#i don't even need to add a single damn thing

[helloitstsyu]

The Night We Met | Tom Cruise

Fantasize Series Chapter 6 | Previous Part | Fantasize Masterlist

You wait for him.

Day after day. Hour after hour. In all the quietest corners of your house-where he used to linger. The patio, where sunlight once kissed his skin. The poolside, where his eyes had once followed you like you were the only thing that moved. Near your father's study. By the breakfast table, where he'd pretend not to watch you but always did.

You wait.

But he never comes.

Not even a shadow down the hallway. Not a knock on your bedroom door. Not a missed call. Not a single text. No explanation. No goodbye.

Nothing.

And that hurts more than an ending ever could. Because at least endings are clean. At least endings give you something to hold, even if it's grief. This?

This is silence. This is erasure. This is being unchosen without the dignity of a word.

You're left with only the ghost of him. The way he looked at you in that dark closet. The way his voice cracked when he whispered, "You're mine." The way his hands trembled like they didn't know how to let go.

It replays like static. Over and over. Until you start to wonder if you imagined it all.

You spiral. Quietly. Shamefully.

Eventually, you cave.

"Dad," you ask one morning, like the question isn't everything. "Are you still making that movie with Cruise?"

Your father doesn't even look up from his phone. "Yeah, of course..... Why?"

Your heart jolts-hope, stupid and raw. "Oh. Just... You never had meetings with him again." You try to make it seamless.

"No, I still see him all the time," your father says casually. Then, like twisting a dull knife, he adds, "In fact, I'm meeting him now."

You blink. "N-Now? He's coming here?"

"No, not here. I'm heading to the office."

Right. Of course.

Not here.

Never here.

You force a nod. "Oh."

Like it's fine. Like it doesn't feel like being slapped. Like it doesn't carve something out of you.

He's still in L.A.

He just isn't in your L.A.

He's here-but not for you.

And that's worse than if he'd left. Because it means he's making the choice. Every day. To stay away.

You try to bury it. Bury him.

You tell yourself it was nothing. That you were nothing.

The janitor’s closet. The way he held you like prayer and punishment. The way he breathed you in like he'd never get the chance again.

Nothing.

The way his voice broke when he said, "You're mine, you're fucking mine."

A lie.

You tell yourself that lie so often, you start to almost believe it.

Almost.

But then night comes.

And he invades your dreams. Violently. Relentlessly. Starting from the night you met him. Like your subconscious doesn't give a damn about dignity.

You wake up breathless, clawing at sheets. Heart pounding. The phantom of his touch still burning on your skin. You hear his voice in the dark-low, possessive, ruined.

And when the silence creeps back in, it brings with it the truth: you miss him. In ways that don't feel survivable.

So you work.

You drown in it.

You throw yourself into building your brand-because it's the only thing you can control. You bury your grief in pigment swatches and marketing strategies. You spend hours refining formulas, sitting through back-to-back calls, overseeing packaging like your life depends on it.

Because maybe it does.

You haul boxes in your warehouse like a penance. You chase growth like it'll numb the ache. Like success can rewrite what he left behind.

And your company does flourish.

Your numbers climb. Your name spreads. And still-you're unraveling underneath all the glossy headlines.

You've built your empire on heartbreak. And no one knows.

---

You're about to head out when your father calls.

"Cupcake," he says. "Can you swing by and grab the blue folder from my study? The contract drafts—I need them at the office before noon."

You say yes without thinking. Just another task. Just another detour on the way to your warehouse.

You're met at the front desk by a few of your father's staff. They smile. You smile bigger. The performance is easy now. You've gotten good at pretending that you're fine.

You expect nothing.

You've learned not to.

He hasn't been here in a week. Why would today be different?

But then you turn the corner.

And the air leaves your lungs.

Because he's there.

Tom.

Standing in your father's office like he didn't ruin you. Like he didn't vanish without a word. Like he didn't touch you like it meant something and then never come back.

His back is to you, but your body knows him before your eyes can confirm it.

The slope of his shoulders. The way he stands—tense, still, like he's always seconds away from bolting or breaking.

He's wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. So simple. So effortless. So cruel.

Because how dare he look that good while you're still gasping for air?

Your throat tightens. Your body locks.

You hadn't realized how much of you had been curled around the absence of him until this very second—until the space is full again, and your body remembers.

It's like surfacing after drowning.

And then comes the ache.

The feral, pathetic ache of missing him.

God, you miss him.

You miss his voice. His mouth. The weight of his stare. You miss the way he made you feel like you were seen. Like you were wanted in a way that felt like ruin.

You miss him with a grief that doesn't make sense.

And he's right there.

So close. So real.

And still unreachable.

You don't say anything. Can't.

But something shifts.

He feels you.

You see it in the way his shoulders freeze. The pause. Like something ancient just cracked open in the space between you.

He turns. Slowly. Warily.

And then his eyes find yours.

And the world stutters.

You stare at each other.

One beat. Two.

He looks like hell. Like maybe he hasn't slept either. Like maybe your ghosts are the same.

Like maybe you still live in his head too.

That unbearable truth. That unsaid agony:

I want you, but I can't have you.

You whisper his name. "Tom..."

It slips out of you like a prayer you forgot you'd been saying.

And for one second—one brief, miraculous second—you swear he almost reaches for you.

You see it in his eyes. The tremble. The crack.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he shuts it all down. Locks it up. Shuts you out.

He turns into stone before your eyes.

And suddenly, he's not the man who touched you like salvation. He's not the man who said you were his like it broke him to mean it.

He's a stranger.

Cold. Detached.

Gone.

You step forward. Clutching the folder like armor. "So... we're pretending again?"

Your voice sounds braver than you feel.

He doesn't answer.

You try again. "Are you really not going to say anything?"

Nothing.

Your hands are shaking now. "You've been here all week," you whisper. "And you couldn't even look at me?"

He replies, clipped. "Meetings."

That's all he says.

Like it explains the agony.

Like it undoes the silence.

"Is it because of me?" you ask.

You know the answer. You see it in the set of his jaw. The way he can't meet your eyes.

You step forward anyway. "Tom—"

"Don't." He interjects.

His voice cuts through the room like a whip. Firm. Final.

And then he looks at you.

Not like he used to.

No hunger. No softness.

Just steel. Just control.

"I don't want to see you again, Y/N."

The words hit like a bullet.

You flinch.

You blink back tears, chest caving in.

"Was it a mistake again, Tom?"

He doesn't answer.

Just stares.

And somehow, that's worse than any cruelty.

Because if it was a mistake, he should say it. If it wasn't, he should fight.

But he just lets you drown in the silence.

You whisper, broken now, "I thought you cared."

And when he still doesn't speak—

You laugh, soft and bitter. More breath than sound.

"My mistake."

You turn before the tears fall.

You leave before you beg. Before you sob. Before you do something reckless like ask him to love you again.

You leave the room before he can destroy what's left of you.

Because he already knows how.

---

Taglist:

@katluke23-blog

@anima-patronos

@tom-cruiseisalegend

@sdrose93

@kujolin12-official

[eraserbread]

your husband, nanami, finally gives you the one thing you've been pining over

nanami spoils you rotten. he's starting to see that, now.

you wanted a house? a week later he slid the deed to you over dinner.

that new egregiously priced sectional you've been eyeing? add to cart.

there was only one thing he fought you on.

"i'm sorry - just couldn't help but notice." ken walks into the bedroom where you're relaxing on your side of the bed, new fiction book in hand that you only just picked up. "is this your birth control? it was in the trash can..."

"oh." you reply haphazardly, flipping to page 28. "my doctor and I decided we'd take a few months off the daily's until my hormones even out."

poor kento - he has no idea what you're talking about, but he knows you never told him anything about hormones. "yes, I understand." no, he doesn't. "but what about contraception?"

"we'll be fine for a few weeks." you turn to the next page, deciding it being better not seeing his face right now. you wouldn't be fine - in fact, you're ovulating.

but, is it such a crime to have a baby with your extremely well-off, generous, yet supremely stubborn husband? the way he's acting, you would think so.

"i'm just supposed to not lay hands on you for a few weeks?"

"if that's what you feel like, yeah."

"hey." he suddenly crowds you, standing at your side of the bed and pushing your book down. "I don't like the nonchalant."

"just wear a condom, nanami." you flick his big hand away from your book, content just to rile him up a bit before accepting defeat.

you know what you're doing.

"nana..." he's repeating his name -- a name you never called him unless you were serious. "I'll give you time by yourself to cool off." he's at that tempered-state right before his self-control shatters; all he needed was another push.

"lock it behind you?"

"why do you need to lock the door?" you can see it as he faces your back to you, heading to give you some space before he's stopped by your words. this is a home of open doors- even if you're using the bathroom. it's a bit insulting that you'd want to lock the bedroom one now.

a flick of the finger finds you at page 30, and you smile as your main character is taunted and poked. " oh, nothing. just thought i'd try this new toy friend sent me."

"toy? are you trying to make me mad?" kento's glad to admit he's never even seen you whisper next to a sex toy when he's around. he truly is so spoiled.

the door in his hand he was about to close behind him, slams shut with a single push. it makes just enough noise to pull you from your relaxed state, lowering your book and furrowing a brow.

so, just imagine your ease and joy when he has you folded in a mating press a few minutes later, sweat dripping down the side of his face as he fucks you into the mattress. your knee is over his shoulder, thick, chiseled torso shining in the dull bedroom light under sex and sin. he looks so good like this -- eyes screwed shut and only blinking open to study your pained, but highly satisfied expression.

"you want a baby so damn bad, I'll give you a baby." he growls, taking your other knee in his strong hands to will you deeper into the position. you're aching already, and he was not the gentlest, but you loved every second of it.

it's nearly embarrassing just how wet you are, and ken can feel it as you squelch and weep for him. it's impossible to let up, you're fucking squeezing around his cock like you're trying to milk him dry, spilling out fitting endearances that lick over him, giving him reason to take you harder.

he's so hard it hurts -- it hurts because you're so beautiful and he loves you so much that he hogs all of his sweet, sweet seed for you all day until you're loose enough to take all of it.

but, you're so damn stubborn and you know how to frustrate him. he loves it. he lives for anything you give him -- it just gives him reason to fuck you a little harder after a long day. he knows you need that, so who cares if it takes a little bratting to get your way?

after all, he married you.

and it's pointed directly at your womb that he cums so fucking hard and deep. forcing himself to keep fucking you through it so he can pump his seed deeper and deeper until it has nowhere to go but up and out.

your stupid little plan worked. now, he has you bred and limp when he pulls out, leaving a sick stain of white between your thighs in his wake.

"you got what you wanted? happy now?" ken regards you with a glance over his shoulder as he scoots out of bed. you're staring at him unblinking, just taking in the way his strong back twitches with every move.

it's fucked-out and pliable that you give him a little nod, smiling soft at the corners, you mumble --

"...gonna have a baby... yay."

[sceletaflores]

GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

꩜ masterlist ꩜ update blog ꩜ requests ꩜ taglist ꩜

｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

Graduation parties for Ivy League brats. Champagne in fancy crystal flutes and catered hors d'oeuvres getting passed around on silver trays. Men in loafers and pastel polos calling each other “old buddy” without any irony. It’s a far cry from his usual crowd—his mangy old t-shirt and stained blue jeans stick out in the place like a damn sore thumb.

The invitation came from a distant friend, someone he used to work with before his career took him in an entirely different, much shiner direction. He was here more as a favor than anything else. Tommy’s been worried about him, says he needs to get out more.

“Meet some new people, drink a few beers.” He’d said with his hand clasped on Joel’s shoulder. “It ain’t healthy to spend every weekend fixin’ shit around the house, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t see the problem. He’s fine the way he is. But somehow, he still got roped into going when he could have used any excuse to pull out at the last second. He could have faked sick, faked busy, faked like he had anything else to do besides sit at a fancy oak table on a back porch bigger than the whole first story of his house, decorated in Yale blue balloons and streamers. 

He regretted giving into Tommy the second he pulled up in the driveway—a too-big Craftsman style place in West Lake Hills, all clean laid brick and perfectly manicured lawns. Joel couldn’t for the life of him remember why he said yes in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt of worrying his brother. Maybe for the decent catered food and overpriced beers he knew would be there when he first got the address.

What he hadn’t expected—what hit him in the goddamn chest when the door swung open after he knocked—was you.

And Christ, did you look smug about it.

It had been months ago. The only reason Joel was even in Connecticut was to meet with a client, a big time East Coast entrepreneur who wanted a new add on to his ten car garage and was fine slinging around the money to pay for a round-trip flight and a cushy hotel room.

He hadn’t planned on going to the bar that night, but after hours of back-and-forth about permits and material costs, he needed a drink. Just one, maybe two—enough to take the edge off before heading back to the hotel.

It was a shitty little dive about ten minutes from where he was staying. The beer was cold, the lights were low, and he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions with his little head. But then he saw you across the way, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You were in a circle with a few other girls, your dress riding up higher and higher each time you’d roll your hips to the heavy bass blaring from the overhead speakers.

Joel watched you like that for a while, leaned up against the bar lazily sipping at his beer. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, just sat there and enjoyed the view. But you’d caught him looking, and instead of turning away and pretending not to notice, you’d smirked.

Joel should have known right then that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before you left your little group and made your way over, slipping on the stool beside him like you belonged there, like you’d already made your mind up about what was going to happen next. You’d leaned in close, close enough for him to catch the scent of whatever perfume you’d rolled over your throat before heading out—something rich and heady that damn near made his head spin.

“Hey, cowboy.” You’d said with a tilt of your head, the long column of your neck dewy with a light sheen of sweat he wanted to feel under his tongue. “You’ve been watching me?”

There was no accusation in your voice, just a quiet sort of amusement, like you already knew the answer.

Joel had huffed a laugh, he didn’t see the point of denying it. He was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. “Yeah.” He’d admitted, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. “What about it?”

Your eyes dropped down the length of his body, studying him, and he’d let you. Let you take your time looking, even as heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Buy me a drink?” You’d asked, smiling up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

That was all it took.

One drink turned into two, which turned into three, and then you were leaning into his space like you were made to be there. Your index finger teasingly tracing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered something filthy in his ear that had all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

Joel really shouldn’t have let it go any further than some goddamn footsie under the bar and a few dirty words whispered over the rims of shiny glasses, he was too old for shit like that. But you were just so damn tempting—confident and sharp and pretty as all hell.

Before Joel knew it he had you pressed up against the side of his truck, giggling into his mouth, fingers tugging at his belt like you couldn't get it off fast enough. You’d tasted like the fruity cocktails he bought you and something sweeter underneath, something distinctly you, and Joel had to have more.

You let him have it too—fisting his shirt and dragging him into the backseat without a care in the world, all eager hands and breathless laughter as you straddled his lap.

It was supposed to be just that. A reckless decision with a pretty young thing as the cherry on top of his trip. A one-night deal he’d let himself have because, fuck, it had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

Joel tried his damndest to think how he should’ve, tried not to let some one off fuck turn him all sorts of ass backwards. He tried his damndest to boot you out of his mind the next morning when he was boarding the flight back to Austin—but you stuck anyway, like a burr in his goddamn brain. 

The way you’d looked sprawled out under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips parted, or the way you’d moaned his name like it was a prayer you needed him to hear. The way you’d rode him nice and slow, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shudder. The way you’d kissed him after, lazy and sweet, before sneaking off into the night like a goddamn thief.

Joel could've sworn he saw God that night, a smudged silhouette in the fogged up windows of his truck.

And now you’re here, standing in the doorway of some polished, high society home, looking like sin wrapped up in tulle and pearls.

Joel wasn’t a man who spooked easy, but seeing you again, surrounded by people who had no goddamn idea what you’d let him do to you in the backseat of his truck all those months ago, knocked him on his ass harder than a sucker punch.

The recognition was damn near instant, your eyes shining just as much as the sparkly sash that read “GRAD!” in big glittery letters. The initial shock gave way to a tiny, secret smile as your gaze slid up and down his body shamelessly, like this was some kind of funny inside joke. 

Joel was seconds away from turning tail, walking back down your ridiculously long driveway and getting in his truck to get the hell out of there, but then your father was walking up behind you with a big grin on his face. He clapped Joel on the shoulder roughly and introduced his “Old buddy Joel Miller from his blue-collar days!”

You were all coy smiles and wide eyes. A sugared, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming…” passing through your glossy lips.

The same lips that left shiny red smudges along the skin of his cock when you slid him down your throat, peering up at him with glassy eyes. The memory alone was enough to get heat stirring deep in his gut, and the way you looked at him now—all demure and polished, like you were some angelic scholar fresh off a podium—only made it worse.

Joel is too damn old for this.

“Very top of her class,” your father boasts, swishing his beer bottle through the air towards you flippantly. “Can you believe it? Just think of what we were doing at her age, brother. She sure as hell didn’t get any brains from me, that’s all her mother.”

Joel tries to chuckle with him, but it sounds strained, forced. He keeps his eyes facing forward, knee bouncing restlessly under the table. You’re looking at him again, hot and persistent against the side of his face. The heavy weight of your gaze practically begging him to look back. He doesn’t.

This dinner is it’s own form of torture, because of course, you just had to sit in the empty seat next to Joel—close enough that he can feel your knee bump up against his every few minutes.

He’s done a good job avoiding you until now, always walking the other direction when you waltz into the same room, not making eye contact when your gaze would sweep over the crowd hoping to catch his, trying for once in his life to be a good man.

A good man that suffers through this damn party without doing something he'll regret, that leaves at the end of the night and never has to see you again.

“Yeah,” he says, nervously starting to pick at the label of his own beer. Some snobby, imported New England brewery, probably sixty bucks a six-pack. “Good times.”

Joel can see you lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the neckline of your dress sliding down an inch as you stare at him, attention rapt. “What were you like back then, Mr. Miller?”

Joel nearly winces, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer hard enough to turn the skin around his knuckles white.

‘Mr. Miller’ echoes in his ears lewdly, blaring like church bells. Your voice is nothing but a honey-sweet mockery, so syrupy he can nearly feel it trickling down his throat to add to the warmth settling low in his stomach. 

Your father snorts over the lip of his bottle, answering you before Joel could open his mouth. “Joel didn’t go to college, honey. He went into the trades right after graduation,” he takes a long sip, Joel feels your knee bump against his again. “That’s how we met.”

You hum, nodding your head languidly. “You’re an architect too?”

Joel shakes his head, not looking at you as he answers. “Carpenter.”

Your father launches into some story about his old work days with Joel, about how back in the day, they were “real men” with “real jobs,” but Joel can barely process any of it. He nods along absently, lets out some half-hearted chuckles when he needs to.

Joel nearly puts his knee through the table when he feels your barefoot brush up against his ankle, hiking his jeans up ever so slightly. He shoots you a glare as subtly as he can.

It’s a look so sharp, so warning, that it should be enough to make you back the hell off from whatever game you’re playing. You’re not even looking at him anymore, eyes glued to your father as you nod along to whatever story he’s telling now. 

But there’s a knowing little smile on your lips as your hand creeps beneath the table and falls into his lap, the pads of your fingers pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Joel goes still. Rigid as his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Christ, you’re trying to kill him.

Your father’s voice pulls him out of the silent panic and heavy arousal waging a war inside of him. “How’s business, Joel?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You and Tommy still running things at a hundred miles a minute?”

Joel barely registers the question as your hand inches higher and higher. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his throat, in his chest, in his cock, already half-hard in his boxers from some goddamn heavy petting like a wet behind the ears teenager. 

“Yeah, we–” Joel pauses, willing his voice to steady with a quick cough to clear his throat. “We’ve been pretty busy with Summer rollin' around.”

Your father hums in agreement, cracking open another beer. “Of course, my schedule’s been a killer too this season,” he brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Joel are in the same boat. Only your fathers boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing for blue-print meetings with big shot celebrities and architectural digest interviews. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow stroke, your palm grinding roughly over the tip through the tented denim.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice has gone all light and airy around the edges, almost melodic as it buries itself in Joel’s ears. At first, Joel thinks you’re talking to your father, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re looking at him—your eyes half-lidded and sparkling with something dangerous as your fingers tug at the tab of his zipper.

Joel’s hand flies to your wrist, squeezing tight enough to stop your pawing at his now fully hard cock. “Alright if I use your bathroom?” he asks sharply, his voice a little too loud. He tosses your hand away and stands abruptly from his chair before he’s got an answer.

“Of course,” your father says easily, thankfully not noticing the tension at the table, or the way Joel’s trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch. He turns his attention towards you, “Would you show Joel where the downstairs bathroom is, honey?”

Your smile only widens as you slip your sandal on and calmly stand from your own chair. “Sure,” you say breezily, but you’re not looking at your father, dark eyes still glued to Joel’s. “Follow me.”

The flowy fabric of your dress swishes behind you as you walk through the yard, Joel hot on your heels. He waits until you're both in the house, stepping through the open sliding glass door and out of view before his hand flies to your arm and squeezes hard.

Joel hears you wince softly, but you don’t try to fight your way out of his grip. He leans down closer, his lips inches away from your ear. His voice is low and rough as he grits out, “Take me to your room, now.”

You lead him through the kitchen and up the stairs silently, but Joel can still see the smug smile on your lips as you turn the corner. The need to slap that bratty shit right off your face wracks through him like thunder, anger burning hotter in his chest with every step.

You push the door to your bedroom open and step inside, barely turning to face him before Joel slams the door shut behind him and stalks past you. His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of rage and want as he stares you down.

“Do you think this is a goddamn game?” His voice is teeming with fury, the calm facade he scarcely maintained at dinner now entirely gone. “That you can do whatever the hell you please because your Daddy’s sittin' across from you?”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning against the door with your arms crossed behind your back coyly. “You didn’t bring me a present.”

It’s a taunt if Joel’s ever heard one, and it finally breaks him.

He crosses the room in three large strides, pinning you against the door. His hands on either side of your head, caging you in. Joel cranes his neck down, his face inches away from yours. He can smell your perfume this close, it’s different than what you wore at the bar—something soft and girly and sweet that has his cock straining in his boxer.

“You’re real fuckin' proud of yourself aren’t you?” he spits roughly, watching the way your pupils dilate, eyes going glossy under his intensity. “Does your old man know how much of a tramp his precious little baby girl is? That she’s got such a greedy fuckin' pussy she can’t help herself from rubbin' his buddy Joel’s cock under the table like a desperate slut.”

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly, all the attitude draining from you at the drop of a hat the second he gets a little mean. Your eyes are stuck on his lips and, after a beat, you start leaning in, like you’ll die if you don’t kiss him.

Joel stops you with a hand fisted in your hair, keeping you still a few centimeters away from his lips. A pitiful whine falls from your slack mouth, wide eyes flicking back up to meet his with a pleading look.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” he asks, mean and condescending. Your breath puffs over his lips, hot and needy as you nod your head as best you can. Joel laughs, dark and cool as he shakes his head slowly. “Whores like you don’t get kissed baby, they get fucked.”

It does something to you—Joel can see it in the way your lashes flutter, in the way your thighs press together, like you can feel his words between your legs. He watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, the way your lips part as a little breathless sound escapes them, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Desperate. Squirming. Ready to let him ruin you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, low and almost reverent, but the wicked curl of his lips betrays the softness in his tone. “Bet you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod, your chest rising up to press against his with every breath.

“Words,” he demands, voice sharp as a needle. Your thighs twitch at the sound of it.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily. “I’ve been wet since you got here.”

That has Joel groaning, jaw ticking as his cock twitches heavily in his boxers, pre-come oozing into the cotton.

He doesn’t waste another second. He drops your hair to grab your shoulders, pulling and pushing until you’re tumbling onto your old bed. You let out a sharp gasp as your back hits the mattress, the force of it bouncing you a few times.

Joel looms over you, watching you, finally letting himself get a good look at the picture you make. Splayed across dainty floral sheets, chest heaving, staring up at him with need written all over your pretty face. It practically pumps off of you in waves, he can almost taste it.

Without another word, Joel reaches for his belt, his heavy gaze never leaving yours. The metal of his buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the room, underscored by the quick pants of your breath. It snaps with how hard he yanks it out of his belt loops, the leather cracking in the air menacingly.

"You wanted this," Joel mutters, popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a sharp hiss. "You practically fuckin’ begged for it."

You make a desperate little sound at the sight of his cock finally being freed from the confines of his jeans—thick, heavy, and leaking when it slaps against his stomach. Your legs spread wider like an offering, like you need it in you now.

Joel huffs out a laugh, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed, making you squeak in surprise. He climbs on the mattress, his body completely blanketing yours so you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

His hand drags down your body, over the swell of your breasts, over your ribs, the curve of your hip, until he’s gripping the hem of your dress. Joel slips his hand under the skirt, rough palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs before gripping the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

The thought of you finding the marks tomorrow, pretty shades of purple and yellow branding your skin as a reminder of this moment, of what Joel did to you—it makes his stomach flip with a sick thrill.

It doesn’t take much for Joel to push the bunched fabric around your hips the rest of the way up, exposing the barely-there scrap of lace covering you.

He makes a sound low in his throat when he sees the little damp spot blooming along the powder blue fabric. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, tracing his middle finger along the wet seam of your pussy, featherlight, teasing. “Can’t even sit through one damn dinner without beggin’ for my attention like a two-bit truck stop whore.”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, pupils blown wide as you blink up at him.

Joel tsks mockingly, raising his palm to give your clothed pussy a sharp slap that has you crying out. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Joel.”

Your voice is so soft, so wrecked. And Joel feels himself get impossibly harder, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed against your stomach, blurting pre-come onto the delicate pink tulle of your dress. He can hardly wait any longer.

Joel hooks a finger into the leg of your panties, dragging them down hard enough that he hears a rip. He can’t find it in himself to care, he just pulls them far enough that they pool around your ankles uselessly.

He finally takes himself in his hand so he can drag his cock through the wet mess of your pussy, bumping it up against your hole but not giving you a damn inch. A devastating noise falls from your lips, slow and sweet as molasses, your hips buck up off the mattress, trying to take him in. He presses one heavy hand down on your stomach, keeping you still.

“Ask me for it,” Joel whispers darkly, slapping the head over your glistening clit. “Beg for my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, frustration and desire burning in the inky black of your pupils. “Please, Joel. It’s all I can think about, can only think about you,” you ramble senseslessly, voice breathless. “About you fucking me. About your cock stretching me open. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

Fuck, he loves hearing you beg.

Joel grips your hips, holding you steady as he presses inside, slow at first, just enough to make you gasp, enough to let you feel how thick he is stretching you open. He curses, head falling forward as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.

Your hands scramble along the length of his back, nails scratching uselessly as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness. Joel knows he’s too big, the stretch too much all at once without prep. He knows it. He just doesn’t give a damn.

“I know, it’s a big stretch ain’t it?” Joel coos, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips. “You can still take it, darlin’. It’s what you wanted, wanted me to lose my goddamn mind and ruin this sweet little pussy.”

You nod desperately, a loud cry bursting from your chest as he pulls you back until his hips are flush with your ass. Your velvety heat feels scalding around him, snug and perfect, like it was made for him—made for his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he stays there for a beat, buried to the hilt—forcing you really feel the full, aching stretch before he starts to move. He drags his cock out to the tip, almost all the way, before slamming forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s it—take it all, just like that.”

Joel sets a brutal pace, fucking you so deep he swears he must be in your goddamn guts. His grip is merciless, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses them to pull you back against him, meeting every punishing thrust. The dirty sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the slick squelch of your pussy as it tries to suck him back in each time he pulls out, the pretty soft gasps and moans you’re struggling to keep quiet the cherry on top of it all.

It’s so loud, a symphony of lewd sounds bouncing off the walls enough that Joel would be worried that someone might overhear if your house wasn’t such a maze.

Joel watches you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands grasping at his shoulders, his arms, his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucks into you with ruthless precision. Every thrust sends a shockwave through your body, makes your breath hitch, your legs trembling where they’re locked tight around his waist.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, voice a low rasp in your ear. “Too dumb to talk now, huh? Just layin’ here, takin’ it like a good little whore.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he tilts his hips, the new angle forcing his cock to rub up against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Joel–”

Joel leans over you, breath hot against your ear as he mutters, “This what you needed, baby? Needed Daddy’s friend to hike your pretty dress up and fuck you good and hard like this?” He speeds his hips up fast enough to get the bed shaking on its frame. “Actin’ like a spoiled little brat all night just so I’d drag you up here and teach you some fuckin’ manners?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—” Your words slur together, breathy and high-pitched, your fingers twisting in his hair as he keeps up that relentless pace.

Joel reaches up to snatch your jaw in a tight grip, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks meanly. When you don’t, too fucked out of your mind to listen, he shakes your head back and forth like a bad dog. “Open it.”

The command breaks through the pleasure filled haze clouding your mind, and your mouth falls open obediently. Your slick lips parting enough for Joel to see the enticing pink of your tongue. A groan claws its way out from deep in his chest, and he leans down close to spit into your mouth.

Your moan is a high, choked whine as your eyes flutter shut, your pussy squeezing around his cock impossibly tighter. 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ swallow,” he says, fucking into your clenching heat harder. “Hold it right there.”

You open your eyes to stare up at him like he’s some kind of God, your lashes clumped together and glossy with unshed tears—gaze glazed over with a kind of bliss that makes something dark and satisfied wriggle to life in his chest.

“Good girl,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, but the words hit you like a sack of bricks. Your walls squeeze around him, and he groans low in his chest. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he can watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy, shining with your slick every time he pulls out. “Look at that. Fuckin’ made to take cock, aren’t you?”

You moan around closed lips, nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders so hard that he can feel his shirt ripping under the force of it. Joel can tell you’re getting close, your whole body trembling violently as the coil of your orgasm winds tighter and tighter.

“Go ahead and swallow for me, baby girl.” Joel needs to hear you, needs to hear you say his name when you come on his cock. “Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

The sound of you swallowing is music to Joel’s ears, his hips stuttering as he watches your throat work.

“Please,” you gasp, fat crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. “Need to come, need you to make me—”

“Yes,” he hisses, his thrusts turning sloppy for a beat before he regains his rhythm. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock nice and good?”

His words push you right over the edge. Your entire body tenses, pleasure rolling through you in a white-hot wave as your climax crashes over you, stealing your breath. You sob Joel’s name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, body shuddering beneath him as you clench down so fucking tight he can barely move.

Joel groans, his jaw going slack as he watches you fall apart, losing himself in the feel of your pussy milking his cock. He grits his teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gonna fuck you full of me, make you mine.”

With one last thrust, Joel spills inside of you. He buries himself as deep as he can go, warmth flooding your core as spurt after spurt of come paints your insides, thick and hot. His body shakes with the force of it, a deep, guttural moan falling from his lips as he rides out his orgasm.

Joel just stays there, panting, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, both of you are too overwhelmed to move. You just lay on the mattress tangled together in the aftermath, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat. Joel smooths his hands up your sides, grounding himself as you both come down from the highs of ecstasy.

When you finally stop shaking, Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, to take in the wrecked, spent look on your face. He brushes his knuckles over your sweaty cheek, softer than before. “Still think I didn’t bring you a present?”

You let out an amused huff, pushing your hands up under the back of his shirt so you can trace the column of his spine with gentle fingers. “Trust me, it’s the only present I’m getting that’ll be worth a damn. Money can’t buy this, Miller.”

Joel chuckles, low and smooth as warmth blooms in his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You earned it, baby.”

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! mwah.

[https-lvesick]

CAUGHT ON CAMERA — starring f!reader x na jaemin (ft. jeno and haechan, the perverts)

jeno and haechan know they can always count on their best friend, jaemin, and that's why they borrow his camera for a project. they just didn't expect to get the wrong camera... and enjoy every second of it.

content 𖹭 jaem!big dick, sex tape (size diff, breeding, stomach bulge, fingering, slight nipple sucking, m!oral + cum eating), m!masturbation

notes 𖹭 another big thanks for my baby @sinisxtea for proofreading this!

it wasn't unusual to see na jaemin walking around the campus carrying a camera and photographing everything he found cool. the devoted photography student had an unique artistic view, in his mind, anything could be turned into art. ordinary objects, situations and even some students were his objects of art, but there was only one thing, precious enough to worth his devotion: you. jaemin's object of adoration. he was so committed to you and to show the beauty of every single thing you'd do, he bought a camera exclusively for you.

that camera was special. It could only support videos and photos of you. you could be doing anything. playing with stray cats, eating, painting your nails, putting on some makeup, but his favourite moments were the intimate ones.

jaemin just... he couldn't handle your preciousness. in every aspect, he felt the need, the urge to capture and keep your beauty. especially when you put on a little show just to show him your new lingerie set. or maybe when you were choking with his cock down your throat, your makeup smudged all over your face. fuck... he could list every video that the camera had ever captured.

and knowing how committed, na jaemin, a third-year photography student, was to his major, donghyeok, his roommate, thought he could borrow one of his cameras for a project.

“did you even ask him for it, you dumbass? what if he took his camera with him?” jeno comments, leaning on the door frame, watching his friend search for one of the most valuable items for jaemin.

“wasn't he just driving his girl home? why does he need a camera for that?” the younger cusses, messing with jaemin's drawer.

“sure, but you know how in love he is and how he just keeps anything she does.” jeno rolls his eyes, almost giving up on convincing his friend to find an object he didn't even ask permission to use.

“finally!” donghyeok laid his eyes on something deep in the closet. he takes the camera and closes the doors.

“i still think that's the worst idea you've ever had. what if jaemin sees a picture of you there? especially if it's on the camera that, again, was deep in his closet.” jeno emphasizes his last words, trying to knock some sense into his friend, but knowing he wouldn't listen, he just adds: “at least check to see if it's charged.”

“that's what i'm trying to do...” donghyeok says focused. the two guys were already sitting in the corner of jaemin's bed. he turned the camera on and you are the first thing they saw, wearing a flowy light blue dress. jaemin and you were on a date and you were showing how to make your boyfriend's favourite sandwich. “how can someone be so pretty...” he murmurs, sighing.

“i don't know...” jeno says, letting himself get lost at the sound of your voice and how your beaming smile could lighten up his whole day. honestly, they can get where all of jaemin's adoration comes from. if he had a girlfriend like you, he'd also keep every single moment to himself. then he realized what he was thinking. “but she's our best friend's girlfriend, right? the camera is fully charged, we can see it, then c'mon.” he stands up, but donghyeok immediately pulls him to sit again.

“c'mon jen, we're already here. this might be the camera he dedicated to her. don't you wanna see more of this... damn sculpture? you sure?” the younger lee skips some photos and videos, stopping at a video where you're wearing a bikini. you were laughing with jaemin while taking off your sundress, talking about going to the water. the focus goes all to your ass, while you walk to the water and they can hear jaemin's mischievous laugh along with a perverted comment.

they knew it wasn't cool to desire their best friend's girlfriend, but were they the ones to blame when you looked that pretty? you looked like some fancy masterpiece sculpted by michelangelo in his peak of inspiration. are they the ones to blame when you looked like aprodithe's daughter yourself, being allowed to live among those poor and useless human beings, gifting them your graciousness? you must be the girl of every guy's dream and they're lucky to have a best friend good enough to win a lotto. at least they get to see you often.

as donghyeok passed the videos, the two guys found themselves more and more immersed in you. and jaemin is completely right to be obsessed with you.

“holy fuck...” haechan whispers, licking his lips before biting his lower lip. jeno comes closer, eyes wide open when he notices what's happening on the video.

“come here.” Jaemin's voice is heard and you comply. you crawl to the corner of the bed, where your boyfriend was, and sit still.

you were wearing an expensive lingerie set that was driving not only one, but three men crazy. the bra hugged your breasts so prettily that they wondered if they'd fit that good in their hands.

“nana... your cock...” you let out a whiny plea. almost purring like a cat. your sparkling eyes, begging your boyfriend to stop flauting you to the camera and to let you suck on him.

it's not that hard to deduce that jaemin may have been lowering his pants.

“haechan, enough.” jeno warns, trying to be rational, but yet his eyes were glued on the little screen that was showing you, kitty licking jaemin's tip, teasing him. you were even rubbing his cock between your breasts, slobbering on it.

“fuck it, he's not here to see what we're doing.” donghyeok says in a low voice, holding the camera in one hand, as the other was lowering his shorts.

“haechan, what the fuck!” the older lee exclaims, completely shocked with his friend's attitude.

“jeno, if you don't wanna stay, then leave. and you better don't open that fucking mouth of yours to jaemin.” he spits on his palm, before dragging it along his shaft, lubricating his length. “but you can't deny the obvious.” haechan laughs, looking at jeno’s pants, before turning his full attention to the video.

jaemin's hand was guiding your head, sucking him off as if it was your life goal. you sucked his tip, forcing your tongue on his slit, making your boyfriend cuss, and squeeze lightly his full balls. he's so fucking good at what he's doing, and so are you. shortly after, he's pulling your hair, prying you off of his cock.

“open that pretty mouth of yours, huh?” he asks, jerking off right on your mouth. In a matter of few seconds, you can taste his salty cum on your tongue and you swallow when he spills more on your boobs.

jeno was standing, thinking about this whole situation. he looked at his friend having fun and looks at his own problem, getting more uncomfortable. the way donghyeok looked so satisfied watching whatever was happening on the screen awakened his interest and desire. fuck, she was his best friend's girlfriend, but... she was fucking pretty and when would he get any opportunity like that again?

“this might be harassment or something like that…” he mumbles, retaking his place beside his friend and frees his cock out of his pants. jeno could see haechan's mischievous smile, so he said first: “don't you even get started, you nasty dog.” even with that said, donghyeok didn't seem very offended, after all, who is he to say anything?

by this time you were already laying in bed, your legs spread for jaemin and the camera, consequently, the two perverts watching that. your glistening cunt gushing your juices, while your boyfriend collected every drop of it with his long fingers, teasing your slit.

“how many?” jaemin asks, threatening to insert the tip of two of his fingers, but never doing it.

“three, nana…” you whine, biting your lower lip, watching your boyfriend smile and tease you, the same way you'd do to him. that's until he inserts the three fingers you requested, all at once.

haechan was sure that sweet, languid, moan would linger in his mind forever. jeno, on the other hand, was sure he will never be able to look at his friend and his girlfriend again. he'd rather throw himself off of the window. as soon as he cums.

with each movement of jaemin's fingers, the wet squelching sound could be heard. it made your eyes roll while jeno and haechan make it an opportunity to fasten their own movements. jeno gulps, looking straight at your wet hole, salivating. fuck, he imagines how good it must be to feel you. he's sure you're tight and nice to be inside of. he tighten his grip, forcing his cock on a tighter hole. haechan also salivates, watching how good you take jaemin's fingers. he stops his hand's movements, thrusting his hips up, imagining it was your pussy he was fucking.

jaemin takes his fingers out of you and the boys could suppose what he was doing. he was tasting you on his own fingers. haechan curses, caressing his balls, and closes his eyes, catching his lower lip between his teeth. jeno slows his rhythm, tracing his fingers along his abs.

your boyfriend hovers over you and kisses you. his free hand traces your body, searching for your bra's clasp, undoing it. you discard the piece, feeling jaemin's wet kisses on your skin, and then you feel his plump lips wrapping around your nipple. you shiver feeling your boyfriend's warm tongue, hugging him.

“jaem…” you call, almost like crying, and jaemin smiles against your skin, understanding well your wish. he pulls the mound of flesh between his teeth making you hiss.

“how could i deny you?” he mocks and stands up, taking off his pants. when he resumes his position above you, he rests his cock on your tummy.

and that's when they realize how smaller than jaemin you are.

“no fucking way! this won't fit, no shit.” donghyeok smiled, clearly having fun. “this might be better than some cheap ass porn i've ever watched in my life.” his eyes lighten up with excitement. jeno only nods, lost in pleasure.

jaemin rubs his tip on your slit, forcing himself slowly. “no matter how many times i fuck you... will you ever open enough for me, darling?” he growls, getting even further inside you.

“jaem, it's too big!” you whine, gripping the bed sheets and closing your eyes, arching your back.

for a moment, your boobs shake and donghyeok loves it, almost losing it. he considers replay that part, but maybe another time, when he's alone.

when jaemin is fully inside you and the bulge is perfectly visible, jeno cums with a grunt. haechan laughs, teasing his friend. “good job, jen! hit it that fast?”

“shut the fuck up, lee donghyeok.” jeno grits his teeth. the truth is, jeno has a thing for bulge. it was the first thing he searched for when he was trying to relieve some stress. it was the first thing he thought when getting laid and now... knowing you were so small that a bulge was surely made on your belly made him see stars.

jaemin moves. starts slow, helping you get used to his size, even if you had done it plenty of times before, he was too big for you, no matter how many times when you were fucked by him, but then he picks up his pace. his hand presses the bulge on your stomach for a while, before gripping your thigh. his rhythm is rough, intense, so much that it makes your breasts move at each snap of his hips. and haechan felt like he was in heaven.

your moans starts to get more desperate and high-pitched. you call your boyfriend's name like a mantra while resting one of your hands on his stomach. jaemin doesn't stop, only picking up his pace, getting even rougher. he feels your pussy gripping his cock, identifying your orgasm. your eyes roll to the back of your skull and your mouth remains wide open for a while until you feel it dry, feeling jaemin squirting all of his seed inside of you.

“you fine, love?” he asks, slowing down his pace, only so you can come down off your high. you can just nod.

jaemin finally turns his camera, focusing right where your bodies meet. he thrusts a few more times, before getting out of you. the moment his cum is seen dripping out of you like a cascade is when haechan loses it, cumming with a whiny moan.

jaemin says something else, but the boys could care less, so donghyeok turns off the camera, putting it on the bed. jeno and haechan remain in silence for a moment.

“this might be the best thing my eyes have ever seen.” “that must be the gayest thing i've ever done.” they say at the same time.

“what?” haechan says.

“c'mon, i saw your cock. plus, i had to hear you moan like a whore. i'm getting insane…” jeno stands up angry, covering his dick again.

“oh, right, 'cause you moan like an alpha, huh?” the younger lee also stands up, bringing the camera with him.

“where do you think you're going with this, haechan?” jeno questions, watching his friend walk past him with the camera in hands.

“if you think i'm not enjoying this pretty little thing right here while i can, you're stupid. and you better not to try and jerk off with me. once was enough.” he says, leaving the room and an astonished jeno behind.

poor jeno, little does he know that haechan won't only watch. maybe he can upload some videos too. seeing jaemin's cock was a little price to pay when he was able to see all of you, spread and wet again.

[theobservatory]

｡⁠☆Loser Boyfriend｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ 

☆Cw: one use of "her", Mina calls you girl once, embarrassment, fluff, humor, rookie!prohero!deku

"Izuku, dude, no offense, but how did you land that?"

Izuku turns to Denki, looking just as lost as he does. There's a little flush on his cheeks and a wide eyed expression on his face. The boy looks like a confused baby dear, which truly only adds to Denki's confusion.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Teach me your ways." Denki says, comically whipping out a notepad from his pants pocket. "Did you grovel? Cry? Feed her a love potion but disguise it as juice so that she would drink it, but have no clue what it was?"

"N-No of course not!... And I'm pretty sure that would be illegal anyway..."

Denki shrugs, "Hey I don't know your life. You could be into some weird shit on the down low, you seem the type!"

Izuku responds with an eye roll. If anyone 'seems the type' it's Mineta and Denki himself. They turn back towards you instead of continuing the conversation. You're still in the same position you were in before; fully leaned over the back of the couch, legs closed with one slightly hanging in the air, while the rest of you is inside Mina's personal space giggling at something she's showing you on her phone.

You're in some cute little outfit that Izuku helped you pick out, a rare case, since Izuku still wears almost exclusively punny t-shirts and sweats. The only reason he helped is because it's your first time meeting his friends and former classmates, you just wanted to make sure the outfit wasn't too little or too much. This is not to say he was much help.

Izuku feels almost entranced by you, and you're not even looking at him. You haven't glanced his way since Mina took your attention, actually. Izuku could start pouting if he wasn't too busy ogling your backside. He's so busy he misses the picture Denki snaps at the enraptured look on his face.

"C'mon man, let's go raid the snacks before Kaachan forces us to leave the kitchen."

Denki's arm around Izuku's shoulder shakes him out of his stupor and he nods in agreement, not really having heard what he said at all. He allows Denki to lead him to the kitchen with only minimal glancing behind his back, just to get a little more time to soak in your image.

But he doesn't expect your eyes to catch. He has no time to prepare for the heat in his pink cheeks to spread to his ears, no time to prepare for your smile to make his heart thump in his chest. It makes him lightly stumble in his steps and turn to face forward again, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

"Oh, Izu! Can you come back for just a sec?"

Izuku breaks out of Denki's hold with not a single lick of hesitation, embarrassment be damned. His world shortens and zooms in when you talk, the feeling of embarrassment, as well as Denki's voice, becomes muffled in the face of it. None of that matters if you're the one who needs him.

"Look at this picture Mina has of you!"

It's the picture All Might took of him before he bulked up. The one where he's dirty and sweating and crying after trying to haul a fridge across a beach. Izuku thinks he might die. Where did she even get that picture?

His face must say a lot, because both you and Mina burst out laughing. You're trying to reassure him, but you're laughing so hard you're struggling to gain a breath to string words together. If the floor swallowed Izuku whole right now, he would be grateful. It was a terrible idea to bring you to meet his classmates, especially a gossip like Mina.

"Oh, baby no, don't look like that!" You gasp, placing a hand on his shoulder. It's not nearly as comforting as you're trying to make it be.

"Izuku you look like a total loser, good thing you gained some muscle there, pipsqueak!" Mina chortles.

"Oh stop it! He doesn't look like a... Loser... I think it's cute!"

"Keep telling yourself that!"

Izuku has never considered the merits of getting hit by a bus before, now is a better time than ever to start.

Your arms wrap around him, and he instinctually hugs you back. You press your still smiling face into his chest, and turn towards Mina, still a little breathless.

"It's okay Izuku, I'll protect you from Mina's mean words." You giggle.

Mina is quick to start booing you, but Izuku doesn't miss the picture of him being sent to an unsaved number in her phone. Oh she's going to get it next time they spare together, and he will make absolutely sure it is soon. She doesn't get to run away from the enemy she has created today.

"Whose side are you even on, girl?" Mina huffs playfully, turning back to her phone and sitting back down on the couch.

The party goes smoothly after that, mostly because Izuku doesn't leave your side for the rest of the night. He refuses to let any of his other classmates show you blackmail. Even when you go to the bathroom he stands right outside the door, waiting for you to come back. At one point during the night Katsuki told him he looks like a stray puppy, and before he could deny it, you responded, "it's cute, part of his charm". He elected to ignore the way it made his chest puff out.

He likes to believe you think of him less as a puppy and more of a guard dog. He will not be confirming or denying this with you.

Before long, the party is over. Despite the little mishap with Mina earlier, he's satisfied. You were both fed well, and you very clearly had a good time with his friends, so he considers the night a success. He knew that you'd been nervous about the whole thing, his reassurances hadn't done much to sway you, but you had a great time. Just like he said you would.

As he's pulling the car out of the driveway, you turn to him, a mischievous smile spread across your face. Izuku hopes you don't notice how heavily he swallows when you look at him, your expression is making him nervous.

"Mina sent me that picture of you."

The car lurches as he slams on the brakes. "She gave you her phone number?! Noo she's gonna show you how much of a loser I am!" He whines, putting his head into the steering wheel.

"Izu, my love, you are a bonafide prohero who's about to hit the top 30 barely two years out of highschool, you are not a loser."

Izuku turns to you with a wobbly smile, forehead still lying on the steering wheel. "U-Uhm no, I totally am. Hero work aside."

You giggle, his heart stutters again.

"Well you're my loser then."

"Yours?" Izuku flushes.

"Mine."

And well, being a loser isn't so bad if it means he gets to be yours. Your boyfriend. Your guard dog. Your puppy. Your loser. Your anything. He can be anything, as long as he's yours.

Love men who are losers and very smitten for their sweethearts, what can I say

｡⁠☆Requests open

[biancasaidstfu]

I haven't seen the yungblood pics you guys are talking about and I know a lot of us are getting tired of this. Everything. Or maybe it was me kinda expecting A's repeated appearances but also it made me realized something.

If there is one thing Luke is really consistent with his appearances with A is that, he cannot act like an actual boyfriend in love with his girlfriend, and he cannot act like he is genuinely enjoying her company. And we cannot see Luke's smiling whenever he is making physical contanct with A.

And the consistent Luke's off body language.

I'm so glad I have a relative who studies Kinesics and I showed her Luke's all public appearances with A. And she pointed out really interesting things.

● If there is a repeated physical signs of discomfort or like a monotonous facial expression, something massively is WRONG behind the scenes. (She was talking about how off putting Luke's facial expression is. And I haven't told her about them being alleged couple.)

● I know a lot of people misinterpret body language, but if you want to know how comfortable someone is with other people, just see how much of distance their body is with others. If the distance between is like, not even a tiny insect or an air can separate them, not even a single gap, that's when you can tell the level of comfort two people have. (I showed my relative the vid of Luke and A at the water in Italy and she was gagged by how much of that screams stress all over.)

● Look how his body is always, like always facing away from her. That's a clear sign of someone being forced to keep somebody who is he not comfortable with. (She's talking about the BOSS event here)

● The nervous energy he was exhibiting in all events(that I showed my relative) is not normal when he is with her company.

And then I told her they are apparently a couple and this is her response.

My relative also said, "You don't need to be an expert to know if someone is genuinely feeling discomfort at the company of someone they don't want to be around. Say, I can tell from the things you showed me, it seems like the guy(Luke) was really trying his best to keep that uneasiness under wraps whenever he was with her. And it starting to show, because his body is start to fidget whenever it can now. And the forced posture, and the distance is loud. He is leaning his body away from her, through pics or vids you can see it. Even while they are walking despite the attempt to conceal it via physical contact. He may be holding her hand but the distance between their interlock hands and his body is so visible. Whoever is this people may be, people needs to realize that his facial expression is like a cry for help. And I'm not even kidding. That vid of them sitting in a table? The silence and the reduced participation with each other? That's a clear sign of a forced. That alone should tell you that something is incredibly wrong, despite you telling me they are couple. In my truest opinion, they are not."

I tried to asked somebody to know if we are just being delusional or not. And I'm glad to know at least I am not the only one seeing that consistent uneasiness with Luke's face whenever he is with Antonia.

Let me know your thoughts B. Thanks!

First off, I love posts like this with opinions from outsiders. It's refreshing and helpful to get a temp check for what most of us (on this blog at least) are currently thinking.

I agree with all of this, too. This is what most of us have picked up on and why we're all tired af right now 🤣

But it's nice to see it from the perspective of someone who studies this because it shows how damn noticeable it is.

It's VERY easy to glance at pics of them and believe them to be a couple. That's fine if that's the case and all people choose to do. However, when you take the time to look back at all these appearances just this year alone? It really doesn't speak to two people in a relationship at all. Add in everything since June 2024 and it paints a really different picture than what the current surface level view provides.

Thank you so much for sharing anon ♥️

[starkeysprincess]

Petals & Promises

rafe cameron x Kook fem!reader

SUMMARY: Rafe Cameron doesn’t do romance—until after that wild night at the party, when he starts showing up at your door with flowers. No words, just a smirk and a bouquet. It’s probably just a joke... or is it?

wc: 3,4k (I got carried away 😛)

WARNINGS: some angst, mainly fluff, (idk what else to add lmk)

Y/N was curled up on her couch, overwhelmed with the strenuous college work that she had to turn in till next week. It was quiet on Figure 8, The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. The stress inside of her was slowly building up while cautiously reading through her essay, making sure not to make one single mistake. She was a straight A student after all, and the only thing that mattered to her was having perfect grades. Meanwhile her friends were going out, partying, drinking, living their best lives, she was bed rotting and freaking out about her future, it was stupid really.

suddenly, she heard her phone ring and when she saw that it was her best friend Lila, she couldn't of have been happier. Immediately she picks up the phone:

L: "hey girlll, how are you?"

Y/N: "hey Lil, I'm finishing up my assignment, as always, ugh im literally about to pass out."

L: "okayyy perfect then, I have the perfect solution for you, you're coming to Rafe Camerons party today at 8. You seriously need to loosen up."

Y/N: "wait- what? Lil, you know I can-"

L: cya there!

*the phone Hangs up*

"Fuck...." you mumble to yourself and let out a sigh. But on the other hand, maybe listening to Lila and forgetting about school wouldn't be so bad at all? I mean, as long as you don't get wasted what could go wrong? Time passes and you get up to fancy yourself up. It feels so stupid to you, but on the other side you've never been to a party before and a feeling of excitement rushes through you. Therefore you do a full face of soft glam makeup, touching it up with a rosey pink color of gloss and curl your hair. The last touch was the outfit, for which you had decided to go with a pretty dark blue evening gown and a pair of louboutin heels. If you were being honest, this was the prettiest you've felt in a long time. It felt relieving to feel comfortable and beautiful in your own body again. You leave your house and start walking to Tannyhill. Once you get to your destination, you see a large crowd of people in front of the Cameron household. You step into the house, and boom—music shaking the walls, bodies everywhere, air thick with booze and something fruity. Before you can even process, Lila spots you.

“GIRL, FINALLY!” she stumbles over, nearly spilling her drink. “I was ’boutta send a damn search party. By the way you look JAW DROPPING”

“Thank you but you texted me two minutes ago.”

“And that was two minutes of suffering,” she says dramatically, shoving a cup into your hand. “Now drink.”

You sniff it. “What the hell is this?”

“Who cares? It’s alcohol.”

You take a sip—mistake. “Bro, are you tryna poison me?”

she cackles. “Lightweight. C’mon, we need shots.”

Fast forward—you're both gone.

You’re clinging to each other, half-dancing, half-tripping, screaming the wrong lyrics to some song. Your head spins, but in a fun way.The room spins. The lights blur into streaks of neon, and the bass vibrates through your chest like it's syncing with your heartbeat. You don’t know how long it’s been—minutes? Hours? Your head is heavy, your legs unsteady, and suddenly, Lila is gone. Panic flickers through the haze of alcohol. You push through the crowd, bumping into sweaty bodies, murmuring half-apologies. Your vision tunnels, and the edges of the world start to fade. Shit. You need air. You need to sit. Stumbling toward the wall, you brace yourself, blinking hard to clear your vision. The party keeps moving around you—people laughing, dancing, making out in dark corners—but it all feels distant, like you're underwater. But even through your fucked up vision and fuzzy head, you see and feel someone eyeing you down.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

He’s across the room, leaning against the counter, drink in hand, watching you. Not just looking—watching. His sharp blue eyes flicker under the dim lights, unreadable, intense. Your pulse stutters. Whether it's from the alcohol or the way he tilts his head slightly, like he’s debating something, you’re not sure. All you know is that everything else—the noise, the people, the chaos—fades into the background.

It’s just you and him.

Your legs give out before you can take another step. The world tilts violently, and the last thing you feel is the cold floor meeting your body. Distantly, voices blur together, someone laughs, music pulses through your skull. Then—warm hands. Strong arms wrapping around you before you hit the ground completely. The scent of cologne, sharp and clean, cuts through the alcohol haze clouding your brain. “Shit.” A deep voice, close. Your head lolls against something firm—a chest? A shoulder? You can barely process it, everything slipping in and out of consciousness like a bad dream. “Yo, is she good?” someone asks. “She’s fine,” the voice responds, low and controlled. “I got her.”

Then you’re moving. Lifted effortlessly, arms hooked under your legs and back. The warmth is grounding, but your mind is too fogged to fight it, to even think about what’s happening. Cool air kisses your burning skin as you’re carried outside. The music muffles behind closed doors, replaced by the sound of steady footsteps, the distant hum of crickets.

You try to mumble something, but it comes out as a slurred mess.

“Relax,” the voice says. “You’re safe.”

Safe. The word wraps around you, pulling you further into the darkness.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. Not just from the hoodie wrapped around you, but from the air itself—quieter, softer than the freezing night outside. The second thing is the scent—clean linen, expensive cologne, a faint trace of cigarette smoke.

You’re not at the party anymore.

Your head is still spinning, but the pounding bass, the suffocating crowd, the overwhelming chaos—it’s all gone. Replaced by something calmer. Safer. Blinking hard, you push yourself up slightly, your body weak and heavy, and that’s when you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted slightly like he’s been watching you this entire time. But not in the way people usually say he does. There’s no arrogance, no sharp amusement. Just something unreadable. Something almost… gentle. His blue eyes flicker over your face, scanning, assessing. “You good?” Your throat is dry, but you manage to croak, “Where—?”

“My place,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You were out of it. I wasn’t about to leave you there.” The weight of those words settles in your chest. You were vulnerable—completely out of it—and instead of taking advantage, instead of leaving you behind, he brought you here. Safe. Taken care of.

You were confused, and on the other hand you were partially panicking, why would Rafe Cameron take you to his house?

“I—” You don’t even know what to say. Your hands clutch at the hoodie around you, only now realizing it’s his. The sleeves practically swallow your arms, the fabric drowning you in warmth. “You were shaking,” Rafe says like he’s reading your mind. “Figured you could use it.” Your stomach flips. Why is he like this?

You’ve heard the stories—Rafe Cameron is reckless. Selfish. Dangerous. But the guy sitting in front of you? He’s none of those things. Maybe it's just an illusion, maybe he just wants to get between your legs and leave you. He shifts, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand, then holds it out to you. But when you try to grab it, your fingers tremble too much. You're unsure of wether you should trust him or not.

Rafe notices.

Without a word, he lifts the glass to your lips himself, his free hand cupping the back of your neck, steadying you. His touch is warm, careful, almost hesitant—like he’s afraid of hurting you. The moment stretches, something thick and heavy settling between you. When you finish, he pulls back just slightly, his thumb barely grazing your skin before he lets go. The loss of contact makes something tighten in your chest.

“You feeling okay now?” His voice is quieter now, softer.

You nod weakly. “Yeah… thanks.”

His lips press together, like he’s debating something. Then, finally, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“I don't want you to go there anymore.”

Your breath catches. “I—what?” Rafe lets out a small, breathy chuckle, almost like he can’t believe himself either. “You just… you don't belong at parties.” He glances away for a second, then back at you.

Your heart drops, unsure what he means and you swear you could feel your face heat up in embarrassment.

Your fingers tighten around the hoodie still wrapped around you, and you finally whisper, “Why?”

Rafe holds your gaze for a long moment, the air between you thick, heavy with something neither of you know how to name. Finally, he reaches out, fingers barely grazing your cheek, his touch featherlight. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Because it’s you,” he murmurs. He stares you down with a neutral face expression. The embarrassment lingers, twisting in your chest.

Parties aren’t for you.

Rafe’s words replay in your mind, making you feel small. You tug his hoodie tighter around you, avoiding his gaze. He sighs, grabbing his keys. “C’mon. I’ll take you home.” The drive is quiet until he finally speaks. “You think I meant that in a bad way.” You hesitate. “Didn’t you?” His grip on the wheel tightens. “No. I meant… you don’t need that shit. The fake smiles, drunk assholes, guys looking at you like—” He stops, jaw clenching. “Like you’re something to mess with.”

Your heart stumbles.

“I just—” He sighs. “It’s not you.” The weight in your chest shifts. Not gone, but lighter. When he pulls up to your house, he reaches out, tugging the hood over your head gently. His fingers graze your jaw, slow, careful. “Get inside safe,” he murmurs. You nod. “Thanks… for everything.” As you step out, you don’t look back.

But if you did, you’d see him still watching. Still waiting.

Two days pass, but you can’t shake the way Rafe looked at you that night. The softness in his voice, the weight in his eyes. Like he saw you differently. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You tell yourself it was nothing. That it was just a moment. That Rafe Cameron doesn’t do things like that.

But then— The doorbell rings.

When you open it, he’s there.

Standing on your porch, dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans, looking almost nervous. And in his hands—a bouquet. Not just any bouquet, but the kind that looks like it came straight from some overpriced florist. Deep red roses, white lilies, wrapped in a silk ribbon. Your breath catches.

“Uh…” You blink at him, words failing you. “Are you lost?” Rafe huffs a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “No.” He glances down at the flowers, then back up at you. “These are for you.”

You just stare. Because—what? After a beat, you slowly take them, fingers brushing his as you do. The petals are soft, the scent rich and overwhelming. “Rafe…”

“I know,” he cuts in, running a hand through his hair. “This is… not what you expected.” You nod, still too stunned to process. He exhales sharply, like he’s bracing himself. Then, finally—

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

Your heart stutters. Rafe looks away for a second, like this is harder for him than it should be. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, rougher.

“That night? Seeing you like that? It fucked me up.” His blue eyes meet yours, and there’s nothing cocky in them. Just honesty. Raw and unfiltered. “I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I started caring. And it scared the shit out of me.”

You swallow hard, your grip tightening around the flowers.

He takes a small step closer, voice dropping even lower. “But you looked at me like I was good that night. Like I was worth something.” He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. “And I wanted to be that. For you.”

Your chest tightens, your pulse pounding. Rafe runs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Look, I don’t do this shit. I don’t—” He gestures vaguely, like this is beyond him. “But I can’t not do this with you.”

Another step. Closer.

“So let me take you out. A real date.” His gaze softens, voice barely above a whisper now. “Let me prove I can be good for you.”

The world narrows to just him. His eyes, his voice, the plea hidden beneath it all.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.

Because this? This feels real.

[dinogoofymutated]

Okay, since requests are open, I wanted to ask for something, especially after seeing that you are comfortable with most male characters.

I present:

Scott Summers x fem!reader who's just a little too rebelious and annoying for his taste but he still can't help but love her? Like, enemies to lovers kind of style?

If you want to do a oneshot or headcanons is up to you, I'm just starving for Scott content.

Don't know, if you wanna do is, especially since he's not everyone's cup of tea, but I thought "hey, give it a try, maybe she wants to try someting different" so here I go

Anyway, love your work, you#re amazing <3

Cyclops/GN!Reader I've had this prompt saved in my drafts for SO LONG. Basically since the moment it came in!! I was so happy you sent this in bc i had been thinking about writing for Scott, but then I couldn't think of a good enough way to carry this out so I waited on it for a good bit until I had it down to a science!! Hope you enjoy!! Man, I started writing this and then realised I had to make a banner for him too 😭 I did this to myself tho Most of the characters I write for are written as combinations from different x-men media, but I'm still figuring out how I want to characterise Scott since he's a new character for me. Just wanted to put this out there in case I change how I write for him in future fics. (also, let me know how you feel about him in this one! Tell me if yall think I should tweak his attitude a bit :) ) Edit from the future: I started this draft so long ago and damn did it turn out long. TWs: Idk at the moment, will add if I think of any! Reader has a specific power that is kinda vague at first. I've written them out at the very bottom BUT if u read u will spoil the surprise of the fic so fair warning

Scott does not like you. At least, not anymore.

You've known each other for a long time, both coming to Xavier's school within weeks of each other. You used to be friends- or at least friendly. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves and your powers, a gap began to form, and then continued to grow once both of you became members of the x-men.

It's not like he didn't notice your tendency for rebellious behavior before, but on the field? the two of you clashed more than ever. He's doing his best out here, and the last thing he needs as a leader is both you and Logan going out of your way to put yourselves in dangerous situations because you think you know better.

And the moment you get back to the mansion? You clash all over again- and over the dumbest things. You practically avoid him all of the time, refuse to spar with him unless you're forced, will scoot away from him if he has to sit next to you on game nights. It's like the very thought of brushing against him is enough to get under your skin.

The moment the blackbird lands, you should have known what to expect. But you're in such a good mood, with the mission having gone well despite all odds. Sure, you didn't exactly follow Cyclops' foolproof plan, but when did you ever?

Scott is standing at the end of the ramp when the doors open, watching with a rather sour look on his face as you laugh with Jubilee, the others trailing shortly behind. He crosses his arms, and you barely stop short of him, acting like you had never seen him in the first place as you sigh, nodding at the others to go ahead before finally turning to him and crossing your own arms.

"Go ahead. Say your piece." You say. It only stokes the irritation in him, and he scowls.

"You can't go one, single mission and actually listen to what I say, can you?" He snaps. You roll your eyes, knowing that if he had it his way, you'd never have gone on the mission at all. Still, you stand defiantly, unwilling to back down.

"Look, you weren't even there, you can't expect me to-"

"It would be different if I was there, but I wasn't." Scott interrupts you, and the aggravation it lights in you is practically all-consuming. You can't hold back your scowl. "You were the only senior member of the team on that plane, do you understand how detrimental it could have been if you had gotten hurt, or worse?!" Oh, what a load of horseshit. It's alway the boy scout schtick with him- I'm the leader, do what I say, If I was there none of this would have happened- what an asshole! Hell, in the second half you might have actually thought he was concerned for you and the team, but you knew better.

"Don't act like you actually give a damn, Summers." You snap. "Everyone is fine, no one got hurt, I don't see your problem." You're done with this. You're tired, sweaty, exhausted, and the last thing you want to be doing right now is talking with him. You knock shoulders with him as you brush past, but he reaches out and grabs you by the arm. You feel a mix of strong emotions- anger, concern, frustration- and thoughts swim in your head, before snatching your arm away from him like you'd been burned. He pauses for a second as you whip around and look at him, a rage in your eyes. He still looks at you with that stupid, stubborn look on his face.

"I get that you think I'm just some stuck-up asshole, but there's a reason I get angry when you do something reckless." His voice has lost the smallest a bit of fire. You scoff at him immediately, before turning away to storm out.

"Eat shit."

So no. things weren't exactly cool between you two.

It's not like you weren't friends at some point though, back when you were kids. You didn't know what happened to cause this rift, but he only really thought of you as some reckless idiot as of late, and you didn't care to learn anything else about what was going on in his brain.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean you could avoid him forever. Not when the both of you are on a team.

You only realise how much pain you're in when the blackbird's autopilot clicks on. Your suit was scuffed and worn in some areas, starting to burn at the edges of your sleeves as the protective coating started to wear away. You noticed it in the midst of battle, trying to focus on manipulating debri to a colder temperature rather than a hot one, but sometimes you can't afford to be picky in fights. Your suit may have been temperature resistant, but you were temperature invulnerable. Besides, heat did the most damage anyway.

You frown a bit at the sight of your burnt sleeves. Normally, you'd be worried that Hank would be mad at having to make a new suit again, but if anything you were sure he'd be grateful for the challenge of improving it. Scott was really the only one who would scold you for it, always coming back to the same arguments of being too reckless, ect, ect... and speaking of Scott, he was being awfully quiet right now.

The cockpit is empty exempt for the two of you, being the only two assigned to the mission. Scott is sat in the pilot's chair, and you can't really see much of him besides the top of his head. He's silent, and it makes you worried.

When you stand and walk. over to him, his face looks pained. You're sure his eyes are closed under his signature visor, his head leaning back limply in the chair, hair tussled. You furrow your eyebrows. You knew he'd be tired, but he's not usually this burned out.

"Scott? You alright?" You ask. he only hums in response. It's then when you realise what's wrong.

"Migraine?" You ask, and he hums in the affirmative. You wince at the thought. You knew he got migraines often, especially when using his mutation more than usual, and having migraines yourself, you knew he was hurting. You take a look at where the emergency aid box usually is, knowing it had painkillers, but the space is empty, and you sigh to yourself when you remember you used it on a local- Scott agreeing with you for once when you wanted to leave it with them for any more emergencies. You look back at Scott, and think for a moment more.

Scott jumps when you place a cold hand on his forehead, having settled your weight on the back of the chair behind him. It sparks a feeling of surprise.

"What are you doing?" Scott asks, and instead of his usual accusatory tone, he just sounds tired.

"Don't be a baby." You respond, chilling both hands and combing through his hair gently. Scott is confused as all hell. Why were you doing this? You go out of your way to avoid him at any cost, and then... this? What even was this?

But... he'd be lying if it didn't feel nice. Scott begins to relax underneath you as you continue to comb through his scalp, pressing gentle touches to his forehead as you do so. It's... it feels good.

"My mom used to do this when I was little." You say softly, after a long moment of silence. "Whenever I had a migraine, she'd run her hands under cold water for a long time, lay my head in her lap, and run her hands through my hair. The cold usually helped." Scott's shoulder's are sagging now, and he sighs every once in a while. Although he doesn't say anything, you don't need to ask. There's a question beginning to brim, but you answer it before he can even speak- saving him the effort of talking in the midst of his pain.

"...And it just felt nice to feel her play with my hair, I guess. 'figured it might help you, too."

You try not to dwell on whatever thoughts begin to swirl after that.

It's hard to tell when things shift after that. Even harder for Scott to understand why.

Eventually you go from avoiding him at any given chance, stiff and petty with your actions, to casual. Not quite friendly, but almost.

"And... Right hand red!" Jubilee calls from the couch, having entirely too much fun for someone who isn't even playing this game. Everyone who's already lost has dispersed, either playing a different game or having good conversation. The game of twister had started with four? Maybe five of you? But at the moment, it was just down to you and Scott. -The two of you being way too competitive to let the other win. At the moment, both of you were in a bit of a strange position, with Scott managing to crawl over you at some point. Aside from that, the game had been going on for uncomfortably long- long enough for the pizza to get here.

The doorbell rings and it's pretty instantaneous when people start to flock to the kitchen for the feast, Jubilee included. There's a flicker of panic in both of you as she quickly leaves.

"Hey!-"

"Jubilee! Wait!"

"You'll be fine, you big babies!" She calls out, giggling in her pursuit of the cheesy goodness. That just leaves you and Scott on the matt, pressed together in some places and a but uncomfortable, but awkwardly? Still competeting.

"God, that pizza smells good." Scott groans from above you, the smell of food becoming more and more tempting. You think about it, for a half a second maybe, but that competitive little devil on your shoulder gets to you before your stomach can.

"You know what? why don't you go ahead and grab a piece!" You say, causing Scott to cock an eyebrow at you.

"What, and let you win? Not a chance." He huffs. You shrug best you can, it was worth a shot! Neither of you were going to budge any time soon, determined not to let the other win. But the longer you stayed pressed together...

It's not like you hadn't noticed how handsome Scott was. Hell, who wouldn't? Even Logan isn't immune to his good looks, but obviously you weren't going to be... wierd, about it. You're just playing a game, right? But the sight of him above you, slightly flushed, shifting every once in a while while keeping his balance? It was... tempting.

It doesn't take long for other thoughts to begin swimming around, worming their way into your mind. The two of you in various states of undress... gasping, gripping onto one another... marks on his neck, your lips swollen and stained by the lipstick your wearing tonight.

Each and every thought leaves you more flustered than before, slipping on the plastic mat and accidentally knocking into one of Scott's weight bearing arms and sending the two of you colliding into the floor. You hear Scott let out a noise of pain and you're not down there for long before you shove him off of you, face burning as you grumble about his win. You stalk off without much fanfare, leaving Scott a bit befuddled.

"What was that all about?"

But regardless of how aggravated you made eachother sometimes, everyone has their breaking point...

You're surprised when Scott kisses you in the hall some weeks later, less than a second after a heated spat started to take a bit of a turn, but to be honest? You were into it.

His lips are soft, if a little chapped, heated kisses full of force and urgency before they soften just a little. You kiss him back in a similar manner his hands falling to your waist as you grab him by the collar and pull him even closer. You're quick to start moving the two of you backwards fumbling for a closet door you could have sworn was right... there.

As soon as the door swings open, you pull him inside, pushing him against the wall once it closes again and cupping the back of his neck as you pull him into another kiss. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth shoots through you as you do, and you almost giggle as his thoughts start to flood with more and more tempting situations for the two of you to be in.

After each and every dirty thought he has, you start to wonder if he even remembered your touch telepathy after having known you for so long- but hell, even if he didn't, you weren't complaining.

If u made it this far, I wanna give u details about the Reader's powers some more!! Specifically, the powers are temperature manipulation/temperature invulnerability/touch telepathy! They get a bit complicated bc reader can't light shit on fire or make ice out of the air, but they can melt shit and freeze existing water though! As long as reader touches it in some way! Due to this they're invulnerable to heat/cold for obvious reasons. Touch telepathy was added bc i love mutations with unnecessary layers (Emma frost) and... u really think I was gonna let scott get away without banging another telepath? wrONG

[universalcas]

Dean wakes up and it's the 24th of January. His 46 yo body aches in new parts that he knows were fine last year but it's nothing he really minds nowadays. Sometimes he can't even believe he made it that far, so if the punishment these days for defying Chuck and Death several times in the past is backpain and some aching joints, that's more than welcome. 24th of January it's like any other day for him. He hasn't celebrated his birthday in years, maybe since he was eight and just because he stole a biscuit and some candles that clearly didn't add up to the right number. A birthday celebration is something Sam always had because he damn well made sure of it. So this year, the 24th of January lands on a Friday that looks like every other Friday when you are (finally) retired from hunting and you live in a big house with your now husband that came back from the Empty and decided to stay for good after a very heart-touching reunion where everyone cried like a baby (including Sam). Said husband is now missing from the shared bed and his side is slightly cold but since he put all the cards (and his heart) on the table, a missing Cas isn't something that scares him anymore.

Sam's in the kitchen, drinking something that's doesn't look like coffee but fortunately isn't a smoothie either. The rays of morning sun that enter from the kitchen windows reflects on his face, his skin looks healthier as it does his own since all of them left the bunker, and Dean is so glad he got to live enough to see his little brother grow and become the man he is today.

"Hey! Where's everyone?" He asks, ruffling Sam's hair quickly enough to avoid retaliation.

Sam huffs and closes the book he's currently reading. Something on civil rights that probably has to do with the online degree he started to pursue a year ago but maybe it's Sam's morning lecture because that's what lawyers-to-be like to read. Dean prefers novels and fiction in general and his growing library is a testament to that.

"Cas and Eileen went grocery shopping" he says. "They took Miracle for a walk and Jack tagged along".

Jack has been spending some time in Heaven these days. There are a lot of things to be fixed and rebuilt under God's supervision but most days, when he isn't needed, he loves to stay in his room reading some comics, gardening with his Dad or going fishing with Dean (the first time he said "Dad! Look what I caught!" Dean cried so hard he couldn't stop for what felt like hours, scaring all the inhabitants of the lake and the poor boy in the process). So, yes, Jack has things to do Upstairs but he wanted to be at home when Uncle Sam and Uncle Eileen came visiting and decided to stay for the night.

He hears Baby's rumble accompanied by a happy bark soon followed by a soft crack of the main door. Both Cas and Eileen carry an excesive number of grocery bags for a single meal for today and Dean doesn't understand why since he know the pantry is more or less full but that feeling is quickly forgotten when Cas makes a beeline (bags and all) to put a kiss directly on his lips. It's quick and chaste, just a brush of lips on lips, but Earth-shattering anyways. Some form of a ritual between them, kissing the other one every time one of them come back from an errand or from just staying outside gardening or giving Baby some maintenance. The kiss means I love you, I'll always come back to you, and it hasn't lost his meaning after all these years.

Dean's voice comes as a squeak after that and he tries to mask it with a manly cough that fools exactly no one. Less alone Cas, whose big smile holds the brightness of a thousand lights.

"Do you need some help with that?"

"We are fine", Eileen says at the same time that Sam says "We should continue fixing the basement, don't you think?"

And that's a weird thing to say because the basement has been Dean's work in progress since he and Cas bought the house four years ago and the second thing Dean's hands love doing the most after touching Cas (out of the bedroom that means everywhere whenever he wants but inside most of the time there are rules) is fixing things. And Dean loves his brother's company, he really does, but he can't do jack shit in that regard so Dean works on it in his time alone. But he follows Sam anyways and lets Cas, Eileen and Jack do their thing since, after coming from the Empty, Cas discovered an interest in cooking (with varying degrees of success) and probably he wants to handle that today.

And ok, maybe being retired from active hunting (not from training new recruits, mind you) has softened Dean's instincts because he should have suspected that there was a plan behind everything because, when they go back to the house, the dining room has been decorated with birthday paraphernalia and the table is full of food and the people he loves the most are wearing a small party hat (even Miracle!) and matching smiles. He doesn't cry when a big pie is placed in front of him with two candles shaped in the form of a four and six and Jack proudly announces that all of it was made from scratch by he and Dad. He doesn't cry when Miracle comes with a box in her mouth that contains a ticket "to anywhere in the country, just you and me, Dean". He doesn't cry either when Sam and Eileen give him a gift of their own in the shape of an envelope that contains an ultrasound of who's going to be a future Bobby or Mary Ellen. And he definitely doesn't cry when he is suffocated in a big hug by his whole family and Cas whispers "I love you so much, Dean" and Jack says out loud "I love you, Dad!".

The question that has been trapped inside his chest the whole day escapes from his mouth only when he and Cas are alone in their room at night.

"Why all of this?"

Cas kisses him. Soft, languid and slowly, like the passage of time.

"I can remember you been proud of us everytime we achieve something" he says. "When Jack built a chair for his room without using his powers, the first time I changed Baby's oíl without your help, when Sam announced he wanted to study Law again, when Eileen got the job she wanted. You were so happy for all of us, Dean, but you should be celebrated too".

There are a lot of things Dean wants to say but none of them come to mind. He's also at lost for words when Cas produces a small box with a ribbon from a lingerie shop he recognises.

Cas's smirk and raised eyebrow are full of dirty promises and sexy rules he's more than happy to follow. But that's, well, that's a story for another time.

"

[tan1shere]

Bite It Lick It Spit It - where'd you put it (extra)

A/n: thought I'd add a lil smth smth since everyone's loving the previous story, enjoy you horny mfs MUAH 💋

Warnings - suggestiveness not really any smut. Still mdni just in case doe <3

The original - masterlist

After that blissed out night, you've been wearing that underwear. All. The. Time. And she loved it, it drove her mental. Whether you were just wearing a plain t-shirt with them around the house. You'd wear them with skirts in public. You were like an intoxicating drug in her eyes, mind and soul. She truly couldn't get enough.

So much so, you found them missing on occasion. Either they were in the wash, or Ms Eilish had them somewhere in her possession. Theyd tend to go missing when you take them off after a long day. Her fucking favorite. Once you eventually caught on it was her doing the abducting, you came to her. Justtt to ask. Even though you had all the idea on why she did.

"Bils." You say going over to her and patting her down. "Frisky much?" She replies. "Where on earth have you put them." She brings her finger up to her lips. " 's a secret." You roll your eyes. "Billieeee." "Fine fine, they're probably in my pants on the sofa in our room." Your eyebrow raises. "Probably?" She shrugs. "Orrr they could be in a few others- I can't remember which." You sigh at the response. "You're crazy." You say heading for the stairs. "For you? Fuck yeah baby!"

It had become a habit that she'd stick them in her Jean pants. She'd take it to work sometimes forgetting where she was, and the fact she still had them in there until Finneas embarrassed the shit out of her. Or more so herself.

"We could maybe do something like this-" He began to speak about the stuff they were working on, when he noticed something on the floor. He knew Clauds underwear and that was something she definitely didn't own. "What on earth." He bends slightly, picking it up. Billies eyes widen, so incredibly wide her eyes might've popped out. Her cheeks go so red, snatching them out of his hand. Fuck, you dumbass idiot. She swallows. There was an awkward silence wondering how he was going to react. When this dude, let's out the wheeziest laugh known to man.

Billies eyes rest, almost glearing at him. "That is not funny, I can't believe that just fucking happened." He tries to control his laughter. "You truly are a dumbass." She swats his arm but he just continues his giggles. "Back to work come on." She spits, having enough of the laughing. "I was like- hmm Claudia doesn't own anything this-" "FINNEAS." She groans. He just laughs some more, she was never living that down. But Billie being Billie she eventually joins in on the laughing, shaking her head at the silly situation.

Yet again you were on the search for them, looking through most of her pants. You gave up in the end, calling her.

"You have them as we speak don't you."

"Well damn, you caught me."

Even during she needed them. Just the fact such a tight slutty thing was on your body for the whole day drove her wild, she didn't care in the slightest how filthy any action may be. Sniffing them, so on and so on. One of her filthy fantasies was you having them in your mouth, as you rode her. Just dangling there between your teeth. You were a tad bit confused at why she requested that, but the way she'd moan under you. The way she'd say your name. The feeling of her fingertips on the skin of your thighs as you rode her. Mixed in with your tits bouncing in her face. It was foul, but she enjoyed every single bit of it.

She was so thankful you went into that shop that day. Blessing not only you with a pretty pair of new underwear. But her aswel, getting the pleasure of witnessing it first hand.

You're welcome

[motheroffeline]

Come to me

Incubus Aaron Pierre x black obsessive witchy female reader, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), dominant Aaron Pierre, reader is a Tumblr girlie, plot is basically the reader does a love spell on Aaron Pierre, masturbation, and p in d. 18+!!!! DO NOT ENTER!!!!

Your friends made it a point to tell you constantly to delete Tumblr which was literally your therapy at this point. Besides, why would you? Every single piece of smut ever made was literally on the app. Currently, you were laying in your bed, hand pushed waist deep below the elastic of your tights as you stared at the man of your wet dreams: Aaron Pierre. The way he danced through that spirit tunnel sent a surge of wetness through you every time you looked at him. Something was sure and it was that you had to have him. Wife or girlfriend be damned because it was clear that his eyes were looking at you.

There were multiple women on the internet lusting after him yet none of their desires were so compulsive like yours. After you discovered who he was you began to delve into love arts or "spirituality" because in your mind it would beckon him towards you. Begrudgingly, you even downloaded Facebook to collect more pictures of him to add to your online collage. Every night, you would look at his picture and resight the psalms you began to know like the back of your hand. Each night the dreams began to become more vivid.

Your friends began to show great concern for the sudden infatuation you seemed to have with Aaron Pierre. Even Michelle, a long-time childhood friend of yours, was disturbed by the crazed look in your eyes and the way you gestured that all in short words said: I have him. Who needs a fucking friend? You thought to yourself as the women you loved since girlhood expressed their concerns.

Michelle with her light brown eyes furrowing with sadness at your current state said, "girl even if it's a small break just take a little break from the internet. I'm not trying to be mean, but this shit is borderline obsessive. Remember when we used to laugh at them crazy girls on those Tubi movies? You are turning into them girls!" Then, Myah who you had met last year while clubbing wanted to speak some morals into you. "Don't ever obsess over a man that'll never know you. Yeah, a crush itself isn't bad but what you've got going on..." There was a brief silence and an exchange without words between her and Michelle.

You got up without looking at either of them or took a bus home. Who needs a fucking friend?

...

Aaron Pierre's face was plastered over every single social media platform. He came into your dreams with those alluring eyes and the image of him lay so heavy on you that you would think about him while at your job which was a good thing that it was online. You logged out of your computer and masturbated in the shower to the thought of his multicolored eyes. That innocent but sexy way he smiled was nearly enough to send you over the edge every time you saw it.

After shaving and moisturizing your rich, brown skin you saw that Aaron Pierre was doing a livestream on YouTube. Something debauched ran through you and you decided to join the live stream. Every word that formed from his lips were ignored by you as the arousal you felt began to build. At the touch of your clit, his words were cut short as his eyes seemed to stare into yours through the camera. Everybody in the livestream were typing things like "?", "A A ron you good?", "Tf happen", and " Not my babyyy". It was obvious that his eyes were fucking yours with their intensity, something that should be considered supernatural because of how suddenly he was disrupted. The live ended abruptly as you reached the peak of your orgasm and that's how you knew that your calls to him were slowly being answered one ring at a time.

At the beginning of a new morning, you began to work your way through your mundane job when your doorbell rang. Who could it be at this time in the morning? You thought to yourself. And when you opened the door, it was the man himself standing before you. It was something that people could only dream would happen to them but here he was in the flesh, standing before you with that small smile on his face as though he had spawned out of thin air.

"I know what're you're doing... Getting into my head with the subliminal shit. Won't be the first girl to do some crazy shit like this but I guess I'll bite. You didn't even know we lived in the same state. What kind of fan are you?" Somehow his voice was deeper than you've ever heard it before, and it set off something you. Every instinct was screaming not to let this man in, yes, he was Aaron Pierre, but he was a still a stranger at the end of the day.

You decided to let him in.

You finally find the words to say to him, "how do you even know where I live? I started doing the shit because I just knew it wouldn't work yet... here you are! If this is a dream then I can only hope that I'm in a coma right now because..." You pushed your fingers through your afro in frustration.

He finally let out a laugh that was so loud that it shook you to your feet.

"I'm fucking around, I'm visiting all of my top earning contributors. Bit expensive AND dangerous but it's a good marketing tactic. What's with the sullen look?" The cocky look on his face admittedly made you angry. Still, how the fuck did he find you? Life literally gave no answers when you needed them.

"Ok, you're here at my house what do you want?"

Aaron Pierre tapped his chin and then fixed those impossibly colored eyes on you: "I'll let you be the first one of my fans that I fuck. It seems like you want some dick and I'm willing to contribute." The situation would have rubbed anyone wrong, but it just made you wetter.

"Hold that thought." You went over to your cabinet and grabbed your bottle of stella rose and drank over half of it before coming back to him. "You want to fuck me of all people? Something really ain't right about this shit. Like, do you get how much legal trouble this could get you in? I mean I wanna fuck but still. You perfect all over, an actor, the world wants you and... me?" That lecherous grin stayed plastered on his face and seeing him in real life really showed you how ethereal the man was. Muscles rippled underneath his white shirt every time he gestured, his eyebrows were thick and full; but those damn lips are what you wanted the most.

"I'll go ahead and make it all easy for us ight?" In that instant, he snapped his fingers, and you were both on your bed.

"What the fuck?" None of this was making sense, only if it were a dream would it be possible for it to be true.

Aaron Pierre ran his tongue from your neck to jawline as his eyes surveyed the pained look in your eyes. "You smell so fucking good; I love a woman that moisturizes. His hands came up to massage your breasts through your night gown and you were moaning out before you knew it.

"Why are you doing this?" Tears sprang to your eyes at the gentle massage he gave to your breasts, pulling one chocolate nipple out to suck into his mouth. He pressed a finger to his mouth telling you to be quiet as he took his other hand and caressed you through your sweatpants. The arousal was like a liquid heat that was building to overflow.

"Wet ass... this pussy wet for me and nobody else... mmmmmm, I can't wait to eat it baby." His voice shook as he continued to press against you. After practically groping you, he laid on his stomach and pulled your sweatpants and underwear off in one fell motion. His tongue went from clit to ass hole as he licked you like a dehydrated dog. At this point, you were whining and mewling so loudly that somebody from three blocks down would be able to hear you. His pupils began to change into slits as he fucked you with his tongue and slipped a finger in to add damage to the equation.

"I'm gonna cum." You said as a warning, but he only smiled as he continued to eat you like it was his favorite food. High pitched squeals began to come from you and no matter how much you pushed his head, his lips and tongue never let up which led to you squirting all over his face.

"Damn, never had a meal that just kept on giving." He licked his lips in an exaggerated manner and crawled on top of you and began to sloppily kiss you. Spit was exchanged along with your arousal as his... wait a minute? His slit eyes stared back at you. You were enthralled so completely by him that you could neither run away nor scream.

His dick slipped into you so discreetly that it was like he was crafted out of velvet. You spread your legs further apart as he pounded into your wet pussy as though you were a toy. Those eyes dared you to look away as he made your fantasies, and your nightmares come true. You did believe in some supernatural things but really more for fun than anything else and now the proof was fucking you into oblivion. Of course, he had to be a demon, there was no man popular or otherwise that had garnered attention like this.

He moaned as he leaned his head back exposing his bobbing Adam's apple. His sweat dripped down on you as he took you in missionary. "This what you wanted though. I understand your fear but don't worry about the fear right now. Your biggest crush in the world is fucking you so good you can't say nothing." His words were both condescending and erotic in their own right as your arousal caused his dick to appear dripping with it. The roughness of his stubble pubic rubbed against your clit which caused you to babble incoherently.

"I wanna watch that ass bounce against it. Hol' up..." He snapped his fingers, and you were both were in doggystyle position. You wanted to cry because of how intense the pleasure that he was giving you. Every single thrust hit that spot inside of you.

He grabbed your waist and fucked himself with you. He let out a deep growl and came inside of you so much that it overflowed onto your clean, cashmere pink sheets. Now, a darkness firmly planted itself in the air within the silence of prior sex. But the quietness was suddenly disrupted by his beautiful voice:

"Loved every minute of this shit.... but you gotta close them pretty brown eyes of yours and forget." Tears sprang to your eyes as you lay completely limp as he towered above you, "nobody in the world can know about this which is why I'm making you forget what happened here. I'll be one of them men you want but can't get again. I'll be one of them men you'll never meet because we haven't met. But what I won't remove is the way you aching from me eating and fucking that pussy... you wouldn't wanna forget that, yeah?" His voice faded into the background as inky blackness started to fill your vision.

****************************************************************

Y'all I am so disgusting for this!!! I couldn't sleep so I was like lemme make a little smut for us tumblr girls who like Aaron Pierre but then I went overboard, and I was like eh I'm not deleting all of this lmao.

[azrielwingspan]

'HIGH' PRAISE (AZRIEL X READER)

I am on a roll damn. Another idea that I jotted down as quick as I could. Enjoy !!

Summary: Mirthroot and alcohol can work in your favour sometimes. You have a very interesting conversation with Azriel.

Warnings : Mention of substances, mild swearing. MDNI !

"You are a saviour Y/N." Mor said taking a hit from the mirthroot joint. The party was in full swing downstairs but you and Mor had found solace in her balcony.

"Don't thank me. Thank the male who was nice enough to give it up." you said taking your turn.

The lightness in your head was making you giddy and talkative. You could feel the slight tingle at your nerve ends, you body feeling detached from reality.

"He probably wanted to get into your pants."

"I know."

Mor let out a bark of laughter at that statement and leaned back against the wall. Her eyes had taken on a reddish tinge and you were sure that yours were probably worse. Your mouth felt numb and you smacked your lips cringing at the dryness of your mouth.

"I need something to drink. And eat. Chocolate cake sounds good. Chocolate cake with a side of yoghurt sounds even better. Add some good wine to it. What do you think?" your mind was moving too fast for your mouth to catch up to.

"It sounds terrible. Let's do it." You and Mor giggled clutching each others hands. That was some really strong mirthroot.

You made your way back to the party hyper focusing on every step being taken. Being high and face planting did not seem like a good combination. Your brain was a different entity, screaming at you to act normal. It was a party for fucks sake. Who acts normal anyways?

Grabbing Mor's hand , the both of you made your way over to the drinks table dodging your way through familiar faces. You refused to speak to anyone until you got your hands on the wine.

After chugging down half a bottle to quench your thirst, you noticed Azriel sitting with another male chatting about something.

"Mor."

"Yeah?"

"I think Azriel and I would make a fantastic couple."

The shattering of glass snapped you out of your hyper focused state for a beat.

It wasn't Mor.

Oh.

Back to hyper focused state.

"You would." she responded , a completely serious expression gracing her face.

"Should we tell him?" you asked, an illegal amount of bravery shooting through your veins. Not a single cell in your body thought this was a bad idea.

A new wave of idiocy hit you. The effects of the wine and mirthroot combined were doing wonders for your sanity right now.

"We should. Come on." This time, Mor was the one dragging you through the crowd, once again dodging everyone.

"Az!"

He turned to look at Mor, his own slightly glazed from the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

"Y/N thinks---"

The male that was speaking to Azriel stood up and interrupted Mor, asking for a dance. Immediately forgetting why she was there, Mor walked away with him leaving you with Azriel.

"What do you think?" Az asked, his voice husky. Ugh, it was doing strange things to you.

"I think---"

"Are you high?" Az asked, holding in his laugh.

"Az you idiot. You never ask someone who's high if they're high. Way to ruin it!"

"Okay my bad. Sorry. Come here."

He motioned to the space next to him on the couch.

"No. No. I have chocolate cake plans. I just wanted to let you know that I think...and Mor thinks as well...that we would make a fantastic couple. I mean look at you. Look at me. Stunners. Jaw droppingly good looking. What's stopping us?"

Az looked thoroughly amused as you continued defending your statement.

"Y/N." he said stopping you before you went off on a different tangent. "Come here." This time he motioned to his lap.

Yeah chocolate cake could wait.

You went over and sat down sideways on his lap, wrapping you arms around his shoulders while his hands found their place on your hips.

"Tomorrow, I want you to come to me and tell me the same thing. Then we'll see how well this fantastic couple thing works out yeah?"

He touched his forehead to yours , the affectionate gesture bringing a grin to your face.

"Okay."

"Good girl. Now come on let's get you some chocolate cake."

"Fantastic."

[oddygaul]

the REDLINE manifesto

In honor of my second DIY screening of Redline, here is, at long last, a prettied-up version of my most popular reddit post, an unabashed love letter to my favorite movie. Most of this is probably less groundbreaking than it was when I first posted it a decade(!) ago, but whatever, the internet needs more Redline content anyway.

REDLINE Trivia

–JP stands for Joshua Punkhead, and in the very first draft he had 26 children and raced to pay off his child support. Also, the catchy moniker ‘Sweet JP’? English-only… the original Japanese gets the mouthful ‘very sweet weaponless prince’.

–You'd be hard-pressed to tell without looking into the lore a bit, but Miki & Todoroki are damn near the only actual humans in the movie; everyone else is some species of alien. Some are obvious, like Shinkai (Oceanic/Chikulun hybrid) and Trava (Anista tribe), but even the most human-like characters are some other race. Sonoshee, for example, is listed as being half human, half Oceanic tribe (海洋族). 

The most curious case, though, is JP. While it'd be easy to assume he's human, there's a lot of details that don't add up: his unique elf ears, his super-lanky-even-for-a-Koike-character-design physique, the fact that his race is conspicuously redacted on his bail sheet… and his seeming immunity to death. Seriously, bro crashes every single thing he drives in the whole movie, then emerges unscathed with just a fiery flash of the eyes – that ain’t normal. If I had to wildly speculate, and I do, I’d put money that he’s somehow linked to Mikuru and the Giant species, as seen in Trava: Fist Planet. The physique matches, the Giants have displayed some preternatural healing abilities, and Trava lays the groundwork for a few other threads in Redline (namely, the existence of bioweapons and Shinkai & Trava’s past military experience), so there’s precedence. Maybe one day we’ll find out for sure…

–We all know and love Funky Boy thanks to the Roboworld president’s endless tirades. But the giant data-motivated crocodile monster Volton fuses with to engage Funky Boy in thrilling combat? She is a lady, and her name is Wire Girl.

–All of Redline’s vehicle and mechanical designs are nuts – they’re insanely complicated and filled with organic curves and details. Despite the immense difficulty of keeping such complex designs consistent, every mechanical shot is hand-drawn, without the aid of any CG. To help the animators stay on-target while drawing, the team made some sweet-ass production models for them to reference. What I wouldn’t give to own one of these…

–Before deciding on Redline being a film, writer Katsuhito Ishii and director Takeshi Koike considered making a TV series. Initial writers’ meetings saw the team fleshing out a comprehensive story bible about the setting: it included not only a wide-scope view of the universe and its history, but also detailed backstories for each racer. Even after deciding to make a feature film, Redline’s initial script gave each racer as much time and focus as the final cut gives to JP & Sonoshee; all of this was, unfortunately, cut for time. According to Ishii, though, much of this ancillary information made it into the novelization…

one day my Japanese will be good enough to read you ;_;

–Confused about why the movie ends with that sparkly, PowerPoint-ass ~LOVE~? Well, you shouldn’t be – Redline is ‘unabashedly dumb’, after all, per Ishii – but there is a little context. Over the course of the movie’s 7-year production, Koike and Yukiko (a producer on the film) fell in love, tying the knot in Switzerland just before Redline’s world premiere. If that doesn’t justify the ending for you, I don’t know what could.

–This isn't trivia but idk where else to put this stupid-ass Lynchman meme I made

Subtext you may have missed on first watch

–Machine Head is Sonoshee's estranged father?!

Crazy, I know, but hear me out. 

First of all, Redline unambiguously shows the viewer that Sonoshee and Machine Head have some sort of pre-existing relationship, the nature of which isn’t explicitly clarified. 

At the Oasis restaurant, Sonoshee tells JP she's waiting for someone; it may sound like she's simply brushing him off, but the moment Machine Head enters the scene, Sonoshee perks up and waves to him. When the Crab Sonoshee is flipped by missile fire during the Redline race, we get exactly two (2) Dramatic Anime Freezeframes: JP and Machine Head, implying those two, out of everyone, care the most about Sonoshee. During the final stretch of the race, as Machine Head prepares to pop his steamlight, he is not only aware that Sonoshee also has one, he taunts her about it:

“I see you still have your steamlight – got the guts to use it this time?”

JP even draws attention to the fact that Sonoshee’s looks identical to Tetsujin’s. Finally, though this is certainly ancillary, it is interesting to note that the exact moment Godwing loses its structural stability is right after JP declares he’s going to win because he, not Machine Head, has Sonoshee at his side.

So let’s line this up with what backstory we definitively know. As stated above, Sonoshee is a human / Oceanic hybrid; Machine Head, though his body has been modified beyond recognition, is referred to the same way. While talking to JP about the steamlight, Sonoshee says her father is the one that gave it to her, then describes him as a skilled racer who ran a junk joint. In that same conversation, when JP suggests she’s too focused on racing at the expense of personal relationships, she bristles and tries to end the conversation. During the flashback of young Sonoshee racing, her reaction to crashing is intense: she’s clearly holding herself to a higher standard, and is already dead set on racing in the Redline someday.

Now, there’s other plausible explanations for all this; maybe there’s just a romantic entanglement between Sonoshee and Machine Head, with JP barging in as the third vertex of a love triangle. But is that the most likely scenario for two people constantly characterized as putting racing before any personal matters?

No, I think Machine Head is Sonoshee’s father. 

Picture it: Machine Head raised Sonoshee at his junk joint, so she grew up around racing and car modification. After seeing success on the circuits, Machine Head stopped being content with mere victory, and started spending all his time and energy modifying his body, pushing himself farther and farther. Sonoshee, feeling neglected and cast aside, turned to racing, seeing it as the only way to get her father’s attention. This lead to her perfectionism complex; if she’s not the very best, why would the King of Kings ever look her way?

Anyway, while it’s not confirmed in the text, I think there’s so many hints it might as well be. It makes JP and Sonoshee’s romance a lot more interesting, too. Their arc isn’t just two people falling in love, it’s about Sonoshee moving past the trauma of her father’s emotional abandonment and opening up to someone new. After JP explains his match fixing history in the climax, Sonoshee isn’t placated because he told the truth, she’s fired up seeing the strength of JP and Frisbee’s friendship: she sees the folly of chasing approval from her absent father, and that she could instead be forming bonds with friends who support her unconditionally. She can race for herself.

Koike and Ishii said Redline is about adult friendships, after all!

pictured: the most romantic kiss in cinema history

–The Redline race is, in fact, underhanded political maneuvering

Now, this one is sorta just The Plot Of The Movie, but I feel like there’s so much going on in Redline people often don’t connect these dots. 

We all laugh at the Roboworld president’s hammy word salad:

“I wonder if this might be some kind of ploy by our enemies to infiltrate our borders. If that’s true, do you realize Roboworld’s military secrets could be at risk here? We’d be exposed!!”

…but he’s… kinda right, though?

At the time of the movie, the M3 Nebula has just emerged from two devastating interplanetary wars. The galaxy’s superpowers are under a tenuous peace agreement – one of the most important stipulations of which is a ban on the use and development of “bioweapons”, which in the Redline universe are less ‘weaponized bacterial strains’ and more ‘gargantuan synthetic monsters that can be deployed to wreak unthinkable destruction’. Despite this ban, the government of Roboworld has been continuing with bioweapon development unabated… and not only does Planet Supergrass seem to be aware of these violations, it really seems like they’re leveraging all their soft power to expose them.

Now, we know Supergrass is generally involved with the Redline final. As a member of the Redline Committee, they have a reason to be involved; they’re helping out with nuts & bolts logistical stuff, like transporting the racers to the course and prepping the finish line. But when you consider the significant, tangible political blows dealt to Roboworld by the race – Funky Boy and Wire Girl’s presumed destruction, Roboworld’s violation of the bioweapon treaty being broadly exposed to the public, the decimation of Roboworld’s military – the long string of coincidences that got us to that point start to seem a little suspicious.

Who pushed for the Redline final to be held on such a hostile planet? Who knew about Roboworld’s experimental orbital laser cannon – a project so tightly under wraps even their president only learns about it during the race – and hired contractors to sabotage it? Who organized a group of malcontents to attack both Roboworld’s power relay station and Funky Boy’s containment creche, right when such disruptions would be the most impactful? And who decided the race’s crucial middle stretch should go right over the restricted military zone housing said creche?

Supergrass has the motive and the means – plus, the race is already illegal, so what can Roboworld do, sue them about it? No sir, that Princess is on some subterfuge shit, and Secretary Titan, that shady fuck, is her inside man. And you can take that to the bank.

Craving more REDLINE?

Unfortunately, due to the movie’s commercial failure, there’s not much else in the franchise. The Redline production pilot is fucking sick, though, and there’s Trava: Fist Planet, an OVA by Koike & Ishii that predates Redline and focuses on Trava and Shinkai’s misadventures. While Trava never got the continuation it deserved, they did make a trailer for season 2... ahh, what could have been.

If you’re just after more of Takeshi Koike’s mind-blowing animation, there’s only a scant few projects in his trademark black-filled style. His most well-known work is probably the Samurai Champloo OP, or maybe World Record from The Animatrix (can’t find a link for that one, but y’know, do your thing). Koike also contributed animation to two other Ishii films: an extended intro for Party 7, and this aggressively horny dance sequence for Funky Forest. Back at Madhouse, it seems the studio liked to use Koike as a bait-and-switch, letting him direct lavish production pilots to secure adaptation rights then switching the staff up for the full production. Feels kind of scummy, but we got the immense Afro Samurai Pilot and Iron Man Pilot out of it. Finally, he made the series of Love shorts for SMAPxSMAP, the SMAP variety show, which are as dope as they are low-res.

I really wanna know if Koike was the one ballin out to CYNE and Gang Starr for this

—

And finally, as I threatened in my last post about Redline: let’s talk thematic depth.

~Thematic Depth~

In conversations online, Redline is often given this caveat of just being ‘eye candy’, or hit with the classic ‘style over substance’ cliche. Now, the phrase ‘style over substance’ has always bothered me, generally – it feels like it comes from folks who have never tried to make art before, who make light of the painstaking work and dedication that goes into creating anything – but it particularly frustrates me in animation. The process of animation is such an absurd, masochistic timesink that it’s a wonder anything ever gets finished at all; something this ambitious being finished, with this level of consistency and polish, is nothing short of a miracle, and to simply call that ‘style’ massively undervalues the whole endeavor. 

Because, make no mistake, Redline is ambitious as hell from a visual standpoint. The consistent focus on kinetic motion and speed, buoyed by Koike’s masterful use of exaggerated perspective, spatial distortion, and dynamic camera work; lots of moving, hand-drawn backgrounds instead of matte pans; lively crowd animation in most scenes; remarkably expressive, constant character animation that imbues personality to every character and never settles for industry standard lip flap dialogue… and all of this using incredibly complex character & mechanical designs, many of which feature distinct alien physiology, and a rendering style with bold, detailed shadows that would be more at home in illustration than animation. It is truly a singular work.

And the thing is, that wild ambition and unfailing dedication to the craft is the message.

The very first moments of Redline, before we see a single car or alien, are a brief series of title cards. I think most first-time viewers, and even many repeat viewers, immediately forget these words seconds after reading them due to the famously high-octane opening act. They read:

“In the far distant future, when cars are giving up their wheels in the changeover to air-cars, there still exist stubborn fools who carry on a vanishing spirit of racing…”

It’s easy to pass over this narration because, well, Redline simply isn’t about this conflict. We don’t see a single air-car racer, and there is no on-screen depiction of this purported old-school / new-school racing divide. So why is it here?

Because it’s the thesis of the whole damn project. Redline is about a group of old-school animation industry vets coming to terms with a changed industry that doesn’t support the type of art they want to create anymore, and their determination to pour their hearts into one last, stupid, beautiful swan song.

Madhouse was founded in 1972 by a group of ex-Mushi Pro staff, including Masao Maruyama and Yoshiaki Kawajiri. A response to Mushi Pro’s shoestring budgets and spartan timelines, the goal of studio Madhouse was to create production schedules where animators could flourish, rather than choosing the cheaper route; as Maruyama puts it, their mission statement was to ‘create animation other people aren’t interested in creating’. And, well, for decades, that’s what they did – Madhouse consistently gave a platform to idiosyncratic creators and produced incredible results. Their film canon includes pivotal productions like Kawajiri’s Ninja Scroll and Vampire Hunter D Bloodlust, Rintaro’s Metropolis, every single Satoshi Kon production from Perfect Blue to Paprika, and The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, the film that launched Mamoru Hosoda into stardom. While their TV output might be seen as more workmanlike, they were still dedicated to creating original stories. For example, despite his proven track record, Masaaki Yuasa was unable to secure funding and creative freedom anywhere else but Madhouse, with whom he produced Kemonozume, Kaiba, and The Tatami Galaxy prior to the establishment of Science Saru.

Takeshi Koike’s formative years as an animator were during this golden era of Madhouse. Poached directly out of high school by Yoshiaki Kawajiri himself, Koike was taken under his wing – his first job as a professional animator was inbetweening for Wicked City, and he’d moved up to key animation roles just one year later. I think Kawajiri’s intent was for Koike to be his protege; in this boom era of animation, with high-budget feature films and OVAs as the de facto standard, creative vision and a unique style is what you’d look for in an up-and-coming director, and Koike had both of these in spades. For a time, this pathway seemed almost assured; Koike’s big-league directing debut on The Animatrix produced one of its most well-received shorts, even amidst an anthology stacked with superstar creative talent.

Unfortunately, the turn of the millennium brought a lot of change for Madhouse and the industry at large. Budgets shrank, and production schedules started trending towards today’s unsustainable nightmare grind. CGI became ubiquitous not for the unique shots and compositions it allows for, but as a corner-cutting method for complicated actors like vehicles or mechas. A certain homogeneity and tendency toward ‘safe’, appealing designs and premises took hold; what good is your off-the-wall, creative worldbuilding idea when the anime industry revolves around merch sales, and generic moe waifus are outselling your original IP ten-to-one? All these industry vets could see the writing on the wall: animation would survive, but things were changing, and the ideals they’d founded their studio around were becoming untenable.

So I genuinely believe Redline is a parting shot from the old guard, a celebration of the era of the industry they cut their teeth on, one last lush, extravagant farewell before they passed the torch to the next generation. Maybe not from the start, sure, but after years of troubled development, progressing slowly due to the team’s meticulous vision, I think they rallied around the cause, dead set on making a masterwork, no matter what. Just look at the talent they attracted, the staff list reads like a best-of: Shinya Ohira, Hiroyuki Imaishi, Sushio, Yoshiaki Kawajiri, Sayo Yamamoto, Katsuya Yamada, Takafumi Hori. 

And that’s where we come back to that opening message, about those stubborn fools. Suddenly, that movie chock-full of characters putting everything on the line for their passions feels a lot more personal. Koike is JP, the traditional [animation / racing ] purist who’s become an anachronism and just wants to be able to do things his way; Kawajiri as the God of Racing, who JP’s looked up to since he was younger, giving him one last thumbs as he achieves his goals; and Maruyama as Frisbee, putting his livelihood in danger to buy his team the time and money they need for one last gig, who wants to see his friend finish the damn thing on his own terms, just this once. 

In a way, it makes it heartbreaking that Redline performed financially as poorly as it did; Japan’s frosty reception to the movie is at such odds with the fervor of its creators. But you know what? Redline exists, and it exists without compromises. They did what they set out to do. They made it across that finish line.

—

[buckyalpine]

Fic idea - Bucky’s family & time travel

You know how I keep proposing ideas, then adding it to my wips and then I stare at it while it stares at me. Heres another. I'm so sorry. Swear this will end in fluff, you'll just suffer in between. So imagine the most angstiest angst where Bucky gets married and has a child with his sweetheart before he’s sent to war. He's loved her his whole life and now they have a little one together; nothing could be more perfect. He promises he'll be back safe and sound with a kiss to her forehead and plenty of kisses for his baby girl.

Until Hydra captures him and turns him into the Winter Soldier. His first mission is to eliminate any familial ties. He doesn't feel anything when he pulls the trigger. He's successful and carries out hundreds of others kills, each searing itself in some part of his brain but he's constantly wiped before he can piece anything together.

But then he's rescued and he has to pick up the broken fragments of his memories and its too much of a fog for him to understand. At the very least he has his best friend by his side again and he's slowly starting to remember.

His first question is about his sweet y/n and his little girl.

His happiness is short-lived when Steve doesn't say anything. Bucky doesn't understand why he avoids his gaze, why he suddenly looks so distraught. No amount of pleading or begging works, his best friend doesn't breathe a word, asking Bucky to please let things be.

To learn to live with the way things were.

He can't do that though. He needs answers. When the team is away on a mission, he find a way to get into his records that SHIELD kept on him, wondering if they ever had anything on file about his life before he was captured. Every single detail about who he was before the war to after is written with details and camera footage.

He doesn't move from where he's seated, a blank expression on his face while everyone returns. Steve approaches Bucky first, worried about why the soldier looked so pale as if he'd aged 10 years in the past 3 days.

"I killed them?" His broken whisper of a voice breaks Steve's heart when he sees the file Bucky was looking at, a picture of him, his little girl on his shoulders and wife all smiling at the camera. The sheet he's clutching onto has their names along with deceased written write across the sheet.

Bucky is inconsolable.

His dreams are no longer about others he has killed. He's flooded with memories of her; the soft ivory dress she wore on their wedding day, the baby pink lace she had on when he undressed her that same night, the scent of her perfume, the sound of her laugh, the kicks of their baby, the sound of her happy squeals when he blew raspberries onto her chubby cheeks.

Those happy memories are quickly replaced with her pleading for him to remember. To just remember at least once.

Jamie, it's me, please, m'your y/n, Bucky, don't-

D-daddy?

Baby, go to your room-Bucky no-

Mama!

Please, not Bella, James, you love her baby, you love us- please remember me-

I-I love you

The pain of Bucky's cries are too much for anyone to handle. They're a different type of sadness. So much so, even Tony's starting to worry when he doesn't see Bucky for days on end. He begs to be put back in cyro, to have his memories wiped, to have his brain fried, anything to forget. He doesn't care about the pain, he just wants it all to end.

Imagine theres a mission that involves time travel. Steve and Sam stand on the platform, ready to enter the portal, setting their timers for a specific date in the past. When Sam catches Steve adding another date without telling him, he quietly adds it on his suit as well, piecing what the Captain plans on doing.

The mission takes a little longer than anticipated. Steve is surprised when Sam is beside him when he travels back to the 40's, the both of them now with a new mission in mind, alternating the future be damned. If they had a chance to give Bucky the life he deserved again, they would do it. Bucky doesn't ask for much. In fact he never asked for anything. He deserved this.

Imagine the shock everyone gets when the portal opens up at the compound and there are now 4 people on the platform. Steve, Sam, a woman and a little girl no older than 2. She's dressed in a simple dotted dress, still wearing an apron around her waist while her baby stays clinging around her, tucking her face into her mommas neck.

Imagine the way Bucky would collapse with her when he sees his family again, crying endlessly being able to hold his wife and child, something he thought he'd lost forever. Everyone gives the little family some privacy while he hugs and kisses them, cuddling them to his chest, still right on the lab floor. Explanations for everything can wait, right now he can't believe he has his angels back.

Imagine the way they'd fall asleep that night, sleeping in bed for once, now that he's reunited with his y/n and his Bella.

imagine the endless love he'd make to her while Bella spends time with her God Fathers, aka all the Avenger men.

Imagine she's pregnant soon after and they can continue being a family in the present, doing all the things they always dreamed of.

Anyway, just a thought.

[freddleafton12345-blog]

ShadowMilk cookie x lonely! Desperate female reader, who's a Kitsune!))

WARNING! MENTION OF SELF HARM!

You've had enough.

Time to start cutting away at your arms again with a small knife.

Seeing so many people having a lover made you jealous. You wanted that sort of affection. To be held. Cuddled. Kissed. Wanted.

But nobody seemed interested in you.

Was it because you were too skinny/fat? Was it because you didn't wear enough makeup?

"Well, this is an interesting bunch of thoughts~!"

The sudden voice in your head made you stop yourself from getting ready to add another cut into your dough.

"Who's there!? Show yourself!" You looked around the bathroom, your ears flicking everywhere to pick up any possible source of the voice.

"Relax, my dear! I'm a friend!" The voice chimed. "Looking for a conversation! You see, your upset, yes?"

"Wha-"

"Tired of being single? Seeing couples makes you think your too useless, right? Everybody's neglecting you! But I...I like you."

"You're saying nonsense! I don't even know you!"

The owner of the voice smirked to himself. He knew that manipulating you into being his forever was all too simple.

You were meant to be his.

"Yes you do~! We've interacted in your dreams many times!"

You paused.

There was a cookie that had been seeing you in your dreams a lot. He looked like a Jester that was decorated in black and blue, with a dash of white. And he had gorgeous mismatched eyes.

Was that the owner of the voice in your head?

"I can read your thoughts, and yes! I'm the guy from your dreams! ShadowMilk cookie!"

"ShadowMilk cookie? Wait you- YOU'RE THE BEAST THAT TRIED TORMENTING PURE VANILLA COOKIE!" You panicked, gripping your tail to calm down.

"Pssht, relax darling! I don't wanna hurt ya! I wanna help you! You seem like you want to have a lover. A companion. I can do that for you, if you become my...helper, hehe!"

'Helper?'

Becoming the assistant of the most powerful Beast cookie, in exchange for affection?

You wanted to say no. To warn Pure Vanilla that ShadowMilk was watching you.

But...finally being loved and cared for was all too tempting.

And the Beast smirked as he knew...

You were already under his control...

~~~

ShadowMilk cookie had given you a glowing blue trail of energy only you could see. So you could find his domain.

And it was fun but twisted.

You admired some of the carnival games, and even attended a theater show. You indulged in your curiosity and fun.

Then you headed into the castle.

"Oho, I see I've got my favorite person is infront of me? FINALLY!" The Jester exclaimed, flying off his chair to inspect you.

Your ears pinned back, he didn't look scary, but you knew better than to let your guard down.

"H-hi there, ShadowMilk cookie.." you muttered shyly.

"Now now, no need to be shy! If I'm going to be your boyfriend, then I wanna see your cute face!" He tilted your head upwards slightly with his hand, smirking.

Would he ever let you go?

No...

~~~

It's been about 6 months since you got to meet the Beast cookie and stay at his twisted castle.

And you asked yourself why you didn't do it sooner.

Was him pampering you and telling you he loved you everyday a lie? Probably. But did it feel nice being treated like that?

Yes, because you were so damn desperate.

As you played around with the giant black and blue snake, his pet, he simply watched you from afar.

...did he like you?

The Beast really didn't know. He got jealous and angry anytime you spoke about PureVanilla. Saying he should've noticed how badly you were hurting on the inside, and that the fact he didn't, made him a poor excuse of a true friend.

But he also didn't know if he wanted to give you his heart.

So, he continued to simply treat you like his partner, when he didn't consider himself as such a thing.

"Hi ShadowMilk cookie!" You went over to him, the snake following you. "I fed Noodle, just as you asked!"

"Ah, very well done then! Noodle doesn't like anybody who's not me! Count yourself a very lucky, lucky cookie!" The Beast pet his snake, then sent it elsewhere.

Then, he looked...serious?

"..." ShadowMilk removed his Jester crown and looked away. Like he was..scared?

"Now then, um...you see, I had a script. Bring you here, feed you sweet, little lies, and make sure you would go against PureVanilla cookie. Help me get his soul jam. However, you ruined that script!"

"W-what-? No, no, I don't know what you mean!" You felt scared. Was he gonna kill you?

"...you made me feel warm and fuzzy when you're around. You haunted my mind and it was so...so ANNOYING! And you made me want more of it.."

No way.

No fucking way he was confessing!?

"..." the Beast cookie said nothing as he took your hand in his, his gaze on the floor.

"...I like you too, ShadowMilk cookie. I didn't think I'd be able to learn to love you, but...I can't help it." You admitted, your ears pinned and tail wagging.

"Oh, is that so~?" He put his crown back on and pulled you in close, summoning an apple.

"Then...why don't you and I become one, heart and soul, hm?" He held it up towards you.

You leaned in and took a bite of the apple, and he did the same thing while maintaining his eyes on yours, like a hungry predator.

Even when the apple slipped and hit the floor, his gaze didn't leave yours. It only closed once he shut his eyes as you kissed him deeply. And he wasted zero time in reciprocating.

And in that moment you knew he was actually being honest for once.

And it made you happy, knowing you were worth his complete honesty~

Guys this fic is one of my longest, sorry if it's bad. Also, idk if that's his pet or not, but I hc this is his pet snake, Noodle! (He would name it smth silly lmao) (also that wasn't an apple of deceit, just a normal apple idk it was hot 2 think about :3)

"PLEASE, REBLOG AND SHARE THIS, FOLKS! AND I'LL SEE YOU NEXT TIME, MWEHEHE~!!"

[jasmineoolongtea]

geto suguru isn't exactly sure how he got here.

there are a lot of other things he probably should be doing on a thursday afternoon after school and waiting here in an abandoned classroom for you, like some kind of lovesick puppy, is definitely not on that list of things to do.

he entertains the thought of leaving for a second but that idea goes straight out of the window when he sees your face appear in the doorway.

"sorry for being late. i hope i didn't make you wait for too long." you apologise with a bashful smile as you stumble into the empty classroom.

you're slightly out of breath to the point where you have to take a second before speaking, your cheeks are flushed with colour and suguru thinks you've never looked more beautiful than now.

"no, it's fine. i don't mind waiting for you."

he's pretty sure that he could wait forever if he knew you were there on the other side though you don't need to know that.

when you place your hand in his and he rests his against your waist, he can't help but think about how well you fit into him like it was moulded just for him and he wonders for a split second if there's even a chance that you share a fraction of what's going through his mind right now.

your moves are awkward and unsure, 'all because of your two left feet' (in your own words, not his), and while even the most patient of people would have been on their last straw with how many times you've accidentally stepped on his feet, to suguru, they just add to your unique charm that he's certain he'll spend lifetimes searching for anything that might come close to it.

as much as he wants to pull away because you have this strange effect on him where you can render him breathless in the blink of an eye with a single touch or stray glance, he also hates each and every second he can't be in your presence and this is one of the few moments he's afforded some respite from the enormity of his feelings.

suguru isn't a masochist (as far as he's aware) however you're making him reconsider a lot of things about himself.

truth be told, he doesn't even know why he agreed to this in the first place, he damn well knows that he is probably the furthest thing from a professional dancer and there's a part of him that feels bad for lying straight to your face but when he sees how relieved you are when he agrees to your request, he's sure that lying can't be that bad in the grand scheme of things.

"you should..." he trails off, fall for me instead.

"hmm? what did you say suguru?"

you're looking at him so expectantly like you truly want to know what he's going to say next and he wishes that you would always look at him like that for if that was the case, he might just have the courage to spill the thoughts that plague his every waking moment.

"oh, no i was just saying that you should not worry so much. i'm sure you'll be fine." actually, he's sure you'll do more than fine but once again, he bites his tongue.

maybe if he was more brazen and cared less about him, he would curse out satoru for being such a lucky bastard, so lucky in fact, that he gets to be the one who can hold you in his arms. unfortunately for him, he's not that type of person, and even worse for him, he doesn't live in a world where he's the one who has your stomach in knots.

the sun is setting below the horizon and soon, the world will be plunged into a familiar darkness there's an uncomfortable feeling pooling within his gut that tells him that this moment can't last forever and you'll go running back into the arms of someone you truly belong with (no matter how much he tries to will it into existence).

nevertheless, he'll take one night of slow dancing with you in the dark over nothing and foolishly pretend that this is something that it isn't.