#that way im not starting something and never finishing it...?

[erwinsvow]

Also something I’ve had on my mind for a while is the idea of Pope finding love while he’s in jail. Like maybe he gets into a fight with another inmate or guard and he’s sent to see the medic at the jail and she’s this super cute gal who’s just so nice and gentle with him and he can’t help but do something everytime he knows she’s gonna be working just so he can be taken to go see her. OMG sometimes I let my mind wander and add some more details to it and like imagine she was like his childhood neighbor that he had a crush on but moved away and now she’s like an emergency medicine PA or nurse and she only works at the jail like once a month for some extra cash while she’s trying to pay off student loans or something and he’d def make some sort of anonymous donation or something to pay off her school. Idk just a cute idea that I love for him.

this is such an incredible idea!!! childhood neighbor reader who used to patch up pope after he got roughed up by the bullies at school and then eventually tussles with his brothers and the jobs that smurf made them do. he would sneak out and meet you by your fence and maybe you had parents who did not want you talking with those cody boys and their crazy mom so you just patch him up using the light from the moon and the christmas lights your parents never took down. bring a flashlight incase it's really bad and you need to stitch him up. maybe he brings you tiny things from their jobs—a bracelet here and a pretty necklace there. and then you leave for school years later and it's like, of course, he always knew you were smart and he thinks you'll be a great nurse and maybe on your last day he comes to say goodbye at your fence and you tell him how he was your first patient and ..... sappy sad goodbye. maybe you come back for breaks but he's not there all the time and your parents downsize and move away or pass and you finish school and start working. maybe he hears from smurf about how that neighbor girl just graduated and he thinks it's a test, like if he does something and sends you flowers or goes to visit you smurf will know what he felt towards you and could use you against him and he definitely can't have that. at the very least he needs to protect you the way you helped him for so many years. so he doesn't do anything.

and you, well it's not easy making an honest living. folsom is very far from oceanside but maybe you live in between or maybe not. but there's extra money for those willing to work a weekend shift in the prison ward. it's just helping the doctor patch up and the guards never leave your sight so it's not really even that dangerous. so you do it every once in a while and maybe andrew hears whispers about the pretty nurse in the infirmary and maybe some jokes about hurting themselves to go have a look. but then he actually does get hurt, by accident, and has to go down there and it's just very. oh. it's you. it's always been you!!! still wearing the jewelry he gave you years and years ago. maybe while you're patching him you make a joke about how it's so much easier with light and how it's just like old times. and then maybe you go one step further and go visit him during your breaks like using his visitation hours. and maybe it goes on like that for a while and he tells you that you really shouldn't be doing this job because it's not safe and he doesn't want to tell you what he's heard but he really doesn't want you here. and you tell him you have a lot of loans and your parents didn't leave you much and you can't just leave but. you know what i bet he'd say he'll take care of it when he gets released if you'll just please stop working here. and maybe stupidly you listen because you've always believed and trusted him. just very. shows up on your doorstep a little bit after he's released with a letter saying your loans are paid off and asks if he can actually come inside now and just :-) im emotional

[monayen]

hiii mona! im a new fan of yours (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) and honestly i really love your work! honestly, i love randal and satoru.., you should write something bloody with them! like a period fic… (like, cmon. you’re telling me that at least ONE of them isn’t into that?) (￢ω￢。)

Menstruation Angel | Randal Ivory

➷ Paring - Randal Ivory x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - period kink, oral (f. receiving) / cunnilingus, (period) blood eating, negative talk about periods but thats just the PMS talkin' baby!

a/n - got my period so i finished this. readers pronouns aren't said but they do have AFAB parts, breasts arent mentioned... but wombs are. randal u freak. also thank u guys for the birthday wishes!! made a girl very happy ;>

You woke up with cramps, a heat pad halfway off your stomach, and a distinct sense of being watched... immediately knowing who it was when you bothered to open your eyes.

There he was, Randal. Sitting in a chair he dragged in from another room, staring at you with an almost giddy look behind his black rims.

"Good morning, menstruation angel." he cooed.

You groaned immediately, tossing around under the covers of your bed. "Randal, please don't start today."

"It's already today." He stood up slowly, dramatically, like this was a holy event. "I smelled it in my dreams. I woke up and thought, 'Ah. My pet is bleeding again. Beautiful."

You narrowed your eyes, already feeling a light discomfort settle in your abdomen. "I literally feel like garbage."

“And I’d roll in that garbage,” he promptly replied without a hint of irony, shifting from his seat and crawling onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, his eyes fixed on you with reverence. His presence was heavy, heat rolling off him even with the fan blowing on high.

He tugged the blanket down slowly, deliberately, exposing the oversized sleep shirt clinging softly to your form. The fabric clung to the flesh of your body, thin enough to make you suddenly aware of just how little separated you from him.

"You know," he said finally, voice lower and dragging, "you always say you hate this time of the month. But I've never seen you more... real than you are right now."

He shifted closer, the blanket tugging off more and more as he did. You're sure it's intentional, so he can see the way you shiver and blush. So he can get even closer.

"I can smell it on you," he whispered, more to himself than to you. "It's not gross. It's not shameful. Natural actually, natural blood." He said the last word in an almost dopey tone, a smile spreading across his face.

You're surprised his nose isn't supplying his own  bit of blood already, with his whole fascination with it showing itself almost every month when you start your period. 

It's true, you dread this time of the month. The hot flashes, the gross stickiness, the painful cramps, and the extra tenderness. It all adds up to make you annoyed and tired for the upcoming days.

Luther is kind to give you everything you need, but you still manage to isolate yourself in your room until it's over. 

You can't help it, you feel extra gross when you have cotton shoved up your hoo-ha or a thick pad sticking onto your thighs. Much to Randal's dismay.

“Uh, I need to shower.” You huffed as warmth spread across your body, attempting to move a bit under him. He doesn't let you, arms trapping you on either side. He immediately shakes his head, “No! No! S-Stay like this. Showers are overrated.” 

You're about to respond about him being gross, about you being gross. But he doesn't let you, suddenly shoving his face into your neck. He inhales deeply, nose pressed against your skin as he breathes in your scent, “Mmm, you smell so good, so ripe.” 

“Randal!” A moan pulls from you, hands shooting to grip his shoulders, “I’m all—” 

“Noo, you aren't! You don't even know what you do to me when you're like this!” His voice pitches against you, like you’ve offended him for speaking so lowly about yourself in this state.

Randal’s weight presses against you more, letting you feel the growing erection in his pants. "Can you feel that, doll? How excited you make me?”

His breath is hot against your neck as he continues to inhale your scent, his nose brushing against your skin with each exhale. 

One wondering hand slides up from under the thin shirt you wear, fingers playing across the soft flesh of your stomach that’s guarding your precious bleeding womb. The other hand grips your hip possessively, pulling your body flush against his own.

Randal's breath grows heavier as he grinds more insistently against you, his erection now fully hard and throbbing. He can feel how you shake slightly, heart speeding up once he slides a hand between your thighs. 

"Randal, please, this is so embarrassing..." you whimper, burying your burning face against his shoulder to hide from his intense gaze.

"Awe, let's not be shy. Spread wideeee for master~!” He exclaims too loudly in your ear, gloved fingers shoving against the cloth of your panties. An excited giggle heard when he feels the outline of your pad. 

Randal moves to hover lower, upper body right between you, legs on either side of his head. A shuddering gasp escapes as he grinds his palm harder against your core, the friction making your hips buck into his face.

"Randal, fuck..” you whimper, trying to close your thighs, to stem the flow of your shameful arousal and blood that's definitely staining the bedsheets. But he's relentless, pushing your legs apart further to make room for his eager hand.

"Just relax," he coos, "Let me worship you, my bleeding bride." His fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, brushing against your slick folds. He lets out a pitched, appreciative moan at the feel of your wetness coating the latex.

"Now keep still, doll," he commands, “I wanna eat you.” His eyes are fixated on his hands tugging off your underwear, taking in the sight of your bloodstained pad and glistening entrance. 

He shamelessly inhales deeply, making a face that you bite back a chort in reaction to. “Really?” you tremble when he does it again, feeling the ghost of his breath on your sensitive flesh.

"Uh, Randal, you don't really have to…” A shy part of you takes over, still embarrassed with the idea of him going down on you during your period.

"Hush now," he chides gently, before his tongue takes a long, slow lick up your slit.

"Ahhh!" you cry out at the sudden sensation, your back arching off the bed. "Tastes even better than I imagined." Randal laughs, holding your legs down.

He dives in without a second warning, sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard. His tongue works on lapping around your pussy, sucking and licking your mixture of blood and arousal. 

The combination of sensations is overwhelming, and you find yourself fisting your hands in his hair, tugging him closer. Your hips start to move on their own, grinding against his face as he eats you out, much to his enjoyment. 

"That's it, doll. Ride my face," Randal urges, the words muffled against your pussy. "Rub against me harder!” His excitement has him speeding up, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. 

“Randal!" you moan, your voice echoing off the walls of the room. Trembling thighs clench around his head, holding him in place as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel your orgasm building, your core clenching and fluttering around his quick tongue.

He muffles against you again, but you can't make it out with your legs clamped around his head — nor with your moans pitching louder and louder as you reach your peak.

It crashes over you quickly, rubbing against his mouth as you ride it out. Randal just moans in delight, licking up the come and leftover blood dripping out of you. He only stops when your shakiness calms down and you let up your grip around his head. 

Randal pulls back, a smug grin on his face as he licks his lips. "Ohoho," he giggles, crawling up your body until he's cuddled against your side.

“I was aching to do that, y’know?” He gives you a lazy hump against your side, letting you feel the half-hard on he’s still sporting. “Now I just wonder what it’ll look like with your blood covering my dick!~” 

[darlingdream1010]

Crumbs

(Joongdok)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoo Joonghyuk’s happy place was his kitchen. He has control over everything: knives, food, what to omit, what to add. He prides himself on the skills he’s learned across the years, figuring out how flavors blended together to create the final product.

There are flavors he never expected to go together, however.

While Yoo Mia was never very picky, there had recently been a third lunch to prepare.

He couldn’t make pasta, or else he’d have to make a second meal and waste more of his time. Homemade Tteokbokki “felt weird” to them because they were used to instant or stale premade. Even the reliable meals he used to rotate throughout the week didn’t get finished. It had gotten to the point where he was leaving harshly worded notes telling them to finish their food.

All in all, it was a waste of his time and money.

Just one more thing to hand wash at the end of the day.

On top of that, he couldn’t just go into autopilot mode when he washed their box. He had to make sure to pluck out whatever notes they’d written back to him.

They never said thanks, the ungrateful fool.

They always contained weird, silly comments.

What does the subway train say when it malfunctions? “Sorry, we’re going through a tunnel right now.”

Can you tell I’m on the train? I wanted to text Han Sooyoung but I’ll settle for you.

Joonghyuk started responding, telling him to stop sending the notes. Usually just one word. Then those words change, responding with “Yes,” or “No,” or no response if the question was stupid enough.

If you’re wondering why I don’t just write on the sticky notes you put (Those are crumbs that I’m leaving, Joonghyuk-ah, I’m not eating them) it’s because your illegible scrawling leaves no room for my philosophies. Plus, stealing from big corporations is my pastime.

Joonghyuk started sending whole sentences back, comments and questions this strange man pulls out of him before he’s even realized he wrote out a note.

Before long, the time he spends going through he and Kim Dokja’s sticky note conversations becomes something he needs.

Yet, the notes stop. All of the sudden, it was an empty lunchbox with only crumbs. It continued like this for a week, one where Yoo Joonghyuk tormented himself over whether to reach out, try to ask why—

On Wednesday, there’s an unexpected knock at the door.

It’s him.

“Joonghyuk!”

“Who are you.”

“Kim Dokja? You’ve met me before, don’t pretend to have forgotten me. Besides, I tested like half of the games you stream. Surely at least that little factoid stuck.”

“How did you find my house.”

“Well, remember that collab thing that happened November? Your address was listed on some paperwork I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to look at. I saw it when I was stealing another stack of post it notes from the office. So, I thought I’d memorize it and come find you! By the way, do you phrase all your questions like statements?”

Yoo Joonghyuk stared at Kim Dokja, dumbfounded. “Everything you just said was the most unethical way to go about things.”

Kim Dokja winced, but didn’t look ashamed in the least. “Is this about the address snooping?”

“Yes,” he said flatly. Kim Dokja paused his rambling and Yoo Joonghyuk went silent, scanning him.

He’s too skinny.

“Are you not eating?”

“Well, you see”

That was all he needed to hear. He grabbed the fool by the front of his shirt and yanked him into his house.

“IM BEING KID—“

“Quiet,” Yoo Joonghyuk growled, slapping a hand over his mouth. Kim Dokja nodded slowly. “Yoo Mia is sleeping.”

The man made a noise of understanding and quietly slipped into one of the bar seats, waiting silently.

Yoo Joonghyuk fired up the stove and slid into the groove of cooking, chopping, and mincing.

It was surprisingly easy, that night.

The next, Kim Dokja seemed to grow braver. For one, the man had the audacity to come back in the first place, and then he decided to make snide comments.

“Didn’t the recipe say to dice the garlic?”

“It’s better minced.”

“Did you know birds poop and pee at the same time?”

“I’m trying to eat.”

And now;

“Ahjussi, that’s gross!”

“When I was your age, we’d pull cicada larvae out of the trees and throw them at each other. I even ate one, once.”

“STOP THAT!” Yoo Mia would screech, slapping her hands over her ears right as “Weird Ahjussi” burst into laughter.

Formerly quiet dinners turned into roudy chatting far past Mia’s bedtime.

Kim Dokja strolled around like he owned the place, peeking over Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder in the kitchen, tugging on his elbow when he wanted something, and lingering far too long in Joonghyuk’s head.

It seemed that every time Yoo Joonghyuk was in the kitchen, he was never alone. Kim Dokja was always there. Reading at the bar. Prodding pots and pans. Snagging his free hand. Being a nuisance.

And even on days he couldn’t be there, he’d leave little crumbs around for Joonghyuk to pick up and read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoo Joonghyuk’s happy place was his kitchen.

[tomkaulitzssgirl]

FOR THE PERSON THAT ASKED THIS: “Tom has a gf for 2 years and they live together. One night she years weird stuff around the house, she tries to ignore it but can’t. She wakes tom up and suddenly there are men in their room. Turns out tom is a undercover agent and these men wanted revenge. They grab her and take her away. She’s obviously heart broken because she doesn’t understand any of it. (Tom was it behind her back). Then tom saves her but she’s very sad and angry about it because he’s kept it hidden. So they have a fight (they do make up, maybe smut?) “

THIS IS FOR YOU IM SORRY I LOST THE REQUEST!

SHATTER | TOM KAULITZ

you and tom had been together for two years.

and not the flimsy kind of two years — the real kind. the kind where you could finish each other’s sentences, and argue over who left the toothpaste cap off but be curled into each other thirty minutes later like nothing ever happened. the kind where every little thing was shared: playlists, hoodies, toothbrushes, dreams.

you lived together in a small, sunlit apartment on the fourth floor of a quiet building just outside the city. your mornings started slow, tangled in sheets and soft kisses, and your nights ended with his arm draped over your waist and the low hum of the tv still playing in the background. you loved him more than you’d ever loved anyone, and he made you feel so safe, like nothing in the world could touch you.

tom was… mysterious sometimes. but never in a way that worried you.

he’d told you when you first got serious that he worked freelance — “independent contracts,” he called them. he was always vague about the details, but you figured it was tech stuff, maybe music work on the side. he was creative, always had random hours, and took calls in another room. but he made good money, and he always came home to you.

always.

sometimes late. sometimes tired. but he kissed you like he meant it, touched you like you were breakable, and looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

so you never questioned it, not once.

until that night.

⸻

it was just past 2:30am when you woke up.

you weren’t sure why at first — the room was dark and still, the air quiet except for the soft spin of the ceiling fan and tom’s steady breathing beside you.

you rolled over slowly, still half-asleep, and that’s when you heard it.

a faint creak.

your brows drew together. it wasn’t the usual groan of old pipes or the wind against the glass. it was something else. sharp. intentional.

you sat up slightly, your heart beginning to thrum — not fast, just a little quicker than it should have.

probably the neighbor’s cat, you told yourself, but then came the second sound.

a soft click, like a door being closed. or opened.

your breath caught.

you stared into the dark. the hallway beyond the bedroom door was pitch black. your ears strained for any sound, eyes wide now, your mind racing.

then — the sound of a footstep.

your blood ran cold.

no.

no, it had to be your imagination. you were half asleep. paranoid.

you leaned over and placed your hand on tom’s chest.

his skin was warm. calm. still.

“tom.” you whispered, gently shaking him.

he stirred, blinking slowly. “mmh… what’s wrong, baby?”

“i heard something,” you said softly, urgently, “down the hall.”

he blinked again, sitting up now, his entire energy changed. not groggy. not confused. alert.

“stay here.” he said immediately, voice low, firm.

“what—wait, tom—”

but he was already up. shirtless, in his boxers, and moving toward the edge of the bed.

he bent down and pulled something from under his side of the bed frame.

your stomach turned cold when you saw what it was.

a gun.

you froze. you didn’t know he owned one.

you hadn’t even seen him hold one before.

“tom, what the hell—?”

but before he could answer, the bedroom door slammed open.

two men burst in — masks, black clothing, tactical boots. it felt like time slowed.

you screamed. tom moved fast — so fast — knocking one back with the butt of the gun, grabbing the second by the collar and throwing him hard into the dresser. a lamp shattered. glass flew.

“run!” tom yelled, but you couldn’t move.

another man appeared at the door — tall, broad, carrying something heavy.

and then you felt arms around you, rough and forceful, dragging you backward off the bed.

“no!” you shrieked, kicking, fighting, reaching for tom as he fought to get to you. your fingers almost touched — almost.

but then the blow came — something hard to the side of your head — and the world slipped sideways, lights fading, tom’s voice echoing in your ears as everything went black.

you woke up cold.

your head throbbed. the air was stale and metallic. your arms ached — tied behind your back with something tight and rough, biting into your skin.

you tried to blink the haze away, but the room around you was barely lit — dull concrete walls, no windows, just a single bulb hanging above your head, swinging faintly like it had been disturbed.

the silence was loud. where was tom?

you tried to remember everything, but it came in jagged flashes — the masked men. the fight. tom with a gun. the way he moved. the way he yelled your name. the way they ripped you from him like it was nothing.

and now… nothing.

no rescue. no answers. no him.

a sharp breath tore from your lungs. your chest tightened. panic clawed at the inside of your ribs.

“hello?” your voice cracked, “someone—someone help!”

no answer.

just your own voice echoing back at you.

you didn’t know how long you sat there — hours maybe. knees tucked to your chest, heart in your throat, head pounding, eyes sore from crying. you tried not to think. you tried not to feel.

but the worst part wasn’t the fear. it wasn’t even the pain.

it was him.

tom.

because he lied to you.

because he wasn’t who he said he was.

because none of it was real.

was it?

when the door opened, your eyes widened with horror at the sight. the man that had took you there, the one who held you while the other hit you, was walking towards you, a cruel smirk twisting his lips like he’s been waiting just for this moment. his eyes glint with mockery as he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“well, well,” he drawled, voice thick with sarcasm, “the princess finally wakes up.”

you tried to pull away, but your limbs wouldn’t obey. your heart pounded, the fear knotting deep in your stomach.

before you could say anything, he slapped your cheek hard enough to sting, and the sharp pain snapped through your daze.

“didn’t think you’d last this long,” he sneered, “thought you’d cry and beg by now.”

your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, trying to hold onto whatever little strength you have left.

his hand shot out, hitting you again — not enough to break skin, but enough to remind you who’s in control.

your vision blurred with tears, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

then, suddenly, the sharp crack of a gunshot ripped through the room.

a flash of light. the bang rattled your bones. smoke poured into the room, and men flooded in — not the ones from before. these wore black and grey gear, helmets, night-vision.

the man’s face twisted in shock and pain as he slumped back, eyes wide. he fell down, the hand he had brought on his chest was now full of blood.

the door flew open, and tom stepped in, eyes burning with fury. “motherfucker, stay the fuck away from her.”

he moved fast, going to kick the man in his ribs as he was slowly dying.

your body tensed again. your eyes squeezed shut.

and then you heard his voice getting closer.

“move—move! i’ve got her!”

you gasped as he dropped in front of you, breathless and wide-eyed, blood streaked across his temple. he didn’t hesitate — he ripped the ropes off your wrists like they were paper.

“baby, baby—fuck, are you okay?” his voice broke. “you’re safe. you’re safe now.”

you looked at him like you didn’t know who he was.

because you didn’t, not anymore.

back at the safehouse, hours later, you hadn’t said a word since he pulled you from that room.

not during the helicopter ride. not when he wrapped a blanket around you. not when he tried to explain things you couldn’t even begin to understand.

he brought you inside like something precious — still barefoot, still shaking, wrapped in one of his hoodies. he set you on the edge of the bed and crouched in front of you, gently brushing your hair back.

“baby,” he said softly, “you’re safe. you’re with me.”

your eyes darted toward him… but didn’t stay.

you kept looking around the room. like you didn’t trust the walls. like something might come through the shadows at any moment.

you still hadn’t spoken.

he grabbed a water bottle and twisted off the cap, handing it to you.

you didn’t take it.

your hands were limp in your lap, knuckles red from the rope burn, your face… empty. like you were floating three feet outside your body.

“okay,” he said gently, placing the bottle on the nightstand, “that’s okay. you don’t have to talk yet.”

he sat beside you slowly.

you didn’t look.

didn’t cry, didn’t lean in, didn’t even blink when he whispered your name.

just a ghost in a body that used to be yours.

he got scared after ten minutes.

not the kind of scared he was trained for — guns, violence, adrenaline — but this. the silence. the stillness. the shell of the woman he loved sitting next to him like she didn’t know him anymore.

he stood across the room, pacing. running both hands down his face. finally, he turned to you.

“please,” he said, “say something. scream. hit me. just something.”

nothing.

his throat tightened.

“i can’t fix this if you don’t come back to me.”

still nothing.

his hands were trembling now. “you’re scaring me.”

your lip twitched, the smallest movement.

he turned fully, hand hovering near yours. “please. just look at me. even just once.”

slowly… you did.

your eyes met his.

and the look on your face shattered him.

because it wasn’t angry.

it wasn’t relieved.

it was broken.

the kind of broken that says why didn’t you come sooner?

the kind that whispers, i didn’t know if you were real.

the kind that aches, i don’t know how to be me anymore.

then your voice came out low. hollow.

“how long?”

tom froze.

“how long have you been lying to me?”

he swallowed hard. “since we met.”

you laughed. cold. “right. of course.”

“it wasn’t supposed to go this far,” he said, stepping closer, “i wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you. it started as cover—then it stopped being that. i swear to god, everything after that was real.”

you shook your head slowly, the weight of it all crashing in.

“you told me you worked with music. late nights. contracts. i thought… i thought you were just—”

“normal?” he finished, gently. painfully.

“yes.”

he knelt in front of you. his hands reached for yours but hovered there, unsure. like he knew he didn’t deserve to touch you. “i didn’t tell you because i wanted to protect you.”

“and look how that turned out.” you whispered, pulling your hands back.

his jaw clenched.

“they came into our house, tom. they dragged me away. they hit me. tied me up. because of you. and you never even gave me the choice to know what world i was living in.”

his voice cracked when he spoke again. “i’ve never hated myself more than i do right now.”

you looked at him — really looked at him. broken, blood-streaked, still kneeling in front of you like a man begging for forgiveness he didn’t know how to ask for.

and god, you still loved him.

and god, you hated that.

your breath shook. “you don’t get to be my home and my danger, tom. pick one.”

he stood slowly, chest rising with each breath. “i pick you.”

you blinked, tears welling. “it’s not that easy.”

“i know,” he whispered, “but i’ll spend every second proving it’s real.”

silence.

then another question. the one that hunted you the most.

“who are you?”

he was quiet for a long moment.

then he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from you, elbows resting on his knees. he exhaled like the truth was heavier than the gun he’d carried.

“i’m in a crew. underground. we take contracts — high-level, high-danger. sometimes intel. sometimes… people. i’ve run weapons. drugs. taken lives. i’ve done it all.”

he paused. “i started as a runner. now i’m the one they call when shit needs to be cleaned up.”

you stared at him, chest tight, unable to look away. he keeps going.

“i make people disappear. i deal, but only to fund the other side of it — the real work. i take out people worse than me. traffickers, warlords, corrupt officials, men who hurt women like—”

he swallowed. “like the ones who took you.”

his voice was raw now. “i kept it from you because i knew you wouldn’t understand. i didn’t want you to see me as the monster they do.”

you blinked hard, your voice a whisper.

“but i do see it now. and i don’t know what to do with that.”

he nodded slowly. “i wouldn’t either.”

your body trembled — from the cold, from the fear, from the ache in your chest that nothing could reach.

and then finally, softly, you said:

“just… lie down. i can’t be alone tonight.”

he didn’t say anything. just climbed into the bed behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist like he used to. his chest pressed to your back. his nose in your hair.

your body was still. tense.

but after a while, your breathing evened.

you shifted just a little.

and your hand found his.

he froze.

not because he didn’t know what to do — but because it was you reaching for him.

your fingers slid over his knuckles slowly, like you were remembering the shape of him.

he turned his hand, lacing his fingers with yours. he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“you still with me?” he whispered.

you nodded, barely.

“can i touch you?”

a pause.

then, softly — “please.”

something about the way you said it cracked him open.

he moved slowly. carefully. reverent.

his hand slipped under the hem of the hoodie you were wearing — his hoodie — and rested against the bare skin of your waist. you weren’t wearing anything under it. his breath caught.

not because of desire.

but because of how close you still let him be.

how much you needed this too.

he shifted, guiding you gently onto your back, eyes locked with yours the entire time — watching, making sure.

his hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing the curve of your cheek. your eyes didn’t leave his. there were tears in them — not fear. not confusion. just need.

you whispered, “i want to feel something that’s real.”

his chest caved.

“you’re real,” he said, voice tight. “this is real.”

his lips met yours — slowly at first. soft. grounding.

then deeper. hungrier. like he needed to kiss away everything that had happened.

like he needed to remind you who he was under all of it.

your hands gripped the front of his shirt, holding him to you. his name left your lips in a breathy whisper — fragile but full of life.

he kissed your neck, your collarbone, every scar his silence had left behind.

his hands slid beneath the fabric, mapping your skin like a language he hadn’t spoken in too long.

every touch said i’m sorry.

every kiss said i’m still yours.

you arched into him, desperate for something — closeness, safety, him.

and tom held you like he knew how much you’d lost.

like holding you was the only thing keeping him together too.

your hands gripped his shoulders like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

tom hovered above you, barely letting his weight rest against your body. his eyes were locked to yours — as if he couldn’t afford to look away, like if he did, you’d vanish again.

your legs wrapped slowly around his waist, drawing him closer, and his breath stuttered at the feel of your skin against his.

he was quiet — looking at you like he was worshipping you.

his lips brushed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. every kiss was a promise.

“you sure?” he whispered, voice thick.

you nodded, your breath shaky, your voice barely there. “don’t make me feel like i’m still gone.”

his chest tightened, and he slid his hand up your side, under the hoodie — fingertips skimming your ribs, your waist, like he was memorizing you all over again.

he leaned down and kissed your collarbone, slow and grounding. “you’re right here,” he murmured, “you never left me.”

you tilted your chin up. “then show me.”

tom exhaled like the words had hit him dead in the chest.

and slowly, so slowly, he let his body press against yours. his skin met yours — hot, trembling, careful. his hips settled between your thighs, guided by your soft pull and the quiet desperation in your eyes.

his body pushed forward gently — close, so close — and you felt him fully now, warm and solid and real. your lips parted, a breath catching in your throat. it wasn’t pain. it wasn’t fear. it was relief. a rush of sensation that grounded you in your skin.

his hand came up to cradle your face. “i’ve got you,” he whispered again, “you don’t have to hold anything anymore.”

you didn’t.

your body moved with his, soft gasps escaping your mouth as he rocked into you — slow, deep, careful. like he was trying to make you feel every part of him without overwhelming you.

your fingers slid into his hair. he kissed you like he needed to say everything he hadn’t been allowed to before.

“you’re safe.” he kept whispering.

“you’re here.”

“i love you.”

with every slow movement, every gentle touch, tom felt the weight he’d been carrying—the guilt, the fear, the loneliness—start to unravel, thread by thread.

it wasn’t just your body he was holding; it was your pain, your trauma, your shattered trust. and with each soft sigh you breathed against him, a part of his own brokenness mended.

his hands trembled not from desire but from the sheer relief of feeling you there—real, present, alive.

he kissed your skin like a prayer, like an apology that words could never fully say.

his voice, husky and low, murmured promises meant as much for himself as for you:

“we’re going to get through this. together.”

you clung to him, and he held you tighter, memorizing the way your breath caught, the way your heartbeat faltered and steadied again beneath his chest.

usually, when tom and you made love, it was electric—wild, urgent, like a storm about to break. fingers digging in, heated breath, gasps that turned into moans. the kind of rough that left you both breathless, tangled, and dripping with want.

but tonight… it was different.

there was no rush. no sharp edges. no fire that scorched.

instead, it was passion in its quietest form.

and for tom—used to taking control, to the raw edge of roughness—this tenderness was new and terrifying. but it was also exactly what he needed.

because in that softness, he found a deeper kind of fire. a fire that didn’t consume, but comforted. a fire that burned steady and true.

as the sensation built, tom’s grip tightened just enough to ground you, his lips brushing against your ear as he groaned low and raw, his voice thick with need and tenderness.

“you’re mine,” he murmured, over and over, as if saying it aloud would make it true forever, “always mine. i’ll keep you safe — with me. always.”

you trembled beneath him, a soft moan slipping past your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair as you clung to those words — the promise, the safety, the love.

he kissed your temple, whispered a shaky, “i’m sorry,” like it was a prayer, a vow, and you let yourself melt into him, your voices and breaths rising together in perfect, fragile harmony.

when it was over, you lay tangled in each other’s arms, the weight of the world softened by the warmth between you, knowing that, for this moment, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

after, you both lay tangled under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. tom’s hands never left you—sometimes tracing lazy circles on your back, sometimes just holding you like you were the most fragile thing on earth.

his touch was gentle but desperate, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you, every breath, every heartbeat.

“you okay?” he whispered, voice low and thick with worry.

you nodded, but didn’t speak. you still felt numb—like the trauma clung to your skin, invisible but heavy.

tom tightened his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “i’m so sorry, baby. for everything. for not telling you. for putting you in danger.”

his voice cracked, raw with guilt. “i should’ve kept you safer.”

you felt his tension, the way his body trembled with fear—not for himself, but for you.

“i’m here,” you whispered finally, “you saved me. i’m with you.”

he lifted his head and looked at you, eyes shining with unshed tears. “it scares me,” he admitted, “losing you… i can’t lose you.”

you reached up, brushing your fingers over his cheek, steadying him as much as he steadied you.

“we’ll get through this. together.”

he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, slow and sure.

and in that quiet aftercare, with his arms wrapped around you like armor, you both found a small piece of peace—a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, the worst was behind you.

[miniscule-meow]

APPLE.

mkay so *cracks knuckles* I've officially read every single thing on ur masterpost LMFAOOOOO bro I'm so sorry ik you must be getting spammed by my reblogs and likes but PLEAAASSEEE LIKE IM SO LEGIT EMOTIONALLY INVESTED THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE IT'S DETRIMENTAL. I'm a SUCKER for female tiny x male giant cos it's pretty self indulgent for me and UGH you explore so many different dynamics with ur little handful of well-crafted characters, lemme just say i'm fr a massive fan like akjnaksjnskdnskhdnjhjfb IK U KNOW THIS I JUST HAVE TO SAY IT AGAIN BYE. I followed you a WHILE back because I came across one of the Isabell and the Lads chapters and loved it so much even though it was halfway through and I had no idea what was going on, and then duh I got hooked onto Charlie and Felix and boom now i'm here i'm a fan i'm soon to be promoted to an air conditioner at this point.

I think (no i don't think, i KNOW) Deckard is my favourite man to ever exist like... ever, yeah. Felix and Marcus are tied as close seconds (I love ur bb zeke but yk, the three other fine babes are slightly more obnoxious and beautifully flawed and kinda loud and or grumpy which entices me personally).

Charlie is my favourite of the gals but i LOVEEE ISABELL SHE'S SUCH A CUTIEEEE OML STOPPP. And Lark yes ik u said her character felt kinda flat but I LOVE HER WHOLE CONCEPT OKAY. And not even kidding that scene in the garden when she finally got to see Deckard again and starts rambling about how upset she is literally made me tear up like I was not expecting that maybe i'm just in an emotional mood these days... EVERYTHING about Something Unexpected had a CHOKEHOLD on me I fr finished it all so quick no breaks and was on my toes the whole time it was so refreshing. Love me a sarcastic flirty STUPID hottie and a pretty little unfortunately probably traumatized fairy princess. Legit addicted thank you for your service goodnight.

xoxo Mimi !!

T H A N K Y O U S O M U C H !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've literally read this ask like three or four times today, you got me giggling and kicking my feets for REAL 😭😍🥰

Thank you!!!! Also, never feel bad for spamming notes because that literally gives me life. And I always read all the tags, it's seriously one of my favorite things.

I'm so glad you like my stories & my characters 😭

I'm working on more with Deckard and Lark! You might not be able to tell because of how little I've updated their story (I just looked the other day and it's been like 9 months since they've gotten an updated ☠️ oops.) but Deckard is my favorite too. (Felix is a CLOSE second. I guess I like my giants to be .. a bit of a disaster)

I've been playing around with the idea of a rewrite for them. I've mentioned that before probably.. I think if I did that, the stories would end up merging at some point. Most of the substance in the story would be largely the same... I think I just don't like the beginning..? But regardless I do have plans!

Thank you again for this. Straight up, I might print this ask and tape it to my desk or something ily

[skitskatdacat63]

Timeswap!Vettonso(I blame @ayceeofspades for this)

Thoughts:

References HEHEHEHE:

So the dynamics would be: STR!Seb x Aston!Fernando and Post-Retirement!Seb x Ferarri!Fernando(~2011-2012)

The former would be a Seb who is very hungry for Fernando's attention, but now he's with a Fernando is actually now very willing to give him that attention. Fernando is constantly repeating in his head: "Don't fuck the twink don't fuck the twink don't fuck the twink", but every time they end up on the podium together, Seb always ends up being all over him and "accidentally" groping him. So Seb is still a brat but is with a Fernando who's not gonna just be cold to him but will indulge him instead 🤭

The latter is more angsty AAAHHH!! Cause its a Fernando who is in Ferrari hell and Seb who is post-catharsis. And to quote C, Fernando is like "why are you so happy??? Did you win!?" and Seb responds: "no :)" But also I am not immune to Seb being coy and playing with Fernando. He now understands why Fernando was the way he was back then because he's now gone through the same thing with Ferrari, but also wants him to stop being so gloomy and angsty about it.

Don't ask about how these AUs work, just know that they have knowledge of what their original counterparts were like so it's weird for the younger versions to get to see what ends up happening to the other, and then allows the olders to gain a new perspective instead of their biased memories(i.e.: "you're not who I was villainizing you as in my head" = both of them realize that they were building the other up as such an antagonist in their head but then, oh, he's just like me fr)(but for younger Seb, Fernando realizes Seb just wanted to be friends :( and so now he's trying to be more of a mentor.)

[tennessoui]

november ko-fi fic!

hiya!! i am still working on the november ko-fi fic (to be published hopefully sometime this weekend)

(KUWSK family meal aka american thanksgiving themed with ✨chaos✨ to make it wholesome after the last two mob-themed ones lmao)

BUT i'm announcing here that i will be stopping the ko-fi fics after november!! with my grad program picking up, i've found that it's been really hard to balance how much i want to write, study, and just be here in this space online with y'all - and the ko-fi fics have been a ton of fun and honestly so good for my writing abilities, but they've also become a stressor the later in the month it gets without posting when i wanted to commit to having them out at the beginning of each month :(

so to make sure that no one gets charged in december, i'm just gonna delete my ko-fi the last day of november! all the fics i've posted on there will make their way to ao3 (probably in the first month of 2025) so no one will actually lose access to anything - i would just feel really bad if people were charged because they didn't see this or cause they didn't cancel in time or anything!

in all, this has been really fun for me and i'm really really so incredibly thankful for everyone who has become a supporter of my ko-fi (either for a few months or a day or the entire year it's been running). thank you thank you so much!! and i hope you enjoyed these little fics as well <3

[azidoazide-art]

terra and roxas from the expressions sheet! i've never drawn terra before

[ricelover247]

looks up. blinks blearily. scifi series review in the tags (not real review) (not verified) (i have been awake for a very large number of hours)

[realbeefman]

i'm a cis woman, but in the past few years i've developed a habit of headcanoning any male character i relate to as a trans women, beginning a fic trying to explore that, and then miserably falling short as i can never figure out how to end the story. i've recently joined a new fandom and started my most recent attempt at writing this ever-elusive character interpretation i've been trying to explain for years. and it occurs to me that maybe the reason i keep trying to interpret these characters i relate to as women and failing to, is because i'm trying to project the wrong experience. because i think that conclusion i can never fully bring myself to write isn't one about coming to terms with womanhood and embracing that identity, but about coming to terms with being a man.

so tldr im a trans man and this is a coming out post.

[rayllumoon]

sorry, i'm currently so obsessed with rayllum on the star spire -

"one more?" 🥺

"one more what?"🤭

"you know~" 😏

"i know." 😌

🤧...😠

"aw, don't be mad at sneezles. there'll be more kisses later." 😉

like oh my gosh i can't get over this scene - i'm so happy they're back 🥹 everyone who worked on this scene outdid themselves 10000000/10 thank you for this scene! 😭thank you for feeding me 🥹💖 i'm gonna be thinking about this scene and so many other s6 rayllum scenes for the rest of my life

[rosemaze-reveries]

idk if saying this means anything, but I really do consider every request that comes in. Realistically I'm not able to honor all of them even though I wish I could🥲

Even if your ask doesn't get answered, I've never gotten a req that made me think "yah I'm not writing that" and chances are it WAS built upon to some extent/I really was excited with it at one point. I start drafting something like 80% of the asks I receive but my energy is just not reliable at all🥲 plus the usual being busybusy with life

[i-like-books-and-women]

Good God I love reading. But goddamn reading a book so good that you're worried about the next one not living up to how good the one you just finished was is such an unfortunate consequence.

[meatriarchived2]

also just for clarity jic anyones staring at me funny for being Slow, this is Also the inbox and drafts situation going on rn hope that hel-

[walkingbomb]

alright i'm gonna give baldurs gate 3 another go

[bibleofficial]

went to the beach w kp & 4 other indian friends & 3 of us had NEVER surfed before girl WHEW it’s SO fun literally only 20quid to rent a wetsuit & board & i fucking smashed my toes on the sand so much, but also we 1) got the wrong tickets so we got off 1 stop early 2) went to find a bus & the bus that was supposed to be 15 min turned into an HOUR 3) on our way to find a bus back everyone’s phones are dying or dead bc it took us 3hrs longer to get there, cigarettes are out 4) all of the shops in town are closed & the town seems to have ONLY a tesco extra & 1 off license that sells a PACK FOR 15.65 A PACK WHICH IS FUCKING CRIMINAL ITS CHEAPER TO BUY IT FROM TESCO ARE U INSANE 5) the bus back to the other town kept skipping us bc the bus stop wasn’t the ACTUAL bus stop - i had 1 bowl since literally 11a & we got back at fucking 11p 😭😭😭