#anyone who knows me knows who was meant to be there

[tawnysoup]

it's time to study some ancestral history. here's my first attempt at animalifying an isat character, he is known as the isabeastie and he predates every critter!!! my brain still registered this design as something i drew "the other day" that id been meaning to post somewhere? i made him in APRIL? LAST YEAR???

anyway. 'e's a beastie :) if u were ever thinking "love isabird but i wish he was some kind of huge dangerous animal who could curl around me all comfy" then here u go this is for u

[missdynamighttt]

lmao okay... filipina! gf having a petty shouting match with bf! katsuki and cussing each other out in each other's languages.

the argument started over something stupid—so stupid you couldn't even remember how it began. but now? now, you were pissed.

"hoy, ikaw! akala mo porket pogi ka kaya mo kong bastusin?! (hey, you! do you think that just because you're hot that means you can insult me?!)" you snapped, jabbing a finger into his chest.

katsuki, never one to back down, fired right back in japanese. "kimi wa boku o okora seru nda yo, wakarudaro? itsumo sono kawaii kao de ki o magirawasu nda! (you piss me off, you know that? always distracting me with that pretty fucking face!)"

you weren’t even sure if he fully understood what you were saying, and you definitely weren’t catching all his rapid-fire japanese insults, but that didn’t stop either of you from cussing (possibly flirting) each other out in your own languages.

"para kang tangang sakit sa ulo na may abs! kung hindi ka lang gwapo, sinuntok na sana kita! (youre like a stupid headache with abs! if you weren’t so hot, i’d have punched you by now!)"

"ore wa hontōni mendōna sonzaida! demo... kuso, ore wa boku ga imamade deatta naka de mottomo mendōna sonzaida! (you’re such a pain in my ass! but... fuck, you’re the prettiest pain in the ass i’ve ever had!)"

neither of you were backing down. your voices clashed like thunder, both of you stubborn as hell, and honestly? if anyone walked in, they’d think you hated each other.

"oi.-kun ga utsukushīkara to itte, kimi ga itte iru koto o watashi ga rikai dekiru wakede wa nai yo.' (hey. just because youre beautiful, it doesn't mean i understand a fucking word youre saying.)" his jaw clenched, eyes blazing.

"ulol! (idiot!)" you shot back, arms flailing in frustration. "hindi kita maintindihan pero alam kong gago ka! pogi o hindi! (i don't understand you but i know you're an ass! handsome or not!)"

katsuki scoffed, stepping in closer, his voice dropping into something lower, more dangerous. "kuso, `chikatte iukedo, kimi ga nani o itte mo mechakucha shitsureina ndaroukedo, demo, kimi ga boku ni donatte iru toki no kuchibiru wa ī kanjida yo.' (fuck, i swear, whatever the fuck you’re saying is probably rude as hell, but damn, your lips look good when you’re yelling at me.)"

oh, hell no. (whatever the hell that meant.)

"ay, gago, ano sinabi mo?! pakyu! bahala ka dyan! maghanap ka ng ibang aawayin mo! ayoko na sa'yo—! (oh, you asshole, what did you say?! fuck you! suit yourself! find someone else to fight with! i don't want you anymore—!)"

before you could finish, his hands were on you—hot, firm, relentless, gripping your waist and yanking you forward.

katsuki grabbed you, his lips slamming onto yours with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. you barely had time to react before your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just as fiercely.

the kiss was all heat, teeth, and frustration—his tongue sliding against yours in a battle neither of you wanted to lose. the argument was already forgotten, who the hell cared what you were fighting about when this was so much better?

you tugged at his shirt, fisting the fabric, pouring all your irritation and want into the way your lips moved against his, biting on his bottom lip. he groaned, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, pulling, tilting your head just the way he wanted.

you gasped into his mouth, and he used that opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue pressing against yours like he was still trying to win.

it was messy. angry. hot.

his hands roamed, gripping, kneading, staking his claim as if trying to prove his point without words. your back hit the nearest surface—maybe the wall, maybe the counter, you didn’t care—and katsuki pressed into you, lips never leaving yours. his breath was ragged, matching yours, and when you nipped at his bottom lip, he growled, gripping your thigh and hoisting you up.

"still mad?" he murmured against your mouth, voice low and rough as you wrapped your legs around him.

you tugged at his hair, making him hiss. “oh, now you wanna use your mouth for something other than yelling at me?”

he scoffed, fingers digging into your waist. “tch. big talk for someone who was just moaning in two languages.”

you scoffed, shoving at his chest (not that it did anything, because he was built like a damn wall). “excuse me?”

he grinned, lips brushing against yours. “nah, you’re not excused.”

and then he used his mouth the other way he knew how—by kissing you stupid.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ used google translate for katsuki unfortunately🤕 lmk if any of the translations are wrong, and i hope you guys enjoyed!! inspired by @ch3rryjampi3's comment in my recent filo fic💜💜

[azzandra]

Aw, man, can't believe it's been two years since I wrote that.

When I reblogged and added my little commentary, I actually hadn't anticipated my comment to be reblogged by more than a couple of mutuals or be seen outside of my followers. I was just sharing a term that popped up in my head as a joke.

If I knew this glib comment I dashed off one morning without much thought was going to breach containment and take on a life of its own, I probably would have added a few disclaimers.

Since then, I've seen some people miss the point about what I was talking about in a few huge ways, so I'll clarify now a few points:

I have nothing against the cockroach wife dude.

I don't know if that story is true or not (there are some weird people out in the world, so I won't dismiss it out of hand, but like. come on) and I sincerely do not care that his spankbank was exclusively taken up by a cockroach woman. The part of his tale that we should take as a parable is where he solely and without being forced by anyone else hinged his entire sexuality around an imaginary construct that then made him incapable of being attracted to real human women. Remember, his story starts with him complaining that he can't get it up with his human girlfriend without picturing her as a huge cockroach. He did that. Nobody forced him to develop this condition. This is a lesson for the rest of us.

people going 'I think they're both pretty!' like that's the centrist silver bullet to this phenomenon.

Listen, yeah. I agree. Both versions are meant to be attractive, just to wildly different demographics. You know who doesn't agree? The guys I'm talking about.

The dudes I am referencing do NOT think both characters are attractive to different people. They think the original is attractive to NOBODY, and everyone else in the world is just PRETENDING that the first one is attractive in any way, and they're convinced everyone else also objectively knows the original art is ugly but there's a conspiracy to subject poor defenseless heterosexual men to pictures of butt-ugly women in order to brainwash them or something.

The guys afflicted with Cockroach Wife Syndrome are on some gamerbro qanon shit where their perception of reality is slanted to a comical degree, but they think their experiences are objective and unbiased, and they're making it everyone else's problem.

people smugly going 'OP has an anime girl in their icon' like that's some sort of gotcha

Yeah, man, I'm not opposed to anime girls. I'm not even opposed to hentai, or blender porn, or masturbation. I think everyone deserves to masturbate if they want to, and the way the world is going, we all probably deserve to masturbate a lot more (porn addiction isn't a real thing, my dudes). I accept that some people are going to jerk it to stuff that I don't find attractive, and maybe consider repulsive, and that's just going to be a fact of life from here unto eternity. We all need to come to terms to that.

But the Cockroach Wife Syndrome sufferers do NOT want to accept it. They want the entire world to have only one porn preference that aligns neatly to their own, and also they want all fictional depictions of women everywhere to adhere precisely to their porn preference.

And like, why would we do what these guys say? Now, me, personally, each time I see one of their yassified sexy edits of an already pretty female character, it always looks like the tackiest shit to me, like they're a toddler who got into mommy's make-up. I want to start a GoFundMe to send them to beautician school. I don't care how much they screech about it, they cannot convince me their aesthetic tastes are something to emulate, so I coined this term for them just so I had a name for their obnoxious behavior.

All that being said, in the time since I wrote this post, I discovered it gained some traction outside of tumblr. "Cockroach Wife Syndrome" was added to Urban Dictionary. There are people slinging around the term on twitter. I personally got jumpscared by running into it in the wild on reddit, which was how I found out people are actually using it. Honestly, I am not that hyped about this being my legacy (and I am so sorry to the OP of this post that I got them stuck with seeing every reply or tag someone ever makes about the cockroach wife guy, like I'm some malevolent storytime cuckoo who dropped disturbing internet tales in their nest). But ultimately, I think this one is actually on the thousands of people who reblogged it and considered that I described a phenomenon that they also observed.

Y'all stay safe out there, and remember to vary your masturbation material once in a while.

i wish i could see this picture for the first time again

[hs-is-loml]

Secret Never Meant To Be Told. (s.w)

Pairing: Sensei Wolf/Feng Xiao x Fem!Reader

Summary: A former Cobra Kai/Miyagi-Do student joins the Iron Dragons, intent on uncovering more about Terry Silver. But along the way, she finds herself drawn to someone she never expected. Her new sensei. Fast forward to the Sekai Taikai, and her carefully balanced double life begins to crack. When Wolf catches her speaking to someone she shouldn’t, suspicion flares, forcing a confrontation she isn’t ready for.

Type: one-shot

Warnings: READER IS LEGAL AGE, age-gap, minor slow burn for a one-shot, everyone knows except for them, forbidden kiss, friendship with Axel because he needs a friend, UNEDITED.

a/n: i'm back with my latest hyper-fixation. i also didn’t expect this to be this long, but i hope you all enjoy! 

Word Count: 5.4k

masterlist

Your phone buzzes in your hand while you’re waiting to board the plane to Barcelona, and you notice Robby’s contact pop up on the screen. You hesitantly look around to see if anyone who would get you in trouble is around but find no one aside from Axel near, you decide to answer the call. “Cover for me for a few?” you whisper to Axel while standing up from your seat.

“Yeah, be quick.” Axel nods reassuringly to you.

“Y/n? You there?” Robby’s concerned voice comes through the phone. You hear in the background, “Dude, I told you it wouldn’t be a good time to call!” sounding like Miguel.

“Yes. Sorry, just making sure I won’t get caught,” you mutter in a low voice, finding an empty spot near the gate. “I can’t talk for long. I board in 15 mins.”

“I’m with Miguel right now, and we just wanted to check in on you. How are you holding up?” 

You let out a sigh before a small smile settles on your lips, “As good as I can be. Sore as hell, though Wolf’s no joke with training. He has Axel and me up by 5 a.m. every day to train for the past two week since he’s named us captains.” You look over your shoulder to see Axel signaling to you to hurry up. “Silver hasn’t shown up in the dojo lately, but he keeps in contact with me for updates on the tournament. He’s meeting us in Barcelona on the first day of full events.”

“I wish we could do something to help you, Y/n. They’ve been keeping you on this too long,” Robby says, frustrated with his dad and Mr. LaRusso. “Be safe, okay? We’ll see you soon,” and the line goes dead.  

When you turn around to start heading back, you’re met with Wolf’s hard stare piercing into you as he approaches Axel and your seats. You see him say something to Axel but can’t make out the words.  

“Personal call?” Wolf questioned you in a dry, unimpressed voice as you sat back down. “I thought I said no distractions,” he leaned down to coldly mutter close to your ear while placing a firm grip on your shoulder, causing you to lean back and meet his eyes again.

“It wasn’t one, Sensei,” you answered through the loud announcements to tell passengers that boarding would start soon, causing him to release his tight grip and sneer while walking away from you.

Axel let out a breath of relief next to you, “Always lucky. If that were me, I would’ve paid the price by now.”

“Axel-” You warn.

“I am just saying no one could get away with the things you do,” he remarked while grabbing both your bags and leading the way to the plane entrance. “I mean, come on. He let it go, just like that? No way. Not to mention he doesn’t even like it when we’re too close together.”

While we were waiting for the people in front of us to find their seats, my neck snapped to turn to him taken aback by what he just said, “Now, you’re going too far-” I scoffed.

“Am I?” Axel breathed down by your ear pressing closer to your back with his front. “Look up.”

Sparked by curiosity, you tilt your chin up and look around the plane and find Wolf’s icy glare already on you and Axel. You look long enough to see him clench his jaw. “I’m still not getting your point...”

“You will soon enough. He’ll snap sooner rather than later,” he let out a deep chuckle. 

You stand next to Axel and Zara, waiting for your bags to come out. Zara points out her luggage to Axel, asking if he can help her get it, leaving you alone waiting for your suitcase. You see it finally drop down to the conveyor belt and you wait for it to come around to your side. You lean down to reach for the handle, but you see a tattooed hand grab it for you. “I could’ve taken it.”

“I’m sure you could,” Wolf smirked, setting your bag down beside you before walking off.

Before you can think too much about what just happened, your phone screen lights up with a new message from Miguel saying landing in 3 hours! sensei larusso said that he’ll text you our room numbers later if you find a moment to get away from the team

You hear your name being called, so you begin walking over to the team and like Miguel’s message before putting your phone away. “Texting a boyfriend?” Zara teased, raising her eyebrow to you in curiosity. 

You turn to glare at her before replying, “Wouldn’t you love to know.”

“Can’t have our captain distracted with a long-distance boyfriend, now can we?” she questioned back as the team started to make their way to the bus that was taking everyone to the hotel.

“Enough, Zara, keep your voice down,” you warned, giving her a pointed look.

“I don’t know how you got the captain’s spot after suddenly showing up a few months ago, but I won’t have you embarrassing us during the tournament.”

“If I remember it correctly, I beat you for this spot,” you reminded her before making your way to sit next to Axel, who saved you a spot near the front of the bus.

“Do you always have to argue? Is it an American thing?” Axel shook his head at you in amusement as you settled in your seat. “You know I think you would be happier if you just ignored her.”

You scoffed lightly. “I need some type of entertainment, and it just so happens that arguing is the most interesting thing that happens around here.” 

The speakers boom as Gunther begins his introduction for the Sekai Taikai, “Welcome, competitors, senseis, sponsors, and esteemed guests to Barcelona, this year's home of the world's greatest karate tournament, the Sekai Taikai.” He pauses as loud cheering erupts in the arena room. “The Sekai Taikai boasts a rich and proud history. And if you are here, it's because you embody all that the Sekai Taikai stands for. Leadership, respect, sportsmanship. Captains, step forward and tie on your headbands.”

The room tensed the moment the captains stepped forward onto the mat. Conversations stuttered, eyes narrowing as teammates straightened their shoulders. You glanced at Axel before he gave you a nod of reassurance. You center the headband in your hands then raising to your forehead to tie it back. 

“Captains, you will have the honor and privilege to compete in our televised tournament of champions. But that is only if your dojo does well enough in our team competitions to make it to the final four. Once the tournament is over, we will then tally all the points your dojos have earned. The dojo with the most points wins the Sekai Taikai. Team events begin tomorrow,” Gunther adds to his speech. “Each event counts. They will all be a surprise. But today, it's about enjoying our host city and making new friends.”

You break your focus away from Gunther speaking and catch Tory’s stare. You felt your pulse jump. It takes you aback for a moment, realizing what gi she has on. Even more so when you look behind her to see John Kreese smirking back at you. 

“We have a field trip arranged for our competitors. And for our senseis, a cocktail mixer with our distinguished sponsors, some of the world's finest martial arts brands. It's a beautiful day to make a first impression. And I suggest you enjoy it, because tomorrow, your lives will change forever. Good luck, and welcome to the Sekai Taikai!” Gunther finished sending everyone off to figure out where to go next. 

You planned not to go on the stupid field trip and instead find some solace in your hotel room, but by the looks of it, Wolf knew what you were thinking to do. “I’m not going.”

“You will go,” you could tell in his voice that there wasn’t any room for you to argue. “You will represent the team and show you are better than every single one of them. I saw that girl who surprised you from the Cobra Kai dojo. I will not have you show any weaknesses. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sensei,” you hissed out in reply. 

“Good girl. Now go make sure the team comes back in time for last-minute training after dinner tonight,” he murmured, his voice dipping slightly. 

“Y/n!” you glance behind you to see who called your name, to find Tory alone in by the aquarium with you. 

“Tory-” you breathed out in ease. You quickly approach the girl and pull her into a quick embrace. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry about your mom.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, Tory. Don’t do that to yourself. It’s okay to not be okay,” you leaned back to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

“You couldn’t have known,” she shook her head and looked down before telling you, “I think I made a mistake coming here. I’ve ruined every relationship I have by coming here with Cobra Kai.”

“I understand why you did it, and I don’t blame you for it. You deserve the spot of being captain. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

“They hate me-”

“No. They just need to get over themselves and realize this isn’t about them.”

“I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, Tory. It’s been hell being in Hong Kong these past few months, but I don’t regret it,” you admitted to her. “The training they have us do is on another level. Not to mention, Silver trusts me more now, away from everyone.”

“I’m sure it helps that your other sensei likes you,” she told you jokingly.

You let out a small snort, “No.”

“Oh, I saw the way he pulled you to the side earlier after we were dismissed from the introduction ceremony…” she revealed, but before she could continue, you heard a loud commotion, causing you to dart away from Tory to see what was going on.

You come to find people crowded together and see Robby talking to a guy from Cobra Kai, “What, I gotta kick above that line?” you heard Robby ask.

“Oh, what have you gotten yourself into,” you muttered under your breath. “Robby,” you called out in warning, catching people's attention in the room. 

You felt a nudge at your side, “You know him?” Zara points to Robby with a smirk, “Wanna introduce me?” Axel stood next to her and gave you a look of disapproval. You ignored 

At first, Robby didn’t really notice her. But then, his eyes flicked back. For a second, it was enough to make him forget what he was about to say. The others behind him let their gaze flicker over their old teammate with careful neutrality, lingering just long enough for a silent exchange. Miguel looked over like he wanted to say something but knew it wasn’t the right time. “Y/n,” Robby muttered lowly, but the silence in the room allowed for many to hear, confirming any suspicions of us knowing each other. “I got this,” he said before taking a step back to focus on his kick. He landed higher than the rest, but as you side-glanced to the Cobra Kai guys, you could tell they weren’t worried. 

Before Kwon goes up to make his kick, you blurt out, “Care to make things interesting and let me go after you? I get the rooms if you lose, and you get two if I do.”

“For you, princess, sure,” he smirked at you doubting your abilities. He chalked his shoe and kicked, which landed higher than Robby’s. You knew this was a risky call, given the circumstances. “All you, now.”

Axel exhaled sharply, shaking his head just enough to make a point. Next to him, Zara had muscle twitched in her jaw with her expression screaming, ‘Are you serious?’ You just hoped deep down no one would tell Wolf about this once you guys got back, but you knew better than to hope for such things. You took a running start and grunted, “Ais!” as you kicked the board. You let out a heavy breath as you land back on your feet. 

“No way…” you heard someone say.

“Unbelievable,” Zara let out in disbelief. 

“Who is she?” “Did you see that??” “I didn’t know someone could kick that high.” “What dojo is she from?” murmurs filled the room, causing you to look at your mark that was just above Kwon’s kick. You let out a laugh and smirked at the Cobra Kai guys while holding out your hand for their cards. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll leave your bags in the hallway,” you grinned, taking the hotel cards. 

People started to flow out of the space, and you let out a yelp of surprise as Miguel and Hawk took you in their arms in cheers. “Oh, thank god you were here.”

“Had to make sure you idiots didn’t get yourselves in trouble,” you laughed. “It seems I was cutting it a bit close on timing. Anyway, here are their hotel cards. I don’t need it.”

“You don’t want your own room?” Demetri questioned while Robby took the cards from your hand.

“No. I have my own room already,” you told them.

They raise their eyebrows at you skeptically, and Miguel asks you, “How’d you manage that?”

“Silver is to thank for my room,” you revealed. “He wanted to make sure I had no distractions while I’m here.”

“Of course, he did,” Robby scoffed at the mention of Silver. “What else does that maniac have you do lately?”

“Train until I feel like my legs are going to fall off,” you joked, trying to lighten up the tension. “I know he has people watching me to make sure I’m 'on track' with progress. He reminds me every time that if I lose here, that won’t be the worst thing I experience-”

“You’ve got to tell Sensei LaRusso and Lawerence about this,” Miguel butts in concern.

“I can handle this, Miguel. I’m already too far in. Anyway, I got to go and make sure my team is back in time for training. I’ll see you guys out on the mat, okay?” I turn walking away from them.

It was late. Too late for training, but no one dared to complain. Tomorrow was the first of team events, and every second counted. “Just wait until Sensei Wolf hears about what you pulled earlier,” Zara sneered at you loudly as the team filled the space.

Wolf entered the room looking directly at you, “Hear about what?”

“Nothing. I did what you said to do earlier. I showed them I’m better,” you said, voice firm and unwavering while crossing your arms in front of you. 

“And how did you do that?” he walked up until he was close enough to stare down at you.

“I won. Doesn’t matter how.”

“Fine,” he backed off before turning back to face everyone in the room. “Tomorrow will be the first day of team events. You will all show them we do not lose. That we are invincible.”

“Yes, Sensei,” people responded around the room. The team dropped into fighting stances, getting ready as they launched into synchronized movements, their punches and kicks slicing through the air. You’re faced against Zara, who lunges at you. Managing to block her attempt, you, in a blur of motion, struck back with a controlled sweep to her legs. Zara barely had time to react before she hit the mat, hard.

Sensei Wolf circled them like a predator, his sharp eyes scanning for weakness. When someone faltered, he noticed. He always noticed. He tsked in disappointment as Zara pushed herself off the mat. 

“You’re going to pay for that one, bitch,” she spat out at you.

“I don’t think I will.” your eyes met Sensei’s, and he gave a sharp nod. 

Wolf studied you for a long moment before speaking. “Again. All of you. Faster. No hesitation.”

We stood stone-faced as Gunther introduced the round of events. “Welcome to our first event. I hope you’re all well-rested and ready for a new and unique competition. We call it the “Captain’s War.” We told you how important your captains will be, So let’s see how well you protect them.” From the corner of your eye, you see Miyagi-Do look at each other nervously. “Four dojos will take the mat. Only one will be left standing. If you hit the mat, you’re out. If one of your captains hits the mat, your entire team is out for this round. Check the boards to see your group, decided by random draw. Group A, you’re up.”

“You know what to do,” Wolf growled as he gripped onto mine and Axel’s arms. He let go of Axel, pulled me back for a moment, and leaned down to my ear, “Let them come to you. Then, take them out. Don’t let them get back up.”

You listen for the other dojos' plans for attack and take note of Kwon’s as he tells his team, “We take Miyagi-Do first. They're weakest. Let them come to us. Then we fight the other dojos.” You already know that won’t work, and Tory knows it too.

You switched your attention to Miyagi-Do and saw the words “Protect the egg” fall from Miguel’s mouth. “Ready? Begin!” Gunther booms from the speakers.

You stay back with your team as you watch the others take each other out one by one. You can tell that Miyagi-Do won’t last long when Tory breaks straight through their front line. Everyone can see the team arguing with each other, unable to agree on their next move. The other Cobra Kai members went after another opposing team. None of them seemed to notice us as we stood tall, waiting for our moment.

“Falchi Della Notte captain down. They are out. Only Cobra Kai and the Iron Dragons remain alive,” came through the announcers.

“All six are still standing,” Tory mumbled in disbelief. 

“What is your strategy now?”

“Same as before. We’re outnumbered two to one. Pierce the front line, go straight for the captain,” you hear her say to the two guys while she looks directly at you. 

“Okay.”

No words were needed between you and Tory but the tight line of your mouth said enough. Your teammates break their form as Tory, Kwon, and Yoon begin to charge, halting them mid-in their tracks. “What are they doing?” Sensei Kim questions from the side. You keep eye contact with Tory as your teammates begin to walk around you and Axel. 

“I’ll take the girl. You two get the big guy.”

The fight erupted between the guys. Cobra Kai spread out trying to divide and conquer, but they realized it didn’t matter that they outnumbered us. Axel sidestepped Kwon’s punch with ease, his counterstrike landing hard against the guy’s ribs. A sharp exhale of pain followed, but Axel didn’t give him a second to recover. Then, he switched with a quick sweep to Yoon, and he hit the mat with a solid thud. Tory looked away from you to notice her teammate down. You take a moment to glance at Axel but don’t dare to spare another second looking.

Axel’s expression was calm but calculating. He shot forward like lightning, closing the gap before Kwon could reset. A quick one-two punch to Kwon’s stomach doubled him over, allowing Axel to make the quick grab to push him, and Kwon’s back crashed down, hitting the mat. 

Tory knew she had to play this smart. You were faster, sharper, and you had the skill of waiting for the right moment before attacking. Tory tested the waters first. She sent a quick jab, a feint, then a real strike.

You didn’t even flinch. You weaved between the attacks, your footwork crisp, light as air. Then, you struck. A snap kick that Tory barely blocked in time, stumbling back from the impact. Tory grunted, adjusting her stance. She needed a better approach. She stepped in again, faster, aiming for your ribs, then your head.

Blocked. Blocked.

Tory’s stomach twisted, she could tell you were reading her like a book. Before she could rethink her approach, you made your move. A fake low kick then a switch-up. Tory reacted to the low feint, but you were already airborne. A spinning roundhouse.

The heel of your foot crashed against Tory’s temple. Tory’s vision blurred and her balance wavered. She barely had time to react before you swept her feet out from under her. Tory landed on the mat hard. Hitting it in frustration. 

The crowd’s cheers were distant, muffled beneath the pounding in your ears. The referee’s hand rose to signal the victory, but none of that mattered. Not yet. “Both Cobra Kai captains go down. The Iron Dragons win.”

You turn to look for Wolf and realize he’s already watching you. He smirks at you, giving you a nod of approval. Your stomach flipped, and your breath hitched, your heart slamming against your ribs. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place, more intense than the fight itself.

You make your way to the elevators to head back to your hotel room for a quick shower before the next event. When you were close to reaching the doors, a hand grabbed you from behind you, causing you to yelp before you could realize that it was Miguel pulling you to a private room. 

“Miguel! You can’t do that here!” you screeched, hitting his arms. “I was this close to punching you,” you huffed out while pinching your fingers close together as an example.

Miguel let out a laugh, watching you get worked up. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I just didn’t know when I would get another chance to see you alone. You are either always with the giant brute or your killer sensei. Who, by the way, I think is completely into you.”

“Who? Axel? He’s like the big friendly giant.”

“No, pendeja!” he flicked you on the forehead. “Your sensei! That man never takes his eyes off you. Like, ever.”

“Wolf? No, he’s just like that,” you played off. 

“So he looks at everyone like he wants to devour them?”

“Miguel!”

“What? I’m just stating the obvious here. Which you want to pretend isn’t true.” Your cheeks flush with heat as you think about Wolf. “See, you’re blushing!”

“No, I’m not,” your hand flew to cover your cheeks.

“Whatever. Enough about them. I want to talk about the captain’s war from earlier. I need advice.”

“Like the fact you should’ve been captain and it’s super obvious that Robby isn’t focused because of Tory being Cobra Kai?”

Miguel shook his head in amusement, “Yes, exactly that.”

“I think you guys need to all sort your shit out before you come back onto the mat because it’s ruining you guys from actually having a chance here. Everyone can tell that you’re not together as a team, and they will use that to their advantage every single time.”

“What, like how the Iron Dragons are a team?” he scoffed, remembering how you and Axel took the fight. 

“No, that’s different. Axel and I are enough as captains alone. But you guys have Robby whose head is so far away from the tournament and Sam barely even looks like she wants to be here,” you tried to explain to him. “The rest of you need to work together to make sure they don’t bring you down, unlike how the captain’s war went for you guys today.”

“Bring us down?”

“Miguel, I saw what happened earlier. Everyone did. You took two guys from Cobra Kai at once today, but Robby couldn’t even get past Kwon. I just don’t want to see you fail. I know how much this tournament means to you,” your voice came out sharp, exasperated like you’ve been holding it in for too long. “Forget about Stanford. Forget about the team issues. Forget about everything. Just fight and do it for yourself. Prove to them the leader you are.”

“Okay,” his voice was hesitant, as if unsure of the words. You took it as a sign to pull him back in for another hug, leaning your head on his shoulder, “You should take some of your own advice and do something for yourself,” you heard him murmur into your hair.

“If only it were that easy,” you sighed while pulling away.

“It could be.”

“Not with him. Not with Silver whispering into his ear,” you scoffed at the thought.

“Maybe after all of this then?”

“Maybe,” you said wistfully.

Miguel walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You let them linger in your mind, thinking about the what you were risking by starting something with Wolf. You had a mission while being here. To prove you have what it takes to be a champion, and you weren’t going to let anyone take that away from you. This could risk you everything you worked for these past few months and ruin your cover to learn more about Silver. If Wolf found out, you wouldn’t just be losing your spot in the tournament. You’d lose him before you even had a chance to have him.

But maybe he was worth the risk.

You stepped out of the room and looked around carefully to see if anyone you knew was around. Just your luck, you saw Sensei Wolf talking to a group of what looked like other senseis in the lobby. His eyes flickered to the side, catching you. His head tilted like he was confused or more like processing something. 

You beelined for the elevator in hopes of avoiding him. You were close to making it alone in the elevator, but a foot stopped the doors from closing. To only reveal Wolf with a sinister look written across his face. He stepped in, and the doors closed behind him. He continued to close the gap between you until you were trapped leaning against the wall with your face turned away from him.

His hand flew to your neck, applying a firm but gentle pressure, guiding your gaze back onto him. “What were you doing in that room?” Wolf hummed, eyes scanning your face.

“Needed a moment alone,” you let out quietly.

“Alone?” he drawled. His grip on your throat tightened for a second, and you noticed his jaw clenched with tension.

“Yes.”

“Do you think I am a fool?” he jeered, making no effort to hide his disdain.

“No, sensei,” you replied in a breathy tone as you tried to push yourself more into the wall to gain some distance between you two.

The elevator rang and opened its doors to your floor, and Wolf dragged you into the hallway. His grip now fell onto your wrist, leading you to your hotel room. “Open the door.”

You fumbled around your bag for your keycard. You quickly unlock the door and walk in, setting your bag on the bed. He comes in, slamming the door behind him shut. You stay silent, not knowing what to say that won’t anger him more. You already knew you got caught, but you didn’t know how much he knew.

“I am going to give you one more chance. What were you doing in that room?” his voice ringed with steel behind each word. “Do not lie to me again.” he sounded low but forceful, voice tight with suppressed anger.

You let out a breathe you were holding, rubbing your temples when you answered him with, “Why does it matter? I give you the results you want. So why does it matter what I do?” You were pushing your luck, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of giving in. 

Wolf let out a single, humorless chuckle, “It matters when I think you’re not here to win.”

“This tournament is everything. I will not fail.”

He closed the distance in two sharp steps, stopping just short of colliding. His breath was warm against your face as he growled, “Then tell me what were you doing in that room.” 

“I was talking to a friend-” your voice failing you at the end as your breath hitched at the close proximity between you two. 

“Friend. Is that why you looked so guilty walking out?” he spat out.

You broke your gaze from him and turned your face away, “Nothing happened.”

“Say that again,” Wolf used his finger to redirect your face to meet his eyes.

“We only talked. Nothing happened.” you were hesitant, paused between words, voice softer than usual.

“Then what are you hiding.”

“Nothing.”

“I SAID DO NOT LIE TO ME AGAIN,” he yelled into your face, making you take a step back until your legs hit against the end of the bed. 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you tensed.

“And you don’t get to lie to me. So tell me what you were doing with that boy from the pathetic Miyagi-Do,” he sneered. “Wouldn’t want him to get hurt now?”

“He’s nothing, Wolf. He’s just a means to an end,” you explained cautiously, lying through your teeth.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed all the secret looks and phone calls and the constant hiding of your phone from anyone who could see,” Wolf pointed out. “I know you’re hiding something.”

“If you knew then, why do you care now?” your voice was tight, wondering if you really want to the answer to this or not.

“You’re my champion,” he stated slow and deliberately. 

“Yet, I don’t know what you want from me anymore,” you sighed.

“Everything.” Wolf pulled you to him by your hips, making you gulp at the action. You’re holding on by a thread to your self-restraint. His lips broke out in a small smirk that was close enough to brush against your lips, mumbling, “Give in.” 

Your breath was uneven, hot against his skin as you whispered, “I shouldn’t.”

“But you can.” and neither of you moved away.

Instead, he raised one hand to brush his fingers against your jaw, featherlight, as if memorizing the shape of you, as if giving you one last chance to walk away. Your lips parted slightly, a breath caught between want and restraint.

Then it snapped. 

He crashed into you, his lips searing against yours. You gasped into the kiss, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more. His grip tightened at your hip, anchoring you to him.

You knew you were being reckless, but at the moment you couldn’t care anymore. You were doing this for yourself. You move your hands to go around his neck to try and pull yourself up to him. The kiss was fast and feverish, making you gasp slightly and allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. You kissed until all the breath left your lungs and even then you never wanted him to stop.

His teeth grazed your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. Your hands found his hair, pulling it with need. The world blurred around you. The way you fit together like a secret never meant to be told.

Then a noise. A knock against your hotel door.

A reminder of reality.

You tore apart, chests heaving, eyes wild. His lips were red, swollen, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you, something raw and untamed in his gaze.

Heavy silence stretched between you.

“We shouldn’t have-” you started, voice barely a whisper.

His thumb brushed your lip, tracing where his kiss had just been. Claiming.

“I know.” His voice was low, rough. And yet, neither of you held any regret. 

[starsinthesky5]

is miss yail reader miss possessive????

(pls answer as a blurb of her being possessive)

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

she doesn’t think she is. really, she doesn’t. she’s not the jealous type because she knows exactly who joe comes home to, she trusts him completely and knows without a doubt that joe only has eyes for her.

but that doesn’t mean she likes sharing.

and tonight? tonight was testing her patience.

they were attending a gala/fundraiser for one of the brand partners joe was working with this year, and she had been perfectly content hanging off his arm, sipping her rosé, making small talk with the right people, just being there to support her man while the spotlight was off of her for a bit.

until she showed up.

some woman--tall, gorgeous, clearly interested, wearing that little red dress that caught everyone's eyes--shuffled over to joe, placing a hand on his arm like she had any right to touch him, and started laughing like the joker at every single thing he said. she was practically undressing him with those icy eyes.

what a stupid move to make while his girlfriend was right next to him.

disgusting.

and joe, bless his oblivious heart, just gave her one of those polite little smiles, nodding along as she talked to him and the group you both were standing with.

her grip tightens around her glass when she notices how the woman is gripping his shoulder, digging her ruby nails into the shoulder that was meant for her to lean her cheek on as she laughed at something silly joe whispered to her.

she isn’t mad at him, not really. it’s not his fault he’s so fucking pretty--so stupidly, irresistibly attractive that women throw themselves at him even when she’s standing right there.

but she is so not in the mood for this tonight.

"look at the floor or ceiling...or anyone else you're feeling. i don't care, take home whoever walks in. just keep your eyes off him, bitch," she thought, feeling her cheeks burn from jealousy.

she sets her drink down, smooths out the skirt of her dress, and slides up next to joe, slipping an arm around his waist like it’s second nature. her other hand--her claiming hand--lands firmly on his chest.

joe doesn’t flinch, but she feels the way his muscles tense under her touch.

good.

his attention changes immediately, those baby blue eyes flicking down to hers, and she can see it--the realization. the amusement. the smirk that threatens to pull at his lips because he knows how she's feeling.

but he hasn’t said anything yet. instead, he lets her do what she does best.

she turns to the woman, finally acknowledging her, her smile faker than that knock-off chanel bag the woman had looped around her arm. "hi," she says smoothly, tilting her head just enough to be borderline condescending. "i don’t think we’ve met,".

the girl blinks, seemingly thrown off by the sudden shift in energy. she stammers out her name, something forgettable, before gesturing toward joe. "i was just telling joe how—,".

she doesn’t even let her finish.

"joeyyy," she purrs, drawing his name out like dripping honey, her fingers trailing gently over the fabric of his shirt. she tilts her head up, eyes locked onto his. "aren’t you so tired of talking?".

and joe just dares to grin. "you trying to get me out of here," he laughs before dipping his head down to her ear, his voice a whisper as his breath heats up her skin, "miss possessive?".

"pretty girl has to learn her lesson, baby," she winked, sliding her hand further up his chest to his face. her baby pink nails running across his stubbly chin as she looks back at the woman who looked like she'd just seen a ghost.

the woman awkwardly clears her throat. "well, um—,".

but she's already tugging joe away, her grip on him firm, definitive. and he lets her, of course, because that’s what he always does.

the second they’re just barely out of reach, he leans down, murmuring, "you know I wasn’t interested, right?".

she doesn’t answer him right away. instead, she keeps walking, leading him through the crowd with a confident posture that makes joe smirk. she only stops when they’re in a quieter corner of the venue, away from prying eyes and nosy ears. she turns to face him, her eyes flashing with something dangerous, something possessive. her finger latches onto the fabric of his shirt, gripping it tight as she looks up at him.

"i know," she finally says, voice sweet but laced with something else. "but that doesn’t mean i have to like it when some desperate woman throws herself at you like i’m not standing right there,".

joe lets out a small laugh, his hands settling on her hips, thumbs brushing over the silky material of her midnight-blue dress.

"you know you’re the only one for me, right?" he asks, voice dropping an octave, his forehead pressing against hers.

she lets out a content sigh, tension slowly bleeding out of her shoulders. "yeah," she breathes. "but that doesn’t mean i’m gonna let anyone think they even have a chance," her nails scrape lightly against his chest, her body pressing just a little bit closer to his.

joe grins. "mm. miss possessive, indeed,".

she narrows her eyes at him, but before she can say anything, his hands slide down to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.

"i like it, though," he murmurs, his lips brushing against her ear. "i like when you get all clingy. when you remind everyone i’m yours...when you do more than just wear that necklace with my initial on it,".

her breath catches in her throat, fingers tightening on his shirt.

"damn right, you are," she whispers back, shifting her head up to capture his lips in a slow kiss.

it’s not rushed, not frantic. it’s a statement--a declaration that she doesn’t need words for. he is her's, and he loves every second of it.

when she finally pulls back, joe’s eyes are dark, filled with something heated, something that tells her they won’t be staying at this event for much longer.

"so," he says, thumb brushing over her cheek, "you ready to get out of here? or do you wanna go back and stake your claim some more?".

she smirks, reaching up to straighten his tie. "oh, i think she got the message," she hums. "but just in case…,".

she presses another kiss to his lips; hot, sloppy, pulling his bottom lip, and so intoxicating, before pulling away with a smug glint in her eyes.

joe just shakes his head as he laces his fingers through hers, already leading her toward the exit.

"yeah, definitely not staying much longer,".

[gimmeamanateeaftermidnight]

Storytime! So I worked the floor at an office retailer while going to college. This meant that I had to wake up early, do a lot of lifting and go to class afterward. I lived on caffeine. My favorite CDC approved cocaine of choice was Monster Java Irish Blend, but it could be really hard to find and no body else drank them. I finally found a near by gas station that kept them stocked so I had one quite literally everyday. Who needs water? But everyone knew what my drink looked like, it had pretty distinctive packaging, and, as previously stated, I worked on the floor so it was pretty typical to just see one on a shelf randomly from when I got distracted or simply forgot that I was a mortal husk that required liquids and walked off. One day, a call goes out over the radio from a new person saying they found a drink in the binders and does anyone know who’s it is. They say the name and everyone immediately tells the new person it’s mine and I ask them to meet me toward the back of freight. I didn’t remember leaving a drink in binders, but I never do so I didn’t think anything of it. It is important to note at this stage that these drinks contain milk. Like, quite a bit. Think Yoo-Hoo levels of milk. Knowing that I forget these drinks all the time and feeling a bit parched, I immediately take a swig, head back, as the new person hands it to me. I did not forget this drink that day. No. I forgot it weeks ago. I now hav a mouthful of spoiled taurine milk and I don’t know what to do. I am so far from either sink or trashcan and have to hold it in my mouth lest I spray spit and old dairy all over this new person. I run to the break room so fast, it was all a blur. I haven’t had one of those drinks since.

what is THE worst thing you've ever drank. all liquids acceptable. please tell me what it was, bonus points for why

[copperbadge]

Sam has anyone told you that you’re already Jewish? Jewish is a mindset

Ah, hm, no, I can't agree with either half of the sentiment, I'm afraid, as kindly as it is meant.

There are many ways to be Jewish and the diversity with which Jews relate to their faith is one of the appeals for me, but I believe that if you wish to convert you have to put in the work of conversion. The way I've heard it put that I like best is "There are a lot of ways to be Jewish once you're Jewish, but you don't get to dictate how to become Jewish." (Within reason of course; there are several ways to convert, but all require the supervision of a Rabbi and a long process of study and preparation.)

I'm learning about the food and the prayers, the cultural touchstones, the holidays, the history, but I haven't done the formal work. There are massive gaps in my knowledge, even after several years. A Jewish friend of mine said to me once, "You know, I think it probably takes a convert a good ten years to truly acclimate to Judaism" and I kind of agree with her. Once you convert you are A Jew, and Rabbinic law says you should be treated as a Jew and the fact that you are a convert not brought up (for good reason), but a gentile simply cannot absorb the weight of history and faith all at once or process it meaningfully. It takes time. I haven't even been studying for a full Daf Yomi cycle yet.

There are Jews in my brickspace life who refer to me as Jewish, and I don't correct them because we both understand what that means -- that they see me as a member of the Tribe who is running to catch up, and are willing to help me on that journey. I'm grateful for that. I try to live as Jewish a life as I can (as I see Judaism for me) in preparation for conversion. But I would never declare myself Jewish without an official conversion supervised by a Rabbi.

There are also people who have told me I will never be a "real" Jew, or who have tried to pressure me by making my conversion conditional upon certain behaviors, and I don't correct them either because maybe I won't, I simply don't know yet. Occasionally I'll think, hey, if I have to do X or Y to be Jewish, I might not be able to handle that. But that's why the road is long and I'm comfortable walking very slowly along it. Judaism's been around for thousands of years; it'll be there when I get there. I think right now it is as important as it's ever been to speak openly about my desire to convert and my respect for the conversion process.

But no, as validating as your ask felt to me, I'm not Jewish yet. :) Perhaps if I'm lucky, someday.

[inseobts]

Could I get the kidd pirates (wire, heat, kid, killer) reactions to the reader saying that they feel safe with them? Let's say the reader led a kill or be killed life where trust was scarce and death was a guarantee matched with isolation. But after joining the crew, despite the fact its a similar life style, they feel safer.

Sorry for the kinda odd request, hope your having a good day ✌️

Safe Among Monsters

kidd pirates x reader (platonic)

a/n: thank you for the request!! hope this is what you wanted and you'll like it (●'◡'●)

words count: 0.8k

tags: kidd pirates, hurt/comfort, emotional bonds, trust, safety

masterlist || ko-fi

The sea is always dangerous. You know this well. A life of blood and survival has shaped you, made you sharp, but also left you alone. Trust is a weakness. Safety is an illusion. At least, that’s what you believed before joining the Kidd Pirates.

But now… now, things feel different.

You sit on the deck, watching the ocean. The salty wind plays with your hair, and for once, you feel at peace. Heat sits nearby, fixing his weapons. Wire leans against a crate, quiet as usual. Killer sharpens his blades, the steady sound of metal against stone filling the air. And Kid? He’s yelling at some poor crewmember for messing up something in the engine room.

You take a deep breath. This is the closest thing to home you’ve ever had.

“I feel safe here” you say without thinking.

Silence.

The sound of Killer’s blade pauses. Heat’s hands still. Wire actually lifts his head. And Kid? Well, Kid turns so fast you think he might snap his own neck.

“The hell did you just say?” Kid asks, stomping toward you.

You blink “I said I feel safe here.”

Kid stares at you like you just grew a second head “Safe? With us?” he asks as he gestures wildly “We’re pirates! We kill people! We steal! We fight the Marines and the damn Emperors! How the hell is that safe?!”

You shrug “I’ve lived a life where trust meant death. Where every second was a fight to survive. And yet, with you guys, I don’t feel like I have to watch my back all the time.”

Kid looks completely lost. He crosses his arms, grumbling “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re just bad with emotions” Heat says, smirking.

“Shut up, Heat!”

Heat chuckles before looking at you “You really mean that?”

You nod “Yeah. I know we fight and kill, but… it’s different. I don’t feel alone.”

Wire exhales, running a hand through his hair “Tch. Can’t believe anyone would feel safe around us. We’re... monsters.”

“Not to me” you say simply.

Killer, who has been silent, finally speaks “You trust us.”

You meet his gaze “Yeah, I do.”

He tilts his head, studying you for a long moment. Then, he nods “Good.”

Kid groans “You’re all too soft.”

“Maybe,” Heat says, grinning “But at least we’re not in denial like you.”

“I AM NOT—!”

You laugh, and to your surprise, Killer chuckles too. Even Wire smirks. The tension fades, and the conversation shifts, but something lingers in the air, something unspoken but understood.

They won’t say it outright. Not in words. But you know. They feel it too.

You are safe here.

Not because the world is less dangerous.

But because you are not alone anymore.

Days pass, but the words stay in your mind. The crew still fights, still raids, still risks their lives every day, but something in their eyes has changed when they look at you. There’s an understanding now. A silent promise.

One evening, after a long battle at sea, you sit beside Killer, your back against the ship’s railing. He’s quiet, as usual, but you don’t mind. The silence between you is comfortable.

“You’re really not scared of us at all?” he finally asks.

You shake your head “No. Not anymore.”

He hums in response. Then, after a pause, he says “If you ever feel different… if you ever feel unsafe… tell me.”

You smile “I will.”

Across the deck, Kid watches you both, his expression unreadable. Wire mutters something under his breath, and Heat just grins. It’s a strange family, but it’s yours.

And for the first time in your life, you don’t feel alone.

Another storm rolls in one night, violent waves crashing against the hull. The ship rocks dangerously, and the crew scrambles to secure everything. You’re drenched, holding onto the railing as the wind howls.

Kid barks orders, his voice barely audible over the storm “Tie down the sails! Secure the cargo!”

You move to help, but a massive wave sends you staggering. A strong hand grabs your wrist, Killer. He pulls you upright, nodding “Stay close.”

Through the chaos, you realize something... no one is afraid. The crew works together, trusting each other completely. Despite the danger, there’s no panic. Just confidence.

When the storm finally passes, the crew collapses on the deck, exhausted but victorious. You sit beside Heat, breathing hard.

“You alright?” he asks, glancing at you.

You nod “Yeah. That was… intense.”

He grins “Storms happen. We get through them.”

Wire chuckles, running a hand through his wet hair “You held up well.”

Killer sits nearby, quietly cleaning his weapons. Kid crosses his arms, looking at the sea. Then, he glances at you “Still feel safe?”

You meet his gaze “Yeah.”

A beat of silence. Then, Kid smirks “Good.”

And just like that, you know you belong here.

[multific]

Beneath the Laurel Crown

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: As whispers of a political marriage swirl around Emperor Geta, you begin to fear that duty will pull him away from you.

The weight of Rome sat heavy on Geta’s shoulders, but the weight of your gaze?

That was what unravelled him.

You watched from the side of the grand hall, lingering behind a column as yet another senator droned on about politics, war, and taxes.

The subjects Geta had no choice but to entertain. His expression was carefully composed, his golden laurels glinting beneath the torches.

To everyone else, he was the Emperor, untouchable, infallible.

To you, he was the man behind the crown, the man who, despite his calculated rulings and the cruelty expected of a ruler, held you at night with a desperation he could never show the world.

But today, he barely looked at you.

Ever since the court had started whispering of a political marriage, one that would strengthen the Empire, he had been distant.

His touch had cooled, his words fewer, his silences heavier.

And it terrified you.

The thought of Geta bound to someone else, standing at an altar beside a woman who is not you, made your heartache.

He was yours.

Not in the way the Empire believed, not in a way history would remember, but in a way that mattered.

And yet, what was love against the might of Rome?

The meeting ended, and as the senators left, you remained hidden, waiting. The moment the doors shut, the room was silent, and Geta let out a tired sigh.

His hands lifted to remove the golden laurel crown, and for the first time since the morning, he finally looked at you.

“Are you going to keep hiding?” His voice was quieter now, softer—reserved only for you.

You stepped forward, your heart pounding. “Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

His jaw tightened, and he turned away, setting the laurel crown on the table. “You already know why.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “So it’s true, then? You’re going to marry her?”

He didn’t answer.

That silence was worse than anything he could have said. It was as if a dagger was pushed into your heart.

You exhaled shakily, feeling the sharp sting behind your eyes. “Geta…”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. You saw the way his shoulders tensed.

You stepped closer, pressing a hand to his arm. “Look at me.”

He hesitated, then slowly turned. And what you saw in his eyes shattered you.

It wasn’t indifference. It wasn’t duty.

It was longing. Longing so raw, so unbearable that it took your breath away.

“If you ask me to let you go,” you whispered, “I will.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“But if there is even a chance-” Your voice trembled, but you didn’t look away. “If you love me, if you want me, if you would fight for me even for a moment-then don’t say anything at all.”

The silence stretched, endless, suffocating.

And then he moved forward, crushing his lips against yours.

The world blurred.

The weight of the Empire, the expectations, the duty, none of it mattered as he held you like a man drowning, like he needed you to breathe.

His hands cupped your face, his grip desperate, his kiss full of everything he could never say aloud.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“I will burn this empire to the ground before I let them take you from me,” he murmured.

And you knew he meant every word.

The next day word of the senators' death arrived. As Geta stood in front of them.

"Your Empress shall be chosen by me." Caracalla laughed at his brother's words. He knew this would be good. "And anyone who dares question my decision will suffer the same end as the others. Am I understood?" his tone was calm. Way too calm.

Silence filled the room and the irritation in Geta grew.

"AM I UNDERSTOOD?" he yelled and suddenly every nodded.

He would absolutely mean every word. You will be his wife. And that was final.

~Masterlist~

��AO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[endiness]

Yeah, anyway, friendly reminder that the OP is an alt-right account that made this post to incite the fanbase against Lauren and the show. The headline itself is misleading clickbait that was also meant to incite the fanbase against Lauren and the show. In the original article by Vulture, Lauren states that Henry Cavill was annoying because he was bugging her for the role before scripts had even been written yet (Henry Cavill had not even read the books when he was doing this, btw) and Henry Cavill himself said that he was being annoying.

Also, friendly reminder that Henry Cavill massively over-exaggerated how much of a fan he was of the franchise and how much he knew about it. He hadn't even read the books when he first sought out the role because he thought they were based off the video games, he didn't learn otherwise and even read the books until Lauren told him about them — and he only read the series once back in 2018 right before he was cast, and he's only really played the third game — which he hasn't even played the DLC for.

Also, by his own admission, he didn't actually do any research or preparation for the role at all.

“I asked my agent to put me on the spot and wanted to meet Lauren as soon as possible. I didn’t even need to prepare specially for the role. Because I breathe, I experience this universe every day. I’ve already had many opportunities to think about this character when I was playing the game. My preparation was already done before the casting even began!”

Henry Cavill also started the whole narrative about how important adhering to the source material is to him and how much he pushed for a more book accurate, verbose Geralt in the press for S2 in order to deflect from how he was the one who cut Geralt's lines in S1 in the first place, making his characterization inaccurate to the books. He also lied about the whole thing and tried to act like Geralt was never originally written as being as verbose as he is in the books when he was, he blamed Geralt's lack of dialogue on Yennefer and Ciri's prominence, and he tried to act like the lines he was cutting weren't that important anyway so it didn't really matter that he was cutting them.

Henry Cavill also created that whole narrative about how important the source material is to him as if Lauren's vision of the show was somehow in opposition to the books because he was actually just mad that that he was co-lead with two women and that the show revolves around women so much. (Just fyi for anyone who doesn't know, but Ciri is the main character of the main book series which the show started adapting from S2 onwards and women are central, key figures in the books to the point where the story could not exist without them.)

Henry Cavill was also directly responsible for, or at least had some hand in, a lot of the changes from the books. He cut Geralt's lines, as I've already said.

By his own admission, he didn't want to play Geralt and Jaskier's friendship as being as friendly as they are in the books. So, really, any kind of positivity about Geralt and Jaskier's relationship should solely be attributed to Joey and his performance, tbqfh, as he was the only one actually doing anything in their scenes.

Which even Henry Cavill himself basically admitted, js.

“Joey did all the work, I just had to take the right look and… we had a ready-made 'comedy.’”

Henry Cavill also cut a sex scene between Geralt and Yennefer in S2 because he didn't think it'd be in character of them to have sex after reuniting (it would've been, btw), he nixed the idea of Geralt and Triss even just platonically finding comfort in each other in S2 even though that happens in the books, and due to him not wanting to play Geralt struggling with fatherhood in any way in S2 nor with any character flaws and only positive character traits (because he was overcompensating for how he fucked up Geralt's characterization in S1) that led to the domino effect of Eskel's death, Yennefer's betrayal, and Voleth Meir being the big bad of the season.

Hope that helps!

Tells you everything you need to know about the people making these adaptations.

[jeonscatalyst]

This happened many years ago, but does anyone else find it kind of “odd” that in that Run BTS episode where the members had to smell each other while blindfolded and guess who it was, Yoongi smelled Jimin and thought it was Jungkook? No other members were mistaken for each other if I remember correctly and even if they were, why was it Jimin who just happened to smell like Jungkook? I mean, isn’t that a little 🤨 especially considering we know that Jungkook is very particular about the body care products he uses, since he’s sensitive to smells so it’s not very likely that other members would smell like him unless they use his products or spend a lot of time close to him to the point they start smelling like he does. You know how sometimes when you spend a lot of time with someone, cuddled with them, using their stuff, wearing their clothes, sleeping in their bed that has their scent, you start to smell like them? I don’t know, but this was one of the biggest things that made me realize Jimin and Jungkook must spend a lot of time together. It didn’t necessarily make me think of Jimin and Jungkook as more than friends but it just meant they atleast at that point were together a lot.

I don’t understand why the Joker community doesn’t talk about this more because it’s a big deal to me.

[evilmenenjoyer]

Punishment

Pairing: professor Hwang In-ho x student fem!Reader

Summary: You find a creative, albeit unconventional way to get out of the trouble you're in at university.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: sexual content (minors dni), age gap (legal, reader is implied to be in her early to mid 20s), spanking, corporal punishment, masochism, power dynamics, crying, unresolved sexual tension.

–––

You can tell something’s off the second you walk through the door, when your cheerful “Hello, Mr. Hwang!” is met with a short, courteous “good evening” from the professor.

It’s not rude. It’s not even particularly harsh. It just lacks the usual warmth you’ve come to expect from him, the tiny smile on his lips that always greets you.

Being called to see the strict Mr. Hwang In-ho after class usually meant bad news, leaving most students nervous about what they could’ve done wrong. But not you. You’ve lost count of how many times you stayed in this classroom for hours after class was over, discussing a book he had assigned for class or literature in general. Some days you’d help him grade tests and homework, when you noticed he had too much work on his back. And some days, the ones you cherished the most, you’d talk about things unrelated to class or literature – politics, your interests, your personal life. His personal life.

Saying you were smitten with him was the understatement of the century. You tried not to pay much attention to the crush you developed on him, hoping it would go away if you just ignored it for long enough, but it only seems to be getting stronger.

“You wanted to see me?” you ask, closing the door. It’s generally frowned upon for a student to be alone with a professor with the door closed, but Mr. Hwang never objects. The fact that he’s willing to bend the rules for you pleases you a little too much.

“Yes.” His tone is the same as before, not softening now that it’s just the two of you. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and you wonder what is it that’s got him in such a bad mood, if something happened in his life. “I have something to show you.”

He pulls out a piece of paper, setting it on his desk facing you. You approach, your footsteps slightly more hesitant than usual around him.

“Do you recognize this passage?” he asks, pointing to the highlighted paragraph.

You lean in to read it, an analysis of the similarities between classic English and South Korean literature. You recognize it immediately.

“I wrote it. That’s from my latest assignment.”

“Yes.” He’s still not looking at you, rummaging through a pile of papers. Did he not like the assignment? The thought alone upsets you. You worked so hard on it; not only for the sake of keeping your straight-As, but also to impress him. Maybe even more so to impress him. “How about this one?”

He sets another sheet of paper in front of you, one of the paragraphs highlighted in his same blue marker.

As you read it, your stomach immediately drops. It’s your paragraph, almost word-by-word, with a few differences that are too minor to even count.

“This is from Emily Jones’s paper. I believe the two of you are friends.”

You want to find Emily and strangle her. You told her to change stuff and not just copy from you. Did she really think someone like Mr. Hwang wouldn’t notice? That he’d just let it slide?

“I was the one who wrote the original,” you say. “I didn’t–”

“Oh, I know that. I’m very familiar with your writing style, and Ms. Jones isn’t nearly as gifted as you. I knew something was wrong the second I read it.”

You could play the victim, say Emily copied from you without your knowledge, but you know instantly it wouldn’t work, not with Mr. Hwang’s dark eyes right on you. Even when you’re not in emotional distress, the man can read you better than anyone else.

“I’m sorry.” You lower your gaze in shame. “Emily needed help, and I– she’s in the same exchange student program as I am, I know how much she needed the grade.”

“You could’ve helped her study, not let her copy off you.”

“There wasn’t a lot of time. She came to me last-minute.”

He sighs. “Well, I will have to fail both of you.”

“What?” It should be expected, but the words still sting. He knows how hard you work for your good grades. “But my essay was good.”

“It was great. Worthy of an A, if only you hadn’t helped another student with plagiarism. In fact, both of you should be reported for it.”

“Mr. Hwang, please.” Your eyes are practically begging him for mercy, the pitch of your voice getting ever so slightly higher as your desperation grows. “I can lose my scholarship and my spot at the exchange student program. Do you want me gone?”

You can see something flash across his eyes – regret, maybe, or perhaps that warmth you’ve been missing since you walked in here –, just for a split second before they’re back to normal, even more hardened than before.

“Cheating was your choice, not mine. You should’ve thought of the consequences.”

“What if– what if I wrote a new paper?” you bargain. “For half the grade. I can get it done in just a couple of days!”

“The paper is not the point. The point is how my most promising student would waste her talent to help a classmate cheat, and betray the trust I put in her.”

The praise doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but it fades away so quickly, like trying to hold on to smoke.

“It was a mistake. One that won’t happen again.”

“I’m very sorry, Ms. ____.”

You watch helplessly as he gathers the papers and organizes them back into a folder, the muscles of his arms tensed. He looks angry, but also upset. Disappointed. That sends you into an even bigger panic than a bad grade, or the potential of losing your spot at this university. It grows inside your chest, overwhelming, prompting you to say possibly the worst thing you could’ve come up with in this situation.

“What if I just take a whooping?”

He pauses. For a moment you’re both silent, still as statues as you process your own words, what you just asked for. Heat rises to your face so fast it makes you dizzy.

“What?”

You want to run away from this classroom. You want to go to the airport and take the next plane back to your country, classes and scholarship be damned.

However, now the words are already out, hanging heavy between the two of you. You can’t just back down, show him you spoke without thinking. You force yourself to nod, praying to the gods of every religion you know that your cheeks aren’t red enough that he can notice it.

“Yeah. It’s a good punishment,” you say. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not allowed. And because we are not in the 1930s.”

“You know in a lot of places corporal punishment in schools is still legal.”

“And Seoul isn’t one of them.”

“Please, Mr. Hwang.” You lower your eyes, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to rush to the surface. “I know what I did was wrong. But I’d never– willingly betray your trust. I just want to get my punishment, and for things to be back to normal.”

Above all, you want him to stop looking at you like he is right now. Like you’re just any other student, like he doesn’t admire you for your passion and intelligence. Like you haven’t been spending almost every evening after class with him instead of hanging out with your classmates, trying to make friends your own age. Like you don’t mean anything to him.

Mr. Hwang regards you for several long moments. You try to hold his intense gaze, to figure out what he’s thinking, but both tasks are impossible.

“Would you really put yourself through that for a grade?” he asks.

You shake your head slightly, but that stubborn determination doesn’t leave your eyes. “It’s not just a grade.”

His respect for you. The friendship you two have tentatively built over the past few months. That’s what you truly fear losing.

The seconds tick, stretching for so long it feels like torture. It’s so silent in the room you wonder if Mr. Hwang can hear how fast your heart is beating in your chest.

“Okay,” he says finally, sharply. “Fine.”

“Really?” You’re unable to keep the surprise from your voice, from your face, even though you try.

“If you think you can take it.” Something about his voice as he says it, the low baritone of it, sends a new rush of warmth to your body; this time descending directly between your legs. 

“Of course I can.”

No, you probably can’t, and you’re well aware of that. But his words sound like a challenge, and a feeling claws at your chest – perhaps your pride and stubbornness, or simply embarrassment, or something else entirely that you’re not sure how to name – stops you from taking the words back.

“Alright then.” He gives a short nod, and you’re unsure if it was meant for you or for himself. “Bend over the desk.”

Why is it that a simple order for him makes your insides twitch like you’re about to pass out? Your legs shake as you take a step closer to his desk, looking down at the papers and folders neatly on top of it. Drawing in a breath, you bend your upper body down until your elbows touch the dark wood.

It’s only then that you notice your compromising position. Emily had joked with you about how the length of your skirts had gotten shorter with every visit to Mr. Hwang, and today’s pick was a plaid skirt that didn’t leave much to the imagination as it was. With you bending down like this, you can feel the fabric follow the movement, exposing even more of you to the professor.

The noise of his belt being removed only makes it worse. You shut your eyes, trying not to picture him letting his pants drop to the floor, trying not to think about how much you wish this is what was happening.

“Are you ready?” he asks, giving you one last chance to back down. You should take it.

You shut your eyes and nod your head. "Yes."

There’s a whistle in the air, and you let out a gasp as the first blow lands across your ass. Fuck. You’d seen it coming, and the fabric of the skirt absorbed much of the impact, but it still spreads the first hints of pain over your skin. Another blow directly under the first one, exactly where it should be. You clench your jaw, your mind flying back to childhood memories, to the last spanking you received at eleven years old – well over a decade ago, and yet you feel much more helpless now, a third blow of the belt making you jump in your spot.

The next one breaks the pattern, hitting on a diagonal angle right on top of the other three. It’s harder than the others too, sharper, slicing even deeper into your already stinging skin. You cry out, unable to hold it back, unable to catch your breath in time not to cry out again when the belt comes down on your ass one more time.

He sets a rhythm of harsh, punishing blows. They’re precise and calculated, deliberate, like he really means each and every one of them. Of course he does – when Professor Hwang sets his mind to something, he doesn’t quit until the job is done, down to the littlest details. And right now, he seems intent on making sure no spot of your ass is left untouched by the belt. He gradually picks up speed, until you’re unsure when one strike ends and the next begins.

It fucking hurts. It hurts so bad you don’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed when the fabric of your skirt slides up and out of the way, leaving your bottom and your underwear exposed to him.

The pain is even worse when the leather belt makes contact with your bare skin; sharp and blazing hot, like he’s setting fire to you. You’ve bitten the inside of your lip hard enough to draw blood, but that doesn’t stop the sounds being ripped out of you, whimpers and cries and something that sounds way too close to Mr. Hwang’s name.

He pauses, his breaths heavy behind you. You collapse against the desk, elbows no longer strong enough to keep you propped upwards. With your ear pressed against the surface, you can hear your own heard that thumps wildly inside your chest, all your senses concentrated into a single point in your body.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks.

His tone isn’t judgmental, but your mind still echoes his words from just a few minutes ago: if you think you can take it. You’re not giving up now.

“I’m fine,” you snap, way too breathless for the statement to have any real impact, although your stubborn defiance is certainly there. “Just fucking finish it.”

His hand, warm and broad, finds its way in between your shoulder blades. He leans in, puts his weight into it, keeping you firmly pressed down over the desk. For some reason, your instinct isn’t to squirm away but to push into the heat, but you can’t move much one way or another under his grip.

“Then stay still.” His voice is so much closer to you, making you wish you had the strength to lift your head up and chase for his eyes.

Half a breath after the words are out, he strikes you again; this time with his other hand.

You sob and buck against the desk, the legs of it scraping against the floor. You can’t tell if his palm is better or worse than the belt. The pain isn’t as biting, but it’s broader and warmer, sending more fire into your already burning flesh. And it’s then that you realize you’re pushing into it, arching your back as best as you can, tilting your ass up to meet the assault. Basically offering it on a silver platter, presenting it to him and his ferocious, punishing hand.

And you’re wet.

You can feel it soak your panties, so much that you’re sure Mr. Hwang will be able to see a wet spot on them if he looks for it. Humiliated tears rise to your eyes, leaving you in a tumbling sob, desperately seeking relief but not wanting this to ever stop.

“M-Mr. Hwang.” The next strike hits you way too close to your core, the tiniest bit of friction that feels like heaven. You hiccup another cry, tears falling down and pooling over the smooth surface of the desk. “Please, I–”

You don’t even know what you’re pleading for anymore, but the word continues to leave your lips, over and over. His fingers come down hard over the sensitive spot where your ass meets your thighs, and you wonder if he knows what he’s doing to you – if he knows you’re on the brink of an orgasm just from this, that if he touches over you even for one second it might be enough to push you over the edge. He keeps going, alternates between one cheek and the other, his open palm covering as much skin as it can.

His hand travels down lower once again, warming your thighs to the same blistering heat as your ass. “God,” you breathe. You hadn’t noticed how hard your fingers are gripping the edges of the desk, your knuckles white, as if holding on could somehow save you.

He pauses again, and you can’t tell if you’re relieved or disappointed. You feel yourself throb inside your panties, wet and hot and neglected.

“Count them,” he orders.

You wince as his hand hits a sore spot, on top of skin that had already been hit too many times. “O-one.”

He lashes again and again.

“Two, three– fuck! F-four– fuck, please. I can’t, I can’t count anymore.” You’re unable to think straight at this point, unable to do anything other than cry and feel and want.

“God,” he sounds wrecked as well and you can’t understand why; you’re the one who feels as if you’re fighting for your life. He watches you, and you can’t decide if you’re embarrassed at your own state, the tears on your face and your ass that’s probably bright red by now, exposed to the professor, or if you’re too desperate for a release to think about that.

“It’s okay.” His hand lands on your hip, but doesn’t strike you again. It only caresses, his touch feather-light and delicate, a stark contrast to the harsh blows. “You did good.”

The light touch is enough to make you moan, breathing a deep sigh of relief. His touch feels unintentional, like he’s mesmerized, not fully aware of what he’s doing as he simply as he tries to ease the sting from the spanking. But when he drops down to press a kiss to the back of your shoulder, his body heat enveloping you – that can’t be accidental.

You lean into his touch as best as you can, and that’s when you feel it; something hard press against your core through layers of clothing, his cock a perfect, undeniable point of heat against you.

Both of you let our a simultaneous moan when you rub yourself back against his length. You want nothing more than for him to split you open, to push into you without a warning, without giving you time to adjust. Not that you’d last a long time, but you’d let him keep thrusting into you, having his way with your body until he was satisfied.

His hand slides under your bodies, inside your underwear.

“In-ho,” you sigh, a weak sound.

The sound of his name seems to pull you from whatever trance he’s stuck in. He stops, fingers just inches from your clit, like he’s only just realizing he’s on top of a student in his classroom. You try to lift yourself up, to rub against him again, but he doesn’t move.

He pulls away from you, and you feel like you could cry again in sheer desperation. Instead, you just stay there against the desk, wondering what the fuck just happened.

After a few moments, he lifts you up gently by the arms, turning you around to face him. He smooths out your sweater, but he doesn’t look at you. Not even once.

“You can go now, Ms. ____.”

You look at him in disbelief – first at his face, then at the tent that’s still very much apparent at the front of his pants.

“But–” you stammer. “Don’t… don’t you want me to–?”

He’s back in professor mode, organizing his papers that had turned into a mess. Still not fucking looking at you. His hair, usually neatly combed back, is now all over the place, and he looks like he’s about to break down himself.

“I’ll take care of the… assignment issue,” he says. “Go back to your dorm. It’s getting late.”

You don’t dare to disobey, even when tears rush to your eyes once again. Maybe it was all just about the assignment to him, and you got it all wrong. Or maybe – the thought hurts before it’s even fully formed in your mind – he regrets everything you’ve done.

It’s a short walk to your dorm, and you’ve never been more grateful that your roommate is not around. You throw yourself into your bed, hissing as your ass lights up in pain. It brings up all the memories back at once; the crack of the belt in the air, his warm hand stinging on your skin, the outline of his cock pressed against you.

You’re still soaked when you bring your own hand past your skirt and into your panties, not bothering to actually take them off. Two fingers slide inside, instantly finding a spot that melts your insides and makes you clench around yourself. Your other hand grips your own hip, intensifying the pain there.

“Mr. Hwang,” you moan, just to say it out loud. Your thumb brushes over your clit, just a hint of a touch and you’re gone, coming so fucking hard around fingers you do your best to pretend are his instead of yours, just at the thought of him doing this to you.

You come down slowly, so dazed you can barely open your eyes, but it doesn't bother you. Your ass has gone from searing hot to a dull, lingering ache, sure to keep you hurting for days to come. Good. You fall asleep thinking about it, thinking of his voice and his hands on you, trying to live in those moments for as long as you can.

[fishoffontaine]

I made up a random game in my old school where you remove letters from your name every period (like 1st I'd write my name right and by 8th my 16-letter full name would only be my first name and the initial of my last) and get something that is at least coherent. I didn't actually have 16 periods in a single school day, so it'd span two days then reset. It used to drive my teachers NUTS, but they were getting good at it. Whenever i got lazy and kept using 'magi' and 'mS. hahah?"? No that's [me]. They also started telling the subs. My whole thing was that I unpredictable! So, I used the uncommon letters my name. One day I ended with 'FiSh' and it just... felt right. Y'know? Me and my obsession with the unknown (space & sea) just welcomed it right in. Online friends of mine started calling me Fish and using they/them on me too. It just MELTED MY HEART!!! 'Fontaine' was just a spur of the moment. I Don't know why the French word for fountain just spawned in my brain! 'Of' was a bad idea with it seeing how the two f's just collide together. BUT!! Chocolate chip cookies were made on accident! When a relative tried reading it she said it as "Fish off on Taine". I corrected it obviously. Now this got me thinking of a certain man, Hippolyte Taine, who was pretty important.

"Taine has been said by one scholar to have "forged the architectural structure of modern French right-wing historiography."" -Wikipedia

This new view meant I was a Fish off on Tain (as in his work). He inspired a bunch of great songwrites and writers like Maupassant, Zola, and Bourget. It fueled my completive side seeing how he was practically the forger of Literary Historicism. It's also where I got the putting a space before punctuation when texting or making small posts. When someone talks like 'How was your day ?' on a norm when they go 'Are you serious.' it just has a new layer of thought.

Wow that's awfully long !

If you want: @justletmereadmycomics @mr-payjay @randomgraycats and anyone else :P

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[lapdogchase]

on the topic of special ed. i specifically remember in 6th grade one of my best friends was in both the gifted-and-talented program (we were in the same group for english, we did secret book club together) and the special ed program, and. you know those like. stool chairs with round bottoms that u could rock back and forth on, for like, kids with accommodations for adhd or whatever, idk if that's universal, but they were widely coveted and you could only have one in a normal classroom if you had it on ur disability accommodations plan. but if you were in g&t you got to use them in the Secret Meeting Room where you'd do secret book club, right. and i kind of assumed the special ed room was like that too, like you get a bunch of fun items and stuff and everyone treats you like the smartest kid in the world. well it is Not like that.

but i remember one day specifically where my friend was having a really bad day and was on the verge of a meltdown and she was like hey can i take my friend with me to the isolation room. (it was called something like that, maybe solitary room? either way it was something that even at age 11 i was like. bro what?) and i was like. the what? and she was like Oh that's where you go if you're having a meltdown or something and you're in special ed. so we went down to the room and it was in a corner near a janitors closet and i'd never even noticed the door before. and we went in and it was this. narrow, brick room, probably like 7 feet wide and 15, 20 feet long? and it had bright fluorescent lighting that was still somehow jarringly yellow, absolutely nothing on the walls or anything, and at the back wall. one (1) singular bean bag chair.

and i was like. this is where they bring you to CALM DOWN????? and she was like. yeah you get used to it i guess. if you have a meltdown they lock you in here and then screaming won't bother people since it's out of the way. I have forgotten most of my memories from elementary/middle school but i still remember standing in the doorway to that room feeling. so deeply horrified by the whole thing. while my friend thought of it as completely normal.

and like. that same year, or maybe the year before, my little brother was in another school, and he was having a lot of meltdowns and Problem Behaviors (as they were called). and the staff would tell my parents "he had some Behaviors but we Restrained him and he calmed down :)" and. while i was a kid at the time so my parents didn't tell me most of the story. what i know is my parents almost sued his school (and would have if we weren't poor) because when they say they "restrained" him, they meant they locked him in a tiny closet alone until he stopped screaming and crying and hitting the walls. and he was a tiny fucking kid. he was like, 8 at the time? weighed like 50 pounds. my parents found out bc he was coming home with bruises. it's evil it's inexcusable and frankly i hope every adult who turned a blind eye to it dies.

and it wasn't just him, it wasn't just that school, i've heard so many horror stories from my friends who were in special ed & stories my parents have told me about their friends' kids & stuff i've heard online from ex-sped kids etc etc etc. like the way these kids are treated is like, near-universally horrific.

like, if you were neurodivergent in the way where you were "smart" and didn't bother or upset anyone, while it was Very Traumatic (for reasons that have been Posted about by many many people, i don't need to explain them here i don't think). we were treated SO much better than the kids who were in special ed, or who had impulse control problems or meltdowns or anything like that that Bothered adults. and those facts can and do coexist. and it upset me when i was like 15, bc i had that kneejerk "are you saying my trauma isn't that bad" sort of reaction, but like.

being undiagnosed neurodivergent came with its own trauma obviously. and being in the g&t program could be stressful and isolating. but at the end of the day, like. as much as it could suck. they were treating us like we were special, throwing treats in our enclosure, telling us how Smart we are and how we definitely have an iq of 120 or whatever. we'd have little snacks and learn long division and whatever. Whereas they were straight up abusing the kids in special ed. objectively the way they were treated was horrific and cruel and inexcusable. and far worse than the g&t program was. like sorry if it upsets you to hear that. but they weren't locking us in closets they were throwing pizza parties and letting us use the fun chairs. it's just not comparable at all really

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch 1

“For good service and cute waitresses”

pairing: pre military!jk x fuckbuddy!oc

contents: mild language, no smut (yet), fluff, humour, celeb au, very mild angst.

wc: 1.96k

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: if anyone wants to join pls comment!!

A/N: inspired by the iconic 97liner pics. Hi guys, this is my first id say, proper? fanfiction, im planning on making this a pretty long series ! also im posting smth i actually like, shocker! ive had secret fuck buddy oc x military!jk on my mind for so long and im so happy ive finished the part i’ve had in my notes for a hot minute! lmk what u think :> i also couldnt wait for the poll to finish before posting this haha, anyways enjoy and tysm 4 reading

masterlist | <previous | next>

The diner is quiet tonight. Though speaking too soon may grant you with a consequence, considering its only 6pm on a Thursday. You glance at the clock realising you have a long night ahead, and complaining will utterly make everything 10x worse. What’s worse is Nari is late to her shift like usual, and your boss’ constant singing in the prep room is sure to drive you insane sooner or later. He’s still humming as your scrubbing down the bar counter- its not like it needs it, you just aren’t in the mood to be scolded by a chunky, 40 year old man.

You don’t even realise you’re scrubbing the table even more vigorously when a combination of your phone ringing in your trouser pocket and a squeal of costumers sitting by the hibachi grill completely catches you off guard. It’s Hibachi night, and your day seriously couldn’t get any worser. You’re rolling your eyes at the family of three who barely pay attention to the chef cooking in front of them, with all of their phones plastered to their faces, and when they’re finally placed down to take the plate out of the chef’s hands and your sure you dont see a gesture of thanks, your grabbing your phone, walking to the bathroom and calling Nari.

“Nari! Where the fuck are you? Its Hibachi night, you can’t leave me here alone on Hibachi night!” You’re drawing imaginary patterns on the stall wall with your fingers, shuffling your knees under your chin whilst sitting on the closed toilet seat. Nari’s quick to apologise and tell you shes on the way, and you tell her goodbye before fixing your hair in the mirror and going back outside.

You know you’re in for a long night when a group of people enter the restaurant, your boss greeting them with his signature, annoying high voice, and you’re just glad you’ll have someone to share the misery with when Nari gets here.

“Y/n! Go and serve table 3, and put a smile on your face, they’re quite the group!” You’re pushing yourself off of the bar stool, quickly taking menus and sending your boss a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The oblivious man dosent seem to notice.

Dragging yourself to Table 3, the group of men are already seated, seemingly finding something hilarious though when you step into their view, it seems to die down. You’re flashing them a smile, quickly bowing before noticing that all of them are seriously attractive.

You notice the one sitting alone first, in the best way possible, his face is sweet. He has a smile which makes his eyes turn into thin crescents on his face and you cant help but smile back at him. He’s wearing a beanie, and his face is so perfect it’s hard to keep composure. The two sitting in front catch your eyes next, one with the most beautiful tanned skin, effortlessly masculine face which makes you wonder if he’d been specially sculpted and put on the earth to kill with his looks shoots you a smile. Finally, the last one, he’s wearing a bucket hat hiding some of his face, and he’s fiddling with his lip ring. He looks the youngest out of the lot, big doe eyes peeking through his hat and, he seems to be…looking at you far more intensely than the other two seem to be. His sleeve is slightly rolled up and you cant help but stare a second too long at the most beautiful sleeve of art adorning his muscular ar-

Seriously Y/n! Get it together, be professional!

You clear your throat when he smirks at you noticing your shameless gawking placing the menus in front of them “Hello, i’ll be serving you tonight, i’m y/n, can i get you started on any drinks?”

The guy in the beanie is first to talk, voice light when he asks for a beer. His grin widens when you look at him, and it’s easy to see why people would gravitate to him like yourself. He just has that charm.

Your heart beats a little faster when the one next to him interrupts the silence of you taking his order down, asking for two beers rather than one, his gaze is equally intimidating as it is intriguing, and you’re trying so hard to keep it professional right now, “Alright, and you?”

“Water’s fine for me, thank you.” You take the orders down quickly, sure that if you stood there any longer your heart would pound out of your chest. Where the fuck is Nari?

You turn to head toward the bar to grab their drinks, and you hear the faintest chuckle from the table. “Hey, don’t you need to see my ID first?” The voice belongs to the guy in the bucket hat—the one with the doe eyes and that unreadable expression. You freeze for a second, unsure of whether he’s joking or not. You glance back at him, and he’s staring at you, lips curling into a playful smirk.

You blink, trying to keep it professional. “Uh, do i?”

He leans forward, still fiddling with his lip ring, his eyes twinkling. “I look too young for that beer, right? You know, like one of those guys who gets ID’d for everything.”

His tone is light, teasing, and for a second, you almost think he’s serious. But then his friends start laughing quietly, and you realize—he’s just messing with you. You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips anyway. “Uh-huh. Right, sure. Let me grab your ID then, Mr. Underage.”

The others crack up even harder at that, and he just shrugs, chuckling under his breath. “I swear, I get carded everywhere. It’s kinda embarrassing, but hey, at least I look young.” You smile and roll your eyes, walking away to get their drinks, but now, you’re trying not to laugh too hard at the mental image of him getting carded at the grocery store or a random café. But it’s no surprise to you, in fact his young face has you seriously considering if he was actually underage. Oh well.

When you come back, with drinks, you take down their orders for food, their effortless small talk and flirting has you feeling like they aren’t in no rush for you to leave them alone, but you remember that you’re at work, and go back to scrubbing the bar counters, but you cant help but glance down at their table every now and then.

By the time you bring out their food, the conversation around the table has picked up again, the atmosphere light and easy. You can’t help but notice the way they’re all leaning into each other, laughing over something you missed. When you set the plates down, you quickly glance around to make sure nothing’s out of place, and that’s when you spot Nari walking in. She’s just clocked in, looking hurried, but you can’t help the relieved sigh that escapes your lips.

You barely have time to throw the boys a quick wave before you head back to the bar, feeling the weight of their gazes follow you for just a second longer than you’d like. Rushing over to Nari, she’s changing into her work clothes before giving you a smile and opening her arms for a hug. “Long day already?” You groan, moving back after hugging her and fixing her hair which has moved in front of her face.

“It’s Hibachi night. Also theres a group of some serious fine men, look ove-“ Your eyebrows furrow when she follows your finger and gasps so loud you wince. “Shh! I know! But be quiet, they might catch us..”

The look on her face tells you she’s indeed not surprised about the way they look and rather “That’s the Jeon Jungkook, oh and is that- Kim Mingyu? CHA EUNWOO?!”

You blink. Then blink again. “Who?”

Nari turns to you so fast you think she might give herself whiplash. “Who?! Are you serious? Are you actually joking right now?”

You shrug, confused. “They just look like really hot guys to me… wait? You know them? Shit did you guys like-“ You make a hand motion which you hope she takes as ‘do a thing’.

She looks like she might actually pass out. “WHAT—?! Oh my god, I can’t do this right now.” Nari presses a hand to her chest like she’s physically offended by your assumption. “Do a thing?! Are you insane?”

You raise a brow. “Okay, so you didn’t. Then what’s the big deal?” She’s pulling out her phone, typing something into google.

She looks like she might actually strangle you. “Y/n, they’re famous.”

You stare at her blankly. “And? We get a shitload of famous people here, whats the big deal?”

Nari makes a strangled noise. “And?! And?! You’re telling me you don’t recognize Jeon Jungkook—of BTS?! Or Mingyu from Seventeen?! Or Cha Eunwoo, literal actor, singer, face genius?!”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “I mean yeah, I guess i recognise it a bit but- Nari, you do realize I don’t live on the internet like you, right?”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “This is actually so embarrassing. You served them like they were just—regular people.”

You blink at her. “I mean, they are regular people?”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “No. No, they are not.”

You snort, glancing back to the table in question, The boys are still eating, but Jungkook’s eyes are quick to meet yours and you swear you see the corner of his lips quirk up like he knows exactly what your talking about. You will yourself to look away, and you see Nari sneaking pictures under the bar counter. “Well I guess it’s too late, I already treated them like normal guys, and they didn’t seem to mind.”

Nari doesn’t let up. “Okay, okay—since you’re so professional, why don’t you go check on their table? You are their server, after all.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re up to something.”

“Me? Never.” She puts a hand to her chest like she’s offended. “I just think it’s good service to make sure everything’s okay.”

You groan. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you’re still walking over.”

You mutter a few curses under your breath but do as she says, smoothing your hands over your apron as you approach the table again. They’re mid-conversation, laughing about something, but the second you arrive, Jungkook’s gaze flicks to you immediately. Great. Composure, y/n!

You take a deep breath before walking up, trying not to feel Nari’s eyes drilling into the back of your head. You’re just checking in. That’s it.

When you reach them, their conversation slows, and Jungkook glances up first, his dark eyes flickering to yours almost immediately.

“Hey, uh,” you clear your throat, gripping your notepad even though you don’t need it. “Just checking in. Everything good over here?”

Mingyu nods, smiling as he pushes his plate forward slightly. “Yeah, everything’s great. Thanks.”

Eunwoo hums in agreement, giving you a polite smile.

Jungkook, though—he doesn’t answer right away. He’s still looking at you, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass. You shift on your feet, suddenly aware of how intense his gaze is.

“It’s good,” he finally says, voice smooth but casual. “Didn’t expect to have someone checking on me so much, though.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Huh?”

His lips quirk up just a little. “You’ve been around a lot. Just saying.”

You blink. “That’s-… literally my job.”

Mingyu huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, barely a smile, but it’s there. “Fair enough.” He looks down at his plate, nudging a piece of food with his chopsticks before glancing up at you again. “But I don’t mind.”

Your breath catches for just a second before you snap out of it, nodding stiffly. “Right. Well. Let me know if you guys need anything.”

You spin on your heel before he can say anything else, making your way back to the bar—only to find Nari grinning at you.

“So?” she sing-songs.

You roll your eyes, pretending you don’t feel the warmth still lingering in your face. “Shut up.”

—

As the night winds down, the table of ridiculously attractive men finally finishes their meals, and you’re just about to go over when Nari beats you to it, balancing the empty plates with practiced ease. She throws you a look—one that’s way too smug for your liking—as she walks past.

You roll your eyes, pretending not to care, but you can’t help glancing over. They’re still chatting, laughing among themselves, but one of them—Jungkook—stands up, stretching a little before making his way toward the bar.

Toward you.

You pretend to be busy, wiping down an already-clean spot on the counter, but you can feel him approaching before he even says anything.

“Hey,” his voice is smooth, casual, but there’s a slight rasp to it. “Just wanted to leave a tip.”

He slides a bill toward you, and when you glance down, you realize it’s…a lot. Way more than necessary. Your eyes flicker back to him, skeptical. “This is kind of excessive, don’t you think?”

Jungkook shrugs, resting his arms against the counter, tattoos peeking out beneath his sleeve. “Service was good.”

You huff a small laugh, shaking your head. “You barely let me serve you. Nari took your plates.”

“Still counts, doesn’t it?” He tilts his head slightly, studying you in that way that makes your stomach feel weirdly unsettled. Not in a bad way—just aware.

You narrow your eyes at him, playful. “You do this everywhere you go?”

“What? Tip?”

“No.” You lean a little closer. “Flirt.”

Jungkook grins, running his tongue over his lip ring before speaking. “Only when the waitress is cute.”

Oh.

You open your mouth to respond—to throw back something equally teasing—but before you can, Mingyu calls his name from the entrance, signaling that they’re leaving. Jungkook glances over his shoulder, then back at you, his grin softening just a little.

“See you around?” he says, and you’re not even sure if it’s a question or a statement.

You don’t answer immediately, just biting back a smile as you watch him walk away. And when you finally glance down at the tip he left, there’s a note scribbled onto the bill:

“For good service. And cute waitresses.”

Maybe work wasn’t so bad tonight.

[starsinthesky5]

what about joe? is he mr. possessive too?

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

oh, absolutely. joe is just as possessive, if not more. i mean, look at who he's with? millions of men and women had their hearts broken the moment the first photo of joe and her surfaced. plenty of people want her, but they just can’t have her…and joe makes sure of that ;)

the difference is that while she wears her possessiveness and jealousy like a statement piece--subtle but unmistakable--joe’s possessiveness is quieter, more controlled. but don’t get me wrong, it’s there, bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to show itself. he was always, and i mean always calm, cool, and collected. on and off the field.

like when some random guy gets a little too comfortable in her space, touching her arm when he laughs at something she said, or leaning in just a little too close. joe doesn’t make a scene, doesn’t immediately pull her away, but his hand finds the small of her back, fingers spreading wide across her skin. he does that to not only calm himself, but calm her in case she ever felt uncomfortable from any of the attention she received, and sometimes she did. sometimes the looks would linger a second longer than they were meant to, sometimes a touch felt more forceful than playful, and sometimes she could sense the unspoken intentions behind a seemingly harmless gesture.

and when joe noticed (which was always) his eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and anyone paying attention would know--he was warning them.

nobody is about to mess with his girl while he’s right there. nope. not happening. her comfort, safety, and happiness was his number 1 priority at any given time.

but he wouldn't always become possessive because he felt the need to protect her, there were some moments when she wore something that makes her look so good it physically hurt, and he believed that only he was meant to see her looking like this. he won’t tell her to change--he loves when she looks good, loves when she feels confident--but his hand stays on her, a silent reminder to everyone else that she’s his.

doesn't matter where, her hip, her thigh, her back, her arm...his hand is there.

and then there are moments when it’s just them--when the world fades away and all that’s left is heat and hunger and him. when he’s pressing her into the mattress, hands everywhere, touch burning and possessive. his breath is hot against her skin, sending shivers down her spine as he murmurs, "mine. say it."

but it’s not just a request--it’s a demand.

his fingers tighten on her hips, holding her there, keeping her exactly where he wants her. his lips trace a slow path down her neck, his teeth grazing over sensitive skin, making her whimper. he knows exactly what he’s doing, how to push her to the edge before he’s even inside her. she’s breathless, dizzy with need, but he won’t move until he hears it.

"joe--,".

his grip tightens. "baby, say it,".

his voice is rough, wrecked, on the edge of losing control. she arches into him, nails raking down his back, eyes hazy with desire as she gasps, "yours. i’m yours, i promise,".

and that’s all it takes.

—

so, yes--mr. possessive is very much alive and breathing. and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

he never took it too far, never made it feel intimidating or aggressive. he was protective over her, and she was extremely grateful for that (mostly because her exes could never come close to how joe was so...man. does that even make sense? like 6'4, muscles for days, piercing blue eyes, and a smile that shined brighter than the rarest jewels in the world. like he was so man. so knight-in-shining armor coded). you know those tweets asking if a celebrities ex could fight because their significant other looked so damn gorgeous and the fans want a piece of that? well, prior to joe, her exes, no matter which one, would easily be mauled by the heard of fans that rode for her. they didn’t stand a chance.

but joe? oh, joey b knew how to fight.

oh, and he knew how exactly lucky he was to have stolen her heart, and she loved knowing that he never took that for granted. he was honestly wrapped around her pretty little finger, but in the best, most precious way possible.

his possessiveness came solely from a place of love, because joe burrow was not keen on the idea of sharing the best thing that quite literally had ever happened to him, with the entire world.

for example:

mr. possessive™ at paris fashion week.

—

she looks stunning. like, jaw-droppingly, heart-stoppingly, paris-just-declared-her-a-national-treasure stunning.

joe knew she would, duh. he’s seen her in everything, and more importantly, in nothing, but there’s something about the way she carries herself tonight--graceful, confident, walking beside him like she belongs on the cover of vogue--that has him feeling some type of way.

or maybe it’s the way everyone is looking at her that's affecting him--because everyone is looking at her.

the event is a who’s who of the fashion world, and they’re here as guests, dressed to the nines, mingling with designers, models, and celebrities. but no matter where they go, no matter who they talk to, joe can feel eyes on her. the cameras flashed like crazy when they arrived, the crowd buzzing with excitement as they made their way inside. she’s a star in her own right, and joe loves that. loves that she’s not just known as his girlfriend--she’s her.

multi-platinum, award-winning singer-songwriter. the pop princess herself.

like, hell yeah. he's her boyfriend if anything.

but with that title and prestige, those looks and eyes came naturally. one guy in particular--some too-pretty-for-his-own-good european actor type--has been looking at her a little too long.

joe notices it when they first arrive. then again during cocktail hour. and now, as they make their way to their seats for the show, pretty boy is back, standing just a few feet away, sipping his champagne and watching.

joe clenches his jaw, his fingers flexing slightly where they rest against her lower back.

she hasn’t noticed yet, too busy talking with the designer of the show they’re about to watch, laughing softly at something she says. joe loves her laugh, loves that she’s having fun, but it’s hard to focus when this guy is still looking at her like she’s up for auction.

and then--get this--he actually makes his move.

what a stupid, stupid mistake.

the guy steps forward, a confident smile on his lips as he says something to her in french--because of course he does.

joe doesn’t even give her a chance to respond. before she can turn to acknowledge him, joe is there.

his arm loops around her waist, pulling her close against his side, his hand splaying possessively across her hipbone. the move is effortless, smooth, like it was always meant to happen, but it’s intentional as hell.

she tenses slightly, finally catching on, and oh, she loves this. she doesn’t get to see jealous, possessive joe be so bold like this, but when she does?

it’s hot.

the actor’s smirk doesn’t falter, so either he was oblivious as hell or he had a death wish. "i was just telling her she looked stunning tonight,".

joe lifts a brow, expression unreadable but voice smooth. "yeah? you and half of pairs,".

the guy chuckles, clearly unbothered by the comment. "can you blame us?".

joe doesn’t answer him, because he's still seething about his smooth, buttery, alluring french accent (even though it did bother joe a teeny bit because of how he remembered her saying she thought accents were cute).

instead, he tilts her chin up and kisses her.

not just a quick kiss--a statement.

it’s sluggish, deep, possessive. a conscious show of who she belongs to. his hands slid up and down her sides, his lips mashed closer to hers, the soft sighs started coming from her mouth. damn.

when he pulls away, the actor is just...gone.

and she? she’s breathless.

joe smirks, brushing his thumb over her lips before murmuring, "you’re mine, baby. and i don’t share,".

she hums, pressing a teasing kiss to his jaw. "mmm. you like when they want me, don’t you?".

he exhales sharply, because she’s not wrong. "i like reminding them they can’t have you,".