#but yeah this moment is one of this lowest points

[aipurjopa]

we’re all stifling at the bottom of a dustbin

no lighting

[meteortrails]

law and luffy are just like. what if I saw you at the peak of your miracle working competence, and then the literal next time I saw you it was at your most isolated and broken. and what if that moment of seeing you alone and grieving and terrified was the moment where I decided you were someone worth keeping, someone who I personally cared about and wanted around. how does that not make you wanna lose your fucking mind.

and then the other thing on top of that which always gets me is the way that you can just so clearly see that neither of them has any idea how to fit this relationship into any preexisting context - Luffy calls him part of his crew, but law is the captain of his own crew and would clearly die before giving that up; law calls them allies but it is glaringly obvious that they care about each other in a way that goes beyond that. of course Luffy is generally a lot less bothered about this than law, who routinely wants to put his own head through a wall about it, but it’s just such a fun layer to their dynamic I think.

[hobbitunderthemountain]

nothing like remembering weird nuggets of information and my coworkers are like wtf how do you know this I'm just shouting IDK IDK IDK IM AUTISTIC?!?? LITTLE SHIT LIKE THIS STICKS IN MY HEAD I GUESS????

[yesyourstalker]

Taka: BOO

Neta: *gasp* COD fuck! takaaaaaaa! Mmmmmmm hey, You scared the shit out of me haha. Don't. fucking. do. that.

Taka: You know you're so cute when you're startled

Neta: yeah.... I get scared easily. What are you doing? in my store..... while I'm trying to close.

Taka: Oh you know I just I just came here to look around and stuff. One of my piano strings isn't working so........ Why not visit this lovely store and see if they have anything to offer me and maybe chat with the store owner for a bit. Maybe catch up from where we last left off

Neta: well, unfortunately we're closed and we don't have anything piano related besides a keyboard so you know you might need to go to a different store, maybe online get on your computer in your own home.

Taka: You play hard to get. I see that and I respect that but I'm just going to lay it down on the table. I think we have something

Neta: oh no no no we're not doing this

Taka: I was never really into the base player. You know they tend to be wallflowers and always so melodramatic

Neta: cod fuck off

Taka: but you......You're different....... What does your knuckle say 'back line' I'd love to know the history behind that tattoo

Neta: I was a backliner. Don't touch me

Taka: You're so bold. You're confident you're so extroverted but so down to earth you intrigue me. I want to know more about you

Neta: you don't

Taka: Your interests your passions, your goals what makes you tick. who is Neta Vern's . I want to see you again

Neta: no

Taka: Maybe make this a normal thing you and I. This could be love that I'm feeling.

Neta: ...................................................................If you knew the things that I've done, The things that I've seen and the environment that I came from you wouldn't be in here. Matter of fact you wouldn't even look at me the same way....... the Neta that you saw in that bar was just drunk and bored. And I guarantee that you would not love me if you truly knew me. You would be forced to love every part of me including the broken and ugly parts. Daddy issues, night terrors, flash backs, prolonged grief so much shit! I know the minute I have a panic attack or an episode you're out of the fucking door! The second I start feeling survivor's guilt and is unable to get out of bed are you still going to love me? When I can't eat without being fed are you going to still love me then? When I'm unable to take care of myself ?when I start smelling like sweat and pee because I stopped showering and catatonic?!?! You still going to think I'm intriguing when my beak is fucking yellow cuz I haven't brushed it in weeks!!? huh!? Are you going to drive my daughter to her mom's house for a while because her dad is suddenly scared to go outside the house and provide for her!!? When I have to be physically dragged out of my house to a hospital because I became a danger to others and myself!!??! Are you going to stay?!! Are you going to love than!?? Are you still going to see this confident extroverted fun-loving fuck you made up in your head?!? Are you still going to see that person?!!!

Taka: h-

Neta: you don't need to answer that because I already know the answer. You're not. You're not going to love me! You're never going to love me! and you're not able to love me! Why the fuck would I believe someone like you would!?! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY STORE!

Mhai: ...................hey boss.......you ok? You seem to be really upset right now.

Neta: yeah! I'm fine heh.....*Sniff* yeah uh... wow! Heh that was a lot. *Sniff*..... I'm sorry you had to witness that... and hear that. Cod some of that was embarrassing. why did I say that? ...*sniff*...I don't even know where that came from. *Sigh* I'm gonna........ I'm gonna go smoke in bathroom maybe call my therapist. I'll come back when I stop shaking....... hehehe *sniff* Cod he's such a pretentious piece of of shit. I don't even know how he did that he just triggered something I don't know what.

Mahi: do you want me to fist fight him in the parking lot?

Neta: You're just asking me that so you can have an excuse to do it.

Mahi belongs to @fish-at-fish-fish-resort

[kunasthiast]

pain scale

“so, on a scale of 1 to 10 – 1 being the lowest, obvs – how much did this hurt?” you pointed at your husband’s forehead tattoo. and honestly? It’s one of your favorites on the canvas of his greek god body.

still reading his book – the brothers karamazov (yes, he’s that guy) – sukuna answered with his signature arrogant tone, “tch, easy 2.”

“babe, are you sure?” you squinted at him. “or are just remembering the wrong pain?”   

“why wouldn’t I be? this is MY tattoo, brat,” sukuna scoffed, barely glancing up from his book. “and I’ve got a really high pain tolerance – unlike someone else.”

“you’re full of shit,” you puffed out your cheeks in protest, “well, I’ll prove you wrong one of these days.”

“yeah?” he snorted, finally putting the book down on his bedside table. Sliding his reading glasses (yes, he has reading glasses) to the top of his head, he turned to face you with a smug grin.

ignoring his smugness, you pointed at those thick, black bands wrapped around his wrists, “ok, so what about this one?” 

you actually loved this tattoo on him – it was giving that geometric-tribal-looking, bold vibe. but every time you ask him about its meaning, his answer was always the same: “I dunno, I just liked it on me”

he held out his wrists proudly, “easy 2.”

“this?!” you grabbed his right wrist like you were that offended on behalf of his skin with how low he is scaling the pain on his tattoos. “this is a 2?”

“yeah, with emphasis on easy,” he confirmed, crossing his arms like he’d just won a gold medal for being the toughest guy on earth.

“you’re insane,” you said as you stared at him like he’d grown two heads (more like arms), “are you even human?” 

“i told ya,” sukuna shrugged. “pain’s a choice, babe.”

“i know, but what the fuck? that’s like… right by your veins! youuur bones!”

“and?” he blinked at you, deadpan.

“you could’ve died?!”

“well, I’m still here, aren’t I?” he shot you that irritatingly smug grin. “now tell me… why are you suddenly so curious?”

“…nothing,” you muttered.

“oh c’mon,” sukuna was grinning wider now, scooting closer to your side of the bed, “what is it, baby? wanna tell daddy what you’re planning?”

“hmm…” you tapped your chin dramatically before leaning on his broad shoulders. “lemme think about it… nope.”

“you’re really gonna play this game?” he narrowed his eyes. 

you giggled and before you could escape, your husband tackled you onto the bed, pinning you beneath him as his warm laughter filled the room.

–––––----------------------------------------------------------------------

a few days later, you came home from a girls' day out with your best friend — tired, giddy, and sporting a suspiciously wrapped patch of second skin on your left wrist.

you tried to be sneaky, casually sliding your hand into your hoodie pocket the moment you stepped inside, but sukuna wasn’t stupid. he noticed you right away. he always does.

“what’s that?” he drawled from the couch, eyes narrowing.

“what’s what?” you shot back, feigning innocence.

“that.” his gaze flicked to your suspiciously hidden wrist.

“… nothing.”

“spit it out, babe,” he warned, closing and setting his book down on the couch — the brothers karamazov, because of course he was still reading that — and standing up.

before you could escape, sukuna had you cornered against the wall, tugging your wrist free like he was unwrapping a Christmas present.

“wait, wait, wait!” you squeaked like a little mouse, but it was too late. 

he peeled back your sleeve, revealing the fresh tattoo peeking out from under the second skin.

for a moment, sukuna just… stared. his face didn’t change, but his fingers ghosted over the fresh ink like he wasn’t sure if it was just a pen drawing or sticker or a real one. his thumb traced the crimson marking – it’s a mini replica of his forehead tattoo.

and you swore, there was a flicker of something in his eyes. surprise? softness? maybe a little bit of both!

then… he laughed. loud, smug, and way too pleased with himself.

“oh my god,” he barked between chuckles. “you really got it?”

“yeah,” you grumbled. “and don’t laugh — this shit hurt. don’t ‘easy 2’ me, that was a solid 8, maybe 9. felt like someone was carving my bones.”

“pfft,” sukuna scoffed. “it’s just a thousand ants biting you at once. that’s nothing.”

“oh, really?” you shot back. “then I hope you enjoy sleeping on the couch tonight.”

that wiped the smirk off his face for about three seconds before he grinned again — that obnoxious, smug grin that you really love and made you want to throw something at the same time.

“i told you I had a high pain tolerance,” he said smugly.

“you’re a liar,” you muttered. “there’s no way that was a 2.”

“well, now you’ve got my mark and a war story to tell,” sukuna teased, stepping closer. “guess that means you’re stuck with me forever now.”

“pfft,” you scoffed, folding your arms. “I was stuck with you before the tattoo, dumbass.”

“oh yeah?” his voice dropped lower as he leaned in. “then tell me... was it worth it?”

you opened your mouth for a snarky reply, but before you could speak, sukuna grabbed your wrist again — this time pressing his lips firmly to the fresh ink. his mouth lingered there, warm and deliberate, before he murmured:

“looks good on you.”

and damn it, even after 5 years of being married to this arrogant bastard, you’re still blushing.

[bejeweledinterludes]

still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL OVER DEAN WINCHESTER CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tune it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy. which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding. you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

…but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly?

it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they’re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i’m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

oh.

and dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was.

jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina + i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[manariee]

SUGAR TALK

﹙糖 ﹚───── You plus me, yeah, that moment when we are together A to Z, yeah, you can't hide it

𝒮 엔하이픈 & fem!reader wc: 175 - 265 cw: super wholesome 𝓜 anas notes: REPOST SINCE BLR TOOK IT DOWN

HEESEUNG

Random serenades: He'll literally pull out a guitar or hum a tune while you're cooking or simply just brushing your hair. And when you look at him like ''really?'' he just smiles and goes ''What? My muse is in the room.''

Subtle matching: You two don't match by having full-blown matching couple outfits from head to toe. You two match by matching accessories that Heeseung loves to buy. Like the same beanie, or matching phone cases. He likes the quiet kind of matching only you two notice - or others which just makes him just extra proud.

Tease, but gentle: He's playful, but in a way that's gentle and affectionate. He loves teasing you but it's always lighthearted and meant to mak you laugh, never to hurt your feelings. If he sees you start getting flustered, he'll just wrap his arms around you and hold you tight while cracking jokes just make you even more flustered.

JAY

Cooking together? He won't let you lift a finger: Jay lives for cooking with you. That is only if you simply do the easy things or not do anything at all. You're standing near the stove? He'll usher you to the side. Holding a knife? He'll act as if you're five. It's not that he's worried you'll ruin his dish. He's just overly worried over you getting the slightest of hurt.

Fixes things for you without being asked: Broken zipper? He fixed it. Charger acting weird? Already replaced. It gets to a point you're scared that he'll buy you a whole new phone if it gets damaged. You don't even have to say anything - Jay just notices, and brushes it off as if it's nothing. ''You don't need to worry about stuff like that love.'' Yeah well there goes your heart.

Loves pampering you: After a long day, Jay loves to pamper you. He'll run you a warm bath with soothing scents, massage your shoulders when you're in the middle of working or just simply hold you.

JAKE

Constant giggles: Jake's energy is infectious, this man knows always how to make you laugh even when you're at your lowest. You two could literally be in the middle of doing serious work till it's interrupted by a giggle. ''What?'' Another giggle. ''That ring is cute.'' You huff out a laugh. ''Jake you literally gifted that to me'' you reply. He'll just shrug, pulling you closer. ''I know.''

Silliest late night voice notes: Jake has made it a habit to update everything to you. Buying a coffee? Voice note sent. Took a step out of the house? Another voice note send. It's cute honestly. Like a high school girl with a crush. But the silliest ones are when he sends them in the middle of the night before sleeping. This man will literally be figthing to keep his eyes open, voice slurred as if he had way too many drinks, and mouth close to the phone. ''Mm.. Today was fun.. Me and the boys ate at a nice place.. M'gonna take you there next time..'' Morning cuddles champion: The moment you get up, correction, try to get up, Jake pulls you back into bed “Five more minutes,” he mumbles, but it’s never just five. He hooks a leg over yours, buries his face in your neck, and sighs like it’s the best place in the world. And if he wakes up before you? Soft, sleepy morning kisses on your nose, cheeks, forehead - Jake lives for them. If you groan and tell him to let you sleep, he’ll giggle and snuggle into your side like “Okay but five more kisses please.”

SUNGHOON

Obsessed with taking your photos: He acts like it’s no big deal but you catch him snapping pics of you when you’re not looking. When you ask why, he shrugs and says “You look really pretty like that.” His gallery is full of you because apparently you look really pretty all the time. Yes even in that sleeping picture he took to tease you but put it in his ''favorites'' folder.

Carries your stuff without asking: Heavy bag? He’s got it. Groceries? Already in his hands. Sunghoon doesn’t even say anything, he just gently takes it from you like it’s his mission in life to make yours easier. Even if it's your own light purse that has nothing more than your phone and a lipgloss. He'll take it from you. ''It's good, now others will know that this pretty girl is all mine.''

Wants to grow together: He’ll talk about the future with you in soft tones—“Where do you wanna live someday?”, “What kind of place should we get?” Not in a rushing way, but in that quiet, sincere way that shows he really sees forever with you.

SUNOO

Hyper compliments when you're least expecting it: You’ll be brushing your teeth in pajamas and he’ll gasp like, “Wait—you look so pretty. Like super super pretty.” Cue you choking on toothpaste while blushing.

Has a 100-photo album of you just being weird, cute according to him: Not posed. Not filtered. Just you laughing, eating, sleeping - even yawning. He’ll scroll through it sometimes when he misses you and get all soft like, ''Damn, that's my girlfriend.''

Adorable acts of service: Sunoo shows his love through small, thoughtful acts. Whether it’s waking up early to make you breakfast or stopping by your favorite café to grab you a treat, he always thinks of ways to make you feel good. ''You know you're the only person I sacrifice my beauty sleep for.''

JUNGWON

Gentle scolding = pure love: When you forget to eat or don’t get enough sleep, Jungwon gets this softly stern voice and he’ll be like, “You need to take care of yourself, okay? I can’t relax if you’re not okay.” Then he makes you soup and tucks you in.

Loves forehead kisses and soft nose boops: He finds your face so adorable that he can’t resist. He’ll kiss your forehead before leaving the house, before bed, whenever. And randomly - boop - he’ll poke your nose and smile like a kid.

Always remembers the tiniest things you say: You once mentioned liking a specific flower months ago? Boom - he brings it to you after work. You liked a drink from one café? It’s your go-to now. Jungwon listens with his heart.

NI-KI

Playfights turn into cuddles: You two start with playful bickering—like fighting over the TV remote or who gets the last snack—and somehow it ends with him tackling you onto the bed, both of you laughing, and him refusing to let go. “You lost. This is your punishment.”

Surprise hugs: Ni-ki’s signature move is sneaking up behind you and wrapping his arms around you in the tightest, most surprising hug. The suddenness of it always catches you off guard, but it leaves you laughing and feeling safe in his embrace. His hugs are warm and filled with affection. ''Can't resist you pretty, you're just too warm.''

Gets flustered when you compliment him: He’ll laugh it off and be like “Shut up,” but his ears turn red and he'll look away because he’s secretly thriving. Whether he’s learning a dance or trying something new, he always shows it to you first. And give you that shy smile when you compliment him. He loves your praise more than he’ll ever admit.

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication @lezleeferguson-120 @fleurhoons @rikifever

[darlingdaisyfarm]

꒰ Stan & Ford bj headcanons ꒱

a/n: was debating whether i should post smth angsty but honestly? nahh, i decided to let go of the cringe and simply embrace the classic: dicks dicks dicks. no regrets!

also yeah, not me using gifs of their most tragic, lowest point moment of life while writing about sucking their dicks

warning: nsfw!! | second part

〃 STANFORD

𖹭 okay listen. he has absolutely imagined you blowing him while he’s lecturing. imagined himself giving a serious talk about some multidimensional travel or whatever. and you’re under the table, pretty little mouth sucking him so slow it’s torture, and he’s trying to keep his voice steady. Ford is picturing the way his voice trembles when your tongue swirls. he's insane about it. he thinks about it at night and has to shamefully jerk off in the bathroom at 3am :(

𖹭 his ideal fantasy is when he’s bent over a cluttered lab table, pants barely pushed down, one hand scribbling formulas and the other gripping your hair while you suck him off. “don’t stop. i’m so close to finishing this equation— hhah—don’t you dare stop—“ soo he’s finishing a theorem and finishing in your mouth at the same time. Ford Pines core

𖹭 he can’t take eye contact. HE CANTTTT!! like if you look up at him while you’re doing it? he has to cover his face with his hand, my shy boy!! he makes this broken little noise like “oh—gods above—“ and shakes his head

𖹭 Ford grips your wrist when he’s close and if pose allows it. not your hair, but your wrist more than all. smth about the control of it. the intimacy. the little squeeze he gives as if to say please stay with me

𖹭 he’s OBSESSED with being milked. sorry. no other word. he wants slow, sloppy, deep suction while you use your hands and tongue and all your filthy skills to drain him dry. he’ll bite his knuckles to stop from moaning too loud and then make such a mess in your mouth. so much of it. like he’s been saving it for you

𖹭 well, since i love writing him as a freak and pervert, then ill also have to share this weird headcanon of mine. . . he likes to cum on his papers. i’m serious. like if he’s working and you surprise him with a blowjob? he’ll try to pull out at the last second and accidentally spurt all over his notes. then moan your name like you ruined him on purpose

𖹭 “you’re perfect like this. you’re doing so well. my perfect darling. . .”

𖹭 guys if we talk about where he likes to cum. . . listen. this man wants to fill your mouth, watch you swallow, then kiss you slow. he’s obsessed with the intimacy of it

𖹭 but also?? when he’s in his freak era? he’ll pull out and paint your tongue, your lips, your chin, your chest. and just stare like he’s watching a masterpiece dry

𖹭 he has to sit down afterward, always. he needs a cup of tea and ten minutes to write about it in his “private” journal

𖹭 flinches when you lick the frenulum. he’s ticklish there in a way that makes his breath catch and he literally fists the sheets, which is humiliating for him, idk. he’ll be like “ah—wh—hah, be careful, i—“ and then whimper into the back of his hand and cry like a pathetic old man he is!! yummy!

𖹭 sometimes he forgets to breathe. literally has to stop himself from holding his breath. you’ll have to tap his thigh like “hello? breathe babe!!!“

𖹭 he’s lowkey a pervert about hearing your throat work. . . like if he hears that wet gluck noise, he’s biting his fist and cumming so fast

𖹭 he won’t admit he likes gagging. he gets hard from the thought of you gagging on him. he doesn’t even need to see it. he’ll be alone, doing god knows what in the lab, and he’ll remember that time you couldn’t quite fit all of him, how your throat flexed and he’ll get hard

𖹭 he’s the kind of man who thinks he wouldnt need it. who might even stiffen up the first time you drop to your knees, but that’s just the thing about him, he’s starving and he doesn’t even know it

𖹭 he whimpers, obviously. strained little sounds in his throat because poor man trying so hard to keep his dignity stitched together, but it all goes to hell the moment your tongue flattens under the head of his cock. hes super sensitive

𖹭 Ford likes it when you touch his thighs while doing it. press your palms to them. he doesn’t know why it sends him spiraling but it does. makes him whimper harder

𖹭 his hands are shaky. they don't grab your head at first, they hover. then finally settle in your hair

𖹭 after he cums, i think he's burying his face in his hands or your shoulder or whatever he can reach. shuddering. that's because he's so embarrassed by how loud he was, how his hips twitched, how his thighs clenched around you.

𖹭 yess, Ford can avoid eye contact. sometimes he tries not to look but then he peeks and makes such slutty, broken, pathetic face. will whisper “don’t look at me like that” but u know he doesn’t mean it

𖹭 he pants. literally pants. like a dog. you wouldn't expect it from professor cool-calculated-explorer man, but as soon as you get your mouth on him, his breathing goes all stuttery, shallow, hot against the collar of his shirt. head tilted back. chest heaving. trying so hard to keep it together but failing miserably. “nnh—p-please slow d—fuck—just like that, darling, j-just—“

𖹭 he jerks his hips a little without meaning to. tries to be respectful, to let you set the pace, but once he’s deep enough in your throat, he makes these little shallow, guilty thrusts into your mouth and his voice breaks. “s-sorry, love. mnn, gods forgive me, I can’t—I can’t not—“

𖹭 if you wear glasses, he’ll cum on them. he will. and apologise. and then get hard again from how hot it looks

𖹭 will beg you to let him return the favor. right now. will beg to taste you, let him kneel too, pls

𖹭 his thighs always tighten. you can feel the tremble if you'll put your hand on them. he might grab the sheets or whatever’s behind him. he makes this helpless ughhnnn sound when he's getting close

𖹭 an advice for you. . . don’t rush, don’t treat it like a chore. it freaks him out. he’s already anxious about intimacy, so if you seem detached or too mechanical, he’ll overthink it.

𖹭 aaand if you’re too aggressive without warming him up, he’ll freeze. he needs the build-up, the slowness, my tender gentle boy

𖹭 one last thing, praise him. sure, some people want to be degraded, but Ford wants to be worshipped. tell him he tastes good. tell him you love doing this for him. tell him he’s smart, and handsome, and cute, and that hes your good boy and yours, i think he'll get sooo emotional. his EGO becomes cosmically huge.

〃 STANLEY

𖹭 absolutely loves receiving head, he's simple like that. maybe a lil obsessed with it, especially if its not some one-night stand or hook up, but when it's his partner doing it for him while in relationship. it’s about adoration, because Stanley thinks you're the sexiest thing alive when you're doing it and he will gladly show you how much he's enjoying it. grunts, groans, gasps, whole body involved.

𖹭 if he could have it his way you’d be on your knees every time he sat down with a drink in his hand

𖹭 he gets hard fast, this more applies to mullet Stan though. like you just say smth nasty (or even the smallest praise) and boom

𖹭 he gets off on you humping the bed while doing it. like if you’re desperate and grinding down while sucking him off? he’s gonna LOSE HIS MIND. “you that needy for it, huh? gotta get yourself off while you suck my dick? goddamn baby” he’ll start thrusting into your mouth all sloppy and turned on

𖹭 Stan likes when you hold his stomach. if you put both hands on his belly while you’re going down on him, he shudders. it makes him feel wanted. hot, attractive. “that’s it baby, hold onto me. you like this fuckin’ gut, don’t ya?”

𖹭 “open up, there you go. gimme that tongue, yeah, just like that, you fuckin’ love this, huh?”, “you better be ready to swallow all of it, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t holdin’ back.”

𖹭 he will enjoy it even more if you'll let him know you also enjoy it. if you'll you moan while sucking him off, he’ll throw his head back and go “holy SHIT” like he wasn’t ready. “that feel good, baby? feel it in your throat, huh?”

𖹭 gets so damn nasty if you beg for it. whispering “please gimme your cum, Stan, wanna taste you,”. will make him bend you over the nearest surface right after. you won’t walk straight <3

𖹭 loves to slap your ass afterward. in a loving way of course !! praises you for ten minutes straight. then offers you a beer and tells you you’re his favorite person in the world.

𖹭 ill talk about this more later but Stan loves sitting back in an armchair, legs spread wide, hips tilted up slightly, shirt unbuttoned but still on. gripping your hair, one leg bouncing, grinning with his teeth bared. and he loves it when you’re on your back and he kneels over your face. the reverse angle makes him moan so so sooo loud

𖹭 so damn talkative, he talks through the whole thing, and this man is so good at dirty talk. “you like that?” “you’re so good at this, holy shit.” “look at that pretty mouth stretched open like that.” “fuck, sweetheart, don’t stop.”

𖹭 he has a thing for watching your lips wrap around the tip. literally whines when you take just the head and swirl your tongue.

𖹭 i mean usually it all starts with his groans and grunts but please believe me when i say he moans like a whore when receiving head. he gets really loud and needy. i just believe that Stan is the type of guy who's really loud during sex, not even just blowjob.

𖹭 he’s a thrusting type!! can’t help it, his hips stutter. if you hold onto his hips and don’t let him move, he gets desperate. he’ll beg

𖹭 oh um. . . he cums hard. like. . . i mean, stomach-twitching, thigh-clenching, head-thrown-back hard. and he doesn’t mind where. down your throat? yes. across your tongue yes. on your cheek? yeah he loves that too

𖹭 i love Stan's smile so i think afterwards he usually laughs, smiles, jokes about smth. gets so soft, rubs his thumb across your mouth. “shit, baby, that was. . .ffuckkk. c’mere. lemme kiss you.”

𖹭 doesn’t care if it’s messy. he PREFERS messy. drool, spit, tears, makes him feel like you need him. and Stan needs to be needed

𖹭 Stan likes using his fingers too. his thick thumb on your cheek, knuckles brushing your jaw, fingers pressing into your neck, anything to make it more tactile and intimate <3

𖹭 and don’t forget, this guy is sensitive emotionally too!! you touch his belly or his chest while sucking him off? please. please do it! it gets into his head in a good way. wants to be wanted

𖹭 narrates the whole thing. “jesus fuck, look at you. look at that mouth. god, you’re takin’ me so good. holy fuck, sweetheart, i could bust already, shit—”

𖹭 uh. . . yeah, Stan slaps his cock against your tongue. especially mullet Stan but i mean just any Stan, ok. just a few playfully mean taps. and then he laughs when you whine, like “what, you like that?”

𖹭 he’s touchy, he can’t sit still. one hand in your hair, the other grabbing your ass if you both in right position for it, or cupping the back of your neck. he likes to feel how far he’s in <3 sometimes he just holds your throat gently to feel the movement.

𖹭 he gets off on spitting, sometimes he’ll lean down, spit in his hand, rub it over his cock while you’re on your knees and growl “lemme get it nice and wet for you, baby” before slipping it between your lips. criminal. someone arrest him

𖹭 loves when you use both hands and mouth at once

𖹭 he spreads his thighs so wide, i mean his whole body posture is inviting. you’re the star of the show after all!!

𖹭 calls you filthy names, one of them is “my sweet little cockslut” ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idkk i don't make the rules. Stan is into degrading+praising at same time

𖹭 Stan LOVES when you gag and he’ll push in deeper when he hears it. of course if that's smth you're ok with!! that little stuttered choke noise is like a signal to him. my disgusting and wonderful man

𖹭 he gets emotional after!! maybe not weepy, but clingy, I JUST SEE HIM AS SUCH CLINGY TYPE OF BOYFRIEND. praise-heavy. “you treat me so good, baby,” as he runs his hands up your thighs, kisses your forehead, tucks your hair behind ur ears like he didn’t just mouthfuck you within an inch of your life

𖹭 if you let him cum on your tongue and stick it out after. . . plsss do!

𖹭 he’ll pretend he’s busy so you blow him while he’s working in the shack. flipping through inventory logs, “counting bills” (no, never), whatever. he’ll be behind the desk, you on your knees, and he’s mumbling numbers while you’re sucking the life out of him. “yeah. . . four jars of eyeballs and one, ugh, one perfect fuckin’ mouth. right there. . .“

𖹭 when hes getting close, his gut flexes. the belly tenses, rolls. the thighs spread wider. and he holds your head still

𖹭 alsoo Stanley doesn’t like it too silent. if you’re totally quiet, won’t look at him, don’t touch him, he’ll get nervous. he wants to know you’re into it :(

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #16

"Aren't you curious?" Sam asks. "You gotta check it out!"

Danny is not, in fact, curious. He's watched everything his adoptive parents have done for the past six years wildly oscillating between amused and apprehensive.

The Fentons are eccentric, to put it mildly; obsessive, to put it insultingly. But when he's flipped through their papers, the formulas—while far beyond his comprehension—don't look like those of crackpots.

He wouldn't be here if they were merely that. He's not that lucky.

"We should go," he repeats, hands rubbing at his upper arms as a sudden chill works its way down his spine. And then, just as he recognizes the sensation, the world goes eerily still.

"Hello, Danny."

The creature steps forward from behind him. It passes by Sam's motionless body without a glance in her direction. It makes sense. In this silent, stationary world only the two of them truly exist.

The creature looks different this time. Its visage is that of an elder on the brink of death. So decrepit is it that the fluidity of its movement is the most unnerving aspect of its being. But its eyes are unchanged from the child that once came to Danny when he was at his lowest, piercing and red as blood.

Danny bows deeply at the waist. "Creature," he says, as politely as one can when using such a moniker.

The thing cocks its head.

"To receive such a greeting. I am honored."

Danny winces. "I am grateful," he admits. "You have done me a great—...you helped me. Thank you. And uh," his shoulders droop. "Sorry. For before."

They both pause to recall the eight-year old who once hurled curses and daggers alike.

"I have made grown men fear anew what lies in the dark." The Creature says. "You need not apologize for the actions of a scared child."

His eight year-old self would've bristled. He would've demanded retribution for such an insult. He was no average child. He had been raised to surpass the tolerance of any grown man.

His eight year-old self had been scared shitless, yes, but he would've died before admitting such a thing.

Danny isn't that person anymore.

"Yeah but. It was pretty rude." He rubs at the back of his neck. An easy tell. He's allowed that now, to tell and have it be easy.

The Creature seems to be cataloguing these differences. Whether or not it is displeased by these changes, it is difficult to tell. It would be rather ironic if it were upset, considering its technically the creature's fault in the first place.

Danny considers pointing that out, but the Creature is as unconcerned with small talk now as it was six years ago.

"I did you a favor, Danny."

Danny swallows. "Yes," he acknowledges.

"And now you will do one for me."

Danny closes his eyes. Just for a moment.

He'd known the second the Creature had re-appeared. He'd buried the knowledge of the deal he had made only so far as he could enjoy this new life without mourning its inevitable end.

He was built to be a weapon, and his decision had only been to trade the hands of who wielded him. A desperate choice, made by a desperate child.

I wanted to say goodbye! Danny Fenton wails, pushing his hands into his hair. I wanted to hug my Dad. I wanted to hug my sister. I wanted to hug my Mom. I wanted to hug my Mom. I wanted to hug my Mom. I want to hug my Mom—

Danny's hands are trembling.

Oh, he thinks. I did not bury it far enough.

Still, he opens his mouth and answers what has not been asked:

"Yes."

The Creature raises a hand and points past Sam, past Tucker. He points at the portal to the Ghost Zone. His parents' magnum opus.

"Go."

Danny nods, automatically. "I will go to the tunnel."

"You will enter."

"Yes," Danny agrees, blankly. The Creature provides no further instructions. Instead it watches him.

It doesn't work. Does the Creature not know it doesn't work?

It watches him. It waits.

So Danny approaches.

Confusion and fear keeps his steps slow, but the curiosity he never could quite kill keeps them steady. He's ashamed at how fast his heart beats, not because he is nervous but because some part of him, the part that never quite settled in this quiet midwestern town, is excited.

He spent the first eight years of his life fighting to keep it, and the sick part of him that trilled with delight at every blade ducked in the nick of time, every cliff he scaled bare-handed, every time he held his breath for deeper and longer than before—

goes abruptly silent as he reaches the mouth. He places a hand at its lip and peers into the yawning darkness before him.

There was a system of caves he regularly traversed, in the life before this. It was in those caves that he made the deal with the Creature, who brought him here.

"Wait," it says now. It hovers beside him, its purple cloak just skimming the floor.

"What are you?" Danny asks, staring into the tunnel.

"You know what I am, Danny," it murmurs. "Answer her."

"What?" Danny turns.

"I said," Sam exaggerates, "Aren't you curious?"

Danny's mouth is dry. The jumpsuit crinkles in his hands.

"Go."

"Danny?" Tucker asks. Sam lowers her camera.

"Go."

"...You know what?" He pastes a smile on his face. "You're right. Who knows what kind of awesome super cool—" too much, tone it down "—things exist on the other side of that portal?"

It's his idea. Whatever happens next, it was his idea.

His choices. His fault.

He pulls the suit on, letting Sam yank the sticker off. His friends stand together, and he lets himself look at them, take them in, just for a moment.

He steps inside.

Maybe. Maybe this isn't the end. Maybe he still gets to have this. Maybe maybe maybe.

In a previous life, he thought the caves would be his tomb.

But he made a deal. He escaped. He became Danny Fenton.

This is not the cavern of his childhood. He learned the crevices of those walls twice over; once by torchlight, then with the tips of his fingers and a cloth tied over his eyes.

Danny Fenton has a family. Danny Fenton has friends.

He trips on a wire. He feels the chill of unfamiliar metal even through his gloves.

Danny Fenton has hope.

The wall gives way under his palm. Something beeps.

And Danny Fenton dies.

[leclerc-hs]

ex's and oh's - CL16

pairing: ex!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you and your ex-boyfriend are in complicated territory OR your ex fucks you in the drivers seat of his car warnings: 18+, SMUT under the cut, badly translated french (pls correct me), not proofread!!!! word count: 2.4k author's note: ok I just want to sincerely apologize for my long absence on here!!! i know you’ve been waiting for me to finish this for a while now LOL but I've been insanely busy balancing life with two jobs lol. So I'm going to leave this here. I can honestly say it's not my best work and I apologize for that but I really wanted to give y'all something in the mean time. I have a bunch of drafts I plan to work on whenever I get the chance. Love you all!! pls forgive me and don't forget to leave me some comments and thoughts xoxo

THERE WAS NOTHING that could’ve prepared you for this fight. You weren’t drunk, as promised. Although you weren’t sober either. 

You and Charles were...complicated. Exes but…. still, something more. You would always be something more. Your history stretched back almost forever, and that alone made it challenging to stay apart from each other.

There was a point in time when the aftermath of your breakup made it impossible for both of you to share the same space. It invariably led to bitter arguments over seemingly trivial matters. One such instance was during a movie night with your group of friends when you showed up in a sweatshirt that was far too big for your body, obvious that it wasn’t your own. Charles simmered with silent resentment in the corner until he could no longer contain it. The memory etched vividly in your mind, recalling the knots in your stomach throughout the night, feeling the intense burn of Charles’ gaze upon you. He didn’t cast a single glance at the movie that evening.

“Who’s fucking sweatshirt is that?”

“Already fucking other people, hm?”

As you slid into the familiar supple leather seats of his Ferrari, you felt the warmth of the car hug you like a blanket, providing much relief from the contrast of the cold air outside. In the process of slipping into his car, your skirt had ridden up higher than Charles would’ve preferred, your panties nearly exposed if it weren’t for the sheer tights providing more coverage. Did you really go out dressed like that? He felt his hands grip the steering wheel tighter than normal as a waft of your perfume enveloped the car. 

“Did you have fun?” His tone was neutral, but his body posture was tense. He barely turned his head to check if you placed your seat belt on before peeling out from the curb at a speed much too fast.

Sober you would’ve caught onto his attitude almost immediately. But tipsy you, thought nothing of it. 

“Oh Charlie!” You exasperated, the click of your seatbelt filling the car as the radio was turned on the lowest possible volume. “It was so fun!” 

He dropped one of his hands from the wheel, bringing his hand to rub the scruff of his unshaven jaw, as a deep sigh falls past his lips. He was annoyed—more than annoyed. The sole fact that you left him unanswered for hours wasn’t his only issue. What had his muscles all tight and the permanent frown on his face was the images of one of your guy friends being way too close to you. Too close for Charles liking. It was the same guy that his friends had briefly mentioned weeks ago on his boat. 

“Cha, l’aimes-tu toujours?”  Do you still love her? His friends sat around the table; half-eaten food left on their plates. He didn’t answer the question immediately. But everyone knew, subconsciously, that he did.

“Elle et Nick été proches récemment,” Her and Nick have been close lately. The phrase alone made Charles choke on his water. In that moment, he thanked the lord for the sunglasses covering his widened eyes. The burn in his chest began simmering as the conversation continued.

“Oui, ne sont-ils pas partis ensemble l’autre soir?” Yeah, didn’t they leave together the other night?

He couldn’t blame his friends for the discussion. They didn’t know that you two were still in complicated territory. Everyone always figured you two would rekindle, but it’s been so long, no one knew if it would happen anymore.

So, although Charles felt like the air was being sucked out of his lungs, he plastered a big smile on his face while throwing his arm around the back of the chair beside him. “Nick, hm?”

He made a genuine effort to control his anger. Honestly, he really did try. However, as you persisted in discussing the night, particularly when the name ‘Nick’ slipped past your lips, he couldn’t help but lose his composure just a little bit.

His voice took on a lethal edge as he maneuvered the car to the side of the desolate road. The act of driving demanded attention, but his mind was a whirlwind of a million thoughts. He was consumed by anger, it oozed from every pore of his skin as he scoffed and turned to confront you. Your eyes were already fixated on him, and his gaze instantly met yours.

“A-t-il touché à toi?” Did he touch you? His voice rumbled like a low growl, and the green in his eyes was so deep and intense that it masked their actual color, making it nearly impossible to discern the green hue. But you memorized those eyes. His eyes. You were familiar with every nuance of shade that adorned them. His breath was slow and even as he awaited your answer.

The idea drove him insane—the notion of another man laying his hands on you. And even worse, you wanting another man’s hands on you.

For a moment, you found yourself taken aback, only to fully comprehend his tense posture and the sharpness in his tone. Suppressing any inclination to react visibly, you wrestled to maintain a neutral expression, ensuring your lips didn’t betray a hint of a smirk at his jealousy. You didn’t even need to ask who he was. 

“Et est-ce que cela aurait de l’importance s’il l’avait fait?” And would it matter if he did?

The fact that you didn’t need to even address who he was talking about, only caused him to spiral further. As if you were confirming that Nick is the only other option. 

The car felt increasingly smaller as the anger in Charles grew. His knee was bouncing with impatience as he clenched his jaw. Yes. Yes, it fucking mattered. He wanted to shout until his lungs gave out that it mattered. He began to lose the evenness of his breathing pattern, becoming more erratic as you didn’t answer the question.

“Dis-le-moi et nous le découvrirons,” Tell me and we’ll find out. His eyes traced your every movement as your eyes narrowed at him, a scowl forming on your lips. The lips he dreamed about almost every night. 

The silence in the car heightened, and with each passing second, you could feel your heart rate quicken. His gaze remained fixated on your face, unwilling to divert elsewhere. It was as if he were a predator, and you, his prey, captivated under the unrelenting focus of his eyes.

“What? No snarky remarks for me?” C’mon play with me. Although he felt like his chest might crack in two, he needed to mask it. Needed to be nonchalant. 

The tension lingered until you took a sharp swallow, the muscles in your neck twitching, that his eyes shifted, descending to the nape of your neck. They fixated on the subtle gleam of your collarbones, still glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from the night’s dancing. His gaze traced the gentle rise and fall of your breasts with each breath. He wanted to devour you whole.

You felt your thighs clench slightly from his pressuring gaze. He is so fucking hot. His hair in complete disarray from running his hands through it. He wore a pair of grey sweats and a black hoodie that made you want to cling your body around him as soon as you saw him.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two? His patience was wearing thin. You still haven’t answered his question, and the silence was eating him alive.

You detected a subtle waver in his tone, prompting a softening in your gaze. Your hand gently reached for his face, and he allowed his head to lean ever so slightly against the palm of your hand. It was as if your touch alone had the power to appease the turmoil of anger and jealousy rising within him. 

And as much as you loved to get under his skin like he did yours sometimes. You couldn’t find it in you to provoke him. To cause him any pain. “No.”

The corner of his lips twitched up slightly as your thumb brushed against his jawline. His hands tremble when they reach for you, pulling you out of your seat and across the center console into his lap. “Est-ce que cela aurait de l’importance?” Would it matter? You repeated the question as your legs straddled him. His hands slid around your waist, resting on your backside in a tight grip, so you couldn’t move. 

His mouth formed into a hardened line, as if he forced it to show you just how serious he was when he answered. “Bien sûr que cela a de l’importance,” Of course it matters. 

“Porquoi?” Why?

“Why?” He repeats your question. Scoffing at the fact that you even had to ask him. As if you didn’t already know why.

You suck in a sharp breath as soon as his warm tongue meets with the nape of your neck, trailing hot and wet kisses up until his lips meet yours for a moment before pulling away. 

“Mon coeur t’appartient.” My heart is yours. There was no questioning in his words. “Il a toujours été tien.” It’s always been yours. As those words hung in the air, your breath caught. You love this man. You love this man with every fiber of your being. 

His fingers gripped onto your thighs with an almost bruising intensity, as if he needed to confirm your presence by feeling you in his hands, ensuring you weren’t a figment of his imagination. His nails traced along the thin fabric at the apex of your thigh, before digging them in and tearing them open instantly. You let out an audible moan as his fingers found immediate solace to the damp spot on your underwear. Of course, you were already wet just by looking at him.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me? He questioned, adding slight pressure to your cotton covered clit. 

You moaned in delight at the contact but did not answer his question. It drove him mad.

His fingers slipped past your underwear, shoving them to the side, and slipping his fingers into your heated core. His fingers curled, hitting the spot you needed him most just right. Your back arched, barely grazing the horn of the steering wheel. Your hands were frantic, reaching for the waistband of his grey sweats as Charles lifted in hips off his seat to help you.

“Oh fuck,” You moaned out loud. The pace of Charles’ fingers had you careening forward with a cry, before he pulled them out of you completely, leaving you shouting “No!”.

“Relax cherie,” He clicked his tongue before pulling your chest flush with his, raising you up an inch to slide his cock right into you. He groaned as your pussy clenched tightly around him, squeezing him so tight he could barely focus on anything else. He held you down against him, letting neither of you move. 

It wasn’t until you fully sat, completely full of him, that he rips the buttons of your shirt open, revealing a lacy ensemble across your chest. He traces the tip of his finger along cup of your breast and says, “Did you wear this on purpose, hm?”

You shook your head, wiggling your hips with a groan. You needed to move, needed to feel the force of his cock into you, but he wouldn’t let you. He just held your hips down as if he was waiting for something.

"You feel so good," He groans. "Squeezing me so tight."

“Cha, please.” You begged, getting agitated at the lack of movement.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me? He repeats again. A grin stretched across his features at your obvious struggle. The fact that you needed his cock this badly, had him only growing harder. 

You bit your lip as Charles’ fingers sprawled across your neck in a tight grip, pulling your face to his. Close enough that your noses were touching.

“Réponds, et je suis tout à toi.” Answer, and I’m all yours.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me?

You don’t know what held you back from answering before. Because you did. He knew you did. He just needed to hear the words from your lips. Needed the reassurance that this was more than a quick fuck to you.

“Oui!” Yes! You half-shouted, eyes blown wide with need. “I will always love you!”

His hand released your hips, giving you the immediate go-ahead. You wasted no time, working yourself over his cock, moans eliciting from the both of you almost instantly. His hands slid to cup your ass, controlling your movements as he urges you to move faster.

“Mon dieu,” Charles groaned, his fingers dipping into the cup of your lacy ensemble, rolling your nipples between his index finger and thumb. “Je t’aime,” I love you.

The mere utterance of those words had you instinctively squeezing his cock with an intensified fervor, bringing you perilously close to the brink of ecstasy. A sly smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the effect his declaration had on you.

You moved your hips faster, the bounce of your breasts had Charles in a trance before he brought his eyes back to your face, looking you deep in the eyes. “Je t’aime,” He muttered again, bringing his lips to your mouth, swallowing your moans as if they were the oxygen he needed to breathe. “C’mon, give it to me.” He begged, thrusting his hips upward into you as much as he could, eyes rolling to the back of his head until you both reach that point of ecstasy you both needed.

His face was bright red, cheeks flushed, as you worked yourself over him in a hurried pace. His sweatshirt no doubt, making him feel like a furnace, as sweat forms near his eyebrow. His eyes were wild, unsure where to look until they met with your eyes. His cock twitching inside of you from the clench of your pussy on him, and the gaze of your eyes.

“Je t’aime!” You shouted, releasing all over him and falling forward in exhaustion onto Charles chest. 

Charles groaned hotly into your ear, his release catching him completely off guard due to the words you uttered. You could hear his heart pounding in his chest as you rested against it. 

“Mon Coeur est à toi.” My heart is yours. His fingers caressed the ends of your hair behind your back. The both of you made no attempts to move.

“Mon Coeur est à toi.” My heart is yours. You repeat back to him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

[meracyn]

ꜱᴏᴜʀ, ᴋᴡᴏɴ ᴊᴀᴇ-ꜱᴜɴɢ

summary. kwon's words still ring in your ears, causing you distractions during your matches. you end up forgetting, though, when he asks you a question you certainly didn't expect.

notes. part 2 is here! click this to go back to pt. 1, click here for pt. 3

warnings. none?

The next round of the tournament arrived, every new challenge bringing the semifinals closer. Looking over at the board with all the points tracked for each dojo, guilt formed in your chest at the sight of Miyagi-Do being placed as one of the lowest. Your team was struggling, barely making it through the competition. You had to focus– for everyone's sake, but with Kwon around, you knew he wouldn't make it easy for you.

As the announcer called out your dojo being against Spain's team, your Sensei went over to you, a stern look on his face– it was Johnny. "Look, you know we're close to losing this thing," You gave a nod, though hearing those words felt like a slap. Noticing your anxious expression, he continued, "I want you to show me that you can win. Think you can do that?"

Mustering all the courage you had, you nodded again. "Yes, Sensei."

"Good. You're up first, be ready."

You stepped onto the ring, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Across from you stood Maria Alvarez, the female captain of Spain's team. Getting into position, you took a deep breath, determined to earn a win. At the signal, you immediately went in, closing the distance between you both, doing a quick jab on her stomach, followed by an uppercut.

Maria staggered back, but quickly recovered, jaw clenched as she adjusted her stance before going towards you again. You swiftly moved around, blocking and attacking with precision at any chance. Just as you were going to strike a punch, your gaze looked over at the crowd– and amongst everyone, your eyes met with Kwon's, who was already looking at you with an unwavering gaze.

Before you had the chance to refocus, Maria took your momentary distraction as an advantage, throwing a right hook to your side. Being off balance, you struggled to block and dodge. As the captain landed a spinning back kick to your midsection, you stumbled, losing balance as your back hit onto the mat, making the bell ring—and signaling her victory.

── ⋆ ──

You slammed your fist against the wall, shaking in anger as you ignored the stinging feeling. Your team ended up losing again, resulting in now being on the verge of elimination. First, it was Robby who wasn't focused. Now it was you, too? You blamed yourself for getting distracted easily.

Hearing the door click, you turned around to see Kwon standing there, a slight smirk on his face. He walked towards you, hands in his jackets’ pockets. "Seems like your dojo didn't do well today." He remarked.

"What do you want, Kwon? You got what you wanted already." You scoffed, not letting yourself be intimidated by his antics. Seeing him was the last thing you wanted right now.

"Oh yeah? What did I get, hm?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You know what I'm talking about."

"Ah," Kwon chuckled, realizing that you were referring to the distraction he caused you during your match. He leaned in, his face mere inches away from yours. "But you know— that was your fault, love. Not mine."

"Is it really?" There was a brief moment of silence, just as you turned to leave, he spoke again, this time his voice was softer. "Do you think it's worth staying in Miyagi-Do?" His question caught you off guard, making you go quiet. Without waiting for a response, he left the room.

You definitely didn't expect to be asked that from him. Though it made you end up questioning your choices that night.

[llamagoddessofficial]

A little indulgent, venty drabble.

~~~

Your bedroom door opened. You were absolutely certain you had locked it. Alarmed, you shot up in bed, looking to the entrance to see who was intruding on you when your mood was so crushingly terrible.

It was Nightmare. He had a weird expression on his face, he looked very... calm. Calm was weird for him. He was the last person you expected to see.

... Also probably one of the last people you wanted to see.

"What're you doing?" you snapped. "Get out of my room."

His voice was low. "is everything alright?"

"Uh. Yeah." Perhaps you sounded more hostile than you needed to. You were glaring. "Everything's fine. You can go."

... His lovely cyan eye lingered on you.

...

He did not, in fact, leave. He closed the door behind him.

What the hell? Indignation coursed through you. "I'm seriously fine. Leave me alone."

"no," he said, softly.

You really really didn't have the self control for this, right now. You spent every moment of every day watching your words, taking stock of everything that left your lips, ensuring it wouldn't bother those around you even if it was at your own expense. Right now, you were fraying at the edges. You did not have the energy.

"Nightmare. Go away. I want to be alone right now."

He started walking toward you. He looked so calm. He looked like he understood exactly what was going on.

Anger flashed inside you, oil catching in a pan, it spittled and flew to your lips. You did not understand what was going on, and you didn't like feeling stupid.

"Get the fuck out of my room!"

"no."

“What the hell is your problem!?" You leaned forward, voice raising, like a cat raising its hackles. "You want to come watch me at my lowest? Point and laugh, rub it in? Real fucking mature of you.”

He didn't take the anger bait. "no." 

Stars, something was really wrong with you today, because his lidded socket and soothing voice just utterly infuriated you.

“Get out!” you yelled.

He didn't respond. He just looked like he cared.

You picked up the nearest weighted thing - your matte plastic water bottle - and threw it at him as hard as you could. He paused, but only to let the bottle literally just bounce off him... it hit his chest and thudded to the floor, rolling away plaintively.

You were probably acting more like a toddler than a grown adult human right now. But you were out of self control. Out of anything, really. Tired and cranky.

“Fuck off! Leave me alone!”

"it's okay."

What? When he started approaching again, you picked up another heavy object to throw, this time it was your bedside lamp. You were shocking yourself with your own bad behaviour. When you launched that at him, a tentacle curled in the air and caught it, setting it carefully down on the floor and not even interrupting his stride.

“Go bother someone else! I’m not a child!”

Honestly? You left that one open for him. You wanted him to make the most of the opportunity to insult you - maybe he’d say something sharp like “not a child? you sure are acting like one.” Something that would bring you back into territory you felt safe in. You didn't like the way he was looking at you, the way you were the only one yelling but he looked so empathetic and gentle. You wanted some control.

“it’s alright,” he murmured. “you can say what you need to. i know you don’t mean it.”

“What - what the fuck are you talking about?!”  

Nightmare sat beside you, cross-legged on your bed. And before you could do a thing, his extremely dexterous tentacles curled around you; and pulled you in, until you were sitting between his legs.

Oh, you were furious. You weren't even sure what you were yelling, but you were definitely yelling something. If you had been a cat raising your hackles before, now you had your claws out, you were scratching and biting and yowling. You kicked at him, you slapped at his chest, you shoved him like that would do anything.

... He didn't say a thing. His arms rested on either of his knees, and a tentacle carefully brushed your back. You kept hitting him. You ...

... You started to run out of steam. Your 'hits' on his chest became weaker, feebler, until you weren't really hitting him anymore. You were just bumping your enclosed fist against his sternum. The water bottle from before probably did more damage than you were doing now.

...

... You hiccuped.

And then you just started to bawl.

Nightmare clearly had anticipated this all along. He leaned down, face closer to your level, like he wanted you to know he was there. Your head thumped against his shoulder, where it remained, sobs wracking your entire body. He didn’t interrupt. He just let you cry - getting it all out. 

Part of you wanted to be embarrassed. Assaulting him and then wailing right there in his lap. But oh... there was something so wonderful about acting your absolute worst, and yet, not being abandoned. You worked so hard to be liked; every day, you did everything you could to be the kind of person that the people around you would enjoy. So much so that you had no idea what was left, underneath all of the personalities you'd stitched together to make a quilt people would like looking at.

Nightmare had just watched you scream at the top of your lungs, then sob with anything you had left. And yet? He was still there.

By the time your crying quietened down, his eyelight was glowing a little brighter. A little bluer. You weren’t sure what that meant.

“... I-I...” you rubbed your eyes with your sleeve as best you could. Your voice was horrendously hoarse and thin. “I didn’t... mean...”

“i know,” he said, warmly. Sitting this close, you could hear how his voice thrummed from within his chest, not really his mouth. Knowing his lecherous and borderline evil personality, you thought that basically sitting on his lap would've felt different. Risky, perhaps. Right now, it didn't - you felt comforted. The good kind of surrounded.

"I'm sorry."

“don't be. if there’s anyone who would know when anger is a cry for help, it’s me.”

You kept your head on his shoulder. "I shouldn't have hit you."

He tilted his face to you a little more. He was so close - inches away. You could feel his breathing. “honestly? i incited you, in the hopes you would. you just wanted to be angry. everyone deserves to feel angry, every now and then.”

“It doesn’t always feel like it is okay," you muttered.

"anger isn't something to be ashamed of. anger protects you. it tells you when your lines have been crossed."

"How can I be angry, without hurting people? If you were anyone else, I would've really hurt you."

"i'm afraid there's no easy answer to that, dear."

You looked up at him. “How did you know I didn't want to be left alone?”

"did you forget i can read emotions?"

Ah. True. You always forgot Nightmare wasn't just any old skeleton. He was some kind of God, wasn't he? A deity of negativity. He probably read everything going on in your mind the moment it arose.

"I kinda did, yeah."

His socket crinkled at the corner. “i felt what you wanted. heh, that, and... i know your insults well enough to know your heart wasn’t in those.”

You couldn’t help but let out a tiny watery snicker, at that. He seemed to like it. 

“... Thank you." You brought your legs up to your chest, tucking closer against him. "For... for not leaving.”

He finally put his arms around you.

“of course.”

[cabotwife]

Finnick x victor!reader where reader returns from the Capitol to district 13 (after like torture and stuff), and Finnick comes to the realization that Snow started selling her while she held there? Only if you’re comfortable ofc.

Guilded Lily

finnick odair x fem!victor!reader

warnings: ooc finnick(?), not proofread, alludes to sa/forced prostitution

word count: 747

a/n: i don't usually write for male character bc i'm a lesbian and well- i'm not attracted to them.. but finnick is an exception. all the lesbians love finnick.

you can’t remember the moment they pulled you out of the capitol.

not really.

one minute you were burning up, bones dissolving under electric shocks, white lights breaking into kaleidoscopic shards behind your eyes. then there was darkness, clean sheets, the muted hush of underground air systems, and a woman’s voice. not sweet, but somehow kind.

“you are safe now.”

you don’t believe her.

.☘︎ ́˖

now you’re standing in a concrete corridor in District 13, wrapped in a standard issue gray sweater that swallows your sunken frame. you weigh less than you did when you won your games. you had always believed that was going to be your lowest point. you were wrong.

the door slides open with a soft hiss, and he’s there.

his hair is pushed back messily, as if he’d tried to look presentable but gave up halfway. there’s a tremor in his fingers that’re clenched by his sides. you wonder if it’s from seeing you or if that’s just his usual state nowadays.

you stare at each other for a short moment.

“hey,” he says, soft as the sea breeze.

you don’t answer. you just move past him into the room. it’s small, clean. the walls feel closer than they should.

“you’re back,” he speaks again.

he doesn’t mean it as a question, but you still say, “yeah.”

he’s quiet. you sit on the edge of the bed, knees together, handing clenched so tight that your nails dig crescents into your palms. there’s blood under some of them. old blood. your blood.

he crouches down in front of you.

his eyes flick over your face. you know what he sees.. the healing scabs under your jaw, the too-sharp cheekbones, the faint burn marks under your ears. you hate that you still flinch when he reaches up, but he doesn’t pull away. his hand is warm. familiar.

but the way he looks at you now, it’s not just pain.

“i asked them what had been done to you,” he says quietly. “they wouldn’t tell me.”

you look past him to the gray wall. it feels safer than his face.

he breathes out, voice catching. “but i know.”

your jaw tightens. you didn’t want him to say it.

“i know what snow does,” he says. “i know what he did to me. i should’ve realized–”

“don’t,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “don’t say it.”

“he sold you, didn’t he.” it’s not a question.

you wish you could lie. you wish you could say that you just don’t remember. that it wasn’t that bad. but there’s nothing left to protect. no dignity to shatter. not anymore.

you nod. just barely.

finnick stands up too fast. he paces the room like the air is choking him.

he runs both hands through his hair and then slams his fist into the wall. not hard enough to break it, just hard enough to make it hurt.

“i should’ve known,” he says. “i should’ve–”

“it wasn’t your fault, finn,” you say.

but he’s not listening. he’s spiraling, and you know that feeling too well.

“i kept thinking–i kept hoping you were dead,” he says. his voice breaks halfway through his sentence.

you stand up and cross the room to him.

“well i’m not dead. i’m here. with you.”

he looks at you like he doesn’t believe it.

you reach for his hand. he doesn’t flinch, not like you did. he just wraps his fingers around yours and holds on like it might keep you both from drowning.

you lean your forehead against his cheek. he smells like soap and something earthy. a little like home. if that even still means anything.

“did he make you talk?” you ask. the words are barely audible.

he knows what you mean.

“yeah,” he says.

you close your eyes. “me too.”

he presses a kiss to your hairline. it’s too soft for how broken you’re both feeling. but that’s the thing about finnick; he has always known how to be gentle. even when no one was gentle with him.

for a long time neither of you say anything.

then, he whispers, “i’m going to kill him.”

you don’t ask who. it’s not just a sentence anymore, an empty threat you both would pass around every time something happened. no. now it’s a vow.

you pull back just enough to look at him in the eyes.

you’re not whole

but neither is he.

but you’re both here.

and that’s something.

or maybe it’s everything.

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do a fic where Y/N gets into a fight with Nick and Nick ends up getting physical by pushing her and she falls hard but they make up in the Jed

okkkk. Wait because why is this low-key my new favorite fic!!!!



“You Went Too Far.”

Sturniolos x sister

“You’re so fucking selfish, Nick!” Y/N shouted, her voice shaking with anger.

Nick scoffed, his own frustration boiling over. “Oh, I’m selfish? That’s fucking rich coming from you!”

They stood in the middle of the living room, faces flushed with anger, words being thrown back and forth like knives.

Chris and Matt sat on the couch, their expressions tense. They had been trying to ignore the argument at first, assuming it would blow over like it usually did. But this time?

It felt different.

“You act like the whole world revolves around you!” Nick continued, his hands flying up in frustration. “Like no one else’s feelings fucking matter but yours!”

Y/N’s face twisted with disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me, Nick?! I do everything for this family, and you have the audacity to say that?”

Nick let out a dry laugh. “Oh, yeah? Like what, Y/N? What exactly do you do that’s so goddamn special?”

That was it. That was the breaking point.

Y/N’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Her voice cracked as she snapped, “I’ve been there for you when no one else was! When you were at your lowest, when you needed someone, I was there for you, Nick! But now, suddenly, I’m just some selfish bitch to you?”

Nick’s face fell for a brief second, but his pride wouldn’t let him back down. “You’re twisting my words,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Y/N laughed bitterly, tears welling in her eyes. “No, I’m not. That’s exactly what you said.”

Chris and Matt both exchanged glances, sensing that things were getting out of hand.

“Alright, both of you need to chill the fuck out—” Chris started, standing up.

“Shut up, Chris!” Nick and Y/N both snapped at the same time.

Chris put his hands up in surrender, muttering, “Jesus Christ.”

Y/N turned back to Nick, her voice trembling with rage. “You treat me like I don’t fucking matter. Like I’m just a punching bag for when you’re pissed off. I’m so fucking tired of it.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Here we go with the dramatics.”

Y/N’s lip quivered, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re such an asshole,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Nick took a step forward. “And you’re such a—”

Before he could finish, Y/N pushed his shoulder, shoving him back slightly. “Go ahead, Nick. Say it.”

Nick snapped.

He pushed her back.

Hard.

Y/N stumbled, her foot catching on the edge of the coffee table, and before anyone could react, she crashed to the floor with a loud thud.

A sharp cry escaped her lips as she hit the ground, her arm slamming against the hardwood.

For a moment, the entire room was silent.

Nick’s breath caught in his throat. His heart stopped.

Chris and Matt jumped up immediately.

“Y/N!” Matt shouted, kneeling down next to her.

Chris shoved Nick back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Y/N curled into herself, her body shaking as she clutched her arm. Tears streamed down her face, her quiet sniffles turning into full-on sobs.

Nick felt like he was going to be sick.

“Y/N, I—” His voice cracked as he stepped toward her.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” she choked out, recoiling from him.

Nick’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

Chris crouched beside her, his voice softer now. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Let me see your arm.”

Y/N shook her head furiously. “It hurts,” she whimpered.

Matt gently reached for her hand. “We’ll get you some ice, okay?”

Nick felt tears sting his own eyes. He had never, ever seen her cry like that before.

And it was because of him.

Chris shot Nick the nastiest glare he had ever seen. “Get the fuck away from her,” he spat.

Nick staggered backward, his chest heaving. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to rewind time and take it all back.

But it was too late.

—

An hour passed before Y/N came out of her room.

Nick was still sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. Chris and Matt were in the kitchen, their voices hushed.

Y/N walked in, an ice pack pressed against her arm. Her eyes were puffy from crying.

Nick immediately stood up. “Y/N, I—”

“Save it,” she muttered.

Nick swallowed hard. “Please, just let me explain—”

Y/N let out a hollow laugh. “Explain what, Nick? That you pushed me? That you made me feel like complete shit and then knocked me on my ass? What’s there to explain?”

Nick’s throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to—”

Y/N scoffed. “Yeah? Well, you did.”

Nick felt like he was about to break down. “I swear to God, Y/N, I—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him. She saw the way his hands were shaking, the way his eyes were red-rimmed like he had been holding back tears.

“You did hurt me,” she whispered.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. “I know.”

Silence stretched between them.

“I would never forgive myself if this ruined us,” Nick admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know if I can just forget it, Nick.”

Nick nodded. “I don’t expect you to.”

More silence.

Finally, Y/N held out her pinky.

Nick stared at it for a second, confused.

She swallowed hard. “Promise me you’ll never ever put your hands on me like that again.”

Nick’s lip trembled. He wrapped his pinky around hers without hesitation.

“I swear.”

[avelera]

hi, I hope you don't mind me coming to kind of vent in your inbox (please toss this out if you do) but I was reading your post on the contrasting way Viktor and Jayce view their first meeting and it got me thinking about how some people just sorta brush aside Jayce's suicide attempt here as being somehow pathetic or an overreaction to what they consider a slap on the wrist and I kinda get really mad about that perspective because I don't think people really follow through on what the trial actually meant for Jayce and what the consequences reasonably could have been. people seem to think he was just embarrassed by the trial without understanding that that kind of reputational hit can be, and clearly was, ruinous.

setting aside entirely the emotional/psychological repercussions of having the thing he'd dedicated roughly 2/3's of his life to taken away, his very public trial ended with his own mother making an insanity plea on his behalf and his extremely wealthy and influential sponsor dropping him like he was radioactive and the actual ruling body of the city declaring him dangerously incompetent. do any of those people who deride him for the suicide attempt actually take the time to think about what that outcome means for him in a social and professional context? he jokes to Caitlyn about working in his family factory but honestly, it is entirely within the realm of possibility that the fallout of the trial has made him a social and professional pariah and his reputation is in such dire straits that he may be entirely unemployable within Piltover, perhaps even to the point of being toxic to his own family business if they take the reputation hit by association with him.

it's not actually hyperbole or an overreaction for him to stand in the wreckage of his life and think his life is over, to be at a complete loss as to how to move forward or come to the belief that moving forward is impossible and despair, especially if he doesn't have a support network which he pretty clearly doesn't. his only connections appear to be his mother and Caitlyn and, for obvious reasons, they're not viable at this time.

he was drowning and Viktor threw him a lifeline and he spends the literal rest of the story trying to return the favor.

Sorry for the delay in responding, there's a lot here I want to address.

First of all, I absolutely agree. I think people underestimate just how much that trial left his life in wreckage. That said, there's a few points I'd like to add some nuance to from my perspective, along the lines of YEAH THIS WAS REALLY BAD and people underestimate how much Viktor did for Jayce with his vote of confidence.

(This is gonna be a long post y'all but I have a LOT of thoughts and feelings about Jayce here so buckle up if you do proceed.)

1 ) The Kirammans dropping him as his patrons is absolutely devastating. It's actually the moment I think I hated Cassandra Kiramman for the most, which was turning Jayce away from her door at his lowest point, and cutting him off from Caitlyn, who seems to be his only friend before Viktor. I think it also demonstrates just how severe the crime was that she did so, by the way, I don't think she was just being cruel for the sake of it. But the fact that in 1.04 she's then showing off Jayce as an accomplishment of her house is particularly infuriating as a result. It's also no exaggeration to say that the Kiramman rejection was the final straw for him. After that, he decided to take his own life, so Cassandra would have been, in my opinion, directly responsible for his death (ironically saving her own life down the line, but then Arcane S1 is a series of hinging butterfly effect moments) if not for Viktor.

2 ) One layer of nuance I wanted to add to the Kiramman rejection in particular that you mentioned is the idea of him working at the Talis hammer factory because I think about this a LOT.

I do want to push back a little on the idea that he wouldn't be able to make a living for himself at the Talis hammer factory. To me (as someone whose family has a family business, though I don't work for it), it was never in doubt Jayce would have been able to work there the rest of his life. It might have been the only place he could get a job in Piltover, in fact, at least one with any sort of prestige or intellectual pursuit attached (basically, with anyone attached or graduated from the Academy).

However, I think Jayce would have had to work in a non-scientific part of the factory, either out on the floor or in the back office. And this is what I've been wanting to address in meta for a while now.

Caitlyn asks him what he's going to do next and Jayce says, "Work for the Talis hammer factory, I guess?" and she exclaims, "You can't do that!"

I think the nuance missing from your point that I'd like to add my view of that scene to is that Caitlyn is essentially saying, "That would kill you."

I get the very strong impression that Caitlyn and Jayce bonded over being members of their family who wanted bigger things than what their parents wanted for them. It's basically there on the page in this exchange.

We explore directly that Caitlyn wants to be a detective instead of working in politics like her mother, and pursues her dream despite adversity and her mother's disapproval.

But I think from this exchange and the one Jayce also has with his mother Ximena, we can glean that the Talis's also wanted Jayce to work for the factory, the family business, instead of going to the Academy to pursue his dream of magic.

(Also as a person whose family has a family business, that I don't work for, that has their own career and faced a lot of consternation from my family in my desire to be a writer, I feel this one very keenly.)

Jayce to me reads as someone who had to fight his family all his life to avoid going into the family business, in his pursuit of something greater.

With the Hextech dream taken away, all that's left to him is his family business, the thing I'd argue we have evidence that he's been fighting to avoid his whole life. It doesn't inspire him. It's not what he wants.

Joining the Talis factory would kill him. And that's what Caitlyn points out, and that's when he realizes she's right and goes to finish the job by his own hand instead. Further evidence I would say that working for his family business would represent a death of the soul to him, such that a physical death is preferable. But since his family built the business, and his mother clearly has reservations about his pursuit of magic, I think we can safely say he's been feeling similar pressures to Caitlyn to conform and join the business instead.

3 ) Now to go back to Viktor, I think this is another reason that Viktor literally and spiritually saved Jayce's life. Jayce outright says to his mother that if his own family won't believe in him, he'll find someone who will. Whether you read Viktor/Jayce as platonic or romantic (spouses are family, after all, which is how I read it), Viktor is Jayce's family from that point forward.

But Viktor doesn't bring Jayce back from the brink just by believing in him at his lowest moment (which is so powerful it can't be underestimated, btw) he also gives Jayce a bit of tough love too just when Jayce needs it.

Like many children of privilege (I'd firmly put Mel in this category, since she too is "trapped in the family business" I'd argue), Jayce saw himself at rock bottom after he lost his patron, the benefits of his House name, his family's support, his research, his equipment, access to his one friend, his access to the Academy, and his reputation.

Viktor points out that he never had any of those things growing up.

I think this is a welcome slap in the face for Jayce. Viktor rose to be the Dean's assistant on ability alone, without any of the scaffolding of privilege, and it humbles Jayce just when he needs it. Viktor is telling him that Jayce already has everything he needs to succeed and that others like Viktor have gotten further with less.

So not only does Viktor give his vote of confidence, he materially shows Jayce there is a way to achieving his dreams without all of the things he just lost.

Not only that, he's won the respect and assistance of someone who has done it before, someone who admires him for what he's done, someone who will help him make this dream a reality when no one else would.

Of course Jayce dedicated his life to Viktor after that. Of course he saw Hextech as their shared dream after that. I'd argue that of course he saw his life as belonging to Viktor after that point, because Viktor saved it.

[strawberryasbestos]

The quirk apprehension test was... weird? Right?

The more and more you go over the quirk apprehension test the more you notice how it... doesn't actually apprehend anyone's quirks. At all. Especially when compared to the Training Camp Arc that's specifically built around improving and, yknow, apprehending the strengths, weaknesses and limitations of everyone's individual quirks.

As one of the first high-stakes events at UA the quirk apprehension test isn't there to actually evaluate or rank the class' quirks, but to create a moment of tension and anxiety for Deku's future as a hero, and to highlight how much work he has ahead of him to keep pace with his classmates. Sure, okay, cool.

EXCEPT! THE! SCORES! MAKE! NO! SENSE!!!

( Yes okay I understand the point for the test wasn't to actually properly reflect the specific skill-sets of class 1-A, I know this. But. )

Not only does the test severely limit their ability to show off what their quirks can actually do, but for a lot of them they're just... totally incompatible. Sure, some of them have been training a long time before UA, so they should have high scores anyway, and yeah some of them have quirks that naturally lend themselves to getting high scores in these areas. Sure! But!

But.

Deku should not have been in 20th. At all. There's plenty of people who did little-to-no training before UA, have quirks that don't have the kind of physicality that's helpful in these circumstances, and in a lot of ways would actively hinder them!

For many, unless you choose to sabotage your competitors, which would get you a higher score by comparison but utterly wreck the idea of teamwork and untiy, their quirks are either totally irrelevant to the task or actively detrimental. I don't say this to shit on any of the characters, just to point out that:

1. The test set up is bogus (and I'm astounded that Aizawa would set up something that's so biased against non-physical quirks, when his own would be totally useless without choosing to sabotage others)

2. Deku was active, fit, in good shape, and more than capable of getting above-average scores on almost all categories without using OFA

3. Compared to some other members of the class who had either detrimental or non-physical quirks, and also did very little physical training, he SHOULD have ranked higher than 20th at the BARE MINIMUM

So, having spent a good while talking it over with @chilchucks-timbs we created an in depth chart ranking the 1A students in each of the 8 listed tests, using the (very VERY few) recorded canon scores and common sense and logic to fill in the gaps.

Below is a chart of the final scores:

Left: Our final top 20 ranking, with scores across all 8 tests tallied and organised lowest to highest (think golf rules)

Center: The same top 20, but this time colour matched to the canon rankings, and accompanied by averages

Right: The canon top 20, colour coded

We tallied the final marks only after going through each physical test one by one and debating the outcomes individually.

Below is a breakdown of each of the rankings for all 8 physical tests:

Most of our choices were based on 2 questions we applied to very category: who would be able to apply their quirk the best in this scenario, and who would perform/be hindered by their quirks the worst. Working from there, we filled in the blanks.

The biggest conclusions we drew are:

While he's shown to struggle with flexibility, Deku has proven over and over during his training montage that he's fit, active, strong, exercises to excess, and can certainly maintain a long distance run. Steadily ranking around the halfway mark of the class by topping those who can't apply their quirks to the task, combined with second place in the ball throw, there's no CHANCE he would end up in 20th place. Free my boy he did a good job he didn't deserve that.

Yaoyorozu really has the most versatile quirk that's applicable to ANY situation and she absolutely deserves to retain her 1st place position.

Asui achieving only 13th place in the canon ranking is baffling. BAFFLING. Her quirk is entirely physical and lends itself utterly to these speicifc types of tests. 13th??? THIRTEENTH??!??! When her entire quirk is hopping jumping moving??? Madness. Absolutely madness.

Bakugo maintains 3rd place either way because he really is That Bitch

Using Todoroki as an example, I think Horikoshi built his final ranking based on vibes and based on quirks. By looking at the canon ranking versus ours, I think it's quite clear that he rated them based on his own perception of their quirk strength as a whole within the context of the entire story - not how they would perform in this specific circumstance. Todoroki, who at this point, while highly trained, is still refusing to use his fire and can't actually use just his ice for very much of these tests. Side steps? Seated toe-touch?? What could ice from one half of his body POSSIBLY add to those scores? Enough to bring him to 2nd place? Not on your life

Iida stays in 4th place, all-rounder king and legend

Ashido is a similar case to Asui - how can someone with such a physically-focused quirk AND a canonically physical lifestyle rank in at 9th? Even then, her agility and speed can only take her so far HOW did she overtake Asui in the final canon ranking? How could acid possibly trump frog in jumping or side stepping?

Horikoshi has a very clear bias towards strength-type quirks that (excluding Asui) dominates among males students. Characters who are larger, stronger, an have bigger builds are ranking higher in these tests DESPITE the fact that, for a lot of them, they'd either be hindered (seated toe-touch if they're too stocky to have much flexibility, the long-distance run in their larger builds work against their stamina and endurance, etc.). Being strong doesn't make you fast, or agile, or flexible, and a lot of them shouldn't be as highly ranked as they are when other quirks are more applicable in those circumstances.

Sad to say but Koda is ranking 20th overall. Koda's quirk doesn't lend itself to ANY of these tests (unless he chose to summon animals to actively detract from his classmates scores to bring his own up by comparison) and his quirk has given him a stocky, heavy, inflexible build that would hinder him greatly in any of the tests that need speed, agility and flexibility. Despite doing well in some tests, overall his quirk wasn't able to help him AT ALL in any of these tests, and by comparison he's sunk to 20th in the end.

While there really aren't enough girls actually in the class (the first red flag) to be able to draw a clear conclusion on the final canon rankings having an extreme gender bias, I've still included a gendered breakdown because you can see just how clearly and aggressively Asui and Mina were nerfed for absolutely no logical reason.

Most of the tests' 20th place were between Koda and Mineta, based on how their physical builds would work against them in different tests (Koda would have more physical reach for jumping, running, etc. than Mineta's absurdly short build, and Koda's stockiness and inflexibility would hinder him). I know we all love to put Mineta in last place overall, but unfortunately he did absolutely kill the repeated side steps and there's no arguing with it, and despite coming in 20th more than anyone else, one 1st place score is enough to drag him out of 20th overall. (Which, again, further reinforces our argument that Deku never should have been in 20th place after managing to snag a 2nd place score in just one of these tests, even if he did perform poorly in all other physical tests. Which he didn't. At all.)

One last time, I'd really like to reiterate that these apprehension tests are straight up unfair to those without physical quirks. Koda, Jirou, Hakagure and Kaminari specifically cannot use their quirks to physically agment their own body or their movement in any way - even if they're incredibly valuable in the contexts of a physical fight, espionage, or search and rescue work. Jirou and Kaminari in particular likely did well at the entrance exam against robots, while Koda and Hakagure could do excellent work in the future as underground and search and rescue heroes. I simply cannot believe that Aizawa would use this as a useful measurement of these kids' quirks and abilities.

You cannot seriously try and convince me that DEKU has poorer running endurance, grip strength, etc. than his classmates that DON'T have physically augmented quirks, after spending months proving it to us through his intense training regimen. Mineta? Hakagure? Jirou? Kaminari? Aoyama?? You think he has a weaker grip strength than foppish waifish fancyboy Aoyama?? After dragging around piles of scrap by HAND?!? MADNESS. Madness. Even if he didn't score as well as we think he would, coming out on top of those guys (which he UNQUESTIONABLY would) combined with a 2nd place ball throw score he CAN'T place 20th overall. That's! That's not how numbers work! It just doesn't work like that!!!!

Someone could absolutely argue that Aizawa put the test together to see who puts in the physical effort to improve themselves outside of their quirk as well as being able to use it creatively - but honestly I don't buy it. At the end of the day, I know this was just a plot point to further Deku's motivation and contrast his own power level compared to his peers, and I know its not that serious, but we really enjoyed trying to fugure out how it would all shake out if the quirk apprehension tests were given some more realistic thoughts.

If you disagree with any of the rankings do feel free to comment, I think a lot of us probably have different ideas on how someone might creatively apply 1A's quirks in this scenario, and I'm hardly about to declare myself the final authority on the topic.