#We already have enough of that shit already

[cthulhus-curse]

Leather & Lace

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,012

Warnings: Age Difference, Breeding, Degradation, Jealousy, Mommy Kink, Nursing, Pervy!Stepmom!Wanda, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Slight fluff, Somnophilia, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: After a split-second decision, Wanda finally gets what she wants from her lovely little stepdaughter.

Eyes remained emotionless as a front to the anger that lay beneath them. Watching intently, they studied the somber scene, narrowing as they watched a hand lower to a spot they had previously claimed as their own — of course not officially, but you could only dream.

You hadn’t spoken a word during the entirety of the morning. Glaring at your father was second nature at best as you hid behind the excuse of him being away for too long and never having time for you. Adulthood carried on many things, one of them being a disdain for being around him. The same couldn’t be said for your stepmother though.

Wanda laughed as the man whispered something in her ear, biting down on her bottom lip — it was a move you found to be adorable each time you feasted your eyes upon it. She was finishing off the dishes, breakfast already having been served in earlier hours. The perfect housewife was to keep you all fed, to be a submissive entity for your father to walk all over.

“We were thinking about going to the park today. Wanda wants to take the twins there,” your father piped up when turning to you. A set of twin brothers from Wanda’s previous marriage were the only ones to keep to sane as you watched the relationship between your dad and stepmom develop further for years. “Wanna come?”

“Whatever,” came your huff. The harsh gaze Wanda threw at you made you squirm, but your eyes faltered and ignored it out of fear.

“Come on, don’t be like that. We just want to have some family time-”

“Not my family,” you repeated as you had many times through the years. “I’m not a kid. I don’t need mommy,” you turned to Wanda staring daggers, “to take care of me. The only reason I haven’t moved out is because I’m waiting to finish college. Then I’m getting the fuck out of this shit town.”

“Y/N, don’t you dare talk like that,” your father warned.

“Or what? You’re not even around enough to give a shit about whether I move or not. It’s always work, work, and wo-” as you rambled on about his absence since his divorce from your mother, his phone rang. Not even a Saturday, the boys with their father for the weekend, could be spent in peace with his own family. “Speak of the devil. Are you gonna answer that?”

Without a word, your father excused himself. During the early years of having moved with him, you surely blamed him for the lack of parenting he carried out. You’d move with your mother if she wasn’t halfway across the world teaching English as a second language in various countries, living her life to the fullest as she ignored her motherly duties. All through high school you had been alone. Now in college, the one person you didn’t know you could count on was the surrogate caregiver who pranced to your side.

“Darling, that’s no way of speaking to your dad,” Wanda said in a low voice, tender as fury rose from the depths of her words. “You should apologize. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

“I’m not doing jack-shit for you. You’re not my mom, you bitch.”

Surely the tone was harsher than you meant it to be, especially when the woman towered over you in the kitchen, you sitting on the stool by the island gulping down a know of fear. She tilted her head and suddenly all the years of anger, hatred, and surprising lust you felt for her vanished, let alone for the last one of course. With dark viridescent eyes dripping with need, she dropped her gaze to your lips.

Neither of you were fazed when your father ran to get an overnight bag ready. His job called for spontaneous trips across the world much like your mother, seeking out investment opportunities for this technology company, and yet most of the time you deduced he was simply using it as an excuse to fuck his secretary — same as he had done with your mother before marrying Wanda.

While he was adding the finishing touches to his bag, distracted as ever, Wanda grabbed your arm. She didn’t hesitate to use undying strength when pulling you away, the heels of her flats clicking against the hardwood floor when you made your way upstairs. Regardless of how much you attempted to twist away, she still held you in place.

“Stupid girl,” she growled. “It’s time we have a little chat about those icky moods of yours.”

You never expected to find yourself thrown over your bed, the woman locking the door as quick as she could. Many times she’d be the one to crack it open and watch as you undressed, a hand shoved between her legs as she hummed at herself. Not that you knew, but she was devoted to making you hers.

“You’ve been in a terrible mood all week, I get it, but don’t you ever dare speak to me like that,” was the first thing Wanda yelped as she towered over you, you sitting by the edge of the bed while she stood proudly. “You need to learn to behave.

“Oh shut up.”

To say her fury escalated at that would be an understatement.

“What’s gotten into you?” She frowned at you, crowing her eyes before stalking forth. As soon as Wanda tilted her head once again, a trademark move of hers, you knew you were done for. She explored your features, eventually averting her gaze down between your legs that you were rubbing against one another. “Oh I see.” A smile spread across her face as she softened up. “Does it maybe have anything to do with this?”

Eyes widened as Wanda, who was well pressed against you, heavy hot breaths falling on your face, cupped your clothed sex. She roughly pressed her fingers against you until she rubbed you, giving you pleasure even with the layers you wore. The hum she let out was all-knowing. Leave it to her to solve a mystery that to you ages to come up with an answer for.

“Wanda what are you-”

“Shhh be quiet, baby. You wouldn’t want your dad to find out, right? Don’t you want to be a good girl for mommy?” She raised her eyebrows, deep green eyes crawling into your soul and pulling out the submissiveness that lay beneath, and you couldn’t help but nod immediately. “Good. Now let me make it better. Your little pussy is all sticky and needy huh? I bet you get all hot and bothered when you see mommy. Tell me, sweetheart, have you touched yourself before? Has my pretty girl made herself cum at the thought of her mommy? I know you have, I’ve seen it. Those fingers look so cute inside your cunt.” She leaned in dangerously close. “Maybe I can show you some of the pictures I’ve taken of you like that.”

“Sometimes,” you admitted to her question, although in your hazy mind you couldn’t tell which one. Closing your eyes, you gripped the bed sheets while she rubbed your clothed cunt lazily.

“Yeah? Well, you have to remember that this is all mine. Mommy owns this pretty pussy of yours. Whenever you want to play with my property, you have to ask for permission.” Wanda sighed with relief as she allowed herself to bask in the wet noises your throbbing pussy made while she touched it. Even with your pajama pants on, she could tell you were oozing with juices. “You have no idea how long mommy’s been waiting for this. I’m glad my beautiful princess seems to like it.”

You didn’t fight back as she began tugging off your clothes until you were fully naked, her own being thrown over the floor only moments later. Being pushed back, you allowed your head to hit the mountain of pillows, the chill of the Fall coming through small gaps in your window causing you to shiver.

Seeing Wanda in her nude gloriousness made you drool. Perfection was her name. Her breasts stood perkily waiting to be played with, a toned stomach, slightly full with beautiful rolls, sitting there adorably crafted just for your enjoyment. There were stretch marks along her thighs, chest, and tummy which you urged yourself to kiss, only she hovered above you before you could so much as move.

Lips pressed against your own languidly. Numerous times you fantasized about what it would be like to kiss her, to have her naked frame brushing against your own, hard nipples on your skin, as your mouths danced to a steady rhythm.

“Touch me, please. Just fuck me or something…” you murmured as Wanda dropped a chaste kiss on your mouth. “Do it now. Fuck,” you grabbed her hand and let it fall on your pussy, humping it as you did with your pillows. “That’s good. Oh Wanda that feels so fucking amazing.”

“How pathetic,” she noted with raised eyebrows. Rather than keep touching you as you wished, Wanda slapped you harshly, brushing against your clit slightly and making you scream. “I said to stay quiet. Are you too stupid to understand? Maybe you’re just a mindless little slut for mommy. I bet there’s not a thought behind those pretty eyes of yours, huh?”

While you wished to relinquish some power, you quickly realized Wanda wouldn’t let you have any of it. After years of stressfully marrying your father, all she wished was to turn the tables, to have a submissive pet to use as a means to relieve all her stress. Watching you from afar, peeking through your door or even taking lewd pictures of you without your knowledge only enticed her madness; especially when she rummaged through your underwear drawer and stole a few pieces to wear while getting herself off at the sight of such images. Her craving for you drove her to the depths of desperation. You’d have to do as she said whether you liked it or not.

Fingers teased your entrance, a mocking laughter coming from Wanda as you squirmed beneath her. Neither of you noticed nor cared about the words of goodbye your father threw into the ghost house, the front door closing as you had a space just for yourselves. A weekend entirely devoted to her destroying you and claiming you as her own — how fun.

“I really should punish you for having such a dirty mouth. Cute princesses like you shouldn’t be saying those words, or making their mommies sad at that,” Wanda explained as she placed a kiss along your jaw, fingers making quick work to sloppily thumb at your clit. Folds were then parted, her hand coated with your slickness. When you sobbed at her words, she chuckled. “Oh but you’re just a little puppy, aren’t you? My lovebug doesn’t know any better. That’s okay. I’ll let it slide just this one time, but if you behave like a stupid whore again then I won’t hesitate to punish you.” She smacked her hand against your aching cunt. “Am I clear?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, arms wrapped around her shoulders as you pulled Wanda close.

“Yes what?”

Crying, clinging to her for dear life, you gave in. “Yes, mommy.”

“Good girl.” In all the years you had known her, never did you feel so many tremors running down your body in the presence of Wanda. “Now lay back and let mommy play with you, toy. Let me see how many fingers I can fill your cute pussy with.”

Heat radiated from her body as she began easing her fingers in your tight hole. For a moment she closed her eyes and thought back to the times she had seen you in compromising positions on top of a girl she knew was a friend from college, touching herself while imagining . Kate was never liked by your stepmother, and seeing as she possessively swiftly thrust a pair of digits inside grunting ‘mine’ beneath her breath, it was clear why.

“So wet and so fucking warm for me. Oh baby you feel divine,” Wanda moaned as she pressed her thumb against your clit, the two fingers inside your sticky, aching pussy being pushed deep until her knuckles brushed upon you. “My little baby was just so fussy. Can’t think straight without mommy’s help? Now, next time your princess parts get icky like this, you tell me about it. No need to be a bad girl. Just tell mommy and she’ll make it all better.”

“Yes, mommy,” you whined. “I wanna cum.”

“Already? Oh no little one I’ve barely touched you! You can go a bit longer for mommy, right? I know you can,” she announced. The way her tits brushed with yours, nipples erect and hypnotizing enough made you want to suck harshly on them. With her newly found position as her mommy, you’d surely ask for that. “Good baby bears only cum when mama bear says so, and I know my girl is really good.”

While making out with her, Wanda nipped oh so softly on your lower lip to silently ask for permission that you gave her. Wetness coated your mouth as she swirled her tongue inside, exploring the area while devouring your own tongue, making all that was yours her own. All she desired was to own you, and without much effort she got exactly what.

“You’re such a little whore, you know that, right? I’ve seen the way you touch yourself. Do you think about me when you stretch your pussy out with two fingers, sweetheart, or is it your friend that you imagine? You don’t need her. Mommy will teach you how to be good, and I promise I will always take care of my pretty angel. I don’t think she can do that, can she?” Wanda’s jealousy was rampant, but had always remained silent and simply waited for the time to take her prey as the predator she was. “Hmm and you’re so tiny. Such a delicate doll. It’s so cute how much of you I own already.”

By no means were her movements tender. She had waited long months to have you, always coming second to the disdain you had for humanity let alone for Kate. The poor thing was nothing but a friend you had fun with at times, but Wanda wasn’t about to let you whore yourself off to someone else when she was to care for you. Daily inspections would be a must to ensure her little one was hers.

“So full,” you whispered with your heart on the line for her. All Wanda did was curl her fingers up, making you scream with her mouth hovering above your own. “I’m so full with you, mommy.”

Your velvety walls clamped down harshly against her causing Wanda to grunt. “Hmm time for my little puppy to cum. Be good and show me what I want. Show me who your rightful owner is.”

When you finally did come undone, Wanda was there kissing your pleasurable screams away, still deep in your pussy fucking your through your orgasm, not letting you catch your breath as she made you hers.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

During certain nights Wanda found her desperation growing by the second. She didn’t have trouble slipping away from her shared bed with her husband and instead waltzing into your room, a rather large toy nestled comfortably between her legs. Entering your room in the depths of darkness was nothing new, but with the hunger she felt, it would be the first time she took you without caring for what you had to say in response.

Earlier that day you had excused yourself to explore the world with friends. Weekends were the only times where you got to relax, to ignore all the workload being crammed through the week and instead find your inner peace. Since the weeks you’d been secretly seeing Wanda you’d spend extra time with her, the boys and your father away on certain occasions, so not having you around was a rather lonely task your stepmother had to get through by herself.

All Wanda had wished to do was wrap you up safely in her arms and nuzzle her face against your shoulder. After having cleaned on that day, the twins having gone away with your father on a camping trip, she entered your room. There she found a frame picture of you and her from when you finished your first year of college and were taken out to dinner as a means to celebrate. Once she undressed herself and eased down on a stuffed animal of yours, one she gave you as a birthday present the previous year, Wanda began getting herself off. Humping the plushie and teasing her clit with one hand, the other held the picture in place as she eyed your shining face, moaning your name as she came.

Now in the late hours of the night, she’d finally get her toy to play with.

When she first shifted over the bed, you slurred slightly. The last thing she’d want was to awaken you from your peaceful slumber knowing you never got enough sleep with all the stress that floated around you.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Wanda’s voice was low as she pulled at your pajama pants along with your underwear, her silk robe already pooling on the floor. “Let mommy touch you a bit. I’ve missed my little slut so much.” Laying you on your side, your cunt in full view, she ran a hand through your slick folds. “So wet already. Oh I bet you spent all day fantasizing about being fucked like the whore you are. Now be a good girl and take my cock.”

While still asleep she grabbed her strap and slid it up and down your slit, making sure to pry your legs open a bit so she could swirl it across your clit. Once fully coated with your juices, jerking herself off a bit as though it was real, Wanda began inching inside, groaning as she basked in the sloshing sounds that came as she stretched out your tight hole.

Strong hands went to grip your hips in place. Wanda pressed her faced against the back of your neck, cheeks flushed and barely visible in the dimly lit room as she fucked you nice and slow. Even in your sleep you were responsive, little noises coming from your parted lips. The deeper she moved her cock in your pussy, the more you stirred.

“Mommy?” You groggily asked, eyes fluttering open slightly. “What’s going on? I feel really weird.”

“It’s okay, princess. Mommy just missed you. Won’t you let me touch you?” Although exhausted, you nodded. “Good girl. I even brought the special toy. You can have all of mommy’s treat. Do you want it now, baby?”

Hugging you from behind, Wanda pumped her cock in and out of your puffy cunt, a hand sneaking between your legs to stimulate your clit. She had to remind you to be quiet, that only good girls would get rewards. The last thing she wished was to alert your father of the rather taboo relationship you held, especially knowing it would come to an end.

For a few moments your mommy allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of your pussy. She desperately wished to truly understand how tight you were as your walls held her faux cock, the toy sliding past your folds as you hungrily took it all. Neither of you minded the mess that formed on your sheets, Wanda being far too blissed out as she desired to take everything from you – your sanity, your freedom, and your love would be all hers.

“Whatever my baby wants she gets,” she husked out.

Wanda pulled out her cock, leaving you empty and sobbing with exhaustion. Right as she was about to squeeze her drenched length, you grabbed her wrist, turning over so you could face her. She left you with droopy eyes and drool falling down your chin.

“Mommy, inside please,” you begged. Grinding yourself down against her bulbous dildo, you threw your head back. The way in which you clung to her, hands on her shoulders with eyes drifting down to her uncovered tits made her pity for you grew. “Please, I need it.”

“Oh but honey I don’t want to get my fleshlight all dirty.” Wanda nuzzled her face against your own, her flushed cheeks brushing yours. “Maybe if you beg a little…”

“Please mommy! I promise to be such a good girl, a whore, and let you use me whenever you want to. I need you to stuff me. I can't stop thinking about you inside me filling my pussy up with your treat. You can use me even when I say I don’t want to. Please, just cum inside me. I need it so bad.”

Wanda was more than content with your response. She cupped your face with a hand, the other guiding her strap-on back inside your pussy. “Hmm such a good slut. So desperate to have her cunt pumped full with my cum. Maybe I can even give you a baby. Would you like that, sweetie? For mommy to stuff you so full that you have my pups? Oh how cute you’d look.”

The redhead didn’t waste any time squeezing her cock halfway inside you until white sticky drops began squirting in your pussy. Foreheads remained together, your lips tenderly touching down upon hers, kissing mommy innocently, as she filled you up. With cum dripping down your inner thighs, Wanda made sure to fuck all of the seed back into you.

“Mommy’s fleshlight,” Wanda breathed out as she held you in place, hips moving and turning your bodies into one. “All mine. No one can have this pussy, baby. Only I can stuff you with pretty pups. Never forget that.”

“I’m full,” you cried. Not only did you have your cunt all pumped with cum, but also Wanda’s thick cock stretching you out.

“I know baby, mommy knows.” Wanda kissed your worries away, eyelids feeling heavy as she shared her love with you. She pulled down your head so you’d press up against her chest, humming calmly. “You can use your mouth if it’ll make it better, darling. Latch on. Mama is here to help you get some more sleep, okay?”

Nodding, you did as you were told. You had yet to reach your climax, so close yet too tired to beg for more. Wrapping your lips around one of her erect nipples, you latched on quickly. Many times you spend laying on top of Wanda, your hazy mind drifting you into Sandman’s realm, as she helped you relax against her. It was one of the many ways she coaxed your stress from school away.

While you began falling asleep once again, mouth suckling on Wanda’s breast, the older woman thrust her hips. She spent the rest of the night using her fleshlight – your aching cunt – before removing the strap from her waist and riding one of your thighs. Holding you close to her chest, mouth agape over skin, Wanda moaned whenever her clit brushed against you. She was practically dripping – only a few minutes passed up until she came undone after having brought you orgasm after orgasm.

To your dismay she was gone by the time you woke up in the morning. That Sunday was spent happily dancing around each other, Wanda’s hand brushing against your ass from time to time before she pressed you against the kitchen counter from behind when no one was looking – it was the perfect opportunity to grope your tits then. Each little moment the two of you got alone, you were sure to make the most of it. And of course when you showered, your stepmother was there peeking through the curtain with a hand between your legs – at least until you invited her inside, through the week rewarding her with various texts with lewd pictures of you she’d treasure forever.

[aesthetically-dying101]

how would the jjk men react to the reader jumping out the car during an argument?

A/N: HELLO??? LMFAO???? thats hilarious, im writting this bc this is just fucking funny, im tempted to simply like... kill the reader, but that'd be the easy way out.

warnings: arguments, angst, sad, humor? bad humor. this is all for shits and gids okay? don't take it seriously. couple uses of Y/N. a bit of ooc, toxic behavior

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso, Shiu, Higuruma. (in that order)

The countryside stretched on, endless and suffocating, the car’s tires humming against the asphalt in a rhythm that made you want to scream. The air inside the vehicle was thick, not with heat but with words unsaid, unscreamed. Nanami Kento, ever composed, was driving with the calm precision of someone determined not to rise to the bait.

His voice, steady and measured, grated against your last nerve.

“I understand your concern,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road. His hands were firm on the wheel, knuckles pale in the moonlight. “But you’re being unreasonable. The job requires—”

“Requires you to throw yourself into danger headfirst?!” You snapped, twisting in your seat to glare at him. “You think that’s noble, Kento? You think that makes you some kind of martyr?”

He sighed. Not a loud sigh. Not an exasperated sigh. Just a small, quiet thing, like a pressure valve letting off steam. That was worse. Like he’d already decided how this would play out.

“It’s not about martyrdom. It’s about responsibility. Someone has to—”

“Stop the car.”

His brow twitched, just slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“STOP. THE. CAR.”

“I will not,” he said, voice clipped but still infuriatingly calm. “It’s the middle of nowhere. We can discuss this like adults when we’re—”

You didn’t wait for him to finish. Your hand shot to the door handle, adrenaline drowning out the rational voice in your head. You didn’t care.

You didn’t care.

The door opened. The rush of cold air hit you like a slap, and then you were out—tucking and rolling onto the roadside gravel, the world spinning around you. The scrape of stones against your hands and knees barely registered as you scrambled to your feet, heart pounding.

Behind you, the car screeched to a halt. A perfect, precise stop.

Of course.

You didn’t look back. Not yet. Instead, you started walking, arms crossed tight over your chest. The night swallowed you whole—darkness, the hum of cicadas, the cold bite of an autumn breeze. It was reckless, sure. Irresponsible. But wasn’t that the point? You wanted him to feel it, to see how it felt when someone you cared about did something stupid, reckless, dangerous.

“Y/N.” His voice, steady but closer now, rang out in the stillness.

You kept walking.

“Y/N.” A little sharper this time. A little more him. The sound of his footsteps behind you quickened.

“Go back to your car, Kento!” you shouted over your shoulder, not slowing down. “Since you love driving into danger so much—”

“Enough.”

The word cut through the night, firm and final. You stopped. You didn’t turn, but you stopped, arms still clutched tight against your chest, trembling from more than the cold.

He caught up to you in a few long strides, stepping in front of you, blocking your path. His expression was unreadable in the moonlight—stoic as ever, but his jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. The mask of calm had cracked. Just a little.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low. “Do you have any idea how—”

“How what?” you snapped, chin tilting up defiantly. “How dangerous it is? How stupid? How it feels to watch someone you care about walk into danger without thinking—”

His hands found your shoulders, grounding, steady. “You’ve made your point,” he said quietly. Not cold. Not dismissive. Quiet in the way a storm retreats.

You blinked up at him, the fire in your chest flickering under the weight of his gaze. For a moment, it was just the two of you, standing in the dark, the night pressing in around you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the words fell heavy, deliberate. His grip on your shoulders tightened, just slightly. “I’m sorry for worrying you. But don’t ever do that again.”

You stared at him, lips parted, heart pounding. His words weren’t scolding. They weren’t angry. They were something deeper—something raw, a plea wrapped in steel.

“I—” Your voice wavered, and you bit the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. “You don’t get to—”

“I don’t,” he interrupted, softer now. “I don’t get to lecture you. But I’m asking. Please.”

The wind tugged at your hair, carrying the sharp scent of pine and earth. You let out a shaky breath, finally letting your arms drop to your sides. His hands slid away, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But you’re not off the hook.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, so fleeting you might have imagined it. “I wouldn’t expect to be.”

The car’s interior was suffocating, thick with anger that burned hotter than the night outside. Toji’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel, his jaw locked tight, his eyes glued to the road with a fury that made you want to shrink into the seat. But you didn’t shrink. You stared ahead, matching his tension with your own boiling frustration.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you said, your voice sharp enough to cut.

“I know it wasn’t your fault,” he bit out, the words snapping through gritted teeth. “It was that idiot Shiu sending you in blind—”

“Then why are you yelling at me?”

His hands slammed against the steering wheel with a crack that echoed through the car, his lips curling into a snarl. “I’m not yelling at you! I’m yelling because you could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

The words hung there, heavy and seething. The car swerved slightly as his grip returned to the wheel, the muscle in his jaw twitching like a live wire. You could feel his fury rolling off him in waves, not aimed directly at you but still scalding, too hot to bear.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, the walls of the car closing in. The road stretched endlessly under the dim glow of the headlights, the countryside a black void on either side.

“You don’t get to do this,” you shot back, voice shaking with the adrenaline surging through you. “You don’t get to act like you care and then—then—”

“Then what, huh?” he barked, glancing at you, eyes flashing. “I told Shiu to back off. I told him not to send you, but he didn’t listen, and now I’m cleaning up his—”

You didn’t think. You didn’t plan. The door handle was in your hand before you realized it, the rush of cold night air slapping you in the face as you yanked it open.

“The hell are you—” Toji’s shout was drowned out by the roar of wind as you threw yourself out of the car, tucking and rolling onto the gravel shoulder. The impact jolted through your body, but you barely felt it, adrenaline numbing the scrape of rocks against your skin.

You were on your feet before the car screeched to a halt, headlights slicing through the darkness as Toji slammed on the brakes. The sound of the car door opening and slamming shut followed, heavy boots crunching against the gravel as he stalked toward you.

“What the fuck was that?!” he roared, his voice carrying over the empty countryside, sharp and furious. “You trying to get yourself killed again?”

You didn’t turn around, just started walking in the opposite direction, arms crossed over your chest.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Toji shouted, the anger in his voice now laced with something else. Something sharp and raw.

You ignored him, steps deliberate, the cold wind biting at your skin.

In two strides, he was on you, grabbing your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks. “Hey,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to pull that kind of stunt and just walk off. Not with me.”

You whirled on him, yanking your wrist free. “And you don’t get to treat me like some reckless idiot when you do this kind of shit all the time!” you shot back, chest heaving, voice trembling with anger. “You want to talk about getting killed? Look in the damn mirror, Toji!”

He froze, the words hitting him square in the chest. His jaw worked, but no sound came out for a moment, his shoulders stiffening as his gaze bore into yours.

“I’m not—” He stopped himself, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers gripping the strands like he wanted to rip them out. His voice dropped, low and tense. “You don’t get it. It’s different when it’s me.”

“Why?” you demanded, stepping closer, your voice rising. “Because you think you’re invincible? Because you think I can just stand by and watch you do it, over and over again?”

His eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking again. For a second, you thought he might explode again, but then his shoulders sagged—just barely—and he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he muttered, the admission rough and grudging, like it had been dragged out of him against his will.

“Then stop acting like I don’t care when you do,” you said, your voice softer now, the anger ebbing just slightly, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, the night pressing in on all sides. He looked at you, really looked at you, his gaze lingering on the scrapes on your hands, the way your shoulders trembled—not just from the cold.

Finally, he sighed, long and low, and ran a hand down his face. “Get back in the car,” he said, his voice quieter now but still firm.

You hesitated, meeting his eyes, waiting for something more.

“I’ll... drive slower,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His tone softened further, almost grudgingly. “And we’ll talk when we get back.”

It wasn’t an apology. Not exactly. But for Toji, it was close enough.

You huffed, crossing your arms tighter over your chest, but after a beat, you nodded and turned back toward the car.

He followed a step behind, silent but watchful, like he’d be ready to catch you if you bolted again.

The air between you both is sharp, thick like the tension that’s been building for days, if not weeks. Every word Gojo says is like a slap against your skin, each tone laced with venom, dripping with frustration. You can't take it anymore. You’d tried, you really did—tried to understand his side of things, but how the hell are you supposed to when everything seems to revolve around his ego, his strength, his damn Infinity?

You're seething in that passenger seat, hands balled into fists, teeth gritted so hard you're sure you'll snap them. Then he says it, something about being "the strongest" again, like it means anything to you anymore. Like it's some sort of answer to every damn thing in this relationship.

"I don't care that you're the strongest, Gojo!" You snap, voice sharp and unforgiving. "It doesn't make you untouchable, it doesn't give you the right to be reckless, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean you can ignore me when I’m worried sick about you."

But no, of course, that doesn't go over well. He's pissed too. He’s glaring at you, hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles are as white as his cursed energy. His lips curl into a sneer. "You think I don't know what you're saying? But this—this is just how it is. I don’t get to stop, okay? Not with everything the clans are pushing on us. This is the life we lead—”

"Yeah, well, I'm not just some accessory for the clans to throw into the mix!" You cut him off, barely holding back the rage in your voice. "I’m a person, not a tool for your legacy!"

That’s it. The straw that breaks the camel’s back. His words get louder, each one bouncing off the inside of the car like it's shaking the world around you. He's got every excuse in the book, and you’re about done with it.

Before he can finish another sentence, before that arrogant smirk can crawl back onto his face, you fling open the door. Without thinking, you just—jump.

The world spins as you tuck and roll, landing with a thud on the ground, your heart pounding like you've just done something insane, which you have. You don’t even spare a glance back at him, just start walking—stomping away like you mean it. You don’t care if he catches up or not, you're just done.

Gojo slams on the brakes, tires screeching as he skids to a stop. You hear the door swing open, his voice booming from behind you, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

You don’t stop, your pace just as fast, your anger rising with every step. He’s right there, a few feet behind you, his breath heated, as he jogs to catch up. "You think you can just walk away from me, huh? What, you think I'm just gonna let you leave like that?"

You turn your head, throwing him a look that’s half fury, half disbelief. "You’re not untouchable, Gojo. Stop acting like you are. You’re just a man. A very strong, annoying, overpowered man—"

"I’ve got Infinity!" he interrupts, mocking, that cocky grin plastered on his face. He says it like a child, making sure to emphasize the ‘in’ like it’s the only thing that matters, the only thing that’s real in his world.

You can feel it in your chest, the ridiculousness of it all, and for a second, just a second, your resolve wavers. He’s being childish, but it still makes you want to laugh. And you fight it, you really do, but when you look at his face—his dumb, smug face—you can’t help but let out a laugh, short and sharp, despite yourself.

He’s still smirking, walking beside you now, like he’s won, like this is all some stupid game. But it’s not. Not to you.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" you mumble, eyes glaring ahead, refusing to look at him, even though his presence is like a constant pull you can't quite ignore.

And Gojo, always the one to make everything about him, only chuckles in response, like he’s getting some sick enjoyment out of this back-and-forth.

"Yeah, maybe. But I’m still the strongest, right?"

You don't even dignify that with an answer.

Not yet.

The car hums beneath you, but the tension between you and Geto is suffocating. The engine’s low growl matches the intensity in his voice as he rips into you, trying to force you to see the world through his eyes. But it’s like listening to a nightmare—one you’ve already woken up from, and yet, here he is, dragging you back into it.

"You're still so blind," Geto snarls, his fingers tightening around the wheel. "You don’t see it, do you? The truth is, they’re all weak. Normal people? They're nothing but monkeys. You think they deserve your loyalty? They're nothing but pawns in a game they can’t even understand."

His words hang heavy in the car, sharp like daggers, and they cut deeper with every breath. He’s not the person you knew anymore. This isn’t the man you trusted, the one who once laughed with you, who fought at your side. He’s become something else, something dark, something dangerous. His vision for the world feels suffocating, and you won’t be a part of it.

You can feel your pulse quicken, your blood boiling with anger. The venom in his voice—the conviction, the belief that he’s right—it’s pushing you to the edge, testing every ounce of control you have left.

"I won’t be a part of this." Your voice cracks through the tension, a brittle sound that almost breaks. "I can’t be. You’re talking about destroying people—people who don’t even have the ability to see the curses, to see what we do. They can’t fight back, Suguru. They don’t deserve this. I won’t be your weapon."

His eyes snap to you, his gaze sharp as a blade. For a moment, the car feels like it’s closing in on you, the walls too tight, his presence too heavy. The silence is almost worse than his words, the oppressive weight of his fury pressing down on you.

Geto lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"You don’t get it. You still don’t get it. They’re all sheep. I am offering you something better—a future without them dragging us down. You could be so much more, if you just open your eyes. We’re better, you and me. We can reshape the world."

Your hands tremble with rage. His words hit you like a slap, but it’s not just his twisted ideals that make you want to scream—it’s the way he’s trying to convince you, like you’re nothing but a piece on his chessboard, something to manipulate. He’s trying to pull you into his madness, to drag you into his vision of a world built on violence and control.

"Stop." The word comes out sharp, almost like a growl. "I won’t be a part of this. You’ve crossed a line, Geto. You’re not the person I knew anymore."

Oof- back to his last name??

You don’t care that his grip on the wheel tightens, the knuckles white with fury. You don’t care about his angry, piercing glare. The air inside the car is thick, suffocating, pressing in on you with every word he spits at you. You’ve had enough. You can’t breathe anymore, can’t stand being trapped in this twisted conversation with him.

Without thinking, your hand shoots out, grabbing the door handle with desperate force. You slam the door open with a flick of your wrist, the wind hitting your face with a rush of cold air. You don’t give him the chance to stop you. You don’t give him the chance to change your mind.

With a deep breath, you push yourself out of the car, rolling your body onto the asphalt in one smooth motion. Your body protests, but you barely register the pain; it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest. You land on your feet and take off, walking away without a single glance behind you.

You can hear the car screech to a halt, the engine roaring as he slams it into park. You hear him shout your name, his voice full of rage, but it’s all distant now. His words are meaningless, like the noise of a storm that’s passing.

You’ve already made your decision.

"I'm not going to be part of your cult. You’re wrong, Geto. You’re delusional." The words leave your mouth cold and final, cutting through the air between you like a blade. "You don’t get to decide who lives and dies, and I won’t follow you into the hell you’re trying to build."

Geto’s voice rises behind you, thick with fury. "You’ll regret this," he calls after you, but you don’t flinch. You won’t. Not anymore. "You’ll see. They’re all going to fall."

You don’t look back, your feet pushing you farther away from him, away from the mess he’s trying to drag you into. With each step, the weight in your chest lightens.

He’s lost. He’s gone.

And you’ll never let him drag you down with him.

All you can do is mourn the man you once loved.

The car’s too small for all the fury in the air, every inch of it heavy with the weight of the argument. You’ve been staring out the passenger window for what feels like hours, the night sky swallowing the city’s glow. Sukuna’s words buzz in your head, replaying over and over. “It’s not a big deal. He’s fine. He’ll forget about it.” The way he shrugs it off, like it means nothing. Like he hasn’t scarred your kid for life. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the tightness in your throat as you grip the seat, trying so damn hard to hold it together.

But you won’t. Not this time.

You turn your head slowly, eyes catching the way his fingers twitch on the steering wheel, like he’s just waiting for you to break. He’s so damn sure of himself. So damn confident that he’s right, as always. But this time, his smirk makes your blood boil. His dismissive tone stabs at the raw nerve inside you, the one you’ve tried so desperately to protect. Your son.

"He's fine," Sukuna says again, his voice as smooth and cold as ever. "You’re making a mountain out of a molehill."

Every word that leaves his mouth just makes it worse. Your son—your baby boy—is having nightmares, waking up in cold sweats, eyes wide and terrified, unable to look at you without seeing the bloodstained images from that night. The night you specifically told him not to expose him to. The night he thought it was fine to act like an idiot.

“I said don’t let him see that,” you snap, voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. Your hands are shaking now, and you’re gripping the armrest so hard you’re sure it’s gonna snap off. You look at him, not even trying to hide how pissed you are anymore. “You broke the one rule I had. The only rule. Don’t expose him to that.”

Sukuna flicks a glance at you, eyes narrowing just slightly, but his expression doesn’t change. “He’s a kid, he’ll forget. You’re overreacting. Get over it.”

You blink, hard. He’s not even listening.

It takes everything in you to not scream, but you manage to hold it in, just barely. You’re already feeling the cracks form inside of you. You’re done. The car’s cramped. The air’s thick. The tension suffocating. You can’t be here anymore. You need to get out. You need to breathe.

You don’t even think about it. You don’t give him the chance to stop you. Without a word, you yank the door open. The metal groans in protest, the sound of the lock clicking just before you toss yourself out. You tuck your body into a roll as soon as your feet hit the ground, the asphalt scraping your skin as you brace for impact. Pain flashes in your shoulder and knees, but you don’t care. You don’t care. It’s better than staying in that damn car with him, with the anger boiling over between you both, suffocating every part of you.

Before you can even get to your feet, there’s the sound of tires screeching. You hear the slam of the brakes, the engine roaring to life as Sukuna’s car jerks to a stop. You can already feel his presence behind you, towering and relentless. You don’t turn around. You don’t want to see that look on his face, the one that says he’s about to destroy you for this.

But you don’t care anymore.

You start to take a step forward, ready to walk away from him, but then there’s a sharp tug on your arm, like steel, pulling you back. Before you can even process it, he’s yanking you up, dragging you back toward the car. His grip is like fire, burning through your jacket, through your skin, through your very bones. You don’t have time to think, not as he shoves you into the backseat like you’re a doll he’s tossing aside.

You try to fight back, but it’s useless. His hand pushes you down into the seat, hard enough that your head rattles against the window. He slams the door shut with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

“What the hell was that, huh?” His voice is low, dangerous, each word dripping with a mixture of anger and disbelief. You can feel his eyes burning holes into you as he leans over the seat, his shadow stretching across your face. “You think you can just run away? You think that’s gonna solve anything?”

You don’t flinch. You don’t back down. Your heart’s still pounding, the fire still raging inside of you, but now you can’t escape. Not this time. Not anymore. You press your back against the leather seat, glaring up at him.

“You don’t get to control everything,” you say, voice steady, even though your chest feels like it’s about to implode. “I don’t care how much you think you know. You crossed a line. And you’re not going to pretend like it didn’t happen.”

His eyes flash. The air between you thickens. And then, in a move so fast you don’t even see it coming, his hand shoots forward, locking the child safety locks on the door with a sickening click.

You freeze, the weight of the motion hitting you like a punch in the gut. Your heart drops into your stomach as you realize what he’s just done. You’re trapped.

“Now, you listen to me,” Sukuna growls, his voice so low, it’s almost a rumble. His gaze locks onto you like he’s trying to strip you bare, like he’s trying to make you break. “You think this is over? You think this is going to go the way you want? No. It doesn’t work like that. Not when you’re mine.”

But even though his voice is dangerous, even though there’s a part of you that knows he could snap you in half, you don’t back down. You don’t flinch. Not this time. You stare him down, chest rising and falling with each breath, fury mixing with the bitter taste of defeat.

“You’re wrong,” you murmur, almost to yourself, but loud enough for him to hear. “You don’t get to make decisions for us anymore. Not after this.”

Sukuna stares at you for a long, excruciating moment, his grip tightening on the wheel, his jaw clenched so tight you’re worried it might snap. But then he pulls back, the silence hanging between you like a storm on the horizon.

You don’t know who’s going to break first, but you’re done letting him control this.

Done letting him walk all over you.

And you sure as hell won’t apologize for caring about your kid.

Choso's car is too quiet for a fight. But it’s that suffocating, deafening quiet—the kind where every word, every breath feels like a spark about to set fire to everything. You’re seething beside him, knuckles white on your lap as you try to breathe, try to hold it together, but it’s slipping, crumbling.

“You never fucking listen,” you snap, eyes narrowing as you stare out the window, trying to calm the storm raging inside you. You can't help the way your voice spikes. It's not like you want to blow up. But goddamn, his indecision drives you to the edge. "You just... sit there, like it’s all fucking fine. Like people aren’t walking all over you."

Choso's grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. He doesn't say anything. Nothing at all. He doesn’t even look at you, his gaze focused straight ahead, his jaw clenched like he’s trying to keep it all in. But it’s always the same with him. You talk, you yell, you try to get through, but it never fucking matters.

“Answer me!” you demand, your voice sharp, cutting through the silence. “Why the hell won’t you stand up for yourself? For us? You just let people use you—let them walk all over you—and you do nothing. Nothing!”

He swallows hard, his breathing deepening, but his hands don’t leave the wheel. His eyes are still on the road, and there’s that damn tension in his shoulders. You see it, the way he’s folding into himself, curling inward like he’s trying to hide from everything you’re throwing at him.

“I’m not—” he begins, but the words die before they can even finish forming.

“No. You’re not what? What exactly are you not, Choso?” Your voice is practically dripping with bitterness, a mix of anger and frustration and maybe something else—something more desperate. “Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I don’t see you letting everyone walk all over you? Just fucking stop acting like it's okay.”

He winces at your words, but it’s worse when he does respond. It’s soft, almost pleading. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“That’s the problem! You don’t know anything. You just sit there, acting like if you don’t say anything, things will get better. But they won’t. They never do.”

His lips part, but he doesn't speak. He’s trying to make the words come out, trying to hold himself together, but all it does is piss you off more. The fact that he can’t—won’t—get it together.

“You’re always so fucking passive, Choso. Always.” You almost laugh, but it's hollow, empty. “Why is it always up to me to fix everything? To fight for us? I’m tired of doing everything.”

You feel him stiffen next to you, his eyes flickering toward you briefly. “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying my best,” he says, his voice breaking under the strain, desperate in its own way. “It’s just... I don’t know how to make it better. I don’t know how to fix it.”

You’ve heard him say that so many times, and it’s always the same. Like he’s always trying, but it never really shows. It’s always excuses, always reasons for why nothing can change.

The car feels like it’s closing in around you, suffocating. His words don’t reach you anymore. The air’s too thick. You can’t breathe. You’re done.

“Stop the car.”

It’s not a request. You’re done asking.

But Choso doesn’t even blink. He keeps driving like nothing’s wrong, like you didn’t just tell him you’ve had enough.

“I said stop the car,” you repeat, low, fierce. You can feel the heat of your anger burning under your skin, clawing its way out.

He shakes his head, eyes flicking toward you but never fully meeting your gaze. “Please, don’t do this. We’ll talk—just… just give it a minute.”

“A minute?” you scoff, the laugh coming out bitter. “I’ve given you more than enough minutes, Choso. I’m done. So, stop the damn car.”

But he doesn't. Not until you’ve already swung open the door.

The wind howls in, biting your skin, tugging at your hair, and before he can even register what you’re doing, you’ve already thrown yourself out of the moving vehicle.

It happens so fast. Your feet hit the asphalt with a sickening thud, and for a split second, it feels like the world is spinning. You roll with it, muscles reacting before your mind can even process the pain. The road scrapes against you, but it’s nothing compared to the anger boiling inside, the absolute rage at being trapped in this moment, with him.

The car screeches behind you, the tires scraping against the pavement as Choso slams on the brakes, panic in his eyes. The car comes to a jerky stop a few feet ahead of you, the engine still roaring as if it's a living thing trying to escape.

You’re on your feet instantly, dusting yourself off, every muscle screaming from the impact, but none of it compares to how your chest feels—how much lighter you are now, finally away from him and the suffocating weight of his inaction.

Choso stumbles out of the car, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his face pale like he’s seen a ghost. He’s not sure what to do, doesn’t know how to react to this, to you. “What the hell... what the hell are you—”

You stare at him, your eyes cold, hard. "I gave you so many chances. So many times I begged you to stop being a doormat, but you just let me down every fucking time." The words are sharp, cutting through him, but you can’t bring yourself to feel sorry.

His shoulders sag as he takes a step toward you, like a man broken. “I didn’t want you to—” He stops, his voice choking, and there’s a desperation in his eyes, something raw and vulnerable you’ve never seen before. “I’m sorry. I... I don’t know how to be what you want. But I’m trying, okay? I’m trying. I swear I am.”

The apology feels weak, like he’s not even sure how to ask for your forgiveness. But that’s just it. He’s been trying. But it’s never enough.

“You say that every time,” you mutter, shaking your head, the frustration still thick in your chest. “But I’m not here for the 'trying' anymore. I’m here for the real shit.”

He steps closer, almost pleading now, voice cracking. “Please. Don’t leave. Please don’t do this. I’ll change. I promise I’ll do better.”

But it’s not about promises anymore. Not about words. You’ve heard them all before. You turn away from him, not willing to look back, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his apology stings.

“Fix yourself first, Choso,” you say, voice flat. “Then maybe we’ll talk.”

You leave him standing there, chest heaving, hands trembling, the weight of his failure pressing down on him. You’ve made your decision.

You’re done. For now.

The tension in the air is so thick it feels like you could choke on it. Shiu’s words are venomous, biting at your every attempt to get through. You’re practically suffocating under the weight of the argument, your hands clenched tight in your lap, but nothing you say seems to matter. You try to stay calm—you try—but with every dismissive sneer, with every mocking word, you can feel yourself starting to lose control.

“God, you’re so exhausting,” Shiu mutters, leaning back against the seat like he’s bored, like you’re just some irritating fly buzzing around him. “You don’t get it, do you? You're just... complaining again.”

You’re not complaining. You’re asking, trying to make him understand, but he won’t listen. Doesn’t even want to listen. His eyes stay on the road ahead, face cold and detached like this entire conversation doesn’t matter.

“Why can’t you just hear me out for once?!” you snap, the words flying out before you can stop them. You’re not sure if it’s the frustration or the hurt that has your voice trembling, but at this point, it doesn’t even matter. You can’t keep this in anymore. “I’m not some... some damn punching bag for you to—”

Shiu cuts you off with a low, mocking chuckle. “Oh, so now I’m the villain? Always your side of things, huh? You can’t even see it, can you? You’re the one who never gets it.”

The nerve. The sheer audacity. You can feel your blood boiling, your heart hammering against your chest. He’s not even trying. He doesn’t even care.

Your fingers graze the door handle, the cool metal sending a shiver up your spine. Before you even fully process it, your hand is gripping the door, your body already leaning toward it. You’re done. Done trying to reason with someone who isn’t listening.

The moment the door opens, a rush of cold air hits you, and without thinking, you slide out of the car. You hit the pavement with a rough roll, knees scraping against the rough ground, but you don’t care. You can hear Shiu yelling behind you, but you’re not stopping. Not now.

“Are you out of your mind?” His voice slices through the air, close now, frantic with rage. You hear the screech of tires as he slams the car into park, and a moment later, you feel his presence looming over you like a dark storm cloud. The gravel beneath your feet crunches as he stalks toward you, and you don’t dare turn around.

“Get back in the fucking car, now.” His voice is low, like a threat. Dangerous. He’s pissed—so pissed that you can practically feel the heat radiating off his skin. His hand grabs your wrist, fingers digging into your skin like a vise, pulling you back toward him.

You try to wrench your arm free, but he’s stronger, his grip unrelenting. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” His words are sharp, cutting through the air. “You think this is some kind of fucking game? You think you can just throw yourself out of the car like some child when you’re not getting your way? Huh?”

Your chest is tight, heart pounding in your ears, but you manage to pull your arm from his grasp, your voice steady despite the fire burning in your veins. “I’m not a child, Shiu,” you spit, your eyes meeting his for the first time. “And you sure as hell don’t give a shit about what I’m trying to say. You just keep brushing me off. Dismissing me.”

His nostrils flare, and you see that flicker of frustration in his eyes, something darker underneath it all. He takes a step closer, crowding your space, and you don’t back down. You can feel the heat of his breath on your face as he snarls, “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t hear you? I’m the one trying to make sense of all this while you’re too busy throwing a fucking tantrum to see it!”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum,” you say, your voice quieter now, but it cuts through the tension. “I’m just... trying to be heard. And all you do is mock me. Disrespect me. It’s like nothing I say matters.”

Shiu’s jaw tightens, and for a split second, he just stands there, staring at you like he can’t quite decide whether to rage or say something else. He clenches his fists at his sides, his breathing harsh.

“You think I’m disrespecting you?” His voice is low, cold now, like he’s fighting to control something dark and dangerous underneath the surface. “You wanna know what I think? I think you’ve got a serious fucking problem if you think that’s the way to deal with things. Just running off. Throwing yourself out of the car like an idiot. Do you want to get yourself killed?”

You can feel the sharpness of his anger, the way it presses in around you. But you’re tired. You’re so fucking tired of this. Of being made to feel small, of being belittled and mocked every damn time you try to open up.

“I’m not trying to die, Shiu,” you mutter under your breath, the words barely audible, but you know he hears them. His eyes narrow.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice is rough, strained, like he's holding onto something. "You think I don’t care, but when you do shit like this, it’s like you’re testing me. Testing how far you can go before I snap. And you will snap me. You keep pushing me until there's nothing left to give."

You take a deep breath, gathering yourself, and look up at him. You’re standing your ground, your voice steady despite the chaos bubbling inside you. “I’m not trying to test you. I just need to know you’re listening... actually listening."

Shiu’s hands ball into fists, his entire body tense, like he’s one wrong move away from breaking. But instead of shouting, instead of pushing, he just looks at you, the anger still there, but it’s... different now. Less explosive, more something you can't quite place.

"Don’t pull that shit again," he growls, low and dangerous. "Next time you wanna walk out, you better be ready for the consequences."

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze, the storm between you still raging but, for the first time, it feels like it might settle. Or at least... it might.

Hiruguma's car was moving too fast, tires humming a low, steady growl against the pavement, a sound you couldn’t shake, one that throbbed in the back of your skull like the beat of your pulse. The air between you two was suffocating, charged with the kind of tension that made your stomach churn and your fists clench in your lap.

“Hiromi, you’re not listening to me,” you said, voice shaking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. He was gripping the wheel with one hand, his other resting lazily on the gear shift. His face was cast in sharp shadows from the headlights of passing cars, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

“I’m listening,” he muttered, his tone flat, dismissive.

Another empty response.

“No, you’re not,” you snapped, louder this time, your voice cutting through the low rumble of the car. “You’re not fine, and you know it! You’ve been running yourself into the ground, and you don’t even care anymore!”

He didn’t even flinch.

“I said I’m fine,” he repeated, voice low, monotone, as if the words meant anything at all. His grip on the wheel didn’t tighten, didn’t change. He was detached, like he was somewhere else entirely, somewhere far away where your words couldn’t reach him.

You could feel the frustration boiling over, bubbling under your skin.

“You’re going to kill yourself at this rate!” you shouted, your voice cracking. You didn’t care if it sounded desperate. You were desperate. “And what then? Huh? What am I supposed to do, just sit here and watch you self-destruct?”

“I got it,” he bit out finally, sharper now, but still not looking at you. Not really looking at you. “I told you, I’m handling it.”

Your breath hitched.

“No, you’re not.” The words came out quiet this time, trembling, filled with something deeper, something raw and jagged. “You’re not handling anything, Hiromi. You’re barely holding yourself together.”

And still, nothing. Just that same blank, tired expression, the same hollow reassurance, the same nothingness.

Something inside you snapped.

Before you could second-guess it, before the gravity of what you were about to do could settle in, your hand shot out to the door handle. The wind roared against the opening door, the sound cutting through the argument like a knife.

“What the—?!” His voice cut through, but it was too late. You threw yourself out of the car, the wind slamming into you, the world spinning into a chaotic blur as you hit the ground. Pain bloomed sharp and immediate, your body rolling across the asphalt before finally coming to a stop on the hard, unforgiving pavement.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your own ragged breathing and the distant screech of tires. Then you heard it—the car skidding to a halt, the engine cutting off abruptly, followed by the slam of the door. Footsteps. Fast, frantic. His voice, raw and panicked in a way you’d never heard before.

“Are you insane?!” Hiruguma was on you in seconds, his hands gripping your shoulders, pulling you upright with a force that was almost too much. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

You didn’t answer right away, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. His hands were still on you, gripping too tightly, shaking slightly. His face was pale, eyes wide and frantic, the mask of apathy completely shattered.

“You’re not listening to me,” you whispered finally, your voice trembling. “You’re not hearing me, Hiruguma. You’re going to kill yourself. And I can’t— I won’t just sit there and let you.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes searching your face, and for the first time that night, he looked like he was actually seeing you. Really, truly seeing you.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. “You could’ve been—” He cut himself off, his grip tightening for a moment before he let out a shaky breath. “What if you’d gotten hurt worse than this? What if you—?”

His words faltered, and you saw it then—the cracks in his armor, the exhaustion, the guilt, the fear. It was all there, laid bare in the way his hands shook, the way his breath hitched, the way he couldn’t seem to meet your eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.

“I can’t lose you,” you said softly, the words falling between you like a stone, heavy and unyielding. “I’m scared for you, Hiruguma. I’m scared of what you’re doing to yourself. And if you won’t take care of yourself for your own sake, then do it for me. Please.”

He exhaled slowly, his hands loosening their grip as he closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders slumping. When he opened them again, there was something different in his gaze—something softer, something broken, but still there.

“You’re right,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re right. I… I’ve been an idiot.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and for the first time that night, he didn’t pull away.

A/N: tbh i didn't rlly take this srsly, hence the low word count, but it was funny to write

Masterlist

:)

[redhoneysugarorange]

At first when Danny learned his new foster family were vigilantes, he wanted to scream and cry at fate, along with some specific choice words for Clockwork.

He was supposed to leave this vigilante shit behind! Not become a vigilante furry's fourth (fifth? Sixth? Did Damian count?) foster fail! But no, here he was pretending to sleep as the voices of his siblings screamed at each other down the hall. Danny knows he's a bit of a hypocrite, but how have these people's identities not been found out by now?

Sure, they were severely death-touched, but Danny figured that was just because they were from Gotham and were rich enough to constantly deal with rogues and stuff. Danny could write that off. He could not, however, ignore the constant footsteps on the roof, the migraine inducing smell of smog they bring in with them every night, or, you know, the fucking cave he'd accidentally phased into under the Manor! A giant ass house and none of them knew how to be quiet when coming back in for the night.

Isn't retirement supposed to come with sleep and down time! This entire situation was fucking rigged! Danny was jipped out of what he thought would be a weird but relaxing stay in an actually okay foster home for once. Nope, nope, nope. He's just as tired as before. Bruce and Alfred were concerned, but it's not like Danny could tell them anything about his past, no he would rather avoid that conversation. Didn't mean he wasn't pissed off every time they did something that made it so obvious why they were. Like come on Tim, we know you haven't reached your power nap quota today, but you can't just leave your vigilante grade boe staff just chilling on the table.

-Okay, so he couldn't blame them for not knowing about his enhanced senses. Well, Duke seemed to have an idea, but he seems to think it's only a sensitivity and gave Danny some sunglasses which actually did help with his now constant migraines.

(Duke currently held the lead as his favorite brother, even if the teen wasn't technically adopted by the family. Actually, how many of these assholes are actually adopted?! Danny swore the numbers changed on the daily. He's still meeting new people and he's been here for two months!)-

Another screech down the hall has Danny grinding his teeth and shoving a pillow over his head. How could anybody be that energetic at 3 in the morning!? Eventually Danny gave up on sleeping, glaring angrily at the ceiling and breathing in and out like Jazz had taught him. Okay. He just needed to calm down. He was fineee, it was fineee, everything was-

-A crash down the hall, muffled curses and footsteps ran. The house was quiet again. But now Danny was awake. His eye twitched. He was so fucking done with this. Maybe he'd run away or something... No. No these were actually good people even if Danny wanted to throttle all of them. Stage a kidnapping? Maybe he could get Vlad to help? Nah, he'd just have to deal with the overprotective family as bats and as civilians.

But... He could still mess with them. Do some pranks, spook them a little. He is a ghost after all, it's what they do. Sure Danny had failed at a haunted house freshman year, but that was like two years ago. No, Danny was wayyyt better at being a ghost now. And he had a few new tricks up his sleeve.

Danny grinned, canines sharpening in his mouth as he sat up. He jumped out of bed soundlessly, grabbing a notebook and starting to scribble in ghost speak. He isn't going to get any sleep anymore tonight anyway, might as well use his well earned pettiness and anger to his advantage while it's fresh! He had some perfect ideas already. He would make his foster family regret waking him up In the middle of the night!

Oh yes, this was going to be spectacular.

“Did this place pick up a ghost when I was dead or something?”

Tim whipped his head towards Jason, who looked mildly perturbed.

“You too?!” Tim demanded.

“What?”

“The ghost! I kept thinking it was a hallucination, you know? But even when I laid off of the caffeine, there’d be a fucking shadow at the edge of my vision! At night! You saw it too, right?” Tim rambled, increasingly agitated. “It even moves the fucking coffee mugs! I know where I left my favorite mug, and it sure as hell wasn’t in the sink!”

Jason blinked at him, face morphing into concern.

“Replacement, when was the last time you got some sleep?”

Tim inhaled. “Jason, I swear to god I will replace all of the shampoo in your twenty six safe houses with glitter glue if you don’t tell me whether you saw it or not.”

Jason nodded immediately. In his defense, Tim grew up to be a scary motherfucker. Diabolical little shit would have been a fucking terrifying villain.

“I knew it.”

——

Danny hummed. Tim was going to freak when he found his cowl three inches to the left.

He merrily avoided all of the set up cameras by simply going invisible and intangible, save for his arms that he uses to sweep the cowl to the side.

He could hear the static on the cameras. Danny grinned. Operation Gaslight, Ghostkeep, Girlboss is on.

——

“Tim-” Dick started, only to be cut short by Tim whirling around and jabbing a painful finger into his chest.

“You owe me this, for that Arkham comment when B went missing.”

Dick raised his hands in surrender, guilt flaring.

“Drake, what kind of pointless scheme are you getting us in, now?”

“Not now, demon brat.” Jason elbows the kid. “Just go along with it.”

“Look.”

“Well. I guess we were right, yeah, Tim?” Duke muttered, eyeing the moved cowl. “My ghost-sight isn’t seeing anything. Not even wind movement.”

“What’s going on, boys?”

“B, there’s a ghost in the manor.”

“He’s freaking out because it moved his coffee mug like three times.” Steph chimed in.

——

“Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you seen anything weird, lately?”

Danny tilted his head. “No…?”

“Not even in the house?” Jason asked.

“Shadows? Anything?” Dick asked, eye bags prominent on the normally exuberant man. Danny snickered inwardly. They’ve been up for three days trying to “catch” the ghost.

“Uh. I mean the floorboards creak sometimes? But in terms of shadows… I think I saw them outside? Kind of looked like Batman, actually. But my eyesight gets bad at night. Why?”

Danny could see in the dark just fine.

“Nothing! Let me know if you see anything, okay?”

“Uh. Sure? Maybe you guys should… get some sleep?”

“Uh-huh.”

The bats file out of his room.

——

Danny locked glowing green eyes with Tim and Dick. He did some quick thinking and contorted his ectoplasm into something more grotesque.

“Kkkhggggghkkkkeeee!!!” He screeched.

“AHHHHHHHHHH!” The two of them screamed, both bolting and throwing things at him. It was impressive how fast they backpedaled.

“That was close,” Danny muttered. He quickly scribbled on Damian’s whiteboard with conspiracy theories and dipped before the rest of the bats came thundering.

He fell into a light sleep just as Stephanie checked up on him, work done.

[chaoticwriting]

GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 4

Part 3

Danny looks at the guy skeptically. Last time someone approached him, they were Red Robin, Spoiler and Signal. This time, a dude that looks like an average office worker approaches him.

Trickster: Sure, why not?

???: Thank you.

Trickster: So, what do you want with me?

???: Let me introduce myself first. I am Clark Kent. A journalist from the Daily Planet. I would like to ask, is it true that you know Batman's secret identity?

Trickster: You mean those pictures I stole from his wallet? Yeah sure. Why do you wanna know?

Clark: As you know, I am a journalist. And it is our job to find out about news and share it with the general public. I am just thinking, what would you like to exchange for the real identity of Batman.

Trickster: Hmmm..... What price huh? Let me think for a moment.

Danny then continues to eat his food as he pretends to think about Clark's offer. Honestly, he doesn't give a damn about this Clark guy. He is also a vigilante once, so he knows the importance of their secret identities. While slurping away his last coke, Danny gains a very good idea (He thinks it is a good idea).

Trickster: Well, I don't think I would sell the pictures just yet since the card is still useful and I don't need money. However, I have a very interesting topic you can investigate.

Clark: Oh? What is it?

Trickster: Try searching for something called GIW. It is a government branch and I'm sure it will be a hit piece.

Clark: GIW? What is that?

Trickster: Well that's for you to figure out. Oh well. I'm pretty full now. Gotta go now. See you never.

Danny then disappears right in front of Clark before he can do anything. Clark can't even hear or see the kid anymore with his enhanced sense and x-ray vision further cementing that the kid probably has teleportation power.

Danny meanwhile is laying on his makeshift bed while watching the stars after he uses his power to clear the sky thinking what he just did is very smart. Unfortunately, he doesn't know this decision is as good as the previous time he thinks his idea is good.

-1 month later-

Danny is picking up scraps from the junkyard for his next prank. Collecting some toasters, some blenders and even some radios. Danny has spent a lot of time these past few months, tinkering with machines that he practically knows what component is in which appliances.

Suddenly, he sees a very familiar device among the junk. A sleek silver gun with a few green buttons on it. It doesn't have the usual designs that Danny used to see but Danny knows without a doubt in his mind that it is an ecto gun.

The problem is that, the gun is new. Very new. Like it is just created. And that means one thing. A GIW agent is here. Shit! Danny needs to run. But where? He has checked before this but the only place with enough ectoplasm to hide him is either Gotham or Amity Park. No where else in the world has as much ambience ectoplasm to hide him from the ecto detector.

But now that they are in Gotham, he might as well not hide since at such close proximity, the ambient ectoplasm can only hide him if they are not close. Danny is thinking very hard when his ears pick up something. A group of people is coming his way, and from the way they are all carrying heavy devices, they are probably GIW agents.

Danny against his better judgement turns invisible and flies high enough so that if the agents decide to shoot him, he will have time to dodge them. Danny watches quietly as the ecto detector bips faster and faster the more they go to where he is previously.

???: Damn it. I thought this is where Trickster is. But it's just the gun that you lost.

???: Hey, at least we don't need to file reports of missing weapons right? Also, didn't that thing already get set up by the Fentons to find Trickster?

???: It's probably them messing it up. It's not like them messing shit up is something new anyway.

???: Yeah. Let's just say it is a false alarm. I hear the higher ups are thinking of lowering our budgets next year if we don't produce any results soon.

???: Ugghh, don't remind me of that. Not only do they pressure us like that. I even heard that there is some guy that has been snooping around our base, taking pictures and stuff.

???: I hate those reporters. We are trying to do our job and save them from those savages, and yet here they are messing with us. Calling us genocidal maniacs and the second coming of Nazis.

???: If that is not bad enough, they even say that they feel like we should treat the ghost as if they are people. Ghosts are not people! They are merely beast pretending to be someone we used to know and love.

???: I would love to just punch those reporters to the face if not for the fact that Boss ordered us to stay put.

Suddenly their walky talky start to beep.

Walkie-talkie: Agent P, Agent Q. Return to the base of operation immediately. We are receiving visits from the higher ups.

Both of the agents reply with Roger and hurriedly run towards their van and drive off somewhere. Danny looks at them and decides, he has found what his next prank is going to be.

[lame-cameoliob]

Kallus' motivations are so interesting

I just need to get these thoughts out so I’m throwing this ramble here:

Now, this may totally just be me thinking too much (fork found in kitchen) but I feel like when it comes to how we tend to think about Kallus’ characterization, the implications of Kallus’ experience on Onderon are very overlooked. 

So he goes to Onderon with “the boys”-- which, the term “the boys” has its own set of implications about how Kallus must have really cared for those troopers under his command but I digress– and on a patrol they’re attacked, yada yada, we all know the story. 

But Kallus becomes fully paralyzed. He doesn’t describe the extent of his paralyzation but given that he had to watch as his squad was “finished off one by one” it’s pretty fair to assume that he could not move whatsoever. The fear that any person would experience in that situation is completely indescribable, that is genuinely some shit straight out of a night terror. 

He is– as we know– spared (albeit we don’t get exact details (did the merc try to kill him but reinforcements arrived before he could? Did the merc think that Kallus was already dead? Secret 3rd option?)) and he makes a full physical recovery, but there is no way in hell that he is not coming out of that encounter with some crazy PTSD. 

There’s not a whole lot of info on Imperial mental health services but I don’t think it’s a longshot to assume that they are probably close to nonexistent.

So the empire now has… an ISB agent with field experience… with untreated PTSD… where said PTSDs inciting incident pertained to a Lasat… and they’re looking to make an example out of Lasan……….. Are you picking up what I'm putting down here…...?

If you aren’t; it is BY NO MEANS a wild assumption to say that the Empire– essentially– weaponized Kallus’ PTSD, given that he would be less likely to question the moral atrocities happening on Lasan since he was already biased against Lasat as a whole. 

Now, we don’t really have a solid grasp on what Kallus’ exact role in Lasan was since he’s  kiiiiinnnd of an unreliable narrator– I mean we’re given the line in Droids in Distress where he takes credit for giving orders during the siege, but Kallus routinely just runs his mf mouth whenever he’s throwing hands so it’s like…  that could either be the truth or a crazy exaggeration, we as viewers have literally no idea what’s going on there– but it goes without saying that Kallus is obviously not excused from his participation just because of (likely) untreated mental illness, but that is literally like the whole point of his character so like we all knew that

Now, after Lasan, Kallus does something really bizarre for an imperial to do; he accepts the borifle given to him through the Boosan Keerah, and even though he doesn’t know about the cultural significance of that, he still takes it upon himself to learn how to use this weapon. I think that literally any other imperial would have tossed that shit out on sight, so I think it does kind of imply that Kallus did have a good deal of respect for Lasat culture.

Now we can all recall how Kallus is so annoying and also batshit insane whenever he fights Zeb for the first season and a half of rebels, and ME THINKS that this is because he wants to prove to himself that if he were not paralyzed on Onderon, he could have saved the members of his squad. He had to sit by and watch them die, and I think that he just wants the vindication; now you may be thinking, But Emma, he beat the Lasat who gave him his borifle, why would he still be obsessing over this– say it with me now– he is mentally ill. No victory will ever be enough to prove this to himself. Point blank period. 

(edit:) He is for sure operating from a place of extreme predjudice and bias but I think it's worth noting that he’s not operating under the usual xenophobic imperial mindset that other species are automaticaly lesser than. (end edit) This weird obsession that he has in seasons 1 and 2 deels like it's mostly there because he wants to outwit and outfight Zeb (and the rest of the Ghost crew… but especially Zeb) (edit: Though it is 100% influenced by Xenophobia-- his mental illness and xenopobia DO coexist!!)

And after the Honorable Ones???? It’s literally never brought up again. He chills tf out so hard after that it is high key uncanny. And like, yes duh that is because– for writing purposes– that’s the beginning of his redemption and they want viewers to root for him as fulcrum, but it also implies that after finding common ground with Zeb, and understanding where he’s coming from and who Zeb is as a person, he realizes that he’s been CRASHING TF OUT for basically no reason. 

And he is SO QUICK to switch sides?? Like, he is fulcrum at least a decent time before the beginning of season three. The whole point is that the second he asks questions and delves deeper into what the Empires motivations are he is disgusted enough that he doesn’t just drop everything and disappear, no, he became a spy for the rebels because he wants to help. I feel like that just goes to show that, at his core, Kallus is a good person. A deeply confused, and hurt, and misguided person, but a good one. 

I dunno, this is just a really long winded way of saying that Kallus is the perfect example of an imperial pawn. Like the Empire is an incredibly effecient indoctrination machine that exploits people at every turn, especially their own soldiers, and I think that Kallus’ relationship with that indoctrination along with his own motivations is just super super interesting and I think about it literally all the time

[tech-issues-apologies]

To be clear, I am not recommending keto, but one of the other things I would recommend is on top of the general good advice of paying more attention to what you put in your body is to consider the ratio of what you are eating. What kinds of fats and carbs are you eating? Are you eating enough protein? Are you eating protein and fats with those carbs. Are you drinking enough water? Are you eating the micronutrients you need? Getting enough sleep? Managing stress?

Some of this is to address general health, and some of this is about healthy fat storage management and managing insulin sensitivity(which are interconnected). Some are about managing the hunger response. Some of this is just to help not feal shitty and crash part way through every day. And yeah, exercise is vital for health, too. It literally is bad for your brain to not exercise enough. I took garbage care of myself and felt like shit for solid chunks of my adult life until I took my health seriously. And I don't want to pretend this is trivial. Especially if your health is already bad, you're not going to be in the best head space to solve the issues you are having. It is constant trial and error, and some of it's going to change as you age. For me, a huge component I was struggling with relates exercise. I love exercising. I find it genuinely enjoyable. But I wasn't eating enough to sustain that level of activity. On top of that, I constantly have to be careful about not exercising too much or i would hurt my self. A lot of this is just going to be figuring out what your body needs and what it can do. And often it's going to be less than you'd like.

And to be clear, this is useful Info regardless of what your health or "weight problem" is, under, or over. I don't think we should shame people or make people feel unatractove for what their body looks like, but things can get out of hand in either direction and cause health issues, and I think that pretending otherwise just undermines the credibility of body equity advocacy. I wish it was not the case, but those issues have caused multiple family members of mine to need constant and significant physical assistance from me as a result of those issues.

Me: Exercise does not cause weight loss. This is a fact that has been demonstrated so robustly in research that even doctors, who hate and fear evidence, are grudgingly starting to admit this.

Someone reading that post: Cool, but have you considered that exercise leads to weight loss?

Me: I am going to eat you

[deansbeer]

★ fragile as lace, bound in leather // dean winchester.

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

synopsis. you and dean share one final night together, tangled in desperate love and heartbreak. he believes he's no good for you, but letting go feels like tearing your soul apart.

warning(s). angst | smut | p in v (stay safe out there n wrap ur shit) heartbreak | emotional turmoil | doomed relationship | self-loathing | internalization of guilt | emotional vulnerability | depictions of crying during sex (?) | lingering pain of goodbye.

kari yaps. leather and lace by stevie nicks is to blame for this … but !!! i wanted it to be angsty & i haven't written smut in what feels like forever (it's so ass) so yeah <33

the motel room feels like a tomb. the heater rattles in the corner, failing to warm the stale air. it's cold, but not in the way that bites at your skin. no, this chill is deeper—buried in your chest, spreading into every hollow part of you that dean once filled.

he sits on the edge of the bed, his boots still on, his head hung low. the soft light of the bedside lamp casts shadows over his face, making him look older, wearier. his shoulders are tense, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. he hasn't said much, but he doesn't need to. you've known this was coming for weeks now, maybe longer.

"so that's it?" your voice is barely above a whisper, but the words feel like they echo in the room.

he doesn't look at you. his jaw clenches, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for something—maybe you, maybe the door.

"yeah," he says finally, his voice rough, raw, like it's been scraped across gravel.

the words hit you like a punch, even though you've been bracing for them. still, they knock the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping as you stand there by the window, your fingers wrapped around the edge of the curtain so tightly your knuckles ache.

"why?" you press, your voice shaking. even though you already know the answer.

he exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "you know why."

"do i?" you fire back, stepping toward him. "because all i see is you giving up. on me. on us."

that gets him. his head snaps up at that, his green eyes locking onto yours. there's anger there, frustration, but underneath it, you see the pain—the same pain that's been eating away at you for months.

"don't do that, baby," he says finally, his voice low and sharp. "don't act like this is all on me. like this… you and me.. hasn't been falling apart for a long time."

"it doesn't have to," you insist, taking another step toward him. "we can fix it. we can—"

"no, we can't,” he cuts you off, standing abruptly. the sudden movement makes you flinch, but it's not fear—it's heartbreak. "we were doomed from the start."

the words are brutal, but the way his voice cracks betrays him. this isn't what he wants, you know that. but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

"no," you whisper, tears blurring your vision. "don't you dare say that."

he takes a step closer, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "you deserve better than this," he uttered, his voice breaking. "better than me. i'm no good for you. all i do is hurt people… drag them down. and you? you're… you're everything good in this world. and i can't ruin that."

his words hit you harder than any goodbye. they cut deep, carving out the parts of you that still believed in this, in him.

"i don't care about what i deserve," you say, trying to hold back the tears threatening to escape. "i care about you. i love you, dean. isn't that enough?"

he closes his eyes like he can't bear to look at you anymore. "it's not," he says quietly, and the finality in his tone shatters something inside you.

you take another final step toward him, your hands trembling as they reach out to him. "please," you whimper, your voice barely audible. "don’t leave me."

for a moment, he doesn't move. and then, suddenly, he's on you—his hands cupping your face, his lips crashing into yours with a desperation that steals the air from your lungs.

it's not a gentle kiss. it's messy, frantic, filled with all the things he can't bring himself to say. his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as if he can press himself into you, leave a piece of himself behind.

you clutch at his flannel, your tears mixing with the kiss as you pour every ounce of your love, your pain, your longing into it.

"dean," you gasp against his lips, your hands fumbling with his flannel, hastily shrugging it off of his shoulders.

"shh," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin as his lips trail down to your neck. "don't talk. just... let me—"

he doesn't finish the sentence, but you know what he means. let him have this. let him have you, one last time, before everything falls apart.

his hands are everywhere—sliding under your shirt, gripping your hips, pulling you against him like he's afraid you'll disappear. you can feel the heat of his body through the layers of fabric, the way his heart pounds in his chest, and it makes you ache in a way that feels unbearable.

you tug at the hem of his shirt, your fingers shaking as you pull it up his torso. he shrugs it off, his lips right away latching back onto your skin as he backs you toward the bed.

when the back of your knees hit the mattress, he lifts you by the back of your thighs like you weigh nothing, laying you down gently even as his movements remain hurried, frantic. he pulls your shirt over your head, his hands sliding over your bare skin like he's trying to memorize every curve, every inch of you.

"god, you're beautiful, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice rough as his lips trail down your collarbone, to your chest.

you arch into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you let yourself drown in the sensation of him. his lips, his hands, his weight pressing you into the mattress—it's almost enough to make you forget the agony waiting on the other side of this moment.

he undoes your jeans, his fingers brushing against your skin as he slides them down. you feel exposed, vulnerable, but the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing that matters—makes you forget your insecurities.

"baby," your bottom lip wobbled, as your hands move to the waistband of his jeans.

he helps you, kicking them off along with his boxers before settling between your thighs. his skin is warm against yours, his body solid and grounding in a way that makes you feel like you're floating.

when he finally pushes into you, it's slow, unhurried, like he's savoring every second. you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as he fills you completely, the stretch and the heat overwhelming.

"look at me," he whispers, his forehead pressed against yours. "please."

you open your eyes, meeting his gaze. his green eyes are dark, filled with so much emotion it makes your chest ache. love, regret, longing—it's all there, written in the way he looks at you like he's trying to etch this moment into his memory.

he moves slowly at first, his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that feels almost torturous. every thrust, every brush of his skin against yours feels like a goodbye, and it makes your heart shatter all over again.

"i love you," you voice, as tears spill down your cheeks.

he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his movements faltering for a moment as he whispers against your mouth, "i love you too. more than you'll ever fucking know."

the words undo you. you cling to him, your nails digging into his back as your sobs shake your body. he doesn't stop—he holds you tighter, moves deeper, like he's trying to put you back together even as he's breaking you apart.

your release builds slowly, the pleasure mixing with the pain until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. when it finally crashes over you, it's overwhelming, your body trembling as you cry out his name.

he follows soon after, his movements growing erratic before he stills above you, his face buried in your neck as he lets out a low, broken groan.

the room is silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing, your heartbeats pounding in unison. he doesn't move, his weight pressing you into the mattress as his arms wrap around you like he's trying to keep you from slipping away.

"please don’t leave," you whisper in his ear.

he doesn't say anything. he just presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls away.

you want to stop him, to beg him to stay, but your body is too heavy, your heart too broken. you watch in silence as he gets dressed, his movements unrushed, like he's trying to draw it out.

when he's done, he looks at you one last time, his eyes filled with so much sadness it makes your chest ache.

"i'm so sorry," he tells you, his voice wavering.

and then he's gone.

you don't know how long you lie there, staring at the empty space where he used to be. the room is cold, the sheets still smelling like him, and the ache in your chest feels too much to bear.

you were the lace, and he was the leather. and no matter how tightly you'd tried to weave yourselves together, you were always destined to come apart.

[transfemme-shelterdog]

I genuinely thought my wife would remain the only trans woman i have ever met who dont think trans men are being insufferable brats when we attempt to talk about how we're treated for being the "dirty icky yucky oppressor" gender by other queer people and seen as a wannabe half-breed by cis people. im really, indescribably happy i've met another one. I cant thank you enough for talking about trans men and our struggles and not treating us all like some horrible insane collective of crybabies. thank you so much. thank you so so so fucking much. i know you get dozens of these but i am typing this through tears in my eyes. Thank you.

I want to add: I'm black. I cant articulate it well, but watching (mostly) white women parade around how much they're entitled to hate hate hate queer men and how we could never ever ever be socially ostracized/oppressed for our identities makes me scared when i know about who Emmett Till was. That mentality still exists within cis white women and it makes me TERRIFIED to interact with them. White women do have a sort of social power over black men and it is fucking terrifying to be exposed to IRL. Seeing white trans women latch onto that exact same power and ferociously defend their right to do so puts a level of fear and hurt in me that i also cant describe very well. I hope that makes sense, because i have experienced this dynamic with white women personally.

Hey man, glad you reached out to me, and thank you for sharing your experiences with me. As a trans white woman, I'm inclined to agree that it's mainly white women/transfems who are pulling this shit. It's really concerning seeing not only my fellow queer women, but also white people completely ignoring the oppression that trans men (especially POC) face globally. Like, in the US there's the upcoming administration that's gonna ban birth control, the loss of abortion rights already, and the bathroom/sports bills that affect all trans people, not to mention corrective rape in the Southern states. Then in other countries there's FGM and more corrective rape.

We should be working together, not pushing each other down to see who has it "worse", because we all face oppression in different ways.

I can only hope that we come together at some point, else we are truly fucked.

[crewman-six]

I have had so many haircuts gone wrong. Just... so many. Some that I liked well enough on the day, but that I could never style as well. Some that barely resembled what I was looking for. A few that were almost exactly what I thought I wanted, but ended up not liking in the mirror after the first time I washed it.

Almost none of them were haircuts I maintained of my own accord. In my 30+ years of choosing my own hairstyles, I've had exactly one haircut that I maintained with intention. It was Natalie Dormer's Hunger Games haircut, long on one side, buzzed on the other ~40%. I maintained that for years. Went to the Berkeley barbershop once a month, trimming the full length every three or four months, right up till we moved.

It was harder to find a spot for reasonable upkeep after that. Started trimming the buzzed side at home, which is where the creep started. The length of the rest of it started getting longer as the time between trims slipped, till it was maybe twice a year. And the edges of the buzz started moving, too. And then the pandemic happened, when I was already reaching the "hair too long, must cut" stage.

That mid pandemic haircut, right after lockdown ended? Way too far the other way. 😅 It was what I had asked for. What I thought I wanted. But it's been several years and intermediate styles of growing it out. But I also realized some things that I'd never understood before.

Thing the first. Sometimes I get very twitchy about sensory shit, but it's not consistent. Which means that a lot of the time, my hair is no biggie. But sometimes I lose my mind if it's touching my neck. If my hair is long enough, that means it stays in up-styles for a while. But if it's shorter than that, the haircut itch can get overwhelming.

Thing the second. I vastly prefer a style that frames at least one side of my face. This is the reason some of those short styles I wanted ended up fails. AND it's the reason that things start getting weird if my hair is up all the time when it's long, just in a different presentation. Luckily, I've found a couple of up-styles that play to a different vibe instead, but it's still... weird. I'm not sure if it's properly dysphoria, but it very much makes me feel super yucky about my face in body dysmorphia kinds of ways.

Thing the third. I recently decided to grow my hair long again. Not because of those things I figured out, although they're informing style goals. No, it's because I saw awesome, dark and gothic hair accessories that I wanted. Because apparently the "she" part of she/they really comes out when I'm shopping. Especially when I'm looking at jewelry. And this stuff was definitely hair jewelry. 😅

But all of this shit? It's why some women sob after a haircut. Or even just at the prospect of a haircut. It made me realize that gender affirming haircuts aren't just for trans folks. It's the first exercise of bodily autonomy for so many of us, and too many of us have to fight far too hard for it. It is gendered and it is racial and it is a culture war being waged literally on our heads.

the thing about having long hair especially if you are a girl/perceived as one is people act like they will be personally offended if you cut it. INCLUDING! hair stylists who you are paying to cut it. double it if you have blonde/red/ginger/curly/etc hair. like the lack of autonomy ive been allowed to feel about my hair, even when its subtle still has me afraid to go to the stylist and ask for the haircut im paying to get.

[shuenkio]

𝔗𝔬𝔵𝔦𝔠 𝔗𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔈𝔫𝔡 | 성흔 — 엔.하.이.픈. ❤️‍🔥

Parring: Sunghoon X M!reader | Genre: smau

Synopsis: Toxic relationship with the Park Sunghoon, but would you want to leave?

Cw: smut without plot.

Non proof read | Eng is not my 1st

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A+n: been busy a lot, I hope y'all understand I probably will be here once a week so hold on tight.

At the end of the day, m/n still love the guy who lie, manipulated, breaking his promises in hundred ten times. M/n seem to can't let him go, can't open his mouth to say one word just so he will live freely and not in this toxic environment yet he choose to stay, whenever he like it or not. The same goes with the guy's name, Sunghoon. If yandere was a thing, he'd be a two, just slightly gentle.

Whenever there's time you have to leave his place, Sunghoon would not let you go, always come up with any lies or excuses so he could keep your company all by himself .

Talking to his friends was probably not on his list ever since you two got together. Not only is he mad, he'd take off his anger on you but never once he landed any fist on ya. Instead Sunghoon would lock you in the house, while he was out there, trying to calm himself down.

Sleeping alone is a sin for him, no matter how sick or how isolation you wanted to be, you'd wake up in his arms every single time.

And with all of these why did you still choose to stay? You can leave him, far away from him when you have the chance right now, what is on your mind?

The bed cracked with each move, by the impact of two on it. It was brutal yet overwhelming by the sensations. The room is filled with whimpers and moaning chasing for breath with Sunghoon thrusting in his thick-length inside m/n's entrance non stop. Both of m/n's legs are wrapping lock around his hips, he didn't care if his lover would like it or not, m/n have been a bad boy, he need to be punishment.

"How thoughtful of you hon, to step out of this house when I'm already locked in? Are you out of your mind?Aehh—" increase his pace, with reckless abandon as if he fuck a toy. The plump ass of m/n keep jingling and rippling with each move of Sunghoon, continue making a lewd thud echo through the room which makes himself almost too much to bare when this is the first time he seeing stars, raw with nothing.

"too—... I- slow it down....too big" m/n insisted, the corner tears rolling down on his beautiful cheeks.

"in your dream baby, but your body says otherwise, I know it too well how you always wanted this to happen, staring at me like a hungry lil slut when I'm in sweatpants, eyes on my bulge not one, but more, isn't that explain how dirty are you lov'?" Sunghoon growls, eyes darken with another anger, grinding his hip even harder making it enough to leave pulsing on m/n's lower tummy.

The two are on the edge, Sunghoon never plans to stop as his head throws to the back,

Half eyes rolling with the pleasures he had never had in his life, while leaning down to capture m/n's lip in a dominant kiss, plundering his mouth with a greedy tongue.

"even if you won't say it, we both know you love me and I fucking love you too, tsk SHIT— though I'm such an awful bastard, I have give you multiple chance so that you will come up to me, and say you want to leave but yet, I heard nothing from you *huff* are my love that addicted or is my dick ? SAY IT"

He is demanding, as he starts to fuck m/n even harder, his pale heavy balls slapping against m/n's ass with brutal movement, left his lover to have no breath to even response.

"ah- ahhh I do... I do— BOTH"

Sunghoon grins wickedly as he feels m/n's small cock twitch and spurt out uselessly between their bodies, the boy unable to hold back from the intensity of being speared on Sunghoon's massive dick. It only spurs him on more, loving the power he has over m/n's pleasure.

"That's my boy, you can't live without me~" He taunts, never slowing his relentless pace as he continues to rail into m/n's abused hole.

Soon enough, Sunghoon's balls draw up tight, his own release approaching fast. He hilts himself deep inside m/n, grinding his pelvis against the boy's as his cock throbs and pulses.

"gotta cum dump you... With my CHILD FUCK FUCK FUCK!!" With an animalistic roar, Sunghoon hilts himself as deep as physically possible inside m/n's spasming hole. His massive cock erupts like a volcano, pumping what feels like gallons of thick, scalding hot cum directly into the boy's guts.

Sunghoon bellows, his voice echoing off the walls as he grinds his pelvis hard against m/n's, ensuring every last drop of his seed is forced as deep into the boy's ass as possible.

Sunghoon collapses on top of the smaller male, pinning him beneath his sweat-slicked, muscular bulk. He pants harshly against m/n's neck, his softening cock still buried deep inside that pliant ass.

Meanwhile M/n couldn't do anything, giving his all to Sunghoon, using him like a damn toy that he, himself like in this way the most, this is not the tears of pain, but a realization that this toxic love is all m/n need, even if it's bad.

"We are actually toxic till this end..."

"hell yeah, remember that we both meant for each other darling, nobody loves you like

I do"

[the-ace-with-spades]

(this is inspired by a buddie post but doesn't relate at all to 911)

for once, they're not exes, they're could've-beens

The Daggers are loitering around the Hard Deck a few months after the mission and somehow the topic rolls onto how they all met each other

One way or another, Bob admits he had a huge crush on Phoenix for like the first few weeks when they met

And everyone teases him to the point he's getting a bit shy, so to not overdo it on him, Fanboy pops in and says that, Hey, I had a huge crush on Reuben when we met during training as well, it's not that bad.

And instead, everyone moans that it doesn't count because they're married and Payback is all 'oh you had a crush on me? that's so embarrassing' while Fanboy just rolls his eyes at him.

So Fritz is like, 'Pretty sure everyone on base but Halo knew I had a crush on her, I just kept saying the stupidest shit around her,' which prompts Harvard and Yale to quote more and more outrageous sentences while Halo nearly snorts up the beer she's drinking

Bob is still really red and really quiet so Phoenix, attempting to get him to relax about the whole thing and not make a big deal out of it is like, 'Yeah, it's normal, lots of people have crushes on their co-workers, especially when they spend hours on end together. Look at Bradshaw over here, he used to be Mr. Heart Eyes for Hangman, you could've done much worse."

Before she realizes that, you know, no one was supposed to know this, it's already out of her mouth.

Bradley kicks her under the table and fucking freezes, avoidings anyone's gaze and bites down the urge to bang his head on the table.

Because, you know, back when he and Jake were still in training, they had what Jake thought was a friendly rivalry - it was actually just Bradley doing stupid shit to impress him and it flying over, figuratively and literally, Jake's oblivious head. They spent a lot of time together and it was very easy for Bradley to let himself just be in the moment and not think about the crush thing so he kinda ignored and ignored and before he knew it, it had been years.

Shit changed when Jake started ditching their after-work meet-ups to hook up with one of the flight engineers with whom he developed a bit of a coworkers-with-benefits relationship. And Bradley had to watch and hear about it on almost every occasion, every day.

Bradley said to himself that enough is enough because the crush was becoming embarrassingly not-crush-like and he decided he was not being that lame and would move on. Easier said than done - he tried to distance himself but he and Jake worked together every day and were friends so eventually all Bradley could do was the good old out of sight, out of mind method and he transferred without telling Jake.

Which is why Jake was so pissed with him. Because, well, Bradley was the closest thing he had to a best friend before he met Javy, and he just left Jake behind without explanation, one day there, the next one already in Japan, like it was nothing. (Jake does not realize that but he did actually have a bit of a crush on Bradley back then as well, he certainly didn't see him the same way he sees Javy...)

So, no, Jake was never supposed to find out, definitely not now when they're kinda friends again.

So, when very disbelieving You had a crush on Hangman? is thrown at him a few times and Jake is just staring at him from across the table saying nothing, Bradley pulls a lie out of his ass.

"He had a nice ass, nice smile, and very nice tits. I was young and stupid. It's not that big of deal."

It raises some eyebrows and snickers. "Seriously?"

"I found him hot, what's so surprising in that? We all have eyes."

There is a second of confusion but then everyone kinda nods along because, well, Jake is objectively attractive. "I thought he was hot, I wanted to impress him but instead we just got into a pissing contest of who is better at this or that and then I just, moved on."

"So, when did you stop crushing on him?"

"When I realized how big of a mouth he had on him," Bradley says, which is the biggest lie he's ever said - he liked Jake's big mouth an embarrassing amount. "Just couldn't stop yapping on and on."

This finally fucking awakes Jake enough to protest, "I don't yap."

And thankfully, the topic smoothly moves onto bullying Jake.

Bradley ignores the whole fucking thing because if he doesn't, he's going to get bitter, and if he gets bitter, he'll have to admit to himself why. And he's moved on, okay, he was fine all this years he's spent in Japan, he's fine now. It's not like Jake would ever give him a second glance anyway.

Meanwhile, Jake comes back home that night and can't sleep. Because Bradley thought he was hot. Bradley had a crush on him.

Or rather Bradley had thought Jake was hot, Bradley had a crush on him - past tense. He didn't even know this was an option and now he missed it, apparently by years.

And he can't stop thinking about it because he could have Bradley and he keeps imagining how their life could look right now if he didn't miss his chance when he had it. And every time he sees Bradley, he gets a reminder - it's all past tense, chance missed, nothing he can do about it, Bradley had moved on.

And Bradley notices that Jake is now acting weird around him, all quite and staring at him when he thinks he can't notice but avoiding him as best as he can any other time. And Bradley can only find one variable that changed just as Jake's started getting weird around him - and that's finding out that Bradley had a crush on him.

So that's great.

[friszil]

i'm not much of a doorkeay shipper but every time i think about "anybody else" by dom fera as michael distortion and gerry my brain stops workingi'm like ndksodmrnwpalsnfne oh ogdo oh my ogooooood oh god oh ood please no

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Requested by: @idkwthgoitmww <3 thanks, hun! Words: 2,451 Pairing: Negan Smith x Fem!Reader Warnings: language, descriptions of blood and injuries, references to assault and possible attempted sexual violence (did not occur, no description or details) Summary: Negan has to figure out why you've collapsed and try to patch you up. Concern and banter ensues... A/N: I intended this to be the final part, but now I think maybe we need a little more closure with these two? Hmm... should I do one more part? Let me know in the reblogs or comments!

Previous part here!

“Shit, shit, shit,” Negan growled through his teeth. “Alright. Okay…” He scooped you into his arms the rest of the way and laid you down on the couch as gently as he could. Clearly, more had happened out there than you had admitted to him. He clasped your face one more time in an attempt to rouse you. “Hey, doll? Wake up,” he urged. But not even an eyelid twitched. You were out cold. Negan straightened up and rubbed a hand over his face. Obviously, there was a reason you were passed out, so he needed to figure out what it was and fix it. A flash of terror seemed to seize his heart in a tight, icy grip. Hopefully, he could fix it.

His eyes went to your head, propped on the throw pillow at one end of the couch. Head injury? He knelt beside you and cupped your head in his hands gently, turning it slightly this way and that, feeling for any bumps or injuries. He felt and saw nothing besides the injury to your ear which he’d already noticed, and that certainly wasn’t enough to warrant you passing out. His hands and his eyes traveled down to your neck. He unwrapped your scarf and slipped it off. There was the mark he’d seen right away, which was quickly darkening toward a bruise. A bruise and a scratch? Someone had had you by the neck? Just the idea of it made a hot flame of anger flare upwards in his chest.

His fingers went to the buttons of your coat and he loosed them. The wool fabric fell open and he didn’t have to search for an explanation any longer. “Oh, shit,” he cursed. Your white sweater was completely stained crimson on your left side. The material was soaked with blood and it was running toward your back and starting to seep into your coat. “Fuck me,” Negan swore, climbing hurriedly to his feet. He rushed over to the shelves and grabbed a couple clean towels before returning to your side. He let out a shaky breath.

Negan peeled your shirt up, completely unsure of what he would find underneath. At first, he was met only with the sight of a gauze bandage taped to your skin, also completely saturated with your blood. But when he peeled that up, there was a rather significant round hole in your side, about halfway between the flare of your hip and your ribs. A gunshot wound. It looked like you’d tried to stitch it yourself, but the stitches were clumsy and ineffective, probably due at least in part to the fact that you wouldn’t have been able to see it well. “Jesus, doll,” Negan murmured. He gently rolled you slightly toward the back of the couch and tucked one of the towels underneath you. The other he pressed to the wound while he tried to think about what to do. He didn’t have a ton of first aid supplies on hand. His hazel eyes landed on your pack and he dragged it closer, keeping pressure on the wound with the other hand as best he could.

The first thing he pulled out from inside your bag was another bloodstained shirt. He held it up and could see the actual bullet hole through the fabric. He tossed it down. He dug inside again and finally his hands closed around a plastic bag full of first aid supplies. He let out a breath of relief and started setting them out on the little table next to him.

He looked at you lying prone on the couch and realized the bleeding might slow if he rolled you onto your side. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s get you fixed up,” he said softly. He stood and slipped his hands underneath you again and gently tipped you toward the back of the couch, adjusting the pillow beneath your head. It was just then, perhaps jostled awake, when you started to stir.

The first thing you really remembered was the sensation of cold air on your side and the residual cloud of pain which seemed to be pulsing through your entire torso. “Fuck,” you muttered, dragging your eyelids open.

“Doll?” Negan sounded relieved and you felt his hand press down hard on your side, adding pressure to some wad of something soft.

“Ow!” you hissed, trying to sit up and push him off you.

“Whoa, whoa! Take it easy! You’re bleeding a lot here. We’ve gotta get this stitched up again,” Negan said.

“I already stitched it,” you argued, not thinking entirely clearly at the moment.

“Yeah, and you did a piss poor job, which is why you’re currently lying in a pool of your own blood,” he retorted, not letting up on the pressure to the wound.

You craned your neck to look over at Negan and your side, your brows tense in a wince. Your sweater was soaked crimson and pushed up so Negan could hold a towel over the wound. Your skin was smeared and stained. You felt suddenly tired and laid back down, trying to catch your breath. “Fine… okay,” you sighed. “Do whatever you need to.”

Negan let out a noise that was part laugh and part scoff. “I was planning on it. Hey—is the bullet still in there?”

You nodded, closing your eyes against another wave of pain. “Yeah…”

“Uh, shouldn’t we try to get that out? You could get an infection.”

You laughed grimly. “I was going to leave it in because going on a fishing expedition inside my body with dirty hands while I was laying in the woods didn’t seem like a good idea. Not to mention the fact that I can’t really see it. But please, by all means…”

Negan cleared his throat. “Alright. Hey—hold the towel on here a minute.” You placed your hand over his, sharply aware of even the glancing contact before he slipped away. You stared at the back of the worn couch, focusing on the little squares of woven stitches. You could hear him opening and closing cabinets in the next room.

“Take your time,” you said loudly. “Not like I’m slowly bleeding out over here...”

Negan came back in with a large glass bottle in his hand. Vodka.

You stared at him. “I’m more of a whiskey girl, myself,” you said dryly.

He let out a disbelieving laugh and shook his head. You were still cracking jokes with a bullet in your side. “Of course you are, doll. I’d have guessed that. But this is all I’ve got.” You finally noticed the long silver instrument in his other hand and any jest you had left in you slipped away. You gulped at the sight of the cold metal of the long tweezers.

“You better hand me that bottle,” you said.

“It’s for disinfect—”

“I don’t give a shit. I need a drink if you’re going to dig that thing into me,” you breathed.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The sound of your own breathing came first, steady but louder than normal, and then there was the comforting sound of a crackling fire in the background. Your eyes were a bit bleary as you opened them but cleared as you blinked a few times. Your side felt as if it was on fire.

You shifted on the couch and Negan straightened up in his chair, the grim expression on his face melting away. “Thank fuck you’re awake,” he said, leaning forward to study your face. “How ya feelin’?”

“Uhh—I think a little drunk actually,” you said, sitting up and putting a hand to your head. The room wobbled a little.

“I’m not surprised. You may have overdone it on the liquid courage. I barely had enough to do the job,” Negan said.

You pressed a hand over your side and could feel that he’d secured a bandage and gauze over the wound. The bandage wrapped all the way around you. “I passed out again?”

Negan nodded and then grabbed a little saucer off the table and held it out so you could see what was on it. “Fucker was in there pretty deep,” he said. The bullet made a sharp noise as it rolled on the ceramic. It was stained with a rusty coating of dried blood.

You nodded. “Right. Well, you got it. Don’t throw that out. I want it,” you said with a half-smile. “I’ll make a necklace or something with it.” Negan didn’t look amused. “It stitched up okay?”

Negan nodded again, discarding the plate on the table again and giving you a long, serious look. “Yeah, it was easy since I could actually see it.” He sighed as you avoided his hazel eyes. “Your ear. That’s a bullet graze.” It wasn’t a question.

You fiddled with the edge of blanket he’d tucked over you, but said nothing. Negan sighed heavily again and you were surprised to see him anxiously running both his hands over his face. You thought they looked a little shaky even. “I’m fine,” you said.

“Somebody almost blew your head off on the way here, but you’re fine?” he said. His voice was deep and gruff, and you could hear anger in it. Not at you, but at what had happened. It surprised you how much feeling was in his voice. “Tell me.”

You gulped and shrugged. “I—ran into some men on the way here. First, they demanded my gear but—that—wasn’t enough,” you said. You avoided his eyes again. “I don’t think they even wanted the gear...” you trailed off. There was a tense silence for a long moment before you hazarded a glance up at Negan and there was a shadow on his face and a violent rage behind his eyes. “They underestimated me. I fought them off but—the last guy had a gun I didn’t know about... But—I took care of it. I’m fine,” you said again, repeating it in the same tone you had every single time you’d already said it. Were you trying to convince yourself or him?

Negan leaned forward, his gaze still intense. “You were attacked by a group of men on the way here, shot in the side, and almost shot in the head which you barely survived, and you’re ‘fine’,” he said. His expression softened as he looked at you, the anger replaced with some mixture of worry and sorrow and regret. “Doll—”

You let out a humorless laugh. “I have to be fine! So, I am!” you said, perhaps a little more loudly than you needed to. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been in almost the exact same situation since the world went to shit? Be glad you were born a man.”

His eyes flickered over your face, the worry on your behalf still pronounced. “Coming to see me would be a pretty fuckin’ stupid reason to die,” he said.

“I didn’t die, did I? I’m fine.”

He looked hesitant. “None of them got away? Because if they did, I will go out there right now and put them down myself. Just say the word.”

You shook your head. “None of them are left. I took care of it.”

His eyes flickered between yours and the feeling between you was intense and charged. His jaw tightened and he straightened up again in his seat. “For fuck’s sake, why the hell didn’t you just tell me what happened when you got here?”

You opened your mouth to speak, then closed it again. Then, you finally said, “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Negan gave you a look. “You were shot. You almost died. It is a big fuckin’ deal. Besides, how’d that work out for you, hmm? Not making a big deal out of it? You passed out right in front of me and were suddenly soaked in blood.”

“I thought I’d taken care of it myself. I didn’t think—”

Negan crossed his arms, surveying you from his place at the table. “No, you just never want to have to rely on anyone else. Because you think that makes you vulnerable.”

You looked at him with a struck look of surprise and he knew he’d hit the mark. “What, were you a shrink in your last life?”

“No. A gym teacher,” he said with a small laugh.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that left you just after his. “Wow. Really? Sexy,” you said sarcastically.

His lips curved in a small smile. He was relieved you were cracking jokes again. Some of the tension in the air seemed to evaporate. “I’m glad you think so. You’re stuck here now for a few days, so get comfortable, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you think I’m going to let you, of all people, boss me around—”

Negan smiled more broadly. “I love when you try to argue with me. It’s good. I need a firm fucking hand. Speaking of jobs requiring a firm hand—”

“Negan—” you warned him, your tone dangerous.

“—I better go cut some more firewood before we run out,” he finished with a grin. You felt your cheeks flushing. “Jesus, where was your dirty little mind at?” he asked, climbing to his feet. “You relax and drink some water. I’ll be back in a few.”

You stared at his tall frame as he pulled his coat on and opened the door to step outside. “You said it that way on purpose!” you yelled after him.

He glanced back at you over his shoulder from the doorway with that same shit-eating grin. “What? I don’t get what you’re driving at. Maybe you could explain it to me?”

You flicked him off and shot him a glare. Negan only laughed. “Listen, don’t get your hopes up. You’ve got some healing up to do before we can—”

“Negan—” you growled.

“—walk back to Alexandria together. For fuck’s sake, what did you think I was about to say?” You gave him an unamused look and he laughed again. The sound warmed you. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got it from here. Just rest. You’ll be back kicking ass before you know it. And in the meantime, I am fuckin’ thrilled to have your company.”

[gloomyluvr]

TANS AND WHORES (just one and his name's rafe)

in which rafe plans a last minute beach day

fem!reader x rafe cameron

fluff

warnings!: playful whore and slut shaming (between reader and rafe), not a warning but reader is kinda suggested to have darker skin than rafe

a/n: may the ancestors forgive me for writing about a white man who'd probably call me a beaner if he was real 😓🙏. it's so hard to write any petnames in english cuz it's not what the language i use for petnames typically. but i have to compromise and have reader call rafe something silly or simply just rafe 🥸 pls lmk of any spelling errors tysm!

beach days with the pogues were definitely one of your favorite past times. no doubt about it. there was just something so intimate about spending the whole day together by the ocean without a single care in the world other than partying, surfing and being inebriated. 

but you loved beach days with rafe cameron just a bit more. especially when rafe was the one who planned them.

it was only 10am when the buzzing of your phone from under your pillow had awoken you. you groaned, annoyed that someone had disrupted your beauty sleep. without even looking at the contact , you answered the call. 

“what.” you made no effort to hide your annoyance. 

“hey baby, you just waking up?” 

quickly, you sat up. your sour mood instantly turns sweet at the sound of your boyfriend's voice. “hey sexy, yeah sorry i slept real late last night. what’s up?”

rafe chuckled at the switch up, “the uv’s at 9 and supposed to reach 11 so, i thought we should go to the beach. it’d be perfect for you to try that oil.”

“aww you remembered! you’re such a cutie patootie, awww!” you teased.

“yeah yeah, whatever. anyways, i have our bag packed. i want you ready by 10:30. i’m about to leave tannyhill.”

you pulled your phone away to check the time and gasped. “rafe it’s already 10:16! that’s not enough time to get ready!” 

“yes it is, you don’t needa put on makeup or do your hair. just throw on a fucking bikini,” he demanded, “i already packed some extra clothes in the bag just in case we go somewhere after.”

you groaned into the phone dramatically, letting your frustration be known. but rafe stayed unbothered, already used to your bratty attitude.

“10:30.” he restated before hanging up.

at the beach, rafe set up your spot with your towels, umbrella, and chairs all while you stood next to him serving looks. once everything was set, you kneeled on your towel while digging into the bag rafe had messily packed, desperately searching for your tanning oil as rafe sat on the towels behind you, putting on sunscreen as you had advised him the u.v. rays were far too intense for his sensitive pale skin to handle.

“baby can you get my back please.” 

you looked back at rafe only to find his bare back facing you, “put on a shirt whore!” 

“you’re literally wearing the skimpiest bikini ever, slut!” rafe called back, used to your usual antics. 

you gasped, “i’m gonna let you burn until your skin flakes off.” you threatened, smacking the blonde’s back causing him to grunt.

“do it then.” he challenged, knowing you would never let him suffer such pain. responding in a sigh you stayed quiet as you gave in and covered his freckled back with spf. “how come you can practically be naked while i can’t even take my shirt off.” 

“because,” you massaged the sunscreen into rafe’s tense muscles, “i’m super hot and sexy and i have an even hotter and sexier, jacked, six foot something boyfriend who can fight. unfortunately for him, my manicures matter to me too much to wanna ruin them. that and i can't fight for shit. okayyy my turnnn!”

you quickly handed rafe the expensive ass tanning oil you begged him for. according to you, it worked wayyy quicker than the typical drugstore oils that had barely even tinted your naturally tan skin plus it even had skin benefits or some bullshit.

 rafe only hummed, before switching places with you. he poured the greasy oil into his hands, rubbing them together. he scoffed, not believing he had spent nearly 100 dollars on the oil. not that it had hurt his wallet or anything, he just didn’t understand what the big deal was. regardless he bought it for you just to see the smile he loved so dearly.

large hands began messily roaming your back. rafe made sure to get every nook and cranny of your back, partly because he wanted to protect you from the sun, but mostly because he would take whatever chance he could to touch you. 

“want me to help you with your front too?” rafe asked ever so kindly, but you looked back at him to see him with the biggest smirk on his face that immediately let you know this generous offer was nowhere as innocent as it seems. he raised his eyebrows, eager for a response.

“fine, but don’t be nasty.” you turned back around, patiently waiting for rafe as you watched the waves crash.

“yea yea, whatever you want.” rafe muttered. you didn’t have to see your boyfriend to know that he had the biggest smile on his face, with no intention of staying true to his word.

bonus a/n: originally, this was supposed to be a bit longer, i was gonna write them in the water just bullying each other but then it became really suggestive and like i scrapped it.

i write to have a lil rafe cameron fluff in the sea of smuts and angst 😓 and yet here i was, close to unintentionally writing smut !!! beyondddd ashamed of myself. but no hate to smut writers, i love u freaks 🙂‍↕️

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Unplanned

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: High school sweethearts having the best time of their life, when everything seems so perfect. But sometimes, things don’t go as we plan them.

Warnings: angst, unwanted pregnancy, some curse words, a bit of sadness (but it gets better, I promise!)

A/N: I had a dream earlier this week, so it’s based on it. I don’t know how I feel about it (I read it nearly ten times, it’s fine, I guess.), personally I don’t think that George would act like he did in the beginning of this fic, so take it as a part of the plot. I have some ideas for possible part two, but who knows if I make it happen.

Please don’t use my writings without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

———

Young and naive love, that’s all they’ve always said when they saw you and George intertwined with each other every time you walk through the paddock. Meeting at high school, you knew he was the one, and his thing about racing, it was something that attracted you even more.

You always loved to ruffle his hair before the driver’s parade, just to make him grumpy, because he spent so much time fixing his wave of golden brown locks. The way he could make you smile, his warm embrace giving you peace and comfort, the days you enjoyed in the countryside with your families because your parents simply knew each other.

It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

George’s move to F1 was sure, his dreams coming true, he couldn’t be more happy and motivated to push himself to the limits more. On the other hand, you just found out the horrible thing.

Walking through the paddock in Brazil, you fought the nausea, as you held onto George’s hand. You tried to tell him, but you were interrupted by someone or something every time. He noticed your strange behaviour, your pale face.

“Are you well, love?” He suddenly stopped to get a better look at you, leaning down closer to you.

This was your only chance to say it. “George, I’m pregnant.”

Your whispered words nearly gave him a heart attack.

“You’re- what?”

“You heard me. I don’t want to yell it here.” Your hand went to his cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into your palm, bringing you comfort for your nerves.

George just stood there, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He grabbed your hand only to push it from his face away.

“We’re gonna talk about this later. I need to focus on the race.”

Your heart broke in your chest. Yeah, you thought just for a moment that he would be happy. But it was far from ideal.

———

George was pacing around the hotel room, while you sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with your fingers.

“How could it happen? We were so careful, you on the pill and we were using protection.. how?”

“That time in the summer, when I was sick and taking antibiotics, that night on the yacht, when we weren’t sober..”

“Holy shit…”

“George, look, I know it’s not easy, it’s not perfect timing right now, but we can do it.”

“Are you crazy? We’re twenty. You can’t be serious about this.”

“What? So you want to give it up? Get rid of it?”

George pinched the bridge of his nose, getting frustrated and hopeless.

“I can’t take care of the baby now. I’m gonna drive in F1 next season, it’s a big thing for me and I’m not ready to be a father. I don’t have an energy for the act of loving family.”

That was enough for you to bring you to the tears. Your hand went down at your stomach, sign of protective love for the small bundle growing inside you.

George hasn’t single clue what to do in that moment. He just stared into the wall, his mind blank, feeling like his world just shattered.

“I’m sorry I can’t fit into your image of fairytale life.”

And with that he walked out of the hotel room.

Also it was a very last moment he saw you for a very very long time…

———

“George and babies! What a cute sight!”

“He should be a dad! Baby suits him!”

“Make him a daddy already!”

“Oh, what a father figure!”

You did a great job for those past six years to be away from media and spotlight. After that day you saw George last, you never looked back. Maybe it was selfish. But his opinion on the situation was clear. He didn’t want a baby.

“Mom, I said that I have to pee. Are you listening to me?”

The voice of your son William interrupted your thoughts, while you were scrolling through your instagram for the first time in the past years. Brushing your annoyance by those comments aside, you looked at Will with soft smile.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. I’ll wait here for you, just go to the restrooms there.” You pointed to the direction and Will just rushed there.

When he was about four years old, he came across the idea of karting. You were strictly against it, but after his teacher in the kindergarten was done with his ultimate rant about formula and racing, you just took him to the first lesson and that was a start. Yeah, of course you were scared, not much about George possibly finding out, spotting you, but about Will’s safety. But you cannot expect someone with strong racing genes to be interested in being a scientist.

While you were waiting for your son to come back, you haven’t noticed the buzz around the circuit, signalling the famous person appearing around. You grabbed small helmet and looked at it with soft smile, brushing your thumb over it.

“Mom! You need to see this! Mom! C’mon!”

Will was calling you from the small group of kids, his voice full of excitement and joy. You raised your brows with amused smile, when he was excited about something, he just couldn’t brush it off.

As you took a few steps closer to him, you were curious about what was everybody so ecstatic about.

“That’s George Russell, mom!”

At that name your blood ran cold. Oh no.

“Will, how do you know him?”

“Jeez mom, everybody around knows him! He used to race here as a kid. He’s cool!”

Well, it was inevitable.

Her eyes carefully found George, seeing him interacting with the youngsters. He looked good, more mature and composed. Also his hairstyle was different, giving him a manly touch. Wrinkles around his eyes were still the same, but more apparent, when he smiled. And his eyes.. god, they were the same mesmerising blue colour.

Will left her standing there, getting through the small crowd of kids, to get his signature from him.

“Mr. Russell? George. Can you please sign this? You’re my inspiration.”

His small teeth appearing in grin as he gave George his cap. George’s eyes fell onto him, smiling cheerfully as he signed the cap.

“Just call me George, I’m not much formal person, when it comes to kids. I want to be friendly, because I know how exciting is to meet your idol.”

William’s eyes were glowing with happiness as he held the now signed cap.

“You’re amazing! Thank you.”

George smiled at the boy, watching him running to his mom. It was strange, because he looked familiar. His smile faded as he saw you, looking down at the boy with proud smile.

“Mom! I’m so happy, look!”

Will was excited, nearly jumping on the spot from it.

“I never saw you this happy. Guess it was worth it.” You smiled at him, ruffling his hair.

Without another look at George, you walked to prepare Will for karting session. You thought that he hasn’t noticed you.

George stood afar, watching the kids getting ready, but giving his main attention to you and your son. Will was already giving you hard time with his rolling eyes, sighs and “of course, mom”. While you wore your worried face, furrowing brows there and there, kissing him on his forehead and then fastening his small helmet securely.

When the session started, you moved to the sidelines, watching the circuit with heavy heart and tightness in chest.

“He’s a natural talent, I must say.”

The well known deep voice made you froze in place, your palms sweaty and your throat dry. Carefully, you turned to look at George.

“He is. I can’t keep him calm for a moment straight.”

Trying to hold your voice steady, you looked back at the track. George took a place beside her, doing the same.

“It’s been a long time.”

The ridiculous situation made you chuckle.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The silence between you was thick as hell. Both of you had your own reels of thoughts in your minds.

“I often thought about meeting you again one day. What would I say to you. And I’m saying I’m sorry.”

You lifted your gaze at him, feeling surprised but somehow deeply satisfied.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I was a total jerk back then. I should’ve acted more like an adult, I hurt you.”

The pain of the past years hit you like a train, while you just nodded.

“It’s strange seeing you happy now. You’re a caring mom, from what I saw. I guess the father must be proud too.”

That was the moment you snorted a little, making him confused.

“Look, George… I… I’m sorry too. We were young and it was a little selfish from me to want you to take responsibility.”

“We should’ve talk about it more that day. It’s one of the few things I regret in my life.”

“Well… I’m sorry that I disappeared. But I was so sad, hurt and scared, that I was sure that I need to do things alone. And I did a damn good job.”

George frowned a little, turning his head to look at you.

“William is six years old by the way.”

You said with sigh, locking your eyes with his. At first he didn’t understand. Then, it clicked in his brain. Pointing to track and gasping in shock, his eyes went wide. You just nodded.

Silence was deafening, while George collapsed at the nearby bench, sitting there speechless.

“William? You named him William?”

You took a seat beside him with soft hum.

“Holy fuck. I’m so shocked.”

“I’m sorry. You would find out sooner or later. And now I’ll be a fool. Fooling you, my parents, your parents, but mostly Will. I told him that his father and I broke up before his birth. He didn’t question it.”

George shook violently, running his hands through his hair.

“You kept this for yourself for many years. You kept the baby. Oh my god.. I missed so much. Six years.”

“I loved you and it hurt, I hadn’t had the heart to get an abortion. And I don’t regret that decision.”

He took your hand in his, the distant warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, making you smile.

“I want to be present in his life. I want to get to know him, to give him everything I could. I want to be a father I should’ve been.”

Your smile grew wide, tears glistening in your eyes.

“Sure, but it’ll take time. I need to reveal it to him carefully. I might be on the black list for a while, but he’d be over the moon, that George Russell is his dad.”

George let out a soft laugh, his voice shaky.

“I’ll take any time in the world. I’ll make it worth it. I won’t disappoint him. I won’t disappoint you.”

[haveihitanerve]

all Sfth fans I beg of you, watch AJ translating Luke's czech speech about teaching badgers* to play hockey- its the most ridiculous thing in the world and i love it so much

A-I-say-the-first-thing-that-comes-to-mind-without-hesitation-J

and

Luke-I-will-act-out-every-single-fucking-moment-like-I-want-an-oscar-manning

are a deadly combination and honestly everything about it was peak

at the beginning Luke looking at Sam and Tom to see who's doing it and Tom refusing to stand so its his job now

"Aj here speaks fluent Czech" Sam just being a lil shit, love to see it. even when they're obviously making jokes he has to be annoying and i love it

Luke beginning to speak "czech" and AJ already ruining it- Tom's little smirk of "oh this should be fun"

Sam being done and just rubbing his face in resignation

AJ being proud of himself "Hello dostakya"

"i -have, slept with before??" Tom's disappointed dad laugh and nose pinch. and sams head hang

AJ grinning bc he thinks hes so funny(he is)

Luke managing to not break and just standing there with an "I will murder him" face

Tom looking in the direction in which "dostakya" was thrown

"and that was how we slept together" Tom's disappointed head shake even as he laughs

aj's pride

Tom's grin at Luke "playing hockey" bc he knows AJ will have to translate the grunts somehow

"like that" Tom's genuine burst of laughter. I love it sm

"thhhhree? years it took dovosky" why does he change the name? no one knows

Tom actually losing it at "king of england"

aj also breaking slightly. just enough that its adorable

luke looking at him once with a "dafuq" look just to ask what on earth did you turn this plot into

luke's whole badger thing

"he rep-" breaks everyone and its the best part

"he replied in beaver" "beav-beaver?" from sam bc AJ literally its a badger what-

Sam leaning forward for a better look at Luke's beaver/Czech man interaction

AJ losing it with his classic hand over the mouth like a victorian widow learning of shocking news

"i-uh-" Luke's side eye at Aj

"Suddenly understood what he was saying!" Luke loosing it

AJ just abandoning everything and going on a monologue when Luke hasn't mimed this much yet but wtv it eats

"That is what happened." Thank you AJ.

Aj's imitation of Luke's distress. All of it was perfect

*while breaking so much he actively bends backwards to hold in his laugh(and then laughs)*

Sam questioning AJ when they sit down again

and thats the whole video and my fav parts thanks for bearing witness to my madness :)