#even though even those need to make sense

[wingedhallows]

never seen this before but kevyn'ssister!r x nat???i would love that dynamic

𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒

🖇₊˚ෆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 pre crash! nat scatorccio x kevyn's sister!reader 🖇₊˚ෆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 none 🖇₊˚ෆ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 i hope this kinda is what you imagined, i was feeling comfort for nat rn! hope u like it :)

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The parking lot hums with life — students weaving between parked cars, parents shouting after their kids, the occasional teacher waving someone down — but it’s the yellowjacket jerseys that catch the eye. They move in clusters, bright and unmistakable, like bees swarming their hive.

Smoke curls from the cigarette tucked between your lips, rising into the dusky air like a signal — a quiet call for anyone still listening.

And someone does.

Your gaze snags on her — your little brother’s best friend. Natalie Scatorccio. Though she’d probably claw your eyes out if you called her that. Just “Nat.” Always Nat.

She’s sharp edges and loud silence, bleach-blonde hair mussed into a careless halo, dark eyeliner smudged like war paint. She looks like she stepped out of a Guns N’ Roses poster and landed straight into varsity drama.

You tilt your head, exhaling smoke as you watch her cut through the chaos, trailing behind her team.

“Nat.”

It isn’t loud, but it’s enough. Your voice threads through the noise, aimed just for her.

Her eyes — green, unreadable — flick to yours. You’re not sure if it’s surprise you catch there, or irritation. Probably both.

She makes her way over, slow, deliberate. You stay right where you are, perched on the hood of your car, fingers curled loosely around your cigarette like you’ve got all the time in the world.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks, her tone prickly and closed-off, like she’s already preparing for a fight.

But it doesn’t rattle you. Nat’s always been a little firecracker.

“Kevyn sent me.” Your voice is low, just for her. You take another drag before adding, “Asked me to drive you home.”

It takes her a second to respond. Nat crosses her arms over her chest like a defiant child, chin tilted upward in that stubborn way of hers — but all it does is tug a quiet smirk onto your lips.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she mutters, scowling. The frown creases her features, but instead of making her look intimidating, it only softens her into something almost... endearing.

“Shut up and get in the car.”

There’s amusement in your voice, laced with something gentler — something like fondness.

You’ve always had a platonic thing going with Nat, this banter, this push-and-pull. But lately — especially after that night, the one where her father had your brother pinned against the wall, fingers tight around his neck — something inside you shifted.

Protective instincts you didn’t even know you had rose like a tide, and now, Nat’s become one of those people you keep an eye on. Whether she likes it or not.

She scoffs, rolls her eyes like she’s got a whole monologue prepared in her head, but instead of delivering it, she yanks open the passenger side door and climbs in with a huff.

Your smirk lingers as you flick the cigarette to the ground, grind it beneath your boot, and slide into the driver’s seat.

The engine hums to life, smooth and familiar, and you ease the car out of the parking lot.

“How was the—”

“He didn’t send you,” Nat cuts in, her voice flat. A statement, not a question.

You don’t answer right away. There’s no point in pretending.

“No, he didn’t.”

Your voice drops, quieter now, the kind of quiet meant only for her.

Nat shifts beside you, just enough for you to catch the way her brow pulls tight, like she’s trying to understand something that doesn’t make sense — like the idea that someone might go out of their way for her just... because.

“You don’t have to do this.”

You glance at her, one hand still steady on the wheel, and she looks almost small in the passenger seat. Angry, confused, vulnerable in a way she rarely allows herself to be.

“I want to.”

That shuts her up.

You don’t even have to look at her to know she’s frozen — caught off guard in the thick silence that settles between you.

You swear you hear the slightest hitch in her breath, so soft it nearly gets lost beneath the low hum of the tires on pavement.

“Thank you.”

It’s barely above a whisper — softer than you’ve ever heard her, like the words cost her something just to say. But they’re there, trembling at the edges, threaded with vulnerability she doesn’t often let anyone see.

You don’t look at her. Don’t need to.

Instead, you lift your hand from the gear shift, steady and casual, and hold it out — palm up, fingers slightly curled, your eyes fixed on the road ahead like this is the most natural thing in the world.

For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

Then, slowly, her hand finds yours.

Her fingers slip between yours, a little tentative at first, but they stay.

“Always,” you say, quiet but sure.

And in the silence that follows, warm and wordless, you keep driving — her hand in yours, the hum of the engine steady beneath it all.

[justabeewithapen]

What do you think would('ve) happen if, like, Doey and the other toys/experiments (Lucas and Bella included) got out of the facility? How would they react? Obviously, they'd enjoy the freedom, but what else?

Text under the read more!

Phew! Sorry this took me so long to get to, but hopefully it was worth it! Someone else also sent an ask talking about how Bella and Lucas could have survived the HOJ (which I accidentally deleted due to lag while deleting spam TwT) so this is for both of you!!

The first thing on everyone's mind after escaping would be food, food and drinks of any kind. Playtime Co. controlled most of the toys via starvation, and the food they did get was really low quality junk. Doey is more than familiar with crawling through vents, and what is that Walmart employee really going to do about him. While grabbing most anything in reach, there was definitely a preference towards junk food, they're all still kids and chips and soda are like ambrosia and they're going to eat until they throw up, and then they'll probably eat more after XD

After they finish gorging themselves I think they'd probably hide? Try and find somewhere to hide out either just in the woods or if they can locate an abandoned building. Anything to stay out of the weather and away from people, especially that last bit. None of them want anything to do with people, interactions would be rare and as short as they possibly can manage (they're all very scared of being dragged back). Getting Lucas and Bella's collars off is one of those rare people interactions, that poor employee who had Doey's stalker form looming over them while they tried to turn off a shock collar attached to a stuffed animal (who was also alive). Like, the second they left the store that dude 100% fainted BAHAHAHA. Doey's main focus is on himself, Bella, and Lucas, though I think it'd make sense for them to pick up a squad on the way out. Most toys were enjoying the carnage to some degree (or being torn apart in it) and most of the mini toys couldn't do much even after getting out of the building, these three were just lucky. There is no way in hell any of them would be willing to go back into the building, as much as they wish certain friends were here, it's just too much risk.

Honestly even after escaping I think they'd still be stuck in survival mode, scared of being dragged back at any moment and living in a world that is so new and scary. Most don't have very strong memories of being human, everything is new and to them, anything new is dangerous. They'd settle into a routine eventually I imagine... I believe in them :] Also for funsies! The Bron's name is Brandy, he remembers the most about being human (though not his own name as Brandy was a name he took after being a toy) and is in charge when it comes to figuring out new stuff. He is also the oldest of the group! The Daddy Long Leg is Dill, he also doesn't remember his real name. Dill and Doey are the main ones who do any sneaking that needs to be done, Dill is small and flexible, Doey is large and flexible. Finally there is the Catbee Amelia, who the only thing she remembers is her name. One of her antenna snapped off before meeting Doey and gang and she was the leader of her little squad, though I think she enjoys being able to take a backseat nowadays.

[bcksbarnes]

traces of a lonely world

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky's job takes him away from you more that he cares to admit. most of the times you can understand, but there are some nights it tears you apart.

word count: 3.2K cw: 🔞 some suggestive content (mdni), general angst and verbal argument

a/n: needed to get out some angst in my life and focused it right here!! hope you all enjoy

there’s no training manual on dating an ex-assassin turned hero. 

no one told you all the things you would sacrifice with being with someone so important to the world. no one warned you that as hard as it was for him to be away from you, it was harder for you to make sure he didn’t become a headline on the news. another hero gone.

even with that in mind there was something that was even harder for you to swallow. 

the missed moments.

you understood that his job took him away from you. it meant he would miss a birthday or an anniversary, but it never made it any easier. opening gifts alone, or blowing out the candles on the cake to a crowd of one because someone tried to wreck chaos on the world again.

unfortunately, bucky’s job was never ending.

dinner reservations were often spent asking the waitress for 5 more minutes, then 15, then eating by yourself until you received an i’m so sorry kiss on the forehead later that night when he finally snuck into the bedroom.

you always wanted to be mad at bucky in those moments, to tell him how unfair it was that you had to share him with the world. but, you would hear him groan as he took his shirt off, or you’d see the blood against his cheek and it made you feel so selfish. he was risking it all for a safer world. how could you complain?

you always tried to force yourself to sleep before he came home, not wanting him to think that you waited around for him, that you were counting down the seconds. even when your eyes were closed, you were awake. you were always awake.

you would be until you heard his boots against the floorboards. the signal he was home. 

and he was safe.

those were the toughest few moments in your relationship, pulled by the want to forgive him and the need to be angry.

how could you be mad at someone who is just trying his best?

bucky wasn’t oblivious to your feelings either, and his own guilt gnawed away at him more nights than not. he had a knack for swallowing it though, if it festered too long in his chest then he felt worse. maybe if he ignored it then it’d get better. 

he’d try harder.

he couldn’t face it.

bucky would always attempt to make it up to you. getting up early to make your favorite breakfast – chocolate chip pancakes with a dash of cinnamon in the batter – or cuddling a bit closer at night to remind you he was right there.

even when he couldn’t be.

sometimes, if you were both awake enough when he got home, he’d climb into bed on top of you. the mattress would sink under his weight and neither of you needed to speak to communicate what was needed. 

his strong hands would run down the front of your shirt, lifting it up as he dipped under the covers, peppering his soft lips against your stomach. 

you shivered every time.

his body would be on the colder side, sometimes even in the heat of july, a stark contrast of your own under the warm blankets.

“you smell nice,” he’d whisper, nuzzling his nose into your abdomen. his senses were flooded with the smell of you - a mix of vanilla and honey. “i must be a crazy man for leaving you.”

it was his way of acknowledging what he couldn’t admit.

he’d kiss his way down until he’s hovering right over the waistband of your shorts, your hand immediately tangling in his messy dark locks. the way he’d whisper your name like a man praying for forgiveness while his calloused hands ran down your sides made your heart flutter. 

he’d slide your shorts down, his eyes never leaving you as he …

well, those were apologies for a different time.

neither of you brought up these feelings, and while you had no doubt he was sorry it was impossible to know if those words were just a placeholder. 

you tried not to reflect back on the events he missed, because each time you did, you could see the outline of where he should be. 

the weight of the emptiness sat on your chest, ready to suffocate you.

he’ll be there, you thought to yourself as you walked quickly, arms crossed over your chest and head down towards the restaurant you were going to meet bucky at.

he had picked it out weeks ago when he heard about your job promotion. it had taken you three years of work under a boss who had become increasingly harder to please each and every year. there were many late nights spent on budget sheets and early mornings fueled by multiple cups of coffee that got you to this moment. 

now it was time to celebrate.

bucky was so proud when he heard the news. you called him the second you left your bosses office, the smile on your face spread so wide it made your cheeks hurt. you sat at your desk while you clutched your phone tightly. the weight of what you had accomplished lifting off your shoulders.

“i’m so proud of you,” his voice was soft through the speaker. a man in the middle of his own work trying his best to still cheer you on. “i knew you’d get it.”

of course he did, because as hard of a worker as he was - you did twice as much. all while carrying both of your personal lives on your back.

bucky would say you were the true hero.

“thank you,” you said to the host once you were seated at the table.

the lights in the restaurant were low, a tea candle sitting in the middle of the small table. an intimate setting for the two of you to finally relax and celebrate. a night where laughs could turn into soft whispers, and whispers into breathless gasps.

it was a night for you, but selflessly it was for the both of you. 

your leg shook under the table as you browsed the menu, the seat across the table noticeable empty. you hated this feeling of uneasiness that came with waiting for him because at the end of the day it wasn’t about trust - you trusted bucky more than anyone in this world.

no, this was about the line in the sand. loving him and knowing he needed to be there to save the world. 

guilt and awareness. two things that needed to exist at the same time, but were so hard to balance. it was a double-edged sword and you were losing either way.

it was fine the first time the waitress came over to ask if you were waiting on someone. 

maybe a little more hurtful when twenty minutes had passed and you checked your phone for any text or call, but found nothing. 

definitely upsetting when you finally had to order your meal alone.

and downright heartbreaking when you finished eating and the wait staff brought out a pity free dessert.

bucky didn’t come. 

and worst of all? he didn’t even care to let you know.

anger and sadness draped over you like a thin veil as you made your way back to the apartment. it festered deep in your gut, clamoring its way out.

how could he not come? how could he not tell you? 

the tears didn’t start when you got home.

or when you got changed out of your clothes into something more comfortable.

not even when you realized how late it was.

there were no tears to cry, no matter how much your throat constricted and the feeling in your chest rose. they weren’t here. not yet.

you were torn between going to bed for the night and staying up to wait for him. knowing that you wouldn’t be able to rest anyway is what persuaded you to stay awake, though it was not done favorably.

you kept checking your phone as you sat on the couch, waiting to hear from somebody - anybody. despite it all, there was still a deep rooted worry that flowed through you that he was hurt, or … you didn’t want to think about that. 

not right now. 

not yet.

you heard the jangling of keys outside the door. a sound that sent a shock right through your system and into your stomach. first relief, then anger. the sudden wave of it hitting you like you were tossed into the ocean and forced to swim ashore.

bucky entered the apartment in one swift motion, his boots were heavy with exhaustion as he dragged them across the floor taking a step inside. his head was bowed, the long dark locks covering his face as he leaned down to unlace his shoes.

you could see from where you’re sitting the sweat beads that ran down his arm. the scuff marks against his metal one. some minor bruising and cuts - but overall, he’s still in one piece. 

when he finally kicks off his shoes and stands, he jolts suddenly at seeing you on the couch. he wasn’t expecting you to still be awake; let alone waiting for him.

“hey,” bucky says, his eyebrow raised as he runs a hand through his hair. “what are you still doing up?”

the question hits you like an arrow straight to the chest. his casual tone causes you to blink a few times as you stand from the couch, your arms crossing over your chest. the sign of someone ready to rumble.

“i’ve been waiting for you”.

your tone is a bit sharper than you wanted it to be, but it’s hard to stop yourself.

bucky’s taken aback by your inflection as he steps further into the apartment until he’s standing on the other side of the living room. he was only a few feet in front of you but he might as well have been another world away.

“you never wait for me to get home when it’s this late,” he says, carefully tiptoeing his way into the conversation. his eyes briefly shifting over to the clock that hung on the wall to confirm what time it was. “is everything okay?”

“does your phone not work all of a sudden?” you ask, another quick jab. “you were supposed to be at dinner 4 hours ago, bucky.”

there’s a look of confusion on his face. one that clearly showed that he was unsure of what you were referring to.

“dinner? what dinner?”

“the dinner we were supposed to have tonight,” you explain, trying to throw him a life line.

bucky purses his lips as he tries to remember, his body was aching and his head was pounding from the fight he just endured. whatever plans the two of you might have had were long gone from his memory at that moment. so, he waits for you to continue.

“for my promotion, bucky. the one you made reservations for weeks ago,” you try to keep yourself level headed, but the break in your voice slips its way out.

bucky’s face drops when the words hit his ears, his hand coming up to rub his forehead in a way that screams oh fuck.

you blink back the tears that start to form because there is still no way you are crying right now. no, he didn’t deserve those tears yet. he breathes out your name as he takes a step closer but you hold out your hand and take a step back from him. 

it was instinctive, your body was protecting you.

“i forgot that was tonight,” he says, his words rushed as he tries to explain. “sam called this morning about a threat we needed to investigate. i didn’t even - … fuck.”

“bucky, you missed my birthday. you missed our anniversary. now this.”

“shit,” he mumbles to himself as his metal fist knocks softly on the wall of the entryway out of frustration. “i fucked up. i’m sorry, i didn’t even - .” 

“you say that every time! you say it like it’s going to erase that you weren’t there,” you snap. anger was filling up in your veins, close to overflowing.

“i don’t think it’s going to erase anything. don’t put words in my mouth.”

his own guilt is gnawing at him, the weight of what he had done was simmering under the surface. he hated himself enough as it was, hurting you was just another reason to add to the never ending list.

“i’m not putting words in your mouth. i’m saying that there’s only so many times i can hear that same apology without losing my damn mind!”

“i’m trying my best, okay?” he says, voice dripping with agitation. neither of you were shouting, no good would come out of raised voices. “i can’t be everywhere at once.”

“except you’re never here!”

“hey, that’s not fair,” bucky snaps. “sam needed me.”

“i needed you, bucky!”

bucky thinks getting shot in the chest would have hurt less than hearing you say that.

it felt like an explosion had gone off, the air sucked right of the room. you and bucky rarely fought, this was uncharted territory, and it seemed the landscape was filled with bombs ready to explode.

bucky stares at you for a moment, his hands resting on his hips as he blinks slowly. what was he supposed to say? you weren’t wrong. he was in the middle of a rope being pulled in all directions.

“you think i don’t know that?” he says. despite his voice raising, he still wasn’t shouting. “you think every morning when i roll out of bed i don’t think about how much it hurts to leave? how it kills me to come home at night knowing that my whole world is in bed and that i can’t be there?”

“no, i don’t think that,” you retort. “but, every time sam or steve or someone calls it’s like your world is narrowed down and that’s all you see. tunnel vision.”

“because it’s my job! i can’t think about it. i have to just go. people get hurt if i don’t.”

the room suddenly felt smaller, like the off white walls were going to close in on themselves. there had been so many happy moments right where you both were standing, memories that you would spend your lonely nights remembering - but right now they were just a crushing reminder of all that you were losing each time he left.

“what about us, huh?” you ask, voice quivering once more. “what about me? no call, no text, not even a damn note on the kitchen table before you leave. nothing! i have to sit around and wait for you over and over again.”

bucky’s knees felt like they were buckling under the weight of the pressure. of course he wanted to be there for you, but he had duties - obligations. 

“i never said this was going to be easy,” he fought back. “you knew what you were getting into.”

“so, this is my fault? i should just move on because it’s what i ‘signed up for’?”

“yes … i mean - …” bucky throws his head back and lets out a groan of frustration. “no! god dammit. i don’t want to fight about this.”

“you never want to talk about it! i can’t keep brushing this under the rug! i’m sick and tired of sleeping alone at night, of my friends asking me where you are and i don’t have a good enough answer. or wondering if you’ll care enough to try to be there.”

“that’s not fair,” he responds right as you finish speaking, taking a step closer again. this time you don’t move back. “i care about you. i love you.”

the tears finally fall as you stand your ground, your hands that are now by your side and shaking. love was such a funny word to use at this moment. not because there was humor behind it, but because love to you and bucky seemed to mean much different things. 

he wanted to reach out to you, he wanted to sweep you in his arms and kiss the top of your head and tell you all the ways he loved you. that he’d hang the moon and the stars if it meant seeing you happy. but he couldn’t, he was frozen in place. 

“bucky …” you shake your head as your voice cuts off. 

you take a moment to collect yourself, wiping your tears and staring up at the ceiling as your chest tightens. this seemed to be falling apart. your life, the relationship, all of it.

bucky’s eyes never leave your face as he watches you try and calm yourself down. he sees the way your body trembles as you’re still trying to hold back, the way your chest rapidly is rising and falling as you try to catch your breath.

he’s had enough.

there’s not a thought in his mind as he crosses the room until he reaches you, pulling you firmly against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you.

you can’t bring yourself to pull away from him, your face buried as the hot tears stream down your cheeks, the sobs you’ve tried to control breaking free. more importantly, you can’t bring yourself to wrap your own arms around him, even as his hand glides soothingly side to side against your back. 

it felt like your world was crashing around you. there was no way to stop it.

his nose presses into the top of your head. your scent filling his nostrils as the only way he could ground himself. it hits him all at once that he had been turning into the man he never wished to be. the one with hollow apologies and excuses. the one who let the person he loved most in this world down with no better reason other than i had to.

picking your head up from his chest, you pull back enough so that the two of you are face to face again. bucky moves to cup your cheek but your hand grabs his wrist before he can, his heart stuck in his throat as you stop him

“i can’t keep doing this, i can’t keep … waiting around,” you finally manage to say, your eyes meeting his gaze.

bucky knows there’s no use in trying to persuade you differently - not because he doesn’t want to fight for you, but because his words mean nothing right now. he made promises he couldn’t keep. told you he’d show up and he wouldn’t. how was saying this time will be different, it’ll be better going to mean anything to you now?

he wasn’t an idiot. a jerk, maybe, but not an idiot.

his arms drop from your back down to his side, standing a bit straighter and lifting his head a little higher. bucky was doing all that he could to not completely collapse in this moment. he ignored the ringing in his ears. the way the room shifted. how absolutely ethereal you looked even with puffy and red eyes.

you open your mouth to speak again and bucky holds his hand up, shaking his head softly.

you didn’t need to say the words for him to know this was the end.

[cbeargyu]

WISHES COME TRUE

SUMMARY: you’ve always been the quiet, bookish type — hidden behind oversized sweaters and your secret smut blog. yeonjun, the golden boy of the dance department, was supposed to be just a harmless crush... until a steamy story accidentally lands in his hands. now, your fantasies are no longer just fiction.

PAIRING: soft dom!yeonjun x fem!reader

GENRE: slow burn, smutty tension, university!au, angst, fluff, eventual nsfw (suggestive)

WARNINGS: suggestive themes, language, emotional tension, power dynamics, accidental exposure of private writing, crying, emotional vulnerability, soft dominance, yeonjun being too hot to handle, loss of virginity, unprotected sex.

WC: 4,8k

NOTES: i wish yeonjun would make my fantasies come true too...😞

you were a literature major at university—one of those girls who always seemed quiet, thoughtful, always with a book tucked under her arm or a notebook filled with scribbled ideas. you had chosen literature because, for as long as you could remember, stories had been your whole world. fairy tales, classic novels, poetry, fanfiction—especially fanfiction.

it had started innocently enough in your early teens: writing about your favorite movie characters falling in love. but as you got older, so did your stories. they evolved—bolder, darker, more explicit. the kind of scenes that made your cheeks flush even though you were the one writing them. you never said it out loud, of course. no one would ever imagine it of you.

you were the quiet girl in class, after all. the one with oversized sweaters, round glasses slipping down your nose, a soft voice, and a shy smile that made people underestimate you. but at night, in the glow of your laptop screen, you were someone else. your blog had grown into something much bigger than you'd anticipated. a loyal following of readers eagerly awaited your weekly updates, devouring every steamy, forbidden chapter you posted—always right on schedule, even with your hectic academic life.

and then there was choi yeonjun.

he was in the contemporary dance program—effortlessly popular, magnetic in every sense. tall, with dark hair that curled slightly when he sweat after practice, his ears lined with silver piercings, his eyes sharp but kind. he had a way of walking into a room and drawing attention without even trying.

you’d met him in a way that was both perfectly ordinary and somehow surreal. he’d started showing up at your department’s literature fairs. it surprised you the first time—someone like him, flipping through romance novels with genuine interest, not just killing time. but there he was, every time, stopping by the table you were in charge of, smiling that easy, sunlit smile that made your stomach twist in quiet panic.

“any recommendations today?” he’d ask casually, leaning over the table just close enough to make you forget how to breathe.

you tried to keep your voice steady. “uh—if you like slow burn… this one’s pretty good.”

he grinned. “you always know the good ones. you read a lot, huh?”

you’d just nod, cheeks warm, heart sprinting. he didn’t know. god, he couldn’t know.

your conversations never lasted long, but they left you dizzy every time. he’d wave at you in the halls with that same bright energy, calling your name like you were already friends. you weren’t, not really. but you liked pretending.

and when you were alone, writing late into the night, your mind would wander. you’d think about him—his hands, his voice, that little smirk when he caught you staring too long.

you knew exactly what kind of character he’d be in one of your stories. and you had plenty of ideas.

it all started when yeonjun announced that he was planning a showcase for the contemporary dance department—an open performance where students could display their personal choreographies. he needed help designing the pamphlets that would be handed out to the audience, and for some reason, you were the first person he thought of.

“you made those posters for the lit fair, right?” he asked one afternoon, catching you off guard in the hallway. his voice was casual, but his smile was bright, genuine. “i really liked the way you put them together. they had this… soft, poetic vibe. it matched the theme perfectly.”

you blinked up at him, heart stuttering. he remembered that? “i– yeah! i did,” you mumbled, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. “i’d love to help.”

he grinned, like it was no big deal. “awesome. can i get your number? i’ll text you the details.”

you handed him your phone before you could overthink it. and when he tapped in his contact info, you felt a strange flutter in your chest. he told you he’d need it by next wednesday. today was friday—plenty of time.

saturday came, and as usual, it was supposed to be your sacred writing day. the day you sat down with your laptop and your coffee and let your imagination spill into a new chapter for your loyal readers. but today... you couldn’t focus. yeonjun’s face kept flashing behind your eyes. his voice, the way he smiled, the soft dip of his collarbone when he leaned in closer than he needed to.

so, instead of working on your usual story, you opened a new document. just a little spin-off, you told yourself. a character named yejun, inspired by him, paired with your unnamed female lead. it didn’t mean anything. it was just for fun.

your fingers moved quickly over the keys, each word making your face burn a little hotter. you described him in detail—his body, his voice, the way he would whisper dirty things between soft kisses. it escalated fast. soon, the bed sheets were tangled, the clothes gone, and “yejun” was doing things to the protagonist that made your thighs clench under the desk.

you bit your lip, trying to suppress the heat pooling low in your stomach. your skin was flushed, breath a little too fast. god, it was just a story. just fiction.

but every line felt real.

too real.

when you finally finished, you closed the file with shaky fingers and stared at the screen, guilt washing over you like cold water. you’d just written a full-blown smut piece about your classmate. someone you knew. someone who’d smiled at you in the hallway just days ago.

he’s never going to know, you told yourself, shutting the thought down. your blog was anonymous. your secret was safe.

you shifted gears, finally starting your actual chapter for the week. when it was done and posted, the familiar flood of comments poured in. the joy from your readers was like a warm blanket, grounding you again. they loved it, as always. you loved them. they were the reason you kept writing.

by the time sunday night rolled around, the guilt had faded into the background, replaced by the sudden panic of realization—you still hadn’t started yeonjun’s pamphlet. you checked your phone. a new story on his profile. something about drinks with friends. he was still out, probably.

you rushed to open your design program, pulling up the notes you’d made. soft color palettes, modern typography, minimalistic but expressive—something that reflected the rhythm and movement of contemporary dance. you made one version. then another. kept tweaking the alignment, changing fonts, shifting images.

finally, at 2:34 a.m., you saved both files. sleepy, but satisfied. you dragged the two pdfs into your chat with him, barely thinking. you typed out the message:

“hi yeonjun! i made two versions, choose whichever you like best :)”

and hit send.

except… you hadn’t just selected the two designs.

your stomach dropped as you saw the third file still hanging in the message bubble. the one labeled: “yejun_x_fmc_draft01.docx”

it sent.

you stared at the message for a second, read it over just to make sure it sounded polite enough, and then closed the chat. satisfied, you shut your laptop, stretched your sore arms above your head, and let out a sleepy sigh. it was late. too late. your body ached from sitting in one spot too long, your eyes heavy. slipping under your blanket, you let your head hit the pillow, completely unaware of the very wrong file you’d just sent to yeonjun.

you fell asleep thinking about fonts and color palettes—clueless to the chaos waiting in your inbox.

yeonjun had been scrolling through his phone lazily that night, the apartment quiet except for the occasional hum of cars outside. it was past two in the morning, and most of his friends were either out partying or already passed out drunk. he, on the other hand, was comfortably sprawled out on his bed, hoodie thrown somewhere on the floor, phone in hand and thumbs working through unread messages. when your name popped up with a new chat, he blinked sleepily, expecting a simple "here are the flyers" type of thing.

maybe a couple of PDFs, a casual "let me know which one you like better." he smiled a little to himself. you were cute, in that quiet, bookish way. sweet. unassuming. kind of awkward, but endearing.

he tapped on the files without thinking.

the first opened fine—bright colors, clean design, silhouettes of dancers mid-pose, your signature soft aesthetic all over it. he liked it. clean, expressive. you were talented.

he clicked the second, expecting more of the same.

but then he saw… text. not a flyer. a story. his brow furrowed as he scrolled further. the format was familiar. narrative, dialogue. descriptive paragraphs. curiosity sparked, and his eyes began to scan the words.

“yejun’s fingers traced slow, burning lines down the curve of her waist, his voice low and thick in her ear. ‘you’re so quiet during the day,’ he murmured. ‘but in my bed? you’re a fucking mess.’”

his heart stopped.

his mouth went dry.

at first, he thought it was just a coincidence. a character named "yejun"—close, but not quite. but as he kept reading, the illusion crumbled. the description was too specific. too detailed. tall, black hair, piercings decorating both ears, cocky smile, flirty attitude, reads romance novels like a secret guilty pleasure—fuck, it was him. it was him on those pages. and you? the girl in the story? that was clearly you. no question.

his stomach twisted into knots.

his brain screamed that this was wrong, that he should stop reading, that this was invasive and inappropriate and god, disgusting. this was a violation of boundaries, wasn’t it? some kind of parasocial delusion—was this how you saw him?

but his eyes wouldn’t stop.

line after line, paragraph after paragraph, you painted a vivid, searing image of the two of you tangled in sheets, dripping with heat and tension. “yejun” had you beneath him, fingers curled into your thighs, lips murmuring filth against your throat while you begged for more. he could hear your voice in the words—he could see the way you might look, squirming beneath him, wide eyes glassy and pleading.

his hand gripped the phone tighter. he didn’t notice how his breath had gotten shallow. he didn’t notice how hard he’d gotten, straining against the loose fabric of his pants.

“she moaned when he spread her open, kissed the inside of her thighs like she was something sacred. ‘i wanna ruin you,’ he growled. ‘wanna fuck you so deep you forget your own damn name.’”

he hissed through his teeth, biting down on the inside of his cheek. fuck. fuck. fuck.

he shouldn’t be aroused by this. this was someone else’s fantasy. someone he barely knew. someone who wore glasses too big for her face and oversized cardigans and always tucked her hair behind her ears when she got nervous. someone shy and innocent and sweet.

except—no. apparently not. not so innocent.

his cock throbbed against the inside of his waistband. his face was flushed deep red, part shock, part guilt, part something far more primal. and still, he couldn’t look away.

you thought about him like that.

you imagined him taking you apart, fucking you senseless, making you cry with pleasure.

and now… he couldn’t stop picturing it either.

you didn’t realize a thing.

monday came and went, and you went about your routine like always—classes, notes, reading during lunch, replying to your blog comments in quiet corners of the library. the only thing different was that yeonjun hadn’t replied to your message. not even a “thanks.” he’d left you on read. that was unusual for him.

you saw him in the cafeteria once—just once. he was walking with some friends, laughing at something, tray in hand. you smiled instinctively, raising your hand in a little wave like you always did.

but he didn’t wave back.

he didn’t even look at you.

he walked right past, as if you weren’t even there.

you froze, hand mid-air, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. something was wrong. you could feel it in your gut.

and yet… you said nothing. you told yourself maybe he was just busy. maybe you were reading too much into it. but your heart ached anyway.

by wednesday, you couldn’t take it anymore.

you saw him sitting alone inside the dance studio, stretching, sweat-dampened hair clinging to his forehead. the doors were unlocked. you hesitated only a moment before stepping inside, chest tight, hands balled into anxious fists.

"yeonjun," you called softly, walking toward him.

he looked up, his face unreadable.

your heart dropped.

no warmth. no smile. no teasing glint in his eyes.

"why have you been ignoring me?" your voice cracked, but you kept going. "if you only needed the pamphlet, you could’ve just said so. you didn’t have to pretend like you liked talking to me."

he didn’t answer at first.

he stood up slowly, towering over you, and for the first time you felt… small.

not just in height. in everything.

he pulled his phone from his pocket.

"what's wrong with me?" he echoed, voice low. "shouldn’t i be asking you that?"

you blinked in confusion, taking a step back. “w-what are you talking about?”

he held the phone up to you.

and there it was.

your story.

the wrong file.

your face went completely cold.

your mouth opened, but no words came out. panic flooded you, head spinning, knees weak.

"this character,” he said calmly, almost cruelly. “it's me, isn’t it? same build. same personality. even the name.”

his voice wasn't angry—no, it was too calm. too quiet. too dangerous. your eyes flicked to the screen he held in his hand, your own words staring back at you with damning clarity. you couldn’t lie, couldn’t explain this away as coincidence. it was him. everything from the raven hair to the pierced ears, to the soft but commanding energy—the character had always been him.

"i... i can explain," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper, raw from emotion. "i didn’t mean for you to read it. it was a mistake, i—"

"it was meant to be private?" he cut in, taking another step toward you. "so private that you decided to send it directly to me?"

you flinched, your body screaming for you to run but your legs rooted to the floor. tears prickled your eyes, shame wrapping around your throat like a chokehold. your fingers curled into fists at your sides, not in anger, but in a desperate attempt to hold yourself together.

"i didn’t know i sent it. please, yeonjun, i didn’t want you to see that. i never would've wanted you to think—"

he stared down at you, his gaze dark. dangerous.

“you pretend to be so sweet. so quiet. like some shy little bookworm,” he murmured. “but you write about me like i’m your personal sex toy. like you wanna use me. ride me. make me beg.”

you whimpered, barely able to breathe, your eyes wide with horror.

you wanted to die.

you wanted to disappear.

his fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. his thumb grazed your bottom lip.

but then his eyes darkened, jaw tightening, and he leaned in slightly. "the problem is," he said, voice low, "i can’t stop thinking about what you wrote. how detailed it was. how vividly you described it—me."

your breath caught. "yeonjun..."

"you wrote that you wanted me to hold you down," he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips. "that you wanted to ride me until you couldn’t walk straight. that you dreamed of me moaning your name while you begged for more. and all that... from the quiet girl who blushes when someone says 'kiss' in class?"

your knees nearly gave out. your skin burned with humiliation and something else—something terrifyingly warm spreading low in your belly. you shook your head again, but there were no words left to give him. no excuses. you were caught. exposed. and he was standing there, looking at you like he was reading every single fantasy straight from your soul.

“you’re disgusting,” he said, voice low and rough.

your eyes welled with tears.

but then he leaned closer, and his breath ghosted over your cheek. his voice dropped even lower, thick with something dangerous.

“but the worst part?” he smirked. “the more i think about it, the more i want to make it real." he murmured. 

you gasped, a whimper escaping your lips before you could stop it. it was wrong. it was insane. and yet... the tension between you crackled like a live wire.

"yeonjun, i..." your voice trembled.

"you don’t have to say anything," he said quietly, his thumb brushing away a tear on your cheek. "but if you really meant what you wrote... i will make your first time unforgettable, better than your story, better than many stories, i will fuck you as hard as you ask."

your heartbeat stuttered. your mind screamed for you to step away—but your body leaned into him, trembling from something far deeper than fear.

“so this is what you think about when you see me?” his voice is low, controlled, almost amused. but there’s something dark swimming beneath it. something hungry.

you’re frozen in front of him, face hot and eyes watery with humiliation. your vision blurs as the tears start spilling over your cheeks.

“fuck,” he mutters, stepping closer, eyes flicking over your trembling frame. “you’re crying.”

you nod, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

“you’re embarrassed?”

another nod.

and then he laughs. it’s not cruel—no, it’s worse. it’s knowing. it's the sound of someone who's seen through every layer you tried to hide.

you whimper, thighs squeezing together at his words. that ache between your legs intensifies, shame curling up with desire in your belly like a knot pulling tighter and tighter.

he’s in front of you now, towering over you, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek—thumb brushing away a tear, so gently it makes your breath catch.

“and this part—” he whispers, pulling his phone from his pocket. “this part right here... where you wrote that he ‘pinned her against the mirror and kissed her until she forgot her own name, one hand gripping her thigh, the other buried in her hair, making her moan before he even touched her pussy.’”

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block it all out.

“open your eyes.”

you do.

he leans in, lips ghosting over your ear.

“do you want me to do that to you?”

you pause. swallow hard. your silence is answer enough.

he chuckles again. “fuck, you’re cute when you pretend to be innocent. but now i know what’s under that little act. now i know what kind of slut you really are.”

your knees weaken. your panties are soaked.

“take it off,” he murmured.

your throat went dry. “w-what?”

he stepped closer, towering over you. the scent of his cologne and sweat from practice clung to him, heavy and dizzying.

“don’t make me repeat myself.” his voice dropped, gravelly. “hoodie. now.”

you hesitated, fingers curling at the hem.

your body moved before your brain could catch up. trembling fingers pulled your hoodie over your head, revealing your bare chest underneath—no bra, just skin, soft and warm and exposed to him.

“fuck, no bra? you were walking around like this, waiting for me to notice?”

he growled. actually growled.

“you walked in here looking like this…” his eyes roamed again, hungry. “thinking i wouldn’t notice the way your nipples get hard through your hoodie?

your stomach twisted, heat rushing between your legs.

“you act so innocent, baby, but that little mind of yours?” he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “filthy.”

your cheeks burned. your thighs squeezed together.

“take off the pants too, those fucking pants hiding the slut you really are” he added, voice darker now.

you obeyed slowly, pushing down the waistband of your sweatpants, revealing your thin white panties already soaked through. the air hit your thighs and you shivered—whether from the cold or the anticipation, you weren’t sure.

yeonjun sat down on the bench behind him, legs spread wide, cock hard and pressing visibly against his sweats.

“come here.”

you stepped between his legs, every nerve in your body lit on fire.

his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer until your soaked panties brushed against the bulge in his pants. he hissed at the contact.

“you’re wet already?” he whispered, almost mocking. “just from me talking to you like this?”

you nodded, lips parted in a silent gasp as he rubbed his nose along the curve of your breast, not kissing—just inhaling you. savoring.

“you know what’s crazy?” he murmured. “i remember every single thing you wrote. every moan, every word you gave that version of me… and now i wanna hear them come out of your mouth.”

his hand slid under the band of your panties, fingers slipping between your folds.

“fuck—so wet for me. untouched, huh? this little cunt’s never been filled?”

you whimpered, nodding, nails digging into his shoulders.

“good,” he groaned, pulling your panties down your legs. “i wanna be the only one who gets to ruin this pussy.”

he hooked your thighs over his, adjusting your body until you were hovering over his clothed cock, dripping against the fabric.

“say it,” he ordered.

“say what?”

his eyes locked with yours, deadly calm.

“tell me you want to sit on it.”

your chest rose and fell fast, lips trembling. “i… i want to ride you.”

“that’s not what i said, baby.”

you swallowed. heat flooded your cheeks, but your hips instinctively rolled against him.

“i want to sit on your cock,” you breathed, voice shaky. “please, let me ride you”

his head tilted slightly, lips curling into a smirk as he pulled his sweats down, cock springing free. thick. veined. already leaking.

“then prove it,” he rasped.

you didn’t even hesitate. you gripped his shoulders and lined yourself up, your slick dripping down the tip. his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

“this might hurt, baby,” he whispers, brushing his lips against yours, “but i’ll be gentle. i’ll make it feel so fucking good you’ll beg me never to stop.”

he pushes in slowly, his cock splitting you open inch by inch. you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders. he’s big—so much bigger than you imagined—and your body clenches tight around him.

“that’s it, princess. take it. let me feel that pretty little virgin pussy.”

you whimper, burying your face in his neck as he bottoms out, letting you adjust. he doesn’t move right away—just holds you, one hand cradling your back, the other gripping your thigh.

“you’re doing so good for me. so fucking tight.”

he let you sink down inch by inch, until you were fully seated on him, legs shaking. your head fell onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

he starts to move, slow at first, dragging you up and down on his cock with gentle rolls of his hips. you gasp again, tears springing to your eyes from the overwhelming stretch and pleasure.

“slow, baby,” he murmured, voice suddenly softer—but his eyes still burned with control. “i’ll go slow. i’ll stretch you out nice and easy, okay?”

you nodded, barely breathing.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “so fucking perfect. this little pussy was made for me.”

you moaned totally lost in desire, little by little the pain disappeared and turned into pleasure.

“you’re doing so good for me,” he whispered against your neck, kissing you there. “being such a good girl while i ruin your first time.”

you whimpered, rocking your hips slowly, gasping at the overwhelming fullness. he filled every part of you—stretching, claiming, owning.

“don’t stop,” you breathed. “please, don’t stop.”

“fuck, you’re even better than i imagined. so warm. so wet. so fucking mine.”

his hands slid up your back, gripping your hair, pulling your head back just enough for your eyes to meet.

“then ride me, baby. ride me like you fucking mean it.”

his grip on your hips tightens as you start to move—slow, uncertain rolls of your body at first, each one drawing a sharp inhale from you and a low, rumbling groan from him.

his cock feels impossibly thick inside you, the stretch dragging along every nerve ending. your thighs shake from the pressure, the burn, the pleasure that's building fast and overwhelming.

“that’s it, baby,” he breathes, eyes locked on your face as you try to ride him, “you’re doing so fucking good. taking me so well… fuck, this tight little pussy was starving for cock, huh?”

you cry out when he shifts his hips up, thrusting deeper. your walls clench around him, and the reaction makes his head fall back against the mirror, a hiss leaving his lips.

“fuck—don’t do that unless you wanna make me cum already.”

his hands slide from your waist to your ass, grabbing handfuls of soft skin as he starts to guide you himself—lifting you, lowering you, bouncing you gently on his cock. your hands fly to his shoulders for balance, mouth open in a silent moan as he hits a new spot inside you.

“right there, huh?” he growls, pulling your hips down harder. “you like that, baby? you like being stuffed full of your senior’s cock in the fucking practice room?”

you nod frantically, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, not from pain anymore—but from the pressure building deep in your core, the knot tightening fast.

“say it.”

“i love it,” you gasp, rolling your hips now with purpose. “i love your cock—fuck—it’s so deep, i can’t—”

“yes you can,” he grunts, meeting your movements with rougher thrusts now, fucking up into you while holding you down. “you will. be a good girl and take it.”

you sob, pleasure tearing through you, sharp and desperate. your nipples brush his chest, slick skin against skin, sweat dripping down your spine.

“you’re such a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” he pants, dragging his tongue along your collarbone, biting down just enough to leave a mark. “acting shy in front of the others, but here you are—riding me like a fucking whore.”

you moan loudly, the sound echoing in the studio, your voice bouncing off the mirrors, filling the space. his hand slips between your bodies, thumb pressing hard against your clit.

“don’t hold back, baby. cum on my cock. i wanna feel this pussy squeeze me while you fall apart.”

your eyes flutter shut, and your whole body tenses as his thumb moves in tight circles, the thick drag of his cock hitting all the right places.

then everything snaps.

your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, stealing the breath from your lungs. your moan breaks into a cry as your walls pulse around him, milking his cock, your thighs trembling uncontrollably.

“that’s it, baby—fuck, that’s it, just like that,” he growls, holding you tight as your cunt grips him, hot and wet and spasming. “so fucking good for me.”

his rhythm falters, his breaths sharp.

“you’re gonna make me cum—fuck—where do you want it?”

you barely manage to speak, drunk on the high.

“inside,” you whisper. “please, fill me up.”

his hips snap up one last time, deep and hard. he buries himself to the hilt, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he spills inside you, hot and thick and endless.

you both go still—bodies pressed together, hearts racing. his arms wrap around your waist, holding you to him like he never wants to let go. your walls flutter around his softening cock, the mix of your release leaking down your thighs.

he kisses your shoulder, slow and soft now, grounding you.

“you okay, baby?” he murmurs against your skin.

you nod, voice weak. “yeah… i’ve never felt anything like that.”

he chuckles gently, kissing your jaw.

“can i—can i ride you at your place next time?” you pant, nails raking down his arms.

he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“you wanna sit on daddy’s cock at home, baby? ride me like a good little slut while i fuck your brains out?”

you nod frantically, eyes hazy with lust.

“please… dominate me. make me yours.”

his grin is wicked. his thrusts grow rougher. deeper. the sound of skin slapping fills the mirrored room.

“you are mine, baby. every fucking inch of you.”

you sat there, still straddling him, your thighs shaking against his hips, skin flushed and slick with sweat. your fingers dug into his chest, trying to steady your breath, but the heat between your legs pulsed with every heartbeat — a reminder of what had just happened. he looked up at you with that same wicked smile, the one you once only imagined while typing your dirtiest fantasies late at night. except now, it wasn’t fiction. it was real. your filthy little story had come to life, every word, every whimper, every shameless desire — all of it played out on the floor of the dance studio, with yeonjun underneath you, hard and breathless. he had read your mind… and fucked it into reality.

[sevikaslatinawife]

Tsaheylu

tsaheylu — the bond Alpha!Sevika x Omega!F!Reader

Word Count: 841

“Fuck, you smell so sweet,” She grunts into your neck, feeling the rapid quickening of your pulse against her mouth and nose.

She knew the reason, and her body throbbed at the thought of having you pliant and helpless and needing her for a week straight. It was so close, that lovely week of pure bliss that only came twice a year. She loved when you were in heat, loved when she was in her rut and you let her defile you in ways that drove you both crazy.

“Careful,” You sigh as her hands find your tender breasts to knead between her large hands. The heat of the skin of her right is being sucked out of her by your own skin, who was beginning to grow warm as the days ticked closer to the fated week of your heat. The other hand helped ease that growing warmth, if only just a fraction. “They’re gettin’ sensitive already.”

“Course they are. They���re gettin’ ready for me, baby,” Sevika groans as she kisses the back of your neck, the bare skin of it where no mark had yet been placed. Despite being together for years, you were still unmarked. It wasn’t as if you needed the mark to understand you were hers, but in this world of yours, it meant you could still be courted. You’d still get flocked by other alphas, and even betas, to be theirs.

It only happened, however, when you were alone. When you were with Sevika, the stares to your body were unavoidable, but no one was brave enough to step forward and try to court you in front of the woman’s presence.

When it came to sheer alpha presence, Sevika swan in it. You didn’t have to even look at her eyes, though you couldn’t the first time, your body had submitted to her even before your mind could catch up. Having felt her enter the shop you were the first time you met, your body buzzed with the mere presence of her pheromones. Like a blanket over your brain that was always on high alert.

It was as frightening as it was disarming.

“Can’t wait a few more days?” You tease, hissing as she rolls your nipples between your fingers and grinds against your ass.

“Around you? Never,” She chuckles, nipping the side of your neck as her hands pull up your shirt to properly pinch and roll your nipples.

“Your rut,” You groan, licking your lips. “It’s soon, too, isn’t it?”

She grunts against the side of your neck, nodding as she pulls back from the hickey she was leaving on your skin. “A week after your heat,” her voice is already hoarse as she speaks.

The more time you have spent together, the closer your heat and her rut have been getting. It made sense it was happening, since it’s been years since you two got together. Your bodies already knew this was it when it came to pairing for the both of you, and it was guiding you both into synchronicity.

“Need to get Shimmer,” You remind as you feel her bulge prod your ass, making you groan.

Shimmer had been a huge success around Zaun, but the off-label — or so to speak — use for the drug came as a surprise. It had run around the omegas at the brothels and to those omegas who were not ready for the inevitable with their alphas — their bond. Whatever ingredients were added to the drug, it acted as an inhibitor for an omega’s body to accept an alpha’s mark.

“Yeah,” she sounded defeated as she kissed your jaw and gave your nipples a harder pinch. You gasp and arch your back away from her chest. “You got all your snacks and drinks ready?” She says calmly even as she continues to toy with your tender breasts.

“Y-Yes, I…I did,” You nod and chew on the inside of your cheek.

“Good girl,” She purrs against the shell of your ear, fingers tracing down your stomach until her hands wrap around your hips and spin you. She leans down to capture your mouth in hers and you immediately crane up into the feeling of her plump lips on your own. “Can’t wait to have you under me.”

“Why wait?” You purr, nipping her bottom lip and grinning at feeling her groan. “You can see me  under you right now.”

Sevika smirks, “Dirty girl. Can’t wait a few more days?”

“Neither can you,” You giggle as she picks you up, as your legs are guided around her hips.

“Damn right I can’t,” She groans, sucking on your jaw. “Need your pretty pussy around my knot, baby,” She mumbles as she carries you into the bedroom.

You’re already buzzing in anticipation. Not just for tonight but for the last few days to trickle by so you could finally have the woman’s undivided attention for a full week.

Something deep down inside of you, however, felt like this time around would be different. You ached to find out why.

this is like an intro tbh, i will make a part 2, maybe more. would anyone be interested in more parts?

dividers by @strangergraphics

@sevsbunny

[harmshake]

Featuring: Damian Priest x Fem Reader Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, and fluff because Damian might be in love. 🥹 Word Count: 3.5k

Happy reading! Read my other Damian stories here, if you'd like. ✨

Is seven months a commitment? It’s a good chunk of time to dedicate to anything, sure. And yet, you’d deny it if asked—and you’ve been asked by your homegirls and even your own mama quite frequently—how is it possible to not be in a committed relationship with Damian if you’ve been seeing the man for seven whole months?!

The answer was simple to you: It was just seven months of hooking up. Casual sex. The most casual sex. You barely talked to him when he wasn’t at your apartment on those nights he was in your state for a show, and even then there were minimal words exchanged. Just moans, his name and yours, some profanities, and some cries to god. How that was supposed to constitute a boyfriend made little sense to you.

But it wasn’t like you didn’t like Damian. You probably liked him too much, if you were being honest. And you were only honest with yourself because when you told your girls and your mama that maybe you might have caught a few feelings for the guy, they’d talk your ear off about how you needed to confess them to him immediately and give him an ultimatum. Something along the lines of “he can’t get anymore pussy unless he makes it clear you’re the only pussy he’s getting (and wants).”

That wasn’t fair to him, though, or realistic because for one, you were the one who decided on the casualness of the relationship. You were a big fan of wrestling and loved to go to the WWE shows in your area, and thanks to a friend of a friend, you got to meet Damian after one of them. He was nicer than you thought he’d be, his tough, giant guy persona on television melting away with a warm smile he pointed down at you that never left his lips as you both chopped it up for quite awhile. He was the one who suggested y’all then grab a bite to eat together if you didn’t have plans later and didn’t mind hanging out for ten more minutes while he grabbed his duffel bag from his locker room. And he was the one who after three months of texting, calling, and fucking you with admittedly some of the best dick you’ve had in your life asked you how you felt about dating exclusively, a.k.a. dating him…

And you said no.

Because for two, you didn’t see it possible to date a wrestler who lived on the road and would be away from you more than he was with you. Sure, long distance relationships worked for some people, but you were pretty sure they wouldn’t work for you because who would want to miss their man over just being with their man? Also, and this was the kicker, you didn’t trust him to be faithful. Okay, well, it wasn't so much that you didn’t trust him but that you knew how a lot of wrestlers got down when they got in different cities and got around different women who would throw themselves at them. 

Did you truly think Damian would be slinging dick to women who weren’t you when he wasn’t around you if you were a couple? Not really…but your heart hurt a little at just the mere thought of that possibility. It hurt enough that you preferred to spare yourself future pain and simply enjoy the present state of your relationship…although, sometimes that hurt, too, because when he stayed over and loved you up for a night or two…got you good and addicted on that good loving…it made it just that much harder to let him walk out of your door.

So, you kept it to yourself. Kept the texts and calls brief and strictly business. When do you land? What time are you pulling up? What do you want for dinner? How long are you staying? Just the basics. Damian took the hint after a while and refrained from complicating things by asking you how you felt about him, about you two, and about where this was going. He’d just come through, make you cum, and head out. You were grateful for that, thankful to not have to lie to yourself or to his face again about your feelings and glad that he still wanted…whatever this was that y’all were doing.

Because it wasn’t a commitment. It was just play time. Even if that meant you played yourself by holding back…you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. You’d already been holding strong for months that Damian wasn’t your man. It didn’t matter that when he knocked on your door earlier in the afternoon, your heart skipped a beat. It didn’t matter that you felt his grin on your lips as he kissed you after he dropped his luggage to the floor and scooped you up into a hug, carrying you to your sofa a few feet away. It didn’t matter that he held you down on his lap to grind on him as you grasped at his shoulders…until he took your hand to hold to his heart after he softly kissed your knuckles.

You couldn’t let any of that persuade you. Not even as he tucked himself under your covers with you and his arm over your waist to keep you close as y’all finally got to bed. The hours of the day seemed to slip away, what with Damian arriving around four p.m. and you both spending the remaining daylight getting high off each other, lost in each other, slipping away into your own world and making up for lost time since it’d been about a month since you last saw one another. The sex was more…intense than usual. The way he couldn’t pull away from you once he got you on that sofa, the heated look in his deep brown eyes, the deep tone in his voice when he’d told you, “I missed this...I missed you.” You were sure Damian wanted to wear you out and now you were surely sleepy by the time the stars showed themselves in the black sky beyond your bedroom window.

It never took you long to fall asleep, anyway, but the added plush of four orgasms, a hot shower, and his warm body holding you had you out like a light. Until he started caressing and gently digging his fingers into your belly to hold you tighter to him, his mouth soft with kisses that whispered along your nape before his voice whispered in your dreams, too. 

“Baby.”

You mumbled to him and he continued softly with another little kiss to your jaw, “Can I eat you out for a little bit? I…can't sleep.”

"And that'll help?!" you grumbled sleepily but you felt him nod with his chin on your shoulder. You breathed a groggy giggle, your breath hitching when the thick pads of his fingers grazed past the hem of your panties. Still on the fabric but seeking between your thighs to hold you in his hand as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah. Yes, it will.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, look this man in the eye to see why he felt like wearing you down more than he already did today, and you were met with his low-lidded gaze already studying you, his dark hair spilling over his shoulder and to the pillow beneath his head as he sat up a little. Damian’s fingers sought to study you, too, for where they simply held you, they then brushed across the fabric with little swirls that opened you up just a little, his bellowing voice as little as it could be as he said almost coyly, “I’ll be quick, baby. Then you can go back to sleep.”

You wanted to pout, you were tired and he’d woken you up…but you also couldn’t tell him no, your lips wouldn’t form the word as they moved on his instead, when he took them with a kiss. You couldn’t wriggle from his grasp, either, as his large palm cupped your breast over your oversized shirt, carefully pushing you down on the bed as he began planting kisses on your shoulder. And honestly, you didn’t want to tell him no…you didn’t want to move…yeah, you were exhausted but he said he’d be quick…

“You promise?” you asked with a tiny gasp when he slowly lifted up your shirt as he moved down to kiss your chest and take turns kissing, fondling, and suckling your nipples.

“Promise.” Damian’s breath was warm on your skin as he continued moving down your body with his mouth on your belly and along your thighs before he settled onto his stomach. He handled you almost delicately, like you were still asleep and he didn’t want to disturb you, gingerly hoisting you up by your hips to pull away your panties, lifting up your left thigh to pin to the sheets, and resting the other one over his left shoulder. Yet for all of his effort to be cautious, your hips still twitched ever so slightly when he laid kiss after kiss on your pussy at your opening, lingering, little smooches before the tip of his tongue finally swept out once for a small taste like he wanted to do the exact opposite of eating you “quickly.”

“Baby,” you hissed quietly. A pet name you almost rued to use because this man was too damn large and grown to be your baby. And also because who did this man think he was to keep you up like this like you didn’t have things to do in the morning? His stay this weekend was just for the night…but he’d been like this all day. All over you, almost like he wanted to make every second count. If you knew any better, you’d accuse him of trying to complicate things again…

Damian only mumbled innocently at your weak warning, letting more slips of his tongue peek through before he slowly thrust it into you with another kiss to your lips. You felt his lips pressed to you like he wanted to make out with you, spending too much time just there. Kissing and licking and drooling on it before he had you drooling in his mouth as he lapped it up with the full length of his tongue…licking all the way up to your clit. Light, little licks because he still feigned like he didn’t want to perturb your beauty sleep but you knew he felt you starting to fidget in his hands that slid underneath you to cup your bottom. And you knew he heard your breath catching in the silence of your bedroom, an airy moan escaping you when he wrapped his lips around that spot with slow kisses that shifted to soft suckles that lead to feathered flicks of his tongue. 

“You get on my nerves,” you found the breath to groan as you glared down at him but even that sound was pathetic. Your voice shaking like your fingers that slipped into his hair, like your thighs in his hands and it made him breathe a soft laugh through his nose, and even the feel of that brushing up on you made you whimper. Pathetic, indeed.

“What? Want me to stop?” Damian asked quietly, that adorable tone to his voice juxtaposed the intense heat coiling in your belly when he went back to licking because you realized his question was rhetorical. Something he was good about, as many times as he let his dry sense of humor make you laugh, or as much as he would let his words melt into your ears all soft as he talked you through it…you knew he wasn’t going to stop until you came on his tongue.

And you couldn’t get another word out, anyway, what with you falling up into that high as your moans lifted to the ceiling where you felt yourself floating. Damian was always dangerous with it, that mouth of his staying fixed on you until he was finished, not you, and it definitely wasn’t quick. Even how he kissed his way back up your body, his lips dragging kisses and his hands slowly crawling up your sides until he was on top of you, took too long. But were you complaining? Did you have the breath to even do so? Hardly.

“Oh, you mad at me?” Damian had the nerve to ask with a grin and you felt your face scrunch up even more with a fake scowl that made him grin bigger. Then he made you grin when he covered your face in little kisses, his hands on your sides that worked to caress you now tickling at you.

“No, I’m sleepy. And you’re doing too much,” you fussed playfully, shoving your hands up on his bare chest. You weren’t really trying to push him away and he wasn’t really going anywhere. Lightly resting his weight on you with his eyes on you, too, with the same playful gleam in yours…and that intensity glowing. Like he still needed something from you to help him get to sleep…“What has gotten into you today?!”

Your words were hushed but sounded out with your genuine surprise that the man had this much energy left at what had to be three a.m. You didn’t feel like rolling over to check your phone on your nightstand, and besides, Damian was already sliding his thick fingers along your palm until he laced them with yours, holding it to the bed before he murmured to you, “I already told you…I missed you.”

And here he goes. 

It was like you could suddenly see every text message scrolling in your mind of the little conversations you had with him. Or little battles, that was closer to the truth. Back when he wasn’t ready to concede and let this thing between y’all just be. It was like you could suddenly hear every tussle with your mama and your girls about how hard it was to find a good man—and how you had a good one you didn’t even want to claim. Which really worked your nerves because that was always one half of the tussle, the push and pull between them being too nosey, and the push and pull between you and yourself for being too stubborn about your feelings for Damian—made more complicated to deny each time he had you like this…

Under him with his lips moving to kiss on yours, a slow pull and your breath slowing down from those rapid moans he had you whining just moments ago. His hand held yours snugly, his other moving between your bodies to free himself of his boxers that still let you feel how much he wanted you. And you were about to get swept away in his little tactic—his kiss lazy, his touch swift, his flesh hard as he lined it up to you with a little push. Trying to shut you up, steer your conflicted thoughts away from what his words conjured up, pushing in carefully yet easily because you were unbelievably wet for him. 

Maybe he saw the look in your eyes when he said what just said, saw where you were about to get slick with him instead of just taking that dick that he knew you wanted no matter how late it was…your body telling him so as your thighs clamped around his waist and your arms draped over his shoulders as he brought those lips to your ear with another kiss and husky whisper as he pushed deeper. “You didn’t miss me, baby?”

“No…but—” Your words got stolen by him putting his mouth on yours again, tasting your moan when it tumbled into his as he kissed you. One thing about Damian was he was going to make you eat your words and you wanted to hate him for it. If you whined to him you couldn’t take it, he would tell you that you could…and then you did. If you groaned he was too deep, he would tell you to breathe…and then you settled. And it felt like now if you didn’t tell him you missed him, too, he was going to tell you to moan it over and over as he began to pound into you softly. “Damian.”

“Querida,” he replied to your moan with his own, shifting his weight to ease up off you but his hands went to hold you down by your wrists to the pillow. Moving his hips at a lethal pace, still slow but hard enough for you to feel it in your chest that rose and fell with your whimpers he was determined to breathe in like they were his. His lips smothering yours, his kiss sweet, his words sweeter. “I missed you…tell me you missed me.”

“I—” Another deep thrust to make you rethink the run-around he knew you were about to give him, making you want to run up the sheets instead. But he gave you nowhere to go, his grip on you good, his strokes even better, getting you high all over again as you trembled beneath him. Damian’s eyes stayed on you, watching it happen, that glimmer of intensity that was in them steadily retreating into something else, something tender, as he saw you about to unravel. His thrusts didn’t retreat, however, those remained intense, picking up the pace to push you over the edge as he brought his lips to your throat, a warm kiss at your pulse.

Damn him.

“Say it.”

“I…I missed you.”

“Say it again.”

“I m-missed you...mmmfuck.”

“Mi hermosa. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You could barely register his words, the way your mind was fuzzy and your ears were filled with your own little cries, but Damian spoke quietly right against it and let his hand cup your jaw so you’d listen. And if you had any sense left in that beautiful little head of yours, you’d tune him out because no. No…you didn’t want to feel this. Not when he would roll out of bed tomorrow morning and leave to hit the road again. Not when it would be weeks or months until you could see him again. Not when he had the potential to be in another woman’s guts like this…

“Baby. Look at me.”

Because that was the real hold up. The real, unsettling potential that sometimes you felt silly to even worry about…because the way Damian was gazing at you when he pulled your focus to him with agile fingers holding your face…it was hard to imagine him looking at anyone else like this. You felt your lips part with a sound you didn’t recognize, something like a moan and a sigh, something like you trying to let go of that worry, that hurt that the longer he gazed at you like this, the more you knew he would never hurt you.

It was you hurting you. You knew that but what you thought you knew, too, was how to deal with it. The forced spells of silence when you wanted to talk to him all day, every day. The short visits when you wanted him to stay the entire time he was in town. The resistance to the love the man was making obvious as he made it to you every time he got his hands on you. Those large hands of his holding you, one still at your jaw and the other resting between your neck and your pillow, cradling you, kissing your chin, your cheek, your nose, and then your lips as he inhaled your whimper for him. 

Because it was all for him. You realized that. There wasn’t another man making you feel like this…as much as you tried to deny what was making your heart flutter in this moment, he was the only man who could do it. Your body still quivered slightly with that lush high he kept going as he kept finding that spot in you to grind on as he kept watching you about to lose yourself for him again.

“Tell me it’s mine.” Damian’s voice was low, just a bit gruff, but still gentle, falling in rhythm with his hips. Gentle, working you through it as you gently worked your fingernails along his tatted back, feeling that heat work itself through you something fierce. Your eyes fell shut to just feel it, feel him, but he wasn’t having it. None of it…not your excuses or your distance from the truth. He demanded your full attention and your honesty. Now. His grip kept your eyes on him as he spoke. “Tell me, baby.”

Seven months was a long time to commit to a lie. A twisted, little lie that wasn’t even as complicated as you liked to accuse him of being. Because the truth was quite simple.

“Yes...it is.” Your voice was soft, your eyes locked with his. His lips faintly tugged with satisfaction as you clung to him and you knew as well as he did that he’d hold you as long as you wanted. That he wouldn’t leave if you told him not to. “It’s yours, papi…all yours.”

“Promise, baby?”

“I promise.”

. . .

"Yes, It Is."

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[aptericia]

I've realized that a lot of people (not just on tumblr, but irl as well) don't really know how to respond, emotionally, to strangers asking for money. This is not anyone's fault, of course! I grew up in a densely populated city where I would encounter beggars every time I went out of the house, so it doesn't stress me out at all. A lot of people aren't as used to it though, so here are some tips to keep in mind:

Not donating to someone in need does not make you a bad person. Even if you can afford it, money/time/mood-wise.

Accidentally donating to a scammer also does not make you a bad person.

When it comes to giving individual strangers a few bucks, it's basically pointless to try to deduce their authenticity. If you try, you are probably either a) relying on "vibes"/"common sense" which is extremely prone to emotional whims, demographic-based bias, etc. or b) spending WAY too much time on research.

Many beggars will make you uncomfortable. They will be mentally ill, or bigoted, or they'll say "God bless you" to people who don't believe in God, or they'll lie/exaggerate to garner more sympathy. This doesn't mean they aren't deserving of help, but it may mean that you can't/don't personally help them. Both things are true.

Related to the above: scroll past, block those accounts, filter those tags, avoid those streets, kindly interrupt that person and walk off.

If dealing with individuals is too stressful, you can always donate to trusted organizations instead! These are easier to research and may be more efficient. You can also volunteer for these!

Others aren't necessarily gullible because they choose to donate. Others aren't necessarily uncaring because they choose not to donate. Don't judge, especially if it's not someone you know.

Please don't spread unproven "facts" about individuals just to make others agree with your choice. Again, see the first three bullet points.

In short, your approach to donation should be based off YOU, your values and lifestyle, not the person you're donating to... because you know a lot more about yourself than them! If something makes you feel good or gives you energy/incentive to create positive change, then do it! If it makes you anxious, ashamed, or burnt out, then don't do it!

It may seem like a big deal when people ask for money because it probably is a big deal to them, and they will act accordingly! But the reality is, you and I can't afford that much emotional investment to every stranger on the planet. Individual donations are one of many, many different needs in our society, and having a massive moral dilemma over them every time is not healthy✌️

[wcnderlnds]

lay all your love on me ★ choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

BIGBANG APRIL CHALLENGE - APRIL 17TH

・❥・ summary: seunghyun meets you on vacation and can’t get enough of you ・❥・word count: 2.4k ・❥・warnings: 18+. mdni. unprotected p in v. kinda public sex but not really because it’s secluded. seunghyun a little submissive at one point. swearing. ・❥・authors note: this was supposed to be posted on the 17th for the challenge but life happened but it’s here now. sorry for the delay! even tho it sucks but enjoy 💕

Bali was one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Everywhere you looked there was always something incredible to lay your eyes on. From the white sandy beaches to the lush greenery – it was an artist’s dream. It could give anyone inspiration. It was the perfect place to escape and rejuvenate. If you needed a place to get away and heal your mind then Bali was it. Life could really suck sometimes but a little vacation to help clear your mind was the perfect medicine sometimes.

It was exactly what Seunghyun needed.

Things hadn’t been great for him lately, he had needed to get out of Seoul for a little bit. He loved his home city, he really did but the media there had been so cruel to him, he needed out. The more he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper vacation. For so long anonymity had been something foreign to him. Most people knew his name, they often knew more about him than he did himself. Now, though, people rarely spotted him out and about. Maybe that had something to do with the fact he’d hidden himself away for years and years thinking that was the best way to help himself. It wasn’t. But, this vacation? Yeah, it helped a lot. Another thing that helped was meeting you.

Seunghyun had met you on his third day in Bali. It had been a cliche if he’d ever seen one. He had been walking on the beach, you’d been playing volleyball with a couple of friends when you’d back up and walked straight into him. He’d wrapped his arm around your waist to steady you, hands splaying across the skin of your stomach. There had been a moment when before you’d spun around to chew him out for putting his hands on you but when you saw his face and met those gorgeous brown eyes of his, you were putty in his hands. The volleyball game had been forgotten about. An apology from him, a flirty remark from you and the two of you couldn’t get enough of each other.

The days after that had been spent tangled in the sheets together, Seunghyun exploring every inch of your body, memorising every contour and curve. He couldn’t get enough of you and it was the same for you. Never had you been so captivated by a person before. Everything he did, every word he spoke to you made your head spin and your heart pound against your ribcage.

There had been a few days where he’d taken you out, wined and dined you and showed you that not all men were trash. Everything he did was so genuine, so sweet. He was always considerate of your feelings, going out of his way to make sure that you were okay. Nights might have been spent exploring each other's bodies but afterwards you’d talk. Seunghyun had told you so many of his secrets – ones that not even his closest friends knew but for some reason he found it easier to talk to you. You gave him comfort, a sense of safety that he hadn’t had or felt in a very long time.

It was one of your final nights in Bali so Seunghyun had decided he wanted to take you out to the beach at sunset. It was cheesy, it was corny but he wanted to experience one sunset with you in his arms. If this was all you ever had together, he wanted to make sure it was something he could remember.

“Come on, one more step,” he chuckled, holding his hand out to lead you down the last step leading to Kelingking beach. It was a nice secluded beach surrounded by cliffs, the blue ocean glistening in the moonlight.

You took his hand, hopping down the last step into the grainy confines of the sand. “Can’t believe you made me walk down all those damn stairs.”

“It wasn’t a picnic for me either, princess.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome.”

You skipped away from him, Seunghyun following you with a laugh and a pep in his step as he watched you happily dance across the sand. The view was beautiful but you were the real view here. You were breathtakingly beautiful to him. Finding a nice spot on the beach, close enough to the water but not enough to get splashed, he laid out a blanket and a cooler which he’d put a bottle of TSpot wine in for you both.

Sitting down next to him, you watched as he popped the bottle, pouring the wine into glasses for you both. The sound of the waves crashing on the cliffs echoed in the background, birds flying above you in the sky singing their songs setting one of the most romantic atmospheres you’d ever witnessed. No man had ever treated you like Seunghyun had in the very short amount of time you’d known him.

“To… Bali for bringing you to me,” Seunghyun smiled one of his dazzling smiles as he raised his glass.

You tapped yours against his in cheers, smiling softly. “To Bali for bringing me the most incredible man I’ve ever known.”

Seunghyun blushed. Actually blushed. Of course, he had to brush it off, playfully rolling his eyes at you. “Keep talking like that and maybe I’ll find your T-Spot later.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his terrible joke. “Is that a promise?”

“Play your cards right, princess, and who knows.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The night passed by in a blur of conversation and laughter; too lost in each other to care about anything else. Two glasses of wine later and there you were lazily making out, you straddling Seunghyun’s lap, his arms around your waist as your lips moved together slowly. His tongue traced the seam of your lips begging for entrance. Obligingly, you part your lips, his tongue meeting yours in a sensual dance. There was nothing rushed about it, he was taking his time as if he was committing this moment to memory. His hands slid down to your ass, giving it a slight squeeze which caused you to giggle. You pulled back, Seunghyun chasing your lips as if he didn’t want you to pull away. Luckily, you’d only moved so you could pull the knitted swimsuit coverup you were wearing off and over your head to leave you clad in nothing but your bikini. Seunghyun let out an audible groan, his hands sliding up your sides, his fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” his eyes roamed over you hungrily.

“Shutup.” It was your turn to roll your eyes playfully at him now.

“Make me,” he challenged, his lips turning up in a smirk.

No more words were spoken as you leaned back in, lips pressing against his hungrily this time. It was all tongue and teeth, all the passion that had been building up all night finally finding it’s release. Your hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, immediately he got the message pulling away for a second to tug his shirt off and into the sand. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you back to him. The sweet, sensual kisses from earlier were long gone now. Only one thought on both of your minds.

You began to grind your hips against his, electing another one of those beautiful groans from his throat. His hands slid down to grip your thighs, his thumbs digging into your skin as he pulled you firmer against him, guiding your hips against his growing bulge. Knowing that the only thing between you were the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms and his swim shorts was driving him crazy. He wanted you so badly.

“Fuck, baby, I need you,” his voice was a deep, low rasp against the column of your neck. His lips pressing open mouthed kisses along the skin, his teeth sinking down for a moment before his tongue came darting out to ease the sting. Seunghyun loved marking you — that was something you’d learned early on. You didn’t mind, it was kind of hot that he wanted to claim you in such a way.

“I need you, too,” you breathed. The palm of your head rested on his chest as you pushed him to lay back. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

Your lips trailed from his collarbone all the way down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. It was with quick work you pulled them down, freeing his already hard length. He hissed as the breeze hit his bare skin, propping himself up on his elbow to watch. You took him in your hand, wrapping it around his cock and pumping him slowly. Precum leaked from the tip and, unable to resist, you darted your tongue out against the sensitive head to taste him. Involuntarily, his hips bucked up. He was already so hard, he wouldn’t be able to last if you decided to wrap your lips around him. So, you decided to spare him. You sat back up, fingers delving between your legs to pull your bikini bottoms to the side. As you slid your own fingers between your folds, Seunghyun watched, eyes dark with desire as your slick coated your fingers. It was greedily, aching to get a taste of you, that he sat up, grabbing your hand and putting your fingers in his mouth. His eyes remained solely on yours as his tongue swirled around your digits, liking you clean. It made your thighs clench with want, needing to feel him inside you.

“Back down,” you commanded, once against pushing him back to lay down. “Behave.”

The authoritative tone to your voice made his cock twitch, aching to be buried deep inside you. But, you wanted to tease him a little more. You grinded against him once again, your slick folds running along his length. Seunghyun’s bottom lip was between his teeth as he fought the urge to thrust up into you.

“Baby, please. Take what you need. Ride me like you mean it,” he urged, his hands finding their place on your hips once again. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, causing a breathy gasp to slip past your lips.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Between his begging and the feeling of him right there, you decided to put you both out of your misery. You grabbed him at the base of his cock, lifting yourself up and positioning over him. Slowly, you sank down onto him taking him inch by inch until he was fully inside you. Seunghyun’s eyes fluttered closed, his head thrown back as he revelled in the amazing feeling of being enveloped by you. It took a moment as you adjusted to the feeling of him so deep inside you. Your hands rested on the planes of his chest, his tanned skin soft between your fingers. Seunghyun opened his eyes and his breath hitched in his throat at the sight of you. The way the moonlight bounced off your face, your chest rising and falling as you lifted your hips up then slammed them back down — it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Whatever he did in his life to deserve this, to deserve you, he was thanking his lucky stars.

He rolled his hips up to meet yours, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises as he guided you on his length. “Just like that, princess. Take what you need, use me. I’m yours.”

You audibly moaned at that, bouncing hard on his throbbing cock. Seunghyun met you thrust for thrust, his fingers dancing up your sides to cup the swell of your breast. He couldn’t take his eyes off them as they bounced with your movements. He yanked your bikini top down, his mouth latching on to one of your nipples. His tongue swirled around the hardened bud, suckling lightly. Your fingers threaded through his dark locks, your moans echoing in his ears.

“Fuck, Seunghyun,” you whimpered as he thrust up into that spot inside you that made you see stars. “Don’t stop, please.”

“You feel so good, baby. Taking me so well,” he praised, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. In one fell swoop, he wrapped an arm around your back, moving you around so he was on top now. Seunghyun positioned your legs over his shoulders so he could take you deeper, his thrusts hard and fast as he neared his release. “Come for me, princess. I know you’re close, I can feel it. Touch yourself for me.”

Your moans were swallowed by his lips as his tongue slipped into your mouth, tangling with yours. Obeying him almost instantly, your fingers found your clit, circling it in tight, fast circles. Seunghyun pulled back from your lips, his eyes glancing down to where your bodies were joined. It was an almost growl that tore from him at the sight of watching himself disappear in and out of you and your own fingers touching yourself.

His thrusts grew erratic, harder as he neared his peak. He could feel your walls tightening around him, a telltale sign that you were close. It was one particularly hard thrust that sent you over the edge with his name falling from your lips, your body losing itself in the pleasure consuming you. Seunghyun fucked you through it, his own release was so close.

“Fuck, so good for me,” he panted, his voice a low gruff. Seeing your face flushed, your lips kiss swollen, it sent him over the edge. “Ah, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

He slammed into you, pushing himself to the hilt. A loud moan of your name from his lips as he emptied himself inside you. He rocked his hips, prolonging the pleasure until he couldn’t take it anymore. Your legs fell from his shoulders as he collapsed on top of you. His lips peppered your neck and face with sloppy kisses, eventually finding your lips once more. “You’re amazing.”

He kissed you softly, slowly, almost as if it was the last. Eventually, he pulled out of you and, being the gentleman he was, he made sure to put your bikini bottoms back in place. As you lay there, panting to get your breath back, you watched Seunghyun with hooded eyes as he picked up his shorts. His hands wiped furiously at his body, grumbling.

“Got sand fucking everywhere,” he huffed as he ruffled his hair to get it out. “I think I even got it in my ass. How?”

It was your giggle that made him look up, the annoyance immediately gone from his face as he saw you there looking serene. The bright smile on your face, the breathy giggles erupting from you? Yeah, he couldn’t give a shit about sand anymore. As long as you were happy, it was worth it.

challenge taglist: @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren @sevendaysummer @gdinthehouseee @eru-vande @bluesunss @emmiesoverthemoon @petersasteria @currentloser @makeitworse @berfgrimm @aizshallnotbefound @sherxoo

normal taglist: @sherrayyyyy @justsisse @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @breakmeoff @flymetothexmoon

[ccazimi]

cw: crack, fluff, smut, dubcon, panty sniffing/stealing, scent kink, etc. (he's literally part animal what do you expect)

tiger hybrid!sukuna who's prissy and sassy, much like an actual housecat. picky about everything, from the temperature and consistency of his food to the way his water tastes to what a light sleeper he is. sometimes you talk to him, and if he doesn't feel like responding, he literally won't even turn his head to you - all you'll get is an annoyed flick of his ear to tell you that he does hear you, he's just actively choosing to ignore you.

tiger hybrid!sukuna who has a serious issue with boundaries. he's allowed to ignore you if he feels like it, but you dare try and do the same thing back? unacceptable. will be extremely miffed if your attention isn't on him at all times. yes, even when he actively acts like he doesn't want it.

not to mention you need to deal with him literally getting offended at the fact that you wear clothes around him even though "it's just you two in the house" and on more than one occasion will you be absolutely mortified when you find he’s been stealing your dirty panties- he, of course, doesn’t get the big deal.

oh, you thought that was bad? wait till you find that he insists that you sleep naked with him, and your nightly ritual includes him not only licking you clean (at least your face and neck) but sniffing down your entire body. yes, the entire thing. the part where he gets to your pussy is the worst for you, and the best for him. and whenever he gets down between your thighs to smell you, he makes this weird face almost automatically, with his lips pulled back to show off those fangs and mouth a bit open somewhere between a snarl and a smirk, like he’s trying to taste the scent

tiger hybrid!sukuna who has a special vomeronasal organ at the roof of his mouth that can pick up pheromones—and that weird thing he does, when he opens his mouth while sniffing your pussy? yeah, that’s him drawing the scent in deeper, some focused, instinctual decoding process of your sexual health

"you're ovulating, probably peaked this morning. also you're kinda stressed...maybe you need to sleep more," he graciously informs you of his findings between your spread thighs. "oh and your pH is a little off. maybe skip that stupid new soap you got next time."

he looks up at you expectantly—clearly waiting for your gratitude. and you know he won’t finish this whole ridiculous routine until you sigh and say, flat as ever, "thanks for that. can we sleep now?"

"you've got two days left if you're trying to get pregnant, by the way."

you shoot him something between a glare and a grimace.

tiger hybrid!sukuna can pick up everything, but there are two times of the month when he can pick up those smells even with just his normal nostrils. the first one -obviously- is when you’re ovulating. but the only thing worse than the scent of you ovulating, is the smell that envelops you right before you get your period. “worse” in the sense that it drives him completely insane. sweet, cloyingly thick, warm. in fact he blames you for tempting him. you'll be innocently doing the dishes or something when suddenly it's too much for him and he pounces on you from behind, wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place, claws instinctively pushing out to dig into your skin so tight it hurts.

of course you panic, squirming as he begins rutting into the curve of your ass, his cock quickly swelling up till it's very noticeable. and the scent of him that becomes so much stronger when he's...excited like this - warm, musky, all iron and spice, wrapping around you.

"sukuna- let me- go!" you try as you struggle in his grasp, but it's too late he's too far gone, just mindlessly grunting and growling as he chases his release, too desperate to even fuck you properly. "almost there, just a bit more," he pants, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. "it's your fault anyway, walking around like -hah- i can't smell your pussy fucking begging for me." and right as you're about to splash some cold water on him, you hear him groan filthy, and guttural, as he finishes in his pants just from grinding against you.

and that's when he finally comes to his senses, trying to retract his claws to let go of you. unfortunately they get stuck in the fabric of your clothing, and he just panics making them get even more tangled while you yell at him to stop moving so that you can unhook his claws. finally you turn with your arms crossed, giving him the coldest, and most stern look of all time. he stares at you guiltily, a large wet patch forming on the crotch of his pants where his cum seeps through.

it's not his fault -not exactly- like any good hybrid he needs to be trained, and soon enough you've corrected that little problem of his (mostly)

tiger hybrid!sukuna is intensely territorial, especially when it comes to you. so when you come home smelling even faintly like another man? he’s agitated to no end — not even jealous, exactly, he just feels like it’s wrong. soon after come several arguments his way about “how he can’t piss around your house to mark his territory” or about how “it’s completely unacceptable to leave long clawed scratch marks on the walls or furniture”

tiger hybrid!sukuna who simply cannot keep his hands off you when you're on your period. this time he doesn't touch you (too much) without your permission, but he will beg you incessantly till you finally give in. and that's how you end up with your clothes shredded, and him biting and sucking every inch of your body hungrily as he makes his way down, tail wrapping possessively around you to keep you in place

tiger hybrid!sukuna with long sharp fangs that make his kisses hurt just a little, especially when gets too excited and nips your skin, drawing just a bit of blood that he happily licks up. he loves when they scar a bit too, just so that you’re marked as his.

tiger hybrid!sukuna with rough, spiked papillae on his tongue meant for cleaning raw flesh off bone that are now scraping against the bud of your stiff nipple. you gasp and writhe, and he knows he can't lick you nipples too much (as much he wants to) or it'll really start to hurt.

tiger hybrid!sukuna eats you out like he eats wild prey, teeth just shy of nipping your clit as he laps at your cunt. and of course the rough sandpaper texture of his tongue against your swollen nub feels like nothing else - a bit painful, borderline overstimulating, but so good at the same time. but just like with your nipples he has to be carefully so he doesn't seriously hurt you down there.

tiger hybrid!sukuna who just can't help himself from pinning your thighs open almost painfully as you cum, just to stick his tongue inside your hole and finally taste the leaking sweetness that's been teasing him for days. even when you're done, he continues to lick your pussy gently, almost affectionately. you squirm a little from the slight overstimulation but just let him do his thing as he laps your folds clean, deep purrs rumbling from inside his chest as he does so

[emisafan]

To me he's just as flawed as every other character in the game. I think about his character a lot.

*inhales* Ramble incomming, feel free to agree, dissagree or ignore.

Kim's just a guy. A gay man who lives in the city he was born in but is treated as someone who never belonged there. He had to fight hard for his position in the RCM, and to archive that he had to repress parts of himself. He's so against being seen as Seolite, that he immediately tells you that he doesn't even know the language, so don't even ask. Because of working in Juvie for so long, he also had to act against his age.

He's no saint, he's a cop. And he certainly likes to use his power. He took the spinners of a person, and he claims it's because they were cool and he wanted them, but maybe it was actually because he just hates teens. It's just like he wanted the teens who are standing at the Kineema to loose their jackets. Just to show his authority over them. And speaking of authority and things like that - he cares about ranks. He cares about his own rank. Because it took him a lot of time and work to get it. He doesn't really appreciate that Harry refers to him as "Kim" the entire time. But he's not saying much anyway, Harry still is his superiour after all. (Though, depending how you play Harry, I don't think Harry is aware of that / is a bit ignorant about it bc he doesn't care about ranks that much.)

He's a nerd - a gearhead - he loves his car, and racing, aerostatics and machines... he calls hinself Torque Dork. What more do you need to know? He's a nerd. You could probably get him to info dump sth about car engines or something - if he trusts you to not make fun of him for it.

And he's a dork in general, he thinks Harry is hilarious. He can be a professional and serious person when he's expected to, but he definetly has sass and can get very silly. Dark humor very much included, but I think that comes with the profession.

He's a matter of fact type of person. He says facts are just to be accepted as such. I think that might also be a copeing mechanism. "The world is a cruel place - it just is what it is." kinda thing. And given their work and all that, it makes sense. They see the worst of people. If he'd let those things closer to himself, he'd most likely not be too different from Harry or those other officers who fall into the "he has seen worse". The entire thing with "let's just get back to work" also is a way of copeing. Don't think. Just work. Just function. Like the world is asking you to. Emotions? Don't deal with those.

He seems to be a very... uh... loyal? person. He just met Harry and Harry already feels that this man will have his back no matter what. And as someone else stated here on tumblr; that's a Kim thing, not a RCM thing.

Also the game tells us he's very repressed. And I think it's really funny that you get the "Shit Compressor" thought after he tells Harry to get his shit together. Kim has been compessing his shit so hard, he's master class.

Anyway. I probably missed things, but I struggle with not repeating myself at this point, but that is my read on Kim. Tbh, if someone disagrees with sth I say here, I'm very open to hear it. It's always really interesting to hear from other points of views and understandings.

people painting kim as a nonchalant flawless saintlike dom daddy mediator archetype

[flwrkid14]

That story about Tim being dukes big bro had me like 😭💝💝 do you think Damian eventually gets jealous? He sees Tim taking care of Duke, help the kid with his homework, maybe even make him his favorite food when Alfreds out on a vacation. He sees Tim (Drake), who's often blunt and sarcastic to Damian, look relaxed and happy with Duke. And Damian can't help but to feel sad and resentful. He's improved so much since he first came to Gotham. He wonders why Tim can't see that he has improved, like, "why is it never enough?" But alas, both him and Tim are bad at communicating this.

hi anon !! this idea got me right in the chest.. damian’s not looking for tim’s approval—he never was. but watching how easily tim fits around duke, how natural it is between them… it makes him wonder. maybe he wants something like that, too. i couldn’t stop thinking about it, so here’s what came out. hope you like it !!

Damian never wanted Tim’s approval. not really.

Tim was just there, from the beginning—irritating and smug and sharp-tongued in a way that grated against everything Damian was raised to be. he didn’t admire him. he didn’t want his praise. they were rivals, and maybe always would be.

and for a while, that was enough. it made sense.

but then Duke came.

and Damian isn’t jealous, not at first. he likes Duke. respects him. Duke is steady and bright and disarming in a way that makes people want to be around him. Damian understands why people gravitate toward him.

but then he starts noticing things. little moments, barely there. Tim waiting for Duke outside of patrol. Tim saving him a slice of Alfred’s pie. Tim helping him with his chemistry homework, even though he never offers to help Damian with his Latin translations.

and that’s fine. it’s all fine. it’s just that—

Tim is different with Duke.

softer. warmer. open in a way Damian’s never seen from him. he catches Tim laughing one night—really laughing—over some dumb inside joke Duke made. and something in Damian... stalls.

because he didn’t want Tim’s approval. never needed it. but seeing the way Duke and Tim are with each other—comfortable. close. easy—makes something twist inside him.

maybe it’s not approval he wants.

maybe it’s connection. belonging.

because Damian has grown. he’s changed. he’s worked so hard to be better, and he knows he’s not the same furious, isolated kid who came to Gotham all those years ago. but when he sees Tim lean in when Duke talks, when he sees the way Tim calls him “kid” with affection instead of exasperation—it makes him wonder:

why couldn’t we have had that?

why didn’t we?

and maybe he knows the answer. maybe they were both too guarded. too sharp. too stubborn to ever let the other in.

maybe they said too many things they didn’t mean (or maybe they meant every one, and that’s worse) and now neither of them knows how to take them back.

Damian doesn’t regret who he is. but sometimes, when the manor is quiet and the hallway lights are dim and he hears Duke and Tim talking in the kitchen like brothers, like friends, like something he never let himself want—

he wonders if it’s too late to want it now. because he thinks he does. or maybe he just wants the option to want it.

either way, he doesn’t know how to ask for it. and Tim doesn’t know how to give it. and the silence just keeps growing between them.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Ceswest behind the cut; “love is being stupid together”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Yes, well, I only have so much patience for lipreading with someone who isn’t even facing me,” he says dubiously, steepling his fingers on his desk and eyeing the other. He should’ve made himself a mimosa before he let him in. 

Or a tequila sunrise, more like. And he definitely means a double when he says that. 

Possibly he’s going to need some alternate coping mechanisms to manage his cortisol levels, because the alcohol is getting expensive. And, well, at this rate liver damage might become a concern. 

Also, unfortunately, Lennox being eventually invulnerable to the effects of Earth-based alcohol does not actually mean Lex can’t still set a bad example for the impressionable physiological four year-old in terms of stress regulation and self-medication and the concept of–ugh–”healthy” coping mechanisms. 

Ugh. 

This is somehow Superman’s fault, Lex reflects accusingly. Which it in fact demonstrably is. 

“Good morning, Kon,” Superman greets, turning towards Lennox’s wall and smiling warmly at him. Lennox ignores him, but Lex finds himself increasingly certain that even if Superman actually isn’t doing it intentionally, he has some sort of latent mental power that inclines people to respond positively to his presence. 

He has an eidetic memory and enhanced intelligence and can think faster than just about anyone on the planet who isn’t wearing lightning bolt earmuffs, and, as the process of making Lennox has made obvious, passive telekinetic abilities. Further mental powers would not exactly be a stretch. Especially one that, arguably, would not be particularly different from the passive telekinesis–just a passive sense of let’s just all do as I'd prefer us all do, instead. 

Definitely that would explain why no one just dislikes Superman. Either they feel positively about or respect him or outright revere him–or they absolutely despise him. One would have to absolutely despise the man to actually feel anything negative about him, under those circumstances. 

And it would also explain Lennox not responding positively to his presence, because Lennox is Kryptonian enough that he’d likely have the same power, and as a result could easily be minimally affected by or just outright immune to Superman’s version of it. 

Though it doesn't seem that Superman is minimally affected by Lennox, still.

. . . Lex might need to get Cadmus on that, he thinks. Just . . . maybe taking another look or two at the DNA they have on file, just to see what they see in there. 

“I brought you something today, kiddo,” Superman says. “I should’ve sooner, I’m sorry, but I hope you’ll still like it.” 

Lennox does not in any way acknowledge the statement, just sorts through his collection of highlighters and arranges them in some mystifying presumable-organization that is definitely not any method of organization that Lex is personally aware of. 

“You brought him something,” Lex says, eyeing the man skeptically. Superman glances back at him, looking mildly surprised for some baffling alien reason or another. Lennox spares an unimpressed glower for the back of his head, which Lex finds very validating, parentally-speaking. Superpowers or not, he very much appreciates that Lennox doesn’t fawn over every little swish of Superman’s cape the same way the rest of this damn city tends to. 

“Are you finally done calling Kon ‘it’?” Superman asks. Lex gives the man his own unimpressed look. What, does Superman think he misspoke? Of all people? 

“Lennox decided to have a gender, so yes,” he says. “Apparently that’s all the rage with the children these days, they just come up with their own.” 

Superman . . . tilts his head, still looking at him. 

“‘Lennox’?” he repeats. Lex remains unimpressed. 

“He also decided he wanted a human name,” he says. “Something about immigrants typically giving their children localized names in addition to cultural ones. Don’t ask me who told him that immigrants do that, mind; statistically it was Wendy. And I certainly have no interest in hacking every single computer system he ever needs to have his name in to input whatever Kryptonian glyphs ‘Kon-El’ involves.” 

And Superman . . . blinks, slowly, and tilts his head just a degree or two farther. 

“Does he talk to you?” he asks. “Does he–talk?”

[muletia]

something, something snippet from my mer!optimus fic. your first meeting with the obsessed and delusional merman <3

He’s beautiful, unearthly. Not belonging to your world, ripped straight from fairytales and legends, teasing your brain just enough that it no longer knows whether what you glimpse from the corner of your eye is even real. Or maybe such a drastic relocation into entirely unfamiliar conditions was enough to start seeing things?

The creature is enormous, roughly the size of an orca, though you know that the tail hidden beneath the lagoon’s surface could easily stretch your estimation by another meter or two. What draws your eye is the exotic palette of colors decorating his smooth skin. Muscular arms sunken into the clean, wheat-colored sand blaze red, though the crimson is interrupted by streaks of grey that trail down his forearms to his neck, where they fan out toward a white underbelly. His head, adorned with a crest rising from the center of his forehead and extending into a long dorsal fin, suddenly bursts into a pastel navy blue that flows down his back to the massive tail—a mishmash of the entire color wheel.

A merman. A real merman.

Your jaw nearly hits the floor scattered with old leaves, but you shut your mouth just in time before a startled squeak can betray you.

Humanoid. Too humanoid. Toying with your understanding of human beauty’s uniqueness. And yet here it is, just a safe dozen or so meters ahead of you, breathing. If you squinted, he really could pass for a person.

To keep yourself from going insane and to chase off intrusive thoughts, you pinch your forearm. Ouch. You’re real. But that also means he is too, giving you one more reason to go crazy.

Unable to tear your eyes from the siren monster, you decide to examine him more closely. You focus on his face, bizarrely human, yet ancient. Nothing like the stony mugs of instinct-driven animals. You feel like deep thoughts are swirling behind that blue skin, thoughts that also brim in those enormous, azure eyes. The distance between you is small enough that you can even make out the emotions running through him.

He looks sad. Pitiful, even, if you could compare the size and glint in his eyes to a sorrowful puppy, which your brain tries and fails to reconcile with the scarred body, head, and a face bearing the marks of a long life. You know instinctively this creature has years of survival behind him, every second of existence spent fighting for access to basic needs.

Which might also mean he's well-versed in the art of hunting humans, you realize with dread. You can only guess what makes up his diet, but judging by the sharp claws on his long webbed fingers, you suspect he’s not a peaceful herbivore.

Not that you’d risk an interaction with him just to test your theories. No, you'd really like to get back home in one piece.

Great. So now you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. There’s no way you’re getting out of here without catching the siren’s attention. In fact, no matter where you go from here, there's a chance of encountering him again, and you really, really didn’t want to find out if he’s a man-eater and hungry.

You glance around, looking for a wide enough gap in the foliage for a silent escape, but you're not even given the chance to take a single step. Your shoes are nailed to the earth by...

Singing.

A siren's song.

Mournful, pleading, and so raw that you hold your breath, afraid of it interrupting his piece.

It reminds you of the whalesong you’ve heard in documentaries, but each chirp, whine, and groan is loaded with sorrow and bitterness, bombarding your heart, even if you don’t understand the lyrics. You don’t need words to grasp the melancholic message, one that cuts through interspecies barriers.

The siren doesn’t stop singing, feeding his hidden audience new verses, each as depressing as the last. Like a newly discovered song, you can’t stop listening. All your senses retreat to make room for sharper hearing. You inhale his song, fill yourself with sad sounds, experiencing his suffering as if it were your own. Even if it’s just a trick to lure a tasty human snack out of hiding.

That slightly tempers your emotional response.

Right. Of course.

Maybe he knows you’re here. Feels you. Smells your tasty human flesh and is trying to coax you into the open like someone ordering takeout.

You blink a few times, shaking off the last traces of compassion, proud of yourself for seeing through the sad facade of those puppy-blue eyes and the angsty concert. In the blink of an eye, you remember you need to get back to the beach, where you have your only chance of spotting a ship or plane in the tree-free slice of sky.

Because to your left, right by your head, a giant brown tarantula is slowly crawling along a cracked wall. So close you can see every hair on its abdomen.

You return to searching for an escape route when suddenly, you freeze.

Your entire body blue-screens, and it must have rearranged every organ inside you too, because now you can feel your heartbeat in your ass.

Oh, fuck.

“AHHHH!”

Your body reacts faster than common sense can remind you that the real predator, the one that could actually kill you, probably shouldn’t know it has company. You leap right, springing through the remains of a door straight onto the warm sand surrounding the lagoon.

Still clutching two papayas tightly to your chest, you try to stay upright on your wobbling, jelly-like legs, but it’s no use. You drop to your knees, the soft sand cushioning the pain. You know you should be running, right now, immediately. You urge your legs into action, begging silently but desperately for your own body to cooperate, but your rapid, ragged breathing drowns out your pleas.

When you realize that an immediate escape is no longer an option, all you can do is curl into the fetal position, forehead kissing the warm sand.

Hmm. Nice feeling, you think. You wouldn’t mind dying surrounded by the softness of this tropical, clean beach.

You hear nothing but the whistle of air sucked through your lips.

Nothing else.

Nothing...

You freeze.

You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes are now the size of dinner plates.

For a moment, you wonder how the hell you’re still alive. How come you don’t feel claws and teeth ripping through your flesh like a piece of paper? The agonizing pain of muscles tearing and bones shattering while you’re eaten alive, disappearing into the siren’s jaws. Bite by bite, until the last memory of your existence belongs to him.

But nothing like that happens. All your tissues remain intact; no foreign force is acting on you.

Why the hell are you still alive?

Out of stupidity or curiosity, though you suspect it's more the former, you decide to make eye contact with the predator.

Slowly, you lift your head, gradually rediscovering his form. Milky white belly, swirls of red and grey skin on his chest, and finally, his head, flanked by small, bristling navy fins.

Still beautiful. Majestic. Enormous.

But as potential prey, can you allow yourself the pleasure of such hidden compliments? You wonder if antelopes also think like this before being devoured by lions. Do they finally recognize the predator’s beauty only moments before death?

The humanoid face is turned toward you, expression frozen in comforting, familiar shock. The enormous eyes, adorned with rare white pupils, have doubled in size, and his mouth has fallen open, giving you a limited glimpse inside.

Teeth. Sharp teeth, undeniably those of a meat-eater.

For the second time that day, you feel some incomprehensible force rearranging your organs.

A flicker in the blue eye. A twitch in the human-like torso. A subtle lean in your direction pulls your heart from your ass back into place, and with it, apparently, the feeling in your legs, because suddenly, you’re ready to care about your own survival again.

You never believed those myths about time slowing down in the face of mortal danger. You thought that was a tired trope from action movies, overused to the point where you physically rolled your eyes whenever you saw it on screen.

But apparently, it’s very real.

Because there’s no other way to explain how slowly the creature’s expression morphs a few meters in front of you. His brow furrows, jaw opens and closes again and again, chewing, analyzing.

As if wondering what to do with you. If this pitiful, miniature oddity before him was even worth using as a toothpick?

To eat or not to eat? That is the question.

You don’t want to know his answer.

Your body gambles on the oldest bet known to humankind.

You go all in on running.

Faster than you've ever moved in your entire life, you bolt toward the green thicket.

You could swear that the pathetic, almost pleading howl behind you and the shifting sound of something slithering across the sand belong to the siren, but you don’t have the courage to turn your head and confirm it.

You disappear behind massive leaves, blindly trying to make your way back to the familiar beach.

And for a long while, you can still hear the lamenting wail behind you.

[hbatfam98]

I have a headcannon that Batman is The supportive father.

In the normal sense that he would support his kids in whatever path they choose (vigilante, doctor, anything that's not a straight up war criminal really), supports and funds all their hobbies and passions and after seeing how hesitant the first kid to come out to him was, had pride flags hanging in every corner of the batcave, made pride pins that were safe to wear with their vigilante uniforms and maybe even brings back rainbow batman for a day if any of his kids were having a really hard time.

But also, he absolutely refuses to critique/scold any of his kids in public/in front of others.

Dick skips school because a travelling circus is coming to Gotham and claims his absence is because of a family emergency? (He doesn't know how to explain to Bruce that yes it will hurt to see the performers but it would also feel like returning home. That even though he loves his life now he still missed being in the circus) When the school calls Bruce that night, Bruce lectures Dick on the importance of honesty and "next time just tell me you want to go to the circus chum, I'd have sorted it out. I hope u had fun kid and... if u want, only if u want, we could go to one together sometime? I heard there was a show in Bludhaven next week..." Then the next day Bruce drops Dick off at his class and walks into that school sobbing, blubbering about how his emotional support cat had died and it was a miracle Dick was able to return to school so soon.

Bruce gets called down to a fancy store because Jason, who was wearing his old clothes, got accused of shoplifting? Bruce is there in seconds lecturing the store owner about how disgusting it was to judge his son based on his clothes, until littleJay tugs on his shirt and whispers "I did it." After which he lectures the store owner for having the checkout at the wrong place in the store, that's why his precious boy got confused! (And in the meantime discreetly slips Jason a $200 bill) "Did you even ask my kid if he had the money or did u just assume huh? Oh you didn't ask? Well why don't you ask him now Mr.Prick?" and Jason gleefully shows him the bill. Then in the car ride back home Jason admits that he was trying to steal the pretty pen because he wanted to give Bruce a nice present for father's day but he didn't have enough saved up and Bruce lectures him on honesty, trust and "I don't need an expensive gift sweetheart. Having u with me, to celebrate father's day with and knowing that u wanted to do something nice for me is all I need. .. the second best gift would be if u would give me a private showing of ur big speech in your school play?" (And that's how the tradition of Jason performing some monologue from his current favourite play every father's day started)

And the lectures/scolding for his kids only happening in private carries over to their vigilante life too. Batman will point out any mistake made by JL, in front of the criminals they are currently in the process of apprehending. Reading any post mission report he wrote feels like being back at school and getting back an assignment covered in red ink.

Then the younger heroes start joining. Now, the batkids are trained well - they make fewer mistakes than most of the JL - but mistakes still happen.

Nightwing makes the wrong judgement call and one of the criminals almost gets away. The JL members hold their breath as Batman drags the criminal back, ready to step in if he's too harsh. "Sorry Bats, I thought it was the right call to make" Dick mutters disappointed with himself and all Batman says is "it happens." The next day Batman advices Nightwing on what to consider when making those decisions and how to train yourself to make them in the moment. The post mission report just reads "one criminal slipped away but was apprended moments later. More manpower would have been optimal for this mission"

In the middle of another mission the rushed voice of Oracle comes through the comms, "they've hacked our comms, I wasn't fast enough to stop them. I am turning comms off now so our communications aren't compromised." *Click* The JL have to rely on silent communication and guesswork to complete the rest of the mission. Once it's over, Batman pull out his cellphone, "Oracle, we have completed the mission. Everyone is safe. Do u need help regaining control of our comms?" When they make it back to the watchtower, Batman stays by Oracle's side and they figure out what the weak point was and how to keep it better protected. The post mission report just reads, "Comms was compromised. JL should train in silent communication to be better prepared for such circumstances."

Older JL members are so jeealouss. After these incidents, when he was lecturing one of the members post mission he hears some of them mutter about favouritism. But it wasn't exactly favouritism...

Which they realise when Kid Flash, sent to scout out a location beforehand misses a hidden latch. In the middle of the 'negotiation', goons spring out of the secret room and attack. Once they are all tied up, Batman stalks over to Kid Flash - whose adrenaline was coming down and it was dawning on him that this only happened because he missed something. "I'm so sorry Mr. Ba-" "Show me your arm kid" Batman says as he folds up Wally's arm so he can better examine where Wally had skinned his elbow when he fell during the fight - it wasn't even really bleeding. Still Batman is thorough in making sure it is properly disinfected and bandaged up and when Wally tries to apologise again during this he says, "It's a secret room kid, it was meant to be easy to miss." When they're back at the watchtower, Batman pulls Wally aside to lecture him about how it's better to slow down and take a few extra seconds when needed, and then hands him a file with all the tricks Batman had learnt to spot things that are not quite right more easily. The post mission report just reads, "was ambushed by 5 attackers, they were subdued in 8 minutes. JL should have more trainings im responding to ambushes."

Batman never wanted children (not just his) to be so afraid of his reaction that they wouldn't come to him for help if they had made a mistake. Yes, they will have to suffer through lectures if they made a mistake that could have been easily avoided, but that will always only happen after everything gets sorted out and everyone is in a safe place again. Soon, much to the confusion and shock of older JL members, young heroes, though hesitantly, regularly go to Batman to ask for advice.

[writeriguess]

Hiya! I LOVE your work! Im currently on crutches, and I was wondering if you could do a Kirishima x fem reader where reader has crutches please? If not it’s totally fine!

Lean on Me

It had been a long day at UA, and despite your injuries, you still managed to make it through the halls with a determined expression, your crutches tapping rhythmically against the ground. You’d gotten used to the balance, but it still wasn’t easy.

"Hey, hey, hold up!" A familiar voice echoed behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Kirishima, as always, was loud and enthusiastic. He caught up to you easily, his broad grin immediately making you feel a little less weary.

"What's up, Eijiro?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, even as your muscles ached from the effort of moving around.

He reached out, gently tapping the top of your crutch, his grin widening. "You know, you're making crutches look cool. Like, I didn't think it was possible, but here you are, owning it!"

You snorted, shaking your head. "Yeah, sure. I'm definitely the most fashionable crutch user here."

Kirishima chuckled, moving to your side to walk with you. "For real though, you good? You've been pushing yourself all day."

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "I'm fine, just a little tired. Nothing I can't handle."

"That's not what I mean, y'know." Kirishima’s tone softened, and he matched his pace with yours. "You’re not used to all this extra work, so let me help you."

Before you could protest, Kirishima reached down, easily lifting your backpack off your shoulder, and slung it over his own.

"You don’t have to do that," you said, feeling a little flustered at the gesture. "I can carry it."

He just laughed again, his warmth filling the air around you. "Nope. I insist. You’re already doing enough with those crutches." He nudged your arm with his elbow. "Let me make it easier on you."

You couldn’t argue with that, especially when the weight of your backpack was starting to drag you down. So you just sighed and leaned on him a little as the two of you continued down the hallway.

The quiet between you didn’t last long. Kirishima turned to you, a serious look crossing his face for a moment. "So, for real… You sure you're not pushing yourself too hard? I can see you wincing sometimes when you walk, and I’m not okay with that."

You felt a warmth spread in your chest at his concern, but you shook your head. "It's not bad. I just… don’t want to be a burden. You’ve already done enough by walking me around today."

Kirishima stopped in his tracks, turning you toward him gently by the shoulders. He looked down at you with that soft, earnest expression he reserved only for moments like this. "You’re never a burden, (Y/N). Don’t even think that for a second. You don’t have to do everything on your own."

His words made your heart flutter, and you bit your lip, feeling that familiar warmth spread to your cheeks. "Eijiro, I—"

"Hey, you’re my friend, right?" His voice was so full of sincerity. "That means I’m here for you. I’m not letting you struggle alone."

You hesitated, but then allowed yourself to lean on him more. "Okay, okay. Maybe I’ve been trying to do too much myself."

Kirishima smiled brightly, the smile that always made your heart skip a beat. "Good! So, from now on, I’m gonna help. Anything you need, I’m here. Crutches? I got you. A hand with classwork? I’m your guy. Need a break from walking? I’ll carry you if I have to."

You let out a soft laugh at the last part, and Kirishima’s goofy expression made you feel at ease. "Alright, alright. You really don’t have to carry me, but I appreciate the offer."

He puffed out his chest, beaming with pride. "It’s a heroic gesture, (Y/N)! Let me show you the true meaning of teamwork!"

"Your sense of humor is something else," you teased, nudging him lightly.

"Hey, I try," he said with a wink, and you couldn’t help but smile in return.

He then adjusted your crutches as you moved forward, making sure you were steady. "But seriously, if you ever need me, just let me know. I mean it."

You nodded, feeling more supported than you had all day. With Kirishima by your side, you didn’t feel quite as helpless as you had before. And maybe that’s all you really needed—someone who cared enough to stick by you through the struggle.

"Thanks, Eijiro," you murmured, feeling a warmth in your chest that wasn’t from the physical exertion.

He grinned, bumping his shoulder against yours. "Of course, (Y/N). You’re my best friend. Always got your back."

And just like that, you felt a little lighter, knowing that with his support, you could make it through anything—even on crutches.

[hoe-days]

Senku and his relationship with jealousy!

Senku isn’t a jealous guy per se. But he’s still a man, he still loves his S/O, and most of all, he still has his pride.

He’s not gonna sit there and watch his S/O like a hawk and seethe with rage, hell no! For one, that’s a waste of time and valuable brain power. Two, he trusts his S/O whole heartedly. If he didn’t he simply wouldn’t be with them.

At the same time though, he’s not a pushover. He’s not so uncaring about it that he’d just sit back and watch his S/O get seduced by someone. He has that impish grin on his face when his S/O rejects the suitor.

Now if his S/O reciprocates for some reason, you get two outcomes.

If his S/O is pretending for the sake of getting something he needs, then yeah. He’s cool. He can tell. He plays along too.

Now if his S/O is genuinely flirting back well…it hurts his feelings. He’ll be upset but he wouldn’t say anything, not in the normal sense at least. He’d get snappy at S/O and have one hell of an attitude.

Now on the other hand! If his S/O is getting flirted with and does not want to be, but is making no effort to stop it, then he’d gladly step in. But his response depends completely on the type of person flirting with S/O.

His base response is to get that specific tone in his voice, that cocky asshole tone. He’d straight up tell them, “How long are you gonna flirt, they’re 10 billion percent not interested.” And he’d just continue to damage the person’s ego until they leave.

BUT if he observes the situation and sees that it could turn violent or put him or S/O in danger if he approaches it wrong. He calls for backup. That boy is not afraid to enlist help when needed😭

Some brute is flirting with S/O and making them uncomfortable? Senku is calling Tsukasa he DOES NOT care. He’d ask Tsukasa(or whoever he calls upon) to come over, and whoever it is will likely catch on quick. Even Taiju can recognize the look on Senku’s face as he stares at his S/O.

So in general, no Senku isn’t some overly jealous boyfriend, nor is he some uncaring cool guy. He trusts his S/O, but he does not trust other people if that makes sense. He can get jealous if pushed to be and his reaction depends on the situation. If his S/O is purposefully trying to make him jealous, he’ll tell them to stop. If they’re not doing it on purpose, he gets a bit possessive with their time, asking them to work with him more(if they can afford to). It’s not very often he gets jealous, as he’s very secure in their relationship, but he’s certainly not without his insecurities. He keeps them at bay by finding ways to deem them illogical. But they slip through from time to time.

He’d voice them to S/O if they pry enough. Gently ofc. Don’t try to force it out of him. Catch him on a particularly emotional night and just sit with him and talk. Those are his most vulnerable and open moments. When it’s just him, S/O, and the moon and stars.