#And Art slapping himself when he made a mistake...

[in-restless-walks]

Simon & Garfunkel - Think Too Much

[paegei]

ASS OR TITS?

do seventeen members prefer ass or tits ?

NSFW CONTENT ! MNDI !

seungcheol:

ass. no doubt in my mind. loves fucking you in doggy so he can get the perfect view. if you wear short skirts PREPARE to be fucked with it on. LOVES spanking and seeing his red handprint left on his favourite part of you <3

jeonghan:

also an ass dude. punishes you by having you lay on his lap and count the spanks he gives you. massages each spot he hit. whenever you ride him his hands are always squeezing your ass. lowkey wouldn't be that shocked if he bit your cheeks one time.

joshua:

this is totally not biased at all but tits. and i'm gonna say it; he is a small titty advocator. idc. likes that he can fit your whole boob in his hand size kink go brrr. he will suck on your tits all day and night if he could. likes keeping his hands on your boobs during the day.

jun:

like i said in my mirror sex fic,,, tits. so so so titty obsessed. loves shower sex as well cuz who doesn't like soapy boobs ? lays his head on top of your tits while you cuddle. constantly asking you to send boob pics. like CONSTANTLY.

soonyoung:

i can see him being both tbh, but i think he leads more to boobs. titty fucking is one of his favourite things on the planet. definetly has a collection of pics of your boobs. likes cumming on them too what can i say.

wonwoo:

don't think i've ever seen a bigger ass man in my life. gets hard just from thinking about your ass. saw mingyu take a peek one day and absolutely fucked the shit out of you so his roommate could hear you screaming his name through the walls.

jihoon:

boobs. so so SO boobs. he gets a little lazy from the crazy amount of work he tortures himself with, so cowgirl is his #1 position. (he loves it because he doesn't have to do any work NOT because your tits bouncing in his face drives him nuts) (definitely not for that reason).

minghao:

i can definitely see him loving making hand prints on your ass, loves watching the red blossom, but he LOVES marking your boobs. seeing his "artwork" hickeys on your tits drives him WILD. also considers his cum on your tits to be his favourite piece of art he's ever made （〃｀ 3′〃）

mingyu:

ass. like don't get him wrong, he goes BONKERS for some boobs. but... your ass makes him foam at the mouth. one of those dudes who slaps your ass whenever he walks passed. when you're riding him into the mattress, def has a CRAZY grip on your cheeks to try and control his tears.

seokmin:

he's a tit boy through and through. this mans one goal in life is to please you. i am a BIG believer in pussydrunk!dk. but he will latch on your tits like it's his LIFELINE. for sure fingers you while he's lapping at your chest, he just can't get enough of your cunt either ＞︿＜

seungkwan:

boobs as well. his hands are latched onto your tits 24/7. rests his head on them while you cuddle, plays with them when he's upset, and he keeps his hands up your shirt while your snuggling on the couch. he's also a BIG nipple biter don't @ me.

vernon:

yeah he loves ass. doggy is his go to (well besides reverse cowgirl but that still isn't helping his case). when i say he spanks i mean it. he is SLAPPING your ass. he just can't help it, his hand prints turn him on so much.

chan:

def another ass guy. eats you out from behind (or just straight up eats ass who knows). his hand is on your cheeks in public too he just can't help it. if you're wearing a short dress / skirt, be prepared for a long night (and to say goodbye to that article of clothing cuz he def stains it)

not proof-read ! lmk if there's any mistakes (づ￣ 3￣)づ

[allurilove]

Can you do yan husband reacting to reader dying from giving birth?? (I really enjoy your writing 🫶🫶)

Yandere husband wouldn’t have baby trapped you if he knew that this would have been the outcome.

When he heard you flatline it gutted him. He felt… numb. You’re his person. You’re his wife, and now he’s all alone with a newborn in his arms. He’s always wanted to name his son Mason after his grandfather, but knowing that you wanted to name him Henry, he decided to go with that instead.

The ride back home was silent. He glanced at the empty passenger seat next to him, and he had to fight back the tears in his eyes as he remembered how you used to complain at him to drive faster. Your water damn broke and he was driving carefully and slowly. He didn’t want to drive like a mad man and cause you more stress, and he would never forgive himself if he got into a car crash.

Now, he would do anything to hear your voice again.

Just a couple weeks before this, you two were decorating and adding the finishing touches to the nursery. Yandere husband mostly did all the work, and you just picked out the furniture. He built the crib, the toy box, and a little arts and crafts station for when the boy grew up. You sat on the tiny bean bag chair, and munched on your favorite snack as you told him what to do.

All he could say was: “yes dear” or “of course honey” and he just agreed to whatever you said. You two even looked at the nursery one last time before you had to go to the hospital, and his hand would be on your waist to hug you tightly.

He let out a shaky breath as he pulled up to the house. He parked, got out, and grabbed baby out of his seat. He always imagined that today would be the best day of his life.

Your husband took his first steps back into the house alone. He wanted you to be there with him, and to see your happy face with the baby in your arms.

“Baby… Henry.” Your husband tested out the name and it actually was a perfect fit. He bottle fed the baby when he sat down onto the chair.

Being a single parent wasn’t easy. It’s his first time being a father, and he made tons of mistakes. All in the first week.

Yandere husband bit his cheek as he leaned forward, and his eyes scanned the mommy blogs for advice. He didn’t know why, but he felt a disconnect between him and Henry. Postpartum depression…?

That probably wasn’t it. Henry seemed to be weird around him too. Your husband caught the newborn side-eye him immediately when Henry opened his eyes. He also saw how his son’s face would show disgust whenever he was nearby.

Was it possible for a baby to have a resting bitch face?

Your husband grunted and his face reeled back when the baby threw his mushy peas at him. “How can you already hate peas? You haven’t even tried it before.” He grumbled and he grabbed a napkin to wipe his cheek.

“Henry.” he tried to have a stern voice. “Listen to me. Henry. Henry…!” Your husband rolled his eyes, he had to force the baby to look at him. He grabbed his son’s chubby cheeks. The baby shook his head to say no.

“Baby, please eat.” he sighed as he tried to insert the spoon into Henry’s closed mouth. Henry slapped the spoon out of his father’s hand.

“Brat.” Your husband had to grab a new and clean spoon after the other had fallen onto the ground. “Henry, these peas are the absolute best. Like this is gourmet baby food.”

“See?” he took a bite of the peas and he immediately gagged. “Jesus. Alright fine.” He grabbed the banana flavored puffs for Henry to eat.

[mooncrestedwaters]

Been thinking about Rafayel and how he shows his love (especially after his newest card trailer).

On the surface, Rafayel seems like he's an open book. He's witty, affectionate, chatty ect ect

But once you dig deeper you realise that he's that way...but only with the person he loves. He's actually quite reserved and doesn't enjoy being the center of attention, even going so far to say his job is a thing of self expression rather than something he actively strives to make money off of.

With the upcoming new 5* card of Rafayel's, I wasn't shocked that we didn't have a kiss or one where he tried to kiss us (and tbh his sweeter form of affection in wanting to cuddle us and snuggle into our neck made my tummy do flips and had me having a near breakdown from how much it made me gooey)

I feel like Rafayel is a yearner to his core, even his interviewer noted as much that he gave an air of 'romance' to him.

The best way I can describe it is; His love is like his profession and his EVOL.

Art takes time, it takes an observant eye and mind. I've grown up with artists my entire life and to make a painting is much more than slapping some acrylics onto a board and calling it a day. It takes tempering, to prepare the board, to build up layers upon the canvas to correct any mistakes without an eraser or undo button.

It's gentle, tending to the whims of the canvas to make a happy compromise of your own.

Onto his EVOL, Rafayel treats a relationship like a firepit. He wants it to have longevity, keeping himself and the fire alight. So instead of chucking a log onto the firepit he nourishes it with kindling, giving it a poke here and here to check on its status while being warmed by the flames.

Rafayel is also horrifically traumatised from previous encounters with love.

Think of it this way;

He was a Prince. Set to be throned as a King and live with his beloved forever.

He set out to find a devout follower to sacrifice their heart to him in turn found himself giving them his own heart and betraying everything because he wouldn't let a pre-destined prophecy rule himself or his beloved.

When he got his love back, in another timeline they were brainwashed and ended up killing him. The absolute agony you must go through, to be maliciously murdered and know that it's by the person you love but not their intention to do so and in your last breath you grant them mercy to die alongside you by singing them to death.

Moving onto Abysswalker Rafayel, the weight of being told you have to kill your love to resurrect your hometown, taking the love of your life on a wondrous journey to know you have to kill them in the end and instead erasing their memories of you permanently to protect them and keep them alive, rewriting a tome for their sake and thus dooming his beloved kingdom and people to be tormented for eternity of his peoples damned screams of death and agony.

Do you ever wonder if he has sat with himself and laminated over this horrifying fall from grace?

Yet he still does it, for them.

After ruminating over this; I wouldn't be as forward as the other LI either.

I think Rafayel is immaculately brave and loyal for even trying again, for still searching for his beloved over years and years.

He has his insecurities, they show when he gets bratty or needy. Quipping at his beloved for not having their sole attention on him, he's meant to be worshipped after all, doted on, praised for having put in so much effort.

Alas, his love doesn't remember, doesn't see the accumulation of sacrifices and things hes done for them.

So he hints, he prods and pokes gently and he starts having them warm up to him again. Braving a tender word here, a lovingly gentle touch there and moving up and forward until he can see that his beloved has fallen in love with him again.

Rafayel is a love that doesn't burn bright, it burns with stability, it burns with loyalty, it burns with truth and gentle care. He would never want to scorch his love.

Rafayel makes accommodations for them, weaving them into his life in any way, if that may be employing them to inviting them on little excursions. Even keeping a watchful eye over them, noticing when they're in need, hurt or just simply making his presence known as a comfortable 'You can come to me'.

He's a gentleman, a romantic...with a little edge (Rafayel audios I'm looking at you, hard)

Anyways, I should not drink copious amounts of caffeine within a short allotment of time. I hope my ramblings have been enjoyable 🤍🪽

[seduzist]

helloooo!!!! this is my first time sending a request sorry if its a bit awkward :< could you do artxtashixpatrickxfem!reader (if u write for challengers!) where reader's an idol (or any career, really) who's very successful and rich but lonely bcus people only date her for social climbing? and then the three decide to try and make her feeeeellll... better?

sorry if this is a bit unclear, like i said this is my first time sending a req! :3

(an: guys its so hard to write a foursome i had no idea like- 😭 and i wrote it really sleepy so im sorry ill fix any mistakes later.)

art x patrick x tashi x fem!reader

cw. smut, foursome, dirty, just very dirty.

even if u’re a famous singer, with many fans and required by many people, when tashi duncan herself invites you to watch her husband’s game after you tell on a interview that you liked to watch tennis, you couldn’t possibly refuse. it was a really exciting game, but sadly came to an end after patrick zweig loses for just a few points, but that didn’t really matter because what happened afterwards is even more exciting. tashi invited you to her dorm, you were all staying at same hotel after all, wasn’t weird of her to want to know you better and introduce you to her champion husband.

you entered shyly as tashi opened to you, saying it was a pleasure to know you in person, that she was happy you were there, what really surprised you was seeing patrick sitting at the couch drinking a beer and talking with art, like the game of a few hours ago didn’t happen.

you sit by their side and after being introduced you were all already on a involvent conversation, they convinced you to drink some beers with them and after a few ones you were drunk. they were funny, made you feel comfortable enough to rest your head on tashi’s lap while you talked abt your shitty ex who used you just for social climbing. that’s how comfortable they made you, or maybe that’s how lonely you felt. while you laughed at some stupid joke patrick made, tashi started caressing your face gently, and before you could even realize her thumb circled your lips, like she was asking you to suck her finger. it was a little awkward but art’s kept looking at you, curious if you would do it or not, and in a act of courage, you did, made him mumbles a “fuck” under his breath and bring one hand to his bonner. that’s when you fully realized what was happening, you all exchanged looks.

“if you wanna leave, it’s okay, but if you stay… we just want to make you feel good..” tashi whispered lowly, and you thought for a sec or two, but then you got up, kneeling on the couch and kissing her lips, she kissed you back in a heartbeat and grabbed your hair in her hand. you heard patrick gasp and art breath heavily and looked at them, seeing hunger in both of their eyes, tashi calls them and they both get closer, patrick involved your waist with his arm you all started to exchange messy kisses, to the point where you could differentiate them by the kiss.

after a few minutes they took you to bed, you couldn’t even tell how did all of you get naked, but you wasn’t complaining. tashi sits with you laying between her thighs, it was clear that her words kept you relaxed at this point, she massaged your breasts while patrick started positioning himself between your legs, but before he could part them, you heard the voice above your ear.

“who do you think that deserves to fuck you first, hm? the winner as a reward, or the loser as a consolation prize?”

“oh c’mon, tashi-“ patrick was cut off by her warning look, silently shutting him up.

art just found it funny, even though his dick was rock hard and you could see the precum leaking, he didn’t seen to be desperate like patrick, that’s when you made your decision.

“i’m no consolation prize, i’m the fucking reward.” the married couple enjoyed your answer but patrick gave a loud slap on your thigh playfully before leaving, giving room for art to come, he leaned over to kiss you as a thanks before got up again, thrusting his pretty cock on your dripping entrance, so slippery that didn’t take long for him to get rough.

you felt patrick by your side, offering his cock for you to suck, which you tried to, but your body were moving to much with art’s thrust and you couldn’t stop moan, poor boy only gets a few seconds with his cock inside your mouth before tashi started to jerk him off in front of your face.

didn’t take long for them to cum too, art spewing his load inside you while you came around his cock, and patrick leaking thick cum all over your pretty face and tits, you looked at him with doe eyes, almost apologizing to him silently, but he smiled at you when he finished, letting you know that it was fine.

you felt your pussy aching when art took his softened cock out, but smiled when you heard tashi above your ear “hope you’re not tired yet, it’s girls time now, doll.”

[fixfoxnox]

Pervert Blues (Soap/Roach)

Art by the wonderful @miilkybnn , find it here

Description: Roach has an issue. John "Soap" MacTavish is a fucking pervert and won't leave him alone. He definitely doesn't like it. And he definitely is not happy when Soap finally manages to get him alone in a communal bathroom on base.

Warnings: Smut, Non-Con/Dub-Con, Semi-public sex, perv Soap, slight victim blaming but Roach wants it

Notes: Based on that one audition from Soap and written for my dearest @miilkybnn

Roach and Soap had issues since the very moment that Roach had joined the 141. It wasn’t anything that Roach had done, he’d made a pretty good impression on the team when he’d joined. Apparently, too good of an impression on Soap, considering what had been building between the two for months upon months. 

It had started off innocent enough, so innocent that Roach hadn’t thought anything of it. The comments from Soap were just playful little things about how good he looked in the uniform. How he must have had all the people on his old squad drooling after him. “Accidental” touches that would brush against his ass. The friendly hand on the small of his back, guiding him into a conference room or the cafeteria. The way he would stand just a bit too close while they were talking. Or he’d get right up behind Roach to get something off of a taller shelf. 

It had all seemed so innocent. Then, Roach started noticing more. He started to get a tad uncomfortable. It wasn’t so innocent anymore. Soap’s comments went from playful to borderline catcalling. He’d whistle when Roach went by, his eyes caught on the curve of his ass. Roach would always start moving a bit faster, his face going a bright red. It didn’t feel like a friendly joke, it felt real. 

Then there was the flirting. The way that Soap would lean in all too close to him and whisper something about helping Roach “rearrange his furniture” or having Roach “test out the new bed in his room.” All while his fingers would trace along Roach’s arm temptingly. Roach would always end up scurrying out of the room, desperate to be able to breathe away from Soap’s touch. 

His hands grew bolder. He still hid behind excuses, grabbing at Roach’s hips to move him out of his way. Touching Roach’s ass as he gave him a boost over a wall on a mission, claiming it was an accident, just where his hand landed. Roach would never point out that the grope to his ass surely wasn’t an accident. Roach never said anything, and maybe that was his mistake. Maybe if he had said something he could have nipped it in the bud before it had grown to what it was now. 

Now? Now Soap had lost all shame. He’d moved past hiding his desire and his perverted actions from Roach and turned to just hiding it from the rest of the team. Now Roach found himself being groped any time Soap got a chance. God forbid if he made the mistake of bending over in front of Soap. He’d be likely to find himself sprawled on the floor from the force in which Soap would slap his ass. 

Roach would always turn to him with a glare, but Soap would just shrug with that smug asshole smirk on his face and say that if Roach didn’t want it, he shouldn’t have flaunted himself like that. Roach would gape at him, unable to do anything other than stare as he watched Soap strut out of the room. 

Now the comments were more graphic. Quick descriptions of what Soap wanted to do to him in the uniform he was wearing, all whispered in his ear at random times. Quick words of how well Soap knew that he would be able to take his cock, how much he would love taking his cock. Roach would never be able to respond, always finding his mouth going dry, his face going red, and an embarrassing wetness pooling between his thighs and threatening to soak his boxers. 

Then there was the journal. That stupid fucking journal that Soap was always carrying around with him. Around the other members of the 141, Soap was like a guard dog over it, ready to snap at any of them who even tried to sneak a peak. Roach had even seen him take a swipe at Gaz for simply walking behind him while he’d been working in the little journal. 

It wasn’t like that for Roach. No, no, it was like Soap wanted Roach to see his journal, to see every filthy thing that he’d drawn and written inside of it. The first time that Roach had seen it, Soap had gotten up to get a drink and left the journal wide open next to him on the couch. Roach had only glanced at it for a moment before doing a quick double take, his mouth falling open as he observed the various drawings laid out on the two open pages of the journal. 

Sketch upon sketch of him in various lewd positions. It was clearly meant to be him and, just in case he couldn’t recognize himself from his appearance, Soap had added a helpful little arrow that labeled one of the drawings of him with his name. 

There was one of him on his knees, the very tip of a thick cock laid on his tongue as he drooled around it. Another was him on his back, his own fingers buried deep in his cunt as his back arched off the bed, juices dripping from between his thighs. Then there was the other page, each of the drawings there featuring him with a man splitting him open on his cock. It didn’t take Roach long to figure out who the man with the mohawk was meant to represent. 

When Soap had returned to the couch and spotted Roach looking at the journal with a burning red face, he only grinned. He took the journal back into his hands and leaned back against the arm of the couch he was on, a smirk tugging at his lips as he began sketching on the pages. He would look up at Roach occasionally like he was referencing back to his face to make sure he got everything right. 

Roach had made his escape only moments after that. Scurrying back to his room to bury his face in his pillow as an embarrassing arousal flooded his system. 

And the most bold move that Soap had started with was the clothing.

Roach hadn’t noticed it at first. A few of his boxers and shirts missing from the laundry room weren't anything to worry about. After all, it could have been anything. He could have misplaced them or they could have ended up in someone else's things by mistake. He didn't think much of it, he was sure they would turn up sooner or later.

They had turned up, just not how he'd expected or wanted them to. He'd come back to his room after a conference with Price one day, just a check-in for how he'd been settling on the team, making sure he was getting along with the other team members. Simple things. Roach had said nothing about Soap. He'd hoped that the other’s perverted behavior and strong advances on him would simply fade with time.

Then he'd come into his room, finding a pair of his missing boxers crumpled up onto his bed. He'd blinked at the sight of them, wondering how they'd ended up there of all places. Then he'd grabbed them and realized with a startling yelp exactly where his boxers had been. He didn't think he'd ever rushed to a bathroom to wash his hands quicker than he had at that moment.

He knew it was Soap. He wasn't an idiot. The smirk that the other man had given him when they'd run into each other again on his way to rush to the laundry room was enough to fill him in, even if he hadn't suspected him. The following week saw all of his missing clothes being returned one by one, each covered in the evidence of Soap's perverted desire for him. 

Soap hadn't stopped, he'd only grown bolder from there, even going so far as to sneak into Roach's room and take care of himself using Roach's pillow. Roach knew he wouldn't stop either. The other man would just keep going until he was satisfied with whatever he wanted from Roach. Whether it was just his body or all of him, it didn't matter. It wouldn't stop.

Roach knew he should have gone to Price. Should have raised a sexual harassment complaint against the man the moment he'd seen those drawings in the journal. The issue was that he had no proof of what Soap was doing. For as big of a perverted asshole as Soap was, he was a careful asshole. He'd never been anything but polite to Roach in front of the others. He'd hidden his tracks well, no evidence of him taking Roach's clothes or sneaking into his room or groping him. Roach could do nothing to prove it.

And, while he didn't necessarily need perfect proof, he knew that if he didn't have hard enough evidence the simple answer would be to separate Soap and Roach onto different teams. And since Soap had been on the 141 longer, it would likely be Roach on the chopping block. He wasn't willing to risk that, not everything he'd worked for. And definitely not over that asshole Soap MacTavish.

Roach had done everything in his power to avoid Soap. He didn’t want to find out exactly how the other man planned to step up his antics next, so he’d made a point to never be left alone with the Sergeant. Of course, he couldn’t avoid everything, and Soap always found an excuse to be touching him. 

And, of course, Soap wasn’t an idiot. He’d clearly noticed that Roach was doing his damnedest to ignore and avoid him. The sudden frequency of his clothes going missing and the little drawing of him bent over a desk with a hand palming over his cunt and a clear handprint on his ass that had mysteriously shown up in his room was enough to tell him that Soap had noticed. Roach was nervous, especially as he could feel Soap’s eyes following him practically anywhere he went. 

He felt paranoid. He hated the unwanted attention that the other man continued to find a way to give him. At least he told himself over and over that he hated the attention even as he kept that little drawing that had shown up in his room. Even if he found that he stopped caring so much about finding his missing clothing soiled on his bed. 

He didn’t want what Soap was offering, so he’d done everything in his power to avoid the man. Of course, luck had never particularly been his strong suit, so it was only a matter of time before the universe decided that Roach couldn’t avoid Soap any longer. Roach just wondered if it had to happen just as he’d finished showering.

He was in the locker room, not by his own choice but by a cruel twist of fate. The water heater for his half of the building had gone and offed itself, so he’d elected to shower in the locker room rather than deal with freezing his ass off in his own shower. 

Roach hadn’t thought much about it when he’d come into the locker room to someone else already showering in one of the other stalls. He assumed it was some other poor sap who’d lost the hot water in their room just as he had. So he’d just taken his own stall and started washing away the grime that had accumulated on his skin from the day’s training. 

Distantly he picked up on the other shower turning off and whoever was there stepping out of the shower but, again, he paid it no mind. He just continued his usual routine of scrubbing his skin near raw to rid himself of the lingering feeling of dirt and sweat clinging to his skin. He’d assumed that the other person would have gone by the time that he’d finished. 

Of course, that wasn’t the case and, when he’d stepped out of the shower with only a towel around his waist, dread seemed to pool in his gut. There, leaned casually against the locker in a wife beater and a pair of loose sweatpants was Soap, that stupid fucking smirk on his face as he met Roach’s eyes. 

“Fuck,” Roach muttered under his breath. He tightened his grip on his towel before starting toward his things as quickly as he could. “Soap,” he acknowledged with a snap as he moved past the man and over toward his bag.

“Roach,” Soap sounded delighted with this turn of events. Delighted and all too smug. “Haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“You saw me at training today.”

“You know what I mean.” Soap pushed himself off of the locker, “Like this. Just the two of us. Blissfully alone.”

Roach opened the small bag he’d brought with him, digging through it to try and find his clothes, his brow wrinkling as he pushed past his extra towel and other necessities. “Have you considered that us not being left alone might have been purposeful? That maybe I don’t want to be alone with you?”

“Come on now,” Soap moved casually closer to him, and out of the corner of his eye, Roach could see the wicked grin that the man was wearing. Something about it spelled trouble for him, but he did his best to ignore it. “You can stop playing this game of yours, Roach, I know you want me. It’s easier if you just say it.”

“Want you?” Roach gave a frustrated laugh, “In your fucking dreams MacTavish.” He gave a grunt as he shoved more things aside in his bag. He couldn’t find his fucking clothes. It didn’t make sense, they were supposed to be right there when he opened his bag. Easy to grab and change into. Now, though, it was like they’d disappeared-

Roach froze, horror filling him as his mind snapped into place. The fucker hadn’t. He wouldn’t. Surely he wasn’t so bold. He didn’t want to believe it, but a large part of him already knew. He stayed still for a long moment until Soap, with that smug asshole voice of his asked, “Something wrong?”

“Where are they?” Roach snapped, abandoning his bag to round the bench and poke at Soap’s chest. “Give them back, this isn’t funny!”

Soap’s grin never fell from his face, even as he asked, “Give what back?”

“My clothes you asshole!”

“Ohhh,” Soap gave a dramatic shake of his head. “Silly me. You want to know what I did with your clothes?”

“Yes,” Roach snapped at him, feeling rage and embarrassment tugging at his chest. He could not believe that this was happening to him. That Soap would be so bold as to make a move like this in the locker room of all places. Of course, he shouldn’t have been surprised. If Soap was willing to break into his room and jerk off against his pillow, he was likely willing to do much worse. “Where are they?”

“Ah, I set 'em aside for a bit. Like you better like this anyways.” His eyes raked down Roach’s body and Roach resisted the urge to shiver. He swore that he could feel the look that Soap gave him on his skin, touching him just as the man in front of him so clearly wanted to do. “The uniforms good but this?” He gave a low whistle and Roach could feel his face go red. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment, he couldn’t be sure. 

“You fucking prick!” Roach gave a quick harsh shove at Soap’s chest, knocking him back a few inches. Soap’s smirk only seemed to grow at the move, making Roach feel all the more annoyed with him. “Is it not enough to harass me at every turn? I can’t have a single break from your shit, can I?” 

“My shit?” Soap closed the distance between them again. “Imagine being me, dealing with your ridiculous teasing.” Roach gaped at him at those words, completely taken aback by the implications of what Soap was saying. “You in that fucking uniform, always bending over in front of me, flaunting those pictures of you at the gym and in your fucking civvies? Gets my cock fucking twitching just talking about it.” He tilted his head back with a slight groan at the thought. 

“You are such a fucking perv!” Roach took a step away from the other man. “I mean I should have known considering you broke into my room to jerk it against my pillow.” Soap took a step forward, following Roach as he backed away, trying to put any distance that he could between the two of them. “I’d at least hoped that around all the thinking with your dick, there was a part of you that respected me.” His back hit the cold tile of one of the shower stalls and soon enough he found himself caged in place as Soap’s hands hit the wall on either side of his head. “Should have known, you’re just another perverted asshole.” 

Soap made a playful clicking sound with his tongue before shaking his head. “Oh no, Bug, you’ve got me all wrong. I do respect you.” He brought one of his hands down to push a strand of wet hair away from Roach’s forehead. He seemed oddly sincere for a few moments.  “I respect you so much I mean, I want you on top…and on your back. And on your knees.”

“You fucking-” 

Roach couldn’t say more around the tongue that forced its way into his mouth and the knee that shoved its way between his thighs, pressing against his cunt through the towel blocking his modesty. The pressure was downright deadly, a slow and steady pressure against his clit that had his hands shaking as he went to push at Soap’s shoulders, a weak attempt to get the man to move away. He didn’t know if he actually wanted Soap’s heat away from his body. 

It was almost cathartic for him, in an odd way. Finally having Soap pressed up against him, finally having the other man act on his disgusting thoughts and the desire he so clearly felt for Roach. The desire that had driven him to do so much, to push the boundaries, and now to take what he desired. It was like the final piece of a puzzle that he’d been trying to finish for months. 

Soap’s hands grabbed at Roach’s hips, pinning him to the wall pressed tight against his own body. When Roach tried again to pull away from his mouth, Soap was quick to move and wind a hand into Roach’s hair, gripping tight enough to pull a gasp of pain from Roach’s lips. He didn’t even act like he noticed Roach’s hands trying to push him away like Roach wasn’t strong enough even to bother him. 

After a short moment, Soap pulled his mouth away from Roach’s, still holding tight to his hair to keep him in place. He gave a downright predatory grin toward Roach, a small chuckle slipping from his lips. “Is that all you can give as a struggle? I thought you’d at least pretend that you didn’t want me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Roach hissed, shoving at Soap’s chest harder, “and get the fuck off of me you fucking asshole!”

“God,” Soap bounced his leg, forcing a small whine from Roach’s throat, “Look at you. You want my cock so bad, don’t you baby?” He yanked Roach away from the wall and, with a small fight between the two men, eventually forced Roach to the ground, splayed out on his back with his legs bracketing Soap’s waist. The towel around his waist was lost in the struggle, so he could do nothing but shiver at the cold press of tile against his back and feel shame creeping up his spine as Soap drank in the sight of his cunt. 

Roach squirmed in Soap’s grasp, trying to kick his legs out and at the very least get the man to look anywhere other than where his gaze was fixed. It only resulted in Soap’s hands gripping tight to his thighs, tight enough to bruise, all to hold him in place as he took in his fill. Roach could have died from embarrassment as he felt heat pooling in his gut from the move. Between his thighs felt much slicker than it had moments ago and based on the shit-eating grin that crossed Soap’s face, he’d noticed it. 

“Like being manhandled, don’t you?” Soap leaned down and nipped at his chest, following the move with a quick soothing slide of his tongue. Roach gasped at the feeling and reacted on instinct, reaching out to smack at Soap’s shoulder, glaring at him as he did. Soap didn’t let that go too easily, immediately removing his hands from Roach’s thighs to pin his arms down. He lowered himself until his face was hovering just over Roach’s, his clothed cock pressed tight against Roach’s wet cunt. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Soap rolled his hips forward, starting a slow rolling grind of his hips, groaning and panting as he did. He didn’t hide how much he was enjoying himself, from rutting his hard cock against Roach and panting desperately in his ear, it was clear that this alone was quite enough for him. Roach couldn’t deny the desire that sparked in him at being treated in such a way, like nothing more than a pillow for Soap to hump. Nothing more than an object, a toy, for Soap to use. 

He tried to bite back his own moans at the friction of Soap’s sweatpants rubbing against his clit, but the feeling of it was too fucking good and not quite enough of what he wanted. He could tamper down most of his moans, but the gasping breaths and the whimpers were another story, and Soap’s laughter against his ear was enough to tell Roach that he’d noticed. 

“Doesn’t this feel right, bug? Pressed under my cock just like you were meant to be.”

Roach clenched his jaw and did his best to speak clearly around the ever-growing arousal in his chest and his own desire to just stop fighting against what Soap was saying. The slow pressure against his clit was almost enough to have him admitting it, admitting that he liked it and that this was exactly where he was meant to be. Instead, he responded, “Pinned under you when I’d rather it be anyone else? Nothing’s ever felt more wrong.”

“Well,” Soap pulled back and gave a wicked grin, his eyes tracing down Roach’s body as he spoke, “the wet spot at the front of my sweatpants says different, love. That’s all from this sweet cunt weeping for me.” He shifted Roach’s arms into one hand before tracing his fingers down Roach’s body until they met his cunt. He paused for a moment, a teasing heat right where Roach’s body was begging for his touch, he didn’t make the wait long.

His fingers traced along Roach’s slit slowly, collecting slick on them to make the sudden press against his clit all the smoother. Roach’s back nearly arched from the tile floors at the feeling, a strangled moan escaping his mouth as he tried to fight back the evidence of his pleasure. Soap looked like the cat who’d got the cream at the move, a smug sense of satisfaction radiating from his body as he worked his fingers in slow circles against Roach. Roach did his best to keep them down, but moans seemed to spill from his lips even without his permission.

“Do you,” he started, cutting himself off with a whimper and a slight tug against Soap’s hand as his hips jumped up against the fingers playing at him. “Do you not hear yourself?” His breathing was labored and Soap’s eyes seemed fixated on his body. From the red flush over his skin to the way that his fingers looked against his puffy clit. “What are you, some sort of dog? Salivating like I’m a slab of meat.”

Soap gave a quick playful snap of his teeth just by his neck, his fingers slipping away from Roach’s clit to begin toying at his slit. He pressed the tip of his finger into Roach, holding it there for a moment, his eyes wide and his mouth falling open just a bit as he began to sink the digit inside of Roach’s body. “I’ll fuck you like a dog,” he spoke, his voice sounding breathy and desperate. To Roach, it sounded like the other man was on a precarious edge, bound to fall and turn to something more violent. 

Roach only gave a small hum of pleasure as Soap sunk his finger in to the knuckle. Soap’s fingers were thick, thicker than his own and he was sure that if he was going to take the man’s cock, this would be necessary. “Need this, don’t you,” Soap muttered. “Cunts fucking tight, gonnae feel real good around me.”

Roach let his head knock back against the tile floor harshly, trying to get some sort of grip on himself as Soap began to slowly work his finger in and out of him, giving shallow little thrusts and crooks that just weren’t the right pace. It was a desperate few moments, but, finally, Roach stopped pretending that he didn’t want what was happening. 

His hips bucked up against Soap’s fingers, pulling a desperate moan from his mouth and surprising Soap enough that he paused, eyes wide. Roach could have shouted from the frustration he felt in that moment, instead, he settled on snapping, “You talk such a big game, come on then. Fuck me and maybe if you actually manage to get me off with your clumsy fingers and weak cock I’ll let you do it again.” 

Soap blinked wide at him for a moment before his face morphed into a brief picture of delighted rage. “Fucking slut.” He didn’t give Roach any sort of prep before shoving a second finger inside of him, immediately setting a rough pace with a slap of his palm against Roach’s clit with every thrust of his fingers. “We’ll see if you can still talk that shit when I’ve got you begging like a bitch in heat.” 

Roach moaned at the thought, his eyes fluttering just a bit as Soap’s hands grew just a bit rougher, a bit more possessive and demanding. The fingers fucking into his cunt were so good, filling and stretching him just right. Just right enough to have him squirming and jerking his hips up, already begging for another as they scissored him open and curled against his walls cruelly. It resulted in downright embarrassing noises spilling from his mouth, even as Soap gave him what he asked for and slowly began to work a third finger inside of him. 

“Have ta’ spread you open real good,” Soap’s words were spoken in a near growl, something rather brutal and beastly in the way that his hands tightened and his fingers became crueler, his thumb finding his clit to press him with constant stimulation. Roach was practically shaking as Soap leaned down, allowing his mouth to attack the exposed skin of his chest. 

His teeth and tongue began to tease at one of Roach’s nipples, laughter shaking his chest as Roach pressed up into the touch. “What happened to that fire, ah? Cat got your tongue?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Roach managed to mutter around the pleasure that seemed to be blocking his throat, “and keep fucking touching me.”

“What was that?” Soap’s words betrayed exactly what he wanted to hear, punctuated with the slowing of his fingers as they worked at Roach’s cunt. 

Roach gave a desperate whimper at the sudden loss of stimulation, tossing in Soap’s grasp in an attempt to gain even a little bit of it back. It didn’t work, and soon he found himself glaring up at Soap, shame burning his chest. “Fuck you.”

“Not until you ask me properly,” Soap teased. 

“Fuck,” Roach tossed his head back with a desperate sob. He knew that Soap would hold him to it as well. The man was a fucking sniper for god sake, he had to have the patience and control of a saint when he needed it and Roach would bet anything that he needed it now. “Please,” he spoke the words quietly. 

“What was that?”

“Please,” Roach spoke louder, a desperate sob pulling from his throat, “Please, Soap, just fuck me.”

“I thought you didn’t want it,” Soap leaned closer, letting his thumb just brush against Roach’s clit slowly, pulling another pleasured sob from Roach’s throat. “What was it you said? You’d prefer it if it was anyone else?”

“No,” Roach shook his head desperately. “Please, please I want it. Only need you to fuck me, need your cock. Please, Soap!” 

Soap gave a careful chuckle, pulling his fingers from Roach’s cunt and slowly releasing his arms. His hands moved down to the waistband of his sweatpants and Roach watched through the fog hazing over his mind as Soap pulled his sweatpants and boxers down over his ass, allowing him to finally get a look at the thick hard cock that had been straining against the material. Roach nearly moaned at the sight of it, knowing that it would feel fucking perfect splitting him open. 

Roach spread his legs wide for the man, moaning at the feeling of those hands returning to his thighs, one of them now covered in his own arousal. Their grip was near bruising as Soap lined his cock up with Roach’s cunt, slowly pushing himself until he had just the tip resting inside of Roach. He paused there, tilting his head back with a guttural groan before his eyes returned to Roach’s. They were clouded in lust, but Roach could still see the amusement that plagued them as he teased, “Told you I’d have you moaning like a bitch in heat.”

Roach didn’t get a chance to respond before Soap slammed his hips forward, sinking all the way into his cunt with one smooth move. There was no chance to speak, no chance to even adjust as Soap continued pounding into him, driving his hips deeper and deeper into him with every thrust. Roach’s hands locked onto his shoulders, grabbing tight in desperation for any sort of stabilization.

Each rock of Soap’s hips sent Roach’s entire body knocking knocking harshly against the floor. Even Soap’s bruising grip on his thighs, the same one that he was using to keep Roach firmly in place, wasn’t enough against the strong thrusts that threatened to bruise his hips. There was something so good about the slide of Soap’s cock, every line and curve of it rubbing so perfectly inside of him, teasing parts of him that he was sure no one else had ever managed to touch. 

His nails dug into Soap’s shoulders, aiming to hurt even as the man above him sent pleasure coursing down his spine. He could see Soap wince and something about that brought a sick sense of satisfaction to him. At least that was until Soap gave him a grin, “Is that what you want baby? You want to hurt me a little?” He jerked down, slamming his mouth against Roach’s in a bruising kiss. His tongue invaded Roach’s mouth, sending their teeth clacking together and their noses bumping painfully. “Go on, Bug,” he pulled back, nipping at Roach’s lips until blood was spilling down his chin, “just know I’ll take full permission to hurt you back.” 

He pulled back again, resuming the quick pace of his hips as he leaned over Roach’s body, panting with blood on his lips. His eyes never seemed to leave Roach’s face, as though he was afraid to miss any second of pleasure from him. Roach couldn’t stand to hold his gaze, the mere thought of it making his face burn hotter than was comfortable for him. He needed something to focus on, something other than Soap and the intense look in his eyes.

He found it in the form of a swinging disk in front of his face. It slipped out from Soap’s wife beater, a shiny silver little disk that took to swaying with every thrust of his hips. Roach found himself mesmerized by it, the continued sway of silver and the near-melodic sound of skin slapping skin harshly. Roach had to fight against the desire to grab it and use it to yank the man down for another kiss, hoping to bite and bruise at his lip just the way he’d done to him. 

The thought of it pulled a whine from his lips and he couldn’t help but arch up into the other man, desperate to feel more than just his hands on his skin. More than just the fat cock pounding into him and sending heat building between his legs. Everything was so good, so terribly fucking good and he hated it. 

“Fuck, fuck you’re so fucking good.” Soap released one of his thighs to skate his hand across Roach’s bare chest, teasing at his nipples for a slow moment. He let his hand trace further up, wrapping around Roach’s neck loosely, providing only a slight pressure as he continued muttering filth. “Fucking slut, practically squeezing my cock. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?”

“Fuck,” Roach whined, “You fucking perv, gonna be stroking your cock thinking about this for the next year, aren’t you?” He wrapped his hands around Soap’s wrist, lightly holding his hand in place against his neck. “Probably draw this in your little book of fantasies you sick fuck.” 

Soap groaned at the words, a small smirk formed on his lips as he responded, “Don’t worry, I’ll make you a copy to have.” He tightened his grip momentarily, just flexing his hands. It reminded Roach of the power that the man had over him at the moment, and it only made him feel that much closer to spilling over Soap’s cock. 

“Bet you’d like that,” Roach had to work around his moans and the heavy breathing that a simple hand on his throat caused. “Probably imagine me with my fingers on my clit, maybe riding a cock screaming your name.”

Soap grasped tight to his neck then, using the grip to guide Roach’s back from the ground until they were face to face. He tilted his head, a nasty snarl on his face, “Now who’s the fucking dog.” He was quick to grab Roach’s arms, manhandling him around until he was on his hands and knees, Soap’s cock still spearing in and out of him. “Let me fuck you like the dog you are.” A short moment passed before Roach could feel a warm metal settle around his neck. A single look down and he could see that it was Soap’s I.D. disk. The mere sight of it was enough to have him moaning out, his arms giving out under him and forcing him to fall forward roughly against the tile. “And there’s my bitches collar.” 

Roach was sure that people outside of the locker room had to be able to hear them. There was no way that they couldn’t, not when Soap was fucking into his cunt so violently and pulling screams of his name from his lips like flowing wine. He couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t keep quiet. Not when his body was burning hot, contrasting with such a heavenly feeling against the cool tile of the floor. Not when he was sure that he wasn’t going to be walking straight by the time Soap finished with him. Not when he wasn’t sure that he was going to be able to resist another night like this with the pervert slamming his cock inside of him. 

He couldn’t form any words, couldn’t get his mouth to cooperate. He couldn’t get his brain to provide any help, his mind so foggy that any thoughts of insults were long past what he was capable of. All that he could do was scream and whine and beg for Soap to keep going. Keep going because it was the best he’d ever had. Keep going because he was so fucking desperate for him. Keep going because he was right there, right there at the edge. 

Soap never stopped. Roach could hear his smug laughter and he could practically see that smug fucking smirk on his face, but it did nothing to cut through the overwhelming pleasure pulsing through him. The pleasure built and built until his toes were curling and his cunt was clenching and he was coming over Soap’s cock with his vision going black and a pitiful scream pulled from his mouth. 

He could hardly register anything. Not Soap’s hips stuttering and the curses falling from his lips. Not the choked-out delight that the man gave as he fucked into Roach only a few more times before creating even more of a mess by filling him with his cum. Not the way that Soap continued to move, fucking his cum into Roach. Not even the slick dripping down his legs to pool into the puddle he’d created on the ground, the remnants of one of the most intense orgasms that he’d had in his life. 

When he finally was able to realize what was going on around him, it was because he was being lifted from the ground, Soap’s cock still snug inside of his cunt as he was forced to wrap his legs around the other's waist and his arms around his neck. He could only watch dumbly as Soap brought them over to one of the shower stalls and turned the handle, shocking them both with a burst of cold water over their bodies. It was soon soothed by a stream of warm water, though Roach thought perhaps the cold would have been better as he was pressed against the wall of the little shower stall. 

“Not done with you yet,” Soap grunted, his eyes still showing a sort of intense hunger that had Roach’s cunt pulsing with need. “I’ve got other ways to make you scream my name and I don’t think I’ve heard you begging quite enough for my tastes. Have to put my dog to work, don’t I?”

Roach was walking with a limp the next day. His legs were still shaky and there were bruises on his thighs and his neck and he was sure he looked exhausted. Soap hadn’t let him get too much sleep the night before. Plain and simple, Roach was sure he looked a mess as he stumbled into the conference room where Gaz, Ghost, and Price were waiting for him and Soap. 

Soap wasn’t there yet, a bit of a blessing as Roach was sure that he wouldn’t be able to handle looking at the man quite yet. It was too much, too soon. He needed a moment around the others before he could face Soap again. God knows when he’d be able to face the man alone again. 

As he stumbled into the conference room, he did his best to look as normal as he could. It clearly didn’t work as, within a second, Ghost was at his side. His arm wrapped around Roach’s waist, his hand grabbing at his upper thigh to help stabilize him as he stood. Roach felt himself go a bit red, noticing the scrutinizing gaze that Price sent his way. Gaz seemed to be watching him just as closely as though he was also trying to figure out what had happened. 

“Not going to fall on me, are you?” Ghost asked, his voice dropping into a soft mutter. 

Roach was quick to shake his head, an embarrassed smile lighting up his face. “No, sorry I uh, rough night last night.”

Price leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m guessing Soap finally stopped with his little games and took you like he wanted?”

Roach could feel shock rush through his body, nearly knocking him over and forcing him to lean further onto Ghost for support. Ghost didn’t seem to mind much, simply, tightening his grip. “You,” he stuttered over himself for a moment, “You knew?”

“What,” Gaz was the one who chimed in, a small innocent smile on his face, “You think Soap was making those drawings just for him? Think he was able to sneak into your room so easily without a key from the cap?” He leaned forward then, tapping the table and shaking his head at Roach, “Didn’t think you were that naive, Bug.”

Roach gaped at the two men for a moment, his eyes shooting between them. “Maybe,” Price started, reaching into one of his pockets to pull out a cigar, “he’ll share some of the new ones, based on the real thing with us.” 

“Fuck,” Gaz gave a groan and leaned back in his seat, his eyes dragging along Roach’s body. “Maybe if we’re lucky he’ll share the real thing with us.” 

“I think,” Roach felt dizzy for a moment, “I think I need to sit down.”

Immediately, Ghost started helping him toward one of the seats at the little conference table, but Roach wasn’t a fool. He could feel Ghost’s hand slide purposely from his thigh over his ass, grasping at him for a short moment before sliding his hand up to trace along his waist. Roach nearly fell into the seat as soon as he was able, his eyes wide as he looked up at Ghost. “You too?” 

Ghost made a point to lean close to him, so close that Roach could feel his breath through the mask before he finally whispered, “Sounded good yelling for Johnny last night. You’ll sound better screaming for me.” 

He stood up straight then, as though he hadn’t said anything at all, and started back toward his seat, plopping down with a casual move that had Roach feeling dizzy. 

He supposed he should have seen this coming. After all, the only way that Soap could have gotten away with all that he did was if he had a team backing him. A team with the same perverted fantasies running through their minds. 

[victiamai]

Tokyo Revengers Interactions - Part 2(motorcycle rides and other things)

⚠️Inappropriate language and some obscenities ⚠️

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✨Personal Instagram: @vic_m.d✨

✨Arts Instagram: @vic_tia_mai ✨

⚠️English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes in this story ⚠️

💋Female reader 💋

💜Happy reading! 💜

⭐ characters: Hakkai Shiba, Takemichi Hanagaki, Chifuyu Matsuno, Shuji Hanma, Takashi Mitsuya, Souya Kawata (Angry), Nahoya Kawata (Smiley), South Terano (Bonus)⭐

Hakkai Shiba:

•He's trying to overcome his shyness around you. But even so, he can't stop blushing when you hug his waist.

•Motorcycle rides are frequent.

•He was taking you to your parents' house.

•You slowly got off when he stopped the bike. You hugged his neck or kissed him. "Are you sure you don't want to stay, my love?" You asked looking into his eyes. "I'm sorry princess, I really can't today... Gang stuff..." You made him promise to stay next time.

•You kissed him one more time and he left on the motorcycle.

Takemichi Hanagaki:

•Your idiot childhood best friend Hanagaki Takemichi

•You almost regretted asking him to take you home after school.

•He got the "twin" of Mikey's bike not long ago. Takemichi didn't seem to be very experienced with bikes.

•"Takemichi, for the love of God... DON'T LEAN SO MUCH WITH THAT BIKE!" you shouted in complete despair.

•Hanagaki took a turn so fast that you were forced to lean over to avoid falling with the bike, you and everything. "TAKEMICHI!" You screamed as your leg scraped on the asphalt.

•Get ready to give him a lot of slaps and get a lot of apologies.

Chifuyu Matsuno:

•"Hey Chifuyu?" He looks at you over his shoulder. "Yeah, Y/N?" You lightly fix your hair. "I need to be home early today... I thought you could drive me there. Well, you have a motorcycle right?" He healed violently at her request. "Of course y/n..." You hear his friends celebrating.

•He is worshipping your body close to his.

•My God, how he wants you to hug him!

•He took great care while riding with you on the back of his motorcycle.

•He is 100% fulfilled with the event.

•When he dropped you off in front of your house, he felt light as feathers, ready to fly away.

•You can be sure he will tell Baji everything, This one will be extremely happy and proud of his friend.

Shuji Hanma:

•Being Hanma's companion has its challenges. But it also has countless advantages.

•"Hey y/n, sweetie" his voice is so sweet today that you even found it strange.

•Hanma drags you up and down to his gang meetings. And there you were once again.

•You had to fight your way through the various delinquents to get to him. When you got to the front with him, his face was grim.

•"Let's go!" Something very serious had happened soon but you didn't dare to ask.

•Hanma joining the Tokyo Manji gang was quite a surprise for you.Mad you're a good girl, you're a good girlfriend, and good girls and good girlfriends don't ask their evil boyfriend questions.

•Hanma was "asked to leave the gang" another big surprise for you. And once again you didn't ask anything.

•That night, he took his anger out on you. Hanma thrust in and out of you with a murderous fury. His eyes flashed as you grabbed his back with your sharp nails. And that only made him more excited.

• "Do you like that? Is that right baby girl?" Good luck walking the next day.

Takashi Mitsuya:

•Mitsuya is your best friend. You call him that, although Mitsuya doesn't like that title very much.

•He made a beautiful new outfit for you. 'She's going to look hot in that outfit...' he thought, unable to contain himself, as far as his imagination went.

•Mitsuya imagined what you would look like in the outfit he made. You and your beautiful body covered in the soft fabric he chose especially for you.

•Mitsuya picked you up from your school that afternoon. He offered you his helmet and you sat behind him. As usual, you hugged his waist to keep from falling off the bike.

• "y/n... I made something for you" he said fixing shyness.

•It was clear that it was a new outfit, you hugged him and rested your face on his shoulder.

•"You must have looked beautiful, Suya" and you really did look beautiful, you looked beautiful. And Mitsuya let it show.

•That night, Mitsuya stopped being your best friend, although he still remains just your.

Souya Kawata (Angry):

•Angry is completely different from his smiley twin brother. Anyone can easily see that.

•The other twins are childhood best friends, and this has generated countless virtues for you.

•You never walked again, for example. You didn't have to worry about your own safety, and that was wonderful for you.

•You love the twins. And they love you. Although in different ways.

•Smiley you just a little sister. As for Angry... Ah... He worships you like a true goddess.

•You were going to the market when the twins passed you on their motorcycles.

•"Hey y/n" shouted the smiley "get on the bike girl, I'll give you a ride!" You were happy until the pink-haired twin. Until Until you noticed the blue-haired twins staring at you with those sad eyes. Although he maintained his usual furious expression.

•"Sorry Nahoya, but I'm going with your brother this time..." Smiley whispered whatever. Smiling as he watched you go to his brother.

•You held on to him tightly as the two bikes rode side by side down the street.

•When you got off the bike, Nahoya looked at you smiling "go on girl, we'll be waiting for you outside."Souya looked at you desperately and said, "And please choose me again."

Nahoya Kawata (Smiley):

•(lots of sex between you two.) He loves fucking his childhood friend.

•Make no mistake, in this part of the story it is Smiley who is in love with you. And Angry to see you as a younger sister.

•Smiley is fast. One minute you're talking about high school, and the next you're having sex for the first time.

•Grind your ass on his cock, he loves it when you do that. "Fuck baby girl... You're gonna make me cum like that!"

South Terano (bonus):

•Please your man. He deserves it. South grabs your hair, pushing your head against his body. You choke, relax your throat and try again.

•He makes a huge effort not to be too rough with you. After all, you are his precious and favorite rag doll.

•Come on girl, get that dick down your throat nice and tight. He'll reward you in no time.

💋Hey, did you like the story? Suggest me more characters for part 3💋

[acesandocs]

Before I post the short story I've been working on, I wanted to introduce some of Ace’s family, since they're going to be featured. I tried to edit it down to the important stuff but if anyone wants to know more just ask.

Solveig Liv Årud/Sylvia Hall, Ace's Mother

Ace's mom Solveig was born in Kapp along with her two brothers, One of her neighbors was a music teacher and taught her to play the Hardanger fiddle. When she was seventeen she became pregnant by one of her neighbor's students but was urged by her neighbor to never tell him or anyone else of the child's parentage. Having had Ace outside of wedlock Solveig faced a lot of social ostracisation. Her sister in law, who was deeply religious judged Solveig for having a child without marrying. A rumor amongst the townspeople was that Ace's father was actually a fossegrim, that Solveig agreed to have a child with in exchange for teaching her to play the fiddle so well. (there is actually a lot to say on how this affected Ace and his view of himself but we don't have time to get into it rn). After a flood made her and her family homeless they emigrated to America in 1920 at the advice of some friends.

Once they arrived in New York Ace became very ill and bedridden causing them to be left behind as the rest of their family continued further up to Minnesota. While Ace was sick Solveig met and later fell in love with a Swedish immigrant named Eric Hall. She married Eric after knowing him for half a year. Solveig had kept Ace close all her life and not really letting her grow up or stand on her own. So he reacted badly to Solveig marrying. Being jealous and being unable to deal with not being her mothers center of attention, making him lash out. After an argument where Solveig slapped Ace for being disrespectful to her stepfather Ace ran away from home. Ace and Solveig have been estranged ever since, both being too stubborn to try to reconcile. After Solveig married Eric she tried very hard to adapt to American culture, Americanizing her name to Sylvia and trying her best to learn English and not speak with an accent. She currently has two children with Eric. Neither them nor Ace know of each other's existence.

Torbjørn Olaug Årud and Lena Årud, Ace's Grandparents

Lena was born in Kapp and Torbjørn was born in the Lofoten area. He traveled down to Toten to live with a family friend after he became orphaned. He later met Lena and they eventually married. They later had 2 sons, the youngest of them dying after moving away as an adult, later they had a daughter they named Solveig. When Solveig became pregnant at seventeen they decided to support her and help her take care of their granddaughter. In the years immediately after Ace was born she and Solveig lived with them before moving into a smaller house on their property. By this time their oldest had married and taken over the main house on the farm and Torbjørn and Lena moved into another small house on the property.

They emigrated to America with the rest of their family in 1920 and went with the rest to Minnesota leaving Solveig and Ace behind. Lena later died in 1922 after becoming sick. Ace does not know this happened.

Info on the art:

Ace is supposed to be a tortoiseshell cat, witch is something that can be seen in her mother and grandmother as well. this is a reference to the fact that tortoiseshells are mostly female. (source)

Her grandfather is supposed to be a Norwegian forest cat.

The implement Solveig is holding is called a Lyster and it is used to fish. Lyster fishing was usually done when it was dark out, using the Lyster to stab the fish. it was banned in the 1860 but was most likely still practiced afterwards. Today it has become completely illegal. The fish in the bucket are trout, a fish that was commonly caught with a Lyster. (source) Here is a painting depicting it.

I apologize for any spelling mistakes or weird wording, i try my best to read though these before i post them but some mistakes often slip through.

[loosesodamarble]

Welcome to the Black Bird Part 13: Vincent's Appraisal

Summary: Introducing Klaus as Vincent, the head coffee barista of the Black Bird's kitchen team. Genre: general Word count: 800 A/N: Klaus's art for the series was commissioned from @crazycookiemaniac.

..........

A file was slapped onto Klaus’s desk without warning before a sharp “What the hell is this?” was asked. Klaus looked up to see his father, Lawrence, giving him a steely glare. His eyes darted to the manila folder. Taking another glance at Lawrence, Klaus got the impression he was meant to check the contents. So he opened it.

“Ah.” Klaus immediately recognized the document by the first sentence. “Those are my recent reviews to be considered for publication.”

“Then I’m rejecting them right now!” Lawrence snapped. “It’s all shallow garbage that doesn’t say anything meaningful!”

“Bwah!” Klaus shot up to his feet. “But I thoroughly explained how each business failed to perform to the standards of—”

Lawrence groaned, “Klaus, my boy… It’s not like there’s some formula for a perfect restaurant.” Klaus raised an eyebrow at his dad’s remark. “You’re overlooking the humanity that goes into those businesses. And that means things won’t be perfect.”

“Am I expected to ignore long wait times or inconsiderate staff?” Klaus questioned, not following Lawrence’s thoughts.

“Klaus…” Lawrence grimaced and rubbed his temples. “You gotta…” His head shot up. “You outta work somewhere and learn what it’s like behind the scenes!” Lawrence clapped a hand on Klaus’s—who’d entered a stupor—shoulder. “That’ll get you off your high horse and teach you to respect the working class.” He pulled Klaus from the desk. “C’mon, I’ve even got a friend who’ll help you get into a place.”

“B-b-but wait!” Klaus squawked, having come to his senses. “What would I even do?!”

…..

“Is the Fondue Pasta for Table #3 ready?”

The kitchen was loud but that question rang prominently to Klaus.

“Uh! No!” Klaus yelped back as he stared at his mistake. Blackened cheese sat atop a serving of pasta, with burnt specks also on the noodles and burnt smell rising from it. “Something went wrong!” Again. I’m really not meant to be a chef. “Can someone else take ov—”

“No way!” The head chef snapped from his place at the front of the kitchen. “You’re gonna be the one to start it over, Vincent. But first, go out there and let the table know why they’ll be waiting longer.” He gestured to the door leading to the dining area.

Klaus meekly complied and shuffled out, making his way to Table #3. He held his head up with as much pride as he could muster, not that it was much after his failure. His stomach dropped when his eyes saw who was at the table: his dad. Of all people to have to face…

“Sir Lunettes?” Klaus stated as he stepped up to Table #3. “I’m— Ahem… I’m Vincent, I work in the kitchen and—”

“Is there a reason why you’re out here?” Lawrence spoke in a clipped tone that made it hard for Klaus to believe the man was his father. “Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“Well sir…” Klaus steeled himself. “I’m an inexperienced chef which caused me to mess up your order. Someone else will prepare your meal so please wait a bit longer.” He bowed at the waist. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmph.” Lawrence’s grunt made Klaus raise his head to see his father staring in a way he couldn’t read. “It’s nice that you admit your mistake but I hate leaving judgment on something incomplete.”

What was his father saying? Klaus’s work wasn’t incomplete, it ended in failure. Failure was failure and success was success. Right?

.....

Bittersweet and Decadent. The dessert was as its name implied, a dish that was indulgent to those who loved the mixing of bitter and sweet flavors. Something more could be said of it.

The dessert consisted of coffee jelly cubes over a layer of chocolate custard and topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream. In summer, the topping was ice cream. Neither the sweetness of the custard and cream nor the acidity of the coffee could overpower the other. Each was a component to a harmonious whole.

Similarly, a business like the Black Bird was a mix of its failures and successes, with the former allowing for growth into the latter. Mistakes couldn’t be avoided but instead overcome to develop a more realized final form. It was all about balance. 

Klaus unlocked his phone and opened up his father’s review of the Black Bird. Lawrence gave a full five stars. He complimented the menu that, while not cohesive, was always good. He commented that the unorthodox style of service was entertaining, like watching performers in a play. His final statement was that the beauty of the cafe came from the fact that it was still learning and growing.

Klaus had a feeling that the comment was directed to him specifically. But it was only a hunch.

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Cannon

Today started out so well. Kakashi had crawled out of bed at a decent hour, given his student's little heart attacks when he arrived at training on time, and Gai had even agreed to a nice relaxing challenge for once.

A challenge that wouldn't take a lot of energy, but required some thinking instead.

He'd thought it was a good idea. An opportunity to make Gai focus and think things through before acting.

What he hadn't realized was how much Gai had learned the art of 'being a little shit' from him. A lesson that Kakashi had never actively given his friend, but which he had picked up along the way anyway.

"I hate it."

"But I did the challenge right," Gai argued, a proud smile spread across his face. "You told me to look through all of the books at the library and pick out some titles to make a poem out of."

"That was the challenge, yes," A challenge that Kakashi was regretting now that he was faced with the tower of books Gai had placed on top of the table, the spines facing Kakashi so he could read the titles. "But you didn't have to be so rude about it."

"It's not rude!" stepping up to the table, Gai slapped a hand down on the top book. "It's the most beautiful poem ever!"

"Beautiful?"

"As beautiful as I am." He confirmed with a bright grin.

No matter how long he looked at it, Kakashi couldn't see the beauty that Gai spoke of. All he saw was a terrible mash-up of book titles that came together to insult his particular taste in books.

"Read it out loud."

Kakashi narrowed his eyes. "I refuse."

"Read it out loud," Gai insisted. "And tell me that it's not the most beautiful thing you've ever heard."

He's not sure why he gives in. Whether it's out of some feeling of loyalty to Gai, or because he's just not in the mood to argue. Whatever it is, Kakashi finds himself giving in to Gai's request and reading each book title out loud.

"Icha Icha Violence." a strong start, but he knew what was coming next. There was no compliment. No beautiful poetry about romance or an artist's skill. Only insults followed and Kakashi wanted nothing to do with them.

"Continue."

Taking a deep breath, he pushed forward. "Icha Icha Violence. Worst case scenario, it's a d-" The word got stuck in his throat. Refusing to come out no matter how hard he tried to force it.

"Disaster." Gai finished for him. "It's alright, Rival. I forgive you. I know the beauty of my work can be overwhelming."

"Beauty...you keep using that word but I don't think you know what it means."

Gai huffed. "You're beautiful."

"See, you're just proving my point."

"Kakashi!"

Not wanting to start an argument, Kakashi returned his focus to the poem and forced himself to continue. "In a good light, if you look close, there's hope at the end of the tunnel."

"Stunning," Gai grinned. "Continue."

"At the end of the day, you've made a mistake. You'll regret it." With each word he said Kakashi felt his soul crumbling. The weight of Gai's insult slowly took its toll on him while he was left standing there unable to do anything to prevent his inevitable death.

"Just one more line," Gai pushed, his smile only growing wider when Kakashi looked at him with tired eyes. "Come on, Rival. You need to finish it."

"C-" feeling his throat closing around the word, Kakashi stopped and took a moment to breathe. He could do this, he knew he could. He just had to keep going. Once it was over he could relax and start thinking about the sweet revenge he would bring down on Gai. "Crying yourself to sleep."

Gai's face looked like it was about to split in half under the sheer force of his grin. "Beautiful."

"I hate it."

"But I love it," Gai chuckled. "And I won."

"I haven't even finished mine yet," he argued. "I could still win!"

"Could you though? could you really?"

Thinking about it, Kakashi sighed. "No..."

"That's what I thought," With one final slap against his book pile, Gai stepped away from the table and crowded into Kakashi's space. "Tell me you liked it."

"I hated it," he grumbled under his breath. "Icha Icha Violence is my favourite book. You know this."

"I do," Slipping a hand into Kakashi's hair, Gai leaned in and pressed a kiss against his left cheek. "And I also know you can handle being made fun of once in a while."

"From my students, yes," he had no hope of stopping them from making fun of him at every opportunity, and no interest in putting a stop to it. They were having fun and as hurtful as their comments could get at times he usually forgot them within an hour. "From my friends, most of the time."

"But not from me?"

"You're my boyfriend," he grunted. "You're supposed to be nice to me."

"Oh Kakashi," lifting his other hand, Gai gently cupped Kakashi's face in his hands. "I'm always nice to you."

"Not when you make mean poems about my favourite books."

Gai's laughter rang through the air. A comforting sound to Kakashi's ears after being forced to listen to that awful poem. It was a sound that Kakashi could happily get lost in if only the world would stop turning and time would stand still.

He would happily stand there forever listening to Gai's laughter, if only he was allowed to.

"You're beautiful," Gai whispered, pressing a kiss against the top of Kakashi's nose. "And the smartest person I know," he kissed him again, this time right over his left eye. "You're kind and protective. There's nothing you won't do for your friends."

Kakashi could feel the heat rising up the back of his neck. Scanning the area around them, he breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed there was no one around watching them.

"You're embarrassing."

"I'm yours," Gai whispered a promise against Kakashi's skin. "Forever."

His forever.

Now those were sweet words. A promise that Kakashi wouldn't mind hearing once more, or maybe twice. Perhaps three times, if he was lucky.

"Mine," a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. "Rude Poetry and all."

[andyisbleeding]

Zombie Undertaker x Reader

Chapter 1. The Power

The back of the house in most arenas is a labyrinth of gray halls with gray floors and no windows. You'll find yourself walking in circles and still not getting anywhere new. Some passing doors had small name plates, mostly offices and janitorial closets. No help to you, of course. The show is somewhere different every night so there's no use trying to remember the floor plan of the arena. By the time the tour comes back around, you'll have been to 200 other stadiums in 200 other cities, an exhausting but exciting whirlwind of work.

You've been on tour for 6 months now. Finally having a handle on the day to day duties, you've almost been able to overcome the lack of sleep schedule with the help of daily energy drinks and sitting up naps in quiet corners. Friends were easily made, both crew and wrestlers know these are the only people you'll get to see for months at a time. This is your new family, you feel welcome. As long as you pull your weight and aren't a raging asshole, everyone gets along surprising well.

Of course people have their cliques and squabbles. Some fights do break out but most are warranted and broken up quickly by the rest of the boys. People make up pretty quickly, knowing that you can't get away from each other is the best way to snuff out that flame.

You continue to wander down the cement hallway, hoping that a sign or person comes along soon. It feels like you've walked the whole arena by now, 'how the fuck do you get back to the locker rooms?'

Stepping out to smoke a joint with the lighting crew seemed like a good idea at the time. The door locking loudly behind you was when you all realized you'd made a mistake.

"Who doesn't put a wedge in the door Dave!" The group tears into the rail thin man. "What is your first day?" "Narc!" "Fuck you Dave." You all erupt in laughter, slapping the man on the back.

You hear soft footsteps coming quickly towards you. The hallway finally coming to an end with only a right hand turn for a direction.

You turn the corner and come face to face, or perhaps belly to belly with Paul Bearer himself.

You stopped quickly to not run smack into the stout man and tried to side step out of his way. Two beady eyes scanned you up and down and made a snap decision. He arched his dark eyebrows at you and twisted his face into an all knowing smirk. "Lost your way little sparrow?"

You swallow hard and force a polite smile onto your face. No need to make an enemy of Paul Bearer, keeper and manager of The Undertaker. "Yes sir actually. Would you mind pointing me in the right direction?" You hold your breath.

Paul cocks his head ever so slightly. Taking in your request and rolling it around in his round head. He smooths out his mustache while he decides if he's going to answer. He looks you up and down again. You don't shy away from his gaze, making sure your eyes meet his when he studies your face. His face twists up again into an approving grin, he gestures behind him.

"Back the way I came," Paul said softly. "Two rights and you'll be back where you belong, little bird." He turned on his heel and went on his way. For a chubby guy, he was very light on his feet, you remarked to yourself. It must come with being a funeral director.

"Thank you!" You call after him. He doesn't seem to hear you or chooses not to respond, either way the encounter went well and you're no longer lost.

Paul's word was good, and in a matter of minutes you walk into the staging area. Stage hands and wrestlers lingering around monitors and craft service tables. A large digital clock blinked the time over head. 8:30 PM. The show had essentially just started. You'd be willing to bet that someone was probably still monologuing in the ring and the first fight hadn't even started yet.

You don't have much of a job during the show. You help with set up and tear down and occasionally help out the art department when they have an extra large job. Tonight was going to be a pretty quiet night. Maybe you'll find yourself a dark locker room and get a much deserved nap.

You decide to check the title card just to recheck the roster. You enjoy watching the fights but the chance to catch up on sleep is far and few between. Nothing pops out at you from the schedule so you wander back towards the locker rooms. People were scattered through the halls, leaning, laughing, talking business. A little bit of everything gets talked about when you spend 24/7 with the same group of people. No topic is off limits and no shame is known.

You walk past the bigger locker rooms. That's where people really congregate, mostly the wrestlers and managers but definitely no peace or quiet. A few of the guys have their own dressing rooms, those are labeled and almost always occupied and locked. You step up to the first door with no name tag. You knock softly as you twist the handle and crack the door. "Hello?" No response. You push open the door wide and glance around the room. Empty minus a loveseat and a small coffee table. No bags, no people, perfect.

You're tempted to lock the door but know that could end poorly. If someone comes looking, you need to actually be findable. You curl up on the love seat, facing the open room and cover up yourself with the flannel you had around your waist. You're a pretty light sleeper so when the taping ends and people get rowdy, you'll be up and ready for tear down. The love seat was lumpy and smelled like stale cigarettes but your eyes were heavy as soon as you were horizontal. You drifted away to the far away sounds of the WWF.

********

You shiver awake.

The whole room was freezing and foggy. You're surprised you can't see your breath as you sigh and bring your flannel tighter around you. 'Why is it so cold in here?' You think to yourself. You slowly bring your wrist to your face. The room is too dark and your eyes are still adjusting to being open again. Trying to read your watch was impossible. Your legs bump up against the coffee table as you put yourself upright. That's odd. The table wasn't that close when you laid down.

You feel his gaze before your eyes fully adjust to the dark room. Truly only lit by the hallway light coming through the thin door window, the corners of the room are pitch black. You look into the darkness in the far corner and it stares back at you. Silent and cold. Two piercing green eyes stare at you through a curtain of wet curly hair.

What little warmth you had left exited your body. A gasp escaped your lips as you realized who was standing in the shadows. There wasn't a name on the door. You're sure of it. No bags. Everyone had language, even him. There were no bags when you started your nap. No inkling of habitation. The room was too small to have overlooked anything.

The Undertaker took a stiff slow step towards you. His large frame, now outlined by the small strip of light coming through the door.

You stand up suddenly. Your legs are cold and numb but you've realized your mistake and now need a swift exit. "I'm so sorry Undertaker. I didn't know this was your room. There wasn't a name on the door." Your voice sounded small and far away. You clear your throat. "Sorry again. Let me get out of your way."

The Undertaker took another step forward. He hasn't blinked. You realize he's a full foot taller than you, maybe even more. You notice how sore your neck is from your little nap as you look up at him. He's still in his wrestling gear. Was he waiting for you to leave to change? Why hadn't he woken you up and kicked you out? Paul Bearer. Paul Bearer was the doer. He controlled The Undertaker, or at least claimed to. But Paul was absent. Maybe he sent Undertaker to the locker room on his own.

You've been frozen to the spot ever since you stood up. All the thoughts running through your head distracted you and he had stepped towards you again. Now you're face to chest with the Undertaker. His neck craned downward towards you, the never ending stare still taking you in. He smelled like wet earth after a fall rain. You couldn't hear him breathe. You couldn't feel any body heat coming off of him. You wondered if his skin would be cold to the touch.

Your hand twitches. Why do you want to touch him so badly? You picture touching his bare chest and then sliding down his stomach. Your face is red and warm now with embarrassment, at least mostly. You remind yourself how you remarked on how handsome he was when you saw your first fight as crew. His red beard covered a square jawline, constantly clenched and almost never moving. His sad green eyes had lost their light sometime long ago. Maybe back when he was alive.

He must have seen your hand twitch, or maybe he saw your face suddenly turn red in the freezing room. A purple gloved hand slowly made its way towards your bare forearm. You don't shy away as the cool leather touches your skin. His fingers wrap around your wrist, tightening slowly like a constricting snake. You tilt your head back to look into the Deadman's eyes. His expression hasn't changed but his gaze moved away from your face and onto your wrist and his own hand. He was holding you tightly but it didn't hurt. You're not sure if you could pull away even if you wanted to. He was the strongest man in the WWF and you'd seen him take apart people 3 times your size.

His eyes snap back to yours.

His stare is too intense, so you drop your gaze to his pale lips. They look soft and you wonder how they'd feel against yours. How they'd feel against your neck and then your chest and you suddenly realize your panties are wet. Your face burns even warmer in the cold room, a beacon in the darkness. You pray he can't read minds, he is supernatural after all. Being dead seems to come with a few good perks so why not telepathy? You find yourself wanting to lean against his huge frame. You want your lips against his and his hands on more of you than just your wrist. You look back into his eyes, trying to tell him everything you were thinking in just a look. You could kiss him if you go on your tiptoes, you think. You look at his lips again. Neither of you have moved since he grabbed your wrist.

Unsure where you found the courage or maybe the audacity but you couldn't stop yourself. You make yourself as tall as possible and put your lips against his. His lips are cool but not cold and surprisingly soft. His ginger beard scratched against your chin. He hasn't moved. You realized you closed your eyes as your lips met. Do you dare open your eyes? Could you take the emerald stare and rage probably growing on the Undertaker's face? No. You really couldn't. You feel stupid. Having a crush. Kissing a man you've never had a conversation with let alone a dead one. You start to pull away and the grip on your wrist tightens.

Your eyes snap open in shock. You're met with his dark eyes closed and his face moving closer to yours. His lips are back against yours, the deadmans kiss was unsure. He seems to be taking your lead, he's out of practice perhaps. You press your body against his and lean into his kiss. He fells so good against you. You shift your mouth on his and your noses bump against each other. You're so wet you're worried about it showing through onto your jeans. You want him to touch you all over. You want him to kiss you all over, to tear your clothes off, to pin you against the wall and fuck you until you scream.

The Undertaker pulls away suddenly, returning to his full height and taking a large step away from you. Your wrist is hot where his tight grip was. Your body is vibrating. You snap back to reality as you realize he's no longer against you. You wonder why the abrupt halt and immediately find out why. The door opens swiftly, almost like it was kicked open. The light switch clicks on and you go momentarily blind.

"Taker, why are you in here? Your room is down the… hall…" Paul Bearer's voice fills the little room. High pitched and doating, his sentence slowly came to a stop. Your eyes were still adjusting but you could feel his puzzled stare on your red checked face. "What are you doing in here little bird?"

You decided the truth was the best answer, up to the kissing part anyway. "I came in here to take a nap during taping. There wasn't a name on the door. I woke up a few minutes ago and he was just… here." You gesture to the big man, still as a statue. "I was just leaving, I need to go start tear down."

Paul's face twisted around as he spoke. His chubby fingers tapped on the gold urn tucked in the crook of his arm. Paul looked from you to the Undertaker and then back to you. He glanced at his watch dramatically and let out a sigh. "You still have a half hour until you tear down. You stay here little sparrow. Taker and I will find our way to OUR locker room." The stout man gestured at the Undertaker to follow him and then swiftly turned on his heel and retreated from the room.

The Undertaker's eyes cut into you once more. You look up to meet his gaze, holding it for a moment. You swear you can see a twinge of red on his lips, warmth transferred from yours. His right arm crossed over and straightened the glove on his left hand. The hand that had held you tightly, the glove being the only thing between your skin and his. His stare dropped to your lips until he turned to follow Paul. To follow the gold urn. To follow the power.

[iriswords]

Febuwhump Day 17 - Silent tears

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here

tw: light mentions of past child abuse, overall really bad mental health

Fandom: Batman

Words: 2036

Tim was taught not to be an inconvenience. Good children are to be seen, not heard. For years, he's cried silently and unseen and as time passed, he got better at repressing his tears altogether. But as a rough week leaves him emotionally vulnerable, Tim struggles to keep his mask on around his family.

Tim has always been a quiet, compliant child. He learns from a very young age that good children are to be seen, not heard. That good children do not talk unless talked to. And, most importantly, that good children do not cry, because crying is making a scene, and good children do not make scenes.

He makes the mistake of complaining because his parents drag him to a gala that stretches out late into the night only once. His cheek burns with the fire of a vicious slap as soon as the Drakes are in the secrecy of their mausoleum of a manor. He cries himself to sleep that night, his tiny body curled onto itself, fists tightened in the sheets. When he wakes up the next morning, his parents are long gone, their bed cold and neatly made. They do not come back for another six months. 

During that time, it does not matter, how loud Tim is or isn’t. There isn’t anyone around to hear or be bothered by his noise. But silence is ingrained in him, as some kind of survival instinct. He swallows his tears and sobs and clasps a firm hand over his mouth when they come out despite his efforts. He cries silently, painfully, too scared of being an inconvenience even when there is no one around to inconvenience. 

He sobs loudly once, in a strange idea of rebellion no one is there to witness. His cries echo in the empty house and come back to him tenfold. He decides it is worse than feeling like he is imploding, and he reverts to crying silently, his body straining with the effort of keeping it all in.

It becomes a useful skill after that, to be able to cry silently. But as he grows and perfects his mask, as he masters the art of repressing his emotions so far down he can barely feel them, he uses that skill less and less. 

 Tim nearly falls asleep against the door of the Batmobile on their way back to the Cave. This last month has taken a toll on him. No, this last year has taken a toll on him, what with the whole Bruce-died-but-he-was-actually-stuck-in-time thing. In the meantime, Tim has lost a spleen, what little mental health he had left, a brother, and a home. All of that to bring back a dad Tim has done his best to avoid ever since the whole ordeal came to an end two months ago when Bruce finally came back to Gotham. 

Tim’s body feels full of lead as he drags it out of the Batmobile and toward the debrief table. Beside him, Jason and Damian are half bantering, half trying to dismember each other. Dick sends Tim a tentative smile as they settle opposite each other around the table, and Tim pretends not to see him. He cannot deal with this tonight. 

“What are the updates on the drug ring, Tim?” asks Bruce to start the debriefing. 

Tim winces. “They got away. They were far more numerous and prepared than I had anticipated. I think they allied with one of Gotham’s bigger villains, but I haven’t figured out which yet.” 

Damian tuts. “Of course, the Pretender failed. You should have let me take this mission, Father, I would have done better.”

“It’s not about doing better, Damian. Clearly, we didn’t have all the information we needed. That’s alright, Tim couldn’t have known.” But Damian’s words hurt nonetheless. Tim single-handedly found Bruce and survived Ra’s evil schemes and his weird obsession with Tim, yet it isn’t enough to prove himself to the brat. Dick says Damian just needs time, that he needs to realize Tim isn’t threatening his position. But Tim is tired of giving everyone time and second chances, especially to the brat who took his mantle and tried to kill him multiple times before that. 

“Did they all get away?” asks Bruce. His face is impassible, betraying no emotion, but Tim can easily imagine the disappointment and reproaches he doubtlessly wishes to throw at Tim. ‘Did they all get away, or are you somewhat useful?’

“No,” answers Tim. “I handed about fifteen goons to the police, but those I interrogated didn’t know much. Gordon will send me any information he manages to get.” Bruce nods, and Tim swallows around the growing lump in his throat. 

Debriefing continues, a litany of off-handed comments directed at Tim. He doesn’t know if it’s just him, if he’s overthinking it, if he’s reading between lines when there is actually nothing vicious about his family’s words. Anyhow, Tim’s chest grows tighter and tighter with suppressed sobs fighting to get out. He keeps blinking back tears as discreetly as he can. No one notices anything. 

Finally, the debrief comes to an end, and Tim hastily heads toward the showers. He nearly bursts into tears under the spray of the shower but clasps a hand against his mouth at the last second when he remembers the rest of his family are in the stalls next to him. He isn’t sure they would hear him over their loud bickering, but he would rather not take the risk. He stifles the pain inside him as well as he can and hurries through the rest of his shower. 

His fingers shake as he grabs his clothes, and he barely manages to put them on. His entire chest quivers from suppressed sobs, the ache so deep it seems physical rather than emotional. He wishes it were only physical pain. This way, he could hope to heal, he could just go to Alfred and explain his predicament. But it is an all-too-emotional pain, and nothing will solve it. 

Tim makes his way to his room a hand pressed against his mouth and his eyes brimming with tears. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot put his mask back on. He keeps his feet silent and quick and checks there is no one before rounding corners. He can’t risk being caught, can’t risk having to explain himself. It would make matters worse, that much he is certain of. He sees enough of Dick’s sad face already, hears enough of Damian’s derisive snorts. 

The door of his bedroom slams shut behind him, and Tim collapses. He crumples to the floor, curled in on himself, his mouth distorted in the horrible grimace of sobs. Tears run from his eyes onto his cheeks, a dam opened and never to be closed again. They pool at his chin and soak the hem of his shirt. Painful sobs claw their way out of his chest, his muscles trembling under the effort of keeping them quiet. Crying out loud terrifies him, but silent sobs are so very painful. They feel like being torn apart, like he is imploding on himself. Like he is letting out his pain without truly letting it out. Like voicing it is the only way to free himself from it, and by keeping it silent, he only makes it harder on himself. 

Someone knocks on Tim’s door. He freezes, eyes wide, tears still rolling down his cheeks. He wills himself not to make a sound as he clumsily tries to dry his tears and stop his sobs.

“Tim?” comes Dick’s voice through the wooden door. “We’re gonna have a movie night, buddy. It would be great if you could come.”

Tim doesn’t answer immediately. The last thing he wants right now is to have a movie night with his family. To repress his emotions again and act like everything is fine when it really isn’t the case. But what excuse can he give? If he says he has work, Dick will forcibly drag him to the movie room. If he says he is tired, everyone will know something is up with him because he rarely goes to sleep willingly. 

“Tim?” asks Dick again, worry tainting his voice. 

“Sure,” answers Tim, trying his best to hide the quivers in his voice. “I’ll be down in five.”

The answer must satisfy Dick because his steps fade down the corridor. Tim gets up on shaky legs and walks to his bathroom. His face is red, and his eyes slightly bloodshot, but he can easily blame it on exhaustion. He splatters his face with cold water, inhales deeply a few times, and pushes down his pain as far down as he can. His composure comes back, distressingly flawless. Nobody will know. Tim doesn’t know if he is glad or not. 

Everyone is already in the movie room by the time he arrives, piled up on the couch. Somehow, Dick managed to drag both Jason and Damian on the cuddle pile without getting himself stabbed. Bruce looks fondly at all three of them and motions to Tim to join him on the end of the couch. Tim’s step falters for a split second, but he corrects it and pasts a fake smile on his face before Bruce can notice his reluctance.

Tim sits down in between Bruce and Damian and braces for any mean comments directed at him. None come. Instead, everyone’s attention turns to the screen as the movie starts. The Lady and the Tramp. It must have been one of Damian’s picks. Or one of Dick’s picks, made on Damian’s behalf since the brat would never admit to liking Disney movies, even if they are centered around animals. 

Tim tries to settle and relax, to forget his episode from earlier. But his brothers bicker good-heartedly with one another, their quips easy and light, and the pressure in Tim’s chest comes back. His composure proves to not be as flawless as he thought, and cracks run through his mask. Tim hugs his knees to himself, focusing on the movie instead of his brothers or his hurt but his attention inevitably comes back to these two and their relation to one another, the movie completely forgotten. 

A solitary tear rolls down his cheek. Tim ignores it. No one has noticed yet, but if he wipes it away, he is certain he will draw all the attention to it. But that solitary tear is soon not solitary anymore, and the dam reopens. He is entirely silent, his tears thankfully unaccompanied by sobs. He dreads the moment the movie will come to an end and everyone will see him, or the moment someone’s attention will turn to him. He knows he cannot avoid it. The outcome is unavoidable. He should just have gone back to his apartment for the night, should have braved his exhaustion, and made the trip all the way there. It would have been worth the effort, if only to avoid the utter disaster this night is becoming. 

It is Damian who notices. Damian, of all people. Tim thinks the universe does not like him very much. Damian’s tiny head turns toward Tim, and Tim knows he has seen the second his eyebrows pull together in a frown. 

“Why are you crying, Drake?” he asks, voice snippy and dripping with disdain. Underneath it all, Tim imagines the tiniest note of worry. “This is hardly a movie to cry about.” 

Tim’s family turns to him all at once, and a sob breaks past the barrier of Tim’s throat. His hand flies to his mouth to seal it shut, but it is already too late. He presses himself against the couch, willing it to swallow him whole and never spit him back out. His wish is not granted. 

“Tim,” says Bruce gently, “what’s wrong?” Tim sobs harder in response. He hasn’t cried so badly in years. He hasn’t been unable to stop in an equally long time.

Bruce’s hand cards tentatively through his hair. In the background, someone stops the movie, and Damian does not complain. 

“I’m sorry,” Tim chokes out. 

“I’m certain you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” replies Bruce. “What is wrong?”

Tim shakes his head and lets himself be pulled into the comfort of his dad’s arms. The cuddle pile rearranges itself around the two of them and later, when Tim finally explains with trembling words what made him cry, his brothers and father hug him tighter. Unlike what he had feared, his family is nothing but understanding.

@febuwhump

[adagaium]

SHOUTOUT TO THIS TOP TIER POST ! BECAUSE HELLO, op you’ve kicked me into gear on talking about. more ardyn symbolism, more of how things work on this blog for my own portraya , in general, you know. 

let’s start this off with ardyn is meant to be Christ, not noctis, and adagium is, while ardyn, not fully so? adagium is the anti-Christ, (the angra mainyu, the all the world's evils). there, i said it, i will die on this hill, and there are so many reasons for why. ardyn being the Christ figure is also why i’ve got a meta on his nature as the son of the astrals, rather than his mortal brother, somnus, but that’s a different topic. anyway, in the end, the only logical thing for the starscourge to be is a manifestation of human sin. it’s poorly explained in game at best, and this answer lines up with the many other allegories that ffxv decided to slap in there. so of course the scourge is a sickness of the soul and by that logic, ardyn’s death and noctis’ death … didn’t end the scourge, it ended the ability of the scourge to turn people into daemons. it offered humanity a chance at salvation. 

for 2000 years, ardyn has lived with the SINS OF THE PLANET in his body, they try to smother his own soul, but as we see in ep ardyn, even after verstael has him do all this awful shit, even as angry as he is at somnus, in the resist path ( which is the only path in my mind ), BAHAMUT TORTURES HIM INTO SUBMISSION TO HIS ‘FATE’. ardyn’s calling was as a savior, and what was done to him was unnatural and cruel. not to say that he wasn’t cruel, too, because he DID do horrible things, but let’s also think of how it was also confirmed that ardyn does’t remember most things about HIMSELF, because he has so many other people’s memories. he has so many other people’s sins. 

so here we are . ardyn has absolved others of their sins by taking those sins upon himself, and thus by the logic, he has turned into the daemon of daemons. or to go to my zoroastrianism influences, deva of devas, the ahriman, angra mainyu. of course he’s bitter. he’s been used by others to absolve them of their sins. so humans can be free to sin, he suffers, and it’s still his kneejerk reaction under all the daemonic influence of the scourge for him to do that. squenix mentions ardyn is also meant to be ‘the sin eater’, who takes the sins of others away. his ‘true body', where he weeps black tears ( or, in his first death, most certainly blood ), is referencing the phenomenon where holy statues are said to weep blood — the sign of a miracle . ARDYN CONTINUOUSLY IS COVERED IN ALLEGORY OF MIRACLES !!!!!! HELLO ??? not to mention his whole ass design, from name to his color scheme, is that of the dawn, the sun. to go as a foil to noctis, the night sky: ardyn, who was originally just ‘arden ( brilliant , burning )’ in his concept art … ardyn [arden] lucis caelum … burning light of the sky … the sun.  

ok you’re probably wondering what the heck the point of this is, but i sure do ramble huh. the point here is ardyn is, while doing badly, the savior. it is still ARDYN who must die for the scourge to be defeated, otherwise … there’s a chance if it was just noctis who needed to die, he … would’ve been killed. which is a horrifying thought. 

ardyn is … dealing with so much. for so long, ‘the sun’ has been smothered by darkness. when he dies, the scourge’s manifestation can no longer take hold of mortals, regardless of sin or lack thereof — although, in the end, all humans make mistakes, in some religious context, humans are sinners and that’s why Christ died. ‘to absolve us of sin’. but Christ’s death did not make sin go away, it only opened a path for forgiveness and salvation. similarly , ardyn didn’t make the scourge go away, simply his death ( or his blessing as a healer ), made it so that the sin of the person would not turn them into a daemon, so that they could find salvation thanks for coming to my tedtalk. 

[cuzisaidso]

The heated disagreement pt.2

Sun/ FEM! Reader!

Warning: swearing, sun and moon gets into a dispute regarding y/n.

Orange-sun

light blue- moon

red- y/n

purple-narrative

pink- me(A/n)

Summary: sun and y/n gets into a disagreement which leds into sun becoming upset.Y/n does something that not only spirals certain emotions for sun and moon but emotions for herself as well.

Y/n walks down the dimly lit hallways as she hums a soft tune. Trying to block out what she just had done she turns the corner to the employee shower room. Y/n opens the door before moving out the way and looking at sun.

“Go on and go in, I’ll be right back I’m going to get you a change of clothes”

sun nods silently before walking past y/n and toward one of the showers. Y/n walks back down the halls before walking out and into the daycare. Y/n opens the door that’s leads up the stairs to sun and moon room. Y/n climbs up the stairs before entering the room.

“I can’t believe I kissed his cheek” mumbles y/n as she searches the boxes for new clothes.

“And he didn’t even say anything”y/n groans as she covers her face embarrassed.

“I need to apologize that was rude of me…shit I probably crossed a line I wasn’t supposed to” y/n groans

“fuuucccckkkk my lifeeeeee” y/n slaps her cheeks.

“No more of that! It was a mistake! I need to apologize and move on! Yes that’s what I need to do”y/n Carry the clothes as she walks downstairs and back down the hallway and into the employee showers.

“I got some new clothes sunny” y/n looks over at sun only to squeal and covers her face.

“omg! I’m so so sorry damn it sun close the damn curtain!”the shower curtain gets yanked closed as a flustered sun face burns and fan whirs faster.

“N.Naughty l.language!” Coughs out sun as he stares at the curtain of the figure of y/n. Moon chuckles inside, “oh? not the little human getting a peek at our physique” snickers moon.

“S.shut up moon” mutters sun as he goes back to scrubbing his body. With the towel he found in the bag that y/n left. “U.um whenever your done come back to the daycare okay….I..I’ll meet you there” y/n says as she picks up the bag.

“I left the clothes on the counter….see you when you get out” y/n leaves as sun waits for the door to close before speaking.

“How much did you think she saw moon?”moon snickers “enough to fluster her” sun whimpers softly “do you think it scared her?” “Most likely, she did leave right after” moon sounds bored.

“hopefully it did scare her, serves her right for doing what she did” sun frowns “I liked what she did….”sun whispers to himself. Moon eyes widen mentally as he looks almost appalled.

“You! Liked that! Sun no, we talked about this not after what the last one did!” Sun glares “y/n isn’t like him she will never be him”moon growls. “all humans are the same sun! Don’t come to me crying when she leaves don’t come to me crying when she uses you like he did! Do not! Come to me!” Sun growls louder than moon.

“Fine! I won’t! I’ll prove you wrong moon! Your always so negative! So me-” “I’m negative because your so fucking naive! Your like a fucking kid always looking at the bright side of shit! Your so naive to the point that it blinds you and you get hurt and guess who has to pick up the fucking pieces ME! I HAVE TO!” sun stays silent, Hurt by moon’s confession.

“Moon I- “NO! IM TIRED so so so so so tired sun tired of them hurting you…I…I…”moon fades to the back of suns consciousness. “no No NO! Don’t leave moon please I’m sorry!” Cries out sun as moon disappears and it goes silent.

Sun grasp his face as he cries softly, sun crouches down as he pulls at his rays. “Moon….moony….please….I’m sorry….don’t…don’t block me out….”

A/n:ooooooo, I’m actually surprised how good I made it. I did try my best. Hopefully it isn’t to much. Anyway I hope y’all enjoyed it.

A/N: I don’t own the art, but to whoever made it, (chef kisses to you)

[kwnnys]

BAKING WITH BLLK BOYS !

cw ; a bit suggestive/established relationship w the first one, I have no idea how to bake so don't!! sue me!!!, swearing, inconsistent writing style

THE FLIRTY ONES !

he's somewhat innocent at the beginning, reading out the recipe and grinning as he watches you confidently put on your apron. woah, he didn't realise how hot you could look in such a simple piece of clothing.

he doesn't try to hide the fact that he's shamelessly flirting and trying to coax you. purposely smudging icing and powdered sugar on the corners of your lips, letting out a chuckle when you shoot him an annoyed glare.

hes standing behind you and peeking over your shoulder as you mix the batter. he shakes his head, saying that you're doing it all wrong and he places his hand over yours, 'demonstrating' on how to properly mix it. he shrugs in denial when you call him out for just wanting an excuse to hold you, whistling and glancing to the side.

you know those creepy thirst traps of men baking and they just completely violate the food? he probably does that in front of you for the shits and giggles. pouting and whining that you're 'no fun' when you scold him to stop.

he can't keep his hands off you. playfully slapping your ass the moment you bend over to put the tray into the oven. he ignores your little scoldings, and he cuts you off by scooping you up and placing you on the kitchen counter, caressing your waist as he presses his lips on yours.

the cute baking date you had planned quickly turns into a steamy makeout session as his hands run through the back of your head and he pushes you closer, exploring your mouth with his tongue before— wait, did the smoke alarm just go off?

SHIDOU, REO, BACHIRA, AIKU, KARASU !

THE LAZY ONES !

he wasn't too fond of the idea of baking. couldn't you two just place an order from your local pastry shop?

you end up having to drag him by force to the kitchen, where he's standing boredly and watching as you do basically everything. it's his presence that counts.

he does help out every once in awhile, passing you the ingredients required or the utensils that you needed. his brows furrow when he sees you pour 3 cups of sugar into the mix. isn't that too much?

all of a sudden he's backseating and pointing out your little mistakes. your inaccurate measurements, or your poor decorating skills. it drives you crazy, to the point where you just shove the bowl into his hands and tell him to do it himself if he's so bothered.

he quickly shuts up at that, and the two of you finally finish baking the pastries! and what do you know, they taste delicious.

NAGI, KAISER, OTOYA, CHIGIRI, SAE !

THE GRUMPY ONES !

he's reluctant at first, but eventually agrees. he is very strict when it comes to recipes, and he makes sure that everything goes perfectly according to what the article says. its hard to take him seriously though, not when he's wearing a pretty pink apron with that stoic look on his face.

it's a bit suffocating. he's bossing you around, and he always has his eye on you. oh, you're trying to sneak some sprinkles into the batter? not on his watch, sprinkles weren't included in the recipe.

he's uptight, but it's just the perfectionist in him. he needs everything to be flawless, it's like he was baking for the minister of Japan himself.

he also makes sure not to make a mess, scolding you when you even let a drop of icing drip onto the counter. he's washing the utensils every 5 minutes. you're sure your water bill is going to suffer.

though, it's somewhat worth it in the end, because these taste like the best sweets you've ever had in your life! the texture is perfect, and the cute decorations on top make it all the better. even so, you might have to think twice before inviting him over for another baking session...

BAROU, RIN, (WILD CARD) KUNIGAMI !

THE 'HES TRYING HIS BEST..' ONES !

he's not too experienced when it comes to the art of baking. sure, he's made christmas cookies with his parents every once in awhile— but he's amateur level at best.

he's squinting his eyes trying to read the instructions, tilting his head in confusion. what was the difference between baking soda and powder again..? was there even a difference? what would be the consequence if he accidentally mixes them up?

but no worries, you're there to guide him! or, he hopes. turns out, you know just as little as he does. and the two of you look like clueless puppies in the kitchen.

you end up having to bring in a third party, someone that has much more experience. he tries to help as much as he can, offering to do the more simple tasks like washing bowls and preheating the oven.

the end results isn't too bad. it's slightly more burnt than he expected. oh well, nothing a bit of frosting can't hide fix.

ISAGI, KURONA, YUKIMIYA, NANASE !

THE SURPRISINGLY EXPERT ONES !

he had told you he wasn't much experienced when you brought it up, to which you said was completely fine! you had been wanting to brag about your newfound skills from the classes you've been taking, after all.

so then why.. is he doing everything? you're confused. he said he wasn't experienced, and yet he was far better at this than you. he didn't even need to look at a recipe, he's doing everything by feel and instinct.

he's even giving you tips. not in a taunting or teasing way, but in a genuinely trying to help way. you want to be mad at him, to call him out for lying but— he's smiling so sweetly, and he seems to genuinely be having fun.

you ended up missing the chance to show off to him. but it was worth the joyful and fun memories you made that day.

HIORI, NESS !

[princessjoyvibora]

CASE DIGEST: Eduardo P. Manuel v. People

As cited in Chapter 3, Article 42 of Title I of Family Code of the Philippines

EDUARDO P. MANUEL v. PEOPLE, GR NO. 165842, 2005-11-29

Facts:

Eduardo was married to Rubylus Gaña to a private complainant Tina B. Gandalera that he met in Dagupan City. Afterwards, Eduardo went to Baguio City to visit her.

Eventually, as one thing led to another, they went to a motel where, despite Tina's resistance, Eduardo succeeded in having his way with her. Eduardo proposed marriage on several occasions, assuring her that he was single. Tina finally agreed to marry Eduardo. Manuel started making himself scarce and went to their house only twice or thrice a year. Tina was jobless, and whenever she asked money from Eduardo, he would slap her.

Eduardo took all his clothes, left, and did not return.  Worse, he stopped giving financial support. Tina became curious and made inquiries from the National Statistics Office (NSO) in Manila where she learned that Eduardo had been previously married. The trial court ruled that the prosecution was able to prove beyond reasonable doubt all the elements of bigamy under Article 349 of the Revised Penal Code. CA rendered judgment affirming the decision of the RTC with modification as to the penalty of the accused.

Issues:

The petitioner maintains that the prosecution failed to prove the second element of the felony, i.e., that the marriage has not been legally dissolved or, in case his/her spouse is absent, the absent spouse could not yet be presumed dead under the Civil Code.

The petitioner asserts that the presumptive death of the absent spouse arises by operation of law upon the satisfaction of two requirements: the specified period and the present spouse's reasonable belief that the absentee is dead.

The petitioner insists that except for the period of absences provided for in Article 390 of the Civil Code, the rule therein on legal presumptions remains valid and effective.

Ruling:

The petition is denied for lack of merit.

Art. 349. Bigamy. The penalty of prision mayor shall be imposed upon any person who shall contract a second or subsequent marriage before the former marriage has been legally dissolved, or before the absent spouse has been declared presumptively dead by... means of a judgment rendered in the proper proceedings.

The reason why bigamy is considered a felony is to preserve and ensure the juridical tie of marriage established by law.

The phrase "or before the absent spouse had been declared presumptively dead by means of a judgment rendered in the proper... proceedings" was incorporated in the Revised Penal Code because the drafters of the law were of the impression that "in consonance with the civil law which provides for the presumption of death after an absence of a number of years, the judicial declaration of presumed death... like annulment of marriage should be a justification for bigamy."

For the accused to be held guilty of bigamy, the prosecution is burdened to prove the felony: (a) he/she has been legally married; and   (b) he/she contracts a subsequent marriage without the former marriage having been lawfully dissolved.

In his commentary on the Revised Penal Code,  Albert is of the same   view as Viada and declared that there are three (3) elements of bigamy:  (1) an undissolved marriage; (2) a new marriage; and (3) fraudulent intention constituting the felony of the... act.

For one to be criminally liable for a felony by dolo, there must be a confluence of both an evil act and an evil intent.

In the present case, the prosecution proved that the petitioner was married to Gaña in 1975, and such marriage was not judicially declared a nullity; hence, the marriage is presumed to subsist.

The petitioner is presumed to have acted with malice or evil intent when he married the private complainant.  As a general rule, mistake of fact or good faith of the accused is a valid defense in a prosecution for a felony by dolo; such defense negates malice or... criminal intent.

However, ignorance of the law is not an excuse because everyone is presumed to know the law.

The requirement for a judgment of the presumptive... death of the absent spouse is for the benefit of the spouse present, as protection from the pains and the consequences of a second marriage, precisely because he/she could be charged and convicted of bigamy if the defense of good faith based on mere testimony is found... incredible.

The petitioner's sole reliance on Article 390 of the Civil Code as basis for his acquittal for bigamy is misplaced.

Art. 390.  After an absence of seven years, it being unknown whether or not, the absentee still lives, he shall be presumed dead for all purposes, except for those of succession.

The absentee shall not be presumed dead for the purpose of opening his succession till after an absence of ten years.  If he disappeared after the age of seventy-five years, an absence of five years shall be sufficient in order that his succession may be opened.

Art. 391.  The following shall be presumed dead for all purposes, including the division of the estate among the heirs: 

(1)

A person on board a vessel lost during a sea voyage, or an aeroplane which is missing, who has not been heard of for four years since the loss of the vessel or aeroplane;

(2)

A person in the armed forces who has taken part in war, and has been missing for four years;

(3)

A person who has been in danger of death under other circumstances and his existence has not been known for four years.

With the effectivity of the Family Code,... the period of seven years under the first paragraph of Article 390 of the Civil Code was reduced to four consecutive years.

Thus, before the spouse present may contract a subsequent marriage, he or she must... institute summary proceedings for the declaration of the presumptive death of the absentee spouse,... without prejudice to the effect of the reappearance of the absentee spouse.

Such provision was designed to harmonize civil law and Article 349 of the Revised Penal Code, and put to rest the confusion spawned by the rulings of this Court and comments of eminent authorities on Criminal Law.

IN LIGHT OF ALL THE FOREGOING, the petition is DENIED.  The assailed decision of the Court of Appeals is AFFIRMED.  Costs against the petitioner.