#its like. but this is the only way i can even feel anything about this theme this actually makes me wanna try

[ariaste]

Apparently there was some lil drama in Good Omens fandom again about people being deeply nervous and scared of the end of Season 3, and I wrote this in the replies of one of the asks that Neil Gaiman answered, but I feel like it is deserving of being crossposted into its own post (in a slightly expanded form) so folks actually see it.

cmere, good omens fandom, we're having an intervention. a Come To Jesus talk, if you will.

First of all, I'm literally begging the fandom to:

learn what personal boundaries are, especially around parasocial relationships with strangers. (Suggestion: When sending asks to authors you like, use "polite work email" etiquette, not "joking with a friend" etiquette. The latter comes off REAL weird sometimes, and sometimes outright mean/rude/bullying).

take a couple deep fucking breaths

embrace the philosophy of The Author's Intent Only HAS To Matter To The Author, It Does Not Have To Matter To YOU. If you do not like the author's intent, you can say "hmmmm no thanks" and write some fanfic. That's what it's for.

Friends, Romans, countrymen..... Stop trying to make Neil Gaiman responsible for your happiness. For one thing, that is an absolutely unfair and cruel burden to put on a stranger who doesn't know you. Neil is only responsible for Neil's happiness. You're responsible for your own happiness. In fact, do not rely on ANY external source to guarantee your happiness, not even very nice people like Neil, not even your significant other, not even your family members. Yes, those people might be able to help you with your happiness, but they cannot guarantee it. Expecting a third party to guarantee your happiness is how corporations exploit you, and it is the source of all media trauma. Take agency over your own joy! Don't give away your power! Plan to DIY your personal ideal ending!

Neil is not telepathic, Neil cannot know all your hopes and dreams and wishes, nor SHOULD he be expected to know them, nor does he have space to know them. He is busy with things like his own and Terry's hopes and dreams and wishes. Their hopes/dreams/wishes are just as valid and important as yours, aren't they? Yes, they are. So calm down. caaaaaaaallllllm dowwwwwn.

Yes, I love the show very much too, but at the end of the day it is just a story. And the great thing about stories is that you are empowered to retell them in a different way. It is not real, so if you end up unsatisfied by S3, then blithely impose your own reality and build your own joy. It's not like it's the End Of The World or anything (lil fandom joke there for you)

And look, if you read this and you're feeling Mad and Upset or Frustrated about it, that is a symptom that you are maybe feeling a little stung in your Media Trauma parts. I am sorry that other stories have let you down in the past, and I really sympathize that you are feeling scared about the fate of this story that really matters to you. You've invested a lot of love into it! I really understand the fear! You don't want to be hurt again, and that's super understandable and normal.

But bestie, literally the only way for you to find a story that's exactly perfect for you and that won't hurt you at all is for you to write it yourself. I know that sucks to hear, but it is the truth. If you keep pinning a hope of perfection on other people's stories, you will keep getting traumatized by the media you consume. Love other people's stories for what they ARE, not for the stories that you WANTED them to be -- the same way that we love people, you know? You have to let a person be their own person; you can't force them to be someone else. That's fucked up, so if you notice that you keep trying to do that, maybe go to therapy so you can be that Someone-Else person for yourself (or, if you can't afford therapy, read some self-help books from the library or find some good channels on Youtube who make content that might help with that (I really like JulienHimself)).

If you need a story to be something big and important for you, if you are seeking catharsis and healing from a story that matters to you and you're really scared that you won't get it, then open a Word document and start typing. You can do it. You're a human being, and you evolved to tell stories. Literally it's a species specialization. You got this. It's gonna be okay, because you're going to seize the means of production and MAKE it okay. Yes? Yes.

Good Omens S3 will be what it will be. It will be what Neil wants it to be and what Terry would have wanted it to be. Period. That IS actually the highest achievement and the most noble and admirable accomplishment that we can hope for. And hey, maybe what they want overlaps with what you want, and that will be wonderful! But that will be merely a happy coincidence. The only person who can TRULY center your wants is YOU. So stop trying to trap Neil into doing it, please, because he's busy and it's not his job, AND because your wants do matter and you deserve to have someone who can give your wants their 100% full attention (aka you. that's you. only you can do that. Not even your best friends in the world can do it. Not even your mom can do it, at least not if you're old enough to know how to read.)

It's gonna be okay. Really. Really, it is. No, stop typing the snarky melodramatic reply. This is not the time for jokes; I'm being serious. It's going to be okay. Neil Gaiman can only break your heart exactly as much as you allow him to do so. That's how art works. You have to consent in order to be affected by it, and you can withdraw your consent at any time. You're going to be okay. I promise. As long as you choose to claim your own agency and your own empowerment as an individual, then all will be well and all manner of things will be well.

[b14augrana]

‘The Death Of You’

The pursuit to being the greatest of all time comes above everything, including your health.

Barça Femení x reader

masterlist

Warnings: slight overshadowing of injury

A/N: edited this author’s note way too many times buttttttt im not making a pt 2 of this because its just a silly little blurb that’s been rotting in my drafts and thats i wanna say okay thanks enjooooyyyyy

“When you think of passion, you think of someone that does anything for their club, and that’s (Y/N). The blaugrana is everything to her, and it is a part of her. She puts the badge before herself, and all she emits, all they admire of her, everything she represents, is Barça.

(Y/N) is Barça, Barça is (Y/N)” — Mapi León.

For Barça, you would give your life. You have put your body on the line and taken the hits until your skin turns the colours of the jersey you truly believe you’ll die in.

It’s what your mother says will eventually kill you. Going down with the jersey, for the jersey, your love for the greatest club in the world coming before all. It’s proof, almost, that Barcelona is so great, it’s worth dying for.

But, the funny thing is, you hadn’t loved living in Barcelona growing up. In fact, you hated everything about it. It felt like an asylum or some sort of confinement where the only things left to stare at are the four walls you’re enclosed by, except, those four walls were littered with posters of men you constantly watched play at the stadium of your dreams, and the only thing that made staring at those four walls so much of a punishment is the fact you were a girl and there was no such thing as a woman footballer.

You had shitty friends to remind you of that every single time they caught you stopping in the street (though you don’t even stop, your foot just drags along the ground a bit slower than usual) just to take a closer look at a mural of some Barça legend.

You hated living in Barcelona because you had nobody on your side that believed there was a place for you or any other woman behind the huge, towering walls of Camp Nou.

Barcelona went from being an asylum to a garden that was nurtured with every match played and goal scored, a title or medal sprouting from the buds of every stem and bush.

You would die for Barcelona. Hell was worth living through, for Barcelona, just to feel whatever emotion devoured you when you step out to a full stadium in the famous blue and garnet.

You want to be the best. That comes above everything — there is no point in devoting your life to something if you’re not going to be the best at it, and you had given more than what was required for Barça.

What you also want is to create a legacy not only for yourself, but the club as well, one title at a time. A legacy associated with winning, and being the greatest of all time. The last thing you need to implement this reputation? The Champions League.

You take in the stadium, the raindrop-covered grass, the noise. That headache inducing noise, caused by the record attendance in the stadium. The headache inducing noise that, when you focus on it, begins to become coherent and recognisable as the Barcelona anthem. With every step closer to the pitch, you find it harder to pay attention to anything around you, and the anxiety in your stomach is more apparent than ever before.

You kill the period of time between exiting the tunnel and finding your place on the field by warming up (or in other words, doing whatever you can to shake the nerves). You step out onto the pitch and feel the pinch of the cold wind which, for some reason, elicits an epiphany; the only thing separating you and that trophy is these 90 minutes.

Those 90 minutes drag on. Pass after pass, unsuccessful dribble after unsuccessful dribble, you’re not getting any closer to the goal but you can’t feel disheartened or unmotivated because all you have is 90 minutes. Everything can change in 90 minutes.

Everything does change. You don’t know how it happened, or who passed you the ball, or whether you even called for it, but you had it and you were moving quickly with it. Managing to glide past Renard, leaving her behind you to grapple at your jersey hopelessly, you find yourself up against Endler on your own.

Although there are 20 other players on the pitch, discarded behind you, it feels like it’s just you and Endler in an empty stadium. The goal looks bigger than it should be as your foot swings down onto the ball, and the raucous noise of the stadium can only intensify when the ball just misses the tip of Endler’s glove and meets the back of the net.

It is hard to ignore the unfamiliar discomfort in your knee, but you do it anyways. You run off to celebrate and don’t pay it another thought. You don’t mention it to anyone amidst the celebrations because how could you possibly ruin this moment, and it’s basically gone by the time you return to the midfield.

For a moment, there's hope. Your goal sparks new light into the eyes of your teammates. One golden boot shines brighter than a golden glove and there's a connection between your foot and the ball that just makes sense, and it's put away in the back of the net.

But when the ball starts rolling again and it meets the feet of Van de Donk, you realise 1 goal isn't enough.

No, it's like hanging off the edge of a cliff, fingers clawing for whatever jagged edge of a rock they can reach, clinging onto the little thing you have keeping you up. But with every minute, every intercepted pass, missed or deflected shots, the cliffside is crumbling.

Lyon is an exceptional team. That's why they manage to put one past Sandra, and you're back to square one. Your mind, drunk on pride, pushes you to do more, to give more. Your body feels like it can't possibly give anything more, yet you still run up and down the pitch without slowing down once and you throw yourself at the ball every time you find the opportunity.

It’s what your mother says will eventually kill you.

So it does, internally. When the final whistle pierces your ears and the minority of Lyon fans in the crowd burst into cheers, it kills you, because you would die for this club and it hurts to come so close but fall short.

The winning legacy you were so close to completing, was now tainted by your failure to actually win.

Your knee also hurts. A lot.

You lie down on the pitch, its soggy and uneven surface being the only comfort you have in this place where everywhere you look, there are reminders that you’re not good enough. The more you think about all the sacrifices and things you put on the line for this title, you wonder, ‘When’s it gonna be my turn?’

Disappointed fans filing out of the exits, your teammates surrounding you trying to hold in their tears, the dancing and celebrating from Lyon.

The sound of sniffles can be heard from beside you, and you roll over to see Mapi, her eyes bloodshot and her cheeks dusted with patches of red.

As you line up to receive your medal, you don’t even want to wear it. Silver will never be better than gold, there’s nothing good about being second to best, being outperformed is nothing to be proud of. But you still keep the medal on.

You hang your head and look away from the winner’s stage, because your heart is too sore to take in the fact that would’ve, could’ve, should’ve been you.

‘When’s it gonna be my turn?’

[amandabbbbb]

summary: stalker!rafe who saves pogue surfer!reader from the obx storm!

tw: stalker!rafe, dark!rafe but that’s just him tho, a storm, idk anything about boats or surfing

word count: 564

you were used to big waves. surfing is your life. you are no professional but you thought you could handle the obxs storms waves but turns out the roughness of the salt water was too much for you.

“hey hey it’s not safe out there come here i can help you get home,” a tall man yelled from his yacht, reaching out a hand for you. you felt stupid being out in a storm. when you lost the pogues and got pushed out to sea you knew your idea had become deadly so the strangers help might save you.

“here lemme help you. you are way too delicate to be out here in these tough waves, pretty girl,” rafe smirked, pulling you out of the water.

“i’m fine but i guess i’m used to smaller waves,” you said with an insecure giggle. “i’m y/n. um i live on the cut. you said you could get me home?” you said with a nervous smile, never meeting this handsome man before.

“why don’t you stay a while y/n? i got fresh clothes that you can wear and beer and snacks if you’re hungry. seriously whatever you want. i’m rafe.”

rafe was so excited to be around you. he’d been watching you surf from his yacht for months. staring at your body from a far wasn’t doing it for him anymore so when you took off your wetsuit rafe audibly moaned, standing up fast and coughing staring at your body in the pink bikini he only saw from a far distance.

“thanks, rafe but i need to get home. you’re really sweet but my friends will be worried since i got pulled into sea by the waves.” rafe made a fast excuse looking out on the horizon.

“i don’t think my boat will make it to shore. it’s just pouring now and it uh l-looks real bad. we um should probably just stay out here for the night.”

“are you sure because i think a yacht this huge can handle a storm like this.” you laughed staring at him confused.

“you think you know yachts y/n? you’re a pogue, stick to your surfboard,” rafe said laughing. you didn’t like his obnoxious joke but brushed it off.

“ya whatever, i’m a pogue. so what? can i get some clothes? i’m about to turn into a ice cube.” you rolled your eyes while walking down to the cabin exploring the living space of the boat. it was a scene straight out of a frat house nightmare, old beer cans and porn magazines.

amongst the clutter, a picture caught your eye: a girl in a pink bikini, surfing on a vibrant wave, laid provocatively on his bed. you reached out to inspect it, but he snatched it away before you could get a closer look “umm so you live here, rafe?”

“does it matter?” rafe frowned as you put on his old shirt and sarah’s sweatpants over your bikini, you asked “no but um where am i gonna sleep stranger? you know this is a major stranger danger situation right now.” you laughed, pointing at the both of you.

he smirked at your bubbly personality that he’d seen from afar as he would watch you at kook and pogue bonfire parties.

“next to me,” rafe said, watching your every movement. “no, that’d be weird. i don’t even know you. i’ll sleep on the couch, it’s no big deal,” you said so casually. mad at your rejection, rafe stood up, hovering over you.

“just seriously y/n. you can trust me ok? just stay in the bed with me, it’s cold out,” rafe said with intensity. as you noticed his blue eyes getting darker and his body getting closer, he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “you know,” he whispered, his voice sending ripples of unease through you, “you always fidget with your necklace when you’re nervous, your fingers trace its outline when you’re anxious.”

your heart skipped a beat. how did he know about that? it was like he could read your mind. feeling exposed, you backed away. his gaze locked into yours, making you feel vulnerable and like he had uncovered parts of you that were meant to stay hidden. you noticed the storm seemed to be calming down since rafe pulled you up on the cameron’s yacht. a perfect getaway.

“you know what uh i- i can handle these waves. don’t worry about me. thanks for helping me though,” you said as you bent over to pick up your wetsuit and surfboard. he grabbed your bicep forcefully pulling you up. he thought of every excuse but couldn’t manage to create one.

“no, no you can’t leave ok.” rafe stated, grabbing you by the wrist firmly. “yo dude, don’t fucking touch me. i don’t even know you.” as you scoff at him, you look deep into his blue eyes and recognize him, letting his rough hands grip onto your waist. you couldn’t put your finger on where from.

“dont fucking dude me. god you are such a pogue. y’know you do know me. i’m rafe. i’m someone you can trust y/n. imma proactive person. if i wasn’t there to help you get out of those waves who knows what could’ve happened to you. i protect you. i’ve been protecting you for months for fucks sake and you don’t appreciate me.”

a/n: idk maybe a part 2 is needed??? send me ur thots!

[hkthatgffan]

I really did not wanna talk about this stupid topic, but with so many people falling for it, I figured I should; THE DIRECT ARTICLE ABOUT A GRAVITY FALLS REVIVAL IS A FUCKING LIE!! Lemme explain below why!!

Ever since this article by The Direct was published, way too many people are thinking Gravity Falls is really coming back and the usual season 3 belief is spreading yet again. And of course, YouTubers who should know better made videos on it and other "journalists" are spreading this lie. Here's the real facts! The executive in the article NEVER alluded to a revival. All they said is that Alex is publishing a book (The Book of Bill) and there's some shorts being made. All this article is basing its claim on is the phrase, "Never say Never!" Alex has had a deal with Netflix since 2018. Under that deal, he cannot make new cartoons for other networks, including Disney and Gravity Falls. He can voice on non Netflix shows and help in small ways like he did on TOH, but he cannot make a new show outside Netflix.

The shorts they are alluding to are confirmed to be likely stuff like the Broken Karaoke series on Disney Channel's YouTube page or theme song takeover stuff. Disney TVA News, while not 100% the most reliable source, has suggested that as the case and given Alex was at DTVA in April recording something per an Instagram story he made, it makes the most sense. What's more, there is a rumoured short being made for The Book of Bill which this could be meaning. Notice how it has no indication of a revival? Alex Hirsch has said he has ideas for GF stories, but they are more book centric. Heck, in me and Hana's interview alone he alluded to Stan and Ford stories he'd wanna do if given the chance to make another graphic novel. That is all!

And speaking of Alex…he's not said shit on this! He's not tweeted about it or liked any tweet about it. And Alex has said in the past to not believe anyone claiming Gravity Falls is coming back unless he says so himself on Twitter. So, take a guess what I did? I messaged him!! I was in talks with Alex recently for another video I'm making later in the future and asked him about this article during it. Without leaking our DM's, Alex said straight up, this article is all "just talk!" It's clickbait! Alex Hirsch confirmed it is clickbait!!

Direct is lying to you and so is anyone else saying this is real or that Gravity Falls is coming back! It just isn't. The only person who you should believe about this stuff is Alex Hirsch himself and he clearly has said it's not. And even supposing Direct is telling the truth about this executive saying something is possible, it's just gonna be book or small shorts stuff…NOT a season 3 or reboot, or revival or spin off series. I know that stuff is pretty popular to talk about, hell, I'd kill for a Gravity Falls prequel story myself. But it's not happening.

But with that said, I hope this post helped you better understand what is up. This article is a sham and a joke to the field of journalism. Do your damn job and tell the truth instead of making clickbait shit that will get you ad revenue! People who write articles like this are a joke and I feel bad for anyone who falls for their BS! These articles will never stop being made, so it's up to you all to be smart and not fall for them.

Remember, if Alex Hirsch doesn't say anything about it, it's not legit!!

Stay informed properly out there! New videos coming soon :)

[nymphiria]

♱ : 𝐈’𝐕𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃… — SUNDAY!

fem!reader, fluff, in love with sunday’s wings, he’s a little floofy, possessive sunday if you squint, i wanna bite him :), definitely didn’t proofread but i came out of the woodworks for this man

there’s something that you’d noticed about 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 that for some reason you hadn’t before. it wasn’t the way that he preened himself in the mirror before a meeting, nor was it how he pinched the bridge of his nose whenever an issue was placed upon his desk. the oak family head was pristine — every detail on and of his person was hard to miss. so, how is it that you never took note of it before?

the new dress that you purchased from a boutique in golden hour was simply gorgeous. the ornamentation that decorated the silky garment glimmered under the glow of your bedroom lights. as you admired yourself in the mirror, the soft click of the bedroom door alerted you to your lover’s arrival. you giddily ran into the bathroom before he had the chance to see you.

“dearest?”, he called, brows furrowed at the thought of where you might be. with your voice muffled from behind the door, you answered, “in here!”

moments later, you opened the door and twirled to show off all of the lace and pearls that you were dreaming about wearing for weeks on end. it took an enormous amount of effort to hide such a purchase but you felt that the wait would be worth it. if one thing about sunday was true, it was that he adored seeing you all dolled up — especially for him.

truly, in sunday’s eyes, you looked like the most divine creation that would ever grace the universe with its presence. he wanted every facet of you — body, mind, and soul. part of him wanted to drop to his knees and thank his god for blessing him with your existence, though the other felt a twinge of embarrassment for his internal thoughts. stunned in both shock and revelry, his face only portrayed minimal expression besides his now open mouth and wide eyes.

for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel that he was …disappointed in what he saw. was your dress not pretty enough? did it not suit your body as much as you thought it did? perhaps he felt it was unwise to spend as much money as you did on something as unnecessary as a new dress. before the feelings of doubt could sink its way in, the wings adorning your lover’s head flapped once, then twice — fluffy feathers puffing out and making him look even softer.

“d-did your,” you stuttered in surprise. “did they just…“ the seemingly stoic look on sunday’s face was quickly replaced by a deep flush from his cheeks to his neck. the halovian’s wings desperately attempted to cover his blushing face but did little to help ease his embarrassment.

looking back, you can distantly recall hearing the quiet flutter of feathers the first time you kissed your lover on the cheek. his expression then did little to betray how flustered he truly was on the inside. he remained as poised as he always did only with a light pink dusting his cheeks. just how many times were you oblivious to the sight?

a wide smile spread across your face as moved towards your lover to stroke through his hair. “so,” your hand moved to play with his feathers. “i’m assuming you like the dress, then?”

“of course i do,” he looked away from your playful gaze. “you always look stunning in everything you put on.”

you giggled, “well then, mr. sunday, why have i not seen your wings jump at anything else i wear? you almost flew away when you saw this dress.”

sunday gently removed the hand that was stroking his hair to cup the warmth of his cheek, “simply put…”

“it would be rather improper to show just how weak you make me.”

[bonefall]

do you have any tips for writing a low empathy character who isn't evil? Or how to make an interesting apathetic character who's a thoughtless sort of evil? These are two different chatacters btw-

I tried looking up examples and stuff but uh. It's been a bit fruitless.

Honestly it's not too hard! Having low empathy just means we're bad at automatically "connecting" to the feelings of other people. You can come to understand it's not even a character flaw once you uncouple the idea that Empathy = Kindness. And apathy, well, that one's a bit more complicated imo.

Low Empathy

In English, it's just unfortunately super common to conflate Empathy and Compassion. To have compassion is to be aware of the suffering of another person, and ergo, want to help stop it. To be empathetic is to identify with and understand the feelings of another person. These are different things.

For an example in action; imagine a medic with a patient whose shoulder is dislocated, and xey'll need to pop that arm back in place in order for the patient to feel better.

A medic feeling EMPATHY for that patient is having an emotional response to what xey're seeing. Xey might have a tingly "ghost pain" thinking about the injury, and xey might feel guilty xey're going to put them in more agony, but also joy because this patient is going to feel much better in just a moment.

A medic feeling COMPASSION for that patient is thinking about how the shoulder must be causing a lot of pain, and knows xey have the skill to fix it. Xey know from xeir own experience that pain sucks and so it is a bad thing that needs to go away. It will hurt a little more for a moment, but then there will be immediate relief.

This is imo, why a lot of low empathy people are "bad at" comforting people without going to Autism College where they give you the scripts of Shit Neurotypicals Say. We're not trying to be selfish when we end up making "comfort sessions" about ourselves-- that's what we think empathy is, because we don't have a lot of it to really know what you want.

Like, doesn't it make sense to you? "I don't know what you're feeling. Here's a similar situation I've been though. I must know what you're feeling-- does that make you feel better? That you aren't alone? I think that's what empathy is, am I right?"

A LOT of low empathy people go into medical fields, the funeral industry, and disaster relief. We often really do want to help people so seek these fields out, or when we get there, just end up not getting burnt out like our high-empathy peers!

Apathy

As for the apathetic character, honestly, I'd suggest thinking about your story's themes. Villains are very special to me and I always try to handle them with care. What are you trying to say is bad to not care about in your work? How does their apathy play into the story you're trying to tell?

A Captain Planet villain is completely selfish, and exists only to benefit itself by exploiting nature in some way. Then the Planeteers show up and punch it in the face. Boiled down to its barest, most simple essentials; "We have conflicting goals and so I will stop you."

Personally I find total apathy to be something not especially compelling in villains, for that reason. Like, if you really don't care about anything, why bother with the trouble of going against the protag? Motivation is meant to be MOTIVATING.

(also ngl I'm on the Shadow As A Hero sort of bandwagon where I find it much funnier for the simple apathetic cool edgy guy to be the funniest person on your tennis team)

Dungeon Meshi has TWO characters who struggle with apathy, and are both antagonists at some points in the story, but never villains. Shuro and Mithrun. The theme of Dungeon Meshi is the beauty and complexity of life, the value of living, and how our connections to others changes the people we are. Food is a metaphor for bonding, self-care, and understanding.

For Shuro, he begins the story as someone who's both been encouraged to bottle up his emotions for the sake of other people, as well as to not actually consider the emotions of those lower-born than him. He's from a very different place than the other members of his party, and this causes friction as class, culture, and sophisticated, refined, weapons-grade autism clashes.

When the woman he loves is eaten by a dragon, he doesn't stop to tell her brother and """childhood friend""" what he's planning, as if they both wouldn't run in and get hurt. He owns demi-humans. He doesn't consider his own needs or the needs of his rescue team of loyal vassals. As a result, he's too weak to continue, losing a fistfight with one of the main characters, Laios.

After this, he connects with him for the very first time, and reaches out to him by giving him an important magic item. There's even a MASSIVE moment where he outright tells Laios that his ability to be so open (read: not have to mask his autism) is something he envies, breaking through that veil of apathy he wears.

The story Dungeon Meshi is telling here is that it is important to value the needs of yourself and of others. Shuro's apathy towards his own needs in a bid to prove his love weakened him. In acting like he was above his old teammates, he never spoke to them like people to smooth out his issues. He's never even noticed how much his vassals love and care for him.

(and the incredible irony is not lost on me, that Shuro's name is because Laios mispronounced it and was never corrected... while Shuro never noticed that Izutsumi had the unwanted name "Asebi" forced onto her when she was "taken in" and made his slave.)

See how that comes back to the theme? Shuro doesn't exist to just "be some asshole" or act like a villain. He has a full character arc that contributes to the narrative.

For Mithrun? I won't even spoil it. Go read Dungeon Meshi. Watch elf depression. We love a king with strabismus.

Anyway,

If you ever need good personal resources on any stigmatized mental condition, I've found it's usually productive to go into the #Actually (Thing) tag here on Tumblr. You can find people posting about basically anything. I found a lot of really good resources on NPD that way.

[soobpricity]

saudade love 🫧

pilot ; you’re my lover <3

pairing : actor!soobin and actress!yn

love triangles :(

synopsis : actress!yn and actor!soobin are forced by their companies to date as a publicity stunt to promote their latest releases. however what’s to happen when yn and soobin spend more and more time together even though yn’s closest friend is keeping secrets.

“last question..” the mc announces before letting a reporter take the lead on the final question.

“soobin and yn, throughout the filming process of saudade love. the two of you were rumored to be seeing each other as more than just friends, can we get some kind of response to that ?” the reporter in front of you asks. you and soobin sitting on a theater-like stage, two high chairs next to each other. while on the other side of the stage was the director of saudade love, and a few supporting cast members.

saudade love was the new film that you had just starred in, alongside soobin, who played the main male lead. the plot was a story about yn meeting chaebol soobin. issues arising within yn’s family, which end up harming her relationship with soobin. never being able to get an end to her family’s ruthless behavior towards her, she only seems to find comfort in soobin. soobin, who comes from a wealthy family, is forced into a marriage, any kind of rebellious actions from soobin during the wedding is covered up. soobin ends up giving in, yn ends up even more hurt as it gets harder and harder to keep their secretive relationship as a healthy relationship. however, the two still only seem to feel happy around each other, the only issue being each other’s families. yet it is enough to keep them apart.

you knew that there were going to be issues with your so-called ‘controversial’ ending, since it wasn’t necessarily a happy ending, not many people were too pleased. but there was another majority of people, or rather yours and soobins fans, that enjoyed the movie due to its rawness. not every single relationship was going to end in the most fairytale way. which was exactly what saudade love’s message was trying to deliver, although it seemed to go over others’ heads.

you laugh a bit into the microphone, knowing exactly what you were supposed to do and how your company wanted you to react. taking the microphone up close to your lips, not exactly letting the two touch. you put on a flushed image, as you turn to look to soobin, who also knew his part of the live script the two of you were supposed to follow. his lips turning upwards, attempting to look rather confident about the situation, and it was working.. after all he was an actor.

“me and soobin…” you pause, taking a second to smile to yourself. looking up instead of looking at the crowd full of photographers, reporters, and journalists, a few fans in the crowd as well. “i thought we had announced a response, but i suppose not. me and soobin have been seeing each other. something about us during filming saudade love.. it just seemed to click.. we’re a few dates into our relationship but i hope that everyone will support us and our decision to be together.”

and with that, the crowd cheers, journalists and reporters typing as quick as they can. photographers snapping their pictures to use on articles that are probably being released within the next second. soobin grinned, bringing his mic up to his mouth. the image of two lovestruck actors up on stage manipulating the minds of the entire media. you looked at soobin with a tiny smile on your face. putting your best heart eyes on display.

“i think the people who have seen saudade love will notice, but the love that the two characters display is not something you can act out..” it’s funny, because he’s completely spewing out nonsense. the two of you are just convincing actors, using all the skills you’ve learned to play out your character. “at one point during filming, i stopped thinking of the script and i just started seeing yn as yn, no character or anything. i think our relationship was inevitable. yn was the sweetest person i could ever meet.” that’s a lie, well you weren’t necessarily mean, but the two of you never even spoke outside of necessary means. “i turned to her when i needed help, and she was always there to listen. not to mention, anytime yn was around, i couldn’t help but feel a certain way..” soobin grinned shyly, trying to convince everyone that he was simply too shy to continue on. which worked as majority of the audience were in complete awe.

the mc picks up his own mic, “let’s give a round of applause to our newly discovered couple !!” he pauses letting the crowd take over with their clapping, “since that was our last question, the cast and crew will give their goodbyes now !”

you stood up along with everyone, giving a bow to thank the crowd for their time and attention. afterwards you link pinkies with soobin, attempting to keep up the image of the new shy couple.

release date: tba !!

an : AHHHH!! so happy to be back, i feel quite refreshed since im back after seeing txt…. three times 😁😁 BUT im so ready to put out posts, remember how i said i was gonna pre-write ? well that didn’t work out because i had like 0 inspiration, i feel like i work better under pressure…

taglist (send asks !) : @run2seob @soobadooba @mrsyawnzzn @matcha-binz @taehyhunnzly @20crowsinahoodie @lun4kazumii @lunathewritingcat @wonjws

[mrsparrasblog]

I can treat you better than he can

Summary: You were hopeless in love with your Captain who pushed you away denying his own feelings for you, maybe this time he pushed you in the wrong hands.

Pairing: Keegan x Reader ( Callsign Sunshine)

Words: 2500 I think

A/N: This is a small chapter of my fic Nightmares become true solider(my first fic and the love of my life but its to long for Tumblr so I post stand alone chapters) The fic is written in an I perspective

TW: canon typical violence and swearing, sex, oral sex, fingering, spanking, cumplay, reader is a pervert, Keegan too, Price is an idiot, Reader is unhinged

Defeated, I walked over to the boys, leaving John alone by the bar. Well, he sure will join us later; why shouldn't he? "John doesn't want to join."

"Better for us, old man is always winning," Ghost said. Even in the bar, he wore a mask—not his hardshell mask he wore on missions, but a skull-faced balaclava—making him look like he was about to rob the place.

Confidently, I tried to challenge Ghost, saying that I could surely win a second time. "Maybe Kyle and I will win against you and Soap."

"Not possible."

We played some rounds of pool in which every single round Ghost and Soap won, surprising not only because of Ghost's skills. Soap was the best pool player I had ever seen; he was super focused, and every shot was a hit. After a while of sore losses, we decided to sit down in a booth. The bar was crowded with lots of soldiers and girls who wanted to find themselves a military guy. To be honest, I couldn't judge them. Military men were toxic but so damn attractive.

Even through the crowded space, we could see the Ghost Team sitting in a booth, still with their masks on, and drinking. They didn't seem disappointed in their loss. I saw a lot of similarities between them and us; anyone could easily see that they were more than just a unit—a family like us. Well, maybe like the four boys and me as a distant cousin taking up all the space at a family gathering.

"You sure don't want to drink, lass? Celebrate our win; we are officially the best team on base again."

"I don't want to drink today; we have training tomorrow, and I don't want to throw up on the mat."

"You sound like a mom," Kyle complained, and Ghost almost gagged when he heard this.

"Aye, look, Captain is flirting with a bonnie." As I heard this, I turned around, capturing the scene in front of me. John was sitting at the bar with a woman—worse, a pretty woman who looked like the complete opposite of me—and not just in a different hair type way—in a different figure, appearance, style, hair color, height way—everything about her was different. She looked so stunning; the boys, well, more like Kyle, repeated over and over again how gorgeous that woman was and how the captain normally doesn't pick up girls at the bar—but probably made an exception for her because that woman was stunning. 

If I hadn't been so jealous, I probably would have had a panic attack right now. I observed the pair—how she touched his chest, giggling and whispering into his ears—and he looked happier than just happy, delighted, lucky, elated, cheerful, joyful, content, and ecstatic—and every word in this universe to describe his smile. He didn't look repulsed or anything at all. Right now, I feel incredibly stupid. For a blink of a second, I thought that maybe he would like me too. He held me, he comforted me, and God, we almost kissed—but maybe it was just my delusion feeding me with unrealistic dreams for the sake of my hopeless romantic heart. I definitely made him uncomfortable; he was surely disgusted and repulsed by me for how I behaved and how I looked because in no way in heaven did I look like her.

"Captain is a lucky bastard."

"Quiet, Kyle."

I didn't listen to the banter of the boys; the only thing worth my concentration was John and how he laughed with this beautiful woman, and how I desperately wished it was me instead of her.  But life wasn't fair, and I was so freaking dumb for believing I had a chance. She sat down on John's lap. Would it be crazy to threaten her to leave him alone? She surely wasn't military-trained, and with her perfectly manicured nails, she would have trouble fighting me, but was it really her fault? She did nothing wrong, and I still wanted to gut that bitch out. Pardon me, I mean woman. As their lips touched each other after moments of anticipation, I almost lost it, but in fact, it strengthened my self-awareness, and finally, I knew all I thought happened between John and me was pure imagination. 

I took Ghost's Terrible Bourbon out of his hand and chugged it down as if it were orange juice. Kyle and Soap looked at me as if I had just murdered their grandma, but Ghost had a knowing expression. How did that little shit notice my utterly cringe and embarrassing hopeless crush on the Captain?

"That Bourbon was expensive, Sergeant."

"I'll pay you back," I claimed—I won't—and he knew.

He almost whispered an act of kindness to him to not address it in front of Kyle and Soap, who wouldn't let me hear the end of this. "It will pass."

"What?"

"The feeling."

As I saw John and the pain of my existence making out like teenagers, I had finally enough. John had his fun, fine; I can also have much fun and forget that wixxer. Without responding to Ghost or entertaining Soap and Kyle's curious expressions and Kyle's question if I got my period, I left the table, walking straight to the table with the American mask boys. I will definitely regret this tomorrow, but tonight I don't care.

"Keegan, right? Come with me."

"Doll, do you really want to be a sore winner and rub your win under my nose?"

"I thought more of a consolation prize or how you say these things in English."

"Are you not a native English speaker?"

"And there I thought my accent was a dead giveaway."

"You're annoying, kid; did someone ever tell you this?"

"Ghost constantly."

"He is a dick."

"I'd second that."

"So tell me the real reason you're requesting my presence. Don't get me wrong, Doll. I won't mind, but I want to know why I have this luck."

"Nothing, just a girl in a bar speaking with a man in a bar."

"And there I thought, after you jumped into Price's arms today, you would be his partner."

"No."

"Liar."

"Did no one teach you how to flirt, Keegan?" I scoffed.

"Doll, I know how to sweep you off your tiny feet but tell me first, am I a rebounder?"

"Yes."

"Well, we can work with that," he grinned as he flicked his cigarette away, now completely focusing on me. "It must hurt seeing him like that at the bar."

"Like hell."

"Merrick was right. Price is an idiot and a goddamn fool. He's got a dime piece right here, and he's chasing after...that!?" He gestured over to that incredible woman.

"I wouldn't describe myself as a dime piece, Keegan."

Keegan leaned closer to me. His voice is now soft and low instead of his usual hoarse voice. "I would absolutely beg to differ. You're a goddess, and he's a complete moron if he doesn't realize that. Why do you even like this guy?"

I rolled my eyes at his hyperbel. "Well, isn't it obvious? He is tall, strong, and masculinely good-looking, but that is only his appearance. He is smart and funny; I would without a doubt rely my life on him." I noticed John's glance at me. Why? It's not like Keegan was the real enemy. 

"I'd just like to point out that so am I, and I've got something he doesn't." Keegan laughed, and his laugh was magnetic.  I would lie if I said he wasn't attractive, so would this be so wrong?

I'm single and young, so fuck off, John. "Tell me what you have and what he doesn't."

His expression turns to one of pure confidence and pride. "I've got class, doll. This 'captain' of yours is off there in this nasty bar, out with a random chick, eating her face at the bar for all to see. And I'm here, paying attention to you—only to you."

"Oh, so you're a high and mighty soldier with class and only pure intentions towards me?" I chuckled as I realized I was really bad at flirting, mostly because I only relied on my good looks. And here I am constantly insulting men I am interested in.

"Only the purest intentions towards you, and I got something else that he doesn't, doll."

"If you say big dick, I'm going to cringe."

He laughed, not even insulted by my comment. "As much as I'd love to, no. No, that wasn't what I was going to say. But I'm glad that's where your mind goes first."

"Well, then we are on the same page. But I think that's the problem with me. I think like a whore, and of course, he wouldn't like me. I'm just the type for fun, you know."

"Who told you that bullshit?"

"My ex."

"Bastard, come on, doll, let me show you a great time. Forget about that stupid captain of yours."

"Maybe I should."

He lowers his voice even further while his eyes meet mine, not afraid of eye contact. "I think he's intimidated by you. I mean, look at you. Smart, beautiful, and strong—you kicked all our arses today like we were toys, and Price knows that; he has no shot with you, and instead of taking a chance, he's hiding behind another girl."

His big hands started to caress my hair, tightly gripping it in an act of dominance. He wasn't afraid of showing me that he wanted me.

"Well, that other girl is hot."

"She might be hot, but she's also clearly not you. She's just someone he can control—someone who will do whatever he wants. Just a mere civilian girl with a boring life—but you're a different story. I already know how strong you can be and how much you like to do things your own way. And that's part of what makes you so irresistible—you're more than just a pretty face; you're a great soldier too."

Fuck it. I pulled him to my height, removing his mask enough so his full lips were finally free. He had a sharp jawline and stubbles that almost tickled against my skin as I finally planted my lips on his, desperate to kiss him and feel desired. He wasn't expecting my sudden kiss and his breath hitched for a moment, his hands tightening in my hair, keeping me so close. I could feel his lips curving into a slight smile, his eyes fluttering shut as his body froze, a low masculine groan escaping his mouth as he pressed his rock-hard body against mine. His hands started to roam over my body until they found my ass, squeezing it firmly and pulling me up in his arms to close even more distance.

John's POV

"Soldiers always had a different kind of appeal to me." If she tells me one more time how she fetishizes soldiers and how she always dreamt of marrying one and being a stay-at-home mom while her husband would be on dangerous deployments, I'd gladly off myself. It wasn't wrong to want to be a stay-at-home mom; John's mom was one too, and she did way more than his old man gave her credit for, but he always hated women who only cared about his status in the military and the benefits it came with. Well, at least she was pretty.

"Do you even listen, Johnny?" Johnny, really?

"Yes, of course, sweetheart." She always blushed when he called her sweetheart, and he felt incredibly terrible for only calling her that because he couldn't, for the love of God, remember her correct name: Sarah, or Sandra; certainly not Sunshine. John thought he could erase Sunshine completely from his brain by making out with that woman. He was wrong— it only made him long for her even more. For heaven's sake. He could lie to himself and say it was that woman's fault, but she was pretty and even a bit smart—she just wasn't Sunshine, and that frustrated him. He didn't even get a physical reaction out of that woman— even his dick betrayed him.

"Oh, God, John, that woman is completely embarrassing," she gestured at something, and when John turned around, he could see it. It was his woman in the arms of that tosser, exactly like he held her today, only that they were making out. Disgusting—deep inside, he knew he couldn't judge her. He was making out with a random woman in the bar just so he could forget her, but still, his stomach built a knot that twisted him like the time he got stabbed near his kidney in Afghanistan.  He would never admit that he was jealous—jealousy was something for weak people. He never felt this way before, and he won't start now. 

It clearly only bothered him because he was one of Merrick's fellow guys; he'd probably only flirted with her because of the rivalry. And as the good captain he was, he needed to stop that, right? So his woman—uhm, his sergeant—wouldn't get hurt and be unconcentrated in missions. 

Sunshine was now sitting on Keegan's lap as he whispered things in her ear that made her sweet cheeks rise with a beautiful color. John couldn't stand this sight anymore; his knuckles turned white from the tight fist he made. He didn't even listen to the woman whom he tried to lay tonight, and as Keegan walked towards the loo, he saw his chance to act like the proper captain he was, and he went after him.

"You deserve better than me, sweetheart, someone who is emotionally available." He didn't let her form her words in protest; he only put $50 down on the table and left in the direction of the loo. He entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was used to being intimidating, and he sure as hell would intimidate that little Sergeant of Merrick. He leaned against the door frame, not saying a word at first, waiting till he noticed him. Right now, he felt strong; it had something powerfull seeing his enemy with his dick out pissing—John was fully clothed, stoic, and strong while Keegan was exposed and vulnerable. John tried to hide his smirk as he saw how he was thicker than him down there—way more for his Sun to enjoy—concentrate on the task, John.

"Sergeant Russ," he said with his hoarse voice.

"Price, what do you want?" he practically spat out.

"Touch her again, and I'll make sure that you won't be able to touch anything else." He saw the look of fear in Keegan's eyes. Of course, he was a strong soldier, but Keegan wasn't a fool and knew that Price was a real threat. 

But then he tested John's patience by saying something foolish like "jealous that you won't be the one to make her scream in pleasure tonight." John saw red, his fists held close to his body, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to beat that shit out of that bastard, but being violent isn't what makes the other scared; it's his calmness and the fact that if he loses it, it's over. 

"Care to repeat that, Russ?"

"I'm going to touch her the whole night, and you guided her into my arms like an idiot." He didn't understand what he meant by him being at fault for Sun's interest in Russ, but never in his life dared someone to call him an idiot.

"I'll give you one last chance, leave her alone."

"Or what, you kill me?" he scoffed and laughed.

"Maybe I will," he said with a low growl that signaled Keegan that he wasn't joking. 

Both fell into silence as Soap and Ghost stumbled out of one of the cabins. They clearly fucked again; he would have said something about not sleeping around in the military, but he wasn't such a hypocrite. 

Soap interfered in the situation, "Aye, calm down, Captain; he isn't worth the stain." Why did they both need to interfere? He couldn't threaten Russ properly without giving the suggestion that he was more than just a caring captain for his Sun. 

Keegan rolled his eyes, "Whatever, I'm going to fuck your little sunshine now." Before John could react, Keegan already had a fist in his face. 

Surprisingly, not from John himself but from Ghost, the reserved man who seemed to hate Sunshine with all his heart. Was he perhaps interested in his Sun? No, never. Ghost was head over heels for Soap, even if he would never admit that. But why the sudden act? Keegan left the loo with a bloody lip.

"You fucked up, John."

"I know, Simon."

Soap and Ghost left the bathroom shortly after, and John could hear the arguing, something about Soap being jealous and thinking Ghost wanted Sunshine, and Ghost replying that Soap was fucking delusional and should know his place. If he hadn't been entrenched in his own hell of drama, he would have talked to Simon. Fucking hell that evening was fucked up. 

As he left the bathroom, going to the booth of his boys, he noticed how Soap and Ghost were silent, Soap's glance almost burning in rage. Sunshine was dancing with Keegan while he groped her precious ass. John sat miserably with his own scotch, but at least Gaz was happy drinking his beer and ranting about something.

After a while, he saw Keegan pull Sun over his shoulder, and they went straight out of the bar, with her being a tipsy and giggling mess. "What a show-off," he scoffed.

"How funny that Sunny is the only one getting action tonight," Kyle looked confused as every man at the table shot him a death glare. For heaven's sake, that evening was cursed, and in all vulnerability, John hoped that this was just a one-night thing for her.

Sunshine's POV

He threw me over his shoulder and carried me out of the bar. As we walked towards his room in the base, I could already feel my arousal approaching. It took forever since we stopped always to make out.

You could say a lot about him; he is arrogant, narcissistic, and a bit crazy, but he's a damn good kisser. We reached his barrack, it was as simple as hers just that his wasn't a single. She hoped desperately that his roommate didn't bulge in. 

He pressed me against the door frame as their kiss deepened, Keegan's hand slipped under my shirt tracing soft circles on my back. His other hand slides gently around my hair pulling it towards him as a show of his dominance.

I couldn't hold back and moaned into his kiss. "Fuck it." I ripped his shirt off him ogling over his muscular frame. He was toned his pecks were perfectly sculpted, every woman would kill for that sight but I thought about John - stop it, forget John, think about Keegan.

Keegan smirked as I ripped off his shirt, his hands slowly exploring every inch of my clothed body. His touch was rough and possessive like he desperately needed me. He released a loud groan as I started to trace down his abs and prominent V line. I pulled off my shirt and bra and threw it in the corner. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of my breasts. His rough hand cupped them and his calloused fingers from his work in the military brushed across my hardened nipples. "Fuck," he breathed out his lips finding mine again in a hungry kiss. His erected dick already pressing against my stomach.

"Please Keegan, I need you." I pleaded, Keegan broke our kiss, his lips trailing down my neck and collarbone, his teeth graze my skin lightly as he nipped at my shoulder- Oh he is a biter. His hand squeezed my breasts again before he started to undo his pants. His hardened dick sprung out of his boxers, his pink tip already glistered with pre cum. He wasn't very thick but the length was impressive and he was circumcised. I licked my lips in anticipation. "Shit you're big." Keegan only chuckled darkly at my words. "I'll show you how big." He growls his hands moving to grip my hips firmly as he ripped off my thong revealing my already wet folds.

"Hey, I liked that one."

"I buy you a new one."

His finger dips into my moisture before teasing my throbbing entrance. "You're already so ready for me," he murmurs. 

"Keegan please stop teasing me."

Keegan's other hand slipped down to play with my clit. His thumb circling gently the sensitive knot. With one swift movement, he pushes his thick fingers deep inside of me. He groaned in pleasure at the tightness that surrounded him. "Fuck you feel so good- around my finger."

He pushed his fingers lazily against my G spot and started to scisor them inside, he looked determined at my face to learn which movement kept me going. I felt the knot in my stomach building up letting me almost explode. His lips trailed down my neck sucking on my nipples while he continued to abuse my clit.

"Cum on me Doll."

I came hard spasming around his thick fingers and coating them with my juices. Keegan's cock throbbed in anticipation as he watched me cum around his fingers. He pulls his hand away, relishing the sight of my wetness. "That's it, baby girl."

"Let me take care of you Keegan." I let myself fall on my knees and slowly started to stroak his dick and lick the pre cum of his swollen tip. Keegan groans deeply, as I take his cock into my mouth, his hips jerking automatically forward. He grips my hair trying to maintain his control. "Fuck Doll." 

I bobbed my head up and down while playing with his balls with one of my free hands. He pushes his cock deeper inside of me but he should know that I'm the one in control. I bite softly on his tip to make him crazy. His lips escaped moans - loud moans. His cock throbbed in anticipation leaving stains of pre cum on my tongue. "Fuck Doll, that feels good don't stop."

I began to deep throat him almost gaging because of his length, my eyes began to tear, I tried to maintain eye contact. Keegan's grip on my hair tightens his knuckles turning white. His hips jerk forward, pushing only deeper into my throat. "You're so fucking good at that, I cant last longer."  I press my plump lips together tightening the friction around his member. 

As he feels him getting close he pulls my head back away. "Not quite yet Doll," he growls his voice stained with the effort to hold back his orgasm. I started to laugh and ignored his attempts to last longer I moved my head faster. "Fuck you're going to make me cum." I moaned in agreement - my voice only sending vibrations down his dick.

Keegan grunts loudly. His entire body tensing up as he loses control and erupts deep inside my throat. His cock twitches repeatedly, sending wave after wave of hot cum down my throat, I swallow every sip of his cum and finally hold my tongue out showing him my empty mouth. Keegan stared down at me in shock, his eyes dark with lust and satisfaction. His muscular thigh trembles as he tries to hold his composure. He gently traces down my jawline. "Fuck you're mine Doll" - I was definitely not his. 

Keegan lifted me and threw me on the bed as he spread my legs wide, positioning himself between my legs - his cock already hardening again. He looks down at me with a predatory grin, then lowers himself onto my waiting sex and pushes inside me with one powerful trust making me scream in pleasure and pain at the same time. 

He begins thrusting into me, hard and fast. The bed cracks under our combined weight as he takes me roughly. His muscular arms flex with each stroke. 

"Keegan, it feels so good."

"Doll," he groans his voice hoarse with lust, "you're so fucking tight I can barely hold back." 

"Don't hold back, Keegan. Fuck me."

He grins. "You like it rough doll?" I nodded and with a swift move, he flips me over onto my stomach and pulls my ass up, with brutal precision and starts a relentless pace as he fucks me from behind.  His large hand gripped me tightly leaving marks on my body. "This is what you want isn't it?"

I start to clench around him, only getting more aroused at his words. "Oh you're so wet," he murmurs, moving one hand between my legs to stroke my neglected clit. The added sensation sends shockwaves of pleasure through my body causing me to arch my back and cry out his name.

"That's it, Doll, take it all." 

"I'm close - please, Keegan," I pleaded to him to finally release me.

"Cum for me Doll," he growls picking up the pace even more. His cock slams into me over and over again, each thrust sending a vibration through my core as he pinched my clit hard. I started to cry out of pleasure and finally came spasming around his dick - coating him with all my juices.  Keegan held me firm supporting my body weight as he let me ride out my orgasm while starting to kiss me all over my body and leaving marks everywhere. 

After my orgasm, he guided me on top of him and I started to ride him as his hands roam over my body, griping my hips tightly again. His eyes followed the movements of my breasts, his mouth watering at the sight. He pulled me forcefully tight onto his shaft brushing against my cervix so I would start to see stars, his hand now pressed against the familiar bulge inside my womb.

Keegan started to rub my overstimulated clit again as he finally chased after his release, with each thrust his hips slams powerful against me, he became slowly sloppy and uncontrolable begging me to finally release him.

I clenched tight around his dick, his eyes rolled back inside his skull. With a groan that echoes through the room, Keegan's hot seed erupts inside of me, filling me up completely. His cockhead twitches as he emptied himself inside of me- pushing his cum deeper into my hole.

"Fuck." He collapsed on top of me, our bodies still entwined, Keegan pressed his face into the crook of my neck inhaling my scent. "What the fuck was that, no women made me cum like that before."

"Well, I'm pretty skilled at these things."

"You're fucking amazing Doll." He slowly pulled his softening dick out of me watching his seeds drip down from my cunt into his mattress.

"As much as I like to see you coated in my cum, let me clean you up."

"Oh, what a gentleman."

"It's the least I can do after you gave me the best orgasm of my life." 

"Oh was it?"

"Don't lie to me it was fucking amazing for you too."

"A close third place Keegan." I grinned.

"Don't challenge me Doll." 

"Or what?"

"You will regret this."

"Why?"

"You like Price even tho I don't know why."

"And Price doesn't like me, so I can have all my fun while he has his with that other woman."

"His loss is my win."

He cuddled against me after he cleaned his seed from my thighs but as he fell asleep snoring the only thought in my brain was John. 

I'm screwed.

[eepy-evie]

Twisted Wonderland Senior Headcanons

A/N: i am very tired as i write this, BIBI is saving my life force. I just got screamed at by my mom but the fans (no one) can’t wait 😎. Im sorry Lilia’s is kind of short, im pretty high and have been pushing this off for days.

Contents: Various non romantic headcanons for the seniors in TWST

Trigger warnings (if any): Religion mentions (Trey’s + Leona’s + Vil’s + Rook’s + Idia’s part), eating disorders (Vil’s part), stalking mentions (Rook’s part… no surprise), minor adult themes (idia’s part)

Trey Clover

I might have this feeling only because i also bake but he has beef with multiple people about bread.

Like i mean people spreading misinformation (NO YOU DO NOT NEED TO ADD SUGAR INTO BREAD, IT DOESN’T DO MUCH)

Besides my personal beef with ig bakers…

He doesn’t listen to music, lofi background stuff at best.

He’d listen to anything someone put on with no complaint but he doesn’t feel the need for music for mundane things

With his obsession with brushing teeth i feel like he loves mint

Like i mean spearmint gum constantly, mint chocolate chip ice cream, idk mint leaves in drinks?

Bro can not understand if someone else doesn’t like mint

I believe he is an Atheist living in a Christian household

Its probably brought up rarely but he just doesn’t really believe that saying grace before dinner does anything

I think he’s way too empathetic for his own good, i mean like excusing lots of harmful things due to how someone was raised

(Totally didn’t mean to refer to Riddle but whatevs)

Cater Diamond

Get this man into kpop NOW

I feel he is rivaling Idia with his, honestly abusive, amount of slang

I dont think anyone who isn’t chronically online could stand to hear his thoughts

Or who isn’t insanely mentally unstable

But he pulls shit like “she=onika ate=burgers” every single chance he gets

Which i wont blame him for that, i pull medieval slang every second i can too

He loves brittany broski with his whole heart and soul

Not only is she funny as hell but she can also be very serious in a blink of an eye

On the low he enjoys those insider videos

He likes watching them and pausing them to argue the point to no one

Going back to kpop briefly…

He loves Aespa

Do i know any of the members of Aespa to tell you my assumed bias? No.

Also loves Zerobaseone

Ricky bias

Although i may be biased (oh my a silly pun, you scoundrel)

I do believe that he is a funny person but he is very repressed

I dont mean to make this a whole angst post but he genuinely doesn’t understand how he can express it

He is very sensitive to rejection so i think that leads him to extreme lengths to be liked

And I’m not just talking about how he acts a certain way to please others

I mean a deep rooted guilt for not being what someone wanted

Leona Kingscholar

…all my headcanons for him are purely how I’d personally treat him

Someone get this man a mukbang video and a comfy bed

He barely listens to music but when he does its some rnb stuff

He doesnt care for stuff thats too loud but he does like soft music even if he isnt open about it

I need to make him see nekomimi switch, twitter.gov, and anything else that has catgirls/boys so i can see his reaction

I dont think he holds many physical attributes to lions besides the ears, tail, and teeth but he most definitely holds many reactions and other stuff

Like he is literally sleeping in a garden most the time

He has long(er) nails and hates cutting them

Erm… idk man

I think he had a big Religious breakdown in his childhood

I dont really know what Religion he’d be to start with(due to my lack of knowledge of Religion in Africa) but he’d have the whole moment of betrayal

And then he’s completely Atheist for the rest of his life

Vil Schoenheit

He has a side account where he responds to all his hate comments

For music taste… hear me out…

He likes, on the low, vkei

But no metal like kaneto juusei or gulu gulu I mean malice mizer

He enjoys the instrumental along with the twists they take on classical

Moi meme motie x Vil Schoenheit collab when???

He 100% doesn’t express it though, he tells the public he likes whatever’s popular

I feel like, this may or may not be me projecting, he’s a hellenist

Obviously worshipping Aphrodite and has an altar for her which he never publicly speaks of but is not hiding

heres a bit of TW for eds + that type of stuff

I feel like he has an extremely bad relationship with food

He doesnt see it as something to nourish your body but instead a sort of numbers game

Like with a limit of however much someone says and the whole game is to stay under that number in calories

Besides that i feel he’s very orthorexic to the point he’d refuse to eat something if it looked too “bad” to him

(End of tw)

I know he has a very argued gender identity but i dont think he’s too confused by it

He’s very firm that he is who he is and he never seemed to have much of an inside problem with it

Maybe he got poked fun at a few times but thats all his problems with it

Rook Hunt

Get this man away from me

He is in many fandoms and somehow knows everything going on all the time

Bro personally took down Nayeon’s stalker by himself

But seriously i dont think his intentions are bad, i think he is just trying to be on top of everything in the worst was possible

He doesn’t really think its creepy himself but most the time he is

He is also a Hellenist who worships Aphrodite but also Artemis

He is so very open about his Religion

He makes those hopecore videos on tiktok and has amassed 10k followers but no one knows its him

Yearns to be in the south/midwest for the scenery

Just yearns in general

Bro is single handedly bringing back male yearning and being chalant

Saw bridgerton as a normal tuesday for him

1000 hours on c.ai

I will not, and should not, elaborate.

Is that projecting? Yes. Do i care? No.

He has the longest and some how most effective body/skincare routine ever

I mean like he’d do some shit like “once in a blue moon bath in pure hyaluronic acid for 2.5 hours on the dot”

He loves absolutely everything on everyone and its to a detriment to me personally

Hooked nose? Loved. Chubby? Love. Literally anything unconventional? Consider yourself yearned for.

He listens to anything and everything

Although he cant stand songs about break ups or anything to do with hate

Put this man on “doughnut” by TWICE now.

Idia Shroud

Yes… give me this nerdy man…

He 100% (mostly canon) loves jpop idols

Prolly an akb48 stan

I cant even get started on everything he likes

But i can tell y’all 100% that he is not overly flirty or overly easy to fluster

Istg all i see is either big dom idia or uwu shy boy idia

And both are wrong (in my opinion ig)

He starts arguments about anything and everything in game chats

Because he’s grown up in this big company family he was forced to appear better that how he truly acts so i believe that would also entail with being a die hard hellenist

But without any spotlights he does care, he just likes his games and anime

Speaking of anime…

He loves shoujo, he’s in hiding though

He literally wants to be sawako from “from me to you” but will never say it

Somebody come get this man

If anyone asks he just loves Naruto and One Piece

But we know the truth…

Istg he plays an absurd amount of eroges for the plot

He’s depraved on twitter

Two accounts, one for public image and the other for the unspeakable

Do NOT let him find any dating advice on there cause he will take it and act like a fool

He loves breakcore music and anime intros and thats about it

Besides his jpop idols

I dont think he like kpop, for some reason he just has a grudge against some fans

A little self insert but he 100% has autism (as we all know…) but he also has arfid

For those who dont know… arfid is “avoidant restrictive food intake disorder” which is like you are a very picky eater

He aint struggling with it, he succeeding (LYING)

Malleus Draconia

Get this man a cat or some shit like that

Can someone please make him watch all of aphmau Minecraft diaries and then twilight back to back

This strange individual has that man from the notebook shaking in fear

Bros a hopeful romantic

Randomly says inspiration quotes that you cant find anywhere online

It just came from his heart

He only listens to classical songs he knows how to play

Though i’d doubt if you showed him something he’d dislike it

Bros the yearner

I showed up to the yearning contest and went into anaphylactic shock at the sight of him there

He has honestly researched every single religion for fun

Highlight god damn bible verses for no reason

He needs to make an iceberg of every single religion and why they are good/bad

I just know he has an insane knowledge of lore in any book he’s ever read

Please make him watch smiling friends

You’d have to pause every 5 seconds so he can process it

You could make him do anything tbh, just be like “you should come watch *whatever it is* with me” and bro is outside your door

For shame with the amazing attention towards practically anyone who shows anything besides fear or hatred comes the fact he is unaware of most modern things

He has a tamagotchi and thats it man, get him a 3ds at least

He cant use a phone, cant use a computer, and barely understands the concept of social media

But at least he has the spirit to learn

Lilia Vanrouge

Do i even put him as a senior?

Bro is pushing some mystical number that no one knows

He’s like one of those grandmas that never mention their age and whenever its brought up all they say is “never ask a woman her age”

… perchance a bit controversial but i think he’s bad at cooking on purpose

Ain’t no way someone fucks up cooking THAT bad

I think he really likes horror games

And i dont mean those shitty mascot horrors like poppys playtime

I mean fatal frame, faith, and visage type shit

He listens to breakcore too

I dont make the rules

Hes a gamer grandpa so he either has to have pretty good taste in games/music or the absolute worst

HE’D LOVE GULU GULU AND VKEI

Hes practically already mana sama

Hes got all the moi meme motie dresses

Get grandpa off taobao NOW

I want my nyanya madoka dress, and i will not be stopped by some twinkish old man.

[fengqingtrashgolbin]

SO

We know that Mu Qing is constantly teasing Feng Xin with the whole Ju Yang situation (maybe he created it himself - to me he's guilty till proven innocent).

What if Feng Xin's been itching for something to hold over Mu Qing too?

I mean he's 100% tried a whole bunch of ways to piss him off but after the initial fluster, Mu Qing is just apathetic. The whole broom thing pisses himself off too at this point, and his pride can only take so many eye rolls when he dares insinuate anything about Mu Qing's obsession with his dick.

BUT THEN

Mt-Tonglu happens and Mu Qing says he wants to be "f-f-f-friends". And after Feng Xin's got over the whole shock of "Fuck, he almost died" (accompanied with the obligatory feelings realization), he's hit with the "holy fuck he stuttered. I CAN DEFINITELY USE THAT".

He knows that in order for the treasing to actually work on Mu Qing he needs to be patient. To make sure the other god thinks that he forgot about it. So he waits for the perfect chance.

A couple of years pass and Feng Xin is still waiting, while commenting himself on his patience. In the meantime, their relationship has kind of blossomed into something more. They have been fighting just as frequently but they don't wreck half of the heavenly capital anymore. Most of their arguments don't even end up in physical altercations.

And since Feng Xin's patience if wholly spent on looking for the perfect moment for the "teasing of the millennium", he decides not to wait around for Mu Qing to make some kind of move.

They're currently sitting side by side on the roof of one Xhua Zhen's temple, both exhausted after hunting down a bunch of ghosts (yes, they work together on both their territories by now). The sunset illuminates the forest surrounded the temple in warm orange colors and when Feng Xin turns to look at the other god, only to realize he's looking right back at him, with a soft look in his face. Feng Xin's brain feels like there's high voltage electricity is passing through it and he figures now's a good time as any. He leans in, closes his eyes and hopes he won't get punched in the next 6 seconds.

To his absolute delight, Mu Qing actually kisses him back. It's a shy, soft move from him but Feng Xin expected nothing more from a 800 year old virgin.

They keep kissing for a while, getting used to this new development. When they part, Feng Xin rests his forehead on his "rival's", while the goofiest grin spreads on his face.

Mu Qing turns his head to look at the sunset again but moves his hand to tangle his fingers with the archer's.

Feng xin knows he's probably trying to hide his blush. The god of the southwest blushes so easily and he's extremely embarrassed by that fact.

Embarrassed.

Feng Xin's train of thought complete derails from its tracks. This is the moment he's been waiting for.

"Mu Qing" he whispers, not daring to look him in the eyes, lest he ruins this perfect attempt.

"Yes, Feng Xin?"

"Does this mean that we now are more than f-f-f-friends?"

[izelascendant]

Unsportsmanlike

Chapter 1 - Atlanta

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Rating | Mature Summary | What happens between the four after Tashi's injury. Pairing | f!Original Character x Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig Tags | Competition, Love Triangles (Squares?), Jealousy, Plot, Emotional Baggage, Smut, Exes, Unresolved Tension, Complicated Relationships Word Count | 2.7K Author's note | SMUT warning! This chapter is pretty much just smut with background plot. I been a nasty girrrl, nasty—is somebody gonna match my freak?

━•❖•━

Part 1 of this series - Sportsmanlike

Unsportsman like on AO3 | Chapter 1 - Atlanta, Chapter 2 - Spring Blooms, Chapter 3, ...

2007

Everything changed after the incident.

Tashi Duncan, once the promising tennis prodigy, now faced a future irreversibly altered by a soul-crushing injury, leaving her dreams behind and her career at a halt. The chain of events set in motion had far-reaching consequences, affecting not only her own life but also the lives of those around her. The lives of the three people so close to Tashi's story would be forever changed, for the better—or for the worst.

Despite the accident not being her fault she could sense Tashi's silent resentment towards her. And although Tashi never outright accused her, she could sense the undercurrent of bitterness between them. It was as if the balance of power between them faltered, with Tashi's control over her slowly slipping through her fingers.

Tashi's attitude towards Patrick hardened after the accident. Despite his efforts to reach out to her, she wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Patrick's visits to Stanford became rare—eventually stopping altogether. The once close connections between Patrick and her, Tashi, and Art had dwindled to nothing.

Art’s interactions with Tashi took on a different tone, with him accepting her instructions and following her guidance. Perhaps this was the start of Tashi's next target, with Art willingly playing the role of the obedient follower she craved.

She couldn’t help but feel tremendously guilty about Art and Tashi's situation. She also couldn't shake the feeling of pity for Patrick. Despite Patrick’s attempts to fix things, Tashi refused to engage with him—and consequently—Art did the same. As she reflected on her last encounter with Patrick at Stanford, she could still hear his resigned voice. “Good luck with those two.”

She did everything she could.

Her desperation pushed her to plead with Tashi. "Tashi, please," she implored, "I'll do anything . I just want things to go back the way they used to be between us." Tashi's silence and distance had become too much for her.

"Yeah, I also wish things had gone differently," Tashi said coolly, "but there’s nothing I can do about it, so what are you begging me for?"

She found herself begging for forgiveness, even though she knew deep down the accident wasn’t her fault. "I can't begin to imagine your frustration, Tashi. I’m just asking that you forgive me."

"You want my forgiveness?" Tashi says, her tone commanding. "Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna let me have Art and you’re going to play for me. I'll be here to train you and turn you pro." Tashi outlines her conditions unwavering determination, setting clear boundaries. "I don't want to hear any bitching, any complaints," she orders. "I don't want you distracted, trying to start anything with Art. If you're gonna be playing for me, you do it under my rules."

In her determination to secure Tashi's forgiveness, she found herself submitting to Tashi's demands and orders without question. She endured Tashi's harsh training daily, pushing her limits to the extreme during her final year at Stanford. The hardest part of her new reality was watching Tashi make Art fall in love with her, unable to decipher whether her jealousy was stronger for Art or Tashi.

Her own downfall came not long after. The intense pressure took its toll on her, leading to a breakdown during an important match. Overwhelmed, she dropped her racket and succumbed to an intense panic attack. She couldn’t take it anymore—making a promise to herself—she would never pick up a racket again.

Her studies came to a halt. The cursed year of 2007 and her Stanford days were over. She disappeared, similarly to Patrick. 

Atlanta, 2011

Patrick

Patrick walks down the streets of downtown Atlanta, feeling the warm summer night air caress his skin as he takes a puff from his cigarette. His gaze scans the surroundings, taking in the luxurious interiors of the hotels that line the area. He probably could be staying in one of those hotels if his tennis career was as bustling as he expected it to be back in the day. Sure, he has his family’s money, but he never had the guts to ask his parents for anything. 

He takes a deep puff of his cigarette, savoring the taste before flicking it away onto the pavement. With a final breath, he steps forward, his gaze fixed on the doorway of a hotel ahead. He can't help but notice the elegant wooden paneling of the hotel's interior, and the sparkling chandelier.

Patrick takes another step forward and comes to a stop in front of one of the windows.

She doesn’t seem to notice him at first, giving him the opportunity to observe the person he used to know. He notices how she’s changed—or, in fact—how little she’s changed since he last saw her. Her copper hair is slightly shorter, lending her a more sophisticated look, and her face holds a gentle expression as she gazes at the TV in the corner of the bar. He can't help but notice the familiar tilt of her head, a mannerism that is uniquely hers, and how she still looks youthful, yet more at peace and seemingly more adult.

As she turns her head and her eyes meet his through the window, her eyes widen in surprise. The soft glow of the reflection from the window falls upon her features, highlighting her beautiful expressions. Seeing her reaction, Patrick can't help but let a familiar smirk play upon his lips—his typical smirk.

For a brief moment, the two of them simply stand there, staring at each other through the window before he makes his way to the doorway to join her inside.

Her eyes follow him as he approaches over to her table in the empty bar. Patrick notices there’s no trace of hostility in her expression and decides to take a seat opposite her, his gaze briefly flicking down to the glass in her hands before meeting her eyes again.

As Patrick sits across from her, she can't help but notice how good he looks—perhaps too good—and she finds herself feeling extremely weak under his gaze.

She recognizes that familiar hint of smugness that has always been a part of his personality. But there is something different about him too, a gentleness beneath the surface.

The silence hangs in the air for a moment before she breaks it with a casual question, "Still playing tennis?"

“Yeah.” He pauses for a moment, considering whether to mention the lack of success in his career, but there’s no need to embarrass himself. "Guessing you're not."

As she shakes her head slowly, her eyelids flutter downward in a bittersweet expression. Art Donaldson's name is mentioned from the tennis commentary on the TV in the background, reminding them both of the shared history and memories that connect them.

Patrick's low, calm voice breaks through, asking the question that hangs between them. "So, what is it you've been up to?"

There's a hint of irony in her voice as she speaks. "I can't seem to fully escape tennis," she admits. "I'm an editor."

"You write about tennis?" Patrick quirks an eyebrow as he asks her a question.

"Sometimes, yeah." She nods slightly in confirmation. 

The moment of silence stretches out between them, neither wanting to bring up the topic of Art and Tashi, yet knowing that it's unavoidable. Patrick breaks the silence first.

"Are you still in touch with them?" The words hang in the air, carrying a heavy weight.

Without needing to say their names, she knows exactly who is being referred to. "I wrote a paper a few months back," she explains, "I spoke to them briefly. It was cordial." She recalls her last encounter with Art and Tashi.

"So it was awkward?" His smirk becomes more pronounced as he awaits her response.

She shrugs casually, refusing to admit anything. She tries to maintain her neutral facade, but Patrick's smirk implies that he sees right through her.

Patrick leans in closer as he begins to tease her lightly. "You know," he says, "the thing about me is that I was never obsessed with Tashi the way you and Art were. Maybe at the beginning I was, but you're still going strong, aren't you? What's it been—six years?"

She catches a hint of the familiarity in his comment, reminding her that perhaps he hasn't changed much since their teenage days together.

"Well, I'm not the one marrying her," she says calmly, "maybe you should tell that to Art." Her words carry a subtle sense of finality, ending the discussion about Tashi's presence in her life.

Patrick’s expression changes slightly, and she can see the surprise that flickers across his features as he absorbs the word "marrying." He’s slightly caught off guard by this news, and there is a momentary glint in his eye that indicates that he now realizes his assumptions were misguided.

"And how's life going now that she hates your guts forever?" She leans in closer, taking the opportunity to tease him back. 

He simply looks at her with a smile. "What about me? You hate my guts too?” He asks, his tone still somewhat playful—but with a sincere undertone—as if hoping for a different answer.

She notices the glint of subtle loneliness in his eyes and she can read past his facade of smugness.

"I wouldn't let you sit at my table if I still did." Her words are spoken in a soft, gentle tone, a hint of affection in her gaze as she looks at him. 

Her hand freezes mid-air, her fingers just about to reach her glass, as she feels the unexpected touch of his hands as he gently guides the glass back onto the table. Their eyes lock once again, and she sees an expression on his face that is completely new to her.

"I miss you." The words come out of Patrick’s mouth smoothly. There is no facade, no bravado, just a simple, raw confession that hangs between them.

His words aren’t directed to Tashi, nor Art. He’s in the moment—talking to her—and only her. Maybe that’s exactly what she needed to hear, both of them having been deprived of affection for so long.

Maybe he’s just in the right place at the right time.

Holding her hands at the center of the table, he leans in and she accepts his lips against hers, sharing a slow yet passionate kiss.

His hand cups the side of her face before making its way up to her hair. She feels the smoothness of his face and his familiar scent. Someone she once hated so much she finds herself kissing with such tenderness.

After breaking the kiss, she takes his hand and leads him past the lobby and up to her room. They exchange few words, and as they step into her room and the door closes behind them, she looks up at him with an almost pleading gaze.

The look on her face, filled with desire, stirs something primal within him, and he knows at that moment that he will remember this night for a long time. 

He slowly wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, his touch is firm. His eyes lock with hers. "Tell me what you want tonight." His voice comes out as a raspy whisper.

“Take care of me.” She whispers back, wasting no time before reaching up to hold the sides of his face to kiss him again—needy and hungry—but still savoring the moment.

The vulnerability in her voice tugs at something deep within him. His mouth moves hungrily against hers as his arms tighten around her, holding her close. Slowly, carefully, he walks her backward toward her bed, deepening the kiss as he lays her down, their bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs.

She starts to feel the reality of the situation settle in, sensing the rush of adrenaline, her heartbeat increasing along with the redness in her cheeks—but she doesn't back away.

They shuffle around to get rid of each other’s clothes. Patrick watches hungrily as she begins to undress, his eyes taking her in as he sees her in this light for the first time. He leans down, brushing his lips gently against her skin, his touch firm yet tender, as his hand softly caresses her side, tracing a path up to her breast.

"I want you so bad." He confesses in a hoarse voice. "You have no idea how beautiful you are."

She looks at him, searching in his eyes, craving the affection from him that he’s proved to be very good at providing.

“Have me, I’m all yours.” She replies in a breathy whisper, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. At that moment—as much as she feels like it’s her duty to be in control of every aspect in her life—she can’t help but simply let him take control. 

His mouth moves to her neck, his lips burning against her skin as he places gentle, fleeting kisses along her collarbone. He moves lower, his mouth moving to her breast—his hand gently cupping the other—his thumb brushing against her.

He lifts his head, looking down at her with a burning gaze, his breath ragged. "Tell me what you want," he urges, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

She barely has the opportunity to answer as he doesn’t hesitate for a second. He moves down her body, kissing a trail down her stomach, down her hips, down her thighs, until he’s nestled between her legs, his breath hot against her.

“I want you, please .” She swallows, finding it harder to breathe with each passing second. 

She’s now had all three of them in this exact position before—Tashi, Art and now Patrick—faces buried between her thighs.

Patrick can practically smell her arousal, can feel the heat radiating from her, and it sends a shiver through him. He grips his hands on her thighs, his breath hot against her as he looks up at her, watching her grip the pillow behind her head. Without any hesitation, he leans in, his tongue teasing out of his mouth to lick and taste, his eyes not leaving her face, watching her every reaction.

Things quickly escalate to her fumbling to grab her wallet, fishing out a condom to pass over to him. She’s unable to contain herself from admiring how good he looks while he tries to focus while rolling the condom onto himself. It seems that every little gesture he makes is swift and somehow so attractive, and as much as she would like to take a more active role, she simply feels glued down to the mattress, her body still warm and limbs feeling heavy.

He reaches down, his hand gently gripping her hip, as he positions himself between her legs. He looks down at her, his eyes burning with a mix of desire and affection, his expression a strange combination of intensity and tenderness.

"So pretty," He reaches down, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and kissing the side of her neck.

“Patrick, please, put it in .“ She practically begs as she wraps her legs around his hips, almost locking him in position.

He breaks away from her neck, his eyes burning as he looks down at her, panting softly as he takes in her expression. Then, slowly, carefully, he lines himself up with her entrance, his grip on her hips tightening ever so slightly as he slides himself into her, joining their bodies with a soft moan. 

She cups her hands up to bring his face closer to hers. It’s almost pathetic how eagerly she receives him. “Keep moving—keep moving.” She begs in a breathless voice.

At the sound of her needy pleas, all restraint goes out of the window. He starts to move, his hips rocking against hers, his breath catching in his throat at the feeling of her, warm and wet and perfect around him.

“Oh god, ” he moans, his voice low and breathless. "You feel so good, so amazing." His body moves automatically, seeking out the best angle and position to drive her wild.

She feels perfectly helpless underneath him, her limbs tightly wrapped around him and her hand reaching for a fistful of his curls while she nuzzles into his neck in attempts to drown out her moans. “Fuck—” She breathes out, biting down on the back of her index finger.

One of his hands comes up, tugging her hand and pulling it away from her mouth with a breathless groan. “I wanna hear you.” 

Patrick really could care less about how late it is and about the poor guests next door.

In the end, both of them are glad she happened to be in Atlanta at the same time as him.

[pantherpilled]

the boys with an older (afab) partner

nsfw + sfw below the cut :P

price

• price doesn’t even acknowledge you being older. you’re still his little lady, his honey baby, his tiny gal.

• princess treatment as usual; doors held open, tying your shoes, serving your food, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, anything to keep his baby love safe and sound.

• still enjoys being called sir or captain, age be damned.

• he quite likes that you’re older than him, he finds the small crows feet and smile lines so indescribably beautiful, you wear your age like the finest jewelry and it’s all it takes for him not to kneel down and kiss at your feet.

• he WORSHIPS you, he takes his time with you in bed, making sure to kiss every single centimeter of your body, not a sliver of skin goes without love.

• pleasure dom 100%, all that matters to him is you get off enough times that you feel stars and see tingles.

ghost

• also doesn’t acknowledge you being older than him at all

• he’ll pick you up bridal or let you climb up on his back when your heels start hurting your feet after parties, banquets or club nights.

• before you, he never went to the club, and he especially hated when his girlfriends would go, but you taught him how enjoyable it can be just to be within someones presence.

• so, now he goes for you, to watch your skin beam with the rainbow of flashing lights, almost-hear you singing along to the bass heavy booming music, feeling your body sway and slide against his when you finally get him to stop standing behind you like a scary bodyguard and dance.

• something about the way you look, the way you move, it’s all so elegant and pristine to him. he was always one to say perfection was unattainable- and here he is, with you, perfection in a woman, having attained it for himself

• can i be sooo real rn i love brat tamer simon, and i feel like its only better when you’re older than him

• he’s got you bent over his knee on the edge of the bed, stripped naked, tears soaking into the sheets as he lands smack after smack on your ass cheek

• he’s so taunting, too. he’ll make you count and if you mess up, “oh, sweets. old enough to make these decisions but can’t handle the consequences?” “poor thing, can’t even count now”

• you like to rub it in his face that you’re older, and he likes to wipe that shit-eating grin off your lips by replacing it with choked moans of his name

• he’s gentle when he wants to be but a majority of the time he’s rough, timing harsh, skin-slapping thrusts with the brutal circles of his thumb on your clit, practically tearing the orgasm from your nerves before you had a chance to process how close you were

• he won’t stop until you’re crying, begging, pushing him away from your spent body after so many orgasms you lost count, hell- even he lost count, and keeping count on how many times he can force you to let go for him is part of his fun

soap

• he’s the most playful about it, calling you a cougar and saying he loves milfs all the time

• youre not a mother, but when he gets you in bed for the first time and becomes aware of a breeding kink he didn’t know he had, he wants you to be

• he’s very vocal about it from the get go, has your cheek smashed into the plush of his pillow, his sharp hip bones smacking loudly against your ass as he babbles in your ear, “could make’ya ta prettiest mama, all swole wit’me littles”

• he does not miss the extra tremble in your thighs at the words but he doesn’t say anything about it either

• he calls you mama, mum, or ma all the time. originally you assumed it to be because you were older, but now you wonder if it’s because he’s just that desperate to make you a mother

• he takes his role as ‘younger boyfriend’ VERY seriously

• YES he lost his debit card again, ma, can he pleases use yours? he’ll pay you back triple as soon as he gets back to the base, he just really wants a chocolate bar

• NO he did not wash the dishes like you so kindly asked him and when you confront him about it, he’s rushing to you like a hurt toddler

• “ma ma ma, not ta worry- was waitin’ta after breakfast so ye didn’t have tae do those ones”

• even if his excuses don’f work, he knows how to get you mewling and crying out for him loud enough that you forget your dish concerns

• “so worried ‘bout some plates,” he’d scoff, timing his perfect thrusts with his words, “all’yae needed was sum’a this”

gaz

• calls you ma’am when you first meet, and you almost want to take offense to it just to spook the poor boy but the way his eyes glint as he checks you out has you rethinking how much of a ‘boy’ he is

• even after you get together, he always calls you ma’am

• “let me get that for you, ma’am”, “a moment, ma’am?”, “ma’am, if you don’t mind-,”

• loves being praised- good boy, sweet one, pretty baby. it all makes his cheeks pink and his cock swell

• he’s a fairly gentle lover, washing your body with kisses and whispered praises before slowly stretching you to size with his fingers

• he leaves marks but theyre light, overly nervous to hurt you, same reason he stays so slow and soft with his thrusts- but he doesn’t realize it just gets frustrating after a while

• he finally bites down on your skin when you push him over and climb on top, taking control of the pace and rhythm, overwhelming him for a short second just from the sheer difference of his weak thrusts from before

• he grabs and squeezes and pinches and pulls at the fat on your hips as you ride him, grunting out any praise he can think of

• “so pretty up there”, “that’s it, sweetpea”, “c’mon angel baby”

(i have a crush on a guy younger than me and im projecting:3)

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Gojo's s/o ignoring him and not making him sweets after he made them mad? Not in a mean way, they're grumpy but still want him to live longer so they still pack lunch for him. Just no more sweets.

Gojo opened his bento for lunch with his precious students, and frowned immediately when he saw there was no dessert in his lunch box.

For the past few days now, [Y/N] had been mad at him. He couldn’t figure out why and at this point he was too embarrassed/concerned to ask. They acted fairly normal, but the shift in their demeanor had subtly shifted. They would push his arms away when he tried to hug him. They slept on “their side of the bed” instead of in the middle with him like they always do. They hardly texted him at all through out the day other than maintenance text like ‘what do you want for dinner?’ ‘when will you be home?’ ‘pick up milk.’

The kicker though was that they weren’t packing him any treats in his lunch box. [Y/N] knew how much of a sweet tooth Gojo had. They usually thought it was cute. But the past few days he had been without homemade treats, and he had to resort to store bought vending machine snacks to get by.

Still, Gojo ate his bento in its entirety. Because despite the lack of sweets it was still very good and he wouldn’t waste it. When he got home that evening, he decided to take the bull by the horns. Gojo would have to ask what was going on and fall on his sword for an apology.

He just hoped their wasn’t a real sword involved.

“[Y/N], can you tell me what’s wrong?” Gojo asked. Just jumping right in when he came through the door and saw them doing dishes.

“What? What are you talking about?” They weren’t playing dumb. They were literally caught off guard by his question.

“I know something is up. You’ve been distant lately. Cold.” He watched as they put down the sponge with a sigh.

“I’ve been distracted.”

“Too distracted to put snacks in my bento.” Gojo muttered to himself quietly. He knew it was petty, but he needed those sweets to function. “Look, if you just…tell me what’s wrong, I’ll fix it. I’ll apologize. We’ll move on. We’ll go get ice cream.”

“I don’t want ice cream.” ‘Well not everything is about you’ He wanted to say, but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. “You didn’t do anything. Not…technically.”

Gojo arched a brow. “What does ‘not technically’ mean?” Usually if he did something, he 100% did it and there was no question that he did it. Gojo never claimed to be the model of temperance, patience, or restraint, but he’s also never been ‘kind of in trouble’ for something.

“I’m pregnant.” That left a haymaker in his gut. “It’s why I’ve been distracted. I was trying to figure out what to do and how to tell you, and I guess I thought I was playing it cool. Sorry if you felt left out in the ‘cold’.”

Gojo rubbed his head. Oh shit, he felt bad for that now. But there was an overwhelming feeling coming up inside him. He rushed over to [Y/N] and scooped them in a hug. “Why didn’t you just tell me?!”

“Well…it’s not like we planned this. And I wasn’t sure you wanted kids.”

“What are you talking about?! I love kids!” He was the best teacher in the whole world.

“You love teenagers you only have to spend a few hours a day with.” Fair. “A baby is…different.”

“Yeah, but it’s our baby.” He told them. Leaning in to press their foreheads together.

This was a much surprise than anything he could have hoped for in his lunches. He and his beloved were going to have a baby. There was no sweeter treat than that.

[slfcare]

Do you have any advice on doing it scared? I'm so scared all the time, i avoid doing anything that would make me more scared, but its the only advice anyone has ever given me. Your post hints you figured it out, somewhat? Do you have any further wisdom to pass?

I had to stop seeing fear as something I could run away from. Think of the situation you're in as a large, boxed room, and you're standing in front of the door to that room. You have to enter through the door, because you have to experience the situation to get to that room's exit (which is on the other side), and move on. Your fear is like the key to both doors - the entry as well as the exit. The thing is, it's a heavy key. For some reason, it's uncomfortable in your hands, and you know that opening the door would take a monumental amount of effort. You also feel like it's unfair that your rooms are locked at all, because other people don't even need keys. At least, you don't see them use any. If you wanted to, you could drop the key and turn around and forget about the room altogether, but you don't want that - because then you wouldn't be moving forward. You'd also rather open the door without the key, but to get to a situation where you no longer run into locked doors at all, you need to unlock this one, first. I started seeing it that way. My fear used to be a heavy key that I was embarrassed to need, but my unwillingness to stay where I was forever convinced me to bother, anyway. Later, my fear became a lighter key, and then a keypad, and now it's somewhat of a finger print ID. Most importantly, my fear is not what stops me, but like security if you really think about it. However much it annoys me, feels like it hinders me or embarrasses me at times, its most important function is that it's a tool that I use to open doors. I'm trying to forget others' lack of security systems and intricate doors, and focus on opening mine however I need to so I can move forward. Because that's the point. Moving forward. This makes perfect sense in my head but it might not in yours (it already feels really odd trying to put it into words so I wouldn't be surprised), but I really hope you get the gist ♡ Fear = tool!

[hvnnibvnny]

Another quick write?

Maybe we meet at a club- packed with perpetually hypersexual adults, vibrant lights.

Its way too crowded to really do much, the smell of alcohol and sweat and a terrible mix of perfume and cologne - but a nice setting overall.

My friends have left me alone already, drifting off with the promise of a fun time, leaving me to sit nervously at the bar, stuttering over my words as I try to order myself a drink. I'm sure my cheeks are flushed now from embarrassment.

But then he comes, an older man, veey well dressed, sitting so close to me, eyes trailing over me before turning to the bartender with a easy grin, and without even asking, orders two drinks for us- something I've never heard of. He grabs the glass, sliding it over to me and I quickly grasp it, smiling and whispering out a soft "thank you".

He only smile down at me shrugging before asking " what brings me here?".

I take a sip of the drink - bitter- before telling him that I just came with some friends to have fun, celebrate our friendship or whatever, shit he really couldn't care less about as he nods along, smiling empathetically. It's only when I tell him that they went off with some newfound companionship does his eyes light up- interesting.

I take another sip, trying to pretend I like the drink out of appreciation- how cute. He leans closer, too close, when he asks if I have a boyfriend and when I shake my head no, he gives a low chuckle, stating that pretty little things like me should always have a man to please them before ordering me another drink.

I sit there dumbly, giggling uncomfortably before he's sliding me the next glass, and before long, the next.

At my fourth or fifth glass, I'm feeling dizzy and everything's too loud, too much. I cringe before standing up on shaky legs and looking around for my friends, but the man just grabs me, pulls me back down to my seat, asking where I'm going.

My head is swimming, but I tell him- I need to find my friends, I have to go.

I don't feel too well.

He only chuckles before moving closer, so that our stools are side by side as he runs my back soothingly, saying that I'll be fine- it's just the alcohol kicking in and that I'll be okay. He knows I will. I just nod stupidly, too out of it to even say anything as the hands that were just soothing rubbing up and down my back quickly snake down to my hips, squeezing tightly as I let out a weak gasp.

I hear him ask for the bill so he can pay off the tab.

He stands and pulls me up with him still holding onto me my waist , fingers digging in and he's practically dragging me along with him, through the crowd, towards the entrance. I push at him weakly- where are my friends? I mutter out slurred sentences, but he just ignores me, cooing softly, still dragging me out. I begin to panic now, breathing picking up as I try to pull away, ask for help, but he's way stronger, way bigger.

Tears prick at my eyes as we walk farther and farther away from the club. It becomes more and more secluded but we finally reach out destination- his car. I'm pushed against the the passenger door and held there by a harsh hand around my neck as he fumbles with his keys, unlocking the truck. When he finally does unlock it, he opens the back door and shoves me into the truck by my hair. I gasp and yelp in pain, tell him to stop- it hurts-

But he's amused, coming inside with me as he forces my onto my back on the seat.

" Stop? That's the magic fuckin' word, isn't it sweetheart?! You know what a dumb little bitch you are? You looked so fucking cute, so fucking stupid sitting there alone by yourself, struggling to order a simple drink."

Tears stream down my cheeks as I flail weakly. His hand is on my neck again, holding me down as he pulls up the short dress I'm wearing, stretching it as I whine.

" And look what you have on! Look at you, dressed like a little slut- fuck, you were practicing begging me to take you."

I shake my head no and he just ignores me, tugging at my dress until it's pushed up- right above my tits. He curses, hands moving to squeeze at them, pinch my nipples harshly and I squeal and squirm from the pain. He groans, leaning down to take one into his mouth and I let out a breathy gasp, back arching up at the feeling. One hand traces down my stomach to my panties before running a finger over it. I shudder and he pulls away grinning, telling me that I must like it because I'm so fucking wet. I only whine, head lolling to the side as he traces a finger up and down my clothed cunt.

When he decides he's has enough, he slips two fingers inside suddenly, setting a brutal pace from the start, and I moan, hands coming up to grab at the hand that has found it's way to my neck again. I squeal in pleasure, cunt clenching around his fingers as my hips shift for more of the feeling.

He just keeps going, calling me a whore, a dumb slut, a silly little bitch. I feel heat pool in my lower stomach and it's becomes too much, but he just goes faster.

It isn't long before the pressure snaps, my eyes rolling back and thighs shaking as I open my mouth in a silent scream, gushing around his fingers.

I'm so out of it, don't even notice him pull his cock out jerking it lazily, eyes locked on my glistening cunt. " I never caught your name, baby."

I only blink up at him stupidly, eyes furrowing as I try to focus, struggling against the effects of the drinks- I'm so out of it,

In irritation at my at my confusion and pathetic silence, he slaps me, my face snapping to the side. I let out a wail, hand coming up to soothe my reddening cheeks as he wraps his hand around my throat, tightening his grip as I struggle to breathe. * What's your name, princess?"

I stutter out my name as best as I can with my slurred speech, and he hums in acknowledgement." Pretty name for a pretty slut."

I mewl, legs trying to close instinct when I feel the head of his cock nudge against my slitz but he pushes my legs back apart, rutting against me before steadily sinking into me.

I flailed weakly, but he only pulled out again before slamming back in harshly again and again.

I finally lay there limply as he rambles on, fucking me in earnest.

" Fucking made to take cock."

" Such a pretty young thing, fuck, such a good pussy."

"Gonna come in this dirty fucking cunt- you'd like that, wouldn't you, you fucking whore."

I shake my head weakly, clenching around him at his words. It's too much and I'm already so sensitive from my first orgasm." N-no, s'too much-"

"What? No? Oh, baby....Im so sorry- is it too much? Hm? Answer me, Princess, wanna hear you."

He laughs when i suddenly tense, back arching as I come on his cock, squeezing around him.

He groans at the feeling," Fuck, s'good, fucking perfect- "

A few more brutal and desperate thrusts and he's coming, hot seed spilling into my messy cunt, pushing in as deep as he can. "Take it, take it. Good girl."

He waits, making sure not as single drop goes to waste before pulling out slowly, watching his cum spill out of my used pussy.

I lay there, a crying, twitching mess before he opens the door, pulling me out. I think that he's done, that he's just gonna throw me out, but then he's positioning me on my knees which are already bruising. He runs a soothing hand through my hair before gripping it tightly and holding his cock to my face, nudging the tip against my swollen lips.

"Open that pretty fucking mouth."

๑๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑

Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes, I swear I went over it 100 times 😭 <3

[fairy-writes]

 Hello! can you do a gen narumi x reader where the reader is also from the defense force and goes on a lot of missions, they get nightmares a lot because of the missions and gen practically begs them each day to just stop going on missions and that even if he is the only one working he makes buckets of money and the reader should just relax. The reader still refuses and goes a very tough mission. Where they get severely injured and are unconscious for days and like gen takes care of them, its super fluff/comfort. Can it please be x female reader or gender neutral. Thanks and take care<3

RUNNING AWAY FROM WHAT?

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Narumi Gen x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Defense Force!Reader, Arguments, Injuries, Making Up

Notes: You guys love having scenarios where the reader is in the hospital.

I'm combining this with another similar request that I got in my inbox!

TW for mentions of suicide (no one is suicidal; it’s just talked about)

__________________________________________________________________________

“Where are you going?” Gen’s sleep-filled voice makes you freeze in your tracks. You look back to find him half-sitting up in bed, bags under his eyes stretching for miles. You look back to your workout clothes and shrug,

“I'm going for a run. I can’t sleep.” You say quickly and head to the genkan to put on your running shoes. 

The sun hasn’t even risen yet, but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. The sense of being watched by Kaiju. You can’t shake the cold sweat dripping down your back and temples. So, you decide exercise is the healthiest way to get the feeling off your back. 

Gen scrambles to get out of bed and follow you. He doesn’t even grab his phone to check social media, so you know he’s genuinely worried. But by the time he manages to untangle himself from his blanket, you’re already laced up and opening the door. 

“You had another nightmare, didn’t you?”  He says, hand catching the door to keep you from opening it. You scowl at the wood but don’t say anything. 

Because what could you say? 

He was right, anyway.

Gen knew he was right because his grip tightened on the door as you tried to open it further. 

“You did, didn’t you?” He asks, and you hunch your shoulders,

“What does it matter? I want to go for a run, so I’m going for a run.” You say, trying to keep your emotions under control even though they’re raging like a Kaiju out of hell. 

Gen’s scowl deepens to match yours, but he relents. 

“Fine. Whatever.” He says, lets go of the door, and sits down at the genkan to put on his shoes. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, and his scowl is ever-present as he stands up and opens the door. 

“I’m going with you.” 

“What? Why?! Go back to bed!” You snap angrily. A combination of no sleep for the last week and your ever-present nightmares have made your temper short. 

But Gen takes your snapping in stride and grabs your hand, 

“I won’t be able to sleep until you’re home safe anyway. I might as well go with you.” He says with a yawn.

So that led you to where you are now, sprinting around the First Division’s track until your bones feel like jelly. Gen keeps up easily, barely breaking a sweat. Yet, he doesn’t say anything while you run. He only speaks when you slow down to stop and put your hands on your knees, breathing heavily. 

“Are you done?” He asks, and your temper spikes just slightly. 

“No.” You say, straightening up to take another lap. 

He catches your hand and makes you stop. You look up at the sky, praying for patience that you don’t have. 

“Are you trying to kill yourself then?” He grits out, and you stare dumbly at him. 

What was he trying to say? 

Gen notices your look and throws his hands up. 

“You don’t eat, you barely sleep, you’re getting more and more reckless on missions. It’s like you’re trying to die!” His voice is nearing a shout, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Who cares if you wake up people in the dorms?

“I’m just doing my job, Gen! In case you forgot, not everyone is as strong as you!” You retort, and he scowls, knowing full well you’re just barely telling the truth. Well… You’re telling the truth about not being as strong as him. But everything else? You’re just barely surviving.

“You know you don’t have to work in the Defense Force anymore! You know I make enough money to support the both of us!” Gen argues, and you grind your teeth. This argument again?

“And you know why I won’t do that!” You snap back. 

The two of you fight back and forth before Gen just gives up and leaves. You had always been the type to drag out arguments much longer than they ever needed to be. And it got on your boyfriend’s nerves every time.

You make a few more laps around the track before you’re called in for a Kaiju attack.

You open your eyes and immediately realize you’re in the hospital. If the bright ass lights didn’t give it away, the scent of antiseptic did. As did the familiar beeping of your vital signs.

You hated hospitals. You had spent your fair share of time in them and had vowed to never spend another day in one again. 

Looks like you broke that promise to yourself. 

The scent of antiseptic makes you sneeze, and your head pounds. 

“So you’re awake.” Comes Gen’s voice, and you look to your right, where he’s staring down at his phone, typing out a text or playing some game. You honestly can’t tell which. He reaches to the side without looking and presses the button to summon the nurse to your room. 

“I am. What happened?” You ask, wracking your brain for any remaining memories. 

Nothing. You remembered your nightmares, running at the track, arguing with Gen, and then… Nothing. 

“You got hurt. Badly. The doc wasn’t sure you’d wake up for a while.” He said, tone clipped. He was still upset. That much was obvious. 

“How long was I out?” You asked. He finally set down his phone and looked you in the eye. 

He looked… Awful…

The bags under his eyes were worse than usual, and you were positive his jacket was looser on him than it used to be. Had he lost weight? His skin had a slight sickly pallor, only noticeable since you were looking for it. 

“Two weeks. You were put into a medically induced coma after three days to help you heal.” He said curtly, and you nodded wearily. You had been awake for not even ten minutes, and you were already exhausted. 

At least, you were until you realized you couldn’t feel the bottom half of your body.

Then, the panic set in. 

“Gen… I can’t feel my legs…” The panic was thick like fog in your voice, and as you tried to sit up, his hand gently pushed you down into your pillows. But you began to struggle the best you could. “ What’s going on?! Gen!” 

“It’s alright.” He said, but your head whipped around to look at him, eyes wide and tears welling up. 

You couldn’t be a Defense Force Officer with no feeling in your legs! You couldn’t do your job! You couldn’t save people! You couldn’t—

A hand on your face stopped your downward spiral, and you stilled, looking up into Gen’s red eyes. He offered a crooked smile that gave you a sense of comfort.

“The doctor thinks it’ll only be temporary. You’ll just be on bedrest until then.” He explains, voice softer now and more gentle. He must’ve really been worried about you to speak to you like this. 

The nurse finally comes in with the doctor, and they check you over before giving you the green light to be cared for at home if you so wish. And that was something you agreed to immediately. Be stuck in the hospital for days or weeks on end when you could just sleep at home? Ha! The answer was a no-brainer. 

Gen insists on wheeling you out to the curb where he then calls for Hasegawa to come pick you up. He sits next to you as you put the wheelchair brakes on and pulls out his phone again. Meanwhile, you watch the sky and think. 

And think.

And think.

“Gen?” You whisper into the wind and hear him grunt in return. You look down where he’s squatting on the curb, muttering about HP and leveling up as he holds his phone sideways to play a game. You take a deep breath and hang your head. “I’m sorry.” 

That gets him to stop. His game is paused, and he looks up at you with narrowed eyes. 

“This some kind of joke? You never apologize.” He says, and you huff out a self-deprecating laugh. 

“I know. And I’m sorry about that too. But I’m sorry for arguing. I know you only want what’s best for me in your own way. And I’m sorry—”

“Hold on. Are you breaking up with me?” He cuts you off, and you stare stupidly at your boyfriend before shaking your head. 

“No! I just want to apologize for being an ass.”

He stares just as stupidly until Hasegawa shows up with a van and helps get you loaded inside. 

It isn’t until you’re back at your shared apartment that Gen speaks again. 

“I should apologize too… For also being an ass. I know you’re struggling, and I was just trying to help.” He mumbled, scratching at the back of his head and averting his gaze from yours. You smile, chuckle a little, and reply. 

“Hasegawa put you up to this, didn’t he?” 

“So what if he did?! I’m apologizing, aren’t I?!”

You begin to laugh even more, and when you finally get your giggles under control, you catch him looking at you with a lovesick look. 

“Y’know… I think I might take a break from Kaiju hunting. Go to therapy for my nightmares and all that.” You say, and he grins before turning back to his game. 

“I’m glad.”