#THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH IT! you are just insane!!

[hurlingdown]

                     THE BAAAAD TOUCH!

synopsis. there’s a very thin line between the way animals fuck on the discovery channel and the way you fuck them. featuring shameless, rough sex with the arcane men, and a third secret option at the end. jayce, vander, silco, viktor.

tags. top! reader, sub! jayce, vander, silco, viktor. reader has a cock. rough anal sex, creampie(s), exhibitionism, infidelity, cumslut! jayce, doggy, riding, size difference, huge cock, belly bulge, size queen! viktor, sweat kink, strength kink, breeding kink, implied marathon sex, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, excessive amounts of manhandling, age difference, established relationships. cock-hungrified men. (lmao)

a/n. inspired by this song from bloodhound gang.

“does she know?” you pant into his ear, grip strong and sweaty on his hips, and jayce feels dirty, the way he’s being mounted like a bitch. “does she know about the way i fuck you? the sounds you make when i fill your pretty hole up?”  

he shudders, shaking his head, nails raking down your biceps as he tries to lift his head, to be less vulnerable in the way you’re taking him, but to no avail. he feels the hot burn of your palm at the back of his neck, and he finds himself back with his cheek pressed against the sheets, back arching with the violence of forcing his body to accommodate both pleasure and pain plowing away at his dignity. 

 “fuck!” he gasps, “let’s not, nnngh! talk about this. not, not right now.” it’s not the first time you’ve brought mel up in a conversation, but hardly ever more than an offhand comment, something to tease, something for fun. this… this was unknown territory. 

“why? you don’t like it?” there’s a strange displacement in your voice, a touch whiny, as though you were pouting at his denial. jayce thinks he’s going insane, because as manipulative as you were, there was no way he could say no to you. not with that look on your face. the one he can’t see but knows it’s there. 

“doesn’t matter,” jayce whispers. “it’s not ri- right.” 

you want to laugh. it��s not right? so it’s all right and just if he sneaks into your bed almost every other night for you to get him off simply because said girlfriend never could—nights of sweat and sinful lovemaking that end with him sneaking out of your room with a limp—but it’s not okay if you want to talk about it? how was that fair? 

“you don’t like her anyway, do you?” you mutter. “you should just get rid of her and be with me.” you tighten your hold on him. you want it to bruise. you want him to go home with your marks on his body. you want mel to ask about them and jayce squirming as he tries to think of a stupid excuse to fool her again. faulty gym equipment. sparring session gone wrong. you know all of his excuses. it’s funny, the way he tries to patch things up. “this is cruel… to the both of us. don’t you wanna get this over with?” 

“it’s- unh, complicated!” jayce moans, but there’s nothing complicated about it, he just doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to feel the shame and guilt making his guts tangle and heart pound—the way you fit into him so perfectly, so innately, like you’ve always belonged inside him, a missing piece to his puzzle. 

he bites back a whine as the thick head of your cock pushes against his swollen prostate, and he’s not sure if he can even feel his legs at this point. it’s humiliating, the way you’re cooing nasty words into his ear, handprints branding his hips as you tug him up only to slam downwards against him, pushing him further down into the mattress with every heavy thrust. 

“why? what’s keeping you then? hah. don’t tell me. does she fuck you like this too?” you snarl, sucking hot purple bruises down the column of his neck, salt and iron underneath your tongue making you hungry, and he keens. “so desperate for cock you’d let your girlfriend fuck you, jayce? well? does she fuck you as good as i do?” 

“noo,” jayce slurs, shaking his head, “nothing’s as good. you’re the best. love it. love you.” 

“really?” you bark out a laugh, and he nods dumbly, like his body’s conditioned to respond to your every whim, wanting to please, to serve. “well, i don’t see it at all. only thing you could ever be in love with is my cock.” 

“ah- ah, yeah, that too,” he whines, “love you more.” 

“liar,” you growl, and he sobs out at the way your length drags across his walls, thick and girthy, missing his prostate on purpose. it’s a punishment, jayce knows. he’s sorry. he feels so guilty. “pretty slutty liar. you’ll do anything to get stuffed, won’t you? even if it means cheating on your little girlfriend. you’ll even enjoy it, the moment you break her heart.” 

jayce shakes his head, tears blurring his vision. he can’t even say anything at this point, with the way you’re forcing him to take, fucking the words out of him. he can’t help being addicted to this. it’s too good. mel would understand, wouldn’t she? she would, if only she could have a taste of it. it’s not his fault. not really. 

“you probably think she’ll never know. you probably think she’ll never find out.” you’re talking again, but the sounds buzz by, intelligible. jayce swallows, letting your accusation wash over him. he has been careful, hasn’t he. surely she won’t know. surely she can’t know. “the way you start crying when you’re about to cum. you think she’ll never know about that, right?” 

he doesn’t know what you mean, but it’s so hard to think. there’s wetness on his cheeks and the low flame in his belly has blazed into a forest fire. he wants to cum. he needs it. he needs it hard and rough, bruises on his waist and hips and love bites on his collarbones, hard, heavy thrusts that make him feel dizzy and high and stupid, drowning him in the throes of pleasure that only you can give to him. 

“please,” jayce begs, tears streaming down his face. “i want, ngh… ah, want your cum in me.” 

and before he knows it, there’s the rush of hot cum flooding his hole, the sweaty press of your chest against his back, your hips trembling and bucking against his, and it’s so good it makes him see stars. but you don’t stop. it’s messy and filthy, and pure bliss when he feels you snake a hand into his hair and wrench his head up, rough and careless just the way he likes it. 

his eyes roll back before his cock starts helplessly spurting at the sight of mel standing in the doorway, watching him being bred like a whore.

VANDER

. . . vander thinks he maybe maybe made a mistake, telling you to be rough with him. because this is exactly the kind of rough he likes. 

“oh, fuck, sweetness,” he moans, arousal bleeding into his guttural voice as he arches his back and cants his hips backwards to receive your thrusts, taking you deeper inside, his ass bouncing every time you meet his hips with a wet, nasty ‘pap’. “t-thaat’s it, kid. right there, fuck, harder…” 

he’s clutching his pillow tightly, waves of pleasure shackling him to the bed as you’re pounding away at his hole from behind. you’ve snaked a hand into his hair to wrench his head up roughly, and a low whine pushes its way past his lips, punctuated by a sharp, deadly thrust aimed at his prostate. he’s pretty sure his own cock’s rubbed raw against the sheets, spurting so much pre there’s a sticky, slippery pool underneath him—easing the steamy push and glide. 

there are stars bursting at the corners of his eyes, threatening to consume his vision, and he can vaguely feel his toes curl and thighs spasm at every brush of your cock against his bundle of nerves. there’s sweat dripping down his face, a salty tang on his tongue, and he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, hearing nothing but his own heavy pants and groans, attuned to the rhythm of your thrusts. it’s too good. almost makes him feel young again. he’s halfway through his forties, and yet you’re fucking him like he’s twenty. 

vander can feel your hands all over him, pressing heavy bruises onto the tender fat of his waist and hips, bodily dragging him back onto your cock every time you ram forward, making sure to put your entire weight behind it. the mattress is letting out horrible creaking sounds, the headboard of the bed slamming into the wall in perfect tempo, and the both of you are going to regret this later, but fuck, he doesn’t care. 

it’s addicting. it’s violent. vander shouldn’t be enjoying this, but he is. 

“fuck, love, y’er gonna make me cum already,” he chokes out, and it’s more of a drunken slur, really — there’s something about the way you’re treating him that makes him dizzy and weak at the knees. his fists are clenched, grasping at the bedsheets every time he feels like snaking a hand between his legs and jerking off to your thrusts. he wants to enjoy it, savour it—the way you’re taking him, pressing him into the mattress like you’re trying to break the bed before you break him, gaze hungry enough to swallow him up in your lust. 

“go ahead and cum, vander,” you drawl, grabbing a handful of his ass before sharply spanking him across, the sting rewarding you with a full-body shiver. “i want you to cum like it’s your last night on earth.” 

who the absolute fuck does this kid think he is, vander thinks, and he quickly buries his face back into the pillow because he knows he’s going to get loud. you’re insane. insanely bad at dirty talk, but your hunger makes up for it. he’s never liked dirty talking that much, but fuck, if you weren’t something different. cum like it’s his last night on earth? he really underestimated how greedy you were. 

“cocky,” he wheezes instead, once he’s caught his breath, “y’er gonna, haah, hafta fuck me harder for that to happen.” it’s yet another bad decision, and he’s digging his own grave, he knows it. as if you aren’t already fucking him within an inch of his life—the bulbous shape of your cockhead digging into his prostate with such immaculate precision, pressing the shape of your handprints into his skin as you fuck him with your eyes, your hands and your cock. 

hungry. intense. unforgettable. vander doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of it. 

before he can even breathe, you’ve hooked one arm under his thigh, tossing him over onto his back like you’re flipping a fucking pancake, and vander’s not a delicate man by all means. without wasting a second, you’re pushing inside him again, groaning shamelessly as his wet, warm cave engulfs you perfectly. vander makes a desperate noise, eyes squeezing shut—there’s no pillow to muffle his cries or hide his expressions from you this time, but he’s far too close to be embarrassed. 

the new position’s got you so deep inside him, and it’s getting harder to breathe, almost as though he could feel you all the way to his throat. it’s uncomfortable and very inconsiderate of his aching back, but the mind-numbing pleasure hammering away at his sweet spot makes up for it. 

“s-so fuckin’ good, kid,” he pants out, arching his back with a moan as you reach down to grope at his tits, the muscles plump and soft with tender age, hole clenching around you tightly every time you tug at his perky nipples. his cock’s all leaky, drooling over his stomach and making a mess, and he’s so aroused it’s almost endearing. “fuck me… god, fuck me.” 

he’s going to cum hands-free, vander thinks, and shit, you’re going to be so smug about this after you’re done with having your way with him. vander sneaks a glance at you—eyelids fluttering, making little grunts of pleasure every time you bully your way into his tight wet warmth. it embarrassingly makes the back of his neck burn, makes him feel all hot and sexy and wanted. 

“yeah? best cock you’ve ever taken, vander?” you purr, and his breath stutters, seizing up with a yell and then he’s fucking cumming with you balls-deep inside him. guess you’ll take that as a yes.

SILCO

silco doesn’t know how long he’s been bent over in that same fucking position, but he doesn’t plan on making you stop anytime soon. 

“darling, not so rough. . .” he gasps out, nails raking down the expensive wood of his office desk while you plow away at him from behind, his hole sopping wet but tight, as though you haven’t cum two times in him already. he can feel his knees knocking into the hard front of the desk with every brutal thrust, the weeping tip of his erection grazing the cool mahogany, the pleasure inside him making his lower belly burn with a flame he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

“why?” you grin, draping yourself over his half-clothed stature, his pants yanked down to his ankles as he’s bent over to take. you shuffle forward, making sure his ass is pressed snugly against your crotch before giving an experimental roll of your hips, always reaching deeper, for more. “worried that they’ll hear?” 

silco presses his lips together in a thin line, tilting his face away from yours, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he were sulking. you laughed. it was just too easy to piss him off sometimes. 

“i’m just playing around, baby. your office is soundproofed, no?” you straightened yourself, running a hand over the smooth, sensitive expanse of his back before returning to your firm grip on his bruised hips. he gave a shuddering sigh, trying to relax as you started to rock into him again with strong, steady thrusts. 

“it doesn’t matter,” he rasps, “we’re, hah, being too loud… sweetheart. s-sevika is right outside.” 

“don’t care,” you mutter. “i’m pent up. ‘least you can do is let me fuck you stupid. you’ll let me, right?” 

silco makes a noise at the back of his throat, half from displeasure, the other half from the sharp curl of arousal in his lower abdomen, making his cock twitch and leak. fuck if it didn’t turn him on when you talked to him like this. he settles for burying his face into his arms, preparing himself for whatever you were going to put him through. 

“be gentle,” he whispers, letting out a shuddering sigh. “i’m not so young anymore.” 

you could feel a grin pulling at the corners of your lips. yeah. sure, you were going to be gentle with him. with him looking like that. 

“hngh, r-right there…” silco mewls out, knees buckling repeatedly as he tries not to think about how loud he’s being. he supposes he could gag himself with something, your fingers, maybe, get them warm and wet for you while you use his face as leverage to fuck him harder, but he knows how much his noises spur you on, and right now he really doesn’t want to piss you off. not when you’re indulging him so well. “that’s it… you’re so good… darling.” 

“not so shy anymore?” you hummed, licking a hot stripe up his neck, his gasp twisting into a whine. “think we can make you louder?” 

“sweetheart,” he sighs as he feels your hand wrap around his throat, and he tilts his head back to let you grip it properly. “you already know what i want.” 

“well, i don’t think so.” you smile, leaning down to press your cheek against his, working away from behind with short, firm thrusts that steal his breath away. “remind me. did we use the magic word yet?” 

but just as he’s about to answer with snark, there’s the rap of fists against his office door, and silco feels his heart plummet. not now, when things were about to get good—this was the worst timing possible. “everything alright, boss?” 

“yes,” silco pants, “fuck… yes.” 

you can feel his nails dig into the back of your thigh, warning you not to pull out. you’re thick and heavy, resting against his stomach, and silco feels so fucking good and full. you can’t stop now. not until he’s had his fill. he can vaguely feel your warm seed trailing its way down his perineum in a slow trickle, and fuck, he wants more. wants to feel stuffed even without you inside him, drowsy and content. 

he blinks, brows furrowing as he catches himself fantasizing about you yet again. should he even be having thoughts like these in his forties? was this healthy? sex with you was life-changingly—and now apparently hormone-alteringly good. 

“sir?” sevika’s growl interrupts his train of thought. and yeah, not to mention—his second-in-command is right outside his office, while all he can think about is cock. shit. your big, leaky cock, buried to the hilt inside his hole. he wonders if it’ll be gaping once you’re done with him. and oh. cum. loads of your cum, filling up every inch of space inside him. making it hard to breathe. making him swel— “is someone in there with you?” 

“yes,” silco wheezes dumbly as you roll your hips against him with meaning, forcing him to take you deeper. he trembles, shifting back slightly to fuck himself on your cock, forcing a sharp inhale from you. “we are busy. you’re, oh… dismissed, sevika.” 

the silence is loud, save for the almost-silent squelches of your cock maneuvering inside him with all the cum stored in his belly. 

you can feel his heart pounding from the way your chest is pressed against his bare back. or maybe it’s your own. his walls squeeze around you, sinfully tight, pulling a muffled moan from where you have your teeth sunken into his shoulder. fuck. he’s—silco’s actually into this. you’d have never guessed he would be such a freak, for lack of a better word, but with how things were going . . . you didn’t mind it. not one bit. it drove you crazy with want, if anything. 

“... if you say so, boss.” the sound of retreating footsteps fills you with both relief and disappointment, but before you could even process what that means, you can feel silco gazing at you through his lashes, low and scrutinizing and something needy. 

“did i say you could stop?” silco grunts. “fuck me.” 

you let out a shaky sigh, hips already bucking back into the warm mould of your cock—and the next sound that drives past his lips is a loud and unabashed sob of your name. 

you think you might have unlocked something new in your lover.

VIKTOR

“it won’t fit,” viktor slurs, moans tumbling out of his mouth as he gives a shaky roll of his hips. he’s not quite there yet, with only the tip sucked in, but he’s making good progress. “i’m terribly s-sorry, dear. your… appendage. it’s too big.” 

his eyes flutter shut at the feeling of your hands forming a ring around his waist, strong and firm, a warm assurance that there was a possibility… although slight, that he’d make it. 

“it’ll fit,” you murmur, kissing the sensitive spot at the back of his ear, the one that makes him suck in a sharp breath and shudder. “you’re doing very good, love. just… a little more, yeah?” 

viktor looks down. it’s nowhere near a little more. you’re barely halfway in and he’s already thinking about quitting—has been, since the stupidly huge head of your cock breached his rim, making him feel a stretch that no amount of fingers or plastic toys could replicate. it was something extraordinary. overwhelmingly so. 

“please,” he mewls, forehead dropping to rest on your shoulder. “t-touch me? i think i’ll probably, hah, ease up a little if you would… oh, yes. thank you, dear. thank you.” 

it’s… in simple words, too much. you’re usually very considerate, taking your time with him with your fingers, rubbing on his tender walls until he loosens enough for you to slip another one in. the night would then end with you fucking his thighs, sticky and slick with his own cum. it’s good. it’s enough. that was until he started having thoughts of what it would feel like if you were inside him. 

but viktor would’ve never imagined it would be like this. the difference in size was just… comical. you were so deep inside him already, the impossible girth forming an obscene bulge over his abdomen, making him whine with the fullness. if this is already what it feels like to have you inside, then just what would it feel like to have you spill inside him?

he can’t lie—he’s spent nights waiting for you to fall asleep first so that he could scoop up some of the cum you had missed on the sheets, quietly fingering himself with the cold slickness. it didn’t feel right, even if it was yours. it just wasn’t the same. he wanted, no, needed to feel it for himself. 

it doesn’t help, the way you’re stroking him, ever so gentle with him. your huge palm covers his entire length without having to move much, huge thumb rubbing at his leaking tip, and viktor’s never been so hard before in his whole life. he’s so close already, hole fluttering around you uncontrollably, and it’s almost cute how it looks like it’s going to swallow you up. maybe it is. 

maybe it’ll fit. 

“last few inches,” you pant, fingers trembling slightly where you’re struggling not to press bruises into the cup of his hips. “can i-? please, vik. it’s so good. you’re so good. i just need a little more. please, baby.” 

“yes,” viktor blurts out, before he realises just what he agreed to—but within the next second he can feel something abnormally large pushing its way past his tight walls, faster and rougher than before, even as he tries to clench and hold still—it’s mean and a little too much, but then the back of his thighs meets hot skin and he nearly blacks out with the stretch of it all. 

“ngh,” viktor keens, trembling with exhaustion as he tries to settle into your lap comfortably with such a large intrusion within him. “soo full…” 

you sigh in pleasure, hands going back to his hips where they belong, pushing him down until you’re satisfied that he’s properly taken everything you’ve given him. it’s not a demand, viktor thinks, more like a comfort. telling him that you’ve always known he would’ve been able to take you in the first place. that this is where he belongs, filled to the brim with you and you only. 

he lets out a shuddering moan when you start to slowly bounce him on your lap, lifting him up with ease a good inch or two, before rolling your hips to meet his, pushing yourself deeper. “shit, vik…” you groan, and he cries out with every brush against his prostate, the sheer size of you making it impossible to miss it. “you’re so tight, baby… so perfect. i’m right here with you, okay? easy now, you’re doing so good.” 

you’re so good to him as always, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but it’s different this time, and fuuck. viktor thinks he’s dying with how good it feels. he tries to steer his hips, to actually ride you instead of having you manhandling him up and down your cock, but there’s hardly any friction left now that he’s properly stretched, and any attempt results in him collapsing back to his knees, the pleasure making him weak. 

he settles for hanging onto you, arms wrapping around your neck and choking out little whimpers as you rock upwards into his waiting hole again and again, toes curling and nails scratching red trails down your back with the all-consuming pleasure.

it’s driving him crazy, the fullness, the simple thought of you pumping your seed and sperm into him, of making love with you. it’s nothing like the way it was written in the textbooks he had spent nights researching—it’s beyond anything he would have ever imagined. 

“please,” viktor sobs out, feeling strangely empty every time you pull out halfway, as ironic as it was—as though there was a chance you would leave him fully. the thought of it hurt. if only you could fit inside him forever. if only. “stay…” he cries, “cum inside. m-make me yours.” 

you lean forward, pressing your lips against his in a hurried kiss, at the same time grinding so deep viktor thinks, for a split of a second, that that might be you he’s feeling in his stomach. the broken wail he gives is loud and muffled, and you lap up the drool on the side of his face, watching as your lover’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling of being filled, properly this time, to the brink of spilling.

masterlist!

[loislaneandherhimbohusband]

i 100% believe every single adaptation of superman should be judged for accuracy based on how well they understand just how completely unhinged lois lane is as a person. because if you think THE lois lane wouldn’t do [fill in the blank], you’re wrong. she absolutely would do that and she will not be apologizing for it. superman being in love with her only succeeded in making her more comfortable and willing to do insanely dangerous things than she already was. because yes, she will 100% launch her body off a skyscraper just to prove a point. and guess what, idiot? she was right, so it was completely worth it and she will be doing it again. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, lois lane is absolutely bat-shit crazy. clark just happens to be really REALLY into her particular brand of crazy. like there is nothing lois won’t do with the right motivation. she is an absolute force of nature and that should scare the shit out of you.

[rindreamery]

NISHI BFF !!!! ( ≧ᗜ≦) congrats on 300 followers !! <3333 u really deserve it since all of ur writing are good :3333 anw ! i'd like to place an order w itoshi rin !! (shocking, i know) i'd like the flavor to be sweet with the 🍨 and 🍦 as toppings !!! hehe that's all, thank u for ur service <33 CONGRATS AGAIN & LOVE U LOTSSS !!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶 - totally not miro

ORDER 6: READY TO GO !

rin + sweet + kiss on the lips + fake dating w.c. 1.5k+

note. THANK YOUU SO MUCH MIRO !! (idk if i should tag, but @choccorin) whew i got carried away writing this 👩‍🦯 rin kissers and those with the rin yearning agenda, this fic is for you guys !! (me included LOL)

interested in more? check out the lounge !

luck just never seems to be on his side, rin concludes. 

the overhang on the roof does nothing to shield you two from the downpour— the raindrops feel like they’re coming down in sheets, hitting from an angle that renders the overhang absolutely useless, and there seems to be no end in sight. the storm seems to only roar louder the longer you stay out, and you’ve both come to terms with the fact that you’re bound to get sick after this. 

you’re both drenched, shivering from the cold seeping through the fabric of your clothes, and the only warmth you can feel are your shoulders pressed up against each other. he’s glaring at the sky, as if cursing it in his mind, and you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the situation is.

he eyes you from the side, with no real malice. “this is insane,” rin grumbles under his breath, wiping away the stray droplets that slide down his face. it's useless; the rain is relentless, his hair is already soaked all the way through, and his bangs are sticking uncomfortably to his face. “all this because you wanted some damn ice cream.” and now you’re both stranded, waiting out a storm for who-knows how long. 

“hey,” you frown at him, voice laced with offense. “i didn’t ask you to come with me. you tagged along on your own!”

he doesn’t refute, partly (mostly) because he knows you aren’t wrong. but he doesn’t bring up the fact that it was bordering nighttime, the sun on the verge of setting right as you were about to leave, and that he was not going to let you walk by yourself. so he sulks instead, face still as displeased as ever, and looking off to the side as his ears and face flood with heat.  

it doesn’t stop you from feeling guilt, however. you look at the side of his face, lips pressed into a tight line as you think of what to say next. “let’s try to look on the bright side,” you nudge his arm, trying to get him to look at you. “it’s kind of perfect, right? this feels like something straight out of a coming-of-age movie. i’ll drag you to the street under the rain— and you won’t complain because we’re both drenched already anyways— and we’ll dance like our lives are stress-free and perfect.”

“absolutely not.” there’s an incredulous look on his face as he shoots you a glance, before he’s shaking his head and scooting further away from you. you both shiver at the loss of contact. “stop watching those rom-coms, they’re giving you stupid ideas.”

you roll your eyes, playfully, though he doesn’t see. you won’t take no for an answer, though, and there’s a glint of determination in your eyes before you’re abruptly standing up. his eyes shoot to you, a look of concern washing over his face as he realizes what you’re about to do. before he could protest any more, your hand is already wrapping around his wrist, tugging him along with you toward the empty street.

he tells himself that he at least tried to yank you back under the “safety” of the overhang, but he’s never really had the heart to be rough with you, so he doesn’t stop you.

“what are you—” he starts, but he’s cut off by the sound of your laughter, blending with the sound of the rain falling around the two of you. the words get stuck in his throat, and he mentally reprimands himself for thinking about how pretty your laugh sounded just now. it concerns him, the fact that every little thing you do seems to have such a big effect on him. 

you’re blissfully unaware.

“come on,” you say, dragging the last word, voice on the precipice of pleading with him. but, he thinks to himself, you really would never have to plead with him. (he’d say yes to you, in a heartbeat, if he would allow himself.) 

the lack of resistance allows you to drag him in front of you, and your arms find their way onto his shoulders and your hands clasp behind his neck. he stiffens visibly against you, unfamiliar with this feeling of being this close to you. at least, not like this— not when it’s just the two of you and everything feels more real. as if you actually like him, but he pushes that thought into the back of his mind. he tells himself to push you away. “dance with me, just this once. please?” 

rin just doesn’t know how to say no to you, and he folds. so he lets you spin the two of you around the wet asphalt, feeling the rain fully soak through your clothes, ignoring the chill that settles deep under your skin and into your bones. it’s cold, but all he feels is the warmth of your skin on his and the blooming warmth that spreads through his body. it’s cold, but oddly enough, he doesn’t feel so cold around you. 

though, this is the most awkward dance imaginable; you’re constantly stepping on his toes, and his hands feel robotic as they cling weirdly onto your waist, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. neither do you, so he supposes you don’t mind. there’s no fluidity in his movements, and he’s sure dancing with him is the equivalent of dancing with a mannequin, but oddly enough, you seem to enjoy this.

you cling to him in a way that’s closer than necessary, and you’re smiling at him, looking deep into his eyes with an emotion he’s never really seen before. it makes him wonder: how is he looking at you right now? 

deep down, he enjoys this too, and it shows in the way he doesn’t push you away. instead, holding onto you tightly, fingers digging into your waist. it’s his first chance at seeing the real you— 

rin’s gazing deeply at you right now, face flushed and hot as he takes in the sight of you. there’s a carefree and truly happy smile on your face, and your laugh repeats like some melody in his head, and you look beautiful. even with your matted hair and clothes sticking weirdly to your skin, his opinion of you never changes.

he’s thankful for the small distance between you, scared of his own thoughts and how he just can’t seem to think clearly around you. he’s thankful for the distance, until he isn’t.

there’s space between you one second, and then it shrinks; you’re pulling him by the neck, even closer to you as you try to whisper something into his ear. it’s inaudible, he doesn’t hear a word you’re saying. not when all he can focus on is the proximity, or lack thereof, between the two of you. you stay like this, until he hears you vaguely call out his name, and then silence. his breath picks up, the same with yours when you both realize just how close you’ve gotten.

you make an effort to pull away. but he acts before he thinks. rin holds you in place, and just as quickly as the thought comes, he kisses you— awkward, clumsy, and urgent.

it’s not slow, but pouring with an unexpected passion. your teeths clash and you both fumble around as you try to find harmony, until your lips finally move in sync with his. it’s sweeter than expected, and he likes it more than he would ever admit. he can feel your lips subtly smile into his own, and he’s sure he is too, but he ignores it as he chases this unnamed feeling. the feeling that makes him feel weird, fuzzy, happy?

your hands find their way to the hairs at the nape of his neck, burying your fingers in the strands as you pull him in, and his arms wrap themselves around you. it's overwhelming, and your minds feel like they've gone into overdrive. you’re both trembling— from the cold or from the rush of it all, you’re not really sure. 

the rush doesn’t stop the alarms in his head from going off. 

do you like him too? is this real for you too? because, as far as he’s aware, you don’t do this in a fake relationship. at no point should it ever include kissing like you meant it. at no point should the thought, “i could stay like this,” pop into his mind.

but it did, and this kiss was very much real, and he meant it. 

as you pull away for air, your breaths mingle, and you stay frozen in each other's arms as you wrap your head around what just happened. he looks horrified, eyes widening, like he’s just realized what he’s done.

you’re out of breath, and your face is mirroring his. like the reality of the situation had just sunk in. and for a second, he panics. he’s about to pull away from you, unravel himself from your hold and mumble out an apology, and maybe pretend this never happened—

“i think i’m in love with you.” instead, the words come tumbling out of your lips. rushed, raw, full of emotion and feeling. as if they've spilled from your heart. “like, for real.”

rin’s heart stutters, and he breathes hard. it’s a pattern with him, because once again, he acts before he thinks. the words, "i think i'm in love with you, too,” falls from his lips. “like, for real, too.”

© rindreamery, 2024

[muwapsturniolo]

Brutus 2 🦇 Chris sturniolo

"O-one hun-hundred and fif-fifteen times...." PT 1

NSFW AHEAD!!! mentions of murder, stabbing, assault (not detailed!!!), alcohol, blowjobs/face fucking, facials, cum eating, rough sex, biting, cream pies, choking, switch! Chris, Matt is a perv

The police still couldn’t figure out what happened on the final night of Halloween horror nights. It’s been a month and the gruesome murders were still unsolved and left everyone scratching their head. The police took the right measures, they taped off the crime scene for weeks on end, rewatched the CCTV footage, and questioned the crew and attendees.

But they came up empty-handed.

They couldn’t figure out who committed the crime or why they did it.

But she knew.

When she was questioned, the police showing up at her door with her discarded tweed purse, she lied and said she didn’t see anything. Claimed she barely remembers that night due to the alcohol she consumed on the premises.

She knew it was wrong to lie to authority, to take away the possibility of a grieving family to finally have peace and to know the killer is behind bars. She knew if anyone found out what she did they would call her insane and probably throw her six feet under a jail - She didn’t want that.

She was lying to cover her own ass and the nameless killers, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Especially if it meant they would continue watching her.

It was only a couple of days after that night when she felt as if she was being watched. She had just gotten out of the shower and walked into her bedroom to put on her pajamas when she noticed the clothes were on the floor.

That isn't where she left them.

She vividly remembered placing them neatly at the foot of her bed, folded and ready to throw on. Now they were thrown onto the floor in a mess, and her panties were missing.

Fear should have settled into her body, but instead, she proceeded to get dressed right in front of the open window.

With that being said, she went about her life as if nothing happened, as if she wasn't being stalked by two psychopaths.

Her routine never changed.

Weeks had gone by, minutes, hours - two months to be exact. She had given up the little bit of hope that those two would make an appearance. Honestly, she had forgotten about them until a Christmas party had gone wrong.

Her friends had forced her to attend, shoving her into a powder blue satin dress and a pair of silver heels to match. soon, she was at the party, standing in the corner with a frown on her face.

She wasn't having a good time. Her friends had ditched her as soon as they made it to the club, this guy who was completely wasted wouldn't leave her alone, and she was hot.

Deciding that she was over it and needed some air, she found her friends and told them she was leaving. She walked away, ignoring their drunken protests, and pulled out her phone, attempting to order an Uber.

It seemed like she didn't have any luck, the cellular device having no type of signal. With a huff she begins walking down the street, not noticing the two people following her.

"This is so stupid! This is the last time I let them drag me to a dumb party an-" A small scream escapes her mouth as she's pushed into an alley, her phone falling from her hands. Her body collides with a trash can, preventing her from falling into the muddy puddles of water from the melted snow.

She's soon shoved against the wall, the streetlamps casting a shadow over her attacker's face. She didn't need lights to know who the person was, the rancid smell of alcohol was enough.

It was the same man from the party, he had followed her out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! Get off of me!" She shouts in annoyance, trying to push him off. It was odd, the way she was completely sober and had better coordination should have given her the strength to push him away. But to no avail, he proceeded to force himself upon her, slurring his words in the process.

Just as his hand goes up her dress, he's yanked away and tackled to the ground, her savior immediately throwing punches.

She stays frozen against the wall, too shocked to even register what's happening.

A glimmer of light snaps her back into reality.

She watches as her savior raises his arm, a knife in hand.

She watches as the blade is plunged into her attacker's chest, his screams slowly drowning out as he chokes on his own blood. She watches her savior continuously bring the knife down, not stopping until he's satisfied.

His actions begin to slow, his breathing heavy as he slumps back, staring at the lifeless body underneath him.

She takes a hesitant step forward, freezing when her savior turns to her.

She already knew, but the mask adorning his face confirmed it.

Her savior was the same man from that night, the same masked man who was ready to kill her before being scared away by his partner in crime.

His wild and deranged eyes soften as they connect with hers, his breathing calming down.

They say nothing, the only sound being heard is the flurries of snow rushing past them.

She slowly approaches, holding her hand out before speaking softly, "Come on, let's go."

He looks down at her hand before standing up, towering over her. He points towards her discarded phone, his silence-speaking words. She nods and rushes over to her phone, bending down to grab it. She huffs seeing the cracked screen, cursing out the dead man in her head. Just as she begins to wipe the phone off, she hears a loud bang.

She whips around and sees both the masked savior and the dead body gone, her brows slowly creasing.

Where did they go? How did they disappear so quick?

Her thoughts are interrupted by a hand landing on her shoulder. She jumps in surprise and turns around to see the masked savior in front of her.

"Jesus Christ, " she covers her chest as her heart begins to beat quickly. She swears she heard him snicker softly, but before she could question him, he wrapped his hand around her arm and dragged her down the street.

In reality, she knows she should be scared and questioning him, but she stays silent, allowing him to guide her to wherever they are going. They soon arrive in front of a beat-up pickup truck, parts of the car rusting as snow sits in the bed.

He opens the passenger door and looks at her expectantly. She peers inside the truck, noticing the mess inside. The cans of Pepsi discarded on the floor, the wrappers from candy, the smell of cigarettes, and most importantly,

The small bloodstains on the seats.

She looks back at him, noticing the soft look in his eyes.

"You want me to get in?"

He nods, still refusing to speak.

"Are you taking me home?"

He nods once more.

"Do you know where I live?"

He tenses, the grip he has on her arm tightening. It's almost as if he's scared, scared of being caught for stalking. Scared she's going to scream, run away, reject him.

She snickers softly seeing the fear in his eyes, it's a bit ironic.

She says nothing, simply climbing into the truck and buckling herself in.

"Come on, I miss my bed."

With that, he closes the door and climbs into the car himself, quickly starting the engine and driving off. She watches silently as he drives down familiar streets, having driven down them herself whenever she's on her way home.

The car ride was filled with silence, it wasn't tense if anything, it was calming, the both of them relaxed.

They soon arrive and he kills the engine, staring straight ahead out the window. She turns to him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face behind the mask.

"Thank you for helping me," she says softly. He gives a curt nod, his hands still placed on the wheel.

"Did you want to come in?" His head whips to her, his eyes holding confusion. She smirks, enjoying the hesitancy and confusion in his eyes.

" Come on, you've been inside anyway. Might as well come in with an invitation this time."

He huffs behind the mask but follows her actions in unbuckling the seat belt and climbing out of the car.

They walk inside the house, the girl kicking off the annoying heels and throwing her keys in the bowl on the stand. She walks to her bedroom, smiling to herself as she hears his sluggish footsteps behind her. She throws herself onto her bed, flipping onto her back and propping herself up with her elbows.

She looks him up and down curiously, attempting to familiarize herself with him again.

"How come you wear a mask?"

Like always, he says nothing, refusing to even glance in her direction. She pushes herself off the bed and approaches him, cornering him. No words are spoken between the two as she presses herself against him, his breathing speeding up. With a slow and steady hand, she trails it up his arm, her fingers soon fanning out against his chest.

She goes to touch the edge of the mask, but she's stopped by his hand firmly grasping her wrist.

He looks scared.

Despite the tight grip he has on her, she continues with her actions. Her fingers grip the edge of the mask, slowly pulling it off of his face.

He quickly turns his head, his hair falling in front of his face. She gently turns him back towards her, their eyes connecting as her fingers dance across the scar on his cheek.

"O-one hun-hundred and fif-fifteen times...."

A shocked expression makes its way onto her face. He spoke, he finally spoke, and the first thing he decided to say was a number.

"W-what?" She questions in confusion, raking her brain for what the number could mean.

"Th-the man....I sta-stabbed him one hun-dred and f-fifteen times."

She's shocked by the confession.

She didn't know a lot about murder, only having seen it and heard about it in movies and TV shows, but she knew it took a lot of energy and anger to stab someone that amount of times - He did it for her.

It was sick, it was twisted, and yet, it attracted her.

"Let me thank you," she mumbles, her hand leaving his face and trailing down his chest, soon finding its place over his crotch. She begins to palm him, watching his breathing grow harsh, their eyes still connected. A small whimper leaves his mouth, and she breaks out into a grin - his moans were so pretty, so soft,

Submissive.

She sinks to her knees, both of her hands working at his belt, soon throwing it to the floor. Her mouth waters as she pulls his pants down, his cock slapping his abdomen.

It was pretty, just like him.

It was long and thick, and had a bright red tip that matched his chapped lips. There was a vein running up the side that she knew would feel euphoric when sliding against her spongy walls.

He bucks his hips softly as she wraps her hand around his shaft, pulling it towards her mouth. She opens her mouth and allows a wad of spit to trickle out, landing directly on his tip. Her thumb swipes over the tip as she moves the spit around, starting to jerk him off.

His moans and whimpers are kitten-like, despite his horrific and brutal demeanor, he was like putty in her hands.

She enjoys the way his body relaxes against the door, his head thrown back and his mouth open as he pants softly. She kitten licks his tip before taking him fully in her mouth. His rough and calloused hands fly to her head, grabbing the strands of hair and forcing her to take him deeper.

She gags around him, tears forming in her eyes as she opens her mouth wider, but she keeps going. She bobs her head up and down, making sure to hum and fondle his balls in the process.

His moans and groans grow louder, and his actions become more dominant. It was like a switch was flipped in his head, his hips starting to slam against her face.

He shows no mercy as he fucks her face, his dick reaching so far down her throat and giving her no chance to breathe. Her actions of gratitude had quickly become sloppy, the mixture of spit and precum coating her chin and falling down to her chest.

There were even bubbles of the mixture forming, popping every time her nose hit his happy trail.

She manages to look up at him, her mascara tears and glossy eyes making her look so damaged yet innocent - It drives him over the edge.

He quickly pulls out of her mouth and releases all over her face, enjoying the way she gasps in shock.

It's like his body is on autopilot, nothing but excitement and adrenaline controlling his actions. His hand wraps around her throat, lifting her to her feet with ease. Their lips instantly mesh together, swapping spit as they hastily make out. She moans into the kiss as he tightens his grip on her throat, the wetness in her panties only growing. She could feel the sticky fluid in between her folds every time she clenched her thighs - She was aching for him to touch her.

He suddenly pulls away from the kiss and begins to lick his own semen off of her face, his eyes rolling back. She moaned at his erotic actions, the way his soft and spongy muscle glided over her cheek. She could smell the faint mixture of cigarettes on his breath, but she found herself not caring.

Suddenly, she's pushed away from him, her body colliding with the mattress. It all happens so quick, the way her powder blue dress is ripped into pieces, her soaked panties following.

He was like a rabid, feral dog, ready to take what he wanted and she was just as excited.

Her jaw drops and her back arches as he shoves his length inside of her, reaching to the deepest hilt. Much like his partner in crime, he stretched her out perfectly, her aching walls sucking him in and not letting him go. The bedframe bangs against the wall with each ferocious thrust, items falling off her nightstand due to the shaking.

He shoves his face into the crevice of her neck, his teeth sinking into the soft skin. He proceeds with his actions, the marking of his teeth covering her whole chest along with her breasts - Blood is drawn in certain areas.

It's an overwhelming amount of pleasure, so overwhelming that she can't even keep her eyes open nor hold him. Her arms lay flat by her head, her eyes clenched shut as her mouth remains open.

Her eyes fly open when her head whips to the side, the same hand that slapped her wrapping around her throat, squeezing tightly.

He's heaving like a dog, his pants mixed with groans, making him sound like a beast.

She weakly grabbed at his wrist, trying to ease the pressure on her throat, but it was no use. She had become lightheaded from the pleasure and lack of air.

She was close to passing out, but she was also close to reaching her orgasm, it was just a matter of which one she would experience first.

"You're going to kill her, ease up on the choking."

Her blurry eyes dart to the bedroom door, a choked gurgle escaping her mouth when she sees him.

He was here, the one with the painted face. Except, his face wasn't painted, and he was watching her be fucked by his partner.

She gasped for air when he released her throat, her eyes still trained on the other one. She watches as he takes a seat at her vanity, leaning back on the chair and manspreading.

"Don't look at me, look at him. He's the one fucking you."

She does as told, her eyes connecting with the man on top of her. He had the same look in his eyes from that night when he chased after the girl trying to run away.

"Tell him how good he's making you feel, he loves the praise,"

"S-so good- Nghh. Fuck- " She could barely speak a full sentence, her speech slurred.

"That's all you can do? Come on dollface, he killed someone for you! Show him how grateful you are! He finally gets to feel you after watching me fuck you, give him the experience he deserves."

Her mind is reeling, incoherent babbles of praise falling from her lips. The more she praises him, the harder his thrust become, her sobs of pleasure getting louder.

It's not long before she felt that familiar coil in her stomach forming, ready to burst at any second - and all it took was one final thrust from the man on top of her to push her over the edge.

Her whole body shakes violently, her eyes rolling back as she feels the static rush through her body. Her ears were ringing, her vision blurry as she came down from her high.

She lays there shaking, her fingers twitching as she pants harshly. She was worn out, fucked, and tired.

Suddenly, he stands up from the vanity and slams his hand down on Chris's back, "Look at her....and I thought I wore her out." They both look down at her, trying to figure out what to do next.

Matt suddenly bends down and moves her hair out of her face, grabbing her chin softly.

"Wake up doll, your night has just started."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Falling Into Me

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Smut (p in v, fingering, oral f receiving), angst, loss of virginity, light fluff, feelings :(, real bad self-image issues

Summary/Warnings: You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you.

You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

Author's Note: This might be the horniest thing I've ever written. Enjoy <3!

Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan

Word Count: 8.9k

You haven’t slept in three days, and it’s starting to be a problem. But you can’t afford to sleep. You can only drink staler and staler coffee, sit at the motel table, and pretend this is a case that, somehow, you’re going to solve. That Dean isn’t grumpier than usual, and Sam doesn’t constantly look like he’s going to kill the next person that dares to have an incorrect idea. It’s why you volunteered for the next round of interviews. You don’t want to be there when one of them snaps and kills the other, and while you wouldn’t love to return to the room and find it covered in blood, at least then you’d have an excuse to call it.

You wouldn’t call it. You’d work the case until it was done, because that’s what you do. And Sam and Dean won’t kill each other, because they’re Sam and Dean. That said, you are expecting a pouting Dean to pacing back and forth outside the room as he waits for you to return, and a grumble about how Sammy said he was being annoying and needed to walk it off. You’re more than prepared to give him a sympathetic smile and ask him if he was being annoying. And he’ll probably protest that he wasn’t, and you’ll raise your brows, and he’ll admit he mighta been drumming really loud while eating the chips.

It’s not an unreasonable expectation. None of you have slept, because this thing is insane. There’s no obvious pattern to the victims, no connections, nothing in line with everything you’ve ever seen. It’s men and woman, a wide age range, no previous coflicts or knowledge of each other in life. There are holes through theirs chests that could be bullet wounds, but obviously aren’t, because Bullets don’t remove the heart from the body. But it’s not werewolves, because werewolves aren’t clean killers like this and every fucking person in this stupid town has passed the silver test. There’s a new kill every night, and a new body every morning, and another reason for you, Sam, and Dean to start screaming every day. Every hour makes you all wired, because it’s closer and closer to another evening where you won’t have caught this asshole and another person will die.

And it’s become really easy to get on each other’s nerves. Sam was mad at Dean because he’d purposefully gotten you all burgers instead of Sam’s rabbit food, you’re mad at Sam because he said you were bad at poker—and you are, but what the fuck—and Dean’s mad at you because-

Dean’s not mad at you. You and Dean don’t really get mad at each other. You understand each other, better than you’ve ever understood anyone else, and it’s the perfect amount of alike that you’ll lend him grace you wouldn’t lend anyone else—including yourself—but you don’t see enough of your own twisting, molding innards to hate him. You mostly see something better. A man that has all the same rotting parts, but has made something out of them while you just waste away in toxins.

And you think Dean sees something similar in you. It’s why you’d been obnoxiously chewing potato chips, right in his ear, and he hadn’t punched you or snatched the bag away from your hands. He’d just rolled his eyes, grabbed one of his own, and started chewing in Sam’s ear.

So you hadn’t really volunteered for interviews so much as been aggressively told by Sam you were doing interviews. And it was only fair Dean met the same fate.

But he hadn’t. And when you opened the door to the room, they both looked happy. 

Dean practically shouts your name when he sees you, wildly gesturing for you to join them at the table. “Sammy found it!” He grins at you almost manically, and it’s a little adorable. “We can finally fucking leave.”

“I might have found it,” Sam corrects, his smile a little more tentative, but still real. “And we can’t leave yet. Not until we actually get the thing-“

“Obviously, dude, but that’ll be soon, instead of in a million years.” Dean looks to you for agreement. “I mean, c’mon. You guys can’t really wanna stay in hicktown Ohio forever?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Good coffee.”

Dean glares at you. “The coffee tastes like ass and you freakin’ know it-“

“Dean.” You give him a flat look. “Do I actually get to know what the monster is?”

Sam sighs. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“I already don’t love it, it’s a monster that’s killed like, ten people-“

“Worse than that.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “It’s sorta like a dragon.”

You, very suddenly, don’t feel really well. Everything is hotter than it had been a second ago, and the walls seem to be closing in as your skin begins to prickle and ache. “Like a dragon?” You ask, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Or a dragon?”

“Like a dragon. Tell her, Sammy.”

Sam shoots Dean a glare—not happy being thrown under the bus—and mutters, “It’s a unicorn.”

You stare at him for a long minute, then shake your head. “It’s a what.”

“Unicorn.” Sam mumbles. “They’re, uh, looks like they’re real.”

“But not Pinky Pie and Disney.” Dean adds, turning Sam’s laptop for you to read. “Real fucking assholes.”

“They hunt virgins.” Sam explains. “To bond with. And it’ll kill anyone who falsely lures it.”

“Stab the poor son of a bitch right through the heart, then pull that sucker right out.” Dean adds, spreading his legs and propping his elbows on his knees. “And it looks like it’ll go after chicks and dudes, any age, so that’s why there’s no pattern. You’re able to fuck, you’re fair game.”

“Oh, cool.” You mutter, a lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m always looking for equal opportunity murderers in the monsters I hunt.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna make it a little harder to find the thing.” Sam grabs his laptop back, frowning at the screen. “It’ll take a human form, then look for a virgin. And it won’t be able to tell until it gets the person’s heartbeat up, so it might be a guy or a girl, depending on who it’s hunting tonight.”

“But,” you glance at Dean, who’s grinning as you start to put it together. “It is hunting tonight.”

“Hunts every night.” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. “And we don’t know where, but we can take some guesses. Split up and look at all the bars in town ’till one of us finds something, then gank this douchebag and get the hell out of here.”

“Split up?” You whisper, something wired and flailing coiling around your guts. “That’s, um, shouldn’t we stick together? If it’ll go after anyone?”

“Not everyone.” Same shrugs. “Low, uh, body counts. I guess. Low enough that it can’t tell immediately.”

“So we just need a bunch of whores?"

Dean snorts. “Well tonight,” he spreads his arms, shooting you a wink that really isn’t helpful right now. “We’re the whores, Sweetheart. We’re safe, and we’re going to kick some unicorn ass.”

It’s a cheesy, stupid thing to say, and usually you’d laugh and crack a joke back. Something about unicorn ass and whores that you can’t really think of right now, because there’s bile in your throat and something heavy fogging over your brain.

“How do we, uh,” your tongue is numb in your mouth, and every word is dragged out of your throat. “How do we kick a unicorn’s ass.”

“Well, we’re looking for electrical malfunctions, golden eyes when it gets, uh, excited, and a refusal to drink anything but water.” Sam frowns at the screen, looking up at you with a half-shrug. “Anything amoral seems to knock it down, so just, uh, swear? Then shoot it with iron. Iron kills it.”

“And, um,” you swallow, tugging at the fabric of your sleeves. “What’s gonna to the virgin? If the unicorn finds it?”

Sam sighs. “They, uh, they seem to use them.”

Dean frowns, leaning around to try and read the screen. “Use them-“ 

“Their purity. Use their purity.” Sam raises his brows, and you can see the exact moment it clicks in Dean’s head. 

“That’s...” Dean trails off, running a hand over his face. “Shit.” 

Sam mutters an agreement, and your mouth feels like sandpaper, your heart beating like it’s trying to escape your chest.

“And after?” You whisper, a little unsure you want to actually ask the question, or know the answer. “After they’re used?” 

“Well, they’re not ‘pure��� anymore.” Sam puts an air quote around pure, and you feel a little sick. “So, uh, stab.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly. You might need to lie down. “Stab.”

Dean looks over you with a drawn brow, his voice low and cautious as he says your name. “Are feelin’ okay-“

“I’m fine.” You remember how to smile, and hope it looks real. Not like your teeth are starting to feel out of place in your mouth, and you can’t seem to find enough spit to choke on. “Let’s get the unicorn ass.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced. Hell, Sam doesn’t look convinced. But they both let it go for now, and you can breathe just a little easier knowing you’re not barreling towards a fight.

But only a little easier. 

Because you’re fucked.

Virginity is a funny thing. It’s just a social construct, but it’s a social construct some monsters seem to take as scripture, making it a hazardous thing to still have in your line of work. 

And you hadn’t meant to be a hazard. It just kind of happened. Because it started as something that was a given to have, then turned into something that you just were a little too busy to lose, before becoming an awkward conversation you’re not willing to have. Something that hangs, silent and sharp, over your head and around your throat. Something that’s now a question of why? Why is it never you? You’re not ugly. You’re even pretty enough that, if you tell someone, they won’t believe you and it’ll all feel worse. You’re even pretty enough that you’ve seen people size you up at bars, but none of them ever approach you.

So it might just be you. You might just have something on your face that gives away that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, a little too rough to touch and not have it sting, telling people stay away. 

And Sam and Dean will never know. You’re already a little younger, a little worse of a hunter, a small problem when they’re obviously trying to take someone to their bed but the girl sees you and makes quick and inaccurate assumptions. Sam is better at brushing them off—She’s like my little sister—but Dean gets red and awkward and suddenly loses all his well-practiced charm. He sulks back to the table, and won’t look you in the eyes for an hour or walk with you back to the bar. You’re honestly shocked neither of them have thrown you to the curb by now, an you’re not going to give them another reason to. Another reason for Sam to make a sad, puppy-eyed pity face and Dean to stare at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like there’s no way someone could’ve possibility survived as a hunter like this. 

And a small, well-contained part of you wishes Dean would look at you the way he looks at other women. Like they still have beautiful, horrible secrets that he’d love to uncover with only his hands and mouth. 

You’ve got secrets. Dean can’t have them—because they’re a liability and you’re not looking to lose him forever—but you really wish he’d just look at you. Once, really look at you, and not see you. See something so much better, that you think he’s always a little close to finding, that nobody else ever seems willing to try and look for.

You’re a little grateful they left you alone in this backwater dive bar. It would hurt to watch Dean flirt right now, when everything feels raw and wired in your body, and every time someone drops next to you at the bar you feel more and more sick. There are quick, polite conversations with random strangers who sound like they’d rather be anywhere than here, with you, and by the time you’ve repeated your cover story for the eighth time your lungs are wrapped iron and your nails feel like a burden on your fingers.

It’ll be over by tonight. All three of you know what you’re looking for, so the unicorn will be dead before sunrise, and you won’t have to do any explanations about why you’ve been quiet and tense since Dean said like a dragon. Nobody will look at you with pity or confusion, nobody will get hurt, and you won’t end up with a hole in your heart as the only people that have ever seen you to be worth something realize just how wrong they were. That you’re really just a small, useless burden that even a literal monster wouldn’t be able to stomach the presence of-

“You here all by yourself?”

Something sparks in your gut at the voice, coming from off to the side, because for a second you really think it’s Dean. It’s deep, moves through your whole body, and knocks loose something in your lower gut that always makes you feel hungry, but it’s not Dean. When you turn, the man next to you looks like someone ran Dean through a printer too many times and he came out faded. A little too short, not quite as broad, all the pretty scars that make Dean Dean seemingly vanished, and a gleam in his eyes that Dean’s never had. It’s a little more feral, without any playfulness or glowing shadows. Too much yellow instead of green, the cocky smirk just a little off, none of it right. None of it Dean.

“I’m, um,” you frown, because this man even smells like Dean. “I’m waiting for a friend. He’s running late.”

Not-Dean clicks his tongue. “Shame, leaving a pretty girl like you all alone. You want some company until your boyfriend shows up?”

You shake your head, turning your glass around in your hand. “Not my boyfriend. And I’m actually…” You trail off, your eyes falling on the man’s own glass. The clear liquid inside. “You drinking vodka?”

“Am I- Oh, sure.” The man chuckles, raising his drink for you to click. “Here’s to not-boyfriends-“

“Can I have some?”

You watch the man carefully as he looks between you and the glass. “Nah, sweetie, you don’t want this, it’s some strong stuff-“

Sweetie. Not sweetheart. Not Dean, not right, not safe. And something is starting to crawl over your skin and shoot up your spine, making you sit a little taller as your heart pounds louder and louder. 

As Not-Dean licks his lips, and scans over you with yellow eyes that might be shining. 

Fuck.

“I, um, I’m gonna go call my friend.” You start to shift off your seat, pulling your phone slowly out of your pocket. “He should’ve been here a few minutes ago, and I’m worried-“

“C’mon, you haven’t even told me your name.” Not-Dean wiggles his brows, and it looks wrong on his face. “Bet I can guess, if you give me a hint-“

“No, it’s fine, my name is, uh…” you look down at your phone, the screen completely black. You’d charged it before you left.

“Your name?” Not-Dean prompts, grabbing your arm. Holding you near him, at the bar. “I’d really love to learn it. I could teach you a few things in exchange-“

“I was never given a name!” Your voice is a frantic shout, Not-Dean’s eyes narrow, and you do the only thing you can think of. Punch Not-Dean square in the face, yank your arm from his grip, and run. Fucking sprint out of the bar and not allow yourself to falter as you hear a roar that’s a little hoarse and off pitched. Like a horse keen. Like a wounded animal.

Like a monster.

Splitting up had been a terrible fucking idea. Now you’re alone, you don’t have even an idea where Sam and Dean are, and you can’t afford to stop and jack a car because you can hear it in the distance. Hooves, clapping against the pavement, getting closer and closer as you begin to run out of breath. You can’t hide, it can hear you, and you can’t go faster because you already feel faint and everything is beginning to collapse in your body. Muscles tightening and skin crawling and eyes pushing out of your skull, every breath too shallow and every step too short. 

You fall to your knees behind a truck, wrapping a hand around your own throat and trying to force your heartbeat back down. Slow, even breathes that come out in choked gasps, nails digging into your skin as the hooves slow, and you hear a low sputtering sound from somewhere behind you. 

And it’s too quiet. You can’t hear anything but your blood in your ears, and all you can see in the night is the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp in the distance. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow every breath, hoping you can force yourself out before the unicorn finds you. You don’t want to be used. You don’t want to be alone. You just want Dean, where’s Dean, why the fuck did you let him leave you alone, why didn’t you tell him the truth, why can’t you think of anything else but Dean, where’s Dean-

There’s something hot on your neck, and a large presence at your side. Something like spit is being splattered on your neck, and you can’t contain the vomit when a too-rough hand trails up your arm-

“Get the fuck back, you son of a bitch!”

A loud bang cuts through the air—making you jump out of your skin as a heavy body slumps onto yours—and it sounds like church bells and music. It sounds like Dean. That’s his voice shouting your name, his arms wrapping around your body and carrying you away from the unicorn, his breath fanning over your face as he sits you on the curb and starts to turn your face in his hands.

“Fuck, never should’ve left you, but I didn’t-“ Dean cuts himself off with a huff, and you think he’s talking to himself more than you. “Did the asshole touch you anywhere I can’t see?”

You shake your head, keeping your eye glued shut as you curl your hands in Dean’s shirt. Maybe Dean’s shirt. Not-Dean had been wearing plaid too, and you don’t have the nerve or will to open your eyes and seen if it’s your Dean, or the cheap unicorn knockoff.

“Shit, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Sam’s on his way, but we gotta get you out of here-“

“Didn’t touch me.” You whisper, fighting every urge into your body to curl forwards and start sobbing weak and pointless apologies. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay? You think, fuck-“ Dean’s arm—bigger, warmer, maybe actual Dean—loops around your waist, his voice a little closer to your ear. “Need you to hold onto me, got it? We’re goin’ back to the car, and you gotta, fuck, can you open your damn eyes?”

They fly open, almost on command, and it’s Dean. The smell of whiskey is stronger, more authentic, and his face is sharp in all the right places, and it’s really Dean. 

And he looks pissed. His touch on your body is careful, and his eyes are attentive and sparked with worry, but his jaw is clenched, and his every word is suddenly pushed through his teeth.

“You’re gonna hold onto me.” He orders, holding your wide-eyed gaze with a glower. “I’ll take a better look at you when we get back to the room-“

“Dean, I’m fine-“

“And,” Dean barrels on, as if he didn’t even hear you. “We’re going to have a chat. You’re, I can’t-” he shakes his head scooping you fully into his arms. “Just hold on.”

He sounds pissed. Dean’s rigid and silent the whole ride back to the hotel, his grip white-knuckled and tight on the wheel, and you feel even worse than before. This is it. He had to save you, and he’s going to learn why he had to save you, and he might not kick you out but he won’t look at you the same again. No more ease or awe or comfort or understanding, because Dean’s rotten in places where the mold can be burned away with every good part of him, but you’re just rotten. Just a hideous thing that roars in your chest, just angry and cowardlyand revolting and wrong. You’re just wrong. 

All the panic and paralyzing adrenaline had left your body, so you push yourself out of the Impala on unsteady feet. Dean mutters something about Sam dealing with all the cleanup as he opens to motel room door, watching you shuffle inside with clenched fists and an unreadable expression. You flop onto the bed with a small whine, your body beginning to drown in exhaustion, your gaze locked on the peeling paint of the ceiling as Dean moves around the room out of your view.

“Why’d you come back?” You ask, your voice hoarse and weak, and Dean lets out a long, low exhale from somewhere off to the side.

“You were actin’ really weird.” He grunts. “Didn’t sound like yourself. Weren’t laughing at my jokes, or making fun of Sam. Looked sick every time one of us said stab.”

“I could’ve just been-“

“Don’t.” He snaps, and you crane your neck to see him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking at you. Dean seems to be really looking at you, all of you, and you suddenly really wish he would stop. You’re complete exposed below him, under his glare, and he’s going to see something he hates. Something you don’t have a name for that you’ve never wanted him to see, never wanted him to find. The thing that makes everyone else look away.

But Dean’s attention is like a drug, and you need him to stop before you lose him, but you also never want him to stop watching you. It’s confusing and raw and makes you feel like a live wire, one word or touch or stare away from snapping and bursting into a million sparks.

And Dean’s still looking at you. 

“I didn’t,” you swallow, his eyes like a magnet on yours. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He repeats, his voice lower. Harsher. “You’re not injured.”

You shake your head.

“Good. We need to talk.”

“Dean, I-“

“I’m asking the questions.” Dean leers over you slightly, and you nod again. “Why the fuck did that unicorn seem like it was hunting you.”

He knows the answer. His whole face is already painted in anger, and you know he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Because it was hunting me.”

“Unicorns only hunt virgins.” Dean grunts your name, still not looking away. “You’re not-“

“I am.” You mumble, folding your arms over your own body as you drop back down onto the mattress. “Sorry.”

“Why would you say, fuck- Why in goddamn hell wouldn’t you tell me and Sam-“

“Tell you and Sam what?” You scowl at the ceiling. “That I’m untouched? Pure? Boring-“

“That you’d be in danger!” Dean all but roars, and you don’t flinch, but you do cringe. All the mold in your body feels as if it’s spreading like cancer, because Dean would never hurt you with his hands, but he might be about to curb stomp your heart with only his mouth. “I don’t give a shit about the virgin thing, I care that you were so fucking stupid to go off alone, that you didn’t trust me enough-“

“It’s not about trust, Dean,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut again. “And it’s not like you tell me everything-“

“I do! I’ve told you about all the shit in my past, and my fear of flying, and Rhonda Hurley, and that weird freaking dream I had with the mice in top hats-“

“That’s not the same!” You’re pushing back up on your palms, raising your voice to match Dean’s. You just need him to stop yelling at you, to rip the band-aid off and finally give up on you so you can rest. “This isn’t your business-“

“It’s my business if it’s gonna get you fucking killed, Sweetheart. And I coulda helped you-“

“Helped me?” You scoff. “I don’t need your help with this, Winchester, I’ve come to terms with it-“

There was a brief moment where Dean had looked like you’d kicked him, but it vanishes in a second as he gapes at you in disbelief. “To terms with virginity?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, holding his suddenly slack expression with your own glare. “Nobody wants me, it’s not a big deal-“ 

Dean snorts. “There’s no damn way you’re that stupid-“ 

“I am not stupid-“ 

“Yeah? Cause you’re a fucking idiot if you think nobody wants you.”

It’s your turn to gape at him. Your heart stumbles slightly in your chest, your fingers curling into bedsheets, and the world begins to spin as you try and understand his words. “What?”

“You,” Dean takes a firm step forward, drawing your name. “Are a fucking idiot if you think that there’s not one damn person on the planet who wants you.” 

“But-“

“Nah. No freakin’ buts.” He’s closer now, his knees bumping yours as he glowers down at you. “I’ve watched too many hair-gelled losers at bars size you up like they wanna take a bite for you to have buts. Hell, I’ve-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Shit, there’s just, there’s no way-“

Your face twists back into a scowl. “Fuck off, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you believe me-“

“Oh, I believe you, Sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes flash, nostrils flaring as a low groan leaves his chest, rolling through the air and settling between your legs in an aching heat. “And I finally fucking get it. You just, you have no idea. I thought you just didn’t want it, but you’re just- Shit-“

“Dean,” your voice is soft, a little breathless, and can’t help but rub your thighs together as his hands start to flex at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I know,” he mutters, scanning over your body with an almost predatory expression. “I’m not, I just gotta,” his gaze flies back to yours, his voice suddenly stern. “Sam tell you how the unicorn choses its form?”

You blink. “Wha-“

“It takes the form that will be most appealing to the target. To help the asshole get attention quickly. That unicorn,” his voice drop, deeper than you’ve ever heard it, and it takes all the will you have to not start fall back into in the sheets. “Looked kinda like me.”

“I, um, I don’t-“

“Do you want me?” Dean grunts your name, and you make the mistake of dropping your gaze down, to his pants. To where an impressive outline is straining against his jeans. 

“I’d, I mean, I’m not-“ You swallow, everything a dizzying haze of Dean. “Yeah, I think, but you’re not-“

“I’m not what?” He growls, kneeling down to your eye level, trailing a slow hand up your thigh. “Not interested?”

 “Yeah?”

“Wrong.” Dean’s hand moves higher, trailing closer and closer to your center before running back down to your knee. “So incredibly wrong, Sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since, fuck, since I first saw ya’. But you didn’t seem to want me, so I backed off, but if you just didn’t-“ He pauses, his brilliant green eyes suddenly tearing into your soul, unraveling you before he’s even touched bare skin. “Do you? Want me?”

“I already said-“

“You said yeah.” He mutters, rubbing his hand is a slow pattern on your knee. “Need you to say the full thing, before I do anything else.”

Dean’s face is suddenly softer, with something that aches and tugs on your own heart shining through his eyes, and you couldn’t lie to him if you tried. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to Dean. It feels cruel, and wrong, and as if you’d be denying yourself something so good and rare it will never be replicated if you walk away now. 

“I want you,” you whisper. “I’ve wanted you. But I’m not, it’s not going to be good for you. I mean, I know how to take care of that,” you point to the bulge in his pants, pressed slightly against your calf as he crouches before you, and Dean frowns. “But I’ve never, um, you know-“

“You’re not takin’ care of anything.” He says, scanning over your open face with drawn brows. “We’re doing this, it’s gonna be about you.”

“Oh.” There’s a little drool falling out of your mouth, Dean reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, and your voice becomes a squeak. “Okay.”

“If you really wanna,” his mouth curves into a smirk, and you need it on yours now. “Next time, I’ll let you go to town on Little Dean.”

You can’t stop the small giggle escaping your lips, and it turns into a full laugh as Dean’s own grin grows, and nothing really feels that bad anymore. “Little Dean?”

“Compared to the rest of me, yeah.” Dean does a loose gesture at his broad, strong body, his grin growing cocky. Hungry. Starved. “But trust me, gorgeous. Ain’t nothing little about him.”

Your eyes widen, your thighs rubbing together as the need for him becomes almost unbearable, and Dean lets out a deep, low chuckle. 

“You want me, babygirl?”

You nod, and Dean’s eyes narrow as he squeezes his hand on your leg. 

“Need you to say it-“

“Yeah.” You whisper. “Yes, please.”

A grin splits over Dean’s handsome face, and his hand drifts to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours as he drawls your name. “I’m gonna need to get you ready, so just,” he pushes you slightly, and you fall flat on your back, moving your own hands to hold his against you. “Stay there, look pretty, and let me work.”

You nod, your vision already a little blurred with desire as you stare at the ceiling. Dean draws back, shuffling around at the edge of the bed, and you look up to see his shirt gone. It’s all warm, slightly golden and freckled skin, strong and soft in all the right places. His muscles flex as he takes a long, deep breath, and big, calloused hands lowering to trace over your midriff, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What’d I say about stayin’ there-“

“I, um,” you gasp a little as his hand slips under your shirt, bunching the material and starting to slowly pull it over your chest. “I’ve done other stuff. Just so you know. And I’ve done things to myself-“

“I bet you have,” Dean mutters, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you carefully against him as he helps you out of your clothing. “Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you, touch you, fucking ruin you-“

You let out a high, needy moan, burying your face in his neck and mumbling against his skin. “Please, Dean, just-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as his free hand slips into your pants, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and rubbing back and forth so torturously slow you might fly out of your skin.

“So wet for me already,” he grunts, tugging on your hair until you lean back, meeting his gaze. “Ready?”

You’re not sure what you need to be ready for, but as long as it’s Dean doing it, you’re good. You nod, wrapping your arm around his neck in silent affirmation, and Dean pulls back to pop open the button of your jeans with a single hand, offering himself easier access.

Two broad fingers toy with the hem of your panties, Dean’s eyes almost glittering as his attention falls to where he’s touching you. Watching your body shiver when he glides his thumb over your clothed slit, your hips jerk when he presses down on your clit, your legs stretch as wide as they can when he starts to rub small circles against you.

“Dean,” you whine, your free hand moving to cup his jaw, trying to move his gaze back to yours. “Please, shit-“

“That feel good, babygirl?” Dean starts to quicken his movements, adding small, teasing flicks and pinches that make your eyes roll back in your head. “You like me teasin’ you? Playin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy until you’re soaked- Fuck-“

You start to grind on Dean’s hand, trying to chase relief while showing him that he didn’t need to play with or tease you. He has you, unraveled on his fingers and desperate for more of him, all of him, whatever he can offer you that will feel like this-

“Shit, you’re dripping.” Dean’s movement on your clit still as he drags his thumb down, resting right over your aching, already sensitive cunt, and pressing into you just enough to make you whimper. “I gotta taste you, Sweetheart, c’mon.”

His gaze shoots back to yours, something a little animalistic in his low, hoarse voice that almost makes you cum on the spot. “Need you hold on, pretty girl, we’re gonna get you out’a these.”

You nod, letting Dean lay you back down on the mattress, lifting your hips as he drags your jeans off your body, taking your underwear with them. Leaving to totally, completely naked on the bed. Vulnerable, entirely at his mercy, with not another place you’d wish to be in the world.

Dean crawls slightly over you, one of his hands tracing up your stomach, palming at your breasts, then rolling your nipple between two, rough, expert fingers. You gasp, arching slightly off the bed, and a low, deep groan rolls from Dean’s chest.

“Holy fuck, Sweetheart. You’re,” Dean cuts himself off, dropping his mouth to your other breast and latching plump, slightly chapped lips around your nipple. Your vision starts to line with light that might be angels coming to take you away, because this has to be heaven. This is better than heaven. Heaven wouldn’t allow such sinful things as Dean groaning against your skin, his boner pressing into your thigh, or his hand kneading at your ass. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. This feels like everything, and blissfully nothing, and mostly just Dean.

You must have moaned his name, because he crashes up, fisting a hand in your hair as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. All teeth and spit and burning need. Dean tastes like coffee and whiskey and syrup and fruit when he shoves his tongue down your throat, and he smells like gunpowder and leather as his weight hold you easily down, and his lips are so soft but so demanding as he practically devours you, and you’re high. He’s not even inside you yet and you’ll never have enough. This isn’t more than what you’ve done before, but Dean’s ruined you with just teasing touches and wet, starved kisses, and you’re starting to worry you might ascend when he actually fucks you.

He starts to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, down your neck, and between your breasts. It’s heavy and wanting, but still so carefully coordinated. Every move Dean makes seems to be calculated, because he nips at your collarbone right as he tugs on your hair, and the sound that leaves you is high and undignified and exactly what he wanted. His chuckle rumbles in his chest—now pressed against your stomach—and all you can do is moan as he continues his perfect torture. Licking one nipple as he pinches the other, dragging two fingers through your folds as he kisses down the plane of your stomach, stopping right at the apex of your thighs with glittering eyes and firm hands, slowly guiding your legs open.

“Shit.” He mutters, warm breath right over your pussy, making your hips jerk slightly. “Goddamn, baby, you’re responsive.“ A wide, smug grin overtakes Dean’s face as he pushes one finger into your pussy, and you squeak. “I’ve been waiting for this.” He growls your name, and starts to pump that finger in and out, the pace so slow and almost painfully good. “God, you have fucking idea how long- How bad-“ Dean groans as you squeeze around him, and adds another finger. “You’re making such pretty sounds, babygirl, better than I ever imagined. Shit, you’re sexier than a fucking dream.”

His eyes drift back to yours, and shiver goes up your spine from how Dean’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Watching your writhe in the sheets and plead for him in weak gasps, watching you at your most vulnerable state, and grinning like he loves what he sees. Like he’s never seen anything better.

“Dean,” you gasp as his fingers pick up speed, starting to scissor inside your dripping cunt, bumping against a tender spot inside of you that seems to sing under his touch. “Oh my god, Dean, please-“

“Such pretty sounds,” Dean grins at you, crooking his fingers against that same spot to rub. “Let’s see if we can make some more.”

Without further warning Dean drops back down, latches his lips onto your clit, and sucks it right into his mouth like candy. It’s almost immediate, how he pulls you from warm pleasure to raw, almost feral desperation. You’re right on the edge, grinding on his face as his stubble burns your inner thighs in the best was possible, his tongue flicking over that pulsing bundle of nerves, his fingers reaching a demanding and brutal pace-

“Fuck, I’m-“ You let out a loud moan as Dean growls against you, pulling at his short, soft hair to try and both move him away as you dangle over the drop, and urge him on to let him catch you when you fall. “Close, Dean, I’m close, please-“

He pulls away, and you almost scream from the loss. You even force yourself up to glare at him, but you’ve barely gotten a steady balance when a high, needy breath escapes you at the sight of him. 

Dean’s towering over you, his pants discarded into another corners of the room, stroking his massive, fully-erect cock in one hand as he scans over your sweaty, flushed body. 

“I wanna fuck you dumb, babygirl.” He grunts, and you can’t really hear him your own Dean-addled brain, so you just gape and moan, and he chuckles. “Shit, looks like we’re already halfway there. You got any words for me-“

“Dean, please.” The words start to fall out of your mouth with the slight drool on your chin, almost as if he’d commanded them. “Please, I need you, need you so bad-“

You spread your legs in offering, and Dean groans. “Fuck, Sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He closes his eyes, running a hand over his face, and there’s a moment before he speaks again where you worry you’ve ruined it. That you’d shown too much, or Dean saw too much, but no matter what this is over before you can even get that huge, glorious cock inside of you- 

“I’m sorry-“

Dean frowns, his brow drawn as he looks down at you. “What the hell are you sorry for.”

“I dunno, I’m just not-“ You swallow. “I’m not good at this, I don’t know what to say-“

He grunts your name, prowling over your body under your trapped between his strong body and the bed, unable to escape his intense, searing gaze. Looking at you, examining you, and not flinching or moving away. “You,” he says, tracing one gentle hand over your cheekbones. “Are fuckin’ amazing at this.” 

You can only gape at him, so he keeps going.

“I’m the one that might fuck this up, Sweetheart. You’re so,” he makes a loose gesture to your body, and you really wish he’d use words, but the look of sheer awe in his eyes will be enough for now. “And I get to do this for you, and I’m not trying to blow my load before you even cum once.”

“I almost came.” You offer him a small smile, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw. “But you stopped me.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’m plannin’ to make that up to you. If you still-“

“I want it.” You cut him off quickly, rolling your hips up, right against his cock. “Please, Dean, I really want it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping a little further down. “Are you-“

“I’m sure.” You guide Dean’s lips back to yours in a soft, almost sweet kiss, and say the words you really hope will snap whatever leash he’s put on himself. “I want you.”

It works. Something flashes in Dean’s eyes, and his hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rolling it in slow circles as he growls in your ear.

“Wanna feel you, babygirl. Fuck you raw. I’m clean, but if you want me to grab a rubber you’re gonna need to keep yourself going while I-“

“No!” You almost yelp, wrapping your arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him above you. “I mean, I’m clean too, obviously, and I take birth control just for like, lady stuff-“

Dean raises his brows at you. “Lady stuff?”

“It kinda helps with period cramps and-“ You cut yourself off with a moan as Dean flicks your clit, tossing your head back you start to squirm, trying to catch him into you. “Fuck, Dean, please just fuck me-“

“You mean like this?” Dean guides the head of his cock inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Fuck ya’ like this, baby?”

You grind on him, scratching at his back as you plead. “Shit, that’s, Dean that’s good, more-“

“More, baby? You need more already?” His grin is shit-eating, and you’d hit him if the dark look of lust in his eyes, the baritone of his voice being several octaves lower than you’ve ever heard it, and the throbbing ache of him starting to split you open wasn’t rending your limbs only putty in his arms.

“Dean, please-“

You might stop breathing as Dean guides himself fully into you, settling his face in your neck as he bottoms out. There’s a long moment where it’s only Dean’s warmth over and inside you as he gives you time to adjust, groaning against your skin as you squeeze around him.

“Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so tight.” He kisses right behind your ear. “Feel, fuck, feel so good around my cock, so fuckin’ good-“ He emphasizes his words with one, short thrust that pushes him right against that one spot and makes you whine. “You ready, baby? Ready for me to pound this tight little pussy until you cum all over my cock-“

You almost yank him back down into a desperate, borderline feral kiss, because if he kept talking you might have cum from just the sound of his low, rough voice growling in your ear and rumbling in your chest.

Dean takes a long, ragged breath when he pulls away, and you roll your hips only once. Just enough for him to groans and fall back over you, kissing and sucking on your skin like he thinks you’ll vanish if he doesn’t mark you with his touch. 

Then he starts to move, and you were right. This is heaven. Dean’s moving so slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside, until you’re fully impaled on him—his cock pressed fully against that one spot, making your whole body feel warm and alight, and your head feel a little dizzy—then repeating the movement again. And again. Over and over, so fucking slow, still leaving softer, slightly uneven kisses along your collarbone and grunts against your skin but-

“Dean,” you gasp his name, your nails digging into the muscles of his broad back as he continues to move on you. “Fuck, Dean, go faster, please-“

He rises up to meet your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face that’s made entirely hunger and want, but edged with something a little stronger you don’t understand. “You sure-“

“Yes.” You’re practically whining, scratching at Dean’s skin as you squirm under him, desperate him to really, properly fuck you. “Please, Dean, feels so good, need more, need you-“

He shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna hurt you-“

“Not gonna-” you let out a breathy moan as Dean pushes back into you, the movement a little harsher than before, and so fucking good. “You won’t hurt me, please, Dean, fuck-“

“I’m-“

“You said,” you force your eyes to stay on Dean’s, even as he sits deep into you, cock throbbing against that soft spot and making you see stars. “You said you wanted to fuck me, Dean.” You raise your chin, grinding up into his torso until his throat bobs. “Fuck me.”

A low, primal noise leaves Dean’s mouth, and he fully snaps. You might have screamed his name when he began to move again—ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, creaking the bed and bruising your hips as he grabbed at your skin, molding you perfectly into his touch and body—but he swallows the noise with a deep kiss that makes your eyes go unfocused, your whole body slack and only for Dean to play with as he drags you higher. Slamming against that spot, balls slapping onto your ass, one free hand squeezing at your tits before dragging down your side and finding your clit-

“So fucking good, babygirl.” Dean groans into your mouth, and you think you might be floating or falling or flying, but it doesn’t matter because Dean grunting in your east and slamming into your dripping cunt, and that’s the whole world. “Look so good, all ruined and whiny, such a good fucking girl, taking this cock so well, made to be fucked so fucking pretty-“ He pinches your clit, and you whimper his name. “Wanna cum, baby? Wanna fucking soak this cock-“

“Yes,” you gasp, scratching at his back, muscles rippling as he drills into you. Something in you hopes it leaves a mark. That Dean feels you on his back a little forever, just like you know you’re going to feel him in your pussy and on your neck for the rest of your life. “Feels so good, Dean, feels so fucking good, wanna cum so bad-“

“Beg-“

Dean barely grunts your name before you bite on his upper lip, almost screaming into his mouth. “Please, Dean, please, need to cum, wanna cum so bad-“

“Shit, baby, you’re-“ Dean groans, his pace becoming uneven and thrusts slightly staggered, cock twitching deep inside you as he ruts into your aching, clenching pussy-

Dean flicks your clit once, sending your hips almost flying off the bed, and starts to rub you at a frantic, savage pace. 

“Cum with me.” He growls your name, lips ghosting over yours and you stare at him under, cockdrunk, lidded eyes. “C’mon, baby, cum-“

Your scream is hoarse as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train—pure, drug-like bliss washing over your whole body, a soft haze of Dean settling behind your eyes and over your skin—and Dean roars as he slams open, warmth coating inside you and dripping between your thighs, down your ass, and onto the bed.

Dean rolls over, taking you with him, and remains carefully sheathed inside you as your cunt grows sensitive and your breathing slows back down. It helps that he keeps your ear pressed to his bare chest, where you can hear his heart beating. Calm and steady and strong, just as certain and constant as the man it’s inside. 

As the man had been.

You’re not sure what he’s going to be now.

“That, ah,” Dean breaks the silence, his voice low and almost soft. “That do it?”

You smile against him. “If you mean take my virginity, then yeah, I think you did it-“

“No, I mean was it,” He groans, his arm shifting slightly around as his voice drops. “Was it good. For you.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, trying not to hum like a needy fucking when Dean starts to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah. Really good.” You stifle a moan as he twitches inside you. “It was awesome. Good, uh, good job?”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” You can hear to smug grin in his voice, his free hand starting to rub soothingly on your back. “You were pretty fucking awesome yourself.”

There it is. You were pretty awesome. And he’s still inside you. And you need to know if you were awesome enough for something, anything to stick.

“You said, um,” you swallow, staring at his tattoo because you can’t bear to look at his face right now. “You said I could give you a blowjob next time. Did-“ 

“Did I mean it?” 

You nod nervously, and Dean’s whole chest rumbles with his low laugh, rolling right through your body. He grunts your name, and—when you still don’t look at him—hooks a finger under your chin to guide your gaze to his. 

“Look.” He sighs, and this is it. He did you a favor, and that’s it. He won’t stay, nobody stays, why would Dean Winchester be the one to stay- 

“I get it,” you mumble, and wish you would find the will to make your body roll away from his. “You don’t need to explain-“ 

Dean’s grip on you remains firm, and his voice is a deep, amused drawl. It feels a little cruel in your gut, because you’d have really liked more. More would have been the best. You didn’t even need all of Dean, you’d just have really like more. 

“You get it.” He raises his brows, and you nod again. “Sweetheart, you might want to actually hear the explainin’ part before you say anything.”

“I, um-“

“See, I’m a firm believer that all ladies should ride more than one dick in life. Too much of a good thing, ya know?” He winks at you, thrusting slightly up into you, and you flush. “But, if you’re taking applicants for long-term dicks, I’d have to be dumb not to apply. I’m never gonna complain if I get you all to myself.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a whisper. “So, um, you mean-“

“If you’ll have me,” he mutters. “I’ll take you up on that blowjob offer soon. And any other offers you’ve got.”

“Offers,” you swallow. “For long-term dicks?”

He shrugs—tracing a finger over your arm and refusing to meet your eyes—and it might be your turn to make the move. 

“Dean.” You whisper, crawling up his chest just enough for his eyes to easily find yours. “I’d really like you being my long-term dick.”

He frowns. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that-“

You drop down to press a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, and he tenses for only a second before overtaking you. Deepening the kiss with his tongue pushing on your lower lip, groaning when you open for him without a moment’s hesitation, pinning you onto his chest with big, strong arms as you fall fully into him.

Dean pulls back for only a second, searching over your open expression—all affection and need for him, swollen lips and shallow breaths—until he finds what he’s looking for, and his face splits into a wide grin. 

“If you’re lettin’ me,” he says, tucking a little bit of hair behind your ears. “I think I’ll stay your long-term dick for while, Sweetheart.”

“I’m letting you.” You whisper, a small smile pulling on your own lips. “But we need to come up with a better name than long-term dick.”

“Boyfriend?”

You stare at him for a second, unsure if this is real, because Dean just said that word like it was obvious. Not something he’s adamantly refused to be for anyone, ever, for the entire time you’ve known him. He said it like he was waiting to say it. And, looking at him—unfamiliar hope haunting the very deepest part of those perfect eyes, his grin so genuine but filled with nerves—you think he might have been. And all the money and glory and pleasure in the world couldn’t make you tell him no.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Boyfriend’s good.” 

Dean’s grin becomes almost boyish, and this last kiss is sweet. It’s a kiss in the rain, or under bleachers, or on a rooftop with nothing but time and peace around you.

And you and Dean have never had either of those things. 

But you’d really like to and find them. And if it’s with Dean, you really think you could.

End Note: Look at Dean. Being Emotional. I'm so proud of him (I made him do that)

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Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

[tillsfan]

a dive into Till’s feelings regarding Ivan and Mizi!

ivantill’s whole thing is being INSANELY complicated. i am a full on believer that they have mutual (unrealized) feelings, but i think the word “love” is definitely too vague to properly describe what they have. vivinos said a “deep LOVE/HATE” relationship for a reason.

i think till both genuinely feeling love for ivan yet hating him at the same time is absolutely reasonable. ivan has pushed and pulled till his whole life. till never felt secure near ivan, as much as he cares about him. but, ivan was always there. till felt comfort with ivan’s presence despite the lack of security he gave. till heavily valued ivan’s opinion, getting upset when ivan implied he didn’t see till as a friend. he trusted ivan enough to attempt to run away with him, and he potentially would have spent the rest of his life with ivan if they actually escaped.

i while love mutual love ivantill as much as the next guy, saying their feelings were 100% romantic is wrong. their emotions towards one another being so raw is something that defines them, which is why it’s difficult to put their mutual feelings into a specific box.

another thing we need to take into account is that neither of them know what love really is. they inhabit a world that isn’t MEANT for humans to love. they were never taught what love is and how to feel it. this is part of the reason they could never develop properly. they live in a world where the concept of romance and relationships aren’t properly established between humans.

but, i do believe like they could’ve had a chance under different circumstances. they were a slowburn that was never able to properly develop because, again, they lived in a world that didn’t allow them to, and they both ruined things for themselves. ivan had a huge tendency to self sabotage because of his severely low self esteem. he convinced himself that his feelings were shallow, and projected that onto till through his actions, confusing and distressing the latter. in addition, till was avoidant of the reality in front of him, ivan. due to till feeling such a lack of security with ivan, and never being able to understand ivan, he avoided intimacy with him altogether. till also just has a fear of intimacy in general. there was a significant amount of miscommunication between both parties.

in addition, saying that till didn’t love mizi is just. false. he dedicated all of his life to her, she was literally his muse. he loved her in his own way, even if he had to put her on a pedestal to do so. yes, he didn’t know anything about her as a person, but that doesn’t mean his feelings weren’t real. saying he never truly loved her undermines so much of his character.

mizi was till’s coping mechanism, yes. he adored her from a distance. he liked the idea of her and not her as an individual, but that doesn’t make his feelings any less real. he loved and cared for her. we saw how torn he was after mizi disappeared in round 5. he almost DIED because of his grief, before ivan ‘saved’ him. his feelings towards her were as authentic as they could be for someone who kept everyone at a distance.

while you could say till’s love for mizi isn’t inherently romantic, the same can be said for ivantill. nothing stated in the patreon confirmed what EXACTLY till felt towards mizi besides her being a fantastical figure to him. and his “love” towards ivan doesn’t HAVE to be romantic (even though i believe it is), it could very much be platonic. vivinos is purposefully vague with what kind of love each character feels because, as i said, feelings aren’t something that can be properly established in this universe.

hope u guys enjoyed my rant Yay 🌹

[hypnzo]

Hii! Can you do how the 7 (Percy,Annabeth, Frank, hazel, Leo, Jason, and piper) would react to you crying/ feeling down?

Thank you🫶🫶

Comfortable warmth of your hands and voice ; “I'm here.”

Warning!! : The characters may not exactly react accurately like this, there might be possible mischaracterization.

Percy Jackson would immediately notice that something was up with you. Your face was flushed, your eyes looked a bit red and he swore his mind wasn't playing tricks on him when he saw those dried tear marks on your face.

He'd probably go insane but he bottled it up, letting it simmer below the surface while he fixated his attention on you, comforting you, and trying to ask you what happened.

He'd be there for you, holding your hand in his while his thumb moves along your knuckle which gave you a soothing and grounding comfort to lean on, while also giving you with the knowledge that he was right there and doesn't plan on going anywhere anytime soon.

“Hey, what happened? Are you hurt? You were crying, weren't you? Talk to me, angel.”

Annabeth Chase would notice it immediately, feeling skeptical whenever you'd tell her that you were fine and it was just nothing. She didn't really believe you especially when she heard sniffling for the past few minutes—it didn't really help much when she sees your face looking a bit red.

She'd be worried and if anyone had made you feel this way, she was not going to let it slide. Though, she'd be focused on keeping you calm and feeling comforted first before you guys would get to that topic. If it was a sensitive thing for you to talk about in the moment of vulnerability, she'd give you the time to calm down first while she offers comfort through her action and words.

“Something's wrong, I know it. What happened? Something is clearly making you upset and I'm not about to just let that slide.”

Frank Zhang would drop everything he's doing when he senses any hints of you feeling down. You've been unusually quiet—you looked dull, out of energy, your eyes look like they've been so exhausted and you refused to keep eye contact with him. It confused him but he was alarmed of what was happening. He'd thread carefully with caution in order not to trigger you about anything while he holds you close, ensuring that you'd get the comfort that you are needing.

He'd wait for you to tell him what exactly was making you feel so down. He wanted to be there for you at your lowest and he gently insisted that you didn't need to tell him anything at the moment if you feel like it's too much for you to do. He'd stay there with you, pressing a kiss on your temple, and holding you in his arms.

“Is something bothering you? You've been awfully quiet lately. I'll be here for you, okay?”

Hazel Levesque would notice you feeling under the weather when you acted a little off. Her hugs would be sweet and grounding. She didn't push it and waited until you'd say something to her. But when she witnessed you cry, seeing tears fall out of your eyes, she immediately ran to your side, tucking your hair behind your ears while she listened and waited as you cried your eyes out.

She'd give you a hug, offering words of comfort, holding your hand, anything you'd feel comfortable for her to do. It's a grounding feeling that lets you know you didn't have to face it all alone because she'd be there with you, holding your hand in hers.

“Are you okay? I can tell something is bothering you.. Do you want to talk about it?”

Leo Valdez would take a bit of a minute to realize, but it doesn't mean his skepticism wasn't bubbling inside. You told him you just had a cold and you were still recovering from it, hiding away your teary-eye while you aniffled.

He didn't want to push it out of you, but his concern was gnawing at him. He went to you, trying to cheer you up, to get a smile out of you. He patted your shoulder with a grin but concern flooded his eyes.

He'd be there for you, trying to listen, cracking up jokes whenever he thinks the mood is ready for it, but he's quick to shut it down if you told him to. He stayed right there while you ranted your heart out.

“Alright, something is clearly bothering you. What's up? Oh, right, the sky! ...Okay, that was a bad joke. Sorry. But really, what's wrong?”

Jason Grace tends to you delicately, trying not to say anything that might trigger your vulnerability. He threads carefully, choosing the right words he has in mind to offer the comfort you need. He doesn't want to make it worse than it already is and so he decided to just sit there and listen to you cry, a bit unsure on what to do.

But soon enough, he lets you bawl your eyes out on his shoulder. You could feel the warmth of his palms and his thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

“Just let it all out. ...I'm here if you need someone, okay? Just.. let out everything you're feeling, I don't plan on going anywhere.”

Piper McLean understands it almost immediately. She could sense that something was bothering you. You were trying to brush it off as nothing which only lead to unusual quietness coming from you. It was the kind of quietness that Piper heard—the kind of sound that Piper immediately went to.

She'd plop herself down beside you and just soaking in the silence with you. If you asked her why she was there, she wouldn't respond at first, holding your hand as if to bring you back to reality, to let you know that you weren't exactly alone in that sorrowful silence,

Because she's willing to go there with you, to bathe in it for as long as you needed if it meant letting you know that someone was there for you and it would be her.

“No reason. I can tell something is bothering you. You don't need to tell me about it if you don't feel like it. But.. If you need an ear or just a presence to be there, I'm here.”

[vaguely-concerned]

:) :) :) hey. hey I'm scrEAMING.

Rook: You know... I think I knew the truth. Deep down. But I couldn't face it. (Varric: Why not?) Because it would mean admitting that I let you die.

Bellara: Maybe when I do, I'll feel it. (Rook: Feel what?) That he forgives me. And that I deserve it.

while we're on the subject of 'stuff that's completely recontextualized once you've played the whole game and that's driving me absolutely bugnuts insane on the replay'... hhhhhow about this scene, huh. I reacted the first time around to just how emotional rook's voice gets in this part (listen to that 'you lost someone important') -- her story is very sad, don't get me wrong, but it's early on in their relationship and it seemed so intense of him out of nowhere. and uh. well now I get it. and it breaks my fucking heart. who do you think rook is really talking to here? just as much as they're talking to bellara? just as much as she is speaking to something in them they cannot face yet, negative space grief you see everywhere around rook in this game when you come back around and understand what you're looking at. they're talking to each other, but each of them is also talking to themselves. all the scenes where Rook is guiding their companions through grief and loss... and winding through, over, under, all those conversations, a separate conversation Rook cannot have yet. because they don't know. they can't bring themselves to know it yet. but it's still here the entire time, leaking into everything like blood or ink into water. it haunts them every step of the way, and no one, least of all them, can see it.

It's not your fault. You have to know that./Then why does it feel like it was? You could switch that dialogue around between them after the regret prison and it would work exactly the same way. Two people talking with one voice of grief, of guilt, of 'he's gone and it's all my fault, I wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough when it really counted' and not knowing it. I'm kind of speechless at how elegantly it comes together now that I know to look for it, and how much meaning it suddenly adds. It really is so FUCKING good. this game is so good, when you pay attention and start to understand what it's actually doing.

But if you don't learn to get past it, you'll drown. well, rook. you'd know lmao. it really is all

I was much further out than you thought    And not waving but drowning.

up in here in this lighthouse tonight

This convinced me irrevocably that Rook truly did know the whole time, deep down. it's right below the surface of their mind that whole time, kept from them both deliberately by solas and helplessly by their own brain trying to shield them from the pain. that whole time!!! and you can actually track it through the conversations they're having and see all the signs along the way, once you realize it

And now he's gone. Because I wasn't good enough. So I try to make up for it. Honor him. Find the truth. and maybe shared grief doesn't always make for half the sorrow. but it's something. and it's so much more than nothing.

[sleepynoons]

ALMOND EYES BY CLAVITA – oikawa tooru (hq) x afab!f!reader, nsfw / 18+

genre – fluff, smut, crack word count – ~2,100 warnings – facetime/phone sex, sex toys (vibrator), overstimulation, mutual masturbation, slight exhibitionism, slight hand fetish synopsis – the two of you have managed to find balance in your long-distance relationship, but it's been especially challenging this time around, after having been separated for several months. it doesn't help that your boyfriend's being particularly evasive about his return for christmas, and you're at a loss as to what to do. notes – did my best to look up some argentinian cultural stuff. also learned that it's kinda common to call your partner "gordo" (fat) as a joke. you constantly jokingly call oikawa that to curb his ever-inflating ego, but if you're uncomfortable with (using) that term (totally understandable!!), don't read.

“Tooru, please! I don’t wanna –”

“No – ugh – just a few more seconds.”

Your pillows are drenched with your tears and sweat, and more than likely, there’s probably a puddle of your slick pooling and dripping through your bedsheets. You’re fighting to focus on anything – the calendar hanging next to the bedroom door that still displays July instead of December, the patterned stars and polka dots of Tooru’s covers, even the ceiling of his bedroom that’s dark aside from the faint light emitting from your computer –, but the buzzing of your vibrater, rubbing and jolting and spinning against your swollen clit, has already melted away the last remnants of your focus and conscious. It doesn’t help that it hasn’t been that long since the two of you started – only 20 minutes or so –, but you’re exhausted from all the traveling you’ve been doing recently, and really, by this point, Tooru knows how to make you feel very good.

“Please, please, please, Tooru - ha! – I can’t! Please, please, no more!”

You really should be rewarded for the amount of self-restraint you’re demonstrating. Despite the intensity and your sensitivity, you’re heeding your boyfriend’s instructions and not flailing or thrashing about. He knows you like being thrown over the edge over and over again, with your bud aching for more and less, your body aching for more and less, your mind wanting more and less. You’re also doing a fantastic job keeping your volume down. Not that there’s any need to, since Tooru’s parents are currently out for dinner right now, but it feels extremely wrong (and insanely erotic) having facetime sex in his childhood bedroom.

But if only you had just a bit more discipline, because, out of sheer habit, your wandering, hazy gaze begins to trace its way back to Tooru’s face on your laptop screen.

“Hold it, darling – shit, that’s good! A little longer!”

But you can’t hold on any longer because how can your body possibly resist your boyfriend and his dangerous, seductive allure? You know he’s not even trying. In fact, Tooru’s probably just as dazed as you are, all energy being channeled to trying to delay both of your highs for as long as possible. It’s just unfair how natural it is for him to ooze sex appeal – light brown bangs matted to his forehead and temples, drops of sweat tracing down his Adam’s apple and collarbones, toned abs and obliques flexing with each shuddering gasp he takes, his hands flexing around his – it’s over for you.

You turn your cheek, muffling your scream by burying your face into another one of Tooru’s pillows, and convulse. Your walls squeeze, tighten, and gape around nothing, and a rush of your warmth splatters onto your inner thighs and ass.

Your head’s a little fogged, but you can still make out the sounds of Tooru’s whimpering and moaning – fuck, he’s so sexy – as he can’t resist any longer. When you look back down at your screen, he’s hunched over, chest and back heaving and red with exertion.

“Fuck,” you both mutter at once.

After a few minutes, you come to and whine to get his attention. “We’re never doing this again.”

Tooru frowns as he tosses a tissue paper into a trash bin that’s off camera. “What? Why not?”

You squirm, the gravity of what the two of you have just done becoming more obvious with each passing second. “It’s so wrong! Your mom cleans your room all the time!”

He rolls his eyes, still displeased and unconvinced. To your unhappiness, he suggests, “Just wash the sheets yourself, then. Before she finds out.”

“Tooru! Never again!”

Your boyfriend’s already gotten up, though, mumbling something along the lines of how you’re both going to do it again in spite of your embarrassment as he goes to grab some water.

“I’m making you do all the laundry when you get back,” you huff. He responds with another comeback, but he’s too far away so his microphone only picks up garbled noises.

You stay seated, too tired and lazy to clean yourself and the mess you’ve made. It’s also because you like it when Tooru coos and worries over you, nagging at you to at least put on a damn shirt or take a quick shower so you don’t catch a cold. And while he does still do that, this time, his goodbye comes much sooner than expected.

“Sorry, cielo, but I have to get going. Practice starts early today.”

Right, there’s a 12-hour difference between Japan and Argentina. You nod in understanding and give him a wave with your sore hands, trying to look as energetic as possible. You sneak one last glance at him, admiring the slight glow to his face. “Don’t go around with that look on your face,” you half-warn, half-tease.

He smirks, tilting his face upwards and running a finger across his jawline. “What look? Oh, you must mean my boundless beauty.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “What are you talking about, gordo?”

You giggle as he squawks, computer speakers pitching with how loud he is. “I’m not fat!”

“Oh, you’re right,” you hum. “I almost forgot how flat your ass is. Don’t worry, I’ll see it in a week.”

You interrupt his passionate defenses and insults by blowing him an obnoxious kiss and ending the call, cutting it off so that he doesn’t have to. Even though the two of you’ve been long-distance for months now, only really having time to be in the same place during major holidays, Tooru always gets irritably sulky when he has to say the last goodbye.

As you get up, legs slightly wobbly and staggering, to peel off Tooru’s old bedding, you recall a brief text conversation you had with Iwaizumi. It took place three months into your relationship, when you and Tooru were experiencing your first send-off. Your work as a polyglot interpreter takes you traveling frequently, and you had met your now-boyfriend during one of your extended projects in Argentina. But all assignments must come to an end, and your had to head off to the United States for your next client.

The memory’s practically imprinted in your brain – Tooru endlessly sobbing into your shirt as he crushed you in a choking hold in the middle of the airport, you desperately trying to hold back your own tears, everyone else either eyeing at you two for blocking the way or gagging at your very public displays of affection. Later on, after less than a day since arriving to the States, Iwaizumi sent you screenshots of several missed calls all coming from a very distraught “Loserkawa.” He then also politely asked you to “smack your idiot of a boyfriend on my behalf” – which you still haven’t done yet, sorry – before blocking both of your numbers. 

Needless to say, it seems Tooru’s always been one for dramatics, even though, deep down, he’s sensitive and tender at heart. You wonder if he’ll cry when he gets home this time, since it’s been months since the two of you have last seen each other in person.

Yet somehow, with each passing day, as Tooru’s arrival itches dangerously closer and closer, he gets increasingly more difficult to reach. Your daily calls get cut so short that they barely reach half an hour, and the differences between when you send messages and when he replies extends from a couple of minutes to several hours.

You try not to panic. It’s not like these things haven’t happened before. In fact, your boyfriend has a bad habit of going off the grid when he’s not doing well in volleyball, still having not gotten fully rid of his self-degrading tendencies. You’re helping him work through it, but he can’t help but isolate and punish himself when he can’t reach his own perfectionistic expectations. But, regardless, he usually tells you when he’s experiencing a low, and he hasn’t said anything yet this time.

It’s now 48 hours before he’s supposed to arrive. You’re itching to text him, ask him if he’s begun packing, if he could bring back some Chocolinas and Rhodesias, if he’s as excited to see you as you are to see him, but he hasn’t even read your last message from yesterday morning about hypothetically tweezing his eyebrows, so you refrain. You ask his parents, but it seems they haven’t heard from him either in the past day and a half.

You rub at the creases in your forehead with a knuckle. You think you’ll make good on Iwaizumi’s request once Tooru lands in Japan.

Just as the threat crosses your mind, your phone buzzes with a notification, a text back from your boyfriend.

Guapo: please don’t, my eyebrows are perfectly fine.

Me: …

Me: is that really all you have to say.

Guapo: i’m sorry :(( i just got my phone repaired, so i was texting from my computer

Me: you could’ve told me

Guapo: but you’d make fun of me

Me: when do i not

Guapo: mean!!!! you’re so mean!!! >:(

Me: stop using emoticons like that, you oldhead

Guapo: i’m always young

Guapo: and cool

Guapo: and very hip

Me: i’m changing your name to gordo

Guapo: ew no

Guapo: wait what did you save me as before?

Me: don’t forget to pack

Me: and bring back snacks

You then tell him you’re heading off to sleep, feeling slightly more reassured.

It’s not a comfortable sleep, though. You have a nightmare. You dream of a rope tightly binding your arms to your body, incapacitating you and your ability to run away. You’re wriggling and struggling against the restraint on the floor, probably looking no different from an earthworm drying up on a sidewalk, desperately trying to escape from your unidentifiable captor. It’s also really, really hot for some reason.

You eventually wake out of frustration from your tireless pursuit for freedom, but even in reality, you’re sweaty and choking from disentangling yourself from… a pair of arms?

You sit up with a lurch, forceful enough to throw off their hold on you. You desperately look around, only to find yourself teetering on the edge of Tooru’s twin bed, with the very man himself squished uncomfortably between the wall and where your body was lying just a few seconds ago.

You gasp. “Tooru?”

You pat at his shoulder and shake him awake.

He grumbles, wanting a few more minutes of sleep, but you keep at it until he begins to blink awake. Once he’s conscious enough, a gentle smile breaks out on his face.

“Morning, cielo. Haven’t seen you like this in a long time.”

Tooru’s effortless seduction hits you squarely in the chest, the impact of his charm weighing heavily on your mind and body. His hair sticks and splays out in the perfect angles, his half-lidded gaze is the right balance between unintentional and smoldering, his lips still look so kissable despite being slightly chapped from his plane ride, and his hands are thick with veins and – you need him so badly.

He’s saying something – “How about we get some more sleep?” –, but you interrupt any and all of his accompanying thoughts by smacking your lips over his. He grunts, not having had the opportunity to take a breath beforehand, but you grab him by the collar of his sleep shirt and hold him in place.

When you do pull apart, lips plump and swollen, several prolonged seconds later, he captures your attention with an audacious laugh.

“Thought you didn’t want to do it here anymore.”

You growl, discarding your common sense to the wind. “We’ll just be quiet.”

Tooru beams at you with a cheeky smile before pulling you down onto his chest for a tight embrace, burying his face into the side of your neck.

He then lets you go so that he can stare up at you with dreamy eyes, and with a gentle voice, a tone so starkly in contrast to the heated, messy kiss the two of you just shared, whispers, “I missed you.”

You unravel at his words. You still yourself and take in the smell of his shampoo, the feel of his warm skin against yours, and the sheer fact that he is in the same room as you, breathing the same air as you.

“I missed you, too, amor.”

winter event masterlist

[atoriv-art]

what are your thoughts on the hyuga siblings and their relationship

OOF now thats one of my favorite naruto dynamics lmao. i think neji and hinata have a very interesting relationship and i say that as someone who really didn't (and tbh still doesn't) love how that relationship developed in canon

i really like the hyuga fight in the chunin exams because the way it's perceived is sooo interesting to me.. neji comes off as an outright bully and i don't even blame the kids for calling him an asshole after all of that, but from reader's perspective it's really obvious that his animosity only exists because of a larger issue...

neji shouldn't treat hinata the way he does, but he does so because of her unique position as a scorned heir. she still benefits from everything that makes his life awful - her life is still valued more than his - but hiashi hates her enough that he won't care if neji dishes out verbal abuse on her. it's an awful dynamic and definitely contributes to hinata's terrible self-worth, but it's a symptom of the life they have been forced into by the man who the manga is intent on letting escape all of the blame for this situation lmao

(hiashi himself can be a really fascinating case honestly. i think he fully means everything he says, which is what makes him so grating but fun to me LOL. his apology to neji is entirely sincere AND it completely misses the point of all of the issues, but neji is young and deprived of acknowledgement enough that he accepts it wholeheartedly. hiashi thinks he's the best uncle of all time.)

hinata herself has so little belief in her own worth that she just sits there and takes whatever abuse people throw at her... i don't actually think neji's anger towards her was a constant - i think some people interpret it that way - rather i feel like it was something that came up whenever he was pushed too far. in more normal circumstances where he's not being made to fight her directly, he was likely more detached than anything. he wanted nothing to do with her.

in one of the filler mini arcs ive mentioned before (i think. the one that focuses on hanabi and hinata) there's a scene that rang very true to me (and im gonna recount this without rewatching it atm so sorry if i get details wrong,): neji was being made to train with hinata, asked to be allowed to leave because he felt his time was being wasted and correctly noted that it doesn't have to be him here, was told no by hiashi and then he started getting vicious and violent. towards hinata, of course, not hiashi. he then got horribly punished for it LOL i think that's the general dynamic they were living in, neji reaches a limit of disrespect that he can take and explodes on the nearest most acceptable target (we loove a boy with no emotional regulation <3), goes too far and suffers the consequence of it while nothing else changes. to him interacting with hinata at all is just asking for pain, either emotional or straight up physical

But, for hinata, she saw herself and neji as similar (the black sheep of the family i suppose), and would have liked to bond over that fact; theyve known each other since they were very little and she outright refers to him as a brother. it's clear to me she's always cared a lot about neji and imo feels responsible for what happened to his father (something that hiashi doesn't help with. Dad of the year), so she saw their match in the exams as a chance to close the distance between them and get neji to see her as a person, an equal instead of a symbol to lash out on.

but, you know, she was 12 LMAO so she ended up pressing all of his buttons instead and it led to his famous outburst, which led to the famous moment of Every Single Jonin (other than asuma.) coming to stop him and further cementing his belief that her life is seen as special. i think (and this is a mix of Shit I Made up, and Me trying to make sense of the manga's insane mishandling of their plotline) that despite her trying her hardest to reach neji she didn't really grasp the horror of his situation. that's the tragedy of neji's life really LMAO, no one really tries to grapple with the severity of what having that curse mark does to a person. she thought of his fatalism as more of a psychological, metaphorical way of dealing with hurt and not like... "my life literally does not belong to me no matter how much i try to fight it"

this is loooooong take this readmore.

i think hiashi-hizashi were hoping that the cousins could have had a better relationship than they did... letting them hang out often and stuff, introducing them early, hizashi not discouraging neji from being friendly with her, to me it all reads as very "ok well this didn't work for Us, but what if it works out for them... even though literally nothing has changed". they were proper family once and hizashi wanted to die for his brother, not his leader, so that just makes sense to me.

i do nautttt like the naruto vs neji fight so to keep the post positive i will gloss over it <3 but hinata and neji's relationship post-chunin exams to me is peak like. God i wish this was done better because it could have been soooo good

neji realizes that his anger is consuming him and adjusts his behavior accordingly, getting a lot of his kindness back, and he becomes intent on fixing his relationship with hinata... i don't hate that premise at all, it's just the way it's executed that bothers me!

the impression i got (and i could be mistaken im in the process of rewatching the anime + rereading the manga) is that their relationship getting better is done exclusively through like. neji repenting for being mean to her. which, don't get me wrong, he SHOULD apologize (AND THAT WOULDVE BEEN A COOL THING TO SEE ONSCREEN, BTW) but you CANNOT divorce his behavior from the hyuga system in general. from the way they act after the exams you would think their issues were born solely from neji being a bully for no reason, and not, like... him lashing out on her because his uncle is literally the devil.

i don't think hinata has the power to change a lot in her clan on short notice (she did get disowned. did that un-happen offscreen? we will never know. Hiashi gets to be a grandfather to her children btw.) but i certainly would have liked to see her standing up for branch members and in the stuff i draw that's the story i have in mind LMAO. like, her gaining a deeper understanding of neji's situation and trying to work against her father trying to make her cousin's life better? i think that would have been really sweet and even show her gaining more confidence in herself and her beliefs. you can still have neji fussing over her and being protective because he feels bad for how they used to be, i actually really like that because neji IS a very sweet person, i just reject the idea that it's his sole Moral Obligation to put everything aside and make things better by the power of I Will Die For You Now, But This Time, For The Right Reasons

as for hanabi i wish she had more screentime soooo bad because i'm obsessed with how she gives off Haunted Child vibes lmfao. talking abt her requires me to expose myself a little bit and have to admit hiashi is kind of a blorbo to me because of how much he sucks ass, but like. Essentially his insane resentment of hinata was born when hizashi died, it doesnt matter it wasn't really her fault, he needed someone to blame and he would never blame himself, at least not outwardly lol. hiashi did genuinely love his brother, it just didn't stop him from being a monster to him, and he is certainly not gonna grapple with that now that he's dead!

(and, you know, the whole "sorry we sent a guy to kidnap an heir. you do need to die for killing him though" thing is really dumb but if we stop at every single stupid thing in naruto we will be here all day.)

with all that being said i think hiashi tries his best to make hanabi everything hinata isn't, and he has very little interest in having her and hinata have any bond at all. he just left neji and hinata to fester in that god-awful dynamic with no supervising, and took hanabi as the best direction for the clan to head towards. but, you know, father of the year is very demanding and doesn't seem to be very fatherly to her at all from the little we see of them. she's just like. a good soldier, and that's what he needs.

i think hanabi growing to resent her sister for the situation she's been put into (if hinata weren't 'weak' she wouldn't have so much responsibility) is very interesting! by the time we meet her i think she's learned that the best thing to do wrt her sister is to just ignore that she exists. as for neji he barely registers as a presence to her; neji has no reason to interact with her and hiashi has no reason to incentivize it. it's very fun to me!

in general i really like all of their dynamics can be used to explore how hurt and trauma drive people apart, i could talk about them for hourssss LMAO i love the suna family for the same reason!

[wtpyrofreak]

The "best thing to happen to Kinger's lower half" is not foreshadowing, but a hint to his past in the circus. Hear me out.

So we all remember "Kinger's Special Place" and how those Checkmates socks (Plus Kinger "wearing" one of them) caused a lot of fans to worry over the fate of our beloved chess piece?

Yeah. The more I think about it, the more I feel like we're looking at all this from the completely wrong angle. This isn't telling us what WILL happen to Kinger...

It's telling us what ALREADY happened to Kinger and WHY he's the way he is now.

Gangle's supposed "Near-abstraction" moment in EP 4 made me think back to Kinger's core memory with his abstracted wife. He couldn't recall the exact string of events that lead up to it, but that moment in the fort where she calmed down enough for him to caress her was forever ingrained into his mind.

Maybe it's because said moment was what saved him from immediately following Queenie into abstraction--

"Erm, eckshualeeeee, when Gangle snapped back from abstracting, she didn't go insane like Kinger. Theory debunked along with your Stupid sauce scandal idea."

Well, yeah. Because she was just starting to abstract before Pomni offered to switch shifts with her. Meanwhile, I think Kinger was already deep into abstracting before ending up in the pillow fort with Queenie.

This silly image of Keychain!Kinger wearing the Queenie sock? It represents HOW CLOSE he was to completely breaking. He still managed to snap back, the absolute chad, but having been so near the brink of no return, the mental damage had been already been done and can't be reversed (much like how you can't come back from fully abstracting).

That's why Kinger's mind is so scrambled/fragmented present day.

Upon this recontextualization, so many things start adding up (at least for me).

Both his and Abstracted!Queenie's behavior follow the same patterns. Erratic and unpredictable in the light. Lucid and calm in the dark.

He can't recall the events between after Queenie abstracting and before he ended up in the pillow fort because he was probably HARDCORE dissociating.

He was more paranoid and unstable than usual after the Gloinks took apart his fortress because they robbed him of his ANCHOR.

And of course, all this can further explain how Kinger has managed to last in the circus longer than anyone else. DO|\|'T FORGET. YOU'RE HERE FOREVER.

...Orrrrr maybe I'm just on extreme hopium + copium over my favorite character and the checkmates socks are just comfy socks and nothing more. I AM the same person who concocted the crack-ass "Spudsy's Signature Special Sauce Scandal" theory, after all. XP

We'll just have to wait and se

(EP 4 Gangle gifs ripped by @fleshgerm)

[imastrangeone98]

Even after all this time, I am still so fucking unhinged about ✨boothill✨

I wrote a similar idea with Cyno from Genshin, but I just love the idea of a man going feral when their lover (aka YOU 😉) gets injured in any way... or even kidnapped

Boothill would be no different- the moment he sees even the slightest scratch on your cheek, his vision goes black. He's sniffing out the bastard who dared to lay a finger on you, brutal and unwavering in his hunt that lasts from sunup to sundown. He refuses to bend until it ends with a bullet in the asshole's head- what they dared to do to you, he'll do back to them, tenfold.

And heaven forbid you end up kidnapped- a bullet in the brain wouldn't even be enough to atone for the sin of taking you away from him. The blood and gore he would spill will fill oceans; no price is unthinkable for Boothill if it means that you will return to his arms, safe and sound.

And if it's Homecoming y/n, where the two of you only just reunited after believing the other died in the tragedy of your home planet.... They might as well count their days, because they are numbered.

As in, count each second they get to keep breathing- the next one will likely be their last.

He just got you back, after spending all these years believing you to be with his family in the eternal moon lily fields, and just the thought of having you ripped away from his arms once more is enough to break him permanently.

So when he returns to the now-shared ship and you do not rush to welcome him back like you normally do, that immediately sets him on edge. And when he tears the ship apart and finds a ransom note on your bunk instead of your warm body, his cybernetic brain instantly shuts down with the sheer overload of rage and insanity that swarms his neurochip.

A petal on his beloved moon lily has been torn.

A detestable, unforgivable sin.

His body works on overdrive- it helps that he's made of metal, because he works night and day without rest until he tracks down the hideout of those bastards who thought it'd be a smart idea to take you away.

Well, he can't say they're dumb- after all, they just figured out the fastest way to an early grave.

And that's a fact you too know all too well, judging by the bloodcurdling screams echoing through the hallways leading to your cell. In fact, you're almost grateful for the blindfold over your eyes, as there's no doubt blood soaking the metal floors.

The screams slowly begin to die out, one by one, leaving only the dull thud, thud, thud of heeled metal soles headed straight for you. There's a screech of metal, then a metallic warmth surrounding you. The familiar scent of gunpowder and cedar cologne clings to your nose, and you nearly buckle into Boothill's arms, shivering and weeping, clinging onto his shoulders.

"It's alright, now," he coos, making sure to wipe the blood on his hands before scooping you into his arms. "I'm here, moon lily. I ain't goin' nowhere."

(And it wouldn't be me without just the slightest touch of suggestiveness so...)

Clean from the blood and gore, Boothill gently tucks himself under your chin, nuzzling his nose into your neck, trying to remind himself that you're still here, you're still alive, you didn't slip from his fingers yet again.

If you did, only the aeons know what would happen to him.

"You saved me yet again," you coo, rubbing at the crease in his brows. "My hero."

"Sure as fudge don't feel like one," he mumbles, arms wrapping even more tightly around you. "I almost lost you. Again. I swore it wouldn't happen again, but-"

"But nothing. You found me. I'm safe and sound 'cause of you." You kiss the top of his head, moving down to his face to pepper his cheeks and forehead with more light kisses. "My brave cowboy. I'm alive all because of you. I must be the luckiest girl in the world."

Boothill finally melts under your affectionate administrations, tilting his head to meet your lips in a sweet kiss.

But you're wrong. Boothill knows that if anything, he's the one who's the luckiest in the world. You don't hate him for letting you be taken away, nor do you cower from his bloodstained hands. Instead, you embrace him with your soft arms wide open, with your even softer lips pressing hard against his own, and warm hands that tangle though his hair to keep him closer when he tries to pull away and give you some air. He feels the luckiest when you allow him to press against you even tighter, giving him access to the deepest parts of you, letting him see your bashful face, hear your sweet gasps and moans as he comforts you in the best way he knows how.

Boothill will never ask for anything more. All he needs is for you to be right here in his arms, forever his beautiful, strong, resilient moon lily. Forever his.

[imkazz]

saiki k season 2 lore is insane

cant believe some of my moots said there was barely any lore or character development until the last 2 episodes because what the fuck is thissss (huge spoilers)

making this more organised than my last post about season 1 and the finale

teruhashi at first i really really hated her- of course, i loved and adored her as a character but as a person? no. she is a play on the anime trope of 'perfect mary sue girl' and its so fuckin weird becuase its both exactly that and exactly the opposite. she is perfect and looks beautiful and nobody can compare and basically everyone is falling in love with her or completely and utterly jealous of her- exactly like one of those stereotypical girls in those kinds of animes. but then at the same time shes not. teruhashi is intelligent, cunning, calculating, and puts up a delicate facade practically 24/7. she knows her abilities and utilises them to her absolute fullest, and i completely respect her for that. teruhashi recognises that she is 'gods favourite' and she is not shy in the slightest to manipulate that to ensure she gets the advantage. however, this knowledge of everyone else completely obliterates her own self-perception: she believes that she herself is the very role she is acting. teruhashi is determined that she is absolutely kind and perfect and is in no way wrong with anything she does. and with her lack of experience involving rejection and plainness, she completely overlooks saiki and is utterly confused with him as a whole. and at first, teruhashis obsession with saiki is about getting him to just become another guy- get him to say 'offu' to her. she bugs him, follows him, comes up with ploys, manipulates the world around her to try and get it to happen, uses all of her skills to her advantage, only for nothing. i didnt like her as a high school student to another because she painfully reminds me of a lot of girls i was friends with.

but then as the series goes on...... teruhashi changes. i think it was a gradual thing (such as teruhashi becoming friends with yumehara, even- i dont think she actually had female friends up until yumehara because of the amount of guys around her +the fact that all other girls near her would get overshadowed), but it really showed up for me in episode 17 of season 2. where teruhashi got jealous of aiura (fuuck i gotta talk about this diva). yeahhh it was not pretty. teruhashi began changing herself so that saiki could notice her (and i notice that before, teruhashi had only tried to use her own personal skills to get him to say 'oh wow' so this is the first time shes tried changing herself) and i found saikis attempts to dissuade her interesting too. typically, with all of his attempts, saiki would go into her mind and use his powers to try and turn her off, but this time, he actually told aiura to do it.

i think it was also very interesting that aiura was also changing around her appearance, as it really helped set things in for teruhashi. as they both changed what they were like (teruhashi for a boy (saiki), aiura for a girl (teruhashi)) so teruhashi was only getting more and more confused with that bit. 'if im getting more gyaru and aiura more kawaii then why isnt he reacting to either of us?'. and then saiki gets aiura to talk to teruhashi, and i also found what aiura said to teruhashi interesting. it was all that stuff about saiki and what kind of girl he liked. and i really think that she was telling the truth. i really feel that aiura was just saying things about saiki about a whole for all his relationships, romantic or platonic. he likes people who stay true to themselves. kaido is unafraid to feed his delusions/imagination (whichever you please), toritsuka is always honest with saiki (even if nobody wants to hear that pervy stuff), aiura is unafraid to be boisterous and stylish (even if she is a little bit freaky), kuboyasu is genuinely trying to become a better person (even if it sometimes doesnt work), akechi is determined and didnt let saiki sway him (despite all the obstacles that saiki put in his way), nendo is undoubtedly stupid but he is still kind (saiki watched him jump in front of a truck to save a kid thousands of times), on and on and on.

not only that, it is painfully clear to us the viewers that changing appearances doesnt matter in the slightest to saiki- he only sees it for like 3 seconds (i think he said) before it becomes muscle. curling hair or applying makeup or having more meat on the titties doesnt matter to him at all. what matters is what happens in their head, because while he doesnt get an extensive idea about their outside, he gets overly surrounded by everything on the inside. and thats probably why aiura saw that and said that to teruhashi (even if she cant explain the full reason). so teruhashi returns to normal and says that she will make saiki gasp with her own abilities.

but the strange thing is that shes already given that speech before. i cant say exact episodes from the top of my head but she has totally already said that she would use her charms and looks and sweetness to make him say 'offu' and he has always tried to dissuade her using his powers. but it was this one that made him gasp. and like. i was not expecting it in the slightest ok. but i think it makes sense- she has discovered that she can be confident in herself as a person rather than just her natural looks and is determined nonetheless. i think that saiki recognised around this area that she genuinely liked him as he was, even if she had thought he was 'gloomy and hard to read' (i believe she thought that when with his perv grandpa?) she still wanted to be around him and still had that crush. i love how when teruhashi is talking with other girls (kuriko too, but in this specific case im thinking about is rifuta) about her crush on saiki kusuo, that she would mention that at first, it was pure spite and disbelief that anyone could ignore her like that. and then, teruhashi wouldnt fail to continue and say that she grew to have a genuine crush on saiki that wasnt built upon annoyance at the fact he walked past her. and he discovers that he doesnt particularly mind being the object of her affection (unless her fanbase gets in the way oof) so i think that the offu from was a sort of embarrassed yet begruging acceptance towards this parasite of a girl who has attached herself to him lol

aiura shes sososo cool. i love the freshness(?) of her personality for the rest of the cast. finally a female psychic and i am in love with herr. at first i was a bit skeptical with the whole 'finding my soulmate' thing and i was cackling when saiki was just like 'ah yes she is legit but i am Just Better'. and then she continued to show up more and i love her. shes so quirky and very different from the other girls, who we see as much more feminine and in tune with romance anime tropes than anything, and then she comes in with the gyaru style and i love that so much. not only that, her slang and way of speech compared to the other girls (teruhashi, yumehara, mera) is also very interesting.

not only that, i really loved seeing the anime through her eyes and the auras of other characters including the shock-comedy of saikis. then, as she finds out about his powers and all i really loved how they worked together. i know a lot of other characters also saw that, seeing through teruhashi who commented that they were like the 'opposites attract' trope with 'boring' and 'flamboyant'. but then i also really liked how they worked even without any of the other characters opinions. aiura is still not giving up about the whole soulmates thing and saiki just lets it happen. because his ulterior motives is that she would ward off teruhashi so he begrudgingly accepts her to be near him as she pesters him to date/bang.

and then adding toritsuka into the paragraph, the pk psychic kids are golden. i love love love their dynamics. saiki has more respect for aiura only because he holds none for toritsuka. toritsuka sees saiki as superior and saw aiura as a pair of boobs in the beginning. aiura wants to be with saiki and just hates toritsuka because he tries to flirt. and for every mission they try to do together it always ends up in comedy. when saiki turned kaido and nendo to stone? holy fucking shit that really summed up what they were like. the psychic kids really are a weird band of teenagers with powers and it really showed their personalities in that meeting because. aiura stripping in saikis bed and toritsuka peeking through the door and saiki only sees a pile of muscles on his bed and a perv watching through his door. like cmon

i also want to dig deeper into her powers. she is completely ok with people knowing about her powers (like toritsuka but unlike saiki). she uses them to help people out (unlike toritsuka but like saiki). she uses her powers to her own benefit (like toritsuka but unlike saiki). she doesnt want to burden people with her powers (unlike toritsuka but like saiki). i find them soso interesting too because she questions why saiki doesnt use his powers more openly esp because he just has so many at his disposal. and then he sort of shows her why its a bad idea to so openly help people out by the result of mera and her father and i feel like she toned it down a bit after that too (at least publicly).

childhood lore this was insane. the buildup and everything and how it was presented. it first started with akechi being introduced as a new student and it was already unsettling to see saiki be actually a bit nervous about this guy. and then even more of a shock to see this guy blatantly ask saiki if he was a psychic because what- how the hell would this guy suspect, much less know?! and we learn that they were classmates in elementary school and we see a barely-there flashback to saiki standing in a classroom with childrens bodies scattered around him. so the suspense has started. and then we continue to get pestered by akechi but we know what he wants, but not why and thats the whole deal of it. he is the embodiment of those anime characters who are scarily good at deducing things and has a perfect memory too which makes it all the scarier because we know hes not an idiot unlike the rest of saikis friends.

and then to actually know what happens while saiki is going back in time to change it? masterpiece. we learn more about why akechi is pursuing this answer along with what actually happened to make that happen, along with why saiki cant change it without some sort of grave consequence. and the new knowledge that saiki as a kid without limiters is stronger than teenage saiki with limiters is even scarier because of course saiki wouldnt be able to stop himself.. truly an op main character. i also found it interesting how saiki k (the anime) manages to reuse powers over and over too and in such creative ways and in strange comebacks. he went back in time for his parents, he rewound the earth to one year prior because of the volcano, relived the same moment of nendo dying like thousands of times.. they really only ever hinder him.

and then to know what happens? i thought akechi was a creep for following/knowing everything about saiki but.. knowing everything that he knew at the moment? makes sense. definitely creepy, but much better understood. i feel like it was a good decision from saiki to tell him about his powers. if this isnt the first time theyve been like this, then it really does make sense. they were kids. they still are kids. and omfg saiki saying "i decided not to tell anyone about my abilities after that" because all it did was get akechi into more trouble from bullies. but they are now teenagers and have better cognitive understanding than when they were elementary kids so i feel it was justified for saiki to tell akechi because, after all of that trying with time travel, saiki couldnt stop the series of events unless he was making the world suffer. and akechi deserved at least a bit of closure about what actually happened and why saiki left.

and i feel like this series of events is also what makes saiki who he is in the beginning of the anime. he doesnt want friends at all because if they found out about his power they would be curious and want to know more and blab about it to others. and saiki knows the result from having lived it. because if he gets attached, people he loves get hurt. trying to make friends only causes suffering as akechi got bullied for claiming all those things and saiki hurt other kids using his powers because his emotions got out of control (rightfully!! he was like 8 and his best friend was getting bullied!!! of course he wouldnt be able to control any outbursts).

shipwrekced shipwrecked. i cant forget about this one but i was saving this. i realise i didnt write any notes for this one because i was wayy too focused on the actual happenings to comment. because what the fuck. 

yeah that about sums up what i thought at first.

the tropes. holy shit. they added so so many tropes into this one it was. the teenagers on a ship get shipwrecked on an island. all they have are the clothes theyre wearing and miraculously the pantry which washed ashore along with some supplies to build a raft. like all the typical anime things. and even when they suggest to build a raft, saiki agrees with them because its a good cover up. and i really loved the stereotypes that were put upon them: the loner (saiko), the cannibal (mera), pretty woman (teruhashi), leader (kuboyasu), idiot with good ideas (nendo), then saiki and kaido as the ‘followers’ or ‘helpers’.

then i found how saiki got them out genius, despite the fact he was panicking in the beginning about how to fix it. like of course he should be panicking because you cant see any rational way to get out of the situation without telling the rest of them about his powers. and so he tries to keep them alive for a little bit (going home and sleeping, buying food :sob holy shit bruhh), and then when he finally finds a way out (the raft) they play it off as stupid despite being such a stereotype of any shipwrecked movies. and even teruhashi realised that something was off, right? how his clothes were perfectly clean and all, but when he ‘went to work’ (i totally thought he was off to kill something with the saw helpp), he came back dirty. and of course! only saiki would make a whole new island near japan as a way of keeping his powers secret..

i honestly have no idea how to feel about this because.. how did they move on so quickly?! your students/classmates got trapped on an island for a couple of days. shouldnt this be a bigger deal- shouldnt saiki be known as ‘the kid who got trapped on an island’? like bro…. anime logic (if anyone else could. tell me what the hell was up with the shipwrecked episodes other than being satire towards other shipwrecked medias and being a bit of a comedy along with character development towards some characters like saiko)

friends+classmates so like. kuboyasu is a previous gangster and trying to become better/normal (anime trope). and kaido has middle schooler syndrome and thinks hes so cool (/affectionate). they are the two people you would least expect to become besties right. and yet they fit together so well. kuboyasu wants to become normal while kaido wants anything but. kuboyasu is actually strong and able to protect people while kaido can only dream. and it really shows during that mugging episode where kaido knows about kuboyasus past and yet still tells him to run. kaido is so weak and delusional that he probably gives kuboyasu a reason to remain calm and to 'protect his innocence' while kaido wants to be jet black wings and protect everyone no matter their pasts or abilities despite constantly failing and getting into danger and needing that saving himself. and even after that, they continue to hang out with or without others (such as building that fort or taking motorbike classes together??? or even may i mention when kaido trapped himself inside the coffin and kuboyasu was trying to coax him out). so then imagine my shock and delight when they started calling each other shun and aren like OMFGG?? calling people by their first names in japanese culture is a sign of being close with each other (such as chiyo and kokomi). theyre always in close proximity to each other and i adore themm

okok then saiki. and his friendssss. these episodes as a whole just show how much hes grown to care for themm. he follows yumehara and her boyfriend-sworn friend(?) to ensure that neither gets hurt from their misunderstanding. he warms up the classroom for all his classmates because he caress. he foils the plans of the news team to make teruhashi look bad. he stops hairo from getting killed during a robbery. he makes kaidos prank actually happen. he tries to throw akechi off in order to protect both of them from his power. he fucking saved yumehara from falling to her death. he gets beaten up by some fourth graders to help out yuuta. he gets everyone to return their gifts to mera on her birthday. he uses hypnosis to get his class to look better while they perform that play. he catches teruhashi before she falls and carries her to the nurse. he probably wouldnt have done half those things in the first part of season 1. so many of those require him to genuinely care for the people hes helping and not only that, some of those things draw attention to him and he would only let that happen if he truly cares for who he is aiding.

then to add to more about relationships between characters that arent saiki. kuboyasu and saiko. it definitly started as a hate-hate relationship. but then we see saiko crying in the bathroom because mean things were written on his desk and then we also see kuboyasu had tried to clean it off before saiko got there. my heartttt. not only that, but saiko who didnt care about peasants who went out of his way to redo his mansion to fit their tastes? and at first it was for his own ego (so similar to teruhashi omfgg) but then just like her, saiko began to actually care and didnt even understand it himself about why he was so focused on getting them to like him. and ofc he is an ass. he rolls down the window only to close it and drive away because its cold. he withdraws funding from the play just because the class was going behind his back. but its barely his fault. everything is handed to him on a silver platter and he doesnt know better. while kuboyasu had to work for everything. before he was working as a gang leader but now he is working towards being better. and aughh

world lore first off i need to say that the foreshadowing for this was INSANE. do you hear me. i am shaking you by the shoulders while i say that i am still utterly speechless by the implications and impact of episode.

the fucking volcano. holy shit. holy shit. there is so much i have to talk about considering the anime +worldbuilding +foreshadowing +buildup. this is a comedy anime. this is an anime that makes fun of anime tropes constantly. girl running to school with bread in her mouth. background characters. siblings who are a lil too freaky with their siblings. mary sue anime girls. the idiot friends. and then this???? the fact that saiki has been in a time loop for the same year for four years straight is. its literally mentioned by saiki himself when he says 'you might notice something off about this anime' and its poking fun at the fact that high school animes always loop around in order to continue publishing (like how its meant to represent just one year for the main character but theyve had seven winter episodes/chapters and three birthdays for a character). its poking fun at that bit and it uses saiki himself to do it.

the worldbuilding and foreshadowing come hand in hand. in the episode where kuboyasu was first introduced, toritsuka began talking to him about being a transfer student. when kuboyasu asked when toritsuka had entered he said 'second term of second year' so the same as kuboyasu. and we brushed it off as toritsuka being a dumbass. because of course we would, of course kuboyasu would too. but fuckk. we have four transfer students in one year all in second term?? we thought it was just a fucking anime trope thing again. but no. it was all purposeful. and then to add to that, we already knew that saiki had time travel powers. he could control time, we know from his restoration along with (later on from this episode) how he travels back through time for his parents. it was all deliberately set up in that way and so just holy shit.

and now i have to actually talk about that segment itself. the earthquake in the beginning was seemingly comedy and then we see saiki training. cool but not too big of a deal. and then he starts telling us about what the fuck is up just as he tries to stop the volcano. like excuse me?? i found it so very interesting that he continues rewinding time in order to build up his powers daily yet keep the volcano from exploding and intertwining both the time powers and mind control in order to achieve it. and hes gone through second year of high school four times, yet his parents know. it was crazy how nonchalant they were about it too, saying 'oh he can always do it again right' like he is saving the world. how much longer would he do it? how much would he be willing to do? i find saiki so very interesting because he could always just. let the volcano explode but it is in his core to be kind and to help the ones he loves (including the rest of japan). he tries and he knows his limits and yet he is still ready to try again with a new set of abilities.

final thoughts before reawakened too hyperfixated. OOF. anyways im so sad the anime is almost over (for me loll). its sucked me into its grasp because it has everything im looking for. as a high schooler i love all the shenanigans but then as an anime lover i enjoy the satire tropes and as a theatre kid i love the gags and commentary and as a person who looks wayy too deeply into things i love the implications and dark undertones of the series.

[mochidolls]

now introducing . . . corporate!rafe !

uhhh, so this is a byproduct of binge watching industry for the past like two weeks… mdni por favor / brief mentions of masturbation & fingering + bot

now he’s not the y’know traditional multi millionare ceo of a big real estate firm daddy’s company who fucks his secretary from time to time (close enough but not quite).

corporate!rafe is a stocks bro —neck-deep in crypto, efts, and the kind of investments that make everyone else’s eyes glaze over. he’ll mansplain the basic principles of capitalism over lunch like you didn’t just close a deal worth more than his annual bonus. (rafe: 0, you: 1)

rafe’s favorite pastime is reminding everyone that he clawed his way to the top. him. not ward cameron’s money. not ward cameron’s connections. him. never mind that his “humble beginnings” included a trust fund the size of a small country’s GDP and a private boarding school education.

rafe is terrified of being nothing without his wealth and status. the dude is genuinely afraid that without the recognition, the promotions, the stock portfolios, he’ll be just another rich kid with a hollow sense of identity.

this is what drives him to undermine you: if you’re successful, it forces him to confront his own feelings of inadequacy, and god forbid, that cannot happen.

corporate!rafe has icanfixyou syndrome. in his silly little goofy brain, he is the one who has control, not you. the problem is, you’re fully aware of what he’s doing, and you’re only more determined to get under his skin. he keeps failing to win you over, and he doesn’t know how much it pisses him off. you don’t need him. he can’t stand it.

rafe has no idea how to flirt. his version of courting you is begrudgingly fetching your coffee order and getting it completely wrong. you like a hazelnut latte with just the right amount of foam? congratulations—you’re now the proud owner of a black americano that tastes like shit and the depths of a black hole. grim, i know.

and please don’t start to fantasise about him fucking you in the most nefarious of ways. quite frankly he was all too repulsed and blinded by the sheer eager need to be simply better than you to even imagine you in that light.

that is…until the hotel incident.

to summarise (and quite frankly not waste your time): HR’s genius solution for “team bonding” was sticking you two in interlinked hotel rooms. pure hell. he leaves his damp towels everywhere, his skincare products are obnoxiously expensive (and you definitely didn’t try his moisturizer when he wasn’t looking), and you’ve caught him singing jack harlow in the shower. loudly.

rafe had bare witnesses too many nip slips to be considered ‘normal’ around you. thus his little fantasies about you began.

you wore a bikini (a bit revealing for a work trip, but i mean…c’mon you’re in mallorca!) the bikini was a choice—your choice. rafe spent the entirety of the beach day trying to look anywhere but directly at you. that night however? a poor pillow suffered, fucked mercilessly and bred into (room service are going to have a ball cleaning that up!)

but…let’s not kid ourselves here, you weren’t less of a pervert yourself.

one single fateful night with his stupid gold heirloom ring glittering in the moonlight, lead to you clutching one of his beach shirts like a feral animal, babbling and praising his name into the soft cotton and wondering if the gold signet ring on his hand could double as a vibrator.

you think it’s a joke that everyone around you sees this mild rivalry between you and rafe? it’s not. it’s a full fledged fucking war. every small win you get, he has to match it. your first big client? rafe’s out there trying to snag a bigger one, even though it’s none of his business.

he hates that you’re quietly, secretly thriving, and the fact that he can’t quite figure you out drives him insane. you’re not his type. you don’t need him. he can’t stand it. he’d rather see you fail than admit he’s even a little bit impressed by you…maybe a little infatuated too.

your relationship with rafe fluctuates between clear disdain and ‘i want to fuck you and have your kids’ ism. he’ll try to play the role of “cool, unattached guy,” but everyone can see how much he carnally wants you.

he’ll make snide comments like, “i mean, it’s not like i’m some guy you’d bring home to meet your parents, but sure, you can always pretend i’m a secret you’re keeping.”

when rafe knows he’s gone too far and messed with you too much, he’ll offer you an apology— “look, i’m not sorry for calling you out, but i can tell you’re a little sensitive about it. so... i’m apologizing in the way that doesn’t undermine either of us. happy?”

he steals your favorite pens; you "accidentally" unplug his monitor before meetings. his powerpoints are aggressively over-designed, and you make sure to point out every typo during team calls. HR doesn’t even bother with your complaints anymore—they just schedule you for the same meetings so they can watch the fireworks. it’s childish, really.

on the surface, rafe oozes alpha male (threw up a bit there, excuse me). but underneath all that bravado? he’s a fucking miserable mess. he constantly checks his portfolio every 5 minutes to make sure his money is still growing. the real kicker? he’s terrified of you being smarter than him, which is why he’s always trying to “one-up” you. he knows you’re not impressed by his stupid wealth, and that drives him crazy.

[kawoala]

🐰   ⤷ sugawara koushi ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

“will you still love me when i’m no longer young and beautiful? will you still love me when i’ve got nothing but my aching soul?”

⊂ word count ; .7k (710)

⊂ content warning ; based on ‘young and beautiful’ by lana del rey 、trying something new! (writing for suga) 、insecure!reader 、suga is a good boyfriend 、 alcohol consumption.

You don’t recognize the person in the mirror. Your eyes dart all over your face, taking note of the faint freckles scattered around your face— caused by lack of sunscreen, no doubt— smile lines, crows feet, eye bags.

You pull at the skin, smoothing it out and squishing it together. Tears sting at the backs of your eyes. Do you really look like this to other people? Are bartenders just being polite when they ask to see your ID?

You glance down at the counter, eyeing the makeup wipes, then tear them open forcefully and begin wiping off your makeup. Hot tears roll down your cheeks. You choke on your sobs, attempting to stay quiet out of respect for the other people in the house.

“Y/n?” There’s a knock at the door. A familiar voice. “Are you okay? We’re about to start another round of Quiplash.”

You stop for a moment, staring at yourself in the mirror. You hold the makeup wipe against your face, frozen. What are you supposed to say? You’re already thinking of a lie to tell.

“Um, hello?”

You swallow hard, pushing your sobs down. “I— Sorry, I’ll be out in a, uh, second. I don’t— I think I’m gonna go to sleep. I don’t feel too hot.”

“Oh, what’s wrong? Do you need ibuprofen? Pepto bismol? Anything?”

You take a shaky deep breath, letting your eyes fall shut.

“Can I come in?” The doorknob rattles, making you flinch, but you don’t move. “Y/n, seriously, what’s wrong? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

The urgency in his voice is what makes you move. Slowly but surely, you unlock the door and twist the doorknob. Koushi stands there, simply just staring at you. His eyes scan your face wildly, taking in your half removed makeup, the red blotches around your eyes.

“I’m getting ugly,” you whisper to him.

His brows furrow and he takes a step forward. You stumble back and he shuts the door behind him. “What?” He asks, pure confusion lacing his tone.

You turn back to the mirror, the tears starting back up again. “Look,” you say, pointing to the mirror. “Look at my wrinkles, Kou. My eyebags, my crows feet.” You shake your head, pulling at your skin once again. “I’m getting old, I’m getting ugly, I’m—”

“Completely and utterly insane,” he interrupts you. He makes his way over to you, bow standing behind you. His brows are still furrowed, but the confusion has been replaced with a look of frustration. “You are beautiful, Y/n. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my entire life. Your eye bags and wrinkles do not represent how beautiful you are.” He puts his hands on your hips and turns you to face him. “You are smart and kind and funny and— Y/n, you are insanely gorgeous.”

You frown at him.

“Stop that.” He cracks a small smile and places his forehead against yours. “Your eye bags are a sign of how dedicated you are. We both know they’re from staying up late, studying, right? Dedication.” He pulls away and kisses your cheek.

“And your crows feet? They show how much of a joyful person you are. Your smile is beautiful. I’d do anything to see that pretty smile of yours.” Another kiss, this time to your nose.

“But—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No buts, Y/n. You’re beautiful.”

You press your lips together and take a deep breath.

“Say it.”

“Say it?” You repeat, pinching your brows together. “Say what?”

“Say you’re beautiful.”

You blink at him a couple times. The look of determination is throwing you off a little bit. If you look hard enough, you can still see flashes of first year koushi. Nervous, quiet, small. This koushi is different. He’s still nervous, still hilarious, still handsome, but he’s different. More confident. Louder, when necessary.

“I’m beautiful,” you whisper. He raises his brows and you know he wants you to say it louder. “I’m beautiful.”

Another small smile graces his face. “Good.” He kisses your forehead and leans back. “Do you want ibuprofen? Crying gives you headaches.”

You frown again, but this time it’s to stop the tears. He knows you so well, you could collapse right now.

[ahamkara-apologist]

you're so right fr. there are so many incredibly written female characters in d2 but there's a mere insignificant pittance of fanworks around them. as a day 1 failsafe lover it drives me nuts how little people seem to care about her. like. maybe bungie was right the fanbase doesn't even see her. and Ada? Ana bray? Elsie? even Eris or ikora? they may as well not exist for how the fandom treats them. but crow is a twink (twunk?) so yknow

A Failsafe stan omg...I'm so sorry my liege you're in the fucking trenches and have my deepest sympathy. I remember when Echoes came out people were like 'eugh Failsafe's humour didn't age well' and I was like...buddy. Failsafe is fucking hilarious. The fact that people were complaining about her humour as if Cayde wasn't the personification of annoying 2014 funnyman is fucking insane to me. I'm convinced that the only reason why Cayde's humour isn't cringe to them while Failsafe and Nimbus's jokes are is bc Cayde is perceived as a cis straight man to the gamerbros (even if there's not a snowflake's chance in hell he is, and robots are inherently trans) while they aren't. And the other girls? Whatever. Practically don't exist as far as fandom is concerned. Again, the fact that Revenant has Eramis as one of the main players in the plot- a nuanced, morally grey old grouch- and yet there is almost NO fan content on her ain't just because Bungie's quality has been piledrived into the ground. It's because she's a woman and a lesbian and thus everything that SHE does is awful and annoying and irrational and hypocritical, when you KNOW that if she were a man, nobody would give a fuck. It would all be 'oooh babygirl I love his dramatic ass' and shit with people crying over how tragic 'he' is and whatnot. But bc Eramis isn't some conventionally attractive twink, it's just radio silence out here. Meanwhile Crow is just a member of the supporting cast, and yet almost all the fanart and fanworks seem to feature him. It's a goddamn travesty, and I'm saying that as someone who likes Crow!

You're wrong on one account tho, and it's that Eris DOES exist to the fandom- but only if it's in ship content with Drifter. Nothing else. Though half the time she's not even acting like Eris bc a lot of shippers seem to think that they're 'fixing' each other instead of bonding over ways to do batshit insane bs in their free time. All her other significant relationships? Out the window. Gotta pare them down to an enemies to lovers trope where slurs are seen as cute. Which is insane to me bc like...the thing that makes Drifter and her relationship great is the fact that they're both freaks, and yet many people seem to want them to fit the parameters of a normal relationship. Like my sister in the light those are two new guys at this point