#i was honestly hoping this WOULD NOT happen

[pacofprunes]

DARK / TOXIC SQUID GAME REACTIONS TO YOU TRYING TO LEAVE THEM

CONTAINS — namgyu x reader, thanos x reader, myungi x reader, inho x reader, sangwoo x reader, saebyeok x reader

WARNINGS — toxic relationship, domestic violence, baby trapping, manipulation, guilt trip, prepare yourself for namgyus that’s the worst probably, mentions of suicide (thanos)

masterlist

THANOS / PLAYER 230 / CHOI-SUBONG — manipulates you / would let you leave and crawl back to him

doesn’t take it well at all. he’s going to laugh and think you’re joking, but after realizing that you’re not, he’s quickly going to scream at you. telling you that you’ll never find anybody better than him.

“do you really think anybody else will want you? if you leave me you’ll never find anyone else. you’ll never find anybody better!”

he’ll start breaking shit. punching walls, shit, he’ll even break your own phone if it’s in arms reach. if you still insist on leaving he’ll say he’s gonna overdose. he tells you that he’ll kill himself if you step out that door while pressing a blade up to his arm. if all else fails, he’ll totally act like he didn’t just beg you to stay and scream at you to go then and not to come running back.

“fine bitch, go ahead and leave! but don’t come running back to me for nothin’.”

in reality, he’s definitely stalking your socials, making fake accounts you haven’t blocked him on, stalking your friends accounts to see other photos of you, visiting the club every night (not that he didn’t already do that) to try to see if you’d show up. after about a month or so of doing this and going out and fucking other girls to get over you, he can’t do it anymore. he’ll send you some fake heartfelt text that he probably used ai to make and call you while making himself sound like he was crying, trying to make you feel bad and convince you that he’s changed and that he can be a better boyfriend. if you fall for it, you’re doomed. the relationships only going to be a million times worse than before. instead of knocking glass over and breaking shit, he might slap you. in public, he might grip your wrist ten times tighter, scared you’ll run away. when he finally lets go, his fingers will be embedded in your skin. he might even guilt trip you into getting a matching tattoo with him. “if you really loved me and forgave me then you would.”

if you really don’t go back to him though, no matter how many times you block him, you’ll get a new video sent to your phone from some unknown number of him fucking a new girl. he sent you the videos in hopes of making you jealous or something. he’s not going to stop for a long time. if you don’t go back to him, he’s going to harass you for the rest of your life. and if you do go back? you’re in for a world of hell.

NAMGYU / PLAYER 124 — would threaten you, would actually harm you

“you’re one funny bitch. you know how much shit i got on you?”

he finds it admirable, honestly. but still, fucking hilarious, that you, you, think you can leave him. what? when did you grow some balls? yeah, no. you just hurt his ego and that’s about the stupidest thing you could ever do to him. he’s not very empty with his threats. if he says he’s leaving? he’ll leave. (for like a week…) if he says he’s gonna hit you? you’re gonna be bruised for a while. if he says he’s gonna kill you? well, you haven’t gotten to that point yet. but keep this up and you sure will.

he keeps every nude and threatens to release it. sure you’re his and all, but that doesn’t stop him. so what if some other guy sees your body? he could care less. now if another guy touches you? let’s not think about what would happen. threatens to send the pictures to your family and threatens to send every sex tape of you two that he filmed behind your back.

“what the fuck is wrong with you namgyu? when the fuck did you film that?”

don’t raise your voice at him. once he hits you and you fall to the ground, he’ll keep kicking at you with his foot over and over until he thinks you’ve had enough. don’t speak up to him, don’t speak against him, and don’t piss him off. just sit there and be pretty, okay? he’s going to be bolder now. next time you two have sex he’s just going to shove the camera in your face. he’s going to manipulate and force you to take nudes for him since you don’t want to anymore after he threatened to send them out. sometimes he’ll force you to strip and then he’ll just take the pictures himself. all in all, sometimes he might just say no and leave it at that. but if you keep pushing, he’s going to threaten you. and if you still keep pushing, he’s going to go through with those threats. you really are just some whore to him, don’t think he’s above killing you.

MYUNGI / PLAYER 333 / MG COIN ★— would let you leave and crawl back to him (except he’s the one who crawls back), babytrapping

“really? fine, if that’s what you want then leave.”

he acts like he doesn’t care because he thinks his annoyance will make you turn right back around to him. he acts like he doesn’t care because he’s trying to not get so bent out of shape about it and move on quickly. but when he hears your footsteps disappear and the door shut, he immediately balls up his fists. you seriously left? he didn’t expect that, but whatever. he doesn’t need you.

he tries to move on but after barely even a week, he can’t do it. he contacts you, but when you block him, he makes more and more numbers. he thought you’d be running back to him, not the opposite. he sends you pictures of you two together in hopes you’d change your mind, but when you just keep blocking him, he’s knocking on your door demanding you open it up. he tries being nice but when you don’t open it, he starts banging on the door. really? you’d been together for months and you’d already gotten over him? no. no no no. you don’t get to just move on! what the hells wrong with you? when you still don’t open the door, he leaves and goes back to his place and sits on his bed while he ponders his next move. he decides for now just to stalk your page and harass you from more and more numbers. he’s not going to stop until you at least respond. oh, you’re gonna get a restraining order? you’re funny. you think that’ll stop him? don’t go back to him. if for some reason you give in, the next time that you two have sex, he’s going to make sure that you can’t leave. he’s sure that you’ll look so pretty with your stomach swelled up.

INHO / YOUNGIL / PLAYER 001 — straight up says no / baby traps / makes you feel like you’re going crazy

straight up, no. you want to leave? no. he doesn’t even care for an explanation on why, you’re not leaving. completely ignores your words and changes the whole topic. everytime you try to say you’re leaving he just completely overrides you with something different.

“inho, i’m serious. i’m leaving you! i’m packing my shit right now and i’m not coming back, i swear to you.”

“what did you want for dinner again? i have to go back out to get some groceries so there’s not too much…”

maybe it’s on purpose, maybe it’s not. but it makes you feel like you’re losing your mind. then he will deliberately go out of his way to make it seem like you’re crazy.

“i’m leaving because of what you’ve been doing behind my back, inho. it’s fucked up and you’re insane.”

“baby, you could follow me around tomorrow. i’ve got no idea what you mean.”

and he says it all with that stupid small polite smile that he gives everyone. you just want to strangle him. if somehow he can get you in bed with him after you just got so pissed, he’ll be more passionate than ever. he’ll treat you nice, focus on your pleasure before his and then quickly when you’re blissed out, he’ll pull out of you, slip the condom off and slide right back in. you don’t notice at all, but he makes sure to tell you like the cocky fuck he is. but he does it while he’s thrusting and when you can tell he’s about to cum. poor you, it’s too late to stop him :(.

“i’m about to fuck a baby in you — agh, i — i took the condom off. gonna have a beautiful���fuck—fucking baby with you.”

how could you leave now? do you have enough money to take care of a child without him? and would you really deprive your child of their father? you’ll get an abortion? he’ll find a way to keep you locked up in your house. you’re still going to leave? he’s going to guilt trip you to the max. and if that still fails? once again, he’s just going to find a way to keep you locked up in your house. he’ll figure it out as you go on, but for now, have your happy little family with him.

KANG SAE-BYEOK — straight up says no

she’s not going to entertain you at all. she might not even say no, opting to just stay silent instead. if you get in her face about it because she’s ignoring you, she’s just going to push you away. if you keep nagging her about it, she’s going to slap you. if you decide not to drop it, she’ll drag you by your hair and lock you in a room. are you stupid? don’t start this shit first thing in the morning.

“saebyeok, this isn’t working. we should go our separate ways.”

“no. did you hit your head or something?”

you should just drop it and move on with your day. nothing you say is going to convince her and if you piss her off too much, like said before, she’s just going to lock you away until you stop sounding ‘crazy’. she’s very cold, but she’s generally pretty nice to you still though. she’s a good girlfriend to you, just a little possessive, but it’s never gotten out of control. you just didn’t think the relationship was working and that it just wasn’t the right time. all in all, if you don’t push to much, you won’t see the shitty side of her that she never shows you. however, if you keep pushing the idea, she’s going to give you a real reason to break up with her.

SANGWOO — would let you leave and crawl back to him

“you want to break up? fine.”

it leaves you shocked at the sound of him not caring. it was as simple as that. you want to break up? bye then bitch! it hurt. it almost made you want to change your mind and say never mind and just stay with him, and that’s exactly what he wanted. that’s exactly why he said it like that. but that didn’t work and you just walked out the door. that’s fine though, you’d come back to him, he knows it.

he makes sure to post old photos of you two on his Instagram. not ones with your face in it, duh, but he posts the photos that you took of him where you’re behind the camera or ones where your arm or your hand is slightly showing. he knows you still stalk his socials. he’s posting these knowing that it’s going to hurt your little heart and make you crawl right back. he leaves every photo of you two up on every platform, not deleting a single thing. for a little while, he even keeps his pfp the same. you two holding hands. whenever he posts something, he always makes sure to put something in the caption that he knows you love. you liked tulips? he’ll put a tulip emoji in the caption. you loved cats? he’ll put a cat emoji in his bio. all these subtle things where you won’t know he’s doing it on purpose, but it’ll be so much of a coincidence that you’ll think this is a sign to run back to him.

he’ll tell his friends to ask about him to you whenever they talk with you.

“how are you and sangwoo doing?”

“oh he talks about you all the time.”

he tells them to act like they don’t know that the two of you have broken up. he makes sure to get in your head and eventually? you’ll come running back. if for some reason you don’t, he might have to pull some strings. spread some rumors about you so that your friends want nothing to do with you and so all that you have to run to for comfort is him.

[iseriads-nonesense]

The Icebreaker (Or: How I Accidentally Started a Revolution)

The Great Hall of Arkanheim Academy was packed. Every graduating student, every professor, and even a few junior years who had snuck in despite the very clear No Unauthorized Entry wards (which, honestly, were far too easy to bypass).

Tonight was the Final Spellcasting Rite, the grand test where each wizard, after sixteen years of grueling academia, would craft a spell that embodied their very soul. It was supposed to be a moment of great revelation, a defining moment in magical history.

Except everyone already knew what was going to happen.

It was always Fireball.

Oh sure, every student insisted they had made something unique. They would tweak the incantation, add an extra hand motion, change the temperature slightly—maybe even make it a cool shade of blue fire—but in the end?

Fireball.

The faculty didn’t mind. In fact, they were counting on it.

It wasn’t that wizards were incapable of creativity. It wasn’t even that they lacked ambition. The problem was efficiency.

Everyone knew you could modify spells. The formulas were flexible enough that, in theory, a skilled enough mage could completely rewrite a spell into something new. The issue was that doing so was a massive pain.

A spell like Fireball was finely tuned. Changing it required painstaking adjustments, testing, recalibrating the arcane weave so it didn’t misfire. It was like taking apart a clock, replacing every gear with something slightly different, and then hoping it still told time.

Most students, when faced with the choice of creating something entirely new or just tweaking a classic, chose the latter. Why go through the agony of reconstructing magic when you could just rename Fireball and be done with it?

That was why I was making waves before I even stepped up to cast.

Everyone knew I was doing something different.

I had told them.

And that terrified them.

The Whispered Reckoning

I had spent the last few days leading up to the test openly discussing my plan. It had started as an idle conversation with my best friend, Darian, but quickly spread like wildfire (or, in my case, icefire).

"You’re actually going to do it? Change Fireball into something else?" Darian had asked, wide-eyed.

"Why not?" I had shrugged.

"Because it’s a massive pain in the ass?"

"That’s a wizard’s excuse," I had countered. "I’m a sorcerer."

That had shaken him.

It wasn’t that anyone disliked me—I had spent sixteen years pretending to be just another wizard, after all. But when I reminded people that I wasn’t just studying magic, that I actually was magic, it unsettled them.

Wizards were craftsmen. I was a forge.

News spread fast. By the time the night of the test arrived, the entire graduating class was waiting for me to either succeed spectacularly or explode violently.

The March of Fireballs

The test began.

Lorik the Bright went first. He stood tall, chest puffed out like a rooster who had just learned what an ego was, and proclaimed:

"Infernal Sunstrike!"

A perfectly round Fireball shot forward, exploded against the stone target, and reduced it to rubble.

The faculty nodded. One down.

Seraphina Moonwhisper was next. With a graceful flourish, she whispered her incantation:

"Aetherial Pyre!"

Fireball.

The professors barely reacted. Two down.

And so it continued. One by one, every student cast some version of Fireball. Some made it bigger, some made it hotter, some made it spin like a flaming pinwheel of doom, but in the end, all roads led to incineration.

By the time it was my turn, the faculty had settled into their usual Fireball-Induced Apathy™.

My Moment to Shine (Or Freeze, Technically)

I stepped forward.

The room buzzed with anticipation. The other students sat forward in their seats. A few bets had been placed—mostly on whether or not I would survive the attempt.

I took a breath.

I felt the power in me—the mix of wizardly discipline and sorcerous instinct—meld together.

This was it.

I raised my hands, felt the arcane weave shift in response, and spoke the words.

"Glacialis Orbis!"

A shimmering blue sphere shot from my hands, trailing mist as it soared through the air.

Instead of an explosion of fire, there was a sharp, crystalline crack.

And then—

Frost.

Ice rippled outward from the impact, spiraling across the target in delicate, fractal patterns. Within seconds, a massive crystalline flower of ice stood where the target once had, its petals glistening under the hall’s torches.

The Aftermath (or How to Break a Faculty in Three Seconds)

Silence.

The professors sat frozen (metaphorically, thankfully).

Professor Yelwin, the head of Evocation, was the first to react. He sputtered, making a noise somewhere between a dying cat and a man having his entire worldview shattered.

"You—" He pointed a shaking finger at me. "You can’t just—just—change Fireball!"

I blinked at him. "Why not?"

"Because—" He flailed, gesturing wildly at the massive ice sculpture I had just created. "Because—it’s—it’s Fireball!"

"It was Fireball," I corrected. "Now it’s Cryoball. A modified version that uses liquid nitrogen instead of pure heat, dispersing on impact to instantly freeze the target instead of incinerating it."

Professor Valdrin, who had taught me runic theory, made a strange wheezing noise.

Professor Eldrin, who had spent an entire semester teaching us how to alter spells but then immediately discouraged us from actually doing it, looked like he had just witnessed the arcane equivalent of heresy.

The students, however, were losing their minds.

"That was insane!"

"Wait, can we all do that?"

"Hold up—does that mean Fireball isn’t the only answer?!"

The faculty huddled together, whispering furiously. I caught snippets like "Dangerous precedent!", "Rewriting the curriculum?", and "WHAT IF THEY START THINKING?!"

The headmaster turned back to me, visibly pale. "Listen," he said, forcing a smile. "You—er—pass. Congratulations. Now—" his voice dropped to a whisper, "—please, for the love of all that is arcane, do not tell next year’s students how you did that."*

I met his gaze, barely containing my grin.

"Oh, of course, Headmaster."

A pause.

A long pause.

"You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?"

"Absolutely."

A chair exploded behind him.

Professor Yelwin screamed.

And that’s how I accidentally started a revolution.

At the culmination of their magical career, each wizard is told to look deep into their heart and develop a personal spell, a spell only they know that truly reflects who they are on the inside, all their virtues and vices incarnate as magic.

It's always Fireball. The wizard schools live in fear of their apprentices figuring it out.

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 9

Author's note: Hey guys! I promise I have not disappeared my school semester is just kicking up and I'm focusing on that. Anyway I started up a Ko-Fi so you want to you can leave a tip. Link is my bio. As always thank you for reading my work and all the engagement. Writing this has been oddly therapeutic so I'm glad that someone is enjoying it.

Prev

The Library was once again quiet as you walked in. One of the librarian nodded to you as you strolled by. Quietly opening your bag, you returned some of the books you got the other day. A part of you still felt buzzy and hollow. The strange tickling feel lingered in your chest like a bad habit. A part of you felt like that feeling was going be there forever and you hated that. You were saved from it when you caught sight of your investigation notebook inside your bag the feeling changed.

The tingling shifted into a burning rage that smoldered in the pit of your being. Filling the hollow space inside of you with venomous smoke. It killed the small pieces of hope that said your 'family' was telling the truth, that they didn't know. The smoke took the hollowness away. You loved the rage for that, embracing it like life-line.

Turning to the study areas in the back you moved to the one you used yesterday. Talia wasn't there yet. In the isolated part of the library, you began to update your journal.

First you scraped your orginial list. Things were changing, you couldn't punish the whole family. No it wouldn't be fair to those who were involved. Plus you knew you needed to hone your intentions from experience. Even though you could have gone after all the scientists and guards during your escape, you focused on the exit instead to ensure you got out. It had more you more efficient. That's what you needed here.

Obviously there was Bruce simply because he had to have approved the whole thing. You wrote Bruce Wayne at the top left of the page. Under his name you wrote the evidence you did have, the financial records. You thought back on the past days than wrote down, "Past injuries to Robins/Allies=Motive?"

On the right side of the paper you wrote Richard Grayson. Under his name you wrote attempted to get information, admitted to knowing boarding school was a lie, was one of four to know 'real' boarding school location. Thinking a bit you decided to add "potential motive= over protective of allies/ Jason's death?"

Halfway down the page under Bruce's name you wrote Alfred Pennyworth. Beneath it you wrote pretty much the same thing as Dick; knew about the boarding school and was one of four to know real location. Afterwards you wrote "painfully loyal to Bruce. Would have information on what happened? Motive=Unclear."

On right side of the page and on the same lines as Alfred you wrote, Cassandra Cain/Wayne. Under her name you wrote "Choose the 'boarding school'. May have read investigation journal. Spied on me two years before kidnapping." For motive you simple drew a question mark. You honestly had no clue why she would have chosen to help Bruce with the experiments.

You considered adding Barbara but stopped yourself. Yes this morning had been a lot but the signs on her were mixed. If she was acting the part much like Dick was than she was just as dangerous to interact with. Yet if she wasn't and genuinely wanted to help than maybe she would be a good source of information. She might be a good source either way. You'd leave her off the list for now.

Turning the page you had just barely written out Edward Davis and Clint Owen when someone cleared their throat. Closing the notebook, you saw Talia standing at the entrance of the study area. Giving her your best easy going smile you greeted her, "Hello Ms.Talia"

"Hello dear. How are you doing today?" She set her bag down on the table. It let out a soft thud when she set it down. You guess she had learning tools in it. That or books, it was a library after all.

You nodded to her and began to pull out different notebook. Tucking your investigation notes away for bow. She watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow. Her mouth quirked to the side and she tilted her head towards your bag. A nervous laugh left your mouth, "Yeah, I'm doing okay. Sorry this one's my diary, don't think I should mix personal problems with Arabic notes."

"Oh, I'm glad you journal. It's good for development." She gave you that mother's smile she had. Something in you preened at the look but it was under cut by your own sarcastic thoughts. 'Would she be proud if she knew what it was really for?'

She gestured behind her to someone hidden just out of sight from the little alcove. "I have someone I want you to meet."

A man stepped into view. He was slightly taller than Jason but not by much. His hair appeared to be well groomed, almost like it was permanently styled. Parts of his hair were white, not in the salt and pepper white of aging but in a way that felt intentional. His features were stoic and calm. Something about him reminded you of half your family. Maybe it was sure footing or the steady stance but you knew he was trained to fight.

Yet that wasn't what stopped your brain. He was familiar. Not in the I've seen him on the street before way but in a deeper, I've known you in the past way. It felt like something in you cracked it's eyes open. That hidden part of you whispered to watch, to learn, to leave. Need this new thing in you be quiet you spoke quickly, "I'm sorry but have we met before?"

Talia blinked looking at the man. He also gave a slight look of surprise that disappeared quickly. Whatever their reactions were it was enough to get that part of you to quiet down. Tension left your body as you watched how the man would respond. There was an edge to his smile that told you he was impressed, "I don't believe we have. My name is Ra's Al Ghul, I am Talia's father."

"I'm (Fake Name). Are you one of the material art teachers Ms.Talia mentioned?" You held your hand out to him. If he was slightly impressed before he was completely impressed now.

Shaking your hand he asked, "How could you tell?"

You thought for a minute before answering, "The way you stand. Everyone I know who has had extensive training of some kind stands a certain way. Almost like they can't help but do it automatically."

That seemed to be the right answer. Both him and Talia shared a look. Ra's gave a subtle nod that made Talia's smirk grow the smallest but. She lifted an eyebrow as if to say 'watch' before clapping her hands once.

"Well than, after your lessons today my father will show you some of the basics." Talia offered, pulling things out of her bag. You looked at the items intrigued, it seemed to be learning aid for a different alphabet. An eager smile crossed your lips as you readied your notebook.

Jason leaned against his motorcycle holding a kid sized helmet. A cigarette hung out of his lips as he waited, watching the library doors like a hawk. Roy was nearby on his own bike. Neither one of them spoke.

Finally (Name) came out from the library. She was clutching her backpack looking around the space. When her eyes caught on him, she got a confused look. Jason put out his cigarette, gesturing for her to come over. "Hey kiddo."

"What are you doing here?" She walked up to him. Her body was angled away from him. A habit she seemed to have picked up with everyone.

Jason shrugged, "Tim told me to pick you up. Didn't he text you or something?"

Her face slackened before she bluntly stated, "I don't have a phone."

"Shit, did that get stolen too?" Jason rolled his eyes. Of course her kidnappers would take her phone, that was kidnapping 101. Maybe they could track it down to try find some evidence.

She gave he an absurd look, "No. I've never had a phone."

"The fuck..." Jason rubbed his eyes. Bruce was going to send you to a foreign country without a phone. No fucking wondered she got kidnapped. He tossed her the helmet, "Okay, we're fixing that. Put the helmet on let's go."

"And where are we going to?" She caught the helmet but didn’t put it on. In fact she gave it a strange look before turning her gaze back to him. Her look told him she didn't trust him. That wasn't good, he needed her to trust him.

Before he could answer, Roy spoke up. Jason couldn't tell he wanted to punch Roy or thank him for what left his mouth, "We're gonna go get lunch than see if we can max out your Dad's credit card."

"Sorry what?"

"Yeah, take you phone shopping than grab whatever else you need. Or want honestly." Roy snubbed out his own cigarette before lazily stretching. (Name) looked at the helmet for second before looking back to Jason and Roy. Jason could see consideration in her eyes.

"Can I get one those fake nose piercing things with the magnet to give Bruce a heart attack?" She gave them a sweet guilty smile and batted her eyelashes. Jason snorted, trying not laugh. Roy didn't care and double over laughing.

Of course her first thought was how to piss off Bruce with this. There was a surge pride in his chest. She gave him a hald assed shrug. Jason gave in to the laughter, "Fuck. You are my sister!"

"Hell yeah, let's go!" Roy pulled himself together enough to get on his bike. Jason gestured for her to put on the helmet and hop on. He secured her in the seat behind where he would sit before hopping on himself. After giving her a quick safety brief, they were flying down the highway.

The rest of the Outlaws were waiting for them at a Burrito Buck down by Jason's apartment. He lived relatively close to Crime Alley so if her goal was give Bruce a heart attack he was helping already. Everyone was passing around greasy Mexican food when him, Roy and (Name) pulled in. Jason could feel his phone going crazy in his jacket pocket. Handing his sister over to Roy he pulled out his phone to see what was going on.

4 missed calls from B

7 missed calls from Dick🖕

2 missed calls from Cyber Stalker

8 missed calls from Human Flashlight

3 missed calls from Murder Germlin

4 missed calls from Purple Chick

1 text unread message from Tim.

Jason sighed running his hands through his hair. What the fuck could have happened for them to be calling this much. Just when he was about to call one of them back he saw the preview of Tim's text. "She doesn't want to see Bruce" the rest of the message was faded out. Jason went to click the notification when his phone started ringing again.

"Great..." Jason rolled his eyes. His phone blaring a custom ringtone warning that his brother was calling. Pressing answer he launched right into it, "What do you want, Dick?"

"Where are you? You were supposed to be back by now? Is (Name) with you?" Dick panicked voice came out of the phone. Jason almost rolled his eyes again. This is what got them all panicking. Did they seriously not trust him with her?

"Yeah, (Name) with me. She said she was hungry so we stopped to get food." Jason shrugged moving towards the restaurant's window. He could see Roy leading his sister to the table. Kori immediately got up to hug her but was pulled back by Artemis.

"Dude, we were going to take her to get lunch before doing a family day." Dick half whined in his ear.

Jason paused. He racked his memory for when someone mentioned a family day but couldn’t come up with anything really. "Hold up. When did you guys decide to do a family day?"

"This morning at breakfast. Steph pointed out that (Name) and Duke have never been apart of a family day. So we decided to have one." Dick said it like it was the most obvious thing ever.

Jason popped his jaw to relieve the tension that shot through his body. He had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't the one picking her up he wouldn't have been invited. Rolling his neck he sarcastically drawled out, "Okay. So when were you going invite me?"

There was a heavy pause. Dick said the words like he handling a bomb, "when you got here with (Name)?"

"Alright." Jason smirked to himself. If they wanted (Name) they have to find her. He knew his phone location was scrambled, a habit he picked up somewhere. "We're at the Red Lobster in the Heights. Haven't placed our order yet so if you wanna join in be my guest."

"The Heights? Dude what are you doing over there?" Dick asked. Jason didn't have to hide his mischievous smirk. The family would lose their shit on him for this but he didn't care.

"Didn't the one by the manor close down. Beside this one has the best cheddar biscuits."

"Just stay there we'll be there in 10 minutes." Dick said before hanging up. Jason nodded his head and clicked his tongue. He was going to have so much fun today. Turning his phone off, he went inside the Burrito Bucket.

His sister was sitting next to Roy listen to him tell a story. She had a taco in hand nodding along to what he was saying, sour cream stuck in the corner of her mouth. She giggled as Roy finished his story, "Yeah so after leaving me in a Denny's Bathroom for 30 minutes without pants, the dude had the audacity to sit there showing me photos."

"What story did you just tell her?" Jason squeezed into the booth with the rest of the Outlaws. One look around the table told he really didn't want to know. Everyone at the table had a shit eating grin. His sister let out a devious little giggle. He started to hope it wasn't an inappropriate one.

"You left him in a Denny's without pants to go and watch my 2nd grade science competition?" She sounded half shocked and half amused.

Jason groaned face palming. Oh course it was that story. Roy would never let him live it down, "Please tell me you didn't tell her why you were pantless in a Denny's Bathroom."

The Outlaws started to laugh. It was Artemis that responded to (Name)'s question, "He's done shit like that to all of us. He had Bizarro fly him back to Gotham leaving me somewhere in the Amazon Rainforest for a Christmas recital."

Bizarro nodded with a huge smile, "He did not."

"Yeah, and than he'll sit there showing us pictures of the event he ditched us for." Roy laughed before taking a bite of his burrito. Jason was hiding his face behind his hand. Sometimes he forgot that the Outlaws loved to embarrass him.

(Name) turned to him. Her expression was a mix of confused and happy. His heart dropped at she said, "I thought you didn't show up to any of those cause you hated me."

Jason blinked looking at her. He had shown up but stayed hidden from her. He was dangerous to be around, he knew that much. Yet he couldn't stop himself from wanting to be there. He sighed pulling her into a side hug. She tensed but let him, "B depends on the day of the week honestly, but you never."

She looked up at him with bright eyes, the small amount of sour cream still stuck to the corner of her mouth. He grabbed a napkin and wiped it away.

Maybe it was parental instinct, that made Roy keep an eye on the girl. She was close in age to Lian. Whatever it was he was glad he did. (Name) showed startling signs of PTSD. From the hypervigilance to disassociation to increase anxiety, shame, sadness and aggression. It was made worse knowing the family she was in. The Wayne's would support her but it was unlikely she'd get the professional help she desperately needed.

They had gone to a mall with a phone store to get her set up. Kori and Jason's Sister were up ahead of them talking. Suddenly there was a squeal of excitement from the little one and she bolted ahead. Kori shrugged, "She saw something she likes."

With that Kori ran ahead to keep an eye on her. Roy stopped Jason before he jog to catch up to the girls. The vigilante seemed confused when Roy stopped him. Taking a deep breath Roy began, "You need to get your sister help."

"What?" Jason gave Roy a weird look. The two look at each for a moment. Roy took a deep breath, not a great way to start this conversation. Still he pushed forward.

"You and your family have a bad habit of just toughing through your mental health issues." Roy placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. He continued on, "Yes, you all support each other but when it comes to the more serious stuff all of you tend to just destroy yourselves. She doesn't deserve that. If you get her actual therapy and help than she has a chance of being normal. Or at least not implode on herself."

"Dude she'll be fine. I'm gonna keep her safe from now on." Jason shoved Roy away from him. Roy watched as Jason walked towards her with a sinking feeling. This didn't feel right. If (Name) didn't get the help she deserved, he could only imagine the path she'd end up going down.

They found her and Kori at the pound's adoption in the mall set up. The two girls were currently playing with a small cat. The paper displayed said the kitten was a russet dark ginger cat named Churro. (Name) looked up at them with wide begging eyes, "Can we keep him?"

"B told Damian no more animals." Jason sighed shaking his head. The little girl's face dropped slight before morphing into a pleading smile. Roy looked over to Jason who had a contemplating look.

"He told Damian no more animals. He has literally never said anything to me." She spoke in an pleading tone, pulling Churro closer to her. It was adorable to watch but the last sentence caught Roy's attention. He couldn't explain what it was about it, the tone or the wording. That hurt seemed to be coming back with a slight rage.

"I don't know. I don't think it's safe to drive with a cat and a kid on the back of a motorcycle." Jason scratched his head. She looked down at Churro in despair. The kitten mewled before nuzzling into her arms. She gave it a little kiss to the forehead, giggling when the cat began to paw at her hair.

"I can watch her well you go get the car from your apartment." Roy offered to Jason. He could tell she was emotional attached to the kitten. Maybe it would help her when her world felt like too much. Similar to how he use to hold Lian when his world was too much.

Jason sighed before rolling his eyes. "Okay fine let me fill out the paperwork real quick."

Once Jason was gone to get the car, Roy sat next to the girl. She was petting Churro who was curled up in her lap. Kori was currently talking with the adoption lady about the different cats. Roy nudged her once, "Hey kiddo. Can I see your phone?"

She stopped petting Churro to consider him cautiously. Roy gave her a reassuring smile feeling his chest tighten. Finally she handed him her phone. He put his secondary number Jason didn't know about in her contacts as 'Uncle Will.' He than add his main number to her contacts under his real name.

"There. Now you can call me anytime you need something from this number." He pointed at his contact with his thumb showing her the screen. He than showed her the Uncle Will contact, "This one you can call if you are ever in a situation where you need a pick up no questions ask. All you have to do is press Call and say hey Uncle Will I got your message. The only thing I'll is where are you and are you safe, okay?"

"Why are you giving me this?" She took her phone back looking at the new contacts. Due to it being a new phone those contacts and Jason's were the only ones there. She had insisted on not getting any of her other family members numbers.

"I've made a lot of mistakes around your age." Roy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Saying it felt like a understatement, he had taken part in massive fuck ups. Looking at (Name) reminded him that angry kid though, "I like to imagine if I had someone I though would pick me up no questions asked, I wouldn't have made at least a quarter of them. So if I can get you out of at least one dangerous situation, I'll consider it a win."

"Okay, but why give this to me?" She gestured towards herself with the phone.

Roy thought for a minute. He wasn't certain what was making him reach out to her. Maybe it was guilt for his past mistake or the little kid he use to be reflecting in the girl. Whatever it was may this necessary. So he decided to give her what he had wanted, "Because something tells you just want someone in your corner that cares regardless of what happens."

She blinked her face turning into a sad form of shock. Looking at the phone, she smiled. Roy considered reaching out to hug her. Yet before he could her face fell into a resigned melancholia. "Thanks, I guess."

"Come on, I have a great idea for giving Bruce a heart attack." He stood from the bench gesturing to a beauty store nearby, "I think that store has a hair dye called Arsenal Red."

That got her to smile. Roy sighed to himself slightly, hoping everything would turn out okay.

Prev

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[gyeomsweetgyeom]

Helloooo can you do a fic in the jaehyun tiktok series with the trend that’s going around of gfs giving their bfs a note that says “ if you don’t smile I’ll give you head “ hahahaha

honestly anon go ahead and give your brain a kiss for me bc I saw this trend and it didn't cross my mind to write about it ily

. ݁₊ �� . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ don't smile... ⋆⭒˚.⋆

(cw: MDNI, f!reader, dirty talk, tiktok trend, literally a prank revolving around giving head)

What better way was there to cure your boredom than scrolling through TikTok? It just happened to be rather unfortunate for your boyfriend that your time on TikTok usually went hand in hand with his torment. Hmmm, sucked for him but not for you!

While fratboy!Jaehyun was busy watching some basketball game on the screen you duh around his bedside table for a stack of sticky notes you were sure you'd left here. You pulled one from the stack, grabbing a pen and giggling madly while you wrote out the note. An extra pretty note in your finest, curliest cursive and decorated with hearts and stars.

You stood from his bed, shuffling over to your boyfriend and extending the note. His eyes had been locked on the screen watching as the team he had money on scored yet another point from the free throw line. "You good, sweetheart?" He asks, not having caught sight of the note quite yet. Well, he hasn't even taken his eyes off the screen.

Jaehyun groaned as the third quarter came to an end, finally turning his attention to you. He missed the sneaky smirk on your face and your camera pointed right at him, but his attention was on the light yellow square of paper you were holding out to him.

His brows scrunched as he read your loopy scrawl on the paper, 'don't smile and I'll give you sloppy toppy later :)'.

He can hear you giggling, see the smile on your face in his peripheral vision, but right now he's focused on the dresser that holds his TV. His brows are furrowed, cheeks taut, and lips puckered as he tries not to smile. But come on, can you blame a guy? Your beautiful girlfriend comes with a note offering a blowjob and he's expected to not be excited? Give him a break.

Your giggles bubbled into laughter while you watched him try to suppress a smile. His eyes were focused, rolling his lips into a frown in the hopes that it would help keep a smile from popping out. His dimples were on full display and you couldn't help but cup his cheek at the sight.

You cooed through your laughter, "so what do you think, baby?"

Jaehyun moved away from your touch, turned his head away from you, hoping that not looking at you would make this easier. You laughed harder as he spoke, his words completely contradicting the upset look on his face, "I think it sounds like a great idea."

You pinched his cheek and let out what sounded a lot like a cackle when you saw the corners of his lips turn up for just a single second, it was paired with a loud, "fuck! No!"

You stopped recording there, leaning in to kiss his cheek with a soft laugh, "I'm feeling generous. I'll still give you head later, baby."

He stood up with the brightest smile, tugging you into his arms, whooping and cheering, "let's go!"

You could vaguely hear one of the guys yelling down the hall, "Bro, your team just fucking lost and you owe me 100 bucks, why are you cheering?" Little did they know...

[ereighna]

I honestly think the first page of the update is one of the best things to happen to Legend.

He starts out shocked at the pairing as it doesn't make sense to him but then switches to showing his care for twilight. But he doesn't realize he also just insulted Sky, basically saying he isn't good enough to be able to protect Twilight.

Twilight, whose sick of Legends emotional immaturity but is trying to ignore it as he knows Legend doesn't communicate well, begins to walk away. Legend, however, insults Sky. Whether he meant it as a joke or not, it's still hurtful and in two sentences he has already insulted Sky twice.

Sky, who knows Legend isn't a bully, still lets himself be treated that way instead of trying to correct the behavior because he understands Legend isn't meaning to be hurtful.

Now Twilight, who has experience with kids, puts Legend in his place and basically parents him; which is a shock to Legend. Even though he's probably considered an adult (17/18), he doesn't act like one so twilight doesn't treat him like one here.

(Poor dude probably hasn't had a consistent adult since he was nine.)

Legend now tries to keep going but without any real steam to it because he doesn't understand what exactly he did wrong, he's just talking.

And then Hyrule comes and, whether he knows it or not, treats Legend the same and he's been treating others. You can see the shock of "why I'm only paired with Hyrule?" "No one else would want me?"

I'm really hoping @jojo56830 uses this as a jumping point for him to really reflect. I've read tons of fics on this subject and I'm really happy to see it in the comic.

Credit to Jojo obviously.

[peachdues]

Laughing at the “I rlly hope you aren’t a lawyer ://“ thing. I am! And guess what! Statutory interpretation is my specialty.

You know, I have to give you credit — I didn’t think it was possible for someone to so clearly misunderstand the post. But, thank you for making it clear that you have no idea how to read a law and its proposed amendments. Because my post was meant to draw the connections between the law as is and the amendments written in a high level, generalized format. And WOW, could you not manage to even follow that! Honestly, I would be impressed by that level of non-comprehension if you hadn’t been such a fucking amoeba about it.

The law very clearly is not limited to CSAM. That’s what “or” means. And my point still stands: the amendments will affect fiction. Any plain reading of the statute as it stands in conjunction with the amendments proposed would make that clear — then again, you don’t seem to have that degree of comprehension or critical thinking.

“Including but not limited to” does include written media. Point to where “visual” depictions is limited strictly to photographs? Screens? You can’t because it isn’t limited. And that’s intentional.

Do not quote the fucking Miller test to me. That language, when broken down, requires assessment not only of national standards but also community standards — so what happens when a local community decides trans representation is “obscene?” They get to restrict it. And, language added into subsection (E) makes that clear. Oklahoma’s standards will be used to determine what is and is not obscene.

Now, as I made clear in the comments, this bill likely won’t pass — it’s not meant to, and even if it does, it will be immediately challenged as unconstitutional. That is the goal. The quoted Miller language, however, is meant to be a trigger into the federal courts to review the law for overbreadth and or/vagueness. This current Supreme Court has no respect for stare decisis — if they have an opportunity to redefine “obscenity” or even punt it back to the states, they will.

I sincerely hope you’re not too tired expending your last few brain cells typing such an asinine, offensive, and poorly argued reply. The point of my post is to call attention to the fact that this law is written vaguely enough to be stretched to written materials — something that apparently went right over your head because you do not possess the level of discernment necessary to understand that. This bill is the beginning, not the end. They are testing the waters, but the goal is very much to restrict ALL forms of adult content in ALL media. If you cannot understand that, then you are willfully ignorant and you are blinded by your own hubris.

For all those who complain about explicit “smutty” books or smut in fic in general:

Just be aware that a bill has been introduced in Oklahoma’s state senate (SB 593) that would make writing/publishing/owning an explicit romance book a felony.

So, when you come on here to espouse your “anti pro-ship” nonsense, or moan about how hard it is to find fics/art/books that aren’t “smutty” — know that this is the effect. You are being used as mouthpieces to help feed and perpetuate censorship. There is no room for censorship in fiction because it will never stop at what you deem morally “right”. It is about control and the restriction of speech. Your discomfort with sex in media does not make it wrong, and it certainly doesn’t mean you get to advocate for its restriction.

Do not be pawns in the far-right’s game. Do not call yourselves allys of any kind if you are willingly feeding into a pillar of far right extremism. It will not stop where you think it “should.”

[intermundia]

Hiya!

First of, I really love your writing and characterisation of Obiwan and Anakin, and have found your thoughts on the excrepts you share (whether from the Rots novel or other classical works) fascinating. Your analysis has I think greatly informed how I understand, and in turn write about these characters.

I got curious then, what you - a professional understander of Anakin - would think what his ideal outcome of his choices would look like, unable to decide between his life as a Jedi and his life with Padmé? What did he want to happen once the war ended (without Sith intervention)? What did he imagine his happy ever after to be like once he shackled up with Palpatine?

the fundamental problem with anakin (and the core paradox at the heart of his character) is that while he worries about the future all the time, he also never thinks ahead in a serious, proactive way. he's not considering ideal outcomes; he's focused almost entirely on avoiding negative ones. he is not a person guided by hope but rather by fear, and that's the engine of his suffering and the heart of his tragedy.

as far as i've seen in any media, any "happy ever after" he has is a vague dream, which he only knows he needs padmé alive to achieve. he never seriously considers setting up a happy life for their family, or the consequences of leaving the order. i believe during the war he's existing in a state of cognitive dissonance where he believes can have both, as he never critically examines if that is really the case.

there are a lot of reasons for this, his childhood and the trauma of combt, but palpatine's validation of a myopic focus on avoiding his fears was a crucial compounding factor. palpatine's encouragement to rely on his emotions too made him into a completely reactive and malleable person, lashing out without a plan. he seeks power to stop death, not to create a happy life, if you know what i mean.

by the time he's impulsively killed mace windu and tossed his lot in with palpatine, he is not thinking of happiness at all, or ever again honestly. he clings to delusions of grandeur about a new empire to cope with the violence and betrayal he's done, not sharing Padmé's idyllic vision of raising their baby on Naboo, sitting in the green lush grass and swimming in cool water. then after he killed her? mustafar, fire, blood, pain, and death, that's all the life he can even imagine.

[waynes-multiverse]

Aww, these were so sweet 🥹 (Even SB 😭)

Also, as someone who gained a lot during pregnancy, I greatly appreciated these! Good reminder to be a little kinder to ourselves sometimes (and rock those curves) ☺️🩵

You inspect yourself with growing dejection, noting all the places that are rounder, heavier, less firm than they used to be.

Giving me full PTSD here, girl 😂

Too much shitty fast food, too many times you indulged yourself with snacks and dessert alongside your foodie boyfriend.

And yep, that's always the worst when your partner eats so much crap and does not gain an ounce. Like, how?! Are you magic???

Dean's heart clenches. He's downright shocked at your confession, and more than a little disheartened. He presses a hand to your cheek and guides you to look at him.

Sobbing 😭 He so would do that! And honestly, love doesn't give a shit about looks. I mean, at some point, we all will be wrinkly and saggy, so you better hope there's more there than looks 😅🤷‍♀️

"Feels that much better when I fuck you."

Bury me in a ditch... 🫠🫠

"I'd like to, but I think I'd just smother you. I'm about to pass out."

Lovely 😆

Oh, Beau! Sweet, sweet Beau... I can so see him and reader getting their wires crossed, and him not even registering it while she quietly suffers 🙈 I feel like that happens a lot to couples, though, when times get a little stressful and busy. Loved the realism of this!!

The mere thought dredges up what's been plaguing your mind recently, and it has your throat tightening. Tears of embarrassment and upset well up in your eyes, no matter how much you try to push it down.

Poor, tired Beau, though, now dealing with a crying and upset reader 😂 (Do you think he retrospectively wished he would've just let her hop on for a quick ride? lmao)

The man may not be very patient, or particularly perceptive, but he's not an idiot. At least, not about sex.

DEAD 💀

Also 💯 agree with this SB headcanon 😂😂

And weirdly, I thought from the start that Ben would probably mind the least of all of them if his partner put on a few extra pounds. If grannies don't scare this man, weight certainly won't either lol (His answer was perfection 😂😘)

He snorts. "And? You think it's anything I haven't seen?"At that, your head tilts in consideration. Butcher's Granny Fucker remark comes to mind. You bite your lip against a smirk.

EXACTLY 🤣🤣

But so on point for him to be jealous at first and accuse her of cheating 🙈 I also wonder how long she got away with it, considering that man's sex drive.

Loved all of them so much, friend!!! 🩵🩵🩵

Headcanon: Body Insecurity/Appreciation

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @roseblue373. 💜 It's a special one to me personally, being plus-sized myself and having gone through my share of insecurities. Wish I had one of these guys to make it better lol!~

Prompt/Request: Great job with the latest Dean/Beau/Ben reacts vignettes! I'd love to see one where reader has put on weight and isn't happy with their body, and how each would make her feel better!! IF the muse agrees, of course! ❤️

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to your body insecurity.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Established relationship, body insecurity (but also body appreciation), thicc thirty, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, spiciness/smuttishness.

Dean Winchester

You've started breezing past mirrors when you get out of the shower.

Because if you catch sight of your own reflection, you can't help but utter a sigh, your lips dipping into a frown.

In the privacy of the room you share with Dean in the bunker, you take a risk in unwrapping the towel from your body in front of the mirror.

You inspect yourself with growing dejection, noting all the places that are rounder, heavier, less firm than they used to be.

Looks like no amount of running down leads and killing monsters has been enough to keep you in shape.

Too much shitty fast food, too many times you indulged yourself with snacks and dessert alongside your foodie boyfriend.

"What'cha doin', sweetheart?" Dean asks. He steps into the room while wiping donut icing from the corner of his mouth.

Speak of the devil.

When Dean finally catches you frowning at yourself in the mirror, you inhale sharply and close the towel back up.

"Nothing. Just need to get dressed," you reply quickly. "Shower's open."

You try to offer him a smile, despite the pang of jealousy when you eye him.

He gave you the first chance at the shower after the latest case wrapped up, so he's still wearing most of his FBI suit, sans jacket. The white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, a few days of scruff neatly trimmed across his cheeks.

The man can cram an entire pizza down his gullet and wash it down with three slices of apple pie, not to mention countless beers. And still, Dean stays looking downright edible.

By comparison, you feel...fat. Like you've let yourself go.

You turn away from him to grab your well-worn sweatpants and an oversized shirt; you plan to change alone in the bathroom, but Dean grabs your arm.

"Who says you need to get dressed?" he says, popping his brows with a suggestive grin. He slips his arms around your waist, but your instinct is to shy away from his hold. You chuckle awkwardly and avoid his now curious gaze.

"Sorry, babe. Um...I'm wiped. I just want to get to bed," you say.

But Dean isn't fooled. His spidey sense is tingling, and his gut is almost never wrong.

His hand slides down your arm and grasps your hand, tugging you back into his arms. You utter a little gasp, but you ultimately smile at his familiar grin. There's a perceptive gleam in his eyes though.

"You know, seems like you've been pretty wiped lately," he says, raising a brow. "It's been a while since we, uh..."

He waggles his brows playfully, squeezing your hips. You want to smile, but you can't let yourself. You can't quite look at him either.

For Dean, it's another glaring red flag. His lips form a frown, and he dips his chin to find your eyes.

"Hey," he says. "What's goin' on? Talk to me."

His tone is so sincere, you have to blink against the sting of tears. Your lower lip wobbles, and Dean frowns in earnest. He presses a hand to your cheek and gets you to look at him with your watery eyes.

"Sweetheart, you gotta tell me what's wrong," he says, more gently, but serious.

Eventually, you're able to get it out. You can't bear the thought of him touching you, because lately, you can't even bear looking at yourself.

"I know I've been gaining weight, I just..." your voice breaks, and you gesture haphazardly at your body. "I'd get it if you're not really into this right now."

Dean's heart clenches. He's downright shocked at your confession, and more than a little disheartened. He presses a hand to your cheek and guides you to look at him.

"All right, hold up just one damn minute."

His calloused fingers gently brush away your tears, but his hands keep moving, slowly traveling down your body. They slide down your bare arms, skimming the sides of your breasts.

Your breath hitches. Your hand is still fisted over your beating heart, keeping your towel closed. His hands continue to move, molding to the curve of your waist over the fuzzy fabric.

"I'll admit, we've been pretty busy lately with everything we've got going on. But if you think that means I'm ever not into this delectable, sexy, voluptuous, goddess body you got rockin' the house?" he says, grinning that utterly Dean grin of his.

You bite your lip against a bubble of laughter. He's too fucking much sometimes.

Dean tugs you closer, until your hips fit snugly against his through his slacks. His tall, broad frame crowds you. His lips skim your cheek, then over your lips in a tease.

He squeezes the flesh of your hips, tender and sensuous.

Your heart flutters at the feeling.

"Mmm, I like you nice and soft," he murmurs against your cheek, close to your ear. "Feels that much better when I fuck you."

A small gasp gets trapped in your throat, while the gravel depths in his voice go straight to your pussy in a pulsing throb of warmth.

By the time he claims your lips in a devouring kiss, you're all too willing to let him peel your towel open, drop it to the floor, and guide you backwards onto the bed.

There he'll take his time, forging yet another mental map of every plush square inch of you.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a busy man. You understand that.

As Sheriff, his job demands a lot from him. He's also a father and has an ex-wife to contend with. (You knew that going in, and you've come to love Emily too.)

However, you can't help but start to take it personally when your sex life begins to suffer. He's often claimed being tired...but there's another suspicion that's been taking root in your mind, feeding your doubts and insecurities about how your boyfriend sees you, and about how you see yourself.

When you slip into bed at night, a kiss goodnight is all he gives you lately, before he's sighing deeply and closing his eyes, his soft snores soon filling the room.

One night, you try touching his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his bearded cheek. He hums at the pleasant feeling.

"You wanna...?" You trail the question in his ear, pressing more sweet kisses down his neck.

"Aw, sweetheart," he groans. "I'd like to, but I think I'd just smother you. I'm about to pass out."

You huff a laugh. You teasingly walk two fingers across his chest. "What if I make it easy for you?"

You shift onto your side. Resting a hand on his chest, you lean down to kiss him. He hums at the softness of it, but the more passion you try to imbue into each new kiss, Beau isn't as responsive as you would like. Eventually, you stop all together.

You frown, becoming disheartened. "You're not into this, I guess."

He opens his tired eyes, gazes up at you in apology. He opens his mouth to reply, but you beat him to it.

"You know it's been a month since we've had sex," you say.

Beau frowns, sliding a hand up your back. Only now does he notice, with appreciation, the familiar silky négligée you're wearing.

"Nah, that doesn't sound right," he says.

"Well, it is," you say. "I know you say you're tired, but I mean, you've had this job for as long as I've known you, Beau." Your eyes fall away from him. "So is it the job, or...is it me?"

Beau's brows furrow. "Now wait a minute."

The mere thought dredges up what's been plaguing your mind recently, and it has your throat tightening. Tears of embarrassment and upset well up in your eyes, no matter how much you try to push it down.

You push away from him and turn away, crossing your arms. You try not to look at yourself in what used to be your favorite lingerie.

You can't stand the extra weight you've put on, mostly in your hips and ass, but in your middle and arms too.

You've gone through your own stress at work this year, with less and less time to try and take care of yourself, along with making sure Emily gets to and from school, cooking for the three of you, going to PTA meetings when Carla can't make it (since Beau often can't), and every other proverbial hat you wear.

Beau follows you, sitting up and laying a hand on your back. "Sweetheart--"

"I know I've put on a few. Hell, more than a few," you admit, hastily wiping under your eyes. "God, I can't even look at myself right now, let alone have you--"

"Hey. You stop right there," Beau says, more firmly. He gets you to turn around with his hand on your shoulder. He doesn't like the way you're curled in on yourself, as if hiding your body from his gaze.

That, and the sight of your tears damn well break his heart.

He cups the side of your face gently and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, followed closely by your lips.

You don't want to melt, but you just can't help it. You cling to the front of his shirt and lean into his kiss, like you've been lost in the desert, and his lips hold the breath of life.

You almost don't realize it when his arms slip around your waist. He earns a surprised yelp from you when he gathers you close against his chest and rolls you underneath him.

You land against the pillows in a huff. You stare up at his playful smile, his green eyes glinting with amusement, with fondness, and also with desire as they roam over your breasts, barely contained by dark green satin and lace.

"I've been neglecting you, haven't I?" he says. His voice is a low, earthy drawl as his gaze rakes over you. His big hand runs down your side and over your hip, then down your bare thigh, squeezing soft, tender flesh. He slips that hand under the satin night gown.

His hand can't span your entire thigh, but it's not for lack of trying. Your heart beats a staccato rhythm at the way he looks at you, your breath hitching when his thumb dips between your legs, brushing against the damp, silky fabric of your panties.

"It's not because I don't find you sexy as hell. Believe me, darlin', I do," he says. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, especially when you're all laid out for me here."

And he means what he says. You know it by the hardness you feel pressing against your hip. You slip your fingers into his hair with a sigh.

He bows his head to press kisses along your neck; down and down, he noses at the thin strap of your night gown. His path of kisses continue, and he indulges himself by dipping his tongue between the valley of your breasts.

"Filling out this lacy little thing so nice," he murmurs into your skin.

Your upset has turned to abject relief, but you still have to blink away the remaining urge to cry.

You let out a slightly tremulous breath.

"Oh, yeah?" you ask.

Beau pauses. He pulls away, just so he can look up and meet your eyes. He still finds insecurity in yours, so he meets you with a kiss filled with heat and intent.

He's now wide awake. He plans to take his sweet time taking you apart, inch by inch.

In fact, in the back of his mind, he also plans to do better about letting his deputies help him out more at the precint so he can have a better work-life balance.

(Because going a whole damn month without the taste of you is "no bueno," in his words.)

Soldier Boy (Ben)

The man may not be very patient, or particularly perceptive, but he's not an idiot.

At least, not about sex.

He knows that you've been feigning tiredness, and generally avoiding his touch.

What's strange is that you haven't been avoiding him. You still cook for him, still share conversation with him, still insist on having him spoon you on the couch while catching him up on the past four decades of TV shows and movies.

But when he begins to sneak a hand under your oversized shirt (an old one of Ben's), caressing your hip, then dipping down to your softer stomach on the way to your panties, breaking your concentration from the movie as unease laces down your spine.

You grab his wrist on reflex, instead lacing your fingers together.

"What's the matter now?" he asks.

You look over your shoulder at him and find him frowning at you, a divot between his brows. You don't manage to hold his gaze for long.

"Sorry," you say quietly. "I'm just, um, tired."

Ben doesn't believe you, and he's direct when he calls you out on it.

Reluctant to put what you've been feeling into words, you pause the movie and leave the couch (and him) behind.

Ben is annoyed enough to follow you (and underneath, he hides an edge of concern). The conflict leads into the bedroom, where you're still unwilling to open up.

He finally stops you from walking away from him, pinning you against the dresser by your hips. He practically looms over you as he demands an answer. He knows you're hiding something — something that's had you reluctant to let him touch you.

"Is there something you wanna tell me?" he says, a raw edge of warning in his tone. "What, are you fucking somebody else?"

Shock flashes in your eyes, making you angry. "What? No!"

"Well, you seem to be getting your fill somewhere, and it hasn't been from me--"

"Are you fucking serious? I'm not..." Your lips purse. You're actually hurt that he would hurl that accusation your way--and it couldn't be farther from the truth.

You tug your long shirt downwards and cross your arms, but it's more like you're hugging yourself, shielding your body away.

Ben's brows furrow a little bit more.

Eventually you get it out; you haven't been feeling up to being intimate because you're having a hard time even looking at yourself lately.

"I know I need to, um, get back in shape," you say, taking in a shaky breath to try and steady yourself. Your throat constricts, the beginnings of tears stinging your eyes. You want to look at anywhere but at Ben. "I just haven't had much time, with everything going on. But Annie gave me this guide on some different diets, like intermittent fasting, Keto--"

"Fasting," Ben intones. "What, you wanna fucking starve yourself? What the fuck is Keto?"

You sigh, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"No, not starve myself. And Keto's just..." The idea of trying to explain the new diet craze to your boyfriend is too daunting a task to consider. "Never mind. The point is, I have a plan. My hips, my thighs, my ass--"

Ben squeezes your hips at the mention of them. He happens to like the softness.

"Yeah, you've got a little extra. So fucking what?" he says, his voice deep and exacting as his gaze roams over your body. "Just gives me more to hold onto when I'm fucking you."

You utter a shocked laugh. "Ben!"

He grins lazily, and he turns you this way and that, admiring you from all angles. In his eyes, he doesn't find a side he doesn't like. You can't help but blush hotly under his gaze.

"Sweetheart, do whatever you want if it makes you feel good. But you don't need to starve yourself." His hands move to your ass, squeezing a bit harder on the plush flesh.

A yelp escapes you; he's pressing into you from the front as well, and you feel him heavy and already half-hard against you. You grab onto his arms for stability as your breaths quicken.

His attitude kind of surprises you, even though it soothes the frayed, insecure part of your soul that wants to be as beautiful and attractive in his eyes as he is in yours.

Ben is literally a super soldier. You're actually kind of jealous. The man can drug and booze hard and eat whatever the hell he wants, but his super metabolism just seems to absorb it into his washboard abs.

(The more you think about it, the more you want to smack him.)

Nothing about him isn't hard and lean, muscle and strength.

Only his hands have a measure of gentleless when they're holding you like this.

"I've just got so many stretch marks now," you begin to complain, in an emotional whisper.

He snorts. "And? You think it's anything I haven't seen?"

At that, your head tilts in consideration. Butcher's Granny Fucker remark comes to mind. You bite your lip against a smirk.

Ben crooks a curled finger under your chin. He guides you to meet his eyes, before he lures you into a lusty kiss.

It's somewhat rough because of his beard, but you still smile afterwards, leaning against him now.

"Ain't nothing about you that I can't handle," he adds, all smirking and cocky. To prove his point, he hooks those strong hands behind your thighs and lifts you onto the dresser.

You gasp and cling to his shoulders. From there, he makes quick work of ridding the oversized shirt from your body, revealing you to the cool air and his hot gaze.

You take his face in your hands and bring him in for an even steamier kiss, your heart lighter and trembling with anticipation.

You've held yourself from him long enough, Ben thinks, and he has every intention of devouring you right on your old dresser -- before you two even get to the bed.

AN: 😮‍💨 I feel like each of these could've been even longer with their own one-shot loll. I wrote the Midnight Espresso-verse for Dean, partially to explore what his relationship would be like with a plus-sized reader. 💖💖

Let me know which one you liked most this time!

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[mikibwrites]

The Price is Right

inspired by @theweewooshow 's post about a kissing booth :) Happy Valentines Day everyone!

bucktommy | 1.4k | G | ao3

This is ridiculous. He’s officially lost his marbles. 

Tommy’s been in this line for at least fifteen minutes, and every third minute of that has been spent telling himself he should leave. The other 2 minutes of each spiraling cycle have been spent eavesdropping his fellow hopefuls in line, listening to their tittering about how hot the firefighter working this shift of the booth is, surreptitiously cataloguing every person that he can see in front of and behind him and evaluating them on what–little, sadly–he knows about Evan’s preferences and whether or not their dreams of bagging a date with him will come true. Which then, in turn, sends him back into spiraling and berating himself for being among them, given his history with said firefighter. 

He needs to leave. 

There are roughly ten people in front of him, and Evan definitely hasn’t spotted him yet. He could totally duck out and no one would be the wiser. He contemplates pulling his phone out of his pocket with an air of importance, putting the completely silent device to his ear and pretending something dire has just happened that requires his immediate attention. No one would question him for getting out of line, no one would suspect that he’d lost his nerve. They’d think, wow, he must be important to be needed somewhere so urgently. 

Tommy’s definitely, officially for real this time, lost his marbles. 

Also, there are now only seven people left in front of him. 

As he watches each person get their sweet little peck on the cheek, he tries to tell himself this is for a good cause. The money goes to charity. There’s nothing weird about giving to charity. Nothing at all. There’s also nothing stopping him from just dropping the money in the basket on a table near the door that’s designated for just plain donations. He doesn’t need to get anything out of it if that’s all he’s hoping to do. 

He’s definitely hoping to get something out of it. He can at least admit that to himself, if nothing else. 

Five people left. 

“Oh my god, he’s so hot,” Tommy hears from behind him. “Look at those arms. Hold me down, daddy.” He almost chokes, the girl’s voice clearly pitched for just her friend next to her to hear, but he’s apparently blessed with supersonic hearing. The friend chimes in as well. “I wonder if he’s actually a good kisser or if he’s one of those dudes who relies on his rizz alone and then can’t deliver when it counts.”

Tommy has no idea what ‘rizz’ is, but he has to physically stop himself from turning around and describing for this girl in detail just how good of a kisser Evan is, how well he can deliver. He’s sure that wouldn’t go over well. 

Two people left. Evan is being so gracious and attentive to each of his patrons that he still hasn’t noticed Tommy. He could still make a run for it. 

He’s not going to. 

There’s roughly enough time for one more cycle of spiraling before he makes it in front of Evan, but Tommy chooses to spend it going over what the hell he’s going to say. Surely, Evan may protest giving his ex a kiss, even if it’s for charity, given the way they ended. It’d be well within his right to do so. So Tommy needs to have some justifications ready just in case Evan gets the wrong idea here. 

And what is the idea? Tommy failed to decide before he attempted this ridiculous stunt. Honestly, he’s been so, so god damned touch starved since he walked out Evan’s door that he thinks he’d do anything for just a brush of fingertips from Evan at this point. And that’s it, really…he only wants it from Evan. His coworkers have told him multiple times that he needs to just go out and get his ex out of his system–Donato offered to wingperson for him, even–but the very idea turns his stomach. 

But did he actually think that throwing some money at charity at a kissing booth of all things was going to get them anywhere near a reconciliation? Jesus, he should have just texted. Not that he hasn’t tried that, many many many times, and all of them ended up deleted because regardless of what he likes to tell himself he does not have the courage to put himself out there without the reassurance–or despair–of seeing Evan’s actual expression when he says what he wants to say. 

Which is…what? Exactly? He still hasn’t deci–

“Tommy?”

Shit. He’s missed the last person in front of him getting their dutiful peck on the cheek, and now he’s run out of time. 

Evan’s voice as he says his name is full of awe, trepidation, and…dare he say it…hope? His expression is even more devastating: like he’s seeing the sunrise just beginning after a century spent underground. His narrowed eyes are earnest and a little guarded, but they are trained wholly on Tommy.

Shit….what was he going to say?

“Uh, yeah. Hi. I, um…well I. Uh.” Tommy runs his fingers over his hair roughly, feeling unbearably stupid and exposed. He should have run when he had the chance. “Look, Evan, I–”

Evan’s breath hitches audibly at the sound of his name. They’re staring at each other. 

“Shit or get off the pot, dude, we’re all paying customers!” Some guy further back in line is shouting. 

“Um. Did you want a kiss?” Evan says, his face turning pinker by the second. And this. This Tommy can definitely answer.

“Yes,” he says, with maybe a little too much conviction behind the word for their current circumstances. Evan seems to clock it immediately, his eyes flicking down to Tommy’s mouth before coming back up to his eyes, his expression morphing to hopeful disbelief. “But, I mean, you don’t have to, here, I know you probably weren’t expecting–”

Tommy’s words are cut off by Evan’s mouth sealing onto his. 

God, god, he’s missed these lips. Each slide is like a revelation, and the thought is not lost on him that they’re in the middle of what is essentially a work function, they are both in uniform for christ's sake, having a whole existential crisis shared along with their breath and space and saliva. Because yes, Evan has now bullied his insanely talented tongue right behind Tommy’s teeth and is exploring like he’s going to be asked to draw a map later. 

Evan kisses him long, hard, and thorough, endless seconds ticking by and Tommy definitely doesn’t listen to any of the complaining going on in the line behind him. Evan does, though, and he very reluctantly pulls his lips away from Tommy’s and blinks in the most adorably flustered way and Tommy’s so, so gone on this man. How did he ever walk away from this?

“Can we talk?” Evan asks breathlessly.

“Please. But maybe later. Your adoring public awaits,” he adds, gesturing with his thumb to the line behind him, still nearly thirty people strong. He can’t blame them, but he’s also feeling a tad possessive so he leans in one more time to press his lips to the apple of Evan’s cheek, causing the blush to intensify when he pulls away. 

Tommy begins to turn to walk away, his smile already making his cheeks sore when Evan clears his throat. He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t pay, you know.” He’s smirking, the little shit. 

Before Tommy can make a move, someone in line shouts, “Damn! How much does it cost to get that?”

“That is not for sale,” Evan states with finality, but he’s still looking at Tommy, lips pursing, trying to hold back a full blown grin. There are a few groans from the line. 

Tommy reaches into his wallet, pulls out a $100, and slaps it on the table in front of Evan. “What time does your shift end?”

“In thirty minutes.”

“Meet me at the cafe two blocks down. Bring those lips. We’ll talk.” Tommy congratulates himself on being smooth as he smirks right back at the look on Evan’s face. 

“Mmm, okay. I’ll bring these lips. But I hope you remember they’re good for more than just talking,” Evan adds as Tommy turns to walk away. 

He retracts his self-congratulations as he trips over his own feet. 

[tapenbreak]

𖦹. “𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄.” —(𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐘)

𖦹. — 𝐬;𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. losing a stupidly made bet has its consequences, it seems. oh, what a moron he can be. although, too late to back out now, is it—dearest whitney? a nice , round 5.0k words.

𖦹. — 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . . . younger, therefore underclass man whitney who thought it was such a nice idea to suggest a bet, only to lose in the process, ‘first’ kiss, whoever lasts the longest wins, quite tame, actually—in comparison, though it’s mostly unspoken yearning. fat, puppy crush on upperclassman!reader (amab) that may or may not be worse.

𖦹. — 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬, doc? : “I’ve wanted to stretch this on further than intended, but I got something else planned for this fucker, so never mind. I’m not all that fond of this one since it’s quite more heavy on the feelings than actions, but to each their own.”

Alright, so, let’s supposedly say that he’s already somehow impulsively roped himself in an intangible mess due to an irrefutably dumb bet he’s made on the spot with you, none the wiser—of course. Inexplicably caught himself in a sticky, spider web akin to a precarious trap most starving predators would’ve predictably laid bare for their meddling preys to eventually sink into and—would y’a look at that, like the actual dumbass he can seldomly be, he can’t possibly hope to back out now, can he?

No, no, because y’see—if Whitney were to humiliatingly do such an idiotic thing, then surely that’d just be directly admitting to that irritatingly pretty face of yours that you were apparently correct all along. Not that you are, fuck no. Like that’d ever occur in a million goddamn years, you intolerable bastard. God, that being his sole intention from the pure beginning to crudely wipe that frustrating smile plastered upon your. . . ugh, cherry perfect lips whenever the delinquent-in-the-making merely happens to be in your tedious presence.

Or is cruelly teasing him till he’s unabashedly grown hotter in the fullness of his blazing cheeks a conclusive hobby of yours? Probably, considering your blatant sadism when it comes to endlessly poking fun at someone until they’ve inevitably snapped dead in your face before you oh, so innocently claim that it was simply a meaningless joke. Mindlessly shrug the entire ordeal off as if it were meant to be truly nothing more than an obsessive overreaction on his part. Yeah, yeah—motherfucker, well he’s got a precious one-liner for y’a, also.

“Bet I could.” Confidently proclaiming with an overly arrogant tone that you notably took seriously due to the aforementioned circumstances for some unspoken reason. And that, you see—was specifically when the blonde irreversibly dug himself in the depths of a narrow pit which he can’t possibly climb out of now. So, fuck it, alright?? Fuck his sheer idiocy and muddling arrogance that’s shamelessly come forth to screw him over right in the balls for having previously accepted a seemingly doable suggestion.

Uh huh—‘doable’, he said. Cuz’ it’d be so irresistibly, fucking ‘easy’, another moron in his cocky mind chimed along in turn. Speaking of apparently ‘easy’, maybe next time, think twice before actually acting upon your stinging urges to uselessly prove someone else, like your shitty upperclassman, by the way—wrong, huh. Ever thought of that? No, ‘course he truthfully didn’t consider it thoroughly beforehand because it’s Whitney, the stubborn, hard-headed bully of a underclass man we’re namely speaking of here, after all.

Slippery, sliding slope doesn’t truly begin to particularly cut it either, honestly—yeah, he’s gone and undeniably fucked it up, this time for sure. Hasn’t he?

Hence why his clammy palm is currently placed atop your rather. . . uh, firm chest which he’ll never be outwardly uttering out such an exceptionally odd statement unless he inherently wishes to never live it down till the day he literally dies. That is, including this one ceaseless thought incessantly creeping within the remnants of his blurring mind—about how annoyingly nice the dizzying scent exuding from the warmth of your nearby proximity is. Shit, are those your natural pheromones too? Cuz’ he’s already going fuckin’ crazy from a mere unsuspecting whiff like a bitch in heat. Not to mention, the mind-boggling fact of being comfortably perched along the neat spreading of your thighs for his slimmer legs to settle upon, intimately hook themselves around your hips like a delicate lifeline solely intended to be unperturbed for the remainder of this intimate encounter. And no, this isn’t remotely on purpose, goddamn it—get your filthy head out of the gutter, you pervasive freak. It’s not like that, okay? Just. . . give him a moment, pretty please.

And perhaps at best, a generous minute you’d so graciously offer the blonde to discreetly adjust the sweltering heat that’s come forth to prettily stain his face in a similar crimson manner along with its unending path downwards and—well, y’know. . . below, there. Hardening cock certainly stirring with peeked interest at the subtle press of your laidback figure securely held against his own, shit. . . admittedly, smaller one. Sometimes, the considerable size difference shared amongst you two really does get to him in an albeit, fucking degenerative way. Enough so to inwardly curse at how utterly unhelpful that provoking detail was to the pulsing blood swiftly rushing down to his impatient length—hah.

Fuck, there’s no way this is realistically happening, right—but, it is, dammit. All due to prideful banter that may or may not have unreasonably translated to blatant flirting between you both despite his general lack of interest to other surrounding assholes slightly older than him in age.

Listen, you’re just tolerable enough where he doesn’t inevitably blow a sensitive nerve in return to some mild pestering on your end while simultaneously beating his dumb, idiotic self for regarding you in such high esteem—and yeah, that does include the sheer awed admiration visibly apparent in each of his movements. Intricately foolish in every one of his subtle gestures in hopes of successfully imitating your usual mannerisms, coincidentally catch your straying gaze to finally rest upon his uncharacteristically starving own.

Hell, the fucker even went through the irritating trouble of having the delicate muscle of his slippery, pink tongue wholly pierced for the sake of you possibly taking notice of it. Gleaming bud prettily flashing back towards your reflected, half-lidded gaze partially hidden by fluttering lashes, boringly snuffing in light interest at the sudden sight of it all. Taking notice, huh? That, you offhandly did, but merely for a few meddlesome seconds before eventually sinking back into your settled routine, as per usual. Well, said system of vaguely appreciating the sheer extended lengths he pathetically forces himself to endure in an unending pursuit of altering his appearance befitting of the ‘wilder’ types you habitually go for—due to something along the lines of, what’d you say again? Oh yeah, ‘they’re funnier to mess with when they lose their tempers, is all’—sickening asshole that you are, and still, remaining his unchanging crush nonetheless.

Although, whether or not he truthfully vocalizes that childish adoration akin to how a little brother would towards his elder one—is probably not ever fucking happening. As he still retains some semblance of pride to selfishly keep to himself, too. Don’t you forget that either.

Which is reasonably why despite the lurking remnants of embarrassment sourly creeping within the tensed coils of his tummy, a tightly-knitted cousin of shame, mind you. There’s still indisputable trepidation that traverses throughout the length of his shivering, curved spine; deepens his barely concealed smugness at having you like this. Because finally—fucking finally, has your shortly lived attention lastly settled upon the blonde’s awaiting own as purely intended.

‘Course, knowing your blunt self that either chooses not to attentively read the tense atmosphere currently residing within the spacious room or being merely oblivious to it, altogether—you eventually break that pleasurable silence with a singular insistent reminder or rather, a query to snap him out of this shit show. Ah, always the annoyingly persistent one when it comes to waiting for him to defy your set expectations, aren’t ya?

“Something the matter?” Sweetened voice of yours seamlessly passing through the foggy murk of his momentary daze by the slightest tilt of your head in a questioning motion. Still, remaining conscious that there’d be no such thing as worrisome concern on your part considering the utter bastard that you openly are and, yet—the persistent indication that this will be. . . obviously, nothing more than some meaningless wager whose sole intent is to be ultimately fulfilled in the end, leaves an exceptionally sour taste in his closed mouth.

Yeah, something’s the matter, alright—and he’s just about to recklessly give in to that sugary tone lest it weren’t for the automatic switch in your previously gentle inquiry, abruptly interrupting him from slipping out some mumbled confession in turn.

“Say, are you actually chickening out on me now? Is that it, Ney-Ney? Cat got your tongue and you actually can’t do it after all, can you?” Hah—again with that shitty nickname that bears no remote significance besides literally getting on his fucking nerves whenever, which you do impressively possess the sheer knack to repeatedly do so. Uh-huh, he’s gotta hand it to y’a.

It’s like the second you tentatively part your open lips to randomly speak—does his incessant yearning to restlessly press his starving lips against yours immediately shift instead, to this seething urge to meanly tug upon the strands of your hair like an angry kitten scratching at its owner. Oh, way to ruin the goddamn mood, dumbass.

“Will you shut up? I’m tryna concentrate here, but your fuckin’ mouth keeps on talking and talking and—ah, hey! Can you quit it and keep still for just one second or does the thought of sharing spit with your shitty underclassman actually turns you on that much?” Perverted bastard. Blearily aware of his shoddy excuse at some backhanded lie or whatever, as though you wouldn’t easily see through those tactics you’ve come to know of. Particularly becoming defensive once he’s ceremoniously brought back into a difficult corner and shit, you just can’t help but to gleefully tease him for it, can you?

Noooo, of fuckin’ course not! Must be solely imprinted in your bastardized nature to be so thoroughly insufferable at this point, huh? So much so that he’d desire nothing more than to tortuously crane your neck further to then—give forth to a salivating glimpse of your surely vulnerable neck for his glinting fangs to dreadfully sink into, greedily paint its pristine surface a melding velvet instead as pure revenge.

Because that’s entirely what it is, not some other bizarre, obscure fetish of this mean delinquent. Poorly hidden away in the withering depths of his unexplored memories or y’know. . . numerous times he’s come close to almost slobbering all over your veiny dick along with a generous amount of drooling, translucent spit to coat it with. And shit—he’s predictably derailing once more without meaning to.

Judging by the molten pupils that steadily expand in face of this less than desired situation, at most. Evasively trail towards whatever seemingly unimportant spot is etched amongst the boring surface of your bedroom’s blank walls in a futile attempt to soothe the pumping blood presently coursing throughout his thin veins. More or less, yeah. That’s all there is to it, so can you like, eventually cease with the constant staring on your end or something?

“I think you’re lying.” Unexpectedly bringing him out of his overly distracting fantasy for a stuttering second by flashing that signature grin of yours that’s only seeming to be confidently growing by the second, and—double fuck! You’re totally seeing through his barely concealed ploys, aren’t you? “I think you actually can’t do it and you’re just tryna play coy with me right now.”

“Wha—?“ Unsure wether to plainly deny your unjust statement that may or may not unfortunately ring true, regardless of if he painfully insists the opposite or to take actual offense at the likely suggestion that he doesn’t have the fucking balls to go through with it. Sure, sure! He totally can!! Albeit, a minute was all he scarcely asked for—despite it being way more than a single minute having passed, so don’t trample on the boggling nerves occupying the swelling of his drying, bobbing throat.

But before then, your indecently mocking voice somehow slips past the aforementioned comment Whitney was oh, so ready to renounce—because that’s all you ever do, managing to conveniently earn the upper hand in either situation, no matter the contextual circumstances at play. And damn you for it, too.

“See, what I think, honestly—I think you’re nothing more than a pussy who’s all talk and no bite, really. Too fucking dumb to even properly lie to me about it, too. Cuz’ the thing is, you actually haven’t kissed anyone for real yet, have you?” Inwardly flinching at the abrupt scorning on your part since sure, you’re one mean asshole sometimes, specially with others hopelessly clinging to your sides—but, not with him, no. Preferring to play the part of the considerate, older brother figure that’ll happily follow along to his unsatisfied whims.

So, strictly speaking, being unusually harsh on him without any spoken warning shouldn’t be so disgustingly hot to him nor heavily affect the thrumming blood rushing below to his leaking cock. Further dampen the already present, sticky stain against the now tarnished fabric of his trousers, but fucking shit—does it so. Like those untrained masochists, better put freaks, he regularly bullies on the daily, savagely snickers at for squirming beneath the hardened heel of his shoe. Idiots, is what they are.

Yeah. God, it’s so utterly, fucking filthy.

And funnily enough, here he is—shamefully experiencing that same warmth of degeneracy for being caught in his puzzling act, yet simultaneously thrilled at the various consequences that await for doing so.

“I don’t—“ Fuck, fuck, fuuuuckkkk!!! Mere sentences shouldn’t be humiliatingly failing on him now and neither should the withering breath pitifully falling forth from between his lips left agape—be this fucking telling of the unforeseen reality at bay. “. . . —I don’t know what you’re talking about, really—“

“Sure, you don’t. Then, you must also not have a single goddamn clue as to why you’re leaking like a fucking girl all over my lap right now too, huh?” Instinctually knowing better than to wearily spare a glance downwards since, well. . . yeah, about now—your not-so-precious jeans are notably soaked in the melding evidence of his unspoken arousal if nothing else, but did you fuckin’ have to truly word it like that either? Doesn’t necessarily lessen the sheer absurdity of the unbecoming predicament the delinquent practically pranced himself into like he hilariously owned the place or something.

Unfortunately, here’s to learning the harsh narrative that things, when seamlessly played out in the narrow space of your head—don’t invariably turn out the exact same as foreboding reality itself, do they?

Dumbass, he should’ve seen it coming the second he carelessly chose to lie to your face to begin with.

“Fuck, it’s not like tha—“ And there goes his irreparable mistake altogether, knowing fully well that it is indeed like that, if nothing else. Since it’s always been, every single time—without a literal, precious fuckin’ second to scarcely spare—you, you, and you solely. Plus sincerely speaking, he would’ve undeniably chosen for it not to be this way instead, y’know??

Not have his usually unaffected body so effortlessly react in face of your own, whether it’d be the discreet breaths of yours teasingly brushing along the rim of his blazing ears whenever you get the distracting urge to whisper some unimportant gossip during class.

Truly, do you feel the absolute need to remain so unbearably close in his personal space at times? To the point, it has him dizzyingly peering downwards to his clenched fists that greet him in turn. Too goddamn cowardly to steal a glimpse from below lest he realized the shockingly near proximity you’re both collectively sharing, without you bearing the slightest bother, too—and automatically curses as sweating palms land upon your chest and has you barely stumbling back. Cuz’ shit, the blonde’s downright terrified of the increasingly hasty beat of his annoyingly straining heart stuttering against the firmness of his ribbed cage. Fuck. . . it might as well be leaping out at a certain point, although he acknowledges he appears more like some dreadful lunatic if he were to audibly yell at some minor touches.

Reminiscing upon such pointless bullshit won’t necessarily get him anywhere and it’s not like he does it willingly either, no—not when your hand is now currently gripping at the shape of his gaping jaw. Actually, when the hell did you supposedly manage to get ahold of him like this when he wasn’t in the brightest of moments to do so? Momentarily caught off guard by the sudden press of your fingertips digging in the softened surface of his flesh, albeit with no sense of care in the fucking world as you habitually do with the majority of your things. Which, shit—doesn’t mean he’s the equivalent of your outright property since if that were the case, he’d most likely blow an imploding fuse as he knows it, and you certainly do know it, too.

As that was the initial plan presently swirling throughout the mumbling mess of the bully’s mind—only to be swiftly interrupted by a lingering kiss your. . . shit, annoyingly soft lips tenderly placed amongst the crimson hue that is his heated face—too dizzyingly close for his liking, near the mere corner of his pursed mouth. Frankly speaking, he has no clue what to make of this other than the likely scenario that you’re borderline amused by this and fuckin’ toying with him like your other various stress balls, as per usual.

“Earth to Whitney. I’m still tryna’ speak to you, but I guess you’re too far gone thinking about us sucking on each other’s tongues or something like that, am I right?” Drawling out lazily as though, you’d bear no semblance of interest for this little game of cat-and-mouse you collectively play on the daily basis and if not for that slight, adorning glint in your gaze—maybe he would’ve stupidly fallen for that easily concealed facade altogether, too. But no, he does know it’s a selfish thing of yours, or rather. . . some intricate fetish would be a better word to scarcely describe this sheer high you get from witnessing the gritting of his teeth, fluttering eyes narrowing in mere irritation. To say, it’s progressively building into something else until he’s undeniably pissed at your continuous mockery—that being, what others around you call ‘salacious flirting’ or something like that. Sheesh, he holds no importance for random spectators at your school besides you two.

Uh-huh, isn’t that what they refer to it as? ‘The boy likes to tug at the girl’s pigtails to draw her attention, after all!’—yet, he’s no squealing girl swatting at your insistent touches, is he? Fuck no. Truly, it’s nothing like that. However, sometimes with the way you constantly pinch and prod along the bruised surface of his perched figure atop your own, patiently await his expected curses like an anticipating dog wanting to be scolded. . . Well, can’t say it looks like anything else other than apparent sexual tension. Unsure whether or not he should be seldomly pleased at that somewhat late realization or temporarily concerned as to how you treat your usual girlfriends—or boyfriends, sometimes, that come and go like the blowing wind. Not to say, he treats any of his disposable sluts any better, either.

Eh, shit. No time to necessarily delve further in something he isn’t meant to supposedly poke at, is there? Yeah, cuz’ frankly speaking—he’s always been the goddamn impulsive type that’ll do as he pleases, expectant of yours truly to follow along to his baseless whims.

“Let’s quit with the bullshit already and do it, I don’t got all day to be sitting here on your lap like your prissy bitches.” Yup, yup. Carelessly ignoring the minor and important aspect that he cleared up his busying schedule regardless of his friend’s muttered pleas—going on and on about something at the shady pub that’s down the farthest street in this shit town. Oh right, he didn’t remotely listen to what those fuckers had to honestly say so, here goes that. Discreetly swishing at the messied strands of platinum blonde hair partially obscuring his vision, huffing at its burdensome concealment until he’s face to face with you. Almost clumsily bumping the curvature of your two noses together in an impatient haste to interlock each other’s lips in a. . . what others call it, huh; shitty, goddamn kiss.

However, rather uncharacteristically—he silently waits instead, hazy pupils traversing lower to where your curled up lips are solely a melding breath away from his dumbly hanging own. Maintaining eye contact like this. . . till your foreheads are nearly pressed along one another like this, inwardly shuddering at your unwavering focus upon his straying eyes. Gosh, do you seriously wanna fuckin’ do this with your eyes open or something, like a freak would??

“If you say so, Ney-Ney. I’m sure you wouldn’t wanna be kissing a boy either, huh. I’ll try to make it nice for you as best I can.” Ever the oh, so charming type that tries to accommodate to the blonde’s ill tempered tantrums, aren’t ya? Uttering so forth in an unspoken promise even if actually, he wouldn’t wanna be sharing spit with anyone else other than you. Whether he ever eventually admits it or not is an entirely different story, though.

Wordlessly so, he lets you do as you joyously please, at your own steady pace—‘course, which is to trace the softened pad of your cushiony fingertip along the sharp line of his tightening jaw. For it to ultimately land to where his chin awaits your yearning touches, brief moments of lingering contact to subconsciously gawk at in desolate secrecy. Y’know, how a drooling puppy would when awaiting its sweet treat; which he’s not, at all—no. Especially not your questionable pokes as you childishly peer to the side, rub soothing circles across the nape of his tensed neck as if to ease him into this, all the while idly playing with the shortened strands of hair settled there.

“Slacken your jaw for me, will you?” You gently order in a. . . shit, soft lull and he doesn’t like to be commanded around neither, but he calmly does so regardless. Solely to get it over with, nothing else extra that’s simmering deeply in the background. Especially not the unspoken crush he withholds for you whether you’re both mutually conscious of it or not, well—regarding how exceptionally cunning you tend to be that you can seamlessly read through him like a tattered heap of pages thrown atop your lap—yeah, maybe it’d be arrogantly dumb of him to assume otherwise, huh.

Plus it’s not like the delinquent here, is particularly used to his usually pursed lips wholly parting in an expectant nature for yours to plant featherlight kisses against. Since they’re generally brought up in a dismissive scowl for all to wearily witness—either when passing him in the hallways as his snarky laughter resounds with each echoed step, or the occasional glimpse of his shadowed figure sneaking between deserted alleyways, is seen.

Which, he would’ve indeed protested in stingy opposition at your insistent need to meticulously comb through the glistening locks of his hair. Sure, if it didn’t feel so damn good. . . to have your cupping palm carefully easing him into this, gradually melting in the imprinted shape of your entangled limbs settled together, atop this pillowed bed. One used thumb lightly nudging across the pouty flesh of his bottom lip in a silent gesture of the familiarity both shared between the two of you as your face nears closer to his. Intimately inspecting at the accumulated saliva that drips forth from the other’s open maw, nearly suckling at the intruding digit that is the continuous rub of your curled finger pressed across his drooling tongue. ‘Course, you gotta get a whole mouthfeel of its heated sensation before ultimately—diving in, don’t you?

“Yeah, there we go. . . You’ll be a good boy for me, won’t you—pretty boy?” It’s meant to have him inwardly seething towards this blatantly obvious taunt of yours, openly scorn at the unwanted nickname he’d like to jab at until that irritating grin of yours disappears altogether.

And shit, did he really want to—nothing more than that, honestly. But, he’s immediately interrupted from doing so once you’re ceremoniously covering the cushiony surface of untouched lips with yours, instead. Utterly pissed at himself with how easily it eases up from the experienced brush of your tongue inviting itself in its warmth depths. Those same arms that’d stubbornly stick to his sides like it’d never leave such a place either; now finding themselves to be clutching at the wrinkled fabric of your shirt draped along your reassuring back. Instinctually arching in your enclosed ones in return, loosely held around the width of his waist to absently pinch at in humming thought.

Fuck, fuck. . . fucking shiiittt. Was a kiss always supposed to be this mind-numbingly good that he’s out here losing all utter senses besides taste and touch? Neither struggling against the sudden weight of his eyelids shutting themselves in favour of greeting pitch darkness—goddamn it, not if it’s your mouth is perfectly made for his to mold against.

Even more so as an unwanted keen resembling that of a trembling prey, just about ready to be wholly devoured by the predator looming above its eventual demise—slips past previously sealed lips. Ugh, dammit. . . and here he is, upper lip wobbling in response to the added stimulation of your slippery tongue sliding against his own. Nearly wavering over the tempting option to hurriedly scratch along the delicate skin of your neck and—ah, speaking of, he’s gotta have a fixation with that bobbing throat of yours or something, shit. In some vain attempt to signal the sheer suffocation overtaking him from having his mouth crudely stuffed in repeated fucks of your impatient own, practically devouring his breathy moans in musing delight.

Accompanied by shuddering breaths collectively intermingling into one steady beat that’s bound to hurriedly quicken if he somehow keeps this one up, stretches it any further lest he doesn’t obviously get it over with soon. Which is the actual prime objective here! Don’t get him wrong! The sole plan, here—he’s intricately envisioned in the deep receding of his mind is to prove you wrong of his so-called loss, either way.

Quite literally, if it weren’t for the intolerable amount of pride residing within the swelling of his heaving chest—caught up against your own effortlessly casing over him; he’d have already done so, by now, without the slightest trace of hesitation.

But, y’know. . . It’s proving to be quite difficult for no reason whatsoever to necessarily pull away as he’s originally intended to do so. Partially disgusted by his own weakness when it comes to you and ‘course, it has to be solely you to wholly encase him like this. Whether or not it’s through plain obliviousness of his muddled protests swiftly concealed by your lips covering his own—or maybe, the sheer stubbornness of the mere possibility of letting him out of your sight. Either way, the numerous kitten scratches he’s subconsciously leaving along your treaded skin isn’t letting up itself.

Because even as he somehow manages to draw further backwards, your mouth instinctually follows his in return. As though the absurd thought of him teetering away from your emboldened grasp isn’t one to remotely ponder upon due to its ridiculousness, and neither is the way you both ultimately fall onto the bouncing mattress in a heaping mess with a resounding oomph! Although, he’s suspecting it was his quick-witted gesture of dragging you downwards—to where he’s predictably atop of, that landed you two in this precarious position.

“M-Motherfucker, you didn’t even give me a chance to catch my breath.” It’s rather an uncharacteristically petulant complaint than it is a fitting scolding on his part. Peering from underneath messied hangs that do oh, so well to conceal those narrowing eyes of his when he desires to. Yeah, they’re especially useful when it comes to evading your zeroing gaze hovering right above his own—like you’re actually surprised he hasn’t attempted a punch in your stirring guts for suddenly taking the lead like that.

“Hmm, was the kiss that unpleasant for you?” Pouting sorrowfully in response to the aforementioned statement like such a thing would potentially hurt your veiled sentiments, altogether. ‘Course, he knows better than to ceremoniously cave in to that pitiful nuzzle you offer along the crook of his neck since the thing is, your amusement of things comes first and foremost.

“Eh, don’t know. Why don’t y’a take another try at it and I’ll tell you how much you suck at it then.” It’s a tainted falsehood, at most—however, for the sly grin of pearly teeth flashing in your direction and the renewed sense of competition that swells within your chest at the provoking taunt. Well, he supposes that it’ll be worth the excuse so that his tongue better remembers the melding taste of your own upon one another.

And maybe, he’ll garner a measly chance to actually win this time. Rarely catch you off guard during one of those make-out sessions that are bound to grow more frequent, one way or another.

Though, it’s unlikely. Huh. You never do give him the chance to do so when it comes to your bets, do you?

Fucking prick.

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ getting your apologies to jake

would you kiss me? | sim jaehyun x male!reader

pairing: jake x male!reader

genre: fluff

words: 2.5k

notes: HE'S BACK!! honestly wrote this down because I was feeling hella lovey dovey towards jaehyun man ... hope you guys like it!!

Bad. This is bad.

Why do you suddenly feel guilty? Of all the people you could feel guilty for, it’s that airhead jock who has been pestering your head ever since that day at the school fair.

“It’s literally been a week.” Your best friend, Sunoo, perched his head on his knuckles and took a good look at your currently miserable disposition. “I can feel the negative vibes just emanating from deep within that soul of yours.”

You shot a weird look at Sunoo, who smiled slyly back at you. “Sunoo, you’re not a witch.”

“Might as well be!” He rolled his eyes, flapping his hands dramatically in the air. “I want to know why my best friend is all bothered by... someone like Jake!”

You shoved your hands over Sunoo's mouth to quiet him. “Shh!” You raised your finger quickly.

“MGLPHHRPMHRLPMHR!!!” Sunoo muffled through your fingers, but within seconds, he inhaled deeply and threw your hands off his mouth. “UGH! Your hands are NOT good teethers, okay?”

You tilted your head at his remark. “Teethers? Are you a child?” You giggled.

“MY POINT ?!?” Sunoo raised his brows. “Is that you can take your hands back away from my face! I don’t care if we’re besties—THAT stays OFF my face.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Sunoo's outburst, though he couldn’t ignore it either.

“See, there’s that smile!” Sunoo cheered for a moment. “All it takes is for you to smear my chapstick, eugh.”

You took a gentle pause before bearing that unfathomable gaze yet again.

“It’s just... I told him he was a—”

“A weirdo. Right?”

“Y-yeah.”

Sunoo looked at you, searching for the perfect sentence to speak at that moment. “It happens. Sometimes we blurt out things. And I know you; you’re very blunt about stuff. Can’t help yourself even if you tried.”

“Like you?”

“Like yo—EUGH!” Sunoo playfully shoved you. “Listen to me!”

Propping up your posture, this time, you looked at Sunoo with a serious gaze.

“He probably felt... nothing about it.” Sunoo advised gently. “Really.”

You sighed, feeling neither comforted nor pacified.

“I know Jake.” Sunoo smiled. “He’s a bit of a loser, but he never fails to give up the fight. He’s a captain for a reason.”

You heard your best friend's advice yet could only dwell on the scenarios playing in your head. Sunoo sighed heavily, knowing you were still overthinking.

“Look, if you’re REALLY bothered by it...” Sunoo thought aloud. “Go talk to him, no?”

You looked at Sunoo, incredulous.

“Me? Going to—”

“DO NOT give me that crap. You heard me.” He rolled his eyes.

You scratched your head as you pondered. Can you really toughen up and apologize for words you had thrown away? Or would you live with the thought that hypothetically, Jake might be resenting you because of what you said?

All these thoughts flooded your mind, troubling you as you navigated the best way to prove you were truly sorry.

“Is this really the only way?” You spoke to yourself as you entered the sports wing.

You were in your campus's sports wing, beating yourself up with words and lines to say to that airhead—towards Jake. You felt sorry, and if you were in his shoes, you would’ve dug a grave for whoever told you something so heinous. At least, that’s where your imagination led you.

“He’s not gonna throw me out, is he...” You asked yourself, still pacing around the building.

Silence surrounded you at that moment. It was already nighttime, and the students occupying the space had likely gone home.

“They did say he stays late... but am I too late?” You continued talking as if you had someone with you. This was definitely just a way to cope with the loneliness of being in a big building at night.

As you looked around, an ominous feeling crept at the back of your mind. Of course, this place gave you goosebumps. It was cliché, but who says a quiet building at night can't be creepy?

Walking around, you finally reached that one room you were hoping to see. Or not. It depended on whether you were actually looking forward to seeing Jake inside—

“... is Locker Room D.” You heard a booming voice coated with a thick layer of echoing bass down the hall.

Feeling your legs stiffen gradually, you tried hard to hide behind the large door, waiting to see if anyone was there with you. If it was Jake, you would’ve stayed put until you were set to speak to him. If it was anyone else, though... you had to run.

Why? Because it might just be a completely different situation. Thieves, perpetrators ... it could be anyone.

“D? No wonder they get quick baths. They have the power showers over here.” Another heckling voice echoed through the hall. It was clear that it wasn’t just Jake or anyone you knew.

“Not the point, Trell. We have to get that losers' lucky charm.” The loud booming voice you heard earlier stepped closer.

“You still believe in lucky charms?”

“Jake hasn’t lost any match since he got here.”

They... don't sound nice, do they?

“We just gotta see what makes him tick.” The loud voice expressed his thoughts. “I can’t keep losing to an amateur.”

"He's been captain for two years."

"I've been kicking goals for my whole life, dimwit." The louder voice sounded really agitated. Particularly with Jake's skills.

Clearly, this wasn’t on your agenda today. An attempted break-in for... a lucky charm? It wasn’t even that funny, but you couldn’t help but laugh. Why would these soccer players rely on something so trivial? And why did it matter if it made someone good or not? You just couldn’t wrap your head around that thought.

“Pfft...”

Shoot.

“Huh?” The larger voice turned his head toward the door.

“You!” The other voice shouted as he saw your figure.

With your nerves racking, you flicked on your flashlight and pointed it toward the two guys in front of you.

“AAACK!” The bigger guy flinched as you aimed the light directly at his eyes.

“Hey!” The smaller guy grabbed your arm. In your surprise, you could’ve sworn you screamed loud enough for every student in the building to hear. With a blunt hit of the flashlight’s end, you struck the smaller guy, and he winced at your action.

“Dammit, blinding me and shit!” The bigger guy stumbled backward.

“Dash for it, Bush! Now!” The smaller one pulled the big guy out of your sight as they ran away. You could only watch their shadows fade into the darkness. A loud sigh escaped your lips as you slumped onto the ground.

“AW!” You yelped as you slumped awkwardly. You scraped your back against the hard edge of the locker bench and hit your head on a nearby locker.

Itching in pain, you rubbed your back gently. You gritted your teeth before remembering what you had come for.

“KAMCHAGIYA!” You heard a loud voice behind you, only to find the most unexpected sight of your life.

It was Jake, rubbing a fresh towel on his wet hair—complemented by a half-naked towel tuck, showcasing the proud figure he worked so hard for.

“W-wha—” You felt an embarrassing warmth wash over you. You quickly covered your cheeks with both hands.

“You?!” Jake stood frozen, realizing who you were in an instant.

The silence between the two of you was palpable. No words were exchanged at that moment. Nothing but the soft hum of the air conditioning and the thoughts lingering in both your heads.

For some time now, Jake had often been lost in his thoughts, pondering that particular day at the kissing booth. He’d felt something shift in him since that kiss. It was confusing, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once. He hadn’t expected to feel so drawn to you, and now, standing in front of you, he couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability.

He always admired you from afar, being the acting president and caring for everyone who needed help inside the school - he just wasn't expecting to fall this hard for you. So hard he could practically die from embarrassment just having every type of thought about you.

“I—” You tried to stand up immediately, still rubbing your back from earlier. “I came here and saw people!”

Catching his attention, Jake walked closer to you ever so slowly, his heart racing.

“People?” Jake continued to rub the towel on his head. “Those weren’t just my imagination earlier?”

“The what?”

“The screams? Little ‘Ahs’ and some big shrieks sprinkled in between.”

“Oh...” You followed his train of thought. “Yeah.”

Jake then walked past you and headed to the other side of the aisle, opening his locker. “What was it about? I wasn’t aware there would be people here. I always close down the gym during this time.”

As he changed, Jake couldn’t help but admire how the moonlight wrapped around your face, casting a soft glow that highlighted your features. He’d never seen you like this—vulnerable and anxious, yet determined.

You were captivating. He was smitten.

Then, memories of that kiss filled his head, making him flinch internally. He hoped you didn’t regret it. It was a moment he cherished, and he wanted to explore what it meant for both of you.

“ACHK!” Thinking about the same incident, you couldn't help but flinch at the thought.

Jake looked back at you, his heart racing as he applied some cream to his face. “Huh?”

“I— I mean!” You coughed. “They were sneaking in here, and all I heard was them talking about... taking some lucky charm from you... I think?”

Jake took his time changing into his clean clothes, then looked slowly toward you, curious about your reaction. “Lucky charm?”

You paused, then tried to giggle. “Y-yeah. I mean... who still has lucky charms, right? Rabbit's foot, four-leaf clovers—”

“It's probably my sneakers.” Jake spoke plainly, the sincerity in his voice surprising even himself. He noticed how your eyes lit up with intrigue, and it gave him a rush of confidence.

“Your... sneakers?” You walked closer to him, and he could see the curiosity in your eyes.

“Yeah. My lucky sneaks.” Jake smiled. “That's what I call them. Had them since I got here.”

“O-oh...” You nodded, and Jake felt a swell of affection for you. This made him all the more guilty about what he had done.

“Here they are.” He bent down to bring out what he was talking about—his lucky sneakers. It was a rugged pair that had already suffered some wear, yet somehow felt cared for, with Jake even patting the shoes affectionately.

Looking at them, you seemed to ponder deeply, and he couldn’t help but wonder what you were thinking.

“It’s just a rugged pair, you must be thinking.” Jake smiled. “Yeah?”

“Hm.” You considered it. “But there has to be more to it. Someone gave it to you?”

“Right!” Jake beamed at your answer. “My mom got me these. She said she wanted me to wear them when I got onto the soccer team.”

The warmth in your expression made Jake’s heart flutter. It felt good to share this piece of himself with you, and he could see the softening of your demeanor as well.

“She’s a riot, right? Clearly, these aren’t for playing out in the field.” He chuckled. “But they feel hella more comfortable than my other shoes, so I wear them like that instead.”

The silence enveloped you once more. Fidgeting with the flashlight in your hand, you couldn’t take it anymore and spoke your mind.

“I’m sorry.” You both spoke simultaneously.

“Huh?” “What?”

“I was just gonna—” “Why were you—”

“Okay, enough.” You raised your hand. “Why would you say that?” You looked at Jake, and he felt a rush of vulnerability wash over him.

Jake ran his hand through his hair again, trying to steady himself. “I made you feel uncomfortable, right?” Jake glanced away, his expression growing serious. “The kiss... I was a bit too pushy for that.”

You looked bewildered, and he felt a pang of guilt.

An apology. He was apologizing. Of all the people who could’ve given it, it was him. And for a stupid reason too. For a kiss.

For a kiss that had meant so much to him.

“It... wasn’t that bad.” You stumbled over your words, almost shyly.

Jake's eyes shot up in your direction, surprise laid on his features. “You’re saying—”

“I mean!” You tried to defend yourself. “It could’ve been better, sure, but—”

Jake’s eyes widened, and a smirk crept onto his sly face. He couldn’t help but feel a rush of hope at your words.

“Look, I was going to apologize for saying you’re a weirdo, okay?” You sighed quickly and fixed your falling hair. “Because I didn’t think too much of it and I realized I wasn't in a position to say that about someone. That, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Why?” Jake asked, genuinely curious.

Right. Why were you concerned about his feelings?

“W-why?” You stammered.

“Yeah.” Jake smiled again, his heart racing. “Why would you care if I what, resented you over a throwaway line?”

“B-because...” You struggled to articulate your thoughts, and he could see the conflict in your eyes.

Jake just looked at you, eyes pleading for an honest answer.

“Because I didn’t want you to get the impression that I hate you.” You spoke with conviction, precise and to the point.

Jake smiled back, genuinely happy. “I wasn’t going to,” he exclaimed with enthusiasm. “In fact, I was still going to pursue you—no matter what.”

“But… I’m a guy,” you said, trying to relay your concern.

Jake tilted his head to the side, his smile widening. “And? Do I give off that impression? I’m not ignorant, am I?”

You looked away from him, overwhelmed. It felt surreal.

“Come to our game tomorrow.” His unique voice rang through your ears.

You turned your head toward him, shooting a confused look. “Huh? You mean the big qualifying match tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Jake nodded, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. “Please?”

You looked away for a bit, while Jake bore a look of both fear and hope.

“If you don’t come, no big deal.” Jake mumbled. “I can stop doing this, and you can go back to being a good president.”

You fiddled with your fingers, your hesitation palpable.

“And if you do, well...” Jake smiled, his heart racing as he leaned in slightly. “I’m assuming you’re interested.”

You couldn’t help but blush at that, warmth overtaking your cheeks. If you were in a different setting—like a sunny park, perhaps—you would’ve definitely been beet red in front of him.

“So ... you don’t hate me.” You tried to maintain your composure.

“No.” Jake put his hands in his pockets, closing the distance between you. “You could say I’m liking you even more now.”

Bad. This is bad.

You’re actually falling in love.

HEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! THE BOY!!!! also tagging @kaiyunsim again so they see this JKASHFJKSHFJKF

hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

my masterlist!

made by writhyv.

[holyguardian]

Aerith immediately nodded to his question, without any hesitation. "I do." she confirmed, smiling at Somnus before she glanced back to her own favourite wall. It wasn't uncommon, to be drawn to one particular area here. It was like... a silent call, that only your soul could hear.

There was a quiet comfort, resonating with the past. Her hope was to one day leave her stave behind... that someone she would never meet in life would take up her weapon for a just cause.

Then Somnus uttered a careful sentence. One that reinforced her own wishes. What he heard was true, their people were once a great civilisation — and now their grand city was occupied mostly by humans. The Cetra had been shattered, splintered off into all different directions, some migrated across the seas and some hid in their most ancient temples.

"I don't know." Aerith answered honestly, looking down at her own hands for a moment. "What happened to the Cetra... it was more than an empire coming to an end. Our people faced devastation that drove us to the brink. Our people splintered in so many different ways."

Her attention shifted to where Somnus stood. "The rumour that my family is the last isn't true at all. We're... openly Cetra. We don't hide it. Then there's the healing, it was always a rarer magic, even among Cetra. I think that's why a lot of people are mistaken about us..."

She gestured then, gently towards some humble farm tools. "You witnessed a fraction of the farmlands for yourself. I think even that glimpse is enough to tell you that there are more of us out there who practice gentle magic, who are in tune with the Lifestream."

Not a shining beginning… he did not even nee that at all. But Somnus could not deny its felt a little strange that here it was not even known he was already married to Aerith. This felt… as if he should thread more carefully. Maybe there was no intention of making him ‘official’ at all here.

Years of being around snake sat the court had taught him that. Though would Queen Ifalna really be one of those? He hoped not… no. No that could not be.

Well. The way Aerith at least talked, this was not on the menu at all. She explained things to him that felt so intimate to the royal family of the farmlands. Tehri deepest secrets. Somnus doubted a lot of people were granted access to these halls. And it filled him with a kind of amazement, trying to imagine all these past lives and legends, who had held these materias, who had wielded these weapons. Had there been epic battles and fights? Amazement and humility. How long had a scribe mulled over some of these tomes, being far wiser than they could ever hope to be?

It was as if he could see some of these past Cetras, how they had held their contribution to these treasures one last time.

Even Aerith had had to prove herself, so when she mentioned carrying such a weapon, Somnus’ head immediately whipped around to her. Had he understood her right?

One of these…

“You think so?”

There was little left of the young man, who claimed he would lay waste to the armies of Jacob in no time. This was… different. This was so much bigger than any of them. Somnus watched the particles of dust dancing in front of them where the sun drew bright lines coming from the coloured glass windows above.

Walking on along the corridors between endless libraries, Somnus mustered each thing quietly. The swirling magic bottled up. The little fine jewellery adorned with ancient spells.

“The Cetra… there are not many left of them, from what I heard…”, Somnus tried to breach that subject. Knowing it was delicate. There had been horrible catastrophes happening in the past… maybe they were the reason why the Queen had known no limits in shielding her own children.

“…how many are there actually?”

[maxdibert]

Well, you know, it would actually be cool if they did a Harry Potter reboot, and obviously, all the Marauders should be white, as it is in the canon. And, as happens in the canon, James and Sirius should be portrayed as abusive rich kids. It should be made crystal clear—since it's a series and there's time to delve into it—just how terrible their attack on Severus was. And Severus's past should also be properly depicted, not like in the movies.

I want all of this because I'm sure that if these things are shown graphically, fans of the Marauders—especially of those nonexistent fanon Marauders who try to push the idea that a group of bullying harassers were actually icons of diversity and champions against the heteronorm—will have to lower their heads and shut up. Because if they dare to keep whitewashing such problematic behavior, everyone will come down on them. So honestly, I really hope it turns out like that. And let them deal with it.

[snowflake194]

As the Sky Split Open (~1300 words) x

“What are these?”

It’s been raining all week, the sky stretched grey and endless, and Eddie knows it’s just a matter of time before it starts to again. But right now—right now it’s not.

It’s not raining when Eddie takes the baggie of baked something from Buck and turns it over in his hands and so if the universe is giving him this small moment of peace before the storm, he’s going to take it.

“Chocolate chip peanut butter Snickerdoodles,” Buck tells him proudly before turning a little sheepish when Eddie gives him a look and then adds: “Jee came up with the recipe a few weeks ago. It’s actually not that bad. Surprisingly.”

And that’s just—well. It can’t be bad, can it?

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Buck shrugs effortlessly and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. “Try not to devour them on the way, though. Save some for Chris. And—and text. When you get there.”

Eddie inhales sharply through his nose, frozen in it for a moment too long, so he might as well take it to make sure his early breakfast doesn’t spill out onto the asphalt when he eventually parts his lips and lets out a choked, “Yeah. I will. Thank you.”

“You said that already,” Buck’s brow furrows slightly and Eddie suddenly has the very real and very terrifying urge to let it anyway.

Because it’s impossible to look at him. At the bright blue of his best friend’s eyes that are daring to bore a hole in Eddie’s soul even on the greyest of days like this one.

“No, I mean—” he swallows instead, fingers tightening around the bag as he lets something else out: “Thank you. For everything. Honestly, I don’t know where I’d be right now without you. This move probably would’ve happened before I even finished my probie year.”

He laughs and it’s a self deprecating thing but it’s also the only kind he has right now.

“Yeah, same.” It’s quiet when Buck says it, not as self deprecating as Eddie was expecting but maybe just as honest. “I mean not with the move but um…”

He looks down, shifting on his feet, and Eddie is caught in this quiet moment before the storm, unable to do anything but watch it come closer and see the way Buck licks his lips, turning the words over in this overthinker brain of his before he lets out: “Can I say something? Since we’re here and… Can I say something and can you promise not to make it a big deal?”

Eddie shrugs. He doesn’t know he’s in the eye of it. “Sure.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No—I mean. I love you,” Buck repeats but the words have an entire different meaning now. “I am currently in love with with you, and I know that’s weird for you to hear but I wanted you to… hear it. Probably not the best timing though, but y’know.”

And that’s not fair. Because How can Eddie not make a big deal out of it when he’s long since lost hope that Buck would ever love him the same way he does Buck? How can he not when he’s long since convinced himself that Buck would never be a part of that joy he’s learning to allow himself to want and to have, not in the way he wants him to be. But how can he let that confession out, when he’s the one leaving?

And when Buck shrugs, looks at the ground, rocking on his hills, Eddie doesn’t have the time to think of a better response than the one that inevitably leaves his lips and he knows he’ll regret it later when the one that finds it’s way out is:

“Buck I gotta go…”

“I know,” Buck nods. “You should uh—you should go. I just needed to say it to your face while you’re still here and—y’know, not over the phone.”

Eddie gets that. He wishes he was brave enough to do it himself. He thinks maybe if it was any other time he would find it in him eventually, but he does need to get going if he wants to be in El Paso before night comes.

So Eddie stays quiet, and then Buck’s shaking his head frantically but still doesn’t meet his eyes, and he must think Eddie is breaking his promise and he probably is but Buck doesn’t need to know that so when Buck says—

“No, hey. You gotta go. And you promised.”

—it breaks Eddie’s heart to just leave it at that.

It’s the coward’s move, but it’s better than Buck knowing the truth and watching Eddie leave him anyway. Because this thing Eddie is feeling—this thing he’s been carrying inside for longer than he cares to admit—it’s not the kind of feeling Eddie would walk out on. And it’s not the kind of feeling he wants Buck to think it is when he does.

It’s not raining but the air is thick and wet and cold so it’s a near thing, and when Eddie pulls Buck into a hug, forces his head up to rest over his shoulder, grips him tight and breathes him in for what he’d never want to be the last time—there’s dampness on his cheeks when he pulls away.

He chooses to blame it on the air and not the stinging of his eyes.

It’s not raining when he closes the truck door behind him after another promise to call when you get there, Eddie, but the cold doesn’t bite the same way anymore, and his cheeks are still wet, and his eyes still sting, and so he can’t blame it on the air anymore.

It’s not raining, but there’s this heavy cloud around him that refuses to let the sunlight in. The one that he left standing on the curb and knows would blind him if he was brave enough to send a glance at its direction in the rearview mirror.

It’s not raining when he leaves his quiet suburban neighborhood.

But it is when he makes a U-turn a few blocks later.

It’s raining hard when he slams the door closed and runs up the walkway back to his own front door and it’s raining hard when Buck opens it with wide eyes and a confused look on his face.

“Eddie—what—?”

Eddie still isn’t sure about a lot of things. About this move or about how he’s going to fix everything with his kid and get him to come home, wherever that might be, as much as Eddie wants it to be LA. He doesn’t know a lot of things but he does know one thing and right now it’s the only one that matters and it’s this:

“I’m in love with you too,” he tells him on a shaky exhale. “I think I’ve always been in love with you. And—and I’m coming back, I promise, and we’ll have all the time in the world to figure it all out, but I needed to say it to your face before—”

It’s still raining when Buck crosses the threshold, stepping into the pouring rain with him and it’s still raining when he grabs Eddie by the collar of his shirt, drags him closer like a promise of his own, and kisses him.

It’s still raining when Eddie feels Buck’s hands shaking against the nape of his neck and the warmth of Buck’s cheeks against the palms of his own. Feels the shape of plump pink lips curling into a smile against his.

And it’s still raining.

But Eddie’s not as cold anymore.

Not with the sun shining through his closed eyelids, wrapping him in it’s arms.

[banana-can-do-art]

Guys I just finished the well it’s not the entirety of Riddle’s dream there’s still like an hour and a half that hasn’t been translated on Gasmask’s channel but I finished the part that they did translate and omg heeelp this is the best dream yet. This is so sad omg I have to ramble about it also all translations I’m using are from gas mask on YouTube.

First of all omg he’s so happy it’s making me sad. Also him saying that he would be tired of everything being the same all the time right after I made that post rambling about how his implied OCD causes him to always do everything in a “samey” manner I aaaaagghhhh. And he’s saying that he’s going to have a chaotic band because in his dream he isn’t upset when things aren’t in order and he can just let himself be happy. You can’t do this to meeee! But there’s more!

Look he’s happily breaking the rules and feeling no anxiety about it whatsoever. (OCD be gone). In his dream world he can do what he wants with no terrible parents or mental illness holding him back. Look at him he’s adorable. And then we have this though agghhh.

This is so sad! When Ace and everyone tells him about what he’s like in real life as though they are talking about another person, Riddle immediately hates the person they are describing. Because he doesn’t like who he is irl. In fact, Riddle even says here that he hates school and studying and that it makes people miss out on the fun things in life. It’s so sad because who he actually is irl is the complete opposite of what he wants to be. He’s so isolated and self loathing I can’t.

Also in the dream Riddle isn’t even a mage. Because he doesn’t even actually like doing magic because all of the joy was sapped out of that for him because he’s always expected to do it perfectly. He never just gets to do magic because he wants to or because it’s fun but rather only because others expect and pressure him too. It feels like the idea of a hobby losing its charm and fun when people have to make it into their jobs. (I hope that doesn’t happen to me heeeelp)

Also I felt so bad for Trey during this because he knows the most about Riddle’s reality and he is the entrenched in it himself. Riddle’s mom screamed at him for five hours as a child and he’s scarred from everything that happened with Riddle and his mom as a kid and yet now he’s supposed to just walk into Riddle’s house like nothing’s wrong. That must be so jarring and unsettling. Props to Trey for managing to do that honestly that’s freaking terrifying.

Also I can’t with all of those pictures on the wall. What do you mean he hates his real life so much that in his dreams his entire memory has become fabricated. His real life memories are completely different from his dream memories. And what do you mean that in his dream his parents are together and they love him and neither of them are mages and he just lives a happy and normal life?! What do you mean?!

Also, even though his parents love him in the dream, his mom has been so awful to him irl that even though everything is fake he can’t even actually picture her face saying nice things to him so it’s just the house talking to him. That’s so awful!

Also then we get this whole reference to the scene in Alice in wonderland where Alice has the big tears and people are drowning. Except it’s tea this time lol. Also Riddle crying that he wants to get out of the house is so sad even in his dreams he can’t escape agshdjdjdj. Omg Cater is so funny in the drowning scene though, he’s just like stop crying we’re gonna drown lmao. Also I know Chenya is fake but it is still so unbelievably funny how he is literally drowning in tea and yet he just has this huge smirk on his face the whole time lol. Chenya’s so silly.

Also the house became so creepy omg I saw someone saying it looks like an rpg maker horror game and like it really does! Specifically I think it really looks like Sunny’s house during the truth sequence of Omori.

Speaking of rpg maker horror games, Malleus was really channeling his inner rpg maker horror villain this update. Poor Idia lol. My condolences to Idia, he’s become the main character of an rpg maker horror game. I dunno Idia if we are going for Omori parallels then maybe you should open that door.

And then later when he gets pulled deeper the dream reflects false desires. To have control over the dorm while everyone bows down to him is was he thinks he wants but not his actual true desire. That’s why in the second layer of his dream even though he is in power, he still seems miserable because we know that he doesn’t even want to be a mage in the first place, much less have all of these rules.

And then Chenya pushes him over and he gets tangled in his cape lmao. That was so funny and then the screen is just Riddle with his feet in the air lmao. That outfit is not conducive to getting up from a fall.

But omg when the darkness is telling him that in the dream they respect him while irl he is isolated it’s so sad. Because he knows that irl his rules and strictness (and OCD) isolate him and that’s why it’s so difficult for him to make friends. He understands that he is lonely because he is a control freak like this, and yet it’s the only thing that he knows how to do because it’s all he’s been taught. (And also because he’s mentally ill you see).

This is all so sad I can’t. Twst! How could you do this to me?!

Anyway, in conclusion punk band Riddle is the most amazing thing to ever grace my eyeballs just look at him. We need a Riddle vocaloid band rhythm game spinoff immediately actually. Also his new fit is absolutely slaying look at him go!

Now I must wait in agony for the next hour and a half or so to be translated by the great and amazing fandom hero, gasmask.

[the-kingshound]

Nope, angst denied! (on my end, of course).

So... at some point the MC has the opportunity to talk with one of their siblings, and they say how they are tentatively hopeful about the arrangment and that so far, the people they've met seemed nice and their room is pretty, Mordred is a sweetie, maybe being far away from their parents will do them good and so on. So basically, they are clearly in a "good mood" - as good as it can be considering the circumstances in any case. And it just so happens the RO overhears this - unintentional, but for one reason or another they were not able to just go away fast enough not to hear that. What do they do or think? If you want only a single RO for a more detailed thing, I'd love Arthur! But I guess it could fit anyone anyway.

(First of all, I'd like to say that any sibling hearing this is crying inside of relief, and is visibly less tense. They are kind of all preparing themselves to help MC deal with much worse)

Arthur would feel incredible relief, honestly. The exhaustion and the stress were worth it, it seems, for MC to feel tentative hope. They knew, coming into this, that MC would have had a veey rough time so the confession has them relax just a fraction. For more pragmatic scopes, MC giving him and Camelot a chance will help the political climate at court.

Arthur is definitely going to keep their efforts to put their spouse at ease. And well, if they happen to see Mordred spending time with MC, that's all the better for them both.

As he is majorly into gossip, I must say Arthur will spend some time pondering on MC's words about their parents. Won't ask or do anything for now, but he keeps that firmly in mind.