#it just hangs over every route and there's nothing you can do to stop it from happening

[bearforcecaptions]

The lights flickered again.

They always did when someone new arrived. That soft, pulsing glow that ran through the walls, like the place itself was exhaling in anticipation. I leaned against the squat rack, waiting. I didn’t know how long I’d been here—days, weeks, years? It didn’t matter anymore. All I knew was that when the lights pulsed like that, someone else was about to walk through those doors, confused and scared, their life about to be rewritten.

This time, the man who stumbled in couldn’t have been more out of place. Middle-aged, thin, with the kind of stooped posture that came from decades of working hunched over desks or shelves. He was wearing a gray cardigan over a button-down shirt, neatly pressed khakis, and polished loafers that echoed slightly on the gym’s smooth floors. He carried a leather satchel in one hand, clutching it like a lifeline, his wide eyes darting across the mirrored walls and rows of gleaming equipment. He looked like he should have been walking into a library or an academic conference, not… here.

“What on earth?” he muttered, his voice low, trembling. He stood frozen for a moment, taking in the scene—the endless rows of dumbbells and machines, the clinking of weights as the other men in the gym worked through their routines, completely oblivious to his arrival. The mirrors reflected his thin, nervous frame a thousand times over, distorting him until he seemed swallowed up by the space.

I pushed off the rack and crossed my arms, watching him. It was always the same—panic first, then denial, and finally, acceptance. But everyone fought it differently.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “You lost?”

He spun around, startled, his satchel swinging slightly. He was older than most of the people who showed up here—maybe mid-forties, with thinning brown hair streaked with gray at the temples. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that made his pale blue eyes seem even more anxious. His face was lined, but not unpleasant, though it had that soft, academic quality that suggested he’d spent more time reading than living.

“I… yes, I think so,” he said, his voice shaky. “I was just leaving work, and I—” He paused, frowning. “This isn’t right. Where am I?”

“You’re in the gym,” I said simply, gesturing around us. “You didn’t mean to end up here, did you?”

“No, I…” He trailed off, looking around again. “I was leaving the library, locking up for the night. I stepped out the back door, and then… I was here.” His fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It never does,” I said. “But you might as well put that bag down. You’re not going anywhere.”

He frowned, clearly not understanding. “What do you mean, ‘not going anywhere’? There’s always a way out.”

“Not here,” I said, leaning back against the rack again. “Every door leads back to the gym. You can try them all if you want, but it won’t make a difference.”

His mouth opened to argue, but he stopped himself, looking at me like he thought I might be messing with him. I didn’t bother explaining further. It was always easier to let them figure it out for themselves.

He did. For hours, or maybe it was minutes—it was hard to tell. He tried every door, every hallway, every nook and cranny of the gym, even peering behind some of the machines like there might be a hidden escape route. Each time, he ended up right back where he started. I watched him, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d realize there was nothing else to do.

Eventually, he slumped down on a nearby bench, his satchel abandoned on the floor. His cardigan was hanging off one shoulder now, his button-down damp with sweat from all the pacing. He looked defeated, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“I don’t understand,” he said, mostly to himself. “This is impossible.”

“It’s not about understanding,” I said, walking over. “It’s about accepting. There’s nothing to do here except work out. Sooner or later, you’ll start.”

He gave me a sharp look, like I’d insulted him. “I don’t belong here,” he said, his voice firming slightly. “I’m a librarian. I haven’t set foot in a gym in years.”

I shrugged. “You’re here now. And there’s nothing else to do. So unless you want to sit and stare at the walls forever…”

He didn’t answer, just looked down at his hands, his thin fingers twitching slightly. After a long pause, he stood up, walking over to one of the machines with a hesitant, almost resigned air. He stared at it like it was some alien contraption, his head tilted slightly. Then, cautiously, he sat down and gripped the handles.

The first push was awkward, his arms trembling as he tried to move the weight. He was clearly out of his element, his movements shaky and uncoordinated. But he kept at it, his jaw tightening with determination. He didn’t look at me again, too focused on the machine.

The changes started slowly. At first, it was just his posture—his shoulders squared as he worked through his reps, the slump in his back disappearing. His movements became smoother, more confident, as though his body was remembering something it had never known. His arms, once thin and weak, began to fill out, the first hints of muscle appearing beneath his pale skin.

His cardigan slipped off completely at some point, forgotten on the floor, and his button-down shirt started to cling to his torso, the fabric tightening as his chest began to expand. He frowned, tugging at it absently, but he didn’t stop. His khakis were next, the legs stretching taut against his thighs, which were visibly thickening with each push. By the time he moved on to the free weights, the khakis had morphed into gray Nike sweatpants, snug around his growing legs.

I watched as he grabbed a set of dumbbells, his hands gripping the metal with more confidence than before. His biceps swelled as he curled them, the veins in his forearms becoming more pronounced. His button-down had somehow transformed into a tight maroon T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, the sleeves straining to contain his growing arms. The hem rode up slightly, revealing a set of abs that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

He paused mid-rep, frowning as he caught his reflection in the mirror. “Is it just me, or do I look… different?” he asked, glancing at me.

I smirked. “You’re changing. Everyone does.”

“What?” His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t sound as panicked as I’d expected. He turned back to the mirror, his eyes narrowing as he examined himself. “I mean, I do look better, don’t I?”

“Sure,” I said. “But that’s not all that’s happening.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. He flexed his arm experimentally, a grin spreading across his face as he admired the way his bicep bulged. “I haven’t looked like this since college,” he said, his tone lighter, almost excited. “No, I’ve never looked like this.”

The lights flickered again.

They always did when someone new arrived. That soft, pulsing glow that ran through the walls, like the place itself was exhaling in anticipation. I leaned against the squat rack, waiting. I didn’t know how long I’d been here—days, weeks, years? It didn’t matter anymore. All I knew was that when the lights pulsed like that, someone else was about to walk through those doors, confused and scared, their life about to be rewritten.

This time, the man who stumbled in couldn’t have been more out of place. Middle-aged, thin, with the kind of stooped posture that came from decades of working hunched over desks or shelves. He was wearing a gray cardigan over a button-down shirt, neatly pressed khakis, and polished loafers that echoed slightly on the gym’s smooth floors. He carried a leather satchel in one hand, clutching it like a lifeline, his wide eyes darting across the mirrored walls and rows of gleaming equipment. He looked like he should have been walking into a library or an academic conference, not… here.

“What on earth?” he muttered, his voice low, trembling. He stood frozen for a moment, taking in the scene—the endless rows of dumbbells and machines, the clinking of weights as the other men in the gym worked through their routines, completely oblivious to his arrival. The mirrors reflected his thin, nervous frame a thousand times over, distorting him until he seemed swallowed up by the space.

I pushed off the rack and crossed my arms, watching him. It was always the same—panic first, then denial, and finally, acceptance. But everyone fought it differently.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “You lost?”

He spun around, startled, his satchel swinging slightly. He was older than most of the people who showed up here—maybe mid-forties, with thinning brown hair streaked with gray at the temples. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that made his pale blue eyes seem even more anxious. His face was lined, but not unpleasant, though it had that soft, academic quality that suggested he’d spent more time reading than living.

“I… yes, I think so,” he said, his voice shaky. “I was just leaving work, and I—” He paused, frowning. “This isn’t right. Where am I?”

“You’re in the gym,” I said simply, gesturing around us. “You didn’t mean to end up here, did you?”

“No, I…” He trailed off, looking around again. “I was leaving the library, locking up for the night. I stepped out the back door, and then… I was here.” His fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It never does,” I said. “But you might as well put that bag down. You’re not going anywhere.”

He frowned, clearly not understanding. “What do you mean, ‘not going anywhere’? There’s always a way out.”

“Not here,” I said, leaning back against the rack again. “Every door leads back to the gym. You can try them all if you want, but it won’t make a difference.”

His mouth opened to argue, but he stopped himself, looking at me like he thought I might be messing with him. I didn’t bother explaining further. It was always easier to let them figure it out for themselves.

He did. For hours, or maybe it was minutes—it was hard to tell. He tried every door, every hallway, every nook and cranny of the gym, even peering behind some of the machines like there might be a hidden escape route. Each time, he ended up right back where he started. I watched him, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d realize there was nothing else to do.

Eventually, he slumped down on a nearby bench, his satchel abandoned on the floor. His cardigan was hanging off one shoulder now, his button-down damp with sweat from all the pacing. He looked defeated, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“I don’t understand,” he said, mostly to himself. “This is impossible.”

“It’s not about understanding,” I said, walking over. “It’s about accepting. There’s nothing to do here except work out. Sooner or later, you’ll start.”

He gave me a sharp look, like I’d insulted him. “I don’t belong here,” he said, his voice firming slightly. “I’m a librarian. I haven’t set foot in a gym in years.”

I shrugged. “You’re here now. And there’s nothing else to do. So unless you want to sit and stare at the walls forever…”

He didn’t answer, just looked down at his hands, his thin fingers twitching slightly. After a long pause, he stood up, walking over to one of the machines with a hesitant, almost resigned air. He stared at it like it was some alien contraption, his head tilted slightly. Then, cautiously, he sat down and gripped the handles.

The first push was awkward, his arms trembling as he tried to move the weight. He was clearly out of his element, his movements shaky and uncoordinated. But he kept at it, his jaw tightening with determination. He didn’t look at me again, too focused on the machine.

The changes started slowly. At first, it was just his posture—his shoulders squared as he worked through his reps, the slump in his back disappearing. His movements became smoother, more confident, as though his body was remembering something it had never known. His arms, once thin and weak, began to fill out, the first hints of muscle appearing beneath his pale skin.

His cardigan slipped off completely at some point, forgotten on the floor, and his button-down shirt started to cling to his torso, the fabric tightening as his chest began to expand. He frowned, tugging at it absently, but he didn’t stop. His khakis were next, the legs stretching taut against his thighs, which were visibly thickening with each push. By the time he moved on to the free weights, the khakis had morphed into gray Nike sweatpants, snug around his growing legs.

I watched as he grabbed a set of dumbbells, his hands gripping the metal with more confidence than before. His biceps swelled as he curled them, the veins in his forearms becoming more pronounced. His button-down had somehow transformed into a tight maroon T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, the sleeves straining to contain his growing arms. The hem rode up slightly, revealing a set of abs that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

He paused mid-rep, frowning as he caught his reflection in the mirror. “Is it just me, or do I look… different?” he asked, glancing at me.

I smirked. “You’re changing. Everyone does.”

“What?” His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t sound as panicked as I’d expected. He turned back to the mirror, his eyes narrowing as he examined himself. “I mean, I do look better, don’t I?”

“Sure,” I said. “But that’s not all that’s happening.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. He flexed his arm experimentally, a grin spreading across his face as he admired the way his bicep bulged. “I haven’t looked like this since college,” he said, his tone lighter, almost excited. “No, I’ve never looked like this.”

The lights flickered again.

They always did when someone new arrived. That soft, pulsing glow that ran through the walls, like the place itself was exhaling in anticipation. I leaned against the squat rack, waiting. I didn’t know how long I’d been here—days, weeks, years? It didn’t matter anymore. All I knew was that when the lights pulsed like that, someone else was about to walk through those doors, confused and scared, their life about to be rewritten.

This time, the man who stumbled in couldn’t have been more out of place. Middle-aged, thin, with the kind of stooped posture that came from decades of working hunched over desks or shelves. He was wearing a gray cardigan over a button-down shirt, neatly pressed khakis, and polished loafers that echoed slightly on the gym’s smooth floors. He carried a leather satchel in one hand, clutching it like a lifeline, his wide eyes darting across the mirrored walls and rows of gleaming equipment. He looked like he should have been walking into a library or an academic conference, not… here.

“What on earth?” he muttered, his voice low, trembling. He stood frozen for a moment, taking in the scene—the endless rows of dumbbells and machines, the clinking of weights as the other men in the gym worked through their routines, completely oblivious to his arrival. The mirrors reflected his thin, nervous frame a thousand times over, distorting him until he seemed swallowed up by the space.

I pushed off the rack and crossed my arms, watching him. It was always the same—panic first, then denial, and finally, acceptance. But everyone fought it differently.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “You lost?”

He spun around, startled, his satchel swinging slightly. He was older than most of the people who showed up here—maybe mid-forties, with thinning brown hair streaked with gray at the temples. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that made his pale blue eyes seem even more anxious. His face was lined, but not unpleasant, though it had that soft, academic quality that suggested he’d spent more time reading than living.

“I… yes, I think so,” he said, his voice shaky. “I was just leaving work, and I—” He paused, frowning. “This isn’t right. Where am I?”

“You’re in the gym,” I said simply, gesturing around us. “You didn’t mean to end up here, did you?”

“No, I…” He trailed off, looking around again. “I was leaving the library, locking up for the night. I stepped out the back door, and then… I was here.” His fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It never does,” I said. “But you might as well put that bag down. You’re not going anywhere.”

He frowned, clearly not understanding. “What do you mean, ‘not going anywhere’? There’s always a way out.”

“Not here,” I said, leaning back against the rack again. “Every door leads back to the gym. You can try them all if you want, but it won’t make a difference.”

His mouth opened to argue, but he stopped himself, looking at me like he thought I might be messing with him. I didn’t bother explaining further. It was always easier to let them figure it out for themselves.

He did. For hours, or maybe it was minutes—it was hard to tell. He tried every door, every hallway, every nook and cranny of the gym, even peering behind some of the machines like there might be a hidden escape route. Each time, he ended up right back where he started. I watched him, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d realize there was nothing else to do.

Eventually, he slumped down on a nearby bench, his satchel abandoned on the floor. His cardigan was hanging off one shoulder now, his button-down damp with sweat from all the pacing. He looked defeated, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“I don’t understand,” he said, mostly to himself. “This is impossible.”

“It’s not about understanding,” I said, walking over. “It’s about accepting. There’s nothing to do here except work out. Sooner or later, you’ll start.”

He gave me a sharp look, like I’d insulted him. “I don’t belong here,” he said, his voice firming slightly. “I’m a librarian. I haven’t set foot in a gym in years.”

I shrugged. “You’re here now. And there’s nothing else to do. So unless you want to sit and stare at the walls forever…”

He didn’t answer, just looked down at his hands, his thin fingers twitching slightly. After a long pause, he stood up, walking over to one of the machines with a hesitant, almost resigned air. He stared at it like it was some alien contraption, his head tilted slightly. Then, cautiously, he sat down and gripped the handles.

The first push was awkward, his arms trembling as he tried to move the weight. He was clearly out of his element, his movements shaky and uncoordinated. But he kept at it, his jaw tightening with determination. He didn’t look at me again, too focused on the machine.

The changes started slowly. At first, it was just his posture—his shoulders squared as he worked through his reps, the slump in his back disappearing. His movements became smoother, more confident, as though his body was remembering something it had never known. His arms, once thin and weak, began to fill out, the first hints of muscle appearing beneath his pale skin.

His cardigan slipped off completely at some point, forgotten on the floor, and his button-down shirt started to cling to his torso, the fabric tightening as his chest began to expand. He frowned, tugging at it absently, but he didn’t stop. His khakis were next, the legs stretching taut against his thighs, which were visibly thickening with each push. By the time he moved on to the free weights, the khakis had morphed into gray Nike sweatpants, snug around his growing legs.

I watched as he grabbed a set of dumbbells, his hands gripping the metal with more confidence than before. His biceps swelled as he curled them, the veins in his forearms becoming more pronounced. His button-down had somehow transformed into a tight maroon T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, the sleeves straining to contain his growing arms. The hem rode up slightly, revealing a set of abs that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

He paused mid-rep, frowning as he caught his reflection in the mirror. “Is it just me, or do I look… different?” he asked, glancing at me.

I smirked. “You’re changing. Everyone does.”

“What?” His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t sound as panicked as I’d expected. He turned back to the mirror, his eyes narrowing as he examined himself. “I mean, I do look better, don’t I?”

“Sure,” I said. “But that’s not all that’s happening.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. He flexed his arm experimentally, a grin spreading across his face as he admired the way his bicep bulged. “I haven’t looked like this since college,” he said, his tone lighter, almost excited. “No, I’ve never looked like this.”

I didn’t bother correcting him. The changes were already affecting his mind, his memories shifting to accommodate the new reality. It was subtle at first—almost unnoticeable. He still responded when I called him Richard, but there was hesitation, a faint flicker of confusion in his eyes, like the name didn’t sit right anymore.

By the time he moved on to another machine, the transformation was undeniable. His maroon T-shirt was no longer sitting properly—it had somehow ridden up, the hem tucked under itself and pulled halfway over his head. It clung to his neck and bunched around his upper arms like a makeshift cape, the fabric framing his now-sculpted chest and sharply defined abs. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. Instead, he focused entirely on the mirror, admiring the way the overhead lights highlighted every groove in his torso. His pecs looked impossibly firm, rising and falling with each slow, deliberate breath.

The silver chain had appeared around his neck at some point, its polished links catching the light with every slight movement. It sat just above his chest, glinting in the mirror like it had always belonged there. His sweatpants clung tightly to his thighs, emphasizing their powerful bulk, the fabric stretched taut over legs that had once been scrawny. The waistband sagged low on his hips, revealing the elastic band of Calvin Klein briefs. Even the brand seemed to match the newfound confidence radiating from him.

He caught me staring, pausing in front of the mirror with a cocky grin. “I look good, huh?” he said, flexing one arm and glancing between me and his reflection.

I frowned. “You’re changing, Richard. This isn’t—”

“Who’s Richard?” he interrupted, letting out a low, amused laugh. “Man, you’re weird.” He shook his head, turning his attention back to the mirror. His hand ran through his hair, which was now thicker, darker, and styled into soft spikes. His face had become smoother, younger, his jawline sharper. A shadow of stubble darkened his cheeks and chin, perfectly trimmed, as if he’d spent hours grooming it. But I knew better—it had just appeared.

“Richard is who you were,” I said firmly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to give in to this.”

He didn’t even glance at me this time. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” he said absently, adjusting the chain around his neck. His biceps bulged as he moved, the veins in his arms standing out against his tanned skin. “You’re kinda bringing down the vibe, bro.”

“Bro?” I repeated, incredulous. “You’re not—”

But he’d already moved on, grabbing a set of heavier dumbbells. I watched as he curled them, his movements slow and deliberate, his grin widening with each rep. His muscles swelled with every lift, as though the weights were sculpting him further, refining every detail of his physique. I could feel the gym working on him, reshaping not just his body but his mind.

I tried to get through to him again a little later, when he’d moved to the leg press. He was loading plates onto the machine with a kind of thoughtless ease, his movements mechanical but confident. “Richard,” I called, louder this time.

He glanced over his shoulder, frowning slightly. “What now, dude?”

“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “You can stop. You can fight it.”

“Fight what?” He laughed, shaking his head as he sat down and braced his legs against the machine. “You’re not making any sense, man. I’m just… doing my thing, you know?”

“This isn’t who you are!” I snapped, frustration boiling over. “You’re a librarian. You don’t belong here.”

He hesitated for just a second, his hands gripping the bars of the machine. Then he grinned, his teeth gleaming white. “Librarian? Nah, man. I’m not… I mean, that doesn’t sound right.” He pressed the weight, his quads flexing powerfully. “Besides, look at me. This is who I am. Always been, right?”

“No, it’s not!” I insisted, stepping closer. But he wasn’t listening anymore. His focus was entirely on the machine, on the weight, on the burn of his muscles. He grunted with effort, his sweatpants riding lower with each press, exposing more of the waistband of his underwear.

Our conversations grew shorter after that. Every time I tried to talk to him, he seemed more distracted, his attention entirely on his reflection or the next set of reps.

“Hey, Richard,” I said again one day—if it was even a day. Time blurred together here, and it felt like I was stuck in an endless loop. “Do you even remember where you came from?”

“Uh, sure,” he said without looking at me, his voice vague. He flexed in the mirror, adjusting the way his shirt hung around his neck. “Came from, like… somewhere, I guess. Doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It does matter!” I said sharply. “You’re forgetting yourself. Can’t you see that?”

“Dude,” he said, finally glancing my way, his tone exasperated. “I don’t get what your deal is. I feel great. I look great. Why would I care about… whatever boring stuff you’re on about?”

“That ‘boring stuff’ is who you are,” I said, but I could already tell he wasn’t paying attention. He was busy pulling his sweatpants lower, angling his body in front of the mirror to admire his abs. The smirk on his face made my stomach churn.

“Looking sick, right?” he said, gesturing at his reflection. He glanced at me like he expected me to agree, but when I didn’t, he just shrugged and turned away.

It didn’t take long after that for him to stop talking to me entirely. My attempts to reach him were met with vague grunts, or, more often, complete silence. He became just like the others—completely absorbed in his workouts, his reflection, the endless pursuit of perfection. He spent hours—if hours even existed here—lifting, flexing, adjusting his chain or his sweatpants. Occasionally, he’d let out a low, satisfied laugh as he admired his progress, but he never spoke to me again.

I watched him for a long time, that familiar mix of anger and helplessness twisting in my chest. The man who had walked into the gym—the librarian clutching his satchel and looking so out of place—was gone. In his place was another meathead, all muscles and vanity, his mind as sculpted and empty as his body was powerful. He didn’t even glance my way as he moved from one machine to the next, lost in the rhythm of his routine.

And I knew, eventually, the lights would flicker for him. But until then, he was just another mindless body in the gym, endlessly lifting, endlessly transforming.

[mirthcrowned]

not enough people talk about how change is what haunts the narrative in hakuouki

[pedrospatch]

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[mysicklove]

𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

DAY 5: SPANKING

With: Eren Yeager

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Sub! eren, gn! reader, spanking, crying, Eren trying to be good, cursing, mean reader, slightly sadistic reader, handjob/hand humping, restraints, Eren is a good and then a brat for a bit

A/N: I almost posted this as just a random drabble, but I am glad I turned it into a Kinktober fic! Edit (10/04/23): this fic sucks LOLOLOL. poorly poorly written. oopsies. u cant have it all.

“For fucks sake, can you go any faster?”

You blink and pull your hand away from his cock. Teal eyes glare at you, his mouth slightly hanging open with every pant. It slightly surprised you, Eren was being so good today. But, you knew this was bound to come.

He never was good. There were times when he listened and didn’t give you grief about punishing him, but never was he fully compliant with you. He always had to let out a biting remark or try to get the upper hand. 

Nights would always end up with him being punished. Tying him up, edging him, overstimulating him, leaving him high and dry, or simply degrading him until he cried and curled up into you looking for warmth. But the next day he always looked at you with stars in his eyes, preparing for whats to come.

But today was different. He didn’t want to be punished. He wanted to feel good, he wanted you to praise him and shower him with affection. 

So he was meticulous with all his words. Softening your hard demeanor, trained to be so due to how bratty he was all the time. Today for a change, he whined for you, blinking up at you with wide and completely submissive eyes. 

I’ll do whatever you want. They seemed to say. You’ve never seen him look at you like that before.

His heart pounded when you looked at him with warmth in your eyes from his words. He hasn’t seen that look during these times. They were always so cold, watching his ever movement to see if he deserved a scolding. Nothing like today, you looked at him with love. It made him shiver, wanting to pull more of your sweet attention on him.

But, he couldn’t stray too far from his routes.

You were edging him, his back against your chest, with his hands tied behind his back. You were weary of how good he was being for you and didn’t trust him enough to not touch himself.

He didn’t want to be edged. He wanted to be fucked. Wanted to lose his mind from the pleasure. Not pant against your chest, teetering on the lines of pain and pleasure. So out of habit, he cursed out at you.

When you pull your hand away, he knew he made a mistake. His cock hangs heavy, slightly tilted forward and leaking. He lets out a shaky breath and struggles against the restraints. He was so close.

“Oh, Eren.” His breath catches at the sadness in your tone and he bites his lip. He glares at the floor, beating himself for what he said. You weren’t one to give him second chances. He wanted this so badly.

He was trying so hard to not curse you out whenever you pulled away. He was rewarded every time he bit his tongue, preening when he hears the words, “Good boy.” 

But it was too much watching how slow and gentle you were touching him. He couldn’t help but let out a biting remark. It just slipped out before he could stop it.

He cranes his neck to face you, eyes wide and panicked. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it. I'm being good!”

You tut at him, slowly shaking your head. He sees that familiar look in your eyes return. The warmth begins to disappear, and he stares desperately, trying to pull it back. “That was mean, Eren. Good boys don’t say mean things.”

He gulps, at lost for words, and in an instant, he is being flipped. He lands face-first on the bed, his cheek crushed against the pillows. He feels you lift his hips and move his legs so that he is balancing on his knees. He grips uselessly at the ropes, and he clenches his jaw. 

He feels your hand slightly trace over the flesh of his ass and he cringes. He manages to turn his head, and his eyes widen. He’s over your lap. He is going to get spanked. He hates spanking. It was by far his least favorite punishment. He never was good with pain, and you knew this. “Wait! Give me a second to expla–”

His face scrunches from the first blow. He wants to grip onto something to help distract him from the pain, but he can’t. So he uselessly clenches and unclenches his hands. “I knew it was all an act. You greedy bitch. You were just trying to get yourself off, weren’t you?.”

He shakes his head, and his eyes begin to water. Another smack lands on the other cheek and he cringes. “I-I wasn’t! Wanted to your good boy, promise!”

You hit the space between his thighs, and he whimpers, rubbing the flesh together to help soothe the pain. “You liar”

He grits his teeth, knowing he can’t talk himself out of this situation. You were going to punish him either way, he might as well defend himself with dignity. “F-Fuck you!”

You grip at his hair, making him arch his back. Then you lean forward and whisper into his ear, “There’s my brat.”

You let go of his hair, and he lands face-first back into the sheets. His jaw clenches in slight embarrassment at how useless he must look. Completely vulnerable to your hold.

Another blow lands using the back of your hand. He tries to ignore it, trying his best to turn his head to glare at you. “Well, maybe if you knew how to actually make me feel good, I wouldn’t be a brat.”

You are grinning at him, the warmth now completely gone. “Disgusting people like you don’t deserve to feel good. Now quiet, Eren.” 

Before he could argue, you slam his head into the pillow, holding him there gently enough for him to breathe but hard enough so that he is pinned to place. You raise your eyebrow when he raises his middle finger at you from behind his back, but don’t indulge him. He was just coaxing a reaction from you.

Instead, you send a particularly hard slap and watch the hand clench to withstand the pain. He groans into the pillow.

He isn’t used to being punished with pain. Edging and overstimulation were one thing, but spanking hurts. He hates it so much, and it made him wonder, how the hell did he get in this position? His ass is beginning to burn, and probably turning red.

“Fuck. S-Stop it!” The sound is mumbled from his face still being in the pillow, but nevertheless heard.

His legs begin to collapse, withering away from your hand. You quickly force them back up, and mumble false words of encouragement. But he looks so pretty, you rub your finger over the red handprint and he flinches, accidentally letting out a small whimper. The sound makes you grin, and mock coo at him. “Does it hurt, sweetheart?”

The fight in him is dwindling away rapidly. He can usually withstand punishment, but today he wasn’t looking for one, and not only that you were doing the least pleasurable one. But still, his cock remains embarrassingly hard against your thigh. “Yes! Be gentl–”

Another harsh slap makes him begin to cry, frustrated tears. You let go of his hair, and instead focus on his cock, stroking him faster than earlier. He immediately humps into it, desperate for any sort of pleasure. The mix between pleasure and pain makes his head spin.

He turns his head to the side and lets the tears drip down his face and onto the pillow. He full-on whines at the next slap, not caring about the way he sounds anymore. It hurts more and more with every strike, and he swears the flesh is raw by now. 

“You gonna cum from me hitting you?” You murmur, sending another two quick two slaps to his skin. Your strokes become faster, and even the pain is slightly blurred from the pleasure. He tries desperately to meet your pace, slightly rolling his eyes at the lewd squelching sound.

“Yessssss,” He responds, noticing strangely that with your hand on his cock, the slapping doesn’t feel as bad. It hurts almost pleasurably good. The pain and pleasure are mixing together. It might even be spurring him on to his orgasm, though he would never admit it out loud.

“Cum for me, you brat.” He bites onto the pillow when he feels your head rub over the tip, encouraging his release. He hits his high the second your hand lands your final slap, right on the back of his balls.

His eyes widen and he cries out, but its drowned by his orgasm. It’s stinging, but it feels so so so good. His eyes are rolling back, and broken sobs are falling from his lips. Cum leaks onto your thigh, and you hum as you watch him tremble and cry from the force of it. His hands reach out from behind his back, and mercifully you place your hand in his. He grips onto it as if it was a lifeline, and you can’t help but find it cute.

When he comes down from his high, he stares at you with tears still unconsciously leaking. His ass hurts and his balls even more.

You grin at him and he has to hold back a whine. Only a couple of minutes ago you were punishing him, and now the warmth is back in your eyes. The warmth that he wanted to see when he finally came. 

It made him wonder. Why is it so hard for him to be a good boy?

He is determined to cum with you praising him, even if he has to bite his tongue the entire time.

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[cheqorb]

More Between Us.

You’ve always been just friends, but they can’t ignore how their heart races whenever you’re near.

FEAT. Isagi, Bachira

NOTES. probably my most tooth-rotting post yet! annnd I totally forgot I had this in my drafts Bring this duo back to me though pleasj

ISAGI is easygoing, and mild-mannered by nature (though perhaps his rivals disagree on that). It’s literally harder to not be friends with him. Your relationship was equally good, nothing particularly special and not abysmal. The type of friends who might talk on the way to class if you spot each other, but never go out of their way to do so either.

If asked, you wouldn’t even say best friends; he’s too busy with his teammates, and you have your own friend group.

See, Isagi enjoys thinking about stuff in a logical sense, using reason and evidence to support his ‘theory’. Both in real life and in football.

So before he even comes to the conclusion of a crush, firstly, there’s the small details he picks up about you.

Your eyes shift colour slightly if the sun hits them right. But, he reckons that happens with everyone’s eyes. Your eyes crinkle upwards when you smile, and maybe even dimples form on your cheeks as you do so. He likes seeing people smile, and yours is… in a way, cuter than anyone else’s? If he had to rank smiles, he’d put yours near the top. All hypothetical, obviously!

He’s always been observant, even as a kid, so Isagi figured he was just feeling a little more insightful as of late but it doesn’t stop there.

Suddenly, Isagi finds himself unconsciously lingering in places he knows you'll be. He tells himself it's just coincidence, but deep down, he has a feeling that he’s seeking you out more often.

Practicing with his team becomes a lot more strategic, with him making sure he's near your usual route home (not in a stalker way, at least, he hopes not), and just on time so that he can ‘bump into you’ and walk together.

And he lives in the complete opposite direction, so, while you don’t mind his presence, you find it a little odd.

Isagi begins to remember every little thing you mention, even the small stuff, like your favorite snack or the song you've been listening to on repeat. Next thing you know, he’s casually surprising you with them, acting like it’s no big deal but loves it when you get visibly excited about it.

He fumbles with his words a little more around you now, overthinking simple things that never used to bother him. It’s not like he’s shy (actually one of the best communicators out of everyone), he just doesn’t want to mess up or make you think he’s weird!

If he says something that could be interpreted as mildly creepy, he’s actually the first one to call it out and apologise over and over again. Beats himself up about it at home, even if you thought it was mildly funny that he knew what you were doing last week Tuesday at around 5:06PM…

When his teammates joke about him having a crush, he laughs it off, but there’s always a little pink in his cheeks that he hopes you don’t notice.

He'll start texting you first more often, just to share something funny or ask for your opinion on something trivial. It’s an excuse, really, just to have another reason to talk to you.

Also catches himself smiling whenever he sees a notification from you pop up on his phone, and his heart does a little flip when he reads your replies, no matter how mundane they are. Literally a “hey, I’m bored. Wanna hang out” is enough for him to lose sleep over it.

When you two do eventually go to said hang out, he pays extra attention to you: whether it's making sure you’re comfortable, or that you’ve got enough to eat, he’s always subtly looking out for you.

Despite all these signs, Isagi convinces himself it’s better this way — giving you small hints for you to understand rather than straight-up confessing. If you notice them and accept, great! If you notice and don’t accept, that’s fine too, he hopes you can remain friends though!

If you’re completely oblivious, well… he’ll muster up the courage to say it outright.

You and BACHIRA are like two peas in a pod together! Where there’s one, the other’s probably lurking nearby somewhere. Every second of every day seems to be spent with each other (and to anybody with common sense, you two already look like you’re dating).

When the crush starts, he thinks about you more than he already did, if that were even possible. Every little thing you do seems to make his heart race, but he sorta brushes it off as just excitement from being with his best friend.

Kind of a trickier situation than Isagi’s one this way though, because now you’re so close, Bachira doesn’t even feel that different about you. He might not even realise it’s romantic until his mother points it out in the midst of another one of his rambling sessions. About you, that is.

I won’t sugarcoat it; he’s nervous if anything. You’re one of the few friends he has and genuinely seem to care and like about him and if he ruins your friendship over his feelings, he’d be devastated.

But he’s back to his usual self and gains a little confidence after some encouragement from others!

Bachira’s clinginess ramps up a notch, but it’s so typical of him that you might not even notice. He’s constantly draping an arm around you, leaning on you, or just being in your personal space as much as possible.

Willing to share anything and everything with you. For example, if it’s snacks he’s got, he’s always picking out the best pieces just for you and handing them over with a cute smile.

Bachira finds himself staring at you a lot more now. Sometimes you’ll catch him and he’ll just laugh it off with a playful comment, but on the inside, his mind is racing with thoughts he can’t quite put into words.

When you talk, he listens with full attention, his usual playful demeanor softening into something more tender. He hangs onto your every word like it’s the most important thing he’s ever heard — and you could literally be talking about a bug you saw on the sidewalk this morning.

If you ever need anything, Bachira’s the first one to jump in and help, no questions asked. He’d go out of his way just to make you smile, even if it means a truckload of extra effort on his part.

Sometimes, he hints at deeper feelings in his usual roundabout way — in little jokes that might just have a hint of truth behind them. But he always plays it off as just that, a joke.

If you’re feeling down, he’s the first to notice, offering comfort in the form of goofy antics or just sitting with you in silence if that’s what you want.

If you ever confront him directly and ask if he feels something more than just being friends, Bachira might just spill everything in a rush of words; unable to keep his feelings hidden any longer. But until then, he’s content simply being by your side, even if it means he isn’t being entirely honest to himself.

[sukunasteeth]

The Pleasure's All Mine - Chapter One

Based on this post from @winterrbluess

If Shibuya had a pulse, it would be at the rate of a hummingbird's wings.

The human race operates at a speed that oftentimes seems too quick to catch up with. It had been that way ever since you moved to the city for work about three years ago.

You came for a corporate job made up of ink black suits and pencil skirts, smiles that felt more on the side of uncanny valley than they did of genuine kindness, and handshakes from skin cold with carpal tunnel. You lived a corporate life. Everything is muted tones of tan and relies heavily on the concept of "modernizing". You wake up, go to work, go home, work on what you couldn't finish at the office, fall asleep on your colorless coffee table, and wake up to your alarm going off what feels like hours too soon. It was a cyclical cycle.

And the day you broke it, happened to be the day you met Sukuna.

~

You noticed the new shop on the end of the street maybe three weeks ago. It was so out of place, after all. The building was the only non-skyscraper to be seen on the block. It was a shriveled up little thing, built out of chipping brick that seemed to teeter on the edge of dilapidation from the inability to meet building codes. Overgrown ivy crawled up the sides of it and it still had plots of dirt in the front for planting as opposed to concrete and metal benches. 

When you had first seen the For Sale sign a few months ago, you were sure they were going to tear it down and pave over it- happy to be rid of the only spot of character left in the business district. Then a new sign appeared over the door, one that looked hand carved out of wood and haphazardly painted over so that you could make out the words "Carnation King".

It’s funny, flowers had never been much of an interest to you. You had seen them as just another task to take care of when you returned home after a long day. Even filling a vase with water always sounded like more effort than it was worth. But as the days blend together from monotony, you find yourself desperate for color.

You changed your walking route to work so that you can pass by the shop everyday. You knew nothing about flowers. You could barely tell a rose bud apart from a tulip, but that didn't stop you from ogling at the new bouquets and potted plants that lined the sidewalk every time you passed them. Signs made out of toothpicks and painters tape said words like “Butterfly Ranunculus” and “Brown-Eyed Susan” and learning their names became one of your favorite things to do. You never stepped foot inside, and yet the flower shop was now one of your happy places. 

You would meander by on your lunches and watch the butterflies play. You would walk by in the morning and smell freshly watered earth still hanging in the air. On your way home, when the sun was at its fullest shine, you would walk beneath the misters hung under the lip of the roof, and the coolness of the water droplets left behind on your skin saw you all the home. 

You hadn’t realized how important the flower shop was to your daily routine until the day it was interrupted. 

It happened to be one of the only days you had been forced by your workload to stay past sunset for overtime. You didn’t do it for the money, you did it because your boss had asked you nicely. But as you finally exit the office building for the night, you find yourself regretting staying so late. 

You hated walking home in the dark. Even though Japan was notorious for its low crime rates, that didn't mean it was an innocent city. After 9pm, your street was notorious for being a ghost town. The only signs of life were the few work martyrs left in their floor to ceiling window offices- acting as makeshift streetlights. There were only a few lights on the way home, and their solidarity only seemed to pronounce the darkness along the rest of the empty roadside. When you were just an intern, before you got better hours and were finally promoted to the shining 9-5 that everyone dreams about, you used to take your heels off and sprint back to your apartment. Always weary of what you couldn’t see. At the time, you didn’t know that the scariest people don’t have to hide in the dark. 

You hadn’t planned on walking past the shop that night. It was closed. It had to be. Normal flower shops closed well before 7 pm let alone 9. But the moment you touch the sidewalk outside your building, you see light glowing against the dense night. 

The shop at the end of the street was draped in tiny fairy lights. Every square inch of brick was twinkling slowly, glimmering like resting fireflies. It looked almost otherworldly in comparison to the towering pitch black shadows of corporate offices surrounding it. In fact, the effect of the glowing lights against the mirror windows made it look like the shop was hanging in space. 

Outside, the flowers you had walked past in the afternoon had been replaced with new pots, overflowing with buds you had never seen before. The usual delicate smell of Honeysuckle and Roses was now one of the sweetest scents you had ever experienced, so sweet, you could almost taste it on your tongue. Warm golden light floods out of the shop's window and the numerous white and yellow petals seem to gather and hold onto its dull shine. 

You didn’t even realize you had completely abandoned your original plan of taking the shortcut home until you were standing in front of the Carnation King with your eyes entranced on the display before you. One flower in particular had caught your eye, a huge luscious display of delicate tow-colored petals, tall with endless growth and reaching towards the moonlight as though it’s been waiting all day to see it. You can’t help but reach out to touch, and yet just before your fingertips make it, you feel coolness trickling onto your hand, breaking the spell that the lights and colors had placed on you. 

 "Evening Primrose." 

The suddenness of a voice beside you should have put you in fight or flight mode. It should have been a cold bucket of water to the face. Adrenaline spiking, you should be sprinting in the opposite direction. Instead, you found the tranquil trance that the flowers had put you in to have a lasting effect. 

You blink at the man who seemed to appear out of thin air standing next to you, and the first thing you notice are his eyes. Such a dark shade of golden rich hazel-brown, they were nearly shining like two cuts of Cat’s-Eye. They gleamed suspicion. 

He was much taller than you, but where most are lanky you can see strong muscles and broad shoulders. Collared sleeves rolled halfway up his arms revealed skin kissed rich and deep by prolonged sunshine. Tattoos slithered around his wrists and had made their way to his sculptured face, meticulously drawn black lines frame an annoyed expression. When you see the rest of him, you’re certainly not expecting to notice tufts from a head of true strawberry blond hair hang in his frigid gaze.

In one of his hands is a water can, still pouring trickling water onto your momentarily petrified fingertips, and in the other hand is a cigarette, only a third of the way lit. 

The sight of him takes you so far back, if the sound of his voice wasn’t still echoing in your head you might not have remembered that he had even said anything to you. 

"I'm sorry?" You pull your hand away from the water spray, drying it on your slacks.

The man takes half a drag of the cigarette before he answers you. Slow and unrushed. "They're called Evening Primrose.” He speaks through a cloud of tobacco smoke, glancing at the flowers that had caught your eye. His lip twitches slightly, "Need full sunlight but only bloom in moonlight. Fickle bastards." 

Okay. Owner. Mean owner. Unexpectedly rough-and-tumble looking for being the caretaker of a flower shop. You glance at his apron, but you don’t find a name tag. He takes a step back while you’re searching for it, but he only moves far enough to start watering the next plant on the table. 

You look back to the Evening Primrose, and even the smell of the burning cigarettes is nothing in the face of the scent that had pulled you in earlier. The two flavors mix like a tea garden on fire. You caress the petals once more, unthinkingly. 

"They smell incredible." You mutter, mostly to yourself. 

"Not them.” His voice is colder than his eyes. He flicks a bit of ash onto the cement behind him, and tilts his head in the direction of a different bush, one that’s even bigger than the healthy Primrose, with hundreds of tiny buds that flutter in the nighttime air. “That'd be her." 

"”Her”?" You repeat, wondering if you heard the man correctly. 

"Night Jasmine." He answers in return. 

As standoffish as he was, you still found yourself making mental notes of the names he had given you. When you look at the Night Jasmine directly, it’s clear that the wind was sweeping that delicious smell straight from the direction of its honey-hued petals. You’re not sure you had seen plants like this at even the most expensive hotels and events that you had been invited to. Maybe tiny cuttings, but nothing to this size and level of lush. 

"Well she's very pretty." You reply softly, letting out an airy laugh through your nose at his use of pronouns. The man doesn’t even crack a smile in return, his eyes giving you a pointed once over. 

“And invasive.” He adds, resting his gaze on yours once again. 

There’s a thick silence that follows after, during which you consider apologizing. For what? You were unsure, but somehow standing in his towering shadow and feeling his accusing eyes had you feeling like you were in the wrong for merely existing in his presence. 

Before you can think to just turn around, take off your heels, and sprint home like you had years ago, his voice demands your attention again. 

"So,” he says, “you gonna tell me why you’re stalking me, then?"

Now, surely, you were hearing things. 

"E-Excuse me?" 

He seems to take in your shock with some thought while he takes another languid puff, "You come by here every single day,” He lets the smoke go from his lungs, ”but you never buy a thing. In fact, you never even come in." The tone of his voice tilts towards annoyance. “You just stand at the window and pout like some sad puppy.” 

"I-I work in the building next door?" You offer, bewildered by the entire situation. Were you dreaming? Had you fallen asleep at your desk and given yourself some sort of stress-induced nightmare?

"Hmm," The man takes you in without breaking your gaze, tilting his head to the side while he takes another drag of his cigarette. "You don't seem like the pencil pusher type to me."

You’re not sure why that comment makes you defensive. In retrospect, it was even a compliment to you. You hated sitting at a desk all day, watching the sun rise and set over a stack of papers. But you had worked hard to get to the position you were in now and it wasn’t the first time a man had told you that you didn’t look like you belonged. Before you can catch yourself in the name of politeness you find yourself scoffing out, "Sorry, but you don't seem like much of a florist to me."

The silence returns. You watch as the disdainful glint to his eyes shatters, and is replaced with a split second of surprise. He blinks and it’s only then that you realize how much larger this man is in comparison to you. If you had seen him walking down the street, you’d probably think to yourself “I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side” and yet here you were, on his bad-getting-worse side from the moment your eyes met. 

Or so you had thought. But, as the antithesis of anger crosses his hardened features, and an unexpected bitten-back grin takes the place of his glower, you’re not sure what to think anymore. 

He snorts out a laugh, finally releasing you from the cold grasp of his unbreakable gaze. He takes another step back and focuses his attention on watering the flowers again. "Touche." 

The cigarette gets flicked from his fingertips and he smears it beneath his boot into a tiny canal of rocks separating the soil of the garden beds from the cement of the sidewalk. 

"So, you gonna buy something then? Or just stand there with that strange look on your face all night?" He tilts his head to mirror your stance, but the amused grin remains in place of your confused gape. “I close in five minutes.”

“I have to hand it to you, you’re a fantastic salesman.” You’ve never met a stranger more brash and uncaring, so you were giving it a shot in return. It only serves to further his easy smiles.

“Am I not offering the right thing?” Now apparently after confirming to himself that you weren’t a threat, his tone of voice seems almost playful. It only serves to further your confusion. “Hmm, a lock of my hair maybe?” 

“I am not a stalker!” 

“Then buy something.” 

You take a deep breath through your nose. Feeling the need to save face when you haven’t done anything wrong in the first place. Yet, the thought of turning away empty handed had embarrassment threatening to heat up your neck and cheeks. You didn't care if you had to drop a pretty penny, you just didn't want to boost this man's ego.

"Those." You point to the nearest flower, another pot of proud blossoms sprouting from a stem unseen past the abundant greenery of strong leaves. Soft moon colored petals unfurl at the top, and sprouting from the center are tiny, deep yellow pollen covered buds. 

The man follows your pointed finger and graces your choice with all of one second before he turns back to his watering. "Not those." He decides flatly. 

You’ve never made a more difficult purchase. "Why not?" 

"Casablanca Lilies need constant care. A white-collar like you couldn't keep up. And I don't raise 'em so people can kill 'em."

"I think I can take care of a plant, thank you." You retort, sarcasm oozing off your sentence. 

It seems you can only really catch this man’s attention when your tone has a touch of negativity, because suddenly he’s back to watching you. 

There’s a pregnant pause before his next words. He searches nothing but your eyes for a moment, as if to gauge. 

"Wanna bet?" He cocks a brow. 

And it angers you how handsome you find this annoying, pompous, self-entitled stranger. 

"Bet?” You repeat incredulously. “Are you making a sale or trying to fight?” 

Instantly, as if you were offering the two scenarios as possible options, his smile darkens and he takes a step forward instead of continuing his line of watering. 

That was all the reply you needed. You had seen the movies. The documentaries. Handsome men, provoking women, hungry eyes, it never added up to something good. So that was your que to keep walking straight past him and go home. 

“Right, I don’t need this.” You scoff. 

And yet, just before you're able to step aside him, like a true businessman, he says just the right thing to keep you there.

"So I'm right then?" 

The sound of the droplets from the watering can against the cement in place of your footsteps has you cringing in self-disappointment. You force your head to turn and meet his infuriating amusement. 

"What's the bet?" You grind out from clenched teeth. His eyes fall to your mouth, and he takes a pointed second to look at your bite before he steps away from you and back to the place where your interaction began. He reaches beside the huge Evening Primrose bush to reveal a small green potted sapling with the same leaf pattern. 

He holds it out to you and you reach out to take the little thing like you’re scared for its safety. 

"Come back in two weeks. If it's alive, I'll give you the lilies for free." The calmness in his tone of voice doesn't match the excitement glittering in his dark hazel-brown eyes. "And if it's dead, you owe me." He adds, rather nonchalantly. 

"Owe you what?" You squint your eyes at him, maybe then you could see the little horns that match his devilish little grin. 

He shrugs, almost too innocently, "A favor. Haven't thought of it yet." The stranger gives you one last once over, but this one leaves the strangest chill running down your spine. His eyes seem to follow it, as if he can see it rattling through you. "Should I? You're so confident you'll win, I didn't think I'd have to."

Now it was your turn to look him up and down, tattoos, scars and a face that seemed too comfortable with that murderous look he had first given you.

"...There's no way you're just a florist."

The comment is completely ignored as he leans forward, invading your airspace a little too close for comfort, and murmuring the words "Yes or no?" with a thick sugar coating. 

"You're on." You hope your own words convey your complete disdain for him… and not that tiny glimmer of attraction you feel prickling under your skin. 

A surprised laugh seems to escape him, as though he didn't expect you to make the deal. "You're either quite confident in yourself or a damn fool." 

Like a rabbit bearing tiny teeth in the face of a lion, you mirror him and lean in closer until there's only a small space between the two of you. "Maybe I just like showing up cocky men."

"Oh, and I'm gonna love a favor from such a mouthy brat." You're lucky he pulls away from you after he practically purrs his threat. There's another thoughtful pause before he reaches into his apron pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes again.

"Two weeks. I know where you work too now." He lights another, and examines the cherry after he takes the first drag, smiling like it just told him a joke. “Don’t forget.” 

[mintmatcha]

More on touya but how his mothers mental illness shaped his habits. I think somewhere in his sick and twisted heart he loves reader, and ofc it’s the drugs that made him this way.

You mentioned once that it started with stealing his moms pills and it clearly started his habits. But I’m thinking abt him urging reader to do it too, it’s relieving. But reader doesn’t have those urges to get high and forget her life. I think she really thought they were going to be a picket fence couple, married and growing old together. And I also think that if she would’ve went down the same drug route as him, he’d be a more constant presence in her life (I’m in a writing/headcanon building mood)

The seats in his car go all the way down. It's new to you, but there's still the pet hair from the previous owner, stuck to the bedsheet Touya's plastered down. There's no way to fully straighten your legs ans you think his ice scraper is jammed into your back, but the night still glimmers with luxury.

Holding the joint to his lips, Touya takes a long draw, then lets it out through his nose, tendrils of breath curling into the air. Your boyfriend holds it out to you, pinched between two fingers so all you have to do is lean over and make contact.

Inhale, followed but a sputtering, awful cough, one that crunches your abs tight until they hurt. The whole time, Touya laughs, patting your back lovingly.

"Aw, poor baby," he mumbles, trying to hide his laugh. "Smaller inhale next time."

"You-" you sputter again, "Fuck, you make it look easy."

"I practice a lot. Take another hit."

You do, this time just enough to hold in. your mouth. This time, when you let it out, your boyfriend's smile straightens itself.

"There you go, princess." Touya takes it back and drags himself. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

Gravity feels like its affecting you less right now. Another hit and you might float off away, if Touya doesn't keep holding you down. Fuck, the hand on your hip seems so warm, warm enough that it's radiating through you, down to your core, up through your heart-

"Yeah," you mumble. "Feels great."

When Touya leans in to kiss you, he tastes like pot, the hint of it hanging on his breath. He also tastes like the red slurpee that he has tucked into the front seat's cup holder, just out of reach.

"When we get that apartment, we can do this every night," he says as he pulls away. The joints in his mouth again and you almost tell him to stop; he drove you two here and needs to drive you back to your parent's before curfew. "Under the fucking covers."

"We're not smoking inside," you say instead.

"Weed smoke is different, princess, it's fine."

"Doesn't matter. It'll cling to the walls."

"We could pop some pills then. No smoke involved in that." He says it so casually. "Just a couple xan or something. It'll make you feel fucking boneless- it's great."

There's nothing to really say to that. You don't want to take his mother's pills, despite how he claims they make the world so much more tolerable.

"Or we could roll," he adds. "You'd love rolling, princess. So fucking fun."

Touya's been hanging with some older guys, ones that take him to concerts and sell him things you don't know the name of. Molly's been his new obsession lately.

"Or, we could just cuddle," you try.

"You're so fucking cute, I swear to god." Touya kisses you again, this time with a mouthful of smoke. "I love your ass."

[drewsprincessy]

loving you was hard.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, anger, crying, mentions of sex, lmk if i missed any!

summary: rafe and reader are in love, but rafe struggles to accept it, he doesnt believe in love.

rafe cameron x female reader

part two.

it had been weeks since the incident at the party you and rafe argued at. you finally stopped thinking about him, but he definitely never stopped thinking about you. he sent you countless dms, even texted you off 7 different numbers that he created just to try and contact you.

he was a complete mess. he hadn't showered in days, he was snorting cocaine like there was no tomorrow, and he was drinking like he never wanted to wake up. he didnt care though, he had one thing on his mind. that was you.

he cried for days and nights, crying himself to sleep. and some nights he wouldn't even sleep.

he was beyond guilty. guilty for upsetting you, making you cry, he felt like he was going to die if he didnt get you back. he loved you, and with this time being away from you, he sees that. he didnt deserve you, he took your kindness for granted, and he wishes he would have been a better man for you. he wishes he really would've commited to you, because he sees now that these chicks do nothing for him. he doesnt even get turned on by the thought of anyone but you.

you'd be sitting in your room, brushing your hair at your organized vanity, and you hear your phone buzz. you pick it up, and see a no caller id. you pick up, curiously. you click the button to put it on speaker

"hello?" you speak into the phone

"y/n. its me, please let me come over. okay? i know you've seen the dms ive been sending you, baby please. let me come over and explain."

you go quiet for a moment, contemplating whether or not you should let him. after a moment of thought, you speak. "um yeah come over."

without another word, rafe hangs up and runs out the house. having to run back in to grab his keys. he comes back out his house and brings his motorcycle's engine to life. he then speeds off into the night, following the route to your house.

he gets there and knocks 3 times, and paces around impatiently.

you open the door with ur hairbrush still in hand, you stand there awkwardly waiting on him to say something.

he scratches the back of his neck, and stutters over his words "uh, can i- um come in?"

you sigh softly "um yeah sure" you step out of the way to let rafe in, you watch as he immediately makes his way through the doorway.

you make your way down the hallway, and open the door to your bedroom. he steps in first, and you follow.

you're the first to break the silence "so, what did u wanna talk about?" you say as you set your hairbrush down on your vanity.

"Uh, I wanted to say that I'm sorry... for a lot of things, well one because um I haven't been the best person to you. and I know your angry because I can't commit to a relationship, and you have every right to be... but for you I want to try. I wanna try to be in a relationship y/n. for you. like none of that hooking up with other girls shit or nuthin.. I want you. just you"

"rafe..i dont want u to just try. if the same thing happens again i dont know if my hearts gonna be able to take it.."

"i know princess, im not gonna do that shit again. a'ight? cmere let me hold you."

as you step closer to him, you can't help but wonder if hes really going to change this time..

-

a/n: this part is sooo rushed sorry in advance :(

[anxiousgayseeksvalidation]

Angsty Headcannons

Mrs. Arellano used to sing “Rockin’ Robin” to her son when he was a little boy to make him laugh. It was a whole year after his death before she could hum the song to herself again without breaking down.

Vance Hopper was A Problem, but the thought of no one really mourning the kid makes the arcade employees sad, so they retire his favorite pinball machine and hang a small, simple plaque next to it that says “In Memory of Pinball Vance Hopper.”

The Yamadas hold out hope that Bruce is alive right up until the police knock on their door. Mr. Yamada solemnly and despondently goes back and takes down all the fliers he put up so his family doesn’t have to keep seeing them every time they go out.

Finney waits until what would’ve been Robin’s 14th birthday to see Texas Chainsaw Massacre, as a way to celebrate and honor the boy. It’s a punch to the gut every time Fin glances next to him at the empty space where his friend should be, but Fin gets through it. He likes to think Robin is proud of him somewhere out there.

Gwen has anxiety attacks every time Finney leaves the house. She tells no one, but they do eventually get better.

Finn receives one more phone call that he never tells anyone about, not even his sister. It’s a female voice pushing through the static to say “I’m so proud of you.” It’s the clearest one, and Finn is 100% sure it was his mother.

Griffin’s family moves away as soon as they bury their son. He was their only child and it’s just too painful to stay in a town where there’s nothing left for them and too many reminders. Finney lays a coin on his grave every holiday, just to show that Griffin hasn’t been completely forgotten.

A new paperboy eventually has to take over Billy’s route. Old Mrs. Goldstein over on Maple Street misses the way Billy would deliver her paper directly to her because he knew she uses a walker to get around. They had struck up a friendship and she had even invited Billy in for tea once.

As he gets older, Finney is able to admit and recognize in retrospect that he probably had a crush on Robin. It’s a very bittersweet feeling, young puppy-love lost and friendships snuffed out in their prime. It’s the one thing Gwen doesn’t tease him about.

Finney invites the Yamadas to a baseball game when they’re feeling up to it so they can watch him hit a ceremonial home-run over the fence during a moment of silence for Bruce. Finney retrieves the ball and gives it to Amy.

Gwen has a dream that Vance stops the Grabber from getting to her. She likes to think that Vance is protecting her from nightmares as a thank-you for her help.

People still talk about the day that Robin Arellano handed Moose his ass. There’s some worry that Moose will start bullying again now that Robin’s gone, but Moose doesn’t. The murders seemed to have taken the fight out of everyone.

Finney gives his first son the middle name “Robin.” Donna understands why and allows it. Her sweet husband will never forget the skinny little Hispanic kid who saved his life in more ways than one, and Donna would never ask him to.

[chokisnumber1fan]

previous | how far can we go? — five | next

“why would you do that?” your voice quivers in anger, and you refuse to look at him as you unlock the door to your home. “let’s— let’s talk about this inside.”

kinich doesn’t find himself in a position to refuse your invitation, so he follows you in. he knows as well as you that this was going to have to get talked about seriously at some point, so he lets it happen.

the first time, kinich was on commission to keep you safe, and he carried it out. he was never intending to make you pay for it. this time? he just happened to be training nearby, and noticed your figure sitting at the clifftop. and no sooner than you had taken your place there, he saw the blue figure too, not so slick and hiding in a bush.

and truthfully, this isn’t like kinich. he knows it too. but he stopped his training anyway. you more than likely didn’t need his help— the space was wide open with many escape routes. but also, kinich witnessed what happened the first time around and didn’t think you’d be okay by yourself.

no... he’s just making excuses.

but! none of this takes away from the fact that kinich thinks an emotional outburst probably wouldn’t do much to an obsessive weirdo.

kinich speaks after much contemplation. “i saw you in probable danger, i felt like i had to intervene. but that’s mostly because i don’t think you would’ve gotten anywhere with screaming your head off at that guy.” there is not a hint of a lie in his words.

and what do you have to say to this? you can’t even fault him for wanting to look out for you, although you could never fathom why he’d want to look out for you. “i— it just makes me so angry that i can’t even go out anymore without having to worry about dealing with... you know!” you start, and kinich silently takes it all. he knows he’s not the one you’re mad at. and he understands more than anything.

until he sees a sudden glint in your eyes. “actually, you know what... maybe we should keep up the fake relationship act.”

“all this right after you get mad at me for whatever happened literally an hour ago?” kinich is dumbfounded. “well, i’m leaving.”

“no, wait! i will— i will cook you dinner every night if it means you’ll do this!”

“tempting, but no.”

“i… i really thought about what you said, and i won’t deny that i’m impulsive. i agree that nothing i was going to do that time would’ve put him off.” you’re almost hanging your head down in shame, and you don’t dare look into kinich’s eyes. “i’ll give you anything! let’s just keep at this… arrangement until i figure out how to deal with that creep?”

“i’m not sure you’ll even have any mora left to pay me but… let’s do this.”

taglist !

@yuriisclumsy @fandomfan-102 @jiminscarmex @keiiqq @blaxvoid @eunchaeluvr @just-simping-over-genshin

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[clavissionary-position]

Ikeprinces As Ranked By Gilbert

**Best enjoyed after reading Gil’s route. There are also spoilers of varying degrees from some sequel routes (Chev, Licht).

1. LUKE

Luke: I’m surprised I got the top spot. Don’t you and Chevvie go way back? Gilbert: That’s true, but you’re my adorable little kid brother. I’ve carried you on my back. You’ve carried me on your back. Good times. Luke: Aw, Dad… (bear-hugs Gil) Gilbert: (pouts as he struggles to breathe) Did you even… hear a word of what I said… Luke: I heard ‘kid’. That makes ya my dad, right?

2. CHEVALIER

Gilbert: So? What do you think? Chevalier: (ignores him and continues doing paperwork) Gilbert: (high-pitched voice) “Please, oh please, Gil! Please trample my country to the ground, rebuild it in your image and then run it for me!” Something like that, right? Gilbert: (dodges pebble) Ahh, sorry, sorry. It would probably be more like “Please, oh please, Eyepatch!" Gilbert: (dodges another pebble) What is going on here? Do you roll around in the garden before coming to work every day?

3. CLAVIS

Clavis: (stiff smile) I baked you one of my most sought-after creations as thanks. I’d be honored if you’d try it, Lord Gilbert. Gilbert: Hmm, it looks as unappetizing as I expected but smells delicious. Oh, and... (sniffs) ...you even infused it with my favorite poison! Clavis: Hahaha! Well, I didn’t want you to get the idea that I’d learned nothing about you during all our years working together. Gilbert: Of course, of course. Would you like to share this with me Clavis: (stiff smile) No, no, no. It’s best enjoyed alone. Please, I insist.

4. RIO

Rio: If you’re trying to use me to get to my mistress, then I’ll— Gilbert: You misunderstand me. (Sets down two plates of pain perdu and places his hand on Rio’s) I really do commiserate with you, you know. It’s not easy seeing the one you love go off to be with another man. And yet you gladly sacrifice your own happiness. As though it were someone else's joy to give away. Rio: It is. My joy belongs to my mistress. Gilbert: Hmph? Let's see. Pain perdu means ‘lost bread’, right? Poor, poor abandoned little toast, molding under the table. Gilbert: Oh, by the way. I asked the little rabbit if I could bring these to you on her behalf. (Proceeds to eat all the pain perdu himself) Rio: (smiles brightly) So I’ve heard you love exercising!

5. SILVIO

Silvio: (kicks down the door) Where's the list? Gilbert: (innocently sips tea) So you can tear it up? Did you think I didn't make copies to send to every one of your little merchant friends? Silvio: My real friends know what's up. Gilbert: What a hurtful thing to say. I’m just honoring our friendship. And buttering you up for future manipulation. Silvio: Tch. I don’t know what game you’re playing— Gilbert: Human chess. Silvio: —but I’ll buy up every damn piece before you can get your filthy little mitts on 'em. Gilbert: Hehe, splendid. (Sits back with a smile) What’s more fun than controlling someone who controls everything else?

6. KEITH

Keith: Picked me over the other guy, did ya? Gilbert: Oh, he’s on the list too, of course. But I can’t stand how much of a do-gooder he is. And besides, you’re much more fun to play with. Keith: That right? I’m usually the one doing the teasing around here, though. Gilbert: (looks around dramatically) Around here? Where only a handful of people even know you exist? Tell me, if a tree falls and no one’s there to hear it, does it make a sound? Keith: >:0

7. KEITH

Keith: (hangs head) So you know… about him… Gilbert: Ahaha, there's no need to look so down! You haven’t done anything wrong, have you? It’s all him, right? If only he’d just disappear and stop taunting you from Spot #6. Keith: N-No! I don’t want that! I don’t… think I want that… Keith: Yes, I’m sure of it. He and I can share our friends. Gilbert: (stops smiling) Sharing only works if you can fully trust the other person to not take advantage of your kindness. You may think you can do that now, but people change. Circumstances change. The galette must one day burn. Keith: :’(

8. JIN

Jin: (thoroughly unamused) How kind of you. Gilbert: Isn’t it? But you should know that I’ve got nothing against you personally. Whatever enmity there is between us stems primarily from you. If you weren’t royalty, we might have even co-brothered Luke together. Jin: (throws up in his mouth) I don’t see how that has anything to do with this. And you’re the most detested royal figurehead on the continent. Gilbert: (shrugs) I’d say I’m sorry you can’t see past that, but I’d be lying if I claimed there was anything there to be seen in the first place. Thanks for the lollypop. Jin: What? HEY—

9. SARIEL

Sariel: (stops as soon as he enters his office) What are these vermin doing here? Gilbert: (sitting in Sariel’s chair) Just a little gift I brought so I could congratulate you for making it onto my list. Would you like to do the honors? Sariel: (plucks him up by the fur) Am I to understand you’re giving me a chance to correct my oversight before you take things into your own hands? Gilbert: (brushes himself off) I expect you to do most if not all of the work since my hands are tied while I’m a visiting guest here. But I’m happy to take them under my wing if you can’t even do that much. Sariel: “Kill them, or be forced to kill them,’ is it? (glances at the tied-up assassins) I wonder which one of us they would consider a fate worse than death.

10. LEON

Leon: (glares) I take it you only stuck me on here out of diplomatic courtesy. Gilbert: Haha, maybe. But there’s something about you that’s always reminded me of someone I know. Leon: Whoever it is, I feel bad for the guy. Gilbert: (bittersweet smile) You might be right. Maybe I need to do better by him…

11. LICHT

Licht: Do I know you? Gilbert: I was wondering the same thing, to be honest. But I’ve seen you around the palace enough times that I figured I might as well throw you on here. Gilbert: Nice eyes by the way, hehe. Licht: Oh no you don’t. My only family is Nokto.

12. NOKTO

Gilbert: Oh. There are two of you. Must be nice having an identical twin. (Resting his chin in his hand) Do you two switch places a lot? Nokto: You never noticed before today? Never received a report from one of your spies about it? Gilbert: Oh no, what sort of boring activities do you think I have my spies do all day? Nokto: Well, for starters, you sure seem to have paranormal insight into the contents of our kitchen at any given moment. Gilbert: So you'd rather I left all the carrots where they are? Nokto: ...

...

.......

................

Yves: Prince Gilbert!

Gilbert: (stops but doesn’t turn around)

Yves: I saw your list, and I couldn’t help but notice—

Gilbert: No, I believe you noticed everything you were meant to.

Gilbert: (leaves to go find the little rabbit to fix his bad mood)

[mqriuss]

nothing happens

hinata tachibana x fem!reader, angst i guess

note: idk if this makes any sense, it's kind of a vent fic (for a lack of better word lol)

nothing happens when you're with hina.

nothing besides the way she greets you oh so cheerfully when she walks into class and sees you.

there's no smile more contagious than hers, at least for you. it was always easy to return the light she beamed.

you're not sure if the same can be said for you. not when takemichi just happens to be there every time you decide to finally be the first one to approach her. to finally suck it up and be the first to say hi.

"oh– hi, y/n!" she'd say before going back to giving takemichi her undivided attention. you're so distracted by all the assumptions you were making in your head that you barely notice takemichi waving a hand at you too.

'she doesn't like talking to me. i could disappear right now and she wouldn't notice as long as takemichi was around.'

then he'll go back to talking to hina and giving her those stupid heart-shaped eyes of his like always.

nothing happens. so you breathe in, out, and walk away. anywhere was fine really—the cafeteria, another friend's classroom, to your seat by the wall, far from where hina sat by the window. though not quite far enough to stop you from stealing glances at her. not far enough to tune out the sounds of her giggling and takemichi's sheepish laughter. not far enough, you could never be far enough from hina.

nothing happens when you're with hina.

nothing besides the times you get to hang out with her outside of school. you'd walk closely side by side, close enough to rub your arm against hers every now and then. close enough for her to lean in with her phone in hand and show you a picture of an outfit she had planned.

and you're close with hina. close enough to be able to guess what the outfit was for. hina doesn't care that much for fashion, she always wore what's comfortable.

"you going on a date?" you'd ask.

she'd light up instantly. "how'd you guess?"

"i know you."

you know hina. she wears only the cutest clothes when she knows takemichi's going to be around. it was endearing, really. how someone can become more conscious about the way they present themselves when they meet someone they like. hina wears her cutest outfits for takemichi, but you wanted to believe you could be better. because hina wears what's comfortable around you.

but of course, you wouldn't be so special for that. hina wears comfortable clothes around anyone, so nothing happens.

nothing happens when you're with hina. even as you take a sketchy route together with your arms linked. nothing happens.

even though you take different martial arts classes and knock out creepy men who try to go near her, nothing happens. she's even closer now. clinging to your arm, snapping you back to reality. she's even closer when she tells you to just keep walking and forget about them. they're already unconscious anyway.

nothing happens, even though she looks at you with sparkling eyes and gushes over how cool you look when you fight. you're spotless as you walk her out of the place as quickly as you can, an arm wrapped firmly around her.

nothing happens, but you return to her place and find takemichi at the front door. he's battered up, covered in bruises, an eye going purple, and a busted lip—and of course, something happens.

something happens when you reluctantly tell her, "i'll give you guys some space," and she nods gratefully. something happens as you turn around to walk away, only to hear the faintest sound of a kiss. you tell yourself that you shouldn't, you don't want to, and yet you do anyway. you turn your head just a little to see hina tip-toeing slightly to peck his cheek, reddened from taking every punch that flew his way.

nothing happens when you're with hina.

nothing besides the days she finds herself bored and would come over to your place. the days when she'd come running up the stairs and entering your room without knocking, a grin on her face as she drags you out of your sheets. "let's go to the park!"

nothing happens on the walk to the park in your neighbourhood. nothing besides meeting one of your long-time neighbours, taking his husky out for a walk. hina coos at his furry friend, asking if she can pet it.

it makes sense for anyone to ask a stranger for permission to do something, like petting their dog. you're no stranger to hina though. she doesn't need to ask you of anything as you whip your phone out of your pocket. she doesn't need to ask as you open the camera app and take pictures of her with the dog from her "most flattering angles."

you think hina's flattering at any angle, even though she insists she isn't.

nothing happens when you bid your neighbour goodbye and show hina the pictures you took. "oh my gosh, these look so cute," she gasps and takes her phone out too. "you have to send those to me!"

you send the pictures to her and nothing happens. nothing as she forwards two of them to takemichi.

'look at this husky we saw around y/n's neighbourhood!' her text message reads—and boy, you wish takemichi would get jealous at the mention of you. but you know he won't. he won't, because nothing ever happens when you're with hina.

nothing happens until you're sitting down next to her on the swings after giving her a little push.

"i got mad at takemichi yesterday," she reveals, and you hate the way you perk up at those words. you hate the way you have to bite back an immediate response to stop yourself from saying something you'll regret. something that'll only push her away from you.

so you pause. "why?" is all you can manage to let out.

you could hardly pay attention to any word coming out of her mouth. all you know is that some point, she asks–

"would dating a girl be any easier?"

it's a joke. that's all it was. a little joke to get herself to chuckle, to lighten up the atmosphere. you almost want to laugh though, how many girls have you heard say that and go back to their boyfriends anyway? forgiving them for the same mistakes they continue to make even after apologizing?

hina's case might be a little different though. you can barely understand what's going on between her and takemichi, but you can tell just how much trust she puts in him. how much she believes in him. regardless of what she's upset about, she seems to have made up her mind. things will go back to normal with takemichi in no time.

so before you could get the chance to think, "this is it," nothing happens. nothing happens when her head turns to the side and makes eye contact. nothing happens when your gaze darts down to her soft and plump lips. nothing happens because you look away before she can.

"don't worry, hina. i'm sure he has his reasons. he'll talk to you about it soon enough," you reassure her, rocking your swing back and forth slightly. "after all, he likes you."

you do too, but you know better than to tell her. so nothing happens. nothing ever happens when you're with hina.

[anonymitywriterprescott]

The ding of the door opening gets my attention, so I walk, minding the gap, onto the train. Looking around for a seat, I notice the empty train car and choose to sit close to the door.

I scroll on my phone as the train starts moving again. 6:09 pm. A call notification appears on screen as the ringtone echoes through the car, making it sound bigger and emptier than it is. "Babe <3" is calling. "Hello love, what's up?" "Sooo I may have promised a lovely homemade lasagna but we will probably be having your choice of fast food tonight instead." They say, sounding sorry as ever and a bit annoyed. "Oh noo, What happened? You ok?" "Yeah, no bruises, burns, or blood, but the oven shit the bed again, and I already called the office to see if and when it could get replaced this time instead of just a duct tape fix, but they said it would be at least 3 weeks." "3 fucking weeks? They expect us to not cook for 3 fucking weeks, really?" My voice is barely below yelling. "Hey, it'll be ok; I already texted my mom, I can go over tomorrow and premake some stuff, aaaand she's giving us her microwave because she never uses it, so we can reheat it all." Their voice sounds desperate to calm me, knowing how much I hate that stupid, old-ass, fucking oven. "I guess I'll need to sneak a $50 in her pocket because I doubt she'll let us pay for it." "You would be right. So, do you wanna pick up dinner on your way, or should I order delivery?" "Delivery," I glance at the time on my phone. 6:27 pm. "feels like the train is taking forever, and I don't wanna carry the food up the stairs." "Alright baby, text me what you want, Love you." "Love you, bye." I tap the end call button and go to our texts, filling out where to order from and what I want. The text continuously attempts to send but fails. I have no signal, of course.

The clock reads 6:30 pm. This route is usually like 10 minutes, and we haven't stopped moving, so why is it taking so long? The windows show only darkness and an occasional flash from the tunnel lights. I walk to one of the doors connecting the cars and press the button to open it, but nothing happens. Same with the second door. A bright white light floods the car, but it's gone before my eyes adjust. The text continues failing to send. No signal means I can't call anyone or look up anything about train delays. The clock reads 6:30 pm. Still? I look at the walls to see if there is an emergency or call button or something that says a phone number to call if I get signal. Nothing. The clock reads 6:30 pm. I stare at my phone. 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi… …59 Mississippi, 60 Mississippi. The clock reads 6:30 pm. Maybe I was a bit off on my timing, I tell myself, waiting for the minute to pass. It doesn't. The clock reads 6:30 pm. Finally, soft light seeps through the windows. Outside, a dim forest, trees with twisted limbs, and long-hanging vines whizz by. Every so often, I think I see a creature, but it looks… wrong. One of them was a deer, but the antlers looked like its legs? So time is… frozen, I can't get off the train, I am alone, and I'm seeing things?

"You're not seeing things, darling." A voice comes from the other side of the car. Startled, I quickly turned to see it. A tall, rectangular figure, wearing a red hat whose top scrapes the car's roof, whose brim covers its face, and a matching red suit that looks like it's made of silk. I stare wide-eyed, not knowing what it is or its intentions. Or why it can hear my thoughts. But I keep calm, "What am I seeing then?" "Not the thing you think." It says, speaking "That's upsettingly vague." "It's more literal than you realize." It cocks its head as if it's examining me.

Its face.

It feels like it's… out of focus? No matter how hard I try, I just can't quite… see it? "Don't hurt yourself." It says, looking me up and down. "Look at the wall if it helps." It sounds annoyed at my existence. Like my inability to see its features is an inconvenience of the highest accord. "May I have your name?" It reaches out its hand as if it expects me to give it something. Its hand has long, thin fingers that come to a point, like a pale grey claw, which turns pitch black towards the fingertips. "Only if I can have yours," I reply, using the same reply my mother always gave when people asked for her name. "Not worth the trade… no offense." It sneers at the end. "But your mother taught you well. Did you come here intentionally?" "Well I got on the train intentionally, but where ever we are now was not where I wanted to go." "And where do you wish to go?"

"Home." "Home it is."

My eyes close, and I feel a rush of air circle me. As the air dissipates, my eyes open, and I am in front of my apartment door, plastic white bags containing our dinner at my feet. The door swings open, and I see my partner's face and baggy pajamas. "Hey baby, good timing!" Silence fills the air, I try to speak, but my voice feels stuck in my throat. I can't wrap my head around this. "…baby? You ok?" Their hand strokes my shoulder, a slight touch, yet it feels like it drags my soul back into my body. I gasp, startling my partner. "I… don't know how… I got here…" I stumble out. "Well, you got here, and you seem unharmed. Come inside, love." They guide my arm, pulling me inside. As I walk into the apartment, I look for my phone, finding it in my pocket with a small, folded piece of paper that reads, "Safe travels, darling. Your mother says hello." The clock reads 6:30pm.

[cassideerides]

A first time sissy story.

!Fiction!

This story is made up and has no Tell me what you think.

I was almost done with my paper route, it was so hot at least 100 degrees. I was just down to wearing my shorts and the sun wasn’t even out yet this early Saturday morning. I couldn’t be more happier to finish up the route so I could go to the cool river afterwards. The last house was up a very steep grade of road and the driveway was even steeper, but my Customer liked his paper in a box on his porch. I usually tried to throw it into his paper box from the driveway just for the sport of it, but this morning the sun had just started to come up over the mountain that was behind his mobile home. As I got off my bicycle and walked it up to the porch I noticed the light in the house were on so I knocked on the door and the Man was there and bob was there before my last knock. With my hand poised for the last knock, I said hello. Surprised, I thought this very strange but handed him his paper anyways, but he dropped it and it landed behind me so I turned around Bent over and picked it up off the ground and again handed it back to him. His name was Robert. He always asked me to call him Bob. I believe he was in his early 50s and I knew had recently lost his beautiful wife. I wasn’t sure if he was okay with all the heat of the last few days and asked him how he was doing. He said he was fine and asked if I would like to come in for a glass of water or soda pop. I was in a hurry, I really wanted to go hang out at the river before the crowds, but thought to myself, I could always use a cold soda.

Bob returned with a Coke in hand as I sat at his kitchen table in my jogging shorts that I used in gym class. They were a little short and tight, but we’re good for the paper route and gym class. I took a big swig from the Coke can, enjoying every drop like it was my last.

Bob told Me he couldn’t believe that I wasn’t sweating my ass off from riding my bike over my 5 mile paper route. I looked up Adam and smiled and shrugged my shoulders and told him maybe it’s because I took off my shirt halfway through the Paper route, And then asked me if I would like to earn a few more dollars by raking his backyard, which was very small. I didn’t mind making a few bucks extra, and told him sure I could use a few more dollars for the weekend and thank you for offering it to me.

He was living in a mobile home that backed up to a hillside with a 7 foot fence that went around a 10 x 20‘ area with hardly any leaves at all. Thinking to myself, I just hit the jackpot, this won’t take very long at all. by now the sun had come out and it was getting really hot.

I grabbed the leaf rake from the side of the house, Then started raking in the far corner as asked too. When I turned around To see where I was going, I noticed Bob was also wearing his shorts without a shirt on, he was at least six two and had no fat on him. sitting in his fold out chair with another Coke in his hand watching me.

I turned Back around and kept raking, in no time I was a quarter of the way done. Bob asked me to stop and asked if I would like another soda? At that I said yes, thank you. Then he went on to tell me that I was doing a great job. I walked up to him and he handed me the unopened soda. I sat in the empty chair that he had put next to him and we started talking.

It was all small talk about the weather and the town we lived in. I was sitting in the direct sun and it was cooking my already overly tan body. So I asked him if I could move my chair out of the sun, which put the chair right directly in front of Bob thinking nothing of it. I sat closed my eyes and took a big swig of my soda. When I opened my eyes, I set the soda down on the armrest of the chair next to me, Looking right at him and the first thing I noticed was his legs were spread open, and his privates were hanging out of the leg of his shorts. I was very surprised, and my mouth was open wide and my mouth hung open for just a little bit too long. I had never seen anything so big! His limp dick laid out across the seat of the chair and over the edge of the seat, and his balls were huge. I had never seen such a big dick and ball. Probably because I had only really seen one other men’s dick when I showered with him a few years back and it was maybe 6 inches long 7 inches long lamp and all the other dicks and balls I had seen were at the school gym showers. I think he knew I was staring at his dick. Bob cleared his throat to get my attention. When I looked up into his eyes, he must’ve known I was intrigued. When he looked down to see his cock and balls hanging out, he smiled.

We went on to talk about how hot the weather was for a bit longer. Then I got up and said These leaves are not gonna get raked up by themselves and smiled at him and went back to raking.

I could not believe how Big Bob’s cock was it was huge. All the while I raked, my skin was burning from the direct sun. I looked over at Bob and asked him if it would be okay to turn the hose on myself to cool off. Of course, Bob said and waved his arm over towards the hose bib. Walking over to the hose bib I turned it on.

The water was very refreshing to feel it cascading over my bare skin sending shivers through my body.

Back to raking I went. In 10 minutes I was almost done. I was really looking forward to hosing off again, but I wanted to finish raking first. Bob then Stopped me, asked me if I would like to hose off again. I was grateful he asked, So I went back over to the hose and hosed off, rinsing off all the sweat. It felt so good. This time I lingered under the water for quite some time. I looked over at Bob and noticed him smiling at me.

Bob had moved the chair I was sitting in from out of in front of himself which gave me a clear view of his cock and balls every time I looked up. And I was looking up a lot.

That is when Bob stopped me and asked me to come over and sit next to him in the chair he had just moved. I did as asked, and I was a little put off because where I sat I could not see his manhood. But it was nice to be cooled off from the cold water from the hose. I grabbed my can of Coke and took a big swig and swallowed my treat. Then he asked me what I like to do for fun. I told him I loved fishing, riding my bicycle, hanging out with the guys from school, playing baseball, but I really missed football. He just smiled at me. And said yes football is fun to watch. Then he asked me what I did at home when I was bored. I told him I read books and hang out with my mom and my younger sister. He seems surprised and asked me where my father was? I told him that my father had left us when I was a year old. Then he asked me if I ever saw my mother naked? I told him all the time, it was a normal occurrence in our house, the girls did not mind to be naked but I did. I told him I was shy about being naked in front of them. He asked me why. I said to him, my mother told me that I have a small, little dick so I was never to show it in front of them.

The surprised look on his face led to him, saying He couldn’t believe that she would actually do that, but I told him it was true and still couldn’t believe that a mother could be that cruel and asked me to show him, I felt a little awkward, but I pulled down my shorts so he could see that I wasn’t making it up. He seemed very surprised, the look on his face showed as much. I half wittily smiled at him. Kind of ashamed at the size of my little dick. Then Bob asked me to finish up raking the leaves into a pile, so I went over to pick up the rake to finish up. I was done in five minutes. Then he asked me to pick up the leaf by hand, to place them in the trash can that was at the corner of the house.

As I walked over to the can, I leaned the rake up against the wall where it was in the first place. I came back to the pile of leaves and started filling up the can. As I filled the can, I felt a bit strange that I just had showed him my little dick.

I wanted to finish with the leaves so I could get the money and go to the store to pick up more sodas for myself.

After the last leaf was picked up, I felt so relieved walking back to Bob. He handed me a $10 bill and then asked me if I would like to make a little more money. I said sure, gleefully.

He asked me if I would ride up to the corner store to get him some more sodas for later because we had drank them all.

I couldn’t believe my luck and told him so, he said well that’s great and gave me $20 and said he would share another one with him when I got back.

Off I went, Paddling my bike as fast as I could, up to the store, grabbing a six pack of Coke and back to the mobile home, 20 minutes later, I knocked on the front door. Bob took a while to open the door this time and invited me in. We went back to the backyard and popped two cans of Coke open and sat down to drink.

I was still very hot after the ride. The store was a good 2 miles away and up more hills. So I asked Bob if I could rinse off again with the hose again. Of course he said.

As I walked over to the hose, he asked me if I needed a towel to dry off because he had to go in and start making his lunch and then asked me if I would like to join him for a bologna sandwich.

Yes I said, I was very happy with the idea of getting a sandwich for lunch. But, he started to say, I would have to takeoff my wet shorts, so as not to get water in the house. Which seemed logical and since he had seen me with my shorts down earlier, it didn’t seem like a big deal. So I took off my shoes, socks and shorts, and I felt a little odd which he could see so he asked me if I would feel better if I put something on? I nodded my head up and down, And said, yes.

He started walking out of the kitchen, down the hall, all the while, asking me if it mattered what he got for me to wear. And said that he had something I could wear that were his wife’s, that would fit me. I said sure. All the while

thinking to myself, Wife’s??? Maybe it’s a nice pair of shorts?

When he got back, he was holding a pink pair of shiny panties, As he walked past the kitchen table, he threw them to me, and told me to put these on.

I definitely felt very awkward at this moment, holding a pink pair of satin panties in my hands. I just looked down at them, thinking to myself I definitely feel awkward now. Not feeling very comfortable putting them on he told me not to worry, it is just us two guys in the house, go ahead and put them on. There’s no one here that cares if you’re wearing pretty girls panties. I think you will like them. They should fit perfect because of the size of your clitty, they will feel really comfortable while we eat our sandwiches.

With his reassurance, I got up from the table and walked over in front of the couch and sat down to slip them On. I first slipped them over both feet and stood up, reached down and started to pull them up, and Oh My God! I thought to myself! they felt so good sliding up my hairless legs and over my little, round butt.

Boy, Just then something inside of my lower belly started fluttering and something happened that I couldn’t control. My little dick sprang to life and was hard as a rock in a second. The pink panties stuck out in the front about an inch. I was so embarrassed, I sat down on the couch in an instant, trying to conceal what had just happened. Then I had a quick flashback to a time of the past. The only other time this happened was when sneaking into mother’s bedroom to wear her pantyhose around the house while no one’s home.

I don’t know what came over me all of the sudden my body felt very warm and I start to sweat. I looked up from the couch at Bob with a surprised deer in the headlight look, he just smiled, put some mustard on the bread, then said, I knew you would like them! Look at your body. It’s glistening. And to my surprise, he said, You look really cute, twirl around! I want to see the rest of you. and again, I surprised myself. I got up off of the couch and I twirled for him. Proudly. Bob said, such the sexy, sissy gurl.

Then he proceeded to ask me if I wear my little sisters panties? I said no, but I love to wear my mother’s pantyhose when no one’s home. Bob then smiled, uttered, of course you do. And asked me when I started doing this.

I told him, I started wearing Mother’s pantyhose when I was seven years old and I smile back at him?

I didn’t know what I was thinking when I told him that, but it was to late to take it back, I quickly realized I did not seem to care. Then thought to myself, What was I getting into? And realized I did not know. But I was definitely enjoying myself.

So, I just looked up at Bob and said, Do you mind if I just get comfortable and relax. I know I’m a young man wearing your wife’s panties and this happened so fast. You are the only man or woman for that matter, that has seen me wearing women’s clothing. I don’t want this to feel weird for me and I don’t know what your intentions are, but it doesn’t seem like you care and I am enjoying myself thoroughly at the moment. Thank you, I feel real comfortable. By chance, do you have anything I could wear? Wearing these pink satin panties in front of you with my micro hard clitty is a little bit uncomfortable for me.

Bob and said thank you for being honest as a matter of fact I do have something else I think you might like. He stopped working on the sandwiches and walked back to the room. Fumbled around for about 10 seconds and came back out with an entire lingerie set that matched the panties. Try this on. I think you’ll love it.

Looking up at Bob as he handed me the things he had went and gotten from his room, I got up and stood behind the couch and started putting on the lingerie. I was so excited. I had never worn anything like this, but it all matched. There was a half lace, half satin bra, some very sexy thin see-through, thigh high, matching nylons. A white pair of 2 inch pumps. And I covered myself up with a very nice chiffon throw. Everything fits so well.

Bob asked me to sit next to him at the dining table. sat down to eat my sandwich. Bob put a plate with the sandwich and some chips on it in front of me and then sat down next to me as we enjoyed our lunch sitting next to each other.

Then Bob put his hand on my legs, His hands were so big, one hand covered both my legs. His touch was gentle, and when he rubbed my nylon clad legs, the feeling was out of this world. I felt the butterfly affect again, the feeling of his hand, rubbing the nylon on my bare legs was so exciting and invigorating. I had a hard time finishing my sandwich.. It was amazing to feel how good his hands felt on my legs. He had finished his food first, I was still working on my sandwich as I enjoyed the soft touching.

He asked me if I liked how his hand felt on my legs as he rubbed them. I told him I really enjoyed it, that it was the first time I ever have had a man touch me like this. rub my legs. It felt really nice. Then he gently put his finger’s in between my legs and spread them apart, just enough to Softly, touch both inner thighs at the same time with strokes Starting down at my knees, and going up to my crotch. The first time he hit my erotic zone. (my rock hard little clitty.) I naturally spread my legs wider and threw my head back moaning. All I could manage to say was, Oh my God! Then I felt something from deep inside my loins, something I’ve never felt before, but it felt amazing!

I tried as hard as I could to hold whatever this new sensation I felt trying to escape from deep inside of me as he kept rubbing the insides of my thighs, which felt absolutely divine. I tried as hard as I could to keep it inside of me, but I had no control over it, it only took one more time as his finger touched my little clitty. I exploded into my satin panties, over and over, my body pulsed, spewing this new found warm, thick fluid, filling my panties. I got really embarrassed and turned red in the face. Realizing I had just had my first orgasm.

Bob smiled and said that’s OK as he flicked it with the tip of his finger and it sent shivers throughout my body.

He then got up from the table and took the plates away and asked if I would like a glass of ice water to rinse down the food. I said, sure. He came back to the table with the two glasses of ice water. Handing me one, which I took in my right hand then he took up my left hand and lifted it enough to let me know he wanted me to get up. After rising from my chair at the table, I took a big drink then we walked over to the couch. Before I sat down, he had me put my glass down on the book table at the side of the couch. Then he asked me to take off my panties. So I politely as I could, I pulled my soaking panties down to my ankles and over the pumps without Getting any of the fluids on anything else. The next thing he did really surprised me. He asked me to clean off the inside of my panties with my tongue. I just looked at him, amazed and slowly put the panties to my mouth and took a big whiff of the musky rewards deep into my nostrils. It was a very strong smell, and the closer I put it to my face the more I fell into a trance, by the time it got to my tongue I couldn’t wait to suck it off of the material. Then Bob told me that he knew I would love it.

Then he took an ice cube out of his glass of water and put it against my bra and rubbed it back-and-forth over my erect nipples.

This was a new experience for me as I sat there, quite shocked from what was going on. Of course, Bob flicked my hard nipples, again repeating it over and over as I moaned with lust, which he took as a green light because I was in no position to be throwing up any red lights. He went down and kissed my hard little nipple and sucked it into his mouth with a force that pulled my skin away from my muscles. Everything was happening really fast, but I couldn’t move. All of that cum I sucked out of my panties must have done something to my brain. I had no initiative to try to do anything, because everything felt so good.

This new found experience was unexpected and I had no control over my own thoughts other than to go with it.

He took my left hand and placed it on his crotch. Instinctively, I started feeling around gently. He opened his legs wide, and my hand fell into his crotch area and There it was limp and thick. I petted it with the tip of my fingers. I could feel it moving. It was amazing to feel it’s weight in my hand as I grabbed it and picked it up. I could not see it because his head was under my face sucking on my nipples, switching off side to side. I couldn’t control myself anymore. I spread my legs out wide and laid back against the back of the chair as he worked lavishly at my chest, that is when I felt his hand on my little dick, which he had earlier called my little clitty.

He stopped for a moment and said, oh Shawna, my little sissy slut look how wet you are again. Let us do something about this and gently spreading my legs again my little hard dick was slick with pre-cum, then he sucked it into his mouth like he had earlier sucked on my nipples. This sent me over the top and within seconds, my body was convulsing, and I came in his mouth, shooting my load again, I moaned and screamed out loud I was out of control. Oh God, yes. He kept sucking on my hard little kitty for a long time after, and I shot another load in his mouth bucking at the hips against his face as he sucks so hard I could not believe what was happening to my body. I was breathing so hard as he kept going, sucking my little clitty like a straw, I fucked at his face. I could feel his hands roaming around my taint. Everything was very wet down there, but when he stuck his finger up to my rosebud, it took my breath away, and I came again this time he didn’t swallow it. He reached up with his face and put his lips to my lips and forced his tongue deep into my mouth, then spit all of my cum into my mouth.

When he pulled his big tongue out, my lips closed around it, sucking on it as he pulled it out. I could taste the salty, thick fluid, which filled my mouth, strangely. It was my own cum and I loved it.

My body was still shaking from the last orgasm. I Felt a strange feeling come over myself, like I hadn’t before, I had no control over my body as Lu back against the back of the couch.

He got to his feet in front of me, grabbed both of my hands in his and pulled me forward to him and started to manhandle me. I felt my body lift off of the ground with ease. I let him because my body was limp and I did not care at all, I was in a state of ecstasy, and I wanted to stay there.

He had rolled me over onto my belly face down with my ass up over the back on the couch. I didn’t know where this was going at the moment and I didn’t care and when I felt his tongue dart into my ass crack, I open my eyes then it happened again, but it felt good. I could feel his whiskers scratching at my tinder soft ass cheeks, while his tongue was trying to invade my virgin Rosebud.

I loved it so much. I actually reach back and spread my ass cheeks open, prompting him to keep going. His vigorous actions finally exceeded in breaking down the walls of my virgin little Rosebud and his tongue entered the unknown. In and out it went diving into darkness and the deeper it went the better it felt. I was not spreading my ass cheeks apart anymore. I had two handfuls of hair and I was pulling his head into my ass crack, his tongue was amazing. Oh Bob, that feel so good don’t stop. Keep tongue fucking me! Please! I beg you, don’t stop. I was such a fucking tongue slut! The sensation I got feeling his tongue worming around against the walls of my asshole was, well I was in heaven until I wasn’t in heaven, and I felt a strange, hard finger being inserted into my rosebud, thank God it wasn’t as big as his tongue, it went in with ease because of all the fluid from his mouth. He slowly drove it in and out a few times, then he included another finger. This action took my breath away as he stretched my hole open a little bigger than it had been ever before. I moaned oh fuck, out loud as he drove it deep inside of me. Over and over. His fingers dove deep into my newfound love hole then the third one was added, and the pain was extreme. Enough so that I couldn’t breathe. Bob pulled me up and put one arm under my belly and chest and cupped my neck in his big hand, Holding my young body with ease, he rubbed my wet ass up and down over his long, engorged manhood, I opened my eyes and to my surprise with my head down I could see his long thick Member, hanging down towards the ground as he pumped me up and down it with ease. oh my God that feels so good he said, as I watched it grow from underneath. I reached back with my hands and wrapped my finger around his thick fuselage of a cock and stroke it as he used the crack of my ass and legs as a tool to stroke it . Then he asked me, Shawnna no do you want me to put it in you and give you my manhood? It will hurt at first, and you have to breathe while I’m inserting or else it won’t go in. My Sissy instincts took over as the woman inside of me told him that I wanted to please him anyway I can. He laid me back down gently, over the back of the couch pick me up with both hands spun me around and face-to-face. He kissed my mouth with such a passion all the while, squeezing me tight against his body with one arm he brought his manhood up to my bottom which was already saturated with His saliva and my love juices with the other hand. We kissed with our tongues passionately, as he moved my body up and down with one arm and forced my rosebud onto his cock his cock. As we kissed, I could feel my rosebud slowly trying to accept his huge mushroom tipped Cock over and over he lifted me over and over I tried to Accept. I had wrapped my feet around his back for extra grip and my arms around his neck. I locked my fingers together and helped in trying to fit his thick fat cock head. Into my tightest hole as we kissed, I left my mouth open to breathe and deep breaths to relax my body, but nothing seem to work.

Bob stopped, laying me over the back of the couch belly down again, told me he’d be right back all the while, I wondered where he could be going as I lay over the back of the couch feet dangling above the ground he came back with a bottle of fluid and proceeded to spread my ass cheeks wide all the while, putting the open bottle up to my rosebud. Pushing it inside of me just a little past the opening of my rosebud and he squeezed the bottle gently and filled me with the cold feeling fluid. He then took the bottle and squeeze some onto his cock and rubbed a large amount all over his manhood and balls. He picked me up, told me not to let any of the fluid out of my rosebud as we walked down the hall to his bedroom, he laid me on my back, on his king size bed and then laid down on top of me and started kissing me again. I was in heaven I loved this newfound attention. I was getting from this man. I had gotten it from girls in the past, but they weren’t as vigorous as this man he dominated me moving my body anywhere he wanted, petting me, gently, touching me all over my body, wrapping his arms around me he put his body in between my legs, spreading my ass cheeks open naturally, as he slid his foot-long cock between them to my Rosebud. As we kissed, he slowly, meticulously kept forcing his hips forward, trying to push his cock into me. We were locked into a deep tongue, tangled mouth watering kiss when it happened, and I lost my breath to the feel of his mushroom tip opening my nether region up for the first time it didn’t seem like I could swallow enough air. My lungs seem too small. he kept the cock head still for at least two minutes as he kissed me and sucked on my neck as I tried to catch my breath, but it was really hard with his tongue deep in my mouth. When I finally calm down from the pain, he popped it out and instantly pushed it back in, spreading my love hole a little wider this time.

I was able to take more of the head and more pain this went on for at least 10 minutes as he slowly stretched me open wider as I accepted more of his manhood each time he thrust. All I wanted was it to fill me! I kissed him deeply him, pushing against his manhood as hard as I could, then I felt something pop, and his cock staff slid in at least 6 inches as I grabbed his hair and pulled his head back as I screamed like I’ve never screamed before… All I could see where stars behind my closed eyes. Bob seemed to know what he was doing. Obviously, he kept his fat Love Tool still for a little while, as I adjusted myself to accommodate his size. In no time he started too slowly, moving it in and out, and in time as I started to breathe again, passionately, trying to accept his manhood, As my body relaxed, Bob seem to sense my need to be filled with his cock and started to drive it with deeper and longer strokes of love into my awaiting loving bussy. All the while telling me how good I felt, and how tight my little Sissy vagina felt. He kept talking nasty to me as he laid on top of me, humping my body with his manhood. I loved feeling the weight of him and the movement of his body on top of me as my arms were wrapped around him as best I could. We spoke in the language of love and sex as we mated passionately. I loved feeling the veins of his fat cock, rubbing against the walls of my sissy vagina, spreadIng them thin and wide as he started to breathe harder and harder, he picked up the pace and I took him. I took every inch I could and loved it and I told him that, I told him I wanted him to keep fucking me hard as I moan screamed bagged, cried, loved, feeling his long, thick cock, moving my inside around to accommodate him. I never wanted him to stop. I just wanted to feel his hot cock deep inside of me for the rest of my life that’s all I could think about as he drove his cock in and out of me. He was fucking me so hard. His cock popped out, and I cried for him to put it back in me, and he rammed it into me so hard hi cried out. Yes do it again please I beg you. He did this over and over torturing me, then rolled me over onto my belly and rammed it home over and over deep inside of me as his big fucking balls punished my empty balls and taints to no end. Then all at once he stopped and he asked me, Shawnna would you like to taste my manhood? All in one breath. I didn’t know what to say, so he pulled his monster cock out of my Love hole, spun me around with my hair and put my head laying over the edge of the bed and told me to open my mouth, and he put his big fat cock to my lips, With One hip thrust it went into my mouth and sprayed it full of his seed. He told me to swallow and swallow I did. It sprayed out my nose. He squeezed my nose closed, which made me open my mouth wide to take a breath, which allowed him to shove his cock down my throat as he filled my stomach with the rest of his seed and finished up, literally down in my stomach. I lay there gagging until he finished I could feel his cock convulsing in my throat, it seemed to take a very long time. He told me just to hold my breath until he finished. I relaxed as I lay there on my back while he finished dumping his huge load of seed down my throat, literally into my stomach. I could feel every batch as it shot out of his cock. The whole time he was moaning fuck yeah out loud over and over so I knew I was doing my job, right. He finally pulled his cock out of my throat and it slapped against his thighs as it fell limp out of my mouth. He laid down on the bed next to me and told me to get up to suck his cock clean while he laid there. I did what I was told I could taste his manhood as well as my newfound gurl bussy juices and I loved it. I caressed his balls and licked all around them, tongue his hole and cleaned him up really good. Like a good little bitch should. Then crawled up onto his chest and started, kissing him all over his neck and face and lips, and we made out with our tongues once again I love this man.

He picked me up and took me to a shower Where we cleaned up. I was much shorter than he was, so when he set me down on to my feet in the shower, my eyes were not much higher than his waist. I loved his cock so much I felt the need to have it in my hands all the time, It was my new toy and I didn’t want to stop playing with it so I cleaned it with soap. Gently washed it off clean myself properly kissed his cock, sucked him into my mouth under the caressing shower water all the while stroking it with two hands as Bob told me to never tell anybody about our little secret as I looked up into his eyes while his limp cock was bouncing off my tonsils. I knotted my head up-and-down in a yes, motion. I sucked his cock till the water went cold. Then he turned it off and grabbed two towels off the top of the shower wall and we dried off.

Then Bob thanked me for being such a good little sissy bitch and told me he was going to always call me Shawnna from now on, no matter where he saw me and he would be expected me earlier every Saturday morning. And also told me he would be waiting with a surprise for me. I smiled as I dried off. I realized that I loved this man for what he showed me this morning and I wanted to do whatever it took to make him happy.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐋♡𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 [Part 1 Teaser]

"Are you seriously having a boner right now?"

Tags/Warnings: Fuckboy!Jungkook, Fuckgirl!Reader, Angst, Misunderstandings, Friends/Enemies to lovers, Very suggestive, adult, hurt and comfort, smut, did I mention angst? It's worth it in the end tho promise, Jungkook is such a MENACE in this

Length: ~700 Words

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜.♡

-> Masterlist

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That longing for you isn't just sexual for him. Absolutely not. But he can't really be mad at his dick for being very happy to witness the sight of you in your simple black leggings, shaping your legs into what he can only describe as the intro to a lot of his dirty fantasies.

All of them involving him either taking them off to various degrees- or simply ripping them open if he's feeling particularly eager.

"Are you seriously having a boner right now?" You whine, sitting down next to him on his couch, and he just laughs, no shame felt by him whatsoever. He's always like this, and he loves that he can be like this with you- though it's also pretty frustrating, considering that nothing he does, no route he chooses, no plan he comes up with seems to lead him anywhere with you.

"It is in a semi right now, actually." He bluntly replies after calming down, leaning against the side of his couch, watching you with a smirk you can't help but be affected by. "Wanna check?" He wiggles his brows suggestively at you, and you shake your head.

"Absolutely not, keep that thing in your pants, sir." You huff, taking the remote from the table to zap through the various channels, trying to ignore his eyes on you. Maybe hanging out with him was a bad idea, especially since you should technically be packing your things for the upcoming move. But he's asked so nicely, and you're way too weak compared to him, mentally and physically- so honestly, you deserve this torture now.

It's always like this. And if you weren't such a liar, you could have it a lot easier with him.

Or you wouldn't have anything of him at all.

"Sir, huh?" He hums, as if to test that word out on his tongue, the wet muscle moving over his fresh piercing next to his older one on his lip, eyes looking at nothing. "Nah, doesn't have a good ring to it for me." He shrugs, adjusting his legs- as if to proudly flaunt his still very much half-hard dick underneath his grey sweats in your face. "Never really been into that whole Daddy-Sir-Title calling honestly." He confesses easily, arms crossing as he watches what you've chosen for now on the TV. "Call me daddy." He suddenly asks you, and you look at him with wide eyes.

"What? No!" You deny, and he rolls his eyes.

"Sucks dick daily but can't call her best friend Daddy, you're really something." He jokes, and it makes you a bit nervous- because he's right. That doesn't fit your story at all. And you'll need to keep it up for at least another week, before you can leave and he'll forget all about it in half a year. "Come on~!" He whines, playfully kicking your thigh.

Your body is so soft, every touch giving him a teaser of what he could do. More things to think about. More food for his inner thoughts. How his fingers would press into your flesh, how your ass would look riding him, how your tits would barely fit into his palm.

"Why would I say that?" You ask him, and he shrugs, smiling again.

"I wanna know if it.. feels any different if you say it to me." He shrugs almost innocently. "Because, you know, feelings and all." He tells you, and everything freezes for a second.

You need to escape. You don't like where this is going at all.

"Your feelings are in your dick, Daddy." You snap at him in a way you hope displays confidence, but the look on his face makes you stop in your tracks for a moment, as he seems to process what you just said. And after a moment, his eyes seem to warm up way before the corners of his lips can follow up to display a smile, before his head falls back, looking after you as you walk into his kitchenette.

"It really does feel different.." He mumbles to himself as he watches you search through his freezer, probably for icecream. But it doesn't feel different in a sexual way-

it more so makes him curious as to what you're hiding from him, your avoidance of things like this by now terribly obvious.

[recreationalfanfics]

*chin hands* assassin's creed on the mind eh? Do tell 👀

OKAY SO ONE IDEA I DEF WANNA USE IN THE FUTURE WOULD BE YANDERE EAGLE VISION. Like, if an assassin/eagle vision user becomes obsessed with a darling, then instead of showing up as red (for enemy) or green (for ally), then their darling would show up as either a pink silhouette or something.

NOT ONLY THAT, BUT, LIKE DIFFERENT ASSASSIN'S TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT IT MEANS/ALREADY KNOWING WHAT IT MEANS.

Like Ezio using eagle vision and he sees his darling is a different color from everyone else, he instantly believes its a sign their soul mates and will shamelessly follow them, either from the shadows or blatantly walking after them like a lost puppy.

Altaïr believing something is wrong when his eagle vision acts up and only towards you, the person who served no real importance but never seemed to leave his mind. He decides to use it as an excuse to stalk you, after all, it was fine before YOU came along and he's just trying to figure out if it means if you're a threat or not. Deep down, he knows what it actually means but it gives him a good excuse to stalk you.

Connor absolutely is baffled when he notices a pink figure and when he switches back to his normal vision, he sees its you. He doesn't voice this out to anyone because its not that important, right? Plus, he truly wouldn't want to disturb you with that knowledge and, when you really think about it, it's rather helpful for the both of you! Now Connor can keep tabs on you and you won't ever have to worry about anything hurting you because Connor will always be waiting in the shadows to protect you.

Evie would be a Lucid yandere, the moment you become miscolored in a way she's never heard of, she's doing some research on her own time and found out about rare instances assassin's who found their "soul mates" with their eagle vision. Like Connor and Altaïr, she would definetly use it as an excuse to be able to stalk you while keeping her conscious clear. It's not her fault technically and yes, maybe she is tailing behind you and her heart soars at the thought of being able to pick you out of the crowd and track you down so easily...but it's only because she can keep you safe!

Jacob doesn't even question it, he also takes it as confirmation that you were meant to be his. He would absolutely take advantage of his new ability and you'd be none the wiser. You try to avoid him by going a different route? He somehow ends up calling your name and happily running over to you and you're wondering how could he have known. You're bumping into him a lot more often when doing mundane things? Haha, what a coincidence! May as well hang on his arm and let him treat you to a nice drink! Just the image of Jacob desperately jumping from rooftop to rooftop using eagle vision only to stop and smile to himself when he sees your silhouette makes me so happy-

EDWARD DOESN'T REALLY QUESTION IT, HE'S JUST GLAD HE CAN HAVE PIECE OF MIND WHEN IT COMES TO YOU TBH. He knows what he's doing is shady but at the same time, he can't help it. But also moments when you manage to sneak away from him and he just easily walks towards were you're hiding and it fills you with so much dread and panic and you're not sure how he manages to do that every single time.

AAAH, IMAGINE ARNO BEING ALL SMUG ABOUT IT. Like, you're both at a gala somewhere and you try to lose him in the crowd, not wanting to deal with his possessive behavior but no matter how many people are in the way, Arno uses his eagle vision and pushes and shoves past people as he makes his way towards you. Just when you think you lost him, you feel his hand wrap around your wrist and pull you close and his hood is over his head, revealing nothing more than a sly grin.