#The way that he hated himself for that. But how he falls back on those things as a plea when he's truly helpless for the first time in year

[thirteenheavens]

Seungcheol when read gives him silent treatment after a heated argument?

Broken Kisses|| Choi Seungcheol ♢

Notes: started to use my symbols now might be the last fic tonight :)

Seungcheol sighs as he enters the living room, finding you sitting on the couch with your arms crossed and a stubborn expression on your face. He knows this isn't going to be easy - you've been giving him the silent treatment since yesterday.

"Babe, can we talk?" he asks, sitting down next to you at a respectful distance. "I know you're upset, but we need to sort this out." You remain silent, your eyes fixed straight ahead. Seungcheol tries again, his voice gentle but firm. "Look, I know I messed up. I shouldn't have said those things during our argument. But you can't just ignore me forever."

The tension in the room is palpable as Seungcheol waits for any sign of acknowledgment from you. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, unsure of how to break through your wall of silence. Seungcheol's patience starts to wear thin, but he knows he can't give up just yet. He scoots a little closer to you on the couch, careful not to invade your personal space too much.

"Y-N, please," he pleads, his voice softer now. "I hate seeing you like this. I miss talking to you, I miss hearing your voice." He tries to catch your gaze, but you remain stubbornly looking away. The silence stretches on, and Seungcheol can feel his heart aching with each passing moment.

"I'll do anything," he says finally, desperation creeping into his tone. "Just say something. Yell at me, scream at me, I don't care. Just don't shut me out like this."

"Why should I say anything?" you snap, finally turning to face Seungcheol with tears in your eyes. "You've made it clear that my feelings don't matter to you." Seungcheol's expression falls at your words, guilt and regret washing over his features. He reaches out to touch your arm but stops himself mid-way, remembering your anger.

"That's not true," he says firmly, his voice cracking slightly. "I care about your feelings more than anything. I was just... stupid. I didn't think before I spoke." He scoots closer again, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry, Y-N. I should have listened to you instead of being so stubborn. Please, let me make it up to you." Seungcheol gently takes your hand in his, holding it tightly as if afraid you'll pull away. He intertwines your fingers together, his thumb stroking your skin softly.

"I know I messed up big time," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I promise I'll do better. I'll be more considerate of your feelings, I'll listen to you more, I'll...". He trails off as he realizes you're still not looking at him. The pain in his chest grows stronger, but he doesn't let go of your hand.

"Please," he whispers again, desperation evident in his tone. "I can't stand being apart like this. Just give me a chance to prove myself." Your tear-filled eyes meet Seungcheol's, and his heart shatters at the sight of your hurt expression. He cups your face in his hands, his own eyes welling up with emotion.

"I hate seeing you cry," he chokes out, his thumbs wiping away your tears gently. "Especially when I'm the one who caused it." He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as he fights back his own tears. "I'm so sorry," he whispers into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll do whatever it takes to make this right." He holds you for what feels like an eternity, silently promising himself that he'll never let anything come between you again. The weight of your silence and hurt hangs heavy in the air, but he's determined to mend the broken pieces of your relationship.

As you sit in Seungcheol's embrace, his arms a comforting presence around you, the silence between you becomes less suffocating. The tension in your body gradually eases, and you lean into his warmth. Seungcheol's heart races as he feels you relax against him, taking it as a sign that you might be willing to forgive him. He holds you even tighter, burying his face in your hair.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. "I love you so much, Y-N. I was an idiot for saying those things and hurting you like this." He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with sincerity and regret. "Please tell me what I can do to fix this," he begs softly. "Anything. I'll do anything to make you happy again." You finally speak, your voice still shaky but softer than before. "I just need you to listen to me more," you say, looking into Seungcheol's eyes. "And trust me. I know we have different opinions sometimes, but that doesn't mean we have to fight."

Before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him gently on the lips. It's a simple kiss, but it carries all the emotions you've been holding back. Seungcheol melts into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you as if you're his lifeline. When you pull away, he touches his forehead to yours, his eyes closed in relief.

"I promise," he whispers, his breath mingling with yours. "No more fighting. I'll always listen to you, and I'll never let my stubbornness come between us again." Seungcheol's lips meet yours again, this time with more passion and urgency. He kisses you deeply, pouring all his love and regret into the connection. His hands slide up to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue gently exploring your mouth. The tension from earlier has transformed into a different kind of tension - one that's filled with desire and longing.

"I missed you," he breathes against your lips, pulling you onto his lap. "Missed being this close to you." His hands roam over your body, rediscovering every curve and contour as if he's relearning you all over again. The kiss grows more heated, both of you desperate to reconnect on every level.

"I love you so much," Seungcheol pants, his chest heaving against yours. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He rests his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. "I was such an idiot," he admits, his voice thick with emotion. "I promise to cherish you every day from now on."

He peppers your face with soft kisses - your forehead, your nose, your cheeks - as if trying to memorize every detail. Even though you may argue time to time, you still want to marry this man.Even if it’s the last thing you do.

[kissandtellus]

Hello :3 I hope you feel better soon! I have a request for you though. Could you maybe write a needy Caleb listening in on MC while she's playing alone in the next room? You could throw some panty sniffing in there, lots of talk about fantasies caleb has please. Hope to see it soon <3

Misunderstanding

Synopsis: A hot summer day turns into an even hotter misunderstanding.

Warnings: Caleb being a freak, eavesdropping, the panty snatcher strikes again, self-pleasing, imagination.

Caleb hated any barriers that separated him from Y/n. That wasn’t just walls she had built up after his ‘death’, it also involved the very REAL wall separating their bedrooms. No matter how much he begged and pleaded with her- “Pipsqueak, we can just share my room. The bed is so much better for your back, I know Hunting wears you out”-she refused.

So now he lays in the master bedroom of his Penthouse, trying to ignore how utterly humid it is today. His P.T had ran long, and it involved running out in the muggy, humid heat of the training ground.

The A.C on full blast was doing little to calm his sweating. He’d stripped his shirt an hour ago, hell -bent on catching a nap before he took Y/n to that new bakery that opened down the street.

But the walls were thin. In this multi-coin Penthouse the walls were still like fucking paper. He could hear the soft sound of her record player. It was churning some light, pop and preppy music he could barely make out the words too.

It didn’t bother him, it brought him comfort that his Pipsqueak was safe and sound.

What DIDN’T bring him comfort, was the shuffling noises of blankets being shuffled around and then the lowest, softest buzzing.

Caleb thought that maybe his exhaustion had gotten the better of him.

Then the soft noises quickly overrode the music. Caleb sits up in his bed and eagerly presses his ear to the wall. Lo and behold, those pretty noises are real.

Caleb knows he should tear himself away from the wall. He should blast some of his workout playlist and try to sleep. But he can’t, he can’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

The draw to his bedside table is pulled open so hard he’s afraid he might break it off the hinges. He pulls out the photo of Y/n he keeps in his drawer. It’s an innocent photo in the frame, the photo from his graduation where she’s planting a kiss on his cheek.

But as he pulls back the metal bits and the back of the frame falls out, a pair of lacy purple thongs fall into his lap. He’d stolen these from the laundry weeks ago. Y/n had never questioned him about it, it was too embarrassing. Why would she?

Caleb pushed down his grey sweats. He was never a fan of wearing boxers beneath them while at home. And he also felt a thrill when he caught his little Pipsqueak staring at his flaccid cock bouncing against his thigh.

But now here he was, face shoved in the crotch of the thong, hand gripping his cock. Y/n’s moans grew needier, not exactly louder. His protective instincts surged a bit, hearing her all whiny and gasping.

He should be helping her, he should be the one coaxing those sweet noises from her mouth. He hastily picked up the discarded photo, thong resting against his face. His pink tongue even darted out to try and get even a taste of what her sweet nectar would taste like.

His eyes flickered over the photo. The way her skirt was raised just a bit, the way her arms were around his neck.

Y/n’s groans came louder through the wall. It was clear she was trying to muffle them by how strained she sounded. Caleb was in no better shape. His thumb swiped the prickle pre over the head. Fuck, his hand could never match up with how warm and tight she must feel.

Caleb imagined the lips that were pressed against his cheek in that picture, to be around his aching length.

He dropped the photo and leaned his head back against the headboard. He focused on the noises, shaping up a pretty picture in his mind.

How she would feel, how she would whine when he first took her innocence ‘Oh Gege, mm-so big ‘in deep!’!

Caleb was like a mad dog, his free hand now pushing the fabric against his nose and drooling mouth. His cock twitched and strained in his palm. He was going to blow his load at the image alone.

“Caleb? This massager I got from the store is really good on my back! I know you told me about the bed being hard but-“

Caleb’s orgasm should’ve came to a screeching halt as soon as his bedroom door opened. Oh but he couldn’t stop the milky white ropes from shooting up his chest and leaking onto his toned belly. Y/n stood in his door way with a rolling back massager, eyes wide with something he hoped wasn’t horror or disgust.

In that moment, he really wish he’d actually blown up.

[delusionalalien]

[Embrace You, Devour You] [Chapter 6] YANDERE!Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader x YANDERE!Variant!Invincibles

Ain't no way i'm just hearing about one of the fanfic authors on a fanfic site who i looked up since i was like what? 15? 16? outed for being a kiddie liker bro, i cant- IM SCREAMINGGGG💀💀💀💀

Note: I hate this chapter, its garbage as usual, and i hope y'all prepared that block button fr

prologue

previous chapter , ???

T.W / Tags: Slow-burn, Soft yandere, pining, mark is bat shit crazy but he good dw, baby-trapping, teen pregnancy, yandere variants, mark a lil pushy, breeding kink, jealous Mark Grayson, talks of abortion, misunderstandings, possessive Mark Grayson, murder, gore, child-murder(variant!readers), attempted suicide, murder-suicide(variant!readers), OOC, longing, yandere!mom, prob need more tags

Mark misses you so much ):

Vanessa did not do an oopsy at the end <3

Mark felt the world beneath him crumbled in an instant.

Nobody blamed him for what happened, no one yelled at him for something he couldn't control. Yet, he skimmed through the what ifs in his head. Haunting him ever since he saw you in that state.

What if he stayed with you?

What if he never rode on that bus alone?

What if he offered to wait for you after class?

Then maybe, just maybe, all of this would have been prevented. You wouldn't be hurt, you wouldn't be unconscious in that hospital bed with all those bandages wrapped around you while he drowned in the noise of your fathers endless sobs in the hallway leading to the operation room.

He was your best friend, why wasn't he there when you needed him the most? He can't recall what he was even doing prior to the call.

Mark left the hospital utterly wrecked, dragged away by his parents telling them he didn't want to leave your side until you opened your eyes. Apologizing that he wasn't there for you, Nolan had to physically restrain him as he sat him down at the back of the car.

Mark turned over and sat up from his bed. He looked out his window to stare into your room. It was dark, eerily so, gone were the lights coming from your television that he had was used to seeing. He noticed that your window was slightly ajar and he moved.

He knew it was wrong to suddenly jump in your room without your permission, he knows it was even more wrong when he laid in your bed, tightly holding onto your heavy blankets and pillows closer to him. Inhaling the lingering scent you had on them, he found himself sinking further in the sheets where your musk was stronger.

Instantly he felt calmer, he felt safe, like you were in the same room with him. Mark found comfort in your smell, finding himself falling asleep, imagining you were next to him with your arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace.

Mark felt utterly hopeless as he longed for you. Wanting and needing you at the same time. The plant in his chest blossomed uncontrollably and he mourned for your absence to end. To come back to him and hold him like you never want to let him go.

How strange, he thinks, it felt like the seed have already been planted in his heart so long ago.

Mark fell asleep surrounded by the smell of you.

"I miss you (nickname)..."

-

It was the next day. Mark was completely out of it, he dazed off more ever since your absence and William was beginning to think his entire world just fell apart- actually it might have.

You and Mark never did stray far from the other. Taking slow steps when one of you lags behind, PE was horrendous when you three got in back in 6th grade, you two could not be separated, even if different teams you both we're insufferable.

Now William would be lying if he said he wasn't mad. Not at Mark, rather at Rebecca. He had always hated White and her cronies since they were kids. She might not remember it but he absolutely does.

Rebecca was originally Williams bully.

She made fun of him for playing dolls when he minded his business with some girls playing make believe house. However that switched when both you and Mark transferred. You stood up to Rebecca and told her to buzz off only for her to push you down on the sand, before being dragged away by the calls of her mother and getting on in those fancy ass cars you see in movies.

Instead of dusting off the grime that got on your clothes, you turned to him and smiled. Continuing like nothing ever happened and you never let her near him again. Mark becoming a second wall to protect him.

He was friends with the two of you ever since then. Forever thankful for your act of kindness.

And he wasn't going to lie, he was beyond pissed off to what happened to you when he got word of it from a mutual friend of a friend.

So imagine everyone's horror when he, who stood by in the sidelines for so long, threw his entire lunch tray at her face.

He wasn't apologic about it either.

"Girl," He eyed her up and down in judgement he didn't just started a war, "That outfit? Suits you, not even lying."

Rebecca stunned for a moment shot up from her seat and only ended up tripping on her feet when her foot caught on the edge of the seat.

He snickered, he places his hand over his mouth before he pretends to be concern.

"Oh my god, is the floor okay? You didn't harm it when you fell right?"

"You!" Rebecca hissed.

"What the hell! Do you know how expensive this shirt is!"

William rolled his eyes crossing his arms while she picked herself back up.

"Honestly, I think i just made the outfit a lot prettier. Your shirt? eyesore material, do you even have a fashion sense?"

If Mark wasn't paying attention, he was now.

One moment he was dozing off with a spoon in hand, poking at the mash potatoes while he thinks of you and if you had woken up by now, the next he stood between William and Rebecca, holding him back as they went a full on brawl at the cafeteria.

"I know you did it, you dumb bitch! You sent her to the hospital because of your jealousy! You hurt my best friend!" William screamed and Mark shakes his head, even if it is true, William shouldn't be acting this way- if what he reasons in his head.

Mark definitely wanted to smack her or two in the face the more he looks at her.

"Get off me!" Rebecca struggles at some guys that helped to break up the fight.

"This is not over, Clockwell!"

"Fuck you and your green eyed monster!"

"William, calm down-"

Needless to say both William and Rebecca was sent to the office after.

Mark waited by the stairs in front of the school entrance, missing the way you called to him at the end of the day. God, he felt miserable and out of it. He had dozed off so much that he hadn't realized class ended and he sat there like an idiot waiting for something to happen.

if only he had stayed with you, offering to wait so you both can just walk back home instead he lets you be, and he felt he was at fault whenever he recalls waving at you from the window with William.

He had watched you walk back in.

And watched you come out on a stretcher and into an ambulance.

"Fuck Rebecca and her rich ass parents."

Vanessa and William came back out.

Despite everything that happened. Your mother offered to be William's guardian since they couldn't go because of strict job stuff Mark wasn't interested in.

William, with cuts and bruises on his face, grumbles something incoherent and Vanessa took Mark and him to the car. Mark noticed that something in your mother's attitude seem to shift compared to when she arrived, it wasn't noticeable since it was quite subtle, but Mark caught the way she seems almost too, happy? like she can't wait to go home.

Mark shakes it off. Probably nothing and forgot about it.

"How was the meeting?" Mark questions.

"Ugh, Rebecca keeps spinning the story saying, i swung at her first, like? I didn't! She attacked me first with those, ugh, long talons of hers- and btw i'll admit, her nails are pretty." William rambled on and on about what happened in the meeting.

Rebecca's mom turned up instead of her father. Comparing both interactions between the two, it was clear Rebecca adores her mom more than her dad.

"Her mom keeps denying what she did, you know? Like I'll be honest, i wanted to slap her too." William whispers the last part to Mark's ear.

William had boldly claim that Rebecca and her cronies are the ones who put you in the hospital not even a nano second of the meeting starting. Vanessa was wide eyed when he said it but composed herself as she listen in.

"You children alright back there? Just so you know William, your house is not far." Vanessa's accent made both boys realized how quiet they've become, exchanging whispers as if they're planning on a heist.

"Oh yeah, thanks Mrs. Aguilar. By the way, i heard from Mark that (Name) was moved into this super strict and expensive private hospital and i was wondering if i could drop by?"

Vanessa thought about it, tapping the stirring wheel looking eyeing William in the mirror. Mark already knew the answer but kept his mouth shut.

You we're moved to the pentagon for better treatment last night when he was asleep in your room, thankfully he managed to wake himself up and sneaks himself back into his room before anyone noticed, his mom said they couldn't just go there to visit you since they needed permission or his dad to fly them over there.

The only time he's ever going to visit is when you move back to a more normal hospital.

"No."

"Oh, come on! I'll make sure she ace her math exams when she gets back! Promise!"

Vanessa actually thought about it.

"... Tempting, a good bargain, but it is still a no."

"Aw come on!"

-

A deal with Cecil means selling your life to the devil himself.

Vanessa knows the risk, knew what she signed up for when she struck that deal with Cecil on the phone. She wasn't blind nor deaf, he's been wanting her to be a weapon ever since her father's demise.

The details of their agreement sealed away in a box forever inked in her name.

In exchanged for everything she needed, she had sign the rights for her life, her powers belong to the GDA now, used for whatever he deems it fit to use.

A card is what she is.

Not an wildcard, no, never an wildcard, she was too stubborn to be one, Cecil would risk everything is she was the wildcard in Cecil's plan against the common foe. Too predictable, too infamous.

They need someone quiet, someone who didn't bring attention whenever they walk in the room- all these useless thoughts ceased when they made a moved.

She spot a car leaving the mansion. Where are they travelling to so late in the night?

A couple at the front. Sadly no child sitting on the back. They seem to be arguing as they drive.

Shame that their daughter didn't join.

Vanessa thinks old habits die, she shouldn't be this excited for this and should be reconsidering her actions, yet here she was grinning in sadistic pleasure of the idea that pops into her head. If she wanted to make the kid to pay, she'll have to pay in a way that'll hurt them back, ten-fucking-fold.

Rebecca loves her parents, right?

As for Cecil? He lets it, just as long as it was only the target she ended tonight is the one the government wants gone.

Two bird with one stone. He says when he gave her the green light.

Who knew the biggest runaway drug boss lived in their neighborhood? Color her surprise when a hit for his head was presented to her and served in a silver platter. No excuse and just do it, nice and clean.

And while she trail after the car, she waits for the opportunity to flip it over and drown them on the river.

Just the dad, Stedman instructed, but the mother should go to, right?

After all according to her files and what she saw in the meeting earlier when she took the opportunity to find the culprits,

Rebecca loves her dear old mom,

oh,

so,

much.

-

Note: Williams hands are rated E for Everyone. I don't usually pay much attention to anyone's mannerism other than the events that's happening in the series, so yeah, ooc characters <3 mostly head canons in my head. All i know is William is pretty funny and quite sharp with his tongue so i tried???? to base off his entire character from that. dunno if i even got that right

idk man, im just delusional as hell

[sourle]

https://www.tumblr.com/sourle/782612631264673792/falls-through-the-roof-you-know-i-just-wanna?source=share

Oof- now that I think about it- if I was in a situation like that with the Reader like that- honestly.... Smash-

OKAY BUT FR NOW- like just imagine the Reader but with different survivors now- uggfhhh- i love situations like that cus it has so much drama but also shows what and how different survivors would and could react if they were put into a situation like THAT with the reader-

(Lucky taph-)

(btw, you don't have to do this request if you don't want to, and if you want to, take your time 😌👍)

Spaces

Get yo nasty azz on!

WARNINGS: a bit suggestive, i think? Just the cast getting mushed between your chest

Note:

Ohohohoho

Rubs my hands together*

Noob

Oh they are full on FLUSTERED

This non-binary would not survive one second vro🙏

After it they would be a stuttering mess

They can't look at you, not the same way at least

Gosh they wonder if they would be able to be trapped like that with you again

WHAT WHO THOUGHT THAT

They're crumbling and would be spotted staring at you chest RESPECTFULLY

Elliot

Oh he does not expect it at ALL

He's blushing, confused, flustered, all mixing emotions, no negative ones.

He'll quickly get out the tight space and breath heavily to either control himself or he's been holding his breath while squeezed between your chest

Oh he will definitely STARE with Noob, RESPECTFULLY

Bro still hates you but damn he can't deny LMAO

Shedletsky

WOAH WOAH WHAT

Oh he's both embarrassed and flustered

Both due to getting mushed between your chest

He pulled back before saying 'fuck it' in his mind and rest his face between it

Bro succumb

Maybe from that one interaction alone he's questioning if he truly hates you lol

Builderman

Being the shortest has it perks huh?

He's full on embarrassed about it

He can't think, he malfunction

He refused, in denial, that he enjoyed it

Will push you away the moment his face gets between those chests like you're full of germs

Dusekkar

Why is his fire burning hotter?

He's embarrassed and flustered, yet he just floats higher to be face to face with you

He's not dealing with it, nor does he want to think about it

He does think about it after like what if he didn't float up

Two time

They're just standing still

Not moving

Fella is smiling, either giddily or just from flustering

They does not mind at all

They actually enjoys it and would sniff

You quickly throw them out of the hiding spot

Chance

He doesn't know if he's lucky or unlucky

But if they're told to make a bet, he's lucky

WHY IS HE NUZZLING FORWARD BRO YOU FREAK

They don't mind and will not move even after the killer is gone

It's up to you if you wanna push him off or not

But if you do they will look like a kicked puppy

Guest 1337

Will pull back instantly out of respect

Bro is not staying, he will go out and fight with the killer from sheer embarrassment alone

Safe to say he did think about it once afterwards

007n7

Oh like Noob, he's full on FLUSTERED

He short circuits, he doesn't know if he should pull away or not

He's a stuttering mess, apologizing a lot

He expressed that he's embarrassed but gosh does he want it inside

Note: I've done Taph before, so i won't do him here

[sramoonlight]

Laugh

What if Jason had to take care of Bruce’s kid?

Content you’ll see: death of child, Lazarus pit’s madness, Dad!bruce, Robin!reader, kid!reader

English it’s not my first language so please be patient

Bruce has a Robin, he doesn’t know when but this kid moved to his life like he belonged in since he was born but he couldn’t correct him

Not when he was trapped looking at this kid with a smile, even when Jason was back, no matter what Bruce would always follow this kid everywhere keeping him safe

He healed him, in every way possible, he wasn’t afraid of relations anymore because of this kid

So, when he got sick he couldn’t be more pissed, let’s be honest

He wouldn’t care about getting a little sick, if he can move then he can punch criminals faces but now he can’t, he’s getting old and a simple sick day could get him trapped on his bed

Damn how he wanted to get up, he needs to get up, he has this kid looking at him with those eyes filled with sadness and worry

— So, no patrol tonight? — and he can’t, he wants to get up but every movement feels like a dagger

This is not a normal sick day, once he could get up he is going to check his body for any toxin.

— Sorry kid, maybe tomorrow — he coughed, the kid at his side rubbed to hold his hand, yeah, he totally got into his heart.

He sighed, this sucks, not only he’s loosing a patrol night but a time to be with this kid who only wants to spend his time next to an old man

— Shit Bruce, you look like hell — A voice he knew too well, Jason was standing on the door frame with a bowl filled with popcorn

Was he staying tonight? No, he would remember it

Or not, maybe he told him when he was working in a case

— Jay! — the kid ran to Jason’s arms hugging him, Jason had to put the bowl aside to avoid throwing it

He chuckled, patting his head

— Are you going on patrol, kiddo? — He could see how the kid shook his head without pulling away

— Bruce’s is sick, I can’t go without him — damn, it got Jason a feeling of nostalgia but he doesn’t know why

It’s not like he ever seen Bruce take a night off, this sure is a bad thing if it’s keeping the dark knight on bed

Or maybe he’s getting old, probably that

— I can take you out on patrol — The kid eyes shined, Bruce would deny, would tell it’s okay if he doesn’t go out

But he can’t, not when he is already jumping in happiness and running to get dress, god this kid is so excited to get out

He can’t say no, god he can’t

— Keep him safe, okay? — he found his mouth moving by his own, he found himself expressing his worry to a kid

Jason sighed, taking a popcorn to his mouth

It feels weird to hear Bruce say that.

The night was getting better, it was weird to see Robin with Red hood but it was a duo every criminal grow scared of

Red hood’s brutality, and Robin’s acrobats, you can’t focus on one because the next seconds a flashy kid would kick your face or a tank would throw you off a roof.

Red hood likes silence, he never liked too much noise but now he knows his favorite sound is the kid’s giggles whenever he beats a criminal

Now he gets why Bruce loves this kid, he’s filled with energy like a small sun

If the sun was a person, he can bet it would be like this kid.

— Careful, kiddo — Red hood took him by the arm when he was about to fall

This kid sure was an acrobat, the one who gives you a heart attack every time he jumps somewhere

He is grateful he didn’t meet Dick when he was a kid, by the way Alfred talks about it it seems like they are alike

— Sorry! I’m just too excited! It’s my first time patrolling with someone besides Batman, haha! — and everything stopped

His giggle, usually a sound he could recall being with E now became one louder, clear and..

Familiar

He tried to push it aside, god knows he tried, but now everytime this kid laugh he could hear that man, he hates recognizing it

He can play it off, he can

He can’t.

Now it’s everywhere, the kid could just breath and he could hear the loud laugh he hates hearing even in his own head

He can’t stop hearing it, he is feeling crazier everytime this kid laughs

God he wants to yell him til he stops laughing, but he can’t, not when this kid is asking if he is okay

He isn’t.

That’s the worst part

Taking a deep breath they walk to an alley to check a woman they saved from getting robbed, his mind wanders trying to find something to calm his feeling

And a green shine made him look to a corner

A crowbar.

A fucking crow bar, this is getting worse everytime

He breaths, trying to put the emotion aside

And then he laughs

He laughs like him

He looses it, his body moves by its own, he’s already grabbing the crowbar

He’s already walking to the kid who just walked the girl out of the alley

— Brother, I think we should head back to the man- —

His small body falls to the ground, immediately he grabs his head hissing at the pain

His hand is covered in blood, he looked at Red hood trying to find an answer but he only received a hit on the ribs.

The helmet is too much for Red hood to handle, he takes it off before hitting the big body below him

That’s Joker, his mind knows is Joker even if everything looks green

He knows it, he knows it by the way he laughs everytime he hits him with the crowbar

Only Joker would laugh at him while he kills him

The kid must be protected, he sure is hiding out in fear to find Joker in a normal patrol.

— Oracle! — he hears Joker yell, god, when did he started yapping? He is probably cursing his family names

He can’t let him, he can’t

No matter how much Barbara screams through the helmet to make him stop

He is ending this here, he can’t stop until he is dead.

He sits on his abdomen, punching his face until he can’t recognize him by the way he is looking now

Then he sees it

When the green disappears, he can see his little brother laying on the ground

He can’t recognize his face, he knows it’s him for his Robin costume, and he looks so bad

Jason looks at his hands, filled with blood

His brother’s blood.

Someone yells at him, it’s Dick

He isn’t in uniform, he is on his civilian clothes like Oracle called him out of fear of what could happen to the kid.

He can feel how Dick shakes his shoulders trying to take him out of the daze he is in

But he can’t, he can only see at his little brother who isn’t breathing anymore.

He wants to hear him laugh again, just a last time.

[writingdevil]

I LOVED the last ParaCold fic you wrote, it was so so good -- if you have any ideas for writing for them again, I'd love to read it! Consider this a request? :D

Though if you would rather, I'd also be happy to read anything you wrote for Broken/Paranoid or Contrarian/Hero~ Take your pick, I love everything you write!

(I WILL NEVER SAY NO TO PARACOLD! Thank you, because the paracold fics are some of my favorite, and I always seem to get possessed when it comes to them and also Skeptunist, so I hope this one is good as well! Enjoy!)

"I'm sorry."

Cold spoke into the darkness of their bedroom, staring at a wall for so long that his eyes were beginning to burn, his brain refusing sleep to him.

On the other side of the bed, there was the sound of light and hesitant shuffling, but nothing else.

Cold sighed, gripping the pillow that he was clutching desperately to his chest with even more strength, as if it could actually replicate the touch that he was so used to.

"I'm sorry," Cold repeated, louder this time, and the shuffling grew louder as well, until it stopped as Paranoid spoke up, "You're not sorry."

"I am," Cold replied, feeling an urge to roll around and look Paranoid in the eyes, but he knew nothing good would come from that, nothing that Cold hasn't experienced before.

Cold wouldn't have considered himself an apologetic person, but then again, he also wouldn't have thought that he would actually feel something for someone else.

He couldn't believe that Paranoid was the one to keep Cold's attention for long enough that he began to grow attached to him.

Cold thought the fluttering feeling would go away once he realised how pointless emotions like that were, and it wasn't like Paranoid, of all people, would feel the same. He kept trying to ignore how much calmer and lighter everything felt when Paranoid walked into a room, or spoke to Cold about anything.

But it only got stronger, and Cold was experiencing emotions that were maddening and exhilarating at the same time, and he wasn't sure how he could possibly numb this type of attraction.

He didn't want to, was the simple answer. Cold didn't want to get rid of these feelings for Paranoid, and the memory of Paranoid almost breaking down at the sight of Cold falling gravely ill, was enough to let Cold know that some emotions didn't need to numbed, no matter how confusing they were.

Cold remembers Paranoid never leaving his side as he nursed him back to health, and the second that Cold had opened his eyes, Paranoid had leapt with joy, throwing his arms around him and rambling how he was scared that Cold wouldn't make it.

The only thing Cold really cared about from that day, was taking Paranoid's face in his hands and seeing if kissing him was as good as he imagined.

It was better.

But right now, Cold couldn't have imagined how awful he would feel in this moment.

"I wouldn't lie to you, darling- you know that." There was the faint sound of feathers bristling against the sheets, and Cold's lips twitched in amusement, at still having this effect on Paranoid even when they were fighting.

Cold didn't really care about petnames, but they evidently had an effect on Paranoid, so he liked to see those reactions whenever he could.

Paranoid sighed, sounding heavier than Cold wished. "I know that but-"

Cold waited for him to continue, but instead, he heard more aggressive rustling, feeling Paranoid squirm and inch away on the other side of the bed. "But I'm still mad at you, so I'm not ready to forgive."

The small kernel of hope quickly died within Cold, and he became more and more aware of how much he hated this situation.

Cold was used to silence. He was used to doing things solo. He was used to the others not really understanding or indulging in his interests. That was all fine by Cold. It was usually better that way.

Cold was used to being alone. But Cold was not used to being lonely.

He wasn't used to feeling this creeping darkness drowning him, making him feel so far away from the rest of the flock, even when he was physically next to them, and right now, even when they were barely five feet apart- Cold has never felt more lonely and lost.

He hugged the pillow to his body tighter, but it should've been Paranoid he was holding onto.

"My intentions are never to hurt you," Cold tried, and was met with a curt, "I know."

He sighed, burying his face into the pillow, imagining it was Paranoid's small but soft feathers, and with the scent of lavender that constantly followed the anxious bird.

"It's just-" Paranoid began, and then he sighed sharply, "I don't want you to think that I'm mad about you discovering something, because I'm not. I'm mad because you took it too far this time."

"How did I 'take it too far'?" Cold asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice, even if he knew that would only make things worse.

"Because you left for days!" Paranoid snapped, his voice getting dangerously loud for the middle of the night. "You left without a word and I had no idea where you were or if you were even safe!"

"I was looking for something," was Cold's explanation, one that didn't mean much to Paranoid, apparently.

"I don't care what weird thing you were looking for this time! You need to tell me!"

"Would it have changed anything?" Cold quietly asked, and Paranoid had no response for that.

Cold sighed again, wishing that this argument never happened in the first place. It was getting in the way of Cold feeling the emotions that he much preferred, along with filling his chest with a warmth that he hadn't known he needed.

"I'm sorry for yelling," Paranoid mumbled tiredly. "I'm sorry that we're fighting."

"We fight all the time," Cold pointed out, and it was true. Most of their time was spent discussing topics and trying to get the other to see their point of view. Other times, it was either Paranoid berating him for being reckless or getting hurt, or Cold scolding Paranoid for not telling him that he was about to have a panic attack.

"I know but I never like it," Paranoid said, and there was the sound of him wrapping the blankets closer to him. "I never like getting mad at the people I love, no matter how often it happens- especially not you."

Cold hummed in response. He would say that arguments were something he enjoyed getting into, but when it came to Paranoid, his chest began to ache at the thought of them, and their most recent one had been bad.

'You don't even care about how others will feel! Not even me!'

'Maybe you need to stop being such a smothering mother hen to me all the time.'

Usually Cold welcomed any and all emotions that caused something to shift within his heart, that gave him something new to feel. But this feeling-this feeling of frigid loneliness when his partner was physically right there-

Cold couldn't take it.

It was torture.

He looked down at the pillow he was holding. He was using a pillow as a substitute for where Paranoid should be in his arms. Was a fight really worth being this pathetic? Was it worth this distance and pain?

No, Cold decided.

Slowly, Cold lifted his head, looking over his shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of Paranoid-and his eyes widened in shock.

He had assumed that when Paranoid took the blankets, he had cocooned himself in them for comfort, like he usually did.

But Cold was surprised to see that instead, Paranoid had taken the blanket, rolled it up, and pressed it against his back-almost as if trying to replicate someone pressing up to him from behind.

"Love," Cold whispered, twisting around to face his partner. Paranoid flinched, before glancing over his shoulder, and his eyes immediately went to the pillow in Cold's grasp.

Their eyes locked.

Then the next thing they knew, they were scrambling and grabbing for each other.

Cold pulled Paranoid flush against him, sighing at the warmth he provided, as Paranoid frantically cupped his face and brought him into a desperate kiss.

Cold's entire body relaxed as he clung to Paranoid, tossing the pillow to the side. They kissed with an urgency, as if this was the last time that they would embrace like this. It reminded Cold of their first kiss.

When they separated, Paranoid kept his arms wrapped tight around Cold's neck. His feathers were a mess, and there was a wild spark in his eyes that Cold couldn't look away from.

Paranoid took a sharp breath in, ducking his head as he whispered, "I don't want to fight with you."

"I don't want to, either," Cold agreed, and then after a second or two, he nervously added, "I don't like how it makes me feel."

Paranoid sighed tiredly, then hugged Cold as if they had been lovers separated for years, and not two hours. He rested his head in the crook of Cold's neck, nuzzling into feathers that were constantly freezing, like they were the only thing to provide comfort to Paranoid.

Cold closed his eyes, focusing on the way that Paranoid felt, how his breathing evened out, and how all the tension left his body.

"I'm- sorry for worrying you," Cold said softly, his hands running up and down Paranoid's back. "I truly never like being the reason you panic so much."

"I know," Paranoid mumbled, then leaned back to look Cold in the eye. "I meant what I said though-I don't mind if you go off and look for whatever- I just wish you'd tell me so that I'm not just running around and losing my mind over where you are."

That was fair. Cold often forgot about the rest of the world when his mind fixated on one thing, but Paranoid had to be that exception. Not unless he wanted to feel that loneliness again.

"Or better yet, just ask me to come with you," Paranoid added, and that made Cold observe him in surprise.

"You would do that?" Cold asked, and Paranoid was confused for a moment, before Cold continued, "You would follow me to whatever dark corner of the world that I find myself in?"

Paranoid looked worried for a split second, before steely determination replaced it. "If it meant keeping you safe, yes. I'd follow you wherever."

A rush of excitement and warmth was bubbling up within him, along with a wicked grin that was reserved only for Paranoid's eyes, and he brought his love into another kiss, gently resting against the pillows, sighing as sleep finally began to catch up on them.

He gently laid Paranoid's head on his chest and whispered, "Then follow me into slumber, darling. I won't be far from you ever again."

[bonefall]

Honest question, how do you think Clear Sky would react if he got yeeted to the Dark Forest upon death. I've been thinking about this for an AU and I have how I'll do it, but I'm super curious how you'd approach it because I like hearing you talk about the worst man ever

Oh he'd build an empire. Like. Immediately. First couple of cats that fall in with him would end up getting turned into his lackeys.

I lean into the Christian coding a lot but like, unironically, Clear Sky is the sort of dramaturge who could deliver lines out of Paradise Lost without breaking a sweat

Paradise Lost is about how Satan's ego lead him to oppose God, how he justifies hanging onto his anger at having had his ass kicked, and how he rallies all his demons to continue to fight for a lost cause they can't possibly win. Milton basically wrote it to connect that theme to humanity itself, exploring the various ways that Satan and humans aren't so different.

It just feels so right with Clear Sky in mind. Everyone knows the "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven" line that the speech in Book 1 ends with, but the CONTEXT of Satan's words there is that he's looking at all his fallen allies doing the family guy death post at literally rock bottom, all these people who lost everything by following him, and he's giving them a pep talk.

"Ok yes. It smells like a sulphuric fart, the lights keep flickering, and everything is on fire," says Satan, "But maybe this is a you-problem. I'M this funny little thing called an ✨optimist✨ and you know what? Maybe God never built a minecraft base here because he's the real loser. YOU can say it's hell but you know what I call it? Free real estate babey. NOW LET'S GO FUCK WITH HIM!!!!"

And that's honestly the EXACT way I see Clear Sky reacting to something like that. Like he'd ever just lay down and die?? HELL no. He'd be PISSED that StarClan was SO UNGRATEFUL to him, that they did something so spiteful and unfair. Sure, he Made Some Mistakes, but he had to make HARD choices, and he was NEVER WRONG, and deserves his place being honored.

He might briefly have a moment of self-pity, woefully consider just giving up... but in the end, his damning would make him so mad. He'd want to get back at them as soon as his brief pity party is over (just like he did with One Eye), and he's absolutely incapable of ever NOT bossing other cats around. He just needs one or two goons before he's got a little base of power, and you KNOW that cats like Petal would do anything to go fight by his side again.

So yeah. If you're asking me, sending Clear Sky to the Dark Forest would unironically just result in the devil. And you'd have a great opportunity there, because StarClan SUCKS.

Both sides would be terrible options and you can really expand on the unfairness of WC's afterlife system, and the way that banishing a person like Clear Sky to an eternal prison with other desperate cats just ends up enabling and empowering his worst impulses.

[psuejo]

❥ tied him down to my queen bed!

“fuuuck, baby—”

never in toji fushiguro’s thirty-eight years of living has he let himself get tied up. not during jobs, always too quick and nimble to even let them get close, nor when he was sleeping around. he was always on top, always the one tying them down and fucking them silly.

yet here he is, thick wrists and ankles bound to the posts of your bedframe, legs spread just for you. he can’t help it, not when you’re bouncing on his dick like a see-saw, a repetitive up and down that has those lightning veins dragging through your gooey insides.

“mmmgh, s-shit,” he moans, and it teeters off into a breathy chuckle, practically drowning in feigned confidence. even now, toji still wants to save face with that wobbly smirk on his face, though you definitely know better.

god, he feels like a teenager again, balls heavy and aching cock sensitive to every slight flutter and suctioning clamp of your sweet pussy. it’s like you’ve cast a spell on him, made him weak to your soft touches, the gentle bat of your long lashes, the feeling of your reverent lips peppering his face in endless kisses whenever he returns from a job.

that’s precisely how he ended up like this, tied down to your bed with just a small pout of your glossy lips and a few low, choice words whispered into his ear that’d had his pants instantly growing tight.

it hasn’t even been ten minutes, and toji’s ready to cum. you see it in the way his eyes keep fluttering like he’s having to fight the urge to let them roll back, how his hips don’t stop bucking up into you, shoving his dick in deep enough to create that perfect, cylindrical bulge in your tummy that has him drooling with endless moans and barely bitten off whimpers.

“c’mon, doll, un... mmf— untie me.” his hands flex, testing the barely sufficient restraints. “lemme f-fuck you right. that’s what ya want, y-yeah? jus’ untie me, baby, hah—”

you shake your head, hands on his chest as you up your pace, a familiar pressure building low in your spine. “you p-promised, toji.”

he did promise, he knows that, and he hates breaking them, but with the way you’re now swiveling your hips in torturous figure-eights, snug cunt milking him for all he’s worth, he is genuinely not gonna last.

“baby, pleaseee? you feel s-so fucking good, toji, god—” your voice is as sweet as ever, making the thick walls around toji’s mind melt into goopy, lovesick puddles and his balls draw up tight.

he doesn’t mean to cum before you, honest, but when you’re talking to him like that and riding him so good, he can’t help but pump thick, hot ropes of cum right into your womb, jaw slack for a long, whiny groan.

you don’t even get the chance to process the tears in his eyes before the ropes snap, two big hands coming down on your waist and flipping you right onto your back.

“toji, hnngh, wait—!”

your boyfriend just gives a rough shake of his head, the ropes sliding free from his wrists and ankles as he hikes your legs around his waist. his dark fringe falls in front of his face, and, for a foolish moment, you think he’s going to listen.

but toji has never been good at being submissive for long, even with you.

with a rough snap of his hips, he slams home, pushing that previous load of cum even deeper. “n-nah. ‘s my turn now.”

[wainawtmai]

thinking of satoru dating mean!reader who absolutely despises any sort of pda. All of his students wonder how he’d even managed to woo you when you dodged his kisses, cringed at his excessive compliments, and shooed him away every time he tried to hug you like the touch-obsessed bug he was. It was a wonder that you guys were even together.

…well, it was kind of hard to brush him off when he was balls deep inside you.

“fuuuck, you’re taking me so well, baby.” satoru moans, that stupidly pretty grin on his lips as he watches your pussy absolutely gobble up the length of his cock. You tremble from the feeling, struggling to bite back your moans as his thick dick thrusts up into you. You hate the way the sound of his voice makes your body buzz with heat, a mix of embarrassment and lust that you both hate and love.

“so wet and ready for me all the time, aren’t you?” you know part of him does it to get a rise out of you, the sadistic little shit liked watching you squirm and sputter, all flustered at the sound of his voice.

and as per usual, you told yourself you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, “S-Shut up.” you mean for it to come off as a warning but it sounds more like a pitiful whine. You can’t help it with the way he thrusts up into you, mouthing sloppy kisses into your skin in between his sinful words.

“you know you love me,” he sings into your ear, “You loveee the way my cock fills you up, don’t deny it, baby.” as if to further emphasize his point he brings his hands to the meat of your ass, prying you further open and drilling into you, fucking into that spot that drove you insane. You couldn’t even try to hide your disgusting moans and whimpers, nails digging into the skin of his arms as you tried and failed to fight the pleasure.

“what did I say,” he sing-songs, bringing a hand to your clit and rubbing at it with quick circles, “I’ve turned you into such a pretty mess.” of course he still has that Cheshire-sized grin on his face, his crystal eyes mesmerized by the sight of your grinding hips and the slickness you leave along his cock with each thrust he makes into your trembling pussy. Listening to the desperate little sounds you swore you didn’t make when he pressed a finger to your clit. Rendered absolutely useless. He loved seeing you like this.

“so pretty.” satoru moans, his voice slightly slurring with pleasure, “so—fuck—g-gorgeous all fucked out for me.”

you mustered up what was left of your strength to slap a hand over his lips, silencing him as you shuddered from your orgasm. “shut up, s-satoru.”

But you could see that look in his eyes: framed by those annoyingly pretty white lashes, blue and mischievous—or at least more so than usual. He brought his own hand to your weakening one, pulling your fingers into his mouth and sucking on them with a loud whorish moan, all the while still pounding into you.

“Mnghfuck you, satoru.” You garble, whimpering with overstimulation despite still grinding down against his cock in time with his thrusts, you hated how much he knew you loved being overstimulated, the freaky little fuck.

He only hummed in response, too occupied with your fingers to respond, practically deep-throating the index and middle. You could feel his chest rumble with amused laughter as he watched you fall apart once again, your skin tingling with the shock of your second orgasm. He followed you soon after, aquamarine eyes lidding as he practically gagged on your fingers, emptying himself into you with a long, drawn out moan.

You tiredly pull your fingers out of his mouth, slightly missing the warmth, and practically fell on top of him. But before your eyes could flutter closed, you felt Satoru throb, your cheeks heating as you remember the nasty fucker also had a thing for overstimulation.

You swear as his thrusts continue, fucking his milky cum dripping between your thighs back into you. And despite how much you tell yourself his words were annoying, his murmurs of imagining your fingers as your clit as he sucked at them, drove you to the edge all over again.

Maybe you didn’t hate it.

[webism]

pornstar!choso has a curated look that throws off a lot of his costars. strong build, straight-set face, hands made to choke and tear… most of those he film with don’t expect to be doted on the entire time.

people joke that pornstar!choso falls a little bit in love with every costar he fucks or gets fucked by. that glossy look that always pulls at his face by the time a scene ends, how his lip trembles with a need to be kissed raw when he cums. he says it's just the bliss of his orgasm—that he gets emotional in the moment, but it doesn't mean anything. well, until he meets you.

pornstar!choso who looks you up before his shoot because your name sounded vaguely familiar when it left his agents lips. he could have sworn you'd fucked before, because when he rolls the syllables of your name on his tongue they're nostalgic and taste like the sweat and laboured breaths of a long night between satin sheets. had you shot a scene together before? or had it been a one night stand?

pornstar!choso who realises that no, he hadn't slept with you before. but the familiarity of your name isn't a coincidence—he's fucked his fist to your videos more times than he can count. your name hits him like lightning, he had typed it into his search bar late in the night, cock hard and in need of instant relief. it's almost scary how well he knows you, what sounds you make when you get close to cumming, how you often arch your back and try to run from the overwhelming pleasure, how your eyebrows knit together when you're feeling so good it almost hurts.

pornstar!choso who realises with a now-red face that you probably don't have a clue who he is, and yet he's cum in time with you for months now. he's pretty sure he's drained his wallet at least twice on your cam shows... what if you recognise his name and piece it together with his username that he donates under? he debates cancelling the shoot, faking covid to get some time at home to hate himself endlessly.

but pornstar!choso realises that this is his chance to get to know how you really feel. he's imagined it so many times, as he fucked fake pussies or his closed fist using spit or his own cum as lube. you'd be warmer, undoubtedly tighter... so much prettier. and he wants to know more: would you prefer to take control and turn him into the toys he so often pretends are you? would you lay back all pretty and let him ruin you on his cock? how deep could you take him he knows he's big but you seem so eager, would you take him to the base with ease or would he have to force it in? bully your pretty pussy until it stretches to his shape?

pornstar!choso who hates the fact that your first, and possibly only, time together would be in front of a production crew and under the unsympathetic lights of a porn set. but he'd fuck on a stage in front of thousands if it means a taste of you.

pornstar!choso who makes it to the shoot before you do, comes ten minutes early to settle his anxieties and get a feel for the scene ahead. the director tells him its a simple shoot, that choso is meant to let you ride him for a while until you pull off and suck his cock for a nice close-up facial shot. the way the director speaks so clinically about sex with you makes choso grimace, he feels pathetic for feeling like this. like he'll be a changed man after feeling you around his cock, which is already painfully hard.

pornstar!choso who hates himself for stumbling over his words when he meets you. he wishes he had never looked you up, though he doesn't doubt seeing your pretty face like this would have wrecked his confidence regardless. you're kind, greet him with a shy smile as if he isn't about to slip balls deep inside of you.

pornstar!choso who, once he has you sitting on top of him on that bed—cameras pointed dutifully as you start to play your role and hike your skirt up so you can sink down on his cock—he can't handle the thought of fucking you like it's nothing, like it's not been the crux of his fantasies in the dark hours at night.

pornstar!choso who, probably to the detriment of his career, pushes you backwards onto the bed and connects his lips to yours in a kiss that surpasses every single fantasy he's had in his mind. you taste good, and he wants more. he speaks against your lips, asks whines a question that makes your stomach coil. 'can i eat you out first? please?'

pornstar!choso who is chided by the production team as he gets his head under your skirt and laps at your pussy in the most desperate act of need he thinks he's ever displayed. those that claim he falls in love with each shoot would be wholly correct in this case: he is in love with the taste of you, with the way your legs trap him in and ask for more. he could eat you for hours, run his tongue from your clit to dip it inside of you in reverence of the goddess he believes you to be. and you laugh at the absurdity of his hunger, at the courage it takes to run off script, and the pure need in which he eats you out.

pornstar!choso who only stops once the director threatens to cut the scene entirely. his cock hurts with how hard it is though, and he thinks the redirection of blood has made him lightheaded, because when he's made to sit back and let you sink down onto his length he swears he meets god.

pornstar!choso who can't help his whines as you ride him, an addiction already laying down roots in his brain. he has to try and think of anything less godly than you to hold on to his orgasm though, because the combination of your body and having subconsciously trained himself to associate you with climaxing is all too strong, and he's a hairs breadth away from cumming prematurely and ruining the scene.

pornstar!choso who realises as you continue, however, that your moans arent the same as he's heard them before, though the speakers of his phone. you're more breathy with him, your moans are less honeyed, more raw—as if coming from your chest rather than your throat. he wonders for a moment if he's not good enough, if you're having to fake your pleasure to save face for the cameras. but you're soaked, and even above the sounds of your shared pleasure he can still hear the squelch of his cock rutting in and out of you.

but before pornstar!choso can question himself further, your eyes are widening and you're latching a hand onto his throat as your pace increases. he can feel the way you tighten impossibly around him, the way your hips stutter and your pupils blow out with lust—you're cumming. and of course he remembers his instructions, to let you climb off of him and take his load over your face... but you're not climbing off of him.

pornstar!choso who understands the pointed look you manage to give him, that it's your turn to bypass the scene direction. you want to be greedy, to feel him finish inside of you, even through the confines of a condom. your moans arent fake, they're the first real ones you've let sound on a porn set—and choso is pulling them from your lungs like a choir's conductor.

pornstar!choso who can't last a minute longer, now with the way you lean in and coax him to climax with your voice, the soft praise that leaves your lips is an aphrodisiac and all too powerful. he sees stars when he cums, full blown galaxies too complex to imagine. call it an out-of-body experience or not, but choso is lost in his orgasm for long enough to warrant you bringing him back down with a soft kiss to his lips. he looks sinful: his hairs come loose, messy and stuck to his forehead. his eyes, though, are what's going to be the subject of a few screenshots taken by his fans: he looks totally infatuated.

pornstar!choso who, after taking a few minutes to settle himself after the shoot, watches as you walk over to him, a very pretty smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you lean down and peck his lips goodbye. he assumes it's the last he'll see of you, that there's no way he's worthy of every tasting you again. that night, he's scared to brush his teeth, to lose the way you linger on his tongue.

pornstar!choso who debates fucking his fist to the memory of you in bed that night. he thinks you've ruined masturbation for him, or sex in general: nothing could quite be the same. and as if its a sign from god that he's done enough good in his life to deserve some positive karma, his phone dings.

a photo of you, a pretty vibrator laid over your stomach. your laptop open in the background, his porn playing on the screen.

attached, a message that makes the poor boy cum in his pyjama bottoms. 'lets meet up again. i want to tie you up and film how stupid you get with a vibe strapped to your cock—a movie just for us, though. no audience.'

pt 2 in the works :p

[tteokdoroki]

tw ! smut, mdni, aged up characters, corruption kink, fem!reader.

megumi is so into corruption and he almost hates himself for it.

he likes the shy girls with little to no experience who go all wide eyed and squirmy when they’re told something nasty. he likes the girls who’s brains get a little bit fuzzy when they’re praised for the first time, when calling them a good girl makes their lashes flutter and their skin warm up.

megumi likes the girls who need to be guided through big crowds or held up in tight spaces because they’re a little clumsy and might fall. he has a l dirty little thing for the ones who post pictures with their pouty, glossy lips and pictures the same pigment smeared along his lengthy dick — teaching them how to suck it just right, messing up their angel faces with tears and spit and all sorts. sometimes he likes to be needed by sweet, innocent things who wear their skirts a little too short and adorn those frilly ankle socks that are enough to drive a man like him mad.

maybe it’s a little gross of him, to prey on the weak and the pure — slaughtering them like a lion feasting on a lamb. he can’t help that he likes the way your the lace frills around your ankles socks dangle over his broad shoulders when fucks you deep and slow against your girly sheets, amongst your soft plushies and pillows.

he can’t help but to relish the taste of your drooly lips and the sound of your babyish tears when he hits that special spot along your sticky, wet insides. megumi wants someone to dote on, someone to press into the sheets and ruin for better ( or for worse ). he wants to be the one who teaches these precious little gems like you how to be bad and the perfect little fuck toy all for him.

flashes of guilt often cross his mind, makes his brows crease at the centre of his forehead midway through bending you over the edge of your bed and ploughing your poor pussy until there’s a darkened wet patch staining your sheets. he really shouldn’t be doing this, not to someone as innocent as you. who doesn’t know any better.

but then you cry out his name in warbled gibberish, reaching back for fushiguro’s large, veiny hand because you like being used by this and how he makes your legs tremble and shooting stars strike a path before your very own glossy eyes. you like this just as much as he does. and suddenly, megumi doesn’t care

because he’s found a twisted happiness in the idea of corrupting you so bad that no one else can satisfy the misguided, devious thoughts in your head. so that you’ll seek him out for pleasure and pain, because you know just what he likes and he’s taught you exactly what he wants you to like. <3

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[screampied]

sukuna never says “i love you.”

to him, the words are meaningless. he’s been alive for thousands and thousands of years, of course he knows what it means. he’s not stupid, but for some reason—every time it comes out of your little human mouth, his heart aches. you say it so sweetly with the cheekiest grin on your face, not a single care in the world. he hated it. three words, eight letters of pure rubbish. at least, that’s what he thinks to himself. for sukuna, he expresses his love in a different way.

physical touch. flicking your forehead, teasing you, saying things he’d never say to you while you were awake. that was his version of love, he didn’t need those stupid, stupid words. or did he?

“love you, ‘kuna,” you’d pepper another kiss against his cheek. he tchs, the audacity for you to do something so embarrassing. he never says it back but you know deep down he’s got to feel at least something in that cold heart of his. he just has to, after all you did steal his heart in a way. and he stole yours. your eyes always had a glinting sparkle whenever those words would come out and he hated it. his response to you saying you loved him would always be the same.

“yeah yeah,” he gruffs. or a simple, “i know..”

but— there’d be a time where he’d regret not saying it back. a cold, cruel time where it’s just you and him, no one else. except, it would really just be him.

sukuna had a hard time at expression his feelings. it’s not like he hated you—despite his rough, barbarous persona.

he didn’t hate you but he did. it was complicated. it was a struggle trying to put it into words. all he knew was that he loathed how soft you made him, he noticed his behavior would change around you overtime. sukuna’s voice was get more gentle, his shoulders would relax, and he’d always finding himself flicking your forehead for some strange reason. it’s annoying,

you’re annoying.

the feeling was love though, it had to be.

had to be,

so the moment comes where he regrets not saying it back.

it’s something he’d continuously beat himself up over for. because now, here you are, laid all out near the ground in his arms. all four of his arms held you in a tight, cradling embrace and he’s got an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. sukuna’s scarlet red irises were blown and fearfully dilated. his thin nostrils flared up and his slit brows contort in panic and confusion.

sukuna ryomen was scared.

“brat. get up.” he murmurs, three simple words was all he said to you. three simple words but you could barely even hear them.

all you heard was a brief inaudible mumble. you saw his lips moving but barely any sound came out. your body felt crushed, the pain was excruciating. your limbs, they felt like they were on fire. getting up was the last thing on your mind and you’ve probably sone the most careless thing imaginable.

you took a hit for sukuna, a deadly hit that was powerful enough to cost you your life. it’s funny though—all the talk of seeing your life flash before your eyes, and now, being snatched into the inevitable end, you were starting to really see it.

“get up,” he repeats, and this time, a single tear falls right onto your cheek. you meet sukuna’s gaze. the king of curses was a mere mess right before your eyes. he was like this for just you. teary eyed and sniffling, he can’t stand this pain.

you’re being held in his lap and not once does his eyes leave yours. sukuna takes a while to speak again and it’s as if he’s carefully thinking of what to say. time was precious right now, but he didn’t wanna think about anything. his focus was solely on you, his favorite little human.

“can you hear me? say something.”

“you .. you’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning too much, ‘kuna.” you hum, a weak finger stroking against his cheek.

archons, for whatever reason, that little comment brought a smile to his face. you were so annoying to him and yet, he wouldn’t wanna be in anyone else’s presence. everything hurt though,

your body felt scorchingly hot, your pulse remains to ring through your ears and you were wheezing a bit. “hey, hey,” he watches as you try to cling onto his hand. sukuna didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say - all he did do though, was hold you. it was the least thing he could do. your hand was so small compared to his, his long fingernails gently tickling against your skin.

he didn’t have it in him to scold you for trying to protect him. as fragile of a being you knew you were, you did it anyway. you risked your life for him. sukuna let his guard down and you jumped right in the way without a second thought for yourself. that’s what love was, his heart bleeds at the recent flashback before a shaky breath leaves his lips. “this wasn’t supposed to happen. you can’t leave me like this, please.”

“i’m not l- leaving.” you reply, your voice weak and frail. sukuna knew that was a lie. the more you stared at him, how the look of worry on his face paints and marinates his features, he was really scared. you were his everything, his breath of fresh air, maybe even his one true love. “never gonna leave you, sukuna.”

and sukuna lays there with you on his lap. you seem still - too still. right before his eyes, he watches as your body’s temp run cold, final breaths making its introduction. everything was going so fast. he barely had time to react before he realized,

you were gone.

“no,” he whispers under his breath. the demon was at a loss of words. the feeling in his chest, it was indescribable. painful, and tight as he watches the light leave your eyes, something within him leaves also. a part of him. you were drifting away and there was nothing he could do about it. “no.” he repeats against, feeling a dull ache run cold through his body. sukuna didn’t know what to do. he’s seeing red, but perhaps that wasn’t just bloodshed and anger. maybe, maybe it was the one true feeling he was denying all along,

love.

his breaths become heavy once he realizes you’re actually gone. no movement, no cheeky replies, no random “i love you ‘kuna’s,” no nothing. the tear in his heart was enough to make him see the light with you. it hurt horribly, a lump in his throat builds up before he starts to weep. one tear comes then multiple shortly follow, landing past the thin fabric of his sown kimono and onto your lifeless body.

sukuna hated you. he hated how you made him so soft, so vulnerable, so weak. you came into sukuna’s life, stole his heart, and also broke it.

as his eye twitches, his smile had already faded once you left him.

for the first time in centuries, sukuna was defeated. his enemy wasn’t a sorcerer, a curse, or even himself who he believed was his true worse enemy. sukuna ryomen was defeated by four simple letters, love. not only did you leave him in tears, but you also left him with an engagement ring inside his right palm.

he was far too late, he was gonna propose to you. that way, he’d build up the courage to say those stupid, stupid words. opening up his right hand, he stares at the ring he wanted to give you way earlier before this incident even happened. sukuna waited too long, he’d actually plan this for quite some time but again, he was scared.

with a defeated sigh, he surrenders, glancing at you for one last time. no smile on your face anymore but he just used his imagination. there you laid, peaceful, almost as if you were asleep. taking a deep breath, sukuna gives you his last gentle forehead flick before finally telling you the words he’s been longing to say for years.

“i … i love you too, brat. never leavin’ you either.”

[irinochka25]

Did Charles commit suicide?

What if he didn’t go north... What if he left for good? (A soul-crushing headcanon about Charles Smith)

What if Charles took his own life? Yes, yes, just like that — what if he left, not north, but FOR GOOD. I keep thinking about this more and more. Because so much about him screams — “I can’t do this anymore.”

Everyone says: he went to Canada. Oh sure, sure. But maybe it’s time to stop repeating that comforting bedtime story. Canada was mentioned once, barely, like a breath. But in another dialogue — he says he wants to go to INDOCHINA. Can you imagine? Indochina! Where is that, and where’s Canada, and where is he? He’s lost. He’s torn. He doesn’t know where to go. Because he feels at home NOWHERE. And all of this — it’s not a plan. It’s emptiness. It’s pain wrapped in scraps of fantasy.

And when he tells John: “What does your family need an old gunslinger for?” — that’s NOT A JOKE. That’s a scream. A plea. A wound masked as a smile. Because he’s the outsider among friends. He’s the extra. He’s just... there. But he’s not part of it. And he knows that. Feels it in his bones. In his heart.

He doesn’t even sleep in the house. Doesn’t sleep on the property. Wanders into the woods. Into the dark. Into solitude. Some would say — it’s just habit, right? He’s used to the wild. Used to isolation. Bullshit. It’s not habit. It’s escape. Because being close — hurts. Watching Abigail, watching John, watching their child — it’s like a blade across the soul. Their dream came true. And him? Who is he? He’s — no one. Once, he was an outcast among outcasts. Now he’s just... the only one left. Alone among the joyful.

And the doubts he voices to John — “Will this life be enough for you?” — that’s not about John. That’s about himself. He’s asking himself. He doesn’t believe happiness is possible for him. That he deserves it. That he’s even capable of feeling something other than this tight, choking loneliness.

And that talk about going north, starting a family, finding a woman... I DON’T BELIEVE IT. NOT A SINGLE WORD. It sounds like a script. A rehearsed line. A mask. A way to say something so they’ll stop asking. He has no plan. No place. No direction. He says it himself. “I don’t know where.”

Not Canada. Not Wapiti. He could’ve gone back there a hundred times. In eight years. But he didn’t. Because he never saw it as home. It was something lost, something nostalgic — not a place he was needed.

And just finding a woman? Really? This is Charles. A man who lets NO ONE in. He’s built like a fortress. In his mind. In his soul. In his silence. And if he lets someone in — it’s forever. And if he doesn’t — no one gets close. This isn’t about “settling down.” This is about finding a soul that moves him. And those are rare. Maybe one. Maybe none.

He says: “These last eight years, I’ve come to accept the things I can’t change.” Is that supposed to be hope? It’s not acceptance. It’s surrender. That’s not light at the end of the tunnel — it’s the tunnel closing in. It’s numbness. It’s emptiness.

And John, dear John… tells him: “You’re the strongest man I know.” I HATE THAT PHRASE. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE SAY IT ABOUT HIM. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE SAY IT ABOUT ME. It’s NOT strength. It’s survival. It’s when life beats you so hard, all you learn is not to fall. It’s not a choice. It’s endurance. He’s not strong. He’s exhausted. He’s shattered. He’s lonely, he’s silent, and he’s so, so tired.

Even if he met “the one” — would she love him? The real him? The broken one? The quiet one? The distant one? Or would she fall for the mask — for the “I’ve made peace with the past” lie? And if she never sees the real Charles — how could he ever be happy with her? He doesn’t do halfway. Not him.

Abigail and John are different. She knew his pain. All of it. His monsters. His sorrow. She accepted it. Who would accept Charles? Who even knows who he became?

And in that last ride... he says: “I’m heading north.” Turns down Sadie’s offer to work together. Says it’s time to move on. But what if he wasn’t moving forward. What if he was moving toward the end.

(Another powerful and unwavering argument for me: we all remember how Charles and John ride out to save Uncle in the epilogue — and how Charles, with a chilling steadiness, says that if the uncle’s wounds are too severe, the only mercy left would be to help him cross over. He speaks of killing — not driven by hatred, not poisoned by cruelty — but as a final act of love, a broken, desperate kindness to release a soul from agony. And I ask: was it only uncle’s suffering Charles wished to end? Or was he, too, reaching for a way to quiet his own howling grief? I believe he was. I believe he desperately was.)

What if that was his way of saying goodbye. Softly. Quietly. Not “farewell.” Just — gone. So they could keep living, believing he’s somewhere out there. Alive. Just... far. But in truth — he had already made peace. He had written his ending.

Not to the north. Not to Wapiti. Not to a woman. But to the place where nothing hurts anymore.

And if that’s what happened... if he really left...

...maybe, finally, he found peace.

[fake-bleach]

ROAD TRIP STOP | LOGAN HOWLETT x READER

taking a small road trip with old man logan where you’re halfway to where you need to be, and you're bored out of your mind. unluckily for you, your boyfriend won't possibly give into your antics.

or, logan fucks you in a gas station bathroom <3

word count: 3.3k

WARNINGS/DISCLAIMERS: (18+ only!) fem!reader, porn w/ slight plot lol, piv, unprotected sex, this shit is roughhh, degrading, filthyyy dirty talk, use of pet names, slight choking, coming inside/creampie, manhandling? i guess?, logan refers to himself as "your old man" bc i'm insane, anddd happy ending bc we all know how much i love those! :D

a/n: there aren't nearly enough fics abt old man logan & i need him Badly.

+ logan pictures from @divinesols incredible moodboard <3

ao3 link! | my masterlist

you’re 4 hours into your road trip, and logan, well, being the man he is, hasn’t let you drive a single second.

he tells you that you can just sit there n’ look pretty and that’s good enough for him. but, he’s getting tired, and the nearest hotel isn’t for another 50 miles.

you notice his eyes getting heavier, his body slouching more, his grip on the steering wheel loosening. so, you do what you do best. why not have some harmless fun with your old boyfriend?

your hands subtly inch over to his thighs, fingers trailing the clothed skin just above his knee, and he flinches surprisingly, glancing at you for a moment with that tired face of his.

“what are y’doing? huh?” he asks, with a quirk in his eyebrow and his voice rasping more than usual from his fatigue; it only makes it all the more arousing for you.

you grin, your head turned to look up at him with a sly expression. “just waking you up a bit. you’re practically falling asleep here.”

your fingers move upwards now, slowly but surely, and right before you can reach the spot just below his bulge, he sighs out, gripping your hand to lightly push it off of him.

“not here. got another hour left til’ we’re at the hotel. then, we can rest up, baby.”

you pout, looking at him eagerly. “are you even gonna make it there, lo?” you tease, “your eyes are getting heavier, you’re tired.. why don’t you just let me drive?” you attempt, but you’re knocked down the second you try.

he huffs, shaking his head. “don’t you try that shit. you know what m’gonna say to that.”

you groan at that, rolling your eyes fussily as your head turns to look up at the roof of the car. “you’re insufferable,” you sigh out, jokingly, of course. but, you were with logan long enough to know just how stubborn he could be. that he could almost always be.

which means, you knew exactly how to get what you wanted, in more ways than one. 

let’s just say this way was more fun, anyway.

you let out an exasperated breath before turning back to face him, your eyes lighting up just slightly before you open up your mouth.

“guess i just gotta..” you trail off, hands now on your body with your fingertips grazing the skin on your chest; roaming around the loose shirt you had on. “..entertain myself for the next hour then..”

logan turns his head to you now, eyes fixing on your hand just long enough to catch you slip it underneath your bra, cupping one of your tits. you let out a low moan as you look into his eyes, fingers rolling the nipple there, and he scoffs.

it’s a sound that has your heart racing immediately.

“you’ve been a good girl so far, sweetheart. would hate for you to switch up when we’re almost fuckin’ there.” he warns you, turning his head back to the road, having seen enough. “don’t you start now. gonna make you regret it.”

a pang of arousal hits you just like that, pussy involuntarily clenching around nothing as he threatens you; a threat that you definitely need to see for yourself.

you merely pout at him again, but his words aren’t enough to stop you. not when you’re just getting started.

your hand leaves your breast, slowly inching down your stomach, then to the waistband of your shorts, all with your eyes still locked on him. you bite your lip as your hand breaches underneath the material, testing the waters before your fingers reach the hem of your panties.

fingertips aching to dip into the wet heat, you anticipate your own touch as your hands lower, but an immediate grasp at your wrist stops you completely, eliciting a gasp from your throat.

mouth falling open in shock, you turn to look at the man responsible with that gruff look on his face, and that snarl from him gives you more than enough of a warning.

you clear your throat, letting out a noise of frustration towards your boyfriend as he all but tosses your hand away carelessly.

“knock. it. off. don’t make me say it again.”

logan nearly growls at you, moving in closer to get right in your face; he isn’t playing around, and you know it.

but, god, does it only encourage you more.

it isn’t until logan’s focus is completely back on the road that you test the waters again; your fingers finally inserting themselves into your soft, warm folds, wet and waiting so impatiently.

it makes you moan, a hushed sound that you try your hardest to bite back from releasing, but you’re evidently unsuccessful.

so, before you know it, the truck is swerving, causing you to pull yourself back to hold onto the sides of the car, anywhere that you could grab onto. the wheels squeal loudly as the high pitch penetrates your ears, and logan makes a harsh u-turn without a second to waste.

“lo! what the fuck!” you exclaim loudly, wild eyes reaching for his own, but it’s no use. he’s dead set in front of him, shaking his head furiously as the white of his knuckles present itself from holding onto the wheel so tightly.

he’s had enough of your shit.

his eyes never leave the road in front of him once, never returning to you. no matter how much you talk or try to get him to respond, he doesn’t budge.

instead, for the next 5 minutes, silence fills the space between you as your eyes shut from your frustration. it’s all you really can do at this point.

but, it’s only when the high screech of the wheels halting and the gear being put into park has your eyes opening again, eyes latching onto the bright lights in front of you.

a gas station, and the convenience store’s white luminescent glass reflecting on logan’s face. he’s out the driver’s side as soon as you can look at him, and before you can process it, he’s dragging you out of the truck, slamming the door shut as he does so.

you scramble against him, fists almost pushing their hardest into his chest as you whine loudly, increasingly dazed and confused.

“logan, what the fuck are you doing?! let go of me!”

you fight against him harder, but there’s nothing stopping him. not now.

he lets out an exasperated breath, his heavy footsteps embedding themselves into the loud gravel beneath them as he drags you along.

“don’t play that shit with me. actin’ like you don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” he practically yells at you in a hushed voice, “you know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“walk.” he orders you instantly, and you don’t hesitate to obey. not when his voice gets like that.

most of all, because it makes your heart pound—pounding in your chest because he’s right. you know what you’re doing.. but, you can’t say you regret it. no, not one bit.

and if he’s gonna make you regret it, you might as well go all out. right?

his grip on your arm is tight as you walk side by side with him, leading you into the gas station with the door open for you. you can’t even acknowledge the cashier from how quick logan swifts the two of you past them; straight towards the bathroom, and it makes you gulp. 

it’s too late for anyone to be around, too late for anyone to care, and you know that. but, the thought exhilarates you anyway.

he shoves the door open with a hushed whisper—one that’s almost incoherent as it escapes his lips. “you wanna act like a fucking brat?” he shuts the door hurriedly, shoving your body against the sink, “i’m gonna treat you like a fucking brat.”

you yelp at the sudden movement, his fingers digging themselves into your skin as you cry out at the feeling. it’s rough and brutal and it burns, but it’s so fucking good.

“lo.. lo, please,” you whine as your eyes shut tightly, the overwhelming sensation of his hands on you and his hot breath hitting your skin being too much to handle.

your body is flush against the sink as you attempt to squirm, to try to get him to do something, anything.

that cruel laugh of his fills your ears—quiet yet booming in your head as it sends chills throughout your entire body, eyes flashing open to look at him in the mirror in front of you. “please? please?” logan mocks you, “do y’even know what you’re asking for, baby? nah.. you don’t.”

“you just want..” logan trails off, his hands mindlessly reaching for your shorts, “to get fucked.. like the whore you are.”

without a single warning, he yanks them down along with your panties, and your whines are impossible to stop when the cool air hits your bare skin. when his filthy words are the only thing you can think about.

“can’t keep these pretty hands to yourself, you gotta rile me up to do it for you?” you hear the clank of his belt unbuckling, the zipper of his jeans sliding down, “gotta piss me off every goddamn time you get so fucking needy? i mean,” he laughs harder now, “not that i really blame you..”

logan pauses, and his eyes that were once staring directly at you now shift to look straight ahead, latching onto your mirrored reflection instead. as if he was looking right into you now. “pretty girl like you.. would be a shame to let this cunt go to waste. so, i’ll do you a favor..”

your jaw falls open in complete shock as your face contorts, as the tip of his cock breaches your tight hole, making your eyes roll back instantaneously with a sob from your lips.

“i’ll use her real good. for what she’s made for, yeah?”

your hands grip the sink in front of you as tightly as possible, body trembling as logan groans into your ear, his hands on your body never loosening.

instead, his grip only tightens as his hips become flush against your ass, his entire cock piercing you to the hilt with a satisfied moan.

“that was easier this time, wasn’t it? gettin’ used to me now. just needed to..” logan takes a moment to pull himself out of you, the tip resting against your entrance as he groans. he slams himself back inside of you so hard that your body fails you, your hands landing on the mirror to hold yourself up, bent over.

“break her in real fucking good.”

your body shakes against him as you cry out at his intrusion, stammering out a string of noises as your walls involuntarily clench around him over and over again. it’s almost as if you’re rapidly adapting to him; the way he stretches you out so much that it hurts in the best way possible. you’re pulsing around him, increasingly growing wetter by the second as your eyes water from the intense sensation.

your words slur with a few whines of what seem to be logan’s name as your hands move back to the sink, attempting to push yourself back up against him, but he stops you. grabbing one of your hands, he places it right against the mirror again, holding it still as he grinds himself into you. it makes you breathe out rapidly, body bent over the sink completely now.

“keep em’ right there. right fucking there. you don’t get to do that. y’don’t get to make any choices here.” he grunts in your ear, his thick beard grazing along your jaw as his eyes flicker from your face back to the mirror. he notices the way you’re trembling, eyes filled with those pretty tears of yours, and it makes him smile—a chuckle leaving him shamelessly.

he takes a moment to admire you, whispering out, “what i’m gonna do to you, baby..” and it makes your eyes flutter shut, warmth filling your core.

his other hand trails up the front of your body now, and it practically covers you completely because of how big it is—your stomach, your breasts, your chest, then finally, your neck. your gasp is loud; heavy, as his fingers wrap around your throat, holding you still for him.

all of you in the palm of his hand—all in his control.

you moan eagerly as he looks into your eyes through the mirror, grinning almost maliciously, “isn’t this what you wanted?” he laughs, his hips stirring a bit as he agonizingly pulls out of you, making you wince, “you wanted my attention so bad, wanted my cock so fucking bad..” he growls in your ear, his hand sliding from your throat to the back of your neck, pushing you down hard, and it makes you grip onto the side of the sink even more. 

“well, now you fucking got it.”

the sound of his rasping grunt hits you first; before you’re sobbing out on his cock, pelvis hammering inside of you with a tight hold on your neck, keeping you there with no chance of stopping, no squirming, no escaping.. no running away from this.

all you can do is take it as he pounds into you, the agonizing ache of his cock sliding in and out of you rapidly increasing the coil in your core, your loud cries and moans enough to make him go harder.

“there you go, there she is..” logan grits out, hands now grasping at your hips, smacking your ass, eliciting a grunt from you, “better fuckin’ hope no one walks in here, or else all they’re gonna see is some whore gettin’ used.”

you cry out as you feel the tip of his cock reach the deepest parts inside of you, nudging your g-spot suddenly as a tear slides down your cheek, your knuckles white from how tight you were grasping at your surroundings. your cheeks grow hot from the idea of that happening, stomach tightening as heat pools your core.

“what’d they think, huh? you think they’d wanna join in on the fun? bet they’d wanna fuck you too after i’m done with you. tightest fuckin’ hole i’ve ever had.”

you whine out now, shaking your head desperately in retaliation as you deny it. you couldn’t ever have another man like this, not now, not ever—only him.

logan sighs out, “no, no, no, i’d never let em’ baby, don’t you worry,” he reassures you, pressing his lips against the top of your head, “this,” he murmurs, his hand reaching to cup the front of your cunt, the rough skin on his palm grazing your clit just enough to make you squeal, “s’all fuckin’ mine. you hear me? not a single soul gets to use her like i can.”

“not like she’d want it anyway. only wants my cock in her. s’the only way she can really be filled up.. fucked stupid and cryin’ for me. ain’t that right? never got fucked by a man like me before y’met me, and i’m sure as hell no one will ever get her trembling like i do.”

you shake your head again, tears continuously spilling out of your eyes as your stomach tightens repeatedly, “n-no, lo, only you—” you stammer out as logan buries himself inside of you to the hilt, plunging into the warm heat of your walls, and he slows, relying on pure power than pace now. the harsh drive of his hips has your head fogging up, so close to reaching your peak with your cunt shuddering.

“ohh, there we go, she’s doing it now. shaking all over this fucking cock, squeezin’ me so tight,” he hisses, “that all you up in this pretty little head, or can you even control it? can’t even control it, can you, baby?”

a string of noises leaves your lips, breathless and mixed with whines and a few tears in your eyes as your core spasms out, his cock hitting deep inside of you repeatedly.

“what was that? can’t really.. understand you, baby, y’gotta speak up..” he teases, a mean laugh escaping his throat, “c’monnn, use your words, really think em’ out, say em’ clearly.”

“c’mon, show me that you’re still my good girl. my good little girl. speak up for your old man, honey.”

you yelp out at his filthy words, “m’.. i c-can’t.. control it, ah!” your moans involuntarily stringing out, eyes fluttering shut and rolling to the back of your head, your pussy convulsing around him intensely. “g-gonna–c-cum, lo, oh—” you spit out, your chest grasping for as much air as possible.

he hums in your ear now, fingers reaching for your clit and fastening tight, harsh circles at it, making you shudder, your cunt throbbing around his cock—pulsating over and over again as you start to see white. “gonna fill you up, sweetheart, gonna make you take it, fuck.”

you can’t even register him anymore as he talks you through it, the “come for me, baby,” muffled in your ears as you listen to him, cunt constricting around him tightly as you soak him, and the sound is filthy as logan chases his release, squelching loudly from your climax.

you let out a muffled sob as logan finally reaches his peak, slamming himself deep inside of you as he holds you there, the spurts of white hot spilling & coating your walls. all you can hear is the ringing in your ears, along with the mixture of your heavy breaths and logan’s rasps surrounding you.

logan’s strong arms pull you up against him as you catch your breath, heart rate slowing as your back leans against his chest tiredly. he mutters sweet nothings to you, praising you with kisses along your neck, cheek, then to your lips.

“my good fucking girl, my sweet girl—oh, baby,” he hums in your ear, eyes shut as he takes you in. you sigh out, breathing him in as your hand reaches behind, landing on the back of his head to pull him in closer, “god, i love you.”

you laugh, pressing a mindless kiss on his skin, “i love you more, lo, i–i’m sorry for acting out, for being such a—” you begin to apologize, but he just shuts you up with another peck to your lips. “shh, you hush now. i appreciate it.. you riling me up all the damn time. s’ the only way i can still feel so young.”

you giggle, eyes opening up to turn your head to him, taking in his disheveled look—tired, old, grumpy. the man you loved, as handsome as ever.

“always young in my eyes, lo..” you smile, “besides.. it’s the only way i can get you to fuck me that good.” you tease.

he huffs, rolling his eyes. “i fuck you that good every goddamn time, n’ don’t you deny it.”

you laugh, nodding. you can’t deny that fact. but, your eyebrows furrow slightly, suddenly thinking back to the previous events.

“did you really fuck me in a gas station bathroom, babe? what if someone walked in?!” you groan, pushing your forehead into his chest, embarrassed.

he chuckles, “locked it the minute we got in here, baby. wouldn’t let anyone see you like that,” he reassures you, gently gripping the side of your head to make you look up at him, “you got that?”

his face is stern now as he looks into your eyes, and those butterflies in your stomach erupt as if it were the first time you ever got them from him. you nod though, gleaming up at him.

“got it.”

he grins, “good. now, let’s get you cleaned up n’ back on the road. back’s killing me even more now n’ that bed’s calling my name.”

you laugh at him, teasing him further. “old man.”

you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[peachhoneii]

What I find fascinating is how Stan and Ford project onto Mabel and Dipper differently.

Stan sees a lot of himself in Mabel and Dipper. He sees the positive in Mabel and some negatives in Dipper. Stan misguidedly tries to correct those aspects he sees. He also worries about the Ford-like similarities in Dipper too.

Unintentionally, Stan's teasing pushes Dipper away but manages to pull him back in enough to reassure Dipper that Stan loves him unconditionally. He was misguided in correcting parts of Dipper that Stan saw in himself and hated. It was the method, not the intent that was wrong.

Ford saw 100% of himself in Dipper. In the show, the focus was on Dipper and Ford, because Ford could not separate the Stan v. Ford dynamic in his mind when it came to Mabel and Dipper. He loves Mabel. He finds her charmingly delightful, but he also projects his feelings of Stan onto Mabel. She is Dipper's Stan, therefore she's holding Dipper back from his true potential.

We know that's not true. Stan knows that's not true. It takes Stan "dying" for Ford to get this. It takes him losing his brother to open his mind to the idea that he and Mabel also have similarities. In the ARG, he realizes Mabel is as curious and weird as he is, and he effortlessly finds their similarities when he lets go of that Stan-projection and humbles himself.

Just goes to show that despite Mabel and Dipper's parents having their marital troubles, they've created a healthy home for their children where they can have their own separate identities. That's a major factor into Stan and Ford's issues is the treatment they received in their childhood. They were a single unit, not individuals.

While Stan was codependent on that dynamic, Ford felt suffocated. It's why he wanted to branch out so badly.

Carrying Stan suffocated Ford, but arriving at Gravity Falls forced him to entertain the idea that he also relied on Stan in an entirely different way than Stan relied on him.

[kisakunt]

Choso getting all jealous of a fuck machine and your dildo collection?

-🫡

“Why do you need that?” It’s a simple question, but you can’t tell if he’s angry or not. You and Choso were going through your closet, some spring cleaning if you will, and he happened to stumble upon your private box.

“I don’t know, it’s fun.” You don’t think it’s a big deal. Almost every girl has a sex toy or two. Sure, maybe you’re a little bit overboard— you did buy a three hundred dollar contraption that physically fucks your favorite dildo into you— but are you so bad for liking a little pleasure?

He pauses, fingers tracing over the veins on your hyperrealistic toy.

“Am I,” He starts, pausing for a second as if he’s questioning himself. “Am I not doing a good enough job?” Shit.

“No! No, baby, you’re perfect.” You reach and grab the dildo out of his hands, quickly shoving it out of the box. “You’re gone a lot, though, and I don’t know… I get needy, I guess?”

“Oh.” That didn’t seem to appease him. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t mean to leave you unfulfilled.”

“No! Cho, you’re not understanding.” Your hand is over his and it feels like religion. You never get over him. “I think about you every time.”

“Yeah but if I were fucking you enough you wouldn’t need this.” Your heart drops. In some sick, twisted way you think it’s cute. 

“Is it better than me?”

“No.” He finally looks up at you, eyes full of something you can’t seem to understand, and also a little pain.

“Does it make you cum?” You’re not going to lie to him. If it didn’t, that would be a horrible waste of three hundred dollars.

“Yes.”

He’s grabbing you before you can even think twice, yanking you towards your bed with still such a timid touch. It’s a soft push when your back falls onto the mattress, and he’s on top of you in an instant.

“I’m the only thing that’s supposed to make you cum.” Choso fucks sweet. He can get rough, he can fuck you like he hates you, but despite all that he is a gentle lover. There’s never been a moment having sex with him that you haven’t felt his care radiating from him. You can still feel it right now as he latches himself onto your neck— open-mouthed and sloppy—, but there’s a sense of selfishness you’ve never felt before. Possession. He’s jealous.

It’s a silly concept, you think, to be jealous of a sex toy— but Choso is a silly guy. His hands trace down your stomach, fingers hovering over your hip before they go lower, touching you over your pants.

“I don’t like that you have those.” Choso is never controlling. You know he’s not telling you to get rid of them, more so conveying his emotions to you like you’ve begged him to do.

You gasp as he circles your clit, pussy wet under the cloth of your leggings. There’s a sense of routine when you and Choso fuck. He’s always asking what’s okay, always asking what feels good, always checking on you. But now, he strips you naked without a word, bringing himself down to suck at one of your tits while his hand goes back down to your now bare cunt.

He doesn’t waste time with your clit. His fingers plunge inside you, curling into your g-spot as he moves them in and out of you.

“Does it go faster than this?”

“Yes,” It’s shaky, because even though it hasn’t been long Choso knows how to make you feel good. Then he speeds up and it’s better and you’re cockdrunk without even having his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His tongue is back to lapping circles around your nipple, his hair poking at your neck, his chin pressing into your ribs, and you’re overwhelmed. The room is full of sounds of just wet— from his mouth and your pussy— and it’s vulgar and crass and lewd and you want him.

You cum quick. He feels it on his middle and ring finger— you taught him that, you taught him everything, he’s your picture perfect fuck toy— and whines into your chest.

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

It doesn’t take him long to live up to his promise. He’s bottoming out in you without a second thought, balls hitting you every time he thrusts.

“This is what you’re supposed to have.” You think you might be stupid right now. Actually, you can’t think at all— sharp breaths and erratic moans leaving you.

Choso is a whiner, but right now he groans. He’s fucking you like he needs you, like he loves you, like you’re meant to be his.

It’s almost grotesque; the way your pussy drips from both of your arousal, the sloppiness of the way it sounds each time he bullies in and out of you, the desperation from your spasming cunt.

“Does it feel like this?” He’s barely getting out the words, almost incomprehensible. “Does it fuck you better than me? Does it fucking love you?”

That’s enough to make you cum again. And now, you feel stupid for ever having it.

“I’m sorry!” He’s relentless, each thrust pounding at your cervix, stretching out the softness of your walls. “I’m sorry, I’m yours, I’m sorry.” And it’s beyond the toys, it’s beyond the insecurity and jealousy, it’s beyond primal emotions.

It’s connection. Sweat drips from his hair onto your cheeks, and in a desperate move you lift your head to lick it off his temple. He owns you. You can both feel it in the way your soft walls clench around him, you can both feel it as your legs wrap in a loose pretzel around his waist, you can both feel it as tears form in your eyes from how much it all is.

“I love you, I’m sorry, I’m yours.” It’s weak, muffled by your moans and the sound of his pelvic bone slapping yours. His hips rub at your clit each time he snaps them into you, his cock grazing the top of your pussy in a way you didn’t know was possible.

“Cum, please,” It’s pure yearning. You can tell he’s close from the way he hiccups his breaths, from the way his head has dipped down into the crook of your neck, from the way he begs you through gritted teeth. “I need you to cum, let me make you cum.”

And how could you deny Choso? So you let go, nails scratching at his back, fingers gripping at the slightest bit of fat on his waist, head lulled into the mattress, and you cum.

And so does he, continuing his choppy movements to fuck his cum further and further into you, getting you as full of him as he can.

He collapses on you for a brief moment, before he shifts himself out of you and next to you, arm wrapping around you as he presses kisses onto the top of your head.

“Is it better than that?” It’s breathy, exhausted and worn, but he sounds so sure of himself you can almost see his smile.

“No.” Choso hums, shifting gears into aftercare.

You finish your cleaning the next day, and when you’re back in your closet, Choso can’t find your precious collection anywhere. He thinks he must’ve done a good job.