#and the sting. sounds so nice. here. holy shit

[wist-eri]

okay so this track is so good what if i went insane

[a-kaash-me-outside]

˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto. 

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you. 

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.” 

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back. 

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in. 

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs. 

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable. 

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest. 

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin. 

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you. 

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?” 

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door. 

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient. 

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body. 

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait. 

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure. 

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration. 

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence. 

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now. 

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils. 

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question. 

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope. 

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think. 

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less. 

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view. 

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates. 

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes. 

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer. 

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest. 

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left. 

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me. 

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated. 

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along. 

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now. 

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?” 

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that. 

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want. 

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever. 

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it. 

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee. 

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee. 

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee. 

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee. 

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee. 

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt. 

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead. 

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful. 

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either. 

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession. 

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too. 

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too. 

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too. 

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again. 

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says. 

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips. 

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body. 

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs. 

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat. 

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act. 

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall. 

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?” 

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out. 

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure. 

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this. 

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out. 

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys. 

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen. 

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes. 

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere. 

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked. 

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?” 

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs. 

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face. 

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering. 

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost. 

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs. 

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together. 

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur. 

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree. 

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?” 

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow. 

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence. 

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump. 

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask. 

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not. 

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement. 

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before. 

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile. 

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak. 

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about. 

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree. 

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response. 

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh. 

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy. 

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case. 

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop. 

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word. 

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky. 

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too. 

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are. 

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles. 

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time. 

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you. 

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop. 

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back. 

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety. 

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur. 

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter. 

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates. 

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder. 

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

[gretavanlace]

Beloved

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, dirty talk, light impact play, slight dom/sub vibe, digital penetration, implied unprotected sex, pet names, etc

Just a little blurb. Short and sweet…okay, maybe not sweet. Also, barely edited ❤️

Bent over the desk in his office, you quiver for the rasping voice floating through your head. A filthy satin ribbon roving through a sex drenched breeze.

“Touch her, bunny,” his fingers slip inside you, fluttering just enough to make your hips search for more. “Touch her just like I touch your pretty cunt, nice and slow. Be gentle with my girl.”

“Fuck, Jake,” you rest your fingers against the worn smooth wood of his guitar “harder, please”

“Ah ah ah,” he hums, tsking his sinful tongue at your ear just before nuzzling against your temple “you treat my baby sweet. Gotta be gentle with the beloved, and I’m gonna show you how. If you play her just right,” his touch swirls upward, stroking delicate circles right where you need him until you shake out a breath of a moan “yeah, if you play her just right, she makes the prettiest sounds”

“Fuck me,” your nails wisp over the sleek instrument he’s entrusted you with and he lands a stinging smack against the side of your thigh, scolding you, punishing you, nudging you closer to where you’d so love to go, with his tenderly harsh treatment.

“Watch your mouth, dirty girl,” he taunts, licking a slow path along the curve of your throat “and you watch how you touch my girl. Apologize.”

Your thighs are shaking, and slick with your need, desperate to spread wider for him, to beg him shamelessly with your body, but you are held fast, slung over the desk between his legs. “I’m sorry, Jake, I—“

His left hand tightens around the nape of your neck and his right plays leisurely between your thighs, tapping at your clit, nudging at your weeping entrance, taunting and toying. “Not to me, bun. Apologize to her.”

Down you go, guided by his grip, until your hitching breath is fanning over cherry wood “Kiss her better, tell her how badly you feel for mishandling her. She’s my baby, and you’re going to treat her as such. Look how beautiful she is, look how she curves,” his hand guides your palm up her side, but his other hand pets down the dip of your waist, proving where his touch really wants to linger.

“Right here,” he places your finger over a string “listen to the way she sighs music into the air when you play her right…” now his finger hovers over your slick, swollen clit, “there…”

A single circle of the ragged, calloused pad of his finger weakens you further “Don’t stop, Jake,” you whine, tears spilling slowly down your cheeks, creating wandering tracks to mark your need, for him to enjoy with those ravenous eyes of his “please, just a little more…I’m almost there. Fuck, please.”

“Please what?” He turns your head until your cheek rests against the pick guard, lipstick smearing across ruby wood.

You love this guitar. How could you not? The way he works his fingers over her so reverently, watching him seduce rock and roll wails out of strings and frets is almost holy, and yet deliciously unholy in a way that haunts your days during the most mundane of activities.

The way his hips grind and roll against her, fucking music into the air like some sadistic deity flaunting his talisman. The jealousy that flourishes in your soul for that inanimate object that he adores so…his beloved? Well, you’d never lay claim to it in a thousand years.

“Please, what?” He swats at you again, driving a quick slap into your ass and then groans a soft “look at that shit, bunny’s so fucking pretty.” almost to himself as he eyes the recoil.

“Fuck me,” it’s a whimper, an anguished prayer you’re afraid he won’t answer. “Fuck me, god please just fuck me.”

“Pick her up,” his demand is low in his throat, resounding through the room, an ominous tune…he is music, always.”

“What?” The velvety head of his cock - warm and plush, searching and circling - nudges at your cunt. “Don’t make me think right now.”

“Don’t make you think? Aw, why not? Is my little bunny cock drunk already? Not a thought in her pretty, pretty head? I’m not even inside you yet.”

“Don’t be mean,” it’s a meaningless request. You want him to be mean. You want him to treat you like a whore. His gentle wrath pairs so nicely with the delicate devotion that you know hides beneath. The love pours out of him, washing over you…a summer monsoon unleashed to cool and quench the boiling asphalt of your soul.

Even now, as his grip closes tightly around the back of your neck once more, with savage strength, you can feel that love. “I said, pick. her. up, bunny baby, don’t make me tell you again.”

Gingerly, you close your shaking hands around the neck of his Gibson, but he stops you short, scolding you like an unruly child as he kicks your legs open wider for him, still luring tiny whines from your lips with his beautiful cock, pulling it just out of reach each time you grind back in attempt to force him inside.

“Not by her neck.” He mouths at your neck, sucking you until you’re trembling “by her body, bunny. Careful, now…you know how much I love her.”

Tenderly as you might a newborn babe, you lift her up.

“Good girl,” his praise spins your head, and he pets your hair until you release a sound dangerously close to a purr. “That’s my good fucking girl. Hold her close, for me, bunny. Keep her safe while I fuck this pretty little cunt in two.”

[shallowseeker]

The demon has the proverbial cat-that-ate-the-canary expression, a Joker-esque grin stretching across his face as he clicks the safety off the secondhand pistol.

"Wow, I expected better of the infamous Dean Winchester."

"Bite me."

"You walked right into that snare, buddy-boy. You ain't goin' nowhere now, not with your angel pal neutered."

The ring of holy fire is smokier than the usual, flaming up hot and wet, stinging Dean's eyes as the particles from the floor leech and leap into the air.

They'd been lured into the warehouse by, of all things, the sound of a crying child. Classic urban legend of a mistake. Embarrassing, really.

Cas is restless at Dean's back, probably two seconds from doing something stupid, like blanketing himself in front of Dean like an angel-bullet-shield.

"Hey!" the demon barks, his gun-hand shaking. (Nervous amateur. Probably a low-class demon.) "I said no sudden moves. I've got me some angel-killing bullets in my chamber here."

He could be bluffing, but god-damn if Dean's stomach doesn't drop to his toes.

"And I know what you hunters must be thinking. 'Why no sulfur at the crime scene?' or maybe even, 'Wow, that's the freshest-smelling demon I've ever met.'"

"Oh, trust me, Bel-air, we weren't thinkin' that."

Cas crowds in closer behind him, and Dean doubles down on getting the demon ruffled.

"Just so you know, wise-guy, even without your sulfur trail, your BO was enough to make me gag. But I just thought you were the typical low-life basement dweller, still suckin' on Mama's teat."

"Funny. The way I hear it, you're the one crying to Mama Winchester from the safety of your shitty Hobbit hole."

Dean shrugs. "There might be an occasional tear. What can I say? I'm tender-hearted."

Cas has slipped one arm from his coat sleeve. Dean does an exaggerated shrug on the opposite side, adding a little leg shimmy to draw the demon's attention. (David Copperfield, eat your heart out.)

"I wonder. Tender-hearted enough to save your angel pal? Tell me where Rowena MacLeod is and I'll consider letting you both walk."

"Rowena? What the Hell makes you think we're on speaking terms with her?"

The demon holds up a phone. Jack's lost phone. Rats.

"Your boy JACK plays Scrabble online with a Row-M.C.-heart-emoji, complete with her detailed, red-headed profile image. You hunters really are dumb as rocks."

Oh, for fuck's sake. Dean's gonna have to stage an online privacy intervention with everyone after this.

"You got us. We're one big happy mafia hunter fam. What's it to you?"

Cas's free hand snags on his waist, feeling for his gun holster, and Dean is seized by a fit of trepidation.

Can an angel shoot a gun from angel trap, or would it ricochet back somehow, fouled up by an invisible forcefield? There's a good chance it ricochets back, right? Otherwise, angels'd just throw their blades past the fire ring.

Might be worth the risk, though. From the looks of things, two bangs and they're both toast. Cas squeezes his waist, silently asking permission. Dean nudges back.

The gun goes off before Dean can even worry about the blowback, and the demon goes does like a sack of meat.

Dean rushes to scuff his foot over the line and whips off his jacket to further break the ring. Cas, still holding the smoking gun, rushes forward and hits the demon point-blank.

Adrenaline surging, Dean stumbles over to join him.

"Holy shit."

"I can't throw my blade because it's a part of me, but your gun penetrated the trap, no problem."

"Yeah... Dude. After this, we're arming you the Hell up with extra normal weapons. I don't care if you don't like carrying 'em. Could save your life in a bind like this."

Cas grunts, then scowls down at the mess they've left of the demon. He sweeps a hands over the gun, pensive.

"Whatsa matter? Feelin' dumb that we only just worked that out?"

"Marginally."

Dean snickers.

Cas shifts his arm back into his coat sleeve before crouching down to rummage through the demon's pockets.

"That was a nice move, slipping your coat arm like that. Your leftover sleeve looked just enough like a real arm not to tip him off."

"Thank you, Dean. Your verbal assault and distracting movements were also critical to victory."

Something about the way he says 'distracting movements' has Dean heating up on high alert. He clears his throat. "How the Hell did he evade us anyway?"

Cas rummages around some more before procuring a fancy bottle of cologne.

Dean resists the urge to depress the spray end. "Huh."

"I think we've finally figured out how the boutique perfume line fits into this case. The witch must be selling it to demons as a sort of neutralizing cloak."

"So this whole thing boils down to demonic deodorant?"

Cas nods, pulling out his cell phone to text Sam and Jack the details. "I'm not sure what they want with Rowena, but maybe they want to kidnap her and make use of her talents. She does smell nice. And potion-making skills aren't far-removed from perfumes."

Dean chokes. "What? Rowena smells nice? You've got to be kiddin' me."

"I've got a keen sense of smell."

"Yeah, yeah. I remember." It's hard to forget that Cas had once detected a bladder infection from smelling a corpse.

Dean clears his throat, "But you're saying that humans smell, what, nice to you now? Thought we'd all be more like shitty molecules or walking piles of death."

Cas confiscates the demon's phone and a few handwritten papers before training his eyes on Dean. "I didn't think that would interest you all that much."

There's something in Cas's tilted, upward-gazing expression that feels like a cross-examination, one that will determine if Dean's free to walk or doomed to death row.

"Uh. I'm just fuckin' curious, okay? Demons stink to us, so it would make sense that humans stink to angels."

Cas's answering smile is almost too subtle to catch. "Depends on the human."

"Right. Cause Rowena smells soooo good."

Cas locks the safety on Dean's gun and pockets it. (Dean's gonna need that back eventually.)

"She does. She puts much effort into her personal care. Beauty sleep. Personal spa days. She once told me she frequently bathes in rose petals."

"Are you shittin' me? You like it when humans soak in their own filth with herbs n' crap?"

"I liken it to, what is it you were trying to teach Sam to make a few weeks? With the marinations?"

"Stew?"

"Yes."

"Now I know you're shittin' me."

Cas smiles a little wider, and Dean scoffs.

"And anyway man, if there are demons out-and-about wearing Versace Erose for Men, you gotta give me my gun back."

Cas looks sheepish. "When I was withdrawing your gun, I ripped your holster."

"What the?" Dean's hand goes to his hip. Yup. Holy crap. How does that even happen, by catching one of the metal studs?

“How the fuck did you accidentally rip leather?"

Cas shrugs. "I was under duress."

Dean makes a big show of rolling his eyes as he steps closer. "I don't need a holster to handle a gun, dumbass."

If nothing else, the banter offers a good excuse to plunge his hand into Cas's pocket. Part of him wants to prod further, to tease in the weirdest ways, and he's almost too chicken-shit to do it.

Instead of diving for the pocket, he fingers the hem of Cas's sleeve. "How would you like it if I just up and ripped your clothes, huh?"

Cas straightens, quietly assessing. "It wouldn't bother me, especially if you were in the process of saving my life."

Dean puts two fingers to the inside of Cas's wrist, right where folks tend to dab stuff like cologne. Perfume. Whatever.

It'd be hard to grab Cas's knife from this angle. Dean dimly recalls doing it long-ago. He'd had the Mark of Cain back then, a deep unyielding power that protected the integrity of his skin.

Now, grabbing a triple-blade from here...it'd likely cut him.

"Might, uh, might be good to practice the move sometime. You know. Because we might actually need to grab for each other's, uh, weapons in case of, you know, unexpected...ness. Like today. Might be good to practice so something dumb doesn't happen, like you ripping my holster...or me cutting my hand."

He's horrifically aware that he's babbling.

But Cas doesn't blink. He flips his hand over, extending a loose, open palm, almost like he's reaching for Dean's hand.

"I can trigger my blade, but the timing is important to catch it by the handle."

The corpse of the demon gurgles, like it's still alive. Might be a good idea for Dean to stake him with Cas's blade. Just in case.

"Ready?" Cas asks, and holy shit.

Now?

Dean doesn't know what to say, so he nods frantically. With a Shhhk, the blade snaps out, and Dean snakes his own out to take it. For the briefest of moments, Dean's hand is sandwiched--Cas's blade one one side, Cas's open palm on the other.

Dean firms up his grip and pulls the blade up at the ready. Gives it a little flip to show off his prowess with the triple edge. As always, Cas's blade is unnatural in its perfect, otherworldly balance.

Cas takes a long inhale, and Dean has the urge to tease him again. ("You exercisin' that keen sense of smell, bud?") But before the taunt leaves his lips, there's motion near the door, just over Cas's shoulder.

A man in a cheap suit, raising a gun.

Heart in his throat, Dean acts on instinct. Lets the blade fly.

It hits its target with deadly accuracy, spraying arterial blood from the demon's neck and blinking a shock of demon-black before it thuds to the ground.

Dean's ragged breathing fills the air like a panic attack.

Cas is calmer. As before, he moves off. Then he kneels and yanks his blade out from where it had lodged. He returns it (still bloody) to his sleeve. Then he empties the demon's gun of its angel-blade bullets.

When he crosses the room, he holds the bullets out for Dean to inspect. It's moments like this where Dean wishes that, for all their utilitarian value, bullets like this never existed.

The more invincible Cas can be, the better.

"Did you get empty Bel-air's bullets out, too?"

"Yes."

Cas closes his hand and pockets the rest of the bullets. On the way back from his pocket, he fishes out Dean's gun and extends it.

"Here. We should patrol the parameter."

Dean closes around the gun. "B-be careful," he chokes out. "I don't like that they have those angel-bullets onboard, you know?"

Cas nods, and they move into a guarded position, flattening against the wall and close-crawling towards the exterior of the warehouse.

"Don't like that you can't smell 'em or whatever either," Dean whispers, not expecting a reply.

"Yes. All I can smell right now is you."

It's not the right time for Dean's chest to be hammering this hard, and it's definitely not the time for his mouth to malfunction and spit out the stupidest words since MacArthur Park.

"Do I at least smell better than Rowena?"

The silence goes on too long, and Dean almost forgets to scan the parameter. He's afraid to look back, to see whatever expression (or lack of expression) Cas must be wearing.

"Yes."

Dean's heart does a terrible flip-flop.

"Oh," he rasps. "Good. That's...good. You...yeah."

Suddenly all he wants to do is go home to where it's safe and warm. Not out here where douchebag demons could be lurking around the corner with their melted-down angel-killing bullets.

They patrol the rest of the parameter in silence, while Cas's 'yes' echoes like a skipping records in Dean's head.

When they finally make it back to the car, Dean lets the silence ride. He reaches for the radio, intent on letting music wash away the intensity of the evening.

But before Dean can cover up the silence, Cas breaks it.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

There's a third-degree burn starting on Dean's neck. "Cas," he grits.

"Many humans smell pleasant to me, Dean. You included."

It's nice for Cas to be the one rambling for once. Dean smirks.

"What, you sayin' 'm not special? I thought my musk was wholesome organic, like a marinated stew."

Cas quirks a brow, surprising Dean with a volley of his own.

"Well. You could use some rose petals."

Dean barks a laugh as he turns up the radio, and Cas leans back with a tiny smile.

"Maybe I will!" Dean shouts over the music.

///

Loosely inspired by this post I didn't wanna bother you with my shit-posting but thanks for the random brainworms

[sunderedazem]

“it’s okay. i promise you, i will be here when you wake up.” with spyscrapper for the drabble prompt?

OHHHHHH YES (thank you!)

There's- something noticeably different about being hurt by the Golden Skriton, as compared to it's lesser counterparts. And as Cal stumbles yet again, holding his side where the beast's stinger had pierced him through and limping, his calf still pouring blood - he tries to puzzle out what. But it's hard to put a name to with the chill of Jedha's cool deserts leeching warmth from his shivering limbs and sapping clarity from his stream of conscious thought. It's hard to figure out with the gash in his back still seeping warmth down his clothes despite the bacta dressings.

He blinks again, and Jedha's deserts burst with kaleidoscopic color before fading back to tans and browns and the oncoming violet of dusk. He's...a bit too far from the base to make it back before nightfall, he thinks fuzzily.

It's a shame BD had stayed with Cordova. The little droid always had been good at making sure the stim capsules didn't get smashed to pieces. And Cal...Cal hadn't been so lucky this go around.

The desert sways back into vibrant colors again, the pain fluttering into strange pulses of neon for a moment, and Cal staggers to a halt, staring absently at the landscape as it flashes green and gold and bright blue around him. He....doesn't think this is precisely normal. Maybe that's what's different about the Golden Skriton sting...?

He doesn't notice he's keeled over on the sand until the grit is cool beneath his cheek and there's spreading warmth sticky and wet beneath his side and- it's a little silly, really, how everything keeps flickering into pretty colors...and the sounds are starting to get weird too, there's a humming buzz that keeps getting louder and louder-

"Cal! Holy shit, scrapper-"

Bode's face is a miasmas of blinding orange and purple above him, and spinning wildly, and Cal giggles weakly up at him. He looks weird. Maybe Cal's just tired.

"Heyyy...jetpack..." he tries to get out- but the words slur on his tongue and garble, and there's a flash of fear on the mercenary's face that seems wrong, very wrong when the pain is drifting away and Cal doesn't really feel all that cold anymore. Dark eyes blink down at him, cutting sharply through the drifting colors and glowing traces of weird lights starting to curdle his vision at the edges. It feels like he's on the edge of a dream, a little. Carefully, Bode's hands trace around the curve of his throat, pressing against his pulse. Cal stares up at him, watching.

He's so pretty. Bode's so pretty it hurts.

There's a strangled sob then, and before he realizes what's happening Bode's sliding his hands underneath Cal's shoulders and knees and lifting. It's comfortable, and Cal's very convinced he's about to have a nice nap listening to Bode's pattering heart. Everything's pleasantly fuzzy now. And Bode is still so-

He sighs, closing his eyes against the bright colors beyond. Bode's handsome. Kissable. He wants to do that, later, maybe.

"You're the pretty one, scrapper," Bode says then, and his voice is choked with fear. "You hang in there, you hear me? Kiss me later, you hear me?"

Cal hums.

"...promise?" he garbles. "promise you'll...be here...?"

Bode chokes again, and his heart's a horrid drumbeat, loud and terrified in his chest. Cal thinks they might be flying.

"I swear to you, Cal. I'll be here when you wake up," he whispers. He sounds so scared.

Cal barely has time to wonder why before the kaleidoscope swallows him.

-

(He wakes up three days later, antidote like fire in his bloodstream and bacta plastered over his injuries. Bode is no longer orange and purple, but he is there. Cal thinks that he promised to be.)

(Bode still looks kissable. He always has.)

(Cal kisses him.)

(He's kissed back.)

[snobgoblin]

Ace brings you on a park date but it ends up going horribly wrong. BUT he ends up making up for it by getting the both of you slushies(and possibly getting brainfreezes because you were being dumb together)

x SIR YES SIR 🫡 /GENDER NEUTRAL

CHAOTIC ACE (GORILLAZ) X READER

rated: E for extra unsexy. but there is a lot of swearing. warning for some cartoon violence

plot: girl read the ask

OH GOD OH FUCK

AAAAA WAUGGHHHHH BEES BEES HOLY FUCKING BALL SACK

record scratch

yep. that's me. y/n. guess you're wondering how I got into this mess huh. well it all started when this FUCKING DUMBASS DECIDED THAT BEEHIVES WERE NATURES MAILBOXES.

NOW YOURE RUNNING FROM BEES. Well at least it was romantic before that. before... Ace decided he would get you a pet fish from the pond. (he messed up his hair for u. you should feel loved) you said that you thought it was cute so he just straight up jumped in there and grabbed it for u. you are currently holding it in a grocery bag full of water as you run from bees. it is a miracle it hasn't popped yet. oh shit I spoke too soon. guess what happened. you split off from Ace and instead run back to the pond, holding a slippery fish in your hands. it keeps falling onto the ground. STAY STILL DUMB THING! YOURE TRYING TO SAVE ITS LIFE! it's ok, it's ok. you jumped into the pond, the fish swam away, and the bees decided you had drowned and dissipated, you saw this from the murky water. GREAT! NOW YOUR EYES STING! you're gonna get pinkeye or gonorrhea or something idk man. at least the bees are gone. some animal crossing logic shit

anyway you flopped onto the sidewalk very ungracefully kind of like a sopping wet towel and you laid there for a little bit. THIS DAY HAS BEEN AWFUL. you were tired so you passed out

When you woke up Ace was crouched down. Something VERY WRONG with his face. OH. BEE STINGS. poor thing. You open your mouth but you're cut off by "YEAH YEAH, SAVE IT. Now come on let's ditch this joint." he stood up and looked away. almost hiding his face. was he embarrassed?

You tried to get up. but you were stuck to the got dang concrete. "gonna need a shovel hun. scrape me off like I'm an egg on a nonstick pan"

"On it toots."

So he got a fucking shovel from the graveyard and scraped you off the damn conk rete

ouch well say goodbye to a few layers of skin. and your brain here in a second it looks like the residents of the graveyard were not happy at all Ace stole their shovel. you point behind Ace, he looks, and he just walks away. if it sucks hit da bricks. "nope. nuh uh. they can wobble and limp toward me all they want but I ain't gonna give them the satisfaction of catching me. NOPE. and I'm keeping the shovel too." and he did. and he held your hand and simply walked away with the shovel

"Hun, I am SO sorry this date didn't go how I wanted it to. This shoulda been something we never wanted to end, and now I'm just relieved to be home" Ace kinda mumbled

You put a hand on his shoulder. he flinched and yelped. BEE STINGS. RIGHT. "Doesn't have to be all bad. Let's get some ice for your face. and your tummy"

"That sounds nice."

So you walked to the nearest gas station, jumpscared the clerk, and got some slushies. You both sat in the parking lot and watched the sun go down. Ace held his drink to his cheek, which was particularly swollen. "Least today can't get any worse."

Then you both took a drink and got the worst brainfreeze of your lives

[pinkiepiebones]

Remember that horrible angst-fest I wrote? 1) it's on AO3 now with some bonus content and 2) here is a second part (BIG WARNINGS FOR SELF HARM YEEHAW ZOMBIE DID A WHUMP)

Robert does not know what day it is. The sunlight comes and goes.

Sometimes he wakes up on his bed.

Sometimes he wakes up on the floor of the asylum.

Or in the water-logged belly of the Vesta.

Or under shovelfuls of sour dirt.

"I am enough, and I have enough" he pointedly tells his reflection, his potted plants, his empty refrigerator. When had he last eaten anything? Did it matter?

You don't deserve to eat. Say it.

"I am enough."

Are you talking to yourself?

"I have… enough."

His phone chirps a lot. Then less frequently. Then it dies. Is someone knocking? He can't tell. He's been pacing a lot. Sounds and smells are TV static on his senses, rough but easy enough to ignore.

Robert only has two mirrors in his apartment- the one above the wash basin, fastened to the wall when he first arrived, and a longer, slender mirror meant to hang on the back of a door but, ever since he bought it, just sits on the floor, leaned against the awkward span of wall opposite his bed.

He shatters it in a panicked rage when he sees Master behind him.

Robert sits for a while in the middle of the pieces. He picks up pieces and squeezes them in his fists and idly watches his blood drip and slink into the shag carpet. He giggles.

"The blood is the life," he singsongs as he licks his palms. The bits of mirror sting in his throat. It's the first feeling he's felt in days. Days? Surely it's just days. Maybe it's been weeks. Hard to tell at sea.

He picks up a particularly large shard and stares at the stranger inside it.

"He doesn't have a reflection, you fucking idiot" he sneers to the sad-eyed man. He contemplates crunching the offending shard in his teeth, curious what would happen, when someone knocks loudly at the door of his cell.

<i>No, that's not right.</i>

Robert stands up and stretches. He steps on slivers of mirror as he crosses his apartment to get to the door. He hesitates because the knob is gone, replaced by a mildewed rope he pulls to open the crate he hides in during the day. At night he gets out and unlock's Mas-

No, God damn it! Stop!

"Robert?"

Robert takes a deep breath. Rebecca's voice is right beyond the door but it sounds so far away. He fumbles with the lock, sticky dried blood coating his palms and fingers, splinters of glass still lodged in his skin.

He opens the door just a crack. He bought a little door chain at some point. Keeps the door from opening very wide. He peeks out.

"Holy fuck, you look like shit."

"Nice to see you too, Rebecca."

She looks upset. Is she upset? She's upset with you. You did something wrong. You always do something wrong.

"No one's heard from you in days. Your voicemail's full."

"My phone died."

Rebecca takes a hesitant step closer to the door. Robert stiffens and pushes just slightly, afraid to close it completely.

"Robert." Her voice is gentle, unassuming. "Are you okay?"

Robert thinks.

He is in the asylum and he is sneering at Van Helsing. Stupid, stupid little man, and his stupid ideas. He would dare to try and harm Mas-

Robert swallows and says hoarsely, "probably not."

"Probably not?"

"Been having flashbacks. 'm not grounded in, in the present. Hurt-" He looks away from the outside world, nauseated. "I've hurt myself. More than once."

Rebecca doesn't yell. She doesn't chide or deride. She simply says,

"Is it okay if I come in?"

He glances behind him. He looks at his hands. He looks at Master approaching him on the staircase at the Abbey, fury and hatred in his eyes.

"N-no," he answers. "I- L-let me, uh, pick up the, I broke a mirror, earlier, I think-"

"Okay."

Robert frowns. "Okay?"

Rebecca nods. "I'll be right here, and if you decide after you pick up that you still don't want me to come in, I won't push."

Robert picks at the skin around his fingernails. "You won't?"

"No." She gives him a stern, but worried look. "But I will have to make a call, because you have told me you hurt yourself and you might try to hurt yourself again."

Robert glares at her. He glares at Doctor Seward.

"Are you treating me like a suspect in something?"

Rebecca looks surprised and she raises her hands defensively. "No, no, fuck no. I'm here because I'm worried about you, man. You're my friend."

Robert chuckles. Friend. Sure.

Robert closes his door and unlatches the chain.

"Enter freely, and of your own will" he mutters.

Hnn, hnn, hnn, hnn, hnnnnn.

[xxaequitasxx]

Blanket Hog (Sam x Rafe)

Read it here on Ao3! <3

A slight breeze tickled Rafe’s leg hair, causing him to stir in his sleep. His body shivered suddenly, jolting him upright, wide wake for no reason. The room was still dark, the clock read two twenty-three. Rafe rubbed his eyes, his mind till trying to catch up with the fact he was awake. Another breeze this time trailed up his back causing him to shiver again. “Holy shit why is it so fucking cold,” he hissed. Rafe usually slept comfortably in just his underwear, but for some reason someone decided to turn the air conditioner on before coming to bed. 

“Goddamit Sam,” Rafe thought to himself once he realized Sam had turned the air conditioning on before he came to bed. Rafe stood up from the bed and groggily walked over to the unit, turning it off. As he made his way back to the bed he paused on his side, his eyes adjusted to the dark. It took him a second to realize his sleeping beauty of a husband had all the blanket leaving Rafe’s side with not even a corner of a bed sheet. Rafe sighed and gingerly crawled back into bed, scooting close to Sam. 

 Rafe reached his hand up to Sam’s shoulder and shook him as gently as he could. “Mmm, I’m sleeping,” Sam grumbled trying to shrug Rafe’s hand away. “I’m cold, and you have all the blanket Sam,” Rafe tried to argue as he tried to pull the blanket out from under his log of a husband to no avail. He gave Sam a shove waking the taller man with a snort. “What do you want Rafe?” Sam said peevishly. “Uhh, the fucking blanket perhaps,” Rafe said snidely as he made another attempt to pull on the blanket. Sam rolled onto his back pinning more of the blanket beneath him, he stifled a giggle as he could sense Rafe’s frustration. 

“You motherfucker,” Rafe tried to sound madder than he was. He could feel the bed shake slightly as Sam was trying not to laugh. Rafe promptly slapped Sam square in the chest causing Sam out a winded laugh. “What was that for?” Sam laughed as he tried to rub away the stinging sensation on his chest. “Don’t play stupid with me Drake. You’re being a blanket hog, I just want to go back sleep Samuel,” Rafe whined as he flopped down onto the mattress in defeat. He crossed his arms on his chest feigning his upset. Sam shifted on the bed now facing Rafe, in one motion he tossed part of the blanket over his pouting husband. 

“You know, you could have asked me nicely for the blanket instead of acting like a big baby,” Sam teased. Sam’s leg hooked around Rafe’s, and a warm hand snaked its way around Rafe’s waist pulling him towards Sam engulfing him in the other man’s body heat. “Mm, you still love me, don’t you?” Rafe quipped. “Oh, I don’t think I get much of a choice, do I?” Sam replied with a giggle. 

“Oh, don’t even start,” Rafe giggled as he gently jabbed Sam’s ribs with his elbow. Sam laughed and pulled Rafe in for a brief kiss before snuggling against his husband. “You know I love you Rafe, I always do,” Sam said languidly. Rafe chuckled “I love you too Sam”. Sam’s grip around Rafe’s waist tightened in response to his sentiment. Moments passed and Rafe could hear Sam’s soft snores. The warmth engulfed Rafe’s senses and he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. 

END 

[pichupie]

so as part of that big fun christmas stream, I had to write some Chat picked fanfics in under 5 minutes!! Here are these wonderful stories!!

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JOHN CENA X HOMER SIMPSON! 

The snow was starting to pile up, John ( John Cena that is ) was warm by his fire but his soul, was yearning for more. He felt so empty after his break up with Homer Simpson but he knew that at the end of the day, if they were really meant to be, Homer would finally accept the Christmas spirit of things and get in that holly jolly mood gosh darn it! 

John sighed as his sipped his hot coco, if only he could see that sexy hunk of man just one more time, its his only christmas wish!! 

John sighed again, it was late. He finished his hot coco and decided to go to sleep for the night, in his now empty bed, just like his heart. 

As he drifted off to sleep he thought he had heard something almost like the familiar sound of reindeer hooves. 

“It’s probably nothing” he said as he turned to the side that once belonged to his lover. 

Later during the night he heard a loud nut.

Cena jumped out of the bed, 

“ WHOS NUTTING IN MY HOUSE?!” He said as he rushed down the stairs, down to the fireplace where his christmas socks hung!! 

However it wasn’t his socks that were there!! 

It was!!! HOMER!!?!? “H-Hommie?! What are you??” John said as he felt his heart sting

“ Dwaaww, John I can’t stay mad at you, The holidays are all about coming together, and I can think of another thing thats in need of coming as well! “ Homer said with a sly smile on his face. 

John blushed, Homer was standing at his fireplace dressed as a giant Christmas sock! 

“ You know” Homer continued “ Socks are great for warming up in the cold weather!” He flirted, and winked! 

John smiled at him and approached, welcoming him back in a loving hug and a passionate kiss. 

It’s looking to be a white christmas after all.

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

ZIM & GIR!!!

“GIR!!!” Zim shouted at his robot companion. 

“ It’s that strange season again! When the earth monkeys put all of their lights outside their home and bring trees inside of them!! The time of year when that damned FAT man breaks into homes and gives gifts. But I wont forget last year, no, he came in here to I THE GREAT ZIM!!! 

And left nothing but empty disappointment!! Not again!! This time, Gir, WE KILL THIS STANTY CLAWS!!!” 

“ Hot dog :D “ Gir replied gleefully at his overlord! 

“COOOMPUTER!! Show me the fastest way to the north pole!! No human will make a mockery of I ZIM!!! Ever again!! And then I, ZIM!! Will have all of the treats, and I’ll make sure all the humans are on this so called “naughty” list!! And I’ll make extra sure DIBBB!!! Stays on the ULTRA AWFUL STINKY NAUGHTY LIST!! ForEEEVVVVEEEERRRRRR!!!!!!!!” 

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PICHU & BUNNY!! (@pb-romance)

It was December 24th the clock had just struck midnight, it was go time! Bunny and Pichu were on a mission and that mission? Steal the sacred Naughty and Nice list. Santa had it on high security after last years failed mission! But this year, these two were ready and determined to get exactly what they wished for this year! And they’ll be damned if Mr. Santa Clause tries to stop them! It was easy for them to get past all the elves working on the toys, all such kid lil guys, they just wanna talk about Christmas. They’re really nice like I love the toy elves man, but fuck that one that wanted to be a dentist! Like for real, dude its cool that you have a passion and you should pursue it but like, you made your whole personality that, oh shit I was so distracted that I forgot to narrate the rest of the story, The girls are already at the Naughty and nice list !! holy shit!! Look!! Plot Bunny is grabbing it!! Omg ! SHES TAKING A RED PEN!! Shes made an edit!! To the list!!! Omg omg!! Omg the edit was— oop ran out of time haha uwu

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

GRINCH X MIRROR GRINCH

“MAX NO ONE IN THE WORLD IS AS DISGUSTINGLY AMAZING AS MYSELF WHATEVER WILL I DO!! “ The grinch exclaimed dramatically as he laid upon his lazy boy seat. Max looked up at his owner, sad that he would have to spend another christmas without the warm embrace of another grinch! No one to rub his stinky feet or play with his Yak like hair! Max whimpered as he went to fetch the Grinch a christmas present! 

“Hmm? Whats this you have here?” The Grinch grabbed the wrapped gift from Max’s mouth!

As he unwrapped this sussy pressie, his eyes were met with the most beautiful vomit yellow eyes he ever saw!! Breath taking rancite green skin and fur! He could almost smell him!! 

“ My my!~ now what do we have here?” The Grinch said all horny like! 

“ Why, your the most stunning creature I have ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on!~” He continued as he played with his own hair. 

“ you really are quite the looker, hows about a smooch big boy~” he said has he leaned in to plant his lips on the cold hard glass. His tongue slid around the reflective material, leaving spit trails behind.

“ If he couldn’t love anyone” Max thought to himself happily, “ Then im happy he can at least love himself”

THE END!

[pollyollie]

Company.

Platonic! Corpse Husband x TEEN! Reader

Gender not specified, They/Them. Reader is assumed 15 years old.

Summary: After another argument with your parent you go to your nice neighbors apartment down the hall. Who would've thought your neighbor happened to be your comfort streamer?

Extra: You don't know Corpse is a streamer. Assume you know Corpse by his actual name and not by his streamer name. (We don't know his actual name therefore he will be referred to as Corpse for simplicity)

Warning(s): Gaslighting, Name calling (lazy, bitch, self absorbed, sensitive, crybaby), arguing, mentions of abandonment. Panic attacks

You and your guardian got into yet another argument. You tried opening up about your feelings with them, telling them how they're treatment towards you is aggressive and it made you feel unappreciated. It started with a fun little family outing until the two of you were alone together while your siblings and other parent were on a ride. The argument resumed the moment you got home and lasted for what felt like hours.

"you're proving my point exactly right now that you don't care about how I feel! All you ever care about is my grades not me!" You said, your voice raising from the pure adrenaline of the argument.

"You think the world will care how you feel? Maybe if you weren't so lazy I wouldn't have to push you so hard! You're missing the big picture over a minor issue!" They yelled back.

You could feel your eyes watering and you know your voice would start shaking. You tried to breathe to relieve the tightening grip in your chest, to no avail. Still, you continued. The last sentence repeating like an echo in your mind.

"You think my feelings are just a minor issue?" You asked. Hurt evident in you voice. You'd hope they'd take it back, realise what they had just said. But again, your hopes were only in vain.

"Oh great here we go again!" They exclaimed, rolling their head dramatically while flailing their arms in the air.

"All you care about is you! Your head is so far up your ass that you just become some self-absorbed bitch! Then when someone gets mad at you, you wanna get all sensitive like a fucking crybaby! Grow the hell up not everything is about you and how you feel nobody gives a shit!"

Your mental barrier collapsed. The air was too thick to breathe in. Your chest tightened. It hurt. Where is all the air? Why the fuck can't you get any air? Your eyes are burning, ears are ringing, throat stinging, something's clamping down on your chest. You can't breathe. You left the apartment. Your guardian let you. Yelling at you to get the fuck out of their face as you left.

_____________________________

You went down a couple doors, hot tears still streaming down your cheeks. Your shakey finger pressing the button right next to it. Past the relentless sniffles you listened to the ring echo throughout the apartment.

No answer.

Desperate, you try again. Knocking this time.

"Uhm, anyone home? It's Y/N" You spoke, shakiness still lingering in your tone

Your phone buzzed with a notification. You hadn't even realized you still had it on you.

Corpse: coming rn one sec

A few seconds later the door unlocked and opened up. You met face to face with a surprised look on Corpse's face.

"Holy shit kid, you're not lookin' so good" He joked. He was worried of course, but he finds humour is the best approach

"Another argument broke out. Really bad one this time. Can I just crash on the couch for a bit, until I calm down?" You asked. Nerves on edge even though he's never said 'no' before.

"Yea sure come in, just ..gimme a sec real quick"

You walked in and closed the door behind you, making sure it was locked. You sat down on his couch, knees to your chest, before turning around to see Corpse walk into the room he never let anyone in. That certainly peaked your curiosity. It sounded like he was talking to someone, muffled sounds came from the room a bit longer before he walked back out. Tugging the ends of his shirt down (a nervous habit he seemed to have, you've noticed)

"Sorry kid, I'm a bit busy. You can turn on the TV just not too loud. You can also text me about it if you want, I'll keep my phone on vibrate." He explained. He felt a bit guilty, but he couldn't leave the stream for too long. People would get suspicious.

"It's alright. I'll just play on my phone for a bit until your done. Just being out of the house with you nearby is enough to calm me down. Thanks for answering the door still" you said, finally being able to breathe. Your body was still sore and you still felt like crying. You just couldn't bring yourself to do so since it would pressure your nice neighbor into abandoning his seemingly very important job for your silly emotions.

"Anytime. When I'm done we can watch a movie or something" He said simply.

You smiled and nodded at him letting out a hum of agreement. He sighed affectionately while reaching down to your spot on the couch. One elbow still propped up to the back of the couch, the other patting your shoulder, rubbing his thumb across once lightly.

His phone buzzed, catching both of you off guard. He opened the notif quickly. You wondered who it was from.

"I've gotta get back in there now" he said gesturing towards the mysterious door. "I'll be back though. Help yourself while I'm gone"

Must've been his boss wondering what's taing so long, you thought. "You make it sound like you'll be hours away instead of a room over" you joked. He laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He then went back into the room, closing the door behind him.

Though he gave you full permission to TV usage, you whipped out your phone. His TV didn't have twitch and you wanted to see if Corpse_Husband was streaming. As though heaven itself finally showed you some pity, he actually was! You found him by chance and noticed he sounded alot like your kind neighbor! Of course you know it's a bit rude to compare people, but since his voice sounded similar it brought you an odd sense of comfort. Often watching the vodds or horror story narrations whenever your neighbor wasn't able to keep you company. Having to be 'somewhere else for a while' he always said.

You sat watching the stream for awhile, being on edge whenever Corpse was the imposter, having to carry the match since his teammate was voted off early. Corpse said he'd be right back on the stream. Your neighbor came outside the door, checking in on you. You thought the timing was funny, somehow lining up. Of course you only thought it was a coincidence and nothing more.

It didn't bother you, as you still watched the stream. Until it happened 2 more times. Corpse leaves, your neighbor comes out of the room, Corpse comes back, your neighbor is inside his secret room. You got skeptical but wanting to keep denying it. Corpse is very secretive and doesn't want anyone, not even his irls knowing about his identity! If you figured it out, and it turned out to be true, wouldn't that be the same as never being allowed to see your neighbor again? He'd also start avoiding you. Then he'd make you delete all of the funny videos/pictures of him for security reasons. Oh my god. What if he can't handle the anxiety so he moves!?

You weren't even upset about not being able to see your comfort streamer, or him keeping it a secret. What scared you was your kind timid neighbor, who you spent so much time with, who you'd text and game with when you couldn't sleep, who would watch movies and shows with you no matter how childish, listened to you with all your family bullshit, leaving you. He'd block your number, un-add you on his videogame friends list, and cut you off. Your chest tightened again. Your eyes burned even more. It's all too much. Way too much. If he leaves you what would you do? At this point you literally thought of him as family. He's the older brother you never got. Much better than your other brothers. Who seemed like they could give less of a shit.

You felt a warm weight on your shoulder, shaking you slightly. The feeling seemingly yanking you out of your thoughts. Your head whipped up looking at your neighbor. His expression filled with concern. It didn't help your situation. Seeing his face made you curl further more into yourself (you didn't realize you were curled up to begin with), and start crying. Full on sobbing like a baby who'd just lost their parents in a public place.

Corpse froze, not knowing what to do. He's seen you in a wreck before, but this is a new level. It's alot, even for him. Not knowing what to do, he just hugs you. You feel his arms wrap around you and you instinctively wrap yours around him. Hugging him tighter than you probably ever have. Corpse was in pain due to how hard you were squeezing with his already sore body (from gaming and sitting too long) but he never told you about his fragile body, only that he'd get sick easily. He sat and endured while he tried calming you down. Pretty ironic

"I'm fucking horrible at this, but hey try to breathe okay? in and out. For 5 seconds each"

He said. Now he's glad he's done a lot of research for calming panic attacks. Granted, it was so he can try to calm himself down but it helped him help you, so that's a bonus.

His mind was racing, seemed like he has to calm himself down too before he goes into a panic attack with you. Why did you start breaking down? Did you get a mean text/call? Were you just building up too much emotion? Wtf?? He curiously glaced at your phone and saw his character. His amongus character on the screen. He panicked even more at his stream being watched by you while he was in the apartment actively doing it. Then he saw chat asking where he was and what was taking so long. Some speculated he was just busy, others were worried his health made him have to pause the game, some joked saying he had a hot goth chick over, others were so lewd he didn't even wanna think about it... His anxiety was off the chart. Between his viewers, his friends and you. Great. Now he was panicking.

"Just give me one second, I'll be right back" He quickly said. He practically ran into the other room, told the viewers to calm down we wasn't dead. Then made up a lie that he was in the kitchen making some food and eating it, since if he didn't eat now he wouldn't have a chance to later. Thankfully most of them bought it. He made sure to re-mute his mic and came back to you. He noticed red flash on your screen and saw that Toast had killed him. 'That fucker. I knew he was the imposter ' Corpse thought to himself. The little distraction helped calm him down a tad, boosting his ego knowing he was right.

"Ok, listen kid tell me what's wrong. If you don't, I can't help, if you don't wanna tell me that's chill too I just uh- I don't know or I can stay here for a minute?"

He spoke out hastily. Yet still the words came out better than he expected them to.

"I-it's-"

you stuttered out. Should you even tell him? No, you should. He has the right to know and make his own choice about what to do with you later

He looked at you patiently. Waiting for you to speak clearly.

You took a big breath and spoke as fast as you could.

"I watch this streamer his name is Corpse except now I think you're Corpse, but I know Corpse doesn't want anyone knowing about his identity and he gets bad anxiety! so I really really hope that this is some giant misunderstanding cause if it's not I might lose you or things would change and-"

Your lungs burned as you heaved in air. Tears pricking the corner of your eyes yet again. This time from lack of oxygen. Also yea, maybe a bit of stress..

Corpse was hella panicking at this rate. You know? How many others knew? Did they just keep it from him to try and give him comfort? He tried not making it obvious. Fuck. Before he could speak you spoke up again, having a decent amount of air in your lungs.

"-And I really don't want you to leave me or feel weird about me being here! I know teens are stupid but I promise I'm not stupid and I won't tell people I know or send them photos of your face or something!"

Your breath slowed, the words coming out on their own.

"just please...please don't cut me off ______."

He was dumbstruck. Utterly dumbstruck... He couldn't be any more clueless. Cut you off? You? You don't need anything else going wrong in your childhood. He himself is barely managing to try and hold it together. Sure he was scared of people figuring out who he is, but he wouldn't cut them out of his life. Especially for something so small. Don't get him wrong it's a big deal but damn. He felt a bit hurt that you'd think he'd do that. Not like he could blame you though. He knows how anxiety takes over all rational thinking. He didn't know what to say, but still he opened up and finally spoke.

"dude, I don't know if I should be offended or not" a small chuckle escaped his lips

"Trust me, I'm not gonna cut you out of my life just 'cause of that. I mean hey, with how often you come over it was gonna happen eventually."

He paused, configuring his next set of words carefully.

"To be fair, it'll probably be easier now that you do know. Now I can finally stop telling chat I ordered pizza. They're probably verryyyy concerned about my food choices" He partially joked

You couldn't help but laugh at that, wiping your tears in the process.

"Aren't you mad? Or like, scared of me leaking your face?" You asked

"oh no, scared shitless. You've got some heavy blackmail, looks like now I'll have to cater to that expensive sweet tooth of yours" He said, putting his hands up in defeat like he was surrendering a fight

That one made you burst out laughing. You couldn't even imagine blackmailing him for sweets! Without even thinking you blurted-

"Yea sure! If I wanted my face plastered over the news and my name in the next amber alert!"

You both started laughing your asses off. All the worries are seemingly forgotten. You stayed like that for a few minutes, just joking back and forth then laughing even more. Your ribs HURT like hell but it was all too funny!

After a while when you two *finally* calmed down Corpse realized he forgot about his stream. I don't think they'll fall for him "eating food" for nearly 30mins.

Panic mode was activated but he pushed it back a bit.

"How about you come in the room. We can handle specifics later but I think chat wants an actual explanation on why I've been gone for so long and I don't think they'll buy the 'I was eating' act. In the meantime I can introduce you to my friends"

Your heart was racing at the thought of going inside his secret room. On top of that talking to chat AND meeting his friends who happened to be streamers you also really admire!

"I'll take you up on that offer! I'll sit on the floor and watch!" You said, practically hopping out of your seat on the (probably tear and snot stained) couch.

You went into the room and everything felt alright again. Some new ground rules would be set of course but you didn't mind. Your kind neighbor wasn't leaving you, he's even letting you be a part of the stream! It's been a rough day but you know by the end of your comfort streamers well--stream you'd be better off than you have been in a while.

_______________________________________________

A/N: This is my first fic for Corpse and my first fic in general for Tumblr! Sorry if Corpse here seems out of character, I tried. I haven't proof read it all the way, I'll re-read it all once I get the chance. That's all <3

______________________________

[hepbaestus]

Thoughts on X-Men Days of Future Past (2014)

Ooo sinister music

Oh no not quarantine again

Humans and Mutants worked together? Nice

The world looks so sad

Yes Charles we are, we're a destructive power that has lived too long

"is the future truly set?" Ooo time travel pog

The credit intro is so cool!

The ships remind me of the ones from Star Wars

Elliot Page?! I didn't know he was in this

Shit those things can take on a Mutant's powers?? Fuck.

Rip these guys I guess

Blink is pretty.

Ayo what the fuck is that the time travel thing??

Man's really did go bald just like he didn't want

Wolverine!! Hugh Jackman, sadly not Ryan Reynolds' favourite Australian anymore

Storm is also so pretty!!

Ian McKellen??

Wait is Mystique dead??

Fuck that's terrible.

Oh wait this has long haired James McAvoy doesn't it??

Elliot's name in this is Kitty Pride? Wow

Just a little sting, eh?

Quoting Charles Xavier, good play

HIM!! I forgot his name, Alex?

Gotta say not a great fight scene

Jennifer Lawrence looks good in military uniform

Oh shit Xavier's school for mutants disbanded?

The scream and then seeing Wolverine flying.

He can walk??

The Piss off. So British I love it.

He thinks it's a dream? That's a fair reaction.

Tragic backstory time 2: electric boogaloo

He's addicted. Fuck.

"Sent me back here together." Charles'reaction

Of course Erik killed JFK

God. The phone book. I remember those.

That's so on-brand for a villain to have a painting where he's seemingly "good" behind the desk

Fuck. Those images.

Quicksilver???

The sound of wolverine's claws (they're bones??? I always thought they were metallic) I hate it

That food looks mank.

Ooooo fancy door

His lil smile. Reminds me of polite cat (r.i.p)

He said mind the glass dipshit

Of course, French chefs

I'm not too keen on his outfit.

"I'm not very good with violence." Immediately punches Erik.

The homoerotic tension between these two. Jesus Christ.

Peter's just a lil guy.

It makes sense why Wolverine's claws are not metal now. Huh. Why didn't I think of that?

The one-sided stare. Jesus Christ just get together already. (I know they don't sadly)

The pose James was in when Erik's yelling at him? I thank the director for that shot.

Jennifer is so pwetty.

Chess, the game to reconcile with the lads.

This film feels like it's going on forever. I'm not even an hour in.

The creation of the Sentinels.

The acrobatics. Holy shit.

Erik no. Don't you dare.

God that must be so painful.

Of course man's just forgets.

Of course, Charles, says the man's on acid and he's having a bad trip. That definitely won't end badly.

Doggies.

"research purposes" of course.

Oh god. Self-sewing his wound? Ew.

Not even a thank you? Wow, Logan.

It's always raining when something sinister is about to happen.

There's no nearly enough dust on the cerebro

The gentle coaxing. My heart.

This is trippy.

Talking to his future self.

Power's back on? No shit Sherlock. It's not as if the lights turned back on now is it?

CGI's kinda iffy here.

But still cool nonetheless.

"Your best is enough." Oof the pain.

It's the star wars looking ships!

AYO??? HES JUST LIFTING AN ENTIRE STADIUM

Oh shit , just a light stab wound for Erik

R.i.p Storm

Ouchie

Ouchie pt.2

Somehow the cameras still work

That close-up shot of Logan's eye.

Logan has grey hairs, ooooo me likey

Kitty Pryde as a teacher? Nice.

Logan's so confused.

Jean? (Admittedly, I have watched the wolverine films so idk much about her at all).

Overall score: 4.5/10 felt like it dragged on for too long.

Recommendations welcome!

[onlyswan]

meet me behind the mall | jjk

→ pairing: jungkook x f!reader

→ genre: smut sigh, fluff kinda

→ warnings: exhibitionism, public sex, dirty talk, slight ? degredation, calls her a slut once, fingering, handjob, oral (m. and f. receiving), choking, spitting, cum eating / swallowing, unprotected sex, facial (this term is so 😭) lmk if i miss anything plz

→ word count: 3.3k

summary: jungkook makes you live for the thrill of it all.

note: this was an impulsive write idk what possessed me today frends but have at it >_> semi proofread it’s 5am goodbyr

—

it’s one of the things you first learned about him. jungkook loves taking photos. he loves capturing moments with a simple click of a camera. he finds an unexplainable comfort and bittersweet nostalgia in finding old photographs in his drawer, in his pockets, tucked in between the pages of his textbooks. it’s like finding little treasures all over the place, you can hear his voice in your head, can see the pretty twinkles of passion and fondness in his pretty doe eyes.

so when he told you all about the new photobooth at the arcade, followed by a text that simply said meet me behind the mall, you didn’t particularly imagine that you would end up in this position. you can see the shutter going off even though your eyelids are closed as jungkook’s tongue is basically shoved down your throat. your panties is pulled to the side and two of his fingers are thrusting in and out of your cunt, curling deliciously to stimulate your sweet spot that has your thighs shaking uncontrollably every fucking time.

how naive of you to think that your boyfriend spontaneously texted you at eight in the evening to meet up and simply take cute couple pictures in film. of course, you do have a fair share of scandalous photos, but they’re all conveniently stored and locked away in your phones. this is something entirely new and as embarrassing it is to admit, thrilling. yourself from one year ago never would’ve guessed what her future self is doing right now. how the desires in you can easily be fueled to life just by the trailing of jungkook’s fingers on the smoothness of your thighs, his lips nipping at your neck, or even the simple thought of having his cock filling you up to the brim.

you can’t help but to giggle against his mouth. all of your senses are heightened at this moment, your heart beating aggressively in your chest. he pulls away slightly but his gaze stays on your pink and swollen parted lips, drunk eyes taking in your disheveled state.

“what’s going in that pretty little mind of yours?” he smirks, thumb sneakily rubbing your clit. you try your best to hold out your moan but a broken whine comes out, your head throwing back against the wall of the limited space you’re both squeezed into. only a black curtain and an ‘occupied’ sign in red bold and capital letters separated you from the world outside, where games are being played by people of all ages; loud sound effects and songs from the 2000’s and 2010’s mixing into an ear numbing noise that can only be recognized from an arcade center; and tickets gathered are being exchanged for cute stationary items and trinkets.

“you’re so, so dirty.” you say to him, eyes rolling back as his fingers never let up on their toe curling pace, only making you lose your inhibitions and self-control more than anything else. you clench around them involuntarily, drenching his hand with your juices. “was this your plan all along?”

your eyes widen in shock when the sound of his palm slapping your bare cunt filled the booth, the stinging pain registering in your mind next. “are you fucking crazy? someone might hear!” you whisper angrily at him, but his dark and blown out eyes made you shrink back in your seat. his intimidating, and almost condescending, expression have you gushing against his hand that is now petting your pussy to soothe the pain he inflicted.

“watch your mouth. you and this fucking skimpy dress are the only ones dirty here. you know what this shit does to me.” he smiles at you sweetly. “are you sure this was my plan? are we playing mind games here, baby girl?” his hand comes down from your face to play with the cloth of your blue dress, the other thrusting two of his fingers in you again, then adding another. the stretch has you gripping tightly on his shirt, not having anything else to hold on to.

“fuck, ahhh- jungkook. don’t stop.” god, you are dripping all over, your wetness staining your seat. it makes your cheeks flush in shame.

“just wanted to look pretty for you, i-is all.” you mewl at him, blinking innocently. the camera is not forgotten by jungkook. in fact, it’s one of the things getting him more riled up. the almost blinding light of the flash shines on your soft skin, and the sweat that has formed on your temples and your neck. your pupils are blown and eyelids drooping caused by the pleasure he is giving you. it’s visible how difficult it is for you to keep in all your noises from the people outside the damn curtain when you’re so lost in the feeling of his fingers inside of you. all because of him. your fucked out state got jungkook gritting his teeth, his dick twitching inside his pants. jesus christ, you get him so fucking turned on and desperate for it without even trying. your beauty is seductive and enchanting and effortless. there is no point in hiding how crazy he is for you.

“my pretty girl. you dressed yourself all nice for me?” he presses a chaste kiss on your lips, before he wraps his hand around your throat, pressing at the right places just enough to make your mind all fuzzy. “i’m such a lucky man. i love you so much.”

your eyes roll back at the back of your head at the all consuming feeling taking over senses. you don’t think you can answer correctly if ever someone asks for your name or the colors of the goddamn traffic signs. “y-yeah, for you, of course. love you so much.”

he gives you a satisfied hum, moving down to squeeze one of your breasts with his large hand before pinching your nipple from outside the cotton of your dress. “mhmm, holy fuck. you’re always so sensitive. so easy to please. am i making you feel good?” you don’t know how he can act so casual while you’re basically falling apart in his hands, but for some sick reason, it stirs up the arousal in your belly even more.

“y-yes, kook, i’m so close, please, please, please,” you cry out desperately, tears forming at the corner of your eyes as you squeeze his fingers with your walls uncontrollably. “wait, ohhh, stop. stop. i can’t cum here. i- it’s gonna be a mess, this is so embar- fuck, jungkook!” your squeal dies down in your throat when your boyfriend kneels on the ground and starts sucking your clit in his mouth as his fingers inside of you became more aggressive, hitting all the right places that makes you see stars behind your eyelids. you cover your mouth with your hand to muffle your desperate and whiny sounds, suddenly becoming aware of where the two of you are right now.

you grip his hair with your hands to steady yourself and unconsciously grind your cunt against his face, his eager tongue doing very sinful things for the sole purpose of making you come undone. he pulls you closer to the edge with his strong arm so he can have better access, eating you out like a man feasting on the divine food of the gods. divine. that’s one perfect word to describe you.

he flicks your clit teasingly before wrapping his pink and plump lips around it again. the overwhelming sight almost makes you want to burst into tears. “hmm, cum for me, baby.” your body jerks in his hold, his words of permission acting as the trigger for your orgasm. he drinks you up greedily, his tongue replacing his fingers’ place in fucking into you, letting you ride out your high.

he comes up to kiss you, making you taste yourself in his mouth. you can even feel his wet chin. you moan against him when two fingers dip inside you again, and then he’s having you suck on them almost too enthusiastically. you’re still in a daze from your release, and with jungkook, you’re basically down for anything and everything. you open your eyes to meet his, and if you aren’t already fucked out with his fingers choking you, his hooded eyes will have reduced you into a blabbering mess.

“you’re always so good to me.” he says with a raspy voice. he takes out his fingers and wipes it on his shirt before pulling you in for another kiss. “let’s get out of here so i can fuck you properly like my girl deserves, okay?” you nod meekly, trying to hide your excitement. he fixes you up to make you look presentable enough to walk in public, combing your hair with his fingers and straightening out your dress.

“can’t forget these. don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. it’s for my eyes only.” he gathers all the developed films from the booth, facing you with a teasing smile.

“for your eyes only.” you agree, looking up at him. you open the small backpack you brought along with you and he stuffs them all inside mindlessly, his cock still straining painfully in his pants and he might just lose his mind if he’s still not inside of your pussy in the next five minutes.

“can’t walk properly,” you whine out once you step out of the booth, your boyfriend supporting you by the waist.

“sorry, baby.” he presses an apologetic kiss on your temple. “but i’m not done with you yet.” he really doesn’t give a fuck if anyone heard the both of you at all, but he knows that you’re starting to worry, so he makes sure that you keep your eyes on him as you walk your way out of the place.

“are we going to your place? or mine?” you ask once you get out, the cool air of the mall embracing you. you shiver lightly. your boyfriend doesn’t respond, but when he starts dragging you towards the movie theater that is just beside the arcade, you realize the answer to your question.

“jungkook, really?” you hiss at him, but don’t make any efforts to stop him as he leads you to the restrooms.

“i’m so fucking hard right now, babe. i can’t wait anymore.” they’re about to close up in an hour, so the place is basically deserted. but still, you can’t believe what you’re about to do right now. he peeks in the women’s and once he made sure it’s clear, you go in to the farthest cubicle.

“damn woman,” his throaty chuckle makes your center throb again as you immediately pull down his sweatpants along with his boxers, his big cock slapping against his stomach. you lick a stripe from his balls up to his tip, then gathering saliva in your mouth and letting it drip down his length. his breathing gets heavier at the sight of doing such a filthy action without him asking you to. he strokes your cheek as you jack him off and give his head kitten licks, your spit acting as an effective lube.

“put it in your mouth now, baby.” he says softly, grasping your hair to guide your mouth on his cock. “choke on it, yeah?” you hum in submission to his request, relaxing your throat to take in as much of him as you can. you start to bob your head up and down to get used to the feeling, your hand still wrapped around the few inches left.

“fuck, you look so pretty like this. i’ve been thinking about it all day.” his confession made you all warm inside. you’ve always wondered how you managed to become his girlfriend. sometimes, it feels to good to be true. knowing the effect you have on him even when you’re not around made you even more determined to blow his damn mind. to be the only star of his wildest dreams.

you go down on him until your nose reach his pubic area, carefully breathing out through it. “oh my god, that’s my girl.” he thrusts his hip forward and holds your head down in place, making you choke on him like he wanted to. his moans sends tingles to your pussy and you rub your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to relieve yourself of some pressure. he lets you breathe in some air before you take him in your mouth again, swallowing around his length as you move your head up and down.

“ohhh, fuck. your mouth is s-so warm. you like this huh? sucking me off outside our rooms for the first time?” he can’t help but to move his hips as well, instinctively following your mouth. your moans vibrate on his dick, and he hisses at the added sensation. “and you called me what? so, so dirty? turns out you’re just as fucking filthy, baby.” and there it is again, the mischievous smile on his face that makes your knees (that you’re sure will be bruising soon enough) weak. you know that he’s right. you can’t help but to whimper around him when you feel wetness drip from your hole. you want to touch yourself so bad but your hands on your boyfriend’s flexing muscular thighs are what’s keeping you steady and grounded.

“ohh- ah, fuck fuck fuck! are you fucking kidding me?” his body jerks when you take all of him and stay still, contracting your throat around him and massaging his balls in your small and soft hand. his brain goes on a frenzy at the waves of pleasure rippling in his body, sweat rolling down his temples and abdomen working hard to stop himself from cumming down your throat. “s-shit, stop it, stop it, stop, i’m gonna blow my load.”

you pull him out with a pop, hand gripping his base to keep his orgasm at bay. his glassy eyes meet your own, and you give him a wink. “are you gonna fuck me now?”

a shiver runs up jungkook’s spine. “you’re so fucking hot. come here.” he helps you get up and snakes his tongue in your mouth, pinning you on the other side of the cubicle. his hand sneaks in under your dress to cup your center, groaning against your mouth when he felt how wet you are. “shit, you’re soaking. did you get this turned on by sucking my dick?”

“really turned on. i love blowing you.” you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger, blinking up at him with a smile.

“you’re actually killing me here.” he chuckles, squeezing your ass and pulling you close to grind himself on you. he drags down your panties until you step out of them, throwing it on top of your backpack. he tucks your hair behind your ear and whispers. “jump.” you obey, wrapping your legs around his waist.

he pumps his cock a few times before teasingly running the tip along your wet folds, a nudge on your clif making you moan quietly. “put it in, please. jungkook? i’ve been good, right?”

“shhh, i got you.”

you hold on to his neck tightly as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure. it’s amazing how you can feel so stretched out from the very beginning, only his tip yet breaching your walls. you never really got used to it. “you’re so big, kook.” you cry out against his shoulder as he sinks his entire length into you. your praise inflates his ego. he lets you adjust for a moment, peppering kisses along your neck and shoulder.

when you gave him the signal, he begins thrusting into you, gradually picking up to a rough and unforgiving pace he knows you like. the lewd squelching sounds of your connected sex filled the empty room.

“sh-should’ve done this sooner. ahh fuck, why does this feel so good?” you’re out of your mind. you can’t remember a time you felt this horny. and to be brutally honest, he’s fucking you dumb right now. you can feel every ridge of his cock in you, can feel his tip furiously and consistently stimulating the spot in you that has you writhing in his arms, that along with his pelvis grinding against your clit each time he fucks back into you.

“jesus, are you hearing yourself right now? you like doing it outside with me, baby?”

“yes, yes! oh, harder, please. m-more, i’m close again.” you sob out, biting on his shoulder to cover your cries.

“can’t believe i got myself a filthy little slut here.” he shakes his head in mock disbelief, adjusting his hold on you and fucking you with a much fiercer drive to make you cream on his cock this time. “f-fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.” he breathes out a laugh followed by a broken moan, your soft walls enveloping him in your wamth. “cum when you need to, hmm? you’ve been so good to me.”

you mutter countless thank you’s mixed with your moans and whimpers, the pleasure getting too much to bear. you throw your head back as you orgasm on your boyfriend’s cock, clenching around him uncontrollably as he fucks you through it, desperate to reach his own high. your juices drip down to his balls, and it makes him crazier. he takes the opportunity create marks on your neck, sucking and biting red and purple on your skin.

it’s not long before overstimulation takes place, but you don’t complain, not when it feels this good. another orgasm hits you, not as intense as the first two, but it still got you seeing stars and your body shaking against the wall.

“did you just cum again? oh god, fucking shit. i’m there- so fucking close. you feel so- oh, so good. love you. love you a lot.”

“i want to swallow your cum.” your voice is barely there, but jungkook hears you just fine. he almost chokes on his own spit upon registering your words in his brain. without wasting any time, he sets you down on the floor and you kneel infront of him, mouth open and tongue out.

he jacks himself off while you generously lick at his frenulum, looking up at him expectantly. the sight of you all eager and impatient for his cum finally triggers his release, aiming for your tongue but some still landing on your cheeks and chin as he’s too overwhelmed and shaken to see straight. you swallow happily, licking the rest from your fingers.

“god, i love you.” he says quietly, pulling you up from the floor and embracing you, but you wiggle out of his grasp.

“love you too but gross, gross, gross. i need to go home and shower.” you whine out, twirling as you try and fix your appearance again.

“not you acting like a brat once you got what you wanted.” he pinches your waist jokingly. he takes tissue from the dispenser to clean up the wetness that dripped down all the way to your thighs, being the loving boyfriend that he is.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you pout at him. “i’m so tired and gross. i hate you.”

“are you asking for it again?”

“no, i swear to god. you owe me a bubble bath and a massage.”

“okay, fine. my place then.” he gives up, shaking his head with a laugh at your change of mood. “i love you. can i get a kiss then?”

you tiptoe to reach him, slightly pulling him down by the collar of his shirt to give him a smooch. “i love youuu.”

once you both make yourself presentable (again) to the best of your abilities, you head out of the restroom first. you notice the cashier at the popcorn place eyeing you suspiciously, especially when jungkook comes out to meet you a few minutes later. you hide yourself behind him in shame.

you walk out of the mall with his hand over your shoulder, yours on his waist. you look at him questioningly when he covers your neck with more of your hair. “maybe i made a little too much.” he winces apologetically.

“we are never doing that again.” you sigh, your legs still feeling weak but you will yourself to make it all the way to the parking lot.

“what? you said you liked it!”

“it was during the moment. i was delirious.”

jungkook rolls his eyes. “you’re lying. let’s see, because that’s also what you said the first time we tried choking.”

“jungkook! shut up!”

—

note: i never know how to finish these runs and hides

[bloodskipper]

Patrick Bateman x female reader | Power Struggle | Pt. 2

As you stepped into the doorway of your new workplace, you felt the eyes of the man in the stairwell boring holes into the back of your head. He was so cordial, yet you felt the sting of his gaze penetrating you. Deciding to try and break the ice, you slowed your pace to meet his.

"Hi there, I'm Y/N," you said, holding out your hand.

"Patrick Bateman, investment banker," he replied curtly, taking your hand and giving it a robotic shake, practically instantaneously releasing the grip.

"That's fantastic!" You wanted to sound earnest. This was your first big job, so you wanted to make a positive first impression.

"I suppose it is."

He removed his headphones, letting them rest around his neck. Without saying a word, he made a beeline to what was seemingly his office and stuck a small key into its door. This confused you - you heard these types of business-guys were hardasses, but you weren't expecting someone to stonewall you on the first day, not to mention how kind he had been for a brief moment earlier.

You stood a few feet behind him, expecting him to say something to at least end the awkward conversation.

"Well, so nice to meet you, and I'm sure I'll see you around!" You smiled cheerily.

After he had successfully unlocked his door, he turned to you with a much narrower smile than the original, stepped inside and shut the door again.

Regardless of the fever dream of a situation that just happened, you hadn't lost your will. You needed to find your desk and begin your work. By some sort of weird coincidence, your cubicle was placed on the side of the room opposite to Patrick's office. Sitting down, you right away discovered how easily you could see him from your position. He was undoubtedly handsome and for a second you caught yourself trying to study his features at such a distance.

You jumped when his gaze caught yours through the blinds. At first he stayed coy, then smiled playfully at you before averting his eyeline to his desk. A warm flush filled your cheeks as footsteps came quickly toward you from behind.

"Hello, Miss...?" a man asked, holding out his hand. You stood and shook it fervently.

"Yes! Hi, I'm Y/N," you began with your biggest smile. "Might I have your name?"

"I'm Timothy Bryce, investment banker," he replied, mirroring your grin and Patrick's profession. "But you can call me Timothy."

"So nice to meet you, Mr. Bryce, er - Timothy." You shared a congenial laugh and noticed his eyes clearly tracing your curves.

"Beautiful smile," he said, still holding onto your hand. "I know you just got here, but the boss man just let me know you're already being promoted."

Blinking rapidly a few times, you asked perplexed, "I'm sorry?"

"We just got an opening as my secretary," he answered, raising his eyebrows. "Grab your things and you can follow me this way."

Willing to be pointed in any direction, you excitedly gathered your coat and satchel.

Timothy led you up and around to his office area, which happened to be situated next to Patrick Bateman's. As you walked behind him, you decided to sneak another glance at Patrick.

He was already watching you and cast a sly wink.

-

Holy cow, here is the part 2! Thanks for liking the first part so much, jesus christ. I was off my Patrick Bateman shit for awhile but now I'm back, babie.

[a-kaash-me-outside]

hello! if your 3k event is still open, may i request prompt 47 + atsumu, with some breeding sprinkled in? 👉👈

i hooe you get out of your writing slump! i personally don't write but i go through something similar with drawing so ik how annoying it can be >< have a good day!! <3

you deserve a reward for being so good

// nsfw (minors dni !!), f!reader, breeding kink, slight praise kink, overstim, crying

if this isn’t the most atsumu fucking line i truthfully don’t know what is holy shit my 3k event is still open, getting through the prompts slowly but surely! come by and drop a # or a hc!!

You weren’t exactly sure how much more you could take of this, how much longer you could keep this up. It felt like you were at your limit, but you knew exactly what you wanted and how to get it. All you had to do was listen.

He’s made you come more times than you’ve managed to keep count of and you’ve thanked him for every single one. Or… maybe thanked is the wrong word. Thanked feels too subtle, too diluted, not intense enough for how visceral your reactions were, sobbing gratitudes as you rode your high over and over again, clamped around him as he tried to keep his thrusts as steady as he could.

They poured from you even as the pleasure was replaced with stinging sensitivity, your throat growing hoarse and your vision blurring with streaming tears.

Your walls gripped him, sucked him in as if his cock were made for you. It felt almost like betrayal, the way that your body yearned for him, begged for him despite the abuse it had withstood.

Despite everything, despite how you had been manhandled into every position you could think of, despite the bruises you could feel forming and how hard it was for you to just catch your breath, you obeyed. You listened to Atsumu’s every word, nodding along to his commands, thanking him before he told you to, and moving as soon as the order left his lips.

Because you had come so many times tonight, yes, but there was something you wanted more than anything, something you only got when you were really really good. You knew better than to ask for it. All you could do was be on your best behavior and hope that he would reward you.

Looming over top of you, both arms caging you in as he pounded deep inside of your cunt, throbbing against your tight walls, heavy balls slapping against your ass, sweat dripping onto your chest and down his forehead, he was getting close.

He swallowed harshly, “I think you deserve a reward for being so good today.” He didn’t need to ask. He knew what you asked for every time, but the way it sounded coming out of your mouth was something he refused to pass up. “What do ya want, baby?”

You didn’t hesitate for a second, the excitement overtaking any amount of embarrassment or haze. “Want you to breed my pussy, ‘Tsumu.”

“What’s that, princess? Tell me exactly what ya want,” he teased.

“mm want you to empty your balls into my cunt and shoot your load so deep in me,” you pleaded further, eyes locking onto his now as you continued, “wanna feel you breed me with your thick cock.”

He lifted himself off of you ever so slightly, just enough for you to follow directions. “Knees to yer chest, princess, if ya want me to breed ya properly,” he breathed, each thrust deeper than the last, slowing his pace, but making sure to fuck you with each inch. “You want me to breed ya nice and deep, don’tcha?”

“Yes, please, ‘Tsumu.” Between your nodding and incessant whimpering, a patronizing grin found its way onto his lips. It wasn’t hard to situate your legs up against your chest. Atsumu’s thighs pressed against the backs of yours, driving his cock as deep as he could.

“Want me to breed this perfect, pretty cunt?” It’s not a question that needed answering, but you nodded anyway, desperately and fervently, just in case he wanted one. “Ya’ve been so good for me, haven’t ya, princess? You deserve to be bred.”

“‘s all I want, please, wanna feel it so deep.” You were sobbing, realization and pure, unadulterated need filling your core, pleas falling from your lips repetitively. You looked absolutely wrecked beneath him, begging him to fill you, and after you had listened so well for him, he couldn’t deny you.

“Here it comes, pretty, filling you with my big load, just for you, princess,” he said, rhythm beginning to falter so he pressed his hips completely against you. His cock was so fucking deep inside of you that you were sure you could see the outline in your stomach.

His balls twitched against your ass, cock pulsing with every forceful stream of cum that he pumped inside of you, filling you to the brim.

You felt the release before you heard him grunting lowly in your ear, “breeding your pretty womb so fucking deep”, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, peppering kisses into whatever places of your skin he could reach, so overstimulated that even the soft contact made you shiver.

He never moved his hips, kept them pressed against your thighs as he unloaded inside of you. Even as the thick ropes ceased, only drops leaking from his slit, he stayed pressed against you.

“What do you say?” he asks, moving only enough to grip your chin between his fingers and force your gaze. The exhaustion was setting in, but you felt the gratitude so wholly that you don’t even have to think about it.

“Thank you for breeding me, ‘Tsumu, felt so good,” you muttered, relaxing your legs as you caught your breath and blinked away your tears.

But Atsumu hadn’t moved and the second that your legs fell back to their leisure position, he put them back, pulling his hips back and slamming into you as hard as he could, fucking his cum into you so harshly that you could feel it dribbling out of your hole, leaving you feeling the smallest bit emptier than before.

“What, you don’t want another load, princess?”

♡ leave a tip ! ♡ ♡ reblogs & likes appreciated ♡

[all-this-living-dead]

What've You Done.

This is the first fic for any fandom I've written in a LONG TIME so please be nice ♥️

Inspired by this pin on Pinterest - https://pin.it/60GLm7r & the song used is "Flight Of Icarus" by Iron Maiden, of course.

Eddie is trapped in his mind by Vecna. Everyone is dead. It's his fault.

The heavy toll of a grandfather clock woke Eddie. Blinking with confusion, he looked around panicked once he noticed vines slithering around his ankles.

"What the fuck? Why am I still here?"

The last thing he remembered was pain. Choking on his own blood as Dustin held him and he sobbed, his tears falling on Eddie's face. Eddie shook his head, trying to clear his mind as he hurriedly pulls up his shirt, inspecting his torso for the wounds he was almost positive killed him. There was nothing there anymore although the taste of blood still remained in his throat.

But if he was dead, why is he here?

Alive? Undead?

"Holy shit. Am I a zombie," He muttered out loud, "Wait. No way."

A whisper rattles it's way into his brain, a small sound at first. Eddie scrambled to his feet, shaking off the vines with disgust.

"Eddie... what have you done?"

He spins around, clenching and unclenching his fists, searching for where the voice could be coming from.

A bell tolls somewhere deep in his mind.

He takes a step forward, following the whisper as it grows louder with every step he takes.

Coming to the edge of the forest, he swallows, taking a step forward as he sets his hand on a nearby tree.

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

"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD," Robin shouts, grabbing any cassette she can find in Steve's bedroom.

Dustin is shaking Eddie, his eyes rolled back in his head and body quaking as Vecna holds him hostage.

"ABBA? Tears For Fears? Duran Duran? Steve, none of these are gonna help Eddie!" Robin throws the cassettes on the bed, "What's wrong with you?!"

"I didn't know this was gonna happen! I'm sorry I didn't stock up on Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath ahead of time, Robin!"

Steve retorts, running his hand through his hair. "Oh my god, Eddie."

Dustin glances back at Steve, a horrified look on his face. Steve has never seen the kid so afraid. Usually his ego made up for it.

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

The bell grows louder with every step he takes, vines squishing under his tennis shoes. He starts to come upon a clearing, hearing a voice that he knows well.

"Eddie! Eddie, come back!"

It's Dustin.

"I need your help, Eddie, I can't hold the door closed for much longer. Where are you?"

There's fear in his voice, echoing out from Eddie's trailer.

He breaks into a jog, coming out of the woods just in time to see the horde of demobats break through the trailer door.

Dustin's screams ended as quickly as they began. Sprinting through the trailer door as the demobats scatter away, Eddie stands above Dustin's body.

Covered in blood and clothes shredded, his dead eyes look up at him.

Eddie's jaw clenches, tears stinging his eyes. He kneels down next to Dustin, petting his head absentmindedly.

"Dustin, kid, I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I - I don't know where I was."

Dustin's body jolts and his eyes roll back as he opens his mouth, a voice that is not his own falling from his lips.

"Eddie, you weren't here. I needed you and you weren't here. You ran. You ran like you always do."

Eddie falls back into the counter behind him, blinking rapidly in shock and fear.

"What? What, no, I wouldn't leave you, Dustin."

"But you did, Eddie. You ran away. You left me to die."

"No, no," Eddie sobs, holding a hand over his mouth, "No, I wouldn't do that."

Whatever was puppeteering Dustin lets him go, his body stilling.

Eddie climbs to his feet, stumbling out of the trailer and sits down on the steps at his front door. Tears have run tracks down his dirt stained cheeks, his head in his hands.

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

"We gotta go get his tapes, we have to go get them or we're gonna lose Eddie like we lost Max," Dustin yells, turning away from where Eddie sat on the end of Steve's bed.

"Okay, okay, Robin, you stay here with Eddie. Henderson and I will got to the trailer and see if we can find any of his tapes in the rubble," Steve grabs his keys, Dustin following quickly after him.

Leaving a terrified Robin to sit and stare at Eddie as his eyes fluttered and his body sat stiff.

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

"Munson? Munson!"

Eddie startles, standing quickly and staring into the forest again.

It's Steve.

"Harrington?"

He takes a step off the stairs, hesitantly heading towards the woods once again.

"Munson! We sure could use your help here!"

He breaks into a run, vines be damned.

Everything looks the same.

It's all the same red sky and dark trees.

There is no direction, only shadows and sounds that echoed in circles around him.

Eddie stops, letting out a frustrated scream.

He can't tell where anything is coming from, let alone Steve.

"They died because you're a coward, Eddie. They died because you ran. They're dying because you ran away. Again. Like you always do. Like you did with Chrissy."

It's right. The voice is right.

Eddie is a coward. All he does is run away, he's never stood his ground. Not once in his life. Not when he was bullied in school, when his dad would go into a rage. He's never stood for anything.

Suddenly, a bright light shines through the trees in front of him.

He looks up, taking a step towards it.

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

"Shit, shit, SHIT."

Dustin is covered in ash, frustrated tears running down his cheeks as he digs through the rubble, "Steve, what're we gonna do?"

He looks over at Steve, the other boy elbows deep in ash and rubble beside him, digging desperately. "We're gonna find these goddamn tapes is what we're gonna do, Henderson."

His fingers brush something plastic.

He wraps his hand around it, pulling it out.

Steve hadn't ever been more happy to see Iron Maiden in his life.

Dustin gives him a relieved smile, pulling him to his feet. The boys run back to the car, peeling out and rushing back to Steve's house.

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

Eddie steps into the light, squinting at the sudden change.

As his eyes adjust, he realizes he's looking at the levitating form of Steve in front of him.

Eyes rolled back, bones at wrong angles.

Eddie's stomach plummets to his feet as he freezes in fear.

Steve's mouth opens, the voice that came out of Dustin crawling it's way out of his throat.

"Where were you, Munson? You let me die. You let Dustin die. He was just a kid, Eddie, and you let him die. He took your place. He loved you and you ran away."

"No, no I didn't. I couldn't find him, Steve, I couldn't find him. I looked for him, I - I - I looked for him..." Eddie bursts into tears, choking on his words,"I looked for you, I loved him, Steve, I'd - I'd never..."

He trails off, dropping to his knees and burying his head in his hands, his body shaking with sobs.

"You can't love anyone, Eddie. Not even people who love you. Not Uncle Wayne, not Dustin, no one one. You're useless and small and afraid. Just like you were when you were a child. Small and useless. Your father was right."

Eddie feels every ounce of fight leave his body.

Steve was right.

He was useless. Small. A coward.

There was nothing good about him.

Nothing worth saving at all.

Nothing.

"They're dead because of you."

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

Steve and Dustin burst in the front door, tearing up the stairs to Steve's room.

"WALKMAN!"

Robin hands Steve the Walkman, fingers fumbling as he pops in the tape. He looks at Dustin, stark realization setting in.

"I don't know what song to use."

Dustin looks at the back of the cassette case, running his finger down the track list.

Grabbing the shabby headphones from Steve, he places them over Eddie's ears, fast forwarding to a time stamp and upping the volume as loud as it'll go.

"As the sun breaks, above the ground

An old man stands on the hill

As the ground warms, to the first rays of light

A birdsong shatters the still..."

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

"A.... birdsong..... shatters..... the..... still..."

Eddie looks up slowly, wiping away his tears.

He spins around, staring cautiously at Steve, still in the air.

"Fly on your way, like an eagle

Fly as high as the sun..."

Eddie looks up to the sky, feeling lighter and more hopeful than he had for days.

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

"It's working! It's working! Henderson, you're a genius!" Steve shouts, kneeling down by Eddie's knee.

Eddie jumps, eyes suddenly screwing shut, tears pouring and shaking his head.

"It's not my fault they're dead, it's not. I tried to help. I didn't run away. I didn't."

Steve reaches out quietly, gently touching Eddie's shaking hand. He jerks away, body trembling and whimpers. A kicked puppy would've sounded less pitiful.

Shifting his weight on his feet, Steve reaches up, cupping Eddie's cheek slowly, thumb on his cheekbone, "Eddie, Eddie, it's okay," he strokes his cheek with his thumb, "we're okay, Munson."

Eddie's eyes open, flitting around nervously, unsure if any of this was real or just another cruel trick.

"H-Harrington?"

Steve breaks into a gentle smile.

"Yeah, Munson, it's me. I'm here, it's okay."

Eddie meets his eyes, body still quaking with fear and anxiety. He lets out and inhumane wail, tears flowing anew and throws his arms around Steve, burying his face in his neck.

Steve hesitates, surprised by the desperate hug. Dustin and Robin stare, just as shocked and confused as Steve.

"Eddie, it's okay. It's okay, we're okay. You're okay." Steve's arms wrap around him protectively and he strokes his filthy curls gently.

"It's all right, Munson. I'm not going anywhere. "

[taechaos]

Your Boy, No?

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: You can't stand seeing Jungkook with another girl, so you give him a piece of your mind in a stranger's bedroom by becoming his outlet of sexual frustration.

warnings: losing virginity, riding, degradation

a/n: jungkook's character is not exactly submissive, so i added my own twists to this request. i hope you don't mind @madygswich c:

word count: 2.5k

You can't stop pouting. Holding back tears when seeing a woman perched up on Jungkook's lap while they make out has proven to be difficult, but you're trying. It hurts your heart; hell, you're aching everywhere. It doesn't take a genius to know he's doing it to get a reaction out of you when his eyes are throwing daggers at you with his tongue down another girl's throat.

Following Jungkook around like a lost puppy isn't ideal, especially at a frat party. He never gives you the time of the day if it's not out of menace, but you aren't willing to give up on him. It's just not possible when you are so in love with him, and so fucking jealous.

More than Jungkook, you're mad at the girl. You want to rip her heart out, make her suffer for ever touching the love of your life. You're becoming irrational, mentally cussing her out for being a whore while you stop yourself from breaking down in a house filled with horny young adults. You don't know a single person here, and you have to deal with your pent up emotions all by yourself.

You choke out a sob when Jungkook starts kneading the girl's ass shamelessly with her skirt hiked up to her back. They're being so inappropriate in the kitchen of a stranger's house, while you can't even take a sip from your spiked drink in the bustling living room. You abruptly stand up and throw away your plastic cup when Jungkook's hand disappears elsewhere, and you have an idea of what he's about to do. You march over to him, looking absolutely tiny next to the overbearing college students and you don't notice Jungkook's sinister smile as he watches you fume.

"Let go," you sound hoarse, and not at all intimidating when you push the girl off of his lap. She stumbles at the force, but you pay no mind to her confusion as you pull Jungkook up by his arm to drag him away. You think it's the anger and adrenaline giving you so much strength, but it's Jungkook amusing himself by allowing you to take him upstairs.

"This isn't a therapy session, little girl," he yells over the music, "I didn't come here to listen to you cry."

You huff and let a single tear slip before harshly wiping it away. When you reach the hallway, you enter the first bedroom you find. It's occupied by a foreplaying couple, but you're driven as you hiss, "Out!"

They leave at your demand, and you're confusing a lot of people tonight. Jungkook is surprised by your sudden aggression, but he doesn't stop with his remarks, "the chihuahua's gone mad."

"Shut up, Jungkook!" you whirl around angrily to face him. "How could you do that to me?!"

He quirks a brow. "Do what to you? I'm sorry, am I the one who forcefully brought you here? Am I tripping or are you?"

You push at his chest, "you're a fucking whore! Tonguing a girl in front of everyone, in front of me?"

His shoulders shake in silent laughter and you cross your arms when he starts cackling loudly. The music is drowned out and muffled behind the door, but it's nothing compared to how hysterically Jungkook is laughing.

"What's so funny?" you ask lamely. He throws his head back as he clutches his stomach, and you're starting to get annoyed. You push him on the bed, but he's still laughing. "Quit it already," your voice wavers, but you don't back down as you smack his chest. You place your knees on both sides of his hips to limit his movement and cover his mouth to shut him up.

His crescent eyes turn intense instantly as he glares at you under his hooded lids. He exerts only a tiny bit of his energy into pushing your hand away and you weakly collapse on him. It's foul play to compete with his muscles, and you realize he can snap you in half if he wanted to regardless of your rush of adrenaline.

You sit back up as he lowly speaks, "The fuck's it to you? I wanted to fuck her, and I was going to until you stepped in as if you're my girlfriend. Tell me why I shouldn't go back to her right now." He clasps his hands under his head, making himself comfortable with your weight pressing against his crotch.

"You know why," you huff with a frown, and you look so cute in the dim lighting with your baggy knitted sweater bunching up on the sleeves, sitting on his bulge with so much innocence in your expression. He's smitten, but it doesn't show in his cold stare. "I'm your girl, and I won't tolerate you messing around with other women. It's slutty!" You slightly bounce for emphasis, but your knee-length skirt hides your actions. Jungkook feels it with you, and his eyes trail down to your lower region.

"My girl?" he parrots with a raised brow. He gazes back into your eyes. "You do my homework."

"I don't care. I love you," you plead pathetically, "please say you love me back."

"Wasn't I a whore just a second ago?"

"You were! Apologize to me," you harshly yank his head back by his hair. He doesn't react in the slightest, so you softly add, "please."

"Oh little girl," he sighs, "are you really trying to dominate me right now?"

"I am dominating you. Promise me you won't kiss another girl like that again. I won't forgive you a second time."

"Yeah? What's my loss?"

"Well, you're lazy in school," you bluntly state, "and no one loves you like I do. No one would try to cater to you like I do. I'd do anything for you, Kookie." You tug down your skirt to take it off and plop back down on him before saying, "Including sex. You can only use me for your sexual needs."

He's enamored by your words, but he doesn't dare share it with you. Instead, he thrusts upwards and you yelp when you jump. "Go on then," he says nonchalantly. "Show me how much of a slut you are."

"U-Um, okay," you stutter and start unzipping his black denim jeans. You've seen a lot of porn videos to make sure you were prepared for the next step with Jungkook, but you have no experience with penetration.

And he realizes that rather quickly when you're so meek with your actions. With a groan, he asks, "You're not a fucking virgin, are you?"

"I've been saving it for the right guy," you answer with offence. This is a special occasion, and you want him to take it as seriously as you do. But it's definitely not a good idea to be snarky with him when you can barely remember the steps for safe sex. "Do you have a condom?"

"It's in my pocket," he grumbles and points at his front without taking it out himself. You're excited and nervous as you tear the wrapper and take out the preservative. You have no idea how to put it on, but you're topping so you clumsily push down his briefs. Jungkook is surprisingly throbbing under you, and you blush at the sight of his erection.

He stops himself from teasing you and saying that the girl from earlier gave him this boner, but he doesn't want to be cruel yet. It's your first time, and truthfully, he jacks off to thought of you too often anyway. He can handle being somewhat nice by staying quiet, but that doesn't mean he would teach you how to put on a condom.

You slip it on with little struggle, and don't waste any time in positioning his cock in your entrance. Before he can stop you, you sink down on his length with a painful moan. He wants to tell you that losing your virginity in this position is the most painful, but instead he groans, "Holy shit, how are you so fucking tight?"

It hurts so fucking bad. Your tear ducts are like clockwork as they water instantly, but you lower yourself down to the hilt anyway. You're quite literally sitting on his cock as you try to catch your breath because God, you're in so much pain.

"Fuck, are you okay?" he asks, but he's more worried about controlling himself from fucking into you before you can adjust. It's difficult, but he's trying.

"Jungkook," you whimper quietly with your eyes screwed shut, "it hurts."

"You're so fucking dumb for doing this, but you feel so fucking good," he pants as he holds your hips.

"Thank you," you muster out in a breath. A few seconds pass until the pain starts to numb, and you move against him very slowly. Your walls are stinging, but it feels like Heaven for Jungkook who you clench down on.

"Go up and down," he instructs with a bit lip. He tries to move your hips, but you're resisting in fear of another shock of pain. "Come on!"

"Can you wait?" you hiss through clenched teeth.

He's trying to rile you up when he says, "Sana wouldn't take this fucking long."

And it works, because you bounce once. "Don't say her name!"

He groans at your tightness, and he can't believe how wet you are. You're dripping on him, and he curses himself for holding back because of your hopeless romance. He can't entertain your conservative way of going on about this any longer, so he continues, "She would have made me cum by now, but this prissy princess can't even get a move on."

It's almost pathetic how one push from Jungkook makes you start moving, and it feels less uncomfortable to hop up and down against his pelvis. The filthy sound of slapping skin mixing with the generic radio music is making you feel so slutty because it's so stereotypical, but when Jungkook moans, it brings heat all over your body. You take your sweater off when sweat begins to cumulate on your temples, and he commands, "Take off your bra too."

He's thrusting into you as you unclasp the black material, freeing your breasts as he finds his new eyecandies. You are so pretty, your nipples are so hard, and your cunt sucks him in so perfectly. It almost upsets him when he realizes how much pleasure he's deprived himself of; the amount only you seem to be able to provide, because it's beyond physical intimacy.

"Good girl," he exhales and gently slams into you with his hands fondling your tits. You smile coyly through your tears, and he asks, "Does it still hurt?"

You contemplate for a second, because you don't feel the best yet, but you don't want to disappoint Jungkook either. "I-It doesn't," you lie.

Jungkook mentally rolls his eyes; he really wants to believe you so he can chase his high, but he sees right through you. He slaps your tit without mercy and chastises you, "don't lie. I thought this was your little moment of control."

"I'm sorry," you pout as you slowly ride him.

"Another lie," he slaps your other tit more harshly and you yelp.

"I'm not lying!" you plead and hasten your pace, desperate to sell your lie. It's working, because you're starting to feel a knot in your stomach the more you adjust.

He moans with you, and you lose yourself when he stills your hips and begins to fuck you himself. It's rough, loud, and the pain is your pleasure. His balls slap against your skin as he easily slides in and out of you with the help of your arousal. Your love dawns on him when you're so turned on for him without any foreplay, and he's on cloud nine because nothing can compare to being inside you.

The setting is so unlike you, fucking in someone's bedroom with a bunch of people behind the unlocked door who can barge in at any given moment, but he finds it so sexy. You only care about being with him, and you really do look like his slut now.

His hands start holding onto your ass, kneading it until it turns red with his fingerprints, and he demands you to kiss him. You're out of it, your ears are ringing and you can only moan out his name, but you can't bear to ignore him. Your lips fall on his, and the kiss is sloppy with his tongue all over your mouth. You can't keep up, but your chest swells with pride when you realize how needy he is for you. He goes as far as to spit in your mouth, and you swallow it without hesitation.

"You want me to play with your clit?" he murmurs against your lips, and his voice sounds so airy and melodic to your ears. "Hm? Want me to make you feel good, little slut?"

You whine without a clear response because his lips feel so soft and wet, and that's the only thing you can focus on. All you want to do is kiss him and he doesn't stop you from doing so, but you're even more overwhelmed when he starts touching you while penetrating you. "No," you whimper, "I'll cum."

"A slut can take it," he grunts and rubs your clit faster, and you come undone all too soon. You moan loudly as you tremble, shaking as he rides out your high with a pinch to your clit. You're numb when you collapse on top of him, but he's relentless with his thrusts. He's using your body as you intended, and he's vocal with his pleasure and teasing climax. It's remarkable how he holds you up when you've gone limp and still fucks you just as hard.

You want to record his voice when he starts to whine pathetically, but you have no energy left within. He's panting in your ear, and it's not long before his hips fall on the mattress with a sigh. He's surprised by how powerful his orgasm was, as he fills the condom with his release instantly. His cock is still nestled inside you as both of you recover from your climax.

"Get off," he taps your thigh, and he pushes you off when you don't obey immediately. Your spell has worn off as he starts to dress himself. "I'm going back to the dorms." You listen to him with your mind in a haze. "Unless you want to get raped on your way without me, get the fuck up now."

"Can you carry me please?"

He shrugs and swings your arm over his shoulder, picking up your body with ease. He collects your clothes in his hand, but doesn't hand them to you as he steps out of the room.

"W-Wait, Jungkook, I'm naked-"

"You're my girl, no? Be a good slut and shut the fuck up."

Dangling off his shoulder with your bare tits pressed against his back, you close your eyes and drift off on the way to campus.

Boyfriends typically drop their girlfriends off anyway, right?