#i have gotten so good at letting things go

[lxvvie]

Simon doesn't think he's ever tasted something so good in his fuckin' life before.

He didn't know what he was in for this time when he got back from deployment, and nicotine and whiskey ain't got shit on this. Poor bastard can't remember the last time he had something so good invade his senses like this.

You said you had a treat for him, made him lay down, and promptly sat on his face, and Simon was fuckin' gone. Don't know what the fuck possessed him but he took one whiff and was instantly hooked.

Simon feasted on your cunt like a man starved. Tongue, lips, fingers, you name it. Anything to get his fix, anything to make you moan.

Anything to make you cum.

Didn't let up for shit, not even to breathe, and when you voiced your concern while whimpering and trembling, Simon didn't give a fuck and still continued to love on your pretty cunt because where the bloody fuck are you going?

Shut up. Shut the hell up and let him make you cum, sweetheart.

Actions have consequences. Shouldn't have made him feel so bloody good, shouldn't have poked at the beast, and he'd be damned if he didn't think this was the best post-deployment gift he's ever gotten. Better than the nicotine high or occasional pity wank.

Fuck, it's been so long and he's absolutely disgusting about it.

And Simon's aware of it all, the way his cock is so hard it's bloody painful and leaking in his pants, the way you're grinding on his face, smothering it and fucking his mouth (don't you dare stop, either), and how his everything is consumed by you. You coat his stubble, fill his nostrils up with your scent, his tastebuds are fired up—bloody hell, need he explain more?

Simon could die a happy man right now, and what would his gravestone say? Here Lies Simon Riley, Died Eating Cunt.

He'd chuckle if he wasn't too busy at the moment. Shit, he probably did if the way you're moaning is any indication. That felt good, didn't it, sweetheart?

It's your turn now to say his name like a prayer and believe in him just as he believes in you.

And it's the best fucking thing to ever bless his ears.

--

Turning Simon Out: Part I and Part II.

[incrediblyaccuratethoughts]

Added another chapter, here we goooo ~~

-

Tim stepped out of the Batcave to grab himself a coffee. He was gone for 10 minutes.

So tell him why as soon as he closes the entrance, he's accosted with the sound of Jason and Damian bickering over the bat computer. The computer he’d been using for the past 5 hours to try and solve an ongoing trafficking ring.

“I told you my fucking number and I’m no liar,” Jason grumbles.

“Shut it Todd, I’m concentrating.”

Why does this always happen to Tim? What god did he piss off enough to regularly put him in the room when his brothers are arguing? What did he do to deserve such slander??

“You wouldn't have to concentrate if you just believed me-” Jason snaps, as Tim starts to make his way down the staircase, quietly stepping between shadows to avoid being seen.

“I refuse to believe that you’ve killed that many people since you were revived.”

“I’mma crime lord, brat. I’ve killed a lot of fucking people. Not to mention the Pit Rage.”

When Tim gets his first peak of the Bat Computer, he doesn't know why he bothered to be sneaky. At a first glance, Jason looks casually relaxed, his feet up on the desk, but his shoulders are tight and his attention is focused on whatever the hell Damian is doing.

Did Tim mention that he didn’t like where this is going? He would like it on record that he doesn't like this one bit.

“Pit Rage or not, that’s a preposterous number.”

“And that’s a good enough reason to hack into the Watchtower for all the information they have on the League of Assassins?”

Oh shit. Oh fuck .

“Father has encrypted folders stored in their databases holding detailed information pertaining to the League of Assassins." Damian sniffs, "If the information we seek is anywhere, it’ll be there.”

Nope, Tim is definitely not a fan of this development. He’d been meaning to see if he could get to that particular file and erase all mentions of Ra’s obsession with him. Tim just hadn’t gotten around to it.

“And you’re what? Going to hack past Oracle?”

“No,” Damian scoffs, “I know the password.”

Tim scrambles for his phone. It’s not his favorite device to hack from but dammit, needs must.

"How the hell did you manage that?"

"As if I'd tell you."

“Sneaky little shit.” Jason sounds begrudgingly impressed.

For a few moments, the cave is filled with the sound of aggressive typing, before Damian makes a small, pleased noise.

“I’m in.”

From this angle he can’t see what Damian typed, but Tim has been breaking into shit he shouldn’t for longer than he should have been able to. He’s just gotta get in before they can download something they shouldn’t.

“Great, where’s the LOA files? Do they even have the LOA files?”

“Of course they do, the watchtower is updated on every major server-”

Tim frantically pulls up backdoors and firewall scanners, hoping he can slip his way inside despite not being connected to a direct network.

“What’s that?”

“We have a task, Todd. Try to stay focused.”

“No, go back. I’ve never seen that before.”

Damian scoffs, but returns to a file labeled, 'The Detective - Project Failed’

See, this is why Tim can’t have nice things. Every time he lets his guard down for even a second, a meddling brother fucks it up for him. Truly a tragic life he leads.

“It’s nothing important. Clearly it wasn’t successful-”

“Open it.”

“This is not a leisurely perusement of information, Todd. We have a task to fulfill.”

“The file was created two years ago. That’s too recent to have been Bruce.”

Damian pauses, cursor hovering over the file. Tim hopes with everything he has that the kid will ignore Jason’s request.

But of course, because the universe hates him, Damian clicks it.

The Detective

Age: 17

Height: 5’6”

Weight: 131 lbs

"I fucking told you it wasn't Batman. That's Robin levels of scrawny."

"I applaud your clearly superior intellect, Todd." Damian drawls.

"Who the hell taught you sarcasm?"

“I didn’t need to be taught, unlike some.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don't see how this is relevant.”

ABILITIES:

Trained by Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl, Lady Shiva

Martial arts disciplines including but not limited to:

Kung Fu, Aikido, Jeet Kune Do, Escrima, Krav Maga, Tae Kwon Do, Judo, Wing Chun, Hapkido, Karate, Savate, Kendo, Ninjitsu, Tai Chi, Leopard Kung Fu and Biangan.

Prefered Weapon

Bow staff

Highly skilled combatant

Master Detective, Tactician, and Strategist

Gifted Intellect

Excels in computer science and inventions

Firm grasp of assorted scientific techniques including biology, engineering genetics, forensic, criminology, acrobatics, stealth, disguise, and escapology.

"So I know I made a joke about this being a Robin, but…" Jason trails off.

"These descriptions are too specific." Damien agrees.

AFFILIATIONS:

Batman and his associates

Leader of Young Justice

Leader of Teen Titans

Justice League associates

League of Assassins associates

"Which fucking Robin worked with Ra's of all people?"

"I am the heir of-"

"Tell me when exactly you lead Young Justice."

“Tch.” Damain scoffs.

PERSONAL CONNECTIONS:

Janet Drake (Mother): Dead

Jack Drake (Father): Dead

Eddie Drake (Uncle): Fake Identity

"Oh fuck ." Jason breathes.

ALIAS:

Timothy (Tim) Jackson Drake-Wayne

Robin - Boy Wonder

Red Robin

The Detective

Alvin Draper

"What kind of alias is Alvin ? What the fuck?"

History:

Defeated King Snake (assisted)

Defeated Clusmaster (alone)

Escaped Bane and Killer Croc (alone)

Defeated Firefly (alone)

'Zero Hour'

Defeated KGBeast (alone)

Kidnapped by Zeus - (escaped alone)

First contact with LOA - apocalypse virus

Defeated Cluemasrer (alone)

Lead Young Justice

'No Man's Land'

Defeated Mr. Freeze and Ratcatcher (alone)

Defeated Darkseid (assisted)

'Titans Tomorrow'

Defended Bludhaven from OMAC's (assisted)

Defeated Secret Society of Super Villains (assisted)

Reassembled Teen Titans

Defeated Obeah Man (alone)

LOA affiliation - Objective: [REDACTED]

“No fucking way.” Jason breathes, and judging by Damain’s silence, he shares Jason’s sentiment.

Tim’s frantic typing is yielding no results. Fuck .

“I didn’t think the kid had it in him.”

“I was not aware that Drake was so… versatile in his skills.”

“That’s a fancy fucking way of saying he’s got a rap sheet longer than Santa’s naughty list.”

“He didn’t strike me as the type to work with Grandfather.”

“Yeah, no shit. When did that even happen?”

“By the dates, it would have been during Father’s disappearance into the time stream.”

“ Oh my fucking god .”

Classification: Potential Heir

Mission Success Rate: 98%

Active Member: N/A

Time of Service: 1y 2m 15d

Kill Count: 8,528

“That number can’t possibly be right.”

“Holy fuck, that’s a higher kill count than me .”

“I refuse to believe this. We need more evidence.” Damian states, scrolling down to the detailed notes.

“He blew up a League base?”

“Not just one. He blew up 7.”

“I don’t understand how he would have had the information-”

Tim’s phone vibrates as finally gains access to the Watchtower. It’s too late to have kept his brothers from seeing what they did, but that doesn’t mean he can’t bury his file.

“It says he that he was favored by Ra’s and… that bastard wanted him to be the next Demon’s Head? What the hell did Timmy do ?”

“I don’t understand.”

The data starts disappearing, and Tim clears his throat. His brothers turn around, staring wide-eyed at Tim’s blank face.

His heart is in his throat and his hands are shaking, but he forces a smirk.

“No one will ever believe you.”

Tim turns and sprints for the door.

Without the copies stored away in the watchtower database, his brothers will be hard-pressed to come up with proof about his crimes and really, he’s heard far too many comments about him being one of the more morally sound people in the family, so it’s not likely that his brothers will be taken seriously, but he's not sticking around long enough to get caught.

Tim’s escape lasts about five minutes.

It’s an epic five minutes, there’s a lot of sick flips and narrow misses involved, but by the end of it, the entire family is on the chase.

Which, Tim thinks wryly, is just fucking perfect as he wheezes under the weight of 200 pounds of sheer muscle.

“You have some fucking explaining to do, Timbo.” The jerk that’s currently crushing all of the air out of Tim’s lungs says, but all Tim can do is wheeze.

The weight lifts and oh . Fuck . Yeah, no wonder Tim was on the verge of breaking a rib, Jason was the one who tackled him.

Rude. Tim weighs like. A third of him. The man could at least pretend to use some constraint.

“Tell me why,” Jason starts in a dangerously low tone, “You have the highest kill count in this family.”

Tim tilts his head, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ Bull. Shit . Damian and I saw the fucking file. Deleting it doesn't change the facts.”

Tim's expression doesn't falter. He’s been rubbing elbows with high society since before he could walk. He’s well practiced in a poker face. “What file?”

Jason lunges for him.

A short scuffle later finds both Tim and Jason separated, Bruce with an arm across Jason’s chest and Dick bodily hauling Tim off the ground.

"What's going on?"

Ah shit, that's Bruce's Batman voice.

"Tim has a kill count higher than me." Jason immediately spits, the snitch.

"He worked with Grandfather."

"He blew up 7 league bases."

Every gaze in the room lands on Tim, and he sighs, admitting defeat and slumping in the hold Dick has him in. Damn the man and his octopus arms.

It was a good run. But the gig is up.

"I was in a… bad headspace." He shrugs ruefully, "Black Canary once told me that shared misery is halved misery.”

“Your ‘bad headspace’ lead to blowing up 7 League bases ?”

Tim shrugs. “In my defense, Ra’s is an asshole who has my spleen in a jar. I think he deserves it.”

The arms tighten around Tim, “He has what -”

”Your spleen ?”

“That does sound indicative of Grandfather’s behavior.”

“What the actual fuck, replacement.”

"You have some serious explaining to do." Bruce says, tone authoritative with no room for argument.

Tim sighs. He just wanted coffee.

An opinion. Jason was the only batkid who did not come with a pre-installed Kill option, that was downloaded, after death, while he was with the League. Dick, Tim and Damian, tho, they came with it, and Bruce had to learn to manually turn it off.

99% success rate with Dick and Damian.

76% success rate with Tim who has not killed anybody, but has contemplated it way too many times for Bruce to be comfortable with.

Edit: for all the people who keep saying "But Tim blew up the League bases with so many people," listen, if Bruce doesn't know, it didn't happen. Don't go snitching on my boy like that.

[chestersturniolo]

good cop , bad cop

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader x Chris Sturniolo

Summary; You have been a moody guts all day. Matt goes straight to comforting mode.. Chris, not so much

disclaimer; Chratt poly relationship dynamic! if you are not comfortable with this, do not read // suggestive // pet names // most likely a one shot.. based on this request

You flop onto the couch with an exaggerated huff, crossing your arms over your chest. Your irritation at an all time high for no real reason. It’s been one of those days, and it feels like nothing is going your way.

Matts attention is caught by your dramatics, he glances over from where he sat on the other side of the couch. “Hey-” he says softly “-what’s wrong sweetheart? You’ve been in a mood since this morning” his voiced concerned

You groan dramatically, rolling your eyes. “Nothing. I’m fine.” you snap,

Matt frowns, “C’mon, talk to me. Did something happen? Did I do something?” His voice is still patient, gentle, but for some reason it only makes you more annoyed.

“Ugh, Matt can you not?-” you sass back. “-I said I’m fine. Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

Before Matt can respond, Chris speaks up from the kitchen, his voice cutting through your tantrum “Alright, that’s enough” he says firmly, turning to face you. His blue eyes locking onto yours,. “What’s with the attitude, kid? You’ve been whinin’ n actin’ like a little brat all day”

Your eyebrows immediately raise, taken back by his tone.

“Chris!” Matt snaps, shooting him a disapproving look. “Don’t talk to her like that, she’s just—”

“She’s just what?” Chris interrupts, standing his ground. “Throwing a tantrum because she’s gotten herself all worked up for no reason? Don’t coddle her, Matt. It’s not helping.”

You glare at him, but Chris doesn’t waver. “look I get that you’re not in the best of moods today-” he says, his tone softening just a little “-but that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on us. We’re here to help you, not be your punching bags kid”

Matt sighs, running a hand through his hair “You didn’t have to put it like that” he mutters, clearly torn between defending you and acknowledging Chris has a point.

“Maybe not-“ Chris concedes, his gaze flicking back to you “-but she needed to hear it”

You shift in your seat with an subtle eye roll. Chris wasn’t wrong…you had been a little over the top today. But still, his bluntness stings.

Matt scoots over to you on the couch, his hand resting gently on your knee. “listen-” he says softly “-whenever something’s bothering you, just tell us, okay? We can talk anything out”

“Yeah-“ chris starts in agreement, making his way over to the couch “-we’ve got your back ma, next time lose the attitude, huh?” he says,crossing his arms as he stands infront of you

You sigh, the fight draining out of you as you mumble, “Okay, m’sorry” feeling slightly guilty

Matt smiles, giving your knee a reassuring squeeze. Chris smirks, tossing a wink your way “There’s our girl”

Your lips instinctively curl upward at his coo..you’d always found it quite hard to stay mad at them for long periods of time. They had this way of breaking your attitude down, sometimes without even trying. You let out another small sigh, “i think i’ve just been a little stressed lately that’s all..” you say honestly, your eyes flickering between them both.

Matt clicks his tongue “ah baby, why didn’t you say so? i know just the thing for that..” he says before throwing a glance to chris with a smirk. They share a quick knowing look before Chris’ smirk forms also, knowing exactly what his brother is getting at.

Before you could process what was happening, Chris leans down, scooping you up off the couch. You let out a surprise squeal as he hoists you up and slings you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, before placing a firm smack to your ass as he starts walking off toward Matts room.

“Where are we going” you giggle,lifting your head slightly to see Matts figure following closely behind

“We’re going to relieve all that stress of yours baby-“ Matt mumbles, wetting his bottom lip, his hand coming down to unbuckle his belt as he walks “-jus’ relax, we’re gonna take good care of you hmm?”

MASTERLIST LINKED HERE

[shanastoryteller]

Dean’s minding his own business, sipping on a beer and leering at the bartender, when a guy that admittedly has about four inches and a good twenty pounds of muscle on him storms over and shoves him in the arm.

He tenses, getting to his feet and preparing for a fight even as he’s wondering what he did to piss him off. Maybe the bartender’s his girl? Jesus, Dean was just looking, he can’t get mad at just looking when his girl look likes that.

“Dude, what the hell?” the guy demands. “I know you’re pissed at me right now, but just leaving me back there – do you know how many bars it took to find you? You’re a jackass.”

He’s not taking a swing, instead standing with crossed arms – fuck, this guy is huge, he’d really like to avoid a fight here – and scowling at him, his long hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at him. Dean wishes he had any idea what was going on right now. “Look, man, relax.” The guy’s eyes narrow, his shoulders lifting and expanding as he takes in a deep breath, as if he needs any help to look bigger. Before he can say anything, Dean adds, “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Fuck off.” He presses his lips together, somehow appearing smaller in the next moment without actually moving. “Look, I know you’re mad about heaven, you’ve made that pretty fucking clear, but you can’t just walk off and turn off your phone. I figured you were just being an ass, but something could have happened to you. If you’re ignoring me, at least let me know you’re ignoring me.”

The guy doesn’t look like he’s tweaking, or suffering some sort of head injury. His eyes are clear and his voice is steady. But Dean has no idea what he’s talking about. “Dude, you’ve really got me confused with someone else.”

“Dean!” he snaps, which woah, okay, he wasn’t expecting that. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” he says. “How do you know my name?”

He stares at him, uncertainty entering his eyes for the first time. “Are you feeling okay? You didn’t come across Zachariah or a witch or something in the past couple hours?”

He doesn’t know who Zachariah is, but the casual mention of witches makes him frown. Is this guy a hunter or something? He figures he’d remember meeting him, but maybe not.

“Everything okay over here?” Dad’s hand lands heavily on his shoulder, and Dean shifts enough to see him giving the guy a hard stare that has sent more than one man running in the other direction.

Dean almost rolls his eyes – he’s thirty one years old, he doesn’t need his dad coming over to save him – but he makes the effort so rarely that Dean can’t help but be warmed by it.

The guy pales, mouth dropping open as he stares at Dad like he’s seen a ghost. “You – Christo.”

Okay, definitely a hunter. Dad raises an eyebrow. “I’m not a demon.”

The guy grabs for Dean, yanking on his hand. Dean jerks back, but he’s already gotten his long fingers around his ring. He pulls it off and Dean is about to break his jaw to get it back, but he tosses it to Dad, who catches it on instinct. Dean doesn’t get it until he does. His ring is silver. He’s checking if Dad is a shifter, which okay, that’s one thing. Dean’s more concerned about how he knows his ring is silver. The guy’s voice cracks when he says, “Dad?”

Dad raises an eyebrow. “I think you’re a little confused.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” he asks, grabbing onto the sleeve of his jacket. Dean should push him off. “What,” his gaze drops down, and if possible he goes even paler. “Oh. Oh, fuck.”

Dean looks down, sees the guy’s eyes stuck on his amulet. “What?”

“I don’t understand,” he says, biting on his lower lip. “Is this some sort of – but you’re still hunters. Is Mom alive?”

Dean flinches.

“Okay,” Dad says. “That’s enough. You walk this off or whatever, but you do it somewhere else–”

“Dad, it’s me,” he says plaintively. “It’s Sam. Your son.”

Dean doesn’t remember moving, only that the next moment his hands are fisted in the front of this asshole’s shirt, his blood thrumming under his skin. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

He puts his hands on Dean’s wrists, stupid earnest and soft and Dean’s going to kick his ass. “Dean. It’s me. I have to exist in this world, right? The demon was after me, if I wasn’t here then there wouldn’t have ben a fire, Mom wouldn’t have died, you guys wouldn’t be hunters. I have to be around somewhere.”

Dean tries to shove him away, but he won’t let go of his hands. “Shut up! You don’t – don’t talk about my family.”

The worst thing he ever did, his biggest failure. Sometimes the weight of it gets to be so heavy that it feels like it should be cracking his ribs, pressing his heart until it bursts. Sometimes he wishes it would.

He swallows before letting go with one hand and reaching into his pocket to pull something out. It takes Dean a moment to see it’s his amulet, the one he’s worn since he was twelve years old, back when Bobby still talked to them. “My name is Samuel Winchester. I was named after my mother’s father. I was born on May 2, 1983. When I was eight years old, Bobby gave me this amulet. He said it was a protection charm. I was originally planning to give it to Dad for Christmas, but he didn’t show up. Another in a long line of disappointments, right? So I gave it to you instead. Because even when you’re being a jerk, you’ve never let me down.”

Dean’s eyes are burning. He tries to shake off his grip, but he won’t let go. Why is Dad just standing there? “Stop! Stop. I don’t know what game you’re playing–”

“No game,” he says, gentle voice a counterpoint to the grip that’s absolutely going to bruise. “I need you to believe me, Dean, please–”

“My brother died when he was six months old,” he cuts him off. “Samuel Winchester is dead. He’s been dead for twenty six years.”

His fault, his fault, all his fault. If he’d just listened to Dad –

“Not where I’m from,” he says, and it’s crazy, it’s all crazy. “Please. Ask me anything. I’ll prove it. Hell, let’s go to a clinic, we can take a DNA test. I’m Sam. I’m your brother. And I need your help.”

“You mentioned a demon,” Dad says quietly.

The guy, who’s not Sam, who can’t be Sam, tears his eyes away from Dean to look at Dad. “Yeah. Azazel. The yellow eyed demon.”

Dad rubs a hand over his mouth. “I never told anyone about that.”

Dean snaps his head towards Dad. “What? You said you didn’t know what killed Mom! That we were searching for it!”

“We are,” Dad says. “It never resurfaced again. I’ve been looking for the signs.”

The guy frowns. “He started up again when I was twenty two.”

“Not here,” Dad says, looking him up and down, something hungry in his eyes.

Dad believes him. Dad thinks that this is Sammy.

“Let’s discuss this back at the room,” Dad says. “Come on.”

He heads towards the door, sure that he’s going to be followed. The – Sam, maybe Sam, he rolls his eyes, but goes after him. He only stops when his grip on Dean’s wrist jerks him back, because Dean’s not moving, can’t make himself move. He flushes, letting go of Dean finally, but he takes a step closer. His eyebrows pull together in concern, and now that Dean’s looking, he sort of sees it, sees the planes of Dad’s face and his eyes in this stranger with his brother’s name. “Hey, are you okay?”

No.

“Let’s go,” he says, striding forward, shoulders hunched.

Sam falls into step beside him easily, matching his strides like it’s second nature. Dean swallows around the lump in his throat and tries to pretend it means nothing.

[luveline]

hi jade!! could we get some kbd!steve where r has had a long week at work or something like that and steve makes her favorite for dinner and she just gets all clingy and a little teary and all that mushy ushy stuff

KBD —mom!reader, 2k

The drive home feels longer, roads you’ve taken each week day for years metamorphosed into winding lanes and long stretches of tarmac. You stop at the small store just outside of your neighbourhood and attempt to pick out a treat for each girl and your sweet husband. 

It costs more than the tags say it will. Your bag breaks on the way to the car. You have to go back into the store to buy Steve another glass coke, but he deserves it. If you think about crying on the street that leads into yours, it’s your secret. 

The door opens before you’ve parked the car. Avery waits on the stoop, shifting from foot to foot in excitement. The second the car is off, she’s barrelling down the step of the house without shoes. 

“Ave! Babe!” you say, laughing as she pins you in place. “No, go back inside! It’s so cold out here!” 

“I couldn’t wait to see you!” she whines. 

Steve is there and down the steps immediately. He grabs her up and tosses her over his shoulder, laughing but clearly disapproving, “I didn’t even hear the door, just you yelling,” he says. “Shit, come on, come inside, it’s freezing!”

“Steve, you’re not wearing socks either.” 

“I had to save my girl. Where’d she go, did you see?” 

Avery giggles roaringly against his back. “Dad, put me down!” 

Steve gets Avery unharmed back inside of the house. He lets you pass and locks the front door, it’s creaking, stuck handle slammed up and key turned. He puts the chain on, like you’re being followed, checking the peephole before turning to you with this look, arms out and hands up, a sign of relief coursing through him. “My girl,” he says, cupping your face in both hands. 

You give a surprised smile. 

“I thought I was your girl!” Avery says.

“You are my girl,” Steve says, tipping your head to one side. He’s smiling like it’s his birthday, or like you just told him you found a hundred dollars in one of your pockets. “But mom’s my girl, I have a couple, you know?” He talks to Avery, stares at you. “I’m glad you’re home. I have a surprise for you and I hate waiting.”

“You do?” 

He squeezes your cheek and parts from you. “Ave, go get some socks. I’m gonna turn the heating up. Wait, let me feel those feet before you go.” 

“You are not touching my feet, you tickle.” 

“Then go get some socks on them! Gosh, you’d think I just left the front door unlocked or something, the way she ran out.” 

He shares a big smile. 

In the kitchen, the shutters are open. The lingering piles of yet to melt snow in the back yard make the whole room white, illuminating the family table, the fridge covered in magnet-pinned drawings and appointment cards, the sink and all the drying dishes. Poor Steve, he must do the dishes three times a day before you get home. 

There are things covered on the stove waiting to be reheated, and in the oven, you can see a large ceramic baking tray. 

“What are you making?” you ask. 

“That’s your surprise, honey. That and one more thing.” 

You shake your head, nonplussed. “What?” 

Steve opens the cabinet under the sink to unveil a bouquet of flowers. Which means he must’ve gotten four girls dressed to take to the store on a day where he hadn’t needed to. He must love you a whole lot to bother.

“What’s in the oven?” you ask. 

Steve puts the bouquet in its vase on the table for you to inspect. “Your favourite, duh. All the trimmings. Enough for you to have three helpings, if you want.” 

“What’s the occasion?”

“Since when do we need an occasion?” he asks, taking your wrist across the table. 

You give the flowers a good long analysis. Your favourite flowers too, with baby’s breath, carnations and peonies to bulk it out, all light pinks or whites, the odd light blue one tucked throughout. 

“I think I was having a bad day,” you say. 

“What?” he asks worriedly. “What’s wrong?” 

He should know not to ask you like that when you’re upset to begin with. He’s lucky you don’t burst into breathless sobs there and then, but your eyes go hot, your waterline fills, and he’s all to easy to collapse against for a hug. The bag at your elbow clinks against him. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

“Sure, honey, but what happened?” 

You sound squeezes as an orange for juice as you explain it, wobbly in his arms, “It’s just been such a long week, m’sorry, and I had a bad day, and I got you a glass coke from Ernie’s but the bag broke, so I had to go back in and tell them I smashed glass out there–”

“Maybe Ernie should get better bags,” he says. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t cry over coke.” 

“No, you should never cry.” He encourages you back to kiss your nose, still smiling as he says, “Ever. They should make crying illegal, I don’t wanna see you doing it ever.” He taps you under the chin. “You’re home, cool? Nobody can bother you for the next two days, it’s just me, and your daughter, and your other daughter, and your other,” —he starts laughing as you do, infected— “daughter, and that baby. Also a daughter.” 

“Oh, yes. Who can forget my troop of girls,” you say, sniffling as he swipes under your eye with his thumb. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

You could tell him everything now, or you can save it up for tonight, tell his shoulder after dinner and a shower and a few hours of TV and chips. It’ll all feel less shitty then. And he’s drawn your attention where it should’ve been —where are your girls? 

“I’m okay. Thank you, handsome.” 

“Handsome.” He feels down your arm, pretty and warm among a cool-white kitchen. “Flirt. How about you go give your kisses and I’ll set the table?” 

“You sure?” 

He’s all smiles, it’s crazy. “The quicker I feed you the better, I’d wager. Kiss for luck?”

What luck? you think, but pout softly for a kiss that rocks your world regardless 

I’m a princess, you think, pushing the door that leads to the living room. Inside, Beth, the second eldest, is sitting with Wren, the baby. Wren is sitting on a playmat in a duckie covered onesie, smiling and giggling as Beth puts on a show. Beth’s holding an octopus toy and a Barbie, making them talk to one another in different voices. 

You don’t want to interrupt them, but Wren sees you over Beth’s head and starts doing the wiggly, nearly frantic things babies do when they’ve missed you. If you don’t grab her quickly she’ll burst into tears. 

“Beth!” you say, kneeling down beside her as you grab her sister. “Hi, bubby. What are you playing?” 

Beth reminds you that you’re beautiful, your smile on her lips as she says, “Mom! When did you come home?” 

“Just a few seconds ago.” You situate Wren on your chest for kissing, popping a few spares on Beth’s temple. “Okay? Good day?” 

“Great day!” 

“Good, I’m so glad.” 

Beth crawls to you to give you a hug from the side. Somewhere in the background, Avery calls, “Daddy! Dove is making a mess in my room AGAIN!” and Steve’s calling back, “Okay! I’ll be right there, Avery! Just gimme a minute!”

“DAD!” 

Wren gurgles at you. “Da?” she says. 

“Heard that, did you?” you ask her. 

Steve takes the long way, pushing into the living room and throwing a grin at the three of you on the floor. “Honey, I’ll be right back. The table’s set, okay? You can go sit down and I’ll start plating up.” He doubles back before he can leave, again staring at you with a smile. “Jesus, you’re perfect. I could just look at you forever.”

“Isn’t he charming?” you ask Beth. 

She gives an agreeable nod.  

The moment he’s gone you realise you actually don’t want him far away from you. It’s a strong feeling to understand it while bathed in love from two beautiful kids who missed you. Wren tries to kiss you, surely wanting one of her own, while Beth gets up and tries to persuade you too. 

“Come on, mommy. We can sit at the table.” 

So you go, mostly because she sounds adorable. You carry Wren to the table and find Steve’s already made her her soft food. You try to make baby food a few days worth at a time, but it’s nice to let her have little tastes of the same meal as everyone else. He’s blended some of the veggies into a bowl, sat cooled and waiting for her with a bib on the high chair. 

“Your daddy’s in great form today,” you mumble into her hair, sitting her down, and attempting to get the bib on her before she can grab her spoon. She’s enthusiastic, but not actually coordinated enough to use one yet. You sit down by the high chair to feed her. 

“Is it okay if I sit here?” Beth asks, taking your usual seat. 

“Yeah, of course. Want me to serve you now, or could you wait, bubby? Just until dad comes down.” 

Beth shakes her head. You forget sometimes that she’s not a baby, not a toddler, but a child big enough to grab her own knife and fork. “I’ll wait, just have some bread.” 

“Okay, bubby. Thank you. You gonna butter it yourself?” 

“Yeess,” she drags out. 

Steve brings Avery back, along with your last, grumpiest daughter, Dove. She isn’t necessarily miserable, just contrary. When she was Wren’s age she’d already mastered the word no, when she sees you, she glares at you, crying out in disbelief, “You’re in my seat!” 

“Come and sit on my lap, big girl, I gotta feed your sister.” 

“I don’t want to sit on your lap.” 

“That’s hurtful.” You pout at her with loving eyes. “Dove, didn’t you miss mommy? I missed you soooooo much.” 

Success. She climbs into your lap and lets you rub her arm while you can. Steve takes the seat on Beth’s other side, further away then you would’ve liked. He serves everybody their dinner, does it all beaming and fawning over his dinner guests. 

Your bad week fades away. By the time Steve’s stolen Wren-duty and you’ve finished your dinner, you’re feeling delightfully full and doubly loved. Like they know you need it, each of your daughters capable of doing so gives you a hug (or in Dove’s case, a kiss on the arm). 

Leaving you, and Steve, and baby Wren. 

“What do you think, milk?” he asks her. 

She seems to think it over. “Ba?” she asks. 

“Buppy? You want your buppy?” 

He pulls her out of her high chair, makes her a bottle of milk with her held to his chest, and then sits down in the chair next to you to cradle her and feed her a few ounces. 

“So,” he says, as though he isn’t exhibiting frankly audacious levels of dad-stamina and esteem, “about that long week, are you feeling okay?” 

You hold his wrist where he holds the baby. Wren’s getting so big, she takes up the length of his arm, a healthy chub around her neck and on her tummy. 

“Y/N?”

“I’m okay, yeah.” 

“Just got on top of you?” 

“Yeah, I guess so. Shit, I didn’t get you your coke or anything for dinner. I got the girls chips.” 

“It’s okay, we have time to spoil them. They ate tons.” 

“What was breakfast like after I left?” 

“Avery was so happy she didn’t have school I don’t think she noticed there were no fruit slices.” 

You fall into conversation. He leans against your shoulder as you rub the length of his arm, encouraging your clinging to the fullest extent. 

[lilietsblog]

death should have a purpose in the narrative proportional to its impact. If you're killing off a beloved character and nothing in particular follows from it, you're not doing well. Death might be realistic, but so is survival!

Pain for pain's sake is, simply, bad. Pain for the sake of catharsis, pain for the sake of themes, those have their place.

Oh, and also, death that simply removes the character from the narrative, if this character was previously emotionally important, is simply and straight up badly written. If the only thing being explored after it is other characters' ability to deal with loss, without actually being specific to the one who died, it's badly written. If a character was important, narrative should mourn them, should let them stay important in memories and echoes of past actions and decisions, should keep them as a discussion topic. Them, as they were, not just how other characters react to their death.

Else you're just telling the audience "wow you should not have gotten so invested, move on already, attachment is stupid and you should have known better, this story is about the ones who lived (so far) not about that guy". Like, the end point of this logic is that actually you shouldn't get attached to ANY of the characters - only the author knows when the next one is getting written out, after all!

A good character death haunts the narrative, remains as important as the character was when alive.

Of course, if you're writing, say, horror, then that's exactly the effect you're going for, and good for you. But I don't think, somehow, that the original comment meant horror.

im starting to think you guys dont like it when stories make you feel things

[planetpedri]

All in good time, — Franco Colapinto.

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x Fem!Reader

Summary: When a college student meets her polar opposite in Franco Colapinto, she instantly disliked him. But, Franco was enamored with her and he would get her to like him, all in good time.

Word count: 1.65k+

Disclaimer/s: this is a hockey!au

A/N: this is for @purinfelix and jet only! though i love each and every one of you who choses to read it.. this was. this was ass girl shit i’m sorry i didn’t know where i was going toward the end… i may do another hockey player!franco fic tho but its going to be far more centered around the actual hockey

Franco Colapinto was a force to be reckoned with. Somehow, you’d gotten tangled into his life. When your dorm was being renovated and you needed a place to stay, your roommate suggested her friend’s house—that friend being Franco. A notorious hockey player for the Golden Knights.

He was, in simple terms, agitating. Your two and a half weeks staying in his basement was something close to hell on earth. He held parties, big ones! Ones that interrupted your studying, which he’d half ass apologize for the next morning while nursing a raging hangover, right before asking you to make your signature hangover recipe while he showered.

That was your payment for staying there. You nursed his hangovers and helped him come up with various excuses as to why he was late to practice, even going as far as to go out of your way to tell his coach you’d gotten terribly sick and he had to bring you to the hospital.

Two pea’s in a lying pod. That’s what you were.

In the first week, he’d convinced you to go to the rink to help him practice. You—only ever using figure skates—had a difficult time keeping up with him. You nearly broke a tailbone trying to catch up with him.

Franco held a lopsided grin when he stopped, ice shavings flying as he turned to face you. Though, you saw the concern flash across his face as he skated back in your direction, leaning down to help you up.

“I need an ice pack—“ Your lips formed a thin line, “actually, I need wine and an excuse to get out of this hell.”

The curly haired man laughed, pulling your hand over his shoulder as his free arm looped around your waist. Holding you up, he assisted you back to the bench, setting you down carefully.

Once you shifted to get comfortable, wincing in pain, you untie the laces on your skates. “How do you do this for a living? I’m fucking miserable and we’ve done this once.”

Franco shrugs, leaning his head against the tempered glass that separated the rink from the benches. “Maybe I will just have to put you to work.” His lips threaten a smirk, “if it helps, I do prefer practicing with you than my teammates.”

That wasn’t even particularly a lie. He tried to find ways to get to know you, but you were a tough nut to crack. He tried so hard to find ways to get in your good graces, and forcing you to hang out with him was the only way he could get you to spend quality time with him.

His flirting was what annoyed you the most. You couldn’t stand it, only because it made a weird feeling erupt in your stomach. “First of all, don’t let them hear that. Second of all, I will never do this again. Ever.”

Franco was a convincer. He was good at getting people to do things, and you were unfortunately, not exempt from that. Even when you were back in your dorms, he’d convinced you to join him at the rinks.

You rarely ever practiced with him, simply opting to watch from the stands. You hated to admit it, but you’d grown to enjoy the time spent with him. When he took breaks, he’d explain the rules to you, different tactics they used, various things.

When you’d get so engrossed in conversation, he’d slip in a question about you, that you’d answer without thinking. He was good at getting to know people, but you were a difficult case. He’d found a way eventually, only getting you to talk about yourself when you were so distracted you couldn’t think long enough to stop it.

“Hockey pucks are actually frozen before games to make them move faster and glide smoothly on the ice, so they don’t bounce a lot.” Franco was rambling about different facts, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slip in a question he’d been waiting to ask for weeks.

“Seriously? So they don’t just stay rubbery and lukewarm?” The last part was only slightly sarcastic, but the fact had actually surprised you.

“So.. are you seeing anyone?”

“No.” You pause, wait—what? You don’t get an opportunity to ask any further questions because he was already onto the next fact. “Franco!” You snap, interjecting his next rant.

Francos eyebrows raise slightly, “yeah?”

You narrow your eyes, licking your lips. “You just asked if I was seeing someone. Then—you know what. That doesn’t matter, what does though, is that you just slipped in a question that was not like the others you’ve slipped in.” His face contorts and you laugh, “i’m going to law school, I notice tactics like that.”

The hockey players mouth quirks, he wasn’t even slightly ashamed. “Oh, I love how smart you are.” He hums, “I was just curious. If you were, thank the lord you aren’t, but, he wouldn’t like you hanging out with me.”

“Thank the lord? Seriously?” Your eyes roll dramatically. The wooden bench beneath you feels stiff and uncomfortable the more he watched you with his stupidly smug face.

Franco nods, “hey—“ He begins untying his laces, “you should come to my game tomorrow. You haven’t come in a while.”

The topic switch was noticeable, but you ignore it. “I have a lecture late tomorrow. I’ll probably be tired.” But when Franco’s face changes into that familiar doe-eyed expression, you cave. “Fine! I’ll come! Quit looking at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Yes you are”

“No i’m not.”

“Are too!”

“Let me take you to dinner.”

“Are—what?” Your brain stops working, words failing your tongue. Excuse you? “Wait a fucking minute—“

Franco watches you carefully. “Is that a no?”

“No! I mean—“ You were still a stumbling mess. Your mouth opening and clamping shut. “It’s a-well, I mean, It’s a yes! Yes, I will! Jesus, Franco. You couldn’t have asked any smoother?”

He’s smiling, finding your stammering all too amusing… and adorable. It was very cute. “It felt fitting to me.” He shrugs casually, slipping off his skates. “After the game and a shower, the diner you like a few blocks from your dorm?”

That was most definitely something he learned during his not-so-secret questionnaires.

“That sounds perfect.” You huff, “now, can you bring me home? I think i’m developing hypothermia.”

After changing into his regular shoes, he stands, offering you his hand. You take it, though it was with an eye roll. Franco smirks at your reaction, not commenting on it as he helps you to your feet.

“Does your body not ache every time you finish?” You ask as the two of you exit the arena, making your way through the dark parking lot.

You regretted your choice of words the second they left your lips. “Don’t even—“

“I have incredible stamina, actually.” Franco cheeses, slinging his arm around you. You allow it, even leaning into his side.

“You are insufferable.” You scoff, but the twitch of your lips betrayed your feigned annoyance.

The laugh that emits from Francos mouth has a smile growing on your lips, it was a sound you’d grown to enjoy.

Franco opens the passenger door for you, which had you suppressing a smile. It was a gesture he made every trip to the arena, in fact—Franco was very much a gentleman, despite boy boyish he could be.

Only when he was the drivers seat with the engine going and heater ablaze, does Franco finally grow serious. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to make you feel like you have to, I know you’re sort of a people pleaser.”

Okay, ouch?

Franco’s eyes widen, “I didn’t mean it like that!” He says quickly, stumbling for a way to fix what he said.

You’d never seen Franco have to search for words to say. He was always so smooth and, well, he was never one to falter.

“I know what you meant, and you’re right. But, when have I ever gone out of my way to people please you.” You reassure him, a gentle look on your face. “I want this.”

The rest was history. You want Franco had been going steady for months. Whenever you had enough time in your busy college schedule, you went to his games, you were his number one cheerleader and support system.

Hockey had easily become your favorite sport, you knew everything about it due to Franco’s inability to ever stop talking. Thats probably what made the two of you such a perfect pair. You were quiet, he wasn’t. He was your polar opposite, the yin to your yang. And thats what made it work.

When you didn’t want to talk, he wasn’t there to fill the silence. When he didn’t want to talk, you enjoyed each other’s silence.

You had never thought in a million years, the man who annoyed you oh so much, was the same man you would grow to love.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future franco posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @purinfelix @sakashq @hrts4havertz @spidybaby

[tinybeetiny]

Again and Again: J.W

SMUT | 18+ | MDNI

I've been DYING to write a Wooyoung smut, he's just so... bratty in the most dom way ever... FUCK

->Starring: Dom!Bratty!WooyoungxAfab!Sub!Reader ->Genre: Smut ->Taglist: @e3ellie @yoonshiiu @yunlazia @jonghoslilstar If you would like to be a part of the taglist please fill out this form ->Cw: Multiple orgasms, denied orgasm, overstimulation, edging, begging, vibrator, spanking, light bondage, degradation, praise, squirting

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

2 hours. 2 very long hours and your cries were music to his ears “What’s wrong baby? I thought you could take it” his voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet tone as he lets out a cackle “Woo please can’t take it” your words aren’t forming into a full sentence, the only thing you can focus on is the vibration on your clit and the 6 ruined orgasms. "Are you tapping out already? Oh, honey. We haven't even gotten started" You let out a whine as he presses the wand harder against your clit "I haven't even turned it up all the way up and you're an absolute mess, look at how you're soaking the sheets" He tsks while turning the vibrator up. Your body jolts and a scream escapes your lips "S'too much Youngie please please can't fuck" Your pants come out heavy as you pull on the restraints in hopes of escaping the brutal torture he was putting you through, but deep down you loved it and he knew it. You feel another orgasm approach and your hips subconsciously grind against the toy but before you can let go Wooyoung pulls it off "No no no no please Woo, please. I wanna cum please." You sob and he grins at the tears that fall "Oops! Were you close? I didn't realize." He shrugs. You let out another little scream and your body twitches as he casually places the wand back on your sensitive nub "Well go on. Cum. You were just begging" and like the good girl you were you did what he said. He let out a moan as he watched your eyes roll back, mouth open but no sound coming out. Your orgasm was so intense from how many times he edged you. The sigh of you clenching and your cum leaking out like a faucet was something that will forever be engraved into his brain "That's it baby cum for me" "Oh fuck Woo" Your thighs shake as you ride out your orgasm and to your surprise, he doesn't stop "No no Woo please. Too sensitive fuuuckkk" Your whines are loud but he only turns it up "You wanted to cum, so you're gonna keep cumming"

2 orgasms later and you're completely spent but does that stop him? Absolutely not. If anything, your screams and little whines were only encouraging him "One more? No? Oh come on you can give me one more." You shake your head no but the burning in your stomach is undeniable "Oh god m'gonna cum again" "That's it, such a good little pussy" he watches as your back arches off the bed and his eyes widen when he sees you gushing all over the sheets. Your body thrashes as broken gasps leave your lips “Well I definitely wasn’t expecting that! I didn’t know you could do that!” His excitement was overwhelming. He set the toy to the side as your body starts to relax “d-didn’t know either” your words are stuttered feeling absolutely exhausted “Oh we have to do that again” his smile widens when you shoot him a glare.

[lalalunel]

Balcony Debauchery

idk, needy Leon is a plague

wc: 1277

cw: begging, mild dirty talk, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap that thing yall!), creampie, sneaky sex but not well executed, first time writing correct straight smut in ever pls don't bully me

enjoy?

“C’mon...” Leon complained, egging you on like he had been the entire night. He had a mission to accomplish: get you to be a bit dirtier than you would ever be. “It won’t kill you baby.” 

Together at a friend’s place for dinner, Leon seemed to be in a mood entirely inappropriate for what the setting was. From his hand on your thigh under the table at dinner, to his hand drifting way too far down while standing and mingling. It was obvious what he was after, and you made it even more obvious that you weren’t going to entertain it. 

It had gotten to a point where you had to drag him outside, afraid that he would all but start fucking you right in front of all of your friends without a lick of shame. You brought him out to the balcony of your friend’s place, the area fairly secluded. That was your first mistake. 

“It won’t kill me, you’re right, but it also won’t kill you to wait until we get home,” You returned, which was simply just common sense. If Leon waited until you got back to your place, you’d let him do whatever he wanted. Even butt stuff. 

“Except it will kill me, baby,” He groans, getting close and hugging you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms tight around your waist, pressing himself completely flush against you. “I’ve never wanted you so badly. I can’t wait however long you plan to stay here.” 

He groans lowly against your ear, absolutely adoring the feel of your body against his. The plush of your ass up against his aching cock almost has his head spinning. He’s been hard for far longer than any man should be at this point. “You look so damn pretty tonight too. What’s wrong with wanting to appreciate my baby?” 

You’re about to reply when you feel one hand drifting down from your waist, trailing down your front until his hand is palming at your thigh, far too close to your pussy. That was his real goal. “C’mon…” 

You huff, wanting to say no. It was so damn risky. It’s not like the balcony was completely private. If anyone were to open the door, they’d see you in an instant. But damn did his hand feel good against your thigh, and you’d be lying if you said all his efforts from the night to try and get you in a similar mood did nothing to you. 

“Fine,” You conceded, rolling your eyes. You could sense him perking up behind you, happy to have won you over. You don’t have time to further wallow in your weakness when he’s abruptly slipping his hand under your dress, tugging the panties you were wearing to the side with one hand. You feel his lips against your neck as his other hand works deftly to undo his slacks. He wasted no time.

“Gotta make this quick...” he mumbles under his breath, huffing lightly as he frees his cock, the cool night air ghosting his leaking tip. He presses you up against the balcony railing, bending you over it ever so slightly so he can notch his head against your hole, pushing into you with a low groan. “Fuuuck, I love this pussy.” His words are almost a whine, needy in every sense of the word. 

His words pool heat deep in your stomach, making you clench around him involuntarily with a bitten down moan from you, only pulling more groans from his lips. “Don’t tighten up on me like that, baby. I’ll come in seconds.” His words are followed by an experimental thrust of his hips, one that he seems to find much joy in because he then sets a steady pace. 

He rocks forward smoothly in a short thrust, pushing your hips up against the railing as his pelvis presses against your ass, his cock nudging nice and deep inside of you before he’s pulling back and repeating the motion all over again. 

“Told me you didn’t want it,” he grunts, one hand gripping your waist while the other palms at your ass under your dress. “Told me you wanted to wait until we got home but look how fucking wet you were for me this whole time.” Corroborating his claim, a wet squelching sound followed every time he pulled back and pushed in, your arousal effortlessly coating his cock and making his thrusts even smoother. 

The more he thrusts into you, the less you seem to worry about whether or not someone’s going to catch you, instead you seem a lot more concerned about Leon’s cock and the way it's just barely nudging that sweet spot in your pussy, and how you need it to get there. You’re too deep into it and too impatient to use words, instead pushing your hips back against his when he thrusts in, your eyes rolling back when he hits exactly where you wanted him to. You clench around him again, tighter this time and his hips stutter. 

“Fuck, baby, what did I say? You keep clenching like that, and I won't last,” He groans softly, his grip on your waist tightening as he speeds up his thrusts, seemingly remembering that you were on a time crunch here. There’s no way your friends haven’t noticed you two missing. 

He works with a scary amount of precision, drilling into you with short, deep thrusts that have you clenching rapidly around his cock, sucking him back in every time he pulls back. “Leon-” You don’t have to say anything else for him to know what you mean, for him to know what’s coming. His hand on your ass comes forward, his middle and ring finger finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. 

“C’mon baby, gonna come on my cock for me, right? Gonna give me what I want?” He taunts, coaxing you into coming. He wants it, he wants to feel the way you tighten around him, the way your body stiffens before melting into the bliss of an orgasm. The mere thought of it almost has him coming before you do, but he’s too much of a gentleman to do that. “Come, baby. Need it. Need to feel you come.” 

His words spark your orgasm to life, your body stiffening as your eyes roll back, a high-pitched sound leaving your mouth despite your best efforts to stamp down all your noises. You clench unbelievably tight around him, and he can’t take it anymore, his hips stuttering as he pushes deep into you, his cock twitching and jumping as he spills ropes of hot cum straight into you, burying his face into your hair as he does. “F-fuck, you’re so good for me. Fucking love you. L-love you coming for me.” 

With a few slow rolls of his hips to completely ride out his orgasm and yours he pulls out of you, wincing sharply when he catches a glimpse of his cum dripping down your thigh. He can feel his cock kick again at the sight and he can already feel the scolding he’s going to get later about how his cum leaked all over your panties. “Maybe... We should just go home…” 

You throw him a slightly fucked out glare over your shoulder.

What only made it worse was the look your friends gave you when you and Leon rejoined the group and announced you were leaving early. It wasn't hard to tell from the flushed look on both of your faces what had happened on the balcony. 

You made damn sure that Leon paid for that when you got home.

~~~

can't tell if this feels rushed or not, the horny started taking over

[sh1-n0bu]

bello, not sure if your taking requests so this will be my little thirst😼

was thinking about the elf bf and how intimacy is so foreign to him! How good your touches feel on his heated skin but what was this odd feeling? The coil in his tummy getting tighter with each grind of his hips on your thigh. The feeling felt so weird.. it feels good? is this good? he doesn’t want to disappoint you, or worse, scare you away! so he stops himself, letting his hips slow their grind for a moment. Inadvertently edging himself!

id like to imagine if he touched himself he would stop before cumming as well, he doesn’t know what it is! it feels so odd, makes him feel hot all over!

After he slows his grinds, you would be a bit confused…, does he not want to cum? or does he want to wait til your inside him? it takes a bit before you even think that maybe he hasn’t gotten that far before, the idea that you get to corrupt him making your face heat. Goodness he would be so pretty, teary eyes begging for you to slow down. Hips bruised from how rough you had grabbed him!

and to think, when he finally cums? its so overwhelming. heat spreading through his body, mind numbing as his legs twitch slightly? his pretty cock leaking onto his stomach? GOOD LORD I NEED IT💥💥💥

ty for listening nobu🫶🏼 we love you pls dont die

(low key my first ask, hope you enjoyed as i dont write much)

bellooooo, me is not taking requests for now but im still open for brainrots/thirsts!!!!

good lawdddd y’all gotta stop corrupting me more, my horny level can’t keep up guys. so i haven’t read the history of middle earth and all abt the biologies and cultures of the races tolkien created but i have come across multiple posts or points of people pointing out that sex and intimacy is an extremely important and raw thing. like how a constant friction creates fire over time and how that fire spreads into a wildfire that consumes everything, that’s how it is to elves and their culture. courting is important and it could go for a very long time until they decide to officially tie the knot. yet even after getting married, the consummation won’t happen in a while, first the couple must at least intertwine their fëa (soul) and so, the consummation act is more intense and powerful. its a very draining thing, when elves fuck, they fuck. long and hard, probably all night and into the next morning and even evening perhaps. they’re immortals, they have a monster amount of stamina

so with this info in mind, u gotta realize that elves do have knowledge of sex, how it usually feels etc and how near sacred it is to their kin. love is a fragile thing that will cross their eternal life only once and when they love, boy do they love. yet something tells me that despite having knowledge of sex, masturbation and other fleshly pleasures, they don’t participate in it much. its like they barely have anything that gets them pent up or sexually frustrated until they fall in love. and if it is a mortal? oh boy, they are confused and yearning. it’s like an instant neuron activation for them

the poor elf would barely know what to do with these thoughts and imaginations of you and him in such a compromising position. images of you guiding him through your first times together, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings into his sensitive, pointy ear while he shrivels with embarrassing noises on your lap. oh how those calloused, hardened hands would feel when tightly fisting at his cock, draining him dry and milking every last drop of his cum. how those long, thick fingers would feel when thrusting inside him, scissoring him open and making him squeal. good god, don’t even get him started on the dirty images he thinks of you when he looks at those arms and thighs of yours, he’s imagining himself riding that muscle until he soils his pants or how your hands would push his head down to fully swallow your cock into his throat

would it taste as how it is described in the eroticas? would your precum be salty as your thick cock head pushes past his soft lips with your soothing voice instructing him to “open wide, puppy”? would you be so mean as to fist at his gorgeous locks and fuck into his mouth, use him to your own pleasure? he would be a good puppy for that, taking whatever you had to give him with red cheeks and hands obediently held on his lap. like a good puppy, he would open his mouth, tongue out like an eager little dog waiting for the taste of his favorite snack as you stroke your dick, a low moan falling as he finally taste your load shoot into his awaiting open jaws

and when his dirty thoughts are finally granted and turned into reality? he’s a goner. scrambling on his feet, tripping over his words, mind blanking as he feels your hands grope his ass over the linen of his pants. feeling like a young ellon rather than the full grown elf he is when your hands fiddle with the buckle of your belt, gulping down the saliva in his mouth as he sees your strap spring out of your undergarment

with a shaky hand, he would grip your strap, meagerly stroking his hands up and down with a stuttered “i-is this okay…?” oh dear stars, how badly you wanted to just fuck him dumb right then and there, seeing the cute pouting lips, big eyes staring at you for an approval as he weakly asks for your preference. how fast he is to crumble when he feels your rough hand wrap around both your and his own dicks, stroking them together with a slow pace, occasionally spitting on them. his mind was already blanking, and he was sure that he had already came into your hand the moment you touched him

“w-wait a—annh!! mmh uhnng♡︎ h-hold owwnn♡︎ i ju-ust c-came! i came alreanngh already...♡︎!!” the poor elf weakly cried out, falling back into the sea of soft pillows as his hands shook by his chest, where he held them close to himself. he was sure you could hear the rapid beating of his heart, embarrassed by the noises he kept letting out despite biting down on his lips to shut himself up. poor sweetheart, doesn’t even know that the thing dripping down onto his stomach is his pre-ejaculation and not his cum! “shh shh… it’s alright, darling. i’ll be sure to teach you all about the fleshly pleasures tonight♡︎” and you were going to absolutely ruin him

sweet virgin elf who crumples into a heap of mess after experiencing his first cum. moaning and even squealing as his hands flailed around, unable to choose whether to hold onto your arms or to claw at the blanket beneath himself as you continue to keep going despite his whines of having already came. you were so mean, quickening your pace and even squeezing your dicks together, he was so sure that he blacked out when you first did that or swiped a thumb over his oozing tip. arms covering his face to hide the flush of his cheeks and the drooped ears, crying out to you that he was going to die. so dramatic

“sh-stooohpp..! stop stopstopstop—stop it♡︎♡︎! i came!! i nyaagh ungh guhc—came! i alreaawdyy camee…♥︎!” the elf cried out, already slurring his words together as his hips grind back and forth on the bed until your free hand comes up to keep it down in place with a bruising grip. your sweet boyfriend could only cry out, a broken whine falling as he shook his head, looking down at your hand that held down his hip before shifting to look at where your cocks were touching. held together in a tight fist, your hand already soiled with his cute load of precum as well as his stomach. he never noticed it before but gods, your strap was dwarfing him in size and girth. he would surely die if he takes that big thing inside himself!

but when you don’t seem to hear his pleas and only continue to fuck your strap and his weeping cock together in a faster pace into the tight grip of your fist — even rocking your hips forward too! — the poor elf was sure he was going to see the bright skies of valinor that night. whimpers turning into broken wails, punched out sobs of your name falling out of his now bloodied lips as he covers his face with his hands. he could feel the hot tears that fell from his eyes, wiping them away with cute pathetic sniffles as you tighten your fist just at the heads. another squeeze and one more before he was crying out your name in a shrill scream, his legs around your hips tightening, shaking even, as he finally feels himself cumming alongside you. translucent colored seeds mixing together, dirtying his stomach and even shooting up to his heaving chest

“…s-shoo goowdd… aaanh hhagc—♡︎ c-cum..♥︎ cumming ’gainn hhgaaa♥︎ ughk haahg [n-naawme], [namenamenamena—]♥︎♥︎” the elf sobbed out weakly, a putty in your hands as he feels his cock slowly grow flaccid. if it weren’t for the rough pads of your fingers tracing circles around his clenching rim and the feeling of your clean hand push away his hands from his face, your elf bf would have most definitely been sure that he had died and was re-embodied. yet despite the fuzziness in his brain and the way his blood seemed to circulate too quickly through his veins, his body unconsciously pressed itself against you, against your fingers as if seeking for more pleasure

thats enough thirsting yall, go do yalls assignments

[fleurvi]

Sick!S/O | Arcane Women

request for arcane women with a sick gf

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characters: ambessa, caitlyn, grayson, mel, sevika, vi

cw: fem!reader

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Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa doesn't really take care of you when you're sick. She's a warrior, not a doctor. But we're delusional here, so I'll go with it.

You are not allowed to lift a finger. You need to recover properly so she'll have guards around you at all times so you can order them to get things for you. She visits you regularly to check up on your health and make sure you're being doted on. In a rare occurrence, she offers you a massage to relax you.

“How are you feeling?” Ambessa asks, heavy hands working against your shoulders and neck. You nod, thanking her for her service. “Maybe a bath would do you good.”

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Caitlyn Kiramman

Cait panics. She can't think rationally at all. You cough once, and she's writing a eulogy. When she's sure it's not super serious, she's diligent in her care. She makes sure you stay hydrated and get plenty of rest.

“What are you doing? You should be resting,” says Cait as she notices you getting out of bed.

“Babe, c'mon”

“No. Don't you ‘babe’ me. You should be taking care of yourself,” She fusses, ushering you back to your bed.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Grayson

Grayson believes that if you mope around In bed, you'll just make it worse. She lets you rest when you need it, but she encourages you just to take some painkillers, hydrate adequately and go about your work.

“Here you go,” Grayson says, handing you medication and water. “We've got a busy day. If it gets too much, just let me know, and I'll send you home to rest,” She says, pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mel Medarda

She just wants you to get better. Mel checks up on you but doesn't spend much time with you because she doesn't want to catch whatever you have. When she does visit you, she makes sure to ask if you're getting what you need and making sure you get it. She's mostly concerned about you resting, so she stays with you, talking softly with you until you fall asleep.

“Are you sure you're okay, my love?” She asks, running her hands over your back.

“Yeah, I think I need to sleep off. Thank you for coming to visit,” you say, closing your eyes.

“You're welcome, My Love”

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Sevika

Sevika loves you, but she's not going to baby you. She'll ask you if you're on your deathbed, and if the answer is no, then you can get off your ass and help her with whatever business she's been called on.

If you want Sevika to help you with anything, you've got to turn on the whining. She likes being useful, so if you really need it, she'll sit with you until you fall asleep, but she won't wait for you to wake up. You're tough, like her, so she leaves you to it until you wake up and are ready to get back to work.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Vi

Vi thinks her immune system is “built different”, and she's not entirely wrong. She'll stay with you, hold you while you sleep, and make sure you eat as well as you can in Zaun. If you tell her you're not really hungry, she will lecture you until you give in and at least try to eat.

“C'mon, pretty girl,” Vi says, leaning in to kiss you. You feel gross and push her head away.

“You'll get sick”

“Babe. My immune system is made of steel. I've never gotten sick in my life. Now come here and give me a proper kiss,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Fine. If you get sick, I'm not gonna baby you.”

“Yes, you will”, she laughs, and you know she's right.

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Thank you for reading!

This was a request! My main interests right now are arcane and attack on titan so please keep dropping in my inbox!

[missriddle03]

Title: You cry, I cry

parings: fem!reader x mattheo riddle

Small synopsis: Mattheo can't deal with his father and his anxiety is getting the better of him but his girlfriend is there to help him

Time to read: 10mins (average)

Word count: just under 2k

Warnings: Angst, written panic attack, two swear words

Song recommended: cry by cigarettes after sex

It was a typical school day in the world of hogwarts. The Slytherins were due to share a class with the Gryfindors, whilst the Hufflepuffs were with the Ravenclaws. It wasn’t time for class so Mattheo and his friends were in the astronomy tower.

“You know, it’s actually quite a nice view up here” Theo had said as he was taking a drag from his cigarette. The sky was a pale blue but the clouds were coming in and some little hues of grey became more and more noticeable as the day went on. Mattheo, Lorenzo and Theodore were the only ones there as Draco and Blaise were helping Professor Snape with a potion for class. “Have you brought y/n up here?” Lorenzo asked Mattheo.

No answer.

“Mattheo?” he repeated.

No answer.

Theodore clicked his fingers in front of his face and soon enough his gaze diverted to him. “What?” Mattheo answered. Theo let out a little chuckle not sure whether to be worried or brush it off. “You zoned out, Enzo asked if you brought y/n here before or not” His italian accent was becoming prominent on certain words but his friends understood him and that was all he cared about. “Oh..i-uh-yeah I have. I brought her here at night and she really liked seeing the stars. She loves astronomy so I had to bring her here” a slight smile formed on his face remembering the night that he brought her there. Mattheo and y/n had been friends since the day they both arrived, she didn’t care about who he was or even who he was related to and then one day he asked her to be his girlfriend..of course she said yes. “You are not your parents, don’t compare yourself to them. You can choose who you want to be and sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to in order to find out who we are and that’s okay. I’ll be with you the whole time”

Theodore didn’t want to admit to himself that his friend might need help, he noticed Mattheo zoning out more often than normal and he hardly spoke unless y/n was around but it wasn’t the case of missing the girl who took his heart it was the case that he put up a smile for her not wanting her to judge him for not being able to cope. Mattheo didn’t want y/n involved with the dark parts of his mind or the dark part of him that involves his family. “Y/n’s a lucky girl” Enzo stated, looking out past the railing. Suddenly a Gryffindor came onto the astronomy tower, it was a girl who looked similar to y/n but; of course it wasn’t. “You know..Dumbledore should really watch who he invites in this school. He shouldn’t let descendants of a murderer into here. You three are exactly like your parents” the girl said.

Mattheo’s heart was pounding out of his chest but only registered those last seven words. “Leave before I make you wish you hadn’t spoken to us, Stronza” (bitch) his knuckles turned white as he tightened them getting ready to punch the girl. Neither of the boys had a good relationship with their parents, Theo’s mother died when he was young and it pained him to see people with their mothers but his father was his worst enemy. From a young age he had been taught all the unforgivable curses and as soon as he turned 16 he was forced to become a death eater and he knew his life wouldn’t get better. Lorenzo had a complicated relationship with Bellatrix; his mother was also the mother of Mattheo. His father wasn’t in the picture and he didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. The girl left the astronomy tower feeling frightened by the threat that had left Theo’s mouth. “Don’t let it get to your head,” he instructed Mattheo but it already had gotten to his head. “I’m gonna go I’ll see you guys later” was his final words before getting up from the chair and heading to his dorm and took a cigarette and took a long inhale before falling onto his bed, burying his head into his pillows.

Theodore took a deep breath and sat down. “I’m worried about him, Enzo” he muttered, more to himself than to Enzo’s ears. “I know..I am too”

“The best part was the love confession, this book has my heart” y/n said to her friend Pansy. Y/n was a big bookworm and Pansy loved hearing about her recent endeavours in reading, “I just don’t see it! If it’s a love triangle you want the girl to end up with the bad boy and not the soft guy because she will just walk all over him and the good boy will keep her trapped. You should know all about bad boys” Pansy joked as she let out a giggle. “Shut up” Y/n laughed. “I’m not joking I-”

“Y/n!” someone called out interrupting Pansy. Theodore came running into the library standing next to the girls. “What? Is Mattheo okay?” Immediately getting out of her seat as worry took a hold of her. He shook his head before continuing, “I don’t know, I don’t think he’s doing well mentally” She lightly ran her hand through her head, Mattheo’s mental health wasn’t something that was new to her he had panic attacks that paralysed him until he calmed down and his head was all over the place and only himself could bring him out of it. “Where is he?” she asked Theo. “I’m not sure but I think he’ll be in class” Y/n let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding before Theo placed his hands around her and warmed her into a hug. “He’ll be okay, he will be”

“I’m just worried..I don’t want anything to happen to him”

“I know”

Pansy closed the book they were reading and placed it back on the shelf before taking y/n’s hand. “Come on, let’s go to class then” Theo sent her a smile before the three of them left the library and went to potions. It was exam day and it stressed everyone out, they all took their seats but one seat was empty.

Mattheo’s. Y/n's head was running a mile about where he was, if he was okay and why he wasn’t there but luckily her mind was put at ease a few moments later. “Mr Riddle, please take your seat” Professor Snape said. He walked in and sat down next to y/n, “Hey Love, you okay?” he whispered. “Yes I am, but are you okay?”

Mattheo took out his pen and wrote his name on his test and nodded his head. “You don’t need to lie to me” He turned his head around and pointed his finger up at her “Stop asking if I’m okay because I am so just leave it at that”

Looking down, y/n wrote a note to Theodore and placed it on the floor kicking it to him (he was in front of them)

He isn’t telling me anything

Y/n maybe ask about it again

No, I can’t I don’t want to make him more upset than he already is

Don’t you want to know what’s going on? Cara

Yes

Si so do I, listen Mattheo hasn’t cared about someone as much as he cares about you.He just doesn’t want to show that he has a problem. He sees that as a weakness.

I care about him more than he knows and he knows that no matter what he says I am not the type of person to use it against him. He needs to tell me himself

If he tells you please tell me, he’s my best friend and I hate seeing him like that

Of course I’ll tell you Theo. You’re his best friend too

A smile was brought to Theo’s face but Y/n’s attention was shortly shifted once she saw Mattheo with his chair back a little. His leg was bouncing up and down as his chest was moving at a rapid rate.

Blurriness took over him as he stood up,looked around the classroom, and bolted. Leaving y/n as she took a look at Theo. She put her hand up and asked to be excused to the bathroom and Snape granted her permission.

My heart was racing as I began my search for Mattheo. I knew it wasn’t going to get better but I atleast thought that he was going to tell me..maybe Theo was right I should have asked him more about it. “Mattheo!” I called out but he didn’t respond. I ran through the hallway but I didn’t see him. I decided to go to his dorm thinking that maybe he would be in there. His door was left ajar and a figure was now noticeable. He was sitting in front of his bed with his head in between his legs. I was frightened for him, I walked over to sit down next to him but he didn’t register that it was me. “Matt, please look at me” sobs escaped his lips. “No, go away” his breathing was still all over the place. I took his hand and his tear stained cheeks finally looked at me. “I-I can’t br-reathe”

“Copy my breathing okay..breathe in..”

“Breathe out..Breathe in..Breathe out”

Eventually his breathing had settled but his hands were still shaking. “I’m sorry..I’m really sorry” he cried. I couldn’t bear seeing him like this, “It’s not your fault, don’t feel like you have to hide this side of you” Mattheo wiped his tears. I hadn’t seen this side of him and quite frankly I don’t want to..it hurts too much. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I asked him. His eyes moved away from me but my hand never left his.

“It’s becoming too real, my father wants me to be a ruler like him and I can’t. I can’t lose you either, I’m only going to make you cry, I'm only going to hurt you. All day everyday all I see is him no matter what I’m doing I know I’m gonna be just like him. Everyone else sees it, I mean this Gryffindor came up to me and my friends and said exactly what everyone else says. I can’t live in fear of not knowing what’s going to happen. I’m only going to make everyone turn against you”

Tears began to fill up my eyes, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, and who cares what they say. They don’t know what you are really like..all they see is that one side. The side that they get told but they don’t realise how different you are. How sweet you are, how thoughtful you are. I mean maybe you punched a kid but guess what? So have I. If loving you makes me a villain I don’t fucking care. You mean so much to me that all my friends can leave me and hate me but it will be worth it for you”

“I love you,” he choked out. His brown curly hair stuck to his forehead, he placed his head in the crook of my neck and wrapped his arm around my waist. “I love you too, if you feel another anxiety attack..come to me”

He nodded his head and fell asleep.

If you liked this please give a like/follow/reblog much appreciated and if you want tags here is my masterlist to check out :)

Thank you for reading <3

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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[sanemistar]

THE ONE I WANT

contents ★ dan heng x fem!reader, established relationship, fluff, marriage proposal, 0.8k+ wc. requested for my milestone event. synopsis ★ in which your longtime boyfriend surprises you by a sudden marriage proposal.

event m.list ★ hsr m.list

it was a memorable day that you were about to remember for the rest of your life, everything about it was so special to you. the weather was perfect that day in xianzhou luofu, sunny with a hint of cool, fresh breeze. you and your boyfriend were walking around the shops, trying out different foods and having a good time together just the two of you.

it wasn’t like you never spent any alone time with him for the past five years you’d been together for, but occasions like that were quite rare. because most of the time the rest of the astral express members were present, so by default you two would spend time your together with them. not that you had any issues with that, you’d gotten used to them and became friends with everyone.

so you were very happy doing simple, mundane things with dan heng and being able to spend some quality time with your beloved boyfriend, on a romantic date with just the two of you alone for the first time in a while. being with him had always been something you could never get tired of, you would spend an eternity with him if you could.

you weren’t really aware of how much time had passed by until you saw the sun beginning to fade away in the horizon, signaling the end of the day and your date. on one hand, you were standing there with your eyes being glued onto the beautiful sunset. watching the sky being painted in a mix of red, orange and purple shades. you were struck by the ethereal beauty of the scene in front of you, it was magical.

on the other hand, there was dan heng whom the only thing he seemed to focus on was you. his gaze was solely fixated on your beautiful face, watching your sparkly eyes twinkle as your lips parted slightly at the scenery in fascination.

to him, you’re far more beautiful than any sunset; more than anything in the world actually.

“looks like it’s time to go home, thanks for the lovely day.” you spoke softly as you tore your gaze away from the sky and looked at your boyfriend, only to find his deep teal eyes staring back at you. he held your hand gently, eyes caught in a deep gaze.

you then felt something cool against the skin of your finger, which had caused you to jolt momentarily before your eyes tore away from dan heng’s to look down on your finger, only to be left in complete shock and surprise. your jaw almost fell in awe seeing the diamond ring placed on your ring finger.

“i’ve been thinking about this, about us and our future together, for the longest time and,” he spoke softly, hands still gripping yours. the image of you and him had been living in his head for as long as ever. you waiting for him at home, cooking his favorite meals for him every day. the thought of having a domestic life with you made him feel all giddy and warm inside.

“i think it’s about time that we take the next step in our relationship and get married. because you’re the only one i want, i want to be with you forever.” he proceeded. leaning so close that your noses slightly brushed against each other.

“if i have to choose one person to spend the rest of my life with,” he paused for less than a second before adding. “it has to be you.” you felt a few tears fall from your eyes. which of course, were tears of joy. dan heng quickly let go of one hand and gently wiped them away as he began kissing the spots on your cheeks where the tears fell on.

and it was the same for you as well, it had to be dan heng. he whom your heart desired, the man whom you were ready to be with until you were both old and gray. you never wanted to imagine a world without him, you simply couldn’t even dare to bring your mind to.

“will you marry me?” and it was the fastest, easiest ‘yes’ you’d ever answered to a question in your life. he grabbed your hand gently, placing it close to his lips as he pressed a loving kiss on the back of your hand.

this time it was your turn to let go of his hand. you wrapped your arms around his neck and threw yourself into his arms as he lifted you up and swirled you around. none of you paid attention to the loud cheering sounds surrounding you, because at that moment it felt as if it was just you and him in the world.

you were more than excited to live the future you had always been dreaming about with dan heng by your side, always and forever.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @itoshivy @unriding

[velvet4510]

Why Magneto’s Storyline in X-Men: Apocalypse is The Worst (it’s not just Cherik)

Ok I just need to vent because this has been chewing away at my brain for far too long.

Cherik is far from the only reason why Erik’s family plotline in X-Men: Apocalypse is some of the stupidest, sloppiest, and most character-ruining pieces of writing I’ve ever seen. Haters may say “oh you’re just upset because he married someone who wasn’t Charles.” But, like, aside from the fact that the original timeline already established that Erik’s top priority was always the fight for mutantkind and he had no interest in settling down - whether that had anything to do with his feelings for Charles or not - the problems with the Apocalypse writing go WAY beyond just him & Charles:

Erik would never abandon his cause at this point. By the end of DOFP, Erik has just been imprisoned for a full 10 years thanks to the JFK situation. Meaning he has spent a full decade being forcibly inactive in the fight for mutants. And he just learned that all of his fears about humans and mutants came to pass in the future to the level where a time-traveler had to be sent to change the past. And he was so set on averting that future that he tried to kill his friend and the sister of the man he loved, and then made a whole speech on international TV begging for the mutants of the world to fight alongside him. This is the POLAR OPPOSITE of a man who would feel like settling down and walking away from the fight within the next decade. The Sentinels being cancelled did NOT make mutant life easy overnight; Stryker was still up to no good, and there is no way that there weren’t others like him doing the same. Yes, Raven’s actions made a very positive difference, but I think we have enough brain cells to agree that this did not mean things for mutants immediately became sunshine and rainbows to the level where Erik - the most (understandably) paranoid character in the X-Men series - would even consider taking a break, let alone giving up the fight permanently. Knowing what he did about the possibilities of the future would’ve made the Erik we know double down on his commitment to his cause and follow up on his actions in Washington.

Erik wouldn’t risk starting a young family at this moment in his life. Erik was a Holocaust prisoner, his people were massacred, his mom was shot when he couldn’t move the coin, and then Charles was shot when Erik accidentally deflected a bullet into him, and then every member of his Brotherhood save Raven were captured and killed. Not only is this more than enough grief for one character to have, but the man wouldn’t dare risk having a new family of his own when everyone he’s ever loved has gotten hurt (largely because of him), and when he’s an international fugitive. That is no time to risk being selfish, and he would know. He would’ve been the first to realize that a potential spouse and child would also end up killed, and so he’d avoid that altogether. In fact, he wouldn’t even consider it, because, as mentioned, he wouldn’t leave his cause behind. You know, if he was actually in character.

Magda is a human. At this point, Erik hates humans. Again, he has just been imprisoned by humans for 10 years for trying to save a mutant, and he just learned that in the future, humans would’ve wiped out mutants, exactly as he feared. Everything that happened in DOFP would only further inflame his already-passionate hatred of humans. He is not in the mental state to even begin to consider Charles’ philosophy and give a human a chance at a relationship, let alone marry a human.

The family lives in Poland. The country where Auschwitz is. The country where Erik and his family and people was imprisoned, tortured, and executed. The country where Erik had to watch Shaw kill his mother. Basically the LAST country in the freaking WORLD that Erik would want to ever see again, let alone spend the rest of his life in. Erik is fluent in multiple languages - he is shown to easily converse in French and Spanish in First Class - and has been all over the world thanks to his Nazi hunting, so if he really needed to flee the U.S., there were a hundred other countries he could’ve gone to and blended into (Canada, France, Mexico, anywhere in South America, heck, he even could’ve discovered Genosha during this time). But in the original timeline, he didn’t leave the U.S. at all despite being a national fugitive after escaping his plastic prison, and he never did get caught again, so….

Erik’s first meeting with Magda is completely OOC for him. Erik mentions that he told Magda who he was the first night they met and he trusted her then. EXCUSE ME??? Erik Lehnsherr does not trust strangers. Erik Lehnsherr does not tell the complete truth about himself and his past to just anyone; look at how deeply Charles had to probe before Erik opened up to him. This stupid line was obviously shoehorned in just to make their relationship seem like perfect soulmates and thus ensure it is doubly tragic when she gets thrown in the fridge 5 minutes later (more on that in a sec). Obviously the intention is for the audience to go “aww, he instantly trusted her, she instantly accepted him, this is true love…” Give me a break. You’re really telling me that Magda met this stranger one night, found out he was none other than the international fugitive who apparently killed the U.S. president and just tried to kill another president on live TV, and went “oh, no problem, honey, let’s make a baby and live the cottagecore dream!” That’s some BS if I’ve ever heard it, and I’m convinced the writers subconsciously knew it; there’s a reason that is revealed in a throwaway line rather than shown onscreen, because then nobody would’ve bought it.

Fridging. Magda and Nina exist in the movie for one reason and one reason only: To get brutally killed and give Erik even more grief and trauma so that he’ll seek revenge on the entire world, aka do what the plot demands of him, aka have the same journey as he did in First Class (more on that in a sec). That’s all. Neither of them are any more than one-dimensional plot devices. They are not characters at all. Magda isn’t even named in the actual movie (he doesn’t even say her name when she dies) - it’s so obvious they didn’t even know what her name would be when they made the movie. This is textbook fridging, and one of the worst examples of it of all time. It’s all the worse considering that Erik never met Magda in the original pre-DOFP timeline, meaning Magda originally most likely lived a long happy life and died old in bed. But now, she gets fridged just because the writers didn’t know what more to do with Erik. It’s misogyny of the highest level.

A parenthood story for Erik was already set up. DOFP already hinted at Erik being a father, with Peter’s comment about his mom. So if the writers wanted to show Erik as a father, and to include Magda, they already had a solution that would seamlessly flow from the previous film - make Erik and Peter’s relationship one of the centerpieces of the story, and let Magda be Peter’s mom! (You know, like she is in the comics!)

It doesn’t contribute anything new to Erik’s character development. From a screenwriting POV, this is unforgivable. May I remind you that Erik’s entire storyline in First Class revolved around grief and trauma for the loss of his family and people, especially his mom, and seeking revenge for it. Giving him a wife and daughter just so they can get killed too adds absolutely NOTHING to his character development. It’s merely retreading everything that already happened in his arc: he loses his family and goes on a roaring rampage of revenge. Completely superfluous, right down to Charles insisting that there’s good in him beyond the pain. The redundancy becomes apparent even in the dialogue, where Charles literally says “I told you since I first met you there’s good in you too.” The script itself can’t help but point out that all of this has happened before and literally nothing new has been added to Erik’s character arc.

See? It’s not just because of Cherik. Erik’s story in X-Men: Apocalypse is an atrocity in basic screenwriting and character development, on every level. And I will never accept it.

(Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way…)

[weepingchronicles]

I saw that you are indeed taking requests at the moment and was wondering if you would pretty please with cherry on top write about Yan! Jinx with a darling on hunger strike(bacically darling has gotten abducted by Jinx and so refuses to eat unless freed....is that even a word?)

Tsm 4 reading my request and have a wonderfull day!

ahh, well since you asked so nicely! thank you for requesting! this was fun to write hehe.

content warnings: vomit mention, yandere behavior, forced feeding, unsafe eating habits, kidnapping mention, forced touching.

❝yandere jinx with reader❞

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Jinx had thought you were fooling around, she can usually tell someone's bluff and she knows what it is like to be so hungry that you'll do anything for crumb. You wouldn't last a day.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 The day passes, she keeps silent. . smug to herself that you'll be begging her for some food by the night time.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 But then a day passes and still nothing.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "Not hungry?" she muses to you almost mockingly as she eats a big ol' sandwich right in front of you. Loudly chewing just to rub it in.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Still nothing. You just pout your lip in defiance and avert your gaze. Interesting.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 A few days pass and it almost becomes a game for Jinx, let's see how she can make you finally break. Her pranks and mocking are turned up a couple notches. She loves games and all kinds of bets so for her that is what it exactly is. There is no way she is going to free you AND admit being wrong. No way.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She isn't the best cook but she makes a stack of syrupy pancakes topped with chocolate chips in a droopy smile– waving it infront of your face just to annoy you.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Almost a week passes and she has started to get a bit worried. The game isn't fun anymore when you lose all energy to move, napping most of the day, not even struggling or trying to escape when she wants to play with you.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She finally snaps when she sees you faint as you try to stand. That's it, the game is over. You are not going to win.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 When you finally come to, Jinx pours a bucket of cold water to really wake you up. You're tied tightly to a chair, similarly to when you were first abducted by the loose cannon of a girl.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "I'm going to make this easy, firework. Eat or I make you."

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Depending on your choice, she either feeds you nicely or she will force your mouth open while plugging your nostrils so you have no choice but to breathe through your mouth. Holding a fingertip to your lips until you swallow all of it. She'll coo and pat your back as you cough, applauding you for finally doing the right thing.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 As long as you get something in your stomach she is good for now, she will just keep on forcing you no matter your struggle until you eventually stop your silly hunger strike. She doesn't want to force you so much that your body vomits it up so she keeps it simple until you are in better health.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 After that she'll be gentle, almost mockingly so. Cooing to you and forcing cuddles in your lap as if she is some clingy monkey.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She probably would not admit it but she was deeply concerned and scared when you fainted. She promises to herself she won't let a thing like this happen again or get to the point that it did.

a/n: thank you for requesting!