#but ALSO being able to recognize when you are actually wrong about something

[manofmanymons]

One last thing about Kaito before I go to sleep is that like

As someone who grew up in a family of assholes who are allergic to admitting they're wrong about literally anything and would never apologize even if you held a gun to their head

It is very very special to me that so much of his character is based around screwing up, admitting he was wrong, apologizing, and then genuinely trying to be better

Being a good person isn't about never doing anything bad, it's about recognizing when you did something bad, feeling remorseful, and learning from it

And he's just

Such a fundamentally good person

Even at his literal absolute worst in harmony he still ultimately chooses to be a good person

Truly insane the way he is everything to me

[snekdood]

i think ppl want to tell themselves that my situation wrt to conspiracy theories is like... abnormal? when I feel like my experiences were kind of the average for regular people stuffed in the pipeline... I dont think people want to confront how normalized it is that even average unsuspecting left leaning people can fall into it, I mean clearly it didn't take a lot for yall to fall into it either- maybe instead of acting like people are inherently impure bc they got wrapped up in conspiracy theories we need to recon with and accept the fact that the alt right pipeline is a well oiled machine that knows how to suck in even the most self proclaimed left leaning person just because they dont know better. this is a matter of lack of education, lack of a warning that someone might try to convince you of this, what the warning signs are, what the dog whistles are, etc. I don't think ppl falling for conspiracy theories are exceptionally bigoted like a lot of people need to tell themselves, I just think ignorance or "not knowing better", if that sounds nicer to you, is just really fuckin easy to manipulate, esp in this situation.

[readwritealldayallnight]

I would love a take on boyfriend Ghost coming home to surprise you, but he finds your bed empty and doesn't realize that you are in his room in his bed. Thanks.

The placebo effect, was what he kept trying to convince you it had to be, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes and told him he was wrong

How else could one explain your insistence that Simon’s bed smelled so much like him, becoming your safe space when he was away on long deployments, when he only ever slept with you in your bed most nights to begin with

Hard to believe it was nearly three years ago now that you’d told your friend since childhood, Johnny, about how your search for a new flat was going miserably. You remember how he’d perked up and recounted with a mischievous glint in his eye about how his Lieutenant was apparently searching for a flat mate at the moment, someone who’d be looking after the place while he was away for work

Unsure about living with a strange man you’d never met before, but trusting Johnny’s judgement (though the way he seemed just a bit too eager about this meeting did kind of throw you off-) you had reluctantly agreed to meet with him and at least give the flat a glance before you simply turned him down

It wasn’t until you were knocking at the door of the address Johnny had written down for you, that you’d realized he’d never even given you the man’s goddamn name, only ever referring to him at Lieutenant or LT

Johnny apparently also failed to mention the absolute SIZE of the guy, his huge frame blocking nearly all of the light from behind him as he had swung the door open and stood in the doorway before you

In a slight panic, thrown off by the massive man before you and the way the butterflies in your stomach suddenly began to flutter at the sight of him, you had greeted him for the first time with a squeaky, unsure voice saying ‘Um, hi, are you the Mr Lieutenant?’ (something he has never let you live down since)

He knew then and there that you would be the one

Not just his flatmate (though what a generous flatmate he was when he offered insisted on moving all your boxes out of your old place and into his that very same day), but the one, something he reluctantly had to give Soap credit for, seeing as he was the one who wouldn’t stop talking his ear off about you

You would be his other half, his better half

And all these years later, the two bedroom flat truly only acted as a one bedroom, considering that from the start Simon was always falling into your bed with you at the end of each night, limbs tangled together under the warmth of a lovers embrace a thousand times more comforting than an actual comforter

Still though, that first time Simon had to be gone for work longer than a few weeks, you found the lingering odor of him clinging to his bedsheets to be one of the few things keeping you sane in his absence, taking to sleeping in his room for the time being, imagining that the pillow you cling to your front was a strong muscular arm instead, littered in scars and tattoos you feel confident you could recognize from touch alone

And when his long awaited flight back home to you landed a few hours earlier than expected, tires touching down in the dark, stillness of late night hour, he decided he’d surprise you and come straight home, rather than calling you to meet him at the base like you’d insisted, not wanting to wake you

Barely able to contain himself, he decided the elevator ride up to the seventh floor would take too long, take away precious seconds that brought him closer to you, and so up the flight of stairs he went, taking them two or three at a time, rushing to see the face etched behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, to hear the voice that haunted his dreams each night

Quietly as a man his size could, he crept into the flat, snuck his way into your room, expecting to see your sweet, sleeping form cuddled up amongst the blankets and pillows. But his heart dropped when he noticed the bed was still perfectly made, not a thread out of place.

Trying to remain calm, though his mind was instantly swarming with every possible scenario that could have taken place, he knew he saw your shoes and jacket by the door, you couldn’t have gone far… but where were you?

He glanced into the living room, wondering if he missed you sleeping on the couch after a long day, he poked his head into the bathroom, even went so far as to check the small balcony, but finally there was only one door left to open.

And there you were, safe and sound, a tiny ball curled up into the center of his huge bed, clinging to one of his old masks and holding it close to your chest as though it were a security blanket (you’d been sleeping in his bed so much you needed something that still smelled strongly of him, you were getting desperate)

Stripping himself down to only his boxers, he tiptoed towards the side of the bed, his mind finally feeling more at peace than he ever had, gently pulling the sheets back just enough for him to slip in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his muscular chest

Though it should be alarming to suddenly feel a pair of hands roaming over your skin, a body holding you firmly against their own, it’s as though your body knows who it is before your mind does

Any tension you were still holding onto during his absence instantly melts away, your own hands coming to land over top of his, giving a slight squeeze of acknowledgment, not yet willing to fully leave your half asleep state, but needing to touch him, to confirm he really is here

“Hmm,” You hum, voice groggy with sleep and a smile slowly stretching across your lips, snuggling further into his embrace. “You’re home.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in, wishing he could bottle up the scent of your shampoo and lotions and perfumes, if only to have something to hold onto while he’s away, understanding now why he found you in this bed rather than your own

“I am.” He whispers into your hair, sensing that you’re already drifting back into dream land, safe in his arms and his bed, knowing he’ll be there when you wake. He feels his chest tighten when he knows that you weren’t talking about the fact that he’s physically home, in the flat, but something more, something much more, because he means the same thing when he tells you, “You’re my home too, love.”

[libraryofgage]

so i wrote this yesterday and now it's become a whole thing

basically: Steve is actually smart but nobody realized it until he just fixes their various STEM related problems

anyway this is Eddie's very first experience with how smart Steve Harrington actually is

also please don't call me out if my physics explanations are wrong. just suspend your disbelief, i'm begging you lmao

also also, if you see any typos, no you didn't

---

"You're going to fail my class, Munson."

"Gee, no need to sugarcoat it," Eddie mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and avoiding Miss Chester's gaze. His eyes land on one of the posters behind her desk, a cat hanging off a tree branch. Maybe it would like to trade places.

Miss Chester sighs, looking pointedly at the desk closest to hers. She waits until Eddie sits on it, legs hanging over the edge. "I'm serious," she says. "You're going to fail, Eddie. I don't want you to, but there's just some...disconnect happening here."

He appreciates that she's not totally blaming him. Most of Eddie's other teachers would've been berating him for his laziness by now. This, among other things, is why Eddie likes her class even if he can't wrap his head around physics at all. "I don't know, Miss. It just doesn't make sense."

"So I'm noticing." Miss Chester leans back in her chair, her finger tapping against her desk. Eddie immediately recognizes it as the drum beat from a KISS song. "You know you'll probably be held back if you fail, right?"

"Not the first time."

Miss Chester waves off his words, looking deep in thought. "What do you think about tutoring? I think you'll do better in a one-on-one setting. If you understand the concepts better, I can start grading you based on the work you do with the tutor."

"It wouldn't be you?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly. He's not sure he wants some random geek tutoring him. Not that he has anything against geeks, of course, but he's never known one to talk in a way he can understand. They get all...technical and Eddie's eyes glaze over whenever he overhears their conversations.

"No, I don't have the time. But don't worry," Miss Chester says, smiling reassuringly before pulling her roster close and looking down the list. "The student I have in mind probably knows more than me, if I'm being honest. He should be able to answer any question you have."

"What student?"

"His name is Steve."

Of course, Eddie immediately thinks of that Steve. King Steve. Steve "The Hair" Harrington with his blinding smile that's always looked a little strained in Eddie's opinion.

He then dismisses Steve Harrington as a possibility and reviews the other kids named Steve at Hawkins High. There's Steve Paulson, Steve Meyers, and Steve Barns. Maybe it's Barns? He's the only one that Eddie could imagine being somewhat good at physics.

"Are you open to tutoring?" Miss Chester asks. "For one session, at least?"

"Yeah, sure, one session. Won't help, though."

Miss Chester smiles like she knows something Eddie doesn't. Which, to be fair, she does. She knows a lot more than Eddie in terms of physics, at least. "I'll set it up. Just come by tomorrow after school."

--------

On his first day at Hawkins High, Steve realized two things.

One, his parents weren't kidding when they'd said public school would be vastly different from the private group tutoring he'd received up to that point.

Two, if he wanted to have a good high school experience, he needed to be cool. And being cool, it seemed, meant not being smart. He didn't need to be dumb, but he couldn't breeze through his classes, either.

He's done a good job of it so far. He's bored beyond reason in most of his classes, sure, but he's also popular. Nobody bothers him or tries to copy off of him, and it's great. He can even swallow down the weird surge of frustration and annoyance and guilt whenever his classmates assume he's too dumb to be a good project partner, or when his parents ask why he isn't enrolled in AP classes, or when his teachers give him confused looks after he aces tests for a unit he seemingly didn't pay attention to.

Anyway, he almost rejected Miss Chester's request to tutor a student from a different class period. He was just about to say he didn't have the time when she leveled him with a look so profoundly hopeful that he just couldn't. So, Steve said yes and now he's hesitating outside the physics classroom.

What if the student inside uses this against him? Steve thinks he could play it off, maybe convince his friends that the kid is lying, but he's not sure. Nothing dire would happen, but Steve would have to reorient himself to a new place on the social ladder, and that sounds exhausting.

"Just get it over with," he mumbles. Then, before he can chicken out and just leave the other student hanging, he opens the door and steps into the classroom.

Miss Chester isn't there. Steve knew she wouldn't be. She'd said something about a department meeting that would take her time but leave them with the classroom to themselves.

The only other person in the room is Eddie Munson, bent over a notebook and furiously scribbling on the page. He looks up when the door opens and freezes at the sight of Steve. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Eddie breaks the silence by asking, "What, get lost on your way to the locker room, Harrington?"

Steve blinks, frowns slightly, and takes a deep breath. Okay. Fine. Eddie Munson it is. "Nope. Miss Chester asked me to tutor you," he says, because that's the only reason another student would be in this room after school has let out.

Eddie laughs. He nearly falls out of his chair with how hard he laughs. He's wheezing and clutching the edges of the desk by the time Steve moves another desk to face him and sits down across from him. "Are you done, Munson?" he asks.

"Holy shit, you're serious," Eddie says, his voice slightly strained and his face red from laughing. "No fucking way Steve Harrington is here to tutor me in physics. You probably don't even know what two plus two is!"

"It's four. Do you know what 12 times 40 is?" Steve asks, watching as Eddie blinks.

"I'm not a fucking calculator, man."

"No, you're not. It's 480, by the way."

"You could've just memorized that."

Steve sighs and reaches into his bag, digging around some before pulling a calculator out. He places it on Eddie's desk and says, "Ask me something."

Eddie looks at him like he's grown a second head but still pulls the calculator closer. "1,239 plus 378."

"1,617."

He watches Eddie use the calculator, feeling smug when his face twists into confused disbelief. He then puts the calculator down and frowns at Steve. "So you can add, big whoop. Doesn't mean you can teach me shit about physics."

"Won't know until we try," Steve says, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his chin in his palm. "So, what don't you get?"

"...All of it. Just assume I don't know shit."

"You don't know Newton's laws?"

Eddie snorts, looking back down at his notebook. "There's that motion one and the reaction one," he says.

"Right. Newton's first law and his third. What about the second?"

"It's just...some equation or some shit."

Okay, Steve is starting to get an idea of where things stand. He thinks for a moment before asking, "What kind of stuff do you like?"

"What?"

"What do you like?"

Eddie looks so shocked by the question that he doesn't really think before answering, "Heavy metal. And, uh, D&D, too."

Steve knows heavy metal is music, and he could work with that but the D&D Eddie mentioned might be better. "What does it involve? The D&D?"

"It's a fantasy role playing game. Like, using your imagination to go on adventures with friends and stuff. Needs dice to work."

Oh. Perfect. "Do you have dice with you?" Steve asks. After another brief pause, Eddie nods and pulls one out of his pocket. He passes it over and watches as Steve turns it between his fingers. "Oh, an icosahedron. Cool."

"A what?"

"Icosahedron," Steve says, looking at Eddie. "It just means a twenty-sided polyhedron."

Eddie still looks confused, and Steve is about to explain it again when Eddie says, "Just call it a D20, dude."

"Oh. Sure. Anyway, let's use this," Steve says, rolling it between his fingers before letting it clatter to the desk. It bounces a few times before settling, a 17 facing up. "Do you know what made it stop moving?"

"The desk. I'm not an idiot, Harrington."

"I didn't say you were, Munson," Steve replies, leaning back slightly. "Just...yes, the desk stopped it. This is Newton's first law. If the desk wasn't there, it would have kept falling until it hit the floor. It stopped bouncing because it lost power each time it hit the desk. An object, the D20, will stay in motion, falling, unless acted upon by another force, the desk."

"That...kinda made sense," Eddie says, blinking a few times.

"Great!" Steve says, unable to help the bright smile at knowing Eddie understood him. "Okay, for the second law, the equation is mass times acceleration equals force. Basically, the movement of an object depends on how much it weighs and how much force you apply."

"Aaaand ya lost me," Eddie says.

"Okay, uh, you fight things in that game, right?"

"Yeah, kind of the whole point."

"Right, yeah, and the stuff you fight comes in different sizes, right?"

"Well, an orc isn't gonna be as big as a dragon, is it?"

Steve isn't really sure what an orc is, but he nods anyway. "Right. So if you want to move a dragon, you need to land a stronger hit than you would need for an orc."

"Duh. You're not gonna fell a dragon with a basic cantrip."

"Not sure what that is, but yeah. For this example, moving, or defeating, an object, or a dragon that weighs more than an orc, relies on how much force you apply, which is the strength you use."

"Oh. So, because an orc weighs less, I don't need as much force to defeat it," Eddie says, grinning as he fidgets with his pencil. "This doesn't really sound like math, though."

Steve shrugs. "We'll get to the math part later. Right now is basics. You need to understand those to do more complicated stuff. So, the third law, this is the action-reaction law. Music might be better for it. What happens when you strum a guitar?"

"It...makes a sound. Because it's an instrument."

"Well, yeah, but do you understand how the sound is being made."

"By...strumming it?"

"Yeah, that's part of it. Sounds are vibrations in the air that we can understand. If you touch your throat while talking, you'll feel your voice box, your larynx, vibrate to make the sound of you talking."

He waits as Eddie does exactly that. While holding his fingers to his throat, Eddie says, "Didn't know it was called a larynx. Oh, fuck, yeah, there are vibrations."

Steve nods, waiting patiently as Eddie hums for a few minutes before looking back at him. "So, vibrations. Instruments make sound because playing them causes vibrations. When you strum a guitar, the strings rapidly move back and forth, and that movement is translated into notes."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but yeah, I'm following you."

"So, the action of strumming a guitar creates the reaction of the strings vibrating. That action of the strings vibrating creates the reaction of air rippling, and those ripples create the reaction of audible noise. Did that make sense?"

"Yeah. It did," Eddie says, his voice soft as he stares at Steve like he's really seeing him for the first time.

Steve shifts uncomfortably, unused to this aspect of himself being known so well by someone at school. He's almost tempted to end things now and apologize to Miss Chester for walking out halfway through a tutoring session. Steve is practicing the apology in his head when Eddie says, "Hey, by the way, sorry for earlier."

"What?" Steve asks, trying to blink away his confusion and failing.

"You know, earlier, when I laughed at you? Pretty shitty of me to do. So, yeah, I'm sorry."

"Oh." Steve stares at Eddie for a few seconds before his shoulders relax. "It's fine. I'm not exactly known for being smart."

"Why not?"

"It's just...easier to let people think I'm dumb. Most of our classmates look at me and think I'm just, you know, a typical jock. They don't expect more from me than that, and I don't expect them to look any deeper."

"Does anyone else know, though?"

"My parents and the teachers. And you."

"Well, don't worry, big boy. Your secret's safe with me."

"Big boy?"

"Don't like it? Would you prefer Stevie?" Eddie asks, grinning as he leans in and exaggeratedly waggles his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve can't help snorting at the sight. "Whatever. Just call me what you want, Eddie," he says.

He tries to ignore the weird swooping in his stomach when Eddie's smile gets wider and he says, "You better not regret it, Stevie."

[talkingattumble]

Hi guys! Here’s some advice from a cane user on how to spot a fake cane user/disability faker!

YOU CANT

You can not spot a “fake disabled” cane user. You can not know if someone’s “really disabled”, much less by just looking at them. Here are some common misconceptions.

“Cane users always need their canes. If they walk without it or put it away when it’s inconvenient, they’re faking”: WRONG! Many cane users are what we call “ambulatory” cane users. This means they don’t always need their canes to walk. I’m an ambulatory cane user, and I experience really horrible leg pain on the daily. However, I don’t always use my cane, and when I don’t need to walk or stand a lot in a certain place I don’t use it. And when I do use it, I may lift it off the ground or carry it in places that are sandy, gravelly, or otherwise hinder my cane.

“Cane users walk abnormally without their canes, someone who walks normally without their cane is faking”: WRONG! Many ambulatory cane users can walk in a way that seems “normal”. This doesn’t mean they’re not in pain, or not “really disabled”. This just means that their condition doesn’t cause a noticeable difference in walking, and likely manifests in a different way.

“Cane users always need their cane, someone who doesn’t use their cane at home is faking”: WRONG! Cane users may not use their canes at home, because at home they may be able to do things like sit down wherever and whenever, regain more spoons, and use other mobility aids. Additionally, some ambulatory cane users only need or use their canes when they are doing something physically taxing, like going on a hike or standing in a long line.

“My cane user friend told me this person looks like they’re faking, so it must be true”: WRONG! Being a cane user doesn’t immediately make you an expert on all different conditions and experiences. Your friend does not know the random cane user walking down the street, they are going off looks and stereotypes. Disabled people are not immune to being ableist.

“They enjoy their cane too much/they’re too happy/they decorate their cane, so they can’t actually be in enough pain to need a cane” WRONG! We’re people like everyone else, and we experience positive emotions too, even if we go through a lot of pain. To me, customizing my cane is like getting a tattoo or putting streaks in my hair, it’s a way of self expression. And we deserve to be able to talk openly about our full experience, which include the parts we’re neutral or happy about.

“They’re one of those cringey teenagers who name themselves arson and like dsmp, so they’re probably faking” WRONG! Do I even have to explain why saying someone isn’t disabled because of their name and interests is messed up and also stupid? Or did you already know that and just wanted to make fun of a disabled teenager?

“They’re too young to be using a cane, so they must be faking” WRONG! there are lots of disabilities or injuries that can cause young people to need a mobility aid. For example, I use a cane for my fibromyalgia.

“They only use it in private places, and never in places where people recognize them, so they must be faking” WRONG! In a world where anyone can just randomly take out their phone, take a picture of a cane user, and post them online to be made fun of, it can be stressful to use a cane in public areas. Also, they may not want people to ask questions, or they may feel embarrassed about it.

“I saw them switch hands, so they must be faking” WRONG! There are different reasons a cane used might do this, but I’m going to use my experience as an example. My fibromyalgia is not consistent. Sometimes one leg hurts more then the other. But as I said, fibromyalgia is inconsistent, and sometimes my other leg will start to hurt more or need more support, which is when I switch hands. And when both my legs hurt equally, I may switch my hand if it’s getting too sore.

“They told me they feel like they’re faking when they use their cane, doesn’t that mean they don’t really need it?” WRONG! Imposter syndrome is strong in a lot of disabled people, especially when for a lot of our lives we were told by doctors that we were fine and just being dramatic. Anxiety is also comorbid with a lot of physically disabilities, which only strengthens this. To add to this, something that I’ve felt and seen other disabled people talk about it, when their disability aid lessens the pain, they start thinking “well I’m not in that much pain so I don’t really need it” even though the reason they’re not in that much pain is because of the aid. I know it seems dumb, but imposter syndrome can be that strong and affects disabled people a lot.

“They don’t have a diagnosis, so they must be faking” WRONG! First of all, diagnoses are expensive. On their own they’re often already expensive, but counting the tons of tests you have to take to confirm the diagnosis? Absolutely ludicrous. Some may also choose not to get a diagnosis, so that they don’t have to deal with the prejudice and setbacks of being diagnosed. Also, some people use a cane for injuries, and for stress or fatigue related pains.

These are only a few of the things I commonly hear from fakeclaimers, and I wanted to just put out a reminder that fakeclaiming hurts the disabled community much, much more than it does ableists. Next time you see someone with a cane switch hands, or someone with a wheelchair stand up, or someone with crutches put them down, before you immediately call them out to a friend, take a picture, or write a post: does your fakeclaim rely on stereotypes? Are your reasons things that apply to ambulatory aid users?

If so, just stop. Be mindful. Please.

[actiniumwrites]

patches

synopsis: even though you’re both self-proclaimed enemies, they can’t bear to see you hurt. or in which, you show up at your enemies door all bloodied and bruised and they’re forced to take care of you

characters: xiao, gaming, alhaitham, and arlecchino x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, crying, enemies to lovers, some of them are kinda mean, extremely mild misunderstandings, probably swearing idk

notes: i’m in a massive enemies to lovers kick right now omg you guys don’t understand. this was also inspired by arlecchino’s voiceline from a heavy hit or something where she says, “wanted my full attention, did you?” she’s so fine i’m sobbing 😖

Xiao:

It was a relatively quiet night before you showed up at Xiao’s room at the Wangshu Inn. For the first time in a while, he had felt a semblance of peace. That was until the indistinguishable scent of blood forced itself in his nose and a weak knock sounded at his door.

Xiao opens it immediately. He doesn’t care to know who it is, but rather what they want with him at nearly three in the morning. No one ever bothers Xiao this late. Not unless it was serious.

“What do you—“ he starts harshly but stops mid sentence when he recognizes your face. You’re doused in blood, your clothes all ripped up. And god, you look so weak it almost makes him feel bad for you. “Get inside,” he grabs your arm harshly, but still manages to avoid all your injuries.

You start to speak, but your mouth is full of blood too. He can barely understand what you’re saying aside from a bunch of nonsensical, I’m sorries. And if your injuries weren’t enough to show it, the fact that you’re apologizing to him at all tells him something is seriously wrong. Most of the time you talk to him it’s a bunch of insults thrown back and forth, some even result in physical fighting. Neither of you have been able to get along for centuries, yet here you are getting patched up in his house.

Xiao remains mostly silent as he sets you on the counter and pulls out his medical supplies. First he cleans up all the excess blood with a cloth before tossing it aside and moving to work on the actual injury itself. You can’t help but watch him, feeling nothing but shame as you do. You couldn’t help it. There was no one else you could think to go to.

“You are unbelievably weak and irresponsible. It’s idiotic to think you could ever handle anything in this world, not even a few monsters,” he grumbles between stitches, “Pathetic.”

You just stare at him as tears well up in your eyes. You aren’t one to cry. In fact, you can’t even remember the last time something so bad happened that you did. But sitting here, terrified of the monsters that had you within an inch of your life combined with Xiao’s cold words made you completely shatter inside and out.

Quietly, you sob into your other half-cleaned arm, “I know. You don’t have to say it.” You begin to get up right after, mumbling about it being a mistake coming here but he pushes your knee back down before you can fully stand up.

Xiao looks up surprised from where he sits as he does, his hands drop the thread and needle against the counter. Without word, he stands up and furrows his brows. “I should not have said what I said,” he practically whispers, a twinge of embarrassment hitting him too. A darker look shades his gentle amber irises as he stares into yours, “I don’t entirely dislike you. As stupid as your actions may have been, seeing you injured makes me…upset.”

“They weren’t normal monsters,” you breathe out between the remaining sobs that still involuntarily leave your mouth. You know you don’t owe him an explanation, but you figured you could at least make it known you weren’t taken out by some random hilichurls. “I was down in the Chasm. Those…things weren’t anything like I’ve ever seen before. I didn’t even have time to react.”

Xiao nods and places the last bandage on your face, “You shouldn’t go down there by yourself. It’s too dangerous. The last time I was there I hardly escaped.”

“What do you mean?” you raise a brow, your interest suddenly peaked. Xiao wipes the remaining tears off of your face in silence before turning to walk away.

“Call for me next time and I’ll be there.”

Gaming:

Gaming and you had gotten off on the wrong foot when you first met each other years ago. As children, you always felt like he stole your spotlight and he never seemed to care. And as you got older, it never seemed to go away. You constantly bickered and loathed having to see each other whenever one another’s name was brought up.

Yet whenever you got hurt, he was always the first person you went to. Although normally, it was for small things like paper cuts and bruised elbows. Not for your face having a cut so deep you could barely see and an arm twisted out of place like today.

“Fuck,” you mutter as you bang on his door, hoping it was the right one. There was too much blood in your eyes. Every door in the village looks the same right now, and even if it is the right one, you aren’t sure he’s even home. “Please be home,” you pace back and forth. Gaming stopped asking questions years ago when it first started.

You were forced to go with him after a group of bandits had found and beat you up, taking nearly everything you had in your bag. Gaming had found you while on delivery, and like the sweet guy he is, he stopped and helped you even though you could both barely stand each other. He didn’t want to see you dead either.

You weren’t often hurt, but it became somewhat of a cycle whenever you were. You were a nice person, well liked by most, but you also enjoyed stirring up trouble and it often landed you in some pretty hot water countless times. You knew Gaming wouldn’t say anything to anyone or turn you away like other people would. And above all, you like the kinder side of him whenever he patched you up, which he was good at too.

“Gaming!” your fist pounds on the door again. It’s almost nightfall and a few villagers have begun staring. You almost go to knock again, but your body begins to give out. You mumble a few more curse words before the door opens and you fall forward, directly onto the very person you were looking for.

“Ow ow ow, oh my god my arm!”

“Sorry! Is that blood?! What happened to you?”

“I don’t know! Ask the guys who thought my joke wasn’t funny.”

Gaming picks you up off the floor in a state of panic and rushes you to the bathroom. Luckily for you both, his dad isn’t home to see all of this.

Gaming begins to wipe the blood off your face and examine the cut that runs all the way from your forehead to your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. “This is bad,” he says and begins rummaging through his drawers for medical supplies.

You scoff, “Yeah, you think?”

“You didn’t have to come here, you know. You should’ve gone to a doctor,” he bites back nicely. Sometimes you wish he would just be a little meaner to you. It was easier to hate him that way.

You quiet down and let him take care of your face, “I’m sorry. You’re the only one who I can actually trust to take care of me.”

Gaming hides a small smile while avoiding eye contact with you. Not that you could even see, but just in case. He’d never admit it, but he actually really enjoys when you go to him for help. He’s never resented you like you’ve resented him, but he never bothered to change it either. Somehow he hoped bandaging you up would make you change your mind about him.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, pouring disinfectant onto a small cloth and wiping the cut gently. You wince and he places a hand on your upper arm to silently comfort you, “If you want some good news, you don’t need stitches on your face.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, having always hated needles, “Thank god.”

“But you will have to see a doctor for your arm. There’s no way for me to fix that on my own,” he says bashfully, “I can maybe…take you if you’d like?”

You peer up at him, shocked at the question. Perhaps this could be a new start between the two of you, and you’re not so against it.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Alhaitham:

It’s pouring outside when Alhaitham hears banging on his front door. At first, he ignores it thinking it was just Kaveh forgetting his keys again and he doesn’t care enough to let him in. But the banging persists and then comes the faint sound of pained sobs.

He slams his book shut and groans as he gets up and trudges angrily to the door. He swings it open only to be met with the sight of you clutching your waist, barely keeping yourself standing as the rain envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper weakly.

Alhaitham scoffs, “Really? I’m not a doctor, go somewhere else.” He begins to shut the door, and he almost does so successfully before you collapse on the floor, blood beginning to mix with the puddle outside his door. And there’s a lot of it.

The next thing you know, you’re in your least favorite scholar’s arms as he carries you to his room. He sets you on a chair and you take the time to take in what his room looks like. It isn’t much different than you expected, yet you never thought you’d see it.

“Don’t move. I don’t want you making any more of a mess than you already have,” he sneers, walking off to the bathroom connected to his room to grab out a small bag of medical supplies. When he returns you’re blankly staring ahead of you, barely conscious as tears start running down your face. It’s like you don’t even know you’re crying. Alhaitham stares at you for a moment in utter disbelief before snapping in your face, “Take your shirt off.”

“Huh?” you snap out of your daze, confusedly wiping your tears as you do so. A few sniffles leave your nose as you do so.

“Do you want help or not?” he snaps again, losing his patience with you. He’s beginning to seriously regret not leaving you on his doorstep. You quickly follow his instructions, taking off your shirt to reveal a huge cut stemming from one side of your stomach to the other.

Alhaitham’s eyes slightly widen in shock, and he almost can’t pull them away. For a brief moment, you even catch them soften but it’s fleeting and doesn’t give you enough time to register that maybe the stoic scribe really does care for you, even just a little bit.

You both sit in complete silence as he begins working. You catch his eyes every so often, but he quickly looks back down at the injury before either of you can speak on it.

“Who was it?” Alhaitham grumbles as he finishes wrapping it up, his arms wrapped around your waist. The feeling of his hands distracts you from the question.

“What?”

“The people that did this. Who was it?” he repeats it, more anger this time around. You shake your head and look off to the side.

“I don’t know. It was too dark to get a good look at them,” you try to explain, but Alhaitham doesn’t have any of it. You’re not sure why, but he doesn’t seem like the normal him. The guy that normally finds any and every chance to torment you.

He gets up and grabs the bag, noting something down on a nearby piece of paper and shoving it in the left pocket of his pants before angrily walking out the door of his bedroom, “I’ll be back.”

“Wait! Don’t go,” Your hand reaches out and grabs his. You pull back suddenly, not realizing how impulsive your decision was until it was too late. You go to mumble a sorry, but before you can, you find your hand back in his.

You stare at him in shock, but he just squeezes your shaking hand. “Stay here,” he says somehow both coldly and warmly at once, pulling the blankets back and gesturing to his bed, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Where are you going?”

“To deal with the people that hurt you.”

Arlecchino:

You wince as the door swings open aggressively, not expecting Arlecchino to open the door before you could even think to knock.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, squinting her eyes so as to scale you up and down. For a moment, they linger over your bloodstained clothes and the already bruising cuts that litter your body. You don’t notice the way they widen in shock for a moment, too distracted by the adrenaline wearing off.

You still manage to crack an arrogant smile and sarcastically mutter, “Couldn’t think of anyone worth patching me up but you.”

Without waiting for a response, you push past her figure and let yourself inside already knowing where the infirmary is. Although, you don’t make it two steps before your legs give out and your body tumbles toward the hardwood floors.

The clicking of heels stops from just beside you before a strong hand grips your arm and aggressively pulls you up, “Don’t dirty my floors. The children worked hard to clean those today.”

“Yeah? Well they can clean them again tomorrow,” you grumble and weakly attempt to push her hand off of your body. Arlecchino doesn’t budge, however. She instead drags you all the way to the infirmary and sets you down on one of the beds.

“Wow these are surprisingly comfortable. Didn’t know you had it in you to be so accommodating to all the children you like to hold hostage,” you tease to keep yourself from focusing on the pain. She ignores you and instead places a firm hand on your uninjured chest and slams your back against the bed.

Immediately, she begins working on all the little cuts and gently wipes all the blood away, saving your bigger injuries to be dealt with in a moment. For now, she didn’t mind if you suffered for a little longer.

“So,” Arlecchino starts after a few minutes of silence, finally deeming it worthy to have a real conversation with you, “was this your way of getting my full attention? If you wanted me to notice you, you should have just said something.”

“What? No! I got attacked, I wasn’t trying to ‘get your attention’ or whatever.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I really wasn’t,” you cross your arms and turn your head away from her, “I was scared, you know? I didn’t know who else to go to. Make fun of me all you want, but it’s the truth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t say anything more after the conversation takes its turn. You’re glad she doesn’t, not wanting to engage in the horrible embarrassment you already felt from having to show up here anyway. She was the last person you’d want to have see your weakness, yet here you are covered in the House of the Hearth’s bandages.

When Arlecchino is done with stitching up your leg, she moves to your face and gently brushes away the blood. And cut by cut, she heals each one and leaves you feeling brand new again. You stare up at her for a brief moment, unable to look anywhere else when the red X’s in her eyes are so focused on you.

“So who did it?” She asks suddenly, her tone a little more caring than before. It almost shocks you, but then again, deep down you knew she cared more than she let on. No matter how much either of you didn’t get along, you always had her back. Even if she didn’t know it. You always liked the think that she had yours too.

You sigh and scribble down a few names on a nearby clipboard left by the bed, “That’s only a few of them…the ones I was able to get talking before everything happened. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding their leader though.”

Her eyes scan over the paper before she glances back at you and nods. She begins to walk away but stops at the doorway and calls out over her shoulder, “I’ll be back in the morning. My room is on the second floor, last door at the end of the hall. I expect to find you resting there when I return.”

[innerfare]

Crocodile Relationship Headcanons

Summary: a random collection of Crocodile relationship headcanons

Genre: I don't wanna say fluff because a relationship with this man wouldn't exactly be fluffy, but... it's fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

This man is the human embodiment of a Lana Del Rey song. “You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million dollar beli man, so why is my heart broke?” 

On and off again. The man acquired a high enough status as a pirate to become a Warlord, may have been in prison a time or two before that, ran an underground crime syndicate, spent some time in Impel Down and fought a war, and then started yet another criminal organization in the New World, leaving him with very little down time. But you’re the person he goes to when he lacks confidence or feels a little too cynical about the world. 

Has fallen asleep in your arms a total of three times, but that’s three more times than he’s fallen asleep in anyone else’s arms (except for that time fifteen years ago when he passed out from blood loss after a fight and Daz caught him, but they don’t talk about that). 

Looks down on himself for being soft on you, like some sort of sniveling schoolboy. 

Considered poisoning you when he realized you had become his weakness, but decided against it because he’s not convinced it would actually rid him of the dreadful affection he feels toward you and would instead make the feeling more intense. The only thing worse than wanting to hold you in his arms is wanting to hold you in his arms but not being able to (this man thinks he should be able to do whatever he wants whenever he wants, so it checks out). 

Also only ever uses the word affection, and even then, only uses it sparingly. Would rather die than say love. Thinks it’s rather undignified for a man of his stature to love someone. Affection, though, is tolerable in small doses and with much secrecy. Will tolerate you calling him your lover but not saying you love him. It's a very fine line you have to toe.

Takes your security very seriously, but also knows you can fend for yourself; would never think fondly of someone who couldn’t fight their own battles. Not only would he not respect you, he wouldn’t much like having to worry incessantly.  

Doesn’t completely hide you from the world. Rather, he paints your relationship as one of business and uses this as an excuse to protect you like he would any other asset. It's calculated and cunning, exactly what you've come to expect from your lover.

Daz Bones is the only person who knows about your long history with Crocodile. Buggy thinks it’s purely sex. Mihawk has his suspicions, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Daz also doesn’t question Crocodile about his attachment to you, though he does recognize early on that you’re one of Crocodile’s handful of weaknesses and as such should be regarded as dangerous. Would kill you in a heartbeat if he thought you were a serious threat to his captain. Has most definitely had the, “anything you do to him, I’ll do to you,” talk with you behind Crocodile’s back. 

Crocodile showers you in jewels, some stolen and some purchased. He rather enjoys plucking diamonds off the necks of people he disdains and stringing them around yours, but he also likes having custom pieces made for you. 

Buys you a house on an island he has a firm presence on, a place to your taste and secluded enough from the outside world that you’ll be protected from prying eyes. He never tells you when he'll be visiting, just shows up and expects you to be available.

Shows up at your doorstep after Marineford. Doesn’t say much, just accepts a bath and warm meal and sleeps in your bed for two or three days as he heals from his injuries. You know something is very wrong when he doesn’t tell you his injuries are nothing. You also know it’s a very big deal that he lets you seem him in such a vulnerable state. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[hahniana]

Pondering on this more. Like ok for context my thing is set in like, 2015 (in a timeline where stone ocean partially happened but some Juri (RGU) shit happened to Pucci (miracle?) so everyone I like lives yay yay yay yay yay yay ya-) so uhhhh that means everyone from VA is like..in their 30s now. I'll need to wrastle with the idea of whether or not any of these motherfuckers experienced any growth or change to their worldviews since being teenagers. Tapping my foot.

i wonder if im willing to be brave enough to confront vento aureo's attitudes about drug use in my fanpart

[dollfacefantasy]

DARK SIDE OF THE MOON ♡

pairing: redk!clark kent x fem!reader x soulless!sam winchester

summary: your boyfriend sam has been acting strange lately. good thing your other boyfriend clark is willing to help you figure out what's going on with him. unfortunately for you, he doesn't get very far before he starts acting weird too.

cw: nsfw (18+), au, smut, mild dubcon, threesome, p in v, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, facefucking, overstimulation, praise/degradation, hints of asphyxiation kink

a/n: comm for my wife @fearcvlt. thank you to the anon who infected us with the sam-clark disease 🙏 also i know sam doesn't lose his soul till season 6 but it's my fic so this is early seasons sam. don't like it kiss me about it.

Sam has been acting weird lately.

You’re not sure what it is. You can’t pinpoint an exact detail about him that’s shifted. From the surface, he looks the same. He still dresses the same. His voice sounds the same. His hands and mouth feel the same. It drives you crazy, not being able to narrow down what you mean. What you know has changed. 

Because while the alterations are imperceptible, you know they’re real. All of that stuff hasn’t changed on a technical level, but to you, his girlfriend, someone who knows his very being like the palm of your own hand, it’s not the same.

Physically, he’s your Sam. The one you’ve been with since your second semester of college. His dark brown hair hangs too close to his eyes like always. The warmth in his hands radiates with regularity as they coast across your and Clark’s bodies. His words reach your ears in the soft, calculated manner you’ve come to expect from him.

But you swear on everything you have in this world, on both your lovers’ lives, that all of this comes with a new note of unfamiliarity.

While his appearance hasn’t changed, the way his eyes land upon your face has. His gaze feels cold. It nearly stings when it connects with your own. You may recognize his touch, but he’s rougher now. He doesn’t handle you like a cherished doll, nor does he explore Clark with his usual reverence. Instead he tugs and he grabs. His fingers dig into flesh harder than ever before. Scratches and bruises litter the two of you after a night spent together. And while his voice rings out just like it did when you met him in your first criminal justice class all those years ago, the tender embellishments in his sentences have vanished. Vacant silences lie where sweetheart and honey used to appear. 

You sound like a lunatic describing it.

“Can’t you just talk to him?” you plead with Clark for the third time this week. You attempt persuasion by flaunting your puppy eyes at him, but he just shakes his head.

He stands before the full length mirror in the corner of your bedroom while pulling on his shirt. The hazy morning light shines through the nearby window onto his physique, highlighting the contours of muscle decorating his abdomen before they’re covered up by the scarlet sweater he chooses to wear today.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, baby,” he responds, gazing at you through the reflection.

You boost yourself off your mattress where you’d been sprawled out. Approaching him from behind, you snake your arms around his waist and press your cheek to his firm back. He doesn’t have to face you to know the pout that’s taken residence on your lips.

“Well, I can’t think of everything,” you huff, “Just maybe see if something’s wrong. Like maybe we did something and we don’t know-”

“You’re overthinking,” he cuts in while fastening his belt into place.

“You don’t know that because you’ve never actually asked. Maybe he feels like he can’t tell us what’s bothering him for some reason. Or it could be like a guy thing. He blows me off whenever I try to help, so maybe he’ll be more comfortable with just you,” you insist.

He sighs and shakes his head again, reaching for the brush nearby. Clark’s hair rarely ever falls out of place. The only moments you can recall seeing him disheveled are those when he lays in bed with you and Sam, nude body coated in a light sweat and pressed against each of yours. Yet he tends to his black tresses more often than you take care of your own hair.

“It’s not a guy thing,” he chuckles, “He just doesn’t wanna talk about whatever’s going on in his head. You know how he gets sometimes. I’m sure he’ll bounce back soon.”

“But it’s been like over a month. Ever since he went on that trip with his brother, he’s been weird,” you continue, squeezing him as if that would somehow convince him of your point.

“You know his childhood is a sore spot. Maybe being around him brought up some bad memories,” he offers and shrugs.

“But he would have told us about that,” you refute.

You release Clark from your hold as he turns around, his outfit all ready for the day. As you look up at him, your eyes remain full of concern for the absent part of your trio. Your present boyfriend smirks at the worried expression before cupping your cheeks and planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“It’s gonna be ok, babe. He’ll be ok,” he murmurs.

You nod. “Just if you get the chance… please talk to him,” you try once more.

“I will,” he agrees. His hands fall to your waist where they knead the flesh lightly.“Try not to worry too much today, alright? We got that party tonight. You’re gonna look all pretty, we’re gonna have fun, and everything’s gonna be fine.”

He kisses you once more before walking towards the bedroom door. You nod in response to his words and force your shoulders to relax. The mention of his work party you were all going to attend later helps a little to distract you. At the very least it gives you something else to think about for the time being.

Before he heads out, you blow him a kiss like you always do. He pretends to catch it, flashing those fangs of his in a lazy grin.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says before finally leaving your view.

Despite your assurance to Clark, you spend much of the day thinking about Sam and possible causes for his perpetually sour mood. Unfortunately, you can’t think of anything that seems like a realistic possibility.

While your anxiety wants you to blame yourself, you really don’t believe something you did is responsible. And he had gone on that trip with his brother a month ago, but they’d been going on their ‘hunting trips’ pretty regularly for the last two years. He never got like this afterwards. Even when his brother annoyed him, he’d just vent about it to the two of you before letting it go.

You try to reason that law school might be getting more stressful. All of his free time not allocated to you and Clark, or to his brother in the Impala, goes to textbooks. He spends hours poring over notes and articles and journals. Maybe that’s it. You try to convince yourself it could be. At least until he and Clark come home for the night with hopefully a more concrete answer.

As the day shifts into evening, you busy yourself with getting ready for the party tonight. It wasn’t anything too fancy. Just some gathering the paper Clark now worked at was throwing. As a new hire, he was one of the employees being celebrated, warranting your and Sam’s invitations.

It’s around six-thirty when you finally hear the front door open. Two pairs of shoes shuffle in. Good. That means Clark met him on campus or Sam drove over to Clark's job after his last class. There would be plenty of time to talk over the course of the distance between your shared house and either of those locations.

You put your earrings back down on the dresser and approach the door, straining your ears in hopes of scoping out any tense silences or relieved chatter. In the kitchen, you can hear the fridge open and then close. A sigh. You narrow your eyes. Was it a sigh of tiredness from work or frustration at the other man? The words that follow answer your question.

“She’s just worried about you,” Clark says. You bite your lip, sensing this may not be going well.

“Yeah, I know. She doesn’t do a great job of disguising that,” Sam responds.

“Then just talk to her. It’s only still a problem because you’re being cagey.”

“I’m being cagey because there’s nothing to talk about. She’s looking for something that isn’t there, insisting-”

You step through the doorway and head towards the sound of their voices. Barefoot and with the zipper on your dress only halfway pulled, you enter the room to join them. Sam finishes his sentence as both his and Clark’s eyes set on you.

“Hi,” you interrupt weakly.

The taller of the two rolls his eyes while your other boyfriend raises his brows in acknowledgement before taking another sip of his drink.

“I just… heard you both talking and thought I should come in here…” you continue. It’s only been a few seconds, but already, it’s starting to feel like you should have waited for them to come to you.

You walk a couple more paces into the space, finding yourself standing equidistant from both your lovers. Your gaze alternates between them before focusing on Sam.

“I know I’m probably worrying over nothing. And I know you said nothing is wrong,” you say, keeping your tone as neutral as you can, “You just seem different. And maybe nothing is actively wrong, but I just want you to know if something happened or like if you’re thinking about something differently that me and Clark-”

“You’ll what? What will you both do?” he asks, “I don’t know what you want from me. Do you want me to make up some problem that doesn’t exist so you can feel accomplished when you fix it?”

“No,” you answer right away, hurt infecting your features.

“Then what?”

“I don’t know…” you say. Your resolve wilts away with each second his harsh eyes stare at you.

“Just stop then. Stop asking me to give you a reason, stop talking about me behind my back, just stop,” he rants, “Did you ever consider you might be projecting? That maybe something is different with you that you don’t want to accept.”

“What?” you ask. Your pained expression infuses with a bout of confusion.

“Think about it. Me and Clark, we know what we’re doing everyday. I’m going to school, he’s going to work. We have our plans in place. You? What are you doing? Ever since you graduated last year, you’ve been floundering, bouncing from idea to idea. Maybe you’re the one who’s fallen off the tracks, but you can’t admit it,” he accuses.

Your eyes widen. That statement cuts you deep, through multiple layers. It is the truth in a sense, but to have it thrown in your face by someone who supposedly cares about you hurts worse than you would have anticipated.

“That’s not true,” you deny.

“Yes it is, and you know it. You wanna blame me for how you’re feeling. You’re losing control of your own life so you want to find something you can fix,” he continues.

“Sam, stop,” Clark interjects on your behalf.

You just stand there, feeling even more lost than you had earlier. He was acting different. You were sure of it. But now you also feel like he maybe has a point. What if he is acting the exact same, and you’re the one losing your grip? Clark hasn’t been as concerned as you, and maybe that’s for a reason.

“What?” Sam says, his eyes flitting towards your other boyfriend, “She’s allowed to talk about me, but I can’t defend myself?”

“You’re not defending yourself, you’re attacking her,” Clark responds before sighing. He puts his drink down and walks closer to the both of you. “Both of you just need to take a second and calm down.”

In the pause that follows, the pain Sam’s words caused doesn’t subside. The throb only emanates from deeper inside your chest. You glance up at your darker-haired boyfriend before turning to the one you could barely recognize.

“I’m not trying to make you defend yourself. I really just feel like something’s been up with you lately. But if you say there isn’t, then there isn’t, and I won’t mention it again,” you finally say.

“There isn’t,” he tells you without more than a second of consideration.

Awkward quiet settles for more than a pause now. You’re not sure if you can just act normal after that, but you don’t want to create more tension by hightailing it to the bedroom. Both of them seem to go with the former. Clark meanders his way back to the counter while Sam turns and digs through his bag for something.

You decide it might be best to follow along. Swiveling on your heel, you walk away from the kitchen and down the hall towards your shared bedroom to finish getting ready. The silence no longer feels calm; it weighs down on you, pressing hard enough to crack.

As you dust powder across your cheek bones and eyelids, you force your breaths to remain even. You swallow hard to prevent your eyes from watering. The mascara wand coats your lashes with black that will stream down your skin if you shed any tears. For a final touch, you spread some sticky gloss over your lips, watching in the mirror how they shine with the glittery substance.

When your face is painted to your liking, you pull on a pair of tights under the crimson fabric of your dress and then sit on the edge of your bed to slip on your shoes. While fumbling with the one on your left foot, you hear another person enter the room.

Your pupils dart towards the door to find Clark there with a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he starts gently, “You almost ready?”

You just nod, not really in a chatty mood.

He returns the gesture and comes closer, approaching as if you’re a wounded animal.

“You look really beautiful, baby,” he compliments.

“Thanks.”

“Here. Let me help,” he offers and crouches before you. 

He takes your leg between his large hands, rubbing up and down over the smoothness of your tights for a moment. His fingers then fall to the sleek strap causing you hassle. He pushes the little piece of material through the metal clasp. Despite the size of his digits, they move with nimble precision.

“He didn’t mean that stuff he said,” he tells you, voice quiet enough that it wouldn’t leave the bedroom.

“Then why didn’t he come in here?” you ask. Your voice quivers a little bit. You know Clark hears it from the way his big, blue eyes lift to connect with your own.

“He’s just being pissy right now. But I know he didn’t mean it, alright? Neither of us think you’re off track, but even if you were, it’s not the end of the world. You still have time to figure things out. We love you either way,” he says, patting your leg. 

Almost as an extra gesture of reassurance, he plants a soft kiss on your kneecap. It’s intended to be innocent. Something wholesome to let you feel the pure love he’s trying to pour into you with his words. But you can’t help but feel a flicker of desire in your belly. The sight of it only serves to remind you of how he does that when he’s spreading your legs apart and kissing up your inner thighs to somewhere much more intimate.

“He’ll come around. For the record, he is acting different. It’s not just you,” he reassures, reaching up to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

The look in your eyes has softened from one of hurt to something more tender. You nod in response, and he smiles.

“That’s my girl. Don’t look so sad anymore. I wanna show off how beautiful you are tonight. Can’t do that if you don’t let anyone see that pretty smile,” he praises.

Your face lifts with the expression he describes. It only increases the curve of his own lips. He rewards you with a small peck. When he pulls away, you can see a splotch of lip gloss on his cupid’s bow. It’s tempting to try and wipe it away with another kiss, but instead you take the more effective route and swipe your thumb across the skin.

“Ready?” he asks and reaches for your hand as he rises to his feet again.

You clasp your smaller fingers around his and stand up. “Almost. Zip me up?” you say and turn to show him the semi-closed fabric.

He chuckles fingers finding the zipper and adjusting it for you with ease. “Always.”

You stand with your back pressed against the wall, drink in hand, eyes surveilling the room. It’s only around nine o’clock, but you’re more than ready to go home. You keep a smile on your face for Clark’s sake, not wanting to look miserable around the people he has to see on a daily basis.

The party isn’t even horrible. It’s just fine. The ritzy hotel dining room they rented out is fine. The music playing at a reasonable volume in the background is fine. The food is fine. The drinks are fine. The smalltalk is fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. It’s all fine.

Including you. You’re fine too. Not at all upset about earlier. The car ride here had been dead silent. No apology from Sam. Not even a word of acknowledgement. But that’s ok! You could deal with it.

Once the three of you had arrived and made your way inside, you introduced yourselves like you always did, clear enough to convey that you were all a package deal but vague enough to not draw the ire of less open-minded people. From there, you let Clark tell some stories about the both of you. You made sure to laugh at all his jokes, smile at him with the most adoring eyes, and sing his praises to any person who wanted to hear them.

After a while of that, he turned you both loose. You first grabbed some appetizers and a drink and then landed where you are now. Sam had trailed close behind you even though he still wasn’t saying anything.

He’s beside you against the wall. His shoulder leans against it, his body angled towards yours. You can feel his eyes drifting along your figure, but you don’t give in to the temptation of a response.

“You gonna freeze me out all night?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Do you plan on apologizing at all?” you ask, passive aggression lacing in every word.

He exhales a laugh and reaches for your face. His fingers guide your head, forcing you to look at him.

“Is that what you need, baby?” he mocks, “You need me to say sorry?”

You scowl and try to look away, but his digits dig into your skin. He keeps you right where he wants you. Leaning in close to you, his breath fans across your neck.

“Would it really make you feel better if I said I didn’t mean it? Would it really change anything about how you feel? I don’t think so,” he murmurs, “I think you’d like it more if I kissed it better.”

The low tone of voice combined with his proximity fires up that warmth in your tummy you felt earlier. You try to suppress it and maintain your glare.

“What are you doing?” you ask with annoyance, craning your neck for some space.

“What? I thought you’d wanna make up,” he says.

“I- It’s not that. We’re at a party for Clark’s work. It’s not like we’re high schoolers who can just go find some closet to make out,” you huff, “Plus, you definitely are acting different now. You’re always the explainer, and Clark is always the one who wants to kiss things better.”

That brings a small smirk to his face. “We can’t? Or we shouldn’t?” he teases. He moves in again, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I have been a little different lately. But why is that a bad thing? I feel great.”

“Yeah, but it’s not great when you’re being mean all the time now…”

“Mean? Or direct?” he asks, “I’ve never said anything to hurt you. Even when you think I’m being mean, I’m only speaking without sugar coating because I know you can take it. And I know that sometimes you need to hear it. You’re strong. Just as smart as me and Clark. You just need a little push sometimes.”

Your heart beats quicker in your chest. His words are one thing, but the way his rich eyes peer into yours are another. His thumb drags back and forth across your bottom lip now, almost as if coaxing some form of a response.

“It’s still mean even if you don’t intend it that way. It still hurts,” you say. Even if your face can’t move, your eyes fall. “I miss the you who wasn’t so sharp all the time.”

You soften your words, hoping to break the tough exterior that had shielded him for the last month. Though you see no change in his expression. No shift in his gaze.

“You’ll have to learn to love this one just as much then,” he replies.

It stings. The words slice like a blade. He doesn’t care about the falter on your face though. He ducks in, kissing along your jaw to your earlobe. A small gasp leaves you at the soft, wet touches. You squirm in place, nearly spilling your drink as the liquid sloshes within the confines of the glass.

“I can show you how. Just gotta let me,” he whispers. His hand falls from your face to your neck, wrapping it in a seductive embrace.

Your eyes flutter, and for a split second, you want to give in. His lips on your skin feel like traces of heaven. The soft words he speaks hit your ears like gentle caresses lulling you into compliance. But then you remember where you are and who you're here for.

“Sam, stop,” you whimper.

But he doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t just stay in place either. His hand tightens around your throat. It digs in a little, pressing you against the wall. You can still breathe just fine, but the threat of air loss is right there, teasing you just barely.

Your eyes widen now. Sam had never been so aggressive in the bedroom before, let alone in public.

“We’re here for Clark. You’re gonna embarrass him,” you remind.

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it,” he breathes.

Before you can squeak out any more words of protest, a large hand is curling over Sam’s shoulder and tugging him back. Clark looks at him with a raised brow before his focus shifts to you.

“I guess you two made up?” he asks.

You open your mouth to clarify with some version of what actually happened, but Sam cuts you off. “Something like that.”

He takes you by the wrist, spinning so that he’s against the wall while you’re in front of him with your back against his chest. His chin rests atop your head as his hands rub your arms. Clark looks on, almost suspicious at the complete flip in attitudes.

“So how much longer do we have to be here? They’ve already played ‘Mr. Brightside’ like three times. This thing’s gotta be winding down soon, and I’m pretty eager to get back so we can make up some more,” Sam says.

“Not too much longer,” Clark says, the words slow and edged with uncertainty, “I’ll start saying goodbyes.”

You nod gratefully, your appreciation shining through even without words. Sam smirk prevails on his face yet again.

“Sounds good. Just don’t take too long or we might have to get a head start without you,” he says. His tone indicates he’s teasing, but with how he’s acting, you wouldn’t put it past him to try something like that.

“I won’t. Just give me a few,” Clark responds simply before drifting back into the crowd to say bye to the important people.

He keeps his word and only takes a few minutes. If he had taken any longer, you aren’t confident you would have noticed. You feel like you have whiplash from the way Sam has latched himself onto your body. Earlier he spoke like he couldn’t stand you, but now he clings to you like he’d be willing to bend you over one of the nearby folding tables and bring some real excitement to this party.

You try brushing him off, redirecting his hands to places that wouldn’t earn you side eyes from your boyfriend’s colleagues. He’s not interested though. Every few seconds it feels like he’s nuzzling into your neck or smoothing his hands over your sides.

“Sam, quit it,” you whisper.

“Why? I don’t need Clark’s hearing to know how fast your heart is going. I know you like it,” he purrs.

The best you can hope for is guiding him to the exit and letting Clark meet you there. When the man in question finally does make his way in your direction, you can see a bit of frustration on his face. Annoyance gleams from his eyes as they sweep over how Sam holds you like a territorial dog with a chew toy.

You want to apologize. You hate when Clark isn’t happy with you, and you really don’t want to end the day having fought with both of them. But before you could get any words of remorse out, Sam’s already leading you through the front door. He keeps a tight grip on your wrist, now allowing you even an inch to pull away.

Clark follows along. His hand lands on the small of your back. The faint touch grounds you a little, but before it can have any real effect, Sam’s yanking you closer, nearly causing you to stumble over the steps that lead you three into the parking lot.

The confusion that permeates your mind has now spread to Clark’s face and replaces his prior irritation.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, trailing behind in broad strides.

“What do you mean?” Sam laughs. He turns around, holding you close again once in range of the car. “You got the keys?”

Even though he does in fact have them, Clark makes no move to fetch the small metal keys from his pocket.

“No, seriously. What’s going on with you? One minute you’re ready to bite her head off for worrying about you, and now you wanna jump her bones in the middle of a parking garage?” he says, not letting up.

“I can’t win with you two. She doesn’t like it when I’m being serious, you don’t like it when I’m not. What’s a guy supposed to do, huh?” he says.

“It’s not like that, and you know it,” Clark challenges, “You have been acting weird lately. I let you deny it because I know what it’s like having to keep something to yourself. But pretending like it isn’t happening does nothing, especially when it’s affecting us.”

You stand there with Sam’s arm over your shoulders, looking back and forth between them. It’s not even an argument yet, but with a few wrong words, it would have no issue transforming into one.

“Please. You didn’t care how it affected me and her when you kept your secrets for years. So spare me a lecture,” Sam dismisses, “I don’t have some great secret. People just change over time.”

“Not so rapidly!” Clark fires back, “You went away for one weekend, and a different person came back.”

“I’m still me,” he says, “If you have such a problem with the person you think I’m becoming then maybe I’m not the only one we should be evaluating. Maybe something’s changing between all of us.”

You look at Clark with pure worry now. He hasn’t outright said it, but these words border on the worst potential outcome. Reaching for his hand that dangles off your shoulder, you give it a squeeze and gaze up at him.

His attention shifts to you. He smiles at the nervousness written all over your features.

“Don’t look so scared, baby. We’re not gonna break up. Unless that’s what you two think would be best,” he says. It’s almost a threat. He puts the power in your hands, but it’s not by choice. He’s not offering it to you. He’s forcing it between your palms and pushing your fingers to close around it.

“No,” you respond instantly.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Clark backs down, his voice dropping a bit.

“Then what did you mean?” Sam asks.

“I just want to know why. Why are you acting like this now? You used to be the reserved one. The one who was always careful about everything. You kept me and her on track. Now, you’re in there acting like a high schooler and making me look like an idiot, being all over her like that.”

“All over her?” he repeats with a chuckle. His arm slithers off your shoulders, leaving your skin exposed to the chilled night air. He takes a few steps towards your other boyfriend. “You jealous, Clark? Because as soon as we got home, you know I’d be all over you too.”

He scoffs and looks away. Truly, you doubt jealousy had been the root of Clark’s discomfort. You would’ve been irritated too if they started getting handsy in front of people you wanted to make a good impression on. But it was hard to not get flustered when confronted so directly. When Sam stalked forward like that.

The brunette slides to Clark’s side and maneuvers himself behind him. His hands flatten against his muscular biceps, rubbing the skin softly through his suit jacket. You watch as his lips brush the shell of Clark’s ear in the same way they had to yours.

“C’mon. You know I don’t play favorites,” he coos.

Your darker-haired lover has his eyes fixated on the car beside you three. You knew the feelings coursing through him right now. The same ones that swirled within you fifteen minutes ago.

Sam’s long fingers move South on Clark’s arms. The tips coast over his elbows and along his forearms before getting to his wrists. You know the exact sensation. Like little lines of fire being drawn across your limbs. Similar to you, Clark goes to resist. He just has the actual strength to carry it out.

He pushes Sam’s hands off and looks over his shoulder. “We’re gonna talk about it. You can’t keep avoiding it and expecting us to just go along with this forever,” he says.

Sam smirks at the assertion. He lets Clark move him away. You notice one of his hands slip into his pocket, but before the act can even register, it’s back out and reaching for your other boyfriend’s wrist again.

“We will talk about it. But not tonight,” he says.

The beginning of a disagreement begins to leave Clark’s lips. But the hand that had reached for his cuts his statement short when it flexes and spreads a thin band over his wrist. Clark looks down at it while you observe with confusion. But then you see a sparkle of red.

Your pupils dart back to Clark’s face. You watch as his eyes flicker with that same ruby color. His shoulders rise, and his chest puffs out with innate pride. He doesn’t have that sweet, lopsided grin; now his lips look sinister and menacing as they curl. You don’t even have to ask what it is. You recognize that look. You know the effects of red kryptonite.

“You’re such an asshole!” you explode at Sam. You step towards him, practically shoving Clark behind you. “Why would you do that?! You know he hates that stuff!”

Your arm swings forward, smacking at his chest. He just laughs and dodges your weak blows. “Calm down. He’ll be fine. I just wanted to help him unwind for the night,” he says.

You go for another strike, aiming for his bicep this time instead. Before your limb can connect, two strong arms have looped around your waist and tugged you back against a firm body.

“He’s right,” Clark chimes in. His chin hooks over your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck, planting kisses there that make you squirm. “I was letting you get me all wound up. Just needed to take the edge off.”

Without responding, your hands fly to his wrist, desperate to get the bracelet off for him. You’d only seen Clark under the influence of this stuff once before. You really weren’t eager to relive the experience.

But he’s quicker than you. He slides his arm away and spins you around to face him in the process. No longer does your boyfriend have his usual look that likens him to a carefree puppy. Now you stare into the eyes of a wolf.

“Clark-” you start and grab for his wrist again.

He laughs and lifts his arm in the air, dangling his hand a foot over his own head. Much too high for you to reach. Still, you jump and try to pull it down by his elbow.

“That’s not my name you know,” he teases.

You stop jumping and glare at him. “I’m not calling you Kal,” you say flatly, “Give me that. You’re not yourself when that stuff is on you.”

“I’m more myself like this than I am any other time,” he disagrees.

Sam comes up behind you and places his hands on your hips. “Come on. Don’t spoil the fun before it’s really started, babe,” he taunts.

“Get off,” you shoo and shoot him a harsh look as well.

None of your efforts have the intended effect though. Nothing you do intimidates either of your boyfriends whose frames dwarf your own against the side of the car.

“So angry,” Sam mocks. He ducks in and kisses your cheek while Clark grabs your chin and makes you look at him again.

“We just gotta find something that calms you down. You need to let loose sometimes. You’re always so worked up and high strung,” Clark says. He strokes your jaw as Sam brings his mouth down to your throat. He starts laying kisses there, the affection more intense than it had been inside the hotel.

His soft lips glide across your sensitive skin. He licks your pulse, scrapes his teeth over the thumping artery. Your breath hitches. They both can hear it. You know that from how Clark’s smile grows that much more smug.

“You know it feels good,” he coos. He leans in, teasing you with the idea of a kiss. His mouth hovers not even an inch from your own. The warmth of his breath puffs against your skin. With the slightest move the two of you would be touching.

“I can feel how bad you want it,” he murmurs, “So why not give in?”

“It’s not like you could get away anyways,” Sam whispers.

And you know it’s true. You can’t do anything they don’t want, especially not something Clark doesn’t want. They’re bigger and stronger. With Clark’s heightened senses, there’s no hope of hiding either. You know the smart decision here is to give in. To give in and then wait for an opportunity to get that bracelet off him.

However, you can’t even say this is a choice based solely in logic or survival instinct. You want Clark’s lips on yours. You crave more touches from them both. While your rational mind hates these versions of the two of them, your body doesn’t care. Your skin breaks out into chills while your heart rate speeds up all the same.

“You’re gonna regret all of this later,” you whisper to Clark, letting your eyes fall to his plush lips.

“Maybe. But I’m not worried about that. I’m living right now,” he responds.

He closes the gap between the two of you. A soft moan creeps up your throat, escaping against his mouth. You feel him smirk. The sound encourages him to deepen the kiss.

Sam presses closer behind you. He pulls your ass flush against his pelvis and kisses your neck some more. It’s like a flurry all around you. If any of Clark’s coworkers were leaving the party now, this sight would only add to the embarrassment Sam and you caused earlier.

None of you are thinking about that though. You’re completely wrapped up with each other. Your hands have found their way into the dark locks on either side of you. The left one grips Clark’s while your right extends back and tugs on Sam. Heavy breaths blow against your face from multiple angles. Large palms grope at the different curves of your body.

Clark reaches down into his pocket. His fingers fish around for a few moments before pulling out the small set of keys Sam asked about earlier. He pulls off your lips and tugs you to his chest away from Sam.

“You drive,” he says simply, sliding the metallic object into the other man’s hand.

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Seems like you’re more eager than me now.”

He doesn’t resist or argue though. Instead, he taps the unlock button and slides around the back of the car to head to the driver’s side. At the same time, Clark opens the door to the backseat and ushers you in with a pat to your ass.

“You had a taste of her in there. Now it’s my turn,” he grins.

The drive home was a quick one.

It felt like a right turn, a left turn, and then the car slowing as Sam parked it in the driveway. Clark had made good on his words. He took his turn with you. The entire time his hand was up your skirt, his fingers beneath the thin cotton of your panties, drawing little whiny moans from you.

When the vehicle finally came to a full stop, Sam cleared his throat to alert you and Clark. They spoke back and forth a bit, but their specific words eluded you. Before your mind could come down from the high Clark was working you into, they were hauling you inside.

Clothes came off along the way to the bedroom. Clark’s jacket pooled on the floor in the entryway. Your red dress decorated the bannister. Sam’s belt hung around the bedroom door knob.

Now they have you spread before them on the bed. Your panties have abandoned you like the rest of your outfit. You lie bare for their eyes. At the foot of the mattress, they finish undressing themselves. Sam’s in the lead, his fist already stroking his cock while he stares down at you. Beside him, Clark finishes shimmying off his trousers.

“Think it’s my turn again,” Sam says before getting on the bed with you. He takes hold of one of your ankles, pulling the limb aside to spread your legs.

“We can share now. I’m not feeling too patient,” Clark adds. He follows right along with the other man’s movements.

Grabbing your other leg, he pushes it farther away from the other as he crawls towards you. They both descend upon you in sync. With their broad frames, it’s a tight fit, but they manage to both position themselves at the junction of your thighs.

Clark looks to Sam with a big smile across his face. “More fun when we do it together anyways.”

Sam hums in acknowledgement. He stares into those round, blue eyes for a moment more before rotating them to focus on your glistening center. You’re thoroughly slick from Clark’s fingers in the car and all the attention they lavished on you in the parking garage. Two of his digits spread you open. They both gaze at your drippy entrance, your poor swollen clit.

“You don’t even need a warm up tonight, sweetheart. You’re soaked from a few touches,” Sam mocks.

“It was more than a few,” you whimper in defense of yourself.

“Either way… be grateful we’re so nice, willing to give you all this extra attention,” he continues.

“Yeah, especially when you were being so bratty earlier. Talking back, carrying on,” Clark adds.

You whine softly and squirm your hips in an attempt to speed along the teasing. Even with your pouty denial, you know how bad you want them. These words only add to that needy sensation in your belly.

“So desperate,” Sam croons in a low voice.

Luckily for you, Clark doesn’t say anything back. He must have been honest about feeling impatient because instead he just leans in and connects his mouth with your cunt. A sigh bursts from your lips and you tilt your head back against the pillows.

He boosts your thigh over his shoulder and holds it like some sort of handle. His lips kiss your clit a few times, mashing the little bud with their delicate, smooth surface. He then sticks his tongue out and drags it through your arousal. The tip of it sweeps up over your velvety folds and swirls around your button.

Your back arches off the bed. Sam grabs your thigh closest to him and takes it on his shoulder as Clark had done. He turns his head, trailing some kisses over your inner thigh. They start innocent enough, chaste pecks at the most. But as they get closer to your center where Clark is, they grow sloppier. You feel his tongue gliding around in figure eights before his lips engulf the saliva-traced flesh.

When he finally reaches your pussy, you whine loudly. Your eyes flutter, and your heels dig into their backs. They keep you pinned in place, not allowing you to squirm too much or to buck your hips in excitement.

“Good girl,” Clark breathes in a husky tone before sucking on your pulsing clit.

A sharp squeal comes from you. Your toes and fingers curl at the sensation. In the meantime below, Sam prods at your leaky hole with his tongue. At first, he uses broad strokes. He flattens the muscle against your desire-soaked entrance, lapping without shame or hesitance. You moan appreciatively, nice and shameless just how you know they like.

More juices seep out of you as they work you up. That combined with their spit has you thoroughly soaked between your legs. It doesn’t bother them in the slightest. You can see the shimmer of your essence on Clark’s jaw. His eyes are shut, his features relaxed as he showers your tender nub with attention. Sam’s head nods as he licks. It bobs lazily, his nose occasionally bumping Clark’s jaw. He also sports a peaceful expression. It’s the first one on him you’ve seen on him in weeks. He isn’t annoyed or tense or bitter. He’s just lost in the bliss of how good you taste.

Soon, fingers start to get involved. Sam brings his long, slender digits up to slither their way inside of you. He moves his lips North to get more room for them. Clark moves ever so slightly to accommodate him but not by too much. He’s close enough that his nose can still brush against his skin. Close enough that he still feels the occasional swipe of his tongue against his own.

You feel release boiling in the pit of your stomach. Sparkling bursts of ecstasy fizzle from there through all your limbs.

“You gonna cum, baby?” Sam rasps. He pumps his fingers in and out faster, curling them against your clenching walls.

“Mhm,” you force out. Your eyes screw shut while you nod, your head wagging rapidly.

“Go ahead, honey. Cum for us. Show us how good you feel,” Clark hums. He flicks his tongue at your clit just as quickly as your head moves above.

In a matter of seconds, you shriek. Your thighs quiver against the sides of their heads. You roll your hips into the pleasure while clutching at the sheets. Sam’s fingers dig harder into the malleable flesh of your leg. Clark latches his lips onto your bundle of nerves and works you through the high.

At the point where you would normally start to come down, they still haven’t let up. Sam’s fingers don’t recede any. They stay snug in your cunt while Clark continues to make out with your center. You whine. Your hips now buck with the purpose of getting them off. The motion doesn’t achieve that though. They stay right where they are.

“Clark-” you squeal for the main offender. Your eyes roll back and ragged pants of air puff from your lungs. You grab at the two mops of hair between your legs. “Sam...” you whimper with desperation.

Your pleas go unanswered at first. Clark chuckles while Sam grins against your leg. The latter continues to thrust his hand between your thighs.

“What’s the matter?” Sam croons, his brown eyes gazing up at you.

Words tangle up into a needy whine. You bite your lip to suppress the noise before attempting to reply with the sentiment you know they anticipate.

“It’s too much. Too sensitive,” you mewl.

As expected, they only look at you with patronizing smiles.

“Too much?” Clark repeats mockingly, “It’s not too much. You can take it. Can’t she, Sam?”

“She can take it,” the man to his left affirms before redirecting his words at you, “You know you can, baby. You know you like it. You just can’t help yourself. You always need something to whine about.”

“I do not! Ah-” you say, cut off by your own moan.

It’s the feeling of one of Clark’s thick fingers joining the couple of Sam’s that are already inside you. Your toes curl at the minor stretch you feel. It’s nothing compared to the times you’ve taken both of them at once, but still, it brings slight discomfort.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Clark praises as you lose yourself to the moans.

They both duck back in and work with their mouths again. The tips of their tongues brush against one another as they lap at you. Clark moves in impossibly closer, angling his mouth slightly to the left. It leaves him more open to Sam. It gives him easier access to the other man as well.

Sam knows it’s on purpose. This isn’t coincidental positioning. Clark can be just as needy as you. He just has an aversion to acting so openly pathetic about it, especially with red kryptonite on him. 

His head drifts a little more inward, bringing their mouths even closer together. Sam doesn’t hesitate before taking the leap. He tilts himself towards Clark. His tongue slides out against your cunt, but this time it makes full contact with the other man who moans at the warm, wet caress and reciprocates in full.

Your head pops up at the needy sound leaving his throat. You watch with lust-lidded eyes as their tongues tangle with each other against your folds. Their mouths are still touching your skin. The focus has just become split, flowing to all three points of your triad.

It helps to ease the sting of overstimulation that had been nipping at you. You’re able to actually make the descent back to a normal state of arousal. Reaching towards them, you lazily stroke Sam’s hair. You brush his bangs back from his warm forehead before swapping over to Clark and combing your fingers through his tresses that have become damp with sparse drops of sweat.

As they feel your touch, they become more focused on each other. It’s as if more subconscious parts of their minds understand you’ve been attended to. You’ve been sated. You’re not going to get up and leave, so it’s ok to play with each other a bit.

Sam’s the one to deepen the exchange. He draws his fingers that had gone still from the warmth of your cunt. They land on Clark’s shoulder, sliding up to the nape of his neck to pull him closer. Your other boyfriend doesn’t need to be told twice. He moves in for more, his nose bumping against Sam’s. Their breaths grow louder. You can hear every desperate inhale.

A low hum reverberates from Sam’s throat as Clark pushes him back on the bed. He kisses with the same overeager tenacity of a pup desperate for attention from its master.

Sam crumples on his shoulder, letting his back rest against the blankets beneath the three of you. You rise on your elbows and sit up, readjusting your legs. Your eyes trail over their nude bodies. They catch on the way Clark ruts himself against the crevice between Sam’s hip and the mattress. Sam’s flushed length stands stiff between their bodies, oozing the first beads of pre despite being untouched for the most part.

You’re only left neglected for a few seconds more. Sam manages to guide Clark’s lips down onto his neck. He then tilts his head back and reaches for your wrist.

“Don’t think we forgot about you,” he says with a small tug.

You follow along with the direction and scoot closer. Clark’s still got his mouth attached to Sam’s neck, kissing and licking at the curve of his throat. The recipient of the touches sighs at the dull sense of bliss it brings. Clark grinds himself harder against the bed, letting out a strangled moan before lifting his head.

His eyes are drooping with desire too now. The blown out pupils flit from Sam to you.

“We couldn’t forget about you, baby,” he adds, his mind seemingly just catching up with the words your other lover said.

Grabbing you by your waist, he drags you over Sam’s body and gets you flat on the mattress under him. You can feel the heat of his length against your thigh. Sam sits up beside you and strokes your cheek with two of his long fingers. He studies you for a few moments, looking at you with such intensity. Even in the heat of the moment though, you know he’s different. His normal reverence is absent. There’s hardly any affection in his gaze. It feels empty in a sense. As if his actions are guided by pure carnal need.

“I’ll let you have her pussy, Clark. Think her and I need to make up with something closer,” he says as his thumb pulls your mouth open by pressing on your bottom lip.

The plan receives no argument from Clark. It probably would have had he been the one resigned to your mouth, but he had no protests about getting to fuck you.

“Sounds good to me,” he grins and moves to kneel between your thighs. He tugs you closer by your hips, getting you in the position he wants. “You ready, princess? This won’t be too much for you?”

It’s not said with genuine concern. You’re sure the result would be the same regardless of if you nodded or shook your head. His tip is already nudging at your hole, more than ready to be inside.

You feel his cock sink in and split you open in time with Sam pushing his thumb further into your mouth. A moan bubbles up from you before you close your lips around the digit and suck. You shut your eyes too, allowing the physical sensations to overtake you.

Clark works himself in inch-by-inch. To your surprise, he doesn’t jerk himself all the way in, but he doesn’t go slow either. His desire rolls off him in waves. It’s only a matter of seconds before his tip is kissing your cervix and the thin patch of dark hair above his cock is pressed to your pelvis.

Sam pushes down on your tongue with his thumb. You continue sucking. Having it there soothes you in a way. It staves off any remnants of overstimulation, gives you something to focus on besides the thick cock stretching you apart.

But then he removes it. You whine. Moments after it leaves you, Clark draws his hips back and then slams in again. Now he’s set on picking up the pace. You don’t get a break. He doesn’t take a while to figure out a rhythm. He pounds back and forth, already settling into the one he likes.

Sam is rising up next to your head too. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s tapping the head of his dick on the seam of your lips. Your eyes lift to his face, which looks down at you with a condescending smirk.

“Open up, baby,” he purrs.

Obediently, your lips part. He thrusts himself inside with the same force Clark used on your cunt. You screw your eyes shut to try and repress the urge to gag. He chuckles up above, though it sounds distant to your ears. Being full of them on both ends spreads your senses thin. They try to keep up with everything happening, but they can really only catch the most intense pieces. Everything else blurs into a flurry around you. Clark’s needy grunts, Sam’s satisfied hum, the wet squelches coming from your core. All of it mixes together into a hazy bluster.

Sam’s cock drags over your tongue. It’s much heavier than his thumb. Warmer too. You suck on it all the same. You don’t use too much force or bob your head more than necessary. Even if his personality had been different as of late, you know what affects him on a physical level no matter what. You swipe your tongue over that specific vein and press up on the sensitive ridge that makes him buck. He hisses as you’re able to get him going with only a few small maneuvers.

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” he grunts. His hands land on either side of your head and hold you in place. “It’s much better when you’re using your mouth for this instead of all that worrying.”

As he grips your skull and begins rocking his hips back and forth, Clark rabbits himself harder into you. His fingers dig into you with such force, you’re sure you can feel the bruises forming on your skin. Normally, Clark was more conscious of his strength. He made sure to never pull too hard or hold too tightly. But when that little red stone sits strapped around his wrist, all concern for those kinds of things leaves his mind. All he cares about right now is the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock.

“She’s so fucking tight. Like more than usual. Thinks she likes us better like this,” Clark moans as he continues fucking into you with fast, needy strokes.

“Yeah? That true?” Sam huffs. He thrusts forward and drags your head all the way down on his cock. 

In place of an answer, you gag. One set of your fingers claws at the bedding while your other clutches one of his thighs. He holds you in place for a moment. You can’t breathe. Your heart pounds with panic while your pussy squeezes extra tight around Clark. You hear him whimper at the sensation. It sounds far away, fading almost.

You blink slowly. Your head jerks a little. It’s not a conscious choice. Just the natural survival instinct that drives you to fight for air. You don’t receive it at first. Sam keeps your throat full for a few seconds more before pulling out and allowing you to suck in a breath.

You cough at the sudden influx of oxygen. A few droplets of spit spew forward and flank his v-line. He pets your head, stroking you in a way that seems almost caring.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, “You didn’t even move that much. Kept nice and still like you’re supposed to.”

“Of course. She knows just how to take us,” Clark agrees.

“I guess that’s true,” Sam says, thumbing at your cheek before sliding his cock between your lips again.

He’s not as forceful this time. You don’t stop breathing as you suck and lick at him. He keeps his thrusts pretty shallow. One of his hands rests on the top of your head, maintaining contact without grabbing you.

Simultaneously, Clark’s cock throbs inside you. It aches with the urge to spill. His balls that slap against your ass feel tight, more than ready to drain into you.

Sam can tell he’s close from how hard he’s panting. He doesn’t say anything, just watches. His eyes linger on Clark’s hips as they lose rhythm. They buck against you, sputtering as the rush of release creeps up on him. Sam can feel it approaching for him too. He tilts his head back and lets his eyes fall shut. His hand stays firm on the top of your head, using its position for leverage to start thrusting with a little more fervor again.

You whine around his cock. The faint vibrations only serve to coax Sam farther along. Things feel more blurry for you than it does for either of them. While they feel the clear signs of their impending orgasms, yours arrives suddenly. It explodes within you, snapping like a taut rubber band. Your body twitches and spasms. You feel the urge to arch your back and buck your hips, but you’re stationary for the most part between them.

Clark cums after you. He bursts with a sharp groan. His hips slap against your ass, jerking you upward. He maintains the same firm grip he’s had the whole time. You feel the thick, warm ropes flood you in a few spurts. It feels good, relaxing in a way to know the end is near.

Then your attention is swept up by the man occupying your mouth. Another hiss zips through his lips before you feel the sticky heat of his spend hit the back of your throat. You swallow every drop. It’s not like you have much of a choice. He doesn’t pull out or give you any room to do anything else but accept it.

He holds himself there as his length twitches and then softens. When the pleasure has reached its zenith, he finally begins to slip himself out. A thin string of saliva hangs from your lips and the head before he falls from his knees and sits beside you. He watches as Clark slides out too. Unlike the man by your upper half, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he collapses on top of you.

His body heat seeps into you, his weight crushing your smaller frame. He nips at your neck. “See? It’s so much more fun when you’re not so tense, baby,” he breathes.

“Mhm,” you hum and let your eyes shut.

Sam sinks down next to the pair of you in bed. He doesn’t speak for a couple minutes. Wordlessly, he observes the way Clark holds you beneath him.

“You are much cuter when you’re tuckered out like this,” he says, his voice low and quiet.

You tilt your head against his shoulder and keep your eyes shut, a gesture to show that you’re trying to doze off. Your main hope is that they’ll follow suit. Luckily that seems to be the case as they remain quiet. You hear Sam’s breath even out beside you. Clark stays still on top of you, pressing a lazy kiss to your skin every so often, but it’s not long before you can feel those puffs of air become deeper and more steady.

Once you feel semi-confident they’re both asleep, only then do you open your eyes. As carefully as you can, you shift slightly and reach for Clark’s arm. You keep your movements slow so as to not wake either one of them. When you have his muscular limb held up enough, you hook your fingers around that bracelet and pull. With a little force, it pops free. You don’t know if it’s real or imagined, but you swear you feel his muscles relax.

From your spot on the bed, you toss it towards the closet. The farther it is from Clark the better. You suppose you should probably try to hide from Sam, but for some reason, you don’t feel like he’s set on using it again. Getting it off was pretty easy. Maybe he planned on you doing exactly this from the moment he slid that thing onto your other boyfriend.

Either way, you shut your eyes. You won’t let yourself sleep, but you can at least rest for right now. You and Clark could deal with Sam later. With one of them back to normal, you could figure out how to do the same for the other.

[narcjsistx]

𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 | OS

shidou ryusei x fem reader ; words: 1.0k (1086)

coming from this event, fourth day, 21/12

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

plot: during the christmas period it was normal for the association to invite the players, and their girlfriends, to organized dinners. shidou loves to show up at these dinners with you, where everyone asks you how you can be together even though you are so different

Shidou Ryusei is a beast, both on and off the field: the boy's sparkling soul is recognized by everyone in the industry, and his own fanbase boasts of having as an idol someone who is extremely unpredictable, but who always manages to shine. The beast has someone who loves him and with whom he is extremely in love, and that person is you. If he is a beast, you are an angel

If he runs, you walk. If you talk, he screams. If he shoots deadly kicks into the opponent's net, you move with unthinkable delicacy. If he has to be the beast, you are his guardian angel

The diversity between you is probably the thing that makes your relationship work, which experiences a new chemical reaction every day. When the world came to discover you, it was shocked to see someone so different next to the zesty demon, and many had bet that you would not last long, if not a few months. Evidently they were all wrong, because by now you had been together for a few years. The secret dates at the beginning of the relationship had turned into official dinners that it was the industry itself that invited you to. The association loved to invite its players, and consequently their girlfriends, to extremely endless dinners, with many special dishes and nonstop alcohol until the next morning

Christmas dinner was one of those occasions. The white suit and black tie highlighted Shidou's figure, who was forced by you to wear something more elegant than usual. Your long red dress had been chosen a few hours earlier by your boyfriend, who had the honor of being able to choose from the proposals you had proposed to him. Having got out of the car, at least an hour late, the photographers had been waiting for the scandalous couple all evening

It had become a habit to have all eyes on you, and god, you loved it now: seeing people's fascinated looks had become a priceless prize. At first, when it happened, you prayed for it to end as soon as possible, but Shidou had quickly pointed out to you that they were beautiful looks, and not bad ones: as a couple you caused a scandal, but in a good way. The glances increased your love

"Shidou, Shidou, here!"

"Y/n, a closeup for the local press"

"Look here, both of you!"

You were objectively loved, you were iconic, everything about you and your diversity was iconic. The only envious glances are from the other girlfriends of the players on the team, who have never had the same success as you. Aside from the always iconic entrance, the dinners are actually quite boring and monotonous: there is always the same group of players who are really friends, those who join but don't understand much and those who would gladly go to their house and sink into their partners' bodies. Shidou always created a category of his own, even if sometimes he was part of the last one. A few years ago he was the one who almost got arrested because he was about to beat up a butler who had been a bit too cocky touching you; in the last one he had made everyone drunk because of a game played by all the dinner guests, including the managers. And you, always at his side, tried to mediate the behavior of your beloved cockroach

"I wonder how she survives"

"They probably don't really have that much harmony, they just work"

Often, beyond the thousand compliments, you also heard these words. They were words that actually slipped by you, that occupied your mind for no more than two minutes. They were simply things that you considered false, because hell, you couldn't tell everything that happens between you. It would be too long a story and you would even have to invent terms that are still unknown, because everything that has to do with your boyfriend is yet to be discovered

The others don't know how much Ryusei is a lovesick person, and that he isn't afraid to show it. The others don't know how obsessed he is with your love, how dependent he is on it. The others don't know that for him, you seem to be his first in everything, even though he has an experience behind him that could be talked about for a whole week without getting bored. Others don't know how much he really cares about you, in a way that in the early days of the relationship seemed like who knows how many treatments before ghosting, but that is now normal and that you deeply appreciate with all your heart

Others don't know how much the situation changes when you are within the walls of your home, how he becomes the angel and you the beast of the situation: how you affectionately attack him every time he comes home or when he too has bad moments, since even though he is a demon, he remains a human, someone in reality much deeper than others might think

Others can seriously think what they want, you're fine as long as you know the truth. This is yet another trait that Ryusei has changed in you, he who has always been indifferent has taught you that you should care little about other opinions, the superfluous ones, because they are often made only out of malice. This was yet another difference, before the change

Maybe you're not really that different, or rather, you're convinced that you're not as different as everyone thinks: you balance yourselves in a way that you believe only the two of you can do for each other, alternating between heaven and hell

"Fuck everyone, as long as I have the chance to be with you I don't care about the differences. Love me as you think is best, I'll adapt to your way. We do what we think is best for each other, outside opinion is just a way to make us famous, right? If they hated us they wouldn't talk about us so much, but they obviously love us for being so interested"

There is no angel without black wings; there is no beast without a heart. There is no Y/n without Shidou Ryusei; there is no Shidou Ryusei without Y/n. As long as you had the chance to be close, to love each other, to kiss each other, you would never have cared about the differences that actually tied you together

TAG: @natmagaesp ; @kittenish0 ; @x3nafix

[tornioduva]

Dungeon meshi and body proportions

Ok, i'm feeling the rush i got from binging the manga this last week is starting to fade away, i'll be back to being a normal person soon i think. at least, that is before i find a new something for me to dive into uhuh.

Before that happens, i want to praise Ryoko Kui for one last think. The design of the characters!

For years i've expressed (maybe not so much online) my hate towards the "anime style", this homogenization of traits and beauty standards to an artificial degree, and the mass spread and consumption of it. yes, trends exist for a reason, this is not the first nor the last art current to be popular and i'm not the first detractor of one in history. I do think there is something uniquely harmful in this one though, and that is why i'm able to find the energy to be such a pretentious dipshit about it. That is a discussion for another day though.

All this to say that going through Dungeon Meshi and seiing these characters, plus (and in a way because of it) all the additional sketches of the daydream hour bonus sections, was such a breath of fresh air! (at least for what concerns japanese exported stories)

All i could say and praise in regard to character designs in general is perfectly expressed in this video, which i recommend you to watch if you want to hear my opinions (and the video author's too, uhuh):

I want to leave you though with at least one specific praise for me: Falin.

i've seen countless time people (online) just not understanding how people's body work, how much differences there can be and how proportions do distribute and affect the body. in anime I see a lot of short and tall people (mostly women girls) that share the same proportions despite their actual height, and that often leads to think "yeah, she is short" and than she's tall when around someone, or (most often) the contrary. same lenght of limbs, same head to body proportions, and little details like this.

Falin you can tell at a glance she is a tall woman before she's around anyone, even when she is standing near her brother who is taller than her.

Kui did her homework in studying bodies and variations, and, whether consciously or not, she differentiated her in body in subtle but fundamental ways: her head being slightly smaller than her body, the neck being fairly long, and her having somewhat broader shoulders.

I accept that there might be an element of suggestion at play here, considering also how she is dressed most of the time, but I really do think there is a direct effort at differentiation here.

This is the first time in a long time (in a series like this at least) where i've seen a woman carrying herself around others and the space around here kind of like a person like me, tall, would; at first i didn't think much of it, but then i saw her near other characters and....i don't know, i felt a warm, joyful feeling, seeing that i was right in recognizing that trait and being right.

I was especially happy in seeing her next to marcille. not so much for the height difference, but for how different they were in proportions and mannerism. A lesser manga i fear would have used marcille's body type and way of moving and interacting as the default for most other girls, but here she was uniquely herself!

Now, i could've used more extreme exemples to show how this author rocks in body types representations (while aknowledging there could've been even more diversification still), given there are far larger, taller and stranger women, but to me, nailing the little, most subtle details in such a chirurgical manner shows a greater level of mastery and comprehension. As such, Falin left me with a deeper fascination than most other characters.

Sorry for this wall of text, but i needed to let my happy thoughts go, so that i could be free again uhuh.

Feel free to tell me that i'm wrong, or that i should just accept anime media as is. i'm just really happy Dungeon meshi exists as is and i want Ryoko Kui to keep refining her craft, and drawing beautiful women and dwarves.

Plus, this was very much a stream of consciousness, i didn't go into technical details about what i think conveyed what i described, but if someone is interested, or does not get what i'm saying (while expressing it in a curious and gentle way, i won't respond to spiteful assholes), i'll be happy to make a follow up post in which i try to dissect this! For example, i didn't reread the whole manga to find examples of her, i just went to the wiki uhuh. in a follow up post maybe i'll try to go through chapters and pick more specific examples of her.

Anyway, have a good day!

[nekropsii]

ALPHA TROLLS RANKED BY HOW WRONG THE FANDOM AT LARGE IS ABOUT THEM:

This is a personal challenge, based entirely on my own experience and perspective, and also ranked from Most to Least Correct. I was bored, and thought this might be fun.

Putting this under a cut, because it's long as hell.

MEULIN LEIJON

People get her mostly correct, from what I’ve seen… Most of the time, fan content of Meulin is absolutely recognizable as Meulin, but her pride in her deafness + joy of learning new ways to interact with the world through/due to her disability is always removed, and I do not often see people tackle the Toxic Positivity aspect of her character. That seems less like character assassination, though, and more like a combination of people not actually playing through the Openbounds, people not being able to fathom disabled people (especially those who gained a disability later in life rather than being born disabled) being happy, and general fandom distaste for the idea of touching anything uncomfortable, especially when that uncomfortable topic is highly mundane, normalized, and potentially applicable to them or their loved ones. Meulin’s toxic positivity was, of course, commentary on Tumblr’s ecosystem at the time, so… It was much harder to touch back then.

ARANEA SERKET

People tend to get her general, broad strokes personality right, but unfortunately she gets treated pretty roughly for the crime of Being A Serket. People refuse to understand her motivations, and she often gets demonized for what she was doing around/during [S] Game Over, even though that was something she’d gotten pushed to and also was cool as fuck to watch. God forbid a woman do anything.

DAMARA MEGIDO

People are right about the racism, 100%. It is completely despicable, hard to look at, and extremely blatant. She does, however, have character outside of that. No, it isn’t “whore”, it’s more like “angry, dysfunctional abuse victim”, and she’s genuinely a very interesting and tragic character. But, again, people are right about the racism, so she gets to be placed way up here.

MEENAH PEIXES

She is such a chaotic little bastard. I love her. I really do. Please understand that she genuinely does not understand the concept of consequences. This girl didn’t have a Lusus, she didn’t have parents, it was functionally illegal to tell her “No, you can’t do that.” That would fuck up literally anyone’s moral compass. That’s not me hand waving away all the fucked up and bad shit she’s done, we all know what she did, but people tend to forget this aspect of her character and it pains me deeply, because it is a very genuinely interesting concept that I want to see more of. She’s capable of regret, we’ve seen her feel it, I just don’t think foresight is her forte. No one raised her to consider consequences, or help her experience them in a healthy way, because nobody raised her period.

Also, her ass is not butch, she is the girliest girl in the entire comic. She is about hot pink and glitter and kiss marks and unicorns and cute little puns and you will respect that. She is not masculine. Her ass is not masculine nor is she butch. Let her be her hyper-feminine self.

LATULA PYROPE

Please for the love of god there is more to her character than “Gamer Girl” and “Mituna’s Girlfriend”. You are falling for her fucking ruse. Please. Please. Please recognize that her entire character is about internalized misogyny, and being forced to overcompensate for misogyny in gaming circles as a gamer who happens to be a woman. Please. I’m begging.

KURLOZ MAKARA

His character is not that deep, it’s mostly just a string of events he is mysteriously, inexplicably involved with. The Makaras are extremely Function Over Form- their characters practically do not exist, they're mostly just plot devices that exist to push the story along. I'm sorry to Makara fans. You just invented a guy in your mind and decided he was real. He is also not that soft, though, and his relationships with both Meulin AND Mituna are not healthy. Hard to stop people from ascribing cutesy squishy lovey dynamics to random men who happened to have looked at each other once, though. Some people truly haven't graduated from 2012.

HORUSS ZAHHAK

I am begging people to consider that maybe the biggest issue here is not that he is “Bad Otherkin/Therian Representation” and is in fact maybe the fact that Hussie was actually making fun of Systems when he was writing Horuss. Because Horuss is canonically a system. He uses the word system. He uses the word switching. He uses the word host. He literally talks about his Plurality at length in extremely upfront, plain terms. I don’t know how him being “Bad Otherkin Representation” was and still is the main discourse about him. It makes me insane. That is a commentary that truly writes itself. Talk about having your priorities out of wack, honestly...

PORRIM MARYAM

No, she is not a MRA, she’s just a regular feminist who happens to live on a different planet with different politics and social hierarchies from Our Real World Earth’s USA. Whatever argument you’re about to pull out of your ass to say that she sucks is bad. She already explained what she meant by that, in more detail, very clearly, and she was right. Half the time she’s literally just giving you factual information about what Beforus was like, and literal plot synopses. She isn’t saying anything insane. She’s literally normal. I don’t know why people cannot handle or process this. Porrim has not ever said anything controversial. If you disagree with this you’re either misconstruing her on purpose or you fell for Kankri’s bait, and that’s just fucking sad at that point.

Also, she’s more than a sex object, and her tits are not huge. Honestly, half the shit she was saying was just “I am more than my sex life”, and so many people took that and made her main character trait her sex life. Just pathetic.

RUFIOH NITRAM

This man is a fucking war criminal and I will stop at nothing until he is behind bars for his crimes against Damara. Raging misogynist. Total fucking cunt. Just the worst. If I talk any more about this, this part will be 1,000 paragraphs long. But also, I’m begging people to recognize his relationship with disability, too. He was similar to Meulin in the sense that he didn’t mind his disability, and his biggest gripe with it was the way that Horuss tried to “fix” it… Which is an interesting way to expand upon how Beforus’s culling system is not only very explicitly ableist, but mimicking real world systemic ableism. I also want people to recognize that Hussie is actively having a conversation about the reclamation of slurs with Rufioh’s character, and how not letting people reclaim such language is doing nothing but giving the word power against them while stripping away their own personal agency. Rufioh’s a complicated guy, and he’s interesting and also the worst, and I am really tired of how he gets watered down to nothing but “Pretty Boy Victim Of His Inexplicably Psycho Ex”.

MITUNA CAPTOR

Holy Fucking Shit, You Guys Are Ableist.

KANKRI VANTAS

To this day I see people saying he was just Hussie making fun of SJWs. To this day. To this day people think Hussie was trying to make Every Tumblr Leftist look bad, and that he hates them Because They Are Leftists. When will people recognize him as a bootlicker to the oppressive class and the violently bigoted. When will people recognize that. When will people recognize that this is more of a commentary on the legitimate real flaws of Tumblr’s politics at the time. When. When.

When will people stop portraying him as a lovey-dovey Catholic Whore. I’m going to stab my fucking eyes out and then kill everyone in this building. Me when it's based and cool to ship an aroace character with a sexual predator. I GUESS.

CRONUS AMPORA

I say this with every ounce of sincerity I can possibly muster as a person: What the literal actual fuck.

[juicedaloe]

Mithrun and brain damage

I'm not sure if anyone is interested in this, but I wanted to make a post talking about why I think that Mithrun has brain damage from a traumatic brain injury instead of him being a representation of other neurological disorders or mental illness. I'm not that involved in the dunmesh fandom so I don't know how common this headcanon is, though I've seen a few people mention it here and there.

This is just my own opinion so if you disagree then that's fine. Some of this is just speculation and I can't say what Kui's intentions were. This post isn't meant to be that serious. I just wanted to talk about it and hopefully inform about how brain damage can affect some people in a way that I hope is interesting and relevant.

This will be kind of long because I like to talk so it will be under the cut. Apologies for the length and how much I ramble. Feel free to give input especially if I got anything wrong or if this is too confusing.

Okay let's go

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) is incredibly complex. The long-term effects of a TBI include a wide array of symptoms. Each injury is different, and some people can completely recover rather quickly while others can become permanently disabled, even for seemingly "minor" injuries. What I'll cover here isn't a definitive representation of the experiences of all those who have long-term effects from TBI, nor do I speak for everyone with brain damage.

Here are some long term symptoms relevant to this post:

Alexithymia (inability to process and name emotions)

Inability to process and name physical perceptions

Mood swings and emotional regulation difficulties

Communication difficulties

Social impairment

Apathy about caring for oneself

Lack of motivation

Alexithymia and inability to process physical perceptions

This one is rather obvious. While Mithrun is shown to feel emotions and have physical sensations (for instance, describing his location when he gets lost in the dungeon as "a cold place"), he is also apathetic to how this affects him. This means that his physical and emotional perceptions are reduced in some way. He says that becoming lord of the dungeon will leave someone "empty", showing he is aware of his dulled emotional state.

A good example of this is can be seen here in a bonus comic where he doesn't give much of a reaction to burning his mouth on hot food.

(I love these two a lot, by the way. Pattadol is really under appreciated.)

He is also not able to recognize bodily signals, such as hunger or when he is tired. Despite collapsing from exhaustion and not eating for long periods of time, he still insists he is not tired or hungry.

Mood swings

Mood swings in combination with alexithymia can be an especially disorientating experience. Those who struggle to perceive their own emotions can still feel them even if they don't know how to recognize it.

Individuals with brain injuries often experience drastic mood swings, particularly anger. To those around them, they can appear to go from 0 to 100 in an instant.

This is more speculation/headcanon on my part, as the strongest emotion Mithrun has for most of his appearances is anger. However one could interpret this as being unrelated as he is seeking revenge for a traumatic experience.

Communication difficulties and social impairment

Not only can naming personal experiences be incredibly difficult with a brain injury, but other areas of communication are often affected as well.

Mithrun is not able to set boundaries for himself even if someone is doing something he would not actually want them to do, which can leave him in a vulnerable position.

People with brain injuries can sometimes have a paradoxical experience when it comes to communicating with others. They can go from being very quiet to speaking at length about one topic, seemingly without regard for the importance of each bit of information. (I see it like Newton's first law of motion. It is hard to start speaking and it can be just as hard to stop.)

I really like this aspect of Mithrun's characterization. Usually, he is very quiet because he has no reason to speak. However, once he starts talking he is shown to be overly specific and goes on for long periods of time. Kabru has to spend multiple days figuring out his story.

In a side comic, Kabru tells Mithrun he should condense some of the personal details that Kabru finds irrelevant to the topic of the dungeon.

Mithrun shares many details about himself because his desire not to do so is gone. This mirrors the experience of many people who have brain damage to overshare and not understand how their words will come across to others. Sometimes they say or do things that are insensitive or inappropriate for the situation.

Caring for oneself and motivation

In the dungeon, Mithrun becomes reliant on others for self care. He also seems especially incapable of motivating himself to take care of his body when he is particularly focused on his goals.

In these panels, thus far he had been fairly receptive of Kabru trying to take care of him. However, he could sense that the demon was close and was too focused on that to care to eat.

Refusal of care and treatment is often an effect of traumatic brain injury. This can be for seemingly no reason, even if the person knows that this will help them. Sometimes people will lie about receiving treatment or doing things to take care of themselves, either so they can avoid it or avoid having someone take care of them.

He knows that eating regularly and not pushing himself too much will help him - he's been told multiple times on-screen - but he still has to be continuously told by others to give him that motivation to take care of himself. He's very apathetic to his physical state, even if it seems his only desire is for revenge and he should be doing anything he can to achieve that.

Other things of note

I wasn't sure where to put this, but while Mithrun's sense of direction is speculated by Kabru to be left over from his time as lord of an ever-changing, confusing dungeon, having poor sense of direction in the way he does could also be indicative of brain injury as well.

While the dungeon is confusing and illogical, he is known to have a poor sense of direction and to get frequently lost by those around him, even trying to exit an entrance he just came through. He is shown to be very intelligent, but memory is greatly impacted by brain injuries which affects a person's sense of direction and location.

Something that really stands out to me about Mithrun is how much the things that help him are particularly helpful to those with brain damage. He is physically capable of performing tasks, but he needs an outside source to remind him and get him started. He relies entirely on routine, and when that regularity is taken away he shows extreme difficulty taking care of himself.

Sometimes, the care that some people need is simply someone else to encourage them or to tell them when to do things. The care that he needs is pretty consistent with a person with a brain injury who does not need a full time caretaker and would prefer to have some independence.

Also, healing magic is specified to not work with brain injury unless the person is killed and revived. Mithrun had not been revived after his injuries, so it is entirely possible for him to have sustained a TBI. I don't think this matters that much because one is still allowed to have headcanons even if there is a magical explanation or isn't really possible in canon, but I thought it was an interesting detail.

In conclusion

Because of all this I don't believe that his lack of self care is due solely to mental illness. While mental illnesses like depression or PTSD can cause a decline in self care, the reasons why the affected individual is avoidant of these tasks differs. These disorders can also cause cognitive difficulties and emotional regulation issues, but not to the same extent or in the same way that brain damage would. I think that he does have both depression and PTSD (both are common after a TBI) but those are not his only disabilities.

And on a personal note, I just think that having a character with brain damage is really cool. Most of the time I've seen it the characters are not given very much respect and they are treated as comic relief and a joke. Regardless of whether you agree with this post or not, it is still nice to see a character with a disability like this.

Thank you if you read all of this. I hope it was easy to understand and I did not ramble too much. I don't have anything else to say but I've been wanting to write this out for a while.

Okay bye

[trippinsorrows]

through your eyes + au future

a/n: well, here i am, once again, with some smut for the hoes. 😭

masterlist

words: 2.7k // warnings: roman gets jealous and reminds solana who she belongs to. smuttttt. daddy kink. roman being mean.

The car ride is absolutely silent. The only sound coming from the auditory, muffled noises of city sounds that sneak past the closed windows and serve as a light backdrop against the void of conversation. 

Solana glances over at Roman and nearly melts into the seat. His knuckles are practically white with how tight he’s gripping the steering wheel. His chiseled, bearded jaw is clenched just as tight, and the tension—and anger—is radiating off of him.

He’s livid.

“Roman, I—”

“Shut up.”

And like a child who’s just been scolded for bad behavior, Solana does just that. She knows this tone of voice. Has seen it used with others, but never on her. Not until this moment. And it sucks. 

But, it’s also….also something else.

It’s annoying.

She’s annoyed. 

Roman has more or less ignored her for almost a week, and now wants to be upset with her? She gets why, but still. Maybe if he was around and actually had time for her, she never would have ended up in this mess in the first place.

It’s immature reasoning, almost. She recognizes this. But, it’s just how she feels.

And it’s better and easier for her to feel and think about that vs just how damn good Roman looks right now, even if he is at level 10. He still looks good. Too good.

Roman remains silent for the duration of the ride as Solana focuses on the passing scenery vs the man next to her who has her thinking inappropriate thoughts given the situation they’re in.

And when they pull into the private parking garage of his penthouse, she’s barely able to unbuckle her seatbelt before Roman angrily opens his door and slams it shut with so much force that she winces. But before that can even be processed, he’s ripping her door open as well and yanking her out the car. 

His grip on her forearm is firm, borderline uncomfortable. “Roman, you’re—”

“I said shut up.”

It’s the same tone as before, but instead of feeling embarrassed like before, she only gets more annoyed as he practically drags her into his place, Solana praying she doesn’t twist her ankle having to walk so fast in her heels. 

She manages to stay quiet until they’re in the privacy of Roman’s penthouse as he once again slams the door shut with unnecessary force. 

Kicking off her heels almost immediately, she heads for his kitchen, needing a bottle of water. “You don’t have to be such a dick,” she mutters. Somewhat to herself. Somewhat to him. Solana opens the fridge and grabs a cold thing of water, barely standing back up before the door is forced shut with an intensity that makes her jump away, her ass hitting the counter and bottle tumbling into the floor. 

“What—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

Roman is standing before her, eyes burning with all the anger coursing through his big body, his tone comprised of unadulterated anger, voice bouncing off the walls. 

Solana isn’t sure just how to respond. Nothing she says is going to make him feel better. It’s a lose–lose situation. “You need to calm—”

He smiles, but there’s not an ounce of humor in his expression or voice. Eyes closed, he tilts his head back, warning almost, “I swear to God, if this wasn’t you….” He trails off, and she’s not sure she wants to know the rest of the statement. “What the fuck were you thinking, Solana?”

Again, that chastised child feeling returns as she shrugs, murmuring, “it was just a party—”

Roman reaches past her and swipes his arm clean across the counter behind her, sending random shit flying to the floor. 

“It wasn’t just a fucking party!” He snaps, and she leans further back into the fridge, hating how her eyes seem to be focused not on the fact that he’s yelling at her but how good he looks despite the anger, how good he smells being this close to her. God, she missed that. Missed him. Not this, obviously. But, everything else….yeah. “You were at fucking Kingdom, Solana. You know that’s Nightmare territory!”

Solana knew that. Knew it the moment Jaida brought up the idea of attending a costume party at some club. She recognized right away from the name alone that not only was it in Nightmare territory but that it was owned by Cody Rhodes himself. None of that was or is news to her. 

And yet, she still pulled out her skimpy little costume and went outside, shaking and throwing ass on video with her cousin like she wasn’t playing with an absolute inferno.

An inferno she’s completely engulfed in right now. “I didn’t think—”

“Of course, you didn’t fucking think because if you did, you wouldn’t have been stupid enough to put yourself in that situation—”

“I made a mistake, Roman, okay?” She cuts him off, taking the opportunity to jump in given the fact that his volume has decreased ever so slightly. “I—”

“And then what the fuck is this outfit?” He motions to her costume, and Solana finds herself frowning. 

“What—what’s wrong with it?” It’s a stupid question, maybe even a form of gaslighting, because she knows exactly why he takes issue with the outfit that practically has her ass hanging out and her cleavage on full display.

To his credit, Roman maintains the lowered volume, gritting out. “It brings attention to you. To your body.” She watches the way his muscles flex as he brings his arm above her, hand planted on the refrigerator. “Why do you think Rhodes came up to you, huh? Cause he liked your fuckin’ hair?”

Solana is feeling way too bold for someone in the wrong as she rolls her eyes, looks down at her feet, toes painted white, and murmurs, “at least someone’s giving me attention.”

It’s the absolute worst thing she could have said in this moment. If this was the titanic, her freudian slip was the absolute mega fucking iceberg. She knows it the second Roman’s volume levels down to dangerously quiet with the delivery of his next question.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Looking away, she barely has time to process the severity of her slip-up when his hand jerks her by her chin, forcing her gaze back on him. “I asked you a question.”

If there was ever a time for an apology tour, this would be it. The time to get on her hands and knees and beg for much needed forgiveness, but that’s logic, that’s reason, that’s sensical. And there’s nothing logical or sensical about the way she’s feeling right now. Roman being so close to her is no good. It’s no good for a lot of reasons, because instead of being present for this very serious conversation, she’s thinking about the last time he’s been just mere inches away from her. The last time he’s been inside of her.

Too long.

It’s why she finds herself answering straight from her Id. “I said at least he noticed me.” Solana digs that grave just a lil deeper, adding. “You’ve—you’ve been back a week and haven’t come to see me.”

Saying it aloud is the recognition and acknowledgment of the uncomfortable truth Solana now realizes is the basis behind all of this. She’s never been one to need attention from men, to feel the need to be around her significant other more often than not. 

And then entered Roman Reigns. Everything about their relationship has been so fast and new and unexpected and raw. She craves him in a way she’s never experienced with any other man.

Not even Cruz.

Because Roman has been traveling a lot the past few weeks, his latest trip to Italy to handle some Cosa Nostra matters and yet, he hasn’t carved out the time to come see her in the almost week he’s been back. Something that’s evidently been bothering her.

And that recognition clearly isn’t something that’s just now become apparent to her. 

It’s clear to Roman as well too. 

Because in a matter of seconds she goes from peering up at him with those big brown eyes of hers to being spun around and pressed into the cool stainless steel of his fridge. “What—”

“Shut up.” 

This is the third time he’s said as such to her tonight, and on this tres time, she’s had just about enough. “Stop—”

Solana is silenced and cries out when his hand comes down, hard, on her ass. 

“I said shut up,” he reiterates, adding on as he palms her cheeks. “Daddy’s talking.” That should not make her moan the way it does, especially when he moves his mouth to her ear. “How many times do I have to fucking tell you?” She gasps when he spanks her ass once again, squeezing it this time in a way that has her biting down on her bottom lip. “You belong to me. Not him. Me.”

Solana feels her anticipation—and pussy growing wetter—as Roman starts trying to yank her shorts off. “I’ll kill him. Fucking rip him apart with my bare hands.” She winces when he gets the shorts off, somehow managing to rip them clean off her body. “Start a whole war. I don’t care.” Her soaked underwear, big surprise there, is the next thing to go. Solana would give anything to see the look on Roman’s face as he brings his hand to her cunt, cupping it, feeling her drenched and dripping. “Look how wet you are from me. How I got this pussy dripping just from my voice.” Roman tugs her head back and kisses the perimeter of her face. “You think that bleached bitch could do you like I can?” The answer is already no, but it’s a hell no when she feels his erection pressed against her ass. “No. No one can fuck you like daddy can.”

He’s not lying, and Solana finds the excitement building in hearing some shuffling behind her, a belt unbuckling, clothes shifting. And she nearly comes right then and there feeling his thick dick head rub up and down her slit. 

He’s teasing her, and it’s miserable. Solana tries to scoot her ass back against him, not beyond begging, “p–please.”

Roman chuckles against her ear, hissing when he teases the tip of his dick in her tight, gushy opening. “Please what?”

He’s so cruel. So so so cruel. “P-please, daddy.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Solana shouts when he slams into her, the intensity and stretch of him having her claw the cool steel in front of her. His thrusts are hard and deep, nothing slow and gentle like she expected their first time to be after so long. Something she was hoping for given his size, but that’s not what she gets.

Not when she’s been so bad.

And truthfully….it’s not what she wants. Not now, at least. Not when he’s fucking her like this, so rough and thorough. It’s delicious.

Solana’s moans grow louder with each time he slams his hips up against her fat ass, fucking her like the little brat she’s been. 

“You like making daddy angry like this, don’t you?” Solana whimpers as the force of his thrusts continue to push the side of her face into the fridge, her makeup smudging off from the combination of the light sheen of sweat and the impact. “Like me fucking you like this, huh?”

“Y–yes, daddy.” Tears are building in her eyes when Roman somehow pulls her body against his, his thick dick never once slipping out as he switches their positions so that she’s bent over his kitchen island, face now pressed into the granite counter while he slams into her. “Roman!”

“You was missing this dick, wasn’t you?” He taunts, hand on the back of her head, holding her still as he reminds her who she belongs to. “This what you been wanting? Daddy to pound this little pussy with his big dick?”

Her palms are pushed into the stone, her mind absolutely numb and illogical as he switches his angle, somehow even deeper in her. “Oh, shit. Y–yes, baby.”

Roman leans over her, and she’s practically sobbing at this point. He’s slamming nearly repeatedly against her g-spot, driving her to the brink of sexual madness. “Been missing you too, baby.” He groans, slowing down just a bit to kiss on the side of her face. “Fuck, you don’t know how much I missed you while I was gone. Missed being inside you like this.” Roman straightens up and spreads her ass cheeks a bit, moaning at the sight of his dick sliding in and out of her wet ass pussy. Doesn’t matter how many times he stretches her out, her shit grips him the same every time. Tight and needy. “Goddamn, look how wet you are. Shit dripping on the damn floor.”

That visual shouldn’t make her cunt pulse the way it does, the two of them moaning almost in synchronization. “Daddy’s sorry for leaving you like this.”

His verbal apology is appreciated, but his dick absolutely destroying her used and abused pussy is all the contrition she needs. 

Roman grabs her by her hair once again and leans over, resuming his relentless and brutal assault against her spot, that depth and angle having her seeing stars, angels, and everything else ethereal and heavenly. “You’re mine. You understand me?” He growls, voice dark and determined. Solana both hates and loves this. Loves how he can so easily slide back and forth between being almost loving to that possessive, borderline obsessive side that she secretly gets off to. “You ain’t ever leaving me. It’s us till the end, baby.”

Truer words have never been spoken. 

As is with most sexual encounters between them, Solana’s orgasm is the first to come upon her. That wonderfully blissful, euphoric feeling that never could and will never get old. She moans against the counter, whimpering, “Roman, I’m—oh my God.” It should be a sin how good he fucks her, how good he makes her feel, sexually and in every other way. 

He’s most definitely right.

It’s them to the end.

Roman is knowing, feeling the way she’s starting to clench around him. “You gon’ let me come inside you?” He asks, already knowing the answer. The same as it always is. 

“Y–yes, daddy.” 

He slaps her ass. “Damn right.” Plunging into her at that altered pace to account for her pending climax, he reminds. “Daddy always comes inside his pussy.”

Another truth that she can’t and won’t deny. Another secret love. Kink, even. The feel of him exploding inside her, filling her to the brim with his cum. It just does something to her. Something she can’t explain.

And that’s the exact same experience she has when their orgasms arrive upon them both with merely minutes apart. She’s the first, of course, followed by Roman. His body is hovered above hers, his mouth pressing kisses against her temple as they both come down from that delicious high.

Well, he does, because Solana groans a bit when he slides out of her and picks her up bridal style, carrying her to his room. Roman carefully lays her on the bed, completely uncaring of the mess she’s made all over his dick or the fact that her entire bottom half is soaked, his cum leaking from her puffy pussy. 

He lays down next to her, pulling her close to him. 

Solana sighs, so content in this single moment. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs into his chest, finger lazily tracing some of the patterns of his tribal tattoos. 

Roman kisses her forehead. “I just need you to be more careful, alright?” She nods against him. “I can’t ever lose you, Solana…”

“I know, baby.” She kisses his shoulder. “I will.” Eyes closing, they lay in absolute silence for a good few minutes. Her eyes start to flutter shut, Solana prepared to drift off into a peaceful sleep when Roman’s deep voice cuts into the silence.

“You don’t think we done, do you?” Looking up with all the confusion, she watches as he shifts them so that she’s no longer laying on his chest but just on her side. Roman sits up against the headboard. “You wanted daddy’s attention. Well, now you got it.” Her mouth waters as he starts stroking his still semi hard dick. This man is inhuman sometimes with his stamina. “Take the rest of them clothes off, get up here, and throw that fat ass back on daddy’s dick like you was doing in them videos.”

[signedkoko]

(separate) lucifer and striker with an s/o who fell from the heavens headcanons!! the more closer they get, the more they realize their s/o was one of the angels on the council but didn’t condone the extermination — of which, they were casted down to hell.

Lucifer | Striker X Reader [Romantic]

In which they know you are a fallen angel, but not the extent to which you protected hell. Reader is genderneutral.

Lucifer could sense your presence quite fast

But only because you weren't an exterminator—no, you were something far stronger

It pained him to see a new angel cast down, the first since he was, bloodied and caught in the fiery pit you'd have to call home

He understood you must have been an angel that came along after him, though, because he didn't recognize you

Either way, Lucifer offered you a place to stay and let you adjust to life in hell through his lens—a safe house where demons couldn't bother you as much

Of course, he also wanted to make sure the news of your existence didn't get out

He could only imagine the kinds of people who might want to get their hands on a fresh angel

Even though he was cast down himself, Lucifer is very flattered that you know him and that you speak so highly of him

You quickly worm your way into his heart, and he loves talking to you a lot about his past and all the things he kept buried within him

Even down here, you still seemed happy, although a tad uneasy

He won't pressure you for your backstory too much, but with his knowledge of heaven he is able to gather that you were at least a mid-ranking angel on the council

Your position exactly, he wasn't sure

He only found out after he spoke about his daughter's plan with the hotel

" Thats a wonderful idea! They may cast me down for demanding an end to extermination, but I won't let them ruin your daughters redemption plans. "

You dropped it so casually that he almost missed it, swooning at how supportive of Charlie you were

Actually chokes

Please give him a moment to catch his breath because, wait, really?

That explains a lot, at least

Of course, heaven would cast down the most beautiful of angels just for being kind to even the most damned beings

That same anger within him roars back to life, both for you being shut down and for how he, too, was treated in heaven

He'd make sure your life was far better here, no matter what it took

Being a fallen angel is already an extremely worrisome background for Striker, especially following his hate for royalty

Not that a fallen angel is royalty, but the power dynamic is hard for him to get over, as guilty as he feels now for holding it against you

When you first met, he saved you from another bounty hunter

Saved is the wrong word

He stole you so he could get a prize himself

But it all backfired when you were just so kind and curious, and offering you up to some terrible people didn't feel like the right move

Striker told himself he'd hold onto you until he knew the true value of an angel, but that may have just been him stalling for time

Either way, your charm worked wonders, and now he was stuck with the most attention-grabbing partner in all of hell

Oh well, he knew he could protect you

While he was curious about your life in heaven, Striker was extremely used to not asking questions about others past

But the more he knew, the more he wanted to know

Every few months, you'd tell a story that revealed a new interesting piece of information, things that made him wonder what you had to have done to be so harshly cast down

It all made sense when he puzzled it together one afternoon, when you were particularly fond of your past memories

" I hope Em isn't in trouble too. "

" Why so? "

" Well, she also thought killing demons was pretty bad... "

" Of course, hun. "

As usual he nods along with you before he freezes and jumps out of his chair

" Hol on now, what? "

Striker is able to puzzle things together fast, and he's not sure if he's more pissed at the angels above you or if he's surprised you felt that way

He'd always assumed no angels thought good of demons, but this changed things

Next extermination, he wants to have a hand at capturing one of those winged fuckers and seeing if he can force some more out of them

Author's Note - DEVIL FINALLY I GOT TO UR REQ!!! More Striker content, love to see it- and ofc Lucifer, who I know is about to be eaten up by every person in this god forsaken community. Thank you for requesting 🖤

[sinsmockingbird]

GOOD LUCK, BABE | Zoya

PAIRING: College!AU!Zoya x College!AU!Afab!Reader

WARNINGS: Smut, Angst, NSFW, Dom!Character, Sub!Reader, College!AU, Bad Girl!Zoya, Little Miss Perfect!Reader, Trans!Zoya, Zoya has a penis, Heavy Cheating, Reader is cheating on their boyfriend with Zoya, Jealousy, Hate Fucking, Fingering, Alludes to Unprotected Sex.

CREDITS: Credit to @sea-lanterns for making the banner

AUTHORS NOTE: Probably the longest fic I've ever written. I actually decided to change the ending to something else last minute, as I realized the original could be triggering. Instead, enjoy a very very sad (slightly rushed) ending.

YOUR AN epitome of perfection in the eyes of many.

From the students at the college you attend, to the professors and school staff, you were a woman who could do no wrong. You were the student council president of your prestigious college, the captain of the women's soccer team, and the school's debate team leader. You were involved in everything at your school, from the events being held to the various clubs and societies. You knew everyone and everyone knew you.

At least, everyone thought they knew you. But who could ever imagine that little miss perfect had chosen the college’s bad girl and the drummer of a band, as the person she would start an affair with?

◃───────────▹

It was late at night, about 1 in the morning. You were laying back in your bed, disheveled and trying to catch your breath while Zoya collapsed beside you, who was equally disheveled and out of breath. You weren’t sure how long you both had been going at it, but it was long enough for you to feel too sore to move.

“Too much?” Zoya’s voice cut through the air, a soft chuckle falling from her lips as she moved onto her side and wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you closer. You looked gorgeous in her eyes with that post orgasm glow to you.

You laughed softly at her question, pressing your body close to hers. “No. It was perfect.”

It was always perfect with Zoya. Whether you were having a quickie, a rough fucking, or even love making, it was always perfect. She just did everything right, and it was only made better with how well she’s learned your body.

“Good.” Zoya hummed in content, relaxing against your bed while holding you close. It was these moments she loved the most where it was just the two of you. No outside eyes, no knowledge of what you did known to others, just you and her in this relaxing silence.

“Are you coming to Chelsea’s party today?” You asked, tilting your head up to look at her, admiring every little detail of her face that you normally wouldn’t be able to.

“Mhm. Kinda have to.” Zoya answered, gazing down at you, the blue of her eyes more prominent in the soft darkness of your room. When you gave her a look, she quickly continued. “The band’s performing, at the request of Chelsea. So, yeah, I’m technically obligated to be there. Like you are.”

You simply hummed at her words, your eyes moving down to her chest. You raised a hand up, lightly tracing your fingers over the marks you had left over the hours of passion that you shared.

She was right about you being obligated to be at Chelsea’s party. She was not only one of your good friends but it was also the end of the year party, one of the biggest she hosts all year. Plus, you were miss perfect and popular, so everyone at school expected you to be there, and you being you wanting to maintain your image, always went.

Zoya watched you closely, recognizing when you were getting lost in your thoughts or contemplating something. So she gently placed one of her larger hands over yours, making your attention snap back to her. “You want me to take you?”

“No.” You quickly shook your head, your eyes looking away from her and into the darkness of your room. “Nate’s picking me up and we’re going together.”

Oh, she should have assumed that.

A frown quickly tugged at Zoya’s lips upon hearing your boyfriend’s name. You both had made rules between you both when your affair started, one of them being to never mention your boyfriend’s name. It was mainly because you didn’t want to think about him when you were with her, and Zoya hated to hear it as it was a cruel reminder that you weren’t hers. She hated him for that.

“Right.” Zoya mumbled, suddenly seeking sleep. She turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling before forcing her eyes closed. She wanted the conversation to be over now, not wanting to be angry with you or anything. She could feel her jealousy boiling, making her seethe internally. “Should get sleep. We both have a busy day.”

“Zoya…” You whispered her name, looking up at her. But she didn’t respond, pretending to already be asleep. You sighed, feeling guilty now. So you just rested your head on her chest and closed your eyes, hoping sleep would take you quickly.

◃───────────▹

Chelsea’s parties were huge and grand. She came from a family with wealth, meaning she had big money to spend when it came to the parties she hosted, but no party was as big as the end of the year parties, especially this one considering it was your guy’s last year, so it was a celebration of your year’s graduation.

Every student on campus was there, making the place packed. You stuck close to Nate, who was luckily a huge guy that was able to make room for the both of you. You guys were standing at a ping pong table with a group of your closest friends. You were cheering on Donald, Nate’s best friend, who was going up against some jock guy that you could never remember the name of.

But you weren’t actually paying attention to the match going on in front of you. You were too busy scouring the sea of party goers in search for the familiar face of the woman who has taken up the majority of your thoughts. You still hadn’t seen her, and it was making you a bit restless. You wouldn’t even be able to walk over and talk with her in fear of suspicion starting that something was going on between you both, but you just wanted to see her, even if for a split second.

“-Baby?” You let out a startled breath as Nate tilted your head up towards him, his eyebrows furrowed together when he realized you weren’t hearing him, too lost in your own thoughts of… Zoya, not that he knew that.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” Your face grew hot as your attention moved to him, embarrassed at how distracted you were.

“I was asking you how you were feeling about graduation coming up.” Nate stated, searching your face for several long seconds, as if he was trying to discern what could be possibly going on in that head of yours. “Everything okay, baby?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I was just- just thinking about mom coming tomorrow.” You quickly lied, plastering a smile on your face. You’ve learned how to fake a smile over the years.

Nate hummed your answer, believing that you were just thinking about and worrying about your mom coming tomorrow for your graduation. She was… an intense woman to say the least. She was the one always pushing you to be perfect, have great grades, and participate in more things than a person can handle. She always said it was to prepare you for the future and push you, but it only led you to stress over wanting to be a perfect daughter in her eyes.

“Don’t think about her. Focus on now, okay?” Nate whispered that more quietly to you, giving you a soft smile while squeezing your hand that he tightly held onto.

It was moments like these with him that made you feel awful, knowing that you fooled around with someone else behind his back.

Nate was an amazing guy, he really was. He excelled academically and was a prominent figure at your college that almost everyone looked up to, and was also the star football player that led the team to the championship on numerous occasions. He was also an amazing boyfriend, always picking you up from things, walking you to classes and even your dorm, no matter the time of day.

But he had a possessive nature, something you noticed as your relationship went on. He always had to be with you no matter what, going to your trainings, debates, and other events. You didn’t mind that he went with you to those things, but it was the fact it felt like he was preventing you from doing anything else that revolved around your college. He’d also push you to your limits when training for soccer, studying late into the night, and pushing you when it came to debates.

He was too much like your mother, and it hurt you every time you were reminded of that.

“And that’s another win!” Donald’s voice rang out over the cheers that followed, throwing the last plastic red cup aside and throwing his arms up in the air in celebration. Nate quickly looked to his best friend, congratulating him and patting him on the back and you smiled at him.

“Y/N!” Your attention was pulled away from the two males as Chelsea came running up to you, quickly grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Nate without even sparring him a glance. She never was a fan of him. “Come on, Serpent’s band is about to perform and I want you front and center beside me!”

“O-Okay-” You felt your face heat up at Chelsea’s words, stumbling behind her as she easily moved through the sea of people. You were gonna be front and center… in Zoya’s line of sight.

Chelsea was easily still clutching onto your hand as you made your way to the front of the small stage that was set up. The members of the band were already there, having finished setting up. Eleven was on the keyboard, focused on making sure it was right. Serpent was by the microphone, considering she was the lead singer, with her electric guitar ready, she immediately smiled brightly and waved at you and Chelsea. Bai Yi was by the drums, her bass ready as well, a smirk spreading across her face when she saw you, and you noticed her lean over the drum set.

Your heart was beating rapidly as Zoya perked up at whatever Bai Yi had said, her head immediately turning towards the gathered crowd, until they landed on you. You only gave her a small smile, one she returned, but you could tell she was holding herself back from waving at you. But she couldn’t do that, after all you both had to act like you didn’t really know each other. You couldn’t do anything that could make another person suspicious.

“Are you really just gonna give her a small smile?” Chelsea suddenly asked, leaning her mouth right by your ear and whispering so only you heard. It made you jump, immediately leaning away from her.

“Yes…” You muttered, giving Chelsea a warning look to not continue. She was one of the very select people that actually knew about you and Zoya’s affair. You had ended up telling her so you could have some cover for you for the times you’d steal moments with the woman.

Only Chelsea and Zoya’s bandmates knew, and you were going to keep it that way as long as you could.

Chelsea pouted slightly, giving you a look back that you couldn’t quite discern, before her attention was back on the stage as the music started. When the first song started, you were immediately enraptured by the music. You’ve heard Zoya’s band play before, and everytime you were blown away. At first you tried to focus on Serpent, or Eleven, or Bai Yi, trying to not look at the woman on the drums.

But eventually your eyes strayed to her. They always moved to Zoya like she was a magnet, screaming for your attention no matter where you were or what you were doing. She looked handsome sitting behind the drums, her hands moving up and down as played, finding her own rhythm in the song. Sometimes she’d twirl her drum sticks in her hands just to show off before continuing to play, and you could see a smile adorning her face as people in the crowd cheered.

Zoya never really admitted it, but she loved the attention, hearing fans singing along to their songs or cheering. She never felt more alive than on stage playing her drums with her band that had become her family. And it was only made better for her knowing you were in the crowd, in her direct line of sight. Her eyes almost never strayed away from yours when your attention was finally on her, and she was making it difficult for you to look away as her eyes just seemed to suck you in.

But every small moment like this had to be ruined.

Zoya felt her eye twitch and her lips flinched down into a frown as she watched Nate appear beside you, his arm quickly circling around your waist as he pulled you in close. Your attention was immediately off of her and onto him, a big smile spreading across your lips as you leaned up to kiss his cheek. She watched you laugh as he leaned down to whisper something into your ear, before kissing your head and turning his attention to the performance.

Gradually, Zoya began to hit the drums a lot harder as her anger and jealousy built up. She should have been the one to have an arm wrapped around you, be the one to place kisses on your head and face and have you smile up at her like you did with him. It was agony for her, a pain that grew every day, making the hole in her heart widen even more, a hole you caused because you’d never be able to fill your place in it.

As soon as the performance was done and Serpent thanked the crowd, Zoya was off the stage, her jaw clenched tight.

◃───────────▹

It had been an hour when you finally decided to leave the party, exhausted from the whole thing and having to put up a front the whole time. You convinced Nate you could walk back to your dorm on your own, considering it wasn’t too far down from the sorority houses. The walk was something you needed, the cold air feeling nice on your face. You felt relaxed, but also felt empty, an emptiness you couldn’t help but take notice of whenever you weren’t with Zoya.

Thinking of Zoya, you remembered how quickly she was off the stage after the performance ended, and it made you bite your lip. You wondered how hard you had screwed up and upset her, if you even were responsible for it (you were). You decided that once you were at your dorm, you’d make a plan to see her the next day and check in on her.

But it seemed Zoya had her own plans of seeing you earlier than that, as she was waiting for you in your dorm room when you entered.

“I thought you would have stayed a bit longer at the party.” Zoya stated, sitting at the chair at your desk, checking her nails and not even looking at you as you entered and shut the door, the sound of the lock turning echoing inside her head.

“I was planning to leave a little after your band’s performance.” You answered, biting your bottom lip as your eyes moved up and down her body, noting how she seemed a little too relaxed.

Zoya then stood up, her figure already towering over you as she walked towards you, and you tried to read her eyes to gauge how she was feeling. “You and Nate seemed to be having a lot of fun during it.”

You clenched your jaw at the name of your boyfriend, narrowing your eyes just slightly at her. “Isn’t one of our rules to not mention him?”

“Heh.” Zoya couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your reminder, briefly looking to the ground before placing a hand on your chest and gently, but firmly pushing you back against the wall, her lips grazing your ear. “Says the girl who mentioned him last night.”

With those words, Zoya slammed her lips against yours, silencing anything that you were about to say. You immediately melted into it, your arms wrapping around her neck before you pulled her closer, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss, something she was all too willing to allow.

Zoya pushed her tongue inside your mouth, exploring it like she always did while her hands landed on your hips, pushing you more firmly back against the wall. Then she was kicking your feet apart with her foot, before slotting one of her legs between yours. A moan immediately fell from yours lips as her knee pressed up against you.

“Zoya…” You whimpered, moaning a little more as she began to grind her knee against the area you wanted her most.

“That’s right, moan my name, baby.” Zoya growled, her lips moving down your jaw and to your neck, quickly kissing as much as she could and lightly nipping at your skin. She so badly wanted to leave a mark on you, but she knew she couldn’t, and it only annoyed her.

You did as she asked, continuing to moan her name and throw your head back, resting it back against the door as you focused on the feeling of her knee grinding up against you just right. Though it wasn’t enough, and you whimpered softly, one of your hands moved down to grab one of her’s. You brought it to the waistband of your pants, silently urging her to slip it past the barrier of clothing.

Zoya growled at the action, a sound that made you shiver and bit your lip. She sounded so primal, like a wolf about to devour its prey, and you were a willing victim to it as she slipped her hand by the waistband. You gasped as soon as her calloused fingers made contact with you, sending a jolt of pleasure through your spine.

“Fuck, your so wet.” Zoya mumbled, feeling you already slick like you had become wet the second you entered your dorm room and saw her, which was the case.

“All for you-!” You bit down on your bottom lip as she easily slipped two fingers inside you, making you feel full. “Yes, yes-!”

The sound of your moans and the slick sound emitting from your pussy as she fingered you was like music to Zoya’s ears, a song she was addicted to. Her thumb circled your clit, while her fingers continued to pump in and out, making you curse and arch your back, pushing yourself further into her. She wanted- no needed to hear more from you. She needed to hear you scream her name.

“Scream my name.” Zoya husks out, her breath hitching as she feels your walls tightening around her fingers. “Let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

“S-So good, Z-Zoya!” You tried to speak, finding it harder as you neared your climax, your gut tightening making you whine a needy sound, a sound only she could make. “C-Cumming… p-please let me cum..!”

A tear rolls down your face as the pleasure builds up to a point it’s almost painful, and it makes Zoya’s smirk widen a bit more as she goes back to kissing your neck. She hums against your skin, her tempo increasing, leaving you more numb with pleasure. But she doesn’t say anything, simply focusing on pleasuring you.

Eventually you can’t hold back anymore, and cum around her fingers with a scream of her name, “Zoya!”

Your body arches into her’s, your head falling forward and onto her shoulder as the waves of pleasure leave your body weak and shaking. Zoya immediately supports you as you collapse against her body, her arm tightening around your waist and pulling you closer. She pulls her hand from your pants and brings them up to her mouth, quickly sucking your cum off them. The sight makes your pussy pulse, but you're too exhausted to act on it.

Zoya easily picks you up in her arms, carrying you over to your bed and gently laying you down. She moves to unwrap herself from you and pull away, only for you to grab her shirt to stop her, whispering, “Please stay, Zoya…”

Your words make her freeze, leading her to debate whether to stay or leave like she planned. But she looks down at your face, seeing you had already begun to fall asleep, your eyes closed. Then she can’t bring herself to leave your side, so with a heavy sigh, she climbs into your bed with you, quickly wrapping her arms around your body and pulling you against her.

Zoya gazes down at your now sleeping face, raising a hand up and gently brushing some hair away before caressing your face. You looked so beautiful and at peace, for once looking relaxing and content while being in her arms. You didn’t have to pretend around her, you were vulnerable and it made her feel special knowing you felt comfortable enough to not put up that front of yours that you had around everyone else.

She wished you could be like that not just behind closed doors with her. She wished she wouldn’t ruin your perfect image by holding your hand in public and kissing your cheek. If she had it her way she would do all of that with you, and maybe it was selfish considering she didn’t care about image. But you did, and she had to respect that openly being with her would ruin it.

For her, keeping your affair a secret was easy for her, but after so long, genuine feelings began to form and she found herself thinking about you every second of the day. She thought of your eyes, your smile, the sound of your laugh and the way you would chew on your bottom lip when you were focused. She noticed every little thing you did, and it was that knowledge that made her realize that you were more than just a person she slept around with.

She needed to tell you how she really felt, because the weight of knowing she had to keep this thing a secret was beginning to weigh heavily on her. She had to say something, because she yearned for the day when she didn’t have to conceal her feelings or hide her presence, or act like she didn’t know you when in reality she knew you better than anyone else.

Was it really too much to ask for?

◃───────────▹

Everytime Zoya tried to confess her feelings to you, something would happen or come up, leaving you to either leave or leave her too afraid to actually say anything. She never felt so weak or scared before until she was faced with a situation where she could finally tell you that she loved you. It went on for two more months, and your affair was still going and was still secret. Now graduation was upon you guys, happening the next day when Zoya received news that utterly tore her apart and left her feeling so cold and heartbroken.

“You didn’t know? Nate and Y/N are getting married.”

The words echoed in her head like a plague, leaving her wanting to claw at her skin and sink into herself and just break down. She found herself at a bar and hung out there late into the night, drinking down beer after beer all to try and numb the pain she was feeling. By 3 in the morning she wasn’t in a coherent state, her mind fogged with alcohol as she stumbled through campus. All that was on her mind was you, and it was why she found herself knocking loudly on your dorm room so late.

You opened the door, rubbing sleep out of your eyes, before they widened when you saw her standing on the other wide, reeking of alcohol, and weakly holding onto the door frame to keep herself up right. “Zoya-”

“When were you gonna tell me?” Her voice cut through you like a knife, leaving you frozen as she stared you down with anger and hurt swirling inside her eyes. You’d never seen her so… broken, and that’s how you knew that this was about.

“I’m sorry…” Was all you could say back in response as tears welled up in your eyes, your hands beginning to shake along with your whole body.

“Engaged?” Zoya stated, looking at you with pure hurt as she leaned slightly towards you. “You didn’t tell me…”

You remembered when Nate had proposed to you a couple days ago. It was when you were at dinner with both of your families, celebrating the final debate you participated in. Suddenly Nate had dropped down onto one knee in front of you, holding out a ring and asking the words, “Will you marry me?”

How were you supposed to say no when you felt everyone’s eyes on you, when you felt your mother’s eyes on you. The weight of maintaining the image of the perfect daughter, the expectations, and the pressure of the entire situation weighed heavily on your shoulders, leading you to saying yes.

You didn’t keep it a secret that you were engaged to him now. You were planning to tell Zoya, you really were, but you had been so busy that week that you weren’t able to find time to meet with her. But you didn’t want her to find out this way, because it now leads Zoya to your dorm room, alcohol heavy on her and intoxication clear in her glassy eyes.

“I did everything you wanted!” Zoya suddenly yelled, her voice cracking in anger and pain. “I followed your stupid rules, your demands. I stayed away from you when you asked me to just to keep our-” She stopped, letting out a laugh and looking away with a shake of her head, stopping herself from uttering the word “relationship.”

As far as Zoya knew, you weren’t even a couple, just two people who fucked.

You had your head hung low, staring at the ground while Zoya entered your dorm, beginning to pace back and forth while you quietly shut the door. She was muttering some things to herself, tugging at her hair before suddenly punching the wall. The hit made you jump and squeeze your eyes shut, tears falling freely down your face.

Zoya’s anger was justified, which is why you didn’t stop her as her fist collided with the wall until there was a hole. You wanted to stop her, in fear of her hurting herself, but you just couldn’t. All you could do was stand there in your guilt.

“Y-You know. I played along… to have you.” Zoya whimpered out, leaning her head against the wall, tears welling up in her eyes as her anger was quenched for now. Her hand ached, shaking in pain at her side, her knuckles split open and bleeding, but she paid no attention to it.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, her confession cutting into your heart like a knife, leaving you shaking uncontrollably, tears falling rapidly down your face. The guilt was prominent inside your body, eating away at you.

“I just wanted you to be mine.” Zoya whispered, tears falling from her eyes as she turned towards you slowly. “I love you.”

There it is, those three words that held so much pointless weight in the end. It left you gasping for air between your sobs, your head snapping up to Zoya and staring at her with wide eyes. You always hoped to hear her say them, but you knew you shouldn’t have, knowing it wouldn’t make you change the secrecy of your affair. In the end it wouldn’t change anything, just like how it won’t change anything now.

Zoya then approached you, and with every step she took, you took a step to retreat, until your back hit the wall and she was quick to cage you in between her arms. “But you were never mine to begin with.” She gives you a sad smile, finally coming to terms with that fact. The engagement ring on your finger was proof of it, after all. “Now I have to live with that fact…”

You looked away from her, wrapping your arms around yourself in a protective manner, while trying to make yourself look small. Zoya raised a hand up, gently dragging your chin and tilting your head up until you had no choice but to look at her. She was crying, just like you, and the knowledge of knowing that you were the reason behind her tears made you whimper.

When your attention was on her, she grabbed your one hand and slipped your engagement ring off of your finger, examining it. “Engaged…” She whispered softly, finally letting that fact register in her head.

Then Zoya dropped the ring, letting it fall to the ground, and before you could process it, her lips were on yours. Her lips were soft, feeling familiar and bringing a warmth to your chest that you knew you didn’t deserve. You kissed one another like you were the only reason for each other breathing. You kissed her like this was the end… because it was.

One final night with one another couldn’t hurt, right? Just a night to say goodbye.

Finding yourself back on your bed, naked with Zoya on top of you left you feeling numb with pain. Your mind was only filled with her. The feeling of her body against yours, her lips on your neck, while her hips moved against yours. It was the same like all those other nights you both spent together, except it was different because this was the end.

When you both reached your peak, with Zoya releasing inside you, you felt complete for the first time in your life, but that feeling wasn’t going to last after this. Zoya had her head resting on your chest, listening to the sound of your gradually calming heartbeat, her arms circled around your waist. Your hands moved through her hair as you stared up at the ceiling of your dorm, tears rolling down your face.

You eventually fell asleep, and once you were, Zoya forced herself out of your bed. She grabbed her clothes and slowly got dressed, running a hand through her hair before looking back at your sleeping form. Her feet moved on her own as she crouched down beside your bed, reaching a hand out to tuck some hair behind your ear, before leaning forward and placing one final kiss onto your lips, murmuring a few final words before getting up and leaving, never looking back.

“Good luck, babe.”

ENDING NOTES: So, one question. Part 2?