#and I don't want to sound like I'm begging here but if anyone could point me to ANY fics with ace pride? and comfort for it??

[billiesguitar]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 ←last part || next part→

Fuckboy!Billie x Nerdy!Reader

- Part 2 || Au masterlist ||

Warnings - Billie slightly manipulating reader,short chapter,mentions of sex (no smut tho)

As soon as Billie left the room, I began to regret everything. what the hell was I thinking? I hastily put my clothes on and head back to my dorm, making sure to leave that orange post-it on her bed.

a week passes and i hadn't heard from her. Thank God. I made a point to rush past her in the halls and cafeteria, I regreted everything and genuinely didn't want to talk about it or hear about it ever.

But one evening, when I was studying in the library, I felt a presence behind me. I looked up and there she was, her dark hair in a messy bun and those piercing eyes staring straight into my soul. She had her hands in her pocket, leaning against the bookshelf.

"hm, funny seeing you here." she says with a smirk.

I roll my eyes and continue my reading, pretending she's not there. But she doesn't leave, she sits next to me, her leg brushing against mine.

"You've been avoiding me." she says, her voice low and teasing.

"I have not," I reply, trying to keep my cool.

"Yes, you have," she counters, "why?"

"Because, Billie, that was a mistake." I whisper, "please don't tell anyone," I beg.

"wh-" I cut her off, "promise me you wont tell anyone,"

She leans closer, "Why should I?"

"Because, I'd rather not draw that type of attention to myself." I reply, my voice shaking slightly.

"What do you mean, 'that type of attention', what kind of attention?" she asks, her smirk growing.

"You know what I mean," I mutter through gritted teeth.

she smirks, "no I don't, care to explain?"

"fuck you." I pick up my things and rush out of the library, ignoring her laughter.

she follows me out, "Okay okay, I'm sorry, I promise I won't tell anyone," she says, "But you know you liked it."

I roll my eyes at her and head back to my dorm to continue studying in peace.

The next day, I'm in my dorm when my phone buzzes, it's a text from a number I don't recognize. "What number is your dorm?" It's Billie, I know it is. I ignore it, pretending not to know who it is. my phone buzzes again

"It's Billie, we need to talk." I sigh, what could she possibly want? I decide to text back "about what?" "about what happened that night" I groan and text back "What do you want to talk about?" "I want to see you again, to appologize."

I think about it for a moment before finally replying, "Fine." "the door number?" I send it to her, and immediately regret it.

Within minutes, there's a knock on my door. I take a deep breath before opening it to find Billie standing there in a hoodie and some shorts.

"Hey," she says, her eyes searching my face for a reaction.

"Hi," I reply, stepping aside to let her in.

Her eyes scan the room before landing on me again. "So, about that night." she starts.

"I don't want to talk about it," I say, trying to sound firm.

"Why not?" she asks, sitting on my bed.

"Because it was a mistake," I repeat, "I don't do that sort of thing."

"What, have sex?" she scans my face again, "or have sex with a girl?"

I blush, "Both, I guess." I look up at her, "I guess, I'm not ready for everyone to know that I'm, y'know…"

"Gay?" she finishes for me.

I nod, feeling embarrassed.

"You don't have to be ashamed," she says, "It's who you are."

"I know," I murmur, "But I'm not ready to tell everyone."

"That's okay," she says, her voice soft, "I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

We sit in silence for a moment before she speaks again, "But I'm not going to lie, I want to see you again."

My heart skips a beat, "Why?"

"You're interesting."

"Billie-"

she cuts me off, "doesn't have to be sexual if you don't want. just friends?" she flashes me a seemingly genuine smile, and I stupidly fall for it.

"Okay," I say, "but no funny business."

"Scout's honor," she says, holding up two fingers.

We sit and talk for hours, about everything and nothing. We watch movies, she makes fun of my love for romance, and I tease her about her love for horror. And somehow, we find ourselves lying on the bed, our heads on the same pillow, watching the sun rise.

It's comfortable, being around her, and I find myself forgetting the fear and embarrassment I felt that night.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

𖦹Scarlets' note - -ˋˏ- suble forshadowing??

←last part || next part→

TAGLIST - @iluvapplesxh @imurmomsfavgf @hkkuugu @krosep @stonerfromlesbos

[wayfayrr]

I'm just gonna vent a little here so feel free to ignore this <3

Sorry there's still a bit of a delay on the writing I've been doing - I've been working on them but honestly, I'm kinda need to take a tiny break from writing. I don't know if it'll be just a day or two or a week or two at the moment but I didn't want to drop off with complete silence so here I go. I hate to say this but my mental health has kind of tanked recently. I want to say that it's due to being in so much when I was sick and call it at that, but I know it's more than that that really? I'm not going to get into it here. Putting pressure on myself to get these written pretty fast isn't helping me at the minute. I'll delete this later but I didn't want to just do this without a word. I'll see you soon!!

[exhaslo]

Kinktober Day 1- Mafia! Miguel O'Hara

        In this Universe, it was not just the villains' you had to be afraid of. In every corner of the city of Nueva York, there were members of the mafia. The amount of families that ran different parts of this city were starting to make one lose count. No matter how safe you felt, you weren't. Everyone, including you, knew better than to mess with anyone. It was best to keep your head down and mind your own business. At least you wanted to.

        It was just another ordinary work day for you. The alarm clock was put on snooze more times than you could count, and now you were running late. Hurrying down the street with a poorly prepared sandwich in hand, you begged to make it in time for work. It was a miracle that the clothes you wore even matched properly. Honestly, preparing the night before always sounded like a great idea. It was just a shame you were too tired to do so.

        Right as the signal changed to walk, gunshots were heard. Everybody ran the opposite direction, knowing better than to get anywhere near. Everyone, except you. Your lateness was going to get you either fired or killed. As of right now, being killed sounded better than being fired. At least it did in your mind before you actually ran towards your job in the mist of another gang war. The tears in your sandwich were going to be a grim reminder to wake up earlier tomorrow-if you lived till then.

----------

        Miguel sat in his vehicle, watching his men go at it with the members of the Vulture clan. He had warned them several times to do this inside, but what point was there to talk with idiots? Needing some fresh air, Miguel stepped out of his car. How much longer until the other side gives up? Wanting to reach for his own gun, Miguel heard the cries of a woman. It was an all too familiar sound. He knew of the effect he had on them.

"Oh?" A slight smirk formed against his lips as he watched you run through the middle of a warzone, "Qué idiota. (What a dumbass)" He muttered under his breathe.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't be late next time! I'm sorry!" You cried repeatedly as you fell on the ground, holding your head.

        Miguel found you entertaining. He drew his gun and proceeded to make his way over to your trembling body. Luckily, he only had to fire a few times before his foot was near your (h/l) (h/c) hair. With ease, he grabbed your arm and lifted you towards him. Like instinct, you grabbed onto him, apologizing like there was no tomorrow. A smug grin formed against his lips.

"Parece que me encontré con un perro callejero. No puedo dejar a una cosita tan bonita como tú aquí sola. (Looks like I found me a stray. Can't leave a pretty little thing like you out here alone)" He said lowly. Finally, you raised your head,

"I-I'm so sorry. I was just late for work and...and...You have a gun." Your words kept stuttered as your brain finally started to connect the dots, "I swear I didn't see anything! I'm just passing through! I'm so sorry!"

"What's your name?" Miguel asked as he led you to his car.

"(Y/N)" You replied, watching his every move.

        You were terrified. You had almost died and were saved by a mafia member. Now your life was in his large hands. His beautiful red orbs felt like they were staring into your soul. There wasn't even a speck of dust on this man's clothes. He was so tall and seemed to be on another level than the other guys. Perhaps owing your life to him was not so bad after all. He was handsome and honestly, if he asked you to do something, you probably would.

"Te haré un buen uso si te gusta lo que ves. (I'll make good use of you if you like what you see.)" Miguel's smirk only widen. It took you a minute to slap your flustered cheeks and get your head out of the gutter,

"Huh? I'm sorry, I don't understand Spanish." You politely told him, not wanting to anger the man with a gun. Miguel motioned you aside before entering the car as well,

"I asked where you worked. I'll take you there."

"Are you sure? I'm already being a burden to you."

"You'll be paying me back of course," Miguel's eyes pierced yours, "Just do what I say and we'll be even."

-----------------

"Ugh, Qué descuidado. Nunca has estado con un hombre, ¿verdad? (How sloppy. You've never been with a man, have you?)" Miguel hissed as you sucked on his large cock.

        His hand held your head, guiding you down his shaft. Tears threaten to spill as you felt his tip hit the back of your throat. He was far too long and you had no experience doing something like this. Stroking your hands against his cock, you tried your best to please him. He did save your life after all. Swirling your tongue against his tip, you felt him twitch. He hand returned to your head and started to move you on his own. It hurt as he fucked your mouth, but it made you feel hot.

"Swallow." Miguel commanded as he shoved his cock deep into your mouth. It burned and hurt your jaw, but you did as he said, "Good girl."

        You let out a cough, trying to hold your composure. Miguel lifted you up and placed you on his lap. He slid your underwear to the side, sliding a finger inside your wet hole. Moans escaped your throat as you held onto his shoulders. His thick fingers stretched you out better than your own toys. It felt good. With a sudden curl, Miguel had you putty in his arms. Your moans were getting louder as your felt your climax approaching.

"Que guarra. A punto de correrme solo con mi dedo. (How slutty. About to cum with just my finger.)"

        If only you knew what he was saying. It turned you on more just thinking about the naughty things he was calling you. This sexy stranger who saved your life was now about to fuck you in his car. You should be regretting this, but your better judgement was telling you otherwise. Feeling Miguel remove his finger made you mewl in protest. His placed his fingers' in your mouth as he lowered your waist.

        Your eyes widen as you felt him slowly enter your throbbing hole. It was hurting. Your small hands gripped onto Miguel, trembling from the feeling of being stretched out. Instead of slowing down, Miguel held your waist and slammed you down on his cock. Your back arched as you let out a cry from your orgasm. He was so deep inside you. Your body felt so full that it made your brain all fuzzy. This was something knew that you weren't sure if you wanted to stop.

"Already? We still have 20 minutes until we arrive at your work. Don't give up on me now," Miguel told you as he thrusted his hips up.

        Another cry escaped your throat as you felt his tip hit your cervix. Miguel was enjoyed this by the lick of his lips. He demanded that you started moving. That hungry look in his eyes every time you bounced on his cock. You felt like you couldn't get enough. Your legs were shaking as each thrust made your stomach turn. Sloppy moans and cries were all you can come up with as his cock bullied your cunt. This man was going to destroy you. Feeling his hands grip your hips was a sign.

"I'll take over now," Miguel's smirk never faded, "Voy a hacerte mi juguete personal, cariño. No tendrás que preocuparte por llegar tarde al trabajo si tu trabajo es mi polla dentro de ti. (I'm going to make you my personal toy, sweetheart. You won't need to worry about being late to work if your job is my cock inside you.)" He whispered in your ear.

        Whatever he said made your body shiver in delight. Miguel moved you against the car seat, slamming his hips into yours. He held your waist up, enjoying the view. Your lewd expressions were one of a kind. The way your boobs bounced with every thrust and how your body twitched when he pounded you were delightful. He could soak in every fiber of your being. You were his new favorite. Feeling your hole suck him made his smirk widen more.

        He moved your legs above his shoulders, enjoying your cried of pleasure as he ventured further inside you. His cock twitched as he neared his orgasm, wanting you to reach yours first. He leaned down to take a nipple in his mouth while his thumb rubbed your clit. His ears perked up as you called his name out. Your body arched once more as he cam on his dick. Miguel chuckled as he picked up his pace. He groaned lowly, shoving himself as far back as he could, coating your walls white.

"M-Miguel....That...was amazing," You barely breathed out. Miguel fixed his hair before reaching for your cheek,

"We're not done yet. We still have 17 minutes until you reach your job...If you decide to work there anymore when I'm done with you." He chuckled darkly, thrusting his hips into once more. You let out a cry, gripping onto the car seat,

"B-But I have...to ah...w-work for...ah~" Your words fell on deaf ears. Miguel was going to fuck the idea of work out of your brain,

"You got saved by me. Whether you like it or not, you're going to be mine now."

"M-Mig-"

"Not everyone gets a chance to be the leader's pet. Enjoy my cock inside you because I'm not letting you go."

        Only a whimper could escape your lips as Miguel kept bullying his cock inside you. Your legs started to grow numb. All you could feel is Miguel. 

------------

"Everyone is dismissed." Miguel spat as he finished his meeting, "Lyla, make sure Peter gets informed on what we discussed. Make sure he gets here on time next time."

"Yes, sir." Lyla said with a chip.

        Once everyone was gone and the door was shut, Miguel moved back slightly. A smirk formed against his lips as he looked down at you. You had been under his desk during the whole meeting, sucking and playing with his cock. Miguel reached out to stroke your hair, enjoying you nuzzle your head into his hand.

"You've gotten better, cariño. How naughty of you to try and distract me while working." He said with a grin. You climbed onto his lip, bringing him in for a kiss,

"At least I was early," You said with a soft whine. Miguel agreed before filling you with his dick, "Mhpm, I-I was going to...hah...ask...if we can, ah, g-go for d-dinner." You whimpered, trembling at his brutal pace. 

"¿Cena? Estoy a punto de llenarte aquí y ahora. (Dinner? I'm about to fill you up right here and now.)" 

"M-Miguel..." You moaned, holding onto him as you felt your high approaching.

        Miguel licked his lips as he watched you melt under his touch. You had been by his side for almost a year now. The family was hesitant to welcome you, but quickly did once they saw how much Miguel enjoyed your company. Needless to say, you never had to worry about being late for work again. Your job was to keep Miguel satisficed, which was a simple task since you lived with him. From dawn to dusk, Miguel used your body to fuel his lust. He liked you far more than anyone before and that was not going to change anytime soon. You belonged to Miguel now and forever.

"Say it again for me." Miguel demanded as he laid you against his desk. You cried softly as he pounded your poor pussy,

"T-Thank you for saving me,"

"Una vez más. (One more time.)"

"A-Ah~ T-Thank y-you for saving me~"

"Good girl."

[nightwngz]

Could you do an enemies to lovers NSFW with Damian?

p.s. I’d just like to say your writing is SO good for someone whose first language isn’t English! I would not have known

ANIMALS !

older!damian x fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. . . drabble. smut. porn without plot. Dirty talk, degradation. Dacryphilia, humiliation kink, praise kink, Damian is mean. Some bdsm. Aggressive sex, bondage. Oral sex and fingering, p in v.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. . . as I said in my other posts, English is not my first language. I have tried to make corrections with the translator, but as you all know, it is prone to making mistakes, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if anything sounds weird.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. . . Okay, I get it. Damian is your favorite character on my account, I get requests for him all the time and I love that because who doesn't love Damian? So here we go again. By the way, I'm glad you liked my writing! It is almost impossible for me to write without any grammar or vocabulary mistakes, but I keep trying! Thanks🌷 (Pd: if you reblog this post it would help me a lot) <3

— Do you want to stop?

From the vulnerability of your bed, shackled hand and foot, you thought it was a bad decision to bother Damian for so long. You thought you were just being funny, that no one would care that you were harassing Bruce Wayne's son. You had no idea what he was capable of doing to you.

— No.

A mischievous smile played on his lips as he stood over you; you could feel his weight on your body. In an instant, however, you felt yourself fall hard against the mat in the room.

— What do you have to say now? — He admired you from on high. — Aren't you the same funny girl you always were?

The sole of his shoe brushed your cheek. You felt incredibly humiliated, as if you were an inferior being in his presence. He looked at your body as if it were worthless.

— This would be amazing for anyone to see you: tied up, naked, on my bedroom floor. I can see your dripping pussy from up here. Who knew the amazingly cool girl would like this? — His shoe began to press harder against the flesh of your face. — You like it rough, guess what, I'm the best at it when I put my mind to it.

The wetness from your pussy dripped down your legs, leaving gray stains on the carpet. Damian, aware of this, walked around to stand behind you to get a close-up view of your ass. He easily slid a finger through your swollen folds and instantly it was stained with so much accumulated moisture.

— Damian, what are you going to do? — you asked, somewhat anxiously, but received no answer.

He bent his face down until his breath was in contact with your pussy; you quickly felt a mere shiver from your nervousness. Soon you felt his lips, and not long after, his whole hand making an obscene sound inside you; sliding up and down your wet folds, not yet reaching the pleasurable point that made you go wild.

— Damian... — You moaned softly as you buried your face in the carpet.

He didn't stop moving, he just kept playing with every part of her crotch, making you wish he'd concentrate on the throbbing clit that needed attention.

One of his fingers hovered around your clitoris and began to caress it gently. Just as you thought you were about to come, he pulled away.

— Didn't I tell you, y/n? Bad girls don't have orgasms.

You quickly began to cry. You knew that if he didn't give it to you, it would be incredibly impossible for you to get that orgasm on your own. So from your position, you just moved closer and started begging.

Kneeling down, you approached him and looked at him with your tearful eyes. Lamenting, with your face at the level of his knees, you still looked at him from the ground.

— Damian, please... — You sobbed. — I'm sorry for all the things I've done to you, but I really need you. I want you to fuck me. I'll do anything you want.

The young man simply smiled as he watched his enemy from his clearly superior position.

— Lool at this, the famous y/n now begging losers for some attention? I feel sorry for you. — He said in reference to how you used to tell him he was a loser.

He cut your bonds with a knife. You felt relief as the blood began to flow again.

You didn't notice as he grabbed your neck, almost choking you. He pulled you roughly close to his face until his lips collided with yours in a dirty, loveless kiss.

Finally, he pushed your face to the floor and lifted your ass until it was in the ideal position to fuck you. Without further ado, he rammed you hard and began to move hard inside you. As hard and precise as if he were an animal.

— What's the matter? Is it incredibly hard to believe that only I can fuck you like this?

[from-the-clouds]

savior complex - joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller

All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine

summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one.  ♥

“What do you want?” 

The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.

“I need your help,” he says. 

You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”

It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference. 

The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second. 

He’s covered in blood. 

It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow. 

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.

“Why should I help you?” 

He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained. 

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.

“Please?” 

He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.

“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave? 

Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.  

You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile. 

Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.

“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”

His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.

“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.

“It’s none of your business,” he quips.

“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.” 

“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”

“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue. 

Joel doesn’t answer. 

“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard. 

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”

You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that. 

“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict. 

“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.

“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?” 

“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage

“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.

It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.

When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side. 

“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”

“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.” 

He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”

The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.

You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.

You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.

“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow. 

“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one. 

There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.

“Open up.”

He glowers at you like a defiant child. 

“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips. 

When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.

You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest. 

It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”

You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”

Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable? 

As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand. 

It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.

“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”

He nods.

“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction. 

He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.

Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage. 

“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy. 

He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.  

Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.

The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.

Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”

You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.

You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.” 

“Thank fucking-”

“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”

His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell. 

“Why me?” you ask, finally.

“What?”

“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”

Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”

One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.

“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.” 

Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do. 

“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers. 

“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….” 

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard. 

You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.

Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”

“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you. 

You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes. 

Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.

He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…

— — — — — —

The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching. 

Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.

It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges. 

There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling. 

– Take pain meds

– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle

– Change dressing

– LEAVE

The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper. 

‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.

He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide. 

When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up. 

“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration. 

Instead of correcting him, you say nothing. 

“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.

“Ben was just leaving,” you say. 

“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.

Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder. 

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.

“How often does he–?”

“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?” 

Joel doesn’t answer.

“You probably needed it.”

You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”

Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed. 

“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”

He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”

You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you. 

Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.

Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought. 

No, is his answer.

He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk.  Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.

The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask. 

“It was sitting out.” 

You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”

The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits. 

“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”

Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”

He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound. 

He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”

“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.”

You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them. 

“I’m sorry.”

Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.

You balk at him. “For what?” 

Everything. “Your brother.”

“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head.  “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.” 

“Yeah.”

“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection. 

He nods, takes a beat.

“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-” 

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”

“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”

“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool. 

“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”

“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done. 

Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it. 

I’m sorry. 

You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once. 

“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”

A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward. 

The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.

“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film. 

“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.

Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy. 

“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.

“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”

It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide. 

He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?

But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap. 

He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to. 

You break away first. “Fuck.”

Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase. 

“I do want you.”

“Then have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.

Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?” 

He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes. 

Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts. 

You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.

What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.

But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.

Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur. 

“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.

“I know.” But I still do.

Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement. 

Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.

“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans. 

“Take these off.”

Yes. There’s no protest.

It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.

“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”

“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you. 

You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you. 

The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”

You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.

You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.” 

“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”

“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well. 

He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time. 

It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate. 

You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.

“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.” 

His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.

“I’m not - fuck.”

The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again. 

You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”

Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known. 

He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer. 

“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing. 

“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”

He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.

The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling. 

We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.

Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him. 

When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.

You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved. 

“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles. 

“She knows I can take care of myself.”

Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.

“You should probably go.” 

His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.

The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.

He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.

“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.

Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”

You look up, nod, and he’s gone.

— — — — — —

part ii

[titania-sleeps]

ARGHHH i can't choose!! i love all house husband though!!

i'm glad you do hehe... i devise and plot deviously just for them bc they deserve it. i do wonder if people enjoy meaner readers vs. loving readers; I'll release both eventually but the two of them have such a different dynamic. the normal sub house husband is a bit more assertive and a brat, while the inadequate one just really really wants you to love him and only him... but in like a pathetic way.

here's a little snippet of what i had for them (i think the initial draft for both dated around 2022...)! as a note, my ideas may seem to blend in w some of my other works simply bc i didn't bother making them too distinct from each other, but i'll edit it to become more cohesive when i post in full in the future :D

warning: mild nsfw, dom reader (implied afab), minors DNI pls

Submissive House Husband Yandere x Independent Strong Reader

He is undone by you, a knot slipping apart. Seams unraveling, hair untangling, his entire vessel breathing erratically. Your nails grazing his skin erupt whispers of flames, dancing and swimming to his face. You thumb his cheek, tenderly and softly. You are never tender with him, at least not to such an extent.

His excitement grows, but he fears to open his eyes. He fears that if he opens his eyes, he will peer too far into your thoughts. And he knows that you are not thinking of him, even when you let your kind lips leave little love marks on his face.

"Why won't you look at me?" you ask, your voice like a pleasant temptation to his ears. It slithers slyly into his brain, and like a command, his eyes flutter open.

"Good," you purr. A praise. He cannot stop the shy grin from stamping itself onto his lips.

"You don't..." he pauses, wondering if he should continue. You stop and look at him, giving him your full attention. Shying under your gaze, he mutters, "You don't do this to anyone else... right?"

Your laugh echoes back at him, as though mocking him, but it is not unkind. Your thumb presses against his upper lip. "No. You are my husband, are you not?"

His face lights up in bright pink. How could he doubt you? Oh no, you look disappointed. Frantically, he nods his head.

"Yes, I am yours," he responds quickly. You hum in satisfaction, leaning in for a gentle peck. But you leave too soon, much too soon.

Hungry for the saccharine taste of your lips, he wraps his arms around your neck and brings you in closer. Closer and closer, so that the lining of your lip becomes a perfect match with his. So close, to the point that your tongue is melted into his, and your needy flesh encase upon another.

He seeks for you with the vigor of a beast, no longer quite the same timid house pet he once was. As you pull away for a breath of air, he whines. Just a moment without your lips is painful for him.

The eyes that peer down on him are now focused, like a trained sniper on their target. His body shivers; now your attention is wholly on him. Now you are looking at him.

You are truly divine. You are a goddess sent from above to smite him for his sins, for loving you far too much. He can only beg by your feet, day by day, pleading for a single audience with you. He just wants to please you, to become something that relieves you from strife and suffering. And to think that his goddess is now looking at him, just him! Only him!

The sound of silk slipping off jolts him from his daze. His eyes trail the discarded piece of clothing; a snake slithering its way up to an iridescent apple. The soft gleam of your skin meets his own eyes, and the sight breathes life into his fingers.

"Not yet," you say, a wonderful smile presented to him on your countenance.

[To be continued...]

Inadequate Submissive House Husband Yandere x Loving Reader

His wife is everything he has ever wanted in his life. You are beautiful and kind; forgiving whenever he makes a mistake and even patient she he does. And he always does. You are so lovely, he cannot help but want to be with you forever and ever and ever and ever and ever—

But he can't. He knows he can't, and it hurts so much, because he knows that he is useless. Deep down, he has already realized that you are only keeping him around because you pity him, not because you love him.

He wants to do better for you, but his abilities are limited to very little. He wishes that his love is enough to satiate you, but he is far too well aware of your disappointment in him. If he is lucky, you will not divorce him in the next year or two.

♡♡♡

Oh, your sweet, foolish husband. Always so patient, always so soft. Demure mannerisms and shy mumbles cloud his true worth. He may bumble and stumble about like a newborn doe on two legs, but his demeanor and intellect are worth far more. Yet only you are allowed to know this, and it is something you intend to keep locked up in your little treasure box of secrets.

Although he should most definitely refrain from doing housework.

[To be continued...]

ty for reading if you made it this far!!

-> masterlist

[azen13]

Your thoughts about yandere zhongli but in the au where you are the archon are tasty.... unfortunately, I don't think Zhongli will keep your Gnosis because it would be reneging on a contact and he is Contracts. But imagine... what if you sealed Morax away, and he (much like Azhdaha in canon) managed to split off a small part of himself to exist as a human, "Zhongli" the funeral parlour consultant? Your most devout worshipper.... until he frees your old enemy and friend, Morax. ♡

anon ur so real for this. i 100% agree zhongli wouldn't keep ur gnosis bc. god of contracts. the part about splitting off a small part of himself??? u truly ate. anyways here's a little drabble based on that idea! i had to rewrite it bc my laptop died and i lost my progress sobs

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Implied Stalking

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Every prayer made in your name is like a melody. They float across Teyvat, weaving together in a resonant unceasing chorus. From a young child wishing for protection for her father, to an old man begging for more time with his wife.

But beneath all the moving lines, beneath all the trills and mordents, is a peculiar prayer. A low, droning hum, one that seems to have gone on for centuries. When you listen to other prayers, you can glean out what it is saying. But while this one speaks in a language you know, it utters words you cannot understand. No matter how many sleepless nights you spend trying to decode its desires, they remain incomprehensible.

All that you know is that the person speaking it is deeply, utterly in love.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You hear it one day when you walk through the streets of Liyue, masquerading amongst mortals to understand their troubles. The sun has barely risen, its first rays turning the eaves of homes a warm amber color as you walk through Chihu rock.

Then you hear it. That low, rumbling tone, like an earthquake. It's coming from all around you, but you can't see anyone in front of you, so you spin around.

All you see is a man dressed in fine clothing, a slightly confused expression plastered on his face. Harmless. Unassuming. Even still, you cannot help but think that he looks strikingly like Morax.

"My apologies, I thought I heard something." You offer a kind smile, ready to turn away quickly, but the stranger steps forward.

"You are quite alright. It is quite early in the morning, so some exercise must be cautioned," he says, Cor Lapis colored eyes gazing at you intently. He even sounds exactly like Morax. His voice almost brings you to tears, but you sidestep your sorrows. "Perhaps we could walk together if you are concerned about danger?" The stranger asks.

You shake your head. "Thank you, but I would hate to impose on your time," you say. For some reason, the stranger's face tightens, almost imperceptibly so, but you see it in the slight frown of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes.

"I assure you," the man says, taking another step towards you, "I have no plans this morning." His words have an almost godlike authority to them, though you quickly brush aside that thought. You sense no such power from this man.

Taking another step back, you look into his eyes, as beautiful as polished amber, and stand firm. "I insist, I'm alright," you say, faking levity.

There is a moment of silence before the stranger lets out a soft sigh. "So be it," he says, pausing for a moment. "At the very least, may I know your name?"

By this point, you already want to leave. This man, human or not, is simply off-putting by how similar he is to Morax, in appearance, in voice, even in mannerisms. Still, you manage to stay smiling. "I'm Y/N," you say, offering your hand.

The stranger grasps your hand quickly in an almost vice-like grip. "I go by Zhongli," the man responds. He holds onto your hand for just a millisecond too long, but you don't pay it much mind. Letting go, Zhongli gives you a slight, almost unnoticeable smile. "I sincerely hope we meet again, Mx. Y/N," he says, turning around and casually walking away.

Something tells you that you will, in fact, meet him again.

[alexa-fika]

PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU I NEED MORE 🙇‍♂️🙏🛐

I NEED MY DAILY DOSE OF PLATONIC WHITEBEARD PIRATES

Demonically obvious ( Whitebeard pirates x nezuko!reader)

Part 1

A/N HERE WE GO, Im sorry for the wait but finally we got part 2! and lemme tell you I COOKED, Im so exited for this one guys, I had a blast writing it and hope you guys like it as well, HERE YOU GO COSMO, YOU ONLY HAD TO WAIT A WHOLE MONTH XD

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/Saradika

-He cared as much as he cared about Ace being Roger's son, aka he did not care.

He hummed after Ace finished confessing both his heritage and the true nature of Dokucha's current ailment.

"Roger, huh, Don't look much like the old bastard," he chuckled, taking another chug of his jar as he glanced at the small girl happily cuddling up to him.

"And a demon, who would have thought? Definitely something you don't see every day," he hummed. 

"I have just told you I am the child of your greatest enemy and that my sister is a dangerous being. Don't you want to kick us out?" 

He let out a bellowing laugh at his worries. 

"See, when I saw you come in with such a somber look on your face, I had thought you had important news to tell me, but I could not think of something more trivial," he exclaimed, laughing further at Ace's shocked expression.

" I could not care less about where you came from or what you are. At the end of the day, we are all children of the sea; your backgrounds do not change the fact that you are now my children."

Ace stares at him for a bit longer until he slumps down, a small smile breaking on his face.    

"you're something else pops."

"Gurararara Had me on my toes, boy. I thought I was going to lose my son and my only daughter."   

Dokucha frowned as he tilted the jar further, gulping more and more of the liquid until she had grown tired of it, and kicked the jar away from his grasp, much to the shock of both men.

Whitebeard frowned, glancing at at the wall she had kicked the jar to, watching as all that remained were small fragments littered throughout the floor. Glancing back at the child, who sat on the corner of the bed, kicking her feet as if nothing had occurred

"I already have the nurses and Marco on me for drinking, now you?"

Dokucha glanced his way, and he could notice a slight upward tilt of her lips wrapped around the bamboo and a mischievous glim in her eye.

"Cheeky Brat," He grumbled.

"Don't take your eyes off her boy. She is going to be a troublemaker; I can feel it."

He chuckled

"She already is. Hey pops?" he called, receiving a slight hum from the older male.

"Thank you."

"Don't you get sentimental on me, boy."

He knew she wasn't human due to her lack of food intake and other peculiarities.

"I know," he stated as he continued cutting the kale on his cutting board, the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the board filling their ears.

"What the hell do you mean, you know?"

"Din't know she was a demon, but I knew she wasn't human either, also." Thatch looks up at him, narrowing his eyes at him and pointing his knife his way

"Stop using those words around your sister; she's gonna end up cursing like us," he grumbled, glancing at Dokucha, who sat next to Ace, dewy eyes staring back at him.

"Hi, pumpkin; you hungry?" he questions, returning to his previous actions of cutting the vegetable, letting out a soft hum when she shakes her head.

"You think I wouldn't notice?" he asks, giving Ace a side glance.

"What?"

"I'm the head chef of this ship, Ace; you think I wouldn't notice the fact that she never eats?" he questioned, raising a brow to the younger male.

"At first, I thought she was shy about eating in the mess hall. We ain't a quiet bunch after all, but she doesn't have any problem with hanging around the mess hall at all," he noted  

"Maybe I was just missing it, so I started looking more. I never saw her take any food, nor did I see you make any action to give her some; she always said no when anyone offered too," he listed

"What, are you a stalker? he scoffed

"I'm observant, ya nitwit," he snapped back.

"Not to mention the odd sensitivity to the sun, and the little bamboo piece she always carries around didn't help the case alone. They didn't mean much, but it kept stacking up."

He rolled his eyes at that, leaning his head on his hand as he stared at him, his sister looking up at the chef, waiting for his response.

"And you're okay with it?"

"Ace, we have fishmen, minks, mermaids and giants in our crew, not to mention most of the 'humans' in the crew aren't the spittin image of a human, have ya seen Marco? He's a walking chicken, or a pineapple.' He muses, grinning when he gets a choked laugh from the freckled man and a joyful laugh from the demon beside him

"She fits right in with us, and even if she didn't, we still would have made it work for the lil pumkin," he spoke, reaching over the counter separating them and ruffling her hair.

Ace smiles slightly at the interaction until a thought pops into his head.

"Marco is gonna kill you for saying that, y'know?" he snickered, remembering the commander's previous jabs.

"Eh, what he don know won't harm'em." 

-Knew she wasn't human due to their first encounter, lack of injuries, regeneration, and discrepancies on her devil fruit. (also that is such a nice gift, look at that man < 3)

"Oh, Was that supposed to be a secret?"

"W- you also knew?!"

"Ah, you probably forgot since you were out of it back then, but the little miss was quite protective of you; lunged right at me," he said, looking down at the small girl who began trying to climb her way into his lap, eyes slightly teary as she did

"Ah, it's okay, Dokucha; I know you only meant to protect him; I'm not mad at you," he reassured her as she nuzzled into him.

He looked up, returning the attention to the fire-user

"Her strength wasn't anything to scoff at and at first I thought it was the Toshi-Toshi no mi, but that fruit was consumed by Jewelry Bonnie," he recalled

"Not to mention that The fruit wouldn't change your body the way it did to her; it would only age you up, so that wouldn't explain the teeth, the eyes and the horn," he said, petting her head as she slowly dozed off.

“Seriously, you guys need to lay off on the staring”

"The cherry on the cake to that was the fact that the injuries she got from our squabble and any other injuries she has ever received healed instantly, much like the Tori-tori no mi Moderu Fenniksu, but last I checked, I'm still alive, and kicking so she can't be the holder of that fruit" he listed, ignoring his previous statement

"She could have just had a different fruit that was capable of those things." Ace pointed out a frown on his face

"Hmm, I thought so too, but I found it weird how, despite her incredible regeneration, she seemed to be incredibly sensitive to the sun, getting quite the nasty burns when she left that umbrella of hers; those are the only injuries I have ever needed to treat on her, it was peculiar but a devil fruit still could have been to blame, until I saw her swimming in one of the islands we stopped in, no care in the world and definitely not weakened by it."

"Hah, I guess we weren't the best at hiding it," grumbled Ace

"You sucked at it," Marco affirmed

"Okay, now you're going too far," he glowered, the scowl on his face growing as the doctor simply threw a smile his way. 

"Do..do you know of a cure?" he asked tentatively.

" I do not." 

Ace sighed at that, slumping down in defeat.

"But I'm sure we will find something; I have gathered a good amount of journals and information over the last few years. I don't doubt that the solution is among one of the journals; we just need to look through them,"

"I have been looking through books and information for the last three years. What makes this any difference? "

"The Difference, Ace, is that you were alone, at most with your crew You had what, twenty people? On the other hand, we have more than a thousand in the main crew alone, and that is without taking into account the dozens of subordinate crews and affiliates."

"I see the humility runs deep here," he mutters sarcastically, giving him an unimpressed look.

"Watch it."

He rolled his eyes, waving him off.   

"Do you really think we can find something?"

"Absolutely"

"You guys may have just recently joined, but you are as much as our siblings as anyone else, not to mention that everyone would do anything for their only sister."

WHAT DO YOU THINK? Again i loved writing this, Like i can just picture Ace dumfounded look as he realized that the crew did not give two craps about it almost everyone already knew, he thought he was being so sneaky. What we thinking of southern Thatch again?

Also cosmo, next request is also yours XD red pirate/whitebeard one. AND after that I have yours holo, second attempt

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

Fic specific taglist (Alarm bell for part 2)

@holoimtrans17

@khaleesihavilliard

@unsuretater-simp

@lunaizhere

[uchihaharlot]

Hello there, i really love your headcanons tbh maybe the realest ones here

Since I'm here its obvious im in Uchiha hell so,

Could I politely ask for uchihas turn ons and turn offs? I swear to god when i think about them horny it brings a tear to my eye from blissfulness

The realest ones? Nonny, you honor me to the highest degree and I am forever grateful you feel this way. ❤️🥹

I think a better question would be what doesn’t turn these men off (I also think I answered this differently than you might have wanted, I hope not though). 😮‍💨😌 Though none of these men are shallow individuals, so rest assured, anyone would be their type.

Semi-NSFW; just some things that make an Uchiha melt inside

Madara:

All natural women. I’m gonna be honest here; in Madara’s time, the more rounded a woman. The better (for breeding). But in all honesty, he appreciates all shapes and sizes.

His turn off is weakness, she needs to be confident. Which sounds callous, but if she’s not at minimum as much a firecracker as he is. The chemistry is off. Madara needs someone who is going to keep him on his feet with excitement, not someone who will make him second guess their intentions. The more outgoing and confident. The better.

If Madara’s laying her in his bed, she’s going to have to be a very patient woman. This man can go for hours, and a woman who can appreciate his stamina without complaint is high on his priority list, possibly good for breeding. Madara needs to fuck her this way, ok? A test drive so to speak. It’s just how he does it, raw and unadulterated lust. He also won’t tolerate a quickie like some men.

Obito:

Its no secret that Obi, bless his soul, is the black sheep Uchiha. The quiet ones are easier for him to talk to, not because they’re touch starved or anything. But because they are legitimately sweet and soulful. A woman who is confident won’t really make him feel nervous. But what he really wants is to kinda be taken care of, tenderly.

He definitely doesn’t like loud noises or sudden changes, so the more ground and constant, the better. So a woman who has a temper, is not for him. He might get riled with a little spice, but Obito definitely doesn't and won't be a push over, even he has his limits. Obito thrives in a static environment where he can make mistakes without being treated like a child, even better if she babies him a little. I'm sure there is a mommy kink somewhere to explore.

And in bed, he’s a total mess for her, does whatever she wants. If she wants to be treated like a pillow princess and owned, he'll be man enough for it. If she wants to make him beg underneath her, that too.

Shisui:

Shisui 🥹🔥 he’s so fiery!! Definitely is turned on by a woman who is into self care. Bonus points if she agrees to partner stretch with him, it's so hot being able to feel her this way and not sexually...yet. Someone who eats well, the occasional bad food here or there isn’t a problem, but damn if she’s into good diet and exercise, sign him up and don't forget, sparring is like foreplay for him. So, if she ends up pinning him down (like he planned all along), he’s gonna be so desperate for her. And she has to be loyal; to him, to the village and morality.

As for in bed? Their chemistry is so far off the charts, neither one can keep from switching positions. I really think Shisui is one of those men, like most Uchiha but on a different level even to his family, that can go for hours. Just because he can and because he likes to see her all fucked out, it's different from her usual mouthy self, which reminds me. She needs to be just as spunky and spontaneous as he, maybe not on the same level, but a woman who is down for whatever is the best kind of medicine. Especially for a man with the whole village on his shoulders.

Itachi:

I love him, he's such an old soul. They say opposites an attract and while I think he would like someone like himself, I also feel like someone who could keep him on his toes a little. If she's a scholar, this is perfect. Itachi would really enjoy someone who he can discuss world politics with. Not too in-depth, but casually. That level of self awareness the sharingan gifts them with can often leave many Uchiha feeling mismatched, but someone who has wits to his is a godsend.

As for in the sheets, Itachi is someone who is very reserved when it comes to matters of the flesh. Trust and sex go hand in hand, he's not like Shisui who can stick it anywhere, pretty quickly too, (he once told Itachi he used a spaghetti squash as a fleshlight). Trust is earned, gained and has to be absolute. Once this is accomplished, he's so damn tender. The softest moaner, but he does it right in your ear. Hearing and seeing you enjoy sex with him is what ends up getting him going harder. Even better if you speak your desires as he rearranges your insides. As time goes on, you learn what a closeted freak he really is and end up in the false atmosphere of his Tsukuyomi.

[jog-hog]

Siblings and secrets don't mix

Dipper x Pacifica

W/C: 1k+

Summary: Mabel's trying to figure out who Dipper is texting so much and finds out it's a certain popular princess of Gravity Falls.

Note: This fic is pure fluff absolutely tooth rotting also I've never posted a fic on Tumblr before I'm mainly an AO3 user so sorry for any formatting issues!

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

Back in Gravity Falls

After the events of their first stay in Gravity Falls the twins are not only well known,semi-well-liked they have friends. Friends that come and meet them at the bus as they pull up, friends that sneak out the house to hang out with them and recently friends that text them A LOT when they're not in Gravity Falls.

Dipper had never been big on the whole phone thing instead enjoying nature whenever possible and appreciating literature and writing but recently Mabel's noticed theres been a significant rise in notifications and a very big increase in him checking them (and him showering has gone up marginally). Mabel knew what this meant.

All signs pointed to pine tree having...a girlfriend ?! Of course Mabel has been in her fair share of relationships so it's not really a shocker but Dipper? She didn't even know someone could like Dipper back!

However whenever she'd try to introduce the topic to their conversations he'd shut it down quickly... suspiciously quickly.

Heres what she knew: they texted ALL THE TIME which means they're probably not in our school since she's also caught him sneaking peaks at his phone in school, they care about Dipper showering and that's about it...he really is a stubborn one isn't he? So obviously she had to concoct a plan, dare she say a plot to look onto Dippers phone and answer the very important question: WHO ARE THEY??

As Mabel sat awake in bed trying to figure out who it was she went down her mental list of potential suitors. She knew they weren't that far, Mabel probably knows them too...

Then a lightbulb moment occured

"GRAVITY FALLS!"

She though to herself jumping up in bed, it had to be. Theres only one person, one possible person: Pacifica Northwest! Mabel couldn't believe it, she always got a vibe from the two but couldn't sell herself on it due to Candy's crush but given she's over it and that the two are texting non stop it just HAD to be Pacifica!

In the morning Mabel awoke to the sound of tapping on a phone, Dipper was awake before her which was abnormal and even stranger he was on his phone! Mabel looked at him and smirked

"Who're you texting lil bro?"

"No one!" Dipper exclaimed going red and hiding his phone away from his twin.

"Aw come on Dip we're twins we need to tell eachother everything!"

Dipper sighs going red, Mabel looks at him intently waiting for him to confirm her suspicions.

"..Well" he starts quietly "come closer I'm embarrassed" he says hiding his face in his hands. Mabel simply walks forward

"Whisper I promise I won't tell mom and dad come on!!" She begged

"I've been messaging Pacifica and..." He begins and stops just as quickly getting visibly embarrassed

"AND?" Mabel continues. "AND I think we're dating" he blurts out quickly like he's ripping a band aid off.

There's a silence until Mabel breaks it

"OH. MY. GOD" she begins rambling a mile a minute about how cute they are, begging to see the messages just to know SOMETHING, her little twin was in a relationship!

Dipper sits there laughing grabbing her after a few minutes of this intense rambling

"You can't tell anyone okay? If we tell mom and dad they won't let us go to Gravity Falls it's only a few weeks away now"

Mabel promises her silence and they go about their lives (with much more drama than once before).

On the bus ride to Gravity Falls Mabel notices some persistent texting occurring right next to her, she desperately wanted to know what they were talking about but Dipper would hide away every time she got close enough to read it. Dipper was being far too secretive about this relationship for Mabel's liking and as siblings she had to be annoying at least once on the bus ride over, at this…this was her calling.

Abruptly she snatches the phone out of Dippers hands and shoots herself to the other side of the backseats on the bus, he immediately yells at her to give it back and chases after her as she kicks him off, she begins reading and exclaims

“‘I MISS YOU SO MUCH??’ OMG ‘I LOVE YOU TOO’” she giggles looking at how adorable their conversation is as Dipper yells at her to stop, she continues anyways (as any good sibling would) until he finally manages to crawl over and grab his phone back. Mabel continues laughing as Dipper pouts.

“You need to stop doing things like that” Dipper says moping and shooting his sister a look.

“You need to stop hiding things from me nerd” Mabel says back, shooting him the same look but with a smug grin on her face.

Dipper still looked a bit upset, she realised she probably went a bit too far by reading it out, her smug smile dropped as she looked down at the ground and played with her sweater.

As the awkward silence grows Mabel pierces it again.

“Awkward sibling hug?” She proposes looking at him with a sympathetic ‘this is for real’ look on her face stretching her arms out toward him.

Dippers face breaks it's serious expression and a small smile creeps onto his face, exhaling and turning to face his sister.

“Awkward sibling hug” he says while quietly chuckling and messing with her hair after the semi-robotic “Pat Pat”.

Mabel laughs realizing they're near their real home Gravity Falls and naturally she takes her opportunity:

“We're close to getting off and seeing your new GIRLFRIE-” she says the last bit loudly even though there is no one on the bus at this point except for the poor bus driver who's had to witness all this. Dipper quickly puts his hand over her mouth and pulls away before she licks his palm (again). As they pull up Mabel notices how Dipper immediately scans the crowd for Pacifica as they make eye contact.

“They really like each other don't they ?” Mabel thinks to herself as she smiles and grabs her bags.

The two can't wait for another beautiful and terrifyingly strange summer in Gravity Falls.

[steveshairychest]

Let's pretend that the upside down doesn't exist for a second.

Eddie still befriends Mike, Dustin and Lucas at school, but he doesn't meet anyone else. He knows of Steve Harrington, knows that he used to rule the halls of Hawkins High but, despite Dustin's constant begging for Eddie to meet him, he never really does.

Sure, Steve waved at Eddie whenever he dropped the kids off at hellfire and he offered to change Eddie's flat tire once, but that's it. After Eddie graduated, their paths never really crossed again.

Not until years later when they're both older and wiser and a little bit drunk in a bar far from the prying eyes of Hawkins.

Eddie bumps into a tall woman at the bar and the countless apologies he had ready instantly died on his tongue when she turned around and gave Eddie a dazzling smile. "Hi, Eddie. Didn't think I'd run into you here." She says with a light laugh. She has a really pretty laugh, and smile, and eyes and her hair looks so soft.

It takes Eddie's brain three business days to reconnect and realise that this gorgeous woman knows his name. He hadn't introduced himself, and yet she is smiling down at him like they're old friends.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" He waves over the bartender and orders himself and the mystery girl a drink.

She thanks Eddie for the drink and leans in closer to be heard over the music. "We went to high school together but I've, uh, definitely changed since then." She laughs and it's clear there's some joke he's not getting but he laughs anyways. He doesn't want her to walk away. He needs to know everything about her and he's trying so hard to remember everyone he went to high school with.

"Did we really go to school together? I think I would remember someone as gorgeous as you." He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear so that he can see her face properly. Her cheeks flush a brilliant shade of red, and she steps closer to him. "What's your name?"

"Stevie." She says softly, her voice a little shaky. "Harrington. My name is Stevie Harrington."

Eddie furrows his brows and takes a step back to really take her in. "I didn't know Steve had a sister."

Stevie throws her head back and laughs, it's a gorgeous sound. Eddie's scared he's fucked up by not remembering that Steve had a sister but then she meets his eyes and there's something there that feels oddly familiar.

"I don't have a sister, Eddie." She says and takes a sip of her drink, her eyes watching over the rim of the glass for Eddie's reaction.

"What -" And then everything finally clicks in his alcohol clouded mind. "Oh. Oh."

He can see it now, he can see that the ghost of someone he hardly knew clings to parts of her; the moles, the pouty lips, the kind hazel eyes. They are all features he used to find himself staring at during school, features he can’t stop staring at now.

"Is that a good oh?" She asks quietly, her hand fiddling with her bracelet nervously.

Eddie motions the bartender for another round of drinks and moves closer to Stevie, a gentle smile pulling at his lips as he says, "Definitely a good oh. I was actually, uh, Edwina before I was Eddie." He pulls his leather jacket aside to point at his bare chest underneath, at his top surgery scars. Stevie's mouth forms a soft 'oh', and the tension in her body leaves as she realises that she's safe, she's with someone like her, someone who understands.

He's never told anyone his dead name before, but he could see the fear in Stevie's eyes, fear that she'd said too much to the wrong person.

All that fear is gone now as she smiles, really smiles, down at him.

There's an excited energy radiating off her as she takes another sip from her drink and bumps her shoulder with Eddie's. "I'm glad you bumped into me tonight." She admits.

"Me, too." Eddie beams up at her, her heels making her tower over him, and he's honestly never been happier.

He hopes that this time, they can maybe be more than just acquaintances.

Maybe even more than friends.

[lemotmo]

She's replying to a lot so you will probably get more but this one is 🥳🩶🤧

Q. The way the show set them up as endgame only to cave to Oliver and others is such a joke. I'm honestly so embarrassed for you all.

A. I'm not going to lie anon when I read this tonight my original reply was going to be far different in tone than the one I'm going to give. I want so badly to tell you all of the things that I have bitten my tongue on for the last several months but this has been an emotionally crippling week for me so I'm going to give you the grace you don't deserve simply because I don't ever want to be the reason someone is suffering. Make no mistake I have saved several asks specifically to come back to and address once the breakup happened so I will express those thoughts and feelings but you're going to get the benefit of kindness that you didn't bother to extend. I'm going to be kind but I'm also going to be truthful.

The show didn't set them up as anything other than what Tommy said at the end of the episode. The show has been very transparent with what Tommy's purpose was. He was never going to be anything more than Buck's introduction to his bisexuality. He was always going to be the first not the last. And the show could not have been more obvious about that. I actually genuinely enjoyed that break-up scene. And while I know that you and others will take that as me making a dig at Tommy, that's not what I'm doing. He did the right thing. He did the fair thing for Buck and himself. He's been where Buck is. He cared enough about Buck to stop him from making a mistake that would hurt them both. He did a good thing. He did the right thing. I understand that doesn't make you feel better because we have all been there. We have all fallen for a plot device at some point or the other. It sucks. And it hurts. And I'm sorry that you're hurting. Lots of you don't deserve that sympathy. But in this moment I'm going to give it to you. Because no matter how insignificant some people believe pain over a fictional television character is it is genuine pain for those of us who love that character, regardless if anyone else understands that or not. It fucking hurts. So you can hurt. And you can rage. But you don't get to rage at Oliver. None of this is Oliver's fault. He was the one being honest with you all. I begged you all to listen to him. I begged you all to follow his lead. Because those of us who have been here knew what he was doing. He was trying to protect you all from your expectations. We've been on the receiving end of that. We know what it looks like. And more than one person in your fandom was aware of what he was doing as well because they were Buddie shippers first. They just decided to pretend that it wasn't what they knew it was.

I don't know how to make this part sound kind because the truth of it is unkind but it is what happened. He grifted you all. He knew he was temporary. He can say whatever he wants in an interview but he knew because the show wasn't subtle about his plotline. He knew he was temporary but he was aware enough of you all that he saw an opportunity for self promotion and he took it. At the expense of you. He sold you a tissue of lies. And he always wrapped them up just generic enough to allow him plausible deniability for intentionally misleading you. But that's what he did. He willingly and intentionally lied to you and he charged you a fee to do so. And it was disgusting. He's who you should be mad at. I know you won't. You all decided a long time ago that whatever happened was going to be Oliver's fault and Buddie fans fault. But neither one of them lied to you. He lied. You should care about that. It should bother you. Because it's foul and obscene. He took a shot at trying to force the show/network into giving him more of a role and it was a wild miscalculation on his part. That's not how these things work. He should have known that. I don't feel sorry for him. He did this to himself. I am sorry that so many of you feel played, but Oliver and the show didn't play you. Lou did. You all have the right to tell him. And you should. You're allowed to feel your pain but make sure your anger is aimed in the right direction. Take care of yourself though, anon. You can mourn the character but the actor doesn't deserve your tears. 💗

Thank you for dropping this post and it's follow-up in my inbox Nonny! Much appreciated!

Yep! I agree with a lot of this.

The only thing I don't agree with is that I didn't like that break up scene all that much. I really needed Buck to be the one to break up with Tommy. I understand why it went the way it did and it makes narrative sense in some way, but I still don't like it.

The way some of these people are blaming Oliver for this, for leading them on? That's insane. Lou is the one running around, telling blatant lies for money. And the racism towards Ryan?

Man, I hope all of these people just leave forever and never show their ugly asses in our fandom again.

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[finniestoncrane]

2.5k Event Request - General!Penguin x GN!Reader word count: 750 a/n: oswald cobblepot is 100% the kind of freaky wee guy who would make you bite him so he could show off his wounds as proof that he has a partner u-u cw: biting, marking, begging, lil bit of an ownership theme 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2.5k (to follow or to block)

Oswald's grip around our arm was firm, but not controlling. If you'd struggled, if you'd really wanted to break loose, you could have, and he would have let you. But this was just a playful display of affection, a little glimpse at the truth, of his desperate need to be close to you always.

"No, come on, don't go. Stay here with me, I'll order food to the warehouse. We'll make a date of it."

As you broke free from his grasp, you laughed.

"Not very covert to have some poor delivery driver show up to your hideout, Ozzie."

You offered him a smile, the good-natured teasing having the opposite effect you wanted it to as his own smile faded. Some might have found his desire to be with you all of the time quite needy, perhaps clingy, or irritating. You, however, found it flattering. It felt nice to be wanted, to be desired on such an intense level. And you'd be lying if the feeling wasn't mutual.

But where Oswald ran his own empire and commanded others, you were still one of the many people in Gotham still at the beck and call of someone else. Despite Oswald offering to rid you of that problem, you'd been determined to make your own way, and not let him spend any more of his time or money making you comfortable.

"I can't believe you're still going to leave me."

His exaggerated petted lip and sniffling warmed your heart, making you giggle as you rushed back over to him to give him yet another goodbye kiss.

Catching you in a romantic embrace, he held you close until you were out of breath, letting you go as you panted, cheeks flushed, heart pounding.

"Well, if you're going to leave... could you do me one favour before you go?"

"Anything for you, Oz."

He smiled, a grin that widened the more the sentiment of your words settled in his chest.

"Could you... It sounds very juvenile, the kind of thing that loved up teenagers might do... but would you maybe... bite me?"

The request surprised you. It wasn't too shocking for Oswald to suggest something a little kinky, but the way he asked made it seem less about the sexual merit and more emotional.

"Like... a love bite?"

"Yes! Exactly. Right here on my neck. Something that will leave a mark."

You raised an eyebrow, still wondering what the meaning behind his wish was. It did mean you'd have to stay a little while longer, but only seconds, maybe minutes. There had to be something else to it.

"Don't you have an important meeting this afternoon? Shouldn't I do it somewhere a little less visible?"

He blushed, looking away from you as he answered your question.

"Ah, well, you see, that's exactly the point. I'd like you to mark me. Make it known that I belong to someone. That I'm theirs. Yours. And having that on display is sort of... exciting."

In fairness, he was completely correct. The idea of having Oswald marred by your teeth marks, his flesh bruised and reddened by your mouth in a way he couldn't deny if someone were to ask him was definitely a turn on. And the accompanying sentiment that he belonged to you was the cherry on top.

So you moved back to him, kicking your leg over his and settling yourself in his lap. With your palms against his cheeks, you held his rough, round face tight and leaned your forehead to his. Your kisses peppered his skin, moving from his lips to his chin to his neck as you found the perfect place to sink your teeth into him. All while he gratefully moaned, delighting in being lavished with affection.

Once you had it, you closed your teeth around the spot, visible to anyone above where his shirt collar lay, and began to suck the flesh into your mouth. Your tongue swirled over him, the scent of his cologne filling your nose as you leaned closer, hands on his chest as you balanced yourself, his own hands curving around your waist and to your rear.

When you broke away, you took a moment to wipe your face free of saliva, easing yourself off his lap and admiring the bright red patch on his skin, attention drawn to the tent forming at the front of his pants.

"Ok, now I really have to go, Ozzie. But at least you have something to remember me by."

His eyes were still glazed over, his fingers touching at the warm mark as he smiled and waved goodbye.

[narcissistshandler]

Hobie x Reader where Reader makes Hobie so flustered that his legs are literally shaking. That's all I want in life 🙏🏽 (definitely could be smut but it's up to you,,)

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗪𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗕𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗗

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 male reader x hobie brown

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 public blowjob (hobie receiving) and implied public anal sex (top!reader & bottom!hobie)

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 this is pure smut, I hope it turned out at least a little like you wanted (don't know if you've noticed, but I'm getting worse and worse with titles)

Hobie was shivering even before you put your hands on him, the mere thought of what was soon to happen - your mouth on him - was enough to make his body warm and even though he knew the idea was not to have his arousal noticed, he clung to you all the way to the bathroom.

The line was damn long. Hobie liked going out with you anywhere, the clubs and bars mostly, because it was obvious how it would end - with his pants around his ankles and your cock working its way up his ass in a corner where anyone could end up seeing or listening. But the lines...

It seemed like your turn would never come, the line continued to get longer, the noises of conversation and music getting louder, and even as people entered and exited the bathroom, the line size didn't seem to decrease. The point was: Hobie wouldn't mind if you just had him here, where anyone could see. It was hard to say this to you when his vocabulary had been narrowed down to begging and demanding and your name, so Hobie really had no choice but to cling to you and rock his hips against you, looking for friction for his painfully hard cock pressed against his tight pants.

"People are watching," you muttered to him, it sounded like a reprimand despite your hands on his back keeping him against your chest and your erection pressing against his hips let him know you were just as looking forward to it as he was.

Hobie's mind was spinning with heat. He couldn't really care. And in the dim light of the hall in front of the bathroom, Hobie knew it was impossible to make out his face and even if someone did, in minutes the alcohol and drugs in these people's systems would make it hard to remember you or him, mere strangers in a random nightclub in a godforsaken small town.

You two weren't very discreet, the stall door slamming shut with the push from Hobie's back, the beat of the music still pounding in his sensitive ears. You dropped to your knees in front of him and Hobie's mind dismissed any thought that didn't revolve around you as unnecessary.

"Hurry, please, I need you," Hobie begged desperately, fingernails digging into the frayed denim fabric of his pants.

Your hands unbuttoned his pants, a hungry look on your face without making a single attempt to silence Hobie's loud pleas.

You didn't pull down his pants, you didn't have to when only bare skin was presented to you after you unzipped his pants. Hobie wasn't sure if he heard you calling him 'dirty', 'anxious' and 'slut', about not wearing underwear or if it was his own thoughts. It didn't matter though before your fingers grabbing his dick and pulling it out, hard and dripping and writhing between your fingers. Not missing a beat, your lips closed around the sensitive head, taking him into the heat and moisture of your mouth, and Hobie melted.

All the noise outside - the people in the bays to the sides emptying their bladders, some suspicious wet sounds and grunts, someone knocking on the door behind Hobie's back - faded away. He came apart under your mouth, legs shaking so badly your grip on his hips could very well be all that kept him on his feet. Your lips… Oh, your lips curled perfectly around the length of him, your eyes locked with his, absorbing the erotic expressions as you took him deep to the back of your throat.

Hobie was a mess, the moans, the grunts, the words he didn't even realize he was saying. 'You take me so well,' he said, 'Your mouth is so good'. 'More please more,' he begged as if he could die if you didn't make him come. '[name] [name] [name],' he chanted your name like a prayer, high and holy and divine.

Hobie's fingers threaded through the strands of your hair, anchoring himself there as he made weak, desperate thrusts against your mouth, trembling all the way in and out, your tongue dragging against him in a way that left his entire body on fire.

His balls tightened, the multitude of sensations prickling under his skin, pulse racing against his ears. The wet sound from when you suckled him seemed to reverberate through the tight stall.

Hobie blinked, opening the eyes he didn't know when he closed and the sight of you on your knees in front of him on a filthy public restroom floor, his cock disappearing into your mouth was enough to make him come deeply in the grip of your throat. The moan you let out as you felt him travel down your throat sent vibrations through Hobie's entire body.

You swallowed his cum, eager and hungry, sucking on his hardness as if you wanted to draw it all out of him. Hobie's fingers tugged at your hair, the shocks of orgasm sending his hips into a few erratic last thrusts, his vision blurred by tears he didn't realize he was spilling focused on the saliva mixed with come running down your chin.

Your mouth opened, a mess of spit and semen, and you let Hobie's cock slip free, something like amusement and wickedness in the way you looked at him. Hobie slid through the door until he landed in a sitting position opposite you, mind overheated and whole body shaking so violently he doubted he'd be able to walk anytime soon, but he didn't need to walk for now. He weakly pushed you back and got into an awkward position on his knees, trying to pull his tight pants down, he needed you inside him, not caring who heard him screaming your name.

[merakiui]

sk!manager!azul who offers to eat you out after you get very stressful from idol activities 😳😳😳😳

👁 👁 he gives you the whole "benefits of being sexually active as proven by science" spiel so you're more likely to agree. That, and it would be much harder to do this with just anyone or someone just as famous as yourself. No one has to know. This will be a secret between idol and manager. Even though you seem somewhat hesitant, he insists you'll feel better. Just let your manager soothe you. You're in capable hands. <3 he's so trustworthy! And hasn't he only ever wanted what's best for you?

Now his head is between your legs and he's lapping and suckling at your clit like an expert, working you open with two fingers. He alternates between fingers and mouth, and any reluctance you may have felt in the beginning quickly withers away. Within no time, you're burying your fingers in his hair and clamping your thighs together to keep him trapped there. He's removed his glasses so they won't get in the way, and every now and then the both of you meet each other's stare. You've never noticed just how beautiful his eyes are. So striking. So hypnotic,,, your brain is mush by your third orgasm, and you're panting and gasping, begging him to keep going. Not like he intends to stop. He's wanted this for years and now he finally has it. Of course he's going to be greedy!

You're not really listening to yourself when you ask him if he's dating or married. You never hear much about your manager's personal life even though he seems to know so much of yours. Azul hums against your slick cunt. Would you be upset if he was? Would you like to put a ring on him? Should he just propose to you now?

If only all of those loser fans of yours knew what you were getting up to right now. All of that nonsense about being a pure idol free of romantic entanglements and here you on squirting for him like the slutty idol you really are. :) you're just too cute. He wants you all to himself, and soon he'll have you. Soon the two of you will live a peaceful life in isolation. Somewhere quiet and slow by the sea. Doesn't that sound marvelous?

He's killed for you. Stalked you. Fucked into his hand while listening to the voicemails you'd leave him on his work phone: "Hi, Azul! Vil and I are thinking of doing a collab. Could you help me arrange something?" or "Azul, sorry for calling so late. I just remembered something important. Can you review my schedule with me again? I think I'm forgetting something you mentioned earlier today..." or "Would it look weird if I started studying to get my driver's license? Do you think that would get me in trouble? Actually, maybe we should just meet up and talk about it in person... Thanks anyways, Azul!"

You're just so perfect. Even these strictly professional voicemails are hailed as the sweetest songs. He's so depraved. Nothing like the composed, cordial manager he masquerades as. Would you hate him if you knew that? Would you look at him differently? Would you stop saying his name in that sweet, breathless voice of yours as he brings you to your end once more? Maybe it's best if you don't know. He's worked so hard to get to this point. It would be a shame to ruin things now.

Besides, what you don't know can't hurt you.

[yongbokkk]

by the waters, part 1

pairings: lee know x m!reader

genre: fluff, mermaid au

a/n: hi im back i think... my apologies

stray kids had been waiting forever for their vacation, so they decided to spend all their peaceful time on an island. not many people were touring and the water was still fresher than ever. not to mention, the nature here looked amazing.

the eight of them have already gone to their chosen rooms, beginning to unpack. minho went to the balcony to stare at the scenery, the ocean waves crashing into each other as the water sparkled.

jisung came up to him, "yah, i bet you there's a mermaid out there." he leaned on the glass fence, joining minho.

"mermaids? you're crazy." minho shook his head.

"can't be always wrong." the younger one lightly gasped, "how about you drown, and then a mermaid would come and save you!" he teased.

"you want me to die or something? it's so unlikely they exist, it's just a fairy tale." minho kept denying.

"hmm, okay, believe whatever you want ~" jisung waved him goodbye and went back inside the house.

the older sighed, before heading back in since it was getting late.

it was the morning, and minho went out for a long stroll outside on the island. the breeze was cold but very refreshing. this island was such a good pick for them.

the brunette found two stray cats, which was weird for them to be here. nonetheless, he fed and played with them for almost an hour.

it was a struggle for him to not scoop the kittens up and adopt them, he felt bad he had to leave the two cuties. minho eventually got bored and decided to go fishing, not the best, but he liked to try.

minho went by the waters with a fishing rod, he tied the hook on with the fish bait and threw it into the water.

After a few minutes of waiting, there was a huge tug on the string. he must've caught a big one, he'll definitely tell this to the members.

but as he was pulling it up, streams of crimson blood were found at the surface of the water. did the fish bleed that much?

he was wrong, it wasn't a fish he had caught.

minho's eyes widened as he pulled up a bleeding man, with fishtails for legs.

jisung was right, mermen and mermaids were real.

minho panicked, watching the person hiss at the hook painfully attached to his skin. he couldn't just sit there in shock, he needed to do something.

he quickly unwrapped the scarf that was on his neck, rushing to the merman. minho carefully took the hook out and wrapped the scarf around the boy's bleeding arm.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry..." minho kept apologizing for hurting the person, but all the merman did was stare at the human.

finally, he took the time to look at the merman, and boy, he was the most beautiful thing minho's eyes ever laid down on.

"it's okay, you didn't mean it. right?" the merman was unsure whether to trust the human or not.

"never in my life will i hurt anyone intentionally." he finished tying the scarf around the arm securely, "..are you fine with getting medical help?" he looked around, trying to see if he could find anyone.

"no! don't let them discover me!" the merman sounded scared and nervous. minho understood and dropped calling for help.

"how are we gonna patch that up, then?" he questioned, pointing at the deep wound underneath the cloth.

"the water helps me heal, it'll take a while but you don't have to worry." the h/c put a reassuring smile, which the dancer found ethereal.

"ah, alright." minho was still shocked that he had witnessed a real-life merman, he thought it was all a fairy tale. "do you have a name?"

"y/n, what about yours?" y/n's mesmerizing eyes sparkled in minho's view.

"minho." he smiled, wanting this moment to last forever.

"...promise you won't tell anyone about me?" y/n practically begged, making a stern and serious face.

"of course, i wouldn't tell the world."

minho kept his word and never told anyone about the encounter. when they asked about the missing scarf, he made the excuse of accidentally leaving it somewhere.

jisung wasn't that convinced, he couldn't have just left the scarf somewhere.

"i don't believe you, bet you left it in someone's bedroom." jisung smirked suggestively, making minho scrunch in disgust.

"no, i'm telling the truth." he rolled his eyes, returning back to cooking for the members.

"have you seen a mermaid yet?" jisung asked, catching minho off guard as he made a cut in his fingers with the knife.

"ow!" minho hissed. "l-like i said, mermaids don't exist." he said, causing jisung to sigh loudly.

after eating a delicious meal, all eight of them went to their bedrooms for slumber, except for minho.

his mind was stuck on a certain merman from earlier, he still couldn't believe there were actually living mer-creatures, and that he was lucky enough to meet one.

that next day, minho told the members that he'd be going for another walk again. they didn't care much but to wish him safe.

well, his heart had other intentions. he found himself sitting on the tough but comfortable rock, staring off at the far sea, waiting for y/n's arrival.

since it was unplanned, it was very unlikely for him to show up. so why did minho feel the need to come by?

he waited, and waited, to the point where the said 'walk' he told the other members was now considered a lie. minho slightly had his hopes up for the beautiful creature to pop up.

seeing as it has been almost an hour, he was bound to give up. minho stood up from his seat on the rock, but before he could turn away, the water sparkled.

he was there.