#and i didn't really know what else to say
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fidius Ā· 3 days ago
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As a parent and teacher, I think you should keep in mind that all parents make predictions (mostly in their heads) about who/what/how their kid is and is going to grow up to be, mostly based on who they (the parents) are. This happens before the kids are born, and often even before they're conceived (consider if you've ever thought something like "when/if I have a kid, I'm going to teach them not to [whatever]").
All humans kind of do this about each other--you start making guesses about what a person is likely the moment you notice they exist, and your behavior toward them is based on that mental model.
The thing is that, because (most of us) understand that there's a lot of stuff we don't know about someone based on looking at them, we are constantly updating the mental models we have of others based on interactions and observations. We recognize that people aren't fully knowable or unchanging objects. And the more interested we are in that person as a person the more frequently and carefully we update the model we have of them.
You can probably see where I'm going with this: to a lot of parents, their kid is not really a person. They don't feel the need to update their ideas about their kid because the kid is more of an object to them. Objects don't change who they are. This is a spectrum, of course. Even the best parents are going to hang on to a bit of their preconceived notions because of inertia as much as anything else. Your mom might never quite internalize that you don't love applesauce as much at 37 as you did at 7.
You folks whose parents can't (won't) recognize what's really going on with your gender aren't alone are dealing with the most obvious case of parents who aren't really seeing you as a full person, but sadly not the only one. I wish I knew something helpful to say about that, but I haven't yet found a way to make a parent see their kid as a person when they didn't want to, and I've tried with dozens. But do know that you're not alone, and there are plenty of people out there who are going to try their damndest to see you for who you really are.
Gendered parenting is so weird. As a little kid I was a total daddy's girl, I was told I would always try to sneak the garage, I was always very interested in everything he was doing and would follow him around while he was working, but while my family was never the type to outright say "you can't do that because you're a girl", they simply didn't entertain the idea that I could possibly be interested in cars. Then when my little brother was born, it was just assumed he would become a mechanic like our dad because he was a boy. Even though he, unlike me, didn't like being in the garage much and wasn't all that interested in what dad was doing. Once he got to a certain age, dad started making him help and would drag him away from his actual interests for it, which lead to a lot of arguing and not much actual learning.
Gendered expectations sort of create doubles of children. There's the real child with their actual personality, interests and behaviors, and then there's the Gender Child.
My real brother hated soccer and team sports. The Gender Child that existed only the minds of the adults in his life enjoyed playing soccer because that's what a Boy Child likes.
Growing up, I always felt like adults didn't actually know me as a person and they weren't interested in getting to know me. Because they felt they'd already learned everything there was to know about me when they were told "it's a girl".
When I talk about how I never got gifts I actually liked from my relatives (to this day I still don't like getting gifts that aren't something I picked out myself), it isn't actually about the gifts themselves. I don't even remember them. What I do remember is the feeling of being given gifts that were seemingly not bought with the real me in mind. They were for the Girl Childā„¢ļø version of me. The me that adults wanted me to be, not who I actually was.
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yuzukatanki Ā· 2 days ago
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"Look at me tonight, not as a man, but as your husband." || Caleb x Reader || 18+
tags: Lots of fluff with smut, oral (f!recieving), fingering, overstimulation
Attention: this is NOT "canon" to the recent card and its storyline, just also wedding-inspired, lest someone becomes confused. Also not canon to the game's storyline either, so don't tell me how this fic wouldn't be possible lol. Also, this got super long.
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Caleb can not wait to get his hands on you. His eyes have been glued to you all day. Sure, there really is nowhere else he should or even could be looking as your future husband (and just thinking that gets him feeling both fuzzy and heart-stoppingly terrified). But... It's the sight of you in the prettiest white dress he's ever seen, and his heart refuses to calm down. The stupid organ's so active it could win a gymnastics medal. Caleb knows you're beautiful. He whispers that to himself when nightmares wake him, and the sight of you breathing softly next to him calms the panic. He knows this every time he marvels at the fact that you're here, with him. He thinks of it every time he sees you in the sunlight, in his clothes, in his arms. But today? It's as if you've become so beautiful he can't even compare you to anything human; you look like an angel. An angel, that's smiling today... Because she's going to marry him. Fuck, it's like you're glowing.
And you're his. His pipsqueak. His darling. His... His soon-to-be Wife.
From when you first shoo'ed him away to get ready earlier in the day, to when you let him see the dress, Caleb's heart is so overworked he's surprised he didn't faint when he first saw you in white. From nerves to just such an overwhelming surge of love, the poor organ is working overtime in there. And you... God, you sweet, silly girl, you just had to pull Caleb down a little, take advantage of how stunned he is to whisper so sweetly in his ear.
You've both said "I love you" so, so many times to each other. You've even said worse. Fuck, you're getting married today. But as you shyly whisper it in his ear, in that dress, Caleb is sure that it's done. His heart has stopped. He's going to die on his wedding day, from pure adoration and love. Yet he's got to revive himself. What kind of man would he be to leave you a widow after he worked so hard to make you his wife? And as you pull away, a shy smile on your face, he can't help but bring you back and press a kiss to your cheek. He whispers in his teasing tone, though it seems warmer right now, almost a little choked from emotions.
"You're looking so beautiful, you sure you wanna marry me, pipsqueak?" Of course, when he tries to ruffle your hair alongside his words, Caleb is promptly kicked out by your bridesmaids, scolded all the while for even daring to "mess up" the style they worked so hard on. And once he's out, the very few guests you've invited descend upon him with congratulations and bad marriage advice.
The day continues on, Caleb honestly can't remember anything before or after he sees you walking down the aisle. All conversations, even fears and nerves, are just pushed out of his brain, and he won't be surprised to later find a picture that has him with his eyes wide and mouth slack. Because God. Fuck. Did he tell you you're beautiful? Is there another word? "Beautiful" does not seem enough to describe you right now. And he swears he didn't cry, but you distinctly remember looking up, and if there were no guests around, you would've giggled.
Because there stands the mighty Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, the man shrouded in quite a bit of mystery and fear, the one who you would always want by your side to face the strongest of wanderers... With tears in his eyes, and they're oh so close to falling. And sure, you swear you didn't cry either, but soon, you and Caleb will come to a truce to say that neither of you did (though everyone knows the truth). You both get through your vows with voices that shake just a lil, and some sniffles you refuse to acknowledge. You kiss, chaste and sweet and after let the drinks flow, all with Caleb's hand on your waist, and his gaze pinned on you. The sounds of your now drunk guests cheering, the music, you don't really hear much of it, and before you know it, the day's passed. Somehow, it's all winded down, and you're not really sure when you guys left the venue and stumbled back to Caleb's Skyhaven home.
Is it the drinks? Is that why you're both giggling like little kids? Or is the giddiness and excitement because you've done it? You're married. Husband and Wife. Drunkenly dancing into the halls of your home, laughing over everything and nothing. Pulling each other closer, still as lovers, but now with a promise between you as you reach the bedroom.
Both of you are still giggling, like teens on their first date, as Caleb presses kisses to the nape of your neck as he undoes the zippers, ties and laces of your dress. As you pull off your jewelry and step out of the dress so Caleb can gently try his best to put it somewhere safe, both you and he are flushed. Have you stopped smiling even once today? You're not sure, but you forget the question as you step closer to Caleb, now working on unbuttoning his suit. Your lipstick leaves kiss marks all over his neck, as your fingers tug the shirt open, and maybe in the morning, you'll cringe at the stains on his collar. But Caleb will smile proudly and try to find a dry-cleaners that can clean the suit without removing the lipstick, much to your chagrin.
Caleb's hands also work on unclasping your bra, his own lips pressing on your forehead, your temples and your hair. It's only when you're both done stripping that you still for a second, Caleb with his face buried in your hair, and you in his chest. It's a moment of breathing in each other's presence, before Caleb's hands move again. This time, they move from where they'd been clasped around your hips, tracing up slowly. His fingers ghost over your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before reaching your face, where he brings your gaze to his. When you slot your lips together, it's perfect.
Your tongues move in sync, and Caleb guides you, albeit a bit clumsily, to the bed. When your back hits the mattress, he pulls away, and the visual is just breathtaking. He looks so ethereal, his half-lidded, adoring gaze making your heart quicken, his strong arms caging you in so securely. And when he goes down, settling on the bed as he pushes your legs open, a finger slides up and down your covered slit, and you can't stifle your gasp.
It only fuels him, though, his gaze becoming hungrier as his fingers now push past the cloth of your pretty panties to teasingly press and rub on your tight hole. When you look down, a shiver travels up your spine, making him chuckle. "It's so tiny... Can't believe it takes my cock so well." He muses, fingers coming back up now, moving on to poke at your clit. He gives it a teasing rub, enjoying the twitch in your thighs.
"C-Caleb-!" You're gasping, pussy already damp and he hasn't even done anything much. You turn your pleading gaze to him, hoping he can tell from just your pout how much you want, no need, to feel his tongue on your cunt. However, when he just raises a brow, you frown. "Hubby..." You whine, hoping to appease him, knowing how something in Caleb's brain always overheats when you call him a possessive nickname. And sure enough, it works. You can feel the hand gently holding your thigh tighten its grip.
"Yeah, honey?" he answers, smirk on his face as his finger continues to rub gentle circles on your clit. "You need something? Want your hubby to do something for you?" He continues, and when you whine again, he presses a kiss to the part of your inner thigh that's so close to your cunt, pulling back with a lil nip. "Come on... Tell me." He says, and like always, you know it's more than he's waiting for. He's not just waiting for your pleading, but for your command. He's waiting for an admission. An admission that you want him as bad as he wants you. That you want him to do things to you so badly, you'll command him to do it.
And you indulge. Gasping, you tell him. "F-fuck. Use your... Use your mouth, please!"
And Caleb indulges you, too. His head had honestly moved down before you'd even finished your sentence, and your entire body shivers when you feel his tongue glide up the fabric. Before you can whine and gently tug on his hair to say "Take them off!" he does, sitting back as he pulls em down and off your legs, holding them up with a cocky smile.
"Wooow... I know you liked me enough to marry me, but this much?" He jokes, and you gently "kick" his stomach (though it's more like a press, and with those abs, would he even feel anything??). But it works, Caleb tosses the panties somewhere, settling back down between your thighs. This time, his tongue presses true and proper on your cunt. And he eats you out like he's fucking starving. You're not sure if your fingers are gripping his hair so you can push him away or pull him closer, as he sucks on your clit, the stimulation definitely making your muscles spasm. His moans against your cunt make your heart throb, and when you glance down, you can catch a glimpse of how fucking messy his face looks, but how fucking elated his expression is right now.
Caleb makes you cum a minimum of twice everytime he goes down on you, and today it's like he's doubled that rule. No matter how much you whine, trying to close your thighs or push his head away, his strong hands just push 'em open, and he stubbornly refuses to move. His eyes flick up to gauge if you're really struggling, and when he gets his answer, he goes right back. At some point Calebs fingers start massaging your hole, waiting until you're so wet and loose they can slip in comparitively easy while he works on your clit. Caleb hums when he feels you tremble from the stretch, pressing a last few wet, open mouth kisses to your pussy before pulling away. "Yeah... Just breathe. I'm gonna make you feel good, right? You're gonna take all of me in your pretty pussy, right? My fingers, my cock, they're all gonna stretch you open for me." He mumbles, his eyes glued to the visual of your cunt taking in his fingers so prettily.
It makes your cheeks burn a little, how intensely he watches his fingers go in and out of your hole. So much so that you end up having to reach up and pull him down for another kiss.
This kiss is messy. It's all tongue with some teeth as you bite Caleb's bottom lip. You can feel some of your mind slipping into a fuzzy haze as you focus on Caleb's tongue expertly exploring, claiming your mouth, while his fingers pump in and out.
It's only after he's made you cum on his fingers (and just how many times has it been in total now?) that Caleb pulls them out with a filthy, wet sound. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you moan into your kiss, and you can feel Caleb trying to free his cock from its confines. When he pulls away, he sits back, breathless, eyes trained on you, as one hand carelessly works his cock. The head glistens with pre, and Caleb moans as he looks down at you.
"H-hey..." He calls, trying to pull you out of your daze. "Fuck... You're so pretty." He says, voice cracking a lil. He leans forward, plopping his head on your shoulder now. "You're so fucking pretty... And you're my wife?" He bites the place where your neck and shoulder meet so gently. "You married me?" He mumbles into the skin, hands leaving his cock to grab one of your tits, thumbing the nipple softly. He peppers sloppy kisses all over your neck as he continues to ramble, and you can't decide whether to focus on that or the way he's pinching your nipples.
"I- I'm gonna make you happy, right?" He asks as he moves down, looking up as he locks his lips on one of your tits. And you don't really have the bandwidth to say what you want to, so you moan. And it's an answer enough. While he sucks on your tits, Calebs free hand guides his cock. He grinds it a few times on your folds, slipping on the slickness there, before he takes a deep breath and presses it against the tight slit. You can feel the tenseness in his body as he pushes it in, and no matter how many times you've done it, you freeze as you feel inch after inch sink in so torturously slow. The stretch of that fat head, the stupid girth, a part of you wishes he'd just slam in, but that's not like Caleb. Caleb always wants to be gentle. He'd rather die then cause you any pain, even if you're feeling emotionally antagonized waiting for all of his stupid big dick to just go in.
When he's finally in, both of you go just a lil boneless with relief, waiting just a second until Caleb pulls back. And this time, he does slam it in. Your head falls back, the room is so noisy with loud moans, the wet sounds and the banging of the headboard hitting the wall. Caleb moves back to your neck, leaving your tits to his large hands, and a non-dazed part of you can hear him mumbling praise against your skin, can feel him biting and kissing, leaving a sizable amount of marks for you to find tomorrow morning. You can hear his breathy moans and how he whines about feeling so good inside you, how he fits so perfectly, how his wife is so fucking gorgeous he can't believe it. And Caleb cums faster then he ever has today, burying his face in your chest as he pulls out, his hot cum spilling all over your stomach. Your heavy hands bring his face up to yours, and you can see a little shine in his eyes, and you pepper kisses all over his cheeks, his nose, his pretty eyes and finally his lips. You both laugh softly as your previously intense kisses have now turned soft and sweet. Pressing gentle pecks on each other's lips.
Afterwards, Caleb collapses on top of you. The feeling is perfect, not heavy enough to crush you, but enough to make you feel secure and warm. You're not sure how you fall asleep in that state, when you wake up the next morning desperately wanting a shower, but feeling a bit too sore. And you decide to shake Caleb awake so that he can fill the bath for you two. But all that is talk and plans for the morning. Right now, honestly, you're both waaaay too tired to do anything. Exhaustion from wedding stuff and "married couple stuff" is leaving your minds drifting. And when you wake up, you can grumble about how gross you feel, and Caleb can agree as he presses a kiss to your ring finger.
A/N: Yaaay, everyone, let's celebrate our husbands coming home!! For me, it was Caleb (and hopefully next Sylus or Zayne, I'm not that picky), and thus I bring you a gift! It's Caleb and Reader's wedding night hehe~. I wanted to write Caleb as a softie... I mean Caleb has gone through so much that I really do think that if he and MC ever had the chance for a "normal" wedding he'd be an anxious, lovestruck mess the entire time. but I got carried away, didn't i? The fic is so long! But... I just love Caleb a lot. As a day1 one since launch player, I used to swear to all my friends that he would come back, and he did! So now I love spoiling him for mostly proving me right (as he should! The wife is always right!) and then for being a cutie!
Anyways, if you read such a long fic, on Tumblr of all places, thank you, really. Now that it's summer, I might start putting longer fics like these on AO3! Also, I'm always ip for beta-readers, especially cus after writing longer fics, I swear everything I write is awfu lolol!
Here's my fic masterlist, if you wish to read more! So small currently....
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edenesth Ā· 1 day ago
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ATEEZ as Marvel Superheroes
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Pairing(s): marvel superheroes!ateez x female!reader
Word Count: 5.3k
A/N: Thank you so much, my lovelies, for helping me reach 2.8k followers! To show my appreciation, I'm back with another one of these hehe I'm a big fan of the MCU, and I hope you are too!šŸ«°šŸ» Also, I do apologise in advance because only after I started writing did I remember most of these heroes have tragic love stories😭
ATEEZ MASTERLIST
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Hongjoong ↠ Iron Man
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• Visionary • Bold • Burdened •
Based on: Tony Stark Ɨ Pepper Potts
The rooftop hummed with tension, faint jazz playing below from the afterparty no one really wanted to attend. The evening air was cool against your skin, but the press of Hongjoong's eyes on you felt warmer than the champagne you abandoned minutes ago.
He stood at the edge of his tower, staring out at the city like it held all the answers. His signature suit jacket was slung over one shoulder, tie loosened, and hair messier than usual—a rare, raw version of him few got to see.
This wasn't new. You'd watched him slip out of rooms like this before—countless times. He didn't care for the forced glamour of galas or the hollow praise from politicians who barely understood what he did. To the world, he was Iron Man—the billionaire genius, the weapon-turned-saviour, the man in the indestructible suit. But to you, he was your boss. Your headache. Your 3am emergency call. And, if you were honest, something a little more complicated than that.
You'd been with him since the beginning—when he still walked into meetings late with coffee stains on his shirt and bad excuses for skipping board briefings. Back then, you were the assistant with the clipboard and the sharp tongue, the only one who could organise his chaos and get him to actually listen. Somewhere between the prototypes and press conferences, your role stopped being about just calendars and contracts. You were the one who saw him—when the arc reactor flickered in his chest, when he got too deep into his head, when the weight of the world sat heavy on his shoulders.
And he always, always came to you when he didn't know where else to go.
"Why are you out here?" you asked gently, stepping closer, heels clacking softly on the rooftop tiles.
"I needed air," he replied, his voice casual, but his shoulders too tense to match. "And maybe… I needed to not be in a room full of people who only see me as the guy in the metal suit."
You crossed your arms, watching him avoid your gaze. "You're more than that. You know that."
He finally looked at you, and for a second, the flicker of something unguarded passed between you. "Am I?"
You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you walked to stand beside him, your presence grounding, quiet. He glanced at you sideways, then chuckled bitterly.
"I've built weapons, armour, an empire—and still, somehow, I can't figure out how to talk to you like a normal person," he said, eyes on the skyline. "That should tell you something."
Your lips curved. "You're doing fine so far."
"That's because you're here," he muttered, almost too low to hear. Then, louder: "You make it easier. Being… me."
He turned to you fully now, brows drawn together like the words hurt coming out. "I've spent so much time protecting everyone else that I forgot what it's like to want someone to stay—for me. Not because I'm useful. Or powerful. Or dangerous."
Your heart ached for him. "You don't need to be any of those things, Joong," you whispered. "Not with me."
His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something smart, but couldn't find the wit. Instead, he reached for your hand—hesitant, unsure. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "But I want to try… if you'll let me."
You smiled softly, squeezing his fingers.
"Then try."
He looked at your joined hands, then at you—really looked. And for the first time all night, Kim Hongjoong looked less like Iron Man… and more like the man underneath.
Seonghwa ↠ Vision
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• Graceful • Thoughtful • Profound •
Based on: Vision Ɨ Wanda Maximoff
The rain tapped gently against the wide glass windows of the compound, casting blurred shadows across the dimly lit room. You sat curled on the end of a sleek velvet couch, arms wrapped around yourself, staring blankly at a cold mug of tea that had long since lost its warmth—like you had.
You hadn't expected anyone to find you here. Not tonight. Not after the funeral.
They'd said all the right things. That he was a hero. That he made the ultimate sacrifice. That he died saving millions. And while all of that was true, it didn't matter. Not when he was your brother. Not when you were the one who held his bloodied hand until it went still.
No amount of medals or eulogies could fill the hole he left behind.
Everyone had given you space, unsure of what to say. Grief made people awkward. Grief made you awkward. You were used to being strong, used to being the one people turned to when the sky started to fall. But now?
Now you couldn't even make yourself take a sip of tea.
"You're still here," came a soft voice from the doorway. You didn't look up, but you knew instantly—it was him.
Seonghwa.
The android who wasn't supposed to feel. The creation who somehow became the only person who ever truly understood you.
"I thought I wanted to be alone," you murmured. "But now I'm not sure."
He didn't respond right away. He never rushed his words. Instead, he crossed the room with near-silent steps, the weight of him more emotional than physical. He sat beside you—not too close, not too far. Just there. Just enough.
"There's no shame in mourning," he said gently. "You loved him. That love doesn't disappear just because he's gone."
You stared down at your hands, clenched tightly in your lap. "I know. I just… I thought I'd be stronger than this. I've lost people before. Friends. Teammates. But this? This was different."
Your voice cracked, and you hated it. Hated how raw it still was.
"I can't stop thinking about when we were kids," you whispered. "He used to tell me that if anything ever happened to him, I had to promise not to cry. He hated seeing me sad."
A tear slipped down your cheek despite your effort to hold it in. "I broke that promise the second I saw him on that table."
There was a pause. Then, he reached out—not with urgency, but with infinite care—and placed his hand over yours. Cool, steady, real. You glanced down at the contact. His touch, though artificial in origin, felt more comforting than any human hand ever had.
"You haven't broken anything," he said quietly. "He asked you not to cry because he didn't want to see you in pain. But your tears… they're proof of love, not weakness."
You let out a shaky breath.
"How are you like this?" you asked, voice thick. "You weren't even supposed to be human."
His expression remained calm, but his eyes—those eyes that were never programmed but somehow still held galaxies—watched you with impossible depth. "I wasn't designed to feel," he said. "But from the moment I met you, I started learning what it means to care. To wonder. To worry. To hope. Maybe it's not biology that makes someone human… maybe it's simply the capacity to love something enough to hurt when it's gone."
You turned to him fully now, tears clinging to your lashes. "In that case," you said, voice trembling, "you might be the most human person I've ever known."
A flicker of something almost fragile passed across his face—like your words touched something inside him he didn't yet know how to name. "I'm not asking you to be okay tonight," he said softly. "I just want you to let me be here. With you. Until the ache dulls enough to breathe again."
You looked at him—really looked. And in the echo of your sorrow, surrounded by the quiet hush of rain and memory, you nodded.
Because grief didn't need to be fixed. It just needed to be felt.
And with Seonghwa beside you—wordless, patient, profoundly present—you didn't feel alone anymore.
Yunho ↠ Spider-Man
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• Devoted • Selfless • Brave •
Based on: Peter Parker Ɨ MJ
The coffee shop on the corner had become your quiet place—a little escape from the chaos, the fights, the headlines. You used to meet Yunho here after missions, on stolen afternoons, when all he wanted was to share a pastry and rest his head on your shoulder like the world didn't need saving for a while, when he was just himself and not the Spider-Man everyone looked up to.
But now?
Now he stood across from you, shoulders tense, hands buried in the pockets of a worn hoodie, his smile forced and eyes far too sad for someone so full of life.
You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since the sky tore open and everything went wrong. But the second he walked in, you knew. Something was different.
Something was ending.
"You okay?" you asked gently, wrapping your hands around the warm paper cup in front of you. "You're fidgeting like you've got a confession and a time limit."
That smile again—crooked, soft, but never quite reaching his eyes. "I guess I do," he said, voice lighter than the weight behind it. "It's just… hard to explain."
You watched him closely, heart already bracing. He had always been an open book. When he loved, he loved out loud—loud laughter, bright texts, full-body hugs that said I missed you without words. But right now, he looked like someone who had to seal off the pages.
"Try me," you whispered.
He hesitated. Then stepped closer. The sun outside hit his profile just right, highlighting the bruises he hadn't bothered to hide and the flicker of fear in his gaze.
"There's something coming," he began. "Something big. And to stop it, I have to do something... irreversible."
Your chest tightened. "What do you mean?"
His voice dropped. "Everyone who knows me—who knows who I am—will forget. You included."
Silence crashed between you.
You stared, unsure if you'd misheard. "Forget you? How?"
"It's the only way to close the breach," he said, eyes shining now. "The only way to keep you safe."
You rose from your seat, the air suddenly too thin. "So that's it? You disappear from my life, and I just wake up one day wondering why I feel like something's missing?"
"I don't want to," he said quickly, stepping forward. "God, I don't. But if you remembered me, you'd be in danger. They'd come for you. I can't—" He stopped, his jaw tightening. "I can't lose you. Not like that."
Tears welled in your eyes. "But you're okay with me losing you?"
"I'd rather be a stranger who watches you walk down the street alive than someone who holds your hand while the world burns around us," he said. "I love you. That doesn't stop just because you forget."
You reached up, hands framing his face, memorising him with trembling fingers. "You are the most stubborn, selfless idiot I've ever loved."
He laughed, shakily, pressing his forehead to yours. "I'll find you," he whispered. "After. I'll find you again. Even if you don't know who I am, even if I have to fall for you all over again—I will."
The pain in your chest splintered into something deeper, something sacred. "I'll wait," you whispered. "Even if I don't remember what I'm waiting for."
He kissed you then—slow, aching, infinite. The kind of kiss that stitched memories into bone, that would haunt your dreams long after you'd forgotten his name.
And when he pulled away and walked out the door, the bell above chimed softly.
You didn't know it yet, but that sound would echo in your heart for a long, long time.
Yeosang ↠ Doctor Strange
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• Mysterious • Intelligent • Guarded •
Based on: Stephen Strange Ɨ Christine Palmer
The sanctum was quiet, except for the soft, rhythmic hum of magic pulsing through the walls—like the world itself was holding its breath.
You stood just inside the threshold of Yeosang's study, the air between you heavy with things left unsaid. Books floated lazily around him, sigils still glowing faintly on the floor where a portal had only moments ago sealed shut.
"I saw it," you said softly, stepping closer. "The universe where we made it."
He didn't turn around. His back remained to you, cloak draped over one shoulder like a curtain shielding whatever war raged inside him.
You swallowed the ache in your throat. "You were different there. We both were."
A pause. Then: "Did we win?"
You nodded. "We were happy."
He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling like the answer wounded him more than comforted him.
The multiverse had changed everything. Once just a theory whispered in secret texts and dismissed as dangerous speculation, it had now torn open in ways neither of you could ignore. You'd seen it—fragments of alternate lives, cascading timelines stitched together by decisions, accidents, heartbreak. There were countless versions of you and him scattered across the infinite—some together, some strangers, some never even meeting at all.
And yet no matter the universe, no matter the shape of your stories... the love never changed.
"I saw the version of you who let me stay," you said gently. "And you were still strong. Still brilliant. Still you. Just… not alone."
He finally turned to face you, and though his expression was composed, his eyes gave him away—tired, aching, full of things he'd never say aloud.
"I've seen what happens when I try to have both," he said. "Every time I let you in, something else falls apart. Sometimes the world. Sometimes you."
You nodded slowly. "I know."
A quiet beat passed between you. Magic crackled faintly beneath your feet, but all you heard was the thud of your heartbeat. The heaviness of goodbye. Again.
"You always had to be the one holding everything together," you said. "Even when it meant breaking your own heart. Even when I wished you'd just let me share the weight."
His gaze fell. "I didn't want to lose you."
"You didn't," you whispered. "But you couldn't keep me either. Not the way you wanted." You stepped closer, raising a hand to his face. He leaned into your palm like someone starved for the warmth of something real. Something human. Something that couldn't be conjured with a spell.
"I love you," he said, voice barely holding together. "In every universe. Even the ones where I never get the chance to say it."
"And I've loved you in every one," you replied, eyes glistening. "Even the ones where I had to let you go."
A long silence stretched between you, neither of you reaching for a solution because, for once, there wasn't one. Just acceptance. Just truth. "I hope you're happy somewhere," he said softly. "Even if it's not here. Not with me."
You smiled, bittersweet. "I am. I will be. And so will you."
You stepped back first.
Because this was the part you had to play—not the anchor, not the ending, but the memory he'd carry when he needed to remember who he was beneath the title.
And as the portal opened behind you, casting gold and firelight across your face, you lingered just one more second.
"You have to face your universe now," you said.
"I know."
"Be brave, Yeo."
"I always was… with you."
And then you were gone.
Not forgotten. Not unloved. Just… left behind by someone who never stopped loving you.
San ↠ Wolverine
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• Wild • Passionate • Protective •
Based on: Logan Ɨ Jean Grey
The world was chaos.
You could feel it in the air—thick and charged—raw power pulsing out of you uncontrollably, shaking the earth beneath your feet. You hadn't meant for it to go this far. You never did. But the power had awakened again, darker this time, hungrier. And now, you weren't sure you could stop it.
You stood at the centre of it all—eyes glowing, hair whipping wildly in the storm you were unwillingly creating. Around you, people fled. Structures collapsed. Metal bent. Air cracked.
And then… he walked through it.
San.
Unflinching. Unafraid.
Walking straight through the inferno of your destruction like nothing in the world mattered but you.
Because nothing ever had.
Not since the moment he first saw you.
He hadn't come to Xavier's School to belong—just to recover. He arrived half-feral, bleeding from wounds that wouldn't stay closed, memories in fragments, rage barely kept in check. Everyone kept their distance.
Except you.
You were already part of the school—a teacher, a leader, someone respected and calm in ways he wasn't. You were also the first person who saw through his defensiveness. You didn't treat him like a threat. You treated him like a man who'd forgotten how to breathe.
He noticed you the moment he opened his eyes on the infirmary bed. You were the first voice he heard—low, steady, kind.
"You're safe," you'd said.
And for some reason, he believed it.
He watched you from afar at first, drawn to you and hating himself for it. You were everything he wasn't—disciplined, compassionate, good. But you didn't look at him with fear. You looked at him like you understood something about him that even he couldn't put into words.
And even though you had your own demons—your own unstable power humming beneath the surface—he never flinched.
Over time, that tension between you became something more. A stolen moment here. A shared silence there. Not loud, not obvious—but real. And dangerous. Because both of you knew what it could become. And how badly it could end.
Now, here he was. Standing in the eye of your storm.
"Stop!" you cried, voice echoing. "You can't be here!"
But he kept coming, body healing as fast as the storm tore at him—skin splitting, bones cracking, then mending again. "I'm not leaving you!" he shouted over the roar. "Not now. Not ever."
"Sannie," you choked, trembling. "I can't hold it back—I'll hurt you—"
"You already are," he said, stepping within reach. "And I'm still here."
Your knees buckled. Magic surged, uncontrolled. The part of you that once felt human was slipping fast. But his hands caught you before you could fall. Rough, scarred, but gentle.
Your voice trembled. "You have to stop me. Please."
He looked at you—eyes wild with pain, with love, with everything he'd never been able to say out loud without it sounding like a growl. He'd always loved you in extremes: fiercely, wordlessly, endlessly. And now, it would be no different. "I can't lose you," he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. "But if I have to be the one to end this… I will. For you. Because you asked."
Tears spilt from your eyes as the force inside you built higher, screaming for release. "I'm sorry," you whispered.
"I'm not," he breathed, voice breaking.
Then you kissed him—desperate, searing, the kind of kiss meant to be remembered long after everything else is gone. The kind of kiss that lives in the bones.
"I love you," you said. "I always will."
"I know," he said. "Me too."
And then, with his arms around you, his claws unsheathed—
And it was quiet.
The storm stopped. The earth stilled. The world was safe again.
But San dropped to his knees, holding your body close, shaking, broken in ways no healing factor could ever mend. Because even with everything he had—his strength, his rage, his fire—he couldn't save you from yourself.
But he did save you from being alone at the end. And that, more than anything else, was what made him human.
Mingi ↠ Star-Lord
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• Charismatic • Playful • Devoted •
Based on: Peter Quill Ɨ Gamora
The music was still playing.
A soft crackle from a salvaged cassette tape echoed through the rubble of Ego's collapsing planet—tinny and warped but still playing. Somewhere, under the chaos and blinding energy blasts, you could hear the faint hook of "Bring It On Home to Me."
And then you saw Mingi, blood on his temple, eyes wide with disbelief, chest heaving like he'd just lost gravity. "I told you I wanted to believe you," he rasped, voice cracking. "You said you loved her."
He wasn't talking to you. Not yet.
He was staring down the man who called himself his father. The same man who had just confessed to killing his mother. And destroying the last real piece of her he had left—his Walkman.
The explosion came before you could blink.
Song Mingi, the self-proclaimed legendary outlaw known across galaxies as Star-Lord, who flirted with danger like it was a sport and wore charm like armour, didn't hesitate. Didn't joke. Didn't smile.
He opened fire, rage and grief pouring out like stardust.
You found him in the wreckage after it was all over—shoulders hunched, headphones cracked in his lap, fingers gripping them like they'd fall apart if he let go.
"Mingi…" you said softly, kneeling beside him.
He didn't look at you at first. Just stared at the broken tape player. "She gave this to me," he whispered. "Said it would keep her close. Now it's gone."
You reached out gently, brushing a cut on his cheek. "She's not gone."
"I know," he said. "I just… I built so much of myself around what I lost. And now I don't know who I'm supposed to be."
You remembered when you first met him—blaster slung low, grin cocky, eyes twinkling with trouble. He was loud. Annoying. Ridiculously persistent.
You were on opposite sides of a bounty job—he was after the reward, and you were trying to destroy the target. He tried to charm his way out of a fight. You knocked him flat.
You thought he'd walk away. He didn't. He showed up again. And again. With jokes. With food. With music. A walking contradiction: rogue, thief, soft-hearted orphan clinging to a mix-tape and memories of a mother he still missed like it was yesterday.
He flirted shamelessly. You ignored him. He made you laugh once—you hated that.
But somehow… he got in.
You saw through the persona, the leather jacket, the smooth one-liners. You saw the man underneath—the one who took every loss personally and loved like the universe was ending. Eventually, you let yourself fall. Not because he wore you down, but because he earned it.
Now, in the middle of a dying world, he was still the same. Wounded. Grieving. And yet, holding on.
You sat with him in silence, the dust settling around you both, the air still crackling with faint cosmic static. "You're still you," you said. "All the jokes. All the charm. That heart you pretend you don't have."
That made him glance at you, finally. "I don't pretend," he said, smirking weakly. "I just… edit."
You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "Then let me read the unedited version sometime."
He went quiet. You thought maybe you'd pushed too far, but then his fingers laced into yours. "You already are," he said. "Every time you look at me like I'm more than just the punchline."
You turned to face him fully, nose inches from his. "You are."
And just like that, he kissed you.
It wasn't grand or perfect or polished. It was messy and raw and tasted like salt and ash and something honest. Like laughter after crying. Like letting go.
Wooyoung ↠ Deadpool
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• Chaotic • Flirty • Loyal •
Based on: Wade Wilson Ɨ Vanessa Carlysle
You weren't sure if this counted as a date or a war zone.
There were bullet holes in the walls, smoke in the air, and some guy's flaming motorcycle helmet rolling by in the background. But in the middle of it all—covered in soot and blood and probably laughing too loudly—was Wooyoung.
Deadpool. Mercenary. Menace.
Your complete and total problem.
"You okay?" he called, leaning around a pillar with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm for someone who'd just taken a sword to the shoulder.
You blinked. "You were on fire."
"Hot, right?" he winked, lifting his mask just enough to show that too-wide, boyish grin that somehow always disarmed you. "I mean, what time is it?" He flicked up his wrist with exaggerated flair, flashing a cracked, dusty Adventure Time watch, its glass fogged with ash but still ticking like nothing had happened. "It's about… pain-thirty," he deadpanned. "Right on schedule."
You groaned and tossed him a spare mag. "One day I'm leaving you for a man who respects clocks."
"Too late," he called, slamming the clip into place with flair. "I am the time of your life."
You never intended to fall in love with someone like him.
He was too loud. Too unpredictable. Too him. The type of guy who flirted mid-battle, made crude jokes during hostage situations, and once broke into your apartment at 3am just to bring you a taco 'because it reminded him of your attitude.'
But you stayed. Because somehow, in all that madness, he gave you something no one else could.
It hadn't started with romance. It started in a crappy bar with sticky tables and a broken jukebox, both of you strangers clinging to bad nights and worse decisions. He slid onto the stool beside you with all the confidence of a man who believed the world owed him a drink and a laugh—and probably your number too.
Offered you his last claw machine token like it was a love language. Said he could win you a plushie or disappointment—dealer's choice.
You told him he looked like a disappointment.
He grinned like you gave him a gift. "That's the hottest insult I've ever received. Marry me."
The banter became a habit. Sarcasm turned into late-night stories. Somewhere between vodka shots and childhood trauma, something clicked. And suddenly, his chaos didn't scare you—it matched yours. It made you feel again.
He wasn't perfect. He was far from it. But he remembered your coffee order. He memorised your laugh. He stitched the ugly parts of himself into yours like it made something stronger. He called it dysfunctional. You called it real.
And now, in the aftermath of another mission gone sideways, he sat slumped on the ground, his mask peeled off, blood crusting around a cut on his cheek. His fingers toyed with the cracked kids' watch on his wrist, the plastic band fraying.
"I know I'm a handful," he said, voice quieter than usual, eyes avoiding yours. "Like… emotionally unstable with a side of mental mayhem."
You lowered yourself beside him, dirt smudging your palms. "That's putting it lightly."
He laughed once, under his breath, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You didn't sign up for this. You deserve someone normal. Someone who doesn't cry over dropped chimichangas or monologue in the shower."
You turned his face toward you gently, both hands cradling him like he wasn't all blades and explosions. "I didn't fall in love with normal. I fell in love with you, Woo. The chaos, the scars, the fourth-wall nonsense, and yes… even your disturbing relationship with street food."
He blinked at you, trying to make a joke but failing. So instead, he kissed you—hard and unapologetic, like he needed the reassurance that he still existed, that this was real.
It was messy. You tasted blood and smoke. Somewhere in the background, something else exploded. You didn't flinch.
His forehead rested against yours when he finally pulled away. "If you ever leave me, I'm keeping your Netflix password."
"You hate Netflix."
"I hate what it represents."
He said it with a straight face. You burst out laughing.
Because love with Jung Wooyoung wasn't quiet. It was loud, chaotic, and way too dramatic. But it was yours. And his. And somehow, that made it perfect.
Jongho ↠ Captain America
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• Strong • Noble • Steadfast •
Based on: Steve Rogers Ɨ Peggy Carter
The world had been saved.
At a terrible cost, yes—but for once, there was peace. No more missions. No more orders. No more running from one crisis to the next, pretending that saving the world filled the ache in his chest.
Because it didn't.
Jongho had fought every battle they threw at him. Woke up in a world seventy years too late and learned how to live in it. He adapted. He endured. He led. People called him a hero. A symbol.
But behind all the accolades and duty, he was still just a man with a hole in his heart.
A man who never stopped thinking about you.
You had been his constant back then—steady and unshaken in a world that was crumbling under war. Where others followed orders, you challenged him to think. Where others admired him, you saw him—saw the weight he carried and loved him anyway.
You had met when he was still learning how to be more than just a soldier. Back when he was still unsure, still growing. And somehow, even then, your presence grounded him. You reminded him of the world he was fighting for.
He never told you how much he needed you. Not before the crash. Not before the ice. Not before he disappeared and left you behind.
When he woke up decades later, it hit him harder than anything else—not the time he lost, not the confusion of the modern world… but knowing you were gone. That he'd never gotten to say goodbye.
He tried to move on. Really, he did. But no matter how many missions, how many people he tried to protect… your memory clung to him like a ghost.
He'd see your favourite flower blooming on a street corner. Hear your laugh in the static of an old radio. Pass by cafƩs and wonder if you'd still like tea the way you used to. If you'd be proud of the man he'd become.
There were nights he couldn't sleep. Nights he'd sit by the window, replaying that last conversation. The promise of a dance you never got to share. The ache never dulled.
You had been his past. But somehow, you were still his home.
And then… came the second chance.
The mission was meant to end with him returning the Stones, fixing what had been broken. But somewhere along the way, he realised the truth: He didn't have to keep choosing the world over his heart.
For the first time in his life, he made a selfish choice. He didn't tell anyone. He just… slipped away. Back to the moment he left behind. Back to the time he belonged.
Back to you.
You didn't hear him come in.
You were at the kitchen sink, hands in the dishwater, humming to a tune that played low from the radio behind you—an old swing record crackling through the speakers.
He paused in the doorway, sunlight pooling behind him, framing the familiar silhouette you'd once thought was gone forever. Your back was to him, but everything in him stilled just watching you—still here, still real.
"Is this a good time?" he asked softly.
You turned, heart catching in your throat.
There he was. Choi Jongho. No shield. No uniform. No headlines. Just the man you never stopped loving.
Your eyes brimmed with disbelief and something deeper. "How…?"
He stepped forward, slower now, like he was afraid that if he moved too fast, you'd disappear. "I promised you a dance."
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of years, of longing, of silent promises that were never meant to die.
You crossed the room before you knew it, falling into his arms like no time had passed. His touch was steady, warm, heartbreakingly familiar. Your head rested against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat—strong and real and finally home.
"I never stopped waiting for you," you whispered.
He swallowed hard, voice low. "And I never stopped loving you. Not for a second. Not through all the years, or the wars, or the sleepless nights in a time that never felt like mine."
You held him tighter.
"Then stay, Jjong," you said.
And he did.
The record spun. The living room faded. The world outside could wait. Because at last—after everything—you were dancing.
And for Jongho, that was the real victory.
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Tbh, I had a lot of second thoughts about this, but then I reminded myself that it's okay if not everyone likes it or agrees with the heroes or the scenes I've selected for the members, heh. YOLO.
As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3
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starboye Ā· 2 days ago
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risky messages
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you were the new hot thing on base, a young, attractive new recruit that got put with the one and only captain price as your new trainer and god did price take notice to your amazing body, the way it always looked like you body was calling for him just had him distracted all the time
which made it even harder to train you when all he could think about was bending you over this weight rack and marking up every part of you while keep ing you quiet with his tongue in your mouth, but he couldn't, i mean he was your captain and he was way to old for you, like a large age gap kinda old
but you didn't care about it, just shamelessly flirting your way around him, soon you even got his number, ot took him a little to figure put all the words you were saying but once he got a hold of it it was just to much for him, you sending him pictures of you after a workout where you're just a sweaty mess that he wants to have his own workout with
"you like the progress" the text said under the photo, he could just feel his cock jump in his pants at the thought of him fucking you in the gym while trying to stay hidden "fuckin' hell" he muttered to himself "you're really trying to get me in trouble" he texts you making you chuckle a bit "not their problem if they dont know" you type back and price has to put down his phone to keep himself grom texting something to risky
or when you'd send him 'accidental' pictures of you in bed, nothing but some underwear on that he always imagined taking off you with his teeth "oh shit sorry captain i meant to send that to someone else" you'd fake apologize "it's okay rookie just make sure you're more careful next time" he struggles to type back, he really wanted to invite you over to his room to fuck the night away but he still held back
but it was one day price and the team were running laps and he looked like he was getting a little tired, leaning down to take a breather just for you to stop next to him "what, old man price cant keep up with the rookies now" you tease him and that just gave him the lovely idea, taking you off to the bathroom and locking the door behind him, pressing you onto the wall and slipping his and yours pants down
wetting his tip to slip into you, you could feel it bulging in your stomach "mmmm fuck captain do you fuck often or are you a little rusty" you taunt even more making price slam his cock into you even harder, wrapping his arm around your neck, squeezing his bicep to trap you "say some more smart shit rookie, i dare you" he laughs at your moaning that anyone walking by would probably hear
"no... sir" you choke out, and price was a little happy to finally be fucking you after all those nights you teased him, sending those pictures of your ass and beautiful body to him, all those long nights of him fucking into his fist while imagining it was your hole instead, the real thing felt so much better though, the way you clenched around him everytime he dared to pull out
"desperate little slut huh, cock hungry and all" hos beard tickles the side of your neck as he whispers in your ear, just as things start to rise someone knocks on the door "why's the door locked" some soldier outside says "a little busy in here go use the bathroom somewhere else" price bellows from behind the door "whatever" the soldier complains walking off
looking back at you, a panic look all over your face "what, scared you're gonna get caught drooling all over the cock of your captain" price lays a couple hard smacks on your ass making you whimper and whine out but price silences by shoving his fingers into your lolling open mouth, you drooling all over his thick calloused fingers just made him even harder
and it wasn't a surprise when you came all over the bathroom wall with a muffles moan "cumming without even touching your dick wow, thats a new one for me" he laughs at the feeling of your weak legs shaking "fuck im gonna fill this tight ass up" price grunts slamming into you a little more before abruptly pulling out and cumming all over your ass
you whine at the feeling of not being full pf his cum but are shut up when he grabs your face to turn you towards him "you can get your reward tonight" he kisses you one more time before pulling his pants back up and walking towards the door "now hop too, i wanna see you back out there in five minutes" he adjusts his pants one more time before walking out the door
xoxo, starboyešŸ’‹
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taglist: @mailmango @boypied @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac @r0mcom-8ngel @bbibbiiu @tqrgaryenfilms
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forcedinniter Ā· 2 days ago
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No the victim blaming is so painful. It's like... I know I was the one who started talking about the Dream SMP and FanFiction but also... maybe have you considered that there's something in my brain that desperately wants to talk about it all the time?
I try and stop talking about it (hell, I'm literally in therapy for anxiety) but at some point the floodgates open and everyone realises I'm weird as fuck. And then what can I do? Nobody wants a meaningful discussion about how society demonises the activities of teenage girls, especially non-mainstream activities of teenage girls (not saying fanfiction is just for teenage girls but that's certainly the stereotype). Nobody wants to understand that their stereotypes about non-mainstream interests (particularly those with sexual connotations) aren't true.
It's much more entertaining to think that I'm some smut addict who wanks off to porn about someone who was aged 16 at the time he became popular (which is obviously not true) than it is to understand what I'm really telling them.
And then when people are awful to you, there are so many of them that they can paint you as the irrational one. It was January-February. I wanted the windows shut. The ones I was sat right in front of whereas everyone else was away from them. There was ice on the ground. Things are lied about and information is omitted and then you're the one who's causing a scene for asking things to be dealt with.
I had a chair thrown at me and the first thing I was asked when I went into the office (15 minutes after the thrower was sent) was 'what did you do?'. Literally on the walk there the teaching assistant (who was not there for me but was helping to deal with the situation) sympathised with me and said how hard it would be to get anything done about it because of how much everyone in that class hated me for being weird and... *checks notes* wanting a window shut in winter???
A boy in that class later confessed that nobody there was actually hot (the windows didn't need to be open) and that this one girl who always opened the windows behind me and complained about being hot just hated me and wanted to get at me and everyone else joined in for fun, opening the windows with her every time I focused on my work so that they could watch me freak out. I was so paranoid that someone was opening the window. I was so cold. And they found it funny???
Emails I read from my head of year to my parents detailed wrong or misleading information she had clearly been told by other members of my year. Other people in my year had clearly lied on statements they'd written to get out of trouble and I was never asked to fact-check despite also being there. Even if I had, who would believe one person over 40?
And the yelling of my name. Calling me 'Mummy [forcedinniter]' because the idea of me being actually sexually desirable was a massive joke. I couldn't use certain routes at school because I was harassed so often.
So many issues, so many minor issues, wouldn't have been an issue if I'd had someone on my side, a friend next to me. But I didn't, and schools simply don't appreciate that.
The education system does not support victims of large-scale targeted harassment, does not support the victims of institutional bullying. Why? Because it's too much work. I was blamed because it was easier for staff to say '[forcedinniter] caused a scene unnecessarily about a non-issue' like windows or a little bit of name-calling than it was to say 'half the school is picking on an isolated, vulnerable member of this school and I am doing nothing about it because I can't be bothered to do my job'.
These events happened at a school I'd gone to through a managed move, done because of the exact same situation at my last school. My head of year knew I was struggling, isolated and vulnerable. She knew, because she knew exactly why I moved to that school. At first, she was helpful. Then I became too much work for her and it was easier to do nothing at all.
What can you do about bullying on a large scale? Put everyone in detention? (I knew the names of about an eighth of my year at best, a useful tool for tormentors) Maybe... write a letter to someone? (What would they do?)
The truth is that there is no way, but not even punishing the individual, to blame me instead? That was and is inexcusable.
every piece of ""autistic representation"" in hollywood sucks not just because of the infantalization and inspiration porn but because movie executives always fail to realize the real universal autistic experience: spending your childhood slowly and unfalteringly realizing all of your friends not so secretly hated and/or merely tolerated you at best and you've missed every social signal about it ever
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mikkies Ā· 2 days ago
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怌 THE WINNER TAKES IT ALL, THE LOSER HAS TO FALL. 怍
Guest 1337 x GN! Reader┆Shedletsky x GN! Reader┆Two Time x GN! Reader
warnings: uhh I think projection is a warning
notes: I didn't want to write for fuckass two time since he's winning the hottest poll with builderman but I gotta do what I gotta do. ANYWAYS ANGST, heavy angst or light idk.
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ā˜† — GUEST 1337:
THE WOODS ARE quiet tonight. Quieter than usual. The kind of silence that presses in from all sides, thick like fog, humming with things left unsaid.
You’re inside the small wooden cabin you and Guest 1337 share. The fire is down to embers.
Your hands are raw from cleaning the mud off his vest.
He said nothing when he walked in—just dropped it on the floor, collapsed on the bed, and stared at the wall like he expected it to blink first.
ā€œYou’re back early,ā€ you offer gently.
He doesn’t respond.
Just keeps rubbing his thumb against a stain on his pants that isn’t there.
ā€œAre you hurt?ā€ you ask, trying not to sound too concerned. He hates that.
He flinches, like your voice pulled him out of somewhere deeper than the forest. ā€œNo. Not really.ā€
You sit next to him on the bed.
His shoulders tense. You’re used to that.
You’ve learned to be quiet when it counts. He usually appreciates that.
But tonight feels different.
ā€œYou said something earlier,ā€ he murmurs suddenly, staring into the dying fire. ā€œAbout how the trees look like bones.ā€
You blink. ā€œYeah?ā€
He’s quiet again for a long moment. Then:
ā€œDaisy used to say that. She’d look at the woods from our window, say they looked like a ribcage trying to trap the stars.ā€
You’re not sure what to say. You didn’t know her—not really.
You only know the way he gets distant when her name is mentioned. Like it conjures ghosts only he can see.
ā€œI never told you that,ā€ he says, and his voice is thick now. Not quite trembling—but close.
ā€œI never told you anything about her. But you keep saying these things. Acting like her. Laughing like her. Even your handwritingā€¦ā€
He trails off.
You feel something cold settle in your chest.
ā€œI didn’t mean to,ā€ you whisper.
ā€œI know,ā€ he says. ā€œThat’s the worst part.ā€
He turns toward you. For once, he looks. Really looks. And what you see in his eyes isn’t love—it’s grief. It’s desperation.
ā€œI think I started loving you because I missed her,ā€ he says.
ā€œI thought if I looked at you long enough, maybe I’d forget her face. Or maybe I’d start seeing hers on yours.ā€
You look away, heart lurching.
ā€œI thought maybe the Spectre put you here for me,ā€ he continues. ā€œSome kind of mercy. Someone to keep me from going completely hollow.ā€
You open your mouth, but your throat tightens. You feel like you’re going to choke.
ā€œBut it wasn’t mercy,ā€ he says bitterly. ā€œIt was punishment. Because now I’m holding a good person hostage in a story that was never yours.ā€
He stands. Walks to the door.
ā€œI’m sorry,ā€ he says again. ā€œFor what it’s worth.ā€
Then he leaves, letting the door creak open behind him.
You stay there by the fire, surrounded by the ashes of someone else’s memory.
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ā˜† — SHEDLETSKY:
SHEDLETSKY IS QUIET tonight.
Not ā€œfunny quietā€ where he’s holding in a joke, waiting for the perfect moment to strike with some dumb pun or impression. Not ā€œtired quietā€ after a long run through the woods with your hand in his.
This is a silence that hurts.
You watch him from the corner of the room. He’s sitting on the floor, hoodie pulled over his head, hands buried in his hair, wings twitching in his back like they’re trying to pull free and fly off without him.
The air in the cabin is thick. Like something is rotting between the walls. Something neither of you want to name.
ā€œYou’re not eating,ā€ you say.
He doesn’t reply.
ā€œI made your favorite. Well, as close to it as I can get in this hellhole.ā€
Still nothing.
You crouch next to him, gently brushing one of the head-wings. It droops, like it recognizes you, but not enough to lean into your touch.
ā€œYou okay?ā€
He exhales shakily.
ā€œYou laughed earlier,ā€ he says softly. ā€œIt sounded just like her.ā€
Your hand stills. ā€œWho?ā€
ā€œBrightEyes.ā€
You feel your blood run cold.
ā€œI wasn’t gonna say anything,ā€ he continues, voice far away.
ā€œThought if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t be real. That maybe you were her. Or something close enough.ā€
You open your mouth, but he keeps going.
ā€œYou’ve got her smile,ā€ he whispers. ā€œHer warmth. That stupid thing you do with your nose when you’re thinking too hard.ā€
ā€œI didn’t know I did that,ā€ you say, voice fragile.
ā€œShe did.ā€
He laughs, a sound that breaks in the middle.
ā€œAnd I let myself believe—just for a moment—that maybe I got lucky. Maybe the Spectre gave me one last chance.ā€
Your heart cracks.
He pulls back his hood. His eyes are glassy, dark, and distant. ā€œBut you’re not her.ā€
You know this. Of course you know this. But hearing it out loud shatters something inside you.
ā€œI keep looking for her in you. Every time I hold your hand, every time you say my name, I try to convince myself it’s her voice. I make jokes because she used to laugh at them. I kiss you and close my eyes so maybe I can pretend.ā€
You feel your hands curl into fists.
ā€œI’m not a replacement,ā€ you whisper.
ā€œI know,ā€ he says. ā€œAnd that’s why I hate myself for what I’ve done to you.ā€
The cabin is too quiet now.
ā€œI should’ve stopped it,ā€ he says. ā€œShould’ve let you go when I realized.ā€
ā€œThen why didn’t you?ā€
He looks at you finally. ā€œBecause I was scared. Because every time I looked at you, I felt warm again. Alive. Like maybe I wasn’t sent here.ā€
You say nothing. There’s nothing to say that won’t sound like begging.
He stands, wings flexing once, then folding tightly against his body.
ā€œYou deserve someone who loves you. Not the echo of someone I can’t let go.ā€
ā€œShedā€¦ā€
ā€œI’m sorry.ā€
He walks toward the door.
You want to stop him. You want to scream. You want to cry until the night ends.
But there’s no dawn in this place.
Only darkness.
And two silhouettes—one that left, and one that was never truly seen.
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ā˜† — TWO TIME:
IT WAS WEEKS before you found the photo.
Buried deep under the altar, folded in cloth soaked with dried candlewax and dark stains.Ā 
The image was faded—Two Time, grinning, more human than you’d ever seen them, beside a boy with soft features and brighter eyes.Ā 
His face had been gouged out with something sharp. Over the top, in black ink:
GLORY TO THE SPAWN.
You touched the torn edge. A chill ran down your spine.
They came back not long after. You were still holding it.
ā€œOh,ā€ they said, softly. ā€œYou found it.ā€
You turned, photo still in your hand.
ā€œThis is Azure.ā€
It wasn’t a question.
They didn’t deny it.
They stepped forward, slow, like approaching something fragile.Ā 
Their smile was sad now—gentler than you expected.
ā€œI used to love him,ā€ they said.
Silence stretched between you, thick and brittle.
ā€œWhy?ā€ you asked.
They sat across from you, folding their hands. The dagger gleamed faintly in the firelight.
ā€œHe believed in me,ā€ they said. ā€œHe believed in the Spawn like me. And he loved me enough to let me use him when the doctrine demanded sacrifice. He never begged. He just… looked at me. And smiled.ā€
You swallowed the lump in your throat.
ā€œBut you’re with me now,ā€ you said. ā€œYou moved on.ā€
They looked at you like they didn’t understand the words.
ā€œI didn’t move on,ā€ they said, and the words sank like stones. ā€œI found you.ā€
The silence turned sharp.
ā€œYou remind me of him,ā€ they added. ā€œNot just your voice or your eyes. But the way you hesitate before you speak. The way you ask questions even when you’re scared of the answers.ā€
Your blood ran cold.
ā€œSo that’s why you wanted me,ā€ you said slowly. ā€œBecause I look like him.ā€
They didn’t deny it.
You stood up.
ā€œThat’s all I am to you. A shadow.ā€
ā€œYou’re more than that,ā€ they said, quickly. ā€œYou’re his echo. His proof. The Spawn sent you to remind me that I’m on the right path.ā€
You stared at them, horror dawning like frost.
ā€œI’m not a message from your god,ā€ you said. ā€œI’m not some ghost. I’m a person. And I loved you.ā€
They looked away, something bitter twisting their features.
ā€œI know,ā€ they whispered. ā€œThat’s why it worked.ā€
You felt your chest crack. ā€œWhat worked?ā€
ā€œThis,ā€ they gestured to you—your body, your pain.Ā 
ā€œThe comfort. The feeling. The illusion that he never left.ā€
You backed away.
ā€œYou should’ve let me go,ā€ you said. ā€œYou should’ve let him stay dead instead of pulling me into your grave.ā€
ā€œI couldn’t,ā€ they said. ā€œBecause when I’m with you, it’s like I never stabbed him. Like he forgave me. Like we’re stillā€”ā€
ā€œBut we’re not!ā€ you snapped. ā€œI’m not him! I’m not his forgiveness!ā€
Their voice dropped to a whisper. ā€œBut you’re the closest I’ll ever get.ā€
You turned away.
They didn’t stop you.
You opened the door and stepped into the night—cold, still, endless.
Behind you, Two Time sat in silence, holding a torn photograph and the warmth of someone who never truly belonged to them.
And you left, knowing you were never loved.
Just remembered.
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ahappydnp Ā· 2 days ago
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NO PLEASE GIVE ME THE WHOLE ANSWER ABOUT PHIL'S MIND !! i just sent this to someone else because i'm an inquisitive person and i like hearing different elaborate answers to the same question and i'm curious to what your thoughts are about the subject
i think phil (despite his anecdotes about wanting to seem cool in his younger years) truly does not give a fuck what anyone thinks about him or how he's perceived.
i think he's literally always had friends/family/people around him/fans who have accepted him so he didn't learn to mask in the way a lot of us (including dan) have. which imo is a fundamental part of phil's personhood. he was a weird kid...but he was a weird kid with friends who'd be in his horror films and play his bisexual angel/demon video game. and parents who'd meow when he asked and pretend to be lobsters and ice demons and photoshopped buffy into his prom photos.
and because of that foundation he's been able to confidently make connections as his authentic self as an adult. BUT THIS ADDS TO THE MYSTERIOUS ELEMENT because people aren't used to that (especially any time before covid). like what do you Mean this guy just says whatever with no ulterior motives or games. he's a funky little guy and it's in no way performative and i think most people (especially neurotypical people) don't know how to handle that so they 1) find it fascinating 2) find it refreshing and 3) find it mysterious
on top of the fact that he's not really trying to mask to be more palatable, he's not going to overshare to keep you interested. phil's not going to bare his soul to strangers to forge a connection or fill awkward silences with information about himself. he likes asking questions and talking about whatever he wants to talk about, but not because he wants you to think a certain way about him. which once again can feel surprising and mysterious. also just the fact that he's made a career being a content creator while keeping so much of his personal life and thoughts to himself IS really strange compared to everyone else. and there is an air of mystery there.
also the fact that the people lucky enough to be in his extremely exclusive inner circle are in awe of him and sing his praises and stick around for decades. like the fact that his friends find him so funny and smart and interesting!! it makes the mystery even more alluring from the outside.
ultimately i think the mystery behind phil boils down to knowing he's an extremely intelligent and creative person who could say something really cool and impressive, but doesn't want to. because he doesn't care if he impresses you
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jammatown919 Ā· 1 day ago
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Huntr/x / Polytrix Headcanons
Mira's love language is acts of service
Zoey's is physical touch
Rumi's is words of affirmation
They're all decent cooks, but Mira does it most often because it's a quiet, comfortable way to show her affection.
Zoey cooks when she wants foods she grew up with that aren't usually good or easy to find in Korea. Girl just wants a decent burger.
Rumi knows how to make a handful of meals that Celine taught her. Very practical, nutrient-dense meals.
Mira is the only one of them that can drink without making it everyone else's problem. Rumi's never had a drop of alcohol before her girls convince her to try it, so her tolerance is LOW. Zoey doesn't get drunk immediately, but for reasons unknown it just makes her crazy sick after like two drinks.
Rumi and Mira speak some English (Mira more than Rumi) but there are still occasionally shenanigans with Zoey forgetting a Korean word and the other two not knowing what she's saying so she has to keep asking for the "clip-clip" (she wants her nail trimmers) or mime out what she's trying to say ("the vacuum?" "a shovel?" "FUCK- FRYING PAN!!!!!").
Zoey and Mira have always respected Celine deeply, but they're PISSED at her for forcing Rumi to hide from them and saying everything she did about demons knowing how it was affecting her.
Rumi and Mira are a little obsessed with Zoey's freckles, and she never 100% understood it until she started to really appreciate Rumi's patterns and would unconsciously say the same type of shit they've always said to her ("so cuuute, so prettyyy, can I touch th- wait...")
They do each other's hair a lot, and Zoey and Mira will argue over who gets to do Rumi's braid.
Rumi's hair is rarely out of the braid unless she's washing it because it is CRAZY long and sweeps the floor.
Zoey's hair is actually also fairly long, it's just usually up in the little braided buns. She has yet to appear publicly with her hair down so it makes a really good disguise for when she doesn't want to get recognized.
Zoey's parents divorced when she was in high school, and her mom moved back to Korea. She chose to stay in the States so she could finish school and spent most breaks (except for every other Christmas) in Korea with her mom. When she moved to Korea full-time, she only lived with her mom for like a month before she joined Huntr/x, and interestingly enough they don't really talk anymore.
Mira's parents were pretty emotionally abusive and would punish her with silence and isolation for failing to conform to their standards. They never hit her, but they made it obvious that they didn't like the person she was growing to be and frequently compared her to her brother. The final nail in the coffin was when they found out she was gay and told her she either needed to hide it and find a man anyway or get out of their house. Surprising no one, they don't talk anymore, and both parties have removed a lot of evidence of her even being their daughter from their lives.
Mira has a lot of issues surrounding passive-aggression and the silent treatment and would much prefer someone just scream at her than ignore her. If she thinks the girls aren't talking to her as much as usual, she immediately feels like something's wrong. When they do argue, they also have to make it very clear that they're not ignoring her, they just want some space to gather their thoughts, because otherwise she'll start spiraling.
Zoey used to get bullied a LOT as a kid and is still pretty sensitive to feeling like she's being made fun of. It took her over a year to get to the point of actually asking the others to watch turtle videos and such with her because she was always told her interests were annoying. She also used to flinch around them because she joined Huntr/x when she was freshly graduated and just coming out of several years of being physically picked on. She was just very used to people shoving her or hitting her if she annoyed them. While they didn't get the full story for a while, Mira and Rumi both noticed and started to treat her very gently as a result.
Celine genuinely tried her best to love Rumi and raise her well, but because she never truly accepted Rumi's demon side, Rumi grew up feeling like everything that was ever done for her was an investment she would later have to prove she deserved. Like sealing the Honmoon and losing her patterns was the only way to prove she was worth all the trouble and could be the daughter Celine wanted. She is still extremely self-deprecating when she makes mistakes and her girls have to actively remind her to stop calling herself names and rejecting affection as a form of self-punishment.
Celine hit Rumi a couple of times when she was younger. Whenever Rumi would engage in natural demon behaviors, Celine's knee-jerk reaction was to smack her to make her stop. She always regretted it and made a conscious effort to stop as Rumi got older, but it still happened and only reinforced Rumi's belief that only one side of her deserved love.
Rumi doesn't know anything about her father other than him being demon, and she can't be sure if Celine hasn't told her because she also doesn't know or if she's hiding things.
Now that she's not actively repressing her demon side, Rumi has fangs that come and go and makes all kinds of little demon sounds. It freaks her out a LOT at first, but accidentally growling and having both of her girlfriends immediately say "Us. Bed. NOW." is a pretty good confidence boost.
The three of them are very affectionate and touchy-feely as soon as they get comfortable with each other, but they don't officially start dating until after Rumi reveals her patterns. They basically were before, but they hadn't put a label on it.
They originally have an agreement that they will never explicitly confirm their relationship to the fans, since K-Pop idols generally aren't supposed to date partially due to the fan culture and being gay is its own thing and they just don't want to cause a stir among the fans like that. However, they are really bad at hiding it and fans begin to speculate.
Zoey accidentally lets it slip after a couple of years. They're all very anxious about what the fan reaction is going to be and whether it will impact the Honmoon, and she in particular gets REALLY upset about Mira and Rumi potentially being mad at her.
It's not as bad as they were expecting. It's been an open secret for years, and while there are some negative reactions, their fanbase ends up being generally pretty supportive and they kind of turn into gay rights icons in South Korea for providing so much visibility and representation to the community.
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creature-witch Ā· 2 days ago
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Im not trying to blow up your spot, but I want to talk about why this is a problem (genuine)
When people experience sadness and isolation like this is describing, they are experiencing symptoms. Feeling nothing/hollow/sadness/lack of interest/etc in cultural experiences because of factors such as capitalism are symptoms of depression and maladaptive coping, not a lack of genuine culture.
Other cultures and other countries experience commercialization, disillusionment, and capitalism.
America is not unique to this.
Someone saying that they see other cultures as more wholesome and meaningful is exotifying and infantalizing them (and I know it's not intentional! I understand that people feel they are respecting or appreciating other cultures when they say this, but they are not). Its assuming that the experience at frustration about things like commercialism is a uniquely American experience that other cultures cannot have because they are somehow more pure.
Have you heard of the TV tropes Magical Minority Person, Magical Native American or Ethnic Magician? That's sort of what this thought process is doing. Its acting like there is some special secret morally pure difference in the holidays and customs that other cultures practice.
I didn't even know that the food I was eating was different until kids at school made fun of me for eating it. It wasn't somehow more wholesome than American food it was just the food I was sent to school with. There is no more of a magical experience to eating a burger than to eating halupki.
And a last thing I want to add here is that I really am not attacking you, or anyone else who thinks like this, I get it, I get why it happens. But it's really important to see these feelings and reactions in your own self for what they are, a kind rose colored nostalgia for the Christmas feeling you remember growing up with that you have assigned to other cultures because they are different than your own and you are on the outside looking in.
the reason you, a white american, believe that white americans don't have culture is the same reason fish don't believe in water
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lily-jaxk Ā· 2 days ago
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MC Twin AU - RAFAYEL'S Muse [3]
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"Humans are selfish."
"Hmm......we are...."
. . . . "Most people would have tried to deny it."
"Haha! Well, I'm not most people am I? I'm the most selfish of them all! After all. . . . I tried to take what was never mine."
"But I am yours." The god murmured against her lips, eyes darkening with hunger. "Just because those humans picked her over you - and what a dumb decision that was - doesn't mean that I am not yours, and that you aren't mine."
His lips trailed down to her neck, and a small gasp escaped the woman's lips as he bit her. "Rules and traditions be damned." He hissed, "My bride, my devout believer, my beloved, my song, my pearl, my muse."
"W-wait!"
"Just for tonight." He continued to babble, a small whine leaving him. "I promise, just for tonight my muse. I'll leave if you want, and I'll wait for you until we meet again in the future you foretold. So please my muse. . .let this Lemurian be greedy and selfish. . . just for tonight. . . .Let me be with you. . . ."
. . . .
. . .
. .
.
"Ha! And you call humans the selfish ones."
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What the fuck?!
This didn't make sense! None of this made sense!
The true ending of The Little Mermaid!? Firstly, how did he even know about that story? How did Rafayel know what Disney even was!?
Did. . . .did you exist in the past? Why didn't you remember then?
Did this mean that contrary to what you believed at first. . . . .you were MC?
Gulping as Rafayel continues to stare at you, you bite your lip with nervousness. ". . . It's not a happy ending."
"I know."
"It's absolutely devastating."
"Tell me. Please."
You lower your gaze. ". . . . Unlike the Disney version, Ariel, the little mermaid, didn't get her happily ever after and marry her prince. Instead, she died from jumping into the ocean and turning into seafoam."
When Rafayel remained silent, you left out a soft breath and continue. "The Prince married another woman, instead of the mermaid, and with the deal she had struck with the Sea Witch stating that she would die if the Prince would marry another woman, her sisters handed her a dagger and said if she stabbed the Prince, she would live. But she didn't have the heart to do it, then jumps into the sea and turns into sea foam."
A harsh laugh leaves the Lemurian's lips, and he places his head in the crook of your neck. "So that's it." He whispers, laughing again. "So that's why she didn't tell me then. How ironic that her fate would end up the same as the little mermaid."
What?!
"Wait- What are you talking about!?"
Rafayel didn't say anything, ignoring your words with ease. "But it's ok now....it's ok now. Thank you [Name], thank you...."
You purse your lips, then hesitantly wrap your arms around Rafayel's body, freezing for a bit when you feel him flinch slightly before hugging you tighter. ". . . Rafayel..." You whisper, "The person who told you the story....was she me?"
. . . "Yes."
"Oh fuck." Damm you past [Name]! You fucked things up!
But.... but did she really? What even happened between the two of you? Before you could ask anything else, Rafayel straightens up and cups your cheeks. "My Bride." He whispers, kissing your forehead. "My muse."
His lips lands on yours, and you gasp, allowing Rafayel's tongue to slip into your mouth. He places one hand on your waist, yanking your body closer to him, trying to moosh your body together. And all you could do was kiss back, wrapping your arms around his neck.
A yelp escapes you as he suddenly lifts you up, the two of you panting for breath. "Legs around me." He orders, eyes dark as his hot breath splays on your face. He starts to walk towards your car with you in his arms, the man yanking the back door open and placing you on the seat. "Rafayel!" You gasp, shivering at the look in his eyes.
He pushes in after you, leaning down to bite your neck. "I've waited years for you, my muse." Rafayel murmurs, making you let out a loud keen. "This time..... I won't let you escape my grasp."
You wake up the next morning to your phone ringing. Grunting in pain as you sit up, you grumble to yourself and pick up your ringing phone. "What?" You ask, wincing again as you stretch.
"Where are you?" Your sister asks, and you hear a single of a restaurant door opening and a door shutting from her end of the phone. "I went to your house and you weren't there. Everything alright?"
You blink, then turn your head to glare at the purple haired man beside you. "My body hurts."
MC chokes, coughing to clear her throat. "See, it's probably because of the novels Tara gave me yesterday, so sorry my mind immediately went down south. Is everything ok?! Send me your location so I can come and help -"
"Unless you want to see me naked in your bosses bed, don't bother."
You glare at Rafayel as he slowly cracks his eyes open, glaring harder as he merely sleepily pouts at you. "You don't glare at your boyfriend first thing in the morning bubbles...." He whines, making you scoff and smack his head. "Ow! Bubbles!!'
"IS THAT FUCKING RAFAYEL????!'
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Taglist - @sleepydang @junrui @animecrazy76 @young-adult-summer @reni502 @irandial @codedove @nm4565natty @thissmartdumbass @shypotatoes013-blog @glitterykingdomangel @ri-eveowe @chewbrry @acaffeinated-constellation @dreamlesssleepsaga @paper--angel @chaoticfivesworld @404eila @plzdonutpercieveme @thirstblogforaparchedgirl @yandere-kou @rafayelsimp
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Rafayel | 18+
Do not be fooled, there IS lore for Rafayel/Name, two more chapters (minus Rafayel and 18+) left!!!!
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barblaz-arts Ā· 2 days ago
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What do you think about MaoMao x Shisui?
What do I think about ShiMao? Bro...
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They're all I've been thinking about for the past week 😭😭😭 I even changed my phone wallpaper to a shimao official art, which says a lot because until now my wallpaper was this one Chaggie fanart for a year and a half lmao
Ngl I did NOT expect their ship to be this good and have such good canon foundation(NOT confirmation mkay). I've been seeing clips of this show for a while, and people say it's good, but all I knew about it were the j*nmao stuff, which isn't terrible, but wasn't really my thing. So i didn't have plans to watch it, but then I saw gif sets of this scene, and I caved šŸ’€
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So my thought process was like, "The het romance probably isn't gonna be for me, but I'd probably like the female character and her friendships might be cute enough for some delusional shipping"
But y'all. Shipping Shimao doesn't even feel delusional...
J*nmao can be cute and I actually grew to like it in season 1, but when Shisui came into the picture in season 2, I couldn't see myself rooting for anything else.
Like I said in one of the screenshots I shared, I really love that Maomao and Shisui are essentially freak4freak, except both of them think each other is weirder which is so funny. They both have their own quirks and unladylike habits. Like when Maomao scolded Shisui for spitting and eating insects meanwhile Maomao has lifted up women's skirts and uses herself as a lab rat. Something something pots and kettles.
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Then there's their dynamic.
Shisui is the first person Maomao got to interact with on equal footing in so many ways. They're the same age, so they don't have the same relationship Maomao has with Xiaolan, who is like a younger sister to Maomao, or with the Jade pavilion girlies and Verdigris girlies, who are like her older sisters. Maomao is comfortable teasing Shisui without the threat of looking disrespectful because she's younger or of lower status(to her knowledge), so we got to see a side of Maomao that we don't usually see. Maomao, freakiest in all of the rear palace, getting weirded out by the peppy bug girl but growing fond of her was so wonderful to see.
Shisui plays off so well with Maomao too, and that's probably because they're also on equal footing when it comes to their intellect. They each have their own specialties, but what they both have in common is their general cleverness. Shisui is smart enough to know how to deal with Maomao and is even one of the few people who is constantly one step ahead of Maomao. Only other person is probably Suirei, which is ironic. Catching Maomao off guard is proof enough that they're sisters lol.
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It also says a lot that Shisui is the first person to make Maomao look so, idk, desperate to hold on to a person. That isn't very like her. Maomao goes with the flow and greets misfortune and loss with bitter and resigned acceptance. But when she realized Shisui is about to do something that would get her executed, Maomao tried to convince Shisui to do otherwise TWICE. Maomao, who has a strong sense of justice and knew Shisui had a hand in J*nshi's near death, told Shisui to forget about her responsibility with the Shi Clan and taking accountability for her crimes and just run away and survive. The angst in the final episodes was so damn painful, but it pulled at my heartstrings to see Maomao express how much their bond has meant to her through this conflict. And it was painful to see Shisui for one short second struggle to not take Maomao's hand.
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Anyways. They're great. Shisui's gonna be one of my favorite fictional characters ever and I hope Maomao gets to see her again someday. Xiaolan is a child of divorce now and it breaks my heart that the series ends with them all parting ways.
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mononijikayu Ā· 18 hours ago
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prequel — 2004
you knew something was wrong the first time he said your name like it was an apology. not out loud, not with his words. fushiguro toji never said it directly.
but in the way he paused before answering you. in the way he leaned away from your touch instead of into it. in the way his hands used to linger, but now barely grazed your waist like you were made of something too fragile to want.
toji had always been careful. but now he was distant. not angry. not cruel. just elsewhere. like he was living in a room that you weren’t allowed inside anymore.
it was quiet for months before you said anything. you told yourself it was just how love aged. it was how people got comfortable, how fire turned into embers, how passion settled into routine.
but routine shouldn’t feel like being ignored. routine shouldn’t feel like absence dressed up in a ring. and still, you waited. because he never yelled. never made you upset. never lied.
he was just... grieving.
still.
always.
and somehow, that was worse. being the other woman to a ghost. a ghost shouldn't bother you. it shouldn't continue to follow you around. it shoud rest in peace. yet it was not how it was.
you noticed it most at night. you used to fall asleep with his hand on your thigh, his breath warm against your neck, his fingers twitching slightly when he dreamed.
but now he turned away before you even shut the light. his body curled inward, facing the wall. his muscular back a barrier you stopped trying to cross.
you’d stare at the ceiling, counting the seconds between his breaths. listening for anything soft. anything human. anything that sounded like want.
but he never reached for you. not anymore. the last time he touched you, really touched you, was two months ago. you don't remember. perhaps it was even longer.
he came home late from work. he drank beer, then sat at megumi's bed for hours. then looked at tsumiki for half an hour. you were just languishing in the silence.
his shoulders heavy. his scarred mouth tight. you’d been sitting at the kitchen table in one of his old sweatshirts, trying to keep your eyes open, just waiting for him.
he kissed you then. slow. distracted. lips that barely pressed. at least that's what you remembered. your body leaned into it instinctively. but his didn’t.
you could feel it in his hands. how they slid down your waist like a memory. how they clutched you like he was afraid to want you. afraid it would take something away from someone else.
you didn’t say anything. you just stood there, letting him hold you. letting yourself pretend it still meant something. but later, when you climbed into bed beside him, he didn’t even reach for you.
tonight, it’s too much. the ghost haunted you too much. you didn't have to say it out loud. you just knew it was the ghost. she stared at you from the frame opposite your marital bed.
maybe it’s the unusual silence. maybe it’s the way he closes the window and forgets to ask if you’re cold. maybe it’s the way your name hasn’t left his mouth in three days.
you stand in the bathroom doorway and watch him. the light overhead hums. the mirror is fogged. he’s brushing his teeth. and you’re falling apart.
you ask it plainly. ā€œdo you still think about her?ā€
he pauses. not long. not dramatically. just enough. and you know. you already knew, but now it has shape. he rinses his mouth. leans over the sink. sets his toothbrush down carefully, like he’s afraid of breaking it.
then he says it. ā€œshe was megumi’s mother.ā€
and it shatters you in the softest, quietest way. because he didn’t say no. he just reminded you who she was. as if that gave him permission.
you step into the bathroom. your voice is still steady, but your hands won’t stop trembling. ā€œi’m your wife.ā€
you don’t mean it as a correction. you mean it as a plea. as a last thread. toji looks at you in the mirror. not cruel. not cold. just... tired. exhausted from all of this. exhausted of you. you could just tell.
"i am your wife, toji." you felt like you were going to cry it out loud. yet it was nothing but a breath. ghostly at that. "and im fighting with a ghost."
ā€œi never asked you to be her, [name].ā€ he says, glaring harder at you. "stop it."
and god, that hurts more to hear.
and its even harder to see that look.
because no, he didn’t ask it of you.
but he never let you be you either.
ā€œyou didn’t have to, toji.ā€ you whisper. ā€œi’ve been compared to her every day since we got married, even when you didn’t say her name.
"[name]-"
"it's like you hate that im the one next to you and not her.ā€ you felt the tears threaten to pour. "its like you wish i wasn't the one there."
he looks down on the ground. he doesn't lift his head anymore. he doesn't want to. he doesn't need to. you think to yourself: he’s not going to fight for this. you step closer. slowly. softly.
ā€œwhen you touch me, when you make love to me.....ā€ you say, choking. ā€œyou don’t even see me.ā€
toji doesn’t argue. he just breathes. slow at first. and then shallowly. like this is grief, not marriage. like you’re mourning something that’s already been buried.
ā€œyou touched me.....ā€ your voice breaks at that. ā€œ....you touch me like you were already letting go.ā€
and you see the way his mouth opens. it was like he wants to explain everything. to apologize. but there’s nothing he can say that would undo the way you’ve felt for months. for years.
like a substitute.
like an echo.
like a frame without a painting.
you swallow hard. tears sting your eyes, but you keep them in. ā€œi can’t do this anymore, toji.ā€
he blinks. it almost looks like regret. almost. but he still doesn’t reach for you. he doesn’t say stay. you step back from him at that moment.
and he lets you.
you pack a small bag. nothing dramatic. just a few clothes. your charger. the necklace he gave you on your anniversary that you haven’t worn in six months.
you write a note with your shaky hands. you couldn't see half the page from tears. but you didn't write too long. you didn't want to. that would be harder.
you wrote that note not because he asked for one, but because you need to leave something behind that says i existed here. i tried. and this is all that there is.
you slip your ring off your finger. place it gently on the table beside the lamp. the apartment is quiet. even the fridge hums softer now. like the house knows.
you walk to the door. your keys feel too heavy in your hand. and then you turn. one last time. he’s standing in the hallway. barefoot. arms crossed. like he’s been watching you this whole time and couldn’t find the words.
you look at him, and for a moment, you see it— the pain, the guilt, the love that could never quite outrun the ghost in his chest. and for a moment, you can see her ghost wrap her arms around his neck, chaining him forever.
standing there still, unmoving, you almost ask him if he ever truly loved you. but you don’t. because you’re done begging for an answer he doesn’t know how to give.
this was enough for you.
you can't do it anymore.
you don't deserve this.
you never truly did.
ā€œgoodbye, toji.ā€
and he nods. not in anger. not in confusion. but in surrender. as if this, too, was inevitable. outside, the night is quiet. you get into your car. you put your hands on the steering wheel. you sit there, staring at the road ahead.
you think of him in the hallway. you think of the woman who never really left. you think of the version of yourself who tried to love a man who never stopped grieving someone else.
and then you drive. not fast. not far. just forward. because if he couldn’t let go of her, of her ghost, of everything, then maybe it’s time you let go of him.
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pleasantlycrazyworld Ā· 1 day ago
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Summary: Love was never easy then came Bob. You never believed in "right person, right time" or soulmates but maybe that's what this is what's going on.
No major warnings, very soft, meet cute, stranger to lovers, mention of self-doubt
This came to me completely randomly I hope you enjoy :)
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♔♔♔♔♔♔
Growing up, you were always told love wasn't something easy. You had to work for love. Love was a difficult and scary thing to find--but if you found the right person, it was worth the fight.
You never found the right person.
Every guy made you nervous--not in a sweet, butterflies-in-your-stomach nervous. More like Shit, don't say the wrong thing. Don’t make a fool of yourself or you’re going to embarrass you forever and he’ll be disgusted, kind of nervous. After a while you just started to believe no guy would actually want to fight to be in a relationship with you.
You never found the right guy.
Not until Bob.
You met Bob by accident. A complete freak accident--the two of you grabbing the same cup of coffee at the exact same time.
ā€œOh shit, sorry!ā€ you both blurted over each other, hands still touching.
ā€œI-um-you had a caramel latte too?ā€ the stranger asked. You nodded, too scared of hearing your voice stutter in response. He gave a soft, boyish smile and chuckled. ā€œThat’s my favorite… Did--I mean was there any difference in your order?ā€ He started inspecting the checkboxes on the cup, hoping for some guidance, since the employees were clearly slammed that morning.
It took you a minute to realize he’d asked you a question — you were too caught in the daze his blue eyes put you in.
ā€œOh! I, um… I asked for extra caramel,ā€ you said, shrugging slightly. ā€œSometimes they do it, sometimes they don’t.ā€
Before he could respond, another caramel latte was placed on the counter. You both glanced around — no one else was waiting. You picked it up and handed it to him. ā€œI think this one’s yours. It isn’t marked with any special add-ons.ā€
He smiled and swapped drinks with you, then frowned, ā€œWait… does your drink have the extra caramel you asked for? I didn't see anything marked on that cupā€ he nodded towards the cup in your hand.
When you checked it you just sighed and shook your head with a small shrug, his frown deepened.
ā€œIt’s not that big of a deal,ā€ you explained, you were already halfway through brushing it off again when he paused.
You watched as his eyes lit up like some thought just hit him.
ā€œActuallyā€¦ā€ he glanced toward the counter, then back to you, hesitant but suddenly determined, ā€œdo you want me to ask them to remake it?ā€
You blinked. ā€œWhat?ā€
ā€œThe drink. With the extra caramel.ā€ He pointed at your cup, then toward the chaotic barista station. ā€œIt’s not what you ordered. I can ask.ā€
You almost laughed — not at him, but at the sheer earnestness of it.
ā€œNo, really. It’s fine. I’m used to them getting it wrong.ā€
ā€œStill,ā€ he said, standing a little straighter, ā€œyou should get what you ask for.ā€
His brows furrowed like the thought genuinely bothered him. You watched as his hands flexed like he was getting ready to go to war over the state of your coffee.
ā€œYou don’t have to do that,ā€ you said, softening.
He shrugged, still watching you. ā€œOh I would never do it for myself. I’d just… take the wrong one and drink it.ā€
You tilted your head. ā€œBut for me…?ā€
He smiled, a little sheepish now and shrugged. ā€œYou just, I don't know you looked disappointed.ā€
You blinked again, caught off guard by how easily he’d noticed.
Most people didn’t. Most people didn’t care to.
You looked down at your cup. Then up at him.
ā€œIt’s okay,ā€ you said. ā€œThis is enough.ā€
He nodded slowly. ā€œOkay. But next time? We’re going to make sure your coffee is right.ā€
You startled at the phrase — next time — but he said it like it was natural, not a reach, not presumptuous.
And somehow, you found yourself hoping for it too.
He seemed surprised by what he actually said, he cleared his throat before looking around trying to calm his racing heart. ā€œIt's um-like slammed…I don't know if you were going to drink here but we–we could share that table…if you want? Only if you're comfortable with it obviously! I mean you don't even know me, like we're total strangers I-shit I'm rambling aren't I?ā€ He sighs, blushing bright red before he looks back over to you and sees you smiling softly at him. ā€œI don't mind sharing a table, better than sitting in the heat.ā€
His shoulders relax and smiles back at you, ā€œLead the way.ā€
♔♔♔♔♔♔
The table was tucked into the far corner of the cafĆ©, pressed up against a window that fogged slightly from the contrast of cool air conditioning inside and the heavy humidity just beyond the glass. It wasn’t much–wobbly and barely big enough for the two of you–but it felt oddly… intimate.
You sat first, cradling your cup in your hands, pretending not to notice how Bob hesitated before pulling out the chair across from you, like he was double-checking you hadn’t changed your mind. ā€œThis okay?ā€ he asked again, quieter this time.
You nodded. ā€œYeah. It’s perfect.ā€ He let out a small breath of relief and sat down, setting his drink on the table carefully like it might shatter if he wasn’t gentle. For a moment, the silence was comfortable. The sounds of the cafĆ© filled the gaps: espresso machines hissing, mugs clinking, laughter from a group near the door. You watched as Bob adjusted the sleeve on his cup, fingers long and a little fidgety.
ā€œI’m Bob, by the way,ā€ he offered, finally looking back up at you. ā€œJust realized I never introduced myself.ā€
You smiled, giving your name in return, and he repeated it softly like he was testing the feel of it on his tongue. You liked how it sounded when he said it. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t shrink it down like most people did.
ā€œSoā€¦ā€ he started, thumb brushing the edge of his cup, ā€œwas this part of your morning routine too? Or are you more of a… ā€˜I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t get caffeine immediately’ kind of person?ā€
You laughed, shoulders relaxing further. ā€œDefinitely the second one today. The heat already tried to kill me on the way here.ā€
ā€œI get that,ā€ he grinned. ā€œMy shirt stuck to my back before I even left my building. Pretty sure that’s illegal.ā€
You giggled, sipping your not-quite-right coffee despite everything. ā€œHonestly? That’s probably the most relatable thing I’ve heard all week.ā€
The conversation slipped into something easy after that–back and forth volleys of sarcasm and small confessions. He told you about how he’d gotten yelled at by a pigeon once for dropping a bagel near the subway entrance. You admitted you once accidentally held a stranger’s hand in a crowd for a good twenty seconds before realizing it wasn’t your friend.
Bob had this way of laughing that made your stomach flutter–not loud or boisterous, but quiet and genuine. Like it was a privilege to witness. Like the sound was just for you. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed until the baristas started calling out the lunch orders and the cafĆ© grew louder again.
He glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. ā€œI… should probably head out.ā€
You nodded, trying to keep the disappointment off your face. He stood, then paused. His fingers tapped against the back of his chair like he was debating something.
ā€œI, uh… would you want to do this again?ā€ he asked, voice softer now, eyes hopeful. ā€œNot like anything weird ā€˜meet me at 8 a.m. sharp’ type thing or anything–just… sometime? Coffee. Or lunch. Or anything really.ā€
You smiled before you could even think about it. ā€œYeah. I’d like that.ā€
His smile bloomed–big, warm, and boyish–and you realized how rare it felt to see someone light up at the idea of seeing you again. He scratched the back of his neck. ā€œOkay. Great. Um… I’ll give you my number?ā€
You traded phones, thumbs brushing briefly as he handed his over. A small jolt ran through you at the contact. You typed it in carefully, double-checking everything like it was something sacred. When you handed it back, he looked at your screen for a second, then up at you. ā€œI’ll text you later?ā€
You nodded. ā€œLooking forward to it.ā€
And you meant it.
As he turned to go, he paused and glanced back at you one last time, flashing a shy grin. ā€œNext time, we will get that extra caramel. I promise.ā€
You watched him walk away, heart thudding a little faster than it should’ve. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel scary.
It just felt… right. Like maybe, finally, love didn’t have to be something you survived. Maybe it could be something that found you. By complete accident.
At a cafƩ.
With the wrong drink… but the right guy.
♔♔♔♔♔♔
If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3
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paulyenvol6 Ā· 2 days ago
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Fuck The Cold
Based on this amazing request. I loved the idea and I'm really happy with the outcome, so I hope you're going to like it too. Enjoy :)
Joel and you are stuck in a cabin during a storm and he finds that there is only one way to prevent himself from freezing to death...
Contains: smut, dubcon/noncon, corruption kink, power imbalance, manipulation, p in v, creampie, oral (m receiving), deepthroat, gagging, fingering, rough sex, degradation, daddy kink, dirty talk, implied age gap, mentions of free use, dom!Joel, naive and subby reader, nicknames like babygirl/baby/sweetheart/slut (once), praise, description of physical discomfort and pain, psychological distress, possessiveness
Wordcount: 6,757
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The wind was howling outside and it reminded you of a whole orchestra playing just for the two of you.
At least there was no one else in a circle of at least 5 kilometers.
If only the the wind would play a lovely, peaceful tune instead of rattling against the wooden walls of the small cabin as if the thunder wanted to personally tear down the shelter. But right now the storm seemed to have a clear goal and that was to get Joel and you out of the cabin, expose you to the horrible weather outside and peel the rotten layers of wood planks off, one by one. The storm was haunting you, creeping around the corners and shaking the building almost human-like. To say it was scary was an understatement.
"Joel?" you spoke against the darkness and the banging in your ears, just to get him to talk and distract you from what was waiting outside. But he didn't hear you.
"Joel?" you shouted again, not eager to get up from the couch now that you had huddled together like a cat.
"Yeah?" you finally heard him and involuntarily exhaled. Good. He hadn't left you.
"Are you coming?" you wanted to know, but before the answer came, he was already standing in the doorway. The gleam of the moon that was casting scary shadows alongside the wall to your left made him look tall and broad. Dangerous almost, in the way his hands were resting on his hips, his eyes indistinct, but his jaw sharp under the dim light.
Yet, you had never felt more relieved to see him. Even the moment he had returned to your camp with a jar of fresh water the other day couldn't compare to this. You felt safe, protected, although Joel certainly couldn't do more against the spooky storm outside than you.
"You alright?" he asked, taking a large step toward you so he was standing next to the backrest of the couch, resting one hand on the cushion. "Are you cold?"
You shrugged, unaware of how bad it actually was. When you spent an entire day constantly freezing, at some point you lost the feeling of coldness and discomfort.
"It's gonna be okay," he soothed you nonetheless, briefly running his eyes down your body to search for any wounds or other violations.
"Move a little. It's gonna be a cold night and we gotta keep each other warm."
He didn't pay attention to your big eyes. And neither did his expression shift when you hesitated. Joel circled the couch, kicked off his shoes and when he sank down on it, you had finally made room for him. He was close now, his arm flush against yours and you couldn't deny the way his body heat made its way through the fabric of your longsleeve. It felt good, comforting and warming, yet you shivered at the unfamiliar closeness to him.
Joel wasn't the kind of man who sought solace or proximity with the people around him. All he had given you so far were annoyed glances, an occasional low chuckle that didn't always sound genuine and a rough tug at your bicep once when you hadn't been quick enough to hide from a few raiders in the woods. This was strange and different. Not necessarily in a bad way, but still you needed the next few minutes to get used to hearing his steady breathing so close to you, his smell of walnut and earth thick in your nose.
The moment you finally got comfortable, slightly moving in your seat, Joel turned to you. Not aggressively or angrily, but rather alarmed.
"This ain't gonna be easy," he said and you had to blink, seeing his face so close up for the first time. He had a few freckles on his nose that you hadn't noticed before. His eyes looked different from this angle too. A little darker with a circle around the iris. But maybe this was also because of the eerie light inside of the cabin, lightning bolts coating the sky outside, as well as the walls inside in cold white, almost purple shades.
"What?" you said, unconsciously holding your breath as you stared up to him.
"Survivin'," he spoke, making your heartrate pick up.
No, you had made it so far, this couldn't be the end. You had lost people, cried, suffered, broken down, but always kept going. And now everything was about to end because of a stupid thunder? Wouldn't that be poetic – Joel and you had been the reason for so many peoples' deaths and now you would die from a natural cause… This wasn't at all what you had seen for your end. But Joel hadn't said that you were going to die… He had only said that it wouldn't be easy to survive and when had your life ever been easy?
"What do you mean?" you said, restlessly moving on the couch as nervousness was keeping a cold grip on you.
"I'm fuckin' cold. I know it's my own fault 'cause I went outside again, but I gotta do something if I don't wanna die."
Your breath hitched in your throat, sheer panic blurring your view. He couldn't die. Anything, but this. You wouldn't make it without Joel and there was no doubt about it. In an instant, flashes of memories from the past week appeared before your eyes. The broken truck Joel had fixed and with which you had traveled more than 200 miles before it had eventually given up the spirit. Without him, you would probably still be in Kansas City right now. Or the raiders that had shown up in the forest out of nowhere and Joel had been the one to hear them, not you. You probably would have been killed in your sleep and that would have been a pretty sad ending. Maybe even sadder than dying in this storm. Or on Monday, when you had ran out of food and Joel had shot a deer and secured your dinner. If you wouldn't get lost or get killed by raiders or infected, you would probably starve to death.
Yes, there was no question. You needed Joel for your survival.
"Fuck," you cursed, eyes frantically dancing over the drawer in the corner of the cabin before scanning the whole room for anything to help him.
"Maybe there's a blanket… Or maybe we can make a fire or – or something warm to drink? Or – or do you have any alcohol left, maybe…"
You left the sentence unfinished, not that you actually knew what you were saying. You had gone through a lot these past days, but you couldn't remember ever feeling so scared. You relied on Joel and if his life was in danger, so was yours. You swallowed, the dryness in your throat keeping you from muttering more mindless things. Your eyes were still searching the room as if the key to survival could be found in a corner if you only looked precisely. Like a blanket along with a hot water bottle and firewood were waiting for you.
You were already crawling to the end of the couch to get up and browse the drawer, when you felt a deliberate and large hand holding you back by your arm.
"No. I already looked. There ain't nothin'."
You slumped down, the air driving out of you at the disappointment.
"Really? Have you also looked in the drawer?"
"Yeah. I have."
The next thing you knew, tears swam in your eyes and you flexed your hands into fists. You were so angry, so infinitely furious that you were punished over and over again in your life and sometimes you caught yourself wondering what you were even getting punished for. Losing Joel would definitely be one too much.
"Just lie down, little one," Joel murmured as he roughly pulled you down until you were back in your original position.
"But you – we gotta do somethin', right?" you whined, your voice shaking from the panic and frustration you felt, but Joel just tilted his head and chewed on his bottom lip, observing your face like he was looking for something specific.
"Yeah. I needa warm up if I don't wanna die. C'mere, come a 'lil closer, will ya?"
His voice was hoarse and raspy, but it felt different to what it usually was like talking to him. The rolling of his eyes was absent, as were the baring of his teeth and the way he would barely look at you for more than a second. Right now, his eyes were fixed on you, lingering on your face, and never letting you out of his sight.
"But we gotta do somethin'…," you almost begged him, pupils dilating when you felt him wrap an arm around your back.
"Yeah, I know, I know…," Joel whispered, exhaling when you were pressed to his side. "We're gonna do something, don't ya worry…"
"Joel?" you spoke quietly, but sharply because you were simply confused. What was he doing and why didn't he take this as seriously as you did? This was first and foremost about his life and his well-being and wasn't he usually the one to take the reins and fight for both of your survival?
"Shh… You don't want me to die, do you?"
You shook your head with a frown. What kind of question was this? Was it a test, a way to see whether he had taught you well and you knew how to deal with a situation like that? If yes, it was a pretty damn mean test, playing with your fears like that.
"You don't want me to freeze to death?"
Another shake of your head, a little more relaxed now, yet suspicious. Maybe Joel still had a grip on everything, just like he always had. Maybe he had an idea, a solution that would prevent you from ending up all alone in this cruel, cold world that was unraveling itself once again right now in the form of a frightening thunderstorm.
"Then we gotta warm each other up, little one. We gotta heat up by bein' close to each other. Gettin' each other hot."
He grinned at his words, a corner of his mouth lifting, which lightened your mood a little, although you were still stuck on his words. What was he trying to say…?
"What do you mean?" you whispered, feeling irritated and stupid.
Yes, you were slow, but you were trying your best to follow him even though Joel wasn't making it easy for you. You felt like a child not being able to catch up to the adult and instantly wanted to slap yourself the moment the question had gone past your lips, but now it was too late to shove them back inside your mouth. Joel chuckled softly and this time he didn't sound sarcastic, but rather amused.
"Ohhh I really have to speak out everything, don't I? C'mere."
Before you could blink with your eye, Joel had pulled you even closer, your shoulder against his chest and his chin lightly brushing over your head.
"As I said, we gotta warm each other up. 'Cause I don't wanna leave this world just yet and I don't think you want that either. So we're gonna keep each other company, make each other feel good and then make it through the night."
His arm around your waist moved, the rustling of clothes loud in the air, but you were too stunned to realise what he was doing until his cold, large palm touched your naked skin on your side. You shrieked, head rapidly turning to find his gaze, which was lingering on your stomach and didn't even shift at your wide eyes desperately staring up to him.
"Feel that? That's how cold my body's gotten. S'not gonna end well if I do nothin'."
You just waited. There was nothing else you could do. Your body felt numb, your limbs heavy and the blood in your veins pulsing. And then there was your brain, a mushy mess and somehow it felt like there were a million thoughts racing and no thought at all. But you had to think, you had to figure this mess out, but it was hard when your mind seemed to have stopped. At least you couldn't form a coherent thought.
Joel used this moment of hesitation to slip a hand under your shirt, gently caressing your stomach and moving his other hand to your hips to adjust you snug against his broad torso. Everything about this was strange and wrong – this man was almost 20 years older after all – but at the same time, wasn't it worth it? Wasn't his life worth it? Thus far, Joel had always been kind to you, he had protected you and kept you safe even though he didn't have to do it. And not only was his survival clearly necessary for yours, but you also believed that he wouldn't harm you. What if this physical closeness was all he needed to stay warm right now and in a few minutes you would be calm, knowing that Joel was feeling better. These were just his hands exploring your body a little and if he had to do it in order to help his own body, then you would gladly let him.
This was Joel. He knew what he was doing and he knew what he needed.
Therefore you relaxed, or at least tried to.
His hand on your stomach moved in that very moment, slowly traveling up your body until he reached the underside of your breasts, touching you draggingly and carefully like the sensuality of his touch was important for the desired warming effect.
"Yeah, lemme feel those tits," Joel growled in your ear, softly kissing your earlobe and then sprawling out his hand on top of your chest.
"Good girl. So soft and pretty for daddy. Already feelin' better, babygirl. You're helpin' me a lot like that…"
The way he was talking to you unsettled you, but at the same time the latter part of his sentence gave you hope. You had made the right decision, it seemed, Joel was feeling better and he surely would make it through the night if you only allowed him to create heat by touching you. Maybe this would even be all it took, just his hands roaming over your body a little and rubbing your warm skin - compared to his icy.
"That's g-good. Wanna help you," you managed to press, but the last word turned into a gasp, feeling his fingers twist your nipple.
"Joel," you breathed, searching for his pupils in the dark in sheer confusion.
"Shh," he hushed you, kneading your flesh and soon adding his second hand as well. By now, you were relatively calm under his hands and he didn't seem to figure it was necessary to hold you down by your hips.
"It's alright, just keep still f'me. You just take it. Help daddy to feel better, right?"
This time you didn't answer, but something made you believe that you wouldn't have been able to, even if you had wanted. Two hands were massaging your breasts now, digging into the softness and warmth of your flesh, jiggling them in his palms from time to time and paying extra attention to your nipples, which were stiff and hard by now. You didn't know what was happening to your body, could only feel stunned if you thought about how innocently you had lay next to Joel 10 minutes ago and wondered how things could have shifted like this.
"Joel," you moaned, eyes frantically searching for his and the light in it, but there was just a pair of black irises traveling down your body.
"I said shh. You wanna make daddy feel better, don't you?"
He didn't even wait for your answer. He gently took your wrist and pushed you toward the edge of the couch, gently, but like he was making clear that there was no room for second thoughts. You nodded while Joel was bringing your hand to his center.
"Can you feel it?" he asked, inhaling your scent with his eyes closed and his breath ragged.
"What?" your trembling voice cut through the air, your body stiff and a little shaky.
"Feel how hard I am for you, babygirl? If you really want daddy to feel better, you should take care of it. It's gonna distract daddy from the cold…"
You felt stupid being unaware of what he was asking of you. Taking care of it, yes, you wanted to do this, but you had a feeling that you wouldn't be able to without any further instructions. Therefore you hesitated, waited for his mouth to open again and fortunately it did.
"Get on the floor. Kneel."
A muscle next to your eye twitched.
"B-But aren't we gonna be cold if our bodies are not pressed together?" you wanted to know, head swirling and heart pounding. A cold shiver ran down your spine as Joel softly cupped your chin, the gesture almost suspiciously gentle.
"It's gonna be so good for daddy that he's gonna forget all about the cold. And you'll be fine too. Once I warm up your throat, you won't think of anythin' beside my dick."
A strong hand wrapped around your bicep and slowly guided you to kneel in front of the couch between his spread legs. The ache instantly spread in your kneecaps and you couldn't prevent yourself from whimpering.
"Hurts," you sniffed and shifted on the floor, your knees painfully scrubbing over the wooden planks no matter how hard you searched for a more comfortable position.
"Just wait and it's gonna be better…," Joel replied, his voice low and raspy and the way he whispered the words made you think of a cat purring. Only that his tone was deliberate, in its content not too commanding, but the sound of his voice made you think that there was no way you could possibly refuse him.
Especially not after his next words.
"Good girl…," he murmurated, giving your chin a light squeeze and fondling with his belt with his free hand.
Your eyes were fixed on his center where a bulge was looming under the rough fabric of his jeans. Once he had shoved his pants down just enough for his hard dick to spring out he reached for your hand again, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his thigh. You felt scared, yet excited. Doubtful, but eager to help Joel and defeat the cold. Right now you were not sure how this was supposed to help him because you had believed that snuggling up to him and sharing your body heat was your best shot, but this? You could now feel a cold breeze creeping up your spine.
"Use your hand," his cold voice made you snap back to reality, your eyes quickly jumping between his angry red tip and his tense jaw.
"Up and down. Like this."
He made you form a fist with your hand and showed you how to glide it up his dick. It felt warm and soft, heavy when you squeezed your hand and a little glitchy once you had smeared his precum all over his shaft. You were in awe, felt fascinated by the way his teeth grinded at this slightest stimulation. The way his eyes pinched shut whenever your grip tightened. Soon a hand had made its way to your hair, not to pull and tug, but just to ground himself from the sensation.
For now, at least. Because then what you were doing wasn't enough anymore. Joel took a deep breath, shook his head like he wasn't fully in the moment and roughly pushed your head toward his center.
"Go on. Take it in your mouth. You're gonna suck on it real good, I know it."
A wry grin played around his lips, but an ugly, bubbly feeling was twisting in your stomach area. This felt so intimate and real, but somehow also degrading. Taking his dick in your mouth? Did you really want to do it? You had had sex before, but you had never done anything like that.
"C'mon, babygirl," Joel sighed, rubbing over his eyes like he was losing patience. "You're not gonna back out now, are ya? Just look at the mess you made all over my dick, someone's gotta clean it up. Just take it in your mouth and I'll take care of the rest."
You hesitated for another brief moment, but then made a decision. Well, if he said it like that? If all you had to do was unlock your jaw and he would do the rest of the work, maybe you would even be able to hide your inexperience.
"Good girl," he commented, deeply exhaling as his dick slid past your lips. The first thing you noticed was his taste that was very distinct and intense, but not in a bad way. You couldn't exactly say what it reminded you of because it was so unfamiliar and like nothing you had ever tasted.
"Good fuckin' girl," Joel growled again, fingers digging into your scalp and his hand leaving no space for you to move at all. He was really living up to his promise because even if you had wanted to do the work, you wouldn't have been able to.
At first, Joel just savoured the way your mouth felt around his length without moving, his tip twitching in the back of your throat, but his cock still. He glanced down at you, lips twisting and eyes glistening, which you would have seen, had you been able to stop blinking. Tears were swimming on your waterline just from this first thrust in your throat, but Joel was obviously far from being done with you. He hummed to himself, giving your head a soft brush with his thumb before rolling his hips and starting to move in your mouth.
"Jesus – oh fuck. That's right, baby. If I had known you had such a nice mouth, I would've done this earlier."
He felt you wriggle, lashes nervously fluttering as you glimpsed up to him. He chuckled.
"Don't worry, sweetheart, that was a compliment. Now realx… And let daddy use this throat o'yours."
Two hands were on the back of your head now, pushing and tugging to keep you to his liking while he abused your mouth. Soon your throat felt raw and sore, jaw aching and knees numb from the way they scraped the floor. Your whole body was on fire, but kind of in a good way, if that made sense.
Sure, you would have appreciated a short break to properly catch your breath and move your jaw, but the thought that you were making Joel feel good right now, strangely aroused you. You were the one he was moaning for right now. You were the one that was making his dick throb and pulsate with your lips tightly wrapped around his manhood. Still, you couldn't deny the way you were gagging and drooling all over him, struggling to keep your eyes open and not to get sick. This wouldn't just be disgusting, but also very inefficent considering your limited food supply.
Joel noticed the way you writhed and squirmed, but wasn't quite done with abusing your poor throat yet.
"It's okay, baby," he commented your muffled whimpers and cries. "Don't hold back. I'll be done soon. Want you up here on the couch with me anyways. Just a little longer, alright? Just until my body's all warmed up, mhm?"
You couldn't answer – how could you? – but you forced your body to loosen up, despite the urge to fight and withdraw from his center. Joel took advantage of your new willingness, seizing the opportunity to push deeper, test your limits and linger along your borders to real discomfort.
"That's it…," he grunted, running his hands through your silky hair before finally releasing you.
You pulled off him with a plop, staring at him through blown eyes that reminded Joel of a doll. He reached for your jaw again, examining the remains of his rough treatment on your face and tracing the glistening wetness with his thumb.
"Well, look at that… You did so well, babygirl, and that's the proof right there. Look at me. Yeah… there ya go."
There was this sparkle in his eyes now and it made a coiling heat twirl in your lower belly. There might not be much softness about this man, but there were these moments like this when his eyes brightened up at your sight. When something around his eyes softened.
"Come up 'ere," he whispered next and didn't stop looking at you for once while you made your way onto the couch again. The soft cushions under you felt so much better than the rigid floor and you softly purred when Joel pulled you to crouch next to him.
"Let's get this off, shall we?" he murmured, already toying with the hem of your longsleeve.
"But isn't it gonna be too cold?"
Joel smirked, hands hovering close to your stomach, but he didn't act yet.
"No, babygirl. S'the opposite. It's gonna warm ya up."
"Okay Joel."
You didn't know why you consented, you didn't know why you believed that all of this was the right thing to do, but whenever you hesitated and thought about putting an end to it, you saw Joel in front of you. Lying on the ground, lips purple and skin pale and calloused from the cold. The world would be dark and dangerous without him, even more than it was right now, so the least you could do was have fate that he knew what he was doing.
His hands were swift as he peeled off your shirt. Quick and skillful, but with a certain tenderness about them that caught you off guard. His skin felt rough against yours as always. Years of fighting and physical work had marked and changed it, and the scars and marks couldn't be reversed at this point. It was raw and calloused, his veins prominent and a tan line right above his wrists.
You were staring at his hands so precisely that you hadn't even noticed how your shirt had been tossed behind you by Joel until your nipples stiffened at a cold wind draught and goosebumps rose on your arms. But before you could complain or let alone ask back for the piece of clothing, Joel was already busy with the zipper of your jeans and was the first one to open his mouth.
"We're gonna see if you need some preparation now, babygirl. I'm gonna see if you're 'lil pussy's ready to take me and if not I'm gonna get 'er ready. Lemme take a look, alright?"
You involuntarily moaned at his words, or maybe it was just the sound of his voice. It didn't matter, all you knew was that your underwear was surely soaked by now.
Joel shoved down your jeans and then your panties until they were around your knees, but he was yet to take them off. Perhaps it was his impatience that made him instantly slip a hand between your legs where a slick heat was happily welcoming his touch.
"Jesus, girl… You're fuckin' drenched."
He parted your legs wider with his free hand, biting his lip at the sight of your glistening entrance and then sighing as he trailed along your slit with two fingers.
"What a pretty 'lil cunt. A shame I didn't know what you were hidin' from me all that time. Yes… you're not gonna hide from me from now on, ain't that right?"
You frantically nodded, pressing your lips together as Joel collected your juices on his fingertips and smeared them over your throbbing clit.
"Ah fuck," you whimpered, fighting the urge to press your legs together, but only partly succeeded. As a response, his hand on your thigh clenched hard like he was trying to warn you while simultaneously spreading you wider for him.
"Jesus christ, honey, you don't need preparation, do ya?" He chuckled lowly, his chest vibrating and his jaw tight from the way he grinded his teeth.
"But you look so goddamn pretty like that."
His switched his fingers now, his thumb circling your clit with a precision that made you throw your head back while two thick, long fingers prodded against your entrance and parted your soaked pussy lips.
"S'just what daddy needs, you know? Doin' so well for me, babygirl, makin' me real proud. Just needed someone to warm me up. Needed to feel your heat and touch that pretty 'lil clit. But it ain't enough yet. If we oughta get any sleep tonight, we gotta be close. You said it yourself."
He suddenly pulled back, ignoring your frustrated groan and delivering a soft slap to the inside of your thighs.
"Get on your back. Like this."
Joel guided you to lay down, your head on the armrest of the couch and your eyes glossy from the intensity and overload of it all. He yanked your jeans and underwear down, throwing it behind him just like he had done with your shirt earlier and then settling between your legs.
"If you're gonna be good, you're gonna get my fingers again, sweetheart. Promise."
You doubtfully glared up to him, head swimming and eyelids barely open, but still his words reached through the mushy embrace of your brain.
"Relax. Daddy's gonna fill ya up so good, but you needa be good for me too."
One hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing over your dimples and the corner of your mouth while his other wrapped around his shaft to drag his tip through your folds. He stopped at your clit, circling it once, then twice before reaching his initial target, your quivering and leaking entrance.
"Good girl," Joel purred, which made you smile softly, although you didn't know what you had done to deserve his praise.
"Relax now. Open up and lemme in, okay?"
You gave him a nod, forcing your hips to relax and taking deep breaths while Joel carefully and slowly started to work himself inside you. There was a light stretch, probably from the fact that it had been years since you had last slept with someone because Joel really was going slow. Maybe he did it for you and for your well-being or maybe because he simply enjoyed entering you inch by inch, but either way, you appreciated the gesture.
"Oh jesus, baby… What a perfect 'lil pussy. You stay right there…"
He palmed your hip, making you stay still for him until he was finally all the way inside you.
"Fuckin' hell, babygirl..."
Joel brushed a strand of hair out of your face, grinning at the drops of sweat coating your forehead and connecting his thumb with your lips as you began to whimper.
"Shhh… No need to whine 'n' complain… Daddy's got ya. Just needa let go."
Suddenly, he moved inside of you, slowly pulling out only to enter you with a sharp thrust. There was nothing left of the initial gentleness, but by now you had almost entirely adjusted to his size, so all it elicited was a loud gasp.
"Oh fuckin' hell… You know who else would enjoy this pussy, baby?" Joel grinned, caressing the side of your face with a softness that didn't match the punishing pace with which he pounded your pussy.
"N-No," you replied and grabbed his underarm for leverage.
"My brother. God… I just know it. He would've fucked your brains out. You would've felt him for days… You're his type, you know? He likes 'em young 'n' pretty… He likes to know that they haven't had anyone bigger than him."
You choked on a cry, the obscenity of his words making your eyes round as coins.
"You haven't had anyone bigger than me, have you?"
"No…"
Joel crookedly smirked again, pressing a brief kiss to your brow before picking up the pace again.
"I know. Anyways, I would let Tommy use ya. I tend to get possessive over what's mine – and you are mine now, pretty girl – but with this… I couldn't possibly refuse him the joy. Maybe I would let 'im fuck you one night and then laugh about the way you can't get your sore body up the next day. And then I'd fuck you again until you don't know your own name anymore. 'Cause this pussy's fuckin' divine. God… I could stay here forever."
You moaned and squealed, your body feeling so warm and pliant under the weight of him that you wondered if he had actually been right. If this was the best medicine against the cold.
As promised, his hand found its way between your legs again, two fingers connecting with your clit that set a slow, yet steady pace.
"Joel…," you couldn't help but moan, hips buckling and palms pressing into the cushions of the couch. Your pussy felt sore, not particulary in a bad way, but you felt how everything started to become too much. The closeness to him, the heat, that was a grave contrast to the wind that made the small cabin shake, his massive cock ramming into your raw cunt and of course the stimulation on your clit.
"Joel, fuck…," you whimpered again, bending your neck and cringing to release the chaos and wild combination of emotions, but without success. He was so deep inside of you, you suspected that you would be able to feel him if you pressed a hand on your lower belly. He was everywhere. He stimulated each of your senses and consumed your entire being.
"Fuck… Fuck, daddy, I… It's too much. I – I can't. Are you still cold?"
A fearful crease was visible between your brows as Joel raised his eyebrows. He couldn't possibly still freeze while all of this was happening. While he was thrusting in you like a man possessed, while he was so snug against you.
"Yes, baby. Still too cold to make it through the night. And you don't want daddy to die, do ya?"
You wailed and wiggled, head thrown to the side, which gave him the opportunity to cover your neck with kisses.
"Oh, shit," you squeaked, slamming your fists on the couch next to you, but Joel silenced you immediately, pressing his large palm onto your mouth.
"Quiet."
You wanted to ask why – it was only him and you in here after all – but he didn't let you, instead skillfully rubbing your clit to bring you closer to your high while entering your aching pussy over and over.
"You're gonna cum soon, sweetheart? Wanna clench so hard around daddy's cock that he explodes inside of ya?"
You could only nod, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure and pain alike became almost unbearable. Your body was on fire, at least it felt like that, and you seemed to be aware of every last nerve and muscle contradicting, pulsing, tensing and loosening as Joel made you release. Your back arched off the couch and you had to cough as a strand of hair got caught in your mouth. Joel fortunately noticed and removed it, but neither his hand nor his dick stopped as he guided you through your high.
"Good fuckin' girl… There ya go, just let go f'me. Let it all out…"
He reduced the pressure with which he pressed onto your mouth to hear your little noises, grinning at the way your fists clenched around the blotchy sofa cushions.
It truly was the most beautiful moment and you regretted that it was over so soon. Pure and intoxicating pleasure was still bubbling in your stomach, flowing in your thighs and chest area and leaving a sticky, warm silky feeling that reminded you of honey. Yes, maybe that was a suitable comparison. It felt as though Joel had poured a liter of honey all over your body that was now gliding along your limbs and beautifully tingled on your skin.
You were still processing the heavenly effects of your orgasm, loudly panting and your head dizzy while Joel chased after his own release. His finger on your clit had come to a stop after he had noticed the wiggling of your hips, so he was now fully focused on coming inside of your pussy, his tip already threateningly throbbing.
"Oh fuckin'… Oh god, yeah. Stupid 'lil slut."
The insult was drowned not only by the smacking sound that his balls produced against your wet pussy, but also by the soft and steady rustling noise in your ears. Joel eventually came with another loud "Fuck" and then you felt his warm cum fill you up. It was only now that you truly realised what kind of consequences this could have, but not only was it too late now, but you were also too exhausted to speak up. You just let him empty himself inside you, your pussy deliciously clenching at the tickling feeling and your pussy pulsating and hurting after the rough treatment.
"Jesus," Joel hissed, kissing your sweaty hairline before pulling out of you in one go.
"Oh my fuckin' god… Who would've thought you have such a tight 'lil hole, mhm?"
He trailed along your jawline, softly pinching your chin before crawling off you. You immediately regretted the loss of his weight on top of you, but as you watched him adjust his clothes and grab your shirt and jeans from the ground, you prayed that he would go right back to his previous position once you were both fully dressed.
"Are you warm now, daddy?" you wanted to know, curling up on the couch like a cat and giving him the most innocent deer eyes Joel had ever seen.
He chuckled, closing the zipper of his jeans before approaching you with your clothes in his hand.
"Yes, babygirl. I'm better now and that's all because of you. You made daddy so happy."
He kissed you again – on your mouth this time – and then ordered you to lift your arms so he could pull the shirt over your head. After adjusting it to your upper body, he helped you step into your underwear and jeans, pulled them up your legs and closed the zipper, well-aware that your hands were too weak and shaky to do anything useful with them.
"Can we sleep now?" you asked, gripping his checkered shirt like you were still afraid he would slip away in the wind.
"Of course, sweetheart. I know you must be tired. You deserve some rest now. C'mere."
Joel got comfortable on the couch, his head resting on the armrest now, and then pulled you flush against him. Your back was against his chest and even though you didn't have a blanket, the way he hugged you from behind made you feel protected and comfortable.He draped one arm around your waist, his palm lying flat against your stomach, while he toyed with your messy hair with the other.
"Sleep well, angel," he murmured, lids heavy and his body exhausted from the intense make-out session as well.
"Good night, Joel. And you promise, you're not cold anymore? I… I don't wanna lose you."
The last sentence had been quiet, barely even understandable to him, but it still reached him. Perhaps because he had spent such a large amount of time with you. He knew you, he knew the sound of your voice, the way you articulated yourself, the way your body moved, what your face looked like when you were sad, happy, confused, angry. And now he also knew what you looked like when you were gifted immense pleasure. He grinned, though it must have looked unfitting if you had been able to see him behind you.
"I promise. I'm fine. And you ain't gonna lose me, I swear. Ain't gonna leave my girl alone in this world."
It was this promise that made it possible for you to sleep tonight.
The thunderstorm was still roaring outside, screaming, shouting and crying in every language there was. Any other night, you might have taken the time to listen to it, but not tonight.
Tonight you were content lying so close to Joel, you could hear his heartbeat.
His promise echoed in your head long after you had drifted away, a soft smile lingering on your lips and your body comfortable and warm.
226 notes Ā· View notes
kkochigomi Ā· 2 days ago
Text
skz reacting to a member walking in on you guys
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hyung line + HH | maknae line
warnings/tags; dubcon, gn!reader, sub!reader dom!member, exhibitionism, voyeurism, ass eating, roughhousing, riding, sweaty!Jeongin, sweat licking, bad descriptions of a basketball game, poorly edited
It started with you being a backup dancer for one comeback, then goofing around with the members while rehearsing, to you hanging out with them regularly. There are a lot of people in and out of there, all of the friends they've garnered over the years. You're also friends with other idols, so it never occurred to you. You know, you with them.
For the guys, it was an unspoken rule to not fuck their best friends. At least, not in a heat of the moment kind of way. Just in general, not doing impulsive shit will fare better for anyone in the long run.
However, sometimes shit happens. That shit happens to be your most recent backup dancing gig. Let's go through what happens when a certain member caves first.
⦊ Han Jisung ⦉
You don’t really see Jisung as an option for sex or romance. Why? Well. He’s a dork. All he does is laugh loudly and fall out of chairs and look around like it was someone else’s fault. Maybe people would notice his dorito build if he wasn’t always breaking out into song maliciously. And so loud.Ā 
being walked in on
So it’s safe to say what happened was heat of the moment. It was a whirlwind. All you remember is that Jisung got quieter in your vicinity. Jisung can’t focus anymore when you’re in the room. All he thinks about is your ass in those shorts and that move where you spread your legs. If you read the previous part with hyung line, I feel like we’re acquainted enough by now. Jisung wants to bury his face in your ass. He wants to worship it. He wants a lap dance. He wants you to sit on his face. Thoughts like this are all that plagues his mind when he sees you. He doesn’t even need the video when masturbating like Chan, he can cum on the thought alone.
Not only have you noticed his change in demeanor, you’ve caught him staring at your ass. That’s when the thoughts of you with him started in your mind. You didn’t think it was possible but the thought isn’t that bad. His dorito build is suddenly very apparent. So you sit on his bed, taking in how he’s looking at you for eyed, and you let yourself cave. You kiss him, pleased by how hungrily he’s kissing back. He breaks the kiss to whisper a breathy ā€œI need to taste youā€.
And that’s how Jisung’s dreams come true. You’re surprised by how good he is, making you wonder how often he’s done it. Doesn’t matter right now, not with how good it feels. You moan into his comforter uncontrollably, the sensation feeling unbearably good.
All it takes is two syllables for the ecstasy to be replaced by fear and embarrassment.
ā€œSomeone—"
Jisung pops his mouth off your ass and falls to the ground as you collapse to the bed and fumble to cover your lower half.Ā 
ā€œā€” finally ate your ass,ā€ Minho says smugly. As you sit there, annoyed as all get out, Jisung is staring blankly at Minho, surprised at how he’s still hard despite his shock and embarrassment at Minho’s presence.
walking in
Jisung likes to be dominated. Doesn’t matter who it is or what they identify as, he wants to be submissive. So hearing your pitiful moans being shoved out of you on his way to get some fruit was less arousing. Plus, he couldn’t even believe what he was hearing, let alone seeing. Nothing like seeing bare asses when you’re not meant to.
ā€œOh— Hooooly shit!ā€ his hands instinctively fly to his head, his poor phone falling to its demise in the process. Minho looks at him with a fierce fire raging in his eyes after he and you frantically pull your bottoms up.
ā€œWhy are you just standing there?!ā€
Jisung didn't know why. It didn’t occur to him to ask why he was having sex in the kitchen. He was too mortified.
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⦊ Felix Lee ⦉
Felix was— in a way— the endearing version of Jisung. Everything you found (playfully) annoying about Jisung, you found cute and funny about Felix. When things were quiet, there was this docile nature to Felix. It made you want to cuddle with him. Platonically, right?
being walked in on (this is long, I’m ovulating and just watched an edit with him lol)
So you asked him and his eyes lit up without him even knowing. Again, he’s just so cute. You guys would cuddle up on the couch mostly, wrapped tightly in a blanket you shared. Oh but do nOT be mistaken. It’s not soft and romantic like watching movies with Hyunjin. Not when Felix is biting your shoulder or putting you in a headlock or smacking your ass. Felix LOVED to wrestle and roughhouse. He had this jokingly short temper. One joke at his expense and he was shaking you by the shoulders.
But all this wrestling had to culminate in something. That something being the two of you on his bedroom floor, tired and heaving as he has your hands pinned above your head to keep you from retaliating. Hyunjin still technically caved first, but something shifted between you and Felix soon after. With you pinned under him and your shirt riding up, he couldn’t help himself. You two didn't kiss, but his hands slid from your wrists, down your chest, to your exposed waist. You grab his forearms, the intensity of the tension weighing on you. It was a pre-established something from the moment you started cuddling. That’s why his hands on you was so intense that night, you two developed a craving for each other’s touch. After that you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. You would make it a point to sit next to him and he would do the same. He would absentmindedly trace shapes on your skin or throw his arm around your shoulder.
The roughhousing started getting steamy quick. You would have to move to his or your bedroom, lest Seungmin catch you two kissing each other’s necks and eventually lips. It was intoxicating, kissing him. He tasted so good and you couldn’t get enough of feeling him against you. Maybe subconsciously you were imagining him on that stage. His imagination surely went wild when he saw the video. He immediately got a hard on and had to excuse himself. It was over at that point. He was pushing your shirt over your head and going to town on your nipples with his tongue and teeth. You were fiendish from the pleasure, bucking into him and moaning pathetically. His pants were just barely pushed down enough to free his semi-hard cock. He used his haphazard methods to get your sweatpants down as well, refusing to unlatch from your chest.
With your legs wrapped around his waist, he thrusts into you. Between slobbery kisses, you pant against each other’s skin. It isn’t long before he’s flipping you over, running his hands down the slope of your back as he slams into you from behind. The bed frame is smacking aggressively against the wall now, almost drowning out the feverish moans from you two.
A knock at the door has you shooting up and placing your hand against Felix’s stomach to stop his thrusting. Seungmin walks in without waiting for a reply.
ā€œI’m trying to read,ā€ he states simply, not shocked at all by what he’s seeing. Felix is utterly unaffected by Seungmin’s presence. In fact, he’s still thrusting. And you can feel that he’s harder now.Ā 
ā€œCool. Go to a cafe,ā€ he responds half heartedly.
walking(?) inĀ 
It was a fun night. You, Seungmin, and Felix were watching The Suicide Squad and laughing your asses off. Eating popcorn, throwing popcorn, popping more because (mostly you and Felix) threw it all. And then to top it off, Felix got to take a nice little nap. Things were normal when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, he felt rigorous movement next to him. He opened his eyes to see a blob illuminated by the TV. Underneath a blanket was you seemingly riding Seungmin. You both were suppressing your moans pretty poorly.
More than anything, Felix was shocked by Seungmin’s arms resting on the back of the couch, watching you with his head craned back. Very lazy if you ask Felix.
ā€œSmack her ass or something man.ā€
You flinch and nearly fall backward before Seungmin catches you. You both look over, lingering in an awkward silence.
ā€œYou’re being nosy and critical?ā€ Seungmin says in disbelief, breaking the silence.
ā€œI’m not nosy, you guys are fucking right next to me.ā€
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⦊ Kim Seungmin ⦉
Seungmin has always had an air of authority to him. Despite being three years his junior, Seungmin’s authoritative side is more of a mainstay compared to Chan. Chan needs to be authoritative as a leader, but most of the time he’s just so sunny. Seungmin knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to say it. You're not ashamed to say it turned you on a little.
being walked(?) in on
You told him as much. It was under the guise of a joke, but Seungmin detected and accepted the underlying truth of it. But Seungmin was a tease, and he wasn’t in a hurry. Hence, the slow burn. Yes, Seungmin liked sex, but he wasn’t foaming at the mouth for it.
At least, not until the video. All he wanted was to order you around, and the fact that that turned you on had him adjusting the crotch of his pants. You were coming out of the bathroom when Seungmin pulled you into his room and shut the door. He shoved you against it and held you by your shoulders.
ā€œWanna be good?ā€
You nod emphatically, not even phased by the suddenness of it all. He feels his cock throb. He bites his lip as his grabs you by the chin.
ā€œOpen up,ā€ He whispers and you drop your jaw open. He drop a ball of spit slowly into your mouth before closing it for you.
ā€œGood. Then be patient.ā€
And then he just leaves. He even has the gall to ask Felix if he wants to watch a movie with you and him. Felix says yes and now you're on the couch sandwiched between the man who had you pinned to the ground last week and the one who just spit in your mouth. Naturally you try to subtly seduce Seungmin enough to make him give in and take you to his room, but he has the nerve to swat your hand away. Each advance is met with him moving away from you or removing your hands from him.Ā 
So you were pissed. By the time Felix fell asleep, you had a grudge against Seungmin. Now he wants to lean over and squeeze your thigh. You give him the same treatment, swatting his hand away. He’s quick to wrap his hand around your throat and squeeze. If his had on your thigh wasn't enough to send heat to your groin, this surely was.
ā€œWhat about ā€˜be patient’ is hard to understand?ā€
None of it, and neither are the subsequent demands. Stand in front of him, take your pants and underwear off, take his off, straddle him, ride him to get yourself off. Oh he was punishing you big time. No pleas to squeeze your nipples, choke you, slap you, or anything was entertained. You just had to bounce on his cock toward your climax. Before you could get there, Felix’s voice startled you, completely void of grogginess.
ā€œSmack her ass or something man.ā€
If you weren’t so alarmed you’d fervently agree.
Yeah, when Seungmin replies he’s a little annoyed, but he doesn’t read as angry at all. You're surprised to see how unaffected he is.
He is still undoubtedly hard, by the way.
walking in
You and Felix aren't as quiet as you think you're being. Or maybe it's because Seungmin is reading and needs to focus. He could just go to his room where there will be another degree of separation...
But he's already knocking on the door. Felix hadn't even stopped moaning by the time Seungmin opened the door. Of course Felix isn't stopping, even after Seungmin speaks. He expected as much. Seungmin wonders if one day he'll just cave and ask Seungmin to join. He's begging for it.
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⦊ Yang Jeongin ⦉
Jeongin was one of the members you were closest too, but the furthest away from anything sexual or romantic. You were close to Felix and Hyunjin, but the thought wasn't impossible with them. Jeongin is your right-hand-man. He is who you go to for advice and gossip. He's who you told about Hyunjin and Felix and he (rightfully) treats the saga like his Monday night soaps.
being walked in on (OOPS THIS IS LONG TOO I NEED DICK)
Jeongin held a lot of shame about how the video made him feel. Where should he start? With how much is at stake? How this would make you feel? How he would feel if any of the guys found out? If Chan was the most dedicated to keeping the status quo, Jeongin was the second most dedicated. But he didn't think like you. He was attracted to you the minute you danced backup for them. He valued you as a friend, though. What ensued was something between heat of the moment and a slow burn
You noticed a difference, it was slight enough that you convinced yourself you were being delusional. Took me long enough to mention it, but you didn't think anything of them seeing your fancam. Sure it was sexy and you felt sexy doing it, but you underestimated just how sexy you were. You thought they'd just comment on the choreography or your performance. You did find it weird that not ONE of them commented on it (in the universe where Jeongin caves first). You were a little sad, because even your best friend had nothing to say. Your most popular fancam and Jeongin is silent. You even probe for information but he tenses up. The signs are starting to build up...
Jeongin is responsible for your recent obsession with basketball, the two of you play whenever you're both free. You're both weirdly quiet this time, though, something weighing heavy on both your minds. The way he tensed up after you brought up the fancam made you watch it yourself. You were suddenly embarrassed for asking all of your friends to check it out. It is as sexual as you can get without tipping into literally miming sex on stage. But does that mean Jeongin...
He might be quiet but he's playing hard. He's wearing a muscle shirt, something he does often, but you're more aware of it now. The definition he's gaining on his muscles. How big his biceps are getting. The sweat dripping from his armpit down the side of his waist. These are things (other than the sweat) you'd compliment him on. You can't bring yourself to say it though. Not with all this tension. You both play a fierce game, not sparing each other on account of the tension.
During one tumultuous battle for the ball, you try to turn your back toward him and he cages you in. He wraps his arms around you, his large hands splayed over yours. The proximity sends your adrenaline skyrocketing. You try to struggle away from him, turn back around to shove him away and shoot before he has the chance to react, but your foot gets caught. Your other fails to compensate and you fall just as you manage to turn to face him. His chest thuds against yours shortly after your back hits the floor.
You can smell his sweat mixing with his cologne and it's worsening your head rush. With his chest against yours and his eyes staring so intensely at you, you need him off but you so need to touch him. You manage both, gripping his biceps, lingering a bit, before giving him a light push to snap him out of his daze.
You both had done it now. There's no going back. You came to visit Chan, surprised to see Jeongin on the couch. Stupid ass Minho told you he went out with Felix and Jake. You guys lock eyes and freeze. It'd be rude to just ignore your best friend, right? So you sit with him, watching tv. Inching closer. You keep replaying that moment on the floor of the basketball court. How much you wanted to lick the droplets of sweat from his neck. It didn't take much to set Jeongin off. You thought you could be sneaky about your hunger, but not when he was hungry as well. The minute your fingers reached for his, his hand was on your knee, then your upper thigh, then... he was pulling away to get the remote. You watch in confusion as he cranks the volume up. He drops the remote onto the coffee table before approaching you.
As soon as he tugs you up from the couch you let your hunger take over. Both of you let your hands roam each other's bodies as you kiss like you're starving. He lifts you up to wrap your legs around his hips, your groins grinding against each other. It's about here that Jeongin stops caring. His mind flips off and he wants your clothes off too. In the process, you both end up lying haphazardly on the couch as his painfully hard couch shoots into you. You grip the couch, strangled moans wrangled from your throat. You get what you want, craning your head forward to lick a long stripe up his neck. It's so perfect, you're somewhere else entirely. That is, until you see a figure out of the corner of your eye.
The sight is so terrifying you shoot up without thinking. You knock your forehead against Jeongin's but the pain doesn't phase either of you. Jeongin jumps up from the couch, desperately collecting a random article of clothes to cover his soft penis. Just like you, Jeongin is utterly mortified. Chan apologizes, but little does he know, him walking in made Jeongin prematurely grapple with the weight of his decisions.
walking in
Jeongin is used to hearing loud noises from Chan's room. He says it helps sometimes to produce with his speakers rather than his headphones. Chan's room is soundproofed pretty well so it doesn't bother Jeongin much. But this noise he's hearing is jarring. Is Chan aware something hard it smacking against the wall. Something might break at this rate.
In a mixture of frustration and concern, Jeongin rushes to Chan's room to alert him ASAP. ASAP meaning not knocking.
"Hyung, what the hell is that?" he says half to himself, half to the man being ridden by you in his computer chair. Oh. Oh yeah. You were here.
His heart stops as realization dawns on him, your naked body all he's zeroed in on.
"What the f- close the door!"
Chan's reddening face and furious eyes are what Jeongin focuses on next, but not for long. He scurries away, not even able to apologize in his state of shock.
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bones4thecats Ā· 19 hours ago
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Can you do a baby Saja headcanon if the girl is sassy and fiery too and she is the same group as him (forced proximity) because her older brother is jinu? Please
↳ As Fiery As The Hottest Hot Sauce.
A K-Pop Demon Hunters Ɨ Demon, Jinu Sister! Reader.
Requester: Anonymous.
Character Included: Baby Saja.
A/N: Kind of struggled writing this, but I hope it came out well for you, Anon!
ā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—ļ½žā—
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šŸŽ¼ Jinu and you were very close. Because of this, he was extremely protective of you. The rest of the boys knew this, every other demon knew this, Gwi-Ma knew this, and any Hunters you came across knew this. šŸŽ¼ Your brother was always by your side when on Earth, making sure you were shielded from any rumors. Always telling them you needed to get home, which would spark a sassy comeback from you; "I guess my new stage name is Baby 2 now. Thanks, Dad!"
šŸŽ¼ Baby and you had the most strained relationship out of the group. It was so strained that even HUNTR/X was confused when you kept sassing him and giving him smart remarks. Rumi was mainly confused, Zoey was surprised, and Mira was close to saying she likes a demon. šŸŽ¼ The others noticed this and were getting tired of it. When their plan finished and you would be able to be free from Gwi-Ma's voices, they didn't want to deal with your constant bickering. So, they made a plan. šŸŽ¼ A plan that Jinu had to edit in order to make sure there was no... funny business, to put it lightly.
You sat in the corner of the bedroom, your knees pulled to your chest as you huffed and groaned. Why in the name of the Gods did your brother and his friends put you in here?! Nonetheless with Baby?! You would rather be stuck in a room with HUNTR/X!
"Your groans are getting annoying." You heard the teal-haired demon say.
Since you were both alone in the room, you saw no point in keeping your human disguises up. Your skins matched, marks and eyes glowing in the dark room. A mechanism used for survival, some demons claimed. Though you figured it was just made by Gwi-Ma to show each demon who they owed their suffering too.
"You'd know a lot about being annoying." You replied.
Rolling his eyes and writing in the notebook he brought in, Baby dragged a pen against the paper. Writing down what he needed the rap for their new, and final song, he remained calm. It wasn't like you couldn't leave, it's just that you both were stationed here while the others tried luring the girls in here for a surprise attack.
Hearing him mumble under his breath, you only caught a couple words. He's lucky his voice was so deep, else you'd use every word he said against him.
What does "pain" "viral" and "fever" have to do with each other? You pondered, arms crossed as you looked at him in confusion.
Sitting in silence and busying yourself with a book you found, you let your attention move away from the rapper of the Saja Boys. This continued for what felt like hours, but was really just a few minutes.
"Damn it." You heard Baby mumble. Scribbling out something with the pen, he furrowed his eyebrows. He couldn't seem to find the perfect way to word this verse. This song had to be perfect; it was dedicated to their Master Gwi-Ma in an effort to please him before being set free. A bribe, some could call it.
He knew the words he wanted, yet he's tried multiple combinations and it hasn't came out better. Rather, its been coming out worse.
It was mind-demolishing.
After seeing him rake his hands over his face, you sighed and set your book to the side, secretly thankful because it was getting boring.
"You good?" You asked, walking up to the bed.
"What do you think?" He snapped back, his voice tinted with barely-controlled anger.
"Well obviously not. What I meant was what's bothering you. Figured nothing could get through the 'nonchalant, soft-faced, cold-hearted guy' routine you had going on there."
Reading the words on the paper next to the one he was working on, you saw it was filled with the lyrics to the Saja Boys' new song 'Your Idol'. When you glanced at Baby's paper, it was filled and scratched with lyrics.
So, he's struggling with his own rap? Never thought I'd see the day.
"Yeah, well I'm not a brick wall."
"Debatable."
Scoffing, Baby continued to stare at the paper. You didn't want to hear anymore of his own groans, so you pointed towards the three words you heard his say earlier and would take the pen from his hand to write down your own thoughts on the lyrics.
"The first sentence is perfect for an intro. It'll catch the fans' attention faster than a cat knocks over a glass.
"Your second verse you can edit slightly; like just saying 'thank you for the pain 'CAUSE it got me going viral, instead of using the whole world 'because'. Saves you time and stays up with the beat."
Eyes moving to your face and to the words you wrote, the male demon was surprised. You had just as much of a natural talent for music as your brother did.
"And then I could say that 'Uh, yeah' thing other rappers do sometimes. Then I could sing the 'ė‚«ģ§€ ģ•ŠėŠ” fever, makin' you a believer'." Baby added, allowing you to finished writing his thoughts as he continued speaking.
"And finish it with the 'ė‚˜ė„¼ ģ™œ ė„Œ ģ”“ģž¬ķ•˜ėŠ” idol?'." He finished.
Nodding, you picked up your phone and went for the chat. Sent in from Jinu himself, you clicked on the background music for 'Your Idol' and held the verse up for Baby to sing as you sat back to listen and see if it needed anymore working on.
"Uh, ė¹›ģ“ė‚˜ėŠ” fame, ź³„ģ† 외쳐, I'm your idol. Thank you for the pain 'cause it got me going viral. Uh, yeah, ė‚«ģ§€ ģ•ŠėŠ” fever, makin' you a believer. ė‚˜ė„¼ ģ™œ ė„Œ ģ”“ģž¬ķ•˜ėŠ” idol?" He sung.
Once it ended, you smiled. Clapping pridefully, you told him it sounded perfect. It was something you never thought you'd say, but you had to admit, it was earned by the makae.
"Gotta admit, Baby. You did well."
Eyes widened slightly, Baby nodded in thanks before both of your phones went off. Answering your call you saw your brother running through the halls with funny-looking shock on his face. He yelled at you both that your covers were blown and you needed to move out now.
Deadpanned, you both sighed.
Why did every normal moment get ruined by the idiots you worked alongside?
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