#//reflecting all the way back to their beginning becAUSE I CAN

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 10

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21@dylsw@ria-s-writes@sleepymothafterhours@sukunasstomachtongue@cosmic-lovr@imm0rtalbutterfly@kyo-kyo1

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Chapter 10: After Hours

The days bled together, each one a repeat of the last. I woke up to the same white walls, the same sterile air, the same suffocating silence. The routine felt like a never-ending cycle: eat, therapy, argue with the therapist, meet with Selene, get high, fuck, then retreat back to my room to sleep off the guilt. I didn’t even have the energy to fight the monotony anymore. It was easier to just go through the motions.

Every morning therapy session felt like a war zone. I hated it. The words they said to me, the questions they asked, the way they looked at me like I was some broken puzzle piece—they all gnawed at me, and I fought back with every ounce of bitterness I had left. I wasn’t ready to confront anything, especially not the damage I’d done to myself and the people around me. Not yet.

Selene had become my secret escape. She wasn’t anyone I trusted, but in a place like this, trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford. She provided the pills, the numbness I craved. It wasn’t the same as the chaos I used to embrace, but it was the closest I could get to escaping this damn place.

When we hooked up, it was just another way to drown out the noise in my head, to feel something—anything—other than the crushing weight of everything I’d been running from. It didn’t mean anything, not really. But it was a distraction. A temporary release.

One week in this hellhole, and I was already suffocating. The days felt like an eternity, and I found myself yearning for the moment I could leave. But each time I thought about leaving, about going back to the chaos I used to live in, I remembered the mess I’d made of myself. The last thing I wanted was to drag anyone down with me.

I closed my eyes, blocking out everything. 

This is what I deserve,

 I told myself.

 I made my bed.

But deep down, I knew I wasn’t just here because of my choices. I was here because I didn’t know how to deal with everything that had happened. And I hated myself for it.

I was in my afternoon session, the clock ticking endlessly in the background. Mrs. Henry sat across from me, her sharp gaze dissecting every inch of my expression. I didn’t care. I stared back, unblinking, waiting for her to say something.

"Are you high right now, Sukuna?" she asked again, her voice calm, almost too calm. I could tell she wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily.

I shrugged, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, arms crossed over my chest. "No," I shot back, my tone colder than I meant it to be. "How would I be high, Mrs. Henry? I’m not medicated. I'm an addict. Isn't that how it works?" I could feel the bitterness seeping through, like it had become my default setting, something I couldn’t turn off even if I wanted to.

Mrs. Henry leaned forward slightly, her gaze still unwavering. "You don't have to act tough here, Sukuna. You're allowed to be vulnerable," she said, like I was just another patient in a line of many she’d tried to fix.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not trying to act tough," I muttered, though I could feel the defensive walls rising in me. "I'm just telling you how it is. You think this is me acting tough? This is me, trying not to lose my mind in a place where no one gives a damn."

Her silence only pissed me off more, but I kept my face blank. I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break down. Not now. Not ever.

“Let’s just cut to the chase,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Ask me the usual questions.”

Mrs. Henry didn’t even flinch. She kept her gaze steady, her tone measured. “Are you high?”

I rolled my eyes and bit back a sigh. “No,” I said, for the second time, just as quick and just as smooth.

The truth, though, was a different story. I was high—just enough to keep my hands steady, my mind quiet. But I needed Selene right now, more than I needed to be honest. So I wasn’t ever going to say yes.

Not to her. Not to anyone.

Mrs. Henry didn't press me any further. She knew the game I was playing, but she couldn't call me on it—not yet, anyway. She jotted something down on her clipboard, her eyes still fixed on me like she was waiting for me to slip up.

"Alright," she said, her tone still annoyingly calm. "Have you been using any substances recently, Sukuna? Specifically, Xanax?"

I could feel a familiar itch in the back of my throat, the need to lie, to deflect, to make sure she didn’t get any closer to the truth.

"No," I said again, as easily as I had the first time, my voice steady, maybe a little too steady. I forced myself not to flinch under her gaze, knowing that if I did, she’d be all over me like a hawk.

I wanted to leave. I needed Selene. She was the only one who could get me out of this fog, who could give me something that made all of it bearable. I could already picture her face, that grin she always had when I showed up, and the promise of relief she always offered.

But I wasn’t going to give her that. Not yet. I’d just lie and lie until I couldn’t lie anymore. The truth? I couldn’t deal with that right now.

"Anything else you've been doing to cope with everything going on?" Mrs. Henry asked, clearly trying to dig a little deeper.

I stared at her, my jaw clenched, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing me crack. "No. Nothing else," I said, the words falling from my lips like they were rehearsed.

I was running out of ways to keep pretending. But if I kept pretending long enough, maybe I could still feel like I had control. Just a little bit longer.

Mrs. Henry raised an eyebrow, not surprised by my response, but still taking notes, as if this was just another layer of the facade I was building around myself.

"That’s understandable," she said, her voice even, "But sometimes, connecting with others here can help with the process, Sukuna. You don’t have to go through this alone."

I almost scoffed at her, but I stopped myself, keeping the anger in check. I didn't need to give her more ammo.

"I'm not alone," I replied coldly. "I’ve got my family. I don’t need therapy buddies to deal with my shit. That’s not gonna fix anything."

I knew I was being defensive, but what else was I supposed to do? Letting someone in would mean they'd see the cracks in my armor, and I wasn’t about to give anyone that kind of power over me—not in here.

"Your family, huh?" she probed, her eyes narrowing just a bit. "Are they the kind of family that supports you through this?"

I glanced away, irritated.

 I don't need her judging me.

 I shook my head slightly. "Doesn’t matter. It’s just... easier when I’m not trying to pretend like everything's fine. I'm dealing with it on my own, and that's it."

The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t here for this. I didn’t want to talk about my family or what I needed from them.

 All I wanted was to get through the day without feeling like I was suffocating.

Mrs. Henry didn’t push it any further, which made me wonder if she knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere. But I couldn’t stop myself from wondering—if I really was alone, what would happen if I let someone in? What would happen if I stopped pushing everyone away, stopped lying about how fine I was, stopped pretending I didn’t care?

I shoved the thought out of my mind quickly, the familiar tightness in my chest taking over again. 

No. Not now. Not ever.

“Tell me about Jin.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I froze. My chest tightened, my mind grinding to a halt. Jin? Who told her about him? How did she know?

My palms started to sweat, my shirt sticking to my back as the room suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. My mouth went dry, and for the first time in the session, I couldn’t think of a single word to say.

Everything blurred, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. All I could focus on was that name—his name—echoing in my head like a curse.

The mention of Jin hit me like a punch to the gut. My entire body tensed, a rush of heat and cold sweeping through me all at once. 

How the hell did she know?

I gritted my teeth, trying to regain control, but my hands were shaking. I clenched them into fists, digging my nails into my palms to distract myself. 

I can't break. I can’t break.

"Who told you about Jin?" I growled, my voice hoarse, as if the words were being dragged from my throat.

Mrs. Henry didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away. She just stared at me, unblinking, waiting for me to answer. It was as if she knew exactly how to push me, to get under my skin.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper

Fuck.

I didn’t want to talk about Jin. I didn’t want to think about him. Not now. Not here. 

Not when I’m like this.

"Answer me," I snapped, my voice rising, cracking slightly at the edges. "Who the fuck told you?"

She didn’t answer. She just waited, her calm demeanor unnerving. "It’s not about who told me, Sukuna," she said softly, but there was something in her tone that made me freeze. "It’s about you. It’s about how you’re still carrying that weight."

I felt a lump form in my throat, my chest tightening with the familiar, suffocating pain.

 God, not this again.

Jin. My fucking twin. The one person who knew me better than anyone. The one person I could always count on. And now he’s gone, and I’m here... spiraling in a place where everything feels wrong. Where I can’t breathe, where I can’t fix it, and where every memory of him feels like a betrayal.

I wanted to yell, scream, or throw something, but I couldn’t. I was trapped in this room, in my own mind, drowning in guilt and rage and fucking grief. 

Why am I even here?

"I don’t want to talk about it," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Just let me fucking be.

But Mrs. Henry didn’t back down. She leaned in slightly, her eyes sharp, but with a gentleness that pissed me off. "That’s part of the problem, Sukuna. You’re not talking about it. You’re burying it all inside, and it’s eating you alive."

My breath hitched, the walls around me crumbling just a bit. I hated how right she sounded, but I wasn’t going to let her see that.

"I’m not... I’m not burying shit," I hissed, my jaw clenching as I stood up from my seat. "Just drop it. Just fucking drop it."

But her eyes never left me. And even though I wanted to walk out, to escape, a part of me knew I couldn’t

 I couldn’t outrun this anymore.

She sighed, her expression softening just slightly, like she was treading carefully now. “Alright,” she said, switching gears. “Tell me about your brothers—Choso and Yuuji.”

I exhaled, long and slow, the tension in my shoulders easing just a bit. 

Finally, A safe topic.

I leaned back in my chair, relieved that she switched topics. 

Choso and Yuuji... 

It was like a breath of fresh air compared to the mess of Jin. I had to admit, even if I didn’t want to be here, talking about them didn’t feel like total torture.

"Choso’s... he's my responsibility, the kid I’m supposed to look out for," I started, trying to steady my voice. I felt a weird kind of warmth in my chest when I thought about him. I wasn’t used to it, but there it was. "He’s been through a lot, too. We both have. After... everything with Jin, I stepped up. Trying to give him something solid, you know?" I paused for a second, wondering if I was saying too much. But I kept going.

"And Yuuji... shit, Yuuji’s like a kid brother I never asked for, but somehow ended up with. He’s stubborn, and sometimes I want to strangle him, but he's a good kid. I Want to be better. I’m just trying to keep him from making the same mistakes I did, even if he doesn’t listen half the time."

A laugh escaped me, though it wasn’t really a happy one. More like a bitter one, like the sound of frustration.

"I don’t know," I muttered, looking down at my hands, the weight of the conversation starting to press on me again. "They’re both better off without me dragging them down. Hell, Yuuji’s better off without me around. Choso... he deserves better too."

Mrs. Henry studied me, her gaze unwavering as always. "You’re doing your best, Sukuna. You’re not perfect, none of us are, but you’re still here for them, aren’t you? They care about you."

I felt my chest tighten again, but I pushed it away. 

No, they don’t. 

Not really.

"Yeah, I guess," I mumbled. "But I’m not the guy they think I am."

I rubbed my face, trying to force down the feelings clawing at my insides. 

I’m not the guy anyone thinks I am.

She didn’t respond, just let the silence stretch out between us. And in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to shut it all out, to just stop thinking, stop feeling. 

But I couldn’t.

She stared at me for a moment then asked, “Tell me about your Grandfather.”

 I felt the tears on my face before I could even stop it. I wiped my face but the tears kept coming.

I felt a lump form in my throat before she even finished asking. 

Grandpa. 

It was like she dug her hand into an old wound, one I’d been trying to close off for months. I couldn’t help it—the tears came, stinging my eyes before I could even stop them.

I wiped my face, frustrated that I was so damn weak. But I didn’t look away. I wasn’t about to give her that satisfaction of seeing me completely unravel.

"I can't... I can't talk about him," I muttered, voice rough and thick with the emotion I was trying to choke down. 

Grandpa 

He was the only one who ever truly gave a damn about me, about Jin, about Choso and Yuuji. Hell, he took care of us when no one else would. And then, just like that, he was gone. Gone too damn soon.

I could already feel the ache in my chest, the empty space he left behind. "I don’t... I can’t. It’s too much," I said again, my voice quieter now, more fragile. I could barely even look at her.

Mrs. Henry didn’t say anything right away, and for a second, I thought maybe she was going to press the issue again. But then she just nodded. "Okay," she said softly. "We’ll move on. When you’re ready, Sukuna."

It was hard to swallow. To think about how I’d never truly be ready. I didn’t want to be. Talking about Grandpa meant feeling everything again—the guilt, the rage, the confusion. And I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

I turned away, pretending to focus on the clock ticking on the wall, but the weight of the conversation hung over me, making it harder to breathe.

 I wasn’t ready. Not now, not ever.

The room felt like it was closing in on me. My chest tightened, and I could barely catch my breath. 

Jin.

 His face flashed in front of me like a damn haunting. 

Why did I do it? Why did I let him die?

I felt the bile rise in my throat just as I realized I was going to lose control. I pushed the chair back and stumbled toward the bin in the corner, barely making it in time. My stomach twisted violently as I emptied whatever little was left in my body. The tears mixed with the vomit, and I didn’t even know where one ended and the other began.

When it stopped, I collapsed against the cold, sterile floor, my body shaking. I could barely breathe, the air thick with panic and grief. My arms wrapped around me instinctively, like I could hold myself together if I just kept tight enough.

But I knew it was a lie.

My body trembled, but my mind—

my mind was a fucking mess.

 Jin’s death. Grandpa’s. The guilt. The weight of it all. How could I even keep living with this?

"You didn’t save him,"

 I muttered, my voice cracking, barely audible. 

"You were too weak... too scared."

The sound of the door creaking open reached my ears, but I couldn’t look up. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.

"Sukuna," Mrs. Henry’s voice was soft, like she was trying to approach a wild animal. But it wasn’t working. 

Nothing worked.

I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, shutting my eyes, trying to block it all out. But I couldn’t.

 I couldn’t. 

It was always there.

She came closer but stopped just out of reach, probably sensing the distance in me. "This won’t fix itself, Sukuna," she said gently, but it felt like a slap. "You can’t keep running from it."

I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. The only thing I could hear now was the deafening silence in my mind, the pounding of my own heartbeat, and the deep, gut-wrenching ache of what I’d lost. What I was losing.

Maybe I was right. Maybe I was already too far gone.

I DIDN’T LEAVE MY ROOM FOR TWO DAYS

I heard the door creak open, and I stayed curled up in my bed, wrapped in the blanket like it could shield me from everything. I couldn’t move, couldn’t look at anyone. The guilt kept swirling, suffocating me. My thoughts were too loud—

too loud to escape.

 I killed Jin. I could’ve stopped him. I should’ve been there.

Mrs. Henry’s soft footsteps approached, and then I heard the bed creak as she sat beside me. She didn’t try to touch me, didn’t push me to look at her. She just sat there, quiet, waiting for me to speak.

I kept my eyes shut, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill again. I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t face anyone.

"Sukuna," her voice was calm, but there was a tenderness there I didn’t expect. "You can’t keep doing this. You have to talk about it. Holding it all in... it’s not going to fix anything."

I bit my lip, trying to keep it together, but my chest felt like it was caving in. I finally spoke, but my voice was hoarse, cracking, barely a whisper.

"I killed him," I said, the words tasting like acid in my mouth. "I killed Jin. I could’ve stopped him. I should’ve been there... but I wasn’t."

She didn’t say anything at first, just let me breathe through the wave of guilt and grief that hit me. I could feel her presence next to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look up.

"Jin made his own choices," Mrs. Henry said softly, her voice steady, but somehow it didn't feel as harsh as it should. "You couldn’t have known what would happen, Sukuna. You’re carrying this weight like it’s your fault, but you need to understand... it’s not. You’re not responsible for his death."

I shook my head, the tears falling freely now. "I was supposed to protect him. I was supposed to—be there."

She sighed, a long, patient breath. "You can’t change what happened. No matter how much you want to. But you can change how you’re handling it now. You’re not alone in this, Sukuna. You have people who care about you, who want to help."

"Who?" I choked out, bitterly. "Who the hell cares? Jin’s gone. My grandpa’s gone. All I’ve done is fuck up."

Mrs. Henry was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, her tone soft but firm. "Sukuna, you're not alone. I know it feels like the world is falling apart, like everything’s broken beyond repair, but that’s not the truth. You have people who care, and you can find a way to make it through this—

but you need to let them in."

I stayed quiet, feeling the weight of her words. I didn’t know how to let anyone in, not after everything. Not after what I did.

I wanted to say something back, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t let me. I wanted to argue, to scream that I didn’t deserve their help. But there was something in Mrs. Henry’s voice, a quiet strength, that made me hold back.

She was right. 

I couldn’t do this alone.

But 

How could I let anyone in again?

Mrs. Henry stayed beside me, her voice calm but steady. “Sukuna, you need to breathe. Look at me,” she said gently, but I couldn’t. My chest was heaving, my breaths shallow and erratic. My hands were shaking as I clutched the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing keeping me tethered.

“Focus on my voice, Sukuna. Just listen to me.” Her tone softened further, soothing in a way that cut through the chaos swirling in my head. “You’re safe right now. Nothing is going to hurt you. You need to breathe—slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

I tried, but the panic had a stranglehold on me. My head was spinning, and I felt like I was sinking, spiraling deeper into the pit I couldn’t climb out of.

Mrs. Henry shifted closer, her presence firm yet non-threatening. “You can do this. Start small. Breathe in for three seconds, okay? Let’s count together.” She started counting, her voice steady, unwavering.

“One… two… three. Now exhale. One… two… three.”

I gripped the blanket tighter, forcing myself to follow her rhythm, though it felt like my lungs were burning. Each breath felt like a fight, but slowly, painfully, the dizziness started to fade.

“That’s it,” she encouraged. “Keep going. You’re doing great.”

Tears blurred my vision as I finally managed to draw in a deeper breath, though it came out shaky. My chest still felt tight, but the suffocating weight began to lift, just a little.

“Good,” she said softly. “Now, I want you to name five things you can see in the room. Can you do that?”

I hesitated, my voice barely above a whisper. “The… the blanket.”

“That’s one,” she said patiently. “What else?”

“The wall,” I muttered, my eyes darting around. “The chair. The… clock. And… the bin.”

“Good,” she said, nodding. “Now, four things you can touch.”

“The bed,” I said, my hands still gripping the blanket. “The blanket… my shirt… and the floor.”

Her voice remained calm as she guided me through the exercise, helping me ground myself. By the time I’d listed the last thing, my breathing had slowed, though my chest still ached with the weight of everything.

“You’re okay,” she said, her voice gentle. “You’re here, and you’re okay. I know it feels impossible right now, but you’re stronger than you think.”

I shook my head, the tears falling freely again. “I don’t feel strong,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I feel… broken. Like I can’t fix this.”

Mrs. Henry stayed quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Broken doesn’t mean beyond repair. It means you’re human, Sukuna. And humans can heal, even from the worst of it. But you have to let yourself try.”

I didn’t respond, but something about her words stuck with me, even as I buried my face in my hands. Maybe she was right. Maybe I could try. But it felt so far away, like the light at the end of a tunnel I wasn’t sure I’d ever reach.

              TIME SKIP 2 DAYS

It didn’t take long for me to fall back into the routine. Two days later, I found myself back in Selene’s room. The dim light and faint smell of perfume mixed with something sharper—a scent I couldn’t quite place but was starting to associate with her. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her legs crossed, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips as she eyed me.

“You look like shit, Sukuna,” she teased, tossing a pill bottle from one hand to the other. “Rough couple of days?”

I leaned against the doorframe, my arms crossed, trying to ignore how my hands were already shaking. “Are you offering or just here to waste my time?”

She laughed, that low, mocking sound she always made when she thought she had the upper hand. “Always so charming.” She tilted her head, studying me. “What do you need?”

“Same as always.” I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. My heart was racing, my skin crawling. I hated needing her—hated how easy it was for her to control me with just a damn bottle. But the withdrawals were eating me alive, and right now, I’d do whatever it took to quiet the noise in my head.

Selene patted the spot on the bed next to her. “Come sit, then. Let’s talk business.”

I hesitated, then walked over, lowering myself onto the edge of the mattress. She shifted closer, her knee brushing against mine as she placed the bottle in my hand. I clenched it tightly, like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

“What’s the catch?” I asked, glancing at her. There was always a catch with her.

Selene’s grin widened. “No catch. Just some… companionship. You’re not exactly hard to look at, you know.”

I rolled my eyes, twisting the cap off the bottle. I shook two pills into my hand, then stopped, my mind flashing back to Mrs. Henry, to the therapy sessions, to Yuuji’s face when I woke up in the hospital. For a split second, I considered throwing the pills away, walking out of the room and never coming back.

But then the gnawing ache in my chest returned, the unbearable weight pressing down on me. The thought of facing another night without relief was enough to push me over the edge. I swallowed the pills dry, ignoring the burn in my throat.

Selene watched me, her expression unreadable. “You know,” she said after a moment, “you don’t have to keep doing this. Killing yourself slowly isn’t as poetic as you think.”

“Spare me the lecture,” I muttered, leaning back against the wall. My head was already starting to feel lighter, the sharp edges of reality beginning to blur. “You’re not exactly a model citizen either.”

She shrugged, lying back on the bed. “Fair point. But at least I own it. You? You’re still pretending you don’t want this.”

I didn’t respond, letting the silence settle between us. The pills were kicking in now, the world fading into a dull hum. Selene reached over, brushing her fingers against my arm, and I didn’t pull away.

“You’re a mess, Sukuna,” she said softly, her voice almost gentle. “But I guess that’s why you’re here.”

I closed my eyes, letting her words wash over me. She was right—I was a mess. And right now, I didn’t care.

Selene straddled me, her nails tracing lazy patterns over my chest. It was becoming routine now—therapy in the morning, sneaking into her room after, getting high, fucking, and pretending none of it mattered. Rinse and repeat.

I should’ve been using my time here to get better, especially after my little breakdown in front of Mrs. Henry. Instead, I was right back to the same shit that got me here in the first place. I guess that’s just who I am—someone who runs from the hard stuff, diving headfirst into the chaos to drown it out.

Selene tilted her head, her messy bangs falling into her face as she looked down at me. “You’re awfully quiet today,” she said, her voice a mix of teasing and curiosity.

I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “Not much to say.”

She laughed, low and husky, leaning down until her face was inches from mine. “You’re always full of shit, you know that?”

“Maybe,” I muttered, placing my hands on her hips. The Xanax was working its magic, dulling everything until it felt like I was floating. Selene pressed her lips to mine, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in her.

I wasn’t sure what this was between us—something transactional, something toxic. It wasn’t love, that much I knew. But it was an escape, and that’s all I wanted.

When we were done, she rolled off me, lighting a cigarette as she stretched out on the bed. The smoke curled in lazy tendrils toward the ceiling, and I stared at it, my thoughts swirling.

“You ever think about what you’re gonna do when you get out of here?” she asked, exhaling a long plume of smoke.

I laughed bitterly, running a hand through my hair. “If I get out of here, you mean.”

Selene smirked, passing me the cigarette. “You’ll get out. The question is, what then? Back to the same old shit?”

I took a drag, letting the nicotine hit my lungs before answering. “Probably. What else is there?”

She shrugged, her expression unreadable. “Maybe you could try being a better person. Get your shit together for real this time.”

“Funny coming from you,” I shot back, handing the cigarette back to her.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Fair enough. But seriously, Sukuna. You can’t keep running forever.”

“Watch me,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

Selene didn’t push further, just lay back against the pillows, her cigarette dangling from her fingers. I stared at the ceiling, wondering if there was even a point to all this. Therapy, the pills, the bullshit self-reflection—none of it felt like it was working.

I should’ve been getting help. Instead, I was stuck in this cycle, spinning my wheels and going nowhere. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe this was all I was good for.

Selene’s fingers traced over the tattoo on my arm, her touch light but intentional. “Who’s Y/N?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

I stiffened beneath her, the name pulling me out of my haze like a bucket of cold water. My chest tightened, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep my expression neutral.

“No one,” I muttered, my voice rough. “I don’t got a girl.”

Selene raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Then why’s her name inked on your arm, huh?” She smirked, tilting her head. “Doesn’t seem like ‘no one’ to me.”

I glanced down at the tattoo like I was seeing it for the first time. Y/N. The black ink stood out starkly against my skin, mocking me. When the fuck did I even get that? My head felt foggy, the Xanax dulling everything but the faint stab of panic creeping in.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “I don’t even remember getting this.”

Selene laughed, the sound low and throaty as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against my neck. “Must’ve been important enough at some point,” she teased, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Or were you just drunk and stupid like usual?”

“Drop it,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

She pulled back slightly, her smirk fading as she studied my face. For a moment, I thought she might actually listen, but then her lips were on my neck again, her hands sliding up my chest.

“Relax,” she murmured against my skin. “I don’t care who she is. Or was. You’re here with me now, aren’t you?”

Her words made my stomach churn, but I didn’t push her off. I let her continue, let her kiss me, let her try to distract me from the weight pressing down on my chest.

But the name lingered in the back of my mind, a bitter reminder of everything I’d been trying so damn hard to forget.

Selene’s lips hovered near my ear, her voice low and coaxing. “I could be her for you,” she whispered, her words weaving around me like smoke. “Just for one day. Whatever you want, Sukuna. I don’t mind.”

Her fingers danced over my chest, light and deliberate, and I could feel the weight of her gaze, searching for the cracks in my armor.

My throat tightened as her words sank in, dragging up feelings I’d buried too deep to face. 

Be her? She didn’t know what the fuck she was asking for. Y/N wasn’t just anyone, and she sure as hell wasn’t someone you could play pretend with.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I stared at the floor. “Don’t,” I muttered, my voice low and strained. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Selene tilted her head, feigning innocence, but I could see the spark of curiosity in her eyes. “I’m just trying to help, Sukuna,” she purred. “You’re clearly hung up on her, and I don’t mind stepping in. Let me take the weight off, just for a little while.”

I hated how tempting it sounded.

 The idea of forgetting, even for a moment, felt like a lifeline in this hellhole. But it wasn’t real. Nothing about this place, about her, was real. And deep down, I knew it wouldn’t help. If anything, it’d make things worse.

“Why would you even want that?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. I finally looked at her, my jaw clenched.

She shrugged, her smile not reaching her eyes. “Maybe I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like you.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “You don’t even know me.”

Selene leaned in closer, her lips brushing against my cheek. “Then let me.”

I hesitated, my thoughts a chaotic mess. 

Part of me wanted to say yes, to let her pretend, to drown in the fantasy for a day. But another part of me—probably the part that still gave a shit about Y/N—knew it was wrong. Knew it would only make me feel emptier in the end.

“Selene,” I said, my voice hoarse, “just stop.”

She froze for a moment, then pulled back, her expression a mix of frustration and disappointment. “Fine,” she said, standing up and smoothing her clothes. “But don’t come crying to me when the weight of whatever this is crushes you.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. All I could do was sit there, the ghost of Y/N’s name burning on my arm and in my chest.

I stared at Selene, her words echoing in my head like a challenge I was too weak to resist. 

Fuck it, 

I thought. Just this once. Just to see if it’ll dull the ache.

My jaw tightened as I muttered, “Fine.”

Her smile was instant, victorious, as she climbed back onto my lap, her hands cupping my face. “Good,” she purred, her lips brushing against mine. “I’ll take care of you.”

I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t want to think. Thinking meant remembering, and remembering meant feeling. I couldn’t afford to feel right now.

She kissed me, soft and slow at first, testing the waters, before deepening it. I let her. I let her press her weight against me, let her fingers trail over my skin, let her pretend to be someone she could never be.

It wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

But I let myself fall into the lie for a moment, closing my eyes and imagining it was Y/N. The way she used to look at me, the way her hands used to fit against my chest, the way she’d whisper my name like it meant something.

Selene pulled back, her eyes searching mine, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’re so tense,” she teased, running her hands down my arms. “Relax. Let me make you forget.”

Forget? 

I wanted to laugh. There was no forgetting her. No forgetting the tattoo burned into my skin, the memories etched into my soul. But I was too tired to argue. Too tired to fight.

“Just… do what you want,” I muttered, leaning back against the wall.

She didn’t need to be told twice.

As she kissed me again, I let myself go numb, focusing on the moment instead of the weight in my chest. But no matter how hard I tried, Y/N’s face stayed in my mind, her voice echoing in my ears.

And when it was over, when Selene curled up beside me, satisfied and smug, all I could feel was emptiness.

Just this once, I’d told myself. But even once was too much.

I slowly got lost in the sensations, my thoughts slipping away as Selene’s hands roamed over my skin. Her lips moved across my neck, her breath warm against my ear. For a moment, I let myself sink into it—the touch, the heat, the false comfort.

My body reacted, but my mind drifted elsewhere. I felt her, but I wasn’t really there. Each kiss, each touch, blurred together, and in the haze, I saw Y/N’s face instead.

Her laughter. The way she’d roll her eyes when I teased her. The sound of her voice when she said my name like it actually mattered.

Selene’s lips brushed against mine, pulling me back to the present, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t the person I wanted, even though I’d told myself I didn’t want Y/N anymore. 

Liar.

“Relax,” Selene whispered, her hands sliding down my chest.

I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the ache creeping into my chest. I focused on the sensations—the way her fingers dug into my skin, the way her body moved against mine. For a while, it worked. I felt the tension melt away, replaced by something easier to handle.

But as much as I tried to let go, as much as I tried to drown myself in Selene’s touch, I couldn’t fully escape the weight pressing down on me. It was like a shadow lingering in the corner of my mind, refusing to leave.

What the fuck are you doing, Sukuna?

The thought hit me like a slap, but I pushed it away, letting myself drift deeper into the moment. 

It’s just this once. Just to feel something different. Just to forget.

Selene’s nails raked across my back, pulling a low groan from my throat. For a second, I thought it might work. For a second, I thought maybe I could lose myself completely.

But when she whispered my name, the illusion shattered. It wasn’t her voice I wanted to hear. It wasn’t her I wanted to touch.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, grounding myself in the sting. Selene didn’t notice. She kept going, and I let her, because I didn’t know how to stop.

By the time it was over, my body was drained, but my mind was anything but. As Selene curled into me, her breath steady and content, I stared at the ceiling, feeling hollow.

I’d wanted to forget, but all I’d done was remind myself of what I’d lost. Of what I’d ruined.

[asilentguardian]

Okay but I’d love to see your take on stepdad Hal attempt at parenting and trying not to overstep if you’re up for it

Thank you very much for the prompt! I love fics where Hal is slowly integrating into the batfam.

Please enjoy Hal's attempt at giving Tim advice, just in time for Hal's birthday!

-----

It’s a rare night. Bruce and Hal in the same bed, relatively early. Early meaning 11pm, but for them it’s a miracle. Hal thought that somehow being married would mean their schedules would magically align, that the universe would start seeing them as one person, one unit. But between Batman and the Green Lantern corps and their jobs and Bruce’s kids, there really isn’t time for them alone. Plenty of time to save the world together, to put out fires both literal and metaphorical, but little time for this. Laying together, falling asleep together.

Bruce has already slipped under, arm firmly around Hal’s waist. Hal would love to follow him, to curl against that heat, but Hal’s insomnia has joined them, too, and he can already tell it’s going to be a rough one. It hits him out of nowhere, sometimes, this restlessness. Bruce is still in the early stages, liable to rocket out of sleep if Hal tosses and turns too much. Good sleep is so rare for Bruce these days, so Hal begins the slow process of extracting himself from the bed and Bruce’s grip, only cheating a little bit with the ring to climb over him.

Nights like these used to find him fleeing the manor to the apartment he had refused to give up. But Bruce would inevitably come hunting him down, because he could never let anything go, and Hal would end up putting on a show of resisting, and they’d end up back in bed anyways. The apartment was another battle, one that Hal also ended up conceding. It still felt strange to have a permanent residence in Gotham, of all places.

Now, these nights have him wandering around the manor, exploring the library or one of the multiple sitting rooms or the kitchens until he inevitably runs into one of many nocturnal members of Bruce’s family. His family, really. Another argument they’ve run into, one that Hal isn’t quite ready to concede. He’s never seen himself with kids, doesn’t really think he’s cut out for that. He’s not a natural, not like Bruce.

The glow from the kitchen at the end of the hall tells Hal that he isn’t the only one awake, as usual. Hal makes his footsteps heavier, not willing to repeat the mistake of accidentally sneaking up on a bat. It’s Tim sitting at the counter tonight, another familiar sight.

“Hey kid,” Hal greets as he walks to the fridge. Tim grunts in acknowledgement, face still buried in his phone. It’s funny, the different ways Bruce is reflected in his children. Hal is certain he’s heard the same exact noise come out of Bruce when his attention is turned toward a case. Not that Hal would say so outloud. They all tend to get prickly, when he compares them to Bruce. All of them except Damian, who is still young enough to worship his father. 

Hal is still smiling to himself when he turns back to Tim, snack in hand. He scans his eyes over Tim, making sure his sleeplessness isn’t self-imposed, as it too often is. Another trait, courtesy of Bruce. Hal’s smile quickly drops when he notices that Tim isn’t actually absorbed with his phone, just kind of staring at the black screen, mind clearly somewhere else. There’s no dark circles under his eyes, but they are red and puffy. It’s clear he’s been crying.

“Hey, you okay Tim?” Hal asks. Tim blinks and looks up at him before quickly looking away again, trying to hide his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responds, voice devoid of emotion. Tim is still a teenager, technically, and Hal knows that they don’t take well to prying. Tim especially keeps most things close to his chest, doesn't share much with anyone, Hal thinks. Bruce is only able to keep track of his life through border-line unhealthy amounts of surveillance. Tim seems to be aware of this and allows it, so Hal figures it’s fine. But he’s never seen Tim cry, not enough to leave him looking like this. Bruce would probably go apeshit, if someone had hurt Tim, so Hal tries again.

“You sure? Because you can talk to me about anything, if you need to,” Hal says, and immediately cringes. He sounds like his high-school guidance counselor. “I mean, I know I’m just that guy your dad married, but I’m still happy to help you with anything.”

Even worse now, Hal sounds like his own step-dad, and what a horrific thought that is. Tim doesn’t take the opportunity to poke fun at his fumbling attempts to be cool, just continues to stare at his phone. He glances up at Hal, then back down at his phone, tapping it against the counter. Hal doesn’t move, sensing that Tim is either going to actually open up to him or deflect again, and he wants to give him the space to think.

“It’s not that big of a deal, really,” Tim hedges.

“C’mon, hit me with it then,” Hal encourages. Tim glances at him again, and his shoulders sag in defeat.

“Bernard and I got into a fight,” Tim mutters. Hal is secretly grateful that it seems to be a teenager-shaped problem, and not a vigilante-shaped problem, though maybe he would be a better help with the latter. His few teenage relationships were pretty disastrous. He takes a moment to wrack his brain. He had heard from Bruce that Tim was dating a civilian, a boy, and assumes that this Bernard guy is said boyfriend.

“First one?” Hal guesses. Tim shrugs.

“Not really. But this one was just,” he pauses, trying to find the words.

“Worse?” Hal offers, and Tim nods, finally making eye contact with him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that mad before,” Tim says. Hal winces in sympathy. He remembers the first time he had seen Bruce really, truly, mad at him. It hadn’t been a fun night.

“What was the fight about?” Hal ventures, still unsure of how far he should push. Tim is a Wayne, and he’ll have no problem telling Hal when to fuck off, but he’d like to not piss off Bruce’s kids.

Tim huffs and looks away, guilty.

“Vigilante stuff,” he says vaguely. Hal raises his eyebrows. He wonders if Bruce knows that Tim’s civilian boyfriend knows his identity.

“He mad you didn’t tell him sooner?” Hal asks. Tim shakes his head, brows furrowing.

“No, he figured it out a long time ago, he’s just. He’s overprotective, I guess,” Tim says. He freezes after a moment and looks at Hal, frantic.

“Don’t tell Bruce I said that. He’s already twitchy about Bernard knowing at all,” Tim rushes out. Hal puts his hands up in surrender.

“Relax, kid, I won’t rat you out,” Hal says. Tim relaxes like he just dodged certain death. “But you know what he’d say, right?” Hal adds. He didn’t use to understand Bruce’s paranoia about identities, not really. He thought it was all bullshit, a way for Bruce to exert control over all of them. But after they started screwing around, after Hal ended up at the manor a few times, after he saw the way Bruce talked about his kids, he started to understand. The stakes were higher, for Bruce.

“Man, you used to be cool,” Tim groans, rolling his eyes. Hal crosses his arms at that.

“Hey, I just said I’d help you out,” Hal says. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he huffs. They fall into silence again, Tim picking at the edges of his phone case. Hal lets him have the time to collect his thoughts like Bruce often needs. 

“How did you and Bruce do it?” Tim asks, suddenly much more timid.

“Do what?” Hal asks.

“Stop fighting all the time,” Tim says. Hal can’t stop the bark of laughter that bursts from him, and Tim looks at him in confusion.

“Kid, we have not stopped fighting since we met. That didn’t change just because we starting fu- I mean, dating,” Hal says. Tim raises an eerily familiar eyebrow at the slip up, but lets it lie.

“But you’re married now,” Tim insists. Hal knows that his smile in response to that is embarrassingly soft, but he still can’t help it. It’s still thrilling, to think about Bruce and married in the same sentence. 

“Yeah, we are. I married him even though he drives me crazy and can make me madder than just about anything else in the universe,” Hal says. Tim shifts in his seat, clearly more uncertain than before. Hal Hal panics, just a little, at the thought of completely blowing this.

“Look, just because you love someone doesn’t mean you won’t disagree sometimes. You might even get angry at each other. Bruce and I could disagree on the color of the sky, probably, but the difference between then and now is that we actually try to understand each other. We fight because we don’t want to be misunderstood, you know?” Hal says. Tim looks at him suspiciously.

“Not really, no,” he drawls. Hal sighs.

“Well, then you can’t go wrong with a good apology,” he offers. Tim looks even more suspicious now, and Hal suppresses his laughter, this time, but can’t help but be reminded of a prickly kitten.

“Yeah, I guess,” Tim says. Hal offers him a smile, and turns to the cabinets to hunt for a glass.

“You’re not, by the way,” Tim adds, quiet enough that Hal almost misses it.

“Not what?” he asks, filling his acquired glass with water.

“Just some guy Bruce married. You’re a part of the family, too, you know.” Tim says. It’s Hal’s turn to feel uncertain now. He swallows his knee-jerk reaction of denial, takes a sip of water before turning around. Tim’s gaze is piercing, and Hal gets the same feeling he gets when Bruce stares at him, like he can sense whatever self-deprecating thought has passed through Hal’s mind.

“Thanks, kid.”

[mostowa]

7x07 Corner of Random Thoughts

This is my favorite ep of the whole season so far. We finally got emotional episode, which, I think some people forgot (writers especially), Rookie is good at. I love the weight to the storylines they bring and I missed that in the beginning of S7. This is why Corner of Random Thoughts will be long and sectioned (not so random) for some clarity.

TIM IN THERAPY/FLASHBACKS

When we got sneak peek with Lucy's flashbacks @theflyindutchwoman wondered if we get Tim's perspective, cause in 5x01 we didn't. And I'm so really glad we did. It feels so much more mutual than 5x01, it feels so much more vulnerable. And I'm here for it.

I don't necessarily agree with the fact that thing's been "solid" between them recently. But this supports my idea (which I don't really like) that "small doses" was at least some part of The Talk we've been waiting for and that with it they checked boxes of kindness and appreciation without showing them to us afterwards. This is also what I think is happening with an ensemble cast shows and writing whole arcs weirdly, when you have to divide screentime.

I love how you can see Tim's gears changin when the terapist calls him on I language. I love how therapist says "IF it was a mistake" and then makes a small head shake after. Those small things give me much more hope than I'm willing to admit.

I really think Tim might've been… hopeful (???) morning after, but Lucy's bolting scared him so much he is now convinced he made a mistake. He is doubting his judgment because of how she reacts. I think this dynamics is really perfectly depicted in @cfr749's "Beneath Your Beautiful" and they are both in this dance now.

Lucy's Flashbacks are a direct parallel to 5x01 but they also show how she is determined to compartmentalise this. There is no emotional comentary here other than her denying this. We're back to "ex-sex" thinking. AT THE SAFE HOUSE

Tim/Nolan might be my favorite new dynamics in this series. Like, seriously, they are both clueless about emotions and letting go of control but in a completely different ways. Tim closes up and toughens up and Nolan treats everyone as they are little kids. Seeing this mushed together is joy.

"Hard to sleep when she's not there" and shot to Tim is pure emotional gold mine. Makes me want to write a fanfic about those sleepless nights…

I love how reluctant Tim is towards being "emotionally unavailable" like it's still some crap he'll distance himself from. :D It's giving me a heavy reformed!Tim vibes and I'm here for that.

I also love how the talk starts with Nolan asking Tim about Isabel and ends with Tim reflecting on Lucy. This means that he thinks about her all the time and that she is more important to him than Isabel. I mean, this is obvious, but it's also nice to note that in a full-circle moment like that.

Eric kills the talk. The pain is there. The vulnerability is there. The "small doses" are there. It's the same pain that was in 6x10 and I'm here for him and Lucy to cure this pain BY GETTING BACK TOGETHER ALREADY. Lol.

IT'S ALSO THE FIRST TIME THAT WE SEE PROGRESS TIM'S MADE. He reflects on how he gave up, how he didn't fight. He's obviously not there yet with reasoning behind it. But he'll get there.

In the meantime Lucy's still in denial and we haven't gotten any one scene this episode on her doing any reflection about her situation with Tim at all. xd

The simple fact that Lucy called for Tim with Seth situation is huge for me. I mean, we all know that they trust each other professionally 100%. I just think in any universe it would be normal for them to have any kind of doubt whether they should bother another one in such situation. The way they showed there wasn't any doubt at all is huge for me. It's like I love it. Even though it's nonevent.

I think it's also the fact of how close they remain despite everything they have been through in their relationship. It's absolutely amazing and I feel this strongly this season (for some reason). Maybe it's written that way to divide their personal and professional spheres, but maybe it's just my perception of this. OTHER STUFF

James and Nyla are the most adult relationship in The Rookie. Change my mind after watching this scene in interrogation room, because James is the wise man proposing for them to face the truth and to deal with consequences regardless of the outcome.

I love Celina this season so much. I'm waiting for more storylines and more depth in her.

I love how much depth Bailey got this episode. It's amazing how well they shifted perspective from badass-almighty Bailey to badass-broken-protective Bailey. I love it so much more.

Like, Miles has a really big, texan heart. And I missed this kind of heart in The Rookie. PROMO I am pretty confident that we are getting Tim and Lucy in trouble because of Seth. There is no other reason they would veil this with "putting a two of their own at risk" in the synopsis.

[dallasgallant]

Time period post- Music taste and the radio

Going to take a real teenage approach to this, since it’s what most in the fandom are writing about. This’ll mainly be about music taste and the ways it was enjoyed and experienced (sans concerts I don’t go into that). And the importance of the radio. Past posts I think are connected;

Here. Here. Here.

More exacting-

Now what do I mean by this? Well, there was a lot more “genre loyalty” because this is pre playlists and pre mixtapes, there’s no real way to construct a collection of songs of multiple artists at once. You’d buy records or later some people would go for 8-track, of your favorites. There has always been “greatest hits” collections where it’s mixes but I’d be one artist or band most likely.

‘How do you know you like the album’ there’s either the rare case you caught them all on the radio, or in store you can listen and preview the record. There’s a little Jack and headphones you’d plug in and listen.

Record stores were also a hang out spot.

Radio stations and shows could be specific to genres too so there was another layer to being exacting. It makes it clearer how subcultures began to form around music. Music, clothes, language, behavior etc that have all been reduced to “aesthetic” in the modern day.

Top Genres-

Like most decades the beginning was marked mainly by the continuation of the old, popular 50s Rock and Roll and Doo wop trends ruled. As long as it was danceable it was gold, especially amongst the youth. A lot of dances and dance trends really came out of the period, exasperated by news coverage and dance/music tv shows. (Hairspray for example.)

Music became more electric as the decade goes on (I’m so serious if it could be electrified it would be with most things around this time) by the end of the decade it was psychedelic, folk based and reflective of the social shift and unrest of the decade. (Lot of protest rock and experimental)

However, I’m going to keep mainly to some genres here before I get into some sort of Woodstock history lesson (as that really reduces the decade too as it was not only that type of music once the mid point hit)

Rock still topped and it had a lot of branches coming off of it as the decade went on, some going more guitar heavy (specifically electric) others going a folk influenced route. Off of guitar and experimental-> Metal! Black Sabbath 1968.

Surf rock emerges. Light, upbeat and fun. A real “pop rock” genre. Motown too!

Pop music (popular) - and I mean Popular with a capital P. Huge , major, everywhere.

Now I know people have been looking for some specifics so I’ll give my take too:

Greasers- Mostly Rock and some doo wop but mainly something with a back beat. Tuff sounding, might go into the more heavy sounding rock as the decade goes on.

Elvis (book mention), little Richard, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochran , Van Morrison | potentially -> Rolling Stones, Cream

Can also see greasers enjoying southern rock, protest rock and all the guitar heavy stuff of the 70s

Socs- Popular music, mainstream and danceable. It’s all good music mind you but it’s also following the crowd. They’d also like newer groups faster where as Greasers hold onto old rock and doo wop way longer.

Beatles (book mention), The Beach Boys, Frankie Valli, Ricky Nelson, Dion, the Ronettes, the Archies, the Monkees

There’s a lot of overlap in what they’d both like but Soc’s would be more subject to change and shift with what’s popular or new.

The radio-

This is how you’re getting most of your music, especially if you don’t have a record player or new records on the regular. As a teen they’d be on everywhere all the time, in your car and then portable hand held ones.

Disk jockeys, radio Dj’s/hosts would be huge often forming exaggerated and relatable personalities that spoke to the youth and kept them entertained along with the music. American Graffiti has a great show of this with “the wolfman”

Messages, dedications, contests, talks all apart of radio shows. Calling in was a big deal, especially if you got on the air.

Grease is the 1950s but it is a great show of radio/tv show contests, selections and personalities. The school is chosen by a station (I sworn it was radio) to be televised on tv as an example American school and not only are the kids nuts for being on TV but completely and utterly star struck by the host.

This type of celebrity is lost in a sense, now there’s still manic fans but not in this wide spread way. That everyone knew of someone but you also didn’t know so much about them- celebrities still hand a private life in a sense and that almost made people crazier to get to know them.

Selection-

There’s been talk about how the internet used to be a room, computer rooms in people’s home long before it was in our pocket. I feel like that’s true for a lot of things really, especially hanging out.

Instead of looking through a friends record collection to find something to listen to , and for them to show off /you learn about them, someone takes the cord and presses a button. It’s less involved now. Choosing music, where to hang out/what to do, radio station in the car etc was much more of an event? It was involved it was something within itself- maybe it’s nostalgia for something I never lived- the want for easier and more common socialization? I dunno

Bonus: The day the music died

February 3, 1959. Three of the biggest voices in rock and roll die in a plan crash. The oldest, “the big Bopper” was only 28. The tragedy would go on to change the course of music, however it was not referred to as “the day the music died” until Don McLeans 1971 song “American pie.”

Bonus: British Invasion and Beatlemania

Another gigantic impact on music as a whole, especially in America is the first British Invasion and subsequent Beatlemania. Pop artists and aspects of the changing British culture got carried over to America and spread like wildfire- in thanks to growing counterculture. It’s sort of funny because some of these groups were influenced by 50s American music, experimented and then turned it back.

As the Beatles first got televised they absolutely hooked American teens, primarily girls, ramping up in popularity and absolute manic craze since 1963. Honestly at their height you couldn’t hold an opinion on them without being either insane about them or insane against them.

Some examples beyond the Beatles:

Some of these I didn’t even know were British especially The animals

The kinks, The Rolling Stones, the who (late), the yardbirds, Donovan, the Hollie’s, the zombies, them, Dusty Springfield, the Troggs

—

… if anyone wants my playlists let me know, I’ve got some really good ones

[blue-eli]

Realised it’s @khoc-week so even though I don’t have the energy to do it daily have this I did a while ago but never posted.

Arxeht my beloved. They came to me in a dream where I was a replica (of multiple people but looked most like Vidar) made by apprentice Nort/Xemnas, who was the fifteenth member of the organisation and also had my knowledge of hit video games Kingdom Hearts and kept getting randomly thrown through space and time.

[tariah23]

They’re calling my baby Gojo, Joseph Joestar now

[mewhenifreakit]

ti's the season ( of reflection)

[taeslarityy]

outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night. 

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic. 

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls. 

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely. 

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park. 

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that. 

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night. 

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm. 

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home. 

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity. 

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds? 

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa. 

You also adored the fuck out of Joel. 

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock. 

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman. 

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts. 

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.” 

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day. 

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. You’re stayin’ over.” 

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided. 

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.” 

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by. 

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home. 

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet. 

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm. 

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. 

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing. 

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already. 

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee. 

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it. 

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name. 

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house. 

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted. 

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?” 

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you. 

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest. 

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long. 

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Guilty Plea

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1) and Innocents Among You (Part 2)

Verdict Due (Part 4) Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: As you're discharged from the infirmary, under watchful eye, you head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Running your fingers along the raised, pink scar across you cheek, the feeling of it...it really looked terrible. A part of you thought it would disappear, hoped it would, but it didn't. It just became severely more noticeable. Looking at this, you knew you'd always have to think of it. You'd sport this reminder for the rest of your life.

Looking away from it, you find your own tired eyes in the mirror, you haven't been sleeping well. Or at all. You can't remember the last time you got 4 hours, let alone 8. Dark circles still surrounded them but at least the bruising and the swelling had gone down.

You couldn't recognize yourself. Not really.

This woman looked so exhausted, so frail and so goddamn angry. It was accurate, it was how you felt. All of it. So, you supposed that the mirror's reflection was the truth, this was you indeed.

"If you need another day or two, no one will ask questions."

You glance over towards your psychologist, your fucking therapist, a nice little 'gift' sent over by the bureau to check in on your mental state after your ordeal. Glaring at him through the reflection of your mirror, he sighs, putting down his pen that slaps against his notepad, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"I'm going to Laswell." Ignoring his statement, you speak. "I'm ready. I'll pack up. Get back to base. Vera had me discharged from the infirmary. I can start ov--"

"Vera?"

"My nurse. You met her," you continued, annoyance spiking at the interruption. Your wrist brace squeaking quietly under the pressure of your fist tightening beneath the table.

"Right..."

"Do you listen to a word I say outside of...my 'trauma'?" You wonder, bluntly.

Your psychologist blinks, surprised, before clearing his throat, appalled. "If you feel I can be more attentive to your state of well-being throughout our process, than by all means--"

"Oh, so 'no'?" you lean back into your seat, a strained laugh leaving you. His lips press together and you continue before he can find the words. "Because whenever I mention leaving this fucking team, you either adjust our schedule for another two weeks or suggest hypnotic therapy, as if I need anyone else digging around to fuck up my mental state."

"I never meant to imply--"

"Oh, you implied it," you interrupted, gritting your teeth. "I know what I want. And I want off Task Force 141."

He taps at the leather of his notebook. "Scars heal, just remember that, Ms. (L/n). The reminders of your experience shouldn't have to haunt you."

"It's not the scars, I've had my share way before this," you admitted, rising to your feet. You exhale deeply that tells to the effort of it, the steel gear hinges along your leg braces shift with your change of position. Still getting use to them. "It's the person."

"Has she changed, you think?" the psychologist begins to write, getting somewhere.

"She doesn't exist anymore."

Finally, placing the mirror down and onto the side table, you pushed off of the table, rolling your IV pole along with you. Passing the chair your psychologist sits on, he closes his notebook with a frustrated huff, looking over his shoulder. "Session over for you already, Ms. (L/n)?" he sighs. "We've still got the hour."

"I'm done," you take the knob in your hand. Turning.

In more ways than one.

"You understand that, informing your captain on your leave is required of you. Have you spoken to any of them, in the last few weeks?" he spoke up, quickly. "I'm sure giving them a space to open up, share from their view--"

"Why should I care--"

"--will give you better understanding, better clarity of the situation they were in--

Appalled. "What the fuck?" Jamming the door closed with a loud, shuttering thud, you whip around. "IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM!" you could just rip your hair out. "Who--who says that to someone?!"

Your psychologist sits there, eyes wide in confusion. "What--"

"Christ, can you hear me? Can you--can you see me? I've got metal plates in my spine, braces holding my knees in place and nerve damage that'll never heal! Who gives a fuck about them!" your skin feels red hot, your face twisted in rage. "I gave my life! My life to this! And then I'm tortured, I'm threatened, drugged and beaten by my own team, my f--my family for eight fucking years..."

You continue with a heavy chest. "And I'm supposed to invite them for dinner to talk and listen them bitch and moan about why they thought it was necessary to beat me to death for two weeks?! Fuck you!" you spat. "I don't owe them anything!"

"That's not what I was trying to say, Ms. (L/N). I apologize, I overstepped. Come sit down--"

"Of course you meant it," you interrupted, mock humor. "Don't be a pussy, own up to it. Revel in your truth. Be tter yet--" you snatch a journal from the cabinet. Tossing it his way. "Make a note of it."

Turning the knob, you leave the room with a slam of the metal door.

---

You were officially famous. On the base, you were now a legend.

A story that would be mentioned and told at lunch for months. Probably years.

First, you were a rat. Next, you were innocent. This was the most gossip any of those in service had ever seen in their years of service.

An interesting reminder to those in service that you weren't safe off duty either.

You learned a few days ago that there was an update put into the interrogational unit, something about how to properly go about dissecting evidence and being on the lookout for enemy spies in the militia.

You guessed you had been told about it in an effort to be appeased by the thought that the head of control paid attention to anything beyond their own noses for once. But, you had little to no faith in a system that's nearly killed you on and off the field by now, so it didn't matter.

You doubted the new rules would be followed though, there was a plethora of things they'd done to you in that cell that were both illegal and unsanctioned. Most of all, that were expected towards an enemy, a prisoner of war at best, and not a fellow marine.

You arrive at the housing quarters, swiping your key card, pulling the handle and entering the wing. Immediately, you're greeted by a dozen eyes, conversations stopping short and clothes ruffling to silence, suddenly whispers fill the space and eyes turn away.

"Oh, god, it's her..." says one man in the far corner.

"Shut the fuck up, man!" came a harsh whisper back.

"I didn't know it was that bad..."

All those eyes on you, makes you pause in your step, looking around at all of your fellow soldiers, the men and women you've served with for years. Many you recognized, ate with, fought beside that turned their backs to you now. Out of respect? Out of distaste, morale, nerves, pity, it all didn't matter. It all felt the same.

The wheels attached to your IV pole suddenly sounded much too loud on the polished flooring, as you walked down the hall as fast as you were able to.

Breathing out deeply, you get to an elevator, pushing on the button, once, twice, three times, just open goddamn it.

With a ding, the metal doors open, and suddenly you're aware that people could be in the elevator, they could be in this elevator, he could be in this elevator. Your eyes flicker down to the floor, your grip on the pole of your iv tightens, your shoulders stiffen, waiting for a blow that will never come.

You stand there as the doors open up, the small space empty, the metal walls reflect only her and a streak of lighting from the ceiling.

Looking up slowly, finally taking a breath, before sliding the iv up and onto the elevator, following it as you press your floor number along the way.

The ride up is fast, a little rumble as it stops, and then the doors open. Faster than you were prepared for.

Peeking out down the hallway, luckily no one to bump into, which you were thankful for. But, it didn't make this hall any less haunting. You'd been cornered in this same hall, you could recall being hauled out of the room after the solid handle of a knife hits your temple.

You don't go down fast enough, whipping around as you stumble to take the wrist of your attacker, mostly for balance, it's Price. In shock, you're unprepared as Johnny's arm encircle your neck, locking you into position as you both stumble backwards onto the floor. He blocks your airways, hushing you harshly as you struggle, feet kicking out and your vision blurring as your team surrounds you. Your family.

That was quite the headache to wakeup with afterwards.

You hadn't quite remembered until now. Being back served as a hell of a kickstart to your memory.

Just a few more reasons to get the fuck off of 141.

Getting off the elevators, the metal doors sliding closed behind you, you make your way down the hall. The polished flooring creates a subtle squeak through the wheels of your iv pole, your hand absently running over the fading stitches along your side.

Passing the shadows of your tortured memory, the doorway of the office was closed, locked.

You pass Kyle's room.

Johnny's.

Finally, you rush up to the next room on the left, grabbing the handle, before beginning to twist, but then you're yanking your hand back as if the metal had burned you. Your back ramming into the back wall, catching yourself, this wasn't your room.

It was Simon's.

You'd spent hours, days, in that room. More than your own.

Why wouldn't you? You were about to get married to the man. You had more in this room than you had in yours.

Sharp breaths leave you, shivering in your effort to keep yourself together, your head goes back into the wall, swallowing down the ache in your chest.

You wait, muscles tensed and your body pressing back into the wall, hoping it'd absorb you if that door opens. Listening for every sound, any pin drop, even an exhale from beyond that doorway. Luckily, Simon seemed to be out for the day.

Hurriedly, nearly running, you steady yourself against the wall as you rush down to the corner of the hallway, finally finding your room.

Turning the handle, it's not locked, it's broken. It opens with ease.

Entering the room slowly, pushing the doorway aside, the crackle of glass beneath your boots as you step forwards, clothes and picture frames laying scattered.

The mattress flipped and ripped open, springs and cotton cut from it. Your wall of metals and certificates, from acts of bravery and mementos of valor, discarded, later you'd find them in the trash, one with a bullet lodged into the gold.

Sniffling as you leaned down, picking a specific frame off the ground, the only one that hadn't been broken. Laying along the ruined rug, with no care for the glass digging through your jeans, you stare at the still shot of your family.

The only family you had outside of Task Force 141, your father and his sister, military brats themselves, until their retirement. Your mother had passed, or just up and left, days after your 5th birthday, you weren't completely sure, the story kept changing every year. But, these two were the only family you've ever known, ever had, until you joined the military, following in their footsteps.

They'd been so proud when you arrived back after your first assignment, in truth you were heavily traumatized, but seeing them, you just had to smile. Having a family that understood the harsh toll on the line of a trooper, now a lieutenant, it was always easier to bring your troubles to them. But, they were also military nuts so "suck it up" was also a quick go to answer from your aunt, while your father was the smoother talker.

They had met Simon, loved him, his rank, his love for you, his seriousness. They trusted him completely with your heart.

So, when he called them, after the evidence leaked...

They believed him.

"What're you talking about?" You took the handle of the chair in your grip, easing you down into it as your legs do weak at what you were hearing. "I didn't...I didn't do it, Dad."

"Do you know how humiliating and disappointing--how it felt to hear him say that to me, hm?" he says, static crackles on the reciever. "My daughter...my own flesh and blood...working with terrorists--"

"I'm not working with anyone! Are you-" you huff out a breath of disbelief. "Are you even listening to me? I've never betrayed the code. How can you think that way of me?"

For a moment, he's silent. "Alright, then," he began. "Than, what'd you do? huh?"

"What--what..."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" your father yells. "What did you do?! What could they possibly have had on you that made you the most likely target? You had to have had done something, been somewhere, were with somebody you weren't supposed to be with! They didn't just get that information from anywhere."

"What the fuck--" Your expression twists with frustration and misery, running your hand through your hair, pulling at it. "I've sacrificed every part of myself for this job, for this team, what do I have to gain from throwing that all away? They send me everywhere, places you've never heard of, places you'll never hear about and people you'll never have to meet, because of me! Why would you just believe Simon? Why couldn't you just wait to talk to me?!"

Hearing your father scoff at your words was painful. "What reason do I have not to believe him? He knows you, maybe even better than any of us. Besides, he was going to be my son in law--"

"I'm your daughter! Fuck Simon, what about me? You'd believe him instead?"

He sighs. "Listen, you're upsetting Cass. We didn't expect your call. I gotta make this brief..."

"You're upset?" pulling at your hair, sucking in sharply. "I'm the one who's permanently fucking altered here. What do either of you have to be upset about?!"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" he seethes. The anger in his voice isn't new, but the way he spits it at you is. "You did this to yourself, I didn't. Maybe that's what your nightmares were about, am I right? Your guilt?"

Wiping the streaks of tears that had fallen down your face, lips quivering and chest aching with sobs you frustratedly shoved down. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I don't deserve the disgrace that will come with you as my kin, I've lived my part of this war. No daughter of mine should even be in this fucking position," your father spat, disgusted into the receiver. Suddenly, he was the cruel, bitter old man your mother had always known him to be, you wished she had stayed to at least remind you of that. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much. "You should be ashamed of yourself, but at least you got yourself out it. The least you could do for us."

"Well--what does that mean?" you spoke, quietly.

"Don't call again..."

"Dad, no--" you break this time, a sob escaping you.

"Me and your Aunt Cass..."

"Daddy please, don't do this--"

"..We've decided to cut ties. We're not taking any heat from this, you're on your own," he finishes, clearing his throat, waiting a moment, listening to the pleads and cries of his only daughter, his once pride. "You take care of yourself. Goodbye, kid."

"Why can't you just believe me? Why?!" you cried.

"Don't come to the house."

"No, no,--" the line goes dead. And staring down at your phone, his caller id going blank and the call disconnecting.

Your phone all of a sudden feels heavy, the device and your hand falling down to your thigh, before the phone slips out of your grip and onto the floor. You sit there silently, until your tears drop up and even after.

Staring at the photo now was haunting in its own way, it was just another painful reminder.

Using the bed frame to stand to your feet, your grip on the frame is painful as you squeeze it, the glass cracks audibly.

"Bonnie..."

Whipping around at the sound of John MacTavish's voice, you back up a few steps at the sight of him, your back hitting the edge of your desk.

He reaches out as you stumble, before his fingers curl back into his palm as you find your balance, his hands receding back to his sides. He doesn't enter the room, just lingering just beyond the doorway, his eyes flickering around the room, guiltily.

"I didn't know--we didn't know you were out," he speaks quietly, as opposed prideful personality that translated into his voice usually.

You say nothing.

In the dark, your eyes are wide and your shoulders are tensed up, he can see the glint of your leg braces, the iv pole at the side, the scar beneath your eye. You looked terrified to see him.

"We were coming back to clean up today, just got back from...from a mission..." he stutters on his words, shifting his feet.

"It's been a week."

His lips press together hearing your voice. "I know..." Johnny glances around at the room he'd let those officers destroy, it hadn't been them, but they might as well had done it. "I know...we just...didn't know it was so bad."

"Really?" your voice is mockingly sweet, drawing out the word. "You didn't know? Well look..." you hold up your family photo, the light in the hallway catching on the glass. "You missed one."

Your hand dropping, the heavy frame comes down just as fast, ramming into the ground, the glass practically exploding on impact.

Johnny flinches, the photo of your family...He looks back to you, surprised. "Bonnie..."

Snatching the next closest thing from your desk, a ceramic cup. "Oh, wow, can't believe you guys missed this one," you chuck it into the wall. It breaks on impact, the remains scatter along the flipped mattress and onto the floor. "That used to be my favorite mug by the way."

The Scotsman worriedly steps forwards, 'Lass, I'm sorry--"

"FUCK YOU!" you spat, coming into the light. You're sure you look deranged, and you didn't care. You could've wrapped your hands around his throat, killed him right on the floor and you wouldn't have blinked. "It doesn't mean anything! 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', over and over and over again! As if you shouldn't be! Your apologies mean fuck all."

"I know...I know," he breathes. "But, I've gotta say it anyway, bonnie. I should've believed you, there was no reason not to. I know that now. I just--"

"Believe me!" you cut him off with a yell. "Trust me! Fucking 'HELP ME'!" you screamed with the same fever as your days in the interrogation room, that terrible cell, the cold, the burn and pain. "I cried it all to you, to all of you, and nobody came. Nobody came for me," you breathe in sharply. "It doesn't matter what you should've done. You didn't do it!"

Johnny's eyes are red, he opens his mouth, closes it and then swallows down whatever chokes him up as he looks at you. "I should've came for you. I wish I did. I wanted to, Bonnie..." he steps forwards, and you recede back away from him, your eyes narrowed with violence. "I'll never forgive myself for not listening to you. For not coming to help you. For laying a hand on you. I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I'm sorry..."

I'll never forgive myself... "That makes two of us," you assured.

Johnny's eyes widen, before they close, his guilt ever consuming. He can't help but understand, to respect your decision, to know things can never be ok again. "(Y/n)...."

Grabbing hold of the nearest thing, a pencil cup, you hurl it at Johnny. He doesn't put his hands up, flinching as it hits him, the metal clinking against his kevlar, eyes closing then opening, he stands still. "I don't forgive. I don't accept your apology. I don't fucking care about it!" with each sentence you throw something else his way, a broken frame, the trash bin, a pillow, the CD player.

His hand has to come up for the knife you unsheathe, a memento from one of your missions, it's rusted, ancient probably. But, you hadn't given it up to a museum or to pawn, you had nearly died on this mission, saving Johnny ironically. You had to keep it.

Seeing the weapon, his defensive position is instinctive but his hands drop just as fast, he understands, you need this. You deserve this. "If you need to..." he speaks. Your eyes flicker up to him, away from the knife. "If you need to, I get it..."

And you need to. You really fucking do.

Your grip on the knife is dangerously hard, it hurts.

Looking at Johnny, he'd been your brother in more than a few ways on and off the field, he had been your comfort, your friend, your family. You had bled with him, held onto him as he carried you from the battlefield, joked, laughed, screamed and cried. You've loved him for years.

He'd had a rough few nights you could see that. He was quieter, reserved. Almost as terrified to see you, as you had been of him.

And you could kill him right now and never bat an eye.

And so, throwing that knife was so fucking easy.

Johnny's eyes close as you do just that, fists clenching and teeth biting down on his tongue to prepare for the pain.

The ancient weapon whiz's through the air, the sound is sharp and he knows it will cut through him like butter.

The thud rings in the room, and Johnny's eyes blow open wide, holding his breath as he collapses to his knees, before turning to you.

You dig into the pile of clothes that had been cast aside, a pair of sneakers and a new shirt. You don't look at him a single time as you take it all, stuffing them in a bag, and leaving the room, passing him completely, a limp in your step.

Johnny releases a pained breath, tears finally leaving him as he looks up, the knife lodged into the frame of the doorway, just barely missing him. The sleeve of his uniform ripped open.

He sits there in the quiet, destroyed room. A testimony to the relationship he's destroyed between you.

Part 4!! OUT NOW

[tossawary]

One piece of acting advice that has stayed with me for years in regards to both writing and drawing as well is: "Don't use the body to act what the character is saying. Act what the character is THINKING."

Like, as a very, very basic example: a character is apologizing by saying, "I'm sorry." But that line is going to look and sound different depending on what the character is thinking. Crossed arms and a sullen tone can mean that a character is actually thinking: "I don't mean it and also I hate you." A pleading tone and reaching out to take the other character's arm can mean: "Please don't leave me." A tired voice and slumped shoulders within context could mean: "I did what I had to do."

This is one way to begin to do "Show, Don't Tell" in storytelling. It is trusting your audience to see the depth and to catch on to the things you leave unsaid. It's fun to let the audience be observant and clever. It is also reflective of real life, where people are often scared of being vulnerable, or don't necessarily even understand their own emotions, or can't articulate their own thoughts, or have difficulty identifying the true feelings of the people around them, and so don't say very much.

There are exceptions to this advice, of course. In writing especially, rather than in a visual medium, some POV characters are very good at reading emotions from body language and others are not, and their observations in the narration may reflect this skill. Some characters will assume everyone around them is always angry with them or simply not pay attention to other people's moods at all, personalities which can also be subtly communicated to the audience and later used in the story in some interesting way.

Some characters have excellent control over their body language and tone of voice, because they are on-guard, highly trained in some fashion, or a very good liar. They will not easily communicate their true thoughts through their body language or their actions. Their lie can be so good that it can be slipped past the audience as nothing important to the plot until it comes back to bite. Their oddly perfect control over their body in a tense situation can instead maybe be used to indicate to the POV character and/or the audience: "Oh, there's something up with this person."

Body language will also change by culture and class and disability and so on. This clash can cause communication problems between characters, as a character's affectionate pat on the shoulder of another might be intended as casual comfort, but be received as overly intimate condescension. Different cultures / people can even have very different opinions on what level of eye contact and overlapping speech is rude.

This advice was originally given to me in the context of illustration and animation, in which it is very common for inexperienced artists to act out the words that the character is saying in mime-like gesture. In media for young children, we might choose to keep things very simple, as toddlers struggle to learn what it looks like and feels like to be angry or happy. But past that? People don't really behave this way. What we say and what we really mean are not always synchronized, and we can use the body to communicate this.

[i-like-loserz]

my sleepy boyfriend

synopsis: mingi is kind of obsessed with you. even (especially) when he's sleepy...

pairing: needy!mingi x reader

warnings: SMUT (18+), needy boyfriend!mingi, less subby -- more desperate, consensual somnophilia, man-handling, unprotected sex, slight nipple play, mating press!, breeding kink (as always), size kink (its mingi hello), creampie, not proof-read, i think it's cute!

word count: 1.6k

note: please read the warnings! if you don't like them, just don't read it lol

part I | masterlist

Mingi is adorably pathetic. 

He’s a perverted loverboy — ready to whine and beg for your touch at any moment. 

And he’s well aware that you’d never deny him. 

But how could you when he looks at you with his slick, bitten lips, fluffy hair, and an aching boner pressing desperately against his sweats?

It's even more delicious when he's tired, exhausted to the bone. Because even unconscious, his body is hungry for you. 

Without his apprehensive habits holding him back, Mingi is eager to take anything you can give him. Several nights you've woken to him getting off against your body, grinding himself against your thigh.

He makes such a mess against your pajamas and even after cumming several times, he’s begging to finish inside of you. 

In the beginning, he’d whisper frantic apologies, immediately retrieving a towel to clean you up with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. 

But then he became more depraved. 

Waking up from a wet dream soon leads to him using your body to satiate the desperate need that’s been building inside of him all night. 

How could he resist you, though? Especially when you’ve expressed how much you like to wake up to him inside of you. 

Still, he feels like a pervert when he stares down at your helpless form as you sleep soundly next to him. That doesn’t stop him, of course.

He bites his bottom lip to keep himself quiet as his hands run down your body, making sure to feel every inch of your clothed skin. 

It’s a warmer night so you’re wearing a cute floral tank top that sticks perfectly to the shape of your body. The material is so thin that he can barely make out the pretty shape of your nipples. Mingi is sure that he’s never wanted to lick over your body more than now. 

His light touch lazily glides along the length of your chest before dipping into the loose elastic of your tank top. A deep, breathy groan rumbles in his chest as his hand splays over your bare tit, loving how perfectly it fits in his grasp. 

He gently squeezes at your flesh, massaging with an eager touch before moving downwards to lovingly rub circles around your rapidly hardening nub. He takes his time teasing and flicking your sensitive skin, enjoying the way you sigh prettily under him, unknowingly enjoying his attention.

He leans over you, admiring the perfect contours of your face. Every time he looks at you, he’s reminded of how obsessed he is with every one of your features.

Your beautiful eyes, your cute nose, your delicate lips, the whole shape of your face – features he wants to see reflected in his children. 

Mingi dips in closer, taking in the sweet scent of your soft skin before gently burying his face against your neck. He presses a few wet kisses against your heated skin before releasing his hold on you. He wants more.

You opted to sleep in some lace-trimmed cotton panties, sporting an innocent bow right in the middle. Your thighs are deliciously bare and it’s been tempting him terribly all night.

His large hand traces the edge of the waistband before moving to press delicately against your covered clit. His dark eyes dart to your face as you inhale sharply, your body shivering at the light caress. 

Mingi eagerly drinks in the way your brows cinch together from the sudden bout of pleasure. He relishes making you feel as needy for his touch as he is for yours. Even if it’s but a fraction of his desperation. 

He can barely hold himself back from diving in, but he wants to feel your pretty eyes on him. 

He needs you to touch him back. 

“Baby…” His hand drags slowly over your core to the side of your thigh, pulling it up to wrap around his waist. He holds you there, pressing his hips against yours to make you feel how desperately hard he is for you. “Wake up.”

He nudges your cheek gently with the tip of his nose. 

Your eyes flutter open at his sweet, pleading tone, arms automatically moving up to wrap over his neck. You blink away your sleep to see your blushing boyfriend over you, eagerly waiting for you to say something. 

“Mingi...” You sigh, pulling him closer to nuzzle against the warmth of his neck. He smells so good. Cozy and masculine. You just want to bury yourself against him and stay there forever.  

You let out a breathy moan as Mingi presses down harder against you -- suddenly feeling bold by the soft way you said his name.

You gently run your nails down the back of his head, pulling a sweet shudder from his pouty lips. You can feel him throbbing under his boxers

“Been so patient for me, haven't you?" You coo, dotting soft kisses all over his neck and jaw.

"Didn't wanna wake you..." He mumbles, "But it hurts." He flexes his hips to rub himself against you, already panting from the feeling of your warm body against him.

"My poor baby." You grind up against him, meeting his every thrust, already drenching your underwear from how badly you want him inside of you. "Don't worry I'll help you."

"Mmph...Can I just--" He pulls away for a moment and shoves a hand between your bodies, pushing your tank top over your tits before moving downwards, a starved look on his face as he stares down at the translucent fabric sticking against your pussy.

Mingi pulls away for a moment to reposition you, large hands pushing your legs until the top of your thighs press against your heaving chest.

A mating press. It's one of his favorite positions.

You're tighter, closer, and louder like this.

Without hesitation, he shoves your underwear to the side, revealing your dripping center. Even in the dark, he can see the glistening wetness spilling out of your entrance.

"Ming--!" You gasp at his forwardness.

"S-so...p-pretty." He uses one large hand to hold your legs as he quickly pulls himself out of his boxers, already desperately stroking himself at the sight under him.

Your hands fist against your pillow as he slides his cock over your wet entrance, pressing ever so slightly against your dripping hole. He groans when he feels you flutter against him, so ready to be filled by his cock.

"F-fuck, I don't think I can hold back--"

Your legs rest weakly over his shoulders as he presses close to you, thighs shaking as they're pressed between your hot torsos. His head is bowed down to watch himself press into you, not stopping until he's balls deep inside of you. 

You can tell by the way his body trembles that he's trying his hardest to be gentle -- but once he feels the tight heat of your pussy wrapped around him, he's lost to the heady pleasure that spreads throughout his body.

You flutter around him uncontrollably, eyes rolled to the back of your head at the intensity of being stretched so deliciously, so quickly. It's a familiar feeling that never ceases to have you seeing stars, no matter how often he fucks you.

“Uh-!” A sharp cry is forced out of your throat as his hips shakily pull away from you before immediately snapping back, shoving his cock impossibly deep inside of you.

It sets off a spark in your core as he continues to expertly fuck right against your g-spot, overwhelming your senses with blinding ecstasy.

"M'sorry," He pants against your ear, "I c-can't help it."

He starts to thrust shallowly, desperate, pressing himself flush against you with every fevered move, as if he can’t stand being even a centimeter away from you.

You can feel your wetness make a mess in between your bodies, painting over the back of your thighs and dripping onto the sheets.

"N-Needed this --" He chokes out, "Needed you."

"Use me." His cock throbs inside of you, heightening the way he prods against the deepest part of you. "Fuck your cum inside of me, Ming." His thrusts grow harsher, sloppier as his hands pin your body against the mattress, forcing you to take every inch of him.

"Y-yes, fuck-!"

His eyes are squeezed shut as he uses you to fuck himself dry. You reach your orgasm at the same time, clenching tightly around him with a whine as he trembles against you, spilling his hot cum inside of you until you're filled to the brim. 

You’re both panting, skin hot and sticky as you separate. The ecstasy fizzles out and is replaced by a drowsy haze. As you start to come back to reality, you feel the soreness blooming in your legs. You groan under Mingi, weakly pushing against him to get some relief. 

Waking up himself, he instantly releases his hold on you, worried eyes scanning over your face and body.

“You okay? Did I go too hard?” You stretch out your limbs with a soft groan and smile weakly up at him. 

"I'm amazing, baby." Your thighs rub together, feeling the tackiness from your combined slick, "A bit sticky though..."

His hair is a mess, sticking up in different directions, his body is all flushed and his lap is…a hot mess. You can’t help but stare up at him with adoration, enamored by how perfectly messy your boyfriend looks after fucking you into the bed. 

“You’re so cute, Mingi.”

“Huh?” He tilts his head like a confused little puppy.

You shake your head, refusing to elaborate.

Instead you lean back against the headboard and make grabby hands up at him, “Come here, baby, let’s cuddle.”

“...But we’re all sticky.”

“Mingi.”

“Ok.”

[joycrispy]

I wanna talk about The Angel Who Would Be Crowley.

Because I had a certain set of expectations, which got thoroughly trashed in the first five minutes of S2, and my genuine response is, "Oh, fuck, yup. You're right. That's WAY better."

Looking around at GO fandom, I'm not alone in this. So let's talk about it.

Basically, a lot of people (myself included) believed that he was a high-ranking angel, and therefore as chilly and remote as every other powerful angel we'd seen at that point. We pictured Crowley-To-Be as long-haired, regal and imposing --and the fanart at the time reflected this. I'd link some if Tumblr didn't hate links.

Something like this:

We were collectively drawing on a few things --mostly, Crawly's appearance and general bearing in the Biblical scenes of S1--

--But also scattered hints of his importance, backed up by conspicuous absences in Heaven and a few profound displays of power. That's all better covered elsewhere, so I won't reiterate the arguments here. All I'm saying is: I think our headcanons were justified.

But it turns out he was this:

!!!

With his curly little--!!

And his neat white--!!

IT TURNS OUT, he was an angel who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty. Furfur, who knew him before the Fall, says:

"You used to jump on me back, little monkey in a waistcoat..."

(The use of a diminutive there, 'little'...oh, that fascinates me.)

In a pretty huge subversion of expectations, we're given these glimpses of an angel who was sweet, and joyful, and heart-meltingly silly.

In sum...an innocent.

(Perhaps innocent to a troubling degree.

We see how he troubles Aziraphale, during their first conversation. He starts looking around and behind them, checking to make sure that no one can HEAR the blithe and reckless things coming out of this angel's mouth. This angel who talks like he's never been reprimanded in his life; like it's never occurred to him that anyone would want to hurt him.

Before the Beginning, Aziraphale understood Heaven better than he did. The danger is plainly occurring to Aziraphale.)

So now, we the viewers are in on a cruel joke that Aziraphale has known all along, which is that this --THIS-- is the angel who--

*checks notes*

--did a million lightyear freestyle dive into a boiling pool of sulphur. For asking questions.

...Imagine you are Aziraphale, and everything inside you wants to believe Heaven are the Good Guys, and God is Good and Everything She does is capital-R Right...and now try to reconcile that. Keep trying. I don't think he ever totally managed it in 6000 years.

All this gets further complicated when we learn that, despite all of the above, we were still right. That sweet excitable babby up there?

He WAS a powerful and high-ranking angel.

That much is explicitly confirmed, with significant evidence that he could have been among the mightiest of archangels...

...Who apparently accosted his fellow angels for piggyback rides. And was remembered millennia later by those (now fallen) angels as something 'little.'

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

Hell, Aziraphale has known to be wary of the archangels (and the judgements of Heaven in general) since before the Fall even happened. He chooses to believe they are Good; he can't fool himself into thinking they are Safe.

Yet he's absolutely certain that Crowley won't hurt Job's children. Enough to stand in a burning building and say to them, "I can't save you, but don't be afraid. I won't need to."

And what reason does he give?

("I know you."

"You do not know me."

"I know the angel you were.")

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

("The angel you knew is not me."

But how is Aziraphale supposed to believe that, when he can see him all the time?)

tl;dr --yes, this is better. I love the tragedy of it.

'Innocence died screaming' and all that.

[cheezritsu]

Itoshi Sae has far more feline traits than those narrow turquoise eyes of his. At the top of your notes app titled “I don’t need a cat, my boyfriend already is one,” is the fact that Sae will never, ever be clingy, will never ask for your touch, and is coy about romance as a whole—but he just has to be near you.

Manshine City is playing Ubers. Ubers cannot resist having a yellow card every time they step on the pitch, and Manshine City pisses Sae off more than even he knows. You’ll press him about that later, because he’s watching the match in your shared bedroom and not the living room television which is not only bigger, but louder like he likes. Why is he fixing your temperpedic to be a damn near 90 degree angle when there’s a perfectly good couch in another room?

“Who’s winning?” You call from the bathroom. You’ve chosen to grab a bar stool from the kitchen to make yourself comfortable as you part your hair into four sections. It’s a hard ritual, but it pays dividends; you noticed that you were shedding a lot less hair when you sat down and pre-detangled before the shower. And you were a little optimistic about your last style and ended up stretching it out a few days longer than you should have. The end result wouldn’t be good to your heart.

You’re half way through finger detangling your section when you realize Sae hasn’t answered you. You lean back, the open door to your bedroom allowing you to catch a glimpse of him. There’s something off about his expression—Sae’s normally indifferent looking, sure, but there is a harder frown etched into his face. And he’s not even looking at the game. He’s glaring at…the door frame?

“Babe,” you say, and it breaks his trance. He looks up at you, but you’ve once again disappeared from his line of sight. That lean back was killing your spine.

“Huh?”

“I asked who was winning.” You carefully two-strand twist the now slippery section together, then use an alligator clip to keep it off your back. It’s kind of crazy how long your hair is now compared to the beginning of the year. You take down your next section, looking up from your lap and-!

“Holy shit!”

Sae gives you an unimpressed look in the mirror. You look at his reflection instead of him when you demand “When did you get in here?”

“While you were daydreaming.”

The tv is off. Or it’s paused. The vacuum of silence is a little uncomfortable. You were doing your hair in an old tshirt; a reprint of Sae’s U20 match jersey. It would make plenty money on the internet, and here you were getting hair products all over it. Sae looks at the front of your shirt with a wrinkled nose. Other reasons your boyfriend is a cat: he needs a fucking collar, and he pulls faces instead of vocalizing.

“What are you doing?”

“My hair.”

You can see his roaming gaze trying to piece together the exact routine you have, but he’s struggling. Before another quip can leave his mouth you elaborate. “Pre-detagnling. That way when I wash my hair it has less breakage.” You squeeze your detangler into your hands and slather it into the wetted section of hair you were working on. “I wanna keep what little hair I have.”

You get a real reaction this time—a snort of disbelief. “You have more hair on your head than Aiku has on his entire body.”

You blink. “That’s not really a metric I’m privy too.”

“He’s like a gorilla. It’s gross.”

You hum, but you love Sae’s endless opinions. You can tell he still has some rattling around in his brain that he’s having trouble spitting out. Perhaps he’s finally using a filter around you, or he’s really trying to find just the right delivery to piss you off. It’s 50/50.

He finally settles on, “You hair has gotten really long,” as he’s transfixed by the quick motion of your digits twisting the hair into a long rope. When it drops against the side of your head and he sees where it reaches, he shakes his head. “Like, really long.”

“Thanks,” you smile, and warmth spreads in Sae’s chest. “Weren’t you watching the match?”

“I paused it.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer. “I thought long hair bothered you?”

“It does,” you answer slowly, really trying to keep up with this conversation. Sae pings questions at you like the midfielder he is, but this is a little too quick. “But I think when I was growing my hair out the first time I never shaped it, or did styles with it. There was this girl at a restaurant I went to, like, years ago when I was at the beach with my parents who had long natural hair. She had it pulled back in a satin scarf and had like two little front pieces sticking out.” You create the style by gesturing your hands over your head. Sae’s gaze melts, the usual hard line of his mouth settling into something content.

“She was so pretty.” You have a distant look on your face, and Sae doesn’t doubt you have that crystal clear memory in your head. “I wanted to be as pretty as her. But I didn’t really know what to do with my hair, and it has really hot all the time, so I cut it. I think about it all the time though.”

Sae acknowledges your story with a nod. He traces shape of your curls with his finger, careful not to pull too hard. A soft tug elongated the spiral, and then it snapped back.

“Your hair is beautiful,” Sae suddenly spits, making eye contact with you in the mirror. “I liked it when it was short, and it’s pretty now that it’s longer. I don’t know if I ever told you.”

He hasn’t. Not so bluntly, at least. Sae never needs to occupy his hands, so he doesn’t touch your hair at all, ever, but now he coils the strands around his finger like his own personal fidget. Something stupid balloons in you lungs and press hard against your ribcage. Pride, maybe? Love, probably. You twist your neck and the piece of hair slips from his grasp.

“‘Preciate it,” you reply, adopting his casual air to force down your excitement. Sae’s face stays the same though, and he even goes so far as to press a little kiss to your exposed shoulder blade. He must feel the heat of your skin, because a smirk curls across his face. Oh, you could kill him.

“Alright, alright,” you shoo him. “I gotta get to work. This is just the pre-wash, so I’m going to take a minute in here.”

“I could shower,” he says absently, and before you could even protest, Sae is opening the shower door, rearranging products around the wall to make sure your shampoo, conditioner and wide tooth comb are front and center. “It’ll be warm though, and not scalding hot like you like it.”

“Then don’t shower with me.”

The pipes turn on, Sae’s funger’s dipping under the water the check the temperature. “It’s bad for your skin anyways.”

You don’t even mention it. You probably will halfway through when he’s “unknowingly” doing your hair for you, but it could wait.

[jinxvex]

heyy! if u take requests i was wondering if you would make an enemy sevika x reader, where they treat each other like shit until sevika has enough and fucks the shit out of reader 💪😊

♱ enemy. (enemy!sevika x reader) ♱

enemies to lovers is lowkey my fave trope so, let’s go!!

also sorry i haven’t posted! finals week… 🫠😓

cw: nsfw, kink city LOL!! sevika is v rough + punishes reader, possessiveness, BDSM elements, BREEDING KINK (oops), name-calling (slut, whore, bitch, etc), degradation/praise, cursing, arguing, a tiny bit angsty, spanking, she slaps your cunt once, choking, hair-pulling, doggy position, she eats you out!! it's sweet towards the end dw!

there's def more but OOP-

wc: 4.2K! (oops)

sevika hates you.

1. she hates the way your hips sway when you walk.

she’s definitely ALWAYS looking at your ass.

2. she hates how you talk and how you giggle under your breath when you laugh at something you shouldn’t. your voice sounds like music, like wind chimes in the spring that cause her vision to blur.

3. she hates the way your skin glows in the sunlight—as rare as it is in the gloomy grey atmosphere of zaun.

4. she hates how you dress and style your hair. you stand out. you personally customize your clothing, adding your own detailing on platform boots, jeans, jewelry, belts, accessories, tops, and jackets. your uniqueness annoys her beyond belief.

“what a fuckin’ show-off! this isn’t a fashion show,” she mutters under her breath to get a rise out of you.

5. she hates the way you talk back to her, even when she starts an argument first.

“well maybe you could learn something, you wear the same shit like… every day,” you respond briskly, already sick of her berating you as you’ve just walked through the doors of silco’s office.

she’s older than you, you should show some respect! you act so high and mighty like nobody can crack that tough persona you put on to protect yourself from the dark and dangerous streets of zaun.

she scoffs. her thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of her nose to alleviate the stress you’ve subjected her to. she cannot believe this.

“see? this… child is so incompetent! fuckin’ impossible to work with! she’s probably late to this meeting because she’s too busy playing dress up to actually do her job.” she directs towards you although not looking at you, opting to look at the tall chair covering silco’s body as she sits in the chair across from his.

silco sighs, clearly annoyed at both of your antics. he swivels around in his chair to face you both.

“actually, she was doing something i assigned her to. last minute, but she always gets the job done.”

sevika’s eyes flicker to you, and you smirk at her assumption that you were accidentally late.

she scoffs again and drags her grey-ish eyes back to silco as she leans to the left, almost trying to get away from you standing at her right with your arms crossed.

“you see… you two are my best. i cannot afford to have you both acting like children when doing business. it could threaten everything i’ve—we’ve built. one wrong move could tarnish this.”

you and sevika stay quiet as you avoid eye contact with each other, you taking a newfound interest in the bookshelf as sevika’s eyes burn holes into the ground. you knew deep down that silco was right.

“it's time you’ve both gotten along, for all of our sakes. don’t disappoint me again.”

…

you haven’t seen sevika since silco’s ‘lecture’ he gave you two a couple of days ago.

it's evening in zaun, streets and bars filling with people as the night threatens to begin.

you sat on the couch in the living room of your tiny yet, surprisingly homey apartment. your legs resting on the coffee table and you busy munching on cheap snacks, reflecting on the conversation that took place not too long ago. you were livid.

i mean, what else more did he want from you!

sevika was impossible. you tried to get along with her in the beginning but no matter what, she hated you!

she constantly finds new ways to poke fun at you, belittle you, and insult your intelligence. she obviously thinks you aren’t worthy of being a part of silco’s inner circle and that offends you.

and yes, she’s incredibly hot, but all of that was overshadowed the moment she decided you were a piece of gum on her boot!

you sigh incredulously, “damn… i need a drink.”

…

a few minutes later, you’re walking into the last drop and making a beeline for the bar.

as you sit down, your hands graze the edges of the countertop and you close your eyes briefly to let out a breath you’ve held in your throat for…

who knows how long?

that garners the attention of thieram, the kind bartender whom you’d had polite conversation with in the past. you’d taken quite a liking to his kind personality in the past.

“what would you like tonight, miss?” he smiles at you.

as you rummage through your mind for something to order, there isn’t much.

you aren’t a big drinker so it was hard to decipher what was good and what wasn’t because you simply don’t know.

“she’ll have the whiskey, best you've got.” you hear a gruff voice come from behind you. you hear the person’s rough steps come to a stop beside you and they sit.

“ugh.” you scoff out loud and roll your eyes dramatically as you avoid looking in her direction to your right.

sevika.

“coming right up…” thieram, not even wanting to know, swiftly walks off to make your drink.

“what do you want?!” you huff out in annoyance as you finally bring your head up to make eye contact with her.

“nothin’… just enjoying you strugglin’ to order. jus’ was painful to watch, doll.”

your eyebrows raise as your mouth opens and closes, you not exactly knowing how to respond. especially to "doll".

although her tone indicates that she was merely joking, you retaliate against her anyway for the way she’s treated you in the past.

“i- you know what?! if you’ve just come to gloat and make me feel like an idiot just go right ahead and fuck off!” you state. causing a vein to pop out of your forehead and your left eye to twitch in pure anger.

“i’m not in the mood for your shit” you restate your previous point.

“y’know? you’re such a pain in my ass. always bitching and complaining about everything, always in the way, you’re unbelievable.”

you pause your movements, surprised at the lengths she’s going to make you feel terrible.

“i think you look weak.” she finishes, smirking as your eyes threaten to spill with tears out of rage.

“you’re such. a. fucking. bitch.” you emphasize the b in the word bitch as you leap off your chair and stomp out of the bar, trudging back to the comfort of your own home.

thieram walks back over to the side of the bar you were just at and his face scrunches in confusion.

“uh… where’d she go?” he questions as he raises his hands, one hand occupied with your drink.

sevika is still sitting with her mech hand pressing into a tight fist on the counter and her human hand tightly squeezing the bridge of her nose.

she makes up her mind as she stands up and makes her way to your apartment, already having memorized where you lay your head at night.

tonight, you’ll learn respect. obedience.

…

you’ve just made it back to your apartment and you’re slamming the door shut. as you pace back and forth from your kitchen to your living room you’re met with complete and utter silence that taunts you.

“how do i let her get to me? every. single. time.” you’re thinking, mentally cursing yourself for being so stupid. for letting her see you upset.

you hear a loud knock at the door and you pause all moments, as you make your way to answer it, your thoughts race with ideas of who may be at your doorstep at this time of night.

you open the door and you’re met with none other than the sight of sevika. both of her hands clench into fists at her sides as she gazes at you darkly.

it’s almost eerie, her silence. you sense something in her demeanor that is different than usual. it feels… scary.

you both say nothing as she pushes her way into your home, back turned to you as she stops in her tracks.

“wha- what the fuck? g-get out!” you scream out.

her head cocks over her shoulder, one eye looking back at you in a silent warning.

you slowly back up against the door as she turns her full body around to corner you against it. her stare pierces deep into your soul, you feel as though a knife has been jabbed into your gut.

sevika is a scary woman. you know you stand no chance against her strength. that frightens you slightly but you hold your head up high and maintain eye contact with her to stand your ground.

her hands are placed on either side of your head, pressing into the rough, wooden texture of the door. you hear the wood creaking when she leans in, nose brushing against yours. the silence is deafening.

"hmm..." she cocks her head to the right, still looking deep into your irises.

"sevika, l-let me go. what are you doing?!" you try to reason with her but she is unwavering as she takes her mech hand and trails it dangerously slowly up your body from your thigh to your bare stomach, then your arms.

it lands on your neck and wraps around it loosely as a scare tactic. it works as your eyes widen and your shaky hands come up to move the machine off you.

your legs start to weaken and your eyebrows furrow as your underwear pools with your desire.

"so fuckin' pathetic, you are..." she growls, tightening around your neck, not too tight. but tight enough to where your breath hitches in your throat and you're slightly gasping for air.

"y'know, was gonna try and get along with you tonight, doll."

the pet name makes the wetness in your panties become unbearable.

she continues, "ordered you a drink, cracked a joke 'n everything..."

"but, you're a brat to your core, aren't you? should make you apologize..."

an idea pops into your head, another way to disrespect her. you ponder in your head about how you shouldn't. against your better judgment, you say it anyway.

"make me, then,” your eyes flicker down to her lips.

her cocky expression falters slightly—her eyes threatening to look down at yours as well. and if looks could kill, you would die instantly.

"show me your fuckin' bedroom. now."

you're then peeling yourself off of the door. she takes her hand off your neck and backs up to let you pass. you drag your feet, walking slowly to irritate her further. she doesn't like that one bit.

you feel a hand brush the back of your head and she's harshly pulling you up against her chest by your hair. you feel her warm breath tickling your ear, getting ready to humiliate you even more.

"f-fuck! ow!" you yelp out in pain.

"nuh-uh. hurry the fuck up. move." she whispers into your ear.

sevika lets you go, roughly pushing your head forward to emphasize her point. you decide not to push her as you speed up.

as you enter your room, you let out a shaky breath, scared yet excited about the events about to take place. you're not facing her when you hear your bedroom door slam shut. you stop dead in your tracks.

"what-uhm, what's gonna happen?" you question.

you gasp out in surprise as she spins you around to face her and pushes you onto the bed. your ass rests on the edge of it and you're sitting up straight. sevika towers over you, way taller than usual. she looks like she could devour you as she's undressing you with her eyes.

"gonna hurt you, sweetheart. gonna punish you for being such a mean little brat." she smushes your cheeks together with one hand, causing your saliva to pool from your mouth and wet your lips.

"should've done this ages ago... maybe you'd be better behaved by now."

"p-please. i-'m sorry."

it kills you inside, that you secretly love this. you secretly love the idea of her touching you. punishing you, hurting you until you’re utterly ruined.

you’ve dreamt about this moment in light of all the arguments, yelling, and fighting.

in one swift movement, she stands you back up and takes your place on the bed looking up at you hungrily.

“bend over my knee,” she demands.

you feign disgust, and fear, “wh-what?! n-no i-”

“lay the fuck down, and bend over my knee before i spank your ass raw.”

you obey. she scoots back further on your bed so you can maneuver your way to lay your stomach across her thighs. your upper body and legs rest on the bed as your ass is slightly positioned in the air.

you can’t see her face, but you know sevika’s smirking as she’s finally got you where she wants you.

she coos at you, tugging slightly at the loose shorts you threw on after you got home from the bar, “look at you in these little fuckin’ shorts, so slutty.”

she slides her hand up your outer thigh, moving closer to your ass.

all of a sudden, she pauses her movements.

she leans down, her mouth next to your ear, “we can stop at any time. jus’ let me know, doll.”

your heart clenches at her words, feeling the intense emotion behind them and now knowing deep down that she doesn’t want to actually hurt you.

it turns you on even more.

“want it vika, p-please.”

she lets out a sound that’s of a groan and a growl, “fuck yeah, baby. gonna punish you—gonna make it hurt,”

“gonna take it? gonna be a good girl for me?”

“ye-yes! yes!”

sevika hooks the fingers of her human and mechanical hand under the waist of your shorts and roughly tugs them to the floor.

“fuck… no panties too? my god,” she admires you.

you say nothing as her hand finds its way back to moving up your thigh and finally grips your ass, kneading the plush flesh.

“gonna actually do anything or?…” you get cocky, too impatient to feel her hands on you.

a loud ‘SMACK!’ sounds throughout the ambient space of your bedroom, the pain searing into the skin of your right asscheek, making you scream out into the bedspread.

“fuckin’ brat, like i said.”

you’re met with another ‘SMACK!’ in the same spot. you scream out again except this time, it sounds a hell of a lot more like a moan.

“can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. bein' my little painslut…”

she hits you again, “you like when i hurt you? don’t you, baby?”

“yes!” you’re repeating, face still smushed into the blankets.

“what was that?” she presses further as she tangles her hand into your hair and yanks it upwards.

“f-fuck! yes, yes!”

she spanks you again and again, alternating between each cheek until you’re sobbing.

although she hadn’t spanked you more than 15 times, you felt as though it was 10 times that much.

she’s soon rubbing a soothing hand over the expanse of your ass, attempting to calm the ache in your ass while neglecting the one in your cunt.

“my girl. did so good for me, baby. so, so good.”

she sits you up and props you up next to her. you wince as your ass meets the surface of your bed.

“we’re not done. gonna make this pussy feel so good, i’ve been neglecting her haven’t i?”

“mhm…touch me please.” you’re out of it, eyes lazily gazing into hers.

“suppose i should reward you?”

her hands caress the sides of your neck and she captures your lips in a gentle and passionate kiss.

as her lips meet yours, the world is silent, all you can think of is sevika.

the kiss soon turns sloppier, needier. your tongues clash against one another causing saliva to drip down both of your chins.

it’s disgusting really, the definition of swapping spit.

neither of you seems to care though. you both moan through the kisses, gripping at each other.

she breaks the kiss to tear your shirt off your body.

“such pretty tits… so beautiful.”

you lean in and peck her lips, “want you bad, vika. please just fuck me already,” you beg.

“you’re beggin’ me?”

“yeah,” you respond.

“fuckin’ beggin’ me, huh?”

“fuck yeah, baby,” you respond another time, your bedroom eyes never leaving hers.

this back-and-forth dirty talk makes the both of you so wet, that the need between you increases with each exchange.

“you don’t even realize how much of a whore you sound like when you say that shit, baby."

oh, you know.

“i love it,” she doubles back.

“gonna eat you first, get you ready for my cock.”

you pause.

‘she didn’t… did she?!’ you exclaim in your head, incredibly surprised she brought an entire strap-on to your house.

“mm… back the fuck up, lean up against the headboard.”

you do as she says, spreading your legs for her in the process.

“good fuckin’ girl.”

she kisses down your neck, stomach, and thighs—her mouth now dangerously close to your naked cunt.

“perfect pussy… so pretty and wet.” she blows cold air on it, admiring the way you clench as she does so.

she laughs out loud, “you’re clenching around nothing, baby… you need this dick in you.”

you don’t even notice you’re looking up at the ceiling, you then look down at her between your thighs—you notice her pants are pulled off. her mech hand is gripping her black plastic cock through her boy shorts.

it’s huge. you’re not sure if it can even fit inside you and that makes you crave it more.

you moan at the sight, “mhm! yes! need it in my pussy. wanna cum on it.” you manage out. your brain is mush!

“soon,” she promises.

she suddenly delves into your pussy, tongue experimentally licking around your folds, then your hole, and your clit.

you’re on cloud 9. your cunt twitches with need because you can feel every detail of her mouth dragging along your heat.

your moans are uncontrollable as she’s practically making out with your cunt, her spit drips onto your clean bed as she’s sloppily eating your pussy out.

she’s nasty with it, spitting on it, getting it dripping wet for you to take her.

“fuck! please!! gonna cum!” you yell out.

all of a sudden, you’re met with cold air. and your cunt is met with a thought to be forgotten ‘SMACK!’

you yelp out in pain and pleasure, the mix too overwhelming for your poor pussy to handle.

“you cum when i fuckin’ tell you to. ask me if you can come next time.”

“‘m sorry vika! promise i won't do it a-again.”

“yeah, yeah. turn around.”

you whine at the loss of her mouth on you; it just feels so good. but you listen anyway.

you’re in doggy facing the headband with your back slightly arched as you look back at her behind you.

she lifts her shirt over her head; she has nothing on underneath, giving you a full view of her sculpted abs. you graze them with your fingertips, amazed at how beautiful she is.

“beautiful, gorgeous…” you state to her and your eyes meet hers once again, showing her you mean what you’re saying.

she huffs out in…shyness? she looks down at the bedspread below you two and she tugs down her boy shorts, throwing them next to all of the other clothes that are splayed out on the floor.

“gonna put it inside, alright? gonna make you feel it.”

you look forward and your eyes trace the design of your headboard, anticipating her cock pushing inside of you, anticipating the delicious pain.

she eventually does push the toy inside of you, bottoming out quickly.

she gives you a moment to adjust. you both are breathing heavily and your nimble fingers grip at the sheets, mouth forming into the shape of an o because she’s so fucking deep.

one of her hands comes up to force your face into the pillows. she starts to move her hips slowly.

“fuuuuck, doll. arch that back,” she can feel the slow grind of your hips on her clit as you press back into her and arch slightly.

it’s not enough for her. she presses her other hand into the small of your back to truly get it so she’s as deep as she possibly can go in this position.

“oh my f-fucking god!” you’re moaning into the pillows, still as loud as if you were screaming.

she’s sped up now, her plastic cock digging into you swiftly yet deliberately.

“yeah…arch that shit, gimme that pussy, baby.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you’re still moaning into the pillow. you can feel every ridge, every detail of her.

your pussy twitches with need, your slick dripping down your thighs, cunt squelching and eyes rolling to the back of your head because of the rough way she’s handling you.

“can feel you around me, i swear. you’re so tight, baby, s-shit…”

she’s bullying your cunt relentlessly and her dirty talk is making you so unbelievably wet.

“you love this dick, don’t you? you love when i fuck this pussy, huh?”

“yes, vika! yes! just like that! love it!”

“say you’re sorry. say you’re sorry for being such a bratty little bitch.”

“hmmph!” you defy her, for fun perhaps.

she slows down tremendously compared to the pace she set before, giving you shallow thrusts to match your attitude.

“say you’re fuckin’ sorry or I’ll make sure this pussy never cums again. you’re only cumming from me, so you’ll do what the fuck i say.”

whew.

“c’mon, baby say you’re sorry so i can give you this dick. gonna make you cream on it so good if you just let go,”

she continues, “i know you want it… know you want it in your guts. know you want my cum in you," she's delirious.

gripping your hip with her free hand and your hair with the other, she lifts your head out of the pillow so she can hear you better.

you cave.

“i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry, baby. i promise i’ll be good! pleeease just fuck me! need you. need your cum…”

she leans down and kisses the small of your back, “see, now how hard was that?!”

she moves her hips at a faster pace than before, seemingly deeper as well. your face has found its way back down, voice muffled into the sheets.

“yeah, baby, take this shit—take it aaaaalll in this fuckin’ pussy. pussy’s so good for me.”

“oh f-fuck, ‘s so deep!” you look back at her once again. her teeth are biting into her bottom lip, hips snapping against your ass as she stares down at you wildly, watching the toy disappear inside of you.

you then meet her eyes, completely cockdrunk. you beg her again, “please v-vika… need your cum in my pussy. need you to knock me up.”

“give it to me, give me your cum! want it deep in me, wan’ it!”

she growls out, “f-fuck shit’s gonna make me cum.”

“fuckin’ pussy is sucking me in, gonna make me get you pregnant, baby,”

her hips are still pistoning into you, the room filling with sloppy wet noises and smacking skin.

“i’m b-begging you to let me cum, p-please!” you’re still looking into her eyes, kindly asking her for permission to soak her faux dick.

“who’s fucking you then? say my name, doll.”

“you, sevika! you!! you’re the only one,”

“fuck yeah, you whore. ‘m the only one that’s gonna be in this shit from now on. that’s right…”

“plea-”

“cum. i want you to cum on this cock, make it yours. cum all over it,” she’s thrusting against your g-spot as deep as she can with one of her legs on the bed and her hands on your hips. you have no choice but to just, take it.

her words cause the coil in your tummy to snap, your orgasm crashing down on you like a brick to your head. like if a large rock were to crush you and kill you instantly. it’s rough, it’s overwhelming.

“fuck!!” you scream through it.

“i’m cummin’ too!! not gonna pull out. i’m gonna put a baby in you, get you nice and full,”

“mhm!! yes!”

the combination of you urging her on and the pressure of her hips and your ass fucking back onto them causes her movements to stutter, “s-shit!”

her orgasm washes over her much like yours, both her hands on your hips making it easier for her cock to kiss your cervix and for her clit to feel it.

you both eventually come down from your highs. sevika pulls out of you and quickly yanks the toy off.

you’re still in the same position so she presses down on your back to get you to rest your body on the comfortable and soft surface of your bed. you’re expecting her to tug her clothes back on and leave, but she doesn’t.

she praises you for the rest of the night, rubs aloe gel on your ass to soothe the welts, and loves on you as if she’d never hated you in the first place.

“you did so good, baby.”

“i’m so proud of you, you’re amazing.”

“you’re so pretty… you’re mine now.”

…

needless to say… she’s ruined you for everyone else. your petty rivalry long forgotten and replaced with the feelings that you’ve both been hiding. and as you’re both waltzing into silco’s office for a second meeting, he’s hoping for but not expecting for there to be a change in your relationship.

he is stunned when he’s met with no more eye rolls, scoffs, and bickering.

‘wonder what’s gotten into the two of them…’ he wonders.

well, something has definitely gotten into you.

…

I AM SO SORRY I HAVEN’T POSTED!! finals are over so i am free from the shackles of college! (for now…)

hope you guys like it! tbh this took me forever because i couldn’t figure out the plot LMFAKOW😭😭

[hoshigray]

Hey, can I request some Toji, please? 👉🏻👈🏻 having sex with him after an argument and silent treatment for several days, but not like wild fucking, but kinda intimate and passionate 😔 like imagine you finally make up after an argument and he missed you soooo much and he want to kiss everywhere, look you in the eyes and praise the hell out of you 🥺

Damn, I need soft Toji bad 😭 wish you a great day 🫶🏻

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: arguing!? make up sex!?!? with soft dom toji!!??? ahhhhhhh—

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: soft dom! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - implied argument + make-up sex - kissing/making out - Daddy kink - oral (m! + f! receiving) - fingering (f! receiving) - breast fondling + nipple play - anvil/mating press + spooning positions - cockwarming - praise - unprotected sex - multiple orgasms - pet names (baby, good girl, mama, sweet baby, sweetie) - Toji being whipped + missing you, i'm so soft - itty bitty angst in beginning + fluff on SMUT on fluff - mention os spit/drool.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9k

Toji didn’t like having arguments with you. They made you distant from him, pushed him away, and he’ll feel like utter shit until things subside after kissing and making up. And when the tension between you lasts for an entire week? Oh, that makes him experience a new gut-wrenching definition of guilt. 

Avoiding him is a torture he doesn’t want from you — oh, he can’t stand it. When you use the shower in the morning after he uses it in the nighttime, when your eyes don’t acknowledge his existence, or when you sleep far into your side of the bed with your back to him while he’s in a state of unease trying to find sleep without your warmth on him. 

A whole week of nothing but side glances and avoiding being in the same place as him, especially in your shared apartment. With every passing day, the pressure growing felt like you two were drifting apart — something Toji would never want between you. He already lost one love of his life; the mere thought of losing another was strong enough to have his stomach drop. 

It drives him so fucking crazy, especially when you’re in the kitchen washing dishes, Megumi and Tsumiki are at a sleepover, and him on the living room couch, supposedly watching sports highlights. But he can’t; his thoughts are too occupied reflecting on you — missing you. God, did he miss you — so fucking much that he shuts the television off and walks to the kitchen with a purpose. 

He brings you in with an embrace, spooking the daylights out of you that you almost jumped. You thank your stars you were done washing the dishes by the time he came around, or else he’d give you another thing to be mad about. “J-Jesus, Toji…! Scaring me like that, what are you—“

“I’m sorry.”

Two words — that’s all it takes to silence you, and your body stiffens in his hold. Toji takes this time to indulge in having you in his arms after such a break, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your abdomen and his face buried in the crook of your neck. The way your breath hitches at his lips on your shoulder, he kisses the skin exposed from your tank top. Fuck, you make him go insane.

“I don’t want us like this, baby,” he proceeds, sighing deeply when his hand creeps to your wet one to grasp. “Pushin’ you away from me like this, it’s drivin’ me crazy. Don’t avoid me because of dumb shit I did or said.” You were listening intently; the TV was off, so there’s no way you’d be ignorant enough to close him off. But you didn’t say anything yet, making the raven-haired man keep going. “This silent treatment, it’s fuckin’ with me; sleepin’ far on one side with y’r back to me, taking showers at different times, and not looking at me in the eye…” A kiss to the neck has you breathing cautiously. “Makes me think I’m losin’ you, and I don’t want that. So….I’m sorry.”

He can’t lie; the stillness between you two has him anxious, barely keeping it together and fighting the quiver of his fingers from showing. He nearly misses your signal — slapping his forearm wrapped around your stomach. Toji loosens his hold on you, and you turn around to face him. It feels like it’s been forever since the last time your eyes were on his for more than a second, and he freezes at the touch of your hands cupping his face.

“You’d never lose me, Toji,” you say to him in a whisper so the world doesn’t intervene with this moment. You bring your face to him to kiss the scar on his lip and return the hug. “And I’m sorry, too.”

There’s hesitance when he circles his arms around your waist again, but your frame on him gradually puts him at ease. “Sorry ‘bout what?” 

You peer up at him with your chin on his chest. Goddamn, your beauty was unreal. “For not apologizing sooner.” 

Toji hums with an aimless nod. “So,” he brings a hand to cup your cheek, and you lean to his touch. “Are we cool?” You nod with a smile. “Good.”

You repeat. “Good.”

A few seconds go by when his viridian orbs are locked in with yours before his face draws in close. “I missed you…”

Your eyes instinctively close. “I miss—Mmm.”

Your sentence is cut off at the contact of his lips on yours, asking for permission by laying himself onto you more and licking your bottom lip. With your hands enveloping his neck, you open your mouth to receive him. A moan slips out when he pushes his tongue gently, the hand on your cheek coming around to hold you by the back of your head. 

The kiss gets hot and steamier with every peck, the hand on your waist slithering down to grope your ass hiding inside your leggings. You wail as your frame hits the sink, and Toji uses this to cage you into him. A strong leg comes in between yours, having you essentially ride him as you lovingly suck his tongue. And it gets intense when he slams his face to yours, taking in your sweet noises that poke him to make more. 

Sounds of lips smacking together fill the kitchen space, and your hands find their way inside his sweatshirt to roam over his back. And Toji loves your touch on him; how he yearned to feel your fingers on his skin again.  

Oxygen is needed to carry on, so he breaks the kiss for you both to breathe. Heavy pants are shared at the union of your foreheads pressing together. You huff prettily with hooded eyes up to him, unveiling a smile as your fingers play with the black strands on his nape.

“I missed you, too, Toji." You finally say to him, sealing the fate for what’s to happen into the night.

“Hahhh, fuck, keep suckin’ me like that, mama…Shit, I missed this.”

You two are now in the comfort of your shared bedroom, no longer acting like strangers in your bed. Hands and lips show no interest in being away from bodies; Toji, in particular, uses this time to get his calloused hands drunk on feeling your curves, dents, and skin. 

And you’re on the same boat, placing soft kisses on whatever place you can find. His lips, his clavicle, sneaking inside his sweatshirt to tweak and lick his nipples before trailing down to the dent of his sweats. Pulling the pants down sprung out his hard-on, and you feverishly greet his cock with your mouth. 

Toji gets lost in the sensation of your lips and tongue, gripping the sheets at his dick and being swallowed whole into your warm throat. Fuck, you were so good at this, using your hands to stroke him as you sucked his glans harshly while gingerly massaging his balls. Your humming on him feels so good that his hand goes to your head to steady himself. 

“Fucking Christ,” he curses under his breath, and his hips jerk to create friction. He wants to come so bad, stuff your face with his dick, and pump his load into you. But no, not right now. He taps your cheek, and you bat your eyes at him. “Mmm, c’mon, sweetie. Let’s switch.”

You take out his cock from your mouth and a string of saliva sticks to you and his cockhead. “But you didn’t—“

“Don’t worry; I will later,” he squishes your cheeks, wiping spit from the corners of your lips. And he means that because being one with you is what he wants more than anything tonight.

But before that, he needs to have you be prepared for him. After all, it has been a week.

“—Ahhhh, ahhhh, Tojiii, I just came…!”

“There you go, baby,” his baritone voice rocked to your core, his tongue licking and sucking the skin of your inner thigh. “Keep makin’ a mess for me...”

He nestled between your legs, his mouth stuffed in the proximity of your cunt that’s been orally stimulated for the past few minutes now. All for the sake of prep, yet Toji missed being close to your vagina like this, sucking your slick with ease.

Fuck, your taste in his buds was nearly nostalgic. It all felt familiar — felt right. His tongue swirled around your labia to make you whimper, shoving it inside your entrance to essentially fuck you on his tongue, resulting in pretty screams as you grab tuffs of raven hair. And since you just came, your legs trembled with sensitivity, trying to close your legs to shield yourself.

But that’s not what’s happening tonight, not with Toji. His hands easily hold your legs by the back of your knees, exposing your beautiful, soapy chaos of a chasm to him for him to enjoy. His face is so crowded between your legs and folds that his nose bumps and presses to the hood of your clit. You cry at his hold on you, forced to take whatever his tongue gives you.

“Moohhh, hooohh, To’jiiiii,” you’re shrieking when he laps on your clitoris, and your frame jolts from the onslaught. “Stooohhhpp! I can’t…!”

“Yes, you can,” he removes himself from your slit, licking your essence plastered on his scarred lips. Toji rests his head on the thigh where his hand is massaging. A low chortle leaves him when you shake your head, sneaking his free hand to your cunt where his middle and forefinger insert efficiently. You gasp sharply, and his thick digits go to work. “Don’t tell Daddy you can’t, sweet baby; I need you to be all wet for me.”

The title he uses on himself has your walls twitch on him. “Hahhh, I’m wet enough…Ohoo!!”

“Aht, aht, none of that,” he coos while pressing a thumb on your clit, and you wail at him as he makes circles on your bud. “Gotta have you all ready for me…” The squelches of his fingers exploring your insides are hot to hear. Fucking Christ, Toji couldn’t get enough of you, trying to fight the urge to plunge his mouth back on your cunt when you smell too good to resist. 

His eyes flickered back to your face when you shudder at the scrape of his blunt fingertips on your velvety texture. “D-Daddyyy, I’m gonna cummm…”

You make him snicker. “Yeah? You gonna cum?” He takes his tongue and runs an excruciatingly sluggish lick to your clit; it has you gripping the sheets. “Gonna make a mess on Daddy again, pretty thing?” You nod hastily with a chewed lip, fuck you looked so cute being desperate for him. He removes his finger with a deep sigh. “Mmm, ‘kay, stay still fr’ me, baby.”

You find that impossible as he descends back to your leaking slit to lick and suck like crazy, his hands on your hips to keep your writhing figure from escaping the older man sucking on your nectar. Christ, you tasted so good, his jaw wet from pushing his face further in to have more of you in his mouth as possible, chasing you to ride out another orgasm for him to drink on. 

He’d make you cum for the second time that night. Something you know is essential as you’re soon bent on your back, your legs to the air supported by his shoulders, and constant wails fly out your slippery lips and bounce the walls of your bedroom. You can only thank the Lord that the kids are not home right now…

“Hmaahh! Nhhaahh!! Daddyyyy, Daddyy….! Too much, I’m ‘oo full—Oooo!”

“Hghh! Hhhshiiiit, this pussy…! Try’na milk me dry, huh, sweet thing…”

Clothes have long been discarded to the bedroom floor, and the ceiling lights turned off for the natural lighting of the moon to shower the space, Toji’s nude, powerful body on top of yours as he pistons his cock into you at an irregular pace. Sweat keeps the strands of his bangs sticking to his forehead, and hoarse grunts evade him with every dig of his dick venturing inside you. 

The position helps him go deep into the places both you and he can’t reach, his fat girth stretching your entrance and the tip stimulating your G-spot with grazes to your vaginal walls. His jabs become more accurate when he adds his weight onto you, caging you between him and the mattress to have your chasm tighten around him more. You howl, clenching on his length at every scratch of your sensitive areas. And it doesn’t help the fact he drives himself down to the hilt, balls deep into your creamy cunt.

“Tahhh, ohhhh, good God,” your eyes shut, taking out the sense of seeing to indulge in the others. The many sensations coursing through your fatigued frame are borderline addicting — given the fact that this is the fourth time Toji’s making you come. You’re practically drowning in the scene; any more than this, you’re bound to turn into actual putty.

Toji taps your cheek to have you open your eyelids for him. “Hey, mama,” your heart skipped at his handsome, disheveled look. Emerald eyes capture your gaze, and the smirk on his face lifts the scar. “Watch how good y’re takin’ me.”

Your stare travels down to where your sex is joined with his, white fluids exiting out of you and making a ring around the base of his shaft. You can sense the come from the round prior trailing down to the crevice of your ass; so fucking dirty. It all looked so erotic and forbidden to the eyes, throbbing on him a lot more.

“Daddy, please—Mmmph!”

“What, sweetie,” his hips change to an intermittent rhythm, evoking more cries to escape your pretty lips. He examines every feature in your expression, admiring how sexy you look under his bow. “Tell Daddy what you want.”

It hurts to think, but you try to muster a response despite your head going through such a haze. “Let me c’mmm on you, pleaseee!”

“Good girl,” he stops moving his pelvis to maneuver, standing on his knees, removing your legs from his shoulder to lie them down. Toji then comes from behind you, scooping you to his side for your body to mush with his in for a cuddle. You gasp at him inserting his cock back in, humming at the stretch of his girth that fills you up and scrapes your upper wall.

Toji returns his pelvis in thrusting motions, and your head rests on his forearm. The push of his dick grinding against your velvety texture has you squeaking in high pitches, a hand finding purchase on his rocking hip. 

“Fuck,” he observes you, looking so effortlessly gorgeous by his side — he missed this so fucking bad, having you near him like it’s where you belonged. The hand you’re resting on comes around to cup your breast, fondling the mound lovingly, which makes you arch to him more. His free hand brings your chin to him, “So fuckin’ beautiful fr’ me, baby…”

The kiss makes you clamp onto him tighter, and Toji reacts by dialing the speed. He trails his lips to your cheek and the crook of your neck to lay more kisses and suck on your skin. The hand on your breast squeezes it, occasionally pressing down on your nipple with his forefinger. Yet it doesn’t distract you from the constant stimulation of your G-spot, screaming and toes curling from the diligent strokes against the wall of your vagina.

Your brain turns into mush, spit coming down your agape lips, and your brows furrow while Toji squishes your cheeks. “Ohhh, Daddy, right thereeee, I’m so close…!”

“Me too, sweetie, a lil’ bit more…—Aiishh!” He can feel it, his length pulsating inside you when your orgasms climb together. He brings your mouth back to his, taking your delicious screams when your bodies lock in together to climax. 

A few more harsh thrusts to your ass, and Toji spurts his load into you, sinking into the pleasurable sensation of your folds contracting around his girth. Your hand scratches his hip, muffled howls taken by him while the hand on your breast sneaks away to grasp your hand, fingers intertwining to seek connectedness. 

Quivering bodies soon calm down when the wave of their finish is finally gone, and you two sigh deep into a passionate kiss. It breaks with a soft noise while he nibbles on your lip before letting go. “Toji,” you said his name in stifles, your hand caressing his sweaty cheek.

The older man huffs, placing his hot palm on your cheek to stroke in return. “Yeah, mama?”

“Sleep,” you demanded with a sigh, fatigued eyes and trenched brows. The single word has you both chuckling in the hot air between you before he kisses you gently one last time. Exhaustion takes over you both, Toji bringing the comforter to put around your bodies, laying his head on the pillows as you rest yours on his arm, your hand still held with his.

His free hand guides you to be pressed up against him, his cock still inside your creamy cunt. He’s comforted by the snug of your walls and the flesh of your body molding with his hot, sturdy frame. Sleepy green eyes go to the creek of the curtains covering the bedroom window. “Maybe we outta argue more often.”

He knew that would make you giggle; the faint rise and fall of your shoulder is highlighted by the moonlight creeping through the window. “Good night, Toji.” The way you said his name sounded like a spell, closing his eyes at the somnolent tone.

“Night, baby.”

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[amiableness]

Kiss and Makeup

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: James ruins reader’s date and attempts to make it better.

Word Count: 2829

Warnings: Jealous!James; kissing; and reader wearing heels, jewelry and makeup.

A/N 💌: A quick James oneshot that’s been on my mind, but I’m heavily consider making a second part to this.

As usual, thank you to @moonpascal for reading!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Go on, kiss and make up!” Sirius’ voice trails after you as you hurry down the corridor, James close on your heels. On any other day, you might have tossed a playful jab back at Sirius, well-accustomed to his relentless teasing about you and James. But today, the weight of everything made your throat tighten, leaving you silent, your focus fixed on reaching the safety of your dorm.

The sharp click of your heels echoed off the stone walls, and James’ muttering about your surprising speed in heels barely registers. Your anger simmers, blocking out his words as you storm ahead and shove the door open. James is right behind you, catching it just before it could slam shut in his face, determined not to let you shut him out.

“Get out, Jamie.” Though your voice was laced with anger, the way you used his nickname gave him a glimmer of hope. It wasn’t hopeless—there was still a chance to make everything better.

“I’m not leaving until we figure this out.” James says, stepping forward and leaning against the post of Lily’s bed as he watches you roll your eyes and turn into the room. He doesn’t say anything as you begin furiously grabbing clothes and scattered heels off the floor—remnants of you getting ready for a date, now tainted by the tension hanging between you two.

“There’s nothing to figure out! You ruined my date, plain and simple.” You spin around, clutching a black heel in your hand, and for a fleeting moment, James braces himself, half-expecting you to launch it at him in a fit of frustration. But it’s you, his sweet best friend—the one who cares so deeply for others that you always put them before yourself. It’s a trait that drives James a little crazy sometimes, knowing you’d sacrifice your own happiness without a second thought.

The realization only sharpens the sting of your anger, an unfamiliar weight he’s not used to carrying. He can recall times you’ve been disappointed—maybe after one of his careless pranks or his thoughtless disregard for someone’s feelings—but never this. Never this level of anger.

“I said I was sorry.” He tries, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you scoff and turn away, angrily kicking off your heels. You bend down to pick them up, and despite himself, his eyes drift to the curve of your body. He knows he shouldn’t be looking, but he can’t help it—he’s never been able to take his eyes off you. And now, a bitter feeling twists in his gut, knowing you’re dressed all pretty for someone else.

“You’re not, though. Why the fuck did you feel the need to scare him off?” You toss the heels into your trunk and turn to face him, arms crossed. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die before they form—because he doesn’t know how to tell you the truth. He knows exactly why, but admitting it out loud would change everything between you. And he’s not sure he’s ready for that.

The silence between you stretches, heavy and unspoken, as you wait for an answer he isn’t ready to give. You both know exactly what you’re waiting for—a proper explanation.

One you’ve been holding out hope for, quietly, for years.

“It’s not fair, you know.” You let out a deep sigh, turning to face your desk, your gaze falling on the mirror. James watches as you begin to remove your jewelry, your back turned to him, but his reflection still catches glimpses of you.The anger in your voice has softened, but he knows that if he says the wrong thing, it could all flare up again, as sharp and sudden as before.

“What isn’t?” He hesitates, watching you carefully as he takes a cautious step forward. His eyes follow the way your lips part in the mirror, the soft exhale of frustration escaping you as you fumble with your necklace.

He wants to step forward, to gently brush your hair aside and unfasten the clasp, to press a soft kiss against the back of your neck once the necklace slips away. But he can’t—so he remains still, trapped in silence, as he watches you instead.

“Why is it that you go out with girl after girl, but when I show interest in a guy, you scare him off?” You already knew the answer—weren’t blind to it. It had been clear to everyone that you and James had been circling each other for years, dancing around unspoken words.

But he refused to admit that he cared for you as more than friends. It felt pointless to tell him how you felt when it was clear James was intent on keeping you in the friend zone.

From the moment crushes became a part of your life, James had been yours. But you were never certain about his feelings—until that one night when he got blackout drunk and confessed he was in love with you. He has no memory of that drunken night, but you overheard him later, telling the boys he’d never drink that much again because he wanted to actually remember the parties he went to. You’d felt a pang of disappointment, but you were gathering the courage to confront him about it. Then, the next day, he hooked up with a girl from Ravenclaw, and just like that, all your resolve crumbled, leaving you feeling more invisible than ever.

He didn’t remember what he’d said, and if he was out with other girls, it was clear he didn’t care enough to mention it while sober.

That was a year ago, and you still hadn’t brought it up. 

So, to cope with the mess of it all, you went on a date—a rare one, the first in nearly a year. And now, here was James, wrecking it all over again.

“I—” He stops himself, clearing his throat, the tension in his voice betraying the lie before he even finishes. “I don’t think that’s true. You go out on dates.”

He knew he spent a lot of time flirting with girls—whether it was during class, when he should have been paying attention, or at parties where conversation flowed too easily. But when someone showed interest in you? That was a different story altogether. He’d like to blame it on the fact that you were his best friend, but deep down, he knew better.He was protective of you because he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone looking at you the way he did. Was it selfish? Definitely. But the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything.

“You know that’s a lie. You saw how excited I was! Why did you take that from me?” You were fully aware of how weak and accusatory your voice sounded, but you didn’t care. You were hurt, and it was clear in the way you shook your head, disappointment heavy in every movement. James watched your reflection, noticing the way you swallowed hard as if trying to shove down the swell of emotions threatening to break free. And with that, a wave of guilt slammed into his stomach, settling there like a stone.

“I just didn’t want him to hurt you!” 

“So you decided to take that off his hands and hurt me instead?” You scoffed, making James flinched as if you had slapped him. It probably would have hurt less if you had.

“Merlin, no! Sweetheart, that wasn’t what I was trying to do—”

“Then what were you trying to do, James? Because I’m getting tired of this little game, we have going on.” 

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes following your hand as you gently remove one of your earrings. For a moment, your gazes meet through the mirror, and the weight of it all presses down on him. He wishes, desperately, that you would justturn around and face him.

He was racking his brain, searching for the right words, trying to find a way to fix this. He considered stepping back, giving you space like he did when you got agitated with him. But this felt different. It wasn’t just about a moment of frustration—it was something deeper, something that could damage your friendship permanently if he didn’t speak up. He knew he had to fix this.

“You guys make up yet?” Sirius hollered, and James could practically picture him standing at the  bottom of the stairs with his hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted at the both of you.

Sirius’ words from earlier echoed in his head as if they were taunting him, swirling around like a cruel mantra. 

Go on, kiss and make up.

It felt like an accusation, a reminder of how much he’d messed up. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, twisting in his gut. Every nerve in his body screamed that his next move would either make everything worse—digging the hole even deeper—or finally give him a chance to tell you why he’d ruined your date. But the fear of losing you pushed him forward.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart.”

“Stop what—?” You ask, tossing your last piece of jewelry into the ceramic dish with a sharp clang before turning to face James. Your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer, and without thinking, you instinctively take a step back, bumping into your desk. The sudden movement rattles the items on top, sending a soft, anxious clatter through the room.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as James reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and James can’t help but think how pretty you look—more than he’s ever allowed himself to admit. 

He’s never been able to admire you like this before, not without the constant fear of you catching him.

His hands are shaky, and his proximity to you is making him nervous in a way that he couldn’t quite shake. But he didn’t know how else to explain himself. So, tentatively, he let his fingers graze your skin, admiring how you melted into him. He watches, heart pounding, as your lashes flutter and your lips part in surprise at the softness of his touch. The anger in your eyes had faded, leaving behind disbelief and something that looked dangerously close to hope.

He startles both himself and you when the words slip out, low and raw: “You make me so fucking nervous.” You blink up at him, silent, processing the confession. His gaze drifts over the mascara you’d carefully applied, the gloss glistening on your lips—details he hadn’t noticed before, but now felt like a punch to his gut. The jealousy flares, burning hot and fast in the pit of his stomach. It was devastating to realize you were all dressed up, and it wasn’t for him. Those heels, thoseglossed lips—they were for a guy who hardly knew you. 

Not like James knew you.

You part your lips, and James unknowingly silences you with a gentle brush of his thumb just beneath your lower lip. A soft, satisfied smile tugs at his mouth as he hears the gasp escape you. His hand rests on your left hip, pulling you closer, grounding you against him. The tension in the room thickens, and just like that, your anger has melted.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his voice low and thick with intention as he edged closer. His fingers caressing your jaw, tilting your face upwards, bringing you within a breath of him. The air between you crackles, heavy and charged, and you feel the pull—the tempting, intoxicating proximity. He was so close now, you could feel the warmth of his breath, and all it would take was the slightest movement for his lips to claim yours.

You thought about saying it—the words were right there, just on the tip of your tongue. But then his lips brushed against yours just barely, and everything else faded away. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no—not when this was something you’d wanted for years. Even with the anger simmering inside you, the frustration over James ruining your date, you couldn’t pull away.

Not now. Not when he was so close.

If anything, a strange sense of relief was starting to wash over you—relief that he had ruined it. Because if he hadn’t, it might have been another guy standing where he was now, and the thought of that made something tighten painfully in your chest.

“Last chance.” He mumbled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, searching for any sign that you might stop him. The only sound between you was the uneven rhythm of your breaths, erratic and heavy, pulsing with the desire that surged between you both. When you didn’t say a thing, no rejection, no hesitation—only the warmth of your breath mingling with his—he offered a barely-there smile before leaning in, his lips finally capturing yours with a slow, gentle kiss.

He started slow, cautious, as if afraid he might push you away. But the wrecked hum that escaped your throat—the sound of pure desire—told him everything he needed to know. You wanted this as much as he did.

It was overwhelming how quickly the kiss shifted—what started as sweet and searching, quickly turned frantic and hungry. The slow, deliberate pace gave way to a fiery urgency. The gentle brush of lips became a desperate meeting of mouths as the two of you gave into years of pining.

Your hands, which had been gripping the edge of the desk hard, moved slowly toward him. You let your fingers trail up his stomach, feeling the dips and ridges before reaching his chest. Your other hand found its way into his curls, youtugged softly, the motion pulling a low, pleasure-filled groan from deep within him. That sound, the sound of him unraveling, seemed to shatter something inside James. In an instant, he stepped closer—if that was even possible—until your bodies were pressed together, the heat between you two undeniable, consuming.

He pulled away just an inch, and the desperate whine that escaped your lips was enough to pull him back in, his arms circling your waist before effortlessly lifting you onto the desk. You gasped his name, the sound caught in your throat, as his lips claimed yours again, urgent and hungry. One hand slid around your thigh, pulling you closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours as he stood between your parted legs. His grip on your hip was firm, grounding, while his other hand found its place at the side of your throat, fingers warm and possessive.

You had never been kissed like this before. It was overwhelming—an all-consuming heat that ignited deep in your belly as James kissed you with a hunger, as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life.

And it was ruining you, because if this was how it felt to kiss James Potter, you never wanted to be kissed by anyone else ever again.

He rocked his hips against yours, the pressure making you gasp, and that breathless sound was all he needed. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting you as if he couldn’t get enough. You were so completely immersed in him—the feel of his lips, the taste of him—that the low, teasing whistle from your doorway barely registered in your mind.

“Bloody hell, I didn’t expect you to actually go and kiss her.” Sirius’ voice rang out, loud and unfiltered. The words struck a panic through you, your body warming with embarrassment as you instinctively tucked your head into James’ chest, hoping to hide from the intrusion. You would recognize Sirius’ voice anywhere, and you knew you would be teased about this for ages.

James, with you still propped on the desk, remained a shield, his body pressed protectively against yours. He glanced over at Sirius and Remus, who stood by the doorway. Sirius, leaning against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, while Remus stood next to him, his usually calm demeanor showing signs of awkwardness.

“Fuck off and shut the door, mate.” James groans, his arms pulling you tighter as he fights the urge to hurl a book at Sirius and Remus. Instead, he sends them a warning glare and brings a hand up to the back of your head, the heat of the moment still burning between you, and silently dares them to say anything more.

The boys hesitate, but not before Sirius calls out with a teasing smirk, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Potter. You finally got your girl.” And just like that, the door slams shut, leaving the air thick with tension and you cringing in embarrassment.

Maybe telling him you loved him wasn’t that pointless after all.

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