#something about the way it really makes you think about roots...

[maskedbyghost]

this is part 2 to toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader, smut, mdni

You hadn’t planned to cry, and honestly, you weren’t even sure why your chest felt tight in the first place. It was just supposed to be a walk, nothing more, just some fresh air and sunshine and maybe a break from your own thoughts.

You thought moving your body might help. Maybe if you just walked far enough, breathed deep enough, looked up at the clouds instead of staring at your bedroom ceiling, something would click into place and you’d feel like yourself again. Like a person again.

But the universe clearly had other plans.

Because every corner you turned, there was another couple.

They weren’t even being obnoxious about it. It wasn’t the affection that made you roll your eyes or want to vomit. It was worse. It was the soft stuff, the connection you could feel without even hearing a word of it.

A guy was walking with his girlfriend, and his hand was resting right at the small of her back. Another couple sat under a tree with a checkered blanket spread out beneath them. She was half in his lap, trying to balance her drink, laughing at something he had said, and he was holding her as if she were made of glass and sunlight, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other brushing her hair with his hands, slowly.

An older couple walked by, holding hands, their fingers intertwined so casually that it made your throat ache. She was talking, he was nodding, and they stopped every few steps to point at the flowers planted along the sidewalk like they had all the time in the world.

And you just… froze.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even sadness, just this deep yearning that settled heavy in your chest and refused to budge, this desperate ache for something that didn’t hurt, something soft, something simple, something that didn’t feel like you were holding your breath all the time, afraid of saying the wrong thing or asking for too much.

You wanted to be held. Not grabbed, nor thrown onto a bed because someone couldn’t control themselves. You wanted to be chosen in the quiet moments, when there was no sex or tension or drama to sweeten the deal. You wanted someone to look at you and think, There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.

You sat down on the nearest bench, dropped your phone into your lap, and just stared at the grass. You didn’t want to cry in public, not really, but the sting was there, just behind your eyes, and you blinked fast, hoping it’d go away.

Your phone buzzed.

You didn’t even want to check. You already knew, somehow, like a sixth sense, or maybe just muscle memory.

“Come over. I’ll order Thai. You can stay.”

As if it was some kind of prize. Like the offer of food and his bed was supposed to feel anything other than a pity invitation. Like that sentence wasn’t the exact same breadcrumb he’d been throwing your way for months, just enough to keep you following, never enough to satisfy.

He wasn’t saying I miss you. He wasn’t saying I’m sorry I hurt you or I didn’t know what I had until you were gone. He was saying Come over. Like this was still a game he was winning.

And maybe a week ago, hell, maybe even yesterday, you would’ve paused. You would’ve stared at the message with that same dull throb in your chest and thought maybe this time will be different. Maybe he means it. Maybe he’s trying.

But right now?

Right now, you felt done.

Done with making excuses for him. Done with confusing attention for affection. Done with dragging your heart behind you like dead weight every time he pulled you back in with nothing more than a half-assed promise and a takeout order.

Your fingers hovered for a second, just long enough to acknowledge the part of you that still wanted to believe he’d ever be capable of giving you what you needed.

And then you typed:

“No. We’re done, Simon. For real this time. Don’t text me again.”

Your thumb hit send before your brain could stop you, before your heart could scream, before the echo of what if could take root and grow into something dangerous again.

And then, without waiting for the three dots to pop up, without giving yourself a chance to hesitate or soften or let him back in even a little you blocked the number.

And that was it.

Your hand was trembling, your eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall. And your heartbeat was steady in your chest, like it was relieved.

You looked up at the sky. Watched the clouds move slowly across the blue. They didn’t know what it meant to panic over someone who didn’t care.

You weren’t happy, not yet. But for the first time in too long, you didn’t feel chained to him anymore.

And that, in itself, felt like something.

...

You hadn’t seen him in over two weeks.

No texts, no calls, no sudden knocks at your door. No glimpses of him near your job, no DMs from new burner accounts, nor mutual friends trying to convince you he was “going through it.”

And honestly? You were starting to think he’d finally gotten the message. That maybe he’d realized what it meant when you said we’re done. That he’d felt the silence for what it was: a full stop, not a pause.

But then he showed up. Of course he did.

You were walking home from the grocery store, just a quick trip for bread and milk and some random snacks you didn’t need but bought anyway because the act of filling your cupboards made you feel happier. You’d just turned the corner onto your street, earbuds in, music low, mind somewhere else entirely, when you looked up and froze.

He was leaning against your building. And he had the nerve to be casual about it too, his arms crossed, head down like this wasn’t completely insane. He looked up when you stopped walking, and his mouth did that slow curl into a grin that used to make your stomach flip but now just made your jaw tighten.

You pulled your earbuds out and said nothing.

“Hey,” he said, as if this was normal or completely not out of bounds. “You’ve been hard to reach.”

“Simon,” you started, your voice flat, your pulse already kicking up. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “You blocked my number and my backup email. You weren’t really leaving me a lot of options.”

You blinked, stunned at how casually he said it. “So you decided to stalk me instead?”

“That’s a dramatic word,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you like you weren’t already backing away slightly, trying to hold onto your grip. “I just wanted to talk. You made that impossible.”

“I made it impossible because we broke up,” you snapped, dropping your grocery bag onto the steps with more force than necessary. “I told you not to text me. Not to call. I said we were done—done, Simon—what don’t you get?”

He smiled again, that infuriating smirk, like you’d just said something cute instead of trying to set a boundary.

“Yeah,” he said, cocking his head. “We broke up, sure. But that doesn’t mean you get to erase me.”

You stared at him, jaw slack. “Are you actually hearing yourself?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Simon said, stepping closer now, his voice calmer, which, honestly, made you want to scream. “You think a couple texts and a blocklist are gonna make me forget what we were? You really think that’s enough?”

“I don’t want you to forget,” you snapped. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to understand that this—whatever this was—is over. I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t belong to you.”

Something in his expression shifted then, just a flicker. A twitch of his jaw, a tightening of the eyes. You’d seen that look before, right before the walls went up. Right before the mask slipped into place.

“You keep saying we’re over,” Simon said slowly, “but you don’t get it.”

He stepped in so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the scent of his skin, that cologne he always wore too much of, the one that used to make you ache but now just made your stomach turn.

“You and me?” he whispered. “We’re never really over.”

Your breath hitched, and for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you felt that pull again. That old, broken, magnetic force that lived in the space between his mouth and yours, in the memory of what it felt like to be wanted by him.

But you were so fucking tired of confusing that with love. So you stepped back.

You looked him dead in the eye, and you said:

“What do you want from me, Simon? Seriously. Do you want me to scream? Do you want me to cry? Do you want me to fall apart in front of you just so you can feel something? Because whatever this is—it’s not love, it’s not real. It’s you, trying to control me. And I’m done letting you.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just stood there. And you picked up your bag again, turned on your heel, and walked away. You didn’t look back, didn’t have to.

Because this time? You were the one leaving him behind.

...

It had been weeks.

Weeks of silence, weeks of healing, and pretending you were ready to move on, even when your heart still felt like a battlefield he’d walked away from without ever looking back.

So when your coworker asked you out—the nice one, the one who remembered your coffee order and always held the elevator—you said yes.

You didn’t feel fireworks, nor did you get butterflies. But you also didn’t feel dread, or the bone-deep exhaustion that came from chasing someone who only ever looked back when you were halfway out the door.

And maybe that was enough. Maybe soft was what you needed now. Safe and simple.

He took you to a cozy little restaurant tucked off the main street, the kind with candlelight and mismatched chairs and a menu written entirely in cursive. He held the door open for you, pulled your chair out when you sat, complimented your dress without looking at your chest. And you smiled, even if it felt a little forced. You laughed, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You tried...

Halfway through the meal, you excused yourself to the bathroom. The ladies’ room was down a narrow hallway in the back, quiet and dim, music muffled through the walls. You were halfway there when you felt it.

That shift in the air.

That awareness that only ever came from one person. And you didn’t even get the chance to turn around before he was there.

He stepped out from the shadows of the hallway like a fucking ghost, like he’d been waiting, like he knew you’d be here and timed it down to the minute. And before you could speak, before you could even breathe, he had you pressed up against the wall, one arm caging you in, the other sliding slowly along your waist.

His mouth was at your ear in an instant, voice low, thick, dirty.

“Really, sweetheart?” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “This the best you can do?”

Your heart slammed in your chest. Your hands went to his chest, pushing lightly, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He leaned in closer, body not quite touching yours but so fucking close, you could feel the heat radiating off him like fire.

“You think he’s gonna fuck you better than I do?” he whispered, and it wasn’t even a question—it was filth wrapped in confidence. “You think he even knows what to do with you? Bet he doesn’t even know how you sound when you beg. Doesn’t know how your thighs shake when I’ve got my mouth on you—”

“Stop it,” you hissed, voice shaking, but your knees were already weak and your throat felt tight.

Simon smirked, eyes dark and gleaming. “Can’t stop thinking about it, can you? His hands won't feel right, will they? Bet you’d picture mine every time he touches you.”

Your hands pushed harder now, but he didn’t flinch.

“And what about when he’s inside you?” Simon rasped, mouth brushing your jaw, teeth grazing skin just enough to make you gasp. “You gonna close your eyes and pretend it’s me?”

“At least he’ll fucking stay,” you snapped, louder now, anger burning through the haze. “At least he won’t leave the second he gets what he wants. At least I won’t wake up to an empty bed.”

That got him. His jaw clenched instantly.

But he didn’t move. He just stared at you, breathing hard, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to touch you or punch a hole in the wall beside your head.

You shoved him. Hard.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

Simon didn’t move right away. He just stood there, watching you like you’d gutted him, like your words had cut deeper than you’d meant them to—but you didn’t regret it.

Not this time.

You stepped around him, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you, head high, heart pounding like it was trying to tear its way out of your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You walked straight back to the table, sat down, and smiled at your date like your ex hadn’t just whispered filth into your ear in a hallway like a man possessed.

“Everything okay?” your date asked gently.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “The bathroom line was just long.”

...

The walk back to your apartment felt like an out-of-body experience.

Your date had walked you home, smiling the entire way, hands tucked into his pockets, making soft jokes that you tried to laugh at, even though your stomach had been turning since the second you stepped out of the restaurant. He was kind. He listened, he held the door open, and he even complimented your dress without leering. And when you reached your door, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and gentle, just like the kind of kiss you should want from someone like him.

And you felt nothing. Not even a flicker, not even a spark.

You kissed him back out of politeness, maybe even a little guilt, and when you stepped away and thanked him for dinner, he smiled like he’d had a good time. And you hated that you hadn’t. Hated that he was everything you said you wanted—safe, respectful, sweet—and all you could think about the whole fucking night was Simon’s mouth, Simon’s hands, Simon whispering filth and promises and pain in your ear like he was made to ruin you.

By the time you reached your door, your hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from rage.

From this endless, exhausting loop of trying to do the right thing and still craving the wrong one.

You fumbled with your keys, cursing under your breath, eyes burning. You wanted to scream. Wanted to punch a wall. Wanted to shove Simon’s face into the fact that he’d broken you so thoroughly that now, even when someone was good to you, it felt wrong.

The door opened. And there he was.

Simon.

Sitting on your couch but he didn’t look cocky this time. Didn’t smirk or lean back with that smug glint in his eye. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, head in his hands like he didn’t even know what to say anymore.

You dropped your purse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” your voice cracked, sharp and loud in the quiet room.

He stood, slowly, but you were already walking toward him, hands clenched, eyes blazing.

“How dare you?” you hissed. “How fucking dare you be here again. After everything.”

“Just listen—”

“No!” you snapped. “No, you don’t get to talk. You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re confused about why I don’t want you in my life. You ruined me, Simon.”

He flinched, and good. You wanted it to hurt.

“You took everything I gave you, every part of me, and you made it ugly.” Your voice shook now, rage mixing with grief. “You used me when you wanted company. Tossed me when you were bored. And I kept coming back, like a fucking idiot, thinking maybe this time you’d mean it when you kissed me.”

He was quiet.

“I went on a date tonight,” you spat. “With someone who treated me like I mattered. Someone who held doors and remembered things I said and kissed me like he gave a damn, and do you know what I thought the whole time?”

Simon swallowed, barely whispering, “What?”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes now.

“I thought about you,” you said, voice cracking. “I thought about your fucking mouth, about your hands. I thought about how I’d rather have your soft kiss than his perfect one. And I hate myself for it.”

Simon took a step forward. “I never meant to—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice trembling now. “Don’t stand there and act like this just happened. You did this. You made me believe you’d never care, and now I’m so fucking broken I can’t even feel anything from someone who actually tries. I still picture you when I think about love, Simon. That’s the worst part.”

He was right in front of you now, his breathing shallow, his eyes wide as he just watched you split yourself open in front of him.

“I imagine you,” you whispered. “But better, softer, and kinder. I imagine you as the version I needed, the one I deserved, and it kills me, because I don’t even know if that version of you exists.”

Silence.

He reached out then, so slowly it made your breath catch, and placed one hand gently on your cheek, the lightest touch he’d ever given you.

“I can be him,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I swear to God, I’ll try. I’ll be him.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then another, on your temple. One on your cheek, your jaw, your nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between them. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You were crying now, full-on sobbing, body shaking like it had been holding this in for far too long. And he didn’t grab you, didn’t pull you into him like he used to. He just stood there, kissing every tear that fell like he was trying to wipe them from existence.

“I didn’t know how to love you right,” he murmured, voice breaking. “But I will. If you let me. If you give me a chance, I’ll change. I’ll do the work. Just… don’t shut the door on me yet.”

You didn’t answer.

Because even after everything, even through all the rage and resentment and raw wounds, his kisses still felt like home.

And that was the scariest part of all.

He kissed your tears like they burned him, as if each one that slid down your cheeks was proof of what he’d broken, and he was trying, pathetically, hopelessly, to piece it all back together with nothing but his mouth and the weight of his regret.

You didn’t say anything when he pressed his forehead to yours. Didn’t pull away when he wrapped both arms around you like he thought you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

You just stood there and let yourself breathe him in, his warmth, his scent.

“Let me show you,” Simon whispered, voice raw. “Please, just once. Let me make it right.”

You didn’t nod, you didn’t speak, but you let him take your hand.

He led you to the bed and didn’t tear your clothes off like he usually did. He didn’t grab or push or bite. He just kissed you, like you were something fragile, something he didn’t think he deserved to touch but was begging to try.

His hands trembled when he slid your top up over your arms. He took his time with every button, every hem, because rushing would ruin it. When your bra fell away, he kissed the center of your chest—not your breasts, not your neck—your chest, right over your heart, and rested there for a second like he was trying to feel it beat.

“You don’t have to forgive me now,” he whispered. “But I need you to know I’m gonna earn it. All of it. Whatever it takes.”

You didn’t stop the tears. You didn’t hide from them. They slid quietly down your cheeks as he lowered himself between your legs and pressed his mouth to your stomach, your hips, your thighs—anywhere but the place you were already aching for him.

“I’m gonna learn how to love you right,” he murmured against your skin. “I’m gonna give you every soft thing I never thought you’d want. You won’t have to beg for affection anymore. You won’t have to guess if I’ll stay.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, then finally pressed his mouth to where you needed him. It felt as if he was praying with his tongue. Like this was how he was going to worship you now.

You gasped, hands fisting the sheets, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

And he noticed. Of course he did.

He looked up from between your thighs, his face a mess of want and pain.

“You don’t have to cry,” he said softly, crawling back up your body. “I mean… I know why you are. But I hate that I’m the reason for it. I swear, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

You cupped his face, fingers trembling, and he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing holding him together.

He lined himself up, slow and careful, and when he pushed inside, he went still. Completely still. Just breathing against your mouth, his hands cradling your face like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this close again.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Fuck, you always did.”

He moved slowly, painfully slow. Like every thrust was an apology. Like he was rewriting the way he touched you, undoing every rushed, selfish fuck with something tender and earned.

Your tears didn’t stop. And neither did he.

He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, and your jaw. Whispered everything he’d never said when it would’ve mattered most.

“I’m gonna do better.”

“I’ll take care of you. I swear I will.”

“No more games. No more pushing you away.”

You whimpered beneath him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, clinging to him like you didn’t know how to let go anymore.

He rested his forehead against yours and kept moving, slow and deep, every thrust sending something hot and unbearable through your chest.

“You deserve flowers,” he breathed. “And check-ins. And hand-holding and fucking morning texts and someone who doesn’t make you cry every goddamn day.”

His voice cracked again. You felt it.

“And I want to be him,” Simon said, nearly choking on it. “I need to be him.”

Your body trembled beneath him. You were already so close, not just because of his cock, but because of the way he was inside you.

You came with a broken sob, your nails digging into his back, your legs shaking.

He came a moment later, groaning into your neck, and holding you tightly.

He didn’t pull out and didn’t move.

Just wrapped his arms around you, face pressed to your shoulder, and kissed you again and again and again, believing that if he just stayed close enough, the damage might finally start to heal.

...

Morning came quietly.

You woke to the pale gray light bleeding through your bedroom curtains, the kind of early morning glow that made everything feel hazy. For a few seconds, it was peaceful. Warm.

And then you remembered.

The weight behind you wasn’t just a dream.

Simon.

Still here, and breathing steadily against your back, one arm draped around your waist.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t that last night had been bad. It hadn’t. If anything, it had been too good. Too soft. Too vulnerable. It was the kind of night you used to pray for back when you thought he’d never give it to you.

And now?

Now it just felt like weakness.

You untangled yourself from his arm slowly, carefully, trying not to wake him as you sat up and slipped your legs over the side of the bed. But he stirred anyway, and you felt his hand twitch behind you, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

You stood up and didn’t turn around when you said it.

“Simon… you need to go.”

Silence.

Then the quiet sound of bedsheets rustling behind you.

“...You serious?” His voice was rough from sleep, low and uncertain in a way you weren’t used to hearing from him.

You nodded, still facing the window. “Yeah. I am.”

He sat up, and you could hear it, the shift in weight, the creak of the mattress, the pause before the sigh.

“Last night—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Was a moment,” you said, finally turning around to look at him. “That’s all. A moment of weakness. It doesn’t mean everything’s okay.”

He blinked at you, eyes bloodshot, hair messy, mouth parted.

“I meant everything I said,” he told you quietly. “Every word.”

“I know,” you said. “But meaning it isn’t enough. Not yet.”

He was quiet again, looking down at his hands, he didn’t know what to do with them now that they weren’t holding you.

“Okay,” he said eventually, dragging a hand through his hair and exhaling slowly. “Okay. I’ll go.”

You watched as he stood, pulled on his jeans, his hoodie, his boots. He didn’t rush, nor beg. He just moved with weighted sadness, like leaving was physically hard to do.

But at the door, he paused and turned around. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“I’m gonna prove it to you. That I meant what I said. That I’m changing. You’re gonna look at me one day, and you’re not gonna feel stupid for loving me anymore.”

You didn’t reply.

You just looked at him, arms crossed, your heart pounding.

And then he opened the door and stepped into the hall, casting one last glance back over his shoulder.

“I’ll win you back,” Simon said, voice like a quiet promise. “Even if it kills me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you didn’t breathe until you were alone again.

-----------------------------------------

@nightunite I'm not done with this bitch yet.

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973

[blank-potato]

A Special Surprise

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

“What’s going on?” he asks, brows raised. You say wearily, “It’s been shaking all morning… almost dancing?” You both look at it. The plant is doing a slow, rhythmic shimmy like it’s listening to music, only it can hear.  It was no longer sad, that was for sure.  You watch it…it’s almost hypnotic in its movements. Going round and round and round and— you look away, shaking your head.  “Not today, horny plant, not today.” Bob tries and fails to suppress a snort. “Did you just…. call it horny?” Or Since the plant attack a month ago, you and Bob haven't had sex, agreeing that you should take things slow. But your plant sees how pent up you both are and changes your plans.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, plants being freaky asl, Bob using his telekinesis for horny reasons, orgasm control/denial, tentacle handjob (tentacle job?) oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, hair pulling, bondage via tentacles and telekinesis, established relationship

WC: 5.8k

A/N: This is part 2 of Something Special linked below. This was another really fun one to write, more plant action as promised, hope you enjoy it!

Part 1

⋆⭒˚｡⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⭒˚｡⋆

Since the great plant incident, the two of you had decided to take things slow. 

Really slow.

It had been almost a month, and you guys had just worked your way up to holding hands, kissing and the occasional makeout session. 

Even though you guys had had sex, it probably wouldn’t have been the natural progression of your relationship. You would have kept awkwardly not quite flirting with each other until one of you made a move. 

So, taking it slow seemed to be the best course of action. It was fine, you were both okay with it… kinda. In all honesty, you wanted each other bad.

You’d be completely normal, working on something, and you’d feel his arms wrapping around you from behind, and that is all it took. The rest of the day, you’d think about you and him in many different compromising positions.

But you had to be normal and chill, and that is something you definitely know how to do. 

Bob enters your office, and you smile up at him. You could never resist your daily dose of Bob Reynolds. “Morning, I brought you cinnamon rolls. I figured you haven’t eaten yet?

“You know me and my bad habits so well,” You say before leaning up to peck him on the lips. You taste sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon. “You’ve already eaten yours?”

“Couldn’t resist.”

He rounds the table to settle next to you, the smell of his cologne and shampoo already making you feel at home.

“How’s it looking?” he says, nodding at your flower.

You look at the plant in the corner of your lab, which has lost a few petals and curled in on itself a little. It’s looking out your window, all forlorn like it’s wishing for better days. “I swear I’ve been taking care of it, giving it enough water and sun, but it’s…”

“It looks a little sad,” Bob finishes.

The plant had taken to Bob over the past few weeks, probably because Bob was always in your lab, hovering nearby under the guise of helping or waiting for you to finish up.

It was oddly endearing, watching the way the plant seemed to lean toward him whenever he was around, as if it had claimed him, too. It was very cute how it would do a little shiver whenever you ruffled Bob’s hair or laughed at one of his awkward jokes, almost like it was rooting for you.

Sometimes, when Bob got too close to your workstation, the plant would nudge toward him, its leaves twitching like it wanted to be involved in whatever the two of you were doing.

He turns away from the plant and observes you instead. Instantly, he sees that you’re looking a little tired. “You alright?”

You mumble as ‘yes’ but honestly, without your second coffee of the day, you’d be curled up underneath your desk, asleep.

“Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

And that was the truth. You didn’t sleep well last night, he didn’t need to know that it was because you had a dream about him fucking your brains out. Another shitty side-effect of not having sex with your hot boyfriend. 

“Anything I can do to help? I could… organise your notes, or bring coffee, or I don’t know…” Bob offers, clearly trying to come up with anything useful. “I just don’t want to see you burnt out.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close, resting your forehead gently against his. “I’ll be okay. I survived med school, okay? I’ve been more tired,” you say with a soft smile, “You’re so sweet, wanting to take care of me…”

You loved it when he got like this, all cute and tender. And the way he’d be doting on you even when you insisted you were fine. Like when he found you passed out at your desk, surrounded by papers and coffee cups, and you woke up in your bed and had a sparkling lab by the next morning. 

You glance up at his worried eyes, framed by the faintest crease in his brow. He’s so beautiful when he’s like this; it makes you want to melt into a little puddle on the floor.  There’s even a smudge of sugar on the corner of his lip from the cinnamon roll, and you just wanna kiss it right off. 

Just then, you’re overcome by that aching kind of affection, the kind that just demands an outlet, and you start pressing kisses all over his face: his cheek, his temple, the bridge of his nose.

He bursts into laughter, leaning back just slightly as you continue your playful assault. “What are you doing?” he laughs.

“This’ll keep me awake,” you murmur against his jawline.

He wraps his arms around you and lifts you in his arms like you weigh nothing.  You lock your legs around his waist like a little koala. You have no idea what has you both feeling so bold, but you like it. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say, as you move to the other side of his jaw. He lets out a moan, quaking under your praise. You knew just how to make him feel good, just how to make him feel special. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says, his voice dipping even lower. Your lips leave his skin, and you look up at him to see his eyes glowing gold. All that does is turn you on even more, the fact that you got him so worked up…

Then, like that, as if you realised you weren’t exactly going slow right now, you break apart. 

“We should probably…” 

Bob hums in agreement, and you reluctantly release your python grip on his waist. It’s a near-impossible task, and you miss having him hold you as soon as he plops you down on your desk. 

You fan yourself a little and fix your shirt, trying to look composed even if you were the furthest thing from it. 

But when your eyes sweep the room, you notice the plant now turned away from the window and right at the two of you, like it was watching. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⭒˚｡⋆

By the next day, the plant is going wild.

Bob stops by your office, hoping to take you out to lunch, only to find you locked in a tense staring contest with the plant, before you turn and he sees why.

“What’s going on?” he asks, brows raised.

You say wearily, “It’s been shaking all morning… almost dancing?”

You both look at it. The plant is doing a slow, rhythmic shimmy like it’s listening to music, only it can hear.  It was no longer sad, that was for sure. 

You watch it…it’s almost hypnotic in its movements. Going round and round and round and— you look away, shaking your head. 

“Not today, horny plant, not today.”

Bob tries and fails to suppress a snort. “Did you just…. call it horny?”

You nod profusely before pointing an accusatory finger at it. “I know that look. I’m telling you, something isn’t right.”

“Do we have any idea why?�� Bob asks, but you shake your head. 

“I’ve called a specialist, but they won’t be here by next week.” Shifting away from it, you hold onto Bob’s arm. You needed to be ready to bolt just in case, it went crazy on your asses again.

You knew exactly what this plant was capable of, the flashbacks to your completely destroyed office coming back to you all at once. You still missed the shirt that it obliterated. 

You sigh. “You still wanna get lunch?”

Bob smiles. “Only if we’re not bringing the third wheel.”

You shoot the plant a final stern look. “Stay.”

The plant, as if in response, gives another aggressive little shimmy.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⭒˚｡⋆

Lunch was perfect, but moments with Bob often were. You shared jokes and a meatball sub from the corner shop and sat together in a nearby park. 

How could someone look so cute with sauce on his face? You wiped it off, brushing his lips with your napkin. Pretty lips, lips you wanted to devour.

You almost didn’t want to get back to work. 

Once you get back to the Tower, it’s quiet as the rest of the Avengers are now halfway across the country, fighting dangers unknown.

Like a big weighted blanket, he wraps his arms around you, walking with you in a slow, sleepy sway.

“Do you have to get to work now?” he murmurs against your temple.

You nod, sighing as you both waddle down the hall like two sleepy penguins, still tangled in each other’s warmth.

“See me after?”

“I will.”

Then, without warning, he stops and spins you around, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing, pressing a deep, giddy kiss to your lips.

“You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” you laugh breathlessly as he sets you back down.

He smiles, that soft, golden smile. “You just bring something out in me.”

Swiftly, he disappears down the hall, leaving your heart pounding and you wondering when exactly he got all suave and smooth. 

When you swing your door open, still swooning over Bob, you see something. Something…concerning?

It’s another flower. 

The door shuts behind you as you pause mid-step, squinting at it. This wasn’t the one Bob gave you. That one had soft green leaves and leaned adorably toward his voice and evidently danced. 

But this? This one had glowing yellow petals that pulsed faintly, almost like it was breathing. You hadn’t seen it before, and you certainly hadn’t grown it.

“I come in peace, plant.”

You carefully lift its pot and set it next to your other plant. If you were more attentive, or just less exhausted, then you probably would’ve noticed the faint tremble in the soil, or the way the leaves angled ever so slightly toward the door. You’d deal with it after the giant stack of papers and emails you had to get through.

You click-clack at your computer and try to focus, your body becomes heavier, the letters on your keyboard become blurry.

“Stay awake, stay awake,” you whisper to yourself, like a chant to keep you up, but it’s no use. “Just five minutes,” you murmur to yourself, as you rest your head on the desk.

What must’ve been at least an hour slips by, and when you jolt upright, disoriented and sticky-eyed—

“Of course, I fell asleep…”

You look around, scratching the back of your neck, stretching with a yawn, trying to blink the fog from your brain. But when you look to the corner, the one you’d started glancing at by habit, it’s empty.

When you wake up, the flower is gone.

Actually, both flowers are gone.

“Shit.”

You blink, disoriented, and then the sudden crack of gunfire rings out. You bolt upright, and you step out of the lab into complete chaos.

The hallway is a mess, vines are all over the ceiling and walls, snaking around furniture and lights, creeping fast. Ava is blinking in and out of sight, phasing wildly as she dodges them, while a vine nearly snags her ankle. Yelena is hanging from the chandelier on the ceiling with a gas mask, shooting at them. 

You can’t see him, but you can hear Alexei roaring in the distance, presumably batting the plant’s tentacles away with brute force.

“What the fuck is going on?!”

At the centre of the chaos, the yellow flower that was on your desk was now mad with power and trying to pull Bucky out of the elevator. And in another corner amongst overturned chairs and sparkling wires is a pink one, that had tentacles attached to John’s back, trying to pry off his clothes. 

How the fuck did they get here? Did they take the subway? A taxi?

Before you can do anything, you’re being pulled away into the air with a scream… not by a tentacle but by an invisible force.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⭒˚｡⋆

A few minutes before the plant attack on Avengers Tower, Bob’s lying in bed, living his best life and thinking of you, like always.  

Since you were busy working, he decided he’d take a nap, five minutes tops. He had been tired these past few days as well, thoughts of you in his bed, riding him, calling out his name until your voice was hoarse, keeping him awake more and more often. The sex dreams were wreaking havoc on his sleep schedule. Every time you guys would makeout, he’d be brought back to all the filthy things you’d be whispering in his ear in his dreams. 

He’d only meant to close his eyes for five minutes.

But eventually he drifts off peacefully, the comfort of his pillow and the lingering scent of you on his shirt pulling him under. Only to wake a few minutes later to the feeling of a warm, unfamiliar weight on his chest.

A soft rustle. Something moves.

A bloom of purple petals hovers above him, looking down at him with something almost resembling fondness. The plant tilts its head, mimicking him as he shifts, confused.

It takes him a moment to realise… his sheets are gone. His wrists, tied gently but firmly to the headboard by vines. Velvet-smooth tentacles looped like cuffs around his ankles.

Bob freezes, his breath catches in his throat. His heart races too, thoughts piling up in his head faster than he can sort them.

He swallows hard, shifting his hips in a vain attempt to sit up, but the vines hold firm. One of the petals tilts curiously, responding to his movement with something too close to glee.

Still pinned, still breathless, he whispers to the ceiling:

“…This plant is going to kill me.”

As if hearing him, the plant gets to work, making quick work of his clothes, discarding the fabric in smooth, deliberate motions, like it had done this before.

Bob couldn't deny it felt good… He'd been left wanting more every time, longing to be touched more. Every heated makeout session, few and far between, cut short by your mutual agreement to take things slow.

The tendrils slither their way around his body until they found what they were looking for, his cock. They wrap around him, the substance that was oozing from the tentacles onto his cock making him feel weak.  

His whole body shivers when they start moving. They fluctuate between pulsing around him and jerking him off, making it impossible to focus on anything. 

He bites back the no doubt embarrassing moan that was bound to come out. But he can’t keep them back for too long.  The moan that rips through him is more of a pathetic whine. They use his reactions against him, rubbing wherever made him whimper the loudest. But instead of moving as fast as they can, they slicked up his cock, moving just slow enough to leave him wanting. 

His breath is short, and his limbs feel heavy, too heavy for him to do anything, but he’s not sure he wants to do anything right now. 

“Fuck…”

He feels himself getting closer and closer, but one of the tentacles curls around the base of his cock and squeezes. Denying him the release, he very much needed. His legs shake as he groans and slams his head against the headboard, denting it. 

“Please…,” he lets out, his eyes dazed, and if you asked him what he’s begging for, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. 

The plant isn’t done with him yet; it starts moving again. The tentacles are making themselves right at home, working their hardest to get him to another orgasm. It's hell-bent on draining all his energy and leaving him a complete mess. He moans, bucking his hips up into its grip, causing it to squeeze around him harder. 

“I can’t, I can’t…” he gasps, before collapsing into a quiet sob, trembling under its iron grip pressing down on him.

He turns his head to the side, burying his face in the pillow, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. His breathing quickens, shallow and erratic, as his toes curl in pleasure.

It’s not long before he feels it coming again, another dry orgasm he’s too weak to do anything about except whimper.

“Please, let me—”

His back arches off the bed as he has a second dry orgasm. All he can think about is you, how he wanted to kiss you and hold you in his arms… and fuck you senseless.  He wanted to hear you, wanted to make you feel good. His eyes start to glow gold as he moans out your name over and over. 

“Please, please, please—”

With the thought of you fresh in his mind, he finds his orgasm hitting him that much faster and harder. No matter how much he begged, the plant wouldn’t let him finish. But that’s not what really hurt; what hurt is the fact that you weren’t here right now with him. And he needed you. 

The tentacles keep moving, but start exploring the rest of his body more. He felt boneless and unbelievably horny, like he was about to go crazy. 

He needed relief. He needed you. To feel your body pressed against his, to feel your pussy squeezing down on his dick.

He flexes his hand and thinks of you, hoping that you’d come to him.

And you did. You were still mid-yell when you flew in there, as he slammed the door shut behind you with his telekinesis. 

Not even in your wildest dreams could you have imagined seeing Bob like that when you floated into his room.

Vines around his body, his abs twitching, panting out your name in desperation. He was practically gift-wrapped. 

“Holy—” You start, but you see Bob nod his head, and your clothes literally go flying off your body. 

“Need you right now,” He breathes out, and your body floats over to him. Good to know that Bob could throw you around with his mind. You land on his lap, just as the vines fall away from around him. 

He only wants to focus on having you.  

“Bob, what happened?” you ask gently, caressing his cheek.

He’s so sensitive to your touch that he lets out a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut under your fingertips.

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he leans in, mouth finding your collarbone, marking it with slow, desperate kisses. He’s been craving you, and that's evident.

“Bob…,” you whine, getting lost in his touch. You’re sure he can’t be affected by the sex pollen capabilities of the plant, so it must have found a way around it. 

He kisses his way from your collarbone to your neck to your earlobe, gently nibbling on it. 

“I’ve been wanting to be inside of you for weeks,” he confesses, finally saying it, feeling like a weight off his shoulders. 

Your heart jumps in your chest, and something about the way he says it, all breathy and needy, goes straight to your core. 

“Oh yeah?”

He nods, every movement he makes methodical. “Every time you’d climb in my lap or grip my hair when we’re kissing, all I could think of was how you looked lying out on that examination table that day.”

His hand runs down your stomach until he’s gently pressing on your aching pussy, not moving yet. “How good you felt to touch… You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to just bend you over and…”

You gasp, feeling him start to move his hand, rubbing your clit in slow circles. “And just fuck you,” he says finishing his sentence. 

“Need to fill you up,” he says and moves you until you’re over his dick. “Can I?” 

You nod excitedly. Who were you to deny him when he’s so cute asking for permission? 

He slides in, and you remember just how good it feels to have him inside of you. Your walls stretching to accommodate his size, the biting pain that melts into pleasure, there’s nothing like it. He makes the most of it immediately, moving in sync with you. 

“So perfect,” he moans, like he’s finally gotten that relief he’s needed so badly. 

It’s clear he’s desperate for you, and only you.

“Want my cum to be dripping out of you for days,” Bob rasps, as he thrusts harder. 

That was a surprise.

“O-okay,” you squeak. He looks at you like he’s starving, like only you can satiate this aching hunger that’s eating him alive from the inside out.

You had never heard Bob talk like this, but you kinda liked it. 

He locks eyes with you, something fierce and tender flickering there, then pulls you flush against his chest. He starts thrusting into you with inhumane force, which makes you drool. His breath brushes your ear as he whispers, “You feel that? That’s all for you.”

“Bob!” you scream as he bounces you up and down on him with vigour.  You cry out his name so loud, you swear the other Avengers might hear it over the potted plant chaos. It feels so good, you swear you’re about to lose your mind.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you reply immediately.

He slows down, holding you by the hips and rocking you gently, the head of his cock pushing right against your sensitive spot. He leans in and kisses you like he’s scared you’re going to disappear, his whole body pressing into the moment, as he pours every ounce of feeling into it.

You're his world, and in that kiss, there’s no mistaking it. He wants you just as much as you want him.

He pulls back, kissing you on the forehead. Before you can even think of whining at the loss of him, you’re in the air as he flips you over with his mind. That was going to take a lot of getting used to. 

You end up back on the bed, legs spread, waiting for him to fill you up again. The anticipation is almost killing you and just when he decides to tease you, pushing the head of his cock against your entrance but not giving you want. 

“Bob, please…,” you beg, looking behind you to try and convince him with doe eyes and a pouty lip, but an invisible hand forces you to face the front and arch your back. You can feel Bob’s both of actual hands replacing his dick, spreading your wet folds apart.

“Don’t tease me like this,” you complain, still at the mercy of Bob’s invisible hold on your hair. Then catching you off guard he gets underneath you and starts licking at your pussy.

“Bob!”

He sucks your folds hungrily, like he was starved of you, before flipping you around over like a rotisserie chicken to get more access. You land on your back, chest heaving as you look up at Bob, so determined to please you. 

“You’re so beautiful, can’t believe I have you all to myself,” he praises before diving back in and turning your brain to soup.

You’re about to close your legs, too sensitive to the feeling, but the plant now sprang back to life with impeccable timing, catching them to keep them open. The vines deepen the stretch of your legs to allow Bob all the access he could ever want.

You watered it every day, gave it sun, and now it betrays you, just when you think you know a plant. Traitor.

He laps you up, your slick coating your lips as you continue to squirm. “Gonna die…,” you breathe out, and you’re surprised you’re not already dead. 

You try sitting up, but again that invisible force pulls your body around like you’re a puppet. He takes your arms with his mind and pins them above your head as he continues to please you with his mouth. 

“So…mean…” you whine to which you feel the vibration of his chuckle on your pussy. 

When you look down, you catch his eyes, glowing gold and full of desire for you. 

Just when you feel like you’ve had enough, you feel his fingers rubbing on your clit and more fingers pressing on your g-spot? Or at least you thought it was his fingers, but when you looked down, Bob’s hands were under your knees, so he was doing it with his mind. You didn’t know he had that much control, but you’re glad he did. 

“Bob, you’re fucking magical,” you say, as you let your head loll against the sheets. 

If his telekinesis wasn’t keeping you flat, you’d be arching your back off the bed as you scream out his name again. 

The moment you finish is something you’ll never forget. You’re whining because you can feel the orgasm coming but a final lick on your clit, as he looks up at you sends you crashing.

You fight against the hold the plant has on your legs, and the hold Bob has on…well, the rest of you, but it’s no use. The orgasm rolls through your whole body as you’re practically forced to stay still. 

He finally lets you go and shoo the plant away from your thighs. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, checking up on you, and you nod. You may be slightly (very) disorientated but you could fuck until the sun came down and then continue to fuck until the sun came up again. 

He pulls you up to a seated position, arms wrapped gently around you, letting you catch your breath as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, words soft and warm enough to melt you.

“Want to keep going?” he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing your skin.

“More than anything,” you breathe, and before he can respond, you shift, taking him by surprise as you climb on top of him, eyes locked with his.

The look on his face?

Completely undone.

His Adam’s apple jumps and he gulps, eyes locked on you like he’s trying to memorise every inch.

You were so beautiful, so sure, so sure of him. It made something ache deep inside him.

“You want no one else?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, needing that confirmation. 

“Just you,” you say without hesitation, and it’s all he needs to hear.

You run a finger slowly down his abs, watching the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

Then your desire takes over, and then leaning down, licking a line from the bottom of his abs to the top, savouring the way his breath catches, the quiet, broken sound he makes in response.

He's yours, and right now, you're making sure he feels it. You even feel his whole body shiver when you do that, a subtle tremble beneath your touch, and it gives you a quiet satisfaction. It’s something special, knowing you can unravel him like this. That even someone as powerful as Bob Reynolds can fall apart in your hands.

 He’s looking up at you with wide eyes, “Always wanted to do that.”

They were perfectly crafted. What were you supposed to do, not lick them?

You hop back on top of him and start rubbing his cock against your entrance, knocking him out of his stupor. He reaches for you immediately with a quiet beg, “Please.”

You can never handle it when he asks you for anything, so you oblige. Slowly, you lower yourself on his cock but when it comes to riding him, it’s hard and fast. 

He’s crying out your name as he clutches at your hips. 

You roll your hips faster and the plant comes to help you this time, pulling his hands from you and holding his arms down. Even though he could break the hold at any time, he’s rather enjoying being entranced by you. The way your body moves made him want to give you anything and everything. 

“You like this?” he asks, voice needy but happy. He loved seeing you feel good; he loved being the one making it happen. 

“I like everything you do to me,” you say back, breath hitching, fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer.

And the way he looks at you then, like you just gave him the universe, makes your heart stutter in your chest.

You slow your pace for just a moment, catching your breath, and his eyes, before leaning in to press a soft, tender kiss to his forehead.

It’s gentle, the kind of kiss that says I’m here.

But next thing you know, you’re being plucked off of him and placed at the edge of the bed so your trembling bottom half hangs off of it. He was putting you through your paces today, that’s for sure. 

You feel him suddenly behind you as he runs his fingers over your body with reverence and lays a soft kiss on the small of your back. He pushes you legs apart and pushes in without warning but at this point, to his cock, your pussy was a second home. 

You grip the sheets as once again you’re being ganged up on by Bob and the plant. You feel tendrils wrap around your legs and ankles, lifting you in the air to create more space for Bob and invisible hands grab your hands from their death grip in the linen to place them behind your back.

He’s fucking you so hard, the bed is shaking. You can quite literally hear the legs groaning under the pressure and screws coming loose as it scrapes, inch by inch, across the floor.

“More, please, more…” you blurt out, your mind halfway across the world

In response, the plant wraps around you more, pushing you back to meet his thrusts. The sound of your hips meeting his echoes in the room so loud, it’s obscene. 

“Only want you,” he says, his voice sounding completely wrecked. 

He’s so deep inside you now, stretching you out so perfectly,  you can barely handle it.

Your legs spasm and shake, you know you’re close, and so does he.

“I’m close too, I know,” he says like he’s reading your mind and picks up the pace. You’re barely holding on, moaning so loud you might lose your voice. 

You wanted to be fucked senseless and you suppose this is it. 

The toe curling, leg shaking, drool inducing pleasure tears through you once again as you slobber out a series of “Fucks” and “Bobs”.

And before you can catch your breath you feel his cock twitch inside of you then you’re being flooded with his cum, it feels never ending. He just keeps pumping you full of his load before he presses down on top of you, kissing everywhere he can reach. 

“I love you so much,” he pants out, almost quiet enough that you don’t catch it.

He freezes.

Then suddenly, he’s off you, untangling himself, backing away like he’s afraid he said too much. Your limbs, once wrapped up in Bob and the tentacles, now lie free and cold in the absence of him.

He won’t look at you. His hands fidget. His breathing’s uneven. He’s spiralling. He’s thinking too hard.

What if it was too soon? What if you thought it was stupid? What if—?

“I love you too.”

His head snaps up, eyes wide, meeting yours. You’re looking right at him, that beautiful, grounding smile on your face, the one that always reminds him of sunshine after a hurricane.

“I love you,” you say again, slower this time, to make sure he knew you meant it.

Then you hold out your hand.

And when he hesitates for half a second, you yank him back down onto the bed, right next to you, where he belongs. 

The moment you two settle, you hear a creak, then another, and before you know it, the whole bed collapses with a definitive thud. All you could do was laugh, breathless and tangled in sheets with him.

“I’m sorry. Got a bit carried away,” he says sweetly, laying a gentle peck on your cheek. Bob Reynolds, folks. Talking to you all sweet as if he wasn’t railing you so hard, his bed collapsed.

You look around and see the plant sitting there innocently, like it hadn’t just caused a full-scale disaster. The state of Bob’s bed has the place looking like a tornado tried to redecorate.

“Seems you had a lot pent up,” you say, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “So did I.”

He nods, quiet for a beat. “One of us should’ve said something.”

“I agree. So let’s agree to communicate,” you reply, exasperated but softening, “instead of letting a plant interfere and tear the tower apart… again.”

He smiles, small, sheepish. “Deal.”

Slowly, his eyes flick to the plant in the corner. “Do you think that’s why the plant did this?”

The plant had been oddly in tune with both of you, following your every move like you were its favourite reality TV show. You sigh, dragging a hand down your face.

“Fuck, probably…”

Then, the door slams open.

“Wait! There are naked people in here!” you yell instinctively, cuddling up to Bob, who yelps and fumbles for the blanket.

Alexei freezes mid-step, unbothered. “Just checking you and Bob still alive,” he says, then nods toward the chaotic hallway behind him. “There’s a team meeting. Everyone’s… angry.”

You groan into Bob’s shoulder. “Of course they are.”

You both get dressed and peek your head out in the hall. The vines are gone, but there’s a significant amount of damage (those flowers could pack a punch) that they left behind.

When you step into the living room, you’re happy to see everyone’s alive and unfucked. 

The yellow and pink flowers sit peacefully without a care in the world in the middle of the room, with the rest of the Avengers, who look like they just survived a hard-fought battle. 

You and Bob waddle out of the wreckage and stand in front of them.

“Hey guys…,” you say sheepishly, brushing a leaf out of your hair. This was the second time a plant-related attack happened on your watch, so safe to say you weren’t feeling too great.

“Again? Really?” John throws his hands up. The plants got him the worst, as he was only left with his beret, boxers and his shield. “How did the other two get here?!”

You shrug, half-defeated. “I think the first plant summoned the other two?”

A collective groan and chorus of exasperated sighs ripple through the room. You think you hear Ava mutter about “never trusting a flower again.”

“How?” Yelena asks, exhaustion rife in her voice. 

“With a dance?” you say, instantly regretting your own words. “It was a kind of shimmy,” Bob adds, trying to be helpful, and you squeeze his hand with a smile. 

There’s a long pause.

Bucky sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s it, we’re banning plants. Or we won’t have a tower left to work out of.”

“Agreed,” you and Bob say in unison. 

Main Masterlist || Marvel Masterlist

[shouyuus]

sfw; human!jinu au

right but human!au jinu who's kind of a bastard when you first meet him because he was abandoned as a kid or something and is viciously insecure so he tries to keep his distance just to make sure he can never get hurt like that again, because so long as he keeps people at arm's length then they won't have the power to hurt him. uses his looks to fool around a bit in college, is pretty good at sports, so probably on the basketball team, builds up this reputation for being kind of a fuckboy jock, but you could've sworn you've seen him sitting by himself in the library, tucked into the corner table, humming to himself, so quietly that he probably doesn't think anyone can hear.

who meets your eyes sometimes in the dining commons and you can see the facade flicker, just for a moment.

"the library's closing soon."

he jolts awake, jerking up, wincing as his cheek unsticks itself from a page in his music theory textbook. he blinks up at you for a solid three seconds before he gathers himself enough for words --

"-- shit, sorry uh --" he grabs at his papers and books, trying to shove them into his bag even as you drop into the seat next to him, cocking your head as you watch.

"that was a joke," you say, completely straight-faced, "you know that the library doesn't actually close, right?"

jinu freezes; the tips of his ears are a vivid, burning red.

a tiny grin twitches at the corner of your lips.

he turns back to face you, a frown dug deep between his brows.

"and who're you again?"

you reach into your bag and tug out a stack of papers and a red pen. he eyes it with mild curiosity.

"i'm the ta for that music theory class you've been 'auditing' for nearly an entire semester," you answer, jerking your chin towards the textbook still peaking out of his bag.

the heat works it's way into his cheeks till he's red down to the roots of his hair. he clears his throat, grasps for something to say but he comes up empty. so he settles for frowning a bit harder and crossing his arms, staring as you start to mark up the papers.

"you've got a good voice y'know." you don't look up.

jinu jumps so hard his knee bangs into the table. he hisses with pain, curling into the chair as you glance up.

"ow -- fuck!"

you blink at him as he sighs, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

"you should just take the class if you want to that badly."

"whatever."

"i mean, i could kick you out," you muse, dropping your eyes back to the papers, "technically, you're not allowed to 'audit' a class for more than the first month but since i'm the one who takes attendance..." you trail off.

jinu scoffs, "right. cool. so what is it? what'dya want? front row seats to the big game next week? abby's number? a date with me?" he smirks.

you cock an eyebrow, "i... think i'll pass... on all the above, thanks. why're you so cagey about taking a music theory class, anyway?"

jinu stares at you for a moment before shrugging, "'s just not... on brand for... someone like me, y'know?"

your eyebrows ascend the planes of your forehead as you deadpan at him. he withers slightly, scratching at the back of his head, tugging on the strings of his hoodie, his eyes flickering across the table like a frantic dragonfly, uncertain of the waters below.

"on... brand?" you prompt.

at this, jinu sighs, slumping back in his seat and casting his eyes towards the ceiling.

"it's just -- the team'd probably -- i dunno -- make fun of me or something if they found out --"

you frown, "who cares about that?"

jinu flicks his eyes at you, "i do -- they're kinda my friends."

"doesn't really sound like friends if you can't even take a music class without them judging you."

jinu rolls his eyes, "yeah well... they're the only friends i've got so."

you resume your grading, "not the only friends."

jinu huffs out a breath, "really? and who else --" but he cuts off as soon as you glance up to meet his eyes.

you watch as his cheeks mottle with color and he chews on his bottom lip. after another churning, thickening silence, he asks --

"why're you doing this?"

you sigh, putting down your pen.

"like i said, you've got a nice voice. and you seem to really like the class. i just think that you'd do well in it, that's all."

"that's... really all?"

you nod. a soft, disbelieving smile ghosts across his lips. it looks strange on him, like his muscles don't quite remember what it's like to do such a thing without an ulterior motive.

his eyes flicker from the papers to your face. the little smile tugs into a much more practiced grin, his eyebrows quirking into his signature smolder.

"so. you gonna gimme the pop quiz questions for class tomorrow morning?"

you rap him on the forehead with your red pen.

"don't push it."

jinu laughs, the sound deep and charming.

"c'mooooon. i thought we were friends, hm?" his smile is devious and wide and altogether way too roguish.

you bite down the heat slowly working it's way up your neck and recompose yourself as you go back to your grading.

"but i could be convinced into helping you study for it. because that's what friends are supposed to do."

jinu's smile flickers for a second before it settles into something a bit softer, a bit sadder, and he nods.

"yeah... yeah, i think i can live with that."

[itneverendshere]

Wait how about kelces sister x hockey rafe but its fluffy (and smutty🤭) about them being a couple in front of their families (I can’t remember if u said they grew up together or not)

another lil something i got done at work, enjoy! <3

your dad’s manning the grill like it’s the nhl finals, spatula in hand, barking orders about burgers and buns. your mom’s by the drinks table, laughing with one of the neighbors, and kelce's somewhere inside, stealing beers from the fridge. same old backyard, same summer cookout… except not really.

because now, rafe’s your boyfriend.

despite knowing him your entire life, the scraped knees and stupid dares and endless hockey games in the driveway, it feels brand new.

electric.

rafe’s leaning against the deck railing, ball cap low, sunglasses perched on his nose, that smug half-smile on his face as he watches you cross the yard. you can feel his eyes, the heat of them tracking you shamelessly.

“you’re staring,” you warn under your breath when you sidle up beside him, nudging his hip with yours.

“i know,” rafe says, not pretending to be subtle. his hand settles on the small of your back, fingers sneaking under the hem of your little sundress. his voice drops lower for you — filthy, although your dad’s ten feet away. “how’m i supposed to look anywhere else when you’re walking around in that thing?”

you swat his hand, cheeks hot. “be normal.”

“impossible.” his thumb drags along the curve of your spine. "i get to touch you now. you think ’m not gonna lose my mind over that?”

your heart squeezes, traitorous and warm, but you roll your eyes to cover it up. “you’re gonna get us in trouble.”

rafe’s grin turns downright wolfish. “princess, your parents like me.”

“they liked you when you weren’t trying to undress me in the backyard.”

the yard’s full now — your uncles shouting over the game on the outdoor tv, your aunt pretending not to judge everyone’s outfits, your mom slipping more drinks into rafe’s hand.

“finally got him to make a move, huh missy?” your mom teases when you step up beside her at the drinks cooler, "took him long enough.”

you nearly choke on your lemonade. “momma—”

“please. half this neighborhood’s been placing bets since you two were fifteen.” she gives you a knowing look, popping the lid off another soda. “you looked awfully cozy this morning."

your face burns. you’d stayed at tannyhill last night — your first official sleepover since going public with your relationship, and apparently, you weren’t as sneaky as you thought.

across the yard, rafe’s with ward, talking hockey and grilling tips like he hasn’t been shamelessly eye-fucking you all afternoon. his sisters are nearby too, both of them giggling, amused at how pathetically whipped their brother looks.

“it’s disgusting, really,” sarah says when you walk over. “the way he looks at you.”

“he’s smiling,” you point out, laughing.

“exactly. disgusting.” she bumps your shoulder playfully, but there’s nothing but warmth in her eyes. “we’ve been waiting forever for him to figure his shit out.”

“whole family’s been rooting for you two,” ward adds, clapping his son on the back with enough force to make him stumble. “about time he did something right.”

rafe rolls his eyes, but his hand sneaks into yours, fingers lacing together, brushing over your knuckles in that familiar way.

“did plenty right,” he mutters under his breath, tugging you closer. “took my time, that’s all.”

“more like you were too scared to ask my dad."

he groans, head tilting back dramatically. “don’t remind me.”

your dad hadn't made it easy. years of knowing rafe as kelce’s best friend, watching him grow up, pull dumb stunts, get into fights… yeah, your dad wasn’t thrilled at the idea of him dating his daughter. but even he’s warmed up now, watching the two of you from the grill.

“y’know,” wheezie adds, popping a chip into her mouth, “rose's already planning christmas photos.”

“stop—”

“matching outfits.”

“shut up—”

“probably a wedding board hidden somewhere too—”

you bury your face in rafe’s shoulder, squeezing your hand tighter.

two hours later, as the good sister in law you are, you leave the gathering to get some suncreen for poor burning wheezie.

in the meantime, you barely make it through your bedroom door before rafe’s there—shoulder pressing it shut behind him, palm flattening against the wood, caging you in.

“baby—”

you're turning toward your vanity, pretending to grab the sunscreen you came up for.

“jesus,” you tease, trying to slip past him “someone’s eager.”

“don’t care.”

his hand catches your wrist before you get two steps, spinning you firmly until your back hits the door. his hips slot against yours, unmistakably hard through his jeans.

“been waiting all day. that dress. that mouth.”

you tilt your chin up, “what about my mouth?”

his eyes narrow, horny and amused all at once. “smartass.”

"rafe, our families—”

“outside.” his nose grazes along your cheek, his voice shameless need. “we’re in here.”

one hand braces beside your head, the other slides possessively along the curve of your waist. his fingers toy with the hem of your sundress—the one that's been driving him out of his mind all afternoon, short enough to tease him, to make him imagine what's underneath.

which he has memorized by heart now.

you don’t stop him.

“need somethin'?” you ask innocently.

“y'know what i need,” rafe nearly pouts, failing to play it cool.

your eyes drag over him—the backwards hat, the stupidly broad shoulders filling out his polo, the not-even-subtle bulge in his jeans.

“you’re being obvious,” you hum.

“keep talkin’,” he tuts, “and you’re not walking back down those stairs.”

your heart kicks at the tempting threat.

“yeah?” his hand sneaks higher, fingers grazing your bare thigh.

"like i said, waited long enough."

the contact steals your breath.

“technically,” you hum, voice taunting, “you’ve been in love with me since we were fourteen. so, whose fault is that?”

his touch abandons your thigh to shove your dress higher, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, dragging along your slick center.

“yeah?" his voice goes rough, circling your clit with maddening, feather-light touches. “been driving me fuckin’ insane since then, too.”

you bite back a whimper, chasing his touch.

“that’s not an excuse to—ah—corner me at a family party, rafe.”

“this—” he sinks two fingers inside you, watching your pouty mouth part, your teasing crumble— “—isn’t cornering you.”

your head tips back, a moan slipping free as his thumb workes wonders, turning your legs to jelly.

"it’s taking care of my girl.”

[cin-cant-donate-blood]

I don't get that angle at all. There seems to be a bunch of people who have accepted the background radiation of free will dogma in western society who think that free will is a question as to whether people make choices.

It isn't. Everyine accepts that people make choices. The free will debate is about whether or not people's choices are, at least in theory, predictable. They are by the way, and almost everyone agrees with this implicitly.

If someone you've been close friends with for 15 years does something shocking and totally out of character, do you shrug and say "ah well, free will," or do you ask why? Why is a causative question! You're treating that person as if their actions can be predicted, because they can. You wonder if your friend recently found out some news that changes everything, or if they had a sudden personality shift, or worst of all, maybe they've been hiding something from you, or even hiding who they really are for all these years.

All of that speculation is deterministic reasoning about the behavior of another person. You are assuming that person has a reason for their behavior strongly rooted in personality traits, preferences, experience and knowledge, all of which are causally real and explainable in a deterministic universe.

I'd go so far as to say that if you believe in free will, you kind of don't believe it is possible to ever know anyone at all. You don't believe people are governed by any rationally understandable rules and might just behave completely randomly.

That's my case for why free will is incompatible with most people's intuitions about friendship and love.

Not sure if this is a quote from some well-known sources, but I saw someone online say "I don't think free will exists, but I live my life as if it does because I don't have a choice" and I think that's correct.

[sevarchive]

‎taste test ༄.°

a umemiya hajime oneshot. 800 words

synopsis: in which umemiya invites you over to cook with vegetables from his garden, only for the evening to simmer into something neither of you planned but both of you hoped for.

a/n: hi windbreaker community! this is my first time writing for this fandom and i'm planning to write more in the future! i hope you like my first one ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

the first thing you noticed when you stepped into umemiya’s kitchen was the little glass vase on the windowsill. inside it, a tiny sprig of mint floated with its roots in water, green and delicate. beside it sat a photo: a slightly faded print-out of a dish you had once made together, stuck to the fridge with a cat-shaped magnet.

he had kept it.

umemiya greeted you with a bright grin, sleeves rolled and white hair tied back, the scent of soil still clinging to him.

“picked the tomatoes just now,” he said, holding up a basket proudly. “basil’s looking smug about it.”

you laughed. “your veggies are always smug. you talk to them too much.”

“only the stubborn ones. but the carrots have been on their best behavior since i told them you’d be eating them.”

the cherry tomatoes were warm from the sun. something in you softened, he’d really grown them just for you.

as you washed the vegetables, umemiya moved around you with casual ease, always close, never in the way. the kitchen was cleaner than before. you noticed a little potted flower sat on the corner of the table. a gift, maybe. or a sign that someone very important was coming over.

he leaned on the counter, chin in hand, eyes on you as you began to slice. quiet. unreadable. but warm.

“you like watching me cook?” you teased.

“only if you promise not to cut yourself this time,” he said, smiling softly.

you smiled back.

you didn’t cut yourself on purpose.

but when your mind wandered and the knife slipped, a sharp gasp escaped your lips.

“ah—ow—”

umemiya was there in an instant. his hands were gentle as he took yours and guided you to the sink. he didn’t say anything for a moment. his brows were furrowed and his jaw tight, but his touch was so careful it made your eyes sting a little.

“you’re okay,” he finally said, rinsing the small cut with cool water. “but next time i’ll do the slicing.”

“i didn’t mean to get distracted,” you muttered, embarrassed.

“i distracted you?” he asked, a teasing smile peeking through his worry.

you rolled your eyes, but the blush gave you away.

he helped you onto the counter, cradling your waist in strong hands as he lifted you with no effort at all. your knees brushed against his sides when he stood between them, holding a tiny bandage between his fingers.

“you keep first aid supplies in your kitchen?” you asked.

“only started after you came over the first time.”

your breath caught.

he finished wrapping your finger. his hands lingered around yours, holding them like something precious. he didn’t pull back. his gaze rose to meet yours.

“i used to wonder what it’d be like. having someone here like this. cooking. laughing. filling up this place with something warm.” his voice was low and soft, almost shy. “but then you actually showed up, and it stopped feeling like a daydream.”

you looked at him, heart fluttering in your chest.

“hajime.”

his name felt like something fragile in your mouth.

“i keep thinking,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “about how i want you to stay. not just for dinner. i want to grow things for you. set the table for you. make this place yours too.”

you leaned in slowly.

“can i kiss you?” he asked, breath brushing your cheek.

you nodded.

he kissed you like he'd been starving for it, all slow hunger and months of quiet ache finally spilling out. the second your fingers grabbed at his shirt, his body pressed flush to yours, anchoring you both to the edge of the counter.

his hand slid to your waist, the other curling into your hair as his lips moved rougher now, deeper, like he couldn't stop himself. your hands drifted higher, one slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin that made him shudder against your mouth. he groaned, low and quiet, the sound caught between restraint and everything he had been holding back.

your palm almost pushed his shirt higher when his breath stuttered against your lips, and he kissed you again, needier this time, a little desperate, a little undone. the room smelled like basil and something new blooming between you, and you were so close to giving in, to tugging him impossibly closer—

beep. beep. beep.

it was the rice cooker. you both froze.

then he let out a laugh, resting his forehead against yours.

“guess dinner’s ready,” he said, voice still a little breathless.

you giggled into his shoulder. “so rude of the rice cooker to interrupt true love.”

he pressed a kiss to your bandaged hand. “let it beep. i’ve got what i came for.”

and when you finally slid off the counter and joined him at the table, the sun dipped low through the window, casting golden light over the small vase, the plate of garden-picked tomatoes, and the smile he wore that told you—without a single word— you were home.

જ⁀➴ © sevarchive ✦ masterlist like/reblogs are appreciated ꣑ৎ

[jennelikejennay]

How to Make Up Vulcan Words

Using the Vulcan language is like trying to follow a recipe written by a grandma who already knew how to make the thing and only jotted down a couple measurements. That is, it does have information, but it rarely has all you need. Even words I would consider obvious and necessary simply aren’t in there. However, if you know how to put Vulcan words together, you can create a lot more words than the VLD will give you.

Vulcan is a language that relies very heavily on a small number of roots and affixes. English does the same sometimes, especially in scientific language, where we use Greek and Latin roots to hide the fact that we’re doing it. This makes it easy to make up new words whenever you want, in exactly the way the creators made them: by jamming together bits until a word is built up with all the parts you want.

There are only two basic rules: first, you have a limit of two hyphens, so when parts are connected with hyphens (which is the case with some affixes and all roots) you are limited to three. There’s no limit on apostrophes or jammed-together affixes, though, so keep that in mind.

Second, you want the final version to be the part of speech you are looking for, which may require a change in ending. Verbs usually (but not always) end in -au or -tor. Making a noun out of a verb is a little complicated, but in the end, a noun can have any ending. Adjectives end in -k, often -ik. Adverbs end in -ng.

The basic process I use for finding a word is this.

First, I look up the word I want in the VLD. Instead of searching by word, I go to that letter of the alphabet and scroll to it, in case there are related words in the same area. It’s probably not there, so I try a couple of synonyms. Then words that aren’t synonyms, but are related.

Hopefully in all that searching, I’ll come up with a couple of roots. For instance, I can find that sadakh means “to eject.” Dakh means to cast out, get rid of. Sa- can mean a bunch of things, including “male” and “automatic” but I see it in a lot of words like extend, exhale, expand, etc. So I think in this case sa- means outward.

Then I can add on other roots and affixes that I want. Say I want a substance that has been ejected, I can use -tukh, stuff, substance, and get sadakh-tukh. Or if I want a machine that ejects, I can use sadakh-vel. A thing that ejects? Sadakhek. A person whose job is ejecting things? Sadakhsu.

Here are a bunch of Vulcan affixes, some of which are in the VLD, some of which you have to figure out after seeing them in a bunch of related words.

su: person. This can mean a person from a given place or a person who does a certain thing. It attaches without any punctuation. ashausu: one who loves. besu: a companion, one who is beside or with you. kugalsu: a person who is betrothed. sasu: a man. kosu: a woman.

-vel: thing, object, machine. tor: do; tor-vel: mechanism. tum-tor: to count, tum-vel: computer.

-tukh: stuff. alem: salt; alem-tukh: sodium. dau: affect; dau-tukh: hormone.

ek: -er, something that does a specific thing. Not used with people. feshel-tor: to disrupt; feshelek: disruptor. spitau: to drill, spitayek: a drill, something that drills. (Note: -ek is going on the noun form of the verb, generally, spitaya being the act of drilling.)

sa-: male, masculine. sa-mekh: father. sa-fu: son.

ko-: female, feminine. ko-mekh: mother. ko-fu: daughter.

‘es: -ness, basically turning another word into an abstract noun. abru’: over; abru’es: dominance. marom-: excellent; marom’es: excellence.

shi’: place. masu: water; shi’masu: oasis. 

-bosh: full of. kau: wisdom; kau-bosh: wise

-fam: without. kau-fam: unwise.

-tal: study, the study of. gen-lis: language, gen-lis-tal: linguistics. (And -talsu is a person who studies the topic! We’re all being amateur gen-lis-talsular right now.)

tra: this is an odd collective plural, which I think is really cool. It’s a big mass of the thing you’re talking about. So sular is people, but sutra is a nation. masu: water; masutra: ocean.

rik, ri: not or without. kwon: forever; rikwonik: temporary. tsuri: normal, usual; ritsuri: abnormality, divergence, eccentricity. kup: can, able; rikup’es: disability. Vulcan loves to use this one to make opposites; if ever you need a word and only have its opposite, use this.

pi’: small. laptra: forest; pi’laptra: copse. sahan: wind; pi’sahan: breeze. You can make diminutives of any kind like this.

weh-: more. abru: above; weh-abru: upper.

dan-: most. irak: far; dan-irak: farthest.

From a few roots and these affixes, you too can craft words like shi’sasnem, bathroom, or qlar’hy’es, curiosity. The VLD alone barely gets you through a few sentences of whatever you wanted to say, but if you know how to construct your own words, you really can say almost anything.

[lazylittledragon]

ok so

disclaimer it has been a long ass time since i read/watched any of suzanne collins' masterpieces but i'm doing my best with what i remember

i was thinking about the response to the hunger games when it first came out and how the irony of it is sort of old news at this point and now i can't stop thinking about how the exact same thing happened with squid game only worse in many ways.

context: the hunger games effect is the irony that one of the main themes in the book is everyone watching and ignoring the atrocities and societal failures at the root of it all in favour of swooning at a love triangle. and then the movies came out and everyone watching was ignoring the atrocities and societal failures at the root of it all in favour of swooning at a love triangle.

(for the most part, and way back when it came out. we've come a long way since then which is nice)

and then squid game released and the exact same thing happened but infinitely worse than just fandom discourse and somehow even MORE dystopian.

squid game at its core is about class division and how normal people are willing to do terrible things if it means escaping poverty. how the rich prey on the poor and milk them for all they're worth, for money or entertainment. how a capitalist society benefits nobody except those at the top. how someone will subject themselves to any level of pain or humiliation just to get out of debt. how even after seeing the first round of brutality and fearing for their lives, people will come back voluntarily and do it all again if they're desperate enough.

the point is not to want to be there. the point is to feel enraged at the people preying on the disadvantaged, to be horrified at how meaningless human life can become to someone for the sake of money, to wonder what it would take for you to feel the same.

and then rich people decided it was a good idea to do it for real. something something torment nexus.

i know that preaching about media literacy sounds a lot like 'look at me, i'm better than you because i understand The Themes'. but i don't understand how it keeps happening because most of it is about as subtle as a brick through a window. children forced to kill eachother = bad. poor people risking their lives = bad. surely that should be enough, even when it's muffled with nice clothes or a marketable game.

i can't be too mean to anyone back when THG first came out for overlooking the absolute atrocity of it all for 'which boy will it be', ESPECIALLY since most of us were similar ages to the characters. it's the kind of thing that doesn't really hit you until you're an adult and realise how helpless you actually are as a child, even if you don't know it at the time. honestly if anything it makes it even more effective, since it proves that people are susceptible to distraction tactics if it means they can ignore what's really going on, and if the girl is pretty enough.

and in the same way i can't fault the people who were part of squid game: the challenge or mrbeast's clusterfuck or even just going to the squid game escape room things they've made now. because it's a 'have your cake' kind of thing. you get to find out if you would survive, and you don't have to kill anyone, and MAYBE you win the lottery. and even though being subjected to filming conditions + unflattering editing isn't FUN, deep down you know that at the end of the day, you get to go home.

and you don't have to think about what you would do if the death game was real because it isn't, it's just an idea that someone has given you the most palatable piece of.

does anyone want to hear the thoughts i cooked on my commute today about how squid game got the hunger games treatment or do we just want the usual gay shit

[pohtaytoh]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗬/𝗟/𝗡

*ೃ༄ Megan Skiendiel x f!reader

Everyone ships Megan Skiendiel with your brother Gabriel, convinced they're endgame. He's always taking credit for the sweet gestures that make Megan swoon, and she totally believes he's the one. But you, Y/N Y/L/N, have been secretly head over heels for Megan for years. You're the one leaving those thoughtful gifts and sending those encouraging messages, watching your brother bask in the glory.

But as Megan starts spending more time with you, she can't shake this feeling. Now Megan's wondering if the person she's really meant to be with has been right in front of her all this time.

part: one. two. <three.> four. five. six.

Y/N Y/L/N truly believed it deep in her heart. She was the wrong Y/L/N. The words kept playing over and over in her head, a low, sad hum behind her ears.

Her brother, Gabriel, was the flashy one, the loud one, the one who could charm anyone without even trying, and that included Megan. He was like the sun around whom everyone else seemed to turn and Y/N? She was the quiet one, the one who watched from the edges.

She felt things very deeply, but she kept those feelings locked away, hidden tightly inside. She was the one who loved from the shadows, like an invisible hand giving comfort and doing thoughtful things that Gabriel then simply took credit for.

This had become a pattern, a painful rhythm to her life that had gone on for years, like a broken record playing the same sad song. She felt stuck, always watching, always aching inside. She had almost, almost, started to accept this as her fate.

She told herself, “Just keep loving her from a distance, just keep doing good things in secret, and maybe, just maybe, Megan will always be happy, even if I'm not the one making her happy.”

It was a small, sad comfort she tried to hold onto, a very fragile shield against her own growing heartbreak.

But sometimes, the world has its own plans. Sometimes, even when you think everything is completely set in stone, fixed forever, a tiny, almost invisible crack appears, and through that small crack, a sliver of unexpected light can pour in, bright and surprising.

The change started in a very subtle way. So subtle, in fact, that at first, Y/N barely even noticed it. It wasn't about big, grand gestures anymore. It wasn't about the stolen chai lattes or the study guides Gabriel had claimed as his own. This was something different, something much quieter, much more personal.

Megan was, little by little, starting to seek Y/N out. Not to ask for favors, not to complain about a class, but just to talk. To share thoughts. To just be together.

The very first clear sign came on a Tuesday, late in the afternoon. Y/N was sitting on a simple bench outside the university library, sketching in her old, worn notebook. The air was cool, carrying the familiar smells of damp earth after a light rain and the tempting scent of street food from a nearby vendor.

She was drawing one of the ancient, gnarled mango trees that stood like old guardians all over the campus, focusing on the twisted roots that broke through the concrete walkways. She was completely lost in her own quiet world, the gentle sound of her pencil moving against the paper filling her ears. Then, a soft shadow fell over her page.

"That's really beautiful, Y/N," a soft voice said, making Y/N jump a little. She looked up, startled, to see Megan standing there. Megan had a small, genuine smile on her face.

She wasn't rushing, wasn't looking around for anyone else. She was just… there, standing quietly, looking at Y/N's drawing with true interest.

"The way you captured the roots... They look like old hands reaching up from the ground. I never noticed that about these trees before."

Y/N’s face warmed, a blush spreading across her cheeks. She quickly closed her sketchbook, feeling a sudden wave of shyness. "Oh, thanks, Megan," she mumbled, trying to sound casual. "Just messing around, really. You know, doodling."

Megan shook her head gently. She then moved to sit on the bench beside Y/N, leaving a comfortable amount of space between them. "No, seriously," Megan insisted.

"You really see things. You notice details others completely miss. Your brother always just rushes past these trees, always on his phone, probably texting or scrolling. He probably doesn't even know they're here, or how amazing they look."

Megan chuckled softly, a light, airy sound, but there was a hint of something else in her voice – a touch of thoughtful sadness, maybe?

"You really pay attention to the world around you."

That was the first crack in Y/N's carefully built wall. Y/N’s heart did a strange little flip-flop, a dizzying somersault inside her chest. She had to swallow hard to keep her voice steady, to stop herself from showing any sign of the sudden earthquake happening deep inside her.

“She noticed me. She saw me. And she... she compared me to Gabriel. And I came out on top.”

It was a quiet thought, but it vibrated through her whole body, making her feel both incredibly vulnerable and strangely powerful.

After that moment, the "coincidences" started piling up, one after another, until they weren't coincidences at all. Megan would stop by Y/N's dorm room more often. Sometimes it was just for a quick chat before class, a passing "Hey, how's your day going?" But then she'd start to linger.

She’d lean against Y/N's doorframe, then slowly, casually, she would just fall onto Y/N's worn bean bag chair, sprawling out in a relaxed way that showed she felt completely comfortable and at ease there. Then, before Y/N even realized it, hours would melt away as they talked about everything.

One evening, it was raining very hard. Megan knocked softly on Y/N's door, looking a little tired and stressed about a big upcoming philosophy exam.

"Mind if I just... exist in here for a bit?" Megan asked, her voice quiet, rubbing her temples as if trying to soothe a headache. "My roommate is on a super loud video call with her family, and I seriously can't focus on anything."

"Come in, Megs," Y/N said, a warm, soft feeling spreading through her chest at Megan's easy presence. Megan settled onto the beanbag, letting out a long, tired sigh.

"This philosophy stuff is seriously killing me, Y/N," Megan confessed, opening her thick textbook with a groan. "I just don't get it. Like, at all. Gabriel tried to explain it to me earlier, but he just kinda... summarized the slides really fast. I need to understand the why’s, you know? Not just the facts."

Y/N paused from her own reading, setting her book down gently. "Which concept are you stuck on?" she asked softly, truly wanting to help Megan figure it out.

Megan pointed to a confusing paragraph in her textbook. Y/N read it, taking her time, then looked back at Megan with a thoughtful expression.

"Okay, so think of it like this..." And for the next whole hour, Y/N didn't just explain the answers, she broke the confusing ideas down piece by piece, drawing little diagrams on a scrap piece of paper, using simple, everyday examples that made sense. She watched Megan’s eyes closely, seeing the exact moment understanding clicked, like a light suddenly turning on.

"Oh my gosh," Megan breathed, leaning back against the beanbag, a look of pure awe and relief on her face. "Y/N, that actually makes so much sense! Why didn't anyone explain it like that before? Seriously, you make it so clear, even to me."

She shook her head slightly, a small, thoughtful frown appearing on her brow. "Your brother just told me to Google it and then gave up. He said, 'It's just philosophy, Megs, don't sweat it too much.' "

She chuckled softly at the memory but there was a hint of something else in her voice, a touch of disappointment, maybe, or a dawning realization?

"But with you, it’s different. You actually make me think. My brain actually lights up, you know? It's exciting."

Y/N’s heart did that dizzying somersault again, only this time, it felt stronger, more real, like a solid, joyful thump.

She had to swallow hard, fighting back a sudden lump in her throat, a wave of emotion she didn't want to show.

"Yeah?" she managed, trying her best to sound casual, like this was a normal, everyday thing for Megan to say.

"I mean, I just like talking to you, Megs. You have a really interesting way of looking at things. You make me think too. It's cool."

Megan smiled then, a genuine, warm smile that wasn't just on her lips but shone deep in her eyes, making Y/N’s whole world pause and tilt. It was a smile of true connection, a deep, quiet recognition.

"You too, Y/N. You just… get it. Like, you see things that no one else does. You see me.”

The last part was spoken almost to herself, a quiet realization that seemed to ripple through the air between them, making the silence that followed feel deep and meaningful, not awkward at all.

It was as if Megan was discovering a new, important part of herself, a part that was perfectly reflected in Y/N’s quiet understanding and presence.

In that moment, surrounded by the drumming rain and the quiet hum of the university dorm, Y/N felt a connection with Megan that went far beyond any stolen credit or public praise.

It was a raw, real, authentic thread, woven between just the two of them, untouched by outside expectations, untouched by Gabriel's charming but often surface-level presence.

It was a connection that spoke directly to Y/N's pining heart, whispering a dangerous hope. Megan might have believed the world's story about her and Gabriel, but her own heart, it seemed, was starting to whisper a different name. The doubt, however tiny, was beginning to grow in her mind, not about Gabriel being a bad person, but about him truly being the right person for her.

That Gabriel was the wrong Y/L/N all along.

These deep conversations, mixed with moments of easy laughter, started to become a regular thing. Megan would often just appear at Y/N’s door, sometimes with a new book she was excited to talk about, sometimes just to vent about a frustrating class, but always, always, ending up talking about something deeper, something that truly mattered to her.

They’d talk for hours about the complex plots of their favorite true-crime podcasts, debating theories, arguing playfully over who the real suspect was. They’d dive into the hidden meanings of Emily Dickinson’s poems, comparing their favorite verses, discovering new layers together that neither had seen on their own.

Y/N would find herself quoting lines from stanzas, and Megan's eyes would widen in genuine surprise and delight.

"You get that too?" Megan would ask, a rare, unbridled excitement in her voice, leaning closer to Y/N. "I thought I was the only one who saw that! Gabriel just shrugs and says poetry is too deep for him and walks away." There was a little sigh in her voice when she mentioned Gabriel.

One evening, Megan brought over her laptop, looking completely defeated. She was stressed out about a particularly confusing coding problem for a group project, a huge part of her final grade. Gabriel was supposed to be helping her, but he’d "had something come up" – probably another party or a casual hangout with his friends.

Y/N, who had a quiet knack for logic and coding puzzles, even though it wasn't her main subject, just patiently sat with her. She didn’t just give Megan the answers, she gently guided her, step by step, explaining the why behind each line of code, watching as understanding slowly dawned in Megan’s eyes, like a light suddenly coming on in a dark room.

As Megan finally fixed the frustrating bug, a smile lighting up her face, she leaned back, looking at Y/N with a profound, almost reverent appreciation.

"Y/N," she said, her voice soft, filled with wonder. "You're amazing. Seriously. Your brother just tells me to Google things or tries to do it for me, but he never actually explains it. You actually make me understand it. It’s... really cool. You make me feel smart, like I can actually learn this stuff."

Y/N’s stomach fluttered, a rush of warmth spreading through her veins. This was new. This was truly different. Gabriel never made her understand. He just did (or claimed to have done) things, without teaching or truly helping her grow.

The contrast between her conversations with Y/N and her interactions with Gabriel became clearer and clearer to Megan every single day. With Gabriel, it was easy laughter, surface-level fun, and big, obvious gestures that sometimes felt hollow.

He was charming, yes, and always there for a party or a quick favor, but Megan was starting to feel like he was playing a role, like he was always putting on a show for her and for others. With Y/N, it was deep. It was a thoughtful conversation. It was an intellectual challenge and quiet, steady comfort.

It was the feeling of being truly heard, truly seen, not just admired for her soccer skills or her bright smile. It felt real, truly real. Megan was slowly, painfully, starting to grasp the difference, a slow dawning of realization that was hard to ignore.

Y/N, on her part, began to notice Megan watching her, too, not just in passing glances. Sometimes, Y/N would be sketching in her notebook, or quietly humming a song under her breath as she studied, and she’d look up to find Megan’s gaze already on her.

It was a soft, thoughtful look that made Y/N’s cheeks warm and her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the casual glance Megan gave everyone else, it was something deeper, more intense, a look filled with curiosity and a growing warmth that felt almost like a touch. It was a look that made Y/N’s heart pound a desperate rhythm against her ribs, a rhythm that was both terrifying and utterly exhilarating.

Then came the moment that felt like a quiet explosion, a turning point that would change everything, a conversation that echoed the exact pain Y/N had felt for so long from Gabriel’s thoughtless actions. They were sitting outside, on a surprisingly warm afternoon in late November, beneath one of those old mango trees whose roots twisted like ancient veins above the ground.

The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky in beautiful hues of orange and purple. They were talking about their dreams for the future, something Y/N rarely shared with anyone, especially not Gabriel, who usually just joked about getting rich and famous without much effort.

Megan was quiet for a moment, tracing patterns on the ground with her finger, a thoughtful frown on her face. Then she looked up.

"Y/N," she began, her voice low and steady, almost a whisper that carried immense weight. "Do you ever feel like... like you're talking to someone, but they're not really hearing you? Like they're just waiting for their turn to talk, or they only hear what they want to hear, or what benefits them?" She looked straight into Y/N's eyes, searching for understanding.

Y/N froze, her blood turning to ice, then back to fire, burning with a new kind of intensity. This was it. This was the conversation she’d always both dreaded and secretly longed for. It was the moment the hidden pain of years might finally be revealed.

"Yeah," Y/N admitted, her voice barely a whisper, the word catching in her throat, a lump forming. "Yeah, Megs, I know exactly what you mean. It's... it's really frustrating. It feels very lonely."

Megan nodded slowly, her eyes wide, searching Y/N’s face for understanding, for shared experience, for a sign that Y/N truly knew this feeling.

"With you," she said, her voice filled with a profound softness that made Y/N’s breath hitch, "it's never like that. You actually listen. You remember things I say, even the small ones. You… you just get me. Like, even the weird, small parts of me that I don't show anyone else. The parts that like poetry and get stressed about philosophy and worry about the future and what comes next." She paused again, then a small, sad smile touched her lips, a deep regret shadowing her eyes.

"I actually feel more like myself when I'm with you than I do... with anyone else. It's like I can finally breathe."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning, with years of hidden longing finally being acknowledged, even if Megan didn't fully realize the full depth of what she was saying, or the full impact of her words on Y/N.

Y/N’s heart was absolutely pounding. It felt like it might burst right out of her chest, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. This was everything she had ever hoped for, and everything she had ever feared. Megan was seeing her. Truly seeing her, for the first time. Not just as Gabriel's sibling, not just as a classmate, but as Y/N, the person who understood her.

Megan then sighed, a small, thoughtful sound, a new kind of doubt clouding her usual bright eyes. "It's weird," she continued, almost to herself, her voice tinged with a confusion Y/N recognized.

"Gabriel's great, he's so much fun, but... sometimes it feels like he's acting or like he's just playing a part that he thinks everyone wants to see. Like he just knows how to make everyone think he's thoughtful, but... it doesn't always feel real, you know? It's like a shallow pond, pretty but not deep."

Her eyes met Y/N's again, a hint of deep realization, and a touch of hurt, slowly dawning in them. "But with you, it's always real. Always. You’re... just you. And that's... everything."

Y/N could only stare back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, the emotions too big, too overwhelming to contain. This was everything she had ever hoped for, and everything she had ever feared.

The confession hung in the air, a fragile, beautiful thing, a delicate bubble that might pop if she breathed too hard. It felt like a missing piece of a puzzle had finally snapped into place, not just for Y/N, but for Megan too, revealing a beautiful picture neither of them had fully seen before.

Megan wasn't talking about romance yet, not with direct words, but she was talking about a connection, a deep, undeniable pull towards Y/N’s true self, a bond that ran far deeper than any superficial charm.

Her heart ached, not with sadness this time, but with a mix of hope and vulnerability. Hope that this quiet shift meant something more, something real and lasting. Fear that it might all disappear, or that the full truth about Gabriel, and Y/N’s own hidden feelings, would cause more pain than she could possibly bear.

Yet in that moment, under the old mango tree, with Megan looking at her with such raw honesty, with her usual dazzling eyes now filled with a new kind of wonder, Y/N felt hope bloom in her chest.

Megan might have believed the world's story about her and Gabriel, but her own heart, it seemed, was starting to whisper a very different name – a name that was, finally, Y/N’s own.

previous part | next part.

[the-eeveekins]

I'm not very active on tumblr much these days, but as a Gundam fan I should probably pop in to talk about GQuuuuuuX. Because I sure have some opinions on it.

The basic overview is that I think the show had a very interesting framework. But everything was so rushed that I found it all to be very shallow, and I didn't enjoy it as a result. It especially hurts in my case because Beginning and the early episodes really drew me into Machu, Nyaan, and Shuji, and they were the part of the show I was most interested in. Unfortunately they felt completely overshadowed by all UC stuff in the 2nd half, which did not interest me anywhere near as much. That said, there are two things from the finale that I'm particularly upset by:

1. Bringing back Furuya as Amuro.

I don't care that production on the show started before his behavior came out. I don't buy any of the excuses. Bringing him back was an awful mistake, full stop. He confessed to his actions long enough ago that even if his line was recorded before hand, there has been plenty of time to recast and re-record one line. Having him there is a black mark against the show.

2. The Machu x Shuji Confession.

You can go through my post history on bsky and see that I never expected GQ to be yuri. In fact, you can find me rooting for the polycule more than anything. But damn, was the het absolutely terrible. Machu's attraction to Shuji is completely one-sided, and they don't even see each other for half the show. There is even a whole moment in the final episode that built up to "Shuji loves Lalah." It all perfectly clicked into place. And then it's like someone burst into the writing room and shouted "NOOOOOO! You have to make Shuji get with one of the girls, or people might think it's gay again!" What follows is a completely out of left field kiss and love confession, none of which felt remotely earned.

Meanwhile, the relationship between Suletta and Miorine was the core of G-Witch's story. They share multiple moments of mutual affection throughout the show. They end the show married. And yet, they couldn't kiss on screen. They couldn't directly say the words "I love you" to each other. By all accounts the staff were handicaped by Bandai in how they were allowed to depict Sulemio's relationship. And while the staff did succeed at making it textual, they had to get creative to do it.

In any other context I would say "Ah, forced het because he's a boy and she's a girl. Must be a day ending in Y." But to get served that right after G-Witch? After all the hoops Sulemio had to jump through? Yeah, I'm a little insulted here.

Sapphic romances work so hard and can be so good, they can be the core theme of the story. And they still get less than the most lazy and uninspired het romances in media. And make no mistake, bigots will be tripping over themselves for years to say that Machu and Shuji getting a kiss and "I love you" makes it a better/more legitimate relationship than Sulemio.

I don't outright hate GQuuuuuuX. Like any Gundam series I don't like, there are still things I enjoyed. Nyaan, Shiiko, Deux, the Gyan and GFreD, the animation, the ED and the fact Machu & Nyaan live together after the finale. Conch, my precious robot crab son, who I'am so proud of. Hell, I'm still talking about it over two days later, something I can't say about other recent Gundam entries I didn't like (Metaverse, RfV, Silver Phantom). But this entry missed the mark for me.

On a personal note, I am so glad that this got delayed and Suletta was our first female MC. Suletta was such a great starting point for female MCs: she felt like the main character of her own show (a show actually centered around women!), and her personality and motivations didn't revolve around a boy. And GQuuuuuuX had far far more misogyny problems than G-Witch; they wanted to make a show about a female Gundam MC and they failed Machu in just about every way. Considering Gundam's often problematic issues relating to it's female characters throughout the franchise, Suletta feels like a miracle, and we somehow dodged the bullet of first female MC being plagued by those exact same issues.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

me: did hori COMPLETELY forget about the eugenics text or was that all a collective fever dream

my beautiful loving spouse pez dispenser debris: what do you mean? there was a cathartic and honest discussion through the lens of mirio, remember

my unfortunate shadow self: HE BECAME A TEACHER AND EVERYONE WAS HAPPY FO-*gunshots*

pez dispenser debris, smelling strongly of gunpowder : it’s okay, they cant hurt you

(Genuinely in bafflement tonight; thank you so much for your very informative crash out)

me, with a gun: and in this chapter of pez—

I think dropping the line on discrimination was one of the most disappointing parts of my hero for me. It’s fundamentally one of the core conflicts back dropping the universe and implied to be a driving factor behind the central origin and it just like. Was treated as a nonissue.

The world is shown to severely struggle with quirk based discrimination. We have Izuku’s childhood, we have the fact that Aoyama’s family made a deal with AfO just to keep him from being Quirkless, we have people like Shinsou with “villainous” quirks facing social outcast, and we have people with mutation based quirks being literally chased out of shelters and onto the streets. But narratively it’s never addressed. Izuku never deals with the messy, complicated feelings that would be absolutely inherent with going from a maligned minority to suddenly being one of the most valued of the majority. The narrative never confronts it as a real issue, just treats the symptoms. And it only remembers that this discrimination exists when it’s convenient.

World’s first Quirkless hero Izuku? Everyone loves that guy. They’re thrilled. He shot up through the ranks at an unprecedented speed. And yeah, he had the benefit of being a major participant in the final battle. But that is inherently only going to help you with some of the people who would otherwise detract against you, not all or, if we’re in society that hasn’t addressed its blatant issues with discrimination.

People really love to pretend that discrimination is something society just kind of grows out of, but it isn’t. Discrimination is an invasive, aggressive plant species. It’s fucking mint and kudzu and knotweed and every other thing you see in the front yard of the new listing you’re touring and run for the hills. You have to root it out and keep beating it back until that shit stops growing. It is painful and bloody and and laborious work. Society does not just collectively wake up one day and decide it’s done being a piece of shit. Things get better when you don’t give it any other option. And Izuku knows that, and that’s why he’s never given an inch when it comes to Mirio.

Izuku in pez is shown to be aware of his own image and the world’s expectations for him when he’s in public. He’s the confident, smiling Deku and makes sure to maintain the demeanor of a calm, collected, and kind hero. It’s a mask, and one that most reliably slips when Mirio is involved.

Izuku is notorious for being an absolute nightmare to interview when someone’s coming after Mirio. He has every single receipt. He’s confrontational. He will call you a piece of shit to your face.

And that doesn’t exactly fit with Deku. Deku will save the day and then give the villain career counseling on his way out. He’s good with kids and kind to them even when they hit him with a life ruining quirk. He’s as steady as a rock and not really the abrasive type.

Until you try and talk shit about Mirio to his face. Then he’s having to be bodily carried away by Iida.

Izuku in pez knows what discriminatory assholes are like, because he grew up as their target. He knows that if he leaves any equivocation or doubt, if he tries to be gentle or placate people, they’re going to read in some kind of “Deku agrees with us but he’s just trying to be pc” bullshit and use it to make a bunch of other Quirkless kids feel like they’re worthless.

Izuku is actively trying to make people uncomfortable, because they should be. They should be uncomfortable because they’re saying some atrocious shit.

You choke out discrimination by refusing to pretend like what they’re doing is acceptable. You make them so uncomfortable and ashamed of their position that they have to confront why that is or at least stop sharing it openly. A room where a Nazi gets to comfortably talk is just a room full of nazis.

Izuku in pez is an angry, fucked up, traumatized kid who never got help and is repressing like a champ. He’s ten pounds of issues in a five pound bag. He’s got obvious problems with his own Quirklessness.

But it is undeniable that he loves the Quirkless. It is undeniable that he’ll fight for them.

And he makes sure that there is no fucking room for doubt, because he knows that people look up to him. He knows there’s a terrifying amount of kids out there who think of Deku the Hero the same way he thought of All Might. And he knows that those kids may not grow up telling their Quirkless classmates to kill themselves if they think Deku the Hero would be disappointed in them.

At the opening of pez, Mirio has been a hero for less than two years. Society has centuries of fighting and discriminating about Quirks that is baked into its collective consciousness. So Mirio is under extreme fire right now, but I like to think that he and Izuku are making change happen. Lemillion had a line of little kids who wanted his autograph. They didn’t give a shit about his Quirk. They thought he was a cool hero and they wanted an autograph to remember him by.

Those kids are more likely to go to school, to not talk shit about the Quirkless, to be kind to kids who are Quirkless, and to influence their peers to do the same. Because they know Lemillion, and he’s Quirkless, and he’s cool.

Mirio could equivocate about this. It’d be easier on him. There’s plenty of people on the internet who want to say that he’s inherently better and strong because he was born with a Quirk and he’s not really Quirkless, he’s just got a non-quirked human’s capacity. But he’s refused to at every turn. No. He’s Quirkless. He calls himself Quirkless. Quirkless people can be heroes, just like him. And he is out there at the forefront of the worst fucking fights, Quirk or no.

He’s not pandering to people who would be willing to accept him as long as they could still exclude the rest of the Quirkless population. He is under enormous fucking fire endlessly, and he is standing strong. He’s not even trying to make himself more palatable, because that would mean leaving the rest of the Quirkless behind.

It’s hard to see right now, but they’re making a difference. Things are getting better. But it’s not because one day the world woke up and decided they were thrilled for the world’s first Quirkless hero. The world is different because Izuku and Mirio changed it.

[ohyouluckysaint]

⁎̯͡ഒ 𝖲𝖠𝖵𝖤 𝖠 𝖶𝖧𝖠𝖳, 𝖱𝖨𝖣𝖤 𝖠 𝖶𝖧𝖮? Ꮚ or fall fawn!reader learns what it means to ask to wear a cowboy/cowgirl’s hat ✸ word count ﹕ 2.5k ◎

ᝰ content warning ﹫ 𝐍𝒮𝐅𝐖(𝟏𝟖+) ╱ RATED R. adult content ahead, this isn’t suitable for minors. blurb, plot and fluff b4 smut, established relationship, explicit language, kissing, nudity, fingering (shower sex, r!receiving), reverse cowgirl position (tribbing!), praising, aftercare, second person.

𝖲𝖠𝖨𝖭𝖳 𝖲𝖠𝖸𝖲.ᐟ ⊹ ࣪ ﹏⊹ Happy pride month!!! Mines has been really great so far and I don’t want it to end. This is my very freaked out gift to all the sapphics out there that love Tashi and cowgirls like I do.

submit reqs 𖬺 turn notifs on!

You practically spring off the couch like it’d given you a boost itself when your house phone rings in the kitchen. Taking the pale yellow phone off the receiver, you speak into it softly, “Hello?” And sure enough, Tashi’s unmistakable voice filters through in response. “Hey, pretty,” your heart flutters and swells, you have to bite down on the glossy swell of your bottom lip to swallow a giggle. “You haven’t forgotten about our date, have you?” And your jaw slackens. You knew you had forgotten something but couldn’t place your finger on it and when she sighs at your silence, you know you’ve been caught.

“I’ll bring you a gift,” you offer and she shakes her head as if it’d be seen by you. “Nah, just make sure you’re outside in fifteen.”

You hear her truck rumbling as it pulls onto the road outside of your hand-me-down wraparound porch house, you bid the cool air of your home goodbye and step outside into the heat. Sweat doesn’t waste time building up on your honeyed skin, even with fewer layers. Yet you feel better seeing your girlfriend is wearing funeral black like she doesn’t care the sun will treat her harsher.

“Is that a little charm on your purse? It’s cute,” Tashi compliments as she acknowledged it glinting on your journey to the car. “Cute as me?” You teased as you climbed into the passenger seat and buckled your seatbelt securely only for her to kiss your cheek, “Hmmm,” she hummed as if she were honestly thinking it over, already having her answer anyway and just wanting to tease. “You’re cuter than that.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that, right?”

“I’d never just say what I’ve been telling you a long time.” She said, showing off that pearly grin as she shifted the gear to drive. As she drove down the road, her free hand slid over to rest on the clothed skin of your thigh and you squeeze your thighs together from it in the least discreet way. She smirks to herself softly and then it’s gone in a whisper before you could notice.

After horseback riding with Tashi, working up a sweat from weather that’s so hot it’s visible, and giggling at everything she says, settling down to eat at some under acknowledged restaurant that has a bar area with a hole in the wall esque was…expected. But, in a good way. You like how Tashi’s predictable in ways. Maybe it’s because you two were just close friends a decent amount of time.

“I’d take ya somewhere nicer if there was somewhere nicer,” she speaks up, you’re making a face and don’t even realize it. A mustered up sheepish grin takes root on your lips at how she could read your thoughts from expression alone and she’s right. There’s not much to the shit hole town you both live in, but you make the most of it and with that you both met so there’s an upside to it.

“It’s alright. But, you’re really wearin’ the cowgirl hat?” Your words weren’t meant to be judgmental, but by her reaction you imagine it sounded like it. goosebumps prickle at your skin when cold air whips through the area from a couple passing by to get to a table and how she meets your gaze again with darkened eyes. You swallow thickly and your fingers flex against the fabric of your sweater, but before you rush to apologize and explain, Tashi opens her mouth to speak.

“You’re a fan of it…and me, so I don’t see the issue.”

“Whatever, let me try it on at least and I never claimed to be part of your fan club.” She chortled at that. She was about to slip her cowboy hat off with ease, a hand already upon it before she paused. “You know what that means, right?” She sounded far too amused and it immediately raised suspicion within you.

“Nope,” you responded, popping the p quietly.

“If you wear this hat on your pretty head, ya gotta ride the cowgirl. So I’d have to cut our date short and hike you on home tossed over my shoulder.” Tashi explained, her hand coming down from her hat and rested on the wooden surface of the dinner table. She was always one for racking up achievements so putting on a show of you being carried off by her is on her bucket list for sure.

Your doe eyes widen at the revelation and you blink for a moment then a look of intrigue dons your face. “Oh.”

Your girlfriend isn’t blind to any expression you make, especially that one. It’s your signature visible representation of eureka.

“I’ll ride nice and slow for you.” You teased, eyes narrowing playfully with a scrunch of your nose. You hadn’t taken her seriously; it sounded silly after all. Tashi doesn’t breathe a word, just tips her hat before placing it on your head gently and snugly as if she were crowning you. The austerity in Tashi is admirable, but you’re highly keen and don’t miss how her jaw tightens and the pads of her fingers press down firmer on the worn table. Her pupils dilated like a cat readying itself to hunt. “Let’s head straight to yours after dinner then,” Tashi finally said with a soft smile as if she wasn’t picturing your face contorting in pleasure above her just when the waiter came over with steaming rolls and pulled out their pen and server book.

You’d been thinking it about it too. You know if you don’t express that you want it too, she’ll say something like—

“Closed mouths don’t get fed, babe. What ya thinkin’ about?” Yeah, like that. “Were you for real or trying to see me flustered if I took the bait?” She huffed out a breath as if it were the most obvious thing in the world what she’d meant to begin with. “Deadly serious,” your eyes broadened a fraction like a deer caught and temporarily blinded by headlights. You’re pulled out of it when a woman comes over and clears her throat politely, it’s clear by her body language she hasn’t steeled herself for the answer no. “May I try on your hat, ma’am?” Your manicured eyebrows raise at that and you’re about to decline when Tashi beats you to it. “No,” she flat out says, “she’s alright on that.”

The lady scoffs, evidently not appreciative of the interruption, but relents when she notices you agree with your girlfriend. She saunters off while murmuring dramatically under her breath.

“Can’t believe she has the audacity to be pissy,” Tashi spat, fixing her face when she heard you giggling across from her while tearing up immediately from how tickled you are. She couldn’t stop herself from falling into laughter right with you.

You sounded like hyenas in sync before you got yourselves together when your respective meals arrived steaming hot along with your delayed drinks. Neither of you spoke except for musing on about how delicious one another’s order was once you began eating since you’d been starving like crazy. Mostly you humming with a gentle smile, nodding softly when Tashi would ask if it’s good and her feeding you some of her food just to watch your eyes light up as you stare at her.

By the time you both had gotten dessert, you would’ve assumed Tashi had forgotten all about the ride a cowgirl shtick when you got back to your place, but she’d placed her signature hat right back on your head when you both crossed the threshold and shut and secured the front door. You blinked for a moment then turned to cant your head rearward a smidge to look up at her to which she stepped closer and allowed her hands to find purchase on your hips.

“Wanna shower together?” And you don’t trust that to not be sly.

“Yeah,” you murmur, your gaze flitting down to her lips and your hands sliding up her clothed arms to rest on her shoulders.

You’re no better. Your nerves are thrumming and your blood works harder to pump underneath your skin in anticipation as you cognizantly fall victim to her charm.

You don’t miss how when she’s helping you wash up, her thumbs opportunistically brush against your pebbled brown nipples. Just like when she was peeling your clothes off, all measured and slow. Your breath hitches and she takes the time to let the suds slough off your body with the shower spray before dipping her lithe fingers down between your spread thighs. Her fingers focus on rubbing tight, steady circles around your pretty clit with just the right amount of pressure as she decorates your neck in soft kisses.

You softly gasp before cursing underneath your breath, “Fuck.”

If your clit throbbing like crazy isn’t a dead giveaway you were hoping she’d pull something like this, it’s you canting your head to the side and spreading your thighs more. Her fingers dip down to your entrance in response and your thighs tremble when the water hits your clit with precision now, hissing softly before moaning. It’s as if it’s working in tandem with her, even though she’s more calculated and gentler. You can feel the simper embolden her features against your neck as she fucks you with her deft fingers and curls them in that familiar spongy tissue on your front wall earning a momentary hitch of breath as your face twisted in pleasure with each pump.

Her free hand slipped underneath your thigh and lifted it up carefully, your moans echoed off of the shower walls and your hand pressed against the glass wall to steady yourself even though she had you.

Your head canted rearward to rest against her shoulder and that didn’t deter her from continuing to kiss and suck your neck as her fingers didn’t slow down, it didn’t take long for that feeling to fester in the pit of your stomach. All warm in a tight knot closing in on the navel before it snapped and sent you crying out her name, your thighs trembling in response from your over sensitive swollen clit still being struck with the splatters of water.

Her lips pulled away from the canvas of your neck that’s blossoming with purple bruises, a string of spit connecting for a moment. She kissed along your shoulders as she pumped her fingers a few more times before slipping them out and setting your leg down.

Arousal and relief flood your face and you lift your head only for her to turn you to face her and splay her hand on the back of your head, meeting you halfway with a kiss. Your hands slip off her arms briefly then perfectly grip her shoulders as your lips work against hers. Unhurried and gentle the way you both like it.

You’d think exhaustion would’ve washed over you both by the time you finished truly showering and had a long day, but that sweat sloughing off was just waiting to pack back on. Your thighs rested on Tashi’s shoulders, she sniffed along your inner thigh, inhaling that vanilla scented body cream you just applied before slipping on your bra, baby tee, and gray cotton panties. She sniffed right at the dampening spot on the fabric then kissed right there with no shame. “What’re you doin’, huh?” You inquired, lightly thumping the cowgirl hat that barely rested on her head now.

She mumbled something incoherent before she continued kissing your pussy through the fabric, licking a flat, wet stripe up with a hum. You gasped softly and jolted, your bud still a little sensitive even after having several minutes to recover from your first orgasm.

She mentally debated whether to ask you if she should pull them aside or not, but instead, she sat up. When she went for her hat, you assumed she was going to fix it, only for her to take it off and place it on your head instead. Your eyes flickered with realization and you saddled up and mounted just as any cowgirl would.

You learned that from the best.

The moment your cunt lowers on Tashi’s, you’re struggling not to whimper immediately. It elicits a slick sound between your bodies as your throbbing clits meet. Your signature golden cowgirl boot and horseshoe pendants glint as they swing and smack back against the bare skin of your chest with each push rearward and drag forward of your hips from the pace you set and Tashi’s spreading your ass cheeks with a sigh born from awe.

Before she smacks and grips one and then brings her hands move up to rest on your hips, silently coaxing and helping you grind even more on her pussy. Your mixed arousal sticking and coating skin, making each other’s walls clench around nothing as you both softly moan, you slightly louder than her.

“Shiiit, you’re doing so good,” Tashi breathed then softly gasped. “Keep going. Mhm. Right there, baby,” she encouraged followed by a hiss slipped between her teeth as her eyes threatened to roll back at how you listened perfectly. You lazily nodded before your head tipped down as your face contorted in pleasure, your eyes fluttering before you gasped. “Feels good,” you finally managed to say back, your hips not letting up and kicking up the pace, bouncing a little.

Tashi had the best view a woman like her could ask for. Your deep bronze skin sheen with sweat, the dip in your back from arching each time you move, and watching your ass jiggle on her.

Her breath hitched as her head rested back on the sheets with a shaken moan, a stutter like she’s bounding toward climaxing. She could drown over and over again in this feeling you’re giving her and wouldn’t tire of it. She breathes out again unsteadily, her thick dark brows knitting together as pleasure doesn’t wait to hit her like a freight train with you being eager like a bunny on top of her.

Your body stiffens as you meet her in the middle soon after. A moan of her name spills free as you gradually stop riding her. Tashi rubs her hands up and down the canvas of your back as if she were studying it and it was etched with all the knowledge that ever was in the world. Thorough, unhurried, and quiet except for the panting from you both needing time to breathe. She could feel their cum mixed with their arousal dribbling down her asscrack and onto the now dampened bedsheets. It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling.

The air in the room has unsurprisingly thickened with heat, heavy with the smell of sweat and the three wick caramel scented candle you lit when you both came back.

“You did real good. C’mon,” Tashi said, patting your bare hip to signal for you to turn and lie down with her before you both had to cool off with a shower again and clean the sheets. When you do, she’s wrapping her arm around you as you snuggle up against her. “My hat suits you. Want me to get you one?” She mumbled before kissing your forehead as she rubbed your shoulder.

[bloodandiron-if]

Can you rank ROs from least to most jealous? Also how they behave when they are jealous?

⚠️ LENGTHY CONTENT INCOMING ⚠️

- - -

1. ROWAN/RHEA CARTER

Jealousy Level: ✦✦☆☆☆

Carter isn’t possessive. Their love is rooted in ideals and choice, not control. If they’re jealous, they bury it deep—convincing themselves that true love must allow freedom.

How they behave:

- They’ll withdraw emotionally rather than lash out.

- You’ll notice their smiles don't quite reach their eyes.

- They’ll test your commitment to them through questions about your values, not your affections.

- If the MC confronts them about it, they'll admit their jealous—but only if they believe it won't make them seem weak.

"If you're not mine, then you're free."

- - -

2. OPERATIVE D-6

Jealousy Level: ✦✦✦☆☆

D-6 doesn’t understand jealousy in a traditional sense. They feel it as threat detection—something is trying to take the MC away, and they become hypervigilant.

How they behave:

- Becomes even more watchful and protective.

- May shadow the MC silently if they’re spending time with someone else.

- Rare bursts of emotion—like stepping between you and someone they perceive as a threat.

- Doesn’t act out unless triggered, but their body language stiffens, eyes tracking everything.

You can do what you want... but they’ll still be watching.

- - -

3. KIERAN/KIERA MYLES

Jealousy Level: ✦✦✦✦☆

Myles hides jealousy behind weaponized charm and sarcasm. They don’t get loud, they get dangerous. Their jealousy is less about affection and more about control.

How they behave:

- Makes subtle, sharp comments about whoever’s making them feel replaced.

- Will flirt with someone else in front of you, just to watch your reaction.

- Keeps tabs on the person they see as competition—professionally, of course.

- If pushed, they’ll corner the MC in private with a venom soft "Are you bored of me already?"

"I don’t get jealous. I get even."

- - -

4. NICO/NIA RUSSO

Jealousy Level: ✦✦✦✦☆

Russo doesn’t want to be jealous, but they’re hot-blooded and wounded by nature. If they catch feelings, they catch them hard—and they hate feeling like second choice.

How they behave:

- Snappy sarcasm, often aimed at the other person or you.

- Will start acting flirty with someone else to get a rise out of you.

- May throw themselves into work or storm off, muttering, “Whatever, do what you want, I don’t care.”

- Eventually, if pressed, they’ll admit it—angrily, like it tastes bitter on their tongue.

"You think I don’t notice, but I do."

- - -

5. ALEX/ALEXI MONROE

Jealousy Level: ✦✦✦✦✦

Monroe gets the most visibly affected. They're not possessive, but they're insecure, and if they fall for you, they really fall. Jealousy cuts deep.

How they behave:

- They go quiet. Withdraw. Overthink everything.

- You might find them avoiding eye contact or nervously asking if you "like them less now."

- They won’t accuse, but they will hurt in silence until you reassure them.

- When comforted, they latch onto the MC emotionally like someone afraid of losing what little safety they’ve found.

"I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I do."

- - -

6. DETECTIVE JUNO REYES

Jealousy Level: ✦✦✦✦✦

Juno tries to be above jealousy—but they’re monogamous, intense, and deeply principled. If you’re with them, you’re with them, and that’s final.

How they behave:

- They confront you. Bluntly. No drama—just cold fury behind their steady eyes.

- Will not tolerate emotional ambiguity. “If you want someone else, just say it.”

- Their professionalism frays around the edges.

- They’ll either draw closer protectively… or put distance between you until they feel secure again.

"You’re mine. Or you’re not. Which is it?"

[sakumz]

Hello there! May I have a cinnamon roll with vanilla latte for Nagumo? >_<

a/n : -

____________________________________________

[ n. yoichi x reader]

____________________________________________

nagumo couldn't believe his eyes, ever since he met sakamoto again due to the bounty on his head... he finally found you!

" y/n! " he cried, jumping onto your back and tackling you into a hug, knocking the wind out of you.

" get-get off me! I'm grocery shopping! " slapping his back, he only laughs.

" nuh uh, you left the order, can't let you go. "

" well that's because I don't agree with their sense of justice and besides you've got no room to talk me back into joining, your actions are either good or evil. "

he finally lets go, staring into your soul before he lets his signature grin shows.

it was true, his actions were either good or bad. you leaving was something he expected. you always believe in your justice, if you didn't like it, you'd move out quickly.

" well you were always serious about everything, " he pats your head from the floor, getting up and leaving before he could continue his small talks.

by continuing it'd only make him miss you more. you were always some sort of ground that roots him and his chaotic actions or self.

during one mission with sakamoto when he mindlessly walks into an all out cross fire and you were the one who quickly drags him down behind some knock down table, aiming your gun perfectly at the enemies, all dead with a head shot. he swoons. whern the trio met up with the enemy's boss, you wasted no time in slicing his neck before any of them could react. you were so direct and precise with your kills. he would've taken it slow and get the enemy to spill every last secret till their dying breath for fun, if he felt like it.

during jaa time, you don't even sway to any of his sweet words and flirts, never once backing down when you made a decision and he tries to change it. people say you weren't into him but he'd like to think otherwise, maybe there's a small part of the serious, stoic and cool person he could crack in the long run.

despite it being the first in a long long time that he's seen you, it'd be another long long time before he meets you again. this time as a fugitive. you laugh when he appears by your door, looking dumb as always.

" they try to get me back in the order, " you start, pouring hot water into the ramen cup for him, he watches from the table as you move around.

" oki? "

" yeah, he said if I didn't join I might as well become one of you, " handing him the cup and his chopsticks, he nearly dropped it from the news.

" but you weren't even in the museum, hell you didn't even do anything! "

" he assumes I'm working with you. " your voice remains calm and neutral, he's starting to get frustrated.

" maybe I should go kill him. "

" it's not worth the energy, besides then the rest of order will come for you, you should go into hiding for a bit. I'm sure there's still a part for you to play when sakamoto and friends, really need your help or you could find some more secret members to join them. "

" secret members? "

" yeah like yotsumura. "

he chokes upon hearing the name.

" how did you know I kept him alive? "

" I've been talking to shishiba, he told me everything. "

he slams his head against the table, the way your voice just remains nonchalant about everything. does that mean when you were out of the game, you were still talking to an order member that wasn't nagumo yoichi?

" do you not care about me? " he mumbles, head still on the table.

" I do care about you, I just know you won't give me something serious, like shishiba he's straight to the point. you'll definitely try and take me out when I'm trying to hide from the order and then all my efforts to leave and live a peaceful life goes down the drain. "

he hums in thought at your answer. sure he may not be the best at keeping all the secrets of the world but a small part of him hurts, knowing you don't trust him because of his playful and too much personality.

" do you ever think we'd be lovers? "

silence befalls the two, he quickly shoots up from his seat, staring at you wide eyes, your face flushed red, you never thought much about him that way. maybe back in the jaa and early order days when his touch lingers a little longer than usual, that you slowly thought of dating and what if he was your boyfriend. seeing sakamoto and his wife wedding photo, sure you thought about it too but the man wasn't nagumo, just what if I was married to another man who isn't nagumo yoichi. he was the only closest guy in your life.

" um I didn't mean to make this awkward, I'll leave- " grabbing his hand before he walks fully pass you, he stops.

" n-no it's fine, I just never thought much about it. " he smiles upon closer look, the ever stoic and serious you, was crumbling.

" it's fine, don't think much about it, it was just a slip of the tongue. " you slap him across the face, standing up to face him fully.

" don't joke about things like romance to a girl! " you scold.

" man I didn't think it'd piss you off that much, " running a hand through his hair, you'll take him out now for messing with you.

sure it's been a long time since he's done so but this was a bit too serious and much for your heart to handle.

" well do you ever think we'd be lovers? " you repeat his question as a smirk forms from his mouth.

" of course, especially right now! Id marry you in a heartbeat if you let me, " jumping to hug you, you fall into his embrace, listening to his heart beat that doesnt seem to want to stop beating for even a second.

" please don't tell me you're joking- "

" I'm being as serious as you, I've always liked you, sure you were a pain in the beginning of our friendship but you've managed to charm me in so many ways possible. even if you weren't the cutest girl or every guy's dream girl, you are the cutest when you're really yourself. that's what I love most about you, " your face turns red from his words, for once he managed to beat you down with his words.

pulling away to inspect your face, you weren't expecting him to kiss your forehead then cheeks next, looking at your lips, you quickly put a hand on his mouth.

" don't, stop. you haven't heard my answer- "

he grabs your hand, locking his fingers with yours ever so smoothly as he shoots you one more smile.

" I don't have to, " he kisses your lips, slow and tender, as he pulls away you're left gasping for air.

" it's written all over your face, even if you won't say it out loud, I know you're also in love with me. you would've killed me last time and all the times before and right now, you could've killed me too when I'm so vulnerable and weak. "

you laugh at his words, the first happy sound he hears from all your years as a stoic lady around him. he finally cracked you.

-----

bakery event | orders

[dannydoesthisthing27]

I need rifting to be explained in more detail 😭 (mixed yapping about rifting/transposition/Blake's storyline)

Trying to write anything involving rifting is weirdly hard for me? Because how does it work???

In a Gavin hot boi winter (the one where he and FL go ice skating) he can rift into a space he's never seen before? Which in and of itself isn't really a problem, I've seen many teleportation adjacent media's that were able to do that

My issue is that there's no way to know for sure what you're rifting into (unless demons can see through walls or smth)

So what is it?? Do you just think "i want behind that door" and the poof poof you're behind the door?

Because by that logic empowered crime syndicates could just...hire demons....and get all the things they want, with less than a snap of their fingers

And especially if it was unempowered banks and businesses, they could just appear and disappear

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Plus there's also the transposition magic that Hush and Blake (or rather the Sovereigns) can do

Which also doesn't make any sense because its removing the third party dimension of Aria that you need to go through when rifting

So my current theory is that it's like how they do it in Event Horizon (great movie) and just

Fold? The space? Resulting in instantaneous transposition from point A to point B removing the need for point C

But I'm also really curious about the effect that will have on Blake's mind & body specifically

Because in Event Horizon that kind of travel made everyone loose their mind (there were some other aspects but yk it's a movie)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

So will being forced through something like that be something Blake's able to do continously or will he snap and D'deridahn will take over completely

It could also alternatively be like the transporters from Star Trek (as explained by Erik because I don't watch Star Trek)

Where it completely breaks Blake down and D'deridahn reforms him in the place they were going (unlikely option but interesting nonetheless)

I also want to know how drastic the physical changes Blake went through after that were

Has his hair suddenly started going white at the roots? Maybe he hunches his shoulders a bit more (almost like he's subconsciously trying to shield his core)

I also think there might be a visible difference in appearance when D'deridahn speaks through Blake

It'd be something like his eyes changing colors, or maybe his smile stretches just a little farther than it usually would, possibly even looking just a little bit taller

[gaoshun]

hey! i saw that post you made about draken, how about draken with a breeding kink?

hi! sure!

cw: fem!reader, breeding kink, smut, established relationship, a wee bit of foot fetish

draken is a family man. i can see him with a breeding kink. not too many but he would like to have a kid of his own.

but he is also a responsible man. so, in no universe is he gonna become a puppet to his desires and do something he'd regret.

“i want a baby.” you begin. eyes wide like a doe’s as you look up at his.

“what?” he asks, unsure if he heard it right.

“want a baby. your baby, our baby.”

draken’s brain short circuited for a minute there. he doesn't know why but he never thought that you’d ever ask him for this. could be because of his life, can make a man think he wouldn't be good enough. that he doesn't deserve a blessing like this. of becoming a father. or could be just how amazing you are to him, how could a woman like you wanna have his baby?

but you would give him the world. you would love to have his baby. love to give him something so beautiful. you think of him as the right man as the father of your children. you love him, so much.

“you mean it?” he asks, voice slow and deep. he was holding himself back. forcing a calm to not overwhelm you, yet.

“mhm,” you nod. you shift to lean closer to him. “want you to make me a mom. want to have your kids.”

“easy, draken.” he says to himself.

you were shy at first, hesitant, maybe a little scared of rejection. but once he starts indulging you with questions you become more and more resolute in your resolve.

“fuck, baby.” draken inhales a sharp breath. “the things you say…. can make a man lose control.”

“you sure?” he asks one last time. draken never really had a family of his own. grew up in a brothel, mother was a whore and up and vanished one day. god knows who the father was. had no parental figure for the longest time. so the thought of making a family of his own sounded delicious.

you straddle his hips as a response. take your top off in one go and push your tits in his face. “you’re gonna do it or not?”

draken laughs; then picks you up and and takes you to your bedroom with long, purposeful strides. you gasp out loud as he throws you onto the bed.

OR

we can jump straight to the sex that would happen after all of that. maybe it isn't that deep. maybe you two are just inexplicably horny. drunk off of each other. watched some porn together, or took care of one of your friend’s baby and boom now you want him to do it raw and cum inside you. do it dirty and then take a morning after pill later.

“fuck. take it, fucking take it.” he grunts as he pounds into you again and again, hard and rough.

you moan, “ah, draken- cum inside me. fill me with your seed, till it takes root and i am pregnant with your child.”

“yeah?” he smirks, his cock stirs inside you. “want me to get you knocked up?”

“mmm, yes!”

“i will fuck you again and again and again, till the job gets done. till you can't take it anymore. till it overflows. and then,” he grunts as he thrusts harder. “then i’d push it all in.”

“fuck! draken. more, please.” half of your pleasure came from his dirty words. it was so hot.

“wanna see your belly round. round with my kid. wanna see you wobble your way as you walk with that big belly. wanna see you in maternity clothes, loose and open. accessible to me to do whatever i want with you. with those big, heavy tits; filled to the brim with that milk.” draken spoke in between thrusts as he bites into your chest.

“fuck- i’d suck those tits. drink that milk. massage them gladly.” he grins. he looks evil, and that makes him look hotter. you feel like you’d cum any moment as you look up at him.

toned abs, strong muscular arms, broad shoulders and chest. all sweaty and glossy under the warm orange lights. his hair framed his face, golden and bright. he looked ethereal.

“i’d massage your feet too. and when they’d get sore, fuck- i’d suck them. till you feel better. i’d take care of my baby girl. my love, my baby.” he dips below to kiss you.

maybe a kiss filled with love and affection was what was needed to make you cum, hard. you arched your back and cried out in ecstasy as you came crashing down. he fucked you through your orgasm and himself came too in the process.

your walls felt warmer now. warm and full. wetter. as they got filled with his semen. it flooded your walls as ropes after ropes of hot white cum painted them.

“fuck!” draken groaned. he couldn't believe it either. he came inside you. draken falls on top of you. he wasn't tired. he just wanted your embrace. want to hug you, it felt so real. as if he really did intend on getting you pregnant.

but just as you started coming down from your high and started to relax yourself, he got up. “what makes you think there was only gonna be one round?”