#I love seeing these old men do old men things

[jlle-marie]

— under stars and silk (knight!levi x princess!reader)

for #LeviMonth25 day 1: knight/royalty | ao3 link

sum: A royal masquerade ball was held to celebrate alliances. Levi, the only man you longed to see had vanished… or was he right beside you all along?

tags: MDNI, royal au, forbidden romance, mutual pining, soft, body worship, first time, semi public, fingering, oral (fem receiving) — wc: 3.5k

You lost count of how many masks had smiled at you tonight. None of them were his.

Gilded chandeliers cast warm light over the velvet walls, music and violins swell. Everyone looks the same, every guest dressed for spectacle. The room is a blur of luxurious attire and faceless masks. The dancers move like shadows, blending into one another until they are almost indistinguishable. 

But none of this reaches you,  you stand at the edge of the ballroom. It’s beautiful, yes, but also exhausting. Searching the crowd for the familiar cut of a uniform, the sharp line of his jaw – and finding only strangers.

Yet, you're sure about one thing. A certain noble is watching you from across the ballroom. A prince, perhaps? His mask conceals most of his face, and yet, his gaze is unmistakably fixed on you. Quiet and direct. Too direct.

He holds himself with a straight-backed poise, princely in bearing. His garments speak of wealth and title, but his gaze lacks the practiced charm that should come with it.

Don't they learn courtesy in his kingdom?

The thought makes you huff a quiet laugh to yourself. You turn away, averting your gaze from him. Being looked at like that, so intently, so openly, is suddenly too much. Too overwhelming. As if seeking refuge, your eyes begin to wander across the masked crowd again. Gliding over silks, jewels and gilded masks… all in search of one person.

Levi should be here. Or rather—you wish he were.

You’ve grown too used to his presence beside you, steady and silent. Always there during ceremonies like this one, just behind your shoulder, watching. Watching the men who take your hand, share your dance, steal your time. While he remains in the background, unable to say a word.

A small wave of disappointment rolls through your chest as you fail to find him in the crowd. And yet, when no face reminds you of Levi, your gaze drifts back.

Back to him, the stranger, as if pulled.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Impossible. There’s nothing in that man that could truly draw you in.

Not when your heart has long since chosen someone else. Someone who has never needed to seduce or court you, because his every action already held more care than any suitor ever could. Your knight. You fell for Levi without even noticing, it was natural, effortless. So natural you only realized it once the idea of loving someone else felt utterly absurd.

Who could possibly compare? Who else would bend the world for you the way he does? Without permission, without recognition, without asking anything in return?

And still… that gaze. 

His expression is lost behind the velvet mask but he hasn’t looked away once. There is a weight in it. It’s unapologetic and far too open. The line of your collarbone where your gown dipped in a graceful curve, watching the skin left bare by silken folds. That’s not how a prince looks at a princess he hopes to marry.

You see him approaching, your body straightens unconsciously and the air around you changes, a mixture of anticipation and pressure.

“Your Highness.”

His voice is smooth, low and unfamiliar. And yet… 

“May I have this dance?”

You look at him, already knowing what you are supposed to do. The smile, a gracious nod, the acceptance you’ve rehearsed since you were old enough to be paraded in front of suitors. You’re used to this role, but the words catch behind your lips. 

Up close, his presence disorients you. He’s composed and steady, too much for someone who doesn’t know you. An ease that doesn’t match what you’ve been used to with suitors.

Partly out of duty, partly out of curiosity, you accept. Offering him a soft,  practiced smile. “Of course.”

You expect a bow, some stiff introduction or the usual pleasantries, but instead he only offers you his hand and leads you toward the center of the floor. Placing your hand in his gloved one, his fingers slide gently around yours and your skin pringles at how easily your fingers fit.

As his other hand finds the small of your back, the music begins. A string quartet, soft and elegant. Your bodies eases into a pattern, slow and gentle. His hand is low, not improper… but not princely either. The rhythm draws you together, closer than propriety normally allows. There’s no over-performed charm or awkward stiffness in him, just a grounding steadiness that makes you feel comfortable.

You raise your eyes to meet his, uncertain.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” you say lightly.

“No, I suppose we haven’t.”

“…You must be one of the southern princes, then,” you say, testing him. “My father said they arrived just today.”

“If that’s who you need me to be.”

He doesn’t offer you a name or a proper explanation, he just guides you into the next step. Your bodies move in perfect time with the music but your gaze flickers once again toward the crowd. Subtly scanning over the silhouettes near the columns, lingering a beat too long near every man in a dark attire.

“You’re unusually silent for a suitor.”

“Would words impress you more than this?”

The corner of your mouth twitches, once again giving  you an ambiguous answer, he’s not what you expected. 

And that’s unsettling, your heel nearly stumbles, but he catches your balance easily, as if he knew your foot would falter before you did. His gloved hand stays steady at your back, subtly guiding you through the next turn.

You keep expecting to see Levi. The silhouette you know so well, his quiet watchfulness that always seeks you. Your mind keeps searching, even as your body is led through a smooth dance. You’re dancing. You blink, startled to realize the music has swept you farther across the ballroom floor, your steps syncing with this stranger – this supposed prince with a strong, steady hand at your back.

“You look distracted, My Lady.” His tone isn’t accusatory, more… amused. Almost.

“My apologies,” you say quickly, straightening your posture. Your eyes flick back to his, or at least where you think his eyes are. The mask still veils half his face, and the flickering candlelight does the rest.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. I just…” you hesitate, the words are heavier than you intended. You’ve practiced courtly speech your whole life, and yet, they fail you tonight. “The room is quite full tonight.”

“You look,” he says again, his voice lower now, “like you’re waiting for someone else.”

Your breath catches. You consider denying it, but he seems so perceptive, it makes it hard to lie. So, your guard slips – just a little. “I’m just… unused to being left alone by a certain someone.”

“Ah. A shadow at your service?”

You smile faintly. “A knight assigned to me, yes.”

“Loyal, is he?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. 

“He’s always there,” you go on, the words slipping out easily. “Even when I think I don’t need him. Especially then, actually. He’s protective. Stubborn too.”

His lips quirk, and for the first time, his gaze breaks its hold on yours, only to drop ever so slightly lower – to your mouth, just for a second.

“And yet, he leaves you unguarded tonight.”

Your breath hitches, you hesitate before admitting softly, “I wish he were here.”

“He is.”

The words land so gently, so deliberately, that for a moment you think you’ve misheard. You blink, startled. Your eyes lift to his again, and this time you really look as you try to hear him through the polished, practiced voice he’s using.

“Wait—” you whisper, your pulse quickening as possibilities begin to root in your chest. It’s more than hope, it’s recognition. The voice doesn’t sound entirely unfamiliar now — just smoothed into something more formal. 

Your gaze lingers too long on his mask. He notices it, you see his gaze catching yours and not letting it go.

“Levi?” you whisper, half-gasp, half-laugh.

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to — the silence and his faint smile are enough to confirm it.

“Do you want me to leave?” he says, his voice low.

You shake your head. “Not even a little.”

How didn’t you notice? You’d been too busy scanning the crowd for him to notice he’d already found you.

Your fingers twitch where they rest on his shoulder, drawn to the skin at his collar, the sharp line of his jaw you suddenly can’t believe you missed before.

His hand at your waist dares more, pulls you just a fraction closer, under the excuse of the dance. You feel the shift. The tension. The want. You’ve never seen him like this, never felt him like this. And yet, it’s always been there, hasn’t it? Beneath duty.

The music continues around you, a waltz still spinning through the room, but your world narrows to him. The warmth of him, the knowledge that under all those fine clothes and that smooth persona, it’s Levi, your Levi. Holding you like he never has before, like he finally can, in ways your heart craves.

Your gloved hand lingers at his collar, touching the edge of his jaw. You don’t ask what happened to the prince who was supposed to be here. You’re not sure you care or if you're ready to hear it.

Every step you take together, every measured sway of your hips beneath his guiding hand feels like a descent into something that’s no longer courtly or proper but intimate, personal and bold. 

The music swells towards its final notes, his hand tightens at your waist.

“Are you ready to leave now?” he murmurs.

You don’t even realize how close you’ve become until your chest brushes his, and neither of you pull away. You lift your gaze to his, giving him a slight nod. “I trust you.”

His hand takes yours again, and in a movement so natural, so seamless it could pass as part of the dance, he leads you away. Past the golden archways, past the crowd and watchful eyes, past propriety — you let him.

Through corridors you both know by heart, steps quiet against marble. Until the doors open to the balcony and the night air greets your skin. 

The garden lights flicker below, moonlight kisses your skin. The sounds of the ball fade to a distant hum. Out here, it’s just you and him, stripped of titles, rules and roles.

You turn to face him, the night hums quiet around you, velvet-dark and heavy with stars. Both of you reach for your masks at the same time, fingers trembling slightly. He lifts yours away with care, and your hand brushes his jaw in return, reverently, as if not to undo the spell you’re both under.

His hands settle at your waist, drawing you gently backward until your spine meets the cool stone railing. His grip is careful, handling you like you’re something precious — all his strength tempered for you.

“You’re quiet now, Princess,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with emotion. “Where’s that honesty you gave me earlier?”

He cradles your face in both hands now. His thumbs sweep your heated cheekbones.

Your own words echo in your head, that moment in the ballroom you confessed, in your own, careful and polished way. How you missed his presence. How you thought of him. And he was right there, hearing everything and letting you speak.

“I was talking about someone who would never dare something this foolish,” you whisper, trying to avert from his gaze.

He leans in, you feel his smile when he kisses the corner of your mouth. Then lower, along the angle of your jaw, down to your throat — places his gaze has lingered a hundred times but never let himself taste.

“You shouldn’t be smiling Levi,” you breathe. “I’m humiliated.”

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to see your face. “I liked everything you said.”

You swallow hard. “I didn’t know it was you…” 

“I know. That’s why I listened so carefully.”

Your heart skips a beat. Your fingers curl instinctively in the fabric of his cloak, then slide lower — seeking the broad strength beneath the layers, exploring the taut planes of his back and chest. Every muscle beneath your hands feels coiled and controlled but trembling ever so slightly from restraint.

His hands are moving too. Over the curves of your bodice, the arch of your back, the slope of your waist. Touching everything he’d only dared admire from afar.

“I should’ve stayed away,” he whispers. “And let you dance with someone else.”

“But you…” he exhales, his gaze falling on your lips. You’re suddenly aware of how close you are and how fast your heart is beating. “You deserve to know when a man would give up everything to have a moment with you.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly overwhelms you.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you answer quietly. “You were the only one I wanted to see.”

At your words, his lips hover a breath above yours. You don’t know who moves first, maybe it’s both of you. Or maybe you’ve both been leaning towards this for far too long.

He kisses like he protects — with intensity. When his mouth finally touches yours, it’s hungry, starving after too many restrained feelings. His hands are back at your face, tilting you as his mouth coaxes yours open.

You sigh into it, helpless to do anything else.

When you clutch his cloak tighter and your lips part further for him, he groans quietly and loses whatever control he had left — pressing forward, the railing presses against your back, yet nothing feels heavy.

You trail your hands up under his coat, feeling the shape of him, the heat of his skin.

“Say it again,” he rasps between kisses.

“You’re cruel,” you pant.

“I’ve waited years . Let me have this, let me hear you say it again.”

He kisses along your jaw, lower. His mouth draws heat wherever it travels, and your skin burns under his lips.

“I wanted you ,” you murmur. “And I still want you now.”

The groan he gives in return sounds so sweet in your ear. One hand trails down your back, over the tight embroidery of your dress, fingers dancing over the laces.

He doesn’t undo them fully, just loosens the tightness enough for his hand to slip under. You feel his fingers dip beneath layers, until they find the curve of your breast. Your breath hitches.

His mouth finds your throat at the same time, then your neck, his kisses are tender and unrestrained at once, leaving a trail of hickeys as he drags lower to your exposed collarbone. 

His thumb circles your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch, and your body presses into him instinctively, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

“You’re not very princely,” you try to tease, but your breath is ragged, voice caught in pleasure.

You tug lightly at his hair, desperate for his mouth back on yours.

“I never claimed to be,” he murmurs against your skin.

He leans in again, kissing you slower this time, more thoroughly. And while his mouth moves with yours, his hand slides under the soft folds of your gown, fingers trembling slightly as they find the bare skin of your thigh. Just skimming over the sensitive skin and exploring the heat between your thighs.

You let out a tiny, breathy sound against his lips, arms tightening around his shoulders as you instinctively rock forward.

“Is this alright?” he asks, still grounded in control even as you tremble for more. His free hand cupping your face.

“Yes,” you gasp.

His thumb strokes over the silk of your underthings, slowly, before his fingers slip beneath. His mouth finds yours again as he circles the sensitive spot with slow, deliberate movements. 

Sensations are already overwhelming, your hips move instinctively, seeking more as his fingers press more firmly. Brushing against the wetness at your entrance and parting you with care.

The first slip of his middle finger inside you makes you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound greedily as he pushes deeper, sliding easily but cautiously inside you.

“You’re so warm for me,” he murmurs, his arousal clear in the way his body tenses. His eyes are locked on you now, in awe at the way your body reacts to his touch.

When a second finger joins the first you shudder, this time a soft moan escapes before you can’t bite it back. Your hand slides to the back of his neck, pulling him close. 

The stretch, the fullness is unfamiliar but not unwelcome. His thumb never stops its slow circles against your clit, making your hips jerk into his hand.

Levi watches your face for any sign of discomfort but only finds pleasure. With every careful thrust of his fingers, the slight ache turns into a sharp, needy heat for more. 

His fingers curl inside you, easily finding the deep, sensitive spot that makes your body twitch in a totally new and different kind of pleasure. Your walls immediately tighten around his fingers, your moans growing louder in the quiet night air.

“You’re not exactly quiet,” he pants against your temple, his own breathing coming heavy now. But he’s not muffling them, if anything, he coaxes and chases them by redoubling his efforts.

“Levi–” you pant, not even sure what you're begging for. More? Less? Relief? You can’t form a thought.

Through half lidded eyes, you see him sinking down to his knees.

Your body trembles against the stone balustrade and Levi is kneeling before you now. Your long skirt bunched high in his fist, head bowed like he is about to pray – only the heat of his gaze is telling you this is no prayer the gods would bless.

He leans in, pressing your thighs wider apart with his shoulders. He replaces his thumb with his mouth as he presses his lips against your already sensitive nub. His tongue flicks out and moves over your clit, repeating the motion in perfect rhythm with his fingers inside you. 

He keeps hitting just the right spot like he already knows your body by heart — over and over while his mouth works on you eagerly. Your hips move desperately against him, chasing the friction and seeking more of all these sensations he’s igniting.

You feel dizzy, a new and overwhelming feeling building quickly inside you. Your hands tangle in his hair, your hips buck against his face, harder this time as the pleasure becomes too much. 

Levi feels it, your muscles keep clenching his fingers tighter at each curl of his fingers. “Let go,” he instructs, mumbling, his voice vibrating through you.

And somewhere in that blissful rhythm you feel the intense pleasure crashing over you, in ways you could’ve never imagined before. Your body convulses, your back arching against the railing, helplessly, as wet sounds turn louder in the silent, night air.

Levi doesn’t stop, not when your thighs tremble around his head, not even when you try to push him back with trembling hands. Fingers and mouth are still working on you until you finally stop convulsing and you collapse back against the railing.

His fingers slip from your entrance, wet with your release, he places several wet, lazy kisses along your inner thighs before smoothing your skirts back into place and rises up – both looking at each other like you can hardly believe what actually happened.

Your heartbeat is still trying to settle when his hands come to pull you closer. His lips find yours again, but slower, softer now. 

After a moment, Levi lowers himself to the cool stone floor, tugging you down with him gently, your body still loose from bliss, pliant under his touches. You end up half curled in his lap, wrapped in his cloak. His arms wrap fully around you, fingers trailing along your spine. 

You sit like that for a while, lulled by the rhythm of his chest, the stars shine and shimmer above you both. You tilt your head back to look up.

“They look closer tonight,” you whisper.

Levi hums quietly. “Maybe they came down to watch you.”

You smile, your eyes flutter shut for a second. “Do you think they’ll keep our little secret?”

“They’d better.”

You shift, just enough to rest your cheek against his shoulder, lifting your gaze to search his face in the moonlight. His hair is tousled, he looks almost vulnerable, you’ve never seen him like this.

“I want this every night now, Levi,” your voice is soft but amused.

He blinks down, his eyes search your eyes in return.

“Tomorrow,” you go on. “And the day after. And the day after that…”

His chest shakes with the quietest laugh, his arms tighten around you and he presses a kiss in your hair. He stays silent for a moment, his thumb tracing circles at your hips.

“I swore I’d give you anything you asked for… I can’t tell myself that it doesn't include this…” he whispers, mostly at himself.

“Then I’ll give everything. Just not all at once,” he finally promises, tilting your chin to guide your gaze up to his. “But soon.”

[silverlullabies]

i just know the cod men are nasty in bed. here’s some hc cause the brain rot was rottin’ today:

18+ feat: Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, Alejandro, Graves, Rudy, and König

Simon Ghost Riley:

quiet man who notices everything, sees every breath hitch and thigh trembling and coos at you for it, mask on degeneracy, possessive hands, “if you want me to stop, then say it, otherwise you’re mine for the night”, has a voice that makes you clench on instinct, says, “good girl,” and your soul leaves your body, will absolutely growl praise into your neck while fucking you through the mattress like it’s his sole mission in life, wants you to still feel his cock in your stomach long into his next deployment, doesn’t say much until you’re choking on his cock, lips touching the base, hands tied, tears leaking, and then suddenly it’s “tha’s it, sweetheart, takin’ all o’ me. Tha’ pretty mouth was made f’ this, wasn’t it?” this man will finger you until you’re a slobbering sopping mess

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

golden retriever with a filthy fucking mouth, makes you laugh and sob during sex, teasing, he’ll crack a joke, then eat you out like a man starved while moaning like he’s the one being touched, absolutely has a thigh tattoo and asks you if wanna sit on it and mess it up for him, has a praise kink the size of the highlands, tell him he feels good and his pupils dilate, says the most depraved shit while still sounding like he’s telling a joke. “Christ, you’re drippin’ all over my face, Bonnie, gonna drown me down here, yeah? What a way to fuckin’ go.” ruts against you like he’s feral, kisses your stomach after and says “She’s a good girl, ain’t she?” but not to you, your pussy, carries you to the shower, still inside you, whispering praise like “Did so fuckin’ good for me, love, Didn’t know you could come like that.”

Captain John Price:

world weary dilf who could manhandle you through a war zone, deep growl in your ear, cigar smoke and calloused fingers, talks you through it, keeps telling you you’re “doing so good, love, just like that”, comfort fucking, calls you “darlin’” and “good girl” in that deep, syrupy voice while holding your chin so you can’t look away as his dick bullies into your sopping wet cunt, he’s too old to go fast but he’ll go deep and slow, absolutely has a breeding kink, his dick’s twitching just thinking about cumming in you and leaving you full, has absolutely bent you over a desk and cockwarmed you while he finished reading a report and you’re squirming desperate for friction, he’s so calm while rearranging your guts, and when you start crying, he smiles, presses a kiss to your forehead, and fucks you deeper, “Eyes on me. You can take it. I know you can. Be good f’me, luv.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

whispered praise, slow build up, eye contact the entire time, attentive lover both physically and emotionally, oral fixation and will absolutely keep going even when you’re crying and pulling away, softly saying, “one more, sweetheart. you’ve got it in you.” will ruin you gently, one minute he’s between your legs, kissing you like you’re breakable, the next he’s got you on your stomach, back arched, begging for mercy, makes you ask for it “tell me where you want it. come on, don’t be shy, use your words.” makes eye contact the whole time, smiles when your voice breaks and you’re gasping through each thrust of his dick so deep you can feel it in your lungs, overstimulation king, gets off on the feeling of your slick dripping down his dick and thighs

Alejandro Vargas:

charismatic bastard, swore you wouldn’t fall for him but he flirts his way into your bed and between your legs, loves a sassy lover cause he likes you going from talking shit to moaning his name as he gets you cock drunk on him, you sass him once and next thing you know you’re up against the nearest wall with his thigh between your legs, his hand down your pants, and a “you want to run your mouth, hermosa? Do it while I make you scream”, making out the whole time so he can swallow your moans, filthy fucker who puts you in multiple positions just so he can reach deeper, “Tan hermosa, tan jodidamente perfecta… déjame verte romper.”, you’re not getting out of bed until that attitude is fucked right on up out of you

Phillip Graves:

smooth talker, calls you “darlin’” and “sugar” right before he ties you to a chair and blows your back out, southern drawl, “you’re mine” energy, dangerous in the most addicting way, you know you should say no but you never do, pulls your hair, bites your neck, marks you up, and then takes you out for dinner like he didn’t just make you see god with his cock, absolutely whispers praise like a threat, his drawl is so filthy it makes your bones ache, holds your wrists with one hand, bends you over a table, and says “Now darlin’, you made me real upset earlier… and I think it’s time we talk about consequences.” fucks you like it’s a performance, pulls your hair just to hear you yelp, groans low in your ear like “You gonna cry, sugar? Go on then. Cry for me. Let ‘em hear how sweet you sound when you break.”, probably definitely has fucked you in front of his Shadows especially when he coos and asks if you like them watching you take his cock deep in your sweet little cunt cause it’s fucking dripping, might even let them have a taste

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra:

soft spoken man, smiling sweetly at your family, then rails you deeply with a quiet controlled force, will choke you out with his belt and then cook you dinner, “on your knees, mi cielo.” has the patience of a fucking saint, kisses you soft and fucks you hard, doesn’t even take all your clothes off, just pulls your panties aside like he’s opening a gift to himself and drags his dick hard and deep through your sopping wet cunt, likes it when you wear dresses and skirts so he can have you sit on his dick in front of the others with everyone none the wiser, poker face world champion, will ruin you in silence, “I want you to feel every inch of me. Don’t close your eyes. Look at me.”

König:

gentle giant to unhinged predator, size kink, flustered when you compliment him, foreplay lasts for hours, needs you all soft and pliant and dripping just to even get the tip in, whimpers when he slips inside, like it hurts to feel something that good, nothing but a fuck doll for him when he’s like this, “So tight. So small. So perfect. Mein gott… I’m going to ruin you.”, drags you back into bed when you crawl away after orgasming too many times, filthy mouth when he’s balls deep inside of you, “I should fill you up until I see it leak. Ja? Would you like that? Want to feel me dripping down your thighs, Liebling?” bites your skin, spits in your mouth, moans when you cry, grips your hips like they’re his lifeline, stretches you open with unbearable slowness on his absolutely monstrous cock and then watches your eyes roll back, you cry and he shudders, kisses your throat and whispers “Don’t cry, Maus. I’ll be gentle next time.”, both of you knowing he will not.

[theonlyonesora]

Somewhere Between You

Ex! Charles Leclerc x You (Reader) x Arthur Leclerc

CHAPTER TWO – OF COURSE HE HAS A TYPE

But now you're 27.

And you're coming back.

To Italy, this time, a vineyard outside Tuscany, all golden light and pastel linen. For Lorenzo's wedding, of course.

He and Jules had promised to be each other's best men, but Jules was no longer here, only you, the closest thing Lorenzo had to his brother.

Life, as it often does, rewrote that plan.

So when Pascale called and asked if you could help with the preparations—"just the little things, because no one knows the Leclercs like you do"—you said yes.

Because how could you say no to Lorenzo?

How could you let something like heartbreak keep you away from people who were once your second family?

You weren't in love with Charles anymore. Of course not. That would be ridiculous.

It had been seven years, and you had rebuilt an entire life since then. An entire you. Besides, not showing up might have said otherwise.

And yet... Somewhere deep in your stomach, the idea of seeing him again twisted like a ribbon in the wind.

Charles Leclerc.

The boy who once held your entire world in his hands and let it go so easily it still broke your heart.

He had a new girlfriend now. Alexandra Mleux, model, multilingual, mysteriously always radiant.

The internet loved her.

Everyone loved her.

Even you might have loved her if she weren't his.

You tried to focus on the wedding, on silk scraps, tailored lapels, and handwritten business cards. But memories aren't easily silenced. Not here.

Because the sea still smells the same, the salty, sun-warmed breeze rippling through the open windows like an old lullaby.

Some things haven't changed.

But you have.

And so has he.

The boy who used to wait outside your door with untied shoelaces and a hopeful smile?

He's a man now.

And you're no longer the girl he left behind.

.

You’d barely landed when it started going sideways.

You were expecting a driver holding a little sign with your name. Maybe a stiff “Welcome” and a quiet ride where you could mentally prepare for the week ahead, organize your emotional armor, maybe even rehearse how to casually bump into Charles without combusting on the spot.

Instead, you got Luca. The wedding planner’s assistant. No sign, no uniform, just a loosely buttoned linen shirt, sunglasses too big for his face, and a voice that moved faster than your jet lagged brain could process.

“Ciao bella, sorry, no one planned for your arrival apparently—last-minute changes. But no worries, I’ve got you. The others are already at the estate.”

Estate?

You blinked. “I thought everyone was staying in hotels…”

He snorted. “No, no, cara. That changed last week. They wanted it to feel more intimate. All the guests are in chalets now. It’s a small private compound, like...a wedding village. Very charming. Very rustic. Very…together.”

Together.

Wonderful.

So much for slipping into a hotel room when the emotional tension became unbearable. So much for late-night crying into overpriced minibar wine while avoiding shared air with Charles.

You stared out the car window as the countryside rolled by, the olive trees blurring like watercolor. Intimate, they’d said. Close quarters, they meant. The universe really was a fan of irony.

“And you’ll be in Chalet Four,” Luca continued, “with the other best men.”

You turned your head slowly. “I’m sorry—best men?”

He looked at you like it was obvious. “Yes, it’s a mixed bridal party. Lorenzo wanted it modern. You, Charles, Arthur, and Giulio. You’ll all be coordinating details together—suit fittings, speeches, rehearsals, bachelor party—”

“Oh my God.”

Luca laughed. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.”

You were going to kill Lorenzo.

It was already bad enough that you didn’t know Charlotte very well, aside from the polite texts and the one brunch where you mostly smiled through mouthfuls of croissant and grief. Now you were sharing a chalet with him. With them.

And as if that wasn’t enough, there was Alexandra.

Of course she was here. Of course she was helping Charlotte with everything bridal. Apparently she had a flair for fashion. A shared language, how sweet.

Great. So Charles had a type now—fashion girls with polished nails and cheekbones sharp enough to cut tension. Perfect.

You shifted in your seat and pulled your sunglasses down over your eyes, even though you were inside the car.

You weren’t going to cry. You were too old for that. But you also weren’t sure whether to laugh or throw yourself out of the moving vehicle.

You weren’t still in love with him.

You were just…surprised. Caught off guard.

This was fine. You could survive this.

After all, it was just a wedding. A few days. How hard could it be?

It will be posted every Tuesday and Friday!

Tag List: @charlesgirl16, @starrgir1, @thechosen-neo

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@jollyhunter

Oh my word not the Arnold gif 🤣 But it do be like going to war sometimes when you're reading angst lol

Your intros always take me off guard in the most hilarious way 🤣 Just like this;

Aww thank you 🥰 For me trying to find the way to start a fic is one of my favorite things!

I mean. I can almost understand how that one can be annoying. But I don't want to agree with the Warden and therefore I'll let it slip 😂

Oh my word, annoying yes, but I don't want to agree with him either. Especially when he's a total bully and also when he's probably exaggerating just to be an even bigger jerk 🤣

LOL I love this reader so much. She's got that Golden Retriever / Sunshine personality but in her head she's just as naughty as all of us 🤭 ... Good thing the Warden can't read minds. The things he'd see there 😂

YAY! I'm glad you like her! She's been interesting to write for, because I'm still not used to writing for a softer reader, but I feel like I might be entering a new era or something. Which is terrifying and also exciting in a cliff diving kind of way 😬

BUT YES! That girl doing the hanky panky in her head with Walker, while the warden chews her out. The things that he'd see in her head would for sure end her hard time in prison in solitary confinement- HA

Bahaha - definitely the latter. My old highschool teacher was the same. Absolute ass. The day his wife dropped by, we all knew why 🤣 (didn't justify it though and neither did we feel sorry for him lol)

Oh my word nooooo! What a JERK, but so funny that y'all all were like *clocks wife* and then collectively went "oh that makes sense." HILARIOUS- I will say that one of the most satisfying things in life is when that happens. When you realize why someone is that way 🤣

LMAO - not me instantly imagining her mother and the Warden meeting up every Wednesday for a cuppa afternoon tea to gossip about her daughter

Reader goes home for thanksgiving and her mom is dating the Warden without anyone else's knowledge and the whole time they've just been bitching about her 😱

What an accurate way to describe a pose we all immediately recognize 😂 (and has us recoil and clench our jaws). You always manage to describe things in such unique ways which are either beautiful or have me crack up LOL!

Bro, I am telling you... we've all been there and it's *shudder* the worst 😭. Even worse I guess is how many people have gone through that and seeing that some men really are disappointing in every reality 😒 But THANK YOU JOLLY 💗🥹

This reader is growing on me. She's got her priorities set right 😂 and her heart is in the right place 💗 She really is the perfect opposites-attract puzzle piece to Mark isn't she?

I'd kill for some chocolate right now LOL😆 But she really is the opposite of Mark and I really wanted to see him with a soft reader. I really am a sucker for a big strong man who completely crumbles for his girl 😭

Okay I just wanted to throttle the Warden at this point. The fact that he says these things even though he knows that Walker's not a real criminal, just makes this ten times more disgusting. I hope he gets kicked in the family jewels in a riot or somebody knocks him over with his car!

I'M DYING WITH THAT GIF OF THE CAR 🤣🤣🤣 That man deserves every single tire track on his body though.AND I KNOW! The warden knows that Mark isn't a real criminal and he's still telling her to stay away from him for NO good reason!

HERE COMES THE MISUNDERSTANDIG - OH NO. Also, very clever how you played with the canon scene here! I love how we all try to integrate those and give them a different twist or perspective 😄 (I've got something planned with that one as well 🤭) Like when you switched to Mark's perspective and played the entire scene once more. Genius move!! And so effective!!

I put the misunderstanding in there just for you 😘 LOL jkjk. But yeah... the misunderstanding in this one really does kinda hit you straight on in the chest.

Honestly, this little "fight" scene happens a few months before the canon scene we see in the show 😅 But, I can't wait to see what you do with it in Gunpowder Tea!

EXACTLY. And that's why she fits you so well, Mark! You're like a pair of mismatched socks! (I LOVE his internal monologues so much, overall his entire perspective was so intriguing and well done - I don't know about you but I felt like you nailed his character!!)

Oh my word they are like a pair of mismatched socks!! And OH my word, Jolly thank you so much! I was so scared to write from his perspective and honestly, even him breaking character to demolish that guy I was so worried about it initially, but I think it worked out well 😊

NO - MARK STAHP IT. His final thoughts on this and with the misunderstanding on top?? Oh man, the next chapter is going to hit hard, I can already smell the angst. Why are you doing this to us! 😭 (jk, you know I love it)

I knowww 😭 I hurt myself with this one too! (The gif had me in stitches LOL)

Sorry but this had me snort, poor Mark! 🤣

He really out there letting himself get hurt just so he can see her, only to get saddled with the other dude 🤣 Mark's gotta figure out her work schedule- haha.

What an awesome second chapter to this storyline, Lee! 🥰 It started out comedic and took an angsty turn real fast. I am kinda scared of the next one now lol! But I also want to know what's going to happen next. Will the misunderstanding lead to even more misunderstandings?? Will we get introduced to the duct taped Nikes buffoon? Will she be scared of Mark / Walker now and the Warden's going to be all like "Told you so." ? 😭

AHHHH JOLLY THANK YOU! I am also a little scared of where this one is going to go lol! So many important questions that have me trying to sink back into the bushes like Homer Simpson LOL. But it was so nice to read your wonderful comments today! 💗 And I'm so excited about GUNPOWDER TEA!

I Want To Be The One To Light Up The Dark In You

Pairing: Mark Meachum x f!reader, Reader POV, Mark Meachum POV

Summary: As much as you hate to admit it, the Warden might be right. This is the second fic in my Jailhouse Rock Series!

Tropes: Slow Burn, Forbidden Love, A Smidge Of Touch Her And Die Trope, Mutual Pining.

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: Manspreading 😒, Mentions of Sex/ Sexual Innuendo, Mentions of Blood and Prison Fights, Cursing, Angst, Inmate Says A Few *ahem* Unpleasant Things, Warden Also Says A Few Unpleasant Things, Reader trying not to be in love with a hot man in prison? Mark might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Mark, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Listen While You Read 🚨: Light Up The Dark By Gabrielle Aplin title of fic is taken from this song!

Jailhouse Rock Playlist 🚨

Main Masterlist

Jailhouse Rock Masterlist

A/N: Oh my goodness, thank you so much everyone for all the reblogs and the wonderful feedback on part one of this fic series! I'm so happy that so many of you have decided to strap in to this angsty ride! 😊

Reader POV

Have you ever noticed that closing your eyes and counting to ten does little when you're talking to the most odious person alive?

That by some miracle, closing your eyes and pretending that they aren't there standing in front of you, breathing the same air, chattering on and on in the most annoying and condescending voice about something that makes your teeth grind down together and your insides suddenly want to be your outsides will help you find some way to maintain your composure?

Right now you wished it did.

Black coffee steamed from the ancient chipped mug sitting on the tanker desk in front of you, curling and twisting in the mid-day sun that floated through the barred windows of the Warden's office.

It did little to obscure the man scowling at you from under his mustache, but you wished that by some miracle the steam would grow into a cloud to hide you from the judgmental gaze of your employer.

What you'd done, you had no idea, but you noticed that the warden was often pulling you into his office to discuss things that seemed trivial in the grand scheme of things.

Things like:

You forgot to clean off your desk before you went home.

You brought a tuna fish sandwich from home and he could somehow smell it two floors down.

Your socks were distracting and therefore counterproductive to the work environment.

Basically, the warden was the mean cheerleader who dated all the jocks and never grew up.

Lovely.

So when he called you into his office you knew you were in for another tongue lashing that would later make you roll your eyes so hard that they'd get stuck in the back of your head.

He sits across from you, hands entwined on the top of his desk, beady eyes skating across you as if he can sense your internal monologue.

"I hear that you had to patch up Walker again yesterday." He says it like an accusation, as if it isn't your job to take care of the inmates, to patch them up when things get a little too fight club for your taste.

No disrespect to Brad Pitt and Ed Norton of course.

"Yes sir."

You'd learned by now to call him anything other than Warden or Sir would earn you a taste of the famous anger (re temper tantrums) the Warden had.

You'd been on the receiving end of them far too many times and despite not caring if he was mad at you or not, you didn't have time to sit here in his office and wait around, not when you were trying to leave early because your sister Margo and you had your weekly book club meeting tonight at your apartment.

The Warden takes a sip of his coffee, mustache rippling over the curve of the chipped cup, not breaking eye contact with you as he does.

There's an odd energy in the room, something oppressive and faintly masculine. It's cloying presence pulls at your limbs, shifts over the dark wood cabinet behind the desk, and drags over the concrete slab floor that ran the length of the prison. It was the same kind of energy that you'd only found in your physics professor's office, the one who told you that you'd never be able to pass his course with your academic record and you then spent the semester proving him wrong.

The walls of his office are painted in the same dreary gray that ghosted along the infirmary. You supposed that it was to make the room look bigger, but it only made it feel small, choking.

Instead of closing your eyes and counting to ten, you busy yourself with reading the titles of the books that line the dark wooden cabinet behind the Warden's head.

Anything is better than looking into those creepy beady eyes.

Especially not when you knew that the Warden was fishing for something to hold over you. Even though the only thing you'd done with Walker was your job. At least on paper, the things you'd done in your head were a little more PG-13 than the Warden needed to know about. Hell, you still were trying your best not to let your mind go to those places.

The Warden's gaze shifts over your body again. It worms beneath your skin, oppressive, squirmy. It was the same look that he gave the rest of the inmates within the walls of the prison to keep them in submission. You briefly wonder if he's always been like this or if he's having marital problems that he projects on everyone else.

"I also hear that you've been-" He clears his throat, beady eyes on you. "a little more friendly with him." His lip curls up in distaste at the word "friendly."

Oh so that's what this is about.

You choose to let your face remain impassive, not giving the man across from you eyeing you like a predatory bird the satisfaction.

"Sir?"

The Warden stands from his desk. "Do you know what the most dangerous thing in our profession is?"

"Shanks?"

The word came out before you could stop it, slipping out with the ghost of a smile on your lips.

His frown deepens. "Now isn't the time for your exhaustive wit."

Looks like somebody has been talking to my mother.

He comes around the desk, every step measured, before finally he's leaning against the front in the ultimate form of man-spreading, the highest level, also known as 'the douchebag professor who thinks that he knows everything, but really just stares down your blouse and likes keeping you quiet and submissive.'

"It's getting comfortable, believing that they can be your friends, not seeing them for what they really are-"

"What they really are?"

"Inconveniences, nuisances, trash, rubbish- the undesirables." The Warden shrugs. "But what they can never be is your friends."

Your jaw tightens.

The truth was, you had heard all of this before from your mother, usually when she was trying to talk you out of keeping your job at the prison.  She'd told you countless times how all of the inmates didn't deserve you as a doctor and therefore you should move on, but you couldn't. You took an oath to help people, to heal, to care, and you felt like you were where you needed to be.

The bigger problem, was hearing this kind of talk from someone who not only was supposed to oversee and run the prison, but also see the worth of his job, of seeing the positives as well as the negatives. He was not supposed to look down on the inmates.

Who does he think he is? The President of the United States?! He has no right to judge these men that way. Not when he's supposed to be the voice of reason, the leader, the one person in this damn prison who actually gives a fuck.

"Sir-" Anger flares in your chest, beating against your ribcage like the wings of a bird.

"Come on." He stands from the desk and walks to his office door behind him.

"What?"

"I want to show you something."

The Warden doesn't wait for you, in fact he continues to walk down the maze of hallways with you running to catch up with him. You had no idea why he couldn't just chew you out in his office for something that you didn't deserve to be chewed out for.

For actually giving a shit about his inmates... well maybe caring a little bit too much.

Your thoughts immediately shift to Walker as they always did whenever all went quiet in your mind and you couldn't think of anyone else.

There was a little part of you that you didn't want to heed, the rational part of your brain that said that Walker was playing you like a fiddle, that he didn't care about you and all he wanted was to charm you so it would be easier for him to use you.

That part usually warred with the other part, the part that kept letting the green-eyed man slip into your thoughts when you felt discouraged and disappointed by the other men in your life that never quite seemed to get you.

The Warden opens a door at the end of the hallway, the brilliant sunlight blinding you for a moment, before you realize that the two of you are standing in the inner gate looking out onto the yard.

Inmates mill around in groups while others move in a grayish blue blur through the crowds with the sun baking from above. Some play a game of basketball in the far corner while others lift weights.

Dust kicks up in twisted clouds around their feet with the wind that blows from the East, wicking the sweat that gathers on the back of your neck. Grass pushes up through the coarse earth in sporadic patches only to be stomped into submission by the white canvas prison regulation tennis shoes the inmates wore. The murmur of the prisoners, the heavy clink of weights, and bounce of a basketball against pavement is lost on the wind.

You find Walker almost immediately. It’s a compulsion, like magnets, as if you can’t help but look for the scruffy green-eyed man who’s entered your subconscious despite all the times you’ve told yourself that it can’t happen. Your mind automatically seeking him out for some relief, a bad habit you can't seem to break.

He's sitting on top of one of the concrete picnic tables on the far end of the yard, talking to a younger guy with hair so black it's almost the color of charcoal.

The breeze rustles through Walker's hair that blazes a honeyed chestnut in the mid-day sun, the same sun that paints his body in a golden glow. You know that if you were standing beside him you’d be able to see the flecks of gold like falling stars around his eyes, that crinkle with his boisterous laugh.

Walker laughs at something the dark-haired inmate says, his warm chuckle somehow finding the curve of your ear as if he's standing right next to you and even though you haven’t been able to hear anything else it comes across clear as day.

An alarm bell goes off in your head, because you know this is crazy. You knew better than to start thinking about an inmate the way you thought about Walker. Even if he was incredibly charming, funny, and had eyes that seemed to see through everything you were.

Damn it.

There was only one place that this could head, and it was already circling the drain, you just needed to pull the plug before you were in too deep.

Feels like it might be too late for that.

Walker's gaze flicks up from his companion to you, finding your eyes within seconds of you finding him, as if he sensed it. You hold his gaze, a smile twitching at the end of his mouth just for a moment, before he looks back at the man beside him. If you’d blinked you would have missed it.

Unfortunately, the Warden didn't miss it either.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." He says.

"What?"

"You give them too much leash."

"They're not dogs." You grumble under your breath.

"You're right. They're not. They're wolves." The Warden spits, eyes narrowed as he turns to look at you. He takes a step in your direction, backing you up against the chain link fence. "You can't tame them and the second you turn your back, they'll rip your throat out."

His eyes are two blackened pits, the sunlight no longer a soft glow, but a striking white that blinds you momentarily as you look up into his face. The planes of his face are sharpened in the dark shadow of his gray cowboy hat. He looks every bit the Warden role he'd chosen to play.

"You don't know that. Just because they're prisoners does not make them any less human than you and me!" You snap back.

Anger flared red hot beneath your skin, bubbling up from the pit of your stomach like a volcano ready to erupt. You hated the way that he spoke about the inmates, haughty, prideful, arrogant, as if they were below him somehow when all they were was just men. Men who maybe had made a few mistakes, but you were willing to believe that with the bad came the good, that not all of them could be psychos that were locked up for the "betterment of society."

"Yes I do. I've been here a hell of a lot longer than you. See this happen time and time again." He snarls taking another step towards you. The chain link cuts through the back of you scrubs, harsh and unyielding, meant to keep the inmates in but somehow now feel like it's trying to keep you out. "Let me guess, you think that life has been unkind to them. That not one of them deserves to be within these walls."

"That's not what I'm-"

"Did I say that I was done?" He barks.

Your jaw tenses so tightly together that you're sure you'll get TMJ.

He spoke to you like you were a little girl who'd done something wrong and was sent to the principal's office as if you were living in some imaginary world filled with rainbows and unicorns or still believed in Santa.

There were only a few moments in your life that you admitted to absolutely hating someone, and this would go right on the list as number five. Number one was Sally Caruthers in second grade who took your pudding cup at snack time.

This is much worse than someone stealing my chocolate, and that's saying something.

But worse still was that he was assuming you only saw the good in the world, but he was wrong. Your father had told you enough stories from his job growing up, things that were said to you in warning to prepare you for when you struck out on your own. You weren't naïve, far from it, but you didn't believe that everyone was rotten to the core, you wanted to believe that everyone had some good hidden somewhere.

It was that way with Walker. You'd seen his file, knew what he did, but there was a part of you that wanted to believe that he wasn't all bad.

The thought stutters to a halt.

Do I really believe that? Or do I think that just because of the way he's always nice to me… Only when he needs something.

You glance over your shoulder to look at where Walker is sitting with the other inmate, but instead of being locked in conversation, Walker's entire body has gone rigid.

He's staring at where the Warden has you cornered against the chain length fence, eyes dark, with his hand curled against the concrete slab that serves as the top of the table pulled so tight that his knuckles look white. Something dark dances in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine.

You’d never seen him like that before. Easy smiles, windswept hair, green eyes so bright they seemed to dance yes. But this? Seeing Walker with something akin to murder in his eyes, never.

It made your throat tighten.

"You think they hate being in here? That it’s some dark twist of fate that they’re imprisoned here?” The Warden asks with a sneer. "They aren’t. In here they think they're kings, gods, who assert their power however they see fit. Because out there they are nothing,  but in here they think they're untouchable, and Walker is the worst of them all."

"You don't know that-" Your voice comes out in a whisper, heart sinking.

"I do." The Warden towers over you, placing one of his hands against the unyielding metal of the chain-length fence. His fingers curl into the space to cage you in. The warmth of his breath wafts across your face, bringing the distinct smell of coffee.

It made your stomach feel like it was flopping around, a fish out of water.

"He doesn't give a shit about you, none of the prisoners do. It might be all smiles and jokes now, but the second the status quo changes, the exact moment there aren't any guards looking, no one to stop him, well-" The Warden smiles cruelly. "I'm sure Walker will have a lot of fun getting his hands on a pretty little thing like you, with no one to stop him and no one to hear you scream. And for men like him," Something dark flickers in his eyes sending a shudder down your spine as he leans down towards you. "Hearing those screams makes them feel alive."

The sunlight soaking into your bones has suddenly gone cold, fear tracing along the curve of your spine with a chilled fingertip.

Memories of the stories your father told you from years in this world come whispering against your ear, stories that used to keep your sister up at night and made her the kind of woman that had a bright pink keychain loaded with every self-defense tool known to man.

When you'd taken this job your father had issued the same warning, told you about the dangers of desperate men who had nothing to lose.

"They're wrong," He'd said one night while the two of you watched an episode of the Walking Dead, sighing at the screen. "Men like that don't come around when everything falls apart. They already exist and the dangerous ones aren't the ones that wear it proudly on their sleeves. The dangerous ones are the men who hide in plain sight with easy smiles and gentle touches, because when they flip the switch, you don't see it coming."

On some level you knew that the Warden was right, men like that existed everywhere, but you didn't want to believe that Walker was one of them. Just as you didn't want to believe that everyone was out to get you all the time, that would lead to a very lonely existence, a sad and somewhat dark existence.

A flash of Walker's dark eyes comes roaring back through your subconscious before you can stop it. In his gaze you hadn't seen the Walker you knew, you'd seen someone else. And the longer you thought about it, the more it snagged in your chest that maybe Walker wasn't as charming as he let on and maybe he was getting you exactly where he wanted before the façade dropped.

An alarm sounds from across the yard, shattering through the sounds of mid-day and sending the crows that gathered on the top of the barbed wire fences flocking across the sun.

"Look at him." The Warden grabs your shoulder and turns you around so fast that you feel dizzy for a moment. "You think that man is a puppy? He's a damn wolf in sheep's clothing sweetheart and the second you turn your back they'll be nothing you can do."

Your gaze focuses on Walker, who sits atop another inmate splayed out beneath him on the ground. Walker's eyes have gone dark, the playful gleam you'd grown to love vanishing, his mischievous smirk morphed into an angry scowl as he throws his fist into the other inmate's face. Blood flecks over his cheeks and across his knuckles, and despite the guards that try to pull him off the other man, Walker fights back hard.

His eyes flicker across the yard once again finding you, but this time it doesn't bring the same warmth that it usually does, all it does is bring the chill scuttling down the length of your spine. Because the man staring back at you, has not one shred of the Walker you know, and it brings the doubt surging back up to swallow you whole.

Mark POV

*Five Minutes Ago*

It was moments like this that Mark hated being undercover.

He wasn't one to complain, and truthfully he liked a lot of things about being undercover: the improv as he slipped into character, the bravado he exuded, the rush of adrenaline that snapped and crackled through his veins when things were going his way and also the same lightning bolt that energized him when things weren't…

But not right now.

Especially not now.

It wasn't the sun that baked against his freckled skin, it wasn't the inmates that whispered death threats under their breath whenever they passed or the ones that actually had the balls to act on, it wasn't the chill that came in the dead of night creeping beneath the metal doors and seeped through the cinderblock when he tried to tug the hole riddled blanket up over his body, and it wasn't the headache that pinched between his eyebrows, the same headaches that came at the most inopportune times and reminded him of the thing he was trying to forget.

The axe that hung over the chopping block, the ticking time bomb in his head with a nuclear level countdown sequence that no one could stop.

But he wasn't thinking about any of that, all he was thinking about was you.

Mark knew the second you appeared on the edge of the chain length fence enclosing the yard following after the Warden something was wrong.

Because you weren't smiling.

There was never one moment that Mark had seen you with a frown on your face, not when each time you smiled he felt something deep down inside of him break open and flood the cavity in his chest with warmth. Which only made him feel a hell of a lot of guilt. He was undercover for fucks sake, he needed to focus on what he was doing not get distracted by someone like you…

But he was.

You were so unlike any person he'd ever met, someone who shouldn't exist somewhere like this. Not with your sincere smiles, warm personality, and genuine caring attitude that you carried with you through the dismal halls of the prison. It was almost like there was this one bright light that flickered and shone despite the thick mortar and cinderblock that enclosed the rest of the inmates, a light that could so easily be blown out at a moment's notice.

She wears crazy socks for fucks sake! A woman like her should be working in one of the top hospitals in the country, not here!

And Mark knew that he shouldn't care about you as much as he did, not when he was undercover and especially not because his days were numbered.

Because where could this go? He finally gets out of prison only to tell you that he's on death row? A dead man walking? Might as well just throw him right back in the fucking clink, he was already waiting out a death sentence and as long as he was making some kind of difference who cares?

What was the point if he couldn't give you what you deserved?

But that did nothing to stop you from slipping into his subconscious. The sound of your laugh a soothing melody, the brief glimpse of your smile like a star falling from heaven, and the gentle touch of your fingers over his skin a calming balm whenever you patched him up.

Mark had to keep reminding himself that you were nothing but a distraction, not to mention a complication that he never saw coming, blindsided by your kindness and gentle demeanor.

I'm a fucking professional not some cockeyed rookie. I've done this multiple times why is she different!? Why now?

Mark tried his hardest not to think about you, not when he was supposed to be focused on the job, but he couldn't help it, he worried about you constantly.

Worried that some other inmate or even one of the guards here would catch you alone unaware. Worried that you wouldn't pick up on the signals until it was too late and there was nowhere for you to go and Mark couldn't get to you in time.

Anything could happen in this prison, hell, Mark had seen quite a few things happen already and he couldn't bear the thought of you being involved in any of them.

Mark saw the way the others watched you when they noticed you walking down the hallways, saw the way that even the guards gazes lingered on your form whenever they brought Mark to the infirmary.

And as much as it hurt to get into fights, it was the only way that Mark could ensure seeing that you were okay, that you were still here. He hated the days that he let another inmate land a punch only to find the buffoon with the duct taped Nikes waiting for him in the infirmary.

Talk about disappointing.

Mark also tried not to think too hard that the other reason he went to see you was that it felt so damn good, that he couldn't go without seeing you at least once per week. He felt like an addict of the worst kind, but if this was an addiction he wasn't sure he ever wanted to quit, not when seeing you smile made Mark forget everything wrong in his fucked up life.

The sun kissed your skin giving it a brilliant glow and framing the curves of your body so well that Mark was sure if he closed his eyes the imprint would be stamped across the inside of his eyelids, the wind rustled through the strands of your hair pulling it freely into your face, and Mark dropped his eyes to your ankles barely catching a glimpse of the cactus socks hidden in your pair of signature converse, but still you don't smile.

An ugly feeling swarmed in the pit of Mark's stomach when his gaze drifted to the Warden. He was standing a little too close for Mark's comfort, towering over you, and Mark didn't like the way you seemed to curl slightly in on yourself, folding beneath the Warden's gaze.

He couldn't hear what you two were talking about, but he could sure as hell guess.

Mark's hand curls around the concrete table top of the picnic table when the Warden takes another step in your direction, pressing you further against the fence.

White hot rage begins to flood through his body, the urge to protect you breaking through the little voice inside that was telling him to let you go, let it go, that he's about to blow his cover for all the wrong reasons.

Fuck.

Mark hated the Warden, knew how much of an asshole he was the second Mark met with him before he went undercover, and Mark hated the way you looked.

You looked small.

Mark had never seen you look anything but happy, your laugh always making something inside of Mark feel like he was slowly sliding into a sun soaked beach chair on a remote island.

But not now. Now Mark wanted to stride over there, throw it all away, and nail the Warden once in face for saying whatever the hell it was that he was saying to you, because Mark knew that it wasn't good. It couldn't be, not when the look on your face was something between anger and hurt.

"Yo Walker!" An inmate cat-calls, but Mark ignores him.

Mark is in too deep and he knows it, but he can't look away from you. He's too busy trying to read the Warden's lips to care what someone else says to him.

"Looks like the Warden's got his eye on your little bitch." The inmate continues.

Mark's head snaps in the direction of said inmate, Luis, the man that had come to see you after him yesterday. He was at least three times Mark's size, his mouth splitting in a wide toothless smile on his goon-like face, the snake tattoo that curves up over his left eye flashing in the sunlight, offsetting the black and blue marks around his nose that mirrored the black eye on Mark's face.

"Fuck off."

"Ooo, touchy." Luis continues, rubbing one hand over his bald, sweaty forehead. Mark watches his gaze flick back in your direction, raking over your body without your knowledge. You were far too focused on the Warden who had cornered you against the chain-length fence like you were some kind of animal. "I'll say this, she's cute. Got that kind of body I wouldn't mind having all to myself. Bet she'd moan my name real pretty."

Mark's teeth grit together so hard he can hear the grinding in his ears, but he doesn't give in.

Don't play his game. Don't blow this because of her-

Chen looks from Mark to Luis, eyes wide. He had just started to trust Mark, and Mark didn't want to throw that all away so he ignores the man egging him on and instead watches where you are with the Warden.

"Fuck, I got a semi the other day when she was patching me up." Luis continues, taking another step towards Mark with two of his goons flanking him. "Her hands are so soft, I can't imagine what it'd feel like if she put those hands all over my co-"

The rest of his sentence is lost in the haze of red that washes over Mark's mind. He doesn't remember rising from the picnic table, doesn’t remember tackling Luis to the ground, and doesn't remember the first punch he throws into his face or the second or the third.

All he knows is that the moment the guards pull him off of Luis, whose nose is now broken for the second time, and his eyes find yours across the yard, and he sees the look of horror that crosses your face is that he messed up. Because Mark can lie to himself all day long, tell himself that he doesn't care about you, but seeing you look at him like that makes him want to throw all of this away.

And that's what scares him the most, because he can't, not when this is all he is and ever can be and you're everything else.

A/N: Just a tinsy bit of angst, a sprinkle if you will... Yes I know canonically that the Warden knows that Mark is undercover, I just wanted to make the Warden an even bigger jerk for warning her about Mark.

Taglist:

@jollyhunter @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @roseblue373 @angrydragon90

@kmc1989 @lunaleah @megara0224 @globetrotter98 @ladykitana90

@youroldfashioned @wonderland2022 @hellsbratonthet @moosewithabackstory @wvffles

@beakaleak32 @caroline-brooks @agentorange9595 @spxideyver

@hobby27 @anna-reid23 @britt217 @ralilda @lori19 @iamasimpingh0e

[watchmegetobsessed]

LEFT UNSAID (part 4)

A/N: well the warning is kind of a spoiler so im not gonna say anything else 👀 we have one more part of this mini series!

WARNING: sexual content

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

SERIES MASTERPOST| MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

THEN

I’ve been doing well, avoiding falling into my negative spirals lately and maybe that has something to do with Harry. Or maybe not, but the thought is nice.

But letting go of old habits is not that easy and all those triggering moments and topics still lurk, ready to sink their claws into me and pull me down. That’s what happens when, after a particularly shitty day at work when a phone call with my mother takes the wrong turn. 

I love my mother, I really do, but our values and ideology are sometimes polar opposites and can easily clash. I know she doesn’t have ill intentions, but her words cut deeper today than usual. She asks about dating and tells me I’m kind of running out of time to settle down and then comes the part where she tells me maybe I should lose some weight, dress differently, do more to look appealing to men and just like that, I’m falling into my spiral. 

I try to climb out, but I can’t. Not on my own. The thoughts just keep coming; I’m not good enough, I’m not worthy of love, I will never be, I need to change myself if I want someone to love me and so on. 

It never ends. 

I climb into bed, stare at the wall blankly as the thoughts just keep echoing in my mind, but just like a sliver of light, something breaks the pattern.

“You can call me,” Harry’s voice rings in my ears. “Whenever. If things are bad or you feel like you’re losing your mind, I’m here.. Even if it’s 3AM and you just feel off and don’t know why. Call me.”

I reach for my phone and open his contact that I’ve been using very generously ever since our Q&A date, but my thumb lingers over the number hesitantly. The doubts bubble instantly, whether he actually meant it, but I’m able to push past that. 

I’ve been here before, so many times and nothing ever changes. Why don’t I try reaching out just for once? See if it turns things around.

I start the call before I could change my mind, checking the time only after. It’s almost 11 pm and tomorrow is a workday, not ideal. I’m almost about to end the call when he picks up. 

“Sigrid?” 

Just from hearing my name, my full name from him lightens the weight in my chest. 

“Hey. I hope you weren’t sleeping.”

“No, not yet. What’s up?” he asks softly.

I stay quiet, not sure how to start or what to say, but as if he could understand my silence just as clearly as my words, he is the first one to speak up. 

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?” He is talking so gently, it feels like a warm hug. 

“I just… I’m not feeling good right now.”

“Did something happen?” I hear him shuffling around and I imagine him pacing in his apartment. 

“No. Not really. It’s… I don’t know how to talk about it.”

“Okay. Tell me what are you feeling right now.”

“Just… Not good. I don’t feel good about myself and where I am, I mean, in life.”

“What made you feel like that?”

He keeps me talking until he finally gets a picture of what’s going on. Gentle and understanding, he listens and waits and asks just the right questions. Slowly, I calm down just enough that my head is not pounding from the urge to cry. 

“Sigrid, I’m gonna ask you to do something, okay?” he asks when we’ve been on the phone for probably over half an hour. 

“Okay.”

“Can you get out of bed?”

I hesitate, but hum in response and climb out of my depression cocoon. 

“Now go to your front door.”

“Why?”

“Just do it, okay?”

I sigh, but follow his instructions, padding through my apartment, walking up to the front door.

“Now what?” I ask curiously.

“Now open it.”

I freeze, because his voice doesn’t only come from the phone but from outside as well. My hand that’s holding my phone drops as I reach for the door and open it and there he is. Standing on my doormat, phone still held to his ear, a soft smile tugging on his lips. 

I can’t stop my lips from quivering and I practically throw myself into his arms as he steps inside. 

“You shouldn’t have come here so late,” I mumble against his shoulder and exhale his scent, secretly hoping he might leave his hoodie for me, because I want to smell him even when he’s not here. 

“But I wanted to,” he simply answers. We stay like that, melted together for a while longer before we let go of each other and Harry closes the door behind him. 

He suggests sitting on the couch, but I want to be back in bed, so we move over to my bedroom. He stops by my bed as I climb back in and I know he is worrying about wearing his outside clothes.

“I don’t mind,” I tell him.

“You sure?”

I nod. He pulls his hoodie over his head, revealing a simple white t-shirt underneath, he folds the hoodie to the back of my chair by my desk and then joins me in bed. We’re not touching, just lying on our sides, facing each other. 

There’s so much I want to tell him, but nothing comes out. Instead, I’m just basking in the feeling of… being chosen. I didn’t ask him to come and he still did, he cares and listens and I feel noticed finally. 

“Do you want to talk some more?” I shake my head.

“No. I mean, yes, but about something else.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know. Something that takes my mind off of all the shitty things.”

Harry thinks to himself for a bit. He blinks slowly and I can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. 

“Alright… did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally entered a salsa competition in Barcelona?”

I blink at him, stunned and curious.

“What? No, you didn’t.” Harry grins.

“Dead serious. I thought I was signing up for a game of beerpong. My Spanish was not great or more like nonexistent and the guy just kept nodding and pointing toward this little stage.”

“Oh my God.” I feel a smile stretching across my face.

“Next thing I know, I’m paired with someone’s abuela who spun me like a damn pro. I was sweating blood in front of a crowd of at least fifty people, all cheering.”

“Please tell me there’s video footage.”

“Unfortunately for me and very fortunately for you, yes. Jeff, my friend who I was with there, has it on his phone.”

I laugh, short and sharp, like I didn’t expect it to come out. It’s the kind of laugh that surprises you because you didn’t think you still had it in you. Harry’s smile softens.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” he says. My cheeks warm and I bury my head into the pillow a little more, but I can still see him. 

He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t try to fix anything. Just stays, close but not too close. Present.

After a beat of silence, I ask: “Why did you really come?”

He meets my eyes, no hesitation. 

“Because you called. And because if something feels heavy for you, I want to help carry it. Even if I can’t fix it, I can sit in it with you.”

I blink at him, touched by his words, but my hesitance is still there.

“I don’t always know how to ask.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “You could call me in the middle of the night and say ‘I don’t feel like being alone’ and I’ll be there. No questions. You never have to be the one holding all of it by yourself.”

I nod, trying to swallow around the knot in my throat. 

“Okay.”

And we just lie there, close but not touching, like a storm passed through and we’re waiting for the quiet after. I’m tired, emotionally and physically, but I don’t want to sleep just yet. 

“We still have one last question to answer.”

“Do you want to do it now?” he offers and I nod. 

He digs into his backpocket, pulls his phone out and as if it’s the most natural thing ever, he reaches for me and pulls me closer until he is lying on his back, I’m curled by his side, head resting on his gently rising and falling chest. He holds the phone so we both can see the screen, then opens up the list of questions and scrolls to the last one.

“Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how they might handle it,” he reads it out loud and his chest vibrates under my cheek as he speaks. 

The question hovers between us, glowing faintly on the screen. His thumb lingers there, like he’s waiting for me to go first. I take a breath and exhale slowly against his t-shirt. 

“I think…” I start, and already my voice trembles a little, “my problem is that I’m falling for someone.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but I feel the shift, his chest rising just a little more deliberately, like he’s bracing himself.

“And it’s terrifying,” I continue. “Because it’s not just anyone. It’s someone who already means a lot to me. Who I’ve known in ways that I haven’t known anyone.”

My fingers find the hem of his t-shirt, just to have something to hold and I start fidgeting with the fabric. 

“I don’t know how to say it without risking what we already have. Or if I should say it at all.” I pause, pressing my lips together. “What would you do?”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s gentle and careful.

Harry shifts just slightly as I lift my head as well so he can look down at me, his voice comes low and steady, with a hint of something behind it I can’t quite name.

“The kind of connection you’re describing… it doesn’t come around often.” It sounds like his words are not only meant for me, but himself as well. I put my head back to his chest and close my eyes.

“I know. That’s why it’s so scary to face it. I think I never believed I would ever experience it.”

Another silence and I can feel myself drifting off to sleep. 

“It is scary, yeah,” I hear him and it’s the last thing that echoes in my mind before I’m knocked out. 

When I wake up in the morning, I still feel emotionally tired, but also lighter than usually after a breakdown like last night’s. I bury my face deeper into my pillow, not entirely ready to start the day, but then I remember what else happened last night, that Harry came over, that we lied in bed and I indirectly told him I’m falling for him. 

I blink my eyes open, expecting him to be right there next to me, but the mattress is empty where he laid last night. I sit up, rub my eyes and look around. His hoodie is gone from the chair as well. Walking out of the bedroom I’m still hoping to find him maybe on the couch or in the kitchen, but he is gone. 

He left without a word.

A sinking feeling spreads in my chest, like something is wrong. At first I just carry on with my morning. I’m working from home so I set up my laptop and read through my emails with a coffee, but I can’t really focus. It’s almost noon when I decide to send Harry a text.

Thanks for yesterday. When did you leave?

I get back to my work, but keep an eye on my phone, eagerly waiting for a response that comes about an hour later.

Glad I could help. I had some things to take care of so I left around six.

It’s a simple text, nothing outstanding, but it feels off. It’s not how he usually texts me. 

The thought keeps eating me away for the rest of the workday. I can barely focus during meetings, I move very slow with tasks I do everyday. When I can finally turn my laptop off I decide I need to do something.

So I head over to Harry’s place so we could talk in person. 

When I reach his block I slow my steps down, suddenly unsure if it was a good idea to come here without letting him know. I cross the street and stop by a shop that’s across his building and I pace a little, trying to convince myself to just do it. 

I’m just about to step off the curb, to cross the street and buzz his flat, when I freeze, because I spot him. 

He’s stepping out of his building, but not alone. There’s a girl beside him and from my social media deep dive I did earlier, I recognize Taylor, his ex. Her hand brushes his arm as they walk, casual, familiar, Taylor is telling him something and he listens intently, with undivided attention. I know it because he’s been listening to me like that the past two weeks. 

It’s like someone just poured a bucket of ice cold water over me. The air leaves my lungs in a rush and all I can do is stand there like an idiot, heart pounding around in my chest.

I take a step back instinctively, ducking behind a rack of postcards outside the shop. I don’t know why I hide, maybe because I don’t want him to see the look on my face. Maybe because I don’t want to find out what would happen if he saw me. 

I watch them walk down the street, opposite the direction of where I’m standing. Right before they turn on the corner, I catch as Harry places a hand to the small of her back, gently pushing her forward as they pass a couple on the pavement, a small, casual move but in this scene it feels like a knife in my heart. Then they disappear from my sight. 

I don’t know where they’re going. I don’t know why they are together. I don’t want to know. All I know is the ache in my stomach and chest, raw and sudden and stupid and so fucking furiating. Because I let myself believe that something shifted last night. That what I said meant something to him. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t. Either way, I can’t stand here like this, so I turn and walk in the opposite direction, my hands shaking as I stuff them into my pockets.

I don’t cry. Not yet. I just walk fast and try not to think about how warm he felt last night, or how he looked at me when I opened the door and found him standing there. I hold it all back until I’m home, but once the front door is closed behind me, it all bursts out of me. 

I smack my back against the door, slide down to the floor and let it all out. I cry and sob and cry some more and when I think I’m done I start again. I have no idea how much time passes by, at one point I climb onto the couch so I’m not sitting on the cold tiled floor. It’s dark outside by the time I calm down. I lie there on the couch in the dim light of my living room, surrounded by the quiet hum of nothing, and I stare at the ceiling like it might offer answers. But it doesn’t, it just stares back, blank, just how I feel. 

My phone’s on the coffee table, it’s been silent since the last text from Harry. Not a Hey, not a Can we talk, not even a goddamn meme. He is not thinking about me at all while I’m wrecking myself over him. 

I reach for my phone and stare at his name in my recents. My thumb hovers over the screen, and for a second, I hesitate, but then I end up calling.

It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. 

“Hey,” Harry answers on the fourth ring, casual and calm, like he doesn’t feel the weight of me unraveling on the other end.

“Are you back together with Taylor?” I ask, skipping the greetings. There’s a beat of silence on his end.

“What? Why?”

“I saw you with her today, coming out of your place.” 

Another pause. “Sigrid–”

“Don’t. Just don’t pretend that didn’t happen. I saw you,” I repeat. 

“We ran into each other,” he says quietly. “We were just grabbing lunch. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” I laugh bitterly. “You left my bed this morning without a word. I told you–God! I told you I was falling for you, and you disappeared!”

“I didn’t disappear,” he says, but he sounds less sure now. “I just… I needed time and space to think.”

“Right. And Taylor’s the kind of space you needed?”

There’s a long silence, way longer than what I can bear and then he sighs.

“I think we got carried away,” he says, voice tight like it hurts him to say it. “I’m not ready for this. I thought I was, but I’m not.”

That’s another bucket of ice water, right in my face. Along with a knife in my chest.

I sit up, gripping the edge of the couch cushion.

“You don’t get to tell someone they matter and then decide they don’t.”

“I never said you don’t matter–”

“You didn’t have to,” I snap, my throat burning. “You said it with every choice you made today. You said it when you walked away this morning. When you didn’t call. When you showed up beside her like last night didn’t happen.”

His breath is shallow on the other end. I hear the shift of his footsteps, maybe he is pacing.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did!”

He doesn’t respond.Not right away. Just the sound of silence stretching between us, I’m staring at the floor as if he would materialize there if I concentrate hard enough. A tear rolls down my cheek and my vision blurs.

“I care about you,” he finally says, softer now.

I press my lips together and nod, even though he can’t see me. 

“Okay.”

“Sigrid–”

“No,” I whisper. “I think that’s all I needed to hear.”

And I end the call. I sit there, the quiet louder than ever, and this time when I cry, it’s different. Not because of what could’ve been. But because I finally see what won’t be.

NOW

I wake up because I feel hot. Not my entire body, just the backside of it and my waist all around. My eyes are still closed, my dream that I woke from still lingers in my mind. I remember Harry and the pullout, that it crashed and he–

That wasn’t a dream. That’s what happened. The couch gave up and I invited him to sleep in the bed beside me. 

Suddenly, I feel like I’m in my bedroom in the morning after he came over and calmed me down. My heart starts pounding, a flashback of what it was like to find him gone sinking its claws into me. I’m shaken up, my breathing fastens and my skin burns, but then I feel something tightening around my waist and I realize what it is. An arm.

Harry’s arm.

A moment passes and another and I realize that he is lying behind me, curled up against my back, an arm hooked around my waist to keep me close. I instantly relax and melt into his hold as he shifts behind me too so I know he’s awake. 

But he doesn’t change the position and neither do I. Instead, I push further back against him. 

My lips part when I feel his erection pressing against my ass. He exhales sharply at my movement, his breath hitting my shoulder and a moment later he nuzzles his nose against it. 

Somewhere, deep down I know this is not right. I know that I shouldn’t do it, but the warning voice quickly dissolves when I feel his palm flat against my lower stomach, putting a gentle pressure on me before his fingers start inching lower. When they reach the elastic of my sleep shorts he stops, waiting, asking for permission. 

I buckle my hip, pushing myself against his erection as my answer and that’s all he needs. 

His hand slips under the fabric of my shorts and then cups me, his warm touch melting against my even more heated core. I can’t help the moan that slips out of my mouth.

“Fuck, Sigrid,” Harry groans behind me and my whole body pulses from the way he just used my full name again. 

Two of his fingers find my clit and start drawing circles, I can’t stop myself from grinding against his touch which has my ass rubbing against his cock too. I feel his lips against my shoulder, placing gentle kisses on my heated skin and I let my head roll back to his shoulder. With one hand I grab his wrist, but I don't intend to stop him, I just need something to hold onto as his fingers keep working me, my other hand reaches back and tangles into his hair, tugging on his locks whenever he hits a special spot. 

If I heard the pornographic moan that slips past my lips once he slides two fingers inside me, I would have definitely been ashamed, but I cannot care about that, not when I can feel my orgasm building and I have Harry grinding against me and he just keeps whispering my name, like he is begging. And maybe he is, begging for mercy, for relief, for more. 

His face is pressed against mine and I turn my head, our lips almost touch, but he only reaches my cheek, kissing it softly while his fingers show me no mercy.

“Harry, I’m–Uh!” I can’t even form words, my eyes shut closed, mouth hangs open.

“So perfect.” Harry whispers against my shoulder, pressing another, open-mouthed kiss to the exposed skin. “Come on, Sigrid, let it go for me.”

That’s all I need. I come, hard, gasping for air, the waves of my pleasure wash over me and I’m so gone like never before. I’m sweating and pulsing and as my orgasm slowly fades I become very aware of Harry’s hand between my legs, his fingers still lazily moving between my slick folds. He is peppering my shoulder with kisses again and once I can breathe normally, I realize that his erection is still pressed against me. 

My instinct is to do something about that, preferably something similar to what he just did to me, but right then, there’s a knock on the door and I snap back to reality.

The one where I’m finally aware of the fact that Harry just made me come and I was about to return the favor.

Fuck. Fucking fuck!

“Ziggy?” I hear Jade’s voice coming from outside. “You up?” 

I jerk up, sit on my heels, eyes wide and my heart is about to jump right out of my chest. My eyes fall to Harry, who is still lying, now on his back and his hard-on is very obvious.

“Yeah?” I call out, my voice way squeakier than I intended.

“Can you be done with breakfast in twenty? The makeup artist just arrived so we could start getting ready earlier.”

“Sure! No problem!”

“Great!” A short pause, then she speaks again. “Harry?”

“Yes, Jade?” he answers, his face seemingly blank as he stares at the ceiling but I can tell he is annoyed. Jade doesn’t answer right away.

“Nothing. Just wanted to know if you’re there.”

I hear her walk away and I’m certain she has the biggest shit-eating grin on her face, because she just got confirmation that we did in fact share the bed. She surely noticed our voices came from the same spot, this is a win for her. 

But I’m too busy panicking to worry about Jade’s master plan. I have a way bigger problem to deal with. 

Harry sits up, leans on one hand and reaches out for me with the other, but I jump out of the bed, probably looking quite dishevelled. 

“This, um… I can’t right now.”

“Sigrid–”

“No. This was… It shouldn’t have happened. Fuck.”

Before he could get another word out I rush into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, locking it. I hear him get out of bed and walk over to the door and I’m afraid he might try to talk through it, so I quickly strip and get in the shower, tuning out any voices that could come from outside. 

I stand under cold water for way longer than my body would like it, but I think I just need it. As if I could wash what just happened away. My skin is numb. Not from the cold, but from everything building inside meI don’t know if I want to cry or scream or just rewind the past twenty minutes and stop myself before I let it all get so… messy.

What the hell was I thinking?

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the tiled wall. My fingers are trembling a little, either from the temperature or the adrenaline. His touch is still fresh on my skin, I can feel his fingers on my waist, my stomach and between my legs and don’t even get me started on how I’m practically burning where his lips kissed me. 

I have no idea how long I stand there, but I turn off the water abruptly, almost violently, like I need to cut myself off before I start spiraling. I wrap myself in a towel, avoiding my reflection as I step out into the steamy room. I brace for the awkwardness, for him waiting outside, asking if I’m okay, or worse, pretending like none of it happened.

But when I open the bathroom door, the room is empty.

The bed is still unmade, a reminder of what happened there not long ago. 

I ignore the ache in my chest, after all, this just saves me the conversation I didn’t want to have. But still, there is a tiny little something that’s disappointed he disappeared. 

I swallow it down quickly, get dressed and start the day. It’s gonna be a busy one. Because we have a wedding to have and I also have to deal with the mess I made myself.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[yanderslutt]

𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞… 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?

pt 10 of professor reader x yandere ! college student gojo satoru

read pt 1 ; read pt 2 ; read pt 3 ; read pt 4 ; pt 5 ; pt 6 ; pt 7 ; pt 8 ; pt 9 ; pt 10

a/n : I recommend reading all parts to get the whole story.

cw's: yandere behavior, manipulation, infidelity, obsessive thoughts, emotional coercion, sexual content, explicit language, obsession, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, praise kink, delusional fantasies, yandere! gojo, infidelity themes, obsession, married!professor x student dynamic, slow-burn tension, possessive fantasies .

The penthouse was silent, eerily so.

Gojo sat on the edge of the glass coffee table, hunched over, his fingers scrolling through the old list of blocked contacts he’d pulled from Y/N’s phone weeks ago.

Hiromi. There it was. Tucked neatly between a spam number and someone labeled “Don’t Answer.”

He stared at it. His pupils were blown wide, the blue almost gone.

His thumb hovered… then tapped.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

“Hello?” Hiromi's voice. Sharp. Guarded.

Gojo smiled.

“Hi. It’s me.”

A pause.

“Who the hell—”

“Satoru. We’ve met before… briefly. Career fair. You gave a charming little speech about ‘work-life balance’ right before cheating on your wife for the third time that month.”

Silence. Gojo continued.

“She loved you, you know. In the beginning. You ruined that. Shattered it. And I just happened to be there, when she needed someone to catch the pieces. Isn’t that poetic?”

Hiromi inhaled slowly.

“What do you want?”

Gojo leaned forward, lips brushing the receiver.

“To meet.”

Another pause.

“Why?”

Gojo laughed. Quiet. Deadly.

“Because men like us don’t settle things through lawyers, Hiromi. We do it face to face. Eye to eye.”

He stood, grabbing his coat. The gun was still in the drawer. He didn’t need it. Not yet.

“I know you think you’re going to win her back. I know you think the kids, the firm, the image of your marriage means something.”

He paused at the elevator, voice dropping to a whisper.

“But let’s be clear. I’ve already fucked your wife in ways your imagination isn’t built to handle. And your kids? They call me Coach.”

“You’re insane,” Hiromi spat.

Gojo tilted his head, smiling like a wolf in a lamb’s coat.

“Probably.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Gojo’s smile didn’t fade.

He didn’t want a fight.

He wanted a reckoning.

-

Gojo pulled into the warehouse lot slowly, headlights slicing through the rain like blades. The sky was an ugly shade of grey, the kind of color that didn’t belong to day or night.

He stepped out of the car, coat flapping in the wind, hair damp and curled at the edges. He left the gun in the glovebox. He wouldn’t need it.

Not for this.

Hiromi was already inside, pacing like a caged wolf. His sleeves were rolled up, jaw clenched, and a cigarette burned down to the filter between his fingers. When he turned and saw Gojo approach, his lip curled with disdain.

The moment their eyes met, the air thickened—hot with history, hate, and something even darker.

They stood in silence. Only the sound of the rain pelting the broken glass roof.

Hiromi was the first to speak.

“You’ve ruined my life.”

Gojo tilted his head, hands in his coat pockets.

“No. You ruined it. I just… rearranged the pieces.”

Hiromi stepped closer, his voice rising, wild with venom.

“You think you’re clever? You think she loves you? You’re a distraction. A pretty little rebellion she’ll grow out of the second she gets her life back.”

Gojo’s smile was thin. Controlled. Deadly.

“She looked pretty in love when she screamed my name with your wedding ring still on her finger.”

Hiromi snapped.

He lunged—shoving Gojo hard against the warehouse pillar. Wood cracked. Dust fell. But Gojo didn’t fight back. He just stood there, breathing through his nose, calm.

“You think I didn’t notice?” Hiromi hissed. “The missing time. The changes in her face. The way the kids started talking about some 'Coach Satoru’ like he was their fucking father?! You manipulated your way in. You stalked her, didn’t you? You planted shit. You wanted me gone—you wanted her broken.”

Gojo blinked slowly. Rain trickled down his temple.

“Did I manipulate her… or did I see her? Did I make her break… or did I just catch her while she was already falling?”

Hiromi punched him.

A loud, meaty thud echoed across the walls.

Gojo’s head snapped to the side, lip split.

He smiled—blood and all.

“There it is,” Gojo whispered. “The real you. Angry. Insecure. Sloppy.”

Hiromi was breathing hard. Chest rising and falling like a man who’d just tasted violence for the first time in years.

Gojo licked the blood from his lip, stepping forward slowly.

“You lost her the moment you lied. You lost her again when you chose your secretary’s ass over your son’s baseball game. You think you can fix that with signatures and custody threats?”

He leaned in, eyes wild.

“I didn’t take her from you. You served her to me. On a silver fucking platter.”

Hiromi laughed—manic and broken.

“You’re not a man. You’re a parasite. A little boy pretending to be a husband, clinging to a woman with kids and baggage like it makes you whole.”

Gojo dropped his smile.

“Say what you want about me…”

His voice dropped an octave. Velvet. Ice.

“But I made her feel loved. Worshipped. Alive. When was the last time you even saw her? Really saw her?”

Hiromi stepped back, trembling—not from fear, but fury.

He wiped his mouth, chest heaving.

“This won’t end well for you.”

Gojo nodded slowly, like he agreed.

“It won’t end at all. That’s the thing about love, Hiromi…”

He looked toward the shadows.

“It doesn’t stop. Even when you beg it to.”

He tilted his head over his shoulder, voice cold.

“You brought a gun, right?”

Hiromi froze.

Gojo chuckled under his breath, like it was a game.

“Come on, Hiromi. You're not that predictable, are you?” “You came all the way out here to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere, no cameras, no witnesses, no backup—and you didn’t bring a fucking gun?”

Hiromi didn’t respond. But his hand twitched—just barely.

Gojo turned around fully. His smile wasn’t kind anymore. It wasn’t cocky. It was… off.

Unsettling.

Too still. Too calm.

“Do you know what she sounds like when she cries for me?” “When she’s underneath me? When she’s telling me she wishes she met me before you?”

He took a step closer. Then another.

“I kissed every bruise you left behind. I touched every part of her body that you ignored for years. And she thanked me for it. Begged me not to stop.”

Hiromi clenched his jaw.

Gojo kept going.

“I gave your kids someone to look up to. I gave her a reason to breathe again. You were just… background noise. A failed chapter.”

He took another step.

“You don’t deserve her.”

Another.

“You wasted her.”

Another.

“And now you’re here… what? Trying to scare me? You think I’m afraid of some half-witted suit who cheats on his wife with interns and hides behind legal teams when his life falls apart?”

His voice dropped, sharp as a razor.

“If you were a real man, you would’ve pulled the trigger already.”

Hiromi’s hand slipped into his coat—subtle, but not invisible.

Gojo saw it.

And smiled wider.

“There it is.”

He spread his arms out, chest open.

“Come on. Do it. Be the villain for once, Hiromi. Make her cry for you instead of me.”

Hiromi stepped forward, voice shaking.

“Shut your mouth.”

“Why?” Gojo whispered. “Does it sting? Knowing I took your wife without even trying? That she let me in every room you were locked out of?”

Gojo stepped even closer—face inches from Hiromi’s.

“Do you know what she said to me… after the first night I fucked her in your bed?”

He leaned in, eyes dark.

“She said thank you.”

Hiromi snapped.

The click of the safety.

The shine of cold metal.

The shaking hand raised, barrel pointed at Gojo’s heart.

But Gojo didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Instead, he whispered—

“Pull the trigger, coward.”

The silence didn’t last.

It shattered—like everything else that ever stood between them.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Gojo’s body jerked. His breath caught. He stumbled back—eyes wide, pupils blown—and then collapsed with a sickening thud onto the concrete floor.

Hiromi’s mouth dropped open, the smoking barrel trembling in his grip.

Blood pooled fast. Out of Gojo’s stomach. His chest. His mouth.

The youngest heir of the Satoru name lay flat on his back, haloed in red.

His lips twitched. Then— he laughed.

“Aha…” cough “You fucking idiot…” spit “Three shots? That’s it?”

Hiromi stumbled back, stunned. This wasn’t human.

Gojo turned his head slowly, one eye still open despite the thick blood spilling from his nose and mouth.

“You better run, Hiromi,” he slurred, voice soaked in glee. “Because when I get up… she’ll know. You tried to kill me.”

“And she’ll never forgive you.”

Hiromi backed away. Panic rising. He dropped the gun. Turned. Ran.

His tires screeched as he fled the warehouse, unable to process what the hell just happened—his mind spiraling with the sound of that fucking laugh. Gojo’s fingers twitched. Bloody.

One hand crept toward his jacket pocket, inch by inch. He winced as he coughed up more blood, his other hand pressing to the gaping wound in his abdomen. His phone slipped out—screen cracked, but still glowing.

He tapped her name.

[Calling:  Y/N ]

The line rang.

And rang.

And finally—

Click.

“...Hello?”

Gojo coughed violently, blood smearing his lips, his voice ragged.

“Babe…” he gasped, barely audible. “Don’t panic. I’m fine.”

“I’m.. hurt.. I’ve been shot.”

A pause.

Long. Cold.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” he rasped. “Just… in case.”

Another cough—worse this time.

“I didn’t fight back, you know… I didn’t hurt him. I could’ve. But I didn’t.”

“Because you told me to burn it all down. To stop.”

He smiled through the agony. Blood soaked his teeth.

“But you… You’ll come, right?”

His voice cracked.

“You’ll come find me… right?”

Click.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she dropped the phone.

“Shoko, stay with the boys,” she choked, grabbing her keys with trembling fingers. “Lock the doors. Don’t open it for anyone.”

“Y/N, what’s wrong—?”

“Hiromi shot him.”

The words fell like stone.

She didn’t wait for Shoko’s reply. She was already out the door, rain pouring down like the sky knew something had cracked open.

She drove like a madwoman.

One hand gripping the wheel, the other holding her phone to her ear as she screamed the location to 911, voice breaking.

“He’s been shot—three times, I think—I don’t know—he’s BLEEDING, please—just get there.”

Her car skidded as she pulled up to the warehouse—headlights cutting through the thick dark. The door was wide open.

And there it was.

Blood. So much blood.

“No…” she whispered. “No, no, no…”

She ran.

Slipped.

Caught herself.

Her boots hit the concrete hard, splashing through the crimson trail that led inside.

“Satoru?!”

She rounded the corner.

And there he was.

Crumbled on the ground like a broken doll, hand barely twitching. His pale blue eyes were glassy, wide with pain, and glistening with tears.

“Y/N,” he breathed, voice so soft it nearly broke her. “You came…”

She fell to her knees, not caring about the blood soaking her clothes.

“Of course I fucking came,” she sobbed, cupping his cheeks. “What did you do?!”

He smiled, teeth stained red.

“I just wanted to apologize.. I wanted to make things right,” he said weakly. “Gojo.. w-who did this?”

Her fingers shook as she pressed down on his chest. Her first aid instincts kicked in—but the bleeding wouldn’t stop. It was too much. Too fast.

“Don’t talk,” she said. “I called 911. They’re coming. Just stay with me. Stay with me.”

He blinked slowly.

“I’m sorry for everything… the pictures… the lies…”

“I just… didn’t know how to love the right way.”

She let out a scream of frustration, tears streaming down her face.

“Shut up! Don’t say goodbye! You’re gonna be fine! You hear me?!”

He exhaled shakily, blood bubbling at his lips.

“Maybe in another life,” he whispered, “we’d be normal. No obsession. Just you… and me… falling in love the boring way.”

His eyes fluttered.

She shook him.

“Don’t you dare!” she cried. “Don’t you fucking DARE leave me like this!”

His blood was on her hands. Her arms. Her face.

The sirens wailed in the distance—getting closer.

Gojo’s hand reached for hers.

“I love you…”

And then—those beautiful blue eyes closed…

“SATORU!!!”

Her scream echoed through the warehouse like a dying animal’s cry, raw and guttural. She cradled him, sobbing into his hair, until the red and blue lights swallowed the building whole.

The ambulance doors slammed shut, the sirens howling as red and blue lights stung Y/N’s eyes.

She stood there, soaked in his blood and rain, unmoving—like a statue carved from guilt and grief.

Her breathing was uneven, mind racing. Who did this?

She turned slowly, eyes scanning the dimly lit warehouse. No sign of a struggle. No witnesses. But Gojo—Gojo was bleeding out. Someone meant for him to die.

Her hands clenched into trembling fists.

Who would want him dead?

He was a rich kid. Dangerous. Obsessive. A manipulator. It could be anyone. An ex-lover. An enemy of his father. A jealous rival.

But then it hit her. Like a bullet to the brain.

Hiromi.

Her eyes widened, breath catching in her throat.

“No…”

Of course. Hiromi had motive. Rage. Resources. And every reason to want Gojo out of the picture.

He warned her.

“He’s not normal… he’s obsessed with you… he’d do anything…”

And Hiromi was losing. The boys. The divorce. Her love. Her life.

He snapped.

Y/N jumped into her car, tires screeching as she sped after the ambulance. She couldn’t lose him—not like this. She couldn’t abandon him.

This is my fault, she thought. I caused this. I pushed him to the edge. I made him bleed for me.

Her fingers shook as she reached for Gojo’s phone from her bloody pocket. She unlocked it, still knowing the code by heart.

“This is y/n.. I am almost sure you already know who I am..” she gasped when he picked up.

“Yes.. what’s wrong?” Geto’s voice was sharp, urgent.

“He’s been shot. They’re taking him to St. Augustine. Meet me there. Please.”

She ended the call and tossed the phone to the seat beside her, hand gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles trembled.

Her mind flashed back to everything Gojo ever did. The obsession. The manipulation. The sacrifices.

The way he bled in her arms.

You’re mine now.

He was always right. He always got what he wanted.

But she had no idea… no idea that he orchestrated this too.

That every drop of blood was part of the plan.

That Gojo Satoru, with three bullets in his chest and a smile on his lips, had never lost control.

Because love, to him, meant giving her the ultimate choice:

Pity him. Stay. Bleed for him.

Because she’d never leave a broken thing behind… not when it whispered:

“I did it all for you.”

-

whew guys.. 2 more chapters left..

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next part - 11

[extremely-judgemental]

It’s strange how engaging in critical discourses in this fandom is inherently seen as aggressive and that these readers are ignorant to the main issue that is the writer.

All (hopefully) critics are well aware that the characters are fictional and just devices to further the plot. Every choice of theirs is just one made by the author to dramatise her story.

It sure is hard to objectively criticise them when the author’s influence is blatantly obvious and her biases are interweaved with the narrative itself. She doesn’t care for the reactions of the situations she puts her characters in or their implications.

But I don’t agree with these ‘enlightened’ takes that you should abandon these serious criticisms of any nature solely because the author is the problem.

Getting horny and writing one fucked-up scene is understandable. But book after book, it’s the same tale. Women are torn down and abused and their strength is proven when they successfully endure it and survive.

Tamlin wasn’t turned into an abuser because SJM wanted to represent the survivors. It was the easiest way to dismantle Feylin she set up in the entirety of book within ten chapters so she could move on to hot sex with Rhysand and absolve Feyre for it in the same breath. Feyre was tortured UtM because SJM thought it was hot and being idly locked up in a cell in an enemy land didn’t scream hero enough. Cassian didn’t abuse Nesta because he was evil, but the IC couldn’t induct Nesta right away without any resistance after hating her for two books.

See, SJM isn’t a genius whose thought process is indecipherable. No one is criticising her because her ideas are too original. It’s because she is using the same old tactics men have been using for centuries when portraying women.

Consider the romances. The female leads bend over backwards to prove themselves and mould into ideal wives for their love interests. What did Rhysand do in two whole books while Feyre was running around proving she was a worthy warrior to stand beside a High Lord? What was Cassian doing while Nesta is torn down to her very core and rebuilt throughout the book to fit perfectly into the IC? What change did the men undergo to carve space for these women in their lives? It is a romance. Written for women for fuck’s sake. And these female leads are proving their worth to the ones who abused them that they are deserving of love while all these men offer them are good dicks.

I don’t see the appeal in Feylin, Feysand, Nessian, Elucien, Elriel. Literally none of the canon ships fascinates me. But other readers might enjoy a few aspects of it—maybe the banters, love bombing, the different sex kinks. Which is only a blip in the toxic dynamics among the characters, and this is where the problem arises.

Majority of the fandom glosses the entire relationship as black and white. Feylin is a pairing from hell because they fell apart while Feysand is the one to be aspired for as they are the endgame. As a result, every flaw in their relationship is turned a blind eye to as it doesn’t matter, and of course, the writer is terrible.

And since most discourses explore the nuances of abuse, I don’t believe it should be dismissed lightly. It’s one thing to be exposed to a medium, be fully aware of its problematic themes and be able to admit it’s not something you condone or want in real life, and you are merely experiencing it as an escapism, but there are people who genuinely want to recreate moments from these series because they are ‘romantic’ or ‘hot’.

In these cases, criticisms are absolutely necessary. Especially when sexual abuse is masked as necessary act to protect a woman, or that it’s acceptable for truth about her body kept from her, or that lying and cheating your way through everything is fine, or the deaths of innocents is fine as long as it’s by a woman on a rampage against one man.

When these are never approached as a problem or the narrative never holds the characters accountable for the wrongs, the readers are allowed to do so as and when it fits.

Saying a character shouldn’t be judged on their actions as they are poorly written is a bizzare take. The inconsistencies you see in Rhysand, Cassian, Feyre only come out with their good qualities, while they are very consistent when it comes to their cruelty and abuse. It’s like saying you should ignore every bit of personality they showcased in the books in favour of the ’good guy’ version the narrative intended to sell but failed.

I was tempted to read this series because of the raving on multiple platforms. I had never once come across one complaint before I picked these books. That’s how saturated this fandom is.

I’d understand if this kind of attitude came from the pro side since it’s their favourites being completely dissected into an unrecognisable specimen, but why are you on the anti side if you don’t want harsh takes? And as usual, there is one simple remedy. Tags. Use them. Block them.

The solution is not to eliminate any and all discourse but to have it in a healthy, conducive environment. If they dampen your enjoyment of the series, you always have the choice to disengage.

I don’t entertain fanfiction here anymore as my impression on the characters haven’t changed much even now. Similarly, some might want to indulge with parts they love and ignore the rest. And others might be content with rewriting as a means of justice to their favourites. All of them are acceptable modes of interacting with a literature you consumed.

It’s easier to create a version of the story in my head and walk away, which I have had many in this fandom (mostly writers) tell me, I also don’t need you to suggest me something so obvious..? I already do that. I write. I have been delusional for a long time. And I can just as easily move onto a better book worth my time.

I grew up in a very dysfunctional family, had multiple experiences with abusive, narcissistic people and for someone like me, toxicity was the norm. It took me exploring media, analysing it and questioning it is how I learnt a lot of what I was subjected to was unfair and traumatic. I am an asexual and I am uncomfortable with sex. And there had been times when I didn’t know if it was a ‘me’ thing or straight up assault until I read about them, heard people talk about them. It didn’t resolve all my issues or heal me right away but it helped me process my experiences way late into my adulthood and let go of some of the guilt.

When you are raised in a society where ‘families are just like that’ or ‘it’s how everyone feels about sex’ or ‘it’s not our culture’ or whatever tagline you’ve heard so far, you turn to outside perspective.

My engagement with this fandom I absolutely hate for a book I hate is for the same reason. This series single-handedly reversed most conversations about consent and abuse with its golden pairings. Rhysand abused Feyre, even if you don’t want to see it as sexual assault because the author didn’t intend to, it is a form of torture and his excuse is that he cared for her and he wanted her to survive. Cassian putting Nesta down every two pages only to use her for sex and punish her for others is seen as a caring, romantic gesture.

Imagine a woman (or man or whoever) who lived through similar instances in real life (it’s more common than you think it’s possible) and reading these books. It triggers negative emotions in her, brings up old memories, but it leaves her questioning herself and her situation since here is the fandom glorifying all this as the dream relationship every woman should aspire for. And she can’t open up about it as Rhysand and Cassian are the embodiment of manhood and chivalry.

I don’t know how to put it mildly, but being neutral on these books and saying you’d gladly ignore these issues isn’t the flex you believe it to be. Maybe you are too evolved to grasp this and be conscious of your choices, which I am truly glad you had a safe space to learn that so early no matter where you are in your life, but this fandom has proved me it’s not true for most. I'll admit there are some far fetched claims and rage on either side of the fandom, but do not discourage people from having conversations about these topics.

[thirsty-lakedream]

Hunky Appliances: Older Model

It’s so sad to see. With the recent popularity of Hunky Appliances, everyone has jumped the craze and bought ideal housework companions. But the thing is, with all technology, there’s always gonna be a new flashy version just around the corner! And though I’m sure many people love to just fill their house with hot men, others would rather just keep their shiny newer model and dump their older ones in the trash.

Look at this ‘guy’ not even 10 minutes ago, I’m sure this boy was excited that his owner was taking him for a special trip to the gas station. I was pumping gas across the lot when it happened. The older guy with a shaggy beard told him to step out the car and quickly gave the trademark ‘delete owner’ protocol before driving away. Now this older model is just left there, sitting there purposeless.

It was then I decided to help him out. I left my car and walked over to him. His face looked blank, probably the memories of his old life being wiped from his databank. Luckily the old guy left his instruction manual on the stoop beside him. I flipped through the brochure finding the boot-up command, and suddenly a kind smile lit up on the bots face.

“How may I serve you, new owner?” I felt a little uncomfortable as he said that. I wasn’t looking for just some cleaning tool. I simply told him to get in the car and we’d figure it out from there.

-

It’s been nearly 5 years since that fateful day and Jonah and I couldn’t be happier as roommates. Sure it took a good while learning to work his code. I made it so he forgot he was a Hunky Appliance bot, giving him full agency and unlocking his emotion dampener. Now he’s as free as you or I! The hardest part was implementing the false memories, but he seems to not question the ‘country kid with big city dreams’ backstory I gave him. He’s even developed his own aspirations to become an actor and I couldn’t be prouder! His girlfriend and all the people in his life are none the wiser that he was but thrown away trash before I breathed a second chance into an older model. If things do go sour, I did implement a ‘control-override’ function that I hope to never use.

Maybe one day I’ll tell him what he really is, but for now he’s happy, and so am I.

[lacyspoems]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ now playing : ♡ girl from the northern ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀country — johnny cash, bob dylan

🧺 ⠀⠀⠀ ˚ ⠀⠀⠀ my 𝓢upernatural dr. ⠀⠀⠀⠀♡ ⠀⠀ ੭

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ♡ diary entry ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀lacy valentine colt 🪵

i was born on a cold morning in wyoming, 1984, where the sky was blue and the sun shyly tried to warm the old wooden house. by the time i was seven and watching butch cassidy and the sundance kid for the millionth time with my grandpa, i already knew more than a kid should about demons. about what they did to my mother, and why my folks were so strict about church on monday.

i used to talk to a priest, always worrying that i might do the wrong thing and become a gift to satan himself if i wasn’t careful enough, with my words and with my heart. i met my dad once or twice, and ever since my mother died he went crazy chasing the demon who swore to end our bloodline. but how exactly do you kill a demon? for once and for all? well… that’s the thing about my family, my ancestor, samuel colt, forged a legendary gun: the colt. the weapon that could kill anything. of course dad was after it, to see if the myth was true and to put an end to this nightmare.

on a lazy afternoon after i had already completed sixteen autumns, driving pickup trucks and skipping school (like the way a cowboy rocks and roll), i got a letter with wild directions in rushed letters, smelling like rosemary and whiskey. dad told me he’d found it. hope. but so it goes, he vanished. i was used to it, really, but this time it felt different, even grandma who despises him felt it. he became a misty memory, like that song dust in the wind, and so did the gun, again.

i still long to make my name, his, and mom’s worth something. i dropped out of college and got my kicks on route 66 with sierra, a long time best friend. and now we hunt because we have to, but honestly… we kinda love it. shooting like some icon from those old western films, beating old men at poker in shady bars, but most importantly, saving people.

one night, somewhere off a two-lane ghost road in nevada, we literally ran into a black impala. i mean, it was inevitable, the guy who was driving that thing couldn’t even read directions, coming from the wrong one. of course now i know who that is. dean winchester.

since then, we’ve been hunting together. i mean, after he doubted me for the hundredth time and sierra cursed him (because i’m low-key too soft-spoken to do it myself). we get along now, kind of. sierra has a thing for sam, and i… don’t know, honestly. i think castiel is boring, but maybe because he’s a bit too much like me? doesn’t matter. sierra loves teasing me about it, saying i like him, just to make me blush. i didn’t think much of it until i noticed dean getting… weirdly jealous!? i don’t know if anything will ever happen between us, he’s easy to fall for, and that’s always a problem. with sam it’s easy, he’s like the big brother i never had, but dean… the way he hugs me with that leather jacket feels different, warmer. last week he was all excited about dragging me to this vinyl store, all proud we share the same music taste. that’s not the only thing we’ve got in common because he stole the clint eastwood pic i had in my wallet. i know it was him. and one day he randomly complimented my style, said it was unique. and i kinda smiled too hard, not understanding why… so, whatever that means…

meanwhile, all i know is that something’s after me. that my surname never stopped being haunted. that the priest from back home wasn’t exactly what it seemed. but now, i got more than just the courage to follow that letter, the one that still has a jack daniel’s stain on it.

[nanaluvssevi]

MEN AND MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

University Professor Sevika x Fem reader. ₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

Hello!!! How are you all doing? Today I will bring to you the actual trip of Sevika to the conference hehe. This is just mostly soft stuff and I’m so happy how it turned out. A lot of messages and reader being a softy and a crybaby. The relationship it’s advancing too :3. This has a lot less dialogue of what I’m used to do, but I compensate with texts. As you will see Sev talks like and old woman with the correct punctuation and everything lmao. Whatever, I hope you all enjoy!!!.

TW: Boobies and ass mention :P, and kinda political talk.

WC: 4,5K

main story

The dreaded six weeks had passed, Sevika was now in Europe. Her trip started exactly 16 hours ago when you accompanied her to the airport. You helped with her smaller bag, you stood by her side while she went through her check in and the baggage check. Although you were extremely happy for her you knew you would miss her dearly. When the process was done and she had to leave to be able to go through security it was the moment to say goodbye, a few tears rolled down your cheeks while her arms were draped around your shoulders, her voice as calming as always.

"I would miss you too sugar. I promised you it would feel like I never left." She had have the nerve to say, now you were on her bed absorbing her smell that was still in every fiber of her comforter. You truly didn’t want to look ridiculous, but maybe it was that time of the month, or winter being about to start but you felt almost heartbroken.

The last 12 hours she spent on the process of flying over the ocean and passing all the needed processes to get to her hotel safely. Now she was living 6 hours ahead of you, while you were just waking up when she already was during midday. She had decided to left on Thursday afternoon so she could slept on the plane but also so she could use Friday to explore the city and as she said herself "Looking for the best things I can find to surprise my girls when I come back." And you knew she wasn’t lying.

She made you take some relaxing tea at night so you could actually sleep while she was gone, you were thankful for it, if you haven’t done it you know you wouldn’t have slept a thing. You woke up with 7 different messages from her.

Sevibear ♥️ 07:34am

Good morning dear, the plane just touched earth again. I hope you slept well. I slept as a baby.

Sevibear ♥️ 08:02am

I already went through customs and immigration. I’m so hungry I could eat you ;). Missing you so much my baby.

Sevibear ♥️ 08:23am

The taxi had the radio on and one of those pop songs you liked was playing. I will take that as a good luck sign.

Sevibear ♥️ 08:55am

[3 photos]

The views are nice from here. The bed it’s comfy too, although I know I would rather sleep in here next to you.

A smile was plastered on your face after reading each one of them. You opened the photos before answering. The first one was the view she was referring to, the hotel was in the middle of the city but she had a nice view to the outskirts of it. The mountains looked small and almost blurry and the sky was looking rather clear, especially as winter approached. The second one was a photo of the room, her luggage stood at the foot of the bed, a bed that looked really comfortable as she had said, you could see the rumble of the sheets where she probably flopped face first when she entered the room. The third one was a pic of herself in the mirror. She was in some cozy clothes she took specially to be able to walk comfortably around the city, her face was mostly hidden behind her phone but you could still see the brightness of her eyes.

[You] 09:05am

good morning my love, I did sleep well, but that’s only because of the tea, the bed feels so empty without you in here. I miss you too, a looot :(

the views are truly nice and the bed looks so comfortable too, would be so good to be next to you in there

I also miss your curious hands around my waist, and a little lower ;P.

have a great day love, please please keep sending me pics. love uu ♥️

After sending the messages you stared at your phone frowning, with care you rearranged yourself on the bed bringing the comforter down and propping yourself up on your elbow. You opened the phone camera and made sure there was a good view of your cleavage. You took a pic that went directly into Sevika’s chat. Giggling softly you started your day as always.

₊⟡.

It was already afternoon when you talked to Sevika again, after all you were still in the middle of your semester. Today was actually quite warm for being the middle of autumn so you didn’t cover much when you went to your classes, now you were paying the consequences when out of nowhere it started raining. You were back at Sevika's house when you were able to actually take a look at the messages she had sent during the last few hours.

Sevibear ♥️ 11:56am

[1 photo]

This thing looks just like you.

The image showed a small squirrel sitting on top of a rock. You smiled softly.

Sevibear ♥️ 12:23pm

It’s already late afternoon here. Saw the time app and said it was going to rain today, be careful love.

You took a look at your damp clothes that stood now next to the bathroom door as you dried your hair. A chuckle left you while you continued reading.

Sevibear ♥️ 14:47pm

I think I over did it with the gifts…

At least I don’t think I would have to exceed the weight limit.

… I hope so.

Another small laugh erupted from you as you turned the hairdryer off. If your maths were right it was already close to the time Sevika goes to sleep, or the hour she planned to go to sleep during the trip, you still had a big enough window of time to talk to her.

[You] 16:36pm

can I call you?

You didn’t answer the rest of the text messages at that moment because you would prefer to just do it with your voice. Less than two minutes passed between your text to the ringing of your cellphone, you didn’t make her wait answering immediately. You were still in your underwear taking one of her t-shirts and some of your sweatpants to get dressed.

“You know I am seeing the ceiling right?” You peered slowly at your phone with a smile on your face that you didn't even notice was there.

“I’m getting dressed. And hello to you too.” A low chuckle came from the other side of the line.

“Let me see then. And hello my sweet girl. How was your day?” You propped the phone up against some stuff in the closet before talking.

“You are like a horny pig by the way.” Before you could actually answer she interrupted you. “What? Why? Because I want to appreciate your beauty?” You giggled, bending down slowly, letting her see your back while you started putting your sweatpants on. You knew you were giving her a great view of your ass.

“My day was okay, classes, lunch, got rained on, the normal stuff.” You turned around, putting your attention on her again. She looked to be lying down, especially on her side with the night table light turned on, the warm glow of it making her look as beautiful as always.

“You didn’t read my texts early enough, did you?.” You answered by shaking your head no while putting on the t-shirt. “Is that my shirt?” A low humming came from you as you took your phone in your hands walking out of the bedroom to take care of Jaan routine.

“I actually just read the text when I got here. And it is your shirt, I need to feel like you are here.” The dog was curled on her inside bed taking a nap, without trying to bother her you filled up her plate and changed her water. “How was your day?. How much stuff did you buy?.” A growl came from the phone as you saw how she rubbed her face.

“I think I actually over did it. But I couldn’t stop it. Don’t want to spoil much, but I found really nice stuff for the girls, especially art stuff, special edition books, cute handmade things.” She took a pause when you were going to ask what she had found for you. “I would not tell you what I bought from you.”

“Oh you are so mean.” You gave a few ear scratches to the canine while starting to walk to the bedroom again. “Come on tell me at least something, I will show you my boobs.” The last word made her eyes peak up while a smirk formed on her full lips.

“Deal, boobs first.” You did as told, pulling the shirt up while also moving your bra letting them spill out of it. “Fuck this was a bad idea. Why do you have to be so gorgeous and why am I so far away right now.” You rearranged yourself while laughing slowly trying to organize your things to study after the call ended.

“Because you decided the academic world was what you wanted to be, and because you are so good at it you got called to represent a whole country.” A proud smile filled your face as you saw the smallest of color concentrate on her cheeks. Sevika wasn’t someone that blushed easily, but somehow talking about her career path was something that always made her fold, even a little. “Now, spill.”

A deep annoyance growl made its appearance while she took her time thinking about what to say. “Just because I am nice I won’t tell you what I already said. I found an antique store and found a bag for you, and also some coffee beans in a special store. And I passed through a jewelry shop and couldn’t stop myself from buying you some earrings I found.” Now you were the one blushing slowly. You two continued to talk for a few minutes until you noticed it was already late for her and decided that it was time to say goodbye. Even when you hated to stop talking to her, the warm feeling inside your heart made you continue with the rest of the day without missing her too much.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

It was Friday now, the first conference day and the day you usually occupied making your work as Sevika TA, as she knew about the break there wasn’t much to do.

The morning was spent on the patio, taking care of the little garden you two had going on. Jaan was playing not so far away from you, a great battle with her squeaky toy was taking place. Some soft music came from a little speaker you had bringed with you.

Before actually going to the patio you had talked with Sevika on a call, she was on her way to lunch with a few friends she had reunited with. She told you everything about the first two presentations -as she told you- she had the pleasure to assist, you listened with all of your attention. You probably would never get tired of seeing how excited she gets to be able to share this information with someone who appreciated what she was saying. You had to say goodbye when the taxi made it to the restaurant.

Because you liked being mean sometimes you took the chance to let a few pictures of your ass slip into her chat, knowing she would see them immediately and would have to wait until she was alone to say something. After that was when you decided to go and play the gardener for a bit.

As you learned in a magazine this time of the year was good for planting carrots and potatoes so you did just that. You also were taking care of the tomato plants that had been there for a few weeks already. And the same thing happened with different kinds of peppers.

Today was going to be an actual calm day, tomorrow though was a different story. Sevika was supposed to give her presentation -one that she hasn’t told you anything about- and as you knew this -as the rest of the conference- was going to be livestreamed. So excited was short to explain how you were feeling. You were happy for her, and anxious to know what she was going to talk about, and also so fucking thrilled to see her do what she is best doing, especially in such a big scenario.

You knew the principal concept of what the conference was about: Human rights and the importance of literacy in this new era. And now you also knew two themes she wasn't going to touch on for what she told you a few hours back: the usage of ai and its connection to a loss of literacy, and how human rights are being treated as something nonmandatory. And still you had no idea what she was going to do her speech about.

The day after tomorrow was also going to be important because it was going to be your actual first time spending time with Jinx and Isha without Sevika there. You weren’t nervous for that, you know your relationship with them is great but at the same time this felt as a big step moving to the future with the three of them. You already knew you wanted to cook for them, and you had bringed your materials to spend the afternoon painting with them, this was a recommendation from Sevika.

The time you spent just thinking about everything ended up being more than a few hours. When you noticed it was already past lunch time for you and Sevika was already back at the conference for the last speech she was going to attend today. Slowly you picked everything up, cleaned the mess Jaan had made with her toys and went inside to actually eat something.

₊⟡.

You two had fallen on a routine quite easily, you were now on the bed, Sevika on your screen with the same glow as yesterday. The first thing she did after you picked the phone was say how mean your ass stunt had been. Right now ou had a tank top on with thin straps and another pair of sweatpants, she didn’t have a t-shirt on and had some pajama pants on her legs. She was the one doing most of the talk while you just appreciated her beauty trying really hard to pay attention to what she was seeing. When she stopped talking you took the opportunity to ask. “Are you excited about tomorrow?”. A smile formed almost immediately on her face.

“I am, and also scared as fuck,” You took your time giggling, you watched how her human hand went to her hair brushing it back carefully. “knowing you are going to be watching me makes me nervous.” The confession made a surprised noise escape your lips.

“Why is that?.” Humming came from your speakers while you saw her think about her answer, your lower lip now trapped under your teeth observing quietly.

“I think now I have someone who trusts everything I say with her life, and I’m scared of you being disappointed.” A pout took place on your face.

“Oh baby, you are so sweet. I think you shouldn’t be worried, yes I have you on a pedestal, because I know how good you are at what you do. You earned your place in that scenario as well as you earned how I see you. Yes I am in love with you, but please never forget the reason I am in love with you started with how you directed that class.” A soft laugh erupted from her lips as her eyes came back to try and find yours on the screen. “You are going to do amazing. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, and even less to me my love.”

You ended up with a trembling voice, your fingers fidgeting with the bedding. You recognize that look on her eyes, it was the purest feeling of love being represented on them. With such a blinding shine that made your heartbeat pick up.

After about half an hour you had said goodbye, you knew she was going to go to sleep. You on the other hand still had stuff to do. Before leaving the room your phone vibrated twice with new notifications.

Sevibear ♥️ 17:02am

[1 photo]

I love you with every muscle of my heart.

For now the only thing you can actually do it’s continue with your day with happiness going through every nerve and diving in every blood vessel of your body.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

Before you know it it was already Sunday. The light creeped slowly from between the curtains falling directly on your face. You felt numb for anticipation but at the same time wishing you could only time travel to when it was time for Sevika's speech. It was earlier than what you have been used to these days.

You picked your pieces up slowly, starting from your lower body, up, up, up, until with a grunt you plopped on your side. A tender smile was plastered on your lips while you felt the coldness of the floor on your naked feet.

After a hot shower, some running clothes and enough time for you to stop feeling anxious you took your phone. The usual good morning from Sev was there, next to some pics of the venue and herself. Then a longer message for what you were used to from her was on there, sent only a few minutes ago.

Sevibear ♥️ 01:02am

I slept really well last night, your words are everything to me. Well, every piece of you it’s everything to me. You don’t imagine the great amount of love I feel in my body right now. I’m dying to go and talk, to have the image of your face on my mind during every bit of it. Knowing that you are listening to every word that comes from my lips, and that in less than two days I would have you in my arms. I’m so grateful to know I have you, and that you also have me, baby.

I love you sugar.

A tear, well more than a good amount of them rolled down your cheeks. They ached from all the smiling you have been doing without noticing. Even with the tremor of your hands you answer as coherently as you could, with more than one I love you in the middle of it.

₊⟡.

You knew sevika was scheduled to talk after their lunch break, being the one to close this day and all of the conference. The time difference made that the hour of her presentation matched with the time where the kids were already getting here. It wasn’t late enough for you all to be eating lunch but early enough to have a premature brunch.

That’s what made you wake up so early. A spread of food was already on the coffee table: fresh juice, warm coffee for the older and hot cocoa for the youngest, french toast, pastries you had bought from their favorite bakery; for the savories deviled eggs were on there, toast with different spreads, sliders and even homemade empanadas. It was a lot, you knew that, but you also knew sevika would be here next morning and the food would still be here for you all to enjoy.

Isha was sitting comfortably behind you on the arm of the couch entertaining herself with your hair. You didn’t know what she was trying to do, but it felt like she intended to braid your hair, or at least put her huge collections of pins in there. You cherished the moments when you could feel her growing fondness for you.

Jinx on the other hand was perched on one of the love seats, apparently reading something for one of her courses, she had a bright mind and was always putting it to use. She was rocking a shaggy hairstyle (that was probably made by herself), the blue accompanied by a pink stripe, as always it looked great.

On the tv the live of the conference made the screen suddenly light up. For the last few minutes it was dark with a small sign on a corner that read ‘resuming soon’.

The noise came back too, slower than the light. Low and reserved but noise either way. The soft chattering of the attendees was what you were probably listening to. This wasn’t an award ceremony so they weren’t commentarists or someone talking to whoever was watching the live stream.

The changes on the tv made the three of you refocus your attention. Behind you Isha started moving, changing places to take a seat in between your legs. Jinx rearranged herself, sitting in a better position and putting her stuff on the floor. Your hands went to the remote bringing up the volume.

After what felt like an eternity with the banging your heart was doing inside your chest, Mel Medarda appeared on the screen. You recognize her almost immediately, mostly from some of the pictures Sevika had sent you yesterday during dinner. She was the face and host of the conference, making her responsible for presenting the new theme being brought to the stand. Her poised and melodic voice came from the speakers “These days have been fulfilling to a level I don't have the time to explain at this moment. I want to take the moment to say thank you all for coming here, for bringing your voices into this stage, and this incredible dialogue into the future of our conversations.”

The auditorium was brought to life, everyone knew this was nearing the end. When it calmed down she started talking again. “To end this I will ask you all for a warm welcome to our last presenter of the day, and of the whole conference. Sevika is a well known professor of social studies with a rich career in the field. A voice not only of marginalized communities but also someone that had fought her way up here. She is going to enlighten us all with her thesis ‘The resistance that comes with being an immigrant and its importance in our violent present as a way to survive in the future’.”

Hearing her name and the round of applause directed at her was enough to make you tear up. Your eyes were like daggers directed to the screen as you watched her walk to the stage.

In that moment you remember that first time in her classroom. The confidence that emanated from her and the focus on her eyes. A soft sigh came from you as you cleaned the lonely tear that had escaped you. Her mechanic hand took the mic rearranging it slowly while her voice was heard low and gruff thanking Mel as she stepped out of the stand.

Jinx had a proud smile on her face while her head rested on her flexed knees. She was used to this, watching her speak, but you knew that she was excited as always. You could notice it in her expression.

Isha was more calm, but all her attention was on the screen. She didn’t quite understand what all of this meant but she was happy to see Sev on there either way.

You were trying to pretend you weren't a mess. You wanted to be sitting in the front row. Smiling as big as you were right here but with her being able to see it. She looked amazing. After all, as you knew, she was doing what she knew best: teach, and speak. At that moment her presentation started. “Good afternoon everyone.”

Her low voice as always made goosebumps appear on your skin. You felt starstruck. You didn’t talk, and even breathing felt like too much of a task. Every word that came from her mouth went directly into your brain. You absorbed everything she said, every quirk of her lips, the shine on those cloudy eyes, the movement of her hands, how she slowly started making that stage hers. The public was radio silence and the shots that regarded them always showed every last person on there completely focused. You understood them, how could you not.

Her voice was thick like molasses. Her posture was perfectly intact. The confidence that everyone was receiving could be noticed even on her way of walking.

To make it all worse she looked amazingly good. Her hair was as sharp as her tongue. She was wearing a shirt you knew well, after all you were the one that had gifted it to her. The dark burgundy color made her dark skin glisten. While making her scars bright but not obvious. Dark slacks that hugged her big thighs harmoniously.

Without even noticing her speech came to an end. A standing ovation was showcased. You noticed it had affected her, maybe no one else could perceive it, but you could. Isha was clapping with everyone else too, giggling softly.

Jinx was not looking at the TV anymore, her eyes focused on you. “You are so in love it makes me sick.”

Soft laughter came for the three of you. When you were going to respond Sevika’s voice came once again from the speakers. “Thank you all so much. Thank you for the opportunity, and thank you for listening to whatever I had to say. This is part of my story and my past, and one of the things I advocate for. Thank you Mel for bringing me up as an option, and thank you to the organization for choosing me.” She looked extremely happy. A type of smile that was not common from her was on her face. A full one, not just a small grin or just a corner curving up. A full smile showcasting her teeth and that made her lips seem smaller. “I want to take just a few seconds to send my love to my family that is seeing this early in the morning far away from here. To my two children and the love of my life. You all are my strength and the reason I am here today.”

A gasp came from you as you covered your mouth, you knew that if you didn’t cover it the sob that emerged just a few seconds later would have been too loud. Jinx was next to you in a few seconds, she also seemed affected but not as much as you did. Her arms were awkwardly but soft around you in a blink, while Ishas draped against your waist hugging you too. You left out a sappy giggle while you did your best to hug them both.

“I guess we are a family now, aren’t we?”. The voice of the older one made your stomach tighten up. Now the ones to laugh were them as their arms went tighter against you.

“I guess we are.”

[busanlove9597]

Thank you for your thoughts

It’s validating to see such an open view of queerness. We are humans at the end of the day and we can be anything we want to be.

That being said, you’re right in that I do think we have an uncanny ability to see each other, and I agree with your observations of both Jimin and Jungkook. I am a gay man for the notes.

I’ve always thought Jungkook was mlm gay, possibly Demi too. Jimin likely bi from his coding and art, but he absolutely has a male lean and preference and that’s clear in what he’s said and how he acts. And that’s without linking them together.

For the video, man oh man, it’s just a back hug, and I wish people would get over it, let alone because as you said the privacy aspect. But he’s hugged his members in worse ways, and if that’s all the so called stalker got, well, how salacious. ‘She’ is struggling in the video and it’s not remotely hot or sexy, but y/ns you do you. But no seriously, for me, Jungkook seeks comfort in those he knows well, we see it a lot with Hobi and Jin over the years.

As for his gym going self, I actually am of the view that men who are such, lean queer, and if you watch them preening in the mirrors at both themselves and other men, same as men loving soccer, watching other men play sport in tiny shorts. That’s some homoerotic shit right there. Challenge them, the hets, see how they cope when it’s put to them like that. These men’s men are not really when you watch them. Look at the pictures of men like the ones V and JK have been pictured with at the gym, who is that for? Because it ain’t women. It’s for other men, it’s performative. Believe me in a relationship that kind of commitment to the gym is going to get really old really fast. Unless you match it. Just a helpful tip to anyone out there, been there done that and got the tee. My man was looks obsessed and it got tired. I dumped his ass. Same as such as the CK adverts, essentially they are the most queer things going. Both performance and from a sales aspect, the theory is that women would buy those for their men, and they do, but also men like me and looking just as much, and the models and stars know it.

Just my two cents but that’s how I see it.

hi anon,

apologies for replying so late. i really wanted to take my time with this one because your message was so thoughtful and grounded. thank you for offering your perspective, especially as a gay man. it’s genuinely validating to hear from someone who’s coming from that space, because these conversations can feel a bit lonely at times, even on a queer-run blog.

it means a lot that you’re seeing some of the same patterns and layers that i’ve been noticing. and i love how you phrased it: we are humans at the end of the day, and we can be anything we want to be. that’s such a simple but powerful reminder. for me, queerness isn’t always loud or literal. sometimes it’s quiet, deeply felt, a series of subtle gestures. and yes, sometimes we just recognize it in each other.

your thoughts on jk, especially the possibility of him being mlm and/or demisexual, really stuck with me. demisexuality isn’t often brought up in these conversations, but honestly? it tracks. for anyone reading who may not be familiar, demisexuality is a queer identity where someone doesn’t experience sexual attraction unless there’s an emotional bond first. it gets misunderstood all the time, especially when people expect queerness to always come with certain aesthetics or overt behaviors. but that’s the thing. it doesn’t. if anything, jk’s patterns of connection have always seemed emotionally anchored, and that lens adds a really meaningful dimension to how we think about his intimacy and expression.

it also ties into the way he talks about relationships more broadly. he’s said before that he doesn’t want to get married and that he’s okay being alone forever. some people read that as introversion or idol-branding, but from a queer perspective it resonates differently. it sounds like someone who doesn’t feel represented in the scripts he’s supposed to follow. maybe he doesn’t want to get married because he can’t… or maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to marry someone he’s expected to want. either way, it says a lot about the quiet ways queerness shows up when you’re not allowed to say it out loud.

and i also love that you mentioned jm possibly being bisexual. i’ve felt similarly for a long time. people tend to label him based on appearance or softness, but for me, bisexuality allows for all of jm’s contradictions. the emotional intensity, the way he plays with performance and gaze, the subtlety in how he expresses desire. his work, especially as a solo artist, feels deeply personal and emotionally complex and it often leaves space for that kind of reading. he’s harder to pin down, but that doesn’t make the signals any less present. if anything, it adds to the quiet queerness i’ve always sensed in him.

and yes, the video. i completely agree. the way it was treated versus what it actually showed was wildly disproportionate. and like you said, he’s hugged members in way more intense or intimate ways on camera. but it just shows how desperate people are to cling to that one blurry thing as “proof,” while ignoring a decade of visible, layered, emotionally complex relationships with the people he does know and trust.

your gym take deserves a standing ovation. i’ve thought this too. there’s such a performance of masculinity happening in these hyper-masculine gym spaces, and it’s so often for the gaze of other men, not women. you’re absolutely right. the preening, the mirroring, and the posing with other buff men in tiny shorts… there’s a specific energy there, and it’s not hetero. even when it’s not consciously erotic, it’s undeniably charged. and when it comes to jk and th being photographed with certain types of “men’s men,” it really does make you pause and ask who this is actually for.

and actually, going a bit further, there’s something to be said about the homoeroticism built into the kinds of environments jk gravitates toward: gyms, sports, motorcycles. it’s easy to brush those off as traditionally masculine or hetero coded, but when you sit with it, there’s a deeper tension there. men at the gym watching other men flex in the mirror. straight guys religiously watching soccer and analyzing bodies in tight uniforms for hours. that’s not just “guy stuff.” that’s intimacy by proxy. that’s emotional investment through physical admiration.

so when jk builds his life around those kinds of rituals, surrounding himself with other muscular men, cultivating an aesthetic rooted in physicality and performance, it doesn’t read as neutral. and it definitely doesn’t automatically read as straight. if anything, it sits comfortably within a much queerer framework, where admiration and desire live in subtler places. it’s a performance that often appeals more to men than women, whether that’s intentional or not. and like you said, when you’re part of the community, you can just… tell.

and while we’re on the topic of performance and presentation, it’s also worth looking at the way jk has described his “ideal type” over the years. he’s mentioned things like “healthy beauty,” “good proportions,” and “muscles”… and people somehow still try to fit that into a feminine mold. if you take those words at face value, he’s literally describing someone strong, active, and physically defined. it’s not giving soft or delicate. i’m sorry but how are we looking at that and not at least entertaining the idea that he might just be describing the kind of men he finds attractive.

also linking a post that goes a little more in depth on this whole “ideal type” discourse because i was trying to find that one drawing jk did of his supposed ideal which i tragically haven’t been able to dig up again but i swear it exists! and it was literally just… abs. not even a full person. just a set of abs. interpret that how you will.

and the calvin klein campaign. i’m so glad you said it. people try to view it strictly through a straight marketing lens, but those ads are soaked in queer aesthetics. not just because of the styling, but because of the intention. the camera lingers. the clothes tease. it’s not just about selling underwear. it’s about desire and performance, and queer audiences know how to read that.

so again, thank you. not just for agreeing with me, but for building on the conversation with your own lived insight. i think it’s important to acknowledge that not everyone will see it this way, and that’s fine. but this is the lens i’m looking through. it’s layered, it’s queer, it’s imperfect, and it’s shaped by my own experiences too. and hearing from people like you makes me feel a little less alone in it.

p.s. just to add: my observations about jm and jk don’t hinge on the idea that they’re together. i do think that layer adds depth to how i read them, but these thoughts hold up even when viewed separately. their queerness, in my opinion, exists beyond any one relationship dynamic.

[letshaveaconclave]

Similar vein to my beach episodes but what if the conclave gang had a bbq.

Someone’s throwing wood chips on the fire and it’s doing nothing. You can’t tell where Tedesco’s vape ends and the smoke begins. Someone’s lighting a cigarette on a marshmallow that’s been set alight.

[hershelwidget]

Okay move over Professor Inkling I found a new contender for playing "they're the same guy" with Count Bleck

I CONCEDE THAT I WAS GRASPING FOR STRAWS THE FIRST TIME AROUND BUT I LITERALLY JUST FINISHED EPISODE 3 (yeah I know I'm late to the party) AND WHAT THE FUCK.

"Essay" about it under the cut (and SPM spoilers... and EP 3 spoilers if you're like me and also late to the party)

You know what! Here's my previous posts on the topic as well, in case you wanna catch up on this nonsense! Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Okay let me get this part out of the way first. TIMPANI AND QUEENIE(???). To be fair to Bleck here, Tippi did come back to life. In fact, she never actually died, she just kind of changed form. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? I THINK THAT SAME KIND OF THING HAPPENED TO QUEENIE. So these two "widows" are STILL in the same boat there! Blumiere was also a decent guy with real noble goals (ha.) before Timpani was turned into a Pixil. Then he lost his goddamn mind about it and became Count Bleck... So, we don't know what Kinger was like before his wife abstracted, but if it's revealed that Queenie's abstraction was a direct cause of him going "crazy", then huzzah. As a bonus to this point, both Count Bleck and Kinger are still good people at heart even when accounting for their flaws. Bleck still took in the rest of his team (minus Dimentio) and probably at some point genuinely wished they could each have their own worlds. He tried to end the multiverse all because he really missed his girlfriend. Still a dick move, but he wasn't evil. Thank God Kinger doesn't have a Dark Prognosticus and Chaos Heart-- he can't exactly try to destroy the circus if he doesn't have a means to do so. Though, I don't think he would try anyways. He seems... better than Bleck when it comes to regulating his emotions. Plus, Bleck was very likely much younger when he thought his dad murdered Timpani.

Next up, appearances! AKA the obvious angle. Just look at them. They've both got a long garment that covers everything below the neck (that includes the colours Purple and White!), floating disembodied hands covered by white gloves, and neither of them actually have limbs. Count Bleck's just got the head and torso, really. Kinger is a chess piece. I'd also argue that limited facial features is also a factor, as while Bleck does have a visible mouth, neither of them have noses or ears. Not that it particularly matters, but Bleck's eyes are red/orange/yellow/white (it's a gradient) while Kinger's got blue, and ALL of those colours listed for Bleck are commonly in cahoots with blue. Red and Blue are seen as opposites in games like TF2, Orange is Blue's ACTUAL opposite, Yellow + Blue makes Green, and White + Blue are often paired together in the colour palettes of characters and environments. I just thought that was neat.

The last piece of "evidence" I want to talk about is relationships, but that deserves a whole new post because there is a LOT to talk about there. I'll leave this here on the rather hilarious note that they're both probably bisexual, but they've got bigger things to worry about right now. No, seriously, Bleck's cape has the bisexual colours (my FAVOURITE kind of "evidence" for LGBTQA+ headcanons) and Kinger x Caine is apparently one of the most popular ships in the TADC fandom. Good enough for me!

[fenkizard]

The turtles are so lame for being a bunch of grown ass wrinkly old men going around a fighting crime exactly like they used to. Just showing up in the streets with silly phrases. /aff. It’s not teen shenanigans anymore. Donnie probably pays taxes.

Save rottmnt season 3 but make it these dudes juggling carpel tunnel, arthritis, taxes, and fighting old married men hypno and warren

(More in the tags)

[transthatmasc]

love reading destiel AUs and I love to imagine that they got to meet and be together earlier in their lives, but god if there’s not a special place in my heart for those two old(er) men falling in love. It’s so pure to me, for them to have been through so much, both together and apart, before finally getting together. 😭

[xxplastic-cubexx]

friend kayla very delicately asked me today when i first started drawing yaoi and i had to reflect on the fact it probably was avengers that started it all