#I think I like the idea of it being his skin because it makes his armour even funnier since his abs are fully exposed

[aajjks]

Stuck With You. (m)

synopsis. Imagine being stuck in a room with a walking nightmare who really wants to fuck you.

genre: crack, 18+.

pairings: jungkook x fem reader.

warnings: stûck în â rôôm tôgêthêr trôpê, crîngê jûngkôôk, hôrnÿ jûngkôôk, tsûndêrê ÿn, sêxûâl jôkês, ônê bêd trôpê, hê jûst wânts tô hît ît wîth ÿôû ând lîvê hâppîlÿ êvêr âftêr.

note. If this flops- oh well. But if this becomes a hit, I will make it a series hehe, gif credits to owner, found it on Pinterest. OMG ENJOY!

You are absolutely going to lose your mind. Not because you’re stuck in a room—

no, that part isn’t even the problem. It’s who you’re stuck with.

“Don’t look so mad, babe. You’ll get wrinkles,” Jungkook says, leaning lazily against the wall with his arms crossed, looking every bit like he owns the place.

His black t-shirt clings to his annoyingly perfect body, and his smug grin stretches wider every time he catches your glare.

“You’re the reason we’re stuck in here, you idiot,” you snap, pacing the room. “Who even breaks a doorknob while trying to open the door?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” he protests, throwing his hands up. “The thing was loose—like, super loose. I barely touched it.”

You stop pacing and point at him. “You yanked it like you were in a strongman competition!”

Jungkook shrugs, like being accused of destroying things is just another Tuesday for him. “Maybe. But hey, at least we’ve got… each other?” His grin turns into that stupid wink he loves so much.

You groan and flop onto the bed. It creaks under your weight, and you make a face because this feels like the start of a very bad rom-com. “I can’t believe this. I have work tomorrow.”

Jungkook leans against the bedpost, towering over you with that annoyingly pretty face of his. “Relax, princess. I’m sure someone will fix it soon. Meanwhile…” His eyes trail down your body in that blatant, shameless way that only Jungkook can pull off. “…you’re looking pretty comfortable.”

“Stop staring at my tits, Jeon.” You cross your arms over your chest, even though you know it won’t stop him.

This is seriously ridiculous.

“I wasn’t,” he lies, biting back a grin.

“You were.”

“Okay, I was,” he admits, laughing. He flops down onto the bed beside you, making the mattress bounce slightly. He’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. “But you can’t really blame me. They’re right there.”

You grab a pillow and smack him with it, hard enough to knock some of the smugness out of him. He lets out an exaggerated groan, clutching his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “Abuse! yn, you’re abusing me!”

“You deserve it!” you say, your voice rising with every word.

you like being evil.

“Oh, come on.” He shifts closer, so close his shoulder brushes against yours. His voice drops, teasing and low. “Admit it. You’d miss me if I weren’t here.”

You scoff. “I’d celebrate.”

Jungkook gasps dramatically, his hand flying to his chest. “Cold. That was cold, yn.” He shakes his head, his messy hair falling into his eyes. “You’d be crying without me to entertain you.”

“I’d cry tears of joy.”

“Sure, sure,” he says, his grin widening. Then he leans in, his voice dropping again. “But… if you’re gonna cry, you might as well do it on my shoulder, babe.”

You hate the way your stomach flips at his tone. His big, stupid eyes are focused on you, and for once, they’re not looking at your chest.

You roll your eyes to hide how flustered you feel. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re irresistible,” he fires back, leaning in even closer. His breath tickles your skin, and you shove him away before he gets any ideas.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” he says, feigning innocence as he lays back on the bed, his arms tucked behind his head. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“You’re always thinking something,” you say, narrowing your eyes.

“Maybe,” he admits, his lips twitching up into a smirk. “But if I told you, you’d probably hit me again.”

“You’re not wrong.”

He laughs, loud and carefree, and it’s so annoying that you can’t help but smile a little.

Even though he’s so fucking annoying.

Time passes slower than it should. You’re lying back now, one arm thrown over your face to block out the overhead light, trying to focus on literally anything other than the fact that you’re stuck in a room with Jeon Jungkook.

“yn,” Jungkook says after a while, his tone softer now.

“What?” you ask without looking at him.

“I’m bored.”

You sigh. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know… entertain me?”

You pull your arm off your face and give him a deadpan look. “What am I, a clown?”

His grin returns, and you immediately regret your choice of words. “You could put on a show for me, babe.”

You groan. “Shut up, Jeon.”

“Or,” he says, his voice dipping lower as he rolls onto his side to face you, “we could play a game.”

You narrow your eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Truth or dare.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be boring.”

“I’m not playing truth or dare with you, Jungkook. I know how your brain works.”

He pouts, and it’s so absurdly dramatic that you almost laugh. Almost. “You’re no fun, yn.”

“Good. I don’t want to be fun.”

Jungkook sits up suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fine. Then let’s make a bet.”

“A bet?” you repeat, suspicious.

“Yeah.” His grin turns wicked. “If we’re still stuck in here after another hour, you have to go on a real date with me.”

Your jaw drops. “What?”

“You heard me.” He shrugs, like this is the most normal thing in the world. “Take it or leave it, babe.”

You sit up, crossing your arms. “And what happens if we get out of here before the hour’s up?”

Jungkook’s grin doesn’t falter. “Then I’ll stop making inappropriate jokes for a week.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re lying.”

“Scout’s honor,” he says, holding up three fingers.

You stare at him for a long moment, weighing your options. Then, finally, you sigh. “Fine. But you’re going to regret this when we’re out of here in twenty minutes.”

Jungkook just smirks, his confidence radiating off him in waves. “We’ll see, babe.”

And as much as you hate to admit it, you kind of hope you lose.

You stare at him, his stupid is grin practically glowing in the dim light of the room. He’s lying on his side now, looking way too comfortable, while you’re still sitting upright like you’re waiting for a rescue team.

“You seem a little tense,” he says, his voice dropping into that low, teasing tone that always makes your eye twitch.

“I wonder why,” you deadpan, gesturing to the locked door. “Maybe it’s because I’m stuck in here with a man-child who thinks ‘truth or dare’ is an appropriate solution to boredom.”

Jungkook props his head up on one hand, his biceps flexing in a way that feels intentional. “I’m just saying, if we’re stuck here, we might as well make it fun. And let’s face it, yn, no one else makes you laugh like I do.”

You snort, leaning back against the headboard. “You don’t make me laugh. You make me want to scream.”

“Same thing,” he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t fight the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. You hate that he’s right.

As much as you want to throttle him half the time, the other half? You’re too busy laughing at his ridiculousness to care.

“Okay,” you say suddenly, sitting up straighter. “Let’s play your stupid game.”

Jungkook perks up immediately, his eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you say, crossing your arms.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Do you think I’m hot?”

You blink at him, stunned by his audacity, before letting out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“It’s a valid question,” he says, his smirk growing. “Come on, yn. Be honest.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your cheeks heating against your will. “Fine. You’re… decent-looking.”

He’s very hot, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Decent-looking?” He clutches his chest like you’ve just stabbed him. “You’re breaking my heart here.”

“Good,” you say, fighting back a grin.

“Your turn,” he says, recovering quickly. “Truth or dare?”

You pause, considering your options. “Dare.”

His smirk turns dangerous, and you immediately regret your decision. “I dare you to sit on my lap.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, it’s just a dare,” he says, his tone deceptively innocent. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I murder you in cold blood, for starters.”

Jungkook laughs, leaning back against the pillows like he’s got all the time in the world. “You’re no fun.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

He grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It is when you’re this cute.”

You throw a pillow at his face, and he catches it effortlessly, laughing as he tosses it back at you.

Another twenty minutes pass, and you’re lying side by side now, both of you staring at the ceiling.

“You know,” Jungkook says, his voice softer now, “this isn’t so bad.”

You turn your head to look at him, your brows furrowing. “Being locked in a room?”

“Being stuck with you,” he says, and for once, there’s no teasing in his voice.

Your stomach does a weird little flip, and you quickly look away, your cheeks heating. “You’re such a sap.”

You Kind of like it, but…

“Only for you, babe.”

You groan, shoving him with your shoulder. “Stop calling me babe.”

“Why?” he asks, rolling onto his side to face you. “Does it make your heart race?”

“No,” you lie, glaring at him.

Jungkook smirks, leaning in closer. “Liar.”

“Idiot.”

“Hot,” he counters, his grin widening.

You don’t dignify that with a response.

Eventually, the tension breaks when the doorknob jiggles, and a muffled voice calls from the other side.

“Are you guys okay in there?”

You spring off the bed like it’s on fire. “Yes! Get us out!”

Jungkook stays lying down, his arms tucked behind his head, looking as relaxed as ever. “Take your time!” he calls out.

You glare at him, your heart pounding for reasons you’d rather not analyze. “Get up, Jeon.”

“Nah, I’m good here.”

“Get. Up.”

He sighs, sitting up with an exaggerated groan. “Fine. But only because you’re cute when you’re bossy.”

You grab the nearest pillow and whack him one last time, just for good measure.

[mimipolo]

nam-gyu hate fuck? Maybe hes pissed at you because you almost knocked him over in red light green light, and then had the audacity to click x at the vote. So when the lights go out he follows you to the bathroom?

Nam-gyu X reader

(nsfw)

I'll be honest I had no idea what I was doing at first but I swear I had an awakening half way through.

You'd pissed him all the way off now. He could put up with your teasing eyes and the way you managed to still look hot in a crappy tracksuit, even when you had the audacity to nearly knock him off the finish line in the first game . But why would you choose "o"??

His eyes glared daggers into your back as he watched you press "x" confidently as if you'd get away with it.

He'd make sure that wasn't the case.

Votings over and it's ended in a tie, everyone's tense and trying to convince the other to join their side. Amidst all this you slip away to go to the bathroom, he leaves the crowd slowly to follow suit.

You were just shaking off your wet hands when he swings open the bathroom door and casually walks in. He has his hands stuffed in his pockets and wearing an expression that just looks like he's plotting something. Why the hell is he in the woman's bathroom??

Immediately you recognised him as the guy always with Thanos, always just a step behind him ,but just as cunning. The only interaction you had was when his friend had made the odd attempt of hitting on you. But right now, he was nowhere to be seen.

"You went and chose "x" huh?"

You remain quiet, eyes darting around the bathroom as you back away from him but he grasps your arm suddenly making your heart jump.

"You're gonna ignore me now? You gotta mouth, speak."

"What's it matter to you what I chose."

You say through gritted teeth, nervous to speak up to him but also refusing to let him push you around. Your expression sours as he begins to grin wide, like he's pleased with your response and it'd justify what he's about to do.

"Vote "o" next round." He says harshly as he tugs you closer, his body close to yours. He only chuckles when you try to step away, grabbing your other arm to keep you near.

"That a no?" He's tilting his head down towards you, it's almost like he was hoping you'd go against him, you could hear his heartbeat as he eyed you over lustfully.

Unfortunately you had missed the arousal in his hate filled gaze as you spit back a "Hell no", you're being pulled into a bathroom stall before you could even think.

"How bout I convince you to choose "o" yeah? I'm pretty good." His words are smug as he has your back to the colourful stall wall, his hands already fumbling to unzip your tracksuit, kissing loudly at the skin of your neck. The whole situation had your hairs standing up on end, an alarming sense of arousal coursing through you.

A sharp bite to the curve of your shoulder has you flinching, a pained gasp escaping your lips as he looks up at you sadistically.

"I bite though, hard. But you'd probably like that, not even sayin' a thing."

"You asshole..."

You're left shocked by his lust coated words, your hands finally moving to grip his own tracksuit in an attempt to get him off but he's unfazed. Sucking and biting into your flesh as his hands reach down to rest on your hips, one sliding down the waistband of your sweats and into your pants.

You jolt violently at the intrusion, eyes widening in shock as you feel your resolve start to crumble. Your hands tightening around his clothes rather than pushing him away, craning your hips forward when cold ringed fingers press against those bundle of nerves. Shivering softly at the sensation, he just laughs at you, pulling down your tracksuit more for better access.

He didn't lie when he said he was good, each swerve of his fingers had you twitching against him, desperate for him to slip just one inside.

"You're wet from just this? Almost making me feel bad... but you've been the one teasing me this whole time."

"You're fucking crazy-" you manage to barely get out between gasps.

His tone still comes off as arrogant but you can hear him becoming breathless from just watching you crumble under his fingers. Two thick digits pushed inside you. Immediately taking him like you'd been hoping.

"Didn't even hav'ta push that much, you been fucking in this shitty place?"

The accusations make you whine softly as you squeeze around him, it's not true but something about the way he says it has you hooked. He was such an asshole, a sleeze and a junkie but you couldn't defend how you were murmuring against his chest for more.

"More? I knew you were just playing hard to get..."

What you didn't expect was for him to flip you on your back, hands roaming up your body to squeeze at the soft flesh as he presses his evident hard on against the curve of your ass.

"You'll never think of leaving after this." He hisses against the shell of your ear stripping himself down to line himself up against you. Before you could argue with him, even lie and say you'd vote "o" this time he's already inching himself inside you, a sharp jolt shooting through your senses. He's huffing and moaning when he bottoms out, not wasting a moment as he's already moving, making sure you take all of him as he pulls your hips back.

He's surprisingly slow, almost affectionately so. But his words are vulgar and degrading, his hands harshly grabbing anywhere they wished. Your arms are braced against the walls and your eyes squeezed shut with ecstasy as he softly reshapes you. It was like he was making sure you knew and remembered what he was doing to you.

You're honestly convinced he's louder than you, your voices filling the air as you take him. Eventually he gets desperate, his thrusts becoming sloppier and faster and his dirty words only getting whinier "such a slut", "just keep taking it."

Your stomach drops when you hear the bathroom door open, he's quick to silence you. Placing a firm hand over your mouth as his other hand reaches between your legs again to press roughly against your sensitive bud. He's biting his own lip to keep quiet as his hips shudder and he spills everything he's got in you, painting your walls thickly with his cum. He's murmuring and panting against your shoulder about how good you took him before slipping out of you.

He snickers quietly watching you almost fold when he releases his hold on you, pulling up your pants and sweats and sitting you down on the toilet seat.

"I trust you know what to vote, I'll come remind ya if you forget." He whispers as leans down to grin dazily at you, his eyes scanning your fucked out expression. Clearly happy with his work he kisses your cheek deceptively sweetly, before leaving the stall. You hear him wash his hands and whistle softly as he walks away, the creak of the bathroom door signalling his exit.

What the hell was that about...

[yandere-wishes]

NEEEEEED DAMIAN X CATGIRL READER

ME TOO!!!! IT'S ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT!!! Like it's so delicious, so painful, cause ultimately it boils down to the "sins of the father". A mistake, a role, an endless game. Like it or not Damian is destined to repeat this father's mistakes. He's doomed to fall in love with the carbon copy of his father's beloved. He's Just another distorted image of tomorrow.

And can you imagine all the pain it brings back?? The fact that despite knowing the truth of how he was conceived and the bad blood between his parents. There is still a small part of Damian that longs for a happy family, that longs for both parents to live together, in love and contentment.

But seeing Catwoman just shatters his hopes, because he can see the adoration flickering in his father's stoic eyes, Damian knows his mother can never be Bruce's true love.

Also, can you imagine the other side of it? Damian looks up to his father, adores the dark knight hero in every way. His obsession with you only intensifies when he realizes that you make him more like his dad, make him more like Batman. His Catwoman, his pretty little kitty to chase and put in her place. He grows addicted to the thrill of chasing you, of hunting you. Of caging you between his arms lips grazing your neck, savoring your pulse between his teeth. You are his ethereal link to his father's legacy, the last shard in fulfilling his heritage.

────────୨ৎ────────

✧₊⁺ There's something bittersweet lodged between his heart and throat. Some sickly paramour as he takes in your figure sitting docilely on the edge of the rooftop, legs swinging to an invisible rhythm as you suck away on your milkshake's straw. Damian reaches out, breath thick in his lungs, his fingers pat your silky hair for a moment or eternity, he can never tell when he's with you. It's so much easier to process these silly perfidious sentiments when he's flinging all his energy into soaring between the skylines, heel to heel with you, narrowly skirting the swipe of your claws and the sting of your whip-like tail. Damian's never been good at peace, at quiet, serenity is when his true feelings seep out. Ripping his heart as they bleed away.

✧₊⁺ He's all so torn, emotions clawing at his skin like dragon's teeth. Heart filled with daggers as he dreams of keeping you bound by his side forever. Waking up with your limbs tangled with his. To savor your lips throughout the day. To have you sit on his lap as he reads in the library. Domestic little daydreams, he wonders if his father was ever visited by the same frivolous notions. He wonders if he's always been doomed to walk the same path.

✧₊⁺ Yet despite all his longing for such simple romances, Damian can't deny himself the thrill of the chase, the need to hunt you down. To purify your sins with his lips, to intertwining his fingers with yours, pinning you to whichever wall is closest so you don't steal off him. Forcing you to release your bag of stolen goods, forcing all your attention on him.

✧₊⁺ It's unfair he thinks as he glares at the Bat Computer desperate for any inkling of a robbery, any sign of you.

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Like I was saying I just love the idea of Damian being torn apart with so much grief and (delusional) burden for a simple obsessive crush. Bonus point if reader is his first-ever crush, the only person he's ever felt destined to be with. It's so romantic and heavy, suffocating the poor boy. All the while reader is robbing jewelry stores and stealing sweet treats in hopes of impressing her mentor. Praying to avoid another run-in with the weird boy wonder.

Kinda playing more into legacy. I find it so fascinating to write about Batman's obsession with crime being passed down to his sons. Yet also twisting that righteous obsession into a dark morbid mania. Causing his sons to go astray and fall in love with the thing(s) they were destined to destroy!!!!

Oh and since we're on the topic of heritage and sins of the father, can I take this moment to also mention. Dick Grayson x Jester reader. More specifically a reader who is Joker and Harley's daughter, who wants to be just like her parents and was raised to take up their mantle, just like Dick was with Bruce.

I'm trying to come up with a villain name for her but there are so many possibilities. Jester is my default name for now, but I also like Wildcard and Laughtrack maybe even Giggles (sounds so macabre in this context).

[bkgexe]

to katsuki, you are: aloe on sunburn, sand on the floor of the car’s backseat, hands sticky with melted ice cream.

your mothers were best friends who always aligned their vacation days. the beach was like a second home to the both of you, not always by choice. katsuki still imagines the way waves sound when he’s falling asleep—the ebb and flow. take and give, and take always comes first.

you talked to him about it once when you were sharing a room in a rental cabin—one for your mothers, one for the both of you. you were still young enough that the idea of you two sharing a room didn’t give your mothers a collective conniption. you told him that sometimes hearing the tide was the only thing that could get you to sleep.

katsuki was cautious of the water a healthy amount. his dad told him about riptides when he was younger: being pulled out to sea, salt in your mouth, lungs burning, and the shore so much farther than you’d ever think possible. “it’s creepy,” he told you. still too young to have replaced his instinct to be vulnerable with his instinct to bite.

“you scared of the ocean?”

“no,” he lied.

“it’s okay if you’re a little scared,” you told him. you were two months older than him, and this meant your words held wisdom. “the ocean is meant to be scary, i think.”

“what do you mean by that?”

“if no one was scared of it, everyone would end up out there in the water. there’d be nothing stopping anyone from swimming and then swimming more—” you used to have this habit of pausing mid-sentence like you were cutting yourself off, like you’d run out of breath because of all the words you were trying to get out. katsuki used to find it annoying and deeper than that he used to really like it. you took a deep breath. “and then i guess you’d just swim too far.”

katsuki thinks: riptides, salt, burning. he thinks that his dad was right to warn him over and over again, even though it has heavily shaped his perception of the ocean and his enjoyment of these holidays.

the drives back to hamamatsu were the worst. there was always sand even when you thought you’d gotten rid of all the sand on your body. katsuki would find it later between his toes, clinging to the dry and delicate skin behind his ears. the two of you would sit together in sand in the backseat and swing your legs and tap your flip-flops against each other until they were all lost to the floor of the car. katsuki liked when the side of your foot was pressed against his, when he could feel the sand on you and the warmth of your skin, like the beach took up residence in your body and followed you home.

he’d like it more if the beach stayed where it was. he’d like it if your smile didn’t remind him of a saltlicked breeze and easy sunrise. this is why he started bullying you in the fourth grade, but when his mom asked him why he was being mean to you, he told her it was because you were afraid of the ocean and that made you weak and dumb, because how could the ocean every be a frightening thing? it takes before it gives, but only if you let it.

he hurt you physically for the first time right before he left for ua. you were both graduating. your moms were getting busier, older. the vacations were infrequent and rarely involved the both of you because of how katsuki had been acting. he didn’t want to go, anyway—the beach never felt right without you, without your sticky ice-cream hands and your sandstuck skin.

you said, “congratulations,” even though he’d nearly made you cry just a few days ago. you said, “you’re gonna do great at ua.”

you were a little too close to him. he could smell your body spray. something bad and a little too sweet that reminded him of childhood. he pushed you because you weren’t going to stop him, and because you always acted like this, like he wasn’t treating you any differently than he had when you were both ten and making sandcastles together, and because he could. that’s all. because he could.

you fell hard. not expecting it. you needed two stitches in your right knee. he’d pushed you on the way home, and you’d gone down on the pocked tarmac of your hometown’s rundown main street.

when he saw the blood he remembered the first time you put aloe on a nasty sunburn across his shoulders and he cried because it hurt so bad. he cried and you were kind to him.

he wanted to take away the feeling you had that you were close to him. that you were important to him. he didn’t understand what gave you the idea in the first place that either of these things could possibly be true.

this was when katsuki realized he wasn’t afraid of the ocean—he was instead akin to it. he would be the one to take before he gave. he would be the thing to fear. and so that’s what he decided to become.

he doesn’t see you again until he’s twenty-nine years old. you have avoided him every holiday season that he’s returned home, though he couldn’t say whether you returned home or not. he never saw you. his parents didn’t mention you. if he ran into your mom while he was out grocery shopping with his mom, their conversations revolved around anything that wasn’t you.

he’s tired now. he’s been the thing that people fear. he has taken and taken and taken and he has never truly learned how to give. an ocean can’t only be an ebb.

he takes his mother to the beach. she can’t go by herself anymore because she had a bad hip replacement and loses stamina easily when walking, especially in the sun.

you and your mother are there, on the same stretch of beach, and later he will find out that you’re renting a cabin eerily close to the one his mom has rented for the week. after his mother is laid out sunbathing next to your mother, the two of you head to the water and stand in the low tide, the sand just cool enough not to burn the delicate bottoms of your feet.

you grew into your features perfectly. even the non-conventional parts of you are gorgeous. the thought makes his hands feel clammy. makes him avoid eye contact for more than the obvious reasons.

“you look good,” you tell him, despite the fact that he’s scarred from face to torso and badly. “happy, I mean.”

“don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, leaves the pronoun vague. maybe you don’t know what you’re talking about. maybe he doesn’t. his face heats and he blames the sun. he doesn’t know if he’s been happy in a long time. your knee scarred from the stitches and he didn’t know that until today, right now.

you shrug and you’re already starting to burn. he wouldn’t know that if he hadn’t spent all his youth with you, here, in the sun. even if he can’t see the color, he can tell by time elapsed. you scratch at your shoulders a little, confirming how well your timetables are still etched into his subconscious. “up there in the hero ranks, lots of fans, feared by all… seems like what you wanted when we were kids.”

he’s quiet. the two of you watch a young couple play with their daughter in the foam-edge ocean surf. you’re so pretty that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“is it what you wanted?”

“i was a shitty kid.”

“you weren’t,” you say. “and then something changed and you were.”

the couple are younger than both of you. katsuki doesn’t want kids but thinks: that could have been him, in some other universe, and maybe that version of him would have wanted a daughter when he was that young and maybe he would have learned to give before he took.

“you stopped being afraid of it, i think.”

“of what?” he asks.

you gesture to the ocean before you, the glittering water and the soft spread of ebb-flow tide and the sheer expanse of something too vast for either of you to ever fully comprehend. “you swam too far.”

you’re right. he thinks: he lost his fear of the ocean when he started to believe that he was something just like it. or instead, this: conquering fear and becoming the thing that frightens you are two very different things.

“i shouldn’t have pushed you,” he says. “i shouldn’t have treated you the way i did.”

you nod. chew on a thought. “my mom thinks we’re gonna get married.”

he snorts at the sheer ridiculousness of that concept. the idea that he’d ever be good enough to learn to give for you. “you tell her we’re not?”

“tried a couple times. she’s got the venue picked out and everything.”

“they know why we don’t talk,” he says, but it’s a question. he’s never broached the topic with anyone. he likes to keep it like a hidden septic wound, poke at it to see it ooze.

“i don’t even know that,” you tell him.

he looks at you because he can. he wants you to look back at him but you’re squinting off into the horizon, searching for something. someone that’s gone too far, maybe. even though he’s right here next to you. “because i hurt you,” he says.

“you did.”

“and you didn’t deserve it.”

“i didn’t.”

“i’m sorry.”

you laugh, a sound he hasn’t heard in over a decade. he remembers your flip-flops falling to the floor of the car, the sand on your skin, the trill of laughter when you couldn’t reach them to put them back on. “i’d have liked if it didn’t take you years to get there.”

“it didn’t,” he says. this is the flow. this is the give. this is vulnerability over bite. “i think about it some days—or most. most days.”

“but you never wanted to talk to me about it?”

“i did. i just—” and he looks at you and loses his words like you used to when you were younger because you’re looking at him now too and he thinks: there is nothing but guilt inside of me. he was never meant to be an ocean. he wasn’t built to contain a feeling so vast. “feels impossible to start a conversation like that.”

“you just have to start it,” you say, like it really is that simple.

he doesn’t say anything because you’re right.

“remember when I asked if you were afraid of the ocean?” you ask.

“vaguely.”

“you lied to me. you said you weren’t.”

he remembers that. remembers lying to you. remembers hearing the tide for years and years as he fell asleep, like the ocean was following him, determined to make him remember his own failings. “but i was.”

“you were,” you say. “and so was i.”

when he takes your hand in his, his palms are sweaty and you don’t seem to care at all. and you stand together like that, feet in the ocean, staring down the thing that scared the both of you when you were younger. that still scares you now. “i know it’s not—I know don’t deserve it. but i wanna get to know you again,” he says. swallows his pride and its diamond edges. “if you’d want that.”

“i would,” you say, and this is your give—though from him, you’ve never taken. you should. you deserve to. “i missed being out here with you. didn’t feel right by myself.”

and even though it’s so different now—the both of you and your mothers all in different sections of your lives, seeds flush in a mandarin—it feels right. your presence completes this image. to katsuki, you are many things. to katsuki, you are everything to do with the beach and the sun and the sand.

“missed it too,” he says—and he can remember, just like he remembers the way your skin felt warm on your childhood drives home from the beach, what it felt like to be less of an ocean and more of a human. how empty vastness was nothing in the face of his happiness from just being close to you.

[diejager]

Imagine trying to run away from makarov (dad) because you don't agree with his plans....

(nsfw??? if you're not comfortable i understand)

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, INCEST/PSEUDO-INCEST, kidnapping, tell me if I missed any. Note: you could be related to him by blood or not, that's up to you to decide.

His hands hurt you, their slow caress down your shoulders and hips burning your dirty and sensitive skin, all red and scratched up from your struggle against him and his men. The softness of his gestures reminded you of happier times, the calm, morning dew on your floor-to-ceiling windows, the warmth of your bed, and the loving embrace of his fatherly love. You’d never assumed much from his kisses, the little pecks on your cheek and hands, making you feel like his little princess, or the placement of his hand, low on your back, around your hip and shoulder. it had always felt like a protective gesture, from one father to another, where he vowed to keep you safe the second he brought you into his mansion.

You never and could have never thought it more than that. He’d always acted as the doting father, pampering and spoiling you with whatever you wanted or wished to have. Makarov was the perfect parent —but he kept you in the dark about many things, things sealed behind a firewall of codes and threats towards his allies. You’d been told that it was for your protection, for your security, sanity and conscious that it was kept from you. Oh, how right your father was, the moment you found out what he did to achieve his wealth, you were horrified.

So you ran, tearfully squirreling away from your home and your father, lost and confused and terrified of the world you were sheltered from. You had hopes you could find safety among people, hidden away from your father and his company, but you were naive, so, so naive to think you could hide from him and his nation-wide read. You only managed to stray away for a day or two before his men found you, their hold rough and painful despite your father’s orders to not harm a hair on your body (father would probably kill them once they bring you back).

He hounded you back into your room the second you were back in his sight, stored away behind a locked door and under him, his lips painting a searing line down your jaw and teeth latching onto your neck. His once parental care turned into something dark and seedy, groans muffling your whining protests while he felt you up and down, the course pads of his fingers that you’d associated to comfort turned into disgust. Tears clung to lashes, falling with each flutter, staining your cheeks with the sorrow you felt —the betrayal and revulsion that oozed from you.

Your fist pummeled against his chest, pushing him as much as your feet kicked, slamming down onto his back, but your father seemed to be none the wiser, hands unraveling you from your sullied shirt. Either he didn’t care, or he was oblivious of your repulsion and rejection of this, he continued to strip you until you laid naked under his wandering hands and watchful eyes. He drank you in, small and squirming, twisting and struggling to find safety under your covers, and simply hide away from the darkness that swirled in his eyes.

You felt sick, a heavy feeling in your abdomen knotting up and pushing its way up your throat —you were inches away from puking on your bed sheets. You were sick and afraid and sad, but none of it compared to the amount of betrayal you felt. All you had known was him, you’d seem neither hair or hide of your mother or siblings - if you had any - and you never knew if you were related by blood, father had never let you entertain the idea because if he deemed you his daughter, you were his daughter.

Perhaps that was why this act hurt you so much, going against his words of protection and safety as he touched you, his burning fingers pulling at your being and shoving you off the edge over and over without guilt or hesitation. It hurt and he didn’t stop, not until you were a twitching and strained puddle under him.

[xmads-omensx]

Word Count: 1,639

Pairing: Best friend! Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: swearing, arguments, Noah is bad at feelings and so is Y/N

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @chey-h @tosoundlessdarkistare @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp

Thanks @alwaysfightforwhoyouare for the idea, and sorry it took me so long to actually write since we were talking about this before New Years lmao.

Extra inspo:

NOAH POV

She was beautiful.

I found myself stealing glances at her whenever I could. It was impossible not to. Even when I didn’t intend to, my eyes always found her.

No matter what room I walked into, I always sought her out.

Her laugher. Her smile. Her eyes. Her.

Y/N had been my best friend, besides Nicholas of course, for as long as I could remember. Granted, we only met when we had moved to California, but we clicked instantly.

Two peas in a pod. Partners in crime. Ride or die.

That was us.

But I was desperate for more.

I wanted to hold her hand. Hold her. Kiss her. Tell I loved her. Take her to bed. Be with her.

But it could never happen. She had a boyfriend and I was just her best friend. She would never see me as anything more than that.

I buried those feelings as deep as I possibly could. I dated and saw other people as often as I could to try and move on, but nothing worked. No matter who I went out with, my mind was always stuck on Y/N.

Every time I saw her with Chris, my heart broke a little bit more. I knew this was unfair, since she had no idea how I felt about her and it wasn’t her fault she was happy with someone else, but part of me resented her for being happy with someone else.

What could he give her that I couldn’t?

I knew every single detail about her. I could even tell you how many freckles decorated her face if you asked me to.

But it wasn’t enough.

She had him, and I had Bad Omens.

“Y/N and Chris are fighting again.” Matt sighed, taking his seat in the studio.

They had been fighting a lot recently. He had been going out more often with his friends, leaving Y/N at home. She hated being alone.

“Same thing again?” Jolly asked.

“Yep.” Matt sighed again.

Silence encased the studio. None of us particularly liked Chris, some for more selfish reasons than others, but none of us wanted to stop Y/N from being happy.

“I’ve got some lyrics that I’ve been working on.” I spoke up, breaking the silence.

“Can we have a look?” Jolly asked, so I handed him my highly precious notebook that I used for songwriting.

His eyes darted over the pages. if he knew what the song was about, he didn’t let on anything.

“This is good shit, Noah.” He said, smiling genuinely.

I had been working on the song for a while now, but I never had the courage to show anyone else the song yet.

It was by far my favourite song that I had ever written.

“Do you think it would be okay for the new record?” I asked, chewing the skin on my thumb anxiously.

“I think it’s perfect for the new record dude.” Jolly said, grinning widely.

“Great.” I said with a sigh of relief.

We spent most of the day recording the new song, working in silence for the most part as we seemed to be working in unison, as one.

The lyrics flew out of me so easily, it was like breathing.

Verse after verse, the melody came naturally.

It didn’t matter if anyone knew what the song was about, as long as she got to hear it.

Y/N POV

Chris and I never had a great relationship.

It wasn’t toxic or anything, we just didn’t love eachother, but were determined to make it work.

The honeymoon phase was relatively short, only lasting the first two months of our relationship.

Out fights consisted of the same common denominators every single time. His partying and my friendship with Noah.

Chris hated Noah with a burning passion. In fact, Chris was convinced that Noah was in love with me, which would be impossible because how could someone like Noah be in love with someone like me?

Noah was a genuine, kind soul, and I was often labelled a vindictive bitch.

He would have to be desperate for human connection if he fell in love with me.

“Seriously, I don’t understand why you’re friends with him, Y/N, he clearly just wants to get in your pants.” Chris sighed, exasperated at my apparent obliviousness to Noah’s alleged feelings for me.

“Because he’s my best friend, and no, he doesn’t want to get in my pants. I think I’d know if he did.” I replied, sick of this argument going round in circles.

“Y/N, please listen to me. He isn’t your friend. He just wants to use you to get off. He likes the power he has over you.” Chris argued back, raising his voice.

“Stop lying about it, I’m not going to believe you.” I yelled. “This is so fucking dumb, Chris, all we ever do is go around in circles until we either get bored of the argument and go cool off somewhere or we just end up fucking!”

“Who’s fault is it that we keep running in circles like this?” Chris snarled. “You’re the one who is still hanging around that jackass.”

“Oh my god! When will you realise that Noah is not the problem here, you are!” I yelled.

“Then how about I leave and make your life easier?” Chris shouted.

“Good! Get the fuck out of my house!” I yelled in reply, gesturing towards the door.

He simply turned around and left. Just like that.

The silence that filled the house wasn’t unpleasant like I thought it would be, but instead it was peaceful and I welcomed it with open arms.

Finally, I had enough space to think. To breathe. To exist without him screaming down my ear about Noah, and without me interrogating him about him going out with his friends into the very early hours of the morning.

But after a few hours of this new silence, the house became almost too silent. Too cold. Too big.

I needed the space to be smaller again.

With my mind in autopilot, I found myself climbing into the drivers side of my car and driving over to Noah’s house, desperate for comfort and some semblance of crowdedness.

Noah’s front door opened before you had even rung the bell.

“Hey, you okay? Matt had us worried about you.” Noah gushed, pulling me into a hug.

“Yeah just wanted to hang out for a bit. It’s too quiet at my place.” I explained with a shrug.

“Is Chris out again?”  Noah asked as we walked into his house.

“Oh, we broke up like two hours ago.” I said with a laugh, but I couldn’t tell if it was a fake laugh or not.

“Shit are you okay?” Noah asked, placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Yeah. I mean I think so.” I said with a shrug.

“Y/N, you’re crying.” Noah whispered, his voice significantly more gentle than it had been previously as he cupped my cheek and wiped a stray tear away from my face.

“No, really I’m okay.” I said, unsure as to why I was crying.

“Come here.” Noah whispered, pulling me into a tight hug.

I wasn’t sure what it was about hugging Noah made me feel so emotional, but I couldn’t control the damn that burst, letting all of my pent up frustrations at Chris gush out.

The more I cried, the clearer the real reason for my tears became. I was in love with Noah.

NOAH POV

I gently rubbed Y/N’s back as I held her close to my chest, hoping to ease her pain as much as I could.

“Come with me, I want to show you something.” I whispered, guiding her into the studio before sitting her down on the small sofa we had in there for moments like these.

She curled up in her usual spot with her knees pulled up to her chest.

I switched on the computer monitor and selected the audio file that I wanted.

Besides the purple LED lights, that were Y/N’s favourite, the monitor was the only thing that illuminated the otherwise empty room.

The soft melody of the acoustic demo that we had recorded earlier that morning filled the air as I sat next to Y/N on the sofa and pulling her into my arms. She instantly snuggled closer into my chest as if she were hiding from something and was seeking comfort.

She was my safe space and I was hers.

The lyrics began to take over the melody as I rocked Y/N back and forth in my arms.

There are scars that never ever show themselves

You get when you’re left alone too long in Hell

I was sick and tired of leaving Y/N to live her life without me by her side. I was desperate to be able to call her mine. To hold her hand as we walked to our favourite coffee shop. To kiss her cheek and tell her she looked beautiful as she got ready to go out. To be able to hold her as we drifted off to sleep in our bed.

I was desperate for HER.

I began to sing the lyrics to her, causing her to look up into my eyes as I looked down into hers.

Well, if I'm there to catch you when you fall You'll have a friend down in Hell after all

“Noah.” She murmured.

“Yes, Y/N.” I whispered in reply.

“I love you.” She whispered.

I answered her by leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on her lips. Just enough to tell her exactly how I felt.

“Yours?” She asked after we pulled away.

“Mine.” I replied with a smile.

“Forever?”

“Yes, Y/N, mine forever.”

And if you're there to catch me when I fall Then maybe Hell ain't so bad after all

[sahrii]

¡! orbiting pluto ❞

osamu miya x fem!reader

m.list word count! 1.6k warnings! osamu and reader meet, a lot of awkwardness, mentions of guilt, poor osamu :(, parent pressure (?), bokuto attack hehe, really cute though I love osamuyn.

❛ I love everybody because I love you, when you stood up, walked away, barefoot, and the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape, I looked over it and I ached.❜ - strawberry blonde by mitski

he liked being with her staring into her eyes and think about what it'd be like to wake up to the hum of her breath and the sound of her love

chapter 3.00 - quiet offerings beneath the moon !

THE night air was a frigid caress. It was cold—way too cold for her own liking. The sky looked like a canvas smeared with inky black and peppered with tiny, icy stars all through. The skin of her thighs shivered when it made contact with the chilly, plastic swing seat that was coloured with scratches, sending a shiver down the small of her back. Somehow, she thought it was a good idea to leave the house with mid-thigh shorts that did little to nothing to protect her from the bite of the cold and a relatively thick, olive green hoodie on a random Tuesday night. 

It was eerily quiet, set aside the occasional rustle of the trees and the sound of a rusty screech accompanied by each arc of the swing. Her foot pushed slightly against the ground and her hands were wrapped around the brownish metal chains. She brought a hand up to her nose and allowed the smell to infiltrate her nostrils, her face unconsciously switching to disgust with her nose scrunching up due to the repulsing smell of damp, moist metal. She slightly regretted arriving early.

The sound of not very distant footsteps danced into her ears. “Oh, I thought I was early, but never mind,” she heard his voice and jumped a little. He let out a chuckle. 

“Do you always like to pop out of nowhere?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly as a small, accusing smile formed on her lips. “Or is just for me?”

“didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled, now standing in front of her sitting figure, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. She had to tilt her head slightly up to see his face. 

“Yeah, totally,” her eyes roll. Heat climbed up her neck despite the cold nibbling at her skin, creating a curious mixture of warmth and icy indifference. she didn’t understand why her body reacted that way.

Osamu outstretched his hand, revealing her wallet clutched between his long fingers. “Here,” he states. His eyes stared into hers for a whole second, and he felt the earth slightly tilt from its axis. They unbiddenly moved to her slightly parted lips, and he felt his throat go dry. He thought about what his lips would feel against hers, and he felt his heartbeat in a menacing manner, he thought his ribcage might break. Her voice brought him back to his senses. 

“Oh! Thank you,” she opened the palm of her hand allowing him to drop the wallet into it. She stuffed the wallet into her pocket.

“No worries, just make sure you don’t drop it next time,” he teased, smirking slightly as he took a seat on the swing next to hers. 

It was silent. Silence knew its way around them. But this time, it was a silence that shimmered with unspoken words and racing hearts. He stole a glance at her. The moon was a full moon tonight, casting a silver mist on her skin. The sight made his heart stutter with want. He gulped, wetting his dry mouth a bit before deciding on disrupting the bubble of silence. 

His cold hand rubbed the nape of his neck in an attempt to calm his nerves. “Uh, so, what do you study?” 

“Oh—I do architecture,” she replied, making eye contact for a moment then averting her gaze elsewhere. 

“Cool, any reason why you picked it?”

She shrugged. She wanted to say no, not really. She wanted to say that it was the only major, out of her options, that her parents reluctantly approved of. After weeks of arguments, yells and some tears. But she opted for not doing so.

“Uh, kind of? Like, I’m good with maths, I guess. I like drawing as well, so I thought it’d be nice if I combined both and did arch,”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “You strike me as an art kind of person,”

“Oh really, I’ll take that as a compliment then,” she smiled. “But what about you, though? What do you study? I mean, everyone knows you play volleyball, but no one really knows what you study,” 

“Oh, me?” he asked. He debated on whether he should answer the question as Osamu or as atsumu. His heart tugged at him a little. He decided to answer it as Osamu. “I, uh, I do food science,” 

“Food science?”

“Not what you expected, huh? I honestly don’t know why I picked it. I actually kinda regret, didn’t expect it to be that hard, y’know?” he chuckled. 

For some reason, a poignant ache resided within his chest. Echoes of guilt, like ghostly fingers, tapped against the closed doors of his heart. He desperately wanted to keep the insidious whispers of guilt from seeping in. he thought it wasn’t the time to feel guilty yet.

“Oh,” her mouth formed an O shape. “I heard that it was okay for people with—”

“—a solid background in chemistry,” he cut her off, a deadpan expression decorating his face. “Do I look like I have a solid background in chemistry?” 

“Hm, I suppose not, you definitely don’t look like a chemistry person, that’s for sure,” she let out a dry, awkward chuckle, her grip on the rough, rusty chains tightening. 

Awkward or not, his heart skipped a beat. Or two. Frankly, he’d lost count after the first time. But, he could feel the doors to his heart, which had long been tightly sealed, slowly begin to shift—cracking under the faint pressure of something he couldn’t fully resist. A single crack that would prove pernicious in the near future.

“I have a friend who’s really good at chemistry if you’d ever like help.” Her words pulled him out of his thoughts.

“As far as I remember, neither Akaashi nor Bokuto have a single chem related class for their degrees.” A sly smirk threatened to creep onto his face, “though I’m not even sure Bokuto knows a thing about anything.”

“Oh yeah,” she muttered, before straightening up and narrowing her eyes at him. She leaned away from him, kicking at the rubber mulch beneath her causing her to swing just a little.  “Wait, how do you know about them? I don’t remember telling you about them.”

“How do you think I got your number?”

She groaned, the metal chains clinking as she moved her hands to her face. 

“That’s so embarrassing. *Please* tell me you didn’t read the back.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh my god, I would love the ground to swallow me whole right now. You better not tell them ever, Miya.” A threatening edge to her voice.

“My mouth is sealed.” The smirk was now etched all over his face. It was silent again, yet it felt different; the earlier awkwardness had dissipated into thin air, replaced by two pairs of flushed cheeks.

A moment passed between them, the chilly December air engulfing them before she turned her head to look at him. She studied his features. Atsumu Miya, who knew he’d be so different from his reputation? Maybe he was a doppelgänger, an alien that had come and taken the form of the infamous volleyball player. 

He felt small under her unwavering gaze and the way her eyes studied every feature of his face with laser point focus. Her eyes trailed up to his hair, before a confusion etched her face.

“Hm, when did you die your hair grey?” 

“When did I dye my hair…?”

“Yeah, I could’ve sworn you were blond.”

His throat went dry, it felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs, the winter air felt suffocating. Realisation finally hit him; it hit him like a rogue wave crashing against a solitary lighthouse on a rainy day. His pupils dilated and then shrunk back. Subconsciously, he took a single lock of his grey—almost silver in the moonlight—hair between his fingertips. Right, Atsumu hair is blond, and his is grey. Blond to grey.

“Ha yeah, I dyed a few days ago, maybe a week? I don’t really remember.” He mumbled, his fingers still grasping at the same lock. Blond to grey.

“You don’t like it?”

“No— no, it’s not like that.” She stumbled over her words, waving her hands in denial. 

“I think it suits you more, actually. Better than that piss yellow.”

Her voice was low, nearly inaudible, but in the silence it was loud. The lock of grey previously stretched between his index and thumb….bounced back as he release it, neck snapping towards her.

“is that so,” he smirked teasingly, though in reality, beneath that façade, his heart thundered against his chest, a betraying flush creeping up his neck. 

“yeah” she replied sheepishly. “well—anyway, um—i might have to go now, i promised kou i’d be back in time for the movie,” she stood up, slightly dusting her clothes

“the movie?” 

“yeah, it’s movie night day today,” 

“oh okay,” he doesn’t want to admit that he’s disappointed. he doesn’t want to admit that he wants to spend more time with her. he doesn’t want to admit that he wants to continue listening to her voice. it tickles his senses. he won’t admit that, though. “do you want me to walk you home?” he stood up as well, knees buckling a little.

“no it’s fine, i live around the corner so i’ll be fine, you take care though,” she shook her head a little, a small, grateful smile on her lips.

“yeah, that’s fine. enjoy,” he stuffed his hands into his pockets, returning the smile. she turned around and started walking away.

“thank you for the wallet again,” she yelled, her voice seeming like a distant echo now. he turned his heels, and began walking away as well, his heart performing a set of frantic dances within his chest. 

thank u @solarvrses for beta reading and helping me with the dialogue!

taglist ! [taglist is open, ask or comment to be added !]

@cherrysurf @heartmaddie @kawoala @tanuki-tanuki @brireblogs @luvfromtoni @makiglazer @jpegarchives @sagejin @loveyislost @gumims @bunichuu @wyrcan @angeleilee @chemicalsnoopy @blueballslock @nobodybutnnoorr @saturns-satellites @shoyofroyoyoyo @frootloopscos @thecallofmedusa

enjoy <333

[cheemscakecat]

Shapeshifter rant [angst and yappery]

The big scary looking form he takes is basically a threat pose. Threat poses are what animals use to fight or scare off danger.

Cats puff out their tails and arch their backs:

It’s something that even kittens can do.

Tarantulas lift up their front legs and bare their fangs:

Octopi make themselves look poisonous and can flash colors to scare predators:

It makes sense to me that a shapeshifter would have a bigger, distorted version of their base/“true” form as a threat pose. And that babies would instinctively be able to make that form even if they haven’t seen an adult before.

I think Shifty’s base form, the one he reverts into when he’s relaxing or sleeping, is like the form we see, but smaller and more friendly looking. And that it’s as tall as a grown human or just a little bit shorter.

The shapeshifter is afraid of humans; they lied to him, kept him as a test subject, froze him, and then disappeared. He didn’t know if they were going to come back to experiment on him more, or if they would want to “finish the job.”

He tried to dig his way out of the bunker but was stopped by the steel lining. This form is still fast and very durable, which he would want if the humans ever came back.

This form was made to try and break through the lining of the bunker, but that didn’t work. Instead, Shifty took to hitting the lining to make this form stronger and tougher skinned.

He can perfectly replicate Ford and Fiddleford’s voices, but doing so fills him with rage and makes him crash out. For a time, he would purposely get himself riled up to “train” for the scientists to return.

But as decades passed and nobody came to poke, prod, refreeze, or kill him, Shifty felt he’d been left to rot and gave up.

He still doesn’t trust humans, new or not, children or not. And Dipper quickly proved himself to be a fanboy of the scientist that kept the shapeshifter locked away from the sun and sky, froze him, and then never came back.

The second he realized they knew he was a shapeshifter, he went straight to treating them like a threat. For all he knows human children could be just as dangerous as the adults, and he doesn’t want to be destroyed or captured.

Shifty’s not an evil monster, he believes humans are out to get him and wants to do everything he can to stay safe from them.

The reason he lost his temper when he couldn’t find Dipper and the others is because he had no idea what they might be planning, and no idea what they might be capable of.

Being alone in a bunker for 30 years thinking this way would do a number on anybody. He’s not mentally stable or willing to believe that these new people have good intentions. In his mind revealing himself from the start would be opening himself up to get attacked. Better to pretend to be one of them and figure out what they want.

The reason Shifty wanted the journal all those years ago was to find out Stanford’s true intentions for him. Somehow he overheard Fiddleford muttering about freezing him, and he simply had to know if the scientists were really going to do that. Ford freezing him just confirmed all his worst fears.

So why does he still want the journal, anyway? He feels that Stanford saw him as a monster, and when pretending to be Ford, he talks about himself that way. If he “knows” how the scientists really view him, why would it matter if he has the book or not?

It should have the answers on how to get out of the bunker. He hasn’t been able to escape, he can’t access the room with 50 years worth of food, he knows the outside world exists and would surely like to go there.

It’ll give him some closure in the form of seeing how much Ford despised him and decided to leave him to starve to death in the bunker. Dipper says the author has been missing, but Shifty’s spent 30 years stewing over the scientists betraying him. He’s fully in denial about Stanford or Mcgucket potentially being dead, the idea was just presented that day. No, the book will prove he was right all along, the scientists hated him and locked him away.

There are other creatures in Gravity falls that he could mimic, letting him run free in nature without worrying about humans tracking him down. Heck, maybe the humans actually like these other beasts. Maybe the journal will even give him some sort of insight on why humans are so disgusted with him in particular.

Revenge. The humans refused to let him have the book when they pretended to be friendly. Clearly it holds some sort of value and significance to Stanford. Taking the book and keeping it for himself would surely infuriate Ford. And quite frankly, that’s enough in the way of revenge because humans are too dangerous to be attacked.

On a lighter note, I think that the way Shifty was talking was basically like.. when a kid makes their voice deeper and makes fun of how an adult speaks. He is an adult, but mockingly speaking like Ford in his own voice was a good way to trick Dipper without risking getting angry hearing Stanford’s voice.

This is probably the dumbest headcanon of mine; if you could just be a fly on the wall, on a day where there’s no humans in the bunker stressing Shifty out, I think he would sound pretty similar to Luke Skywalker.

Not the exact same, especially with his emotional state, but similar.

[straykids-97]

Sinner

“Deliver me from evil, for I have sinned.”

Warnings: Dom!Chris, choking, intellectual humiliation, (stupid, dummy, etc), EXTREME power dynamic, sthenolangia, submissive!y/n. Chris is a meanie :( in this. Lmk if I forgot anything!!

Synopsis: Chris can only take so much before he snaps. A typical tirade ends up being far more than what you bargained for…

Word count: 2k

🖤❤️🔪❤️🖤

We’ve all heard the saying, ‘deliver me from evil for I have indeed sinned.’ Even if you aren’t religious, it’s used in media like movies and TV shows left and right. We’ve all been exposed to the mantra, over and over again. However, not many of us take into account what this can truly mean.

If you ask a random passerby, it means could mean you’ve done wrong, and you seek forgiveness from the Lord. And you seek forgiveness from Him in order to make it to those pearly gates in the afterlife.If you ask the right person, you could get the answer you so seek… Just depends on who you ask, and what situation you may be in when you say such a thing. And, well depending on the day, Chris can offer you so much more than just a simple response. His reply may even equate whatever God could offer…

You stand in the kitchen, stirring a bowl of cake batter as you rant and rave about your day and how much you wished he would’ve gone with you to the local farmers market so you didn’t have to go alone. Nothing out of the ordinary, a typical, little gripe. In reality, you knew he had to work. But it still made you feel better airing out your complaints so they didn’t pile up and really cause problems. You know better than to complain about such trivial matters, because in reality, they don’t really matter. You don’t mind going to the market alone, less stares that way. You feel normal again, not like you’re dating some insanely rich, hot K-pop superstar. 

Even though you knew it didn’t really matter, you still prattled on. Talking about how convenient it would’ve been and how much more fresh fruit and veggies you could have gotten if he were there to help carry your basket. You weren’t as strong as him, you argued, causing him to scoff. You roll your eyes at the lack of reply, wishing he’d say something. Anything. But he didn’t seem like he was even listening. 

But Chris was listening, oh was he listening. Chris was rubbing the strong muscles of his shoulders, digging his fingertips into his skin, harder and harder, the more you complained. Every time you said, “If you were only there,” or, “if you had been there,” he dug his nails into is skin. By now, he was leaving trails of red along where hes’ been obsessively rubbing for the last 30 minutes. He’s heard a lot of complaining lately and he’s about to hit his limit.

“…and this weird guy kept asking me if I needed help bringing my stuff to the car.” You babbled on and as you open your mouth to say something more, Chris’s hand slams down on the counter. You jump out of your skin, holding a hand over your heart as it jumps to a faster pace. You look at him, shocked by his reaction. Had you hit a nerve? Perhaps, but he’s never reacted that way before, it’s not uncommon for people to ask if you need a hand, that’s just the kindness of locals. But today, maybe mentioning that guy wasn’t such a idea.

He doesn’t look at you as you watch him rise from his stool and you watch with bated breath as slowly walks toward you. You don’t realize it, but you’re holding air in your lungs until he’s standing right in front of you. 

Chris grabs you by the chin, digging his nails into your skin so hard that you think he may break skin. You hiss, wincing as he yanks you closer to him, watching as he bares his teeth at you. Snapping them shut, he sucks air through his pearly whites, a warning.

He’s not playing- he’s serious.

The laughing and humor gone now, all that lingers in the air is a stuffy, hot feeling. Almost as if he was suffocating you by merely being close to you. You swallow hard, if he didn’t have his large hand around your jaw, it would be parted in shock.

“Shut.” His voice was low, sending a chill shooting down your spine, “up.” The last word was like venom on his tongue, the way he spat it in your face made it seem like he wanted it out of his mouth. Your heart slams against your ribs, fear making your hairs stand on end as his nails bite into your skin harder.

He walks you back until you’re pressed against the counter top, and the familiar sensation of cold sweat starts to cause beads along your forehead. The menacing look in his dark eyes never leaves as he stares holes into your soul. He leans in, his warm, minty breath spreading across your ear and neck as he speaks, “if I hear another fucking word come out of your mouth, I’ll shut it for you.”

You can’t fight the whimper that escapes and you quite literally feel him tense. He becomes a marble statue right in front of you as you feel another stab of adrenaline course through your heating body. You feel like an eternity passes before he pulls away, pure ice in his stare. He pulls you forward so that his nose is millimeters away from yours, and you feel the warning- the malice that radiates off his body, warming yours.

Fuck- this shouldn’t turn you on but it does. And he knows it.

After a few beats, he squeezes your jaw hard. Not hard enough to actually hurt you, but hard enough to get his point across before letting go. With one hand, he reaches for the hem of the baggy shirt you’re wearing and tugs it up and over your head. His dark eyes never leave your face as he pulls his own shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere near yours. 

You can’t think, let alone breathe as he picks you up with ease and places you on the counter, and wraps his forearms around your thighs, dragging you toward the edge as he kneels down on the ground. “Lift your ass- take off these shorts.” He ordered. There were no niceties- no kindness in his tone. His demand was final, and one to not take lightly. You do as he says without hesitation and lift your hips, sliding your shorts down to reveal no panties underneath. Your stopped by his arms, and he finishes the job by yanking them off your dangling legs. “You are to stay upright. If you lean back, you’re done.” You feebly nod, but when he doesn’t move, you open your dry mouth. “Ok.” 

He narrows his dark eyes, and you fix your mistake. “Yes, sir.” You squeak. Satisfied with your reply, he pushes your thighs apart. You bite your lip and you do your best to abide by his demands as he devours your core like a man starved. Leaving absolutely no part of of you untouched. You can’t help but want more, what he’s giving you is only for him. For his satisfaction, and not yours. When you realize this, you immediately get angry. “Chris-” You plead, trying to escape his hold. Your wiggling only causes his arms to clamp down on your upper thighs, a low growl emitting from between your legs. “Knock it off.” He warned, not looking at you. He pauses long enough for you to quit squirming before continuing. 

“Chris- not fair!” You gasp as he nips your sensitive clit. “I don’t care if you don’t think it’s fair.” He snaps. Anger and malice drip from his every word, “You’ll sit there and take what I give you until I’m done. Understood?” You feebly nod, causing him to pinch your thigh, making you squeal. “Yes, sir!” You cry out, grabbing ahold of the edges of the countertop as he continues his assault on your pussy. 

You’d lost count of the amount of times you’ve came, tears are rolling down your cheeks and even trying to push Chris’s head away didn’t stop the pure force of nature he is. When Chris wants something, he gets it. He pulls away, slowly rising to his feet. Finally, you think, slumping back against the counter, completely exhausted. Your eyes trail up his toned torso, along the lines of your ecstasy covering his chest, neck and lower face. You watch as he slowly leans over and grabs a towel for himself, wiping away your juices before he pushes down his gym shorts. 

You lean up slightly to watch as he runs his right hand along his hardened cock, groaning with satisfaction as he tugs. You practically watch the shiver run down his spine. His dark eyes trail up you flushed body to your chest, watching it rise and fall rapidly with each breath you take. He reaches up and tugs the wiring down of your bra, causing your breasts to bounce out of the fabric. Chris reaches up, taking your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it until you cry out, arching off the countertop and into his hand. He chuckles darkly, stopping and giving your left breast a hard smack before doing the same to your right side. Once he’s satisfied with how red your now swollen breasts are, he stops rubbing himself off and lines up with your entrance. “Chris-” You begin to beg, new hot tears forming along your eyes.

He bares his teeth at you, causing you to stop talking. “The only noise I want coming out of that mouth, is your pretty little cries.” He hisses. “Anything else, and things will only get worse for you, stupid baby.” Your bottom lip trembles, and a wicked smile is plastered on his face as he shoves himself into you, causing a loud moan to escape your throat. 

You were oversenstive, cumming as much as you did did nothing but make you raw, sore even. But somehow, you managed to get wet enough to take his dick, making him moan into your red chest. 

He digs his nails into your hips, pulling you off the counter just enough so he could guide your ass how he wanted. You held onto the counter for dearlife, but knew better- Chris would never drop you. Intentionally or otherwise. He never had. But still, the gesture was instinctual. 

Chris pounds into your core, heat rising through your body like a wildfire- threatening to burn everything in it’s wake no matter the consequences. You moan loudly, head lulling between your shoulder blades as he picks up his god-like speed until your babbling, begging him to let you cum one more time. He moans, laughing at you. 

“You think I’ll let you cum? You’re stupider than I thought. It’s my turn. Be grateful for the times you did.” He growls, pounding into you harder than before. But you can’t help begging, it was just natural at this point. Especially when he fucked you like he hated you. His thrusts began to get erratic, groans coming out in broken pants as he started to cum. You watch as the man before you crumbles, shattering as he throws his head back in ecstasy before slamming into you one last time.

You remain like that for a short while, panting and chests heaving before he looks down at you. He slowly, carefully, pulls out and helps you stand to your feet. He snorts, watching as your legs shake and nearly give out. “Poor baby. Did I go too hard?” When you toss him a glare, he laughs. “Too much gym time? Awe, guess I should go a little easier next time, hmm?” Chris kisses the top of your head before sweeping you into his arms. “Maybe not. I do quite like being able to sweep you off your feet.” He winks, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“I want to feel bad for being so mean, but,” he shrugged, “you deserved it.” You glower but can’t help but to like it. Chris may be a meanie sometimes when fucking, but you’d both be liars if you said that neither of you didn’t like it.  

©️straykids-97

Sorry if this is garbage heh. I haven't written in months, so trying to dip my toes back into it. Please, lmk what you think of it!!

[cicobuffs]

preachers son!art is a ginormous fan of domesticity...

i think throughout his life he never really saw his parents be domestic with each other if that makes sense. there was no cooking together in the kitchen or sitting down on the couch together to watch something as mundane as the news. his dad would always be in his small home office writing/planning new sermons for sunday or dragging art to choir because they need him to play a song on the piano. and his mom was always in the whole 'up-keeping the house and rearing the children' role. that lack of appearance when he was growing up and comparing his parents relationship to things he would see his friends parents do or see on tv, the idea of domestic acts became something that he dreamed of whenever he thought of his future with someone.

he likes waking up and turning to you when you're still asleep after you spend the night with him. it's early, earlier than the time you wake up usually, and his beds by the window because he likes to wake up to the sun being splayed against the walls of his room. but he also likes how the sun hits your skin through the blinds. and how at peace you look in scrunched up striped sheets and big matching duvet. he'd brush the hair out of your face and then wrap an arm around your middle and wait for you to wake up.

you introduced him to the idea of a fully guilt free lazy sunday, something that he's not entirely used to due to the weekly sunday church outings that was treated as something that's sinful to miss. but being able to enjoy a proper, good sunday with you is something that he utterly values. he likes going out to do small things with you: coffee shops, the park, grocery shopping, really anything. kind of like a young elderly couple which is an oxymoron but i think that makes the best sense. he's the type that likes to sit next to you rather than across and he has a hand on your knee and your arms around his.

even just doing your laundry together is something that he really enjoys. its a really small thing but it's a natural constant regardless of anything. its the random conversations that you guys have when sitting together waiting for both of your laundry to wash or dry that he likes. and if one of you brought earbuds and you share them while the two of you wait (kinda like that scene from babydriver because i think of that daily). it's just so simple but it's so personal to him to do these little things.

[cwritesforfun]

Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader: Escape pt 2

Link to Part One ~> READ FIRST!!!

Y/N = Your First Name & L/N = Your Last Name

They will not follow the Roman style of speech - it will be written in modern language.

*I do not own the Gladiator 2 characters or plot* I do change some of the plot!!!

Masterlist

GIF from @freckledjoes - thx! @helsa3942 had some good ideas, too!

Y/N’s POV

You lead Emperor Geta to the bedroom and help him undress as you fill the bathtub with warm water. You have him wait in the bathroom as you request night clothes for him, food for both of you, and his things to be delivered to your room. You also ask for privacy. You have no idea if Geta will divulge any other information or what you two will be up to.

You receive a scroll with the latest news at night if something bad occurs. You open and read the words, "Emperor Calla has died. Macrinus seized power shortly after. Hanno, who is actually Lucius Verus Aurelius, has taken control and now leads Rome." You need to tell Geta, but when? He seems so fragile, and what if he wishes to return to Rome?

You walk back into the bathroom and see Geta in the bathtub. You walk over, bend down next to him, and say, “You look peaceful, Geta.” He looks at you, softly smiles, and says, “You should get in with me.” You reply, "Fine, since you asked nicely." You feel his eyes tracking your movements as you change and step into the tub with him. You lean your back against his chest, and he wraps his arms around you. You both talk softly before you wash each other. You notice small cuts and bruises across his skin, but you don't ask him about them yet.

You dress in new clothes, and Geta takes your hand as you walk to the bedroom. You see the food and lead him to the couch so you can eat a little. He sits next to you, and you both eat some food.

You lay down on your bed and pat the space next to you for Geta. He climbs in bed and collapses with his head on your chest. He picks it up to kiss you on your hand and says, "Let's never be parted again, love. I don't think I can bear it. You complete me." You reply, "You can stay as long as you wish. You're always welcome here." He softly asks, "And what if I never want to leave?"

You ask, "What really happened in Rome, Geta? You told me that you faked your death and how your brother thought he killed you. But, I also see the cuts and bruises on you that tell another story." He answers, "It started a few months ago when General Acacius came home after taking over Numidia for Calla & I. I could tell it was different this time because I could see we were losing the support of the General. However, I didn't voice these opinions to Calla because he had enough on his plate, or I thought he did... I needed a release, and I was tired of everything, so I invited a girl back to my bedroom. She was a nobody, and I accidentally confided in her. I don't know what I was thinking. The next morning, I woke up to Calla and Dundus standing there. They attacked me, and the guards did nothing. I should have left and come here then ... but I hoped there was still some good in my brother. I was wrong. The fights at the Coliseum were getting louder, and the Romans were rooting for this guy named Hanno." He takes a deep breath and continues, "I heard rumors that General Acacius and others were plotting against my brother and me. We locked him up for treason, and Calla started acting out more. I tried to keep the peace, but it just wasn't working. This man, Macrinus, started showing up and whispering in Calla's ear about me. That's when I set my escape plan in motion. One of the good things about being Emperor is the endless resources that you have at your disposal. At first, I wanted to make my head out of cake, and he's crazy enough that he'd think it was real. But I knew Macrinus would know something was up. So, I did something that I'm not proud of. I found a guy who looked like me who was up to compete in the Coliseum, and I told him to just sleep in my bed to pretend to be me. I told him all he had to do was sleep there, and I'd pay him handsomely. I gave him some of my clothes, and that night, I snuck out. I threw on a brown cloak that some soldiers wear, and I went near the water to the safe house you told me about. The man, Titus, kept me hidden for the rest of that night and the next day in his small home. We set sail the next night, and by then, we'd heard that everyone was claiming I was dead and that my head was brought to the Senate meeting. I feel horrible for the guy in my place, but he was going to die anyway in the arena... You know the rest. The journey was long and cold, but I'm here."

You're shocked. Horrified. Terrified. Stressed. Sad. Angry.

Geta sits up and asks, "Hey uh Y/N, is everything okay?" You answer, "Uh I have something upsetting to tell you." He asks, "What?" You grab the scroll and hand it to him to read. His eyes widen, and he looks in shock. You say, "I um... I understand if you have to return home." He asks, "What's left for me in Rome but my enemies and a land of disease? You are my home and my future. Rome means nothing to me, especially now that you're in my life." You place your hand in his and ask, "When did you get so romantic?" He moves closer to you and answers, "When I realized I let the love of my life return to her home, and we were not together. I had to read poetry and other works to better express my love for you." You reply, "Well I love you too, Geta. I always have." He leans in and you both kiss.

You stay up late talking until you're both yawning.

At some point, in the cold, dark night, you wake up to feel fidgeting next to you, and Geta seems to be fighting a nightmare. He is whispering out loud, "Stay back. Don't hurt me. Don't hurt her." You lightly shake Geta and say, "Geta, love, you're safe." He turns quickly and you say, "Geta, love, everything is okay." He pulls you close to him and says, "I thought someone was going to execute us together for loving each other. Everyone was mad at you for liking me and they were mad at me for Rome." You softly rub the back of his hand in circles and reply, "You're okay, and I'm okay. No one will be mad at us for loving each other. Even if they are, I'm the Queen, and they cannot influence who I choose to love. My guards are loyal to me and always working, so we're safe. I take several precautions for my safety, and the safety of my guests." He replies, "I bet your people love you as the Queen." You reply, "They do, and they will learn to love you with time. We can talk about that after you get to rest, though. You had a long journey and need to sleep more." He replies, "I love you." You say, "I love you too."

Taglist: @ziggeddie & @helsa3942

Should I write a part three after he adjusts to a new land and new position ???

[toshn]

MARK GRAYSON: “I DON’T WANT YOU TO GO—“

— contents: spending time with mark before he leaves for a mission. — from the author: i kinda had a like superhero!reader in mind because why not. but it’s totally fine if u imagine reader as just a civilian. i'll try to post more often! c:

“i hate getting sandy feet.”

you whined, the sunset’s glow reflecting on the ocean’s surface, leaving traces of its’ warmth on your face in its’ wake. you could feel the waves crashing right in front of you, gently caressing your legs before returning back into its' vast sea of blue.

you were at the beach with mark, and you had the place all to yourselves. you two decided to spend the whole day together and make the most out of the time he has left before going on a crazy space alien mission. you knew this mission could take weeks—months even, and this would mean you'd be mark-deprived for more than just the usual couple of days due to college. you always told mark you understood his situation, and you really did. after all, he had some big shoes to fill in. because of the distraught and calamity omni-man left behind on earth, you could sense the underlying guilt mark had because of what his father did. you knew deep down he was trying to atone for everything he caused, even if he never outright told you so.

mark laughed, lifting a hand up to splash water onto you, “stop being such big baby.”

you groaned as the feeling of saltwater dripping from your hair stuck onto the cool surface of your skin. you rolled your eyes, turning away from mark with a pout. subconsciously, you've been counting the days until mark would embark on his mission—and it's not like you wanted to. you've been avoiding doing so because you knew how much of a crybaby you could get when it comes to goodbyes, and you weren't exactly fond with the idea of crying in a public area. but no matter how hard you tried to think of something funny to renounce the tears pricking from the corners of your eyes, you felt them burn. burn from the upcoming wave of emotions you were trying so hard to bury. and unwillingly—your lips began to quiver.

with your back against him, mark, with his eyes as sharp as ever, could see the subtle shudder of your shoulders and a quiet sniffle he could never miss erupt from your hunched figure. he hurriedly swam his way towards you with a worried expression on his face, the sounds of waves spattering with each step he took. “(y/n)? what’s wrong?“

mark came face to face with you, his eyes growing wide the moment you turned around. the sunset's orange hues gave your hair the perfect glow, your eyes—already going red with tears threatening to spill at any moment, shined alongside your wet cheeks—stained by saltwater, your nose tinted red, and your lips were shaking like a leaf rustling against the wind. you were about to cry. and despite the fact that you were, you looked breathtaking, mark concluded.

“i-“ you stuttered, a teardrop you so desperately tried to keep in, finally fell onto your salty cheeks, “i d-don’t want,” you gasped out with a soft sob and furrowed your eyebrows in frustration. it was so hard to speak right now, you didn't want to look so pathetic on the day before he left, you didn't want to end the day on a bad note. but your aching heart said otherwise. mark felt a tug at his heartstrings as he watched you try your absolute best to talk. and for a moment, he saw you scrunch your nose before breathing out a shaky “i-i don’t want you to go.”

finally, you were able to corroborate a coherent sentence without sputtering over the tears that were streaming down your face like an endless river, your saltwater-tainted hands rubbing against your cheek. mark's face fell to one of relief, he thought it was something worse—he thought he something went wrong. he hurriedly tried to gently pry your hands away before any of it could reach your eyes.

“(y/n),” he cooed, “i’ll be back as soon as i can, promise.” going against what he just attempted to avoid, he held your face in his salty hands and cradled your cheeks with such care and love. amidst your blurry vision, you could make out, although not the best, of the look he had on his face. mark looked at you so tenderly—as if you were to break at any moment with how fragile you are, and it just fueled your wailing as you poured your heart out in his grasp.

while you continued to cry, mark pulled you into his arms. his heat radiating off you like you were hugging the sunset yourself. your hands clawed at his soaked t-shirt—desperate to find the solace you’ll always find within mark as your face nestled in the crook of his neck. he smelled salty, you thought to yourself, as the tears that once racked your body began to dissipate. and as you watched the sun slowly disappear further down the horizon, you felt mark place a kiss on the crown of your head, a gesture you've always loved no matter the situation you’re in. you pulled yourself away, albeit begrudgingly—from his warm embrace to look at him, still sniveling.

looking into his loving eyes, you felt the cool wind enveloped yours and mark's hugging figure, the sound of the breeze blowing against your bare skin. mark opened his lips to speak, inadvertently making you pry your eyes away from his.

“i'll come back home. wait for me, okay?"

you grinned a small smile, nose and cheeks still puffy and red, "don't keep me waiting for too long."

@ toshn , pls do not steal or ur cheeks will!! be clapped.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Hi! I love the way you write Billy! I had an idea, you totally don't have to do it, it's just a thought. Billy has a big blow out fight with his dad *isn't shown but heavily mentioned* and we get like comforting Billy in an unconventional way.... Thanks for being my comfort author happy 2025!

First of all, that's so sweet, thank you!! Second, I absolutely love this idea so thank you for the request!

cw: mention of child abuse and smoking

You hear the front door slam from your room and there's only one person who uses so much force when enter your home. Before you can even get up from your desk, the door to your room opens, Billy walking through your door and closing it behind him. Without a word, he makes a beeline for you, opening the top drawer of the desk and pulling out a pack of cigarettes and the lighter that's next to it.

He lights up and takes a long drag before moving over to your bed which he falls back onto. Smoke continues to spill from his mouth as you move over to the window to open it so your parents won’t smell the cigarette and turn to Billy who hasn’t even acknowledged your presence yet.

“My dad’s a fucking prick,” he sighs, smoke coming out with it. This isn’t the first time Billy has complained about Neil and it won’t be the last. And considering the red mark on his cheek, the fight was clearly a bad one.

“Tell me about it,” you say as you lie on the bed next to him, looping your arm through his before taking the cigarette from him and taking a drag. “I’m all ears.”

“He got pissed off because I had a date tonight and couldn’t watch Max.”

“You could’ve sent her over here. I would have watched her.” Billy knows that but he feels like he’s taken so much advantage of your niceness and wouldn’t ask you to do something that’s his problem. Besides, he wouldn’t want to hear it from Neil nor his mother that a random stranger was watching their daughter. Well, Susan’s daughter.

“You don’t have to do that.” Sure, he doesn’t want to have his dad and step mother on his back but he also thinks he’s getting too close to you and doesn’t want Max getting attached as well.

“But I don’t mind,” you tell him as you sit up and Billy moves to lie in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair. You put the cigarette between his lips and he takes another drag as his eyes close and he holds back a moan when you scratch his scalp.

Your other hand moves up to touch his cheek and he winces as your thumb runs along the red mark that was caused by his father.

“Sorry,” you wince as well. “Your dad really is a prick. I can kiss it better,” you suggest and he hates that kind of affection but he loves it from you so he obliges.

“Sure,” he says and you take the cigarette from his mouth and press your lips to his cheek and despite how painful it is, he loves how your lips feel against his skin. If he was that kind of guy, he’d kiss you until you were both breathless. But he’s not so he doesn’t.

“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” He’s not, but who is he to say no to your famous grilled cheese? “I can make Max one and you can bring it to her when you go home.”

You’re so sweet and Billy doesn’t think he deserves you. Actually, he knows you aren’t. But he’s going to eat your attention up until you inevitably decide that you’re too good for him when you meet the love of your life. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.

You help Billy up from the bed and take him by the hand before leading him to the kitchen. He leans against the counter, watching you bend over to pull out a pan. He stares at your ass for way too long and for once, not a single dirty thought comes to his mind. In fact, all he can think about it standing behind you and holding you close while you make him dinner, tell you just how much you mean to him while he presses kiss after kiss to your cheek while you giggle in response.

Did that punch give him a concussion of some sort? It had to because in what fucking world would Billy Hargrove not want to pin you up against the counter and fuck your brains out? Who the hell has he turned into and why does he like how soft you’re making him?

The sizzle of the pan pulls him out of his thoughts and he notices that you’re standing into front of him with a glass of lemonade. He takes it from your hand and your fingers brush as he does so. He doesn’t like how good it feels and how he wants to actually hold your hand.

“Thank you,” he nods and the words feel foreign but right. The action was simple but just you caring about him enough to give him so lemonade is slowly thawing his heart.

“You’re welcome.” You watch him take a few sips from the glass before turning towards the stove and turning the grilled cheese over, causing it to sizzle again. Billy steps over to stand beside you and once you’re sure the sandwich is good, you turn to him, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hesitantly rest on your waist.

You lean in ever so slightly and there’s no way that you’re actually doing what he thinks you are. But sure enough, you’re leaning in even closer and Billy is mimicking you, his lips slotting between yours in a sweet kiss.

What’s supposed to be one singular kiss turns into two until they all eventually melt into one. It’s soft and sweet, everything you are but nothing Billy is. He’s a dick that’s all he is, but you’ve somehow done the impossible by thawing his very frozen heart.

He wants to do this for hours, maybe even forever but the kissing is cut short when you pull away. He smells something burning so he’s sure it wasn’t because you realized you were making a huge mistake. At least he hopes so.

“Fuck,” you swear as you flip the sandwich over onto a plate to reveal the very burnt bread then turn to Billy with a pout as you toss the plate onto the counter. “Sorry,” you reply.

“Don’t worry about it. Now c’mere.” He grabs hold of your hips and gently pulls you to him, kissing you again and again, peppering your face with them as your pretty laughs pass through your lips.

“Come on,” you say as you pull away from him, grabbing hold of his hands as you pull him towards the door, grabbing your car keys before leading him outside. “I’m hungry and I’ve got a tenner burning a hole in my pocket. You drive, though. I like the way you drive.”

As you toss him the keys over the car and he gets in the driver’s seat, he can’t help but think about how he’s maybe, possibly starting to fall in love with you.

[ahmuseme]

Milana let out a soft sigh of relief, feeling the tension she hadn’t even realized she was carrying melt away as Garrett pulled her into his arms. She sank into his embrace, instinctively wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in the crook of his neck. The warmth of his skin, the strangely familiar scent of him, was a grounding reminder that this was real. He was real. And this wasn’t just ink on paper anymore. A giddy, almost tearful laugh escaped her lips, cracked with emotion. She held him tighter, resisting the urge to cry at the thought of the tough days ahead—both for him with his future missions and for her as she navigated life as his wife. The idea of being apart again felt impossible, but maybe the Turner family would help make the distance more bearable like he said.

"That sounds like a good plan," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. "It was a rough trip here. There were so many delays, running between terminals, sprinting for connecting flights... But it’s been worth it. All of it." She gave him a playful wink before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "But I think a shower and a nap might be in order. Recharge a little. I need to be at my best for the Turner Army." She flexed her arms in a dramatic show of strength, but the result was more endearing than impressive. "Rhett wasn't too bad, or maybe it's because he sensed weakness in me that he held back."

Despite this being their first time physically together, Garrett felt like he could sense her emotions, that maybe he'd overwhelmed her enough for one day. Reaching out, he gently brushed her shoulders and then pulled her into his chest. "I'm sure that we could find a wedding band that matches. Trust me, I don't care if someone thought that it was cheesy. I want to look down at my hand and be reminded of the amazing woman I get to call my wife, the person who has been with me through every tour and will be with me through every mission in my next job."

"Why don't we get your ring today and we can look for mine after things calm down?" He brushed her dark hair from her face, leaning in and kissing her temple. "I can only assume you're jet lagged and about to go in an ate-too-much food coma too. You're going to need your rest to put up with all of my brothers at once." The smile that still hadn't left his face since they'd first looked at each other across the hotel dimmed just a little, "I'm... I'm a little worried they're going to run you off and make you change your mind. They're a lot, especially all together."

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[morninkim]

As a show of good faith toward the remaining Decepticons at the beginning of a new, united Cybertron, newly appointed Senators Bumblebee and Soundwave allowed Shatter and Dropkick to enlist into Autobot City's Defense Team.

These two turned out to be... not the best choices.

The city may have fallen to Insurgent Decepticon occupation had it not been for young recruits Hot Rod and Arcee's accidental interception of Shatter's communication with the fugitive Starscream.

To replace the errant Defense Team members, Springer and Blurr were reassigned from Iacon to Autobot City in their stead.