#like hell i can label whatever the fuck they have going on

[pacifistsworstnightmare]

HANDPRINTS — college!hitoshi shinsou

it's been, what, four years? since you've seen hitoshi— shinsou— whatever. he looks good, more grown than you can remember. time for an impromptu reunion!

MINORS DNI & warnings: alcohol and drug use (weed), oral sex (f. receiving) & slightttt overstim if you squint :p

a/n : this came to me like a fucking vision im telling you. like how extremely dehydrated people see mirages of an oasis. i get horny and see shinsou hitoshi. also name of this is from this song by chrysalis. cause i was listening when i started writing it. zero connection just a banger lmao. anyway blacked out and this is here! do enjoy mwah

m.list !

the noise is starting to give you a headache, that and the lights that are definitely too bright and flashy for just a random frat party. kaminari's already run off to mingle, leaving you alone in a house full of people you don't know despite being the one to drag you here— an attempt to "have some more fun", and "cheer up such a gloomy roomie".

you're not gloomy, just busy, coursework is tiring and frankly kicking your ass, but from where you're sitting on an unpopulated part of the kitchen bench nursing a warm cup of beer— you might look a little gloomy to any passerby.

you huff at your phone, failing another level of one of those puzzle games you mainly installed to give kami something to do when you're trying to tell him something (ipad baby, seriously. it's bad), before turning the whole thing off and shoving it into your back pocket. when you look up from your lap, you immediately have to do a double take, 'cause there's no way thats—

"holy shit, toshi?— err, shinsou?" his posture straightens up almost immediately, ears— pierced to oblivion— colouring with red as he looks over at the direction of your voice. he stares at you, like he's not entirely sure you're real, before walking away from whoever he was talking to in favour of you.

"fuck, yeah hi." hitoshi says your name like it belongs to him, like he's weighing it out on his tongue.

"how've you, uh- you been? s'been ages, y'look good." good is maybe an understatement, he looks insane. hair still dyed purple, dark roots like he needs a retouch, but it's longer and all dragged up out of his face by a thin metal-toothed headband— showing off the double eyebrow piercings he's sporting.

your eyes drag over him, and his do the same to you. the both of you taking it all in after such a long time apart.

he looks nervous as he huffs out a small laugh, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck— the same anxious tic still there. "yeah, yeah you too. four years? something crazy like that?"

you nod, humming as you still stare at him before lazily gesturing to his face— to the ears, the eyebrows, the nostrils, the fucking lip ring—

"i like the, uh- metal situation going on, shinsou" he winces like he's been fucking shot, sucking in a breath through his teeth before speaking again.

"hitoshi— toshi is fine. s'not like we're strangers or anything, s'still just me 'nd you." he takes a sip from his cup— water, you assume. he never liked drinking— before gesturing to the space above your elbow. "i like your tattoo."

you gesture back at all of him.

"i like yours, how'd they go over with your dad?" you match his actions, taking a sip from your cup and hiding a grimace from the taste as you stare at him— both of his arms inked to hell, some kind of suminagashi that you assume crawls up over his left shoulder 'cause you can see it peek up out of the collar of his shirt. you wonder if he has more that you can't see now.

"eh, old man stopped giving a shit after the third one." he shrugs it off casually, but you're cataloguing it— squirreling it away in the section of your mind labelled hitoshi.

you nod at that, leaning closer. "how's he doing?"

"my dad?" when you nod again, genuinely asking and genuinely seeking answers, he keeps going. "uh, yeah he's good— still teaching, which is nuts. eri's trying to get him to retire 'nd just rest for a bit, but uh- dad doesn't do that"

you blink at that, brows furrowed as you think about the little girl he's talking about— the little girl who can't be that little anymore.

"oh shit, eri— she's, what? thirteen? fourteen?"

he grins. "close, fifteen."

you grin back, even as a scandalised "no!" escapes your mouth. hitoshi matches you, like he always did. does.

"yes! her birthday was last month."

you clear your throat, eyes widening as you really think about it— about how long it's really been. "that's insane, wow— makes me feel old."

"you are old, s'the big twenty-four this year, isn't it?" your face flares with heat, blood warming the surface of your cheeks at the idea of being so well known. known entirely.

"yeah, it is. how's school? wait— how come you're here? isn't your uni in kobe?" he shrugs, a non-committal sound escaping his mouth as he flicks his tongue over his lip ring.

"months break, staying with dad 'nd eri," you nod again as he talks, finding yourself doing that way more than you usually would— actually engaging in conversation rather than just pretending. "kami heard monoma 'nd i were gonna be in musutafu, found a way to drag us in." you gasp, scandalised again by the words he says. he grins.

"what?! he knew you were here? asshole didn't tell me shit, i would've wanted to know," the latter half of your sentence is quieter, gentle annoyance at kami for not saying anything about something so big simmering below the surface. you push it down and tilt your head onto your shoulder, a lazy smile decorating your face. "missed you, y'know? four years is a long time."

"yeah, s'a long time. i missed you too, obviously." hitoshi says it like it is obvious, like you felt that same grief for the friendship that was there (you did, you do), and then he lifts his chin higher. "how much have you had to drink?"

you look at him sceptically, but you're sure it's not effective paired with the grin splitting your face.

"why, you metering me?" he scoffs out a laugh. god, how you've missed that fucking sound. "barely half a beer, don't know anyone here really 'nd i'm gonna need to drag kami out of here by the feet later probably." you scrunch your nose at the idea. that really is how these things tend to go when kaminari can finally manage to drag you out of the apartment.

"huh." you blink at him, setting your cup down on the bench beside your thigh. you don't seem to catch the way his eyes follow it.

"what?"

"do you wanna share a blunt? old times sake or whatever? i have a few pre-rolls on me, so..." he sounds nervous again, like he's propositioning you. you tilt your chin forward, closing in more on his space.

"what, you wouldn't mind sharing? mister 'hordes his weed like a dragon'?" he laughs, properly and fully, and you feel your stomach swoop so hard you're sure you'd have to be on a rollercoaster.

"don't mind if it's you."

"sweet talker," you hum, sliding off the kitchen bench now and standing up to your full height in front of him. when did he get so tall? "okay, c'mon— can probably find a spare room or something, it'll be quieter than out here and no one's gonna try to poach a drag."

hitoshi nods, a few times in quick succession— another anxious tic that still remains.

"clever." you try not to outwardly preen at the praise as you begin to wander through the swathes of drunk college kids in search of quiet.

"s'been ages, seriously— y'should have told me you were coming down this way." you murmur, the words slow and heavy in your mouth. and it feels so normal, to have skipped past all the obnoxious small talk and just lie in some random bed in the frat house— feels like no time as passed at all as you both stare up at the ceiling.

"kami said you're strapped with coursework, didn't wanna fuck with your flow or whatever," you huff at that, tilting your head to meet his eyes as he talks— slow blinks matching his own. "should've said i was coming, didn't know how."

your brows furrow slightly, pitching up a little on your elbow so you're looking down at him— headband forgotten and hair splayed against the bed.

"what do you mean?"

"s'been ages, like you said," he sighs. "wasn't sure if we were still friends."

"always friends, fucking dumbass— carry you 'round in my phone case, y'know? that photobooth one with you, 'nd me, 'nd eri." he blinks up at you, a lazy smile plastered to his face.

"fuck off— show me," you nod, already pulling your phone out of your back pocket and popping off the phone case to offer him the photo strip. "huh, look at that."

"s'cute, huh? she looks so little," you hum, tilting your head down until you're leaning the side of your face against his forehead as he looks at the photos. "and you look so sleepy."

"i still look sleepy." he deadpans, moving slow to look up at you more— handing off the photo strip for you to tuck safely back in your phone case.

"mm i guess, yeah." you lift your head away from his a little, still looking down at him as a hand comes up to gently tap at his eyebrow piercing with your thumb. "this is nice, when'd you get it done?"

he swallows thick, like it's a difficult task, before responding. "soon as i moved."

you nod lazily, a small smile on your face as your thumb slides down to tap at his nose rings.

"'nd these?"

"'round the same time."

"and this one?" your words aren't much louder than a whisper as you drag the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip— over the black ring healed and settled right in the middle of the plush flesh. he hums, staring at you with half-lidded eyes as he watches your movements, and he swallows as he feels a little pressure from your thumb on his mouth— adams apple bobbing just slightly as he takes you in.

"'bout a year ago, s'fully healed 'nd everything."

you're not entirely sure who kissed who first, whether it was hitoshi who dragged you down into it and held you there, or if it was you and he just followed so obediently— but it doesn't matter with how you're both already panting and licking into each other's mouths, teeth catching on metal and spit slicking both of your lips.

"oh, s'— 'nother one-" you mumble the words clumsily against his mouth, pointing out the metal ball in his mouth that drags against your tongue as he deepens the kiss.

"mhm, tongue piercing," your stomach swoops as he grins into his kiss, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. "shut up, jus' lemme kiss you."

"got it, got it—"

it goes on like that for a while, the slow push and pull of lips and tongues and hands, until he's breaking away from your mouth to duck his head below your chin and mouth at your neck— all the while panting quietly as his tongue drags along the column of your throat. not leaving marks, not if he doesn't know you like them.

"lemme go down on you? or, uh- can i? go down on you?" he huffs softly against your collarbone, pressing a softer kiss there before pitching up to kiss along your jaw and close to your ear. "please?"

you laugh at his insistence, hands coming up to brush through his hair. "think you're the first person who's ever added a 'please' about wanting to eat me out."

"that's fucked, don't tell me that—" he groans the words out, like it's a fucking travesty to hear you say that (it is). "god, you're so pretty you know that? so fucking pretty."

"you're pretty."

"not like you are, here— lay down, whatever's comfy for you i can work with." you hum at that, laying back but still pitched up on your elbows. he grins again, high and lazy, before ducking down to kiss you again.

his lips eventually leave yours again and trail down your jaw to your neck, gentle kisses and laves of tongue brushing along heated skin as he moves along your collarbone. he pushes your shirt up, just enough to expose your bra— one of his hands running along the exposed skin of your side, tracing over curves and dips of your body, his touch soft but so possessive as his other hand comes up to yank his shirt over his head in one fluid motion and toss it somewhere on the other end of the bed.

so the tattoo does crawl up his neck. huh.

"lift your hips a little, help me out here." his words snap you out of the little daze you had going on, hips pitching up to make it easier for him to drag your pants down. you're suddenly really glad you wore pretty, but still sturdy, underwear— surely soaked by now.

"oh these are cute, glad 'm seeing 'em and not someone else."

"shut up."

"'m serious, they're cute. you're cute." he punctuates his words with a few kisses, a few gentle nips, to the inside of your thighs— looking up at you with half-lidded eyes that have you clenching around nothing. "can i take them off?"

you nod at him and his smile only brightens, hands coming down to tug your underwear down and off your legs— tossing them gently on top of his discarded shirt.

"fuck, look at you." he murmurs the words with such reverence you almost feel shy, and the cold almost sting of his rings as his palms glide up and down your thighs doesn't exactly help. "so fucking pretty, seriously."

he drops his head down now, settled on his knees between your legs, and kisses down your stomach— a slow, wet trail that has you squirming around just a little, and when he fucking smiles against your hip bone, you can't help but let out a sighed moan.

"i got it, i got it— this is cool?" he looks at you as he settles now on his stomach— hands wrapped around your thighs as he ducks low enough to breathe hot air across your cunt as he talks.

one of your hands comes up to thread into his hair, leaving you half-up on one elbow as you watch him.

"yeah, s'cool. 'm good." he nods, a few times in quick succession, before pressing a kiss to your clit— and as if he used the small jolt as your bodies permission, sinks down to drag his flattened tongue over you.

your hips tick up into his mouth as your head drops back with a whine, and a groan from him vibrates against you— sending waves of pleasure over your entire body.

"fuck, baby— y'taste so fucking good, better than i every fucking imagined." you don't register hitoshi's words, not really, kind of busy trying not to lose it and cum already and embarrass yourself— but with the way he's pressed up against you, pierced tongue dipping into your leaking entrance as he laps you up, and the way he's talking to you— it's more than a little hard.

the sounds coming from you, from him, are absurd. you can't remember any time when someone's made you feel like this, and you tug at his hair a little harder when the metal ball of his tongue bar knocks into your clit. the sound he makes at that is debauched, his hips grinding down into the mattress seeking friction and pressure— cock at attention and surely leaking into his boxers.

"so fucking sweet, huh?" he talks into your cunt, like there's conversation to be had there, and he all but whines out against you when you pull his hair again. so that's a thing he likes, you catalogue it. squirrel it away for later.

"wait, fuck— 'm gonna cum—" you're panting, writhing around a little as if you can't decide if you wanna drag his face closer to you or push him away. how much time has passed? it feels like forever and five minutes all at the same time.

"s'the point, baby, you got it." he mumbles against you, coming up for air for a second to kiss at your inner most thigh. "i gotcha." rolls off his tongue before his lips return to where you want him most, slurping and sucking at you, and if you weren't so out of it the noises would embarrass you.

"no, 's too soon— fuck, fuckfuckfuck, toshi-"

"lemme have it, s'okay." he focuses his mouth more on your clit now, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth and running his tongue back and forth— breathing into you, spit bubbling up and over his chin and down into the little wet patch under your ass. part you, and part him.

when you do cum, all breathy and shaky and fucking beautiful, he doesn't give you much of a reprieve— lifting his head just a little to suck in a few quick breaths before dropping his face back down. like he can't get enough of you (he can't).

"one more— c'mon baby, jus' one more, for me?" your head snaps up, cunt sensitive and pulsing as his mouth seals back over it, but you make no move to shove him away yet.

"you're fucking crazy— holy fuck, toshi-" he ruts into the bed more, moaning into your pussy as his hips stutter— sensitive and such a goner after hearing you like this. having you like this.

"there it is, you got it." he's grinning as he talks into your cunt, not moving his mouth away while he babbles praise even as your second orgasm within a minute ebbs and flows in fucking waves— pulses of electricity that fry your brain and make your vision swim. his tongue dips again, dragging up until the metal ball catches on your clit in a way that makes your hips jolt— only then is your hand finally tugging at his hair to pull him away.

"okay- okay! enough, s'too much—" you whine, breathless and boneless all the same. "jesus christ."

he huffs, pressing a soft, final kiss to your clit before sitting up a little and resting his head against your thigh— nuzzling his cheek into the meat of you.

"good?"

"good he asks? you're crazy."

"yeah, 'bout you." you laugh, soft and out of breath, as your chest rises and falls. he sits up more, rising to his knees again better your legs— hands brushing up and down your thighs all the while he scans the room for a box of tissues or something. "here, lemme clean you up a little—"

"what about you? 'm not useless, lemme suck your dick." he stares down at you, his face and ears and neck addled with heat as he brings a hand up to brush through his sweaty hair.

"uh- no, we're good." the pout you offer back almost kills him. almost has him making another mess in his boxers.

"you don't want me to?"

"not that, god i want you to— s'already taken care of itself s'what i mean."

"what, you came in your pants giving head?" he nods like he's proud, because he is proud— making you feel good absolutely made him feel good, sue the guy. "what fucking lab did you crawl out of, why're you so..." you lazily gesture to all of him, a smile on your face as you other hands comes up to rub your face.

"taking that as a compliment." he hums softly, dipping down to kiss you. you taste yourself on his tongue, and hope you'll be allowed to get used to it. "here, you too sensitive to let me help?"

"no, s'okay. i'll say if it's not, or kick you in the head maybe." you let him gently clean you up with a few tissues from the box beside whoever's bed this is, and as he massages his fingers into the meat of your thighs— like a fucking saint— you reach for your phone. "shit, s'almost twelve already."

"what, curfew?" the smug little smile on his face has you rolling your eyes affectionately, sitting up and tugging your shirt back down your chest.

"no, just have an exam in the morning and i need to get kami home." you reach behind yourself and grab for his shirt, offering it to him as you will your legs to work to be able to put your underwear back on. he pouts at you this time. "don't look at me like that, one of the guys'll drive us."

"not an asshole i hope?" you shake your head slightly at his protectiveness— something that's stayed, been stagnant and surfaced even now after all this time. you smile at him, leaning up to kiss him.

"nah, not an asshole."

— 2025 © pwn. all rights reserved. do not repost, narrate, or translate my works. thanku!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Mrs. R Part Four

Previous Part | Masterlist | Last Part

Notes: Not beta-read.

Warnings: Angst and fluff. Flangst. A lotta cursing. Ends happily, I promise!

Summary: Your eyes dart to the time in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.

It's late—but for all of your qualms about whatever the hell you and Robby are or aren't, for better or for worse, in sickness or in a health, for richer or for poorer, you still care about him.

One glimpse. That's all it takes to convince you that you need to get over him, and to finally move beyond the foolish delusion that the two of you are ever going to get back together.

Robby has been saying that it's something that he's been meaning to do, have you over to his new place—that it's not as sad as you're probably imagining, that you'll be impressed.

And he's sort of right. It's not as sad as you were imagining. It's a little sadder.

You're not completely surprised by the nearly-empty fridge, the scatter of mail on the counter. You are heartened by the little touches of your old life together there, the few things that he took from your home that are scattered throughout the kitchen, the living room.

And he should've known that when you went to the bathroom that you were going to snoop.

That's why spotting the women's perfume bottle on the counter is so fucking jarring.

There aren't touches of anyone else, nothing that you looked at and immediately felt that they weren't his but this—?

The bottle shape is familiar, and you're sure the label would be too if you hadn't suddenly lost the ability to read. You stand in his bathroom staring at the bottle. Your hands are frozen over the drawer that you were about to pull open and snoop through. Your heart is pounding in your ears; your throat feels like someone's just crammed a boulder down it. You try to swallow past it, clear your throat a few times, but it won't budge.

You need to get out of there. You can't tell him that you're not feeling well, because he'll insist on running a full living room diagnostic. You're sure your BP is up, that your skin is going hot with upset. You can't imagine the conversation going well—

"And what were you doing when you felt the onset of symptoms?"

"Oh, just realizing that I don't have a snowball's chance in hell of fixing this."

You take a step back, draw in a deep breath, flex your shaking hands. No, this is fine. You can get out of this. You pull your phone out of your pocket, wincing as you hear Robby pass down the hall nearby. You open the ringtone menu on your phone, tapping one and letting it play loudly for a few beats before you pretend to answer a call from your best friend.

"Hello?...Honey, are you okay?...Chlo—Chloe, calm down," You fake your conversation, forcing yourself to pace through your answers. You glance toward the door, biting the inside of your cheek. Is he still nearby? How much of this can he hear? "What?—Oh, god, I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?...Yeah, of course I can come."

You glance up as the bathroom's overhead bulb begins to flicker.

"No no, don't worry about that. Drop a pin, I'll be there as soon as I can."

You shove your phone into your pocket and yank the bathroom door open—nearly smacking right into Robby. He has a hand up as if to knock, and lowers it as you pull up short.

"Everything okay?"

"I—Yes—No," Shit. "Chloe called, she had a whole fiasco—Bad date, and then she got rear-ended. I'm really sorry, but I've gotta go."

Robby nods a touch, stepping back. "You want me to come with you?"

"No! No," You hurry to cover off on your too-quick answer with a smile and a pat on the shoulder. You lean up, pecking his cheek before you skirt around him, hurrying down the hall.

"Thanks for having me over. I um—" You glance back, jerking your thumb over your shoulder. "You should probably fix that bulb."

--

To your credit, you do talk to Chloe that night. It's mostly to warn her that in case she somehow runs into Robby, to let him know that her car is fine. And you know that she has more questions, but maybe it's the weariness in your voice that lets you off of the hook for the night. You know that you'll have to answer for the fact that you were even talking to Robby in the first place, something that you've neglected to mention since the light bulb situation kicked you into a new personal level of hell.

And you're so, so tempted to let yourself stew on this all for one more night, but you decide that you can't just wallow anymore.

For as difficult as this is going to be, it's been a long time coming. You need to make changes.

--

It's not a complete surprise when he turns up at your door. You've been avoiding him for the better part of a month, coming up with excuse after excuse after excuse to not see him, to not answer his phone calls.

What does surprise you is what he says. Not hello, not how are you, just—

"You're selling?"

You puff your cheeks up and push the air out in a long breath. Maybe you should've answered one one of his messages sooner. Then he wouldn't have taken it upon himself to turn up, and to run into the real estate agent hammering in a sign out front.

You cross your arms and lean in the doorway, eyeing the sign, the slight swing of For Sale in the breeze.

"Yeah. You looking to buy? I'm sure I could get you the ex-husband and bulb-fixer discount."

"When did you decide to move?"

"Been meaning to. This is too much house for me. I use, like, a third of the space. Don't even go in the basement, remember?"

"Where are you looking?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to stay in Pittsburgh, so—which neighborhoods?"

The fact he says it with such certainty makes irritation flare in your gut. You curl your hand into a fist out of sight, give a short shrug.

"I don't know if I am."

Robby's brow tip up, his chin dropping toward his chest as he takes that in.

"You don't know?" He repeats, a disbelieving laugh falling from his lips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just means I'm still weighing my options."

"Where else would you go?"

"I dunno...Philly, New York, LA—"

"You're serious."

"I'm thinking about it."

Robby's eyes narrow, brow furrowing as he takes you in. You fight to stay still, to hold his gaze, even when every part of you wants to retreat inside, close the door, and lock it until he leaves.

"When were you planning on telling me?" He asks.

"What's that matter? It's not like I need your permission, right?" You don't mean for it to sting, but the way Robby's head jerks back makes you think that you've hit a target you didn't even know was up to be aimed for.

"No," He finally says. "You don't need my permission."

"Great, so I don't know what the fuss is about—"

"I guess I mistakenly thought that friends told each other things—"

"Oh, please," You splutter a bitter laugh. "When's the last time you fucking told me anything important?"

"This again?"

"You can't 'this again' me when you're the one that brought this shit up, Michael."

"There's a difference between that and you moving across the fucking country!"

"I'm not—I'm not absolutely gonna, I'm just thinking about it!"

"If this place sells tomorrow, where are you gonna go?"

"I'll figure it out."

"You can't just fly by the seat of your pants on shit like this."

"Whatever happens, I will work something out."

"Since when do you want out of Pittsburgh?"

"Since when do you give a fuck about what I want?"

"HEY!"

The two of you turn to see your neighbor, Diane, standing on her steps, glaring at the two of you as she waves toward where her kids are playing in the yard.

"Do you mind? Watch the language."

"Please," Robby scoffs," You curse more than the two of us combined."

"Yeah, blow it out your ass, Diane," You snap. She blanches, tightening her robe around her and pointing a warning finger at you.

"Keep that up and I'm calling the fucking cops."

"Now who needs to watch their language," You sneer, glaring at her until she goes back inside. You draw in a deep breath, keeping your focus just over Robby's shoulder.

"...Look," You say quietly, "I've got shit to do, so. You should go."

"Jesus fucking christ," Robby scoffs, turning and heading down the front walk. You force yourself inside, shutting and locking the door before sagging heavily against it, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. Your hand curls into a fist, and you just manage not to slam it against the wood grain. Hitting something won't solve anything. You have to start weeding through your living room for the things that you absolutely don't need—things that you can sell online, or just put out on the curb to get rid of.

Then you can go back to apartment hunting online, browse the internet, and see if you can google your way into figuring out where the hell you're going next. The house needs some work, there's no way it'll sell tomorrow—unless Robby decides he does want to buy.

The thought freezes you in your tracks on the way to the living room. You don't think...You'd asked, teased, but you'd been kidding—

"No. No," You mutter to yourself, shaking your head as you turn into the living room. There's no way he would do that. You have some books to sort through, then name-change paperwork to get rolling on, and then some apartment hunting as you passively watch House Hunters.

--

The call is atypical—has been for a couple of weeks now. Robby hasn't reached out since your blowout on the steps. No quick calls, no voice notes, no💡gracing your chats.

That's why seeing his name flash up on your screen in the middle of your nightly doom scroll catches you so off-guard. Your eyes dart to the time in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. It's late—but for all of your qualms about whatever the hell you and Robby are or aren't, for better or for worse, in sickness or in a health, for richer or for poorer, you still care about him.

You answer, raising the phone to your ear. It's quiet for a moment, and you hedge, "Robby?"

More silence—and then a sniffle.

You're throwing the covers off of yourself and getting out of bed before you can even think about it.

"Hang on, okay?" You yank your drawers open, grabbing the first pair of sweatpants and sweater that you see. "Give me twenty, I'll be right there. Do you wanna stay on with me?"

You tuck the phone between your shoulder and your ear, wiggling out of your pajama pants and tugging the sweatpants on.

"Michael? You've gotta talk to me, honey," You press when the quiet persists. You hear him draw in a deep breath, then push it out slowly.

"Okay," He finally mumbles.

"Okay what? Okay you want to stay on?"

"I'll see you in twenty minutes."

"You don't want me to stay on?"

"No. No. S'okay."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Okay I'll be there soon. I—" Love you. The words are automatic, but they clog in your throat, your fingers flexing around the phone. "I'll be there as soon as possible."

--

You're hardly across the threshold with the door shut and locked behind you before he's leaning into you, pressing his face into your neck and drawing in a tight, shaky breath. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, gently scrubbing your nails over his nape as he shakes.

You don't tell him to let it out, that you're there, that everything's going to be alright, that nothing's gonna hurt him. You learned a long time ago that Robby can dish platitudes, but he doesn't like to take them—and he's already been hurt so damn much. He needs someone to look at the walls that he builds up around himself and identify and patch leaks before the dam breaks. You knew it was work, at least—if one a friend or family member was sick or had passed, he would've told you over the phone.

His hands curl in the fabric of your shirt, anchoring tight; you feel his eyelashes fluttering, spreading warm tears against your skin. You let him stay there, your heart breaking with each soft sob and sniffle.

When he draws back, you let him. He doesn't go far, only lifting one of his hands from you to scrub at his eyes.

"Thought you said twenty minutes," He mumbles.

You frown, brow furrowing. "I did."

"It's only been ten. How many traffic laws did you break?"

"Let me and the speed cameras worry about that."

Robby pushes out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. You reach up, gently swiping away a few of his tears as you cup his cheeks. You let yourself search his weary face—his red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained face, quivering lips.

"What's going on, Mikey?" You press softly. His gaze drops to the floor, and you watch his shoulders tense. It's the first brick of a new wall—once he's all cried out, the dam needs to be rebuilt, maybe at double-time now that you're there. A wave of irritation is pushed down by petty attraction as his hands flex in the fabric your shirt. You expect him to tell you to forget it, that it was a lapse in judgement when he called you, that he's fine. You watch him wet his lips, see him open his mouth, and—

"Can you stay tonight?"

--

It's not an easy night of sleep for you. You have to stop yourself from fidgeting. You constantly find yourself in that hazy space between light sleep and wakefulness. Whenever Robby shifts, when he mumbles in his sleep, when his fingers skim along the strip of skin exposed between your borrowed pajama top and sweatpants, your heart beats double-time.

You're not entirely sure when you manage to drift off, or what exactly it is that wakes you up first—the sunlight creeping through the curtains, or the tender brush of Robby's lips against the underside of your jaw. You hum softly at the sensation, that way his beard prickles against your skin. You press up unthinkingly against his palm where it's anchored against your hip, keeping your body tucked tightly against his.

Your hand lifts sleepily, fingers sliding into his hair as the kisses lazily drift higher and higher. The tantalizing pressure of his teeth closing around your earlobe makes you pull in a soft, sleepy gasp, your thighs squeezing together beneath the sheets to quell the growing ache there. His answering hum sends a pulse of want through you—but it also wakes you up.

You push yourself to sit up, the speed of it knocking Robby's hand aside. You stare down a your lap as you try to sort through the mess of feelings twisting in your belly.

Robby's soft murmur of, "What is it?", the sleep-roughened timbre of his voice, does nothing to quiet your thoughts. You raise your hands, scrubbing at your eyes.

"Are you working today?" You ask.

"'No."

Considering the state he was in last night, that's for the best.

"Okay. Okay, good." You swallow thickly, looking around. You left your sweatshirt in the bathroom, didn't you? When you got changed—

You still as Robby's hand slides across your thighs, his face pressing into your hip. You bite the inside of your cheek, steeling yourself.

"I've gotta go." The words come out firmly, but you don't make a move.

"Can't stay for coffee?"

"No. No, I can't stay for coffee," You insist, forcing yourself from his hold as you slide out of bed, "And I can't keep doing this."

"Can't keep doing what?"

"This!" You wave toward him as he sits up. "This one-leg-in-one-leg-out shit! Things need to change, Robby. It's gonna suck for a little while, but—"

"Is that what this move about?"

"Yes! Not—I mean, partially, yeah. I need to sort out my shit, I have to remember who I am without you and I don't think I can do that here. Not when we're both a phone call away."

You bite your lip as Robby dips his head, scrubbing his palms over the back of his neck.

"Besides," You push on, "You're—You've moved on, so. I think it's about I do, too."

"Moved on?" He laughs derisively. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You fix him with a stern look. "I saw the perfume last time I was here, Michael. Look, it's fine—" Even though it most certainly does not feel fine—"And expected, we're divorced, but—" You falter as Robby yanks open the bedside drawer, drawing out something and tossing it to you. You fumble to catch it, and your stomach churns when you realize it's the same perfume bottle from the bathroom.

"Michael, I said—"

"Look at the bottom."

You frown, tipping the bottom as he says, and going still when you see the familiar, half-torn, half-faded Christmas label. It had been one of your worst Christmases together—Robby had been working overtime, and had been so tired when he'd tried to wrap presents that he'd wound up sticking labels on the wrong side of half of your gifts.

You run your thumb across the adhesive, shaking your head.

"I don't understand."

"It got packed up with my things when I moved. I kept meaning to give it back, but I kept forgetting, and then it got further away, and—" He draws in a deep breath. "And then when I stayed the night, a few weeks ago—and I slept better than I have in months. I tried to convince myself it was the scent of you on the sheets that I needed, tried spraying it on the pillows but it isn't enough." He shakes his head, dark tired eyes flitting to your face. "It's you."

Your heart skips a beat, and your fingers tighten around the bottle as tears prickle at your eyes. You lower yourself to the edge of the bed, pulling in a deep, shaky breath. You hear the rustle of the sheets as Robby shifts, coming closer.

"...You still want me to stay for coffee?" You hedge.

"I want you to stay for a lot more than that."

You tip your head to the side, warily meeting his eye, and finding an almost boyish smile on his face.

"...Robby," You sigh, setting the bottle on the bed. "I mean it, I can't...I can't survive in this emotional purgatory. I'm tired of tying myself up in knots trying to figure out what the hell you're thinking—And it's not so easy as just being more open with communication," You warn as he lowers his head. "We've got...Stuff. We know one another so well but we still get tripped up by this shit."

"I know." Robby reaches out, taking one of your hands between his. "But I also know that when I needed someone last night, the only person I thought to call was you."

"Because you knew I'd answer?"

"Because even if you didn't, I could still listen to your message. I could still hear your voice." His own breaks with the admission. "I need you. And I've missed the hell out of you."

You reach up with your free hand, gently stroking across his cheek.

"I've missed you, too," You murmur, "You grumpy old man."

He splutters a laugh, and you smile, relaxing as Robby raises your hand and presses a gentle kiss to the back of it.

"Whatever you decide, I can't stop you—I won't," Robby clarifies, "But...Cards on the table: I don't want you to leave."

You nod a little. "Cards on the table: I'm not so sure I want to leave either. And—" You reach up, running your fingers over his nape before giving it a gentle tug. "You still need a haircut."

--

"Okay! So I know what I read on the intake form, but I'd like to hear it in your own words from the two of you: What brings you to marriage counseling today?"

You hesitate, eyeing Robby on the other end of the couch. He gestures forward, softly urges, "Please."

"Well, this might be a bit unorthodox. " You shift in your seat, "Robby—Michael," You correct, "And I are divorced. Have been for a while now. But we've been talking a lost more lately, and the lines between our relationship have...Never felt more blurred than they do now."

"Would you say that's an accurate assessment, Michael?" The counselor prods, and he gives a nod.

"Yeah, I'd say that's pretty accurate."

"What would you say has been your biggest stumbling block throughout the relationship?"

"Communication."

The two of you manage it in unison, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing at the stunned look on the counselor's face.

"I promise we didn't practice that."

"Well," She chuckles, leaning back in her seat. "In some aspects, the two of you are seem to still be in sync. Why don't you tell me a little about how the two of you met?"

--

"I didn't think we'd get homework," You grumble, stepping outside.

"It's all part of the process."

"Yeah, but week one? Harsh." You tuck your hands into your pockets, glancing up the block. "You headed to the Pitt?"

"Yep. Shift starts in half an hour."

"Alright. Be careful, huh?"

"Always am." Robby glances back toward the doorway. "It's gonna be weird, not talking to you until next week."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," You fidget, shifting from foot to foot. "But honestly, if something happens at work and you need to—You know." You lean in a little, fake-whispering, "We could just lie."

He grins, taking a step closer. "Oh, no. We're doing this right."

"Such a stickler."

Before you can argue further, Robby cups your cheeks, drawing you in for a soft kiss. You hum against his lips, raising your hands and grasping his hoodie. You should lean away sooner than you do, but for you a few moments, you can't bring yourself to care that you're standing in the middle of the block in broad daylight, right outside the marriage counselor's office. But hey, maybe it's a good look. The sight of a kissing could could give off a good impression, drum some business up for her. Really, you're doing her a favor.

You lean away, letting your eyes slip closed again as Robby tips his chin up, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Seriously, though," You murmur. "If you really need—"

"I know."

"Okay." You nod, finally letting go and giving his chest a teasing push. "Have a good shift, Dr. Robinavitch."

He takes two steps back down the block, eyes still fixed on you as a warm smile grows on his face.

"I'll see you next week, Mrs. Robinavitch."

Last Part

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[moonyflesh]

dating Logan Howlett would include…

WARNINGS: smutty. p in v, oral sex, fingering, breeding kink, orgasm teasing/control, mentions of aggressive/risky sex, (language, obviously), etc. - [🔞]

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (MARVEL/X-MEN/WOLVERINE)

🐾 .*.. 🩹

- possessive smacks on the ass when you pass him in the hall.

- all talk, but no bite (he would never actually hurt you).

- routine scalp massages (on both ends), usually ending in you both being passed out on the other’s bed.

- having to label what food is yours, or he will eat it.

- constantly scolding him for his chapped lips…where he continuously looses the chapsticks you graciously lend him (he always buys you more).

- playful banter that usually ends with you bent over whatever flat surface is nearby.

- having to get used to loud chewing. i mean, it’s Logan. what do you expect?

- not much physical show of affection in public- that’s reserved for behind closed doors. (an occasional press of his lips to your forehead, or his hand on the small of your back is as far as he’s willing to put on display for the student’s prying eyes).

- thriving off of each other’s warmth at night- tangled up in each other under some thin duvet.

- country, bluegrass, and old as fuck music. don’t you dare even think about turning on “that shitty music you like so much” around him.

- being turned on by your makeup on him in some way— lipstick prints smeared along the collar of his white t-shirt- your mascara running down your face and smearing onto his fingers when he wipes it off.

- (^) just you making an absolute mess on him in general. he fucking loves it.

- needing to take sharp intakes of breath in between his kisses, since he physically can hold his breath for much longer than the “average mutant”.

- rough, meaningful sex. there is no such thing as a ‘quickie’ in his book. he wants to savor your moments of vulnerability.

- more teeth than tongue. he wants to feel how you squirm under him when his canines sink into your lips, shoulders, and inner thighs.

- (^) lovebites and hickeys. you’re not allowed to leave the house unless there’s something that’s marking you as taken. as his.

- wearing his clothes when he’s gone for long periods of time.

- long motorcycle rides, usually at night. (he makes you wear a helmet and plenty of protective leather, much to his enjoyment).

- soaking in your scent. he always knows when your needy. he can smell it on you.

- oh, and he smells like cedar wood and pine. Maybe a bit of cigar smoke- his natural sweat smell he can’t seem to get rid of? Something Iike that.

- (^) him going absolutely feral when he can smell himself on you- his cologne, cigars- just his general aura on you is such a massive turn on for him.

- lots of loving nips and kisses, though. constantly has his lips pressed against the nape of your neck or crown of your skull.

- sleeps with you in his arms. no way in hell you’re allowed to wake up before him.

- face sitting. he wants every pound of you on his mouth and nose, his arms wrapped up and around your thighs, pushing your cunt into his tongue.

- wanting to feel good too. no matter how hard he’s been going down on you, he wants release, too.

- praise. lots of shrewd language and name-calling.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

“fuck, that’s my good fucking girl- you’re doing so good, sweetheart- so pretty all sweaty and wet cuzzah’ me, huh?”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

- face fucking. he’ll stop no matter how close he is to his peak if you need him to, but he wants it so far down your throat. and you better swallow every last drop.

- breeding kink? idk i just feel like he’s super into seeing you carry his kid (only when you’re ready, though. he of all people knows what a big deal pregnancy is).

- decent aftercare. he at least puts some amount of effort into it; probably brings you a glass of lukewarm water, a damp towel from his bathroom, maybe one of his t-shirts if he thinks of it.

- expect to wait a while for him to say “i love you” back. he’s been hurt. too many times. he loves you, he breathes you, he craves you. he just doesn’t know if he’s ready to actually admit that to himself yet, let alone to you.

[tammyu-2]

Can we get the rottmnt boys (separate) being proposed to by S/o? (They say yes) S/o was acting distant for a while, working late, but was really getting them a ring to fit their huge fingers lol

Ooo this is sorta creative

ROTTMNT MARRIED TO THEIR S/O BUT THEIR S/O STARTS ACTING DISTANT

Swearing, no pronouns used, not proofread, flufffff

Let's get into it yar

LEO

Leo is a very over dramatic jump to conclusions type bf so the mere SECOND your distant for 12 hours he will think you hate him.

Now let's go back a bit. Back when you and Leo first started dating you were going through a rough patch and Leo always knew how to cheer you up in your darkest days. He always gave you the attention you though you didn't deserve and he lifted your spirit as a person. You felt forever indebted to him the way he treats you like his princess. And you've loved him ever since.

With Leo your life got fixed and it felt way more better and freeing (minus the acasional kidnapping from a villian but that's like every 2 weeks now). You has more energy and you genuinely felt happier with Leo as your boyfriend. Therefore you decided after a year or more you wanted to officially tie the note. With Leo.

Never thought I'd see that day coming

But you were nervous. I mean Leo is the type to not even be bound to labels and what if he feels like marriage isn't meant for him?? I mean it's a big step of commitment and no offense on him but the only thing he ever committed on in like (or than your relationship) was the tela Novela he has been watching since he was a baby.

But you pushed aside your doubts and decided to go for it. However due to him being a turtle mutant obviously it would be hard to find a ring that will fit or a jewelry shop that won't question. So you started skipping you hangouts with him on the account of your searching far and wide.

Leo was DISTRAUGHT! I mean the love of his life, his soul, his trust, his sun and his vida had betrayed him by canceling on him MORE THAN ONCE! I mean just say you hate him.

So one day, when you had finally gotten the ring but decided to wait till you had a plan on how you were gonna ask him, he decided he would confront you.

So you when to visit him and his brothers and went into his room only to be greeted by a pointed finger.

"YOU!"

"...me?"

"Do you hate me or something!?"

"Leon what the hell are you talking about."

"Your cheating on me! Who is it huh!? HUH!?"

"No??"

"Oh you must of fallen out of love with me!?-"

"Babe get to the point please."

"You have been neglecting me. Running off to go do whatever and blowing me off!! And not to mention you have been typing non stop on your laptop when I'm over for your stupid 'research project' WELL I DONT BUY IT WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF!?"

"Leo..oh my dear Leon I can't tell you."

"Then I don't know why are we doing this."

"...are you crying? Oh my gosh babe no it's okay-"

"YOU DONT CARE ABOUT MEE"

I could continue but let's be honest it will go on for half an hour so let's just skip this hit because Leo has always been suck a drama queen.

"Okay can you step back a bit"

"What will that do-"

"JUST. do it please."

He steps back as you take a breath before kneeling down on one knee. Leo is utterly confused by now. Then you pull out a beautiful ring and suddenly he is dreaming cause there is no way your doing this right?

"Leon you have brought sunshine to my darkest days and you've stayed when I felt my world had left me. You sat by my side and made sure that even when I thought it was impossible you made me feel joy. There is no better person that I would love asking this to. Leonardo Hamato will you marry me?"

"Are you actually doing this is this actually happening!?"

"It's very real babe."

"Oh my gosh fuck yes!! I'd love to marry you!!!!"

After a very very tight hug and a tender kiss you two laugh at how stupid Leo had been. He couldn't believe that you actually asked him to marry you before he could mostly. But in the end he was just glad you hadn't actually cheated on him.

DONNIE

This is Dontron we are talking about HOW can you possibly keep a secret from him at all. He can hack into anything including your search history or track your phone to see where you go if it's really really important. HOW could you possibly pull this off? Easy. Ask a friend in a sound proof room with no electronics in it.

So you had done just that. Your friend being the kind and generous soul they were decided to help you. So every So often they would come back to you will research they had gathered on rings and sizes and stuff. And you almost got busted one time by him.

"Why were you measuring me in the middle of the night during out sleep over last Tuesday? Specially at 3:45."

"I had a hubba Bubba gum string and wanted to see how many I can wrap around you to make you a giant bubble gum mummy."

"You know you could have just asked me to calculate that instead of just doing it at 3am?"

"Whats the fun in that?"

Not only did you lie out your ass but you made it damn good realistic ish. And he believed it. Mostly because he was half playing a game on his phone but you still managed to get past the Donnie lie detectors.

But ofcourse since he is a mutant with strange hands it was getting harder and harder to find a ring for him. So you had to meet up with your friend more than preferred. And enough that Donnie notices.

First thing he does? Detective research. He searches at where you go to and finds out You've been going your friends house alot more than normal. Especially since you two only ever talk in your friends sound proof studio room. So he can't hear shit because his sound proof breaker had been borrowed and broken by Leo the other week so he was left up to his genius imagination.

So once you got the ring you visited him very veery happy because you wanted to get the lies out of the way immediately knowing Donnie would find out in a matter of time.

"Heyyy Dontron."

"Greetings my not so lovely s/o"

"What do you mean 'not-so-lovely'"

"You don't think I know your hiding something from me?"

Oh your fucked. Your screwed.

"Okay Donnie before you gon on your normal tangent I have something for you that will explain everything!"

"SIGH. Go on.."

You cleared your through and got down and one knee and pushed forward the ring you had bought for him.

"I know your not one for big boring speeches and I also know you like to cut to the chase of things so I'm just gonna say it. Donetello Hamato will you Marry me?"

"Okay."

"YIPPEEEE"

RAPH

You see raph is clueless when it comes to things so hiding a secret proposal from him was pretty easy. You know what wasn't easy? Finding a fitting ring for his big mutated turtle finger. It was HARD. Anything that was close to the side was sold out for inappropriate use. And the rest were WAY out of your price range so you were running a bit low on chance.

So you decided on one however you had no money for it so he took the initiative to bust your ass till you finally got enough for it. You worked day in and day out, taking longer shifts, you did some side gigs and did weekend jobs. You were working and working on the clock that you accidentally forgot your darling boyfriend Raph.

He had been noticing you had been not really cold but more exhausted and closed off. You seem to be tired and you barely ever have time for him which hurts alot if he's honest. Your always busy even in the late hours for work but he knows for a fact that you never work that late. So he began to get paranoid. Especially since he wanted to surprise you with something special he knew you would have liked.

So after weeks of miscommunication and work you finally had enough and more for the ring for Raph. So you decided to treat him to a rooftop picnic as an apology. He accepted it ofcourse and you two just sat on a random apartment building just star gazing and eating pizza. That's when you released his arm from your shoulder and stepped back making him look at you in confusion.

You step back and get on one knee bringing his ring from behind your back.

"Raph I have a very imp-"

"WAIT! Before you do there something you should know."

He shyly pulls out a gorgeous ring for you. Oh my god he was going to propose to you aswell.

"Oh raph...you shouldn't have."

"Uh Raph has been planing this for a while but everytime Raph gets a bit nervous."

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about now because I guess we both accept. So Raph will you marry me?"

"Only if you would marry me"

"I do"

"I do too"

MIKEY

This poor baby boy is easy to hid things from. Like you could hid a rubber duck from him just by putting it on his head and he wouldn't know a thing. So when you decide to marry him because he had always been there for you. He was the reason you woke up every morning a trudged through the stinky sewer. It was all just to see him face lighten up with joy whenever he spotted you.

So you immediately thought of marrying him after 2 years of bliss. And so due to him kor being a human it took you quite a while. But due to his cluelessness you don't really try that hard to hide it. You just research when your in your house.

However it took you longer than you liked to find not only the perfect size but also the perfect design for your artist boyfriend. So you searched far and wider you took trains after trains to travel to different jewelry stores to find the perfect ring for Mikey because he deserves a proper ring.

However against your better judgement you had no choice but to put your focus on the ring rather than your Mikey. And although he might not be that good at catching onto things he would notice your not as close with him as you were. And it just made him sad that he thought his favorite person hated him.

So one day as you two finally get some alone time as he is painting a wall you decided now is the perfect chance to do it cause you hated lying to Mikey even if it was easy to get away with.

So as he had his back turned, you had gotten on one knee and held his ring out.

"You think that dot of red- OH MY GOSH!!"

"Michelangelo Hamato will you-"

"YES YES YES YES A MILLIONS TIMES YES!!!!"

"I didn't even-"

You were engulfed in a suffocating hug but honestly you didn't care as you hugged back your now fiancé.

Hope that was good and I realise know I accidentally skipped a req whoospie sorry diff req I'll do it eventually.

But I hope you enjoyed and don't be shy to request something from me and my diff fandoms. Just know that I will get to them when I can.

Stay healthy and stay safe!!!!

~Tammy<3

[lucydixon]

Eddie Crushing on you Headcanons

GIF BY @nicostiel

I had to do it. I can't stop thinking about him. 😫

This man yearns. He will stare at you longingly whenever you’re not looking. Everyone but you seems to have caught him at least once and has been urging him for months to just tell you how he feels. 

For the first time in his life, he's fantasizing about hand holding and taking you out for ice cream, and it both scares the hell out of him and makes him want to grab hold of you and never let go.

Is constantly flirting with you, but you can never tell if he’s being serious or not, cause he’s always playing it off like it's just banter. But then, when you flirt back, he gets all flustered and pink-cheeked. 

Extremely tactile. He’ll rest a hand on your arm or shoulder, play with your hair, or drum his fingertips over your knuckles when you’re sitting next to eachother. The closer the two of you get, the more he’s touching you, and it wouldn’t take long before he’s hanging off of you and the two of you are full-on cuddled up to one another watching movies on the weekends. 

Would use literally any excuse to be alone with you. If you’re at a hellfire club meeting, hanging back to help him clean up, Eddie will purposefully knock things over to really draw it out. It doesn’t hurt that he gets to blatantly stare at your ass when you bend over to help him pick whatever it is up, teasingly calling him a clutz. 

I think he’s a bit of a perv for sure. You’ve definitely caught him staring at your tits and maybe sometimes you play into it and purposefully wear lowcut little tops if you know you’re gona see him that day just to hear the little 'Jesus fucking Christ' or 'Fuck, fuck, fuck' he mutters so lowly that he thinks you can’t hear it. 

If you intentionally teased him, you could probably get this man to do anything you want. All you’d have to do is bat your long lashes at him, and he’s tripping over himself to help you with whatever you’re trying to get out of. 

Will call you anything but your name. Uses pet names so often that it makes your chest ache. He’ll call you ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ like it's the most natural thing in the world. He loves watching your reaction and the way your cheeks pink up, smirking softly while you avert your gaze. 

Eddie probably knows that he could kiss you. That you’d let him and might even want to do it again sometime. But, I think he’d be worried about you being labeled a freak by association or that he’s not good enough for you. 

When he does finally confess his feelings for you, he’ll blurt them out, seemingly out of nowhere, and sit there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as if he’d been possessed when he’d said it and would look just as surprised as you by the abruptness of it all. 

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics Masterlist

[urfavfrenchgrl]

fuck you

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader ᥫ᭡ words: 2.7k ᥫ᭡ warnings: 18+ | SMUT | MDNI ᥫ᭡ summary: After a pointless argument, you gave in, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

Your feet carried you swiftly back to the castle, anger and frustration pulsing through your veins. You rushed to your dorm, hoping the solitude of the bathroom would calm you. You needed to be away from him, away from the whirlwind of emotions he stirred up in you.

Mattheo and you hadn’t put a label on whatever it was between you. Some days you yelled at each other, while others were spent tangled in the sheets. This time, it had been the first option. A ridiculous argument spiraled out of control, leading to your storming off, promising yourself you'd never speak to him again.

"Stupid bastard..." you muttered, stripping off your clothes. The argument echoed in your mind. You tossed your clothes into the corner and stepped into the shower, hoping the hot water might ease the storm raging inside you.

As the scalding water cascaded over your skin, you tried to relax, but your body remained tense, the frustration refusing to wash away. Your mind kept replaying the argument, but beneath the anger, there was something else—a tension you couldn't ignore. You were still thinking about him.

Mattheo had always been a storm in your life, unpredictable and dangerous. Suddenly, the sound of a knock startled you out of your thoughts. You turned off the water, frowning, listening. The knock came again, louder this time, more insistent.

"Y/N?" Mattheo’s voice, softer now, cut through the door. There was a hint of desperation there, something raw. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he needed you, craved your presence even when all you did was fight.

"I’m sorry, okay?" His voice was rough, but there was a vulnerability to it now. "I didn’t mean to lose it. Can we just… talk?"

Your heart clenched, but your pride held firm. You ignored him, wrapping a towel around your body and retreating to the edge of the tub. He didn’t deserve forgiveness, not this time.

"Please," Mattheo’s voice cracked, more desperate now. "I’m fucking sorry. Just open the door. You know I don’t mean half the shit I say."

Your jaw clenched. You weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. Instead, you started brushing your hair, trying to focus on anything other than his pleading tone on the other side of the door.

The silence stretched, but you knew Mattheo wasn’t going to back down that easily. He never did.

Then his tone changed. It was darker now, authoritative. "I’m counting to ten, Y/N. If you don’t open this door, I’ll break it down, and you’ll have to talk to me whether you like it or not."

Your breath hitched. He wouldn’t. Or would he?

He started counting. "One… two…" His knocks grew louder, and your heartbeat quickened with each number. "Nine… ten."

With a crash, the door burst open. You gasped, clutching your towel tightly as Mattheo stormed in, his eyes wild with anger, frustration—and something else. His gaze locked on you, taking in the sight of you standing there, wet and vulnerable.

"Are you fucking crazy?!" you yelled, your heart racing.

His lips twisted into a grin, but his eyes were sharp, focused. "You’ve always known I’m fucking crazy, Y/N. So why do you act like it surprises you?"

"Go to hell!" you snapped, the anger boiling over again.

He moved closer, his presence overwhelming as he stared you down, and you could feel the heat between you rising again. "Oh, or fuck me, right? Isn’t that what you always say? Maybe I should fuck yourself instead." His tone was dripping with sarcasm, but beneath it, you could sense the desire that was building.

"You’re such an asshole!" you shot back, not backing down. But your voice was shaking now, the tension between you more than just anger.

The argument was a smokescreen for what had always been brewing between you. Mattheo’s jealousy was flaring, but so was his possessiveness. He couldn’t stand the idea of you walking away. 

He hesitated for a second, eyes flashing with a mix of anger and lust, before grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the bed. His grip was firm but not painful, the air between you charged with an intensity that left you breathless.

"What does this feel like, huh?" he growled, pushing you down onto the mattress, holding your wrists. His face hovered close to yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You really want to push me? You really want to see how much of an asshole I can be?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t look away, didn’t back down. "Fuck. You. Riddle."

His eyes darkened with something primal, and a wicked smile curled at the corner of his lips. "No, baby. Fuck you, Y/N."

And before you could say anything, his mouth crashed onto yours. The kiss was hard, demanding, a collision of need and frustration. It was a battle for control, and neither of you was willing to lose.

He kissed you harder, biting down on your lip, pulling a gasp from you as his hands moved to your hips, gripping you tightly. His touch was rough, unrelenting, as if trying to prove a point. He needed to remind you that no one could make you feel the way he did. No one could match this fire between you.

Mattheo’s mind was racing. He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop himself. Maybe it was because you drove him insane, testing his limits, making him burn with a desire he couldn’t control. 

Mattheo gritted his teeth, the intensity between you unbearable. He couldn’t take it any longer. His eyes locked onto the towel wrapped tightly around your body, and without hesitation, he yanked it away, tossing it carelessly to the side. His gaze darkened as he took in every inch of your exposed skin, his breath catching for a moment. His eyes raked over your body, filled with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

He stood there for a second, savoring the sight before him, as if committing every curve to memory. "Fuck, you’re perfect," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and filled with want. 

Then, with an intensity that made your heart race, he leaned down and began kissing you, starting at your neck, his lips trailing over your collarbone, then moving lower. He kissed every inch of skin he could reach, worshiping your body with every heated press of his mouth. His hands followed his lips, exploring, gripping, as if he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you beneath him.

His mouth eventually found its way to your breasts, and without warning, he took one of your nipples between his lips, sucking hard. You gasped, your body arching into him, your fingers digging into his hair as he switched to the other, giving it the same torturous attention. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, pulling a whimper from you as the sensation shot through your body.

"Already so fucking wet for me..." he murmured, his voice dripping with arrogance as his hand slid lower, cupping your wetness. He smirked against your skin, his fingers teasing, moving just enough to drive you crazy but not enough to give you the release you craved.

His lips found yours again, shutting you up and he kissed you hard, his fingers continuing to torment you, brushing lightly against your folds, teasing your entrance but never quite giving you what you wanted. The anticipation was unbearable, your body aching for more, for him. Here’s the same section with a little more detail:

"Are you satisfied now, Y/N?" Mattheo’s breath came out heavier, his voice laced with desire as he leaned closer, his eyes dark with hunger. “Pushing me to my fucking limit.”

You could feel the heat between you, the undeniable pull of your bodies. The way his chest heaved, the tension in his muscles—he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. The air was thick with anticipation.

Without thinking, you pulled him in, kissing him harder, your lips crashing into his. You could feel his need, feel him throbbing against you. Between heated breaths, you whispered against his mouth, "Shut up… and just do it."

And then, without warning, he pushed his finger inside you, rough and deliberate. You gasped against his lips, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure hit you hard. He watched you, smirking as he saw the way you reacted to him, the power he had over you only fueling his desire.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, thrusting his finger deeper, rougher, as your body responded instinctively to his touch. "Look at the mess you’re making.. Such a beautiful mess," he murmured against your lips, his voice dripping with arrogance. He added one finger and thrusted deeper, rougher, feeling the way your body clenched around him.

You moaned, your hips moving in time with his hand, craving more, even as your mind screamed at you to resist.

"Fuck, Y/N..." he growled, his erection pressing hard against your thigh. He could feel your need, just as desperate as his own, and it only fueled him further.

Without warning, he slid a second finger inside you, his touch rough, determined. "You’re fucking perfect," he breathed, his voice thick with lust. "All mine, and you fucking know it."

Your mind was spinning, lost in the intensity of the moment. You were his, body and soul, and deep down, you both knew it.

Mattheo pulled his fingers out, making you whimper at the loss and wanting more.

With a casual motion, he unbuckled his belt, his gaze never leaving yours as he pulled down his trousers, freeing his erection. The air between you was charged, heavy with lust and anticipation.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his voice thick with impatience, his eyes dark with desire.

You nodded, breathless, barely able to respond, your body already aching for him.

Mattheo didn’t hesitate. He positioned himself above you, gripping your hips firmly as he slid into you, slow at first, as if savoring every second. You moaned, feeling the way he filled you, your body stretching to accommodate him. But the gentleness didn’t last. Without warning, he began thrusting hard and fast, the force of his movements pulling a cry of pleasure from your lips.

The intensity was overwhelming. You had never felt anything like this before, the way your bodies moved together, perfectly in sync. It was as if you were made for each other. No one else had ever made you feel this way.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, Y/N,” he groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he drove into you harder, faster. His eyes were wild with lust, his teeth gritted as he fought to keep control.

One of his hands slid up to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat, applying just enough pressure to send a shiver of excitement through you. His thrusts grew more urgent, more desperate, as the tension between you built to a fever pitch.

Mattheo was rough, but you loved it. Every brutal thrust, every growl of pleasure, only made you want him more. You dragged your fingers down his chest, tracing over the scars that marked his skin, a reminder of everything he had endured. The sight of them stirred something deep inside you—a mixture of sadness and fierce desire.

He groaned, his teeth catching your lower lip as his hands moved to your breasts, pinching your nipples hard enough to make you gasp. "Fuck yes. Just the way you like it," he growled, his voice low and raw as he kissed your neck, biting down gently.

A moan escaped you, your body arching into him, your nails digging into his skin. "Is this what you want, baby?" he whispered darkly in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You want to be filled by a fucking asshole?"

Before you could respond, he pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach with a swift, rough motion. You barely had time to catch your breath before he positioned himself behind you, his hand landing on your ass with a sharp slap that made you gasp. And then he was inside you again, thrusting deeper and harder than before, pushing you to the edge of what you could take.

Each thrust was more brutal than the last, driving you closer to the brink of pleasure. You were trembling beneath him, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

Mattheo pulled back, and for a brief moment, you felt the loss of him. Then, without warning, he slapped your ass again before plunging back inside you, harder, deeper than before. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you steady as he fucked you relentlessly.

"You’re so fucking perfect for me, Y/N," he growled, his breath ragged as he thrust into you again and again. "When are you going to realize that?"

There was a moment, in the heat of it all, where you almost told him. Almost confessed how much you needed him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Mattheo’s gaze darkened with a new intensity. Without breaking rhythm, he pulled out of you, flipping you onto your back. His hands gripped your thighs as he hoisted your legs over his shoulders, positioning himself to go deeper. His eyes locked on yours, his expression full of raw hunger and desire.

"I want to watch you come undone," he growled, his voice thick with lust, "I want to see you when I make you lose it."

Before you could respond, he plunged back inside you, thrusting deeper than before, hitting a spot that made your whole body arch off the bed. A loud moan escaped your lips as he set a punishing pace, his hips slamming into yours, your legs trembling from the intensity.

"You feel so fucking good on my cock," he groaned, his grip tightening on your thighs as he drove into you harder. "Look at me, Y/N. I want to see you fall apart on me."

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze, and the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down your spine. The pleasure was overwhelming, building with every thrust, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"Mattheo… I can’t… I’m so close…" you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper as your body tensed beneath him.

He grinned, his eyes blazing with satisfaction. "Then be a good girl and come for me, baby. Let me feel you tighten around me."

With one final, deep thrust, the tension inside you snapped, and you cried out his name as your orgasm tore through you. Your entire body shuddered as the pleasure consumed you, your legs trembling on his shoulders.

Mattheo groaned, watching your face as you came undone beneath him, the sight pushing him to the edge. "Fuck… Y/N… you’re so tight," he gritted through his teeth, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release.

As you clenched around him, Mattheo’s grip on your thighs tightened, and with a guttural moan, he came, his release hitting hard as he buried himself deep inside you. His body trembled with the force of his orgasm, his eyes never leaving yours as he rode out the final waves of pleasure.

You both stayed like that for a moment, breathless, your bodies trembling from the intensity. Slowly, Mattheo lowered your legs, releasing them from his shoulders, and collapsed next to you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.

"Fuck," he muttered, that cocky smile spreading across his face as he glanced over at you. "Such a good fucking girl.."

You let out a breathless laugh, rolling your eyes at his arrogance. "Oh shut up.." you muttered, your voice weak and hoarse, still trembling from the intensity of your release.

Mattheo chuckled, his grin widening as he looked at you, pride and satisfaction in his expression. "Make me," he teased, his voice full of that insufferable, arrogant confidence as he pulled you close.

[ddlydevotion]

obsessive! Rick Hatchett x fem reader hcs...

warnings: sexual content + toxicity ahead

currently listening to: black beauty by lana del rey

- He absolutely despises seeing you cry. It gives him a sense of hopelessness that he’s only felt very few times in his life. It makes his blood boil to even think about the fact that your sadness was caused by someone else’s inconsiderate actions. Not only does it give him an intense wave of sadness to see you like that, but it also makes him overwhelmingly angry. He’s done some horrible things that he deems as unforgivable but he wouldn’t feel the slightest ounce of guilt for inflicting pain on the people who’ve harmed you.

- he did it for a good cause. he did it for you. Why the hell would he feel guilty?

- Rick does everything in his power to keep that pretty smile of yours gleaming towards the sky. It makes him happy to see you enjoying yourself. It makes him even happier realizing that he’s the reason you’re smiling and laughing with little restraint. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t enjoy whatever activity he’s taking you to, he’ll endure it just for you. He’ll try to come off as casual during the whole ordeal and act as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. You know him well enough to acknowledge the fact that he’s simply putting on an act as an attempt to hide his bashfulness caused by the compliments you shoot his way.

- most likely calls you a shortened/alternated version of your name as a term of endearment. I can also see him calling you ‘sweetheart’ or even ‘baby’.

- Rick is a damaged man, or so he says. You don’t seem to agree but that doesn’t stop him from labeling himself as such. He sees you as the savior of his soul, and it didn’t take him long after meeting you to start feeling so strongly. He doesn’t feel as broken when he’s around you. He feels as if he can finally allow himself to let loose, and relax. Rick sometimes has to remind himself that he’s safe in your presence and that he doesn’t have to remain in the defensive mindset he found himself in since childhood. You give him the sense of peace and security that he’s found himself yearning for.

- The mere thought of another man experiencing your love and affection makes him feel a murderous sense of rage. He may debate whether or not he’s actually worthy of your love, but you never fail to remind him that he is. You constantly reassure him and calm his flaring jealousy, but that doesn’t stop him from making the fact that you’re his incredibly clear when the two of you are in public. He hates the thought of someone thinking even for a second that you’re single.

- you can feel his possessiveness when he fucks you. His possessiveness isn’t fueled by anger but more so a fear of you leaving him for “better” . When the two of you are in bed together, he caresses you as if you’re capable of disappearing at any second. He looks at you as if he’s trying to tattoo your face on the back of his eyelids. Deep down he knows that you’re not going anywhere by the amount of times that you remind him he’s all you want. However, that doesn’t stop him from bending your body into all sorts of positions when he’s fucking you as a reminder that he’s the only one who could ever make you feel this good. No one could ever know your body as well as he does.

- it doesn’t matter how long the two of you have been together, he’s still going to fuck you as if he’s about to lose you. He is relentless.

- proposes to you much earlier than most people would deem as ‘appropriate’. He knows exactly what he wants and that’s you. He doesn’t see the point in waiting an unnecessarily long time to propose. Rick has his mind & eyes set on you and that fact will never change.

- The quote “A lovely lady and a grumpy man lives here” describes the two of you perfectly.

- Rick can be quite grumpy at times but he tries his absolute hardest to not act in such a manner towards you. His intimidating demeanor comes in handy when it’s time to “scare” people he deems as irritating away. He spots someone getting a bit too close to you for his liking? Well, now it’s time for him to come off as incredibly dry/ disinterested in the conversation in order to make the other person uncomfortable enough to leave. He’ ll make it very clear that he doesn’t appreciate their presence.

- He isn’t a huge fan of excessive pda. he loves to have your hand in his, have his hand on the small of your back/settled within your back pocket, having an arm wrapped around your waist, a strong hand on your thigh while driving.

- if you also enjoy smoking weed then he’d love to lay back and enjoy his high with you.

I’ll most likely make a part two to this post 💌! Hope you enjoyed + requests are open.

[pankowcrumbs]

Labels X Eddie Munson

MasterList

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

Everyone knew what Eddie and I were.

And also… no one did.

We weren’t dating. We never said we were. No labels. No awkward talks. No promises or expectations.

But also?

He’d pick me up from school. Wrap his arms around me at parties. Hold my hand under cafeteria tables. We’d make out in the back of his van when the day felt too long or the world too heavy, and some nights on those blurry, buzzed evenings when the lines between friends and more got even blurrier we’d crash into each other like we were made to fit.

So, yeah. We weren’t dating.

We just did everything a couple did.

Touching, teasing, protecting, sleeping next to each other even when we swore we wouldn’t. Eddie called it "our thing." Whatever that meant.

And for a while, I was okay with that.

Until the party.

The Wheeler party was packed, loud, and way too warm. The music thumped through the house like a second heartbeat, and someone had spilled beer down the banister about thirty minutes ago, so every stair was sticky.

I’d come with Eddie, like always. He’d given me a once-over in the van before we walked in eyes raking down my outfit, lips twitching into that lazy grin of his.

“Gonna get me in trouble wearin’ that, sweetheart,” he’d said, his hand sneaking into mine.

“You love trouble.”

“Especially when it looks like you.”

We’d kissed on the porch, slow and lazy, like we had all the time in the world. I could still taste his peppermint gum.

At the party, though, he got swept away talking to Gareth and Jeff about some gig they were trying to book, and I ended up in the kitchen, grabbing a fresh drink and making small talk with a guy from our school Alex something. Tall, clean-cut, nice enough.

Harmless.

I didn’t notice anything off until I saw Eddie across the room.

He was watching me.

And he looked… gutted.

His face had dropped not angry, not jealous exactly. Just this deep, awful sadness that made my chest tighten. His eyes flicked to the guy, then to me. And then he turned and walked out the back door without a word.

“Shit,” I muttered, shoving my cup onto the counter.

I barely heard the guy say something as I bolted.

“Eddie!” I called out, pushing past people and dodging elbows.

I made it onto the back deck, but he was already halfway across the garden, headed towards the line of trees.

“Eddie! Will you stop?!”

Nothing. He just kept walking.

“Jesus Christ, Munson!” I hissed, jogging after him. My boots crunched on dead leaves as I finally caught up, breathless. “Can you not do that?! Just walk away like I don’t exist?”

He spun around then, eyes blazing. “What do you want me to do, Y/N? Stay and watch you flirt with the fucking yearbook team?”

I blinked. “I wasn’t flirting. We were talking.”

“He touched your arm.”

“Oh, well, string me up then,” I shot back. “God forbid someone have a conversation with me that isn’t you.”

Eddie laughed bitter and sharp. “I don’t own you, remember? That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? We don’t do labels. We don’t get jealous. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

“That’s not what I...”

“Name one way I’m better than that guy,” he snapped.

I stopped cold. “What?”

“You heard me. Alex-fucking-whoever. Tall. Clean. Goes to class. Probably holds open doors for girls. Name one way I’m better than him.”

I blinked at him, the anger fizzling slightly. “You’re… bigger.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Don’t patronise me. If anything, he might even be a little taller.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped closer. “Not what I meant.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“You’re bigger,” I said, voice low, playful now. “Like… you know.”

His eyes widened for half a second. And then that smug grin slowly curved across his lips the one that always made my knees weak.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

He stared at me like he was trying to memorise every inch of my face.

Then he took a step forward, hand reaching for mine, voice low and possessive.

“Let’s go.”

I knew exactly what he meant. Not back to the party. Not back to pretending.

Just… us.

I let him lead me, fingers laced through mine, warm and certain. We climbed into his van and sat there for a beat in the quiet.

“I didn’t like seeing him touch you,” he said finally.

“I didn’t like that you walked away.”

He nodded, like that made us even.

“You drive me mad,” he said. “All the time. I see you smile at someone else and it feels like my chest’s being ripped open.”

My heart stuttered.

“Then maybe we should stop pretending this isn’t something.”

His eyes flicked to mine.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it what you want?”

He leaned across the centre console and kissed me, soft but certain.

And in that kiss was every moment we hadn’t said what we meant. Every lingering glance. Every almost.

We weren’t pretending anymore.

[cupidsworstcrime]

Aromantic!Jason Todd x Reader - life partners

sweet fluff , gets suggestive towards the end

Jason sits stiffly on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped between his knees like he’s about to confess to a murder. You can tell he’s been working up to something—he’s been weird all week. Not bad weird, just... Jason weird. Overthinking. Avoiding eye contact during quiet moments. Spending more time on rooftops than in your shared space. Now he’s finally here, fidgeting like a ticking bomb.

“I, uh… I need to tell you something,” he starts, voice low, eyes fixed on the floor.

You tilt your head, giving him your full attention.

“I’m… I’m not really—fuck, I'm not feeling 'love' with you—not with anyone,” he says, stumbling over the word like it’s broken glass in his mouth. “I thought maybe it would change, y’know? Like, that it would just happen eventually. That I’d feel it the way other people do. But I don’t. And I’ve been trying to be what you might want, and that’s not fair to you. I should’ve said something sooner. I’m so sorry.”

You blink at him, stunned not by the confession itself but by how hard he’s being on himself. You lean forward and gently bump your shoulder against his. “So… what I’m hearing is that my hot, badass vigilante boyfriend is turning into my hot, badass vigilante platonic life partner?” It's mostly a joke, but partially serious.

He lets out a startled, breathy laugh. “Wait, what?”

You grin. “Jay, I love you. However that love fits for us—romantic, platonic, whatever—I’m here. You still cuddle the hell out of me. You still listen when I ramble. You make my tea right and threaten to shoot at people who look at me wrong. That’s better than most relationships I’ve seen.”

Jason finally looks at you. Really looks at you. There’s something soft in his expression, something unguarded, like you just took a weight off his ribs. “…I’d like that a lot,” he murmurs. “Being your platonic life partner.”

You nudge his knee. “Perfect. Now come be the big spoon. It’s legally required.”

He chuckles, curling up beside you on the bed, arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go. “Legally binding,” he mutters, and you feel his smile against your shoulder.

No hearts and flowers. Just you, him, and the kind of love that doesn’t need labels to feel real.

It’s late. You’re both in bed—lights off, blankets pulled up, Jason’s arm casually draped across your waist like always. The TV’s still playing something neither of you are really watching, just background noise to your quiet routine.

You stretch, sighing into your pillow. “Someone flirted with me at work today.”

Jason hums, not moving much except for the lazy curl of his fingers against your side. “Yeah? Were they hot?”

You snort. “Not really. And besides, once they find out it’d be the three of us in bed, it’d be a disaster.”

That gets him to move—his head lifts slightly, a lopsided smirk pulling at his lips. “Oh yeah. Can’t risk someone getting between our highly structured spooning hierarchy.”

You roll over to face him, grinning. “Exactly. They’d probably try to snuggle in the middle. Total chaos.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, forehead resting against yours. “And I refuse to give up being the big spoon. I have seniority.”

“By, like, a few months,” you tease.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve staked my claim.”

You laugh, shifting closer until your legs tangle and his hand settles comfortably on your back. There’s no heat behind it—just warmth. Familiarity. Comfort.

He whispers, “No one else gets this. Not like we do.”

You close your eyes, smiling. “Exactly.”

And just like that, the flirting coworker, the rest of the world—it all fades into the background. It’s just you and Jason. Roommates. Partners. Lifelong cuddlers.

You’re sitting on the couch, sharing a bag of chips and watching a movie that’s more noise than entertainment, when Jason gets weirdly quiet.

Not his usual quiet, the brooding because he’s overthinking the world quiet. This is different. Fidgety. He keeps adjusting his position, tapping his fingers against his thigh, like he’s trying to work up the nerve to jump off a building.

You glance over. “You good?”

He freezes, like you caught him doing something illegal. “…Yeah. I just. Uh.”

And then he pulls something out of his hoodie pocket.

It’s a ring. No box, no speech. Just a simple silver band he’s obviously been carrying around for a while. Your heart skips a beat as he shoves it toward you with the grace of a man handing over a receipt.

“It’s okay if you say no,” he blurts, eyes locked on the ring and not your face. “I know it’s not, like… a normal proposal or whatever. And it’d be different. We’re different. But I just… care about you. A lot. And I want—” He swallows. “I want to keep doing this. For the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.”

Your chest feels like it’s both melting and about to burst. You blink at him, then at the ring, then back at him.

“Jason.”

He finally looks up, and god, he looks nervous. Like he fully expects you to run out the door.

You take the ring gently from his hand, then smile—soft, warm, real.

“Of course I’ll marry you, dumbass.”

His whole body deflates with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and the laugh that escapes him is so full of relief it’s almost a wheeze. “Seriously?”

You nod. “Seriously.”

He grins, all awkward and lopsided. “Okay. Cool. Good. Um… Do I put it on you now or…?”

You offer your hand. “Let’s try the traditional part, at least.”

The ring slips onto your finger a little crooked, his hands still shaking slightly. But it fits. It’s perfect.

So is he.

The ceremony is small—just how the two of you wanted it. A tucked-away garden, sunlight trickling through leaves, chairs filled with the people who matter most. Jason’s siblings linger near the back, trying to look casual in suits. Your friends smile with quiet joy, tissues already in hand. Roy is fanning his imaginary tears dramatically.

Jason stands across from you, dressed neat but still Jason—tie slightly crooked, hair wind-tousled, and eyes locked on you like you’re the only real thing in the world.

When it’s his turn to speak, he clears his throat, shifting awkwardly with the paper in his hand, then glances at it... and folds it up instead.

“I tried writing this down,” he begins, voice a little shaky but steadying with each word, “but nothing I wrote sounded like me. Or like us.”

A pause. You smile, encouraging.

“I used to think marriage meant… being something I’m not. That I’d have to change. That someone would want more from me than I could give.” He exhales slowly, glancing down and then back up, meeting your eyes. “But you never asked me to be anyone else. You didn’t try to fix me. You just saw me.”

He swallows hard, blinking fast.

“You’ve accepted me in ways I didn’t even know I needed. You’ve loved me in ways I didn’t think I deserved. And you let me love you back, even if it’s not the way people expect. Even if it’s not romantic or flashy.”

He reaches out, takes your hands in his.

“You’re my best friend. You’re my safe place. You’re my home. And I love you—not in the way the world writes songs about, maybe—but in the way that still means forever.”

You feel tears prick your eyes. Not from sadness. Just the overwhelming warmth of being seen, chosen, kept.

Jason smiles—soft and vulnerable and just a little crooked. “So, yeah. I’m yours. If you’ll still have me.”

You squeeze his hand, voice full of emotion when you answer.

“Always.”

The officiant smiles, voice warm as they say, “You may now kiss the spouse.”

There’s a flicker of nervous laughter in the crowd, but Jason doesn’t move at first. He just looks at you—eyes soft, shining with something deeper than anyone else could understand.

Then he steps in, close enough that the world fades around you. He touches his forehead to yours, gentle and grounding, like he’s memorizing this moment. The hush of the garden is filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing.

He pulls back just enough to press a kiss to your cheek—tender, deliberate. A vow in itself.

The crowd claps, some smiling, some tearing up. But you’re only focused on him. The warmth of his hand in yours. The quiet, certain way he smiles like this is everything he’s ever needed.

And honestly? It is.

The reception winds down with laughter and cake crumbs, the soft echo of music still buzzing in your bones. When you finally make it back to the room—your room, now shared in every way that counts—Jason closes the door behind you with a quiet click, hands in his pockets, watching you with that thoughtful, slightly awkward expression he wears when he’s got too many thoughts and not enough exits.

You’re halfway through unpinning your hair when he clears his throat.

“I, uh… I was thinking,” he starts, voice low and a little stiff, “I know this wasn’t a… traditional wedding in a lot of ways. But I still wanted to give you a proper wedding night. If you wanted.”

You blink at him, caught between touched and amused. “Jay. You don’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, a little helpless, a little sheepish. “I know. I just—hell, I don’t know, I wanted to make it special or something. Even if it’s not all... fireworks and romance.”

You smile gently, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Being with you is already special. You don’t owe me anything just because we got married.”

He looks at you for a second—longer—and then, very dryly, very Jason, mutters, “Okay, but just because I’m not in love with you doesn’t mean you didn’t get me hard walking around in that wedding fit all night.”

You burst out laughing, nearly burying your face in his chest as he smirks down at you.

“I knew you kept staring at my ass during the reception.”

“I have photographic memory. It’s a crime not to.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him in close. He’s warm. Solid. Yours.

“Guess this means we’re consummating our weird little best friend marriage?”

Jason hums, leaning in to kiss your temple. “We can take it slow. Or fast. Whatever you want. Just… wanna be close to you tonight.”

You nod, heart full, and tug him toward the bed.

“Come be close, husband.”

He groans playfully. “God, that’s so weird.”

“And yet you’re still following me.”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, climbing in after you, “you are ridiculously hot for my platonic life partner.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Todd.”

He grins against your neck, arms curling around you like always. Maybe not the way you imagined your wedding night. But exactly the way it was meant to be.

[olderthannetfic]

I feel like such an asshole for feeling this way but I genuinely do hate tags used to warn people in fiction. Maybe it’s because I read so many books going in blind growing up and things like warnings just didn’t exist but the constant need to prepare people for processing fictional scenarios is so mind numbingly stupid to me I can’t get passed it.

--

Past it.

I dislike long lists of itemized warnings too, but I'm willing to bet that you have never once read a book where you were truly going in blind.

Any book that goes through mainstream publishing has a thousand gatekeepers keeping the form and content within somewhat common parameters. It is then put out by a particular imprint that is for literary fiction or romance or whatever. The cover art is selected to attract a particular audience. The back blurb implies a lot about the tone.

It's true that if you're terrible at reading back blurbs, you might not realize it's an Anyone Can Die book, but the implications will be there. Sometimes, the marketing is really off base, and the art/blurb/etc. are hinting at things the book doesn't deliver, but in general, they do a decent job of conveying the big picture warnings.

In the context of fanfic, in ye olde times, the biggest warning people wanted was for death of either half of their ship. This is right in line with romance novels, where if it does not have a happy ending where the leads are together and not dead it is not a romance novel.

Harlequin and the like are very clear. If you don't want to write that ending, you aren't writing their genre, and you can fuck off with your "Ooh, I write it a different way" nonsense.

--

Fanfic and some of the very recent selfpub are different: When I've done Wattpad research, I've found works where I honestly cannot tell if it's even supposed to be fic. Hell, I can't tell if it's supposed to be fiction. It's so short and incoherent that I have no idea what I'm looking at. Most fic is a little more obvious in what it's trying to do, but it has no gatekeepers forcing it into a basically novel-shaped package. Leads could be killed off half way through the plot even if it makes no sense and doesn't fit the genre. Genres and tones can swing wildly at any point. Structure can be avant-garde or deeply incoherent.

Tags and very literal labels handle the I suck at summaries! R&R! problem.

Packaging art in a way that implies without spoiling takes skill and probably revision. Some fic is packaged this way, with only bare bones tags and a solid summary, but that's never going to be most fic. The volume will also always be far vaster than for professionally published novels where one company can only put out so much per year, and each work is long and more worth marketing time. There's far more to sort through and far less pressure to market well. Clear tags so people can find things are useful.

It really, really was not better in the old days when shit was barely labeled even if some of the modern stuff feels extremely over-warned to me.

(TBH, hand-hold-y over-warning is its own warning for the author writing The Bad Thing in an unsatisfying and wimpy way.)

[bitegore]

I made a character sheet to plot your OC's development over time! (There's supposed to be a character name in the big white space next to "over time" but it got eaten a little lmao)

You can use this for whatever you want, and you don't have to credit me. Feel free to change or edit anything you feel like. Please don't tag me if you credit me - just link to the original post.

Credits, explanations & a transparent version under the cut :D

Credits:

The actual image was made with the free NBOS character sheet creator, which is a sort of dated but free and solid text-layout sheet maker intended for ttrpg style character sheet creation.

Fonts used were Bisdak (titles) and Rockwell (body). Both are free! You can use them to fill it out if you like.

Inspired by a comment @maybe-solar-powered-calculator made on this other post about filling it out for characters at multiple points along their arcs. Thanks for putting the idea in my head :D

This is explicitly released under a CC0 1.0 deed, ie: you can do fucking whatever you want with it and I don't care and you don't have to tell anyone where you got it from and no one gets to stop you.

-

Last time I made one of these I got a bunch of questions on all manner of things, and I can never keep up, so I'm just appending a set of notes for how to use it and a glossary because I know some of these phrasings will be confusing.

Ignore or change anything you don't feel like works for you here. You can do whatever you want forever.

Suggested / intended use & general notes:

This sheet could work for something story-level, if you want. But it's really only good for individual arcs; if the character goes through multiple arcs in your story, then they're going to fit poorly here. In that case, you're probably better off doing versions for each arc, or just adapting this to a different format more suited to your thing.

Also, if your arc has a nontraditional structure - divorced from the typical "rising action - climax - conclusion" type of structure where there's a clear 'important turning point' - it may not work as well either.

The mindset section is meant to come at it from a 'golden mean' standpoint - that is, everything on either extreme of the slider is 'too much' and therefore bad. It's not bad-to-good! The far right side is a flaw too. They're only grouped the way they are on basis of the specific OCs I personally had in mind when I put it together.

Growth is labeled 'worse'-to-'better' but it means, like, active decrease in that area vs active increase; if nothing changes, it should stay at the center even if it sucks. The category is about contrasting changes, and sometimes changes are for the worse!

The entire sheet is very deliberately subjective. It should really be answered from the character's perspective - how they feel about it, not what's necessarily true. Technically you can do whatever you want and I can't stop you, but it's a better tool if you approach it from the point of view that the character may believe things that aren't true - that will define their behavior way more than the objective facts of the story.

-

Definitions:

This part is long as hell - recommend using ctrl+f to find the specific words you're stuck on. I defined everything.

General categories:

Mindset: how your character thinks about themself and how they act. Their understanding of their own approach to life. Attitude, viewpoint, decision-making process, that sort of thing.

Circumstances: the relationship between your character and the world around them. Where they are, what that place is like, and how they feel about it.

Growth: how the character and their impact - their attitude, their behavior, their immediate surroundings - changes over time.

Outset: the start of the character's arc.

Present: the 'center' of the arc. If you're planning something ahead of time and it hasn't 'happened' yet, then this is the near future.

End-game: where they are after the conclusion of the arc.

Mindset terms:

Center of the world: "If I have a problem, it's the only thing that matters to me." Self-centered, self-absorbed. Doesn't necessarily mean anything beyond that - they don't necessarily have to be unpleasant to be entirely focused on their own life.

my life isn't relevant: "Everyone else's problems are so significant, I don't pay any attention to my own". Someone who ignores or neglects their own life in service of some other thing, or doesn't consider their own behavior to have any real importance.

Only see enemies: Paranoid. Everyone's out to get them. Anyone who seems nonthreatening is hiding their potential for danger and everyone who seems threatening is a threat. The character must remain ever-vigilant, lest the cashier at the 7/11 suddenly stab them, or their best friend turn out to secretly be trying to poison them to death.

Only see friends: Naïve. Everyone is a good actor who wishes everyone else well, and if they don't seem like they're acting from a place of kindness or care then you probably don't understand what they're up to. The character is pretty sure the stranger holding that knife is, like, someone to chat up maybe, they're clearly only hanging out in this dark alleyway because it's a nice spot and no other possible reason.

overthink everything: Ten thousand thoughts per every single action taken. Maybe they never get around to acting at all. They have to consider every possible outcome. What if by eating lunch they accidentally trigger the apocalypse?! Who's going to think about these things if not them?!?!?!

impulsive to action: Act first, think never. What do you mean "consequences of actions"?

Unilateral decisions: "I will make every choice and no one else's opinions or thoughts are relevant". Discounts outside suggestions. Firmly convinced that they know best in any situation, and will brook no disagreement with their views when it comes to actually doing things.

Command me, please: "I don't know what to do and I don't know what to even start with, someone please tell me what to think". No confidence in their own views. Will not make any decisions unless forced and even then will beg someone else to please tell them what to do. Has no idea what's best and is pretty sure anyone else will have a better idea.

can't ask for help: No one will ever help the character; they have to do everything themself, even the things other people have repeatedly offered to do for them and have much more experience with. Doesn't necessarily mean that no one will help them or that they are explicitly barred by some real-world circumstance; just that, for whatever reason, they refuse to ask for help. This is an attitude thing - will they ever reach out? No? Then they're here.

too reliant on others: Have they ever solved a problem alone? Do they believe they're even capable of doing so? The character all the way at this end of the scale absolutely never expects to be able to do anything themself, has no trust in their ability to solve a problem, and needs someone else to come save them from it. The kind of person who needs ChatGPT to do their homework. Again - doesn't actually mean anyone will help them, or that the people they're relying on are reliable - just that they think they are helpless without ... well, help.

Weapon maker: This has to do with problem-solving strategies and not actual weapons. The weapon-maker is a character who views every situation as a conflict that cannot be de-escalated or solved by cooperation, and responds appropriately. The most fundamental weapon maker character turns everything into an argument, a fight, a war, etc. There are a bunch of other responses to conflict, though - they might avoid problems that need solving because they avoid conflict generally too. Fundamentally what you want to answer here is: when they see a locked box and they don't have the key, do they respond to it the same way they'd respond to someone telling them "you can't open this box"? And how do they respond to that? Typical weapon-maker approaches: - brute-force the box open or try and then give up if it doesn't work; and also get into an argument that might turn physical with the hypothetical person - shrug and give up immediately, in both situations so on and so forth. Another hallmark is that they kind of suck at problem-solving and give up if brute-forcing a problem doesn't work. This is not someone who is picking locks unless someone else told them to - they have one solution, it's to make everything into a conflict, and then to win that conflict by beating them or to give up because they think they'll lose.

Tool maker: This person approaches every situation like it's a puzzle, not a fight - up to and including actual fights. Tool-maker characters generally assume that a situation can be solved by just finding the right approach and doing it the clever way. There's the same fundamental question as above - if your character sees a locked box and has no key, would they approach it differently than someone telling them they're not allowed to open the box? 'Typical' tool-maker approaches: - I can trick the person into giving me the key by saying the right things, and I can also pick the lock because fundamentally there are 'right answers' to both of these - If i make friends with this person, they might change their mind, because now we're cooperating. I can still pick the lock because there are 'right answers' there. - The person has a reason for wanting me not to open the box, so I can definitely figure out what that is and solve the reason so then they'll let me open it. I can take whatever it is even if they really want to keep it if I just find the right answer. I'm going to break this box into little pieces because that's the easiest way to get into it but I could probably open it some other way if that wouldn't work.

A note - the center of this bar is someone who generally has different responses to different kinds of situations - like, in the box example, they'd approach the box and the person with two different general attitudes and processes - but generally responds to those situations using the same kind of decision-making process for each category every time. Most people are nowhere near either extreme. Characters tend to be classifiable into weapon-maker and tool-maker because they are fictional and it's easier to define one kind of approach than many. Approximately average approaches: - pick the lock if no one's around, but give up if someone is there because someone telling me not to open the box is a conflict i think i'll lose but a locked box is just a puzzle that i can solve - argue with the person, but give up on the box, because they're approaching the box as a puzzle and they don't think they have the skill to get into it, but the person is someone who can be convinced or bullied into handing over the key

I made this particular dichotomy up, which is why I think I get a lot of questions on it whenever I put it into anything, but I also don't know of any other snappy way to describe this sort of thought or approach variance, and it's genuinely useful for character writing in my opinion.

Pessimist spot-finder: Generally a downer but not necessarily. This kind of character just approaches everything with a close eye for problems, issues, reasons to find fault. If they're miserable, it might be why, but like, they can be a cheerful spot-finder if you want, I just wanted to get at "the glass is half empty" and "the glass is half full" more than anything.

Optimist upside fan: The opposite. "The glass is half full". If there are problems, they can find something about them that's not so frustrating or bad to focus on. Pretty damn good at overlooking minor issues if there's no reason to fixate on them. Not necessarily cheerful.

Abysmal company: could not give less of a damn about treating people the way they 'should' be treated. Maybe they take pride in that. Maybe they just think it's irrelevant. Either way, they know they treat people badly and they don't see any reason to stop. Does not necessarily mean that they treat people badly if they think they're doing the right thing and are wrong. Doesn't mean they're actually pleasant or unpleasant to hang out with, either, unless you really want it to mean that.

Decent to others: treats people well as a matter of course, or at least they sure think they do. Makes an effort. Would probably care and/or consider changing their behavior if someone said they were treating someone poorly. As before - they can be completely un-self-aware and just think they're doing right by people while treating them completely horribly.

Morality is irrelevant: 'abysmal company' for broader approaches to life and problems. Maybe they just know they're myopic and don't think other people's problems matter. Maybe they just gave up on trying to differentiate between 'good' and 'bad' and outsourced it to someone else or stopped paying any attention. Maybe they just like to take morally unjust actions and can't be bothered giving a damn when someone points out that they're morally unjust, or maybe they're proud of it. Kind of a villain trait generally, but not necessarily - it doesn't have to mean they act badly, just that they don't care if they do. Also, this is about how they choose their own actions and view their own behavior. They can think morality is relevant for other people as long as they ignore it when they act themself.

Always in the right: feels morally righteous in every decision they make. Standard superhero type of trait. Doesn't necessarily pass judgement on others, doesn't necessarily act well according to everyone's moral code (see: blue and orange morality), but they are extremely principled and will never deviate from the moral code they personally believe in. And they do genuinely believe in it.

Circumstances terms:

Generally terrible to generally excellent: how subjectively decent is your character's situation, overall? If they think everything is horrible, but the situation is charmed to everyone except them, then it's generally terrible.

Need for changes to passive tolerance: will they do something about it? Do they feel like they have to?

No agency in action to decisions are huge: agency being "how much power do I have to make changes here?", this just asks how much they have. No agency means that, no matter what they do, nothing will happen - they might be locked in a cage or somehow otherwise completely unable to use any sort of power at all, even the power of just leaving. The other end of the spectrum is where every decision the character makes makes a huge difference, not just to themself but to everyone around them as well. They can start wars, they can have anyone they want killed, they can do anything whenever they feel like it. If they think they have no agency even though they do actually have agency, they don't have agency here. If they feel like they have all the agency in the world and can do anything, then they do even if it's not true. It's perceptual again.

Stakes are deadly to mistakes solvable: what are the consequences of failure? Will you die, will you lose status you can't afford to lose, will you lose belongings, will you have to apologize, will nothing happen at all? Mistakes solvable is where they think every mistake is solvable forever - the character pushes someone through a woodchipper and they come out and to fix it, maybe an apology has to occur, but not much else. Does not necessarily mean no one gets hurt or killed as long as the character thinks there are no permanent consequences. This is the most important one on this section to keep subjective because it will greatly influence how your character approaches situations. A character who thinks everything is deadly-stakes may go to cartoonishly-extreme lengths to avoid turning a report in a day late. A character who thinks all mistakes are always solvable may push someone through a woodchipper and then just assume they can say they're sorry and it'll all go away. The setting and their approach do not need to be applicable.

Needs go unmet to attended with care: how do the people around them treat them? Do they pay attention when the character needs something, or do they ignore it? Does the character have to do everything themself around here, or are there people who will help out?

Regarded poorly to regarded well: how do they think other people see them? Are they respected, are they liked, or are they disliked? Do people broadly trust them or are they pretty sure everyone regards them with suspicion?

Nothing changes to changes in seconds: functionally the 'stability' meter of your setting - is the situation generally stable, or are things constantly changing? Does your character feel like every five minutes, there's a new problem that needs dealing with, or do they feel like nothing has ever happened ever?

Growth terms:

Changes in place: do they go somewhere else? Does the physical setting otherwise change (eg; earthquake, war, etc) ? Are there any other reasons that the 'vibe' or 'experience' of the place is different from before?

Change in power: does the character's percieved agency (see: no agency in action to decisions are huge) change? Alternately you can use it if they've gained or lost power in some percieved way (deposed, assigned a commanding position, etc).

Change in bonds: do their relationships with people change? Have they made new friends, lost old friends, changed the nature of their relationships with friends or partners, etc?

Change in beliefs: straightforwardly, have their beliefs, morals, etc, changed?

Change in hurts: have they undergone some horrible experience? Do they have past trauma from some pre-arc horrible experience they're healing from and/or discovering they're more powerfully subject to? Did they experience a physical injury that they're recovering from or which materially changed their life? Did something recent dredge up old issues? So on and so forth.

Change in hopes: Do their desires for the future look the way they used to? Do they care about different things now? This is something the character is not actively working for, but may be tied to actual goals.

Change in fears: are they overcoming fears? Growing past them? Gaining new ones? Are they scared of shit different from how they used to be?

Change in goals: Not the same as a hope because it needs to have a specific, achievable outcome the character is actively working toward. Do those material goals look different? Perhaps they no longer want to work against something, maybe they didn't have any goals and now they do. Or maybe they've realized the goal is impossible, or something has happened to make that goal unachieveable. Whatever it is, if there's a change, it's a change.

Change in self-awareness: their beliefs about who they are and what they're like, and what their circumstances are. Have they gotten more self-aware, have they gotten less self-aware, or has nothing changed?

Change in relationships: their relationships' overall health and resilience, as far as the character is concerned - which doesn't mean they're necessarily good, just that the character thinks they're how they're supposed to be. Have they improved? Have they gotten worse? Have they not changed?

Change in knowledge: do they feel like they know more about the world, their place in it, the people around them, etc? Not necessarily how to do things - just general information and awareness.

Change in social standing: how does others' regard for the character change over this part of their arc? Do people like them more or less? Are they respected more or less than before? Has nothing changed? And so on.

Change in skills and abilities: do they feel more skilled than they were before? Do they feel like they know how to do as many things as before? Again - not necessarily rooted in reality - a classic example of a character being wrong about this is a 'big fish in a small pond' character who used to be the high school sports star going to college on a sports scholarship and discovering they're not the best any more, and suddenly feeling like they're the worst - when they're better than they've ever been in an objective light. Use a subjective viewpoint for this.

Change in agency in life: how does the character's percieved agency change? Do their decisions matter less now than ever? Do their actions make way more happen than before? (See: no agency in action vs decisions are huge)

Change in outlook: Here's the upper/downer part. Are they more or less hopeful for the future? Do they think things are more terrible now? Are things improving as far as they're concerned? Or has that not changed?

Change in goal progress: how do they feel like they're progressing on the goals they've set for themself? Are they getting further and further away? Are they getting closer?

If some of this doesn't make sense and you want a clarification, you will have to tag me to get my attention, because I'm turning notifications for this post off the minute it leaves my immediate social circle.

Transparent version: (sorry you had to scroll so far)

[biancasaidstfu]

Hey Bianca! I have been here since the beginning. I saw the beautiful frienship of Nicola and Luke, and I know for a fact that deep down, I shipped them together. Even when Luke was with Jade. They are really close. They have got that comfort that we can see today. And it never change. Oh boy am I so glad to see their interaction at SAGs. They have that special chemistry and we all can see that.

When Luke was with Jade, I really reminded myself that maybe it was truly platonic with nicluke, and nic supported both Luke and Jade. It was heartwarming. Then when Luke and J broke up, I thought that maybe us OGs are the only who can see it. Its been speculated for quite some time that time, Luke was having issues with his partner partly because of Nic and some haters. And his genuine feelings for Nic is what caused the rift between them. I for one did not believe this the slightest, but it seemed to have been a reason.

Then Antonia came to picture. We don't really give a fuck about her before. And she's only labeled as group friend of Luke before. Their repeated appearances in 2023 has what caused the dating rumours, but we only saw Luke acting like a friend. Then New Years 2024 vid came and it cemented Antonia's status as Luke's gf.

All their interactions Pre-feb looked genuine to be honest, but when Feb came, its starting to get weird. Especially with Antonia. She started behaving like some sort of stalker girl. I remember stopped rooting for Luke and Antonia when she took pics and vids of Luke multiple times without his consent. That shit didn't sit well with me. Especially with that concert. That is weird as hell.

Somebody asked me before that if we got a repeat of NYE kiss, am I going to stay here and my answer is yes.

I have seen a tug of war of feelings between Nic and Luke. And their closeness with each other intensified last year. And us OGs have began suspecting something did happened between the two of them.

I have survive multiple times in this fandom and lord, I am ten feet deep into this grave 🤣

But I will say this. Something changed between Nicola and Luke last year. And I mean this in a good way possible.

So I will be giving them another 2 years to settle whatever feelings they still fighting coz I have seen that shit. It ended with marriage.

So whatever you guys are hearing from their rumoured partner, nor what tabloids are saying. Trust yourselves. You guys have seen it with your own two eyes. That those two are unhinged and unstoppable when it comes to each other.

And I trusted myself, that's why I'm here. It got me here now, like the hell I am leaving now where its super close now. The possibility of them being together romantically is 100% certain.

Atleast, I know those two can't help and act like old married couple in love with each other for years now. Still true to this day.

You guys are strong as hell for sticking around this long!

[deathmetalangel]

HARDLY SEEMS FAIR

robby keene x fem! reader

warnings: "casual" relationship", swearing, arguments, crying, heavily ldr coded, implied hookups, slut shaming, cheating, angsty

“in what world is that fair robby?"

oke so this is kinda a retconnned chapter from my wattpad book that i'm just extending and making more ambigious instead of clearly x oc. i hope y'all like it tho. i am sorry i have been gone for so long :(

Y/n plays with the ends of Robby's hair. He was laying with his head in her lap while they just relaxed in her room. It was calm, domestic. A small and very rare moment for just the two of them. No outside force would intrude and break their safe haven. There was no what if's that lingered in the air. Nor past resentments that hung over them like an ominous cloud determined to damper their moods. 

It was just Y/n and Robby. And that's all they'll ever be. No labels. She figured that much after the last time she'd brought it up. But she's become so full of him she can't even bring herself to care. She'd rather have what they have now, whatever it may be with him. Rather than risking losing him, and the routine she's started to build around him. 

She hums softly. Her mind far off. "Y/n?" She hymns in acknowledgement without turning her head. "Something happened this weekend."

He was lying. This had been going on for weeks. He had been having doubts for weeks. He'd been seeing her for weeks. "What happened? Another karate fight?" She wasn't the girl who got heartbroken. She was never the second choice. She got what she wanted. And she wanted him, however she could have him.

"I kissed Sam Larusso."

Y/n freezes. Her body betraying her as she tenses up. She has no right, she knows that. They were 'casual'. Just her and Robby. Non-commital.

"I mean big deal right? We were drunk anyways. Just felt bad not telling you. I know were not dating so it's really not your business, but don't worry about it. I mean we've fucked so often what does a kiss even mean?"

A kiss. To her it meant everything. An act of intimacy that they rarley ever shared. So innocent, so pure.

"Get out of my room Robby." Y/n mumbles, her voice above a whisper. The teen sits up from her lap and looks at her incredalously. He was only telling her to keep her in the loop. She didnt have the right to be mad. So why was she making a big deal about this?

"What?"

"You heard me. Get the fuck out of my room Keene."

He furrows his brows in a toxic coctail of anger and confusion. "Why? You can't get pissed at me for this Y/n. We aren't fucking dating. Don't get all aggro on me like you're some psycho girlfriend when you're a friend with benefits at best."

Y/n stands up and pushes the boy out of her room. "Get the fuck out of here Robby! If it didn't mean anything why don't you go fuck her then? Go whine about your mommy issues and daddy issues to her and leave me the hell alone."

"You have some nerve you know that right? Don't act all high and mighty now. You're a whore. Why the hell would I ever actually take you seriously when I can get everything I want without the label or work. You're easy, I could never do that shit with Sam."

Her breath was stuck in her throat as the boy she truly thought cared began to berate her as if she was a random person on the street. The boy she suffered for. The boy that was really never her's to keep. Y/n forces herself to wipe her anrgy tears and push Robby once again.

Y/n's hands were shaky, she desprately wanted to cry. To scream. To give in and give him the satisfaction of getting to her. "Oh so you can come over whenever you want, make me listen to your shitty life, and basically force yourself into my own life, but all that means nothing right? Well guess what Kenne. You kissed her, and she still doesn't want you!" She presses her finger into his chest while her voice level rises. "That same girl is still with Miguel. So just because you wanna jump ship and 'upgrade' doesn't mean she wants anything to do with you. Face it babe, you're just white trash."

"Shut the fuck up Y/n." Robby practically spits back.

"Oh, so you can disrespect me and belittle me in my own fucking room, but when its you its a problem? Grow up Robby. You're a man baby and a hypocrite. In what world is that fair Robby? Maybe in your little made up fantasy where Sam picks you and you leave me for dead. So go stay there. Cause you're sure as hell not welcome here."

Y/n throws everything he's given her at him. Every last peice a memory they shared together. Posters, drawings, braclets, anything that adorned her room. All of it thrown to him and crashing down like victims of a violent storm. Tears streamed down her face as he backed up to her door.

She opens the door for him and grabs his sweater and keys before shoving it in his chest. The boy watches her dumbfounded.

"Stay away from me Robby. Go back to some other slut that can put up with your baggage and shitty attitude for one night stand status. Because I'm done."

He looks at her, but there wasn't the girl he knew looking back at him. Not with how she glared, not with how she stood, and not with how she felt. Her eyes, the e/c irises reflected love, now they were dark. Harbors for her contempt. The grimace on her face was unforgettable. Especially as the last thing he seen before she slammed her door on his face.

Robby swallows the spit in his mouth, a hard lump of guilt not wanting to go down. He didn't think any of this would happen. He wanted her to care, but he didn't want to fight. His temper, his father's god forsaken temper, and his own damned ego.

He wanted what he had with her, with Sam. The girl next door with a rich family and big house. Like something out of a book. Not the girl that did whatever he said for the sake of making him happy. He really did want to just abandon her, didn't he? After everything.

Choking back his frustrations the boy marches down her stairs and lets himself out. He liked what he had with her, but he wouldn't fight for her. Guys only did that for the girl they want.

[syscest]

hi im assuming the us vs them post is about a specific term, which one would that be?

so the sysmed out-group term being referenced in the joke post was (as the reblogs guessed) "endogenic", and I'll lay our thoughts out straight just once to avoid being potentially taken the wrong way

I've got two angles here, existential theological linguistic bullshit, and harm-reduction. stay with me here because even if you're not on board with the first thing you'll want to see the second.

so "traumagenic vs endogenic" is a false dichotomy, and I don't just mean "there's a secret third thing", I mean both classifications are fundamentally not real.

personally? we haven't the foggiest idea why we're a system. but the thing is, I don't think anybody else does either - I think it's genuinely impossible to know why your own consciousness is behind your own eyes and controlling your own body, why you *experience* existing in first-person at all. Like shit, lots of singlets believe it's because a soul has been created or introduced to their flesh, and a bunch of others think that's a load of crap and the chemicals just *do this* on their own. Singlets get this unalienable right to believe whatever the hell they want about why they're experiencing being themselves all the damn time, and I refuse to believe that systems are uniquely special in a way that singlets are not such that anyone can fucking flawlessly divine the cause of our consciousness all of a sudden. These are existential-tier questions and to deny their impossible complexity and the right to self-belief over them is, in my eyes, to deny systems something many singlets feel is part of what makes them human.

You can believe all sorts of stuff about the nature of your own systemhood just like how you can believe all sorts of stuff about the nature of your own existence - that doesn't make you definitively right, it's just a meaningful mechanism through which you understand your own experiences that other people should respect - it's like any faith, go figure.

Frustratingly, these words - traumagenic, endogenic - they're not talking about belief, they're objective buckets actively being used for exclusion. So every time we use the term "traumagenic systems", in saying "systems that objectively exist because of trauma" we are saying, loudly, "it is possible to know why a system exists". and frankly? no the fuck it isn't.

Anyway that's airy bullshit and reflects very idealised interactions so - practical, realist opinions, and harm reduction:

Saying "I'm pro-endo" is a net good, though I think "I support all systems" is probably marginally better because it doesn't perpetuate categories pushed by sysmeds for exclusionary reasons as being essential to defining systemhood - as we joked about.

Contrastingly, self-declaring "traumagenic" or "endogenic" in a bio is a net bad. Saying "I'm a traumagenic system" also says "Hello sysmeds, I believe in your dichotomy and I'm one of the good ones" (great way to get sysmed followers), and that factor doesn't go away if you go on to say that you support all systems - you've already thrown away your opportunity to shield more vulnerable systems from harassment through making who sysmeds need to target more obscure.

In fact, regardless of whether your bio says to sysmeds "I am a target" or "I'm not a target", by saying it explicitly, you're pressuring other, more vulnerable systems to similarly self-declare. It's like cis people putting pronouns in their bio to shield trans people from harassment through obscurity and embarrassment, but in reverse - if you shut up about it, and *just* call yourself a plural system, even if you do believe in their categorisations, you stop the propogation of the self-labelling and exclusionists are forced to make themselves look like idiots because most of their harassment would have to be done at random. It's basically herd immunity - nobody talks, everybody walks.

anyway yeah there's context for future, though honestly the section in plural respect is a lot more succinct lmao

[solarmorrigan]

The Pumpkin (Spice) King

For the @steddie-spooktober day 24 prompt: Pumpkin Rated: T | Words: 945 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, this is very silly, fluff Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

The clues had been there all along. Eddie should have paid more attention.

It starts with the candle.

“Why does it smell like a craft store in here?” Eddie asks the moment the apartment door has closed behind him.

Steve, half engrossed in whatever he’s scrolling through on his phone, shoots Eddie a quick, puzzled look. “What?”

“Like cinnamon sugar and spices. Fake fall.” Eddie sniffs the room speculatively. “This is what craft stores smell like every year from September to January.”

“Oh.” Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s not ‘fake fall,’ it’s just the candle I have burning.”

Now that Steve’s mentioned it, Eddie spots the candle on the table, one of the ones you get in a fancy-looking glass jar, the label of which proclaims the scent to be–

“Pumpkin spice?” Eddie utters, nose wrinkled.

“You got a problem with pumpkin spice?” Steve asks.

“It’s–” Eddie starts, then takes in Steve’s single raised eyebrow, registers the catty lilt to his tone, and changes tracks, “–barely September.”

If anything, Steve’s eyebrows get more judgmental, but he looks back to his phone, apparently dismissing Eddie as a threat to his fun, fall-scented good time. “They start selling these things in August," he says. “You should appreciate my restraint.”

“Riiight,” Eddie drawls, deciding to adjourn to the bedroom and leave the living room to Steve and his mass-produced miasma of imitation autumn.

Of course, it doesn’t end there.

Eddie barely notices in time, reaching for the pump of the hand soap by the kitchen sink and stopping just short of using it when the colors register. It isn’t the usual bland bottle with its inoffensive citrus and herb scent, but something brightly-colored, all orange and shiny silver. There are little wheat sheaves and pumpkins on the label, and the scent is, of course–

“Fucking pumpkin spice,” Eddie mutters.

Fine, okay, so there must have been some kind of sale at fucking– Bath and Body Works, or wherever the hell it is that sells this stuff, and Steve had temporarily lost his mind. Or something. Whatever.

Steve can go around smelling like something that wishes it could be cinnamon all he likes, but Eddie will not be joining him. He uses the dish soap to wash his hands instead. His eczema will not thank him later, but he thinks it’s a fair price to pay for his continued dignity.

(And if Steve eyes Eddie’s reddened, peeling knuckles later in the week, and the lemon herb soap reappears next to the pumpkin spice soap, well – that’s close enough to a win that Eddie will take it.)

Then there’s the coffee.

This one is technically the final nail in the coffin, but it takes a bit to really dawn on Eddie. He maintains that he had been understandably distracted at the time – largely because he only finds this one out by drawing the taste straight from Steve’s mouth.

It isn’t unusual for Steve to have been up and about for an hour or two (or three) before Eddie rolls out of bed on his days off; Eddie prefers to keep late hours, and Steve, as much as Eddie loves him, is a morning person. This had caused some friction when they’d first started living together, but it’s been nearly a year now, and they’ve managed to work it out. Often, their first kiss of the day tastes like whatever coffee Steve’s already been drinking.

It’s different today, though. Sweeter than usual.

Eddie hums, licking deeper into Steve’s mouth, trying to place the difference, and Steve groans, tugging Eddie closer by the hips, mistaking his curiosity for passion (and, well – it’s not not passion. Eddie can multitask).

“What’ve you been drinking?” Eddie finally asks when they pull apart.

“Pumpkin spice latte,” Steve answers, and then gives Eddie absolutely no chance to process this information, pulling him back in for another deep kiss.

It’s only later, back in bed when Eddie had barely even been out of it for half an hour, that Eddie has to admit to himself: his boyfriend is a pumpkin spice girl.

And that’s fine! Eddie can be mature about this!

Sure, it’s the sort of thing he’d sneered at back in high school—the conformity of the masses flocking to whatever seasonally-scented item corporations are hocking at the time—but he’s grown up since then. Someone’s preference for a certain flavor or scent doesn’t determine their worth as a person, et cetera, et cetera. Eddie knows this.

But still, he’s only human. He does have a breaking point.

“Oh, baby, no.”

“What?” Steve pulls his head out of the fridge, where he’s been putting the cold stuff away as Eddie unloads the grocery bags destined for the pantry.

Eddie holds up the offending item – possibly the most offending item he’s ever seen.

Pumpkin spice candy corn.

Steve blinks at him. “What?” he asks again after a long moment of loaded silence.

“Oh god, it’s already infected your brain,” Eddie laments, dropping the bag of candy on the counter and reaching for his phone. “I’m calling Robin, we’re staging an intervention.”

“Oh come on, what? They’re good!” Steve insists.

“Objectively, sweetheart, they really aren’t. But don’t you worry,” he leans over and pats Steve on the arm as he searches for Robin’s number in his contact list, “we’re gonna save you from yourself.”

(Later, of course, he’ll find out that Robin has already tried to break Steve of his tendency to buy anything labeled with “pumpkin spice.” His love of the stuff is ironclad. She tells Eddie that he’d better learn to enjoy the taste, or else give up making out with his boyfriend until Thanksgiving.)

[babextoken]

⋆☀︎｡Smile Back ... At Me ⏾⋆.˚

Grumpy!Vessel x Sunshine!Reader

grumpy/sunshine, sickfic, housemates, fem!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff goes smut

a/n: there's easter eggs in here for three people 🧍🏻‍♀️

Taglist (that I decided I have now): @inv3ga

“No no no. Don’t do this. Please. Please!” Vessel was distraught. Panicked. Verging on crisis. He stared at himself in the mirror, white knuckling the vanity. “Get it together, Ves. Don’t…don’t.” His breath was ragged…”fuuuuuck...”

How many sneezes in a row was that? 5? Oh…oh they’re still going. You knock on the bathroom door softly. Vessel rips the door open with a scowl, his nose and eyes red from whatever irritant deigned to infect your intrepid workaholic housemate. 

“What?” He asks, deadpan.

“I heard you sneeze like…8 times in a row. That’s concerning.”

“Yes. Thank you, doctor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get cleaned up and go to work.” He looks you up and down. “Think you ought to do the same?”

You look down for a second at your pjs and gasp. Work? “Oh shit! I…hey… wait a minute!” Vessel just titters as he splashes some water on his face. “It’s my day off!” Again, he chuckles and pushes past you. “You know for someone so crotchety with me you sure know a lot about my schedule!” But he’s already down the hall. Of the housemates, Ves was the one you had the least positive interactions with…and yet…you saw each other the most. It just worked out that way with your schedules. Ves could go to the studio or work from home at will, and you seemed always to be home at the same time. 

“You’ve done this on purpose. To torment me.” Ves said once as his phone buzzed incessantly with notifications as you input your schedule in the shared housemate calendar. And, in your endlessly witty, carefree way, you responded “Aw Ves, finally you’re noticing all I do for you!” For the record, Vessel doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t really hate anyone. No. He’s just a little brusque. And short tempered. And he just likes things done a certain way, ok? You, on the other hand, seem too happy to be here. What are you plotting, he wonders sometimes. 

But today those thoughts are dulled by a throbbing pain behind his eye and the annoying feeling of his nose leaking at any moment. By 2:30, he’s ready for a 20 year long nap. He rubs his face in agony as he sits at the control panel. Usually the studio is a reprieve but one of his worst nightmares is unfolding. He’s sick. He has a cold. A sinus infection? Christ…the flu? He has to push through. He has to see this day to the end and finish this…”fuck it I’m done. I’m going home.”

“Literally just asked how the cymbals sounded, man. For fuck’s sake.” Even poor ii wasn’t safe from Vessel’s sick tirade. The two share a silent look of “the hell is wrong with you/me?” 

“Sorry mate,” Vessel rubs his temples and sniffs. “Uhm…yeah…there could be more…definition or whatever. I’ll see you lot later.” Vessel sulks out of the studio and towards the bus stop. If this was a comic strip, he’d be kicking a can with little fumes over his head. Vessel hates getting sick. It throws off his groove. Makes him unproductive. He’s no stranger to powering through but it doesn’t seem worth it this time around. This makes him feel weak. Like once he gets better he’ll need to work 10x harder just to make up for his time off. Make it up for who? Well…the label, for one thing. And ii. Part of his brain says “it’s only for yourself,” but he pushes that aside. Yeah he’s proud but he still needs to prove to everyone else he’s fine. He can manage. Hasn’t he always landed on his feet? Looking out the bus window at the passing houses and buildings doesn’t provide any distraction—just more fodder for his migraine. As Vessel rests his temple against the window, his phone vibrates, but he ignores it. Whatever it is couldn’t make him feel any worse...oh but he was wrong. So very wrong.

You: I’m sure you saw this on the calendar but it’s just us for the weekend. Are you still feeling sick? Want me to get some soup? Let me know. :)

You’re not surprised Vessel doesn’t reply to you. He’s at work and, well, you’re you. As you’re about to text him again, because you reaaaaalllllly want to get a jump on ordering food, he comes through the front door. “Tsk, you look miserable.”

Vessel so badly wants to be snarky. To tell you what an astute observation you’ve made. “I am…where is everyone?” You look at him a bit quizzically and tell you texted him…and that their trip was on the calendar, etc etc. Oh the defeated sigh he lets out! The misery of being cooped up with someone so chronically pleasant might do his head in if this migraine doesn’t first. And maybe it wasn’t your best idea to follow him to his room to ask if he needed or wanted anything, if he was hungry, did he have a fever, can you do— “Have you considered leaving me alone? You’re not my mum and you’re definitely not my girlfriend! Can take care of myself just fine without you flitting about trying to fix everyone’s problems…maybe you should...” He stops himself and rubs his hand down his face with a heavy sigh. “Fuck it. It’s not worth what little energy I have. Let me know what takeaway you’re thinking.” He shuts the door and leaves you in the hall. Was he suggesting that you spend more time on others than yourself? How dare he? How dare he be right and sound mean about it. But you don’t pout long because he opens the door again, but this time his shirt is off. Your eyes trace the curve of his shoulders…down to the ridges of his chest and abs. Close enough to touch. ‘Stop…he’s sick. And your roommate.’ He sniffs hard. He’s so stopped up. “I…should not be like that. I’m sorry. Pizza?” You look away, feeling shitty after overstepping…he must be really sick if you got an immediate apology. 

“Don’t you think something like soup or…you know what? We’ll do whatever you want.” That elicits a soft smile from him...with teeth no less.. Wait…”you just smiled at me. An honest to god smile...Ves…”

“Oh, sh-shut up.”

After dinner Vessel feels…weird. His head and body hurts…he can’t even think straight. And you notice. He can barely stay awake but there’s no way he’d be comfy on the couch. His long legs…you imagine him trying to curl up and get comfortable like a big dog on a tiny bed. You take a chance and put your hand on his shoulder. “Let me help you get in bed.” He sighs heavily like you asked him to give up music. “Is it really this hard to accept some kindness?” Apparently that was a shit question because he huffs and takes himself to bed. Fine. Maybe you should leave it alone but damnit he needs help…and attention. You come into his room with your arms full.

“What are you…” But you cut him off by dumping a big blue quilt on him.

“I always always always sweat shit out with this quilt.”

“I don’t have a fever.”

“Oh well, it’ll make you feel better. And…alsooooooo…” you hand him a stuffed puppy with floppy ears and a dumb, goofy look stitched on his face. “Just give him a squeeze.” Vessel looks at the stuffed dog and the quilt but can’t seem to look at you. If anything he’s looking down and past your feet.

“As persistent as my cold, you know that?” 

“You deserve a break. Let me know if you need something…you know where I am.”

“H-hey…wait…” You look back at him, and it’s as if he’s forgotten how to breathe. Did he ever know in the first place? All he knows is that any breath he takes after this night is for something beyond the music. Beyond himself, even though his efforts there are questionable. “Sit with me…for a bit?”

And you did. All night. Waking up next to him hugging your stuffed dog under your “sick day” quilt was such a sight. His eyebrows knit together like he was thinking. It must have been a fever dream, you think, as he groans softly and clutches the dog closer. You want to reach out, move the hair off his brow, feel if he has a fever…caress him. But you have to at least act like you know better. When he blinks awake he gives a lazy smile.

“You shouldn’t have stayed in here. What if you get sick?”

“I could deal.”

“Hm. Maybe you’d accept some kindness in return?”

After his cold finally fucks off, Vessel looks at you differently. Not necessarily because you did something for him. No. There was something different. After he snapped at you, and then later after you two had a long conversation about nothing before he drifted off, Vessel noticed something behind your eyes. God, those eyes. His walls came down. He was defenseless. It’s not like you’re best friends now or anything, but he felt moved to treat you gently. Hell, to smile back at the very least. 

Late one night, long after everyone went to bed, Ves notices your bedroom light is still on. “What am I doing?” He whispers to himself, but apparently too loudly because soon you’re opening your door.

“Oh thank fuck it’s you. Thought I was hearing things.”

“Jus’ me…I…why are you up? It’s 1:30.” You shrug. There’s that look again. He has to dig. He has to pry just a little. Just like you had with him. “Can I come in?”

You nod and let him in, motioning for him to sit on the bed. He sees your laptop out and wants to ask what you were up to, but you quickly put it away. “Better question is why you’re awake, Ves.”

He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. “So no one has a good excuse, hm?”

“Hm.” You tease back, gently pinching his arm. He looks down at your fingers on him and his heart flutters. Ves lets his gaze drift slowly up your body…taking in every curve and slight movement before resting on your eyes. 

“What’s wrong?”

“W-w-what…? What are y-?” You try to act nonchalant. 

“Can just tell…something’s off with you.”

You sigh heavily and look up at the ceiling. “This…” you put your hands out, “is actually my natural state. Tense. Not nearly as bubbly or…like”

“A sunshine girl?”

“Yeah or…a sunshine girl.” 

Vessel looks at you with a sympathetic smile…he can see that blush dusting your pretty cheeks. He  lets his hand rest on your shoulder, squeezing it slightly but then pausing. “You’re knotted up, love. Can I…?” Without even hearing your answer, he moves behind you and rubs your shoulders. It hurts a little, only because you’re so tense. His wide hands cover your shoulders and luxuriously knead into your muscles. “What’s made you so tight,” he rasps close to your ear, “Hm? What’s eating at you?” 

You can’t help it. Your head lolls back to his chest and turns so you can look up at him. “All I do is run around taking care of business and other people. I don’t know how to care about myself.”

He can’t stop himself. Brain shutting down. Hands and lips have a mind of their own now. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you run yourself into the ground like I did. You should care about yourself…I…I could teach you…” Vessel trails his nose up your neck and kisses your ear softly before you jump up. 

“Jesus, dude, you can’t just come in here and…” but fuck it he doesn’t look precious wiping his hand down his face and hiding the strain in his pants. “Oh…fuck… actually you totally can.” Immediately you’re straddling his lap, held in place by his soft hands cupping your face…pressing you desperately into his. His kisses trail hungrily down your jaw and to your neck. He finds your pulse point and claims it with his hot, open mouthed kisses. Your hips grind against him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world…but of course, he adjusted to press his strong thigh against you...you are supposed to do this. Suddenly your thoughts are poisoned with guilt as you realize how tightly you’re squeezing his thigh and how you weren’t being exactly quiet. Vessel gently guides your head down so he can whisper to you.

“I’d take you far away from here…anywhere you wanted…just to hear it…I want to hear what I can make you say…how loud I could make you…”

“V-v-es we-...“

“Shh shh shh. It’s ok. Do you want to stop?” His voice is warm and sincere, like he’s meant to take care of you.

“No.”

“Then let me do this…for you. Some comfort…” he turns slowly to lay you on your back, “would you like that…” his fingers gently trace your breasts and tummy over your shirt… “could make you feel good…safe”…your shorts and panties are thrown off the bed…”when was the last time someone did that for you, darling? Made you cum…just to cum?”…your shirt is lifted, tits exposed to the chilly room and his starving eyes.

“Never.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he murmurs as he kisses your thighs and settles on his tummy, “no pressure for me then.” But you’re moaning softly already. You’re a live wire as the hands you’ve desperately tried to avoid fantasizing about explore your inner thighs and folds. His finger glides up and down the length of your needy pussy as he looks up at you…pure bliss etched all over his face in the dim lighting. “Atta girl, love. We’re just here to feel good. Hm?” You hear and then feel a wad of his spit hit your clit, followed by his fingers pressing against either side of it. Vessel wraps his left arm around your tummy as your body chases his touch. “Found something you like, did I?”

“Vessel,” you whisper breathlessly but it’s cut off by a strangled moan. His tongue gently darts out for little kitten licks on your clit. You don’t know if your reactions or what he’s doing is making him whimper like that, but you don’t care. Your hand caresses his hair lazily until you have to grab it and keep him in place. He’s taken your clit in his mouth…something you’ve never experienced. Forgetting every wall you placed around yourself with this man, you let your hips grind shamelessly against his perfect mouth. Vessel’s moans and hot breath nearly push you over the edge multiple times. 

“I…” he exhales, trying to catch his breath and contain himself, “am really going to enjoy this.” His middle and ring finger work into your wet cunt and find your g-spot quickly.  “That’s it…that’s it…you feel that? Feel my fingers rubbing you from the inside, yeah?” You can’t respond directly…you’re too busy squirming and whimpering fuck fuck fuck. It feels like you’re on fire as Vessel licks and sucks at your clit, your eyes rolling as your brain tries to compute that the same spot is being stimulated from different angles. It’s too much. 

“I’m yours…I’m yours….please I’m yours.”

“Mine, yeah? Good. You sound s’perfect…haven’t even had my cock.” It’s a miracle that you aren’t screaming out loud now as he sucks at your clit. Both hands tangle in his hair when he starts thrusting his hips against your bed. He moans pathetically into your clit, his hips landing soft blows into the mattress. “I…I’m sorry.” He stops and quickly pulls off his clothes…you swear you’re cumming a little just from the sight of his cock alone. “See what you do to me?” He breathes heavily, standing at your bedside with his cock throbbing without contact. “Seeing you…let yourself go… enjoying yourself… so fucking hard for you. Could cum just licking you out, babe.” You’re tempted to tell him to try it…but you feel empty.

“Make me yours…”

“How would you have me?”

You’re speechless for a second…he’s really into this. Into you feeling good. “Get on your back, angel.” Vessel does as he’s told and blushes at the pet name. He teasingly rubs his cock against your slit…tells you how tight you felt around his fingers…how good you are for him. You moan quietly…weakly…dreamily as you slide down each inch of Vessel’s cock. The stretch is beyond perfect…not uncomfortable…but still more than any stupid toy in your bedside drawer could do. You grind against him and bounce on his cock seemingly without much thought other than feeling good. And he doesn’t stop you, nor does he grab you and fuck up into your pussy. No…he just lays back like a good boy and takes it. Luxuriates in the feeling of the warm stickiness of your pussy…how it hugs his cock and threatens to drain him. You wince a little as your hips tense; still you weren’t fully relaxed despite your blissful state. 

“I’ve got you.” Vessel pulls you close to his chest, pressing your hips down. “Just lay down on me. Let me feel you.” He moans softly as you lay out, your legs scissoring with his just enough to keep his cock buried deep. Your lips crash together. You taste yourself on him…his mouth…and your mind goes even fuzzier. “Sweet girl…you like being lovey, don’t you? Hm?” His hips snap up and press into your cunt. “Little lover girl??”

“I’m…fuck I’m yours Ves…I’m your girl…”

“Let’s make it real then…” his hips thrust back and forth again before pressing deep into you, holding his cock hard against the limit of your pussy…”I’ll fill you to the fucking brim with my cum…leave my handprints on your ass…and-“

“And I’ll leave…little love bites on your chest,” you add, trying to weigh in and stave off your climax. Vessel groans out in response and holds you in place like a toy as you suck and lick at his soft skin. So much for handprints on your ass, though; he can’t help but cradle your back and head. Neither of you have ever felt this before. The soft, warm middle of equal parts wholesome chemistry and earth shattering lust. What was that in the delicate in-between? You bury your face in his neck and forget the world…forget your name…it’s just him. 

“So tight…” He gently lifts your head. “There she is…mmm. Need to see you…need you to see what you do to me.” Vessel tangles his hand in your hair to help fix your gaze on him. His throat bobs with each broken moan…god he wants to cry out for you so badly. For the way your body melts into his as he rolls his hips up and into you. For the way your slick runs out all over him, making a mess of you both. It’s all too much. You press your forehead to his and bear your hips down. Vessel grabs you and presses his hot, greedy lips to yours not just for a kiss, but to muffle the pornographic noises your pussy rips out of him. The feeling of his tongue on your lips pushes you over the edge. Your fluttering orgasm squeezes and milks Vessel’s cock for all it’s worth, causing him to fuck up into you like a rabid animal. He completely and unapologetically ruins you.

You wake up the next morning curled up against his back. He’s already awake and smiles brightly when he feels you pull him close. 

“Guess what.” He whispers. You barely mumble “hm” back to him, still sleepy and fuzzy from your late night tryst. Vessel chuckles and rolls over, your stuffed whale shark from the aquarium clutched to his chest. 

“Hey! That’s mine,” you grumble.

“Oh and suddenly you don’t share anymore…hm? Not my lover girl when the sun’s up,” he teases. “Anyways…it’s just us this weekend. We have some wasted time to make up for…don’t you think?”