her team would be on her ass.

“Fuck, keep going,” she had your hair on her fist, helping you out.

Yelena buck her hips into your lips picking the pace and with a loud ‘fuck’ she came onto your lips. It was as if she was on cloud 9, she had never felt something like this before, not even with those few girls in The Red Room. This was new and thrilling, and she felt more like herself again. Like that little girl who was once free and unaware of the danger she was getting into. She felt like she belonged. But soon enough the happy bubble she had created for the two of you popped.

“I need you to listen carefully, okay?” she said, helping you up on your feet while the two of you tried to catch your breaths. She quickly put back her suit and cupped your cheeks to get your attention. “You need to leave. Run, run as fast as you can. Don’t look back.”

From the corner of her eyes Yelena could see some shadows getting closer, her team was there, ready to take her away.

“What? What about you? Where are you going?” your mind was rushing with thoughts, not wanting to leave the beautiful woman.

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” she lied, but it was for the better. She needed you to be okay, she could handle The Red Room, she always had.

“No,” you protested. “Don’t leave me,” you felt tears burning your eyes.

“I’ll find you again, I promise,” she caressed your cheek one last time, leaving a peck on the corner of your lips. “Go!” she ordered you.

And so you did, leaving Yelena behind much to your dismay, unaware that she was being taken back by her team to drug her up once again. But you broke her out of the mind control, and Yelena was sure you would do it one more time. And as many times as it’d take for her to be free.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

#yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x fem reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova smut #florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #requests by lovely anons ‘๑’#littlexscarletxwitch's fic

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