#BUT I also realize that is Bad™️

[applecherry108]

Will there be a bad guy or any threats to the turtles in genera, like I don't know... Bishop or the krang

Oroku saki with an evil look on his face 👀👀

Love your work ❤️❤️❤️

N….not really? 😅😅😅 The closest my au gets is the Foot Clan and even then, once they realize their Beloved Son is a Hamato, they go about dismantling the dark armor real fast. And without the Evil™️ in their organization, they have no need to free the krang…

And since Draxum has a New Found Appreciation for humans since, you know, his son is genetically human, he sorta….abandons the whole mutagen thing, so none of the mutant villains are present…

Even the Battle Nexus is transformed into a more Ninja Warrior-esque competition…

Honestly, it’s all just interpersonal drama. It’s a lot of custody battles and divorcees getting back together lmao

The biggest villain of this au is Loneliness and Guilt.

Anyways, check out these designs.

[writeouswriter]

If I ever have a character mention a modern app like Tiktok or something in one of my stories, please assume I’ve been bodysnatched or am being held hostage somewhere.

[grimcatician]

Real clown hours in the tsats tag

[mellosdrawings]

Do you think in the N2 Squad, Jamil will just randomly get a burst of confidence and flirt with Leona and Vil, just for them to turn it around on him and he then gets so flustered he enters Caterpillar Mode™️ (pulls his hood over his face) for a solid hour?

I kept this one in my asks for a long time coz, while I thought it was a good ask and wanted to draw something for it, I am also plagued with the terrible curse of being both aromantic and autistic and struggling a lot with the very concept of ~*flirting*~

So first, gonna thank @aria-faye and @the-fab-fox for their insights and having the patience to explain to me the big strokes of flirting.

And now, I'm gonna quote aria-faye word for word cause he explained Jamil's flirting perfectly well in my opinion :

"I feel like Jamil is just... bad at flirting. He can tease and joke and all that, but when he's doing it with the intention of flirtation, i feel like he stumbles. His version of intentional flirting would probably be just... being overly straightforward. Saying what he's thinking for once."

"I feel like Jamil isn't very charismatic when it comes to flirting, so he isn't saying it [compliments] in any sort of way. Just pointing out a fact, which, to him, is flirting. Because it's not something he'd normally say aloud."

"Here's the thing: I think if they played the flirting game, and if Jamil said something intentionally over-the-top, teasing flirtatious, they [Leona and Vil] would match his energy and do it right back. BUT Jamil would be equipped to volley that back over and over. It's not flirtation that gets him. There's an element of disingenuous in flirting. It's all exaggerated, a bit untrue. It's an act - a mutually agreed-upon act that everyone in the group enjoys, but an act nonetheless. And Jamil is EXCELLENT at acts. He's no blushing flower when it comes to flirting. He would take that stuff all the way to bed if that's where it led him. But compliments? He has no idea how to take compliments. He has such a low opinion of himself for so long that he never learned. Compliments are what make him blush. Not flirting."

"Like, Leona could be like 'Damn Baby, what does that tongue do?' And Jamil would immediately respond by purring 'Come here and find out.' But Leona being like 'You look beautiful today' would have Jamil like "Oh, um. *blushes, pulls hood over his head* Thanks, I guess.'"

"I think something else that would get him flustered is physical affection. Like he gets all hyped up to shakily hold their hands, and they immediately respond by kissing his cheeks and being sweet to him. That would make him blushy too."

"Flirting is basically just manipulation. Jamil knows how to do that. He's really good at that. It might surprise him at first, but if he's the one initiating, he wouldn't do it unless he knew exactly what he was doing. Flirting for real is kind of fake. A teasing dance you do to get to a more intimate set of behaviors. And Jamil is great at this kind of thing. There are a thousand ways to make him blushy if he's not initiating. But if he's initiating, that implies a level of confidence, so the options for making him blushy circles right back around to honesty."

"Leona and Vil flirt by antagonising each other, so it might take them a second to realize that whenever Jamil drops an Honesty Bomb on them like this and speaks plainly, he's flirting. But once they know, Jamil will never know peace again, because they turn it right back on him and compliment him honestly until he's curled up and hiding in his hood and begging them to stop."

(Yes we had a very long discussion about it x))

[apt502-if]

I think I have the ultimate™️ angst ask for the ros minus rainn (also kinda of nsfw warning, ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable pls!!)

If mc and ro were being intimate, how would the ros react if MC said rainn's name in that moment?

OUCH YIKES OOF D: D: D:

A: This would be their worst nightmare. This is their worst nightmare. A would immediately stop and probably leave the room. I think the relationship would be over after that tbqh It would ruin them! After their past and then that they'd most likely give up romance and relationships for good. They would leave the room and cry in the bathroom for an hour before distancing themself and rebuilding all of the walls MC managed to break down :<

L: L would make a joke at first out of reflex ("Usually people are mistakenly saying my name not the other way around lol") and then stop. If it's just FWB then they wouldn't care that much. They would, as a friend, delicately tell MC to handle their issues though. In a relationship, they'd insist on having a conversation. L is a lot more understanding when it comes to relationships and messy feelings and moments like that because they've dealt with a lot of people in their days of hooking up. They'd tell MC that they should take a break and give MC time to figure out how they truly feel about their ex before getting back together. Just very understanding! Much more than most :P In a deeper relationship, L will say that but internalize it as "I'm not enough for them I knew I should've never gotten into a relationship this is why."

Cal: Cal would try to ignore it for MC's sake. They'd make an excuse as to why they have to stop and probably run out of the room. Cal's gut reaction would be to push it down and pretend it doesn't bother them because they don't want a confrontation or to embarrass MC. People pleaser ways :P Eventually Cal would give in and have a sit down with them. It would really hurt them though. And would take a long time to get over it.

M: Get mad. :P M would definitely ask MC if they're just a distraction from Rainn. They'd be insecure and question themself. M would go home and need a day or two to process what just happened. Then they'd outright ask, "Do you want to breakup with me?" and MC is like wow don't be dramatic LOL but all of the characters are dramatic so. M would give MC time to figure it out but I think the relationship would be over for a while. Not forever but for a while.

G: Find out who Rainn is to decide whether Rainn is better than them. If they are, G would make it their mission to be better and to make sure MC realizes that Rainn is the downgrade, not them. G is competitive.

Andi: Suppperrr awkward and super hurt. Wouldn't be able to look MC in the eye for a while. Like A, I think the relationship would be permanently done. If it was someone else they'd prob be able to move on from it but it's Rainn. Just bad all around. Andi would also be in too deep to be able to breakup and be just friends with MC. It would probably be bye bye Andi in general for MC for good.

[alltimefail]

Okay so I have more thoughts on Dead Boy Detectives but this is less about scene analysis and more about my own personal interpretation of Charles as I truly believe Charles' inability to fully "reciprocate" Edwin's feelings is less about accepting his sexuality/lack of awareness about his sexuality and more about feeling unworthy of being on the receiving end of Edwin's love (and about bad timing - them being in an afterlife or eternal suffering situation on the literal stairs of hell, but I digress lol). This would explain, pretty seamlessly, why he seems to seek out fleeting or "fun" romances and flirtations. It would also explain why, immediately following the confession, there are micro-changes, blink-and-you'll-miss-it differences in Charles' behaviors and expressions. It's clear that our boy is reflecting, and he meant it when he said he intended to "figure out what the rest means..." even if it takes him forever (and I doubt it will, but again... I digress). This is why calling his reassurances to Edwin on the staircase a "rejection" and putting Charles in a box as default-straight is a complete disservice to his character, to the writers, to the queer brilliance that rings beautifully in every facet of this show, and to Jayden Revri who is an exceptional actor with a palpable, deep love and reverence for the character he's portraying.

As a repressed PTSD bisexual™️ myself, I can't help but connect Charles' history with abuse alongside his poor perception of self, people-pleasing tendencies, and his quickness to stifle and repress his own feelings and desires to his fear of being a "bad person." It would not surprise me if Charles would fear the possibility that he is capable of taking something fragile, beautiful, raw, and vulnerable (Edwin's love) and destroy it in the way his father did.

Charles has always loved fully and without caution; I would even say he loves recklessly at times, throwing himself in front of danger, even to his own detriment. But has anyone fully loved him back in the way he loves? Charles has always loved Edwin, but did he ever allow himself to humor the idea that Edwin might just love him back?

It's evident that Charles had very little kindness in his life. Charles' friends were conditional at best and violent/abusive at their worst, his father was a monster, and his mother (who, in all fairness, was also a victim of abuse) was quiet and complicit in the abuse Charles received from his father. His entire afterlife is intrinsically connected to Edwin's - his entire existence, and Edwin's entire existence, are so closely entwined to one another that to "screw up" the delicate balance they've struck would be more than unfortunate - it would be earth-shattering, a loss like no other. Charles is impulsive, but he is not careless...quite the opposite, actually. I truly think whether or not he's attracted to men is not the issue; it wouldn't surprise me if, at the very least, Charles is aware he is attracted to people regardless of gender and just doesn't have the language to put a label to that sensation yet (he might have never been compelled to put a label on it, frankly). The issue is that Charles is unsure if he is deserving of someone not just loving him, but being in love with him... especially when it's coming from someone he thinks is the best person in the world, the most important person to him, the only person he would deny heavy and defy hell for.

Honestly Charles might even already know he has feelings toward Edwin specifically that are not strictly platonic, but taking that gamble even though he struggles with feelings such as being undeserving of Edwin; that he would be selfish to take a love he's undeserving of; that Edwin might come to realize, at some point, that he was mistaken in loving Charles and that being with Charles isn't actually enough/what he hoped it would be and he regrets his confession all together. Or, perhaps worst of all, what if Charles finds that the nagging fear he's buried deep down was correct all along... that he actually is like his father and capable of hurting Edwin and bastardizing the concept of love as a whole?

There are stakes when it comes to loving Edwin - if he were to screw up what they have, the consequences would be disastrous, it very well might destroy him. He cannot be careless, he cannot be impulsive, he cannot risk destroying what he and Edwin have. I'm not sure Charles has ever not loved Edwin, but he probably never humored that his Edwin: touch-reserved, buttoned-up, logical, stubborn, beautiful, kind Edwin who brought a warm light to Charles in his darkest moment, could feel that way, too... especially about him. What is he to do with that?

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 3.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Angst & Yearning™️; Slow Burn; Sexual Inexperience; Cock Riding; Size Difference; Size Kink; Sex Ed for Omega’s 101; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Discussions of Heats and Knots and Slick, Oh My!; Virginity; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: FYI I do mention that she has small breasts in this one only because I usually write big boobs and thought it was time for some itty bitty titty committee representation. 

Word Count: 13.9K

Read on AO3

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2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Existence is a strange thing, a needful thing. Something to be sated, filled, satisfied, this ordeal of being a living, breathing person. And to be an unusual sort of person, someone with needs extra to what the regular sort would require, doubly strange. 

You had always thought, in different ways, that the mating program, although a choice thief, a freedom thief, was also benevolent in its control in some ways. After all, it gave those of you who were of the not usual sort, alphas and omegas, that such thing that you needed so badly. 

Each other. 

A bad, terrible, devastating thing that in turn gives you something necessary, life changing, life fulfilling, even, perhaps. 

When your aunt had died and you’d been taken away and then put away and then shut away for what seemed would be forever, it had not, at first, in your child’s mind, seemed so terrible. But with the years, that existence you bore that needed, it began to hurt. It eventually became a very terrible thing that in turn, had taken away your ability to recognize yourself, as well. The reality that you’d been caged because of what you were, perhaps not particularly who, but certainly, what, was, at first, difficult to see. And then, when you did see it, even more difficult to look at. 

A thing caged because of what it is. And again, existence is a strange and needful thing. Caged because of what you exist as; caged because of what you need because of what you are. Caged because they can give you what will sate you. 

You open your eyes slowly, the bright, waning golden light of dusk shooting over the edge of the end of the world; bleeding pinks and violets feeding the fire. And he’s there, in a deeply set arm chair pulled up by the hearth, staring into the flames, and you realize, like you’d never truly considered before, that the cage was in part also his fault. That in ways, you’d been put away also because of what he is. You wonder if this should make you angry, resentful. If it should mean you should not want to be here, langoring so comfortably in his home that he’d brought you to. This man who you do not know, who does not so much even look like he wants to know you. In ways, your caging is his fault. And certainly, concretely, the prolonging of that caging was entirely of his doing. So why is there no resentment?

Once, one of the other omegas had said that they were brainwashing all of you. Preparing you, ripening you for slaughter. He’d come in later than the rest of you, when he was more grown, more mature, when he’d seen more things in his before life. He had lots of opinions, lots of thoughts, said that your before life, those ten years of living with your aunt, of only being a child like all the rest of them and not an omega, did not count. He said you’d been too young to understand all you’d lost. A boy named Leo. He was kind, but he was angry. And his anger frightened you. It was something you did know, in the sense that you could recognize it, for you’d seen anger before, but you could not understand it. For some reason, maybe you were built wrongly, and Leo was right, and you should have been angry like him, but you could never find it within yourself to muster it. Maybe there was nothing wrong about it. Maybe everyone was simply built and made and felt differently and that was fine too. But you knew that he was wrong on some accounts, particularly, that your before life had counted, that your aunt, who you remembered with so much love, had counted. And most of all, what he was most painfully wrong about, was that you did, and deeply, understand all you had lost. 

After all, you could only see the sky for one hour a day, every other day, now, and that one hour made your understanding of everything around you, everything happening to you, keen and painful and humiliating in a very clear way. 

The last rays of the sun wash Joel in vibrant orange reds now. A slash of glowing vermillion across his face, something almost violent about the streak of light, something possessive, and you focus your eyes intently on the sight of his face. This man, this alpha, who for all intents and purposes would or could own you as declared by the government or nature or even Leo and all he’d said would happen once you’d been claimed. 

But there was one last thing he’d been wrong about, that young, angry boy, and what you felt was the greatest chasm between the way the two of you had existed within your new designations, which was that, at one very recent point in Leo’s memory, he had belonged to someone, to somewhere. He’d had a place and a home and a family, and he had belonged, and you had never had that. Your aunt, despite her love for you, had been too old and tired to want you, truly want you. You had never been wanted in any soft, true way by anyone before. And looking at him now, you don’t think Joel could ever be capable of wanting anything in a soft way, but you do think he could want something in a true way, and you’re certain that could be more than enough for you. 

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Your voice, scratchy and small from sleep, floating away from you towards him. He jerks, the twitching returned, head snapping towards you, eyes wide, moving forward in his seat as if he’d spring out of it and towards you without thought. His scent seems to be heightened somehow now. As if your sleep had awakened your senses in new, keener ways. You can feel him tickling the back of your throat, threading his way through your hair, beneath your clothes, between your legs. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks, ignoring your question. “When was the last time you ate? You need to eat.” And again that frown, too many fast words. 

“Why didn't you come for me?” You press. “They told me you didn’t know if you wanted to come, that you wouldn't answer. I want to know why.”

He sighs a heavy, heaving thing, falling back in the chair, and turns back to the fire, and you want to whine and cry until he puts his attention back on you. You feel so… so– you don’t know. Little, unmade, with a need to be big, to grow and grow and grow so that all the things you feel and want might fit inside of you, so that he might fit inside of you. You feel hungry as if your gums ache and sting with a desire you’ve never tasted before. But also, and despite all of these conflicting, churning things, you also feel so inexplicably at ease. He’s just there, and you are just here, and you’ll make him answer, you know you have it in you to make him do the things you want, and you can’t say how, you don’t know how, but you understand that you do. 

There’s power in that – even as you are, all you are not, you can see it – the ability something small possesses to make something big move, do, be. There’s power in that. 

You whine low in your throat, and he turns back to you, something dark and tumultuous in his eyes, brow crooked sternly, but he opens his mouth. “I was going to leave you there,” he says, and you immediately wish he’d shut it. Never mind, you want to tell him, you say all the wrong things.  

“But why? I was waiting for you.” Whine, whine, whine.

“I didn’t want this. I never have.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me?” You ask again, just to be absolutely certain you’re understanding that you’ve once again found yourself in a place where you are not wanted for, or despite of, the thing that you are. The logistics, the intricacies of it don’t seem to matter as much anymore, after everything, the before life, the not life, all that matters now is the yes or no. 

But he goes silent again, attention back toward the fire, the sun set, no more glowing vermillion slash, very little hope now too. 

He ignores your question again. “Tell me about the place they kept you,” he says instead. 

“There’s nothing to tell.” You want to cry now, for the first time, besides the tears of initial happiness when he’d finally walked into your white box, you want to cry. You dig stubby nails into the round of your knee, hard as you can, trying to make it hurt and distract. “It was very calm and very quiet.”

“Did you have friends?” He won’t turn back to look at you, and it makes you feel very lacking. Very much like the nothing they tried to make you feel you were before. 

“No. They wouldn’t let us.”

“They wouldn’t let you have friends?”

“No. They said it would agitate us – too much socialization. Really, they just didn’t want us realizing, becoming angry and aware”

This makes him turn, makes you feel, within yourself, the anger you’re telling him of, like oh, now, when I’ve been shocking and honest, you look at me – after I waited all that time for you. There is no resentment about the cage, only for the waiting. You should stick your tongue out at him, make him an ugly face, turn over and go back to sleep and ignore him the way he’d ignore you. But no, you think, let him see that you do understand, and you do know some things, that you are angry, and Leo was right.

“What did you do then?” He asks. 

“I read. I learned about myself, about you. About what we are.”

His gaze is so intense now, a ricochet, a scream, something very persistently sad. “And what are we?”

“People just like all the rest of them. But with more necessity.”

“How do you mean?”

You tip your head side to side, bright fire eyed gaze to bright fire eyed gaze. Your cheeks feel molten, sweltering, sweat at your nape, the fire in the hearth so bright, but not as bright as you; your belly glows. This is what you are, this is what you’d been made into. “There is so much necessity in existing, don’t you think?”

He tips his chin, he doesn’t understand. 

“We need so many things. We require so much to be alive, to be what we are, to be satisfied and content.”

“Do we?”

“The things we are, yes. I think so.”

“You don’t seem like you spent years in that place,” he says, voice slow, molasses in the notes. There’s something hypnotized slumbering in him that forces something satisfied to swell within you. Your belly glows. 

“I had a before life. People forget that.”

“I read in your file — you lived with an aunt.”

You wait for the: only for ten years, but the diminishing does not come. “Yes. She was kind, and I remember all of it, even if the rest of the world forgets it happened.”

“Did they ever mistreat you? At the facility–”

“No. Never. There was nothing.” You’re the one to turn away now. The sun has entirely gone away, a single glowing sliver just at the drop off of the end of the world. You stick your hand out straight ahead of you, fingertip following that line of fading light through air and space and sea. 

He watches you unblinkingly, and asks, “What do you mean?” The far off light glows through your skin, through your fingernail; he follows the path of your hand.

You can pretend in your mind that you feel the warmth of it against your fingertip, that it scorches the way it glows, heats the length of your limb, feeds the same glow in your belly, but there’s no more possessive streak of light to wrap around you; now, the heat only lives within you. This is what you are, this is what they said would happen, and now it’s finally happening. You let your arm fall back to your lap, limp, and turn to look at him again. He looks so angry, and you feel so incredibly sad for him. This cold perch, this cage that is not white like your box, but dark and struck right on the edge of peril, this place he chose to exile himself to. They were honest, in the things they'd told you all, the truth of the way alphas exist out in the world. Lonely and ostracized and feared, brainwashed to your reality maybe, sure, the way Leo claimed. But in certain things, they’d been honest, and you’re glad for it, that you have the ability to understand him now from this vantage point. The reality of how he exists, the reason for that look in his eyes, it all makes sense to you. 

“I suppose that can be a kind of bad thing… a mistreatment. Making nothing of us, of our lives, taking the whole world away until someone chooses to come and give it back to us.”

He flinches, the look shutters, clicks and flashes, a camera capturing the truth of what the two of you have already done to each other without even really knowing one another at all. “I’m sorry I waited. I’m sorry I took so long.” The words cost him something the way all truths cost something. “That I wasn’t there for you as soon as I should have been.”

“Why weren’t you?” You ask, although you know. 

“I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m not– I’m not right. I’m not well.” And this costs him more than the rest, you can see. The thump, thump, beat of his heart in his throat. You should tell him to stop, mercy is power, but you think, feel, that this pound of flesh you’re demanding via his truths is what you’re owed for your life and a year of waiting. And anyways, you’ll pay your own pound of flesh in kind eventually, and it’ll cost, even if it’s freely given, it’ll still cost. Everything is equal here, it’s only that it takes a certain kind of eye to realize the truth of that. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything, what I am, the whole thing of it and this. It’s all wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know.” And he looks suddenly angry, aged, wearing all his years and all his very obvious loneliness, teeth bared but on the verge of falling out.

“No…” you say slowly, thinking, rationalizing, a rolodex of truths in your mind. What you are, what I am, what we all are and all the honesties that compromise us. “I don’t, but I understand anyway. They make you all nothing, as well, don’t they? They take it all away, all nothing until you have one of us. It’s a terrible way to live.” And you don’t ask him, it’s not a question, only a very obvious thing. 

Your words upset him, put him right at the mouth of madness, all those shakes and jitters returned, but you only lay your head back down on the soft pillow he’d tucked beneath you, hands folded undercheek to wait for the explosion that does not come. There’s something in you that wants to see him angry, angry like Leo, like the boy who’d said you didn't have to be what they told you to be, that reminded you that you could choose for yourself. One of the few things you’d agreed on, despite and inspite of the friendship that they would not let you have but that would have blossomed anyways if they’d given you the time. They wanted to make you nothing, but you didn’t want to be nothing. You wanted very much to be alive and to belong. 

You realize, watching Joel muzzle his nature before your very eyes, wondering if the truth of him would have him springing up out of the chair to smother you with his weight and temper you with his knot, subdued with his teeth sunken into the gland at the back of your neck, that you want to see him angry. You realize that you want to see him break, that you want to hear that truth no matter what it costs the either of you. You want to see him honest. 

He struggles, a dog fight right before your eyes, but when he wins, it changes the game, turns the truth chimeral. Makes you see him in a different way, and all at the same time, makes you aware and even more comfortable than you’d already been. You’re safe here. He is safe. Most importantly, you want to be here. 

“Let me show you your room,” he says after a deep breath. 

“My room?” A little seedling of dread and sadness and disappointment. 

He shows you to a bedroom hued in soft blues. The sea when it is gentle, the sky when it’s joyous. Everything comfortable, nothing white, like he’d known already. 

He stands awkwardly at the mouth of the entry, as if scared to step foot into this serene pool of azure and marr it’s peace. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you move around, no shoes, no socks, slowly running your fingers over all the soft surfaces, sweaty little toes sunken into the deep pile of the rug underfoot. 

“I wanted you to have somewhere to adjust– where you’d have privacy. I’m sure this– that I– that it’s all a shock…” he stutters.

One of his boots inches forward, snaps back, like he wants to follow, like he needs to follow, like nature is right here in the room with the two of you, but he wins that dog fight again, holds back. Frustrating. 

“I’m not shocked. But I– I won’t stay with you?”

“No,” he says with a finality that makes that seedling bloom in full. “I also got you clothes. And– and soft things. I know your sort–”

You give a soft huff of air through your nose, my sort… our sort.

“Like things like that. And I also… I also put some of my own things in the drawers,” he nods towards a dark mahogany dresser shoved up against the wall; shy and boyish and hesitant all wrapped into a package that would seem to be none of those things. “They say that helps.”

“Okay… thank you.” 

“Went into town to get it,” he says of the robin's eggshell blue duvet, a more dove gray blue wash for the silk soft sheets beneath. It’s all beautiful and delicate and lace trimmed and looking at him, huge and rough and something like a lonely mountain, you can’t believe he’d chosen this for you. “Lady at the store said you’d like it when I picked it out.” And that makes satisfaction smother the seedling, yes, he’d chosen it for you. A good sign. 

“You went into town to get me things?”

“I told you I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.” Something about the sentence tickles your mind, but then you’re lowering yourself onto the cloud soft bed, cool silk and cotton beneath your skin, sliding against his clothes, your belly glows bright. You’re full of distractions and truth. “There’re a couple of young women that live down aways.” Young women? You perk up at the thought. Friends? “Ellie and Dina. Two young alphas, and they’re good people. I’ll take you down to meet them soon, when you’re ready.”

“Two alphas?”

“They’re a couple.”

“Like– like in love?”

He hovers at the edge of the rug with that strange look in his eyes again, the one from before – I’m only an omega, you don’t have to be afraid of me – and a palpable desperation to cross the border you don’t think he’s even aware he’s letting you in on, but that you can see nonetheless. Two fingers tucked into the line of his belt, twisted there as if grasping for restraint. 

“Yeah, they’re together.”

“I didn’t know alphas could do that… that they’d let you.”

“Reckon it’s why they came all the way out here, to be honest, for freedom. But ‘course they can – be together, that is. We can do what we please, despite what they’d have us believe.” And Leo’s words ring in your mind again. Perhaps everyone sees the truth of what you are except for you. The seedling grows vines, suffocates. All the hope you’d thought would live here seems to have never even existed at all. You feel, for the first time, heavy with all the things you do not know, all the things you lack, all the inexperience and naivety like ignorance thick and cloying in your blood. “From what I understand, Dina presented late, after they’d already gotten together. And by that time it was a done deal, they were in love, no going back. And anyway, they make it work, make it look easy as nothin’, to be frank.” He runs a big hand over the back of his skull, and the way he lifts his arm has the thick of his bicep bunching, fat ball of muscle just there for your teeth to sink into. You shift restlessly on the bed. 

“Easy as nothin’,” you say slowly, trying to imitate the dip and pitch of his drawl. Your fingertip follows the line of stitching in the duvet, petting at the seams holding it together. “Is that how we’ll be too?” And although you mean the words, intend the question, you’re suddenly awash with shy regret for asking, even though you can’t say exactly why. Probably for the look on his face, which goes immediately dark and serious, and even yet, you persist. “Will it be easy for us too?” And you’re sure your voice must sound like you’re begging. 

“No. It won’t. It won’t be like that between us. You’ll stay here as long as it takes for you to acclimatize to being out of that place,” that place, he says like a curse, and it makes you angry, “To bein’ out in the world, and then we’ll find somewhere for you. Somewhere that’s safe and comfortable where you’ll be able to make your own life.”

“I don’t– I don’t understand,” you tell him, but it’s a lie. You do understand, you see, and very clearly, that all you’d waited for during your life, the before, the not life, the extra year, it had all been in vain, for nothing. It would not be given to you here. 

“What don’t you understand?” And his tone is cruel and spitting, making you flinch. “I’m sending you away soon. This is what I’m saying.”

“But I don’t– No–” You’d waited so long. He’s being so mean, and you tell him so. 

“Yes. You need to be with people your own age. You need to see the world and grow up,” and what a horrible thing to say, you think – to grow up. As if it were not a thing you’d been forced to do already all on your own, without anyone to help you.

“Well then what do you care about what I need? You make no sense!” And you bare your teeth at him. “If you don’t want me–” 

But he cuts you off, broad palm held up in a staying gesture, and it’s so incongruous with all the rest of it, that you want to laugh in his face. “Didn’t say I don’t want’cha.” And that frown again, he makes no sense, the tip of his boot makes landfall in the high piled rug, halfway in, hypnotized and compelled in full. You settle on the bed and feel very calm despite the too fast beat of the thing that moves and lives within you, despite your anger and confusion. 

And through the beat and the heat and the sweat on your neck, despite the shyness you’ve forgotten is shyness right at this moment, but that you’re sure will return later because this is what you are and this is what you were made for: him. You ask, “Then are you going to knot me now?” Because if he’s going to send you away, then surely he’ll give you that before you go, surely he’ll still want that from you. 

He splutters, going all red in the face as if the notion of a young omega asking the experienced alpha she’s been presented with to do that most basic thing his nature demands, is something out of the ordinary. “What? No– no.” But despite his supposed refusal, he takes two steps forward towards you. Venturing further onto the soft piled rug, leaving large crushing footprints in his wake. 

“Later then?” You ask very pragmatically.

“No. Absolutely not. There will be no knotting.”

You shake your head at him, small frown between your brows, but still feeling calm despite the tragedy. Forcing that horrible seedling down into submission, the vines smothering all your hope. “But what do you mean?” And you feel like a child. 

“I’m not going to fuck you. We aren’t doin’ any of that. You’re too– you’re too young, practically a girl.” A child. He has an accent that thickens with agitation, the ends of his words sluicing off between his tongue and teeth and anger while he hurts you.

“You don’t want me,” you say, and it isn’t a question anymore, only an obvious thing.

His eyes go very dark, and you want to turn away, look back at the edge of the world and the bright glow of the sun being swallowed by it. “I don’t want that.” And the way he spits the words hurts, making you a thing impossible to desire.  

“You don’t want me,” again, repeated, so the both of you can bask in the truth of it. 

But it snaps something in the room, or in him, or amidst the honesty being brought out here and now. He takes two ground-eating steps forward to loom over you aggressively, forcing you to fall back on your elbows, looking up at him wide eyed but still inexplicably not afraid, only a greater thing than what can be called merely disappointed. And yet, not disappointed enough to not notice the way one of his knees presses against the inside of one of yours. “I should get to have a fucking choice too, shouldn’t I? Like you, locked away in that horrible place–”

“It wasn’t horrible,” you try and say, but you don’t think he hears.

“The way you had all your choices and freedoms stripped. Shouldn’t I also be allowed to have one single goddamn thing?” Where else would I have gone if not there? “A choice – to say, no, stop, I don’t want this.” He’s so angry, and it is all suddenly so clear, and he finally grabs you, pulling you up by the bend of your elbow, the small joint almost crushed in his massive fist to pull you halfway up off the bed and towards him, getting in your face with all his anger. 

Leo’s voice again, you don’t have to be what they tell you to be, you can choose for yourself. This is what Joel wants too. 

“You can’t end up stuck out here at the end of the world with some washed up old alpha who can’t give you a quarter of what you need and deserve. I won’t let you. I won’t,” he snarls.

But despite your greenness, your naivety or your ignorance or your youth, you think: how dare he? “And what about what I want? What about my choices? Or are you going to be just like all the rest of them? Like the whole world telling me I’m too insignificant and too stupid to decide for myself? Just locked away in another cage–” You spit at him, trying to claw and shove at him, stubby nails digging at the sun pebbled skin of his throat, yanking at his too long hair and patchy beard, inadvertently pulling yourself closer to him. He grunts, struggling to take you in hand, slippery thing you can make yourself into when you really want, and you, trying your mightiest to hurt him any way you can as he’s already decided he’s going to hurt you with his rejection. “Is that what you are? Just like all the rest of them?” You cry amidst your struggle, choked with tears and being too little to be effective but too big for your own skin. 

You shove at his jaw, trying to scratch at his cheek, but he grips you full around either arm, locking you in place and gives you a swift but measured jerk, jostling you into submission, trapping your hands bent as they are up by his neck so that one small palm is sliding to the back of his nape, over the gland behind his ear, at that soft vulnerable hollow, and coming to rest at the one in back, at the base of his neck beneath his collar. Both of you go still as stone, frozen by the truth of what you both are and how inescapable it all is, reality held in the palm of your hand.

Obvious: a designation is not a thing you can ever hide. Alphas and omegas wear it on their bodies like markers. Glands scattered at different places: behind the ears, at the base of the neck, inside the wrists and ankles; vulnerabilities that when acknowledged, bitten, seal a mating bond. Places that if handled properly, turn you into nothing but what you are at your basest nature. And you can’t help yourself – at the feel the spongy patch of skin, slightly raised and slightly rougher than the rest of him, a place that when in rut or in heat, would become, will become, extra sensitive, extra swollen, extra ripe – when you slowly slide your fingers against it, feeling the texture of it, the way it’s even hotter than the already sweltering rest of him. 

He growls low and rumbling in his chest, that sound again, and he’s so angry, it’s painted all over his face in shades of defiance; coming off of him like radiation, angry at you, angry at the truth of what you both are, angry at himself and the world and all of it, but he pulls you closer anyways, tugging your forward by his grip on your arms which is starting to mimic the ache you’re suffering at that place between your legs you long to show him, pulling you in so that the tips of your breasts, covered beneath his thick sweater and the too thin, soft bra they gave all the omegas who needed them, brush against the thick of his chest, pulling a soft breath of a moan from your tongue.

“You’re being so mean to me,” you whisper. “And I don’t deserve it. And I waited so long for you and you never came for me, and now this is how you’re treating me,” you say with a hiccup and a tear, and you feel little and big and that place that calls for him pulses and hurts and leaks. He’s so mean and you’re so sad and you want him and you can’t understand why he’s being this way when you were made for him and he for you, and if nothing else was right in this world, then this was the thing that was supposed to be. 

His eyes shift quickly back and forth between both of yours, that frown, mouth turned down, his mustache that connects to the patchiness of his beard showing how contrary he finds you. You frown back at him, trying to pull away, whining when he tightens, pulls you closer, right up to his face as if he needs to inspect you even more closely. Your toes aren’t touching the rug anymore, scraping against the thick round of his boots, and you won’t have it. You’ll give him a piece of your mind, you’ll show him. “You think that because I’m little and young and easily bruised that I’m not in control.” It’s not a question. If you could grow fangs, you would. If you could rip him to shreds, you would. “That I can’t control you. But I made you come for me, didn’t I?” Now you laugh at him, now you show him. “I knew if I wrote to you, you’d come, and you did. I made you come. I made you.” And saying it feels like victory, so you don’t care that it makes his face crack, you don’t care that he pushes away from you, letting you fall back onto the bed with a limp bounce, storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You don’t give a thistle for choices. You want to be selfish, you want to be alive, you want to see the sky. You have the sea now, and you want to be this thing you are because this is already you, this is what you were made into, and you have no choice but to bask in it, and you won’t bend to him or give it up for him only because he can’t accept the same of himself, only because he’s still trapped in his own white box. 

-

He knows, as soon as you make whatever stupid decision it is that you’re making, that something’s off. A shift in the air in the house, his heart beating funny, his scent changing because his body knows you’re not in its immediate vicinity anymore, something that tells him off, off, off, be vigilant, she needs you so much, you can’t fail again. He reminds himself of all the decisions he’s already made, of what he knows he wants and does not want, of what he is and what he is not. 

After he’d stormed out of your room – I made you – he’d retreated to hide in his own bedroom, to the other big chair by the fireplace in here, cowering like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, forcing himself to listen to you cry for hours, the whine and whimper of an omega in need of something he was made to give, and yet will not. As if a little thing like you could make him do anything. Him. He grits his teeth, chews on his own tongue, digs his fingers into the arms of the chair to force himself to remain seated in place, to not return to you, to not give you all the things he knows you need and want to be soothed by. 

He can smell your scent changing already, reacting to him, reducing him to nothing, entirely effective in your conquering. And he’d stupidly thought that perhaps the heat, and the rut that it would yield, would wait, give him a moment of reprieve or compassion before it came for him. A moment to think. He thought he’d have more time, a chance to escape the thing he so desperately wants but cannot and will not let himself have, refuses to give in to. His body stirs and smolders, and like he’d done for eleven years and then one, he ignores it. He ignores the truth of who and what he really is. 

He sits in his chair, head propped up against the back, and listens to your cries and mewls ebb and quiet until finally, he thinks you might have sobbed yourself to sleep. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the absolute last thing he could ever, ever want. Everything, not only in his nature, but in his character, in the things that make him up as a man who’d want a woman like you, is clamoring within him to go to you, to give you what you want, to sooth you with his voice and his scent and his cock. To fuck you into your heat until you’re soft and slick and fevered enough to take his knot, to let him breed you, to let him mate you. His cock stirs and thickens beneath the rough confines of his jeans, that thicket of skin at the base where his knot waits in ready for you, simmering with heat and tightness. He digs his knuckles into his temple until it hurts. 

You don’t want me… Of course he fucking wants you. He’d have taken your cunt for himself right there in that white box room, on your rickety little iron cot for all the surrounding omegas and witless betas to hear without giving a single shit what anyone said or thought if he had any sort of right or will or choice. If he had anything more to give you. And then watching you go right to sleep when he’d brought you into his home, the sight of you feeling so immediately safe and content, ready to nest amongst his things and his scent – that feeling of having within himself the things that he needs to be what he is – indescribable. 

Pretty little omega – and truly, you’re so pretty. All he’d never let himself imagine or desire or hope for. He’s too old, past his prime and forgotten by the world, but he’s still a man with a working cock, still an alpha, even if only in the simplest of ways. Of course he wants you. 

He lets himself languish miserably before the fire, eyes going hazy with exhaustion, the comedown of adrenaline, the presence of warm omega all around him, the taste of your pre-heat scent coating his tongue and throat. He pulls his socks off and lets the heat of the fire warm his feet and thinks he should’ve given you his room instead, let you sleep in his bed, near the fireplace, between his sheets and amongst his scent. He can sleep out in the dirt for all he matters as long as you’re comfortable. And the rational part of his brain wants to laugh at the thought, sitting here alone, realizing that despite his battling, his nature will always win out in the end, that all this fight really means shit. His cock gives a faint throb, his deflated knot rhythmically pulsing in time with his heart, ready to swell and claim what everyone including nature, but excluding Joel, has said belongs to him. Of course he wants you. And if he’s honest, or a fucking liar, he can’t really say which, all his truths and deceptions have become so muddled within his own mind, his past and his present and this future he’s never thought he wanted or had a right to, the year of waiting was more a form of self punishment, restraint as proof of fear, than anything to do with you. 

Anger, yes, that everything had been decided for him for so long. That he isn’t even allowed to decide what he is, what he wants. But fear, more than anything, that interminable curse of failure he’s so haunted by and so afraid of. How could nature ever look at him and think him strong enough to take on the role of caretaker, protector, alpha – whatever it is that you need him to be, the whole world in the eye of a young and untried omega – when he can hardly stand the sight of his own face in the mirror? There’s nothing but tragedy setting the stage the two of you stand posed on. 

Finally, your cries fade to soft hiccups, and then a peculiar silence he doesn't trust. He waits, ears peeled, his head turned slightly towards the cracked open door of his bedroom, sensing the shift in scent and after a few beats of too loud silence, a thud and a huff, the music of a little mind thinking too loudly and mischievously for its own good. Even the wind seems to blow differently as if it knows you’re scampering about amidst it now, vulnerable to its lashings, and he’s shooting up out of his chair and charging through the house. By the door, he realizes his boots are gone, stolen from where he’d dropped them discarded after he’d left you in your room to cry your salt tears. He forgoes a coat and his flannel, braving the icy wind in nothing but his white undershirt, stepping silent but no less frantic out onto the deck. The truck is dark and quiet, still in its usual spot, and this quells his fear minutely. It occurs to him that you likely don’t even know how to drive. 

But when he comes around the western facing corner of the house, it’s worse than he could’ve imagined, and the scar slashed across his right temple suddenly zings like copper, burns like fire at the sight of you. You are, for some inexplicable reason, crawling on all fours, towards the edge of the cliffside. And he’s frozen solid for a second, shocked and terrified, and then moving forward like lightning, tripping over his own two feet and breath before he realizes you’re right at the very edge now, and he needs to move very fucking carefully to ensure he doesnt send you spilling in fright over the edge. 

He alters his movements, continues forward slowly, his bare feet over the freezing ground and sharp bric-a-brac of the forest floor, the slabs of stone turning to ice as he nears the edge, and he watches the uncoordinated wallop of your movements, banging your knee with a small yelp, as you crawl like a slow and drunken spider in his too big clothes, dragging his too big boots around your ankles, to the very edge of the cliff side, slowly lowering yourself to plop down with your head and arms hanging over the edge. 

He pauses about ten feet away from you and waits for your next move, but you lie still, quarter part of you draped over the edge of the cliff, and he realizes that you’re watching the water far below crash against the rocks. 

“Sweetheart,” he calls slow and gentle, crouching down low so that his voice travels along the ground where you lay. “Sweetheart, what’re you doin’?” You start, turning back towards him, one palm coming to the edge of the rock to shove yourself up to peer back at him, rock pebble spraying out over the void with your movement, and his heart and stomach lurch to his throat, almost gagging at the terror. Your eyes are hazy and bright, and he recognizes the beginnings of the fever, it’s tendrils wrapping themselves around you, making you a little confused, a lot needy, and he’s so fucking stupid, he should’ve never left you alone. But he hadn’t thought it’d come on this fast, that you’d affect each other so. 

“I wanna go down there,” you call over the small hill of your shoulder, turning back to peer down at the beach. You point down at the shoreline with your other hand, wagging your finger as to emphasize what it is you want.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s going to have a goddamn heart attack. “Alright, baby. Come back here, I’ll take you down. Let’s go together.” You mumble something, arm flopping out, waving him away. “Please, sweetheart, come back here with me,” he begs, and there must be something in his tone, he’s sure, because you turn full back at that, looking at him suspiciously like you remember his earlier words of rejection and no longer trust him now. 

“I’m glowing, sir. I need to feel the sea and the cold.” Your voice sounds not your own, like it comes surfing off the wind to his ears. 

“Not, sir. Joel. Only Joel, remember?”

You push yourself up, moving to sit back on your knees, but still right at the edge, still too close. Sweat slides slick and frigid down his spine, the complete opposite of what you must be feeling right now. Only Joel. Only Joel, he hears you mutter at the sea. “There isn’t anything only about you. Leave me alone. Go away–”

“Please, baby. Come back here. Let’s go inside, I’ll give you the sea, I promise. Just come over here – with me.” You turn back at that, shifting on your knees to face him. If you lose your balance, stumble, you’ll topple back over the edge. He just needs to be good enough for you to want to come to him, convincing enough. He puts his palm out towards you, all supplication now. “Come here, sweet thing. I’ll show you the sea, I promise I will.” You start your slow spider crawl back towards him and his scar burns, a sharp pain through his brain, piercing behind his eye, heart beat to death between his ribs. As soon as he gets his hands on you, he’s going to fucking throttle you, he promises. But he’s almost got you, and he dares not move, barely even breathes, his hand is shaking so badly it interrupts his view of you on every other painful heartbeat, and he realizes his eyes are blurry with terrified tears, and suddenly, that anger doesn’t matter even half an ounce as much anymore because then you’re here and crawling into his arms, up into his lap so that he’s falling back onto his ass on the cold, hard ground. He pulls you into himself, clumsy little spider legs wrapping around his waist, your arms going around his neck so that you’re clinging to him. 

One of his boots lies lost and discarded back by the edge of the cliff.

“Please, don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

“I’m glowing,” you sigh into his neck.

“I know you are, baby. It’s okay, we’ll fix it.” He feels you nuzzle at his collarbone, his neck, the gland, already sensitive and swollen behind his ear, already, already, already, God help me, and his heart feels like it’s beating so hard he can feel it move through your chest cavity and reverberate against his hand on your back. Christ, it wasn't supposed to happen this quickly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have more time, more choices, more control. The wet of your lips mouthing at his skin, and then the peek of your tongue tasting his gland, and he rumbles deep in his chest, his mind going loose and slacken like an old rubber band, and then snapping back to clarity at your surroundings. Cold wind and now the beginning sprinkling of needle freezing rain, your shivers jittering into his chest.

“We gotta go inside – let’s get up,” he murmurs into your ear, unable to resist nosing at your hair, the small, freezing cold seashell hidden within. 

Wait, wait– and then the scrape of small, blunt edged teeth just there at the vulnerable patch of skin. He swallows a scream, and the caged thing rattles and howls inside his chest, his arms going iron and binding around your back, pressing you to him, chest melded to chest. “Wait, please,” again, and now a tiny kiss. “If you don’t want me,” and he never should’ve even insinuated it, it’s the worst thing he’s ever done in his entire miserable fucking life. “Then will you please–” another soft press of lips to his jaw, the corner of his mouth. His hand slides down your spine, he can’t help himself, presses down on the base of your vertebrae, the heat of your cunt along the pulse of his cock, through cotton and denim and cold, just there, just there, he’s so fucking close. “Will you at least kiss me–” but you’re not waiting for another rejection, you’re just licking clean across the slash of his mouth, taking his bottom lip between both of yours for a shy little suck, unsure and inexperienced with desperation. And then there’s nothing caged about any of it, no more white box, no more perch at the end of the world, he squeezes you to himself so that it hurts, and he kisses you.  

Hand twisted too tightly in your dampening hair, he pulls your head back, and with a rumbling grunt sends you deep and languid into easy submission, the steady deep timber of the sound wringing the desired effect on you. You twitch once, as if he’d tugged on your strings, his pretty puppet, and then go soft and open and easily penetrated, jaw hinging open so that he can lick inside of you, tasting all you have to offer which he refuses to accept he’s actually taking and which you’re all too desperately eager to give. 

He takes it all regardless. 

Slick mouth against slick mouth, out there in the cold rain and wind, rolling around in the dirt, he tastes you the way the two of you were made for. Pulling your hips closer, rolling his up to meet all the heat you have to offer which will only get hotter and hotter the more he continues down this path. You claw at his hair, the gland at your wrist rubbing against the one at his ear, marking him with your scent and pheromones, marking him as yours. And he swears he can almost feel that glow in your belly too, a little wriggling comet in his hands, set to burst. The crescendo of your whining climbs higher, your mouth hungrier, and Joel feels insane for a second, entirely outside of himself, lost to his senses. All he is, is what you need him to be, something hard and strong and solid for you to mold yourself around, and it’s so right it’s wrong. Not what he’d planned, not what he’d decided. 

He rips his mouth away from yours, panting, forgetting his name and his sense and everything else he is besides a hard cock and a now equally smoldering belly. “Wait– wait,” he begs, burning comet, too willful to tame without teeth, surging in his arms. You rub yourself against his face, your hair sluicing through his, your soft tits against his chest, his neck, bumping his chin while you try to climb him perched in his lap like you are. “Wait, please–” he tries to sooth over your huffing whines, and then a sharp stinging little bite to his jaw line. 

No, no. 

“Stop. We have to stop, please. This isn't what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t what I want.” And you hear that. 

The comet burns out, you go still in his arms, and it feels worse than anything. He wishes he could swallow the words back immediately because then you’re pushing back and away from him. Scrambling out of his lap, escaping his arms as fast as you can. 

“You’re horrible! Get away–” He dodges a small, kicking foot – the bootless one.  And you’re stumbling to your feet, tripping over the too big shoe wrapped around your too small foot. He pushes to stand, as well, gripping you about the elbow, avoiding a weakly punching little fist now. This is truly getting too ridiculous. The two of you need to come to terms with each other, meet in the middle, forgo the theatrics you seem all too desperate for. He ducks away from another ineffectual punch, grips you by the scruff of the neck, unruly kitten that you are, and pushing you forward, hooks you under his arm, lifting you clear off the ground and rendering you entirely captured, bent in half, a wilted flower over the strong of his forearm. 

You squawk indignantly, kicking your feet against the back of his leg as he stomps over to his abandoned boot, slowly filling with rain now, fuck this shit, and trudges through the mud back to the house, ice cold droplets dripping off the tip of his nose. The two of you are well on your way to soaked, but he thinks it might not be such a bad thing, considering the ball of heat radiating from your belly, the one in his own mimicking you. It seems to pool in the palm of his hand, where he’s got you hooked and caught over his arm, honey collection of magma.

Let me go! You’re screeching. “Leave me alone! You don’t even care about me and I hate you and I want to see the water!” More kicking and clawing.

When he finally dumps you back onto your rumpled bed, undignified yelps and pathetic little growls, he’s at his wits end. Taking you firmly in hand, heavy hand back at the nape of your neck, thickly calloused palm scraping against the quickly swelling gland there, other pushing at your hip to drape you over the edge of the bed like a rag doll, he folds himself over you, smothering you with his weight and heat, forcing you into calm. You go shocked frozen, wracked with shivers and then finally, blessedly still and quiet. This was all you needed, for Joel to follow his instincts. 

He presses you into the bed with his too heavy weight, thick arms caged around your head, pert little ass tucked up against his pelvis, and he breathes you in, lets you settle. 

“You need to behave,” he rumbles, and all you do is sigh bleary eyed and exhausted by your own willfulness. “You’re not to go outside all alone at night like that again, do you understand me? And you are especially, never, ever, to go that close to the cliff edge again.”

“But the sea–” you whine and shift, rubbing your little cunt against his now fully hard cock, perfect position that he’s got you in, presented to him like this. He presses tighter against you, growling deep in his chest to shut you up. 

“Promise me.” But you whine, shifting, starting to cry a little, too far gone to the start of the fever he’s done nothing to really sate. There’s still time yet, for your full heat, but these beginning symptoms, they need to be soothed just as well, tempered just as diligently as the full blown heat would be. If for nothing else, than for the sake of the omegas' comfort and happiness. He bends his knees, shoving the thick of his erection up against the apex of your thighs, pressing you further up onto the bed and tighter beneath him, and nosing through the mantle of your hair, he finds the gland at the back of your neck beneath the collar of his sweater and bites down gently. Not breaking skin, only giving you teeth to feel, to be soothed by, that blunt clasp that’ll dull your own sharp edges for now. 

He laves his tongue along the scorching patch of skin, the texture different to the rest of you, different, even, to his own glands, like silk, like water, something liquid about the feel of you here beneath his tongue and teeth. You let out a terrible little sound that has the threads of his control snapping, providing cause for concern, and he growls softly, pleased, in response. It’s a sound of submission and acceptance and praise, from the both of you equally, all at the same time. He lets you settle like this, petting at you with his tongue, giving you the scraping edge of his teeth like a threat, every so often. Grinding, because honestly he can’t even fucking help it, against that scorching little cunt he knows would already, even now, be so soft for him. Perhaps, not soft enough yet, not ripe enough yet, to take his knot and everything else he wants to force on it, but soft enough for him to teach you how to take a good fucking. 

A virgin, never even had a heat before, and trapped here between his teeth and beneath his cock. It would all be so easy, it would all feel so right. 

But that is, Joel thinks, just the thing of it. It would feel right – but would it be right? He can’t yet tell. 

You cloud his judgment, seduce his nature into wanting to give you everything and anything you could ever even think to ask for, and he can’t yet tell if it’s just you, that sparkle and that light and that heat like a comet that lives inside of you that he’s coming to suspect is wholly yours, nothing to do with biology or designations or markers that tell of what you should and should not be, that’s got him so desperate to please you. Or if it’s only nature, trying to force him into another choice he’s not made for himself. 

-

You wake slowly, disturbed out of your sleep the way one feels when they’re being spied on by something too large and too scary to look at right in the eye. 

You shift in the blue bed, cool and calm now, all that glowing heat from before that’d forced you out into the cold and the wind, hungry to throw yourself through space and time out into the sea, reckless and free, gone away now. All you feel as your eyes blink open slowly, is a shivery, damp cold rattling down the line of your spine. The room around you is dark, the glow of the slumbering fire out in the living room peeking in through the slightly left ajar door of your bedroom. 

He’d stayed until you’d gone boneless and calm, trapped beneath his weight and between his thick strong arms, letting you suck on the gland inside his wrist as you’d pleased. And when finally, you’d been just on this side of awake, he’d changed your clothes and slid you beneath the soft sheets and weighted duvet, and sat in the cozy sofa chair by the window until you’d been too exhausted by the embers in your tummy and the tight want between your legs to fight sleep any longer. 

The chair sits cold and empty now, and above it, the wide window, the pitch black of the world beyond is bright with unknown terrors, and you huddle into your nest of pillows and blankets, hiding beneath the edge of the duvet. 

You’d never had a window in your bunk, had not experienced the night in years and years, and looking at it now, put on display as it is through the clear pane of glass separating you from all of that unknown, you feel suddenly terrified, nothing but little. It feels as if you were to look away from it, it’d reach through the glass and pluck you out of your bed, whisk you far enough away that he’d never be able to find you, come for you again, and also, like if you don’t stop looking, it’ll eventually begin to look back. You wiggle backwards, bum finding the edge of the bed, and then sliding out, feet first, gaze still peeled on the window and the night, walking backwards out of your room and pulling the door shut on your way. At the very last moment, you peek through the sliver of the door edge and frame, nothing but your nose remaining in the blue room, and you swear the night stares back now. 

You shut the door with a snick, and turn to rush on tipped toes in search of his room. 

He’s sleeping on his back, one thick arm thrown over his head, the other laying across his belly, and you peer over the edge of the bed, hands clasped beneath your chin, watching the up and down of his breathing, the flicker of his eyes beneath his lids. He has long eyelashes and funny whiskers and hair everywhere. Under his arms, and across his chest and his belly, leading down below the sheet covering him, to the thick lump there, that place you don’t know yet, but do understand. He’s hairy, and he’s big, and the aching place you want to show him comes awake in response to all this man you have before you. And although the house is warm, the fires stoked diligently to keep you as toasty as you need, another shiver runs its way down your back. So taking hold of one of his thighs, you hoist yourself up onto his too tall bed, knobby knee stabbing him in the side as you climb on top of him, planting yourself right in the middle of his broad expanse. He gives a rough grunt, shocked awake by the little creature climbing its way all over him, hands shooting out to steady you by the hips as he jerks startled. 

“What in the Sam Hell–” You ignore his spluttering, rubbing your bottom against his stomach, finding a comfortable position to drape yourself over him, wilting like a felled weed snuggled up against his chest, tucked just below his chin, giving an entirely contented sigh when you settle. “What the fuck’re you doin’?” He has such a nasty mouth. Someone should wash it with soap for him. 

He tries to roll over, but you cling, bearing your sharp little teeth to latch at his collarbone, holding tight, refusing to be shoved away again. “M’cold–” you fuss, chewing and slobbering all over him as you pull yourself closer, hitching a knee over his hip, burrowing your foot between the bed and his back. 

“You have t’go back to your bed. You can’t sleep here.”

You whine, chewing harder, and he grumbles, but his hands slide from your hips to your back in a soothing pass and you slick your tongue against the flavors of his skin. He tastes so good, and he smells so good, and in a tiny voice you know will get you what you want, you say, “The window is too big and it’s so dark. I’m scared, alpha.”

He groans, grip going tight and strangling around you, fists bunching in the oversized clothes he’d swaddled you in after he’d dried the rain and outdoor chill off of you before putting you to bed. “Can’t I just stay here? I promise I’ll be good like you told me to,” and you nuzzle against him, making sure to thoroughly cover him in the headiness of your scent. Everything is so warm and right, and he’s so thick and comfortable and strong everywhere, perfect for laying on top of like this. The hair on his chest is prickly, tickling your face where you rub yourself against it, and he rumbles low, a deep sort of purring sound that you feel vibrate in your tummy, big wolfish man that he is, but his grip goes loose and soft after a while, stroking and soothing and petting along your slopes and planes. Convinced. Ha. 

You hold very still, breathe very slow, make sure not to spook the beast while he accepts the fact of you here atop him until he finally says, already sleepy and relaxed again, “Alright… but you’ll behave like I said.” And eventually he rolls the two of you over, little omega barnacle that you’ve turned yourself into, and tucks you into his warm side. 

The third time you wake to him, there’s fire everywhere. And an ache in your womb so sharp it sends shivers through your whole body. You cling and grind and tremble; forget your name, where you are, nothing more than that sticky throb in that place that you want to give to him so, so badly. 

He’s draped atop you, heavy arm caging you in, thick chest covering your back, smothering you between incredible strength and, soft, Joel smelling sheets. You cup the ball of his bicep, it’s big and hard and hot, and drag your palm along the thick slope. He’s so strong, he could crush you, hurt you, make you into anything he wanted, and you want all those things, you think. You want him to do whatever he wants if only he’ll make the ache go away. Fire and glowing bright heat everywhere, most of all your belly, your heart, somewhere so deep inside you’d never known it existed until he’d come and made you aware of it. 

Your fingers slide along his wide forearm, hairy here too, thick wrist, hard, strong bone beneath, and then the soft spot on the inside that belongs to you now. You stick your tongue out, tasting the spongy patch, scraping your teeth along it. If you bite him, you’ll be able to keep him forever, he won’t be able to send you away, but there still remains – even if just for a little bit longer, before the heat you’ve been waiting your whole life and a year for to finally take you – a part of you that’s still rational, head only halfway gone to the clouds. That part which reminds you that more than anything, you want him to choose you. Without the bite as a deal breaker, bond sealer, only because he wants you, only because he likes you. 

But you can taste him, it doesn’t mean you have to bite him, and you the tip of run your tongue along the inside of his wrist, gently suckling at his gland, the flavor of him so much stronger here, as if his essence is more concentrated at this small place. And the ache between your legs, in your tummy, deepens, spreads and blooms and ravages. The inside of you feels sensitive and swollen and big and little all at once, and you shift your bottom, trying to rub yourself back up against him, your sucking mouth pulling sharper, a whine bubbling in your throat because you need something, something more, and you think you know, and you know you understand, but you’re not sure, and if he could just wake up and show you it would all be so much better.

You press back harder, arching so that the aching place feels the heat of him behind you, that hard ridge there that makes your heart pound all through your body. You’d shucked off your leggings and the sweater he’d put you in through the night, too hot and sweaty with the big beast smothering you as he’d been, so now you’re left in nothing but one of his too big t-shirts and the soft, cotton white panties all the omegas always wore. You whine again, gnawing on his wrist for real now, and a big paw of a hand comes up to wrap around your hip, stilling your wriggling. You feel him lean closer, burying his face in the back of your hair, groaning, hot bullish breath fanning across your nape. He rumbles deep and it only makes you feel worse, more desperate, more hungry for that thing you don’t know how to ask for. You want to cry his name, beg him, but your tongue feels fat and swollen inside your mouth, too full of blazing heat to form actual words. He just has to know, he just has to be able to tell. 

“I know,” he mumbles against your nape, nosing around to your ear where he presses his mouth. “I know, it’s alright.” You gurgle again, pulling his wide palm to cover your face completely, nuzzling against his rough palm, muffling your pathetic animal sounds of supplication. It’s okay, it’s okay, you can hear him murmuring and you’re not sure who the words are for, but you feel certain they’re not for you. He’s scared, you know this. Between all the things you’re so uncertain of, this you’re sure of. He’s afraid, and it’s your job to reassure him, to show him how well it will all be once the two of you come together. 

You push your face harder into his palm, and you feel him hook his fingers into the elastic of your panties, tugging the soft fabric wide, tugging them down your legs, and there’s that same need, yes, that comet bright glowing heat, but also, and something you can recognize as more your usual self, a desperate sort of shyness. Something coming unraveled and unspooled for the whole world, him, to see. You can feel the slick uncoveredness at the apex of your thighs, running down your legs, a blossom of heat and vulnerability there at that place, the core of you, and it doesn’t feel shameful, necessarily, but painfully exposed. Your softest place bared for him to see. And yet, alongside that, the knowledge that this soft place is only for him, that you only ever want it to be for him, and so this can, again, be nothing but right. 

“Look at all this slick you’ve made for me, what a sweet girl you are.” There’s such reassurance in the timber of his voice, it makes the heat change, something swirling but steady, constant. You spread your own palm against the back of his hand covering your face, line your fingers along the backs of his, little and big, matched alongside each other, and you press his fingers against your forehead, squishing your nose against his palm, Hiding there in the cup of his hand from the whole world and him, waiting for this truth of yourself to finally be revealed to you. 

His palm strokes along your bare thigh, I know, I know, he keeps saying, and they’d told you all that your alphas would know, that they’d show you, and there’s reassurance in this, that some part of what’s happening is unfolding as they said it would. It makes you feel not so small, not so untried and naive. You try and lay as still as possible, willing the flames into patience, breathing in your own hot breath from the cup of his palm. I know it hurts, we’ll make it better, I promise. He shifts behind you, the rustling of fabric, and then his hand on your bottom again, moving in a slow circular motion, steady and reassuring. He moves to your leg again, lifts it and then something hot and hard and big, coming to rest on your inner thigh, and he lets your leg down, starts the soothing rub of your bottom again. 

“We’re gonna go so slow, alright. Only a little at a time and not the whole thing today. We gotta wait for your heat to settle in all the way, time it all right so that my rut doesn’t start before you’re ready to take me. How does that sound, sweetheart?” But your tongue is still fat, your words still jumbled and missing, and all you really want to ask is if he’s changed his mind now, if he’s finally decided he wants you, and you think you’re crying, sipping salt water from the palm of his hand. “I know I wasn’t how you needed me yesterday, and I’m sorry for that.” He presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder, hand sliding up your hip to your waist, dragging his shirt along as he goes, uncovering you for himself. And you feel so intensely, that you belong to him, and you can’t understand how he could have ever not felt the same way. 

You hitch an agonized little sob, muffled by his hand, and he rolls slightly so you’re half draped atop his chest, his palm rubbing soothing circles low on your belly now. And forcing you out of your hiding place, he pulls your face back to look at him, gripped around your jaw. His face is very serene, and this settles you, makes the words he’s saying clearer, more meaningful. “Can you hear me silly thing, or can all you think about is taking a cock right now?” You scrunch your nose at him, you know that word, it’s his hard thing between your legs. 

“It’s so heavy, alpha,” you sniffle, feeling the weight of it pressing against you there. 

He nods, warm look in his eyes that crease at the edges. “That’s how it’s going to feel inside you, baby.”

“The knot?” A seedling blooms again, this one very different now, full of hope once more. You realize you’ve found your missing words. 

He shakes his head, not yet, and drags his palm up the inside of your thigh, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you want to complain that he moves so slow, that he needs to do something else, you don’t know what, but something. You want to click your teeth at him, bite him again, anything to make him go. 

And then: “Drippy little girl,” and he’s finally there and a moan that’s almost a scream because he’s cupping a place that is so unbearably sensitive and raw and full of heat and wet like you’d never known was possible. 

Oh, oh, ah, ah, ah. “It’s alright,” he says, rubbing gently back and forth, a slick sound that is loud and embarrassing coming from between your legs. “It’s alright. This’ll help for now. We won’t go inside.” And he grips the heavy thing, his cock, in his own palm that’s all slick from your leaking and presses it against you. He rolls over completely now, shifting higher in the bed so that you’re sitting full on top of him, back to chest, bum to belly, and he spreads your thighs wide with his other hand, pulling your shirt up to bare all your nakedness for him to see. You wonder if he can also see all that burning shyness you’re suddenly so chock full of. 

“Look at these pretty little tits,” he murmurs, cupping one small morsel in his palm, squeezing so that you’re arching against him, mouth agape like a fish, trying to find sounds that seem to have suddenly gone missing once again. “That’s right, I know.” He moves to the other one, squeezes and pinches and shakes it so that it jiggles in the cup of his hand. All the while he strokes his cock between your legs, pulling his hips back every so often so that it slides against you, coating it in all that wet slick you’re spilling for him. 

You look down at the place where it juts out between your thighs, and it’s so big. Dark and angry looking at the end, thick and covered in veins that make it look even angrier and about to burst. You ask him if it hurts him, and he laughs a little and says it isn’t anything you can’t fix which makes you seven different shades of pleased. 

The hand at your breasts moves up to your face again, and he turns your head, searching for your eyes. “We started off badly yesterday, yes? But we’re gonna do better today. I promise.” He slides his hips back again and this time he presses harder against you, his hand flat against the underside of his cock so that the top is slicking all along you. Sensitive little cunt, he says when you tremble and shiver and keen, and that’s when you know that’s what it's called. Your cunt. That place that belongs to him, that you want to give him so badly, that you want him to want so badly but that you barely even know yourself. No more experience than the greedy, frantic digging at the soft, hot flesh beneath your hand in moments when everything had felt too tight and needy to do anything else. 

“Gonna break you in so well, baby. Gonna teach you how to come, how to fuck, how to take a knot.” And now the wide head presses against you, against a place that is so, so incredibly sensitive it almost hurts. You suck in a sharp gasp, trying to jerk away from the hurt, but he holds you in place against him, presses again, yeah, I know, yeah I know, like he’s trying to put it inside you, and yes, you think that’s what it is, that’s what you need, even if it might hurt. “You’re gonna get everything you need jus’ from me,” and his words are slurred and dripping slacken from his tongue. 

He starts to move faster, you think he’s swallowed the same stone of desperation you did, rough grunts and huffing pants, and “So fucking small, it’ll never fit.” Jesus fucking Christ. And on every slick slide forward that wide angry head of it, his cock, bumps the crest of your sex, catches at your hole. You watch it in shock as it presses in just a little, and it hurts and feels like you’re full of bubbles and everything is sticky and your tummy glows with heat. 

“Your little cunt needs this,” he grunts, the head catches, he presses, presses, pulls away, you want to bite and scratch and demand he go all the way, and you’re nothing but a pounding heart and a clenching cunt and you want more, and when he slides again it notches full on at the tiny opening, he pauses, lets it rest there before he presses not even half a centimeter further, only giving you the wide stretch of it, letting your cunt flutter and grip around the very head. 

“Look at that–” And he peers over your shoulder to look at what he’s doing to you. “Look at your tiny cunt stretching for me.”

You cry, trying to pull away, trying to shove yourself deeper, to take the whole of it like the greedy thing you are, but he holds you in place and lets you flutter and flutter and cry until something in your womb pulls tight, and with his fingers swirling at the apex of your sex, the little nub that is so sensitive it pulls a warbled, baying moan from your tongue, an ah, ah, ah, he gives you your first orgasm with him. A desperate thing, too much and not enough, and with his other hand he’s squeezing, shoving his fist along the rest of the length of his cock, pressing it hard where you meet, and then he’s feeding you a blazing heat, filling you with it, stirring your insides to flutter and shiver harder. Forcing you to cry and beg for more, “Please, please, please,” more.

“You’re not ready yet.”

And although you’re not entirely certain for what, you promise, “I am, I am, I can take it.” You know he’s supposed to put it all the way inside, that then, the knot will come. And although you’re unsure what it will specifically be like, what will become of you during or after, you know you’re ready to discover it all. 

“Not yet.” And he’s grunting it through clenched teeth, his hips churning, spitting tip grinding at your hole, something hot and thick sliding wetly all over and between the two of you. “You’ll do as I say. Your little cunt needs this, needs me to be patient with her.”

He lets the slick weight of himself fall away from you, leaving you feeling stretched and bruised and all shivery on the inside, yet still hungry for more. And he pulls his hands along the slopes of you, leaving trails of sticky wet along your skin. The proof of all you are, invisible but tangible, with a taste and a smell and a feel. 

You lay your head back on his shoulder, the heat swirls and simmers for now, and your cunt, your cunt, your cunt, you want to give it to him in full, it throbs and trembles against his slick cock. “I’ve never had a heat before,” you tell him although you know he knows. He probably knows everything there is to know about you, which, admittedly, is not much. 

“That's alright.”

“It will come soon, yes?” You peer over your shoulder to look up at him, and he nods down at you, that warm, eye creased look on his face again. You like the sight of it so much. 

“Will I go away from myself?”

“No,” he says gentle, “I won’t let you. I’ll keep you here with me. You have nothing to be anxious about.”

He rolls the two of you over, keeping you in the comfort of his embrace, and he’s huge and steaming and naked behind you. His hairy chest, his hairy legs all along the smooth and sensitive curves of you. And his thing, it’s still trapped between your thighs, heavy and sticky with your wet, and still kind of hard but not as much as before. You reach between your legs to touch it, and he jerks and hisses but lets you do as you please. Curious fingertips gently along the thick round end of it, down the long length to find two heavy and hot weights hanging lower. 

“Where is the knot?” You ask uncertainly, shy with all the things you don’t know. 

“Here,” and he grabs your hand, moving your fingers to the base of it where there’s an area of skin, of a different sort of texture, rougher, thicker, around the circumference of it. You prod gently at it, not understanding. “See, it’ll swell when it’s inside of you, and then we’ll stay connected for a time, and I’ll fill you, and that’ll help your heat. And after a while it’ll go down, until you need it again. Did they explain to you how it’ll happen?” His cock is thick between your thighs again, beneath your exploring fingers. A little harder and bigger than it was before. His body, something like a wonderful miracle you need to know everything there is to know about it.

“Yes, but not– not all the way, I don’t think. They said you’d show me.” You turn back to look at him, searching for confirmation, reassurance, but instead ask: “Why did you change your mind?” And finally, of his own choosing, he grips you by the throat, and presses a small kiss to your mouth. The greatest victory of the day, and it’s only just begun. 

“It’s exhausting, not letting yourself have what you need.” Need, not want. He shifts over you, coming up on his elbow and rolling you so that you’re on your back and looking up at him. You bring your fingers up to explore along his face: the hooked nose, soft mouth, heart brandished beard. He sighs that bull sigh, and you giggle as it tickles your throat and cheeks. Need, not want. That stings. “Fighting against what you are constantly– and you reminded me that we still have control in what we are. That there’s still choice in this, decidin’ to be what we are without resenting it. And we need each other, after all.” Need, not want. 

“I don’t think you need me.”

“No?”

“No.” The truth that you very much feel like you need him, you keep to yourself. And anyways, he knows. You know he knows. 

“M’thinkin’ I didn’t know I did. Or couldn’t say it out loud.” And he mimics your exploring fingers: thumb against the fan of your lashes, up the slope of your cheekbone, prying your mouth open to catch the edge of your bottom teeth and look inside. There’s a warm look in his eyes, like he’s pleased with you, like you’ve done a good job. “Think I’m realizin’ how wrong I was. How I want this all too.” 

Want, not need. 

He bends his head and kisses your mouth, kisses your breast, shows you how much he wants it.  

3. I Was a Child Once, I’m Not Any Longer

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[hoes4hoseok]

enhypen as the tortured poets department

pairings :: ot7 x gn!reader (if i accidentally slipped in a gender-related mistake please let me know!) genres :: angst & fluff warnings :: swearing, alcohol, mentions of food, sorta emotional cheating, reader being down bad ™️ word count :: 2.1k author’s note :: thanks to ogs @sunoosill and @fandomgirl489 for helping me hehe love you guys! also i kind of tried something new with this one, they're actual little fics this time so let's see how it's recieved 😭 that being said i lowkey hate this. i started doubting all my choices once i was like 60% done but this took an embarrassingly long time. also this is unedited because i'm sick of this draft. i hope y'all enjoy though!

ni-ki as my boy only breaks his favorite toys

“i felt more when we played pretend than with all the kens cause he took my out of my box, stole my tortured heart, left all these broken parts, told me i’m better off, but i’m not”

ni-ki swept 👏 you 👏 off 👏 your 👏 feet 👏 when you first met

because he doesn't seem like he'd necessarily approach a relationship the same way as everyone else just because everyone else is doing it

so when he asked you out he was pretty nonchalant about it (even if that wasn’t how he was feeling)

&& it all felt so romantic because you’d do things like get dessert in the middle of the night & then drive into the hills together 

especially because he didn’t treat you the same way as the other people he dated — a fact his friends confirmed.

he was passive about it all before you.

there wouldn’t be any doubt that he loved you because he most certainly did

not to be cliché but he made you see the world differently! & more importantly, he made you see romantic relationships differently

but you could tell that he had a sense of uncertainty around you

not because he was uncertain about his feelings for you

but an uncertainty that told him that he needed to spend each moment like it could be taken away from him in the blink of an eye

he knew he was feeling too much — he knew you were feeling too much

because ultimately, he was unsure about whether he was right for you.

so he left you, promising that you’d be better off without him.

you weren’t.

sunoo as down bad

“for a moment i knew cosmic love, now i’m down bad, crying at the gym”

sunoo would be such a good boyfriend on paper

he'd buy you flowers & give great hugs, of course, but he'd also be supportive & reassure you when you felt insecure and unsure about your place in the world

that being said, sunoo is not one to string people along

so the moment he realized that he wasn’t 100% in, he made a plan to end things & he did.

&&...losing sunoo fucked you up. it would fuck anyone up, to be fair.

finding out that he was leaving you when the relationship was everything to you would catch you off guard, to say the least.

he probably left feeling proud of himself for doing everything right too LMAO 😭 

&& yes, i don't think it's anything he did that made it so bad

it's just that break-ups suck & you really loved him! even if he “did everything right”

no matter how it transpired, you were still in shambles at the end 

you broke down in tears at the sight of anything that made you think of him

from the smell of gardenias in a grocery store

‘he bought me those 🤧! for our first anniversary 🤧!’

to the most upbeat song you’ve ever heard coming on shuffle while you work out

‘he loved that song’ (even if you couldn’t stand it)

&& you really hoped he was feeling a shred of what you were 

but it sure as hell didn’t seem that way.

jungwon as fresh out the slammer

“all those nights, you kept me going, swirled you into all of my poems”

you & jungwon had a lot of your own problems to deal with the first time you dated

likely because he had a lot on his plate at the time as an idol & you were just at different places in your lives

&& even though your brain was telling you not to, you fell in love fast

he’d taken you to a quiet spot in his hometown that he used to go to when he was overwhelmed as a kid

it was an old swingset at the park where, somehow, everything else had been renovated

the two of you sat there for hours with your hands entwined, talking about your futures 

&& the possibility of them ending in the same place.

it felt childish & implausible, but you wanted to believe it

&&, as the break up proved to you, it was, in fact, childish & implausible to believe that your lives could magically become compatible

you tried to move on, you really did. you dated other people for years. 

one boyfriend stuck around for four years. a coworker. your future with him felt written in stone.

he was good to you, but there was a part of your heart that yearned for more

the part that yearned for the type of connection you had on the swingset all those years ago

you didn't spend that time waiting for jungwon — you accepted that you were going to spend your life content with your boyfriend

but you sometimes thought about what it would be like if you met jungwon under different circumstances or another life where his career wasn’t so controlling and demanding of him

you would smile listening to his music (that you subconsciously hoped was about you) 

&& checked how he was doing online periodically

but then you were single. it was something your boyfriend said about not seeing a future here. not seeing a future with you. when you gave him four years of your life. 

you knew you should have felt more, that you should have been torn apart for months

but a week later, you picked up the phone & dialed the number that had been seared into your brain for six years

“y/n?”

his voice was almost a whisper.

“do you think you could take me to that park again tonight?”

“i’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

“thank you.”

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“i missed you.”

heeseung as the alchemy

“where’s the trophy? he just comes running over to me”

when you started dating heeseung, you knew it would be really easy for him to put you low on his priority list being an idol

&& you wouldn’t have blamed him for that 

because your careers are important, especially at this point in your lives (also your exes probably did that with much less demanding jobs)

but he didn’t! he told you it would be tough but that he’d try his best to make sure you had time together even with his insane packed schedule

&& try he did omg 🤭 that man put in the WORK

he would show up towards the end of your workday just to whisk you off on a date 🫶

which you not-so-secretly loved for two reasons:

one: it reminded you that he loved you & valued your career as much as you valued his

two: he’s really hot. so it’s fun to see everyone’s reaction to him showing up heehee

&& after your workday he’d take you wherever you wanted

but you’re indecisive at times, so he’d just guess sometimes.

it was usually your favorite restaurant or a massage parlor, but once he literally took you to the airport for a getaway? who knows what he has planned lmfao

you loved getting surprised by your boyfriend, of course, but the nights when you were at his concert to support him? those meant the world to you.

you swore that you’d never forget the look on his face when he realized you were in the crowd the first time you surprised him

but honestly? his excitement never faltered. he still wears that childish grin every time he sees you showing up for him

&& the post concert kisses are incomparable to all the others 

because he kisses you like you’re the stars in a rom-com. every. damn. time — whether it’s backstage or in front of 20,000 people.

jay as chloe or sam or sophia or marcus

“if you want to break my cold, cold heart, just say ‘i loved you the way that you were’”

jay was hurting you

with every instagram post he uploaded with a woman you didn’t recognize,

at every red carpet appearance where he had someone else on his arm,

with every polite smile he greeted you with when you crossed paths.

you broke up with him. years ago, at that. you had no right to feel this way.

his mind seemed scattered in your time together & he was unsure about most everything

at first, it had seemed like you were the exception to that.

until you weren’t.

when you broke it off, you told him you loved him. & that maybe you always would.

he might have loved you.

but if that was the case, he never told you.

on occasion, you thought about how he felt seeing you date around aimlessly.

had he done the mature thing & moved on?

did his jaw clench seeing another man kiss you the same way it did before you dated?

did he care about what you were thinking as much as you did about him? 

there were times that you’d stare at his contact, finger hovering above the ‘call’ button

almost hoping your finger would slip so you’d have the chance, the smallest chance to hear him say

“i loved you the way that you were.”

(i really want to write a oneshot about this actually? maybe?)

jake as so high school

“get my car door, isn’t that sweet, then pull me to the backseat, no one’s ever had me, not like you”

jake was so obsessed with you before y’all started dating HEHE probably from the first time that he had a conversation with you!

he was so enthralled by the way you think & see the world

&& he blushed and stumbled on his words every time he talked to you for months & his friends would tease him RELENTLESSLY

he got so nervous before following you on social media that he had to employ his friends to help.

“guys, just press it for me. i can’t look!”

he probably thought about asking you out on many occasions but chickened out for one reason or another every time

but then he saw you at the local convenience store while he was out getting ramen at 2 a.m. — or rather, you saw him.

"jake?" he'd know that voice anywhere. oh god oh god oh god oh god

he needed a moment to compose himself, but he pulled himself together enough to look up at you & greet you properly <3

his stress slipped away fairly fast after that & you found yourselves shopping for your respective midnight snacks together

"have you tried this one? it's probably my favorite limited edition flavor" you had said, pointing to your favorite candy

which, naturally, he responded to by pulling a handful into his basket 😚

you didn't know whether he wanted to try it because you liked it or he was buying it for you, but either way, you found it endearing

after you both paid, jake took your groceries in his other hand, declaring that he'd carry them to your car for you

which, of course, wasn't possible. you had walked.

😧...😟...😶...🤔...☝️😲 "i could give you a ride! i don't want you walking home alone at this hour. or i could call you an uber if you're not comf—"

"i'd really like that"

&& then his heart would damn near explode at the sight of your smile. because how could it not.

he fumbled with the bags before opening the passenger door for you

&& on the drive there he'd stare at you with heart eyes while you talked at every red light

you'd have to tell him it turned green because he was just so distracted hehe

oh my god not this being my second fic about jake driving you home,, 🫣 IT'S FUNNY BECAUSE I DON'T PLAN THESE I JUST GO WITH WHAT FEELS RIGHT

i'm just hilarious, this does not show anything about what i want irl, absolutely nothing.

sunghoon as i look in people’s windows

"what if your eyes looked up & met mine one more time?"

you & sunghoon had a mutual break up, but it didn't feel that way a month after it happened

especially not when you were walking alone down the street his friend lived on & noticed the light shining through the large window

contrary to what you told yourself (i don’t even care if he’s in there) you approached the warm light warily

you didn’t really know whether you were hoping to see him in there, but you did — he was laughing with a few people, glass of wine in hand

&&…you weren’t expecting a flood of memories to overcome you in the way they did.

memories from when you were invited. memories from when you called them “our” friends & not “his” friends. memories from when you were the one making him laugh.

you didn’t notice your mouth fall agape or the tears welling in your eyes until sunghoon met your gaze with a tilt of his head, his smile falling as he registered your presence

for a moment, your mind rushed to decipher the look on his face — the way his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, the way his mouth fell agape too — the same expressions you used to be able to read so well.

finally tearing your gaze from sunghoon, you noticed his friends turning back to look out for whatever it was that made their friend so unsettled

they never saw you. you ran before they could.

perhaps if you had stayed a moment longer, you would have heard the front door open.

txt version ☆ midnights version ☆ masterlist

[performing-personhood]

I learned a kind of funny thing and I need to tell you bc it's important, cmere. Lean in so the others can't hear okay?

Ok so like

I know that the reason we are the way we are is because at some point we took up some space - as people do - and someone turned to us and went "whoa, excuse you! What do you think you're doing" or something, right? And they were, like, surprised and offended that we took up space and told us to stay real small and subservient? And we were pretty young, you and me, and we didn't really grok Peopling yet and so we assumed that everyone else was going to have that expectation too?

Okay I just learned: that isn't true at all, that person was just an asshole.

Babe. BABE. This is big.

Ok do you realize ??? that most people when they're around someone - anyone, this is important, it's an unconscious reflex and happens rather automatically - and that person is like "I have an opinion and desires and also some needs and I am going to express them openly" Did you realize, because I didn't, that most people completely intuitively go "oh! There's another person here! Lemme just scootch over so they fit better :)" PEOPLE MAKE ROOM FOR YOU.

People don't ignore us, when we're silently having wants and needs and waiting our turn to be noticed, they just have similar very loud brains and have no idea because beung corporeal is Distracting™️. Not only do people just need a reminder that you're there, they're totally happy to accomodate. In a distinctly "ope! My bad, lemme just- here-" sort of way.

My spouse has a loud brain and drowns it out with Mario Kart. I've spent most of my life quietly entertaining myself in all of these instances, because at some point someone told me I was supposed to "go play" and nobody wanted to play with me so I entertained myself right? Okay. Well I recently had a sea change and decided I was gonna pop my headphones in and watch TV on my tablet when he was doing his Mario Karting. Because the boy will easily go for four hours and I just spontaneously realized that it would actually be ridiculous if he got butthurt at me for putting some quiet tv on for myself instead of watching a grown man play the same video game for hours.

You know what happened? Not only did nobody's feelings get hurt, but I have never made it more than twenty minutes into a show before he ends a match and switches the console off. And I have never asked him to do so. When I'm over there doing my own thing with my own TV show like a person instead of just scrolling on my phone trying real hard not to exist, somewhere in his unconscious he goes "there's a whole other human being on the other end of the sofa from me. I want to turn this off and engage with that person!"

Okay do you understand what I am telling you??

When you behave like a human person and treat yourself like a human person, other people also instinctively treat you like a human person and they're happy to be reminded that they get to engage with you. The person in our past that reacted differently and got mad at us for being a person, plainly and simply: they were just being an asshole to us.

The people we love want to engage with us. Almost all of them!!! And not only that?? Most other human beings feel the same way.

Huge. Big huge.

Don't take my word for it baby cakes okay, take a sec and muster up the courage (it'll be scary the first time, but the thinking about it is always scarier than doing it I swear) and then get back out there and practice being your very own human person occupying human people space, around someone who loves you, and just... watch what happens. The first time someone warmly, graciously, voluntarily accommodates you is the greatest feeling a corporeal being can experience, and you deserve it too.

[instantdoodlez]

Jashtober days 1-20

Alright, it's a while later than I was hoping to post it, but here it is. Same deal as the warmups, moving my art and commentary over from Twitter, because that site sucks ass <3

Day 1: Single. Didn't realize it meant like.. a music single until the day of, so it's pretty basic. Got a Mr Jash Like ™️ though, so that was a strong start to the project.

Day 2, Astral. Space themed Soul drawing. Soul is the Stars in my hc (the way that Mind is the sun and Heart is the moon in canon), so I figured it would fit well enough.

Day 4, Light. Nothing to really say on this one. (skipped day 3 since it was a duplicate prompt, 'power hour')

Day 5, Angel. My best try at what the angel at the gates in Chonny's inferno looks like. Biblically accurate because it's just cooler. Meant to add a normal-ass clipboard in their hand for the funny, but I forgot.

Day 6, Forest. Dear god, the background on this one killed me. Took many layers and overuse of the blend tool. On another note Mr Jash liked the post on twitter and that, yet again, jumpscared me (This is a pattern /lh)

Day 7, Moss. The little mushrooms were my favorite part to do. Didn't know I would ever call fungi cute, but the little mushrooms were my favorite part to do. Proud of this one overall. And it got Jash liked as well, so! 🎉

Day 8, Tidal. Jesus, did all my ship of theseus drawings do relatively bad in the algorithm. Anyways, this one was based on the fifth ship of theseus. Very pretty color pallete, cool colors.

Day 9, Cruisin'. This one was posted late because I couldn't get the shading right and just left it for the next day. Looks much better now.

Day 11, 8-bit. Dug out my old pixilart account to make this one. (Skipped day 10 because "apathy, haha funny". Also to help stave off burnout)

Day 12, Haiku. Heart coming up with his magnum opus (that line from Haiku/lh). This one's background took forever. Many different layers.

Day 13, Encore. Drew The Announcer, everyone's favorite eldritch horror story narrator. Props to GW for making me actually like Monster Mash, I don't even mind the original one now. Mr Jash liked this one too, so that's nice :]

Day 14, Reflection. Whole with a scribbled out face… cool design, and pretty visually interesting. Happy with this one. It also got jash liked.

Day 15, Momento. Had a hard time drafting this one before I realized "oh.. momento.. like.. momento mori.. I am very dumb". Regardless, very happy with this one. It's probably my favorite out of all the jashtober drawings I've done.

Day 17, Theseus. Based on the first Ship of Theseus song, a drawing of the shipmaker. (Skipped day 16 because it was another repeat prompt, Hindsight)

Day 18, Sunset. Based on the lines "When I woke it was daylight, and the clouds were pink / The sun was coming up or going down, I think" from Drink to Death.

Day 19, Savages. The crowd sure does love an upset.

Day 20, Crowned. Mind. Wanted to add a nightlight in the shape of the sun but the composition got too crowded, so I compromised with the lamp chain.

And, that's it! All 17 prompts I've done so far. I'll continue posting the rest of the Jashtober prompts one by one on here. Have a good day/night, and thank you for reading this far if you have!

[noodlesoup1819]

Day 2: Mental Disability - Autistic Ranpo

I didn't get to doing anything proper for this day, but Autistic Ranpo is featured heavily on Day 7, so keep an eye out for that. (this can sort of be read as the background for that post if you want to know what my personal interpretation is.)

Instead let's talk about some of my Autistic Ranpo Headcanons! (ft. Poe and emotional support animal Karl)

(these are my personal hcs based on my autistic experience and is not reflective of everyone's interpretation and experience of autism <3)

I think Ranpo went undiagnosed until several months of living with Fukuzawa. Because of Ranpo's intellect, no one ever really questioned the things he struggled with until Fukuzawa.

The first time Fukuzawa started thinking there might be something actually up (rather than Ranpo just being Ranpo) was the first time he properly got lost trying to navigate the subway. Ranpo ended up going missing for serval hours 4 towns over and Fukuzawa finally found him curled up on a bench having a meltdown.

Another thing that clued him in was food. Fukuzawa, trying to be the Responsible Adult™️, pushed a little too hard about not having so many sweets. It wasn't until there was a big blow-up fight about it that Fukuzawa understood that Ranpo wasn't just being picky.

It took a little time, but the two of them fell into a rhythm and Fukuzawa became a safe space for Ranpo.

Before the agency was set up properly, Fukuzawa kept stim toys and earplugs in his sleeves for whenever Ranpo needed them. (now he keeps them in his desk drawer)

After getting a diagnosis and settling into the agency, Ranpo manages his autism much better. The agency always has someone there to help him navigate, everyone respects him in spite of his childish demeanor, and he has a very set routine.

When things do get overwhelming, he still has places within the agency to calm down. Fukuzawa will always let him join him for tea in his office. Having made a bit of an adoptive sister in Yosano she let's him chill out in his office if he ever needs any down time (everyone's too scared of her to bother him when he's in there.)

The rest of the agency is good at accommodating him too. Kunikida has no problem using his ability to make stim toys or aids for him whenever they're out on a case. Dazai, while kind of a pain in the ass, gives him some good intellectual stimulation when they hang out that's hard for him to get elsewhere (they're besties you can't convince me otherwise). Atsushi carries around snacks for him. And everyone regardless of who they are will help him navigate transportation.

Eventually he also has Poe who he can either go to or call to come and bring Karl. The author has a really calming presence and having a soft animal to pet and play with always helps.

Speaking of Poe, their first interaction will always haunt him as one of his autistic blunders. Ranpo really respected him as a detective and wanted to complement his skills... but didn't quite realize comparing him to himself would sound like gloating. He's really glad to have met Poe again (even if it was through a 6 year revenge plot).

Poe also understands his autism in a way that most people don't, being autistic himself.

The first time Ranpo had a proper meltdown around Poe was before Ranpo had the chance to explain his autism to him. After calming down, Ranpo was super impressed with how Poe dealt with it and it led to a conversation about both of their experiences growing up and why Poe has Karl as his emotional support animal.

Ranpo also gets headaches frequently. He's never really found a cause, but he suspects his autism has something to do with it.

When he was young and lived with Fukuzawa, Fukuzawa would let him sleep with his head in his lap and play with his hair when things got bad. (He would still let him, but Poe does it most often now)

This got long 😅 but I hope you enjoyed! 💖

[sigmasoyboy]

Surely nothing in the world ever felt better than [THIS]

Was suggested on instagram to write from Gage's POV and thinking about how I would ever write from someone who's been essentially dog lobotomized actually got me thinking so hard I started writing. The formatting of this one is a reading nightmare but the never ending run-on sentence tightly packed into one block of text feels the most appropriate to a dog's inner thoughts so… You have to suffer for the sake of art™️

cw: ableist and misogynistic language, PTSD, panic attack, murder, vomit, loss of humanity through being genetically spliced with a dog

Right now there is only [RUNNING] and [PANTING] and the wind whipping your face and twigs digging into your paw pads and snapping under your weight and the sweat tickling the inside of your thigh as it rolls down the expanse of your (ever) hairless leg. You almost want to throw your hands down into the decaying grass and leaves to propel your body further but (something) keeps you anchored to your bipedal ways, your body knows it was never made for sprinting on all four but your body was also bent once and could probably be bent further all the way to the other side transhumanised so far the evolutionary path to break all knowns nomenclature and classification and leap from (human) to [DOG] just as you do out of the shrubbery as soon as your hear [YOUR NAME], toes skidding into the overgrown lawn as you halt, tongue hanging out dumbly trying as you might to bring moisture back into your bone dry mouth. The useless instincts you (forcefully) have inherited work against you but thankfully [HE!!!] turns on the garden hose [HE!!] uses to bath you with and fresh water springs out, splattering everywhere against your open mouth. There used to be a better way to drink but you (forgot) how so you chew at the air trying to catch this pesky pesky water into your mouth while getting drenched, you were hot anyway, running so so hot from all the excess dopamine secreted by your happy happy dumb brain, so easily pleased.

Surely nothing in the world ever felt better than [THIS]; it’s the 100th time you thought this exact thing today not with words or inner monologue only pure unadulterated stabs at your mesocorticolimbic circuit, things are only [GOOD] or [BAD] not in terms of the morals (you lacked) but in terms of [PLEASURE] and [PAIN], so simple and so good like quenching your thirst and moving your limbs and eating and shitting and nerve endings being stimulated by a [GOOD SCRATCH] just like [HE] is doing right now immediately replacing the serotonin from the water [HE] just shut off, not having a care in the world for how greasy your (hair) feels or the way you wildly shake off to dry yourself or the fact that you are (not) a dog at all. You wouldn’t get any of it anyway because all you understand now is [ANGRY] and [SOFT] tone so as long as [HE] coos at (you) softly [HE] can say anything and (you) would happily (giggle) and [RUB YOUR HEAD] against his big calloused hands even if he was (talking shit). You were liberated against your (will) and you are too dumb to realize it, of course you are why would you ever stop and try to think when you can just march alongside [HIM] like [HE TAUGHT] [YOU]] like a good stupid fuckass (dog) getting all [EXCITED] because you realize [HE] is walking towards the [KITCHEN] which can only mean any and all (doubt) or [FEAR] that’s desperately trying to join each others can be [SILENCED] by a motherfucking spoonfull of [PEANUT BUTTER HOLY SHIT] sticky and salty and obstructing your airway momentarily but thank goodness you still know how to breath through your (nose) while you smack your (lips) desperately trying to (get away from the [DELICIOUS TREAT] clawing at the leathery cushion with your splitting nails nerve endings stimulated by [HURT HURT HURT FUCK what did you do why were you bad why is this happening to you this wasn’t supposed to happen you weren’t supposed to get caught in the first place but the [BITC H] squealed and slipped through your fingers and now you’re the one being [GUD LA DET SLUTTE VÆR SÅ SNILL] you should’ve made a bigger hole and (fucked it) so [BAD] no one will ever be able to identify your whore bitch corpse you r eally fucked up this time you can barely breathe through any hole now in out in out in out head heavy with the weight of ([HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS]) getting really really light so much so you don’t feel your (claws) slicing until the victim became unrecognizable aggravated [MASSACRE] of your (ultimate reality) now there’s only [DROOL] and a little bit of [VOMIT] and your clammy skin against the (cold old tiles) of the kitchen floor and [HIS] form above you [WARM] palm encircling almost your entire still trembling arm and (garbled speech) you can never [UNDERSTAND] again, it’s so [WARM] and (nice) your [TAIL] slaps the kitchen floor, beginning to unknot [HIS] brow as you can feel yourself (smiling) dumbly at [HIM]. And now there is only [PETTING] and [ROLLING ON THE FLOOR] with the sweet-acrid aroma of [PEANUT BUTTER] and [VOMIT] [HE] stops you from [LAPPING] just before your tongue touches it.

Surely nothing in the world ever felt better than [THIS].

[redr0sewrites]

Blade x reader General Headcanons (sfw + nsfw)

*gently hands this to you and then scuttles away like a large cockroach* not proofread so yea <\\\3 u can tell i have a blade bias <3

🥀CW: a little angst, blade is Bad At Feelings ™️, reader is sorta assumed to be a stellaron hunter, dom/sub dynamics in the nsfw, switch!blade, knife kink/pain kink, just filth tbh

🥀 minors dni with the nsfw portion

sfw!

we all know bladie is RIDICULOUSLY emotionally constipated- if he likes you, he is in COMPLETE AND UTTER DENIAL

he will be staring into ur soul like he hates ur guts but the whole time his heart is pounding out of his chest

he has a very stoic face, it takes a while for u to learn to read him 😭

tbh ud prob think that he hates u for a while cuz he just stares at u

once u both get over the initial awkwardness of him constantly looming over u and hovering around u and staring at u, and once u realized that no, hes not creepy or insane he just wants to be around u, u guys would probably become close friends pretty quickly!

i dont think hes the type to jump into a relationship, his commitment issues get in the way

u would DEF have to be friends first, but he would still be enamoured with u

very observant, he notices all of the little things u do

one of the very first things that tips u off to the fact that he has romantic feelings towards u would probably simply be the fact that he literally cares SO MUCH about ur life and routine

hes memorized ur schedule, how u make ur coffee/tea, what ur favorite movies and shows are, he can tell when ur sad or stressed, he just finds comfort in learning details about u

he prefers to listen in conversation rather than speak, he can listen to u for hours

if u like something or are interested in something, suddenly he is too and he wants to learn all about it

at this point all the other stellaron hunters are rooting for u two to get together

kafka would try to set u both up like all the time

shes never seen blade so devoted to someone

whenever u walk in the room, he always seems to light up a little in excitement

i honestly feel like he would confess first but only for the sake of kafka not telling u before he does💀

it would probably be after an especially tiring or exhausting mission, after the maras been making him feel shitty

blade always feels so safe around u and he would just suddenly blurt out the fact that hes in love with u

after the initial shock, when u tell him the feelings are reciprocated hes ECSTATIC

but wont show it

he'll just let out a small (but cute): smile and nod

kafka, sam, and silverwolf are in the background recording the whole thing 💀

hes awkward at first

SUCKS AT PHYSICAL CONTACT TBH

blade's love language is def acts of service

he loves doing things for you and he loves helping u, it makes him proud to know that he can help make u feel safe

will fucking destroy anyone who hurts u

like actually destroy

nobody had ever seen blade so angry or ruthless as the day u were hurt on a mission

afterwords hes cradling u in his arms, clinging to u like ur gonna disappear😭

he knows how fleeting mortal lives are and hes genuinely so afraid of losing u

hes not good at talking things out or expressing his feelings

hes also not great at apologizing but he will try for u and only for u

arguments with him kinda suck cuz he can be stubborn and doesn't understand emotions

blade would feel terrible afterwards tho

would probably sit next to u and just take ur hands in a silent apology and gently run his thumb in a soft circle on ur palm

he likes it when u wear his clothes, he can be possessive and seeing u in his (probably much larger) clothes makes him a little feral

overall, u guys have ur ups and downs, but are ultimately a power couple and he loves u sm what can i do to find me a blade smh

nsfw!

SWITCH ENERGY‼️

when hes dom, hes MEAN

blade can talk so filthy sometimes, his voice is so deep and rough and when hes got you folded in half, ruthlessly pounding into u theres nothing u love to hear more than his scornful voice switching from degradation to praise <3

into marking on both ends, he loves seeing u covered in hickeys and scratches but also enjoys being littered in stinging marks for him to admire later

i feel like blade would like positions where he can be close to u when hes dominant, such as mating press or missionary

SIZE KINK! if ur smaller thank him, he love love LOVES to use his larger stature and weight to pin u down

seeing u squirm and writhe helplessly beneath him turns him on

will pin ur wrists above ur head, leaning down to whisper the filthiest words in ur ear, the entire time his cock is thrusting so fast in and out of ur leaking hole, ur mind is melting to mush at the stimulation. on top of that, his free hand is roughly playing with ur cock/clit, while he nips and bites roughly at ur neck. its all so much, too much...

rahh i went off there for a sec

anyways <3

blade wouldn't understand the hype to exhibitionism until the both of u got together

the two of u r fucking in a storage closet while people outside r just continuing their everyday lives, his hand clamped roughly over ur mouth to silence u, but that doesnt stop his own breathy moans and growls from slipping through

i also think blade would have a knife kink, hed find sick, twisted pleasure in running a knife over ur soft skin as u squirm

hed never actually hurt u, he could never do that

u both def have a safeword

but the idea is still arousing

he isnt as vocal when dom when hes sub, when hes dom its more low growls and groans and moans while when hes sub its more moaning and whimpers and whines

when hes sub, hes so into pain

if u pull his hair, this man will immediately submit

HE HAS AN ORAL FIXATION IF U HAVE A COCK HE WOULD ADORE TO SPEND EVERY WAKING HOUR SUCKING ON IT. if ur exhausted and want to keep blade occupied (cuz his stamjna is INSANE), give him two of ur fingers to suck on<3

he just looks so pretty with ur fingers in his mouth, a small trickle of drool leaking past his parted lips as he stares up at u in utter adoration with lust filled eyes

blade is SO LOUD when u fuck him from behind, he doesnt know why he just finds it so hot

he also has a reverse size kink, someone as small as u taking control of him and using him for ur own pleasure is such a turn on

he has such insane stamina, he could have u fucking him for literal hours and still want more

esp when hes sub, there needs to be a lot of foreplay leading up to the actual sex or else he will be needy for like ever

is actually so touch starved its funny, when the two of u had ur first time where he was sub he came in under a minute

he was super embarrassed, even tho u found it super hot

blade can be a tease if he wants to be, sending u photos of him naked with his hand wrapped around his aching cock, eyes blown wide with lust<3

he thinks punishments are hot, but prefers to be praised and pampered

call him a good boy, he will MELT

he wants to be good for u so much, he needs u to get himself off its almost pathetic :( he cant cum without u there helping him, whenever hes needy and ur not around he always ends up in a puddle of his own arousal, his release slipping away as soon as it begins to build. his cock is aching, he needs u, he cant even get off alone

after sex is when hes most vulnerable, blade is very kinky and mellow after sex esp when he was sub

big on aftercare, deep down he wants to be taken care of and held

he also loves taking care of u, loves washing u as u bathe together after a rough night of lovemaking

he loves it when u mark his chest cuz he can show it off the next day

blade wants everyone to know ur his, and vice versa

THIS GOT SO LONG WTF???

BARK BARK BARK can u tell i have such a big fat stupid fucking blade bias hes so silly i love this goofy man sm i need to pepper him with kisses and then fuck him senseless 😔

[candyk0rn]

Could you potentially do headcannons for JJK men seeing their S/O who’s normally always in baggy clothing or lounge wear in something fancier for the first time if possible? You can choose who and no need to do my request!

I love your writing so much and you’re so talented have a good day/night!! And make sure you’re taking care of yourself :D

𐬺Layers𐬻

Hey! Thanks for the request, so glad you are liking the writing! It’s always rough writing for a fandom I’ve never written for/am new to. Hope you enjoy!

‘How Jjk men would react to an s/o that normally wears baggy/casual clothing wearing fancier clothing for the first time’

Included: Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi, Gojo Satoru

F.Megumi:

Your taste in more comfortable clothing is actually something that drew him to you in the first place

He has a strong liking for comfort over quality or looks

Which, when the both of you begin actually going out, he made some effort to dress a little nicer

It was the first time he had taken you to lunch, he waited outside of the cafe patiently for you

His head quickly turned when he heard you call for his name,

..but blinked in confusion when he saw you

He didn’t even realize the heat rising to his cheeks when he blankly stared at you

He didn’t exactly say anything at first when you finally got to him, not sure what to say

But he knew he had to say something, so it was the truth

“You look nice.”

It’s a nice sentiment, and after he says that he smiles

Megumi enjoys seeing you dressed like this, and he’ll admit it in his own subtle way

It’s also entirely obvious that he is flustered the entire time the both of you are out

Help him 🙏🏻

G. Satoru:

Satoru is the kind of guy who believes relationships should go both ways

Which, rightfully so.

But you show up in something more tight-fit and chic

And he is FLATTERED and FLUSTERED™️

He’d say something stupid like

“Oho? Wearing that just for me?”

If it’s a day around the city, trying on different clothes, tasting different foods, seeing different popular sites

You best believe during clothing shopping he hands you clothes he would’ve NEVER showed you before

“I think I’ll like you in this one.”

“You mean “me”, right?”

“I said what I said” then he starts giggling and kicking his feet fr

He definitely understands how you’re drawn to comfort over fit, that’s how he met you after all

But he will admit to you that it pleases him when you wear something a bit more form fitting

I.Yuuji:

Hopefully Megumi is there 🙏🏻 Yuuji needs someone to pick up his jaw for him

He doesn’t care to hide his shock when he sees you dressed in finer attire for the first time

He might play around and pretend not to recognize you at first

He feels so much more protective of you

He was already keen on not sharing you with girls and guys who hit on you, but now he’s so much more so

He can’t keep his hands or eyes off of you,

Though that’s nothing new

After the first interaction, he doesn’t bring much attention to it

At least, not intended attention

He feels bad, he doesn’t wanna keep calling you out or anything

Like..maybe you didn’t want him to say anything? Maybe you just wanted to dress up?

Poor boy is stressing over NOTHING.

He’s just not a big fan of change, is all

But he likes this one a lot! Even if it’s only for certain occasions

He looks forward for all of those occasions

He will make more plans in order to see you more dressed up

Thanks for reading!

[analbedo]

📔 that boy’s a liar ft asshole virgin killer jock bf childe

ngl im having Bad Childe Thoughts™️ sorry he’s such nonconner bait like skskfkkdks. also this was not supposed to be this long sadly i just got too silly wit it >_> also it’s been so long since i wrote i had to keep looking words up to make sure i used them right asksjdjsk i was staring at my phone for like 10 minutes bc there’s no way sinisterly is a word 🤨 anyway.

i could easily imagine him being, like, an asshole jock, probably plays some rich boy sport like lacrosse 😭 and every time the school year starts he’s always looking for another cute freshman to fuck. he had a thing for virgins, and no one was more virginal than a fresh out of high school girl, eager to find her first boyfriend, completely oblivious to the nature of men. (well, really, men like him.)

𐐪 warning: this fic contains dark content, please read my dark content disclaimer before continuing. minors dni.

🦢cw: virginity kink, dubcon/sexual coercion, noncon/rape (both implied and explicit, the word rape is also used), misogyny (i’m sorry women🥺), emotional manipulation, unhealthy relationships, unconsensual nude sharing, degradation, unconsensual creampie-ing (is there a better word for this?), hair pulling, mouth spitting, contraception mention⁉️

° 𐐪 ♡ 𐑂 nsfw below the cut! 𐐪 ♡ 𐑂 °

and that’s what led ajax to you, the bright eyed, overly naive barely legal cheerleader. most cheerleaders were too slutty for his tastes, but he could tell from the innocent way you swung your hips and nervousness around guys that you’d probably never had a boyfriend, let alone sex.

bagging you was too easy, he almost felt bad for you. he’d barely finished inviting you to one of his games when you’d excitedly accepted. afterward, him convincing you to go to a frat party later that night was child’s play (no pun intended). from there on, you were putty in his hands. ajax had no real intentions of dating you, you were a bit too innocent for his tastes. but, when you offhandedly mentioned you were saving yourself for “the one” (seriously?), he realized he had no other choice.

nothing really changed after you made it official, you still went to his games and parties with him, and sent him nudes that he was definitely sending to his friends’ groupchat. ajax, the notorious virgin killer, and his new victim. the general consensus was that you were the hottest one he found, which was an accomplishment, but his friends teased him for how long it was taking for him to smash— “you’re losing your touch there, casanova” kaeya texted him after he updated the chat on his latest date with you.

ajax rolled his eyes, but it was true. you were really not trying to give it up, even if you were blackout drunk, slurring your words at parties, even when he lit candles and set out rose petals for your one month anniversary, even when he said he’d never tell anyone. nothing was working, and he was starting to get annoyed. nutting on you face, tits, and ass wasn’t cutting it; if anything he was starting to get more and more sexually frustrated. he wouldn’t force you, he wasn’t that type of guy, but damn it if he wasn’t running out of ways to try to convince you to let him actually put his dick inside you; he’d even settle for just head at this point.

ajax reached his breaking point one night after a game. his team won the championship finals for their division, or something, which meant they had a solid chance at playing to win the state title. surely, he deserved something for that. so, when you invited him over to celebrate after, he was expecting more than you just surprising him with a homemade dinner after his shower.

“that’s it?” ajax asked, looking in disbelief at the table, his voice gradually growing louder and meaner as he spoke. “you fucking cook for me all the time, why the fuck would you think this is a surprise?”

you felt your heart sink a little bit; you’d put way more effort into it than your usual dishes, and you thought he’d might like a nice, fulfilling dinner after working so hard. ajax had little outbursts like this all the time, but he assured you that’s just how relationships are, and who would give up a tall, handsome, perfectly sculpted redhead athlete just because he’s a little temperamental.

you remained quiet; usually, this is where he’d apologize and say he had a bad day, or was tired. but, his tirade kept going.

“we’ve been together three fucking months and you’re still acting like the same boring virgin bitch as when we started dating. i thought for once you’d stop fucking neglecting me and finally fucking put out.” ajax reached up to run a hand through his damp auburn hair, his towel slipping down ever so slightly as he did so. you felt your face grow warm in embarrassment and desire. you wanted to wait, but him borderline flashing you sent butterflies down your stomach to between your legs.

“i’m sorry,” you said meekly, genuinely meaning it. you tried explaining how scared you were to do it for the first time; stds, pregnancy, or having your cherry popped, which you imagined would be more painful than it sounds. ajax always gave you the same responses, that he was clean, he’d pull out, he’d be gentle. you had no reason to deny him, really, you saw a future with him; and, if he’d dated you this long without having sex, you imagined he’d want to be with you forever once you said yes.

but still, something in your body was telling you to stop, leave, run. as many butterflies as he gave you, there were still cold claws of dread and fear dragging in your chest at the thought of sleeping with him. “i’m just not ready yet, baby. i’m sorry.” you replied, unable to meet his eye.

that was probably a good thing, because the look of disgust he casted would’ve been enough to make you break down in tears. “not… ready?” ajax asked in an angry low timbre. “you’re a fucking adult, for christ’s sake, what the fuck do you mean you’re not ready? it’s fucking sex, not a marriage proposal.” he huffed incredulously, running both hands through his hair now while throwing his head back. he turned away from you, finally allowing you to lift your gaze from the floor. staring at his back, you realized just how muscular your boyfriend was— and tall too.

if he really wanted it, he could easily take it. you wouldn’t stand a chance.

the thought alone made your throat swell and eyes prick. you never thought he could be that kind of guy; and if he is, wouldn’t it be better to just let him do what he wants? maybe he’d go easy on you if you said yes now.

“everyone else on the team is probably getting ass at that after party, and i’m fucking stuck here playing house with a childish ass bitch,” ajax groaned. his words felt like punches straight to the gut; you instinctively held your abdomen in response. he turned around to you, his face now free of anger, but full of… something. you didn’t know what, but it was sending shivers down your spine. “you know, this is the longest i’ve ever gone without having sex,” he said in a neutral tone, slowly walking around the table to approach you. you winced as he lifted your chin up, bringing his face uncomfortably close to yours.

“look at me,” ajax said softly, but sinisterly. you forced your tear filled eyes to meet his, but not without trembling in fear. “you’re neglecting me, you know. isn’t it a little unfair to deprive me of intimacy, when i’ve been doing everything i can to make you comfortable? why are you so scared of me, hm? why don’t you trust me?” you merely blinked in response; if you talked you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold back sobbing. “i don’t neglect you, do i? is there anything you want that i don’t for do?” you pondered the question; though he was rarely ever nice or this soft spoken, he had a point— physically, he’d given you all the cuddles and forehead kisses you could want.

still, that wasn’t the same thing as having sex? or, was it? who’s to say he finds cuddling as intimate as lovemaking? maybe sex was to him what cuddling was to you— maybe you were neglecting him. you shook your head softly in reply.

“good girl, you’re right. i’ve done everything i can to prove you can trust me, does that not matter to you? will i never be good enough for you?” ajax’s voice sounded sincere, but the cold, perverse look in his eyes still made you doubt. “i’ve been so patient, baby. i could’ve taken it any time i wanted, but i waited for you. you gonna keep me waiting forever?”

something about his logic wasn’t quite adding up to you— but, it didn’t matter. your brain was too clogged with fear to compute anything. plus, he confirmed what you tried so hard to not acknowledge all along: if he wanted you, he could have you, whether you wanted it or not. your heart thudded in your chest.

you felt guilty for depriving your boyfriend for so long, but that was overshadowed by your fear of what he’d do to you if you kept kept saying no. “ok,” you whispered meekly, so soft you were surprised he even heard it.

or, maybe he didn’t. it probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

ajax smiled, though this time his grin of approval filled you with cold terror instead of giddy excitement. “i knew you’d do the right thing.”

***

“shouldn’t we use condoms?” you asked. you were sitting on your bed, wrapping your naked body with your fuzzy pink blanket. maybe you were as childish as he said. the more you thought about it, the less you wanted to do it, but, it was too late mow.

“they’re too small for me, but, don’t worry, i’m clean. can’t let an std fuck up my lacrosse career, you know?” ajax said casually, walking towards the bed.

“no, not for that. i meant for- i mean, like, i’m not on, like, birth control or anything—” you stammered.

“oh that’s fine, i was gonna pull out anyway. can’t let a baby fuck up my career, either,” he replied, chuckling at his own joke before giving you a light peck. “plus, you’re too hot to knock up right now, it’d ruin your body. i’d save that for after you’ve already hit the wall. anyway,” he said sliding back on the bed and leaning against the wall. “come here princess, i’ll show you what to do.”

you turned around and crawled toward him, sitting back on your heels. his comment about your body momentarily snapped you out of your fearful haze; were you really about to give it up to such an asshole?

ajax twirled his finger, motioning you. “face that way, towards the door. and get on your hands and knees”

“like this?”

“perfect. now—” instead of giving instructions, ajax put his hand between your shoulder blades and pushed you down roughly. “you’re gonna stay like that.”

it was kind of humiliating being in such a lewd pose; you’d always imagined your first time would be passionate missionary sex, not getting your back blown out. ajax shuffled behind you on the bed; he was taking his boxers off.

“okay, you ready? i’m gonna be honest, it’s pretty big, and it’s gonna hurt a lot before it starts to feel good, alright?” ajax said as he positioned himself behind you, his hands on your hips as he slowly dragged the tip of his dick against your vulva. “just keep taking it, though,” he said, lowering his voice for the rest of his sentence: “i didn’t wait all this time just to get blue balled.”

ajax lined himself up with your hole, and you sucked in a breath as you felt the slight pressure of his tip on the outer rim. you winced, scrunching your face as you prepared for him to actually go in.

sadly, nothing could’ve prepared you for that type of pain.

“fuck— ajax stop, no, it hurts— it hurts too much—” you cried out, practically screaming.

“tch. stop being so dramatic, i’m not even halfway in,” ajax paused his speech as he pushed into you further, eliciting a yelp. the searing pain was almost enough to render you unconscious, and, god, how you wish it actually did. “it’ll hurt less once you’re used to it. relax, for fucks sake. the more you panic the more it hurts.”

you wished you could heed his advice— but, then again, what does he know? he’d only ever inflicted the pain, never received it. there’s no way he could comprehend how horrific it felt being split open, your body resisting every inch but still being made to take it. the pain came from between your legs and in your head, too, the few fleeting thoughts you had besides how much it hurt questioning how he could put you through this, if he really loved you, he knew you weren’t ready.

you abandoned speech altogether, merely sobbing as ajax continued to push his thick cock inside you.

ajax paused again. “crying’s only hot if i can see it. shut the fuck up, you’re killing the mood.” when you didn’t stop sobbing, he grabbed you by the ponytail, jerking your towards him so he could mutter in your ear; the shock was enough to shut you up, at least momentarily. “i swear i get soft ‘cause you keep whining like a bitch, you’re gonna suck it til it’s hard again, and i’ll make sure it hurts a whole lot fucking worse.” he let go of your hair, your body flopping limply back onto your bed.

you took a deep breath, biting down on your arm to silence yourself, and prepared for the worst.

ajax was angry now, and, being the cause of his agitation, he happily took it out you. you bit down so hard you could’ve sworn you drew blood as he continued to shove his cock inside you; his thrusts were rough, it felt as he was tearing you open. just as your brain grew delirious with pain, you felt one final shove before the warmth of his body was against your ass.

“there, that wasn’t so bad, was it, baby? i don’t even think you’re bleeding,” ajax cooed. you were so beat down you couldn’t even speak, but he didn’t really need a reply; he didn’t care how bad it was for you, because it was perfect for him. “but i know you’re still a virgin, or, were a virgin, ‘cause you’re so fucking tight.” he moaned as he held your hips and pushed into further, somehow managing to get even deeper. this caused a new type of discomfort; less of the searing torture of him going in, but a nonetheless dull, aching pain in your lower abdomen.

“fuck, you feel so good, pussy’s gripping me so tight like it’s made for me. think i just hit your cervix, too.” ajax’s hands traveled from your hips to your ass, massaging the soft flesh on either side. “you’re so fucking hot, i could probably cum just from this.”

panic became the new sensation that took you over. “but you said you’d pull out,” you cried, trying a last ditch attempt to crawl away from him.

ajax easily held you against him again, and sighed in annoyance. “i said i could, not that i would, stupid slut. you’re the last girl alive i’d knock up; who’d wanna spend 18 years with your annoying ass?”

tears returned to your eyes; is this really how he viewed you? was this entire relationship just a ruse to get in your pants?

well, it didn’t matter, at this point. he was already there, and wasn’t leaving until he finished. you had no choice but to take it.

ajax clicked his tongue before gently sliding out of you, barely an inch. he showed no mercy thrusting back into you, though, making that dull ache resonate again. he slowly pulled out again, leaving only the tip inside.

“damn, you’re pretty wet for a bitch that says she doesn’t want it,” he sneered. ajax slammed his dick back inside you; strangely, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as the first time, minus him hitting your cervix. “but virgins are all the same,”ajax continued, picking up the pace at which he rutted into you. “you pretend you don’t want it to ‘cause of your purity bullshit, but the second i’ve got you bent over you start creamin’ on me like a porn star, can’t help yourself.”

the pain of him sliding into you was gone at this point; you could only feel the drag of his cock against your walls, rubbing against a spot that made ecstasy shoot through you. even the ache from him going too deep started to feel pleasurable. you couldn’t help but moan as waves of euphoria washed over you.

“yeah, you like that, baby?” ajax purred, before sending a sharp smack to your ass. he chuckled hearing you moan at that, too. “damn, you’re a masochist, too? didn’t think a pure little princess would be such a whore in bed.” he slapped your ass again, before reaching around to grab your neck and pull you towards him and titling your head back so he could look into your face. “bet you’re sorry for making me wait, huh? fucking tease,” he snapped, before spitting into your mouth. “swallow it.”

you did as you were told, disgusted by the feeling of the warm, foamy liquid landing in your mouth and sliding down your esophagus. he let you go, and you fell again back onto the bed. ajax placed a large hand on your back, pushing you down into the right position.

“keep your back fucking arched,” ajax scolded. with one hand pressing you into the sheets, and one firmly grasping the softness of your hip, he rutted into you, harder, and faster, each thrust sending shots of pleasure and pain throughout your whole body.

“ah- ajax- slow- fuck- slow down, ‘ts too much- too fast-i can’t—” you moaned, drooling onto the sheets. it felt so wrong, letting him do this to you, with all the awful things he’s said and done— but, you couldn’t help how good it felt taking his dick, every movement adding to the euphoric build up that made your body limo and head dizzy.

the intensity of pain and pleasure increased as he leaned over to hiss in your ear: “you’re gonna take what i fucking give you., slut.” ajax pried open your jaw, and shoved two long fingers into your mouth. “i’m tired of listening to you moaning, i wanna hear you gag for me, princess.” you choked around him, his digits pressing the back of your throat. “yeah, just like that, baby.”

the feeling of his fingers being pushed down your throat as he panted in your ear, while still not letting up on his rapid thrusts was all too stimulating; you felt your body tremble as you came, tranquillizing euphoria spreading your body like electricity. you could vaguely feel your pussy flutter around ajax’s dick, involuntarily clenching around him.

“fuck, you just got so much tighter— ah, wetter, too,” ajax moaned in your ear, burying his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder. “fuck, baby, i’m so close, feels so fucking good—” he cut himself off with his own panting, desperately chasing his own release.

it took you a moment to register his words in your post orgasm haze, but you quickly snapped to attention once you did. you jerked your head to the side so his fingers were no longer massaging the back of your tongue.

“wait- ajax, you said you’d pull out—”

“god, i know, i will, now shut the fuck up before you ruin it,” he groaned. his hands moved to yours, pinning your wrists down while as rhythm grew sloppy.

“ajax, please- you said you wouldn’t, cum inside me— please— please don’t don’t—“ you plead desperately.

“shut up, bitch,” ajax spat. “i know what im fucking doing,”. “i’m not gonna nut inside you— fuck— just need a little more—ah”

“please don’t,” you whispered softly; you were almost certain ajax wouldn’t risk cumming inside you— his reasoning was sound, but there again was that feeling of chilling dread as he kept messily rutting into you.

“fuck, ‘ts so good, so fucking wet— ah” ajax panted, indifferent to your reminders. his speed slowed, now more pronounced pounding. “fuck, fuck, i’m sorry baby, it just feels too fucking good, i can’t— ahh”

you screamed for him to stop, but it was too late; you could feel after his final thrust a warmth inside you, spreading deeper into your core as he wrapped his arms around you. “ajax, stop it— get off— let me go!” you screeched, desperately trying to break free from his grasp.

“sorry, princess, ‘ts too late now. shit, there’s so fucking much, too,” ajax sighed, pushing into you even harder. “fuck.”

nothing could describe the disgust you felt, trapped under your boyfriend’s sweaty, toned body as he forced you to take every last drop of his cum, shamelessly draining his balls inside your limp body. you knew you had to worry about pregnancy or an sti, but those were far from your mind.

the only thing you could think about is how bad you wanted to die.

ajax finally released you, getting off the bed and searching for his clothes. once free, you immediately crawled into a fetal position, tears pooling from your eyes as his cum drooled down your thighs.

epilogue

“sorry about that, by the way,” ajax said nonchalantly, as if he didn’t basically ruin your life. “it’s been so long since i last had sex, i guess i forgot how to pull out in time, so it’s kind of on you for making me wait.”

you said nothing; as humiliated as you were, you couldn’t risk more embarrassment by actually responding to him.

“hey, so, there’s still an after party going on, so i think i’m gonna check that out. you don’t have to worry about coming though— shit, sorry— attending, i know you probably have some shit you wanna work through right now. soooo,” you heard his footsteps head toward your bedroom door. he paused, as if he was waiting for a response, but eventually you heard him leave your room, head out the front door, and drive off. you laid on your bed, curled up in shame, for what felt like an eternity, until the loud text alert from your phone jolted you out of your catatonic state. it was a text— from ajax, surprisingly.

hey. left you a apology gift on your table. hope it helps.

you threw on a bathrobe and shuffled miserably back to your dining room. the elaborate feast you made was embarrassing to look at; all that effort just to get borderline raped by your boyfriend for his special night. you saw the gift he must have been referring to: a wad of bills, that, when you counted them it amounted to $65. you read the messy scrawl on the accompanying note:

enough for a plan b ♡

[sephiramy]

our D&D campaign is heading into possibly the final leg of a very dire and action-packed quest, to go meet a real live dragon and hopefully save the world? you know... Adventure Things ™️

but I also realized I haven't done headshots of the party since like 2022, so I drew some up, AND also added the NPCs who are bad enough dudes to head with us to the South Pole!

tagging for character credit: @itsamemira for Aloysius, @radatav for Argyle, @toothulu for Oris, @apollinaresart for Mateas, @kayzig for Gogo, ME for Alti, and our DM @docvalentine for Seanit, Anna, Erika, and Grish!