#like their push and pull is so real. they're actually moving. what-

[brynnmclean]

let's see, a 💬, a ❤️, and a THIS QUOTE THO:

Heart pounding and face flushed with embarrassment, he’d asked her for praise.  He hadn’t prepared himself to get it. It’s agonizing.   You’re good to me.  Those words slide between his ribs like the blade of a knife, burying deep in his heart and twisting against his bones, fracturing him open and flooding him with heat.  He flinches the way he never does when his hand is on a gun, straining again against the ropes around his arms, but Jyn is there, draping her body over his, her hands against his skin.  He wants to tell her, don’t, afraid the jagged edges of his heart will cut her, but she holds him together until the feeling begins to fade and the world reorients itself.

(from alt pov cast some light, which is. So Much.)

First off, omg, THANK YOU so much for calling out that section from the alt ficlet for dying to be taken apart. I'm a bit sad that I never ended up finishing the whole POV chapter, but one day maybe I'll get back to it! I love the idea of Cassian working up the nerve to ask for what he wants when they're negotiating the bondage scene, but then when they're actually in the scene and he gets what he wants, it's SO MUCH for him. But he trusts Jyn. She grounds him. They're good. <3 I'm so happy cast some light is still being read and enjoyed by you. It means a lot to hear nice things about it after all these years.

💬 - I'll do something from the last Rebelcaptain fic I posted on AO3 in 2020, first flush of hope to carry the grey away:

“Come here,” Jyn murmurs, and for a second Cassian isn’t sure if she’s goading the ‘Troopers toward them so she can beat them down.  She moves then and it isn’t how he expects her to—instead of pushing him out of the way so she can fight, she widens her stance and pulls him in closer, straddling his thigh.  The grunt of surprise that tumbles out of his mouth is genuine; the moan she makes is not. In spite of the fact that he’s never—they haven't—his mind skips as her hand slides up to the back of his head, her fingers sliding restlessly through his hair.  Heat alights all through him, but he leans into it and tucks his face down into her neck, murmuring assent against her throat like a kiss.   It’s all right, he can go where she leads him.  He understands this is the cover: lovers making out in an alley.  He wants to actually kiss her neck, but he won’t, not like this.  He allows himself one touch as she presses up against him again, he takes one hand off the wall and splays his palm against her waist.  Steadying her.

I just love the tension of that moment, where Cassian's brain is racing through so many thoughts-- he's injured, they're both displaying An Image of lovers necking in an alley, is Jyn goading Stormtroopers under her breath or asking him to come closer, he wants to kiss her neck so fucking bad, but he Will Not, he is In Control--

I miss my man!!!!!

❤️ - from breathes in deep the air because so much of it lives in my head rent-free (the cunt manifesto, oh my god, the sex scenes are so good and so real) but I think I've got two lines for you here:

Beneath her, Cassia's hums, her groans are louder now. But they're steady. Not building. Not enough. She's arching a bit, and her eyes drift closed, and her free hand falls down to stroke at her breast, and there's something missing, something more— but she's got that look to her, like there's too much of that clever, overactive brain left to ask for what she wants.

and here:

It's too much, she's too here, Cassia's too precious—she needs to drop her gaze, to lose herself, to become only action, only motion.

which are both part of the same scene, Jyn POV in chapter 3, but I just... I think it so clearly and succinctly gets at the way Cassia(n) and Jyn's brains work-- or in Jyn's case, how she prefers to operate. Cassian's brain moves at a mile a minute and yeah, I think overactive is a fantastic word for it. And then Jyn... Jyn who I do think has been honed into someone who is so action-oriented, who is so used to running, that yeah... wanting to become only action, only motion, focusing on someone else rather than being the focus... I mean, you MUST know I'm obsessed with this fic and the way you write these two. I think you NAILED (ha) it. And I love sex scenes as character building experiences. Love love love.

[ask me about fic quotes!]

[casualavocados]

Are you really Chen Yi? I'm not dreaming, am I? You can try and prove it.

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 12

[inkskinned]

my brother got covid because he's a college professor and there's not much he can do to mitigate exposure when he has 200+ students per lecture. he's got a baby at home, so he does his best, but.

the governmental website for covid information is now propaganda. not a joke, not hyperbole, not an exaggeration: it's genuinely the definition of propaganda. this is biased misinformation determined to push a political stance. it is being hosted on a government server. it looks like something you'd find in a "top 10 weird internet conspiracy stories (and their origins)" youtube video.

my brother called me when he saw it. he had me type it into google. for a second i legitimately thought that i had typed something wrong. we have both taught college: we have both said "a .gov site is usually a reliable resource." i just stared at my phone for a long, long time.

i thought about how when i was a kid, conspiracy theories were mostly fun and a little spooky. unserious. i remember reading some long, complicated website about how avril lavigne is dead. how bigfoot is real. it used to be funny-and-a-joke.

over seven million people (globally) have died from covid. america has the highest death rate with over 1.2 million people.

the thing is - every time a person dies from something like a mass shooting or poverty or treatable illness - we are told don't make it political. we are told it's just something that can happen. we are told it's sad but what can you do!

the president of the united states is using a government website to try to erase the very-real deaths that he personally caused due to a complete mismanagement of the pandemic. the president of the united states is using a government server to host propaganda, undermine science and medicine, and encourage distrust amongst his followers.

nothing is going to happen. nobody's gonna, like, do anything about it. it's a thursday today, and we are just going to move on from this like we have been moving on from everything else.

yesterday my brother was outside walking his dog, mask included. a guy in a truck pulls up and shouts something about covid and whatever the fuck else. my brother has a good sense of humor, described it to me as enthusiastic! i hadn't ever been catcalled before, this was new and therefore thrilling! i do see why you hate it, though. like. i have actual covid, does he want me to cough on him?

my brother doesn't get extra time off work anymore, because the cdc practically doesn't exist. my brother said i'm not exposing 200 students to covid. his boss shrugged and said: who cares? they're going to get it eventually anyway. like it isn't a pandemic.

like it's just a fucking thursday, and who cares about it.

[damselneedssaving]

「 DON'T GET THE DOOR 」

OLDER!CLINGY!DAMIAN WAYNE X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: After days of being too busy to be intimate with you, Damian's finally got you propped up on the kitchen island, sweet and like putty in his hands, when a sudden knock sounds at the door... and he absolutely refuses to let you go and answer it.

★ TAGS: damian is 18+, suggestive content, nothing too much—just making out, and a bit more, damian is physically incapable of keeping his hands off you, srsly babe wtf did you do to him, dick and jason cameo at the end

★ A/N: just some dami hating everyone but you action 🤭 enjoy trying to get him off you lmao

line divider by @cafekitsune

Damian's gaze is heavy as it runs all over you, soaking you in with an intensity that makes you squirm on the counter, the marble cool against your bare thighs.

His hands are firm on your waist, sitting there like that's where they're meant to be—like they know no place else—as his chest moves to press up against your own, and his body stands situated right between your thighs, hot and present.

"I've missed you, Habibti," he whispers after a beat of just staring, and it comes out breathless, framed a little by disbelief, like he just can't fathom you're actually there.

You can only squirm in response, eyes ready to move to the side in all their bashful glory—when he ushers them back to him, fingers gentle against your chin.

"I've barely seen you these past few days—and now that I can, you choose to hide from me?"

You blink back at him, eyes wide and head shaking from side-to-side to convey what you can't with words, what you can't under the intensity of his gaze.

He hums, and he's so close now, so within kissing distance, that his breath fans over your face, minty and fresh, begging and pleading.

You don't even realise the way your lids grow heavy until it takes only half the time it usually does to shut them, until you're leaning forward and eager to meet him halfway as it registers to you just how much you've missed his touch.

Damian receives you with open arms, lips pressing against your own as he further pushes himself against you, hands now curling around your waist instead of situated at its sides.

All you can breathe is the scent of nature and cologne, drowning in all that is him until your head grows dizzy and your body begins to shake, until you're suffocating in heat and pounding need.

He kisses you like he's running out of time to, like at any minute, he'll be forced to pull away, hungry and desperate and left with an ache near impossible to fill.

He also kisses you like he has all the time in the world to, like he's taking in a piece of art, studying every inch until he has it etched into his mind forever.

It's too much—it's not enough—and you're left a panting mess when he pulls away, the air hot and heavy and seeping so much steam it practically fogs up your vision.

"Dami..."

He hums, lips now on your neck, having moved there as soon as he pulled away as though incapable of truly ever leaving you.

Your fingers move to card through his hair, and he groans right into your skin, just above a vein, sending a vibration straight through your body.

God, the moment is just so perfect, and you've just been so starved for attention, and everything in the world seems to just be going so right, that it feels wrong, like something will happen to ruin it all.

Something like a knock at your door.

At first, you think you're imagining it, because Damian continues to litter your skin with kisses like nothing's happened, his hands even beginning to roam beneath the hem of your shirt, touch light against your skin.

But then you hear it again, louder this time, and you're sure that it's real.

But Damian acts like it isn't.

His hands continue tracing patterns into your skin, lips painting your neck like it's one of his canvases as he worships you with all the devotion of a man begging for his life.

It's only when a third knock, even harder and louder than the former two, sounds from the door that he shows even a hint of acknowledgement, fingers digging into your sides, but not enough to hurt, your Damian would never hurt you.

"Damian!" a voice calls from the other side of the door, deep and insistent, "I know you're in there! Open up!"

"Would you be quiet?" another hisses right after, "People are looking."

You blink, pulling back a little, only for your boyfriend to chase after you.

Another knock at the door.

Damian growls into your skin just as you call softly, "Dami."

"Ignore those two idiots," he scoffs out with all the vitriol of a man wronged, one starved of something he's needed for far too long. "They'll leave eventually."

You nod, readily and easily because you don't particularly care for answering the door either. Not when he's holding you so sweet, and kissing you so right, and loving you like you're the only thing in his sight.

And you practically are with how he devours you, biting and sucking as he tastes you enough to shoot tingles down your spine and flood your veins with heat.

"Maybe he's not home," one of the two voices says, and you're just lucid enough to recognise it as Jason's.

"Oh he's home alright," the other responds, and you're quick to find that it's Dick.

But then all your lucidity washes out your veins because Damian's fingers start to crawl up your skin, and you're parting your lips to warn him with another call of his name.

"Dami—"

"Shh," he hushes you gently, and you know he doesn't mean it, soft and reverent as his hand reaches up to play with the band of your bra, lifting and snapping it back in place to send a jolt down your spine.

Your eyes dart to his, a heat pooling low in your stomach, and he simply meets your gaze with his own hooded one.

Then he moves to capture your lips again, and you're moaning low against his mouth, lips parting just a brief amount to let him in, when another huge bang slams against your door.

You pull back with a frantic, "Coming!"

Damian is already moving to try and capture your lips again, but you shut him down immediately, hands pressed firmly against his chest.

"Damian."

He growls, cursing beneath his breath in Arabic as he lingers a second longer, fingers curling against your skin. But he does ultimately let go, backing away enough to leave you room to hop off the counter, but not enough so that you can't feel the heat of him against you once you do.

And as you make your way towards the door, Damian follows right after, a shadow to his light, a knight to his princess.

A boyfriend to his girlfriend.

You swing open the door to two figures stood on the other side, both who you suspected them to be, wide-eyed and blinking as though they never thought you'd answer.

"Finally," Dick whines, lips jutted in a pout before they tug back up, flashing you one of his signature charming smiles. "Hey [Name]! Think Jason and I could crash—?"

"No."

A rush of wind flies over your face, the door to your apartment slamming shut before your very eyes to leave you dazed and a tad confused for a second.

Then a pair of arms wrap right around your waist, and that same voice that rejected the two brothers at your door is whispering right against your ear, hot and heavy, "Now... where were we?"

[bluukive]

!MDNI: JJK Men x birthdays

content - brief allusions of dad bods, explicit, what the jjk men receive on their birthday + what they give on yours, restraining, foodplay, teasing, submissive men yum, worship, exhibitionism, double penetration, roleplay, spanking, slight cuck!Nanami, somnophilia(?), it's all consensual I promise

an - for @chosos-lesbo ^^ had no idea how to incorporate dad bods into this properly so they're briefly mentioned here and there <3

Not proofread ALSO DON'T PUT FOOD NEAR YOUR PRIVATE AREAS THANKS

ᡣ𐭩 G. Satoru

recieves

LAP DANCE LAP DANCE LAP DANCE (+ strip tease hehe). You’re moving so, so sensually, flashing the skimpy lace that just happens to be the same colour as your man's eyes. Satoru’s got one hand palming his fattening length (like a real perv), a lazy but appreciative look in his eyes as you’re planting. It’s not long before he’s sprawled out so nicely for you, your hands on his heavyset thighs (which you swear have recently grown thicker). Satoru can feel you kissing down his chest, and your fingers gently raking through his happy trail (which you begged him not to remove), until you’re finally engulfing his cock into your mouth.

Alternatively, you’re bent over in bed. You can feel your face burning as he takes in the sight of your ass covered in frosting and sprinkles, and a candle nestled in your puckered hole (the thought makes me wince but I’m referencing a specific video with this and just had to include it)

gives

HE’S the one covered in whipped cream, strawberries, sprinkles. There’s a big FAT arrow drawn on his pubic bone, leading down to his cock. He contemplated sticking a candle in his pp hole I don’t think Satoru’s into sounding. There's also a cute pink bow tied around his dick, straining because of how fat his length is. It's stained with precum, the fabric dark and tempting you to unwrap him.

Satoru also makes you sit on his length when it's time to open gifts. I don't know why but it's so him. It starts off with you cockwarming him, your pussy occasionally clenching as you eye the various trinkets. In Satoru's eyes, the actual gift is the way his softening hips are rolling up into you the more presents you unwrap.

ᡣ𐭩 G. Suguru

receives

You're oiling him up. Full body massage with scented oils and your increasingly nude body on top of his. The feeling of your smaller hands gliding so lewdly all over his glistening body has him sporting an erection. He's noticed an increase in your sex drive due to the fact there's an added weight to his body. It's delicious when Suguru can both manhandle you the way he wants but also grows red with effort due to the fact that he's no longer as lithe as he used to be. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

gives

Dare I say both a collar and a leash. Suguru's always known how much you crave being on top. His idea of the perfect gift (outside of the various pieces of expensive jewellery and clothing) is giving up his control and offering his entire self for you to use on your special day. Suguru could easily push you away, even if the muscles in his body are softening the more time that passes. But he doesn't. He insists you pull at the rope attached to his collar and tug as you ride his face/cock.

I'd also pair this with a shrine/bed setup (?) that he made all by himself. It's a pretty thing, low lighting and candles, flowers and portraits of you set up in an organised manner around your shared bed. You're the centrepiece, the star of the show as he worships your entire body.

ᡣ𐭩 S. Ryomen

receives

Unlike Suguru who offers himself to you, you're the one offering yourself to your king. Sukuna's incredibly greedy, which has become incredibly obvious after the years of indulging in you. He's still massive, believe me. But those hulking muscles have both melted and increased in size. For your husband's birthday, you've given him a feast off of your own body. There's sticky honey drizzled all over your tits, which he greedily laps up. There's the finest wine bottled up beside you, which Sukuna happily pours all over your cunt before eating you out like a starved beast of a man.

gives

He fucks you on his throne. You're the only one allowed on there (apart from him, of course). If you want privacy, Sukuna will adhere to your request. If you want an audience, he's even happier to spread you out before them. You're locked in full nelson as the 'pests' below you keep their head down, taking in the sounds of your husbands twin cocks plapping away all snug and deep.

Double penetration was another request you had for your birthday. It meant your husband would spend more time prepping you, eating you out and burying his thick fingers knuckle-deep inside of you (in both holes) before stuffing you full.

ᡣ𐭩 N. Kento

recieves

Some good old roleplay, where you pretend to be his perverted assistant. You suck him off under the table in the privacy of his home office, slick noises and garbled mewls leaving your lips which were stretched around his length. You swear it's grown fatter since he became so preoccupied with work and your growing family. You slide onto his thigh also, lips inseparable as you feverishly try getting yourself off on his thigh. It's Nanami's birthday, not yours, so he's quick to correct your selfish behaviour with a belt wrapped around his heavy fist.

gives

An identical toy, completely resembling his cock. Nanami doesn't like it when you feel lonely whilst he's away. You've got complete freedom on your birthday to give your husband a show and play with the dildo. Yeah, it's not as good as the real thing, but this is how Nanami satiates the slight fantasy he has of seeing you pleasure yourself on something that wasn't him. It gives him a sense of superiority knowing that you could only truly feel good with only him.

ᡣ𐭩 T. Fushiguro

receives

A raunchy video. You've compiled all of your recorded encounters with Toji and sprinkled in some sessions where you're alone and needy without him. It'd be a waste not to watch it with him, so you do just that with both of you mutually touching each other. He's got one burly hand sliding not-so-discreetly into your underwear, whilst one of yours palms him through his boxers. Naturally, Toji suggests you recreate it. He's the birthday boy, after all, and you'd be a fool to deny the man who's been drunk off baby fever the chance to be called daddy.

gives

Wakes you up with his mouth. You said once that you wouldn't mind being woken up with a tongue flicking against your clit. Toji hadn't been able to rid himself of the thought and your birthday was the perfect opportunity to give his birthday girl exactly what she wanted. With two strong arms holding your thighs open, Toji's lapping feverishly and sucking your aching clit into his mouth. When you eventually awake and lift the blanket, you're met by the sight of your husband's cheeks hollowed, eyes so blatantly lidded as he grows more pussydrunk by the second.

[bonsubear]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │ Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#2

#1, #2, #3

tysm for the comments on the previous post, it was a blast seeing the traction it got !! I hope update is satisfactory, decided to make this a full fic series so more to come

CW: OOC Cecil(?), mention/talks of suicide, violence, slight freakiness but eh not really

WC: 6,7k

@weaponxgames, @martinys-world, @lagataprrr, @lizurich, @katsukiswiife, @oxymorondemon, @sweetb3rry, @ashleeytrx, @pixviee, @pookiei-bookie, @cheesycheddarr

Cecil approached the big screens, his hands in his suit pockets as he narrowed his eyes. "Donald, what is this? What going on with now?" He asked, his voice stern but confused. The dots on the map indicate that multiple Invincible variants were gathered at one place—and you were smacked in the middle of it.

He had given orders to throw you out there in hopes to help the war effort, strapping you with an electric dog collar with a tracker embedded into it. With Evil Invincibles causing havoc all over the world, everything was getting stretched thin. He needed more manpower to pour into this war, and he wasn't against using a criminal to achieve that.

Cecil had seen multiple times you hold your own against their Invincible, hell, even had the upper hand a couple of times with how you left Invincible riddled with injuries.

Whatever reason why you chose to injure him than kill him wasn't something Cecil was going to do gymnastics to understand. Donald's running theory was that you more so enjoyed causing destruction than killing anyone. There's been times where you have, but they were so rare it's been assumed to be more of a 'last resort' thing for you when cornered.

Honestly, all of that didn't matter to him, you were still a destructive piece of shit at the end of the day.

But having collected data about you, he was confident that you could at least remove one or two of the evil variants when push came to shove. The 'shove' being a shock collar and the threat of never seeing daylight again.

Though it appears you were surrounded by four variants, and while you were one tough cookie, you should certainly be dead. There was one of you and four of them, it was a no brainer to guess who would lose. However, the blinking green dot on the screen indicated you were alive and well.

"It seems like they're not fighting her. She's been more of the aggressor so far, actually." Donald noted, pushing his glasses up. "She was fighting this one," He pointed at a red dot on the screen, "then these three showed up." His finger drifted to the other circles.

"Pull up the cameras around there." Cecil ordered, and Donald's fingers were quick on the keyboard to pull up the surveillance around the area.

A window appeared on the screen, and while the lens was cracked it was clear to see that you were surprisingly not beaten up and battered as he would expect. He watched you leap into the air, bolting through the sky and an Invincible dressed in a white uniform followed suit, the two of you becoming a blur in the distance.

An Invincible dressed in a similar fashion as Omni-man crossed his arms, speaking to the others. Whatever he said made the others upset, the one with a fully covered black mask shaking his head while the variant with the mohawk rolled his eyes as he stomped his foot.

"Is there no audio on this thing?"

"Nope."

"Great." Cecil popped his lips, his grainy voice filled with sarcasm. He continued to observe the three variants—they obviously didn't like each other, their body language tense and ready to pounce if one of them moved yet held the conversation anyway.

He squinted, trying to decipher what they could be discussing about. The men would occasionally glance over at the direction you had sped off to.

Donald spoke up. "I think they're discussing (Y/N)."

"(Y/N)?"

"(Y/N) (L/N) is Vandal's real name." Donald mentioned, looking over at Cecil. Vandal had become your nickname since you never proclaimed a villain identity for yourself. From the heaps of destruction and damage you caused to property before your capture, it was a fitting name. Albeit a little lazy.

He let out a sigh, turning around to step away. His mind was turning gears as he thought about you, his mind drifting to Mark who was still by Eve's bed side.

What he was thinking of was an... odd idea, but it couldn't hurt to give it a shot. Mark Grayson always held this odd air towards you. It was hard to not notice how he practically jumped at the chance to be the first to respond to a scene that had something to do with you, always butting heads with other superheroes that tried to respond first.

The weird behavior was subtle, but Cecil noted a few things.

Whatever harm that he'd inflicted would conveniently be places where it wouldn't hurt too badly.

You would always somehow end up escaping from his grasp after each fight. Even with how Mark had improved, you always seemed to run off.

When you were finally captured thanks to a G.D.A agent, Mark threw quite a fit.

"I had it all under control!" He yelled, glaring at Cecil with so much anger. Possessiveness seeped into his voice as he spat his words, and Cecil was taken aback with how worked up he was over you. "You guys didn't have to step in like that."

"Talking to her, throwing a couple of punches and letting her escape each time is not you having it 'under control,' Mark." Cecil rebutted. "She needed to be contained, and you were doing a lousy job at doing that."

"I was gonna—"

"If I had let this ridiculous method of yours play out, she would've continued to destroy more property. That means more tax dollars are being poured into rebuilding the constant messes she leaves behind." Cecil lectured, stern and logical. Not giving him a moment to defend himself. "That money is better off spent on better things, not Little Miss Vandalism."

His logic and common sense only seemed to fuel Mark's anger. Cecil paused, before releasing an exhausted sigh as he flickered his gaze away from Mark to stare at a wall.

He needed to calm him down, having him upset would get in the way of calling him for help. Cecil's eyes flickered back to Mark.

"Kid, she'll be in jail at the G.D.A. Fed, clothed, and away from being a menace." He continued, and he noticed how Mark seemed to become calm about you being fed and clothed than the fact your destructive habits would now come to a halt. "You can... even visit her."

"... I can?"

He was a little too happy to hear that, his anger completely evaporated.

"Yeah. After we deal with everything first, I'll authorize how many visits you want."

"I'm going to pay a visit to Mark. I'm sure he'd love to hear what his favorite villain is up to." Cecil turned his head to Donald who only stared, clear he didn't understand what telling Mark about this would achieve.

Without elaborating, he teleported with a flash of blue.

You took another glance behind you, the wind rushing past you. It howled in your ear as you met the intense stare of the evil variant in white. His features were unmoving as the wind pushed his hair and his eyes hard.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer!" You shouted. His eyes were unblinking as he was unresponsive to your words, and you just rolled your eyes as you tore your eyes off him.

Even though you would love to continue being in the air for longer, if you do it was evident he would catch up to you. With each glance he was inching closer and closer, and there were a number of things that would go against your favor if this White Invincible got ahold of you in the air.

You scanned up ahead, seeing a large building. The path you were on currently would've made you slam your head against a solid wall. Shifting to the right, you brought your arms to your head as you braced for impact.

The glass window immediately shattered as you rammed through it, different sizes of glass shards falling. You dodged the walls of the office floor, breaking through windows and passing by cubicles.

Breaking out of the other side of the building, the sunlight basked on you as you pushed yourself to be above the building. Not a minute later, the building vibrated widely as the sound of walls breaking filled the air.

You let out an amused scoff. He continued the flight path you were previously on and busted through the walls.

The white variant broke through the final wall, leaving a gaping hole on the side of the building. He looked to the left and right of him, searching for a sign in which direction you went.

"Up here!" You sang out, diving down with your hands raised together and joined together to make a ball. You brought it down, sending him flying downwards to the road. The Invincible's reflex was incredible, his arms quickly rising to protect his head before being slammed to the ground.

The harsh impact made a big crater on the ground, with him in the middle. The abandoned cars near the crash site began blaring, the headlights flashing crazy.

"You're strong." He flatly commented, his eyes gazing up at you as the dust settled. With Mohawk, his laugh lines were prominent and bold. Yet with this variant, his face was completely smooth with no form of wrinkles in sight.

His arms tingled from your attack, and he tilted his head. A corner of his lip raised slightly. "You were never strong in my dimension."

"Does that burst your bubble, Whitey?" You fake whined, copying the tilt of his head as you stared down at him. "Disappointed I'm not a damsel in distress? Not the perfect little girlfriend for you?"

"I'm not disappointed." He shook his head. "You were always perfect, (Y/N). Perfect for me and I made Viltrum perfect for you. You're still perfect, no matter the differences across universes." He replied, hovering towards you. There was a deep-rooted longing in his eyes.

You gritted your teeth as you heard his monologue. You hated how he was speaking to you as if you were the version he knew personally. It was already becoming insufferable.

"I've missed you, my wife. The spot I carved out for you remains empty since the day I lost you." He whispered, looking like a battered dog lost without its owner. "You miss me too."

"Is that a question or a command?" You rolled your eyes. "I'm not her. Do you hear yourself?"

"You are her."

"I'm not. And I'm going to put that through that thick skull of yours." You didn't hesitate to dash towards him, your hand grabbing a hold of the top of his head as you slammed it down—the back of his head hitting the cracked concrete of the crater.

You dug your nails inside his scalp, lifting it and smashing it back down repeatedly. The hole inside the ground deepened as you continued.

Viltrumite Mark let his head be slammed against the pavement, your fingernails digging inside his scalp. The dulling pain at the back of his head ached at him, but he didn’t care. How long has it been since he last felt your touch? How long has it been since you committed suicide? How many long nights did he go without you?

It’s been so long since he felt your fingers through his hair. The throbbing pain didn’t mean anything with the sensation of your hand holding him. It was always blissful when he would come back to you after having to deal with the responsibilities of the Viltrum Empire, welcoming him home with open arms.

Oh, how he loved laying his head on your stomach while you massaged his head—running your delicate fingers through his hair as you asked all sorts of questions. Usually about what he did, Viltrum, and what was happening outside the walls of the home you two shared. Mark didn’t like to think about the outside world when he was inside the haven of the bedroom, but indulging in your curiosity was always cute and made you happy.

You were also eager, albeit more than he liked, to learn any updates about Earth. Even if it was something minor, you always liked hearing about the planet you once lived on. Sometimes you'd ask if you could "finally go out" and be somewhere else on Viltrum beside the house, even hinting the idea to go visit Earth—but Mark always shot it down.

He guessed he understood in some capacity why you would ask that, it was natural for any species to think about home and long to go back to it. Though, that doesn't mean Mark didn't find it ridiculous—you shouldn't want to go back to Earth even for a visit. Viltrum is your home now and a much better suited place for you because he was here.

Mark would've granted permission for you to walk around Viltrum alone, but when you had first arrived at this planet you had such antsy feet. You would go run off, trying to escape from the planet and it was always a hassle to bring you back. You could've gotten into danger and if he hadn't been alerted each time you ran off and arrived at the nick of time. You could've hurt yourself.

You cried, you begged, and you pleaded whenever you were caught. It hurt to see you like that, he couldn't bare for those situations to happen anymore so he had momentarily removed those privileges.

He was going to give them back, he swore he would've at one point. However, he hadn't noticed so much time had passed.

For him, it seemed so short—while for you it had been excruciating years. You couldn't take it anymore; Mark's monopolization was suffocating.

So, one day when Mark arrived back home after a mission, your lifeless boy awaited him. Pale, empty, and unresponsive—but free.

For what happened, Viltrum Mark will let you hurt him as punishment for being such a neglectful husband. Being pummeled was what he deserved for being forgetful.

You go of your hold of the white variant's head, snatching a hold of his arm and standing up. You lifted him off the ground only using the arm you had just grabbed, throwing him at the loud line of cars. During the process you had twisted his arm, causing him to wince as he felt his bone dislocate before he collided with the line of blaring vehicles.

The obnoxious honks stopped, and you huffed as you straightened your back. You sneered in disgust as you realized a small smear of blood that made its way to your fingertips, being quick to wipe it on your clothes.

However, in the blink of an eye, a white flash appeared before you. Arms wrapped around your torso, and you were shoved into a wall.

As soon as your back hit the wall, you grunted, the wind being knocked out of you. You felt the Invincible nestle his face to your stomach, his arms tightening around you and you shrieked.

Even though there was a clothing barrier between your bare skin and his face thanks to the prison uniform the G.D.A had you worn, it was thin. This act was clearly intimate, and you flushed in anger as he was taking an opportunity to feel you?

“Get off of me you bastard!” You demanded, using your elbow to dig inside his back, striking down rapidly.

His grip loosened with each hit but would recover, returned to holding you. With how hard you were hitting, it was a guarantee there would be multiple splotches of bruises stretched along his back, the muscles soon to have developing colors of purple.

You repositioned your elbow that was nearest to his twisted shoulder, slamming it. A grunt howled from the variant’s throat, his arms untangling from your waist. He fell to the ground, on his knees as he hurriedly grabbed his shoulder—popping the dislocated shoulder back in place.

He picked himself up, swiping at your shin. Caught off guard, you wobbled and the viltrumite didn't waste time to place your leg on his shoulder—the one that he had corrected the displacement of the bone—and leaned forward to you.

Being off balanced and your leg being pushed up with your back against the cracked wall, you slid down. His height towered over you as you were in a compromising position. You cursed, your hands reaching behind you to grip the wall.

"That was enough to atone for my neglectful mind. Your death alone already served as punishment for how blind I was towards time." He spoke, staring down at you. A small line of blood traveled from his scalp to the back of his neck. "I'll be a much better husband for you, I swear to it, (Y/N)." the Invincible breathed out, turning his head to your leg that was lifted to his shoulder.

Even though his voice was monotonous, there was a scratch of pleading behind his voice. He said it in hopes you'll believe it and in turn that he himself would believe he'll actually be better towards you.

It wasn't hard to piece together that whatever happened to his version of you, you had died, and he played a role in it.

He exhaled; his lips parted slightly as they were just centimeters away from your leg.

“You can’t be a better one if she’s dead.”

“Don’t say that.” He snapped, pushing your leg further up, making you suck in a breath. “You’re right here. Even if you don’t remember me that doesn't mean you can't be my wife once again.“ The grip he had on your raised leg was firm, and his hand snaked up to your knee.

His hand squeezed, feeling the muscles and bone. "I'll take you back home. Back to Viltrum. Back with me."

Your breath hitched, the mention of being taken to another place caused goosebumps to crawl all over your skin. The fully masked Invincible had mentioned something about bringing you 'home’ as well, and now this one mentioned taking you somewhere else too.

Something nagged at you that this would be a pattern among the other copies—and your survival instincts screamed at you to not let any of them take you. You were better off dead than with any of them.

"I will rather die like her than ever go anywhere with you." You spat; venom laced with each word. "Whatever way she went was probably a blessing in disguise." You smirked, watching how his eyes dulled at your taunt.

Clenching your jaw, you wheeled your head forward and then slammed it behind you. The building shook behind you, cracks branching out from the point of origin. You used the back of your head to hit it once more, pooling all your strength together.

The thick wall crumbled, and no longer being shoved against a wall you wrapped the leg that was on his shoulder around his neck and your other leg around his torso, seizing his whole body and throwing him over you.

The viltrumite burst through the multitude of walls, making the building unstable. Sounds of the building cracking and falling apart filled the air, the structure collapsing. You scrambled to run, the building collapsing in your direction. Though your foot slipped on a piece of debris, causing you to trip onto the ground.

Whoosh!

The office building collapsed, and you blinked. You were looking down at the collapsed structure that once stood tall now closer to the ground than ever.

Your legs dangled in the air, and your eyes traveled to your chest as there was an arm was slung underneath your breasts—holding you loosely.

"Ha! Now that was a funny sight to watch. You really got some sweet upgrades to you—fun." He commented, pointing out the superhuman strength you possessed, a dangerous edge embedded with his words. You whipped your head around, an Invincible with a black and yellow suit grinned wildly at you.

Sinister Mark looked deeply in your eyes as he used his exceptional hearing to focus on your heart. He had memorized the way your heartbeat, pumping blood through your system. It was a window for him to decipher how you really felt at any given moment, and listening to the beating organ was like music to his ears.

He hated how he missed it. He hated how he immediately recognized it from a miles away. He hated how his ears subconsciously trained itself to zone in on that beautiful beating heart of yours, your heart so distinct that it was a melody that drew him out.

He hated that he came as quickly as he can at the first beat, knowing that it was you. This dimension's version of you, anyway.

"Another one?" You snarled, not happy to see another variant.

This dimension's version of you was feisty, just like his—though more powerful considering you did some damage to Viltrum Mark having watched from afar. Though he didn't pay much attention to that guy, more swooped up on the fact he was on cloud nine with how he was able to hold you like this again.

He let out a deranged laugh, throwing his head back. "Ha! Ha-ha! I forgot how much better you felt with your flesh still intact." He laughed, rearing his head back to shove his face to your cheek. "Soft, squishy—so much more different compared to your skeleton."

... Skeleton?

"Jesus, I went insane after I killed you." He took a large exhale, the memories of the temper tantrum he made after accidentally going too rough on you, breaking you, resurfacing.

Everyone and everything weren’t safe from his rampage, the rampage fueled with the rage of killing you. "I kept your body, watched the stages of your corpse bloat then decay—leaving the dry remains of your skeleton behind." He spoke of it with a smile on his face, but you felt the hand that was wrapped around you flinch, tightening.

"It wasn't as fun when you were alive, but it was still you, so I made do." He vaguely referenced, and your skin crawled at what he could possibly be implying. All sort of things popped in your head, and whatever you brain conjured may have been tamer than whatever this... thing did to his alternate version of you—dead or alive.

"I don’t have to know more to know you're a sick fuck."

"And I made you like it." He hissed, his hot breath hitting your skin. He tilted his head away, his eyes wandering to the electric collar around your neck. Cecil throwing you in this war and forcing you to work for him meant you were tough, and Mark was excited to see how exactly tough you were. "And I can do it again. Just this time, you won't be so easy to break.”

Cecil sighed as his eyes fell upon Mark Grayson still near Eve's bedside, having not moved an inch since the last time he saw him. Both of his hands were cupped onto Eve's hand that lay motionless on the bed.

"What do you want, Cecil?" His tired voice called out, not having to turn around to know that the old man was behind him. "I told you I wasn't working with you ever again."

"I heard that loud and clear, Mark." Cecil continued, "I figured you weren't against updates, though."

The young man merely stayed silent, his whole body language screaming that he didn't want to hear him speak anymore. Cecil grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek. The idea he had seemed like it wasn't going to work, only made up with a few clues then and there, but he was already here so it would be a waste to not try it.

"There's a lot happening out there. It's difficult to keep up with everything."

Mark stayed silent, unresponsive as his eyes were staring only at Eve.

Cecil carried on, "I had to come up with creative solutions to the issues of not having resources, people, superheroes to go out there and protect the world."

Mark stayed unmoving, not reacting an inch.

"Do you remember the criminal you helped capture? Vandal? —"

"It's (Y/N)." Grayson jolted, turning to look at Cecil with stern eyes. His hands were still on Eve's, though he noted the small pull away. "Her name is (Y/N)."

"That's interesting, I didn't find out until today that was their actual name." The older man was quick to point out, raising a brow. "How did you know that? Didn't care to share with the rest of us?"

Mark hesitated, his eyes flickering away from Cecil. "She told me it the first time we fought. Must've slipped my mind." He vaguely dismissed, clearing his throat.

He had accidentally crossed your path when he first started out his journey as Invincible. He was still getting a hang on things, training to be a great hero just like his dad.

It took him a little bit too long to register that you were a villain—a criminal that he should've jumped to stop as soon as his eyes laid on the path of destruction you caused without a care of who you hurt.

Then it took him even longer to move from his spot with how strangely enamored he was with you. Mark was overcome by this rush of attraction that he had subconsciously held his breath. If it weren't for his viltrumite make up, he would've passed out with how much oxygen he deprived from his lungs.

Did villains usually have this effect on heroes? Fascinated, interested, curious, enamored? (Mark later found out that no, villains did not have this effect—for whatever reason, it was only you).

Once he finally snapped out of it, he was quick to try and stop you. Though with how inexperienced he was with fighting and your brawniness, you won. Beaten to a pulp, his body was sore and tired as he laid on the ground, groaning from the punches.

"Ah—shit." A whine escaped his throat. Was being a superhero going to be this painful?

You crouched down to his level, eyeing his costume that hugged his body. "It isn't a good idea to jump at a girl wrecking the place while being a baby super." You commented, your eyes filled with pity. You didn't take amusement in practically beating up an infant. "Downright idiotic."

"Idiotic and invincible shares the same starting letter," he coughed, shifting to look at you but a sharp pain jolted up his spine. "Ah, that hurts—so I guess they go hand in hand." He let out a nervous smile, giddiness budding at the pit of his stomach as he wiped off the blood that had dried out his upper lip.

It's wrong to feel so... so excitedly nervous about how close you were. Sure okay, you got close so you could punch and throw him around while you two fought—but right now Mark had the time to take you in fully.

You snorted, a giggle jumping out your lips. You weren't expecting him to crack a joke like that while he was beaten to a pulp and wow—that giggle of yours was beautiful. That made his heart dance and his stomach sick with how many butterflies there were.

You quickly covered your laughter, rubbing a hand over your mouth. "Invincible is a stupid name."

"What's yours? We can compare."

"… I earned the name Vandal, it's a stupid name too." You shrugged, pushing yourself to stand.

He tried to sit up, though shots of pain riddled him to fall. He didn't want you to leave so quickly—not out of fear you would go back to destroying stuff but out of fear he may not ever see you again.

"Is there another name I can call you? I-I mean, I would like the villain who beat me up to at least like their name." Mark stuttered out, a strained smile on his face.

You eyed him, raising a brow. Unimpressed at his lame reasoning. "What kind of reason is that?"

"Uh, I—well you know, erm—" His cheeks flushed a baby pink.

You sighed, finding yourself pitying the new hero. "Fine." You’ll humor this. Giving you his name wouldn't hurt, besides even if he told others, it wasn't enough to track you down. “It’s (Y/N).”

"Hm. Okay. Moving on." Cecil hummed, not convinced. “I had her be taken out of her cell. She's out on the field."

Now that got a response out of Mark. He let go of Eve's hand, his body moving in the blink of an eye as he appeared in front of Cecil. It caught the older man by surprise, taking a hurried step back.

“What do you mean out in the field? She shouldn’t be out there. She’s supposed to be in a prison cell. She’s supposed to be safe. I remember you saying that she will be!”

“That was after this shitshow started. Prior arrangements had to be moved around and changed.” He defended himself, narrowing his eyes at how quick he was to anger when you were handled in a manner he disagreed with. This pattern of possessiveness he had over a criminal was wrong.

Cecil had chosen to ignore this, chalking it up to some petty rivalry over the fact you had beaten him a couple of times—but now it was clear as day that it was definitely way more than that.

Just how much more was what Cecil was curious about. He needed to see exactly what you meant to him and if he could use that for his own gain. “If she can handle fighting against you, then hell, she can certainly handle herself against one of those variants. I needed all the manpower I can get, and she was the perfect option.”

“That still gave you no right!” He screamed.

“It does when the guy who can go head to toe with those invaders out there won’t leave this goddamn room.” Cecil retorted.

“So—So what?! She can die, Cecil.” He huffed, his fists clenching at the idea you were out there in harm’s way.

“Why does that matter so much to you, Mark? What exactly is she to you for you to be worked over this? I don’t have to omnipotent to know she doesn’t give a damn about you—not a single thought. Yet you’re here caring for her as if you’re her friend.” He paused, “Are you?”

Mark hitched breath, a lump in his throat as he brought his hands to hold onto his face.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, and he knew that he shouldn’t be thinking about you as much as he should, but he couldn’t stop. His mind always wandered. Day and night without fail at some point his thoughts would be consumed by you, someone he barely knew anything about—someone that he shouldn’t be thinking of.

Mark tried to stay away from you—at least that’s what he told himself to make him feel better. He always jumped at the chance to go to you whenever you were back on your rampaging antics. Other heroes noticed, offering to take his place instead but he sternly refused.

He was territorial about being the one to stop you, being the one to fight you, being the one to be with you.

Mark told himself that he thought about you so frequently because of that pitiful ‘kindness’ you showed him at your guys’ first encounter. From that, you must be much better being a reformed criminal than a villain who took pleasure in seeing destruction.

 So, he tried to convince you to change your ways.

That’s what a superhero does, right? Not just help distressed citizens but everyone, even villains. He offered to help you lead a better life than the one you are right now, guide you how to use your powers for good rather than bad.

He also offered you companionship, friendship—a chance to have a deeper relationship than the close to nothing relationship you two currently had.

Though he was hurt every time you rejected him. Not hurt from the fact you rejected turning a new leaf but hurt that you rejected his friendship. Fine, you turned down being a good guy, but why turn him down?

Couldn’t you see that Mark ran to you each time? Couldn’t you see that he had got stronger, faster, better, each time you fought just to impress you? Couldn’t you see that he craved to know you more, the girl who he knew nothing about yet haunts him every day?

The bruises that you left on his body were the only thing you gave him that held a part of you—and he would stare at them in the mirror as he traced over them remembering the fists he came to memorize.

The bruises were the only thing you didn’t reject to give, and he hoped they never faded so he can carry the ghost of your touch on his body.

Mark Grayson tried to drop it—drop you. He was driving himself crazy over a stranger that wanted nothing to do with him. He tried tearing himself away from the idea of you, but he came back running whenever he heard you were out there.

Cecil voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Well, Mark, are you?”

“No, we’re not friends.” He responded, his torn voice muffled by his hands.

“Then what is it? What is it ‘cause with how I’m seeing things no one should be caring about a stranger as much as much as you are right now.” Cecil bombarded, continuing to pile more questions on him relentlessly, pushing the boy’s buttons.

The half-viltrumite ran his hands to his hair, his fingers intertwining with his black locks as he let out an exhausted groan.

“Mark, say something. Say something Mark. For the love of God, fucking say something—”

“No! No, I don’t know her at all, I don’t mean anything to her! I’m not her friend. I’m nothing.” He snapped, his voice raised and shouting, his mouth running wild.  “That doesn’t mean that I don’t want her safe! That doesn’t mean I don’t care about her! That doesn’t mean I don’t want her.”

A tense silence fell on the room, the only sound was of the machines next to Eve’s bed.

“So that’s it. Your whipped for (Y/N).” Cecil finally broke the silence, scoffing in disbelief at what he had just discovered. “What twisted fascination do you have with her? A villain who never gave you the light of day, yet you hold this …” His face contorted, looking away from Mark. “I don’t even know what to call this. Sick? Twisted? Pathetic?”

“… Shut up. Just shut up.”

“Can’t do that because I’m not done talking.” He side eyed, “Your little crush is being jumped by multiple variants. Last I checked she ran, but got a suspicion it won’t be easy for her to get rid of them.”

Cecil felt himself slammed to the wall, the white collar of his shirt being tightly gripped. “What? Why didn’t you lead with that!”

“Sorry, kid, didn’t expect your type to be bad girls.” He grunted, staring into Mark’s brown eyes.

“Just tell me where she is.”

“Thinking of joining the fight now? Don’t want to stay here by Eve anymore? All I had to do was dangle something you can never have in front of your face to finally leave this room?”

Mark raised a fist and hit the wall behind the man he had pinned. “Tell me where (Y/N) is.”

Cecil dug his hand into his suit pocket, pushing an earpiece to his chest which Mark quickly caught. “Plug that in and Donald will tell you.” He stated. The grip Mark had on his collar loosened, pushing him aside as he went to grab his mask from the end of the bed.

As always, he comes running when he hears you’re out there.

"I am having a blast," This sinister version of Invincible smirked, his breathing heavy as he had you pinned to the ground. You made him work up quite a sweat, and he was getting quite thirsty. "You're so new, so fun, so entertaining, so enticing. I'm working up an appetite."

It felt like it has been ages since you were stuck fighting for your life against this man, but it has been only a couple of minutes.

Your face distorted in disgust. A hand of his was holding your two legs together so that you couldn't kick him away even though you were desperately trying to squirm your legs away from his tight grasp.

"Eat shit." You cursed, collecting the saliva that accumulated in your mouth and spitting it to his face—the wad of spit hitting the corner of his lips.

His smile faltered, before grinning again as he cooed at you. "That bitch of a mouth of yours needs work, though." Sinister Invincible parted his lips, his tongue licking the side of his face, collecting the saliva you had thrown at him and swallowing.

"You gross sick fu—hhmp!" You quickly got muffled as he had snaked his gloved fingers inside your mouth with his free hand, the taste of rubber filling your taste buds as you thrashed under his hold. You used your hands to scratch and slap his face, though that seemed to only entertain him further.

His fingers moved to feel your teeth, your tongue that tried to escape the taste of his gloves, and the soft as well as hard palate. You yelled muffled profanities, biting down on his fingers.

Your canine fangs broke through the rubber material of the glove, and he let out a small—was that fucking moan?—sound as that only served to give him more reason to push his fingers deeper down your mouth, his fingertips scooting to the entrance of your throat.

"Bite harder, cunt." He demanded, and you instinctively listened.

Your teeth pressed down on his skin, the bite breaking it as a metallic taste seeped into your taste buds joining the taste of the rubber gloves.

"Ouggh my god." Sinister Mark moaned; the pain brought by your fangs serving to be pleasurable. That hand he used to hold down your legs he shifted over to one, squeezing hard against the muscles and into the bone.

Crack!

"HHMP!" Your scream muffled into his glove, and you gagged soon after from his fingers hitting the back of your throat. The scratch and hits to his head were doing nothing to him, and you grimaced as your eyes darted around to find any way to get out of this.

You noticed how your broken leg wasn't immediately healing, like how it should be, and your eyes widen as you remembered the collar the G.D.A had placed around your neck. You had forgotten about it, and you closed your eyes as you knew what to do.

Your hands reached eagerly to the shock collar, digging your fingers between the metal and your neck as you began to tear away at it. It instantly began sending electricity through your body, riddling your body to the seizing and overwhelming pain that resembled the same sensation when you were hit with that gun. Your eyes opened, rolling to the back of your skull from the intensity.

You clenched your jaw as you continued to rip it from your neck, trying to keep your eyes open and not lose consciousness as the metal began to rip apart—the wires being revealed.

Whatever was sending the electricity was no longer contained to just your body, zapping in the air and reaching to the black and yellow Invincible that was on top of you.

The electrifying pain met him too, and he yanked his digits out of your mouth as the bolts traveled up to his entire body. You felt his weight lift off as you ripped the collar in two, gasping for air and rolling to your side.

Your body twitched as there was still electricity coursing through your body—and you felt an intense wave of exhaustion flood you.

No, I can't pass out, I need to get out of here. No, no—

You tried to resist, though black spots were already filling your vision as shapes and colors became a blur. Even then, you tried to crawl to distance yourself from the Invincible, but a sudden tight grip to your hair pulled you toward his direction.

"You disobedient bitch. Who told you to do that?" You heard a growl, the pull of your hair making you whine.

Your hair was suddenly released, feeling a strong gust of wind behind you as Sinister’s Mark voice off to the distance. You didn’t care to look back, trying to squint to see what was ahead of you.

Although your vision became increasingly blurry and you gagged from having his hand shoved down your throat a few seconds ago. You tried to sit up but failed, you head feeling heavy as it hit the ground.

You internally screamed to stay awake, but darkness hugged you. Before that however, you felt someone crouch next to you, a hand draped over your forehead as they said something to you. Whatever they said, you couldn’t tell, and you just prayed they were more of a friend than a foe another crazy Invincible.

sorry if this was boring, wanted to focus on Mainstream Mark in this one :P !!

Am I cray cray to think Sinister Mark loves dishing out and receiving pain

UMM anyway, we ignore how you can tell I’m new to writing action scenes tyyy 🫣🙈 oh also the plot holes shh

-bonsubear

[dailykrusie]

how do you get the strength to persist at krusie in such a suselle world? (aka what are your thoughts on krusie)

First of all I want to say that I understand the appeal & popularity of Suselle & I'm looking forward to seeing how it develops in canon.

But it's pretty obvious that Noelle has... a specific thing she wants from Susie, if I can put it that way. They don't know each other that well. Noelle's crush has all the intensity & sweatiness that a gay teen crush deserves, and Susie's obliviousness to this is played for laughs (for now). I can see a lot of ways it could develop which would get me more invested but right now it feels one-sided. I do think this is a great storytelling move for Noelle as a character overall! It immediately makes her more complex before we know that much else about her, and it fits with everything we find out after. I have faith it will lead somewhere interesting, even if that isn't necessarily "romantic."

Meanwhile... Kris steps in front of Susie to save her at the end of Ch 1 with no input on our part, Susie returns the favor, and then they're friends.

They're so silly. They're eating moss together. They care about each other in such a straightforward and immediate way. I love how Susie plays off Kris despite us not getting to see a lot of their dialogue, you still get a great sense of their chemistry. Kris has comical underreactions and Susie has comical overreactions but they're somehow matching each other's energy??? The feeling of egging on your best friend to do something stupid... It's truly unparalleled....

Kris lets Susie push and pull them around a lot and doesn't seem to mind. She does "whatever she wants", which is also why Noelle likes her. She's a social outcast, just like Kris. This is the core of their friendship to me. Being a teenager can be so awful, and if your home life is bad and/or you have brain problems it's genuinely like being in hell. And finding another person your age who's weird and unpopular and has their own problems, who won't judge you, who you can just hang out with and crack stupid jokes, who makes you actually want to show up at school... That's real, and that's special.

[truerhearts]

ASTARION is acting different.

he's quieter around camp now. less of those sharp-tongued quips that usually flow so easily. he catches himself staring at her when she's not looking, then quickly glances away like he's been caught doing something wrong.

his feeding has become reverent instead of ravenous. he hesitates now, asks if she’s sure, presses a soft kiss to the pulse before he bites.

he seeks her approval in ways that have nothing to do with seduction. when he makes decisions, his eyes find hers first. her good opinion has become as essential as blood.

and now during fights, he’s reckless with his own safety now, throwing himself between her and harm without thinking. “i can handle myself, you know,” she’d say, crossing her arms.

“i know darling…” he trails off, staring at his hands. he doesn't understand why he did it either. the thought of that blade finding her skin had sent him into a panic he couldn't name.

she doesn't know why, of course. he barely knows himself. but he has a hunch, and it terrifies him.

he doesn't know when it started—somewhere between her asking "did you rest well?" and the way she bandages his wounds tenderly—but now when she looks at him, really looks at him, his dead heart does this stupid fluttering thing.

when she brushes against him, her warmth doesn't just touch his skin. it goes deeper. settles in places he'd forgotten existed, places that ache with want that has nothing to do with feeding or fucking or getting what he needs to survive.

maybe it's because she cares. actually cares, not the fake concern people use when they want something. she shows it in the small things: "you seem tired today." "i saved you some of the good wine." "the stars are beautiful tonight, aren't they?"

to someone who hasn't experienced genuine affection in two hundred years, these little moments feel like everything.

the nights when her tent flap opens for him now, everything is different. he moves differently. less performance, less of that practiced charm he's perfected over decades. he's gentler with her, almost hesitant. his hands linger on her face before he kisses her, and she looks at him like he's something precious instead of dangerous.

he takes his time now. when he peels away her clothes, he does it slow, reverent. each kiss tastes like honey and guilt because he knows—fuck, he knows—that he started this as a lie.

the pleasure is overwhelming now. more intense than anything he's felt in centuries because it's real. when she arches beneath him, when she whispers his name like a prayer, it threatens to break him completely. he's louder now, lets himself feel everything instead of just doing what was necessary to play the part.

but with every touch, every breath, the guilt eats at him. this isn't the calculated seduction he'd planned. this isn't using her for protection. this is something else entirely, something that feels too much like love and too much like betrayal.

she trusts him. opens herself to him completely, and he built this on a lie.

after, when they're tangled together, he holds her tighter than he should. she fits against him perfectly, her head on his chest where his heart should be beating if he were still alive. if he were still worthy of this.

"what's wrong?" she asks, voice soft. her fingers trace patterns on his skin, and there's concern in her voice. she’s noticing.

"nothing," he lies. his fingers find her hair, thread through it like the motion might calm the storm in his chest.

"you're different tonight. quieter."

different. if she only knew. if she only knew the man she's falling for was built on deception. that every tender moment between them started as manipulation.

"i'm just thinking," he says.

she doesn't push, she never does. just settles deeper against him, breathing slowing as sleep pulls her under.

he stays awake long after she's asleep, studying her face in the candlelight. the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. her lips, slightly parted. the complete vulnerability written in every line of her body.

she trusts him enough to sleep in his arms, and the weight of it is crushing. how naïve. she doesn't know he'd originally planned to use her. doesn't know every sweet word in those early days had been calculated, how it was all for his benefit.

but somewhere along the way, the performance became real.

two centuries of survival instincts stand off with something newer, invasive almost. something that makes his chest ache. something that whispers maybe he could be worthy of the love he sees in her eyes.

the realization hits him like dawn breaking as he lay with her, now noticing he stayed all night. feeling the rhythm of her breathing as she slept in his arms, how warm she was against his cool skin. how she trusts him.

he loves her.

the thought should terrify him. instead, it settles into his bones like coming home. he loves her. not just her body, not just what she can do for him, but her. her kindness. her strength that never comes at the cost of gentleness. her trust that she gives freely, even to broken things like him.

he loves her, and he's completely fucked.

[miange1]

I NEED MORE BRIAN MOSER AHHHH

Brian Moser, with a lover that's "too sweet"

male leaning reader, brian is a freak, being nervous more than shy, arguments, accidental guilt tripping, manipulation(at first), reader gives off innocence but they're not they're just a virgin, fake names, being overly touchy, blow jobs

note: had an idea so i just used this ask as an excuse to finally post it. also if you notice typos no you don't im not fixing them

— You were his first actual relationship in which didn't involve murder or trying to get closer to Dexter. Or so he remembers, he probably had that intention at first yet completely forgot about it due to his own feelings.

— Meeting you felt like a bunch of perfumes and flowers were thrown at his face— you were smiling and speaking with him like he was your long lost friend or your boyfriend, like you knew him since forever.

"Oh! Rudy!" He instantly felt his heart speed up, feeling more nervous than he's ever been in his entire life and you weren't even calling out his real name. He needs to calm down, seriously he's sweating way too much.

"I missed you so much, how have you been?" He felt your arms wrap around him tightly, yet ater the hug your hands took his and held them as if they were the most delicate things in the world, besides you.

The man could barely get his words out, stuttering every now and then and looking away from you often. Your thumb was swiping softly over the top of his knuckles, why were you looking at him like that.

— Getting with you was the most romantic thing he has ever thought of. Taking you out to a place where it was peaceful yet beautiful, and he could confess to you and actually mean it.

— It was the best place he could find, it was hot but lovely. When he confessed, you stayed quiet for far too long and he thought you didn't want him. You were just in so much shock, it's been a bit since someone was this genuine to you.

— Floating on air is what he felt like each time he was with you. When you were able to visit his work, you showed him with kisses each and every single time even after arguments which was something he would have a heavy weight on his shoulders about.

"Debra doesn't at all have a thing for me, what the hell are you talking about!" You were blinking back heavy tears trying to see his side as best as you could, yet everything just went a bit too far. From understanding to a plain bicker.

"It's obvious she does, and she's in your office more than I am!" He rolled his eyes, his fingers on his nose and pinching the bridge. He knew Debra had a thing for him, but what he didn't know was why he lied seeing you fight for him like this. He liked seeing you get jealous.

"Because it's her job." Yet you protested, "I understand that but.." you couldn't get the rest out, starting to cry and you instantly felt embarrassed. "Sorry— shit, I'm sorry.." His upset look rested, sighing as he went closer to you for an embrace.

"No, it's my fault." He admitted, his arms squeezing your frame in a comforting manner as you cried into his chest.

He was so turned on right now.

— Brian had a bunch in which you were a virgin, he just would have never guess he was actually right about it.

— All he wanted was a small make out for a bit, yet it had escalated and you were on your knees. God, you looked so pretty.

"Ah, ah, your teeth.. Good..that's it." He leaned his head back, the warmth of your mouth and tongue working at his girth. For your first time even giving head you were real good at following his directions. You did it just how he liked it. Tongue swirling, spit mixing with what leaked from him, it was heaven.

He jutted his hips forward a bit, catching you by surprise and giving you the urge to wanna pull back, which didn't happen due to Brian's fingers tangling in your hair— and pushing your head back forward. "Doing so well, fuck.." you practically weren't evenoving anymore, and if you were you had just been going ragdoll and moving along with Brian's pulls.

His dick twitched in your mouth as he heard a gargled moan, fuck he was gonna cum just from hearing that alone. Then he'd hear you whine, almost impatiently. "Hush you're fine, just keep on— God, yes.." eyes rolling back, feeling your nose poke at his pelvis the deeper he pushed you down when he came. Letting go of your hair, he let your head fall back a bit before he forced your mouth closed.

"Swallow."

— Sooner or later he would then wonder why you were a virgin in the first place, yet you did date people for long periods of time.

"I don't know, when I asked after break up they said they just couldn't."

— He got the hint for himself.

[bucketgetter535]

This is not a cry for help (but it might be) PART SIX

WC: 3k CW: Drinking ish? Notes: LOL what is up everyone. Plz send live reacts cause they're always so funny for this fic. Anywayssss enjoy. progress but slow. P is me.

Paige didn’t even mean to wake up early.

Actually, she was planning to sleep in. Like, full on cocoon in the blankets, hide-from-life, pretend-last-night-wasn’t-real kind of sleep. That was the dream. That was the move.

But of course her body was like nope! You’re a fun little ball of stress so enjoy waking up at 7:12 AM on a summer morning like a psychopath.

So now she’s awake.

And Azzi’s still asleep, which is probably a sign that the universe hates her. Because Paige is lying there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about how close Azzi’s face is and how her hand is still sort of half on Paige’s waist like it lives there now.

She carefully (very carefully) gets out of bed.

Azzi shifts a little, but doesn’t wake up, which honestly feels unfair. Paige’s heart is still going dumb in her chest. Like she didn’t just wake up from the most ridiculous, intense fever dream ever. Like she didn’t fall asleep feeling… whatever that was.

Anyway.

Downstairs.

Katie is already there. Already dressed, already moving around the kitchen like a sitcom mom, flipping bacon and humming something that sounds suspiciously like one of those country songs Paife doesn’t really like.

“Morning,” she says, all bright-eyed and unbothered. Like it’s normal to have this much energy before 8 a.m.

“Morning,” Paige croaks, voice hoarse and slightly guilty sounding.

Katie smiles. “Hungry?”

Paige scratches her head. She’s still in her Azzi’s T shirt and whatever shorts she pulled on before leaving the room. Her hair’s a mess. She’s blinking like a mole seeing daylight.

“I mean… I guess,” she says. “Like… I could be?.”

Katie raises an eyebrow. “That sounds like a ‘no, but I know I should say yes so you’ll stop asking’ kind of answer.”

Paige flops into a kitchen chair. “Wow, you’re good.”

“I’m all knowing,” Katie says. “It’s a skill set.”

Paige rests her forehead against the table dramatically. “Can I get a pass for today? I had a long night.”

Katie snorts. “You’re fifteen. Your definition of ‘long night’ is probably giggling under the covers and watching TikToks.”

“Yup,” Paige says, because absolutely not. “That’s exactly what I was doing.”

Katie plates eggs and bacon like she’s feeding an army. Or a teen athlete. Which… yeah, okay.

She sets it in front of Paige and pours a glass of orange juice like the food police.

Paige stares at the plate. It smells good. It’s too good. “I usually skip breakfast,” she says, almost apologetic.

Katie’s already flipping the next round of eggs. “Not in this house.”

“That’s aggressive.”

Katie points a spatula at her without even turning. “So is hypoglycemia.”

Paige raises her hands. “Okay, okay. Geez. It’s like I’m in detention.”

“You’re in a kitchen.”

“Same thing,” Paige mutters, stabbing at an egg. “One just has better lighting.”

Katie smiles at her over her shoulder. “Eat, Paige.”

So she eats.

She eats because saying no would feel rude, and because it actually tastes kind of amazing, and because even though she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s starving.

They sit in this quiet kitchen rhythm for a while. The house is still. The sun’s barely up. There’s birds outside and whatever else people say when they’re in the woods and pretending life’s not complicated.

Paige kind of likes it.

Which is annoying.

Katie glances over at her as she refills the coffee pot. “You sleep okay?”

Paige shrugs, chewing bacon. “Define okay.”

Katie doesn’t push it. She just hums and hands her another slice of toast like Paige is a project she’s already committed to finishing.

Paige eats that too. Because whatever. She’s here now.

“You’re wild,” Paige says eventually, gesturing with her fork.

Katie gives her a look. “Because I fed you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess that’s ok.”

Paige hides her smirk behind her juice glass.

She doesn’t say thanks.

But she eats every bite.

–

Okay. Here’s the thing.

Paige Bueckers has a long-standing, private, and very justified vendetta against swimming.

It’s not that she can’t swim. She can. She learned when she was five, thank you very much, in a chlorinated YMCA pool that reeked of bleach and childhood trauma. But she just doesn’t like it. Never has.

Maybe it’s the way her hair sticks to her neck. Maybe it’s the stupid way swimsuits always feel too tight or too loose, but never actually right. Maybe it’s the water. Or the sun. Or the entire concept of recreational wetness.

Point is—Paige is not a swimmer. She’s a hooper. She belongs on the court, not floating around like a dumb leaf in a lake full of fish poop.

But here she is.

In a lake.

With Azzi.

And Azzi’s brothers, who have been cannonballing off the dock for the last twenty minutes like they’re trying to flood the whole state.

And Azzi. Let’s talk about Azzi for a second.

Because Azzi is in a bikini. A purple one.

And it should be illegal.

Like genuinely, someone should call the authorities. Because Paige is trying her best to survive this absolutely blinding amount of hotness while treading water and pretending she’s not seconds away from drowning in feelings.

Azzi’s laughing and splashing her brothers and then wiping water off her face like she’s in a slow-mo summer movie scene, and Paige has never felt more like a soggy rat in comparison.

Her sunblock is already failing. Her legs are too pale. Her hair feels gross. And she’s fairly certain there’s a piece of seaweed stuck to her ankle.

“Why are you standing like that?” Azzi calls, chest-deep in the water, grinning like a demon.

“Standing like what?” Paige shouts back.

“Like you hate this!”

“I do hate this!”

Azzi just laughs. Tosses her hair back and floats on her back like the most graceful human to ever exist.

“Come here,” she says.

“No.”

“Come here,” Azzi says again, voice playful but threatening.

Paige swims over like a loser.

They float near each other, and Azzi bumps her foot against Paige’s under the water, which is so casual and also not casual at all.

Azzi’s brothers are still yelling about something. Probably who cheated in their splash war or who’s banned from holding the pool noodle. Paige has tuned them out.

Azzi leans in a little. “I’m hungry.”

Paige squints. “We literally ate like two hours ago.”

“I know,” Azzi says, dead serious. “But I’m still hungry.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Come get snacks with me.”

“No,” Paige says immediately. “We’re wet."

Azzi tilts her head. “So?”

“So the inside is are dry and I’m not about to walk inside like a wet sandwich.”

Azzi raises her eyebrows. “Wow. You’re dramatic.”

“I’m realistic,” Paige says, treading water like she’s on trial. “Also this lake is cursed. My foot touched something and I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

Azzi is so not listening. She’s already swimming toward the ladder. She glances over her shoulder and calls out, “Paige.”

“What.”

“Come get snacks with me.”

And Paige groans because she can’t say no. She literally cannot. Even if Azzi didn’t just do the over-the-shoulder look like she was in a Disney Channel original movie, Paige would’ve followed her anyway.

“Fine,” she says, dragging herself out of the lake like a half-drowned cat.

Her swimsuit sticks in all the wrong places. Her hair drips straight down her back. Her foot crunches on the gravel and she knows her face is red from sun or blushing or both.

Azzi waits for her with a towel and that face. The one that says I know you’re annoyed and I’m enjoying every second of it.

Paige grabs the towel. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I hate swimming.”

“Fair.”

“I hate wet clothes.”

“Understandable.”

“I guess the snacks are alright though.”

Azzi grins. “Mhm. THat’s what I thought.”

They walk inside dripping water everywhere. Paige leaves footprints on the hardwood. Azzi heads straight for the kitchen, opens the fridge like she lives there (she does), and tosses Paige a juice pouch.

Paige catches it. “Are we five?”

“Yes,” Azzi says. “Now drink it.”

Paige does. Because it’s cold and fruity and actually slaps. She leans against the counter in her wet swimsuit, juice in hand, and side-eyes Azzi.

“You in that bikini is actually a hate crime.”

Azzi looks over her shoulder, deadpan. “File a report.”

Paige takes another sip. She’s not even sure if her heart rate is from swimming or Azzi anymore.

Probably Azzi.

Definitely Azzi.

–

The thing about sunburns is that they don’t hit all at once.

No, they sneak up on you. They let you float around in your false sense of “maybe I actually tan now” security. Let you feel like maybe this time will be different.

And then they burn you alive.

Paige feels it first when she’s drying off after her shower. That tight, itchy stretch across her shoulders. Her arms feel like they’ve been microwaved. Her nose is pink. Her neck’s mad at her. Her face is just straight-up betrayal.

Honestly, it’s deserved. Paige vs. The Sun has been an ugly rivalry since birth.

Azzi had already passed out the second they got back from the lake, full-on snuggled into her pillow like she didn’t just look illegal in a bikini all day. Paige wanted to say something dumb to her before crashing, but it didn’t happen. Azzi was too cozy, too asleep. So Paige just showered, changed into her comfiest oversized tee, and tiptoed her way downstairs in search of cold water and peace.

She’s halfway through grabbing a glass when Katie rounds the corner like she’s been waiting.

“Oh honey,” she says.

Paige freezes. “What?”

Katie points at her shoulder. “You’re toasted.”

“I’m fine.”

Katie gives her a look that says absolutely not, try again.

Paige sighs. “It’s not that bad.”

“Paige. You’re medium-well at least. Come sit.”

Paige shifts uncomfortably. She tugs her shirt down like that’ll help.

Katie already has the aloe out. Like she was born with it in her pocket or summoned it from the mom void. Paige considers arguing again, but honestly she hurts and standing sucks and she’s tired.

So she sighs and sits.

“I’m not taking off my whole shirt,” she says quickly.

Katie sits beside her with the aloe. “You’ve got a bra on, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then it’s fine. I saw you in a swimsuit three hours ago. I just want to put some aloe on it, okay?”

That somehow doesn’t make Paige feel better, but she pulls off her shirt anyway, wincing as the fabric tugs against her shoulder blades. She keeps her arms tight to her sides. Feels very aware of everything.

Katie is gentle. Like annoyingly so.

The aloe is cold, but it’s a relief. And Katie doesn’t say anything at first—just rubs the gel in careful, slow circles over the worst spots. It stings a little, but Paige isn’t gonna whine about it. She already feels weird enough.

She stares at the kitchen tile and pretends it’s not vulnerable or whatever.

She’s mid-thought when her phone buzzes on the counter.

It’s her dad.

Of course it is.

Paige flinches without meaning to. Her whole body goes still.

Katie pauses. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Paige says automatically, grabbing her phone. “I’ll—uh—I’m just gonna take this outside.”

Katie nods once, already back to capping the aloe. Paige pulls her shirt back on, not meeting her eyes, and practically escapes to the porch like the house is gonna explode.

The swing creaks when she sits.

“Hey,” she says into the phone.

“Paigeeeyyy,” her dad says.

And that��s… not great.

He’s slurring a little. Talking fast and slow at the same time. His words loop, like maybe he’s trying to sound casual but forgot what sentence he started three words ago.

She knows this version of him.

It’s not even the worst one. Just the one that makes her stomach twist.

“You home yet?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, looking at the trees. “Been home. Then came up here. Remember?”

“I miss you.”

That makes her blink. “Okay.”

“Tell Drew I love him,” he adds suddenly, like it popped into his brain mid-rant.

“You could tell him yourself,” Paige says. “He’s with you.”

But her dad’s already moved on. He’s rambling about the lake cabin they used to rent when she was little. About her mom, randomly. About how this whole thing with “her”, which means his wife, or ex-wife, or enemy number one, or whatever, “isn’t fair.”

Paige goes quiet.

She just sits there, half-listening, half-fading out, watching the trees move in the breeze. They’re green and soft and kind of blurry. It should be nice.

It’s not.

Eventually her dad says, “Alright. I’m gonna go, kid. Love you.”

Paige doesn’t answer right away.

“Paige?”

“Yeah. Love you too,” she says, and it sounds fake even to her.

He hangs up.

She sits still for a while. The porch swing creaks again. Her chest feels too full. Her throat feels too tight. She doesn’t cry, but it’s close.

Then the door creaks open and Katie steps out.

She’s got a glass of water and that look. The one that says I’m not gonna make you talk, but I’m here if you want to.

Paige wipes at her nose even though it didn’t run. Just to feel something.

Katie hands her the glass.

“Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Paige snaps.

Katie just sits next to her. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t lecture.

They sit in silence for a bit. Paige sips her water. The woods are still moving.

She says it before she even decides to say it.

“My dad’s not doing great.”

Katie glances over.

“And I mean like, not great. Like spiraling and weird phone calls and barely holding it together and I think maybe drinking again but I’m not sure and I don’t wanna accuse him of stuff but also I’m not a little kid.”

Katie doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t react.

“And it’s been loud at home. Like… bad loud. And I know I’m lucky to not be there but my little brother is there, and I don’t know how to help. And I feel bad being here. But also I don’t want to be there. Like, at all. So I feel double bad. And also I think I might like girls. Which is… not related but still a problem. I guess. I don’t know.”

She laughs, short and sharp and hollow.

Katie just hums. “That’s a lot, kiddo.”

Paige leans back against the swing. “Tell me about it.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

Paige shrugs. “You kinda Jedi mind-tricked me into it.”

Katie smiles. “I have secret mind control powers. It’s a thing.”

Paige looks at her. “I thought Azzi made that up.”

Katie shrugs. “She did. But I like it.”

They sit there until Paige finishes her water. The sun’s going down now.

Katie stands up eventually and ruffles Paige’s hair before she heads back inside.

Paige leans back, watching the trees some more.

And for once, everything’s kind of quiet.

–

The room is quiet when she comes back upstairs.

Azzi’s still in bed, curled toward the window, blanket all bunched up under her chin like she didn’t just spend the afternoon being hot and chaotic and bikini-evil. Paige stands there for a second in the dark, watching her breathe, trying not to think about the porch swing or the phone call or how her whole body feels like it’s made of too much.

Her sunburn still stings. Her throat’s tight again, which is fantastic. She’s tired but not tired. You know?

She climbs into bed gently. Like quietly-lower-yourself-gently, blanket-tug-silent-exhale kind of gentle.

Azzi stirs the second the mattress shifts.

Like of course she does.

Paige freezes. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

But Azzi already reaches out, eyes still half closed. “You’re back,” she murmurs, and she’s already moving closer, sliding an arm around Paige like it’s nothing. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Paige flinches. Just barely. But it’s enough.

Azzi’s hand brushes her shoulder and Paige hisses.

“Ow—sorry—”

Azzi pulls back immediately, blinking awake now. “Shit—sorry babe—”

Babe.

Babe?

And then she kisses Paige’s shoulder. The unburnt part. Soft. Just once.

And Paige’s whole brain short circuits.

Because what the hell. Who does that? Who says that? Who kisses people so gently they actually feel like crying?

It’s not like a big kiss. It’s not flirty. It’s not anything but real.

And Paige is… she doesn’t do that. She’s sarcastic and annoying and full of noise. She doesn’t just…get touched like this.

“You alright?” Azzi whispers.

And it’s a real question. Not one of the dumb ones like everyone keeps asking. It’s not like you okay? like a formality. It’s soft. It’s asking in a different way. Like Azzi can feel something on her.

Paige blinks up at the ceiling and does not cry. She doesn’t. But her eyes sting a little, and she breathes weird for a second.

“I’m fine,” she says.

Azzi doesn’t believe her. Obviously.

“Your back’s okay?”

“Yeah.”

Azzi hums. Her hands trail lightly across Paige’s back, carefully avoiding every place that might sting. She doesn’t press. Just lets her fingers move slow and steady, like she’s tracing Paige’s heartbeat through her spine.

Paige exhales into the pillow. Her whole body starts to un-tense. Not all the way. But some.

She doesn’t say thank you. She doesn’t say anything at all for a while.

Azzi just holds her.

One hand on Paige’s waist. One hand moving in lazy shapes on her back. Her forehead pressed against Paige’s shoulder like she belongs there.

And Paige? Paige stays really still. Because if she moves, she might cry. Or scream. Or say something stupid like I needed this more than oxygen tonight.

And like, she knows it’s dumb. It’s just Azzi. She’s just being nice. But it feels like something more. It feels like..

Like like? 

Being in-like?

Paige’s chest doesn’t hurt as much now. And her skin still burns, but a different kind of burn, the kind that’s actually kind of okay.

[kenjakusbraincum]

Heey, I LOVE your writings on soft sukuna, you write so beautifully🩷 please can you do one where he is jealous (fluff)😭🩷

Thank you sm for the kind words!!! Here's my best attempt at doing your idea justice <3

Sukuna has no real reason to be jealous. He practically owns you, controls every aspect of your life, who or what could he possibly be jealous of? Every servant who dared approach you in an inappropriate way would be dealt with swiftly. And you're a good pet, who has eyes for no one other than your master. You really don't give him a reason.

But there's this one thing... Since you've been so good and obedient, Sukuna has allowed you many liberties. You're permitted to skip around the mansion, watch Uraume cook, even enjoy little hobbies. You've tried many before you found that crocheting particularly piqued your interest. Ever since you've learned the basics, you've been spending hours working on perfecting your skills. At first it was cute, watching you squint in concentration as you move the hook. But then the math became really simple - having this hobby to keep you busy meant you approached Sukuna out of boredom a lot less. And he noticed it. It irked him, but you're not technically doing anything wrong. You were still as happy to serve him as ever, he just had to ask. But why would he have to ask? You should be all over him on your own. He should have to push you away, not beg you to give him attention. He didn't like this disturbance in your master and pet balance that this little hobby of yours caused.

He stands at the door now. You're crocheting again. You and your favorite servant laugh at your failed creation so sweetly, you don't even notice he's waiting. He clicks his tongue to establish his presence, and your servant falls to her knees immediately. You however, are not held to that high of a standard anymore.

"Master!", you call him, and hop up to greet him with a deep bow. Before he can say anything, you've picked up the piece of fabric you've been working on and ran into his arms to show him.

He looks at the ugly form and scoffs. "This is what I'm sponsoring?", he says and pulls a loose piece of yarn, making your little creation fall apart. He always was a bully, but you note his bad mood.

"I'm only a beginner...", you sulk.

"That much is obvious.", he flicks the yarn away and it falls onto the floor. Before you can bend to pick it up, he seizes your wrist and pulls you back. "Aren't you a little young to waste time with hobbies for the elderly?", he asks. You look at him with your cutest, practiced doe eyes, but it doesn't work.

"Come, pet. I know an activity more suitable for your age.", he says when you don't respond, and steps out of the room. You hop after him, unaffected by his condescending comments. You know that they're just for show. If he really thought you were a hag, you would've been gone a long time ago.

"Sitting at your throne all day?", you tease innocently and join him at his side, sliding your arm underneath one of his. You hope your playfulness will distract him from whatever is bothering him. "Or in a bath?" His lower set of eyes peeks at you and smirks, noticing that you're feeling particularly daring today. He's not sure how he feels about that. "Or in your bed." He rolls his eyes gently and opens the door to his chambers.

"At least then you'd be serving your purpose and actually spending time with your master.", he comments and shuts the door. His comment catches you a bit off guard and you stop in front of his bed. He makes his way towards you, and you look up at him with an insulted expression.

"Master, are you jealous of a ball of yarn?", you ask playfully, and squeal when he suddenly pushes you down to sit on the bed. Now you're at eye level... with his crotch.

"You've got quite a big mouth today. Put it to good use for a change, will you?", he runs his hand from the crown of your head to the back of your neck. You seem to have struck a nerve, so it really is the ball of yarn. Is it possible that Sukuna is this clingy?

"Will you?", he repeats and tugs on your hair and narrows his eyes. You smile obediently and reach behind him to untie his obi.

"Yes Master."

-

You try your best to manage the time you spend crocheting from then on, working on productivity in the hours that you dedicate to developing this skill. And it helps that you have a specific goal in mind now: helping Sukuna realize that this hobby is a friend, not an enemy. He still catches you engaging in it sometimes, and gives you a dirty look, but you're as quick as ever to drop what you're doing and join him. That seems to satisfy him.

When you're finally happy with the result of your creation, you look for Sukuna around the mansion. It's not really that hard to find him, as he frequents three places most of all: the dining room, his bedroom and his throne room. This time, he's sitting on his throne, and a small line of people wait for their turn to be gifted his attention. You on the other hand, don't have to wait in line to get it. His lower set of eyes spots you the moment you enter the chamber. You're allowed to roam the mansion, but barging in unannounced is not standard even for you.

Still, Sukuna has learned that you usually only feel daring enough to cross boundaries when you're sure he'll like what you have in mind. So for now, he will let this slide. He's bored as hell anyways. The people are dismissed and you pass by them on your way to his throne, nestled on a pile of bones. You stop in front of it and greet him with a bow.

"Master, I come to you with a humble offering.", you say with your hands on your thighs and your eyes fixated on the ground.

"Show me.", he says simply, but you recognize entertainment in his voice. You climb up the bones and feel his stare scan you from head to toe, before you sit on his knee.

"May I ask you to close your eyes?", you ask and flutter your lashes. Oh the way you seduce him. Who else could ask Sukuna to do something as dangerous as close his eyes? Give his opponent valuable time to land an attack. Who else could dare? And who else would he ever listen to and really close his eyes? Really do as he's told? Oh how safe he feels with you.

You take one of his large hands into yours, and gently pry his long fingers away to open his palm. He has beautiful hands. The only ones you've ever known, but you're sure they're the most beautiful hands in the world. So dangerous, so elegant. You want to press a kiss to his palm, but you hope your gift will have the same, maybe even more profound effect.

Something soft touches his skin, and then you speak, as politely as before. "You may look.", in your softest voice. And when he opens his eyes, he finds himself looking at you first. You're an offering on your own.

Then he looks at his hand. Two crocheted plush figures resembling him and yourself lay flat on his palm, connected through their holding hands. At first glance, it looks like they're two separate creations. In a sense, they are, but... He tries to part them.

"We're sewn together.", you explain. He hums in amusement and inspects your gift more closely. His plush is bigger, recognizable by the pink hair and four buttons for eyes. It's even wearing his favorite kimono. Yours is smaller and less detailed. You look like any other human when placed next to him, insignificant. But in a sea of pets, entertainers and lovers he's had in the past, he would never fail to recognize it as you.

He's spent so long looking at it with that face of his that you just can't read. You're starting to grow restless in his lap, and he feels your eyes dwell into his soul. When he looks back at you with one pair of eyes, your brows are furrowed in worry and you're fiddling your hands in your lap. He pats you on the head and pulls you closer, so you have no choice but to lean on his frame.

"It's beautiful, darling.", his fingers run through your hair, scraping your scalp softly. "No loose threads either.", he looks at you with all four eyes now, and you feel so small in his arms. You're not used to receiving this many compliments from Sukuna at once. Not ones that weren't directed at your body or performance. Especially not when he's looking at you so tenderly, when every word sounds so loving and genuine. "You've improved so much.", his hand is on your face now, and you catch him glancing at your lips. You part them to start thanking him, but you already know how much he hates listening to that.

You stay quiet instead, and lean closer, letting him take you. And he kisses you so softly, fingertips light against your heated skin. You feel like you're floating, like a lily pad in a warm pond. The littlest gesture of his affection has you melting in his embrace. The power he has over you... and how wonderful it is to surrender yourself to it.

None of the liberties and privileges you've been awarded with compare to this. You know that many pets have walked these halls before you. Many warmed his bed and claimed the title of his favorite. But how many loved him like this? Enough to dedicate time of their day to making intricate gifts. How many could say Sukuna kissed them lovingly, for no other reason than to show gratitude and affection?

You're flushed completely red by the time his lips leave yours. You can't hold the intensity of his gaze, as he stares at you in adoration. "I'm happ.. I'm glad you l-like it...", you stumble through the words and win a giggle out of him. You are just so cute. Like a pet should be. He rubs your head again and pushes you away lightly.

"Go now, the people await me.", he says with a benevolent smile gracing his face. "I'll see you tonight."

You bow to him and leave.

And when you visit him that night, he is as gentle as he was when he kissed you earlier, still in a good mood after your gift. Caressing your hair, shoulders and back, as you lay comfortably with your head on his chest. Keeping you warm in his embrace. You're trying your best to follow the conversation, but sleep is slowly taking over you. Sukuna notices and plants a kiss to your forehead, wishing you goodnight. The last thing you see before your eyes close, is your handcrafted plushies sitting on his nightstand.

[luveline]

i have a request for bombshell!reader if you're up for it!! <33 maybe somehow the team finding out that they're *actually* together and their reactions to it!! it would be soo funny i think naisnakaka 😭 thank you and i hope you have a good day!!

thank you lovely, you too ♡ fem

Emily isn't expecting it. She's been betting on you both for months, she has money in the pool, but knowing you're together versus really truly seeing you together are surprisingly separate things. 

Spencer has you up against a wall. It's funny but it isn't, how shockingly intimate the moment is, how you're looking at him like he's hung the moon just for you. “It's not a bad thing,” you're saying, a hand pressed softly to his front. 

He's not kissing you or anything salacious, he's not even really shoving you, he's just got his hands on you, one on your shoulder holding you to the wall and the other just under your arm. “I know it's not, don't worry–” 

“I do worry. I don't want you thinking that anything about you is wrong.” 

Emily should walk away. This is clearly private, but she's just never seen you both like this. She had her suspicions, that behind the shy touches (and the more confident ones from you) and secret smiles was a real, intimate relationship, but to see it displayed in front of her has her jaw dropping. 

“I don't think that," he says quietly, ducking his head in a way that forces you to make eye contact. Emily might call it brave, but it would be better labelled as comfortable. Spencer's not shy because he knows he can be vulnerable with you, and he's reassuring you now because you can do the same. “Why would I think that?” He kisses you. 

It's sudden. Emily almost gasps. 

He pulls away, says, “You don't need to think about that kind of stuff, angel, I know who I am,” over your lips, and then he kisses you again. 

“I just love you,” you say, words half lost in the kissing and the quiet. 

Emily shakes herself and backs away, guilt like lead in her fingertips. She should not have watched so long, no matter how curious, but it's not as though you're in a private place, it's a shared conference room—

“What's with the face?” 

Emily waves her hand, as if to say, don't talk, but Morgan's a fiend and JJ not much better, looking over Emily's shoulder eager for the drama. “What, Prentiss?” Morgan asks. 

“Y/N and Spencer,” she whispers, giving in. 

Morgan's face is a picture, and predictable. He shuffles around Emily and JJ follows, her lips parted in surprise. 

Morgan peeks inside, and doubles back, pushing JJ before she can get a look. “Wait!” she insists in a whisper shout. 

“That's not PG viewing.” 

Emily saw it herself, but she still can't believe it. Nor can she believe when you appear from the conference room together unabashed ten minutes later, Spencer's hair in disarray, his cheeks (and his whole face) a rosy pink. You sit at your desk and Spencer touches your shoulder, promising you a cup of coffee. 

You're smiling as you reapply your lipstick. Your teammates look on in poor acts of casualness.

“You guys are perverts,” you murmur, rubbing your lips together to spread the colour evenly. 

“I– we–” Emily sits back in her seat, defeated. “You could've told us.” 

“Should've,” JJ says. 

“Thought you guys already knew.” You put the cap back on your lipstick and beam at them. “I'm not subtle, am I? But don't tease him too much, okay? We wouldn't want to torture him.” 

“Come on,” Morgan laughs. 

Spencer returns with your coffee. He's not subtle, either, come to think of it, putting your coffee mug carefully on your coaster. “That okay?” he asks. 

You don't even try it. “That's perfect, handsome, thank you.” 

He strokes the soft line of your jaw with the back of his finger, a split second touch that practically glances off of you, and heads back to the kitchenette. Morgan gets up, presumably to chase him down for congratulations, while the girls move in. 

“It's actually funny how it happened,” you say immediately. “I kissed him by accident.” 

“How do you kiss someone by accident?” JJ asks. Emily nods furiously in agreement. 

“Surprisingly easily,” you say, looking as pleased as a person can be. “It was a few weeks ago, we were in the police precinct in Jacobsville…”  

[avenging-fandoms]

Divorced in Paris - Harry Styles

In which Harry invites Y/N on a date and they have no idea what they're in for.

i'veeee misssedddd youuuu!!!!!!!

it’s long and angsty and fluffy and AGHHH i love it so much

**fem pronouns!

requests are open!

part one! it’s important to read this first!

The plane descends with a shaky landing and parks at the gate, none of the jolting waking Y/N up. Harry stands up and stretches his arms over his head, sitting back down and pulling down the divider. 

He bites his lip softly as he debates waking Y/N. He knew how much she hated it but the doors were opening soon and he wasn’t leaving her here. He drags his finger along Y/N’s eyebrows and down her nose gently, how he used to wake her up so she wasn’t startled awake.  

“Peach, we’ve landed.” His voice is low and Y/N takes a deep breath through her nose as she stirs. Harry pulls back but still watches his ex-wife, making sure she actually wakes up. 

“Oh my God my body is tired,” Y/N huffs and sits straight up, putting her hair up in a ponytail. “Although I do remember the jet lag being worse when I flew with you during tour. Late night partying to being jet lagged is not for the weak.”  Harry chuckles and grabs his bag from the overhead bin, waiting for Y/N to grab hers before they both get off the plane.

Y/N would be lying if this didn’t feel a bit awkward, but she’d also be lying if she said he didn’t enjoy being around Harry again. On the way to baggage claim, her and Harry chatted about what the two had done since they split. 

“You’re a big time movie star,” Y/N begins when they stand in front of the luggage belt. “‘Don’t Worry Darling’ was phenomenal.”

Harry’s head whips to Y/N with a furrowed brow. “You..” his eyes look at her in disbelief. “You saw my movie?”

Y/N shrugs without looking at her ex-husband. “Of course I did. Sure, it hurt to look at you and to see your girlfriend in real life in the movie but I was still proud. You deserved it, H. You did a fantastic job.”

He bows his head as he knew Olivia would come up sooner rather than later. “Peach-”

“No, really,” Yn turns to Harry, looking in his beautiful emerald eyes. “I’m okay. We’d been divorced two years, you had every right to have a girlfriend.” Her eyes fall to his tattooed bicep where her birth flower lays. “It took me a long time to be okay with you dating. Not like I had a right to be not okay.”

Harry shakes his head. “You’d have every right for the rest of your life. I know I do.” Y/N’s eyes meet his again. “I hate seeing articles you’re out with guys. They could all be friends but knowing they’re touching your skin, smelling your perfume..” Harry steps closer to grab her hand but the buzzer sounds and the pair jumps. “I’ll grab your bags, Peach.”

Y/N gives him a small smile and lets out a breath as he walks away. Her body shivers as the same feelings rush over her once more and she tries to shake them. Y/N watches Harry pull her bags next to his, rolling them over and missing his in doing so. “Damn it.”

Y/N can’t help but giggle. “You did that on our honeymoon too.” They share a laugh and when it dies, the look they share sends the room into silence. Y/N’s ears are muffled as her eyes take in every single detail of his face. She holds her fingers back from pushing through his hair and kissing him with how much she’s missed him. 

The buzzer sounds again and Y/N wants to smash it to bits. Harry turns again and waits for his bags, tapping his fingers on his biceps when he crosses his arms. As he watches the small number of bags move on by, he can’t help but think of Y/N. He thought they could be friends, but Harry knew his heart still belonged to her and there was no way he could look at her without wanting to kiss her. 

Y/N rolls her few bags next to Harry and stands next to him. He drops his arms and feels their fingers brush against one another. They don’t look at each other, but instead push their fingers to connect. They stand like that for a few minutes until Harry’s bags arrive on the belt. 

Y/N and Harry grab the bags and get a rental car, one big enough to fit their 4 bags each. “We aren’t staying at the same hotel, shouldn’t I get my own car?” Y/N asks. 

“I, erm, I booked the hotel room next to mine if you wanted it.” Harry looks at Y/N cautiously. “If not, I can cancel it. If you say yes, I’ll pay for the room you booked.” Y/N looks at Harry for a few seconds before being unable to bite her smile back and nod her head. 

“Yes.” She shakes her head as she can’t believe she’s doing all of this with her ex-husband. “And you’re not paying for my hotel.” Harry gives her a look that makes her back down from arguing. If he said he’ll pay for it, he’s going to pay for it, it was always that way in their relationship. 

They get in their vintage rental car and on the way to Harry’s hotel, Y/N cancels her hotel and there is a fee. Harry pulls out his card and hands it to her and she looks at him. “I told you, I’m making you cancel it so I’m paying.” He shrugs and she tries to tell him the price but he waves her off. She puts in his card and hands it back with a grateful “Thank you.” 

The drive is a bit awkward, so Y/N turns on the radio and the two start to jam. Music always brought the two together and it was like no time passed between them. They duetted perfectly and use each other’s hands as microphones, laughing. 

“Can you grab my bag, please, darling?” Harry asks and Y/N’s stomach jumps at the nickname, nodding and grabbing it behind his seat. He stops at the red light and pulls out his camera, putting his bag back and taking a picture of Y/N. 

“Hey! I have wind hair!” She shields her face but Harry already got the photo.

“That’s when you’re the most beautiful, when you think you aren’t.” He smiles and she takes the camera, taking a picture of him. She takes the sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slides them on her own face, taking a picture of herself. 

“I love these glasses.” Y/N looks in the rear view mirror and fixes her hair, which is no use because the wind just messes it up again. 

“The camera won’t pick up the yellow in them, it’s a black and white film camera.” Harry explains and she pouts a bit, putting the camera down and taking a few pictures of herself on her phone to get the yellow, sneakily taking pictures of Harry driving. 

Y/N posts about the car ride, but doesn’t turn the camera to show who was driving. She locks her phone and leans her head back, a smile on her face. A loud screeching sound pops her head up, furrowing her eyebrows as she looks at the hood. Y/N looks at Harry who shrugs and she laughs. 

“That wasn’t the best noise,” She says and Harry smiles. “GPS says we’re almost there. Should we just keep driving because I need to stretch my body on a bed.” Harry nods in agreement. Thankfully the noise doesn’t happen again and the pair arrives at the hotel, where they don’t have to worry about their luggage with the help of hotel staff. Y/N picked up a bit of French after going on tour so much, so she was able to ask some questions and talk to the employees with their luggage. 

They drop off each piece of Y/N’s luggage nicely in her beautiful room and she makes sure to tip every employee that helped, Harry also tipping them. She thanks them and closes her door, taking in her big room. The bed was massive with big windows next to it where you could see the Eiffel Tower. She opens the doors to her balcony and takes a deep breath, releasing it with a big smile on her face. 

Doors open next to her and Harry walks out on his balcony. He’s within arms reach and Y/N walks to the railing next to his. “This is beautiful, Harry,” She sighs and runs her fingers along the flowers lining the railing. “Thank you again.” 

“Anything for you, Peach.” He says softly and Y/N squeezes her eyes shut. 

“What are we doing, Harry?” She asks and looks at Harry, who looks like he’s been stabbed. “Are we going to have some romance meant for books here in Paris then go home and act like strangers again? Don’t you have a girlfriend? I can’t let my feelings..” Y/N closes her eyes and sighs. 

“I came to Paris because I don’t have a girlfriend. That woman..” He shakes his head. “We weren’t meant to be. She wasn’t my muse.” Harry leans against his railings. “I would like to have a very nice time here with you and then when we’re home, take your time. I will stay away as far as you need until you’re ready to bring me closer. I know there’s more cameras there, so it’s up to you.” 

Her eyes dart back and forth between his, nodding. “Okay, Harry. What’s first on our agenda?”

-

They take their car for a little ride, Harry telling Y/N nothing about his plans until she could see it. He pulls into a parking spot and Y/N hops out excitedly, seeing it from afar. “Oh, Harry!”

“We never got the chance to explore when I toured, and I know you’ve always wanted to come to the Louvre.” He blushes proudly and Y/N can’t help but wrap her arms around his neck. 

“Thank you, thank you!” Y/N squeals and Harry kisses her head. 

“Come on, Peach. We’ll walk a bit closer and I’ll take your photo next to it.” She nods excitedly and holds his hand as they walk in the warm Summer weather. They get close enough and Harry gets on a knee to get the perfect photo of Y/N. 

Y/N takes one of him and giggles at his smile, the smile that greeted her every time she saw him. The one she fell in love with. 

“Should we take one together?” She suggests and Harry nods almost too eagerly. He crouches down to put his chin on her shoulder, the same soft, content smile on their faces. 

They start their adventure in the art museum, and Y/N was nearly silent the whole time. She took in every color, every stroke, this was everything she’s been wanting to see. Harry, however, hardly noticed any detail of the art. If she were to quiz him on her details, he could answer in a heartbeat. 

Harry knew she was feeling what he was feeling too, he just didn’t know when or where it would be okay to talk about it. He knew the both of them would get emotional and he couldn’t do it in a public setting. 

“Harry?” Her voice takes him out of his daze and he looks at Y/N. “I’m ready when you are.” 

“Alright, it’s nearly 2:30. I have plans at 5 that lead into plans at 6, and it’s something nice so I want to give you time to get ready.” Y/N nods and takes his hand again, leading him to the exit. 

“I’m really happy we’re here together. It’s not like we have any bad turmoil but it’s nice to work out the awkwardness with you.” Y/N says to him and Harry squeezes her hand. 

“I don’t feel awkward at all anymore. The car was a bit awkward but now..” He kisses the back of it. “I feel pretty great.”

-

4:30 rolls around and Harry knocks on Y/N’s door. She swings it open and Harry has to hold himself back from tackling her with a kiss. 

“You look ravishing, darling. Are you ready for our date?” Harry winks and she laughs, holding his bicep and closing her door behind her. 

“Where are we going?”

“You know I’m not telling you.” He looks over at Y/N and has to look away quickly. He watches their legs move together as they head to the lobby, Harry opening the doors with a very exaggerated bow every time just to hear her soft laugh. 

The drive wasn’t long, and they were soon by a river and Y/N once again knew exactly where they were. “You’ve got to be kidding, Harry!” She laughs in disbelief as he offers a hand when he opens her door. 

Y/N grabs his hand and doesn’t let go as they head over to the boat softly rocking. He hops on first and grabs her waist, picking Y/N up to put her on the boat. Harry’s large hand sprawls along her back, looking at her and smiling. 

“And it’s the perfect sunset time,” He smiles, rubbing her exposed back with his thumb and the two take a seat.

Music fills the air and the sun starts to bleed into the water. Y/N’s eyes are everywhere, taking in every piece of scenery her eyes can see. Harry follows what she looks at to occasionally sneak some glances. He pulls out his camera and takes a picture of her when she doesn’t notice. When she does, he asks her to smile and gets a picture that melts his entire being. 

“Can we take a picture on my phone?” Harry asks and Y/N looks at him with a bright smile. 

“I would love to.” They take a few pictures in the sunset then with it behind them, her head on his shoulder and him kissing her head. He puts his phone away and looks at her once more before grabbing her hand and letting her pull it into her lap. 

Soon, the boat ride is over and Harry once again hops off first to extend his hand and helps Y/N off the boat where she takes his arm as he leads the way once more. 

It wasn’t a restaurant, but a private dinner with the Eiffel Tower just a bit away. Y/N couldn’t believe it. It was everything she had ever dreamed of, especially with Harry. 

But her smile dropped a bit as it really sunk it. He wasn’t her husband and is now doing all of her dreams in Paris. He wasn’t her husband and they’re acting like they’ve never left each other’s side. 

“Y/N?” 

She shakes her head. He calls her name again and she starts to cry. “Why couldn’t you have done this when we were married?” She sobs, shaking her head. Harry walks over and holds her elbows and Y/N can’t control her cries. “I’m grateful, but fuck!” She sobs. Harry doesn’t know what to say, because she was right. He has nothing to reply with that would make sense. None of it made sense. “I’ve missed you so much and this day is fucking with my head.” 

Harry’s fingers trickle along her elbow, running down her arms and holding her hands, staring at her digits and rubbing his thumb over where her wedding ring laid. 

“Divorcing you was the worst mistake of my life.” Harry’s voice is quiet and Y/N looks at him, but he still looks down. “I thought I was making the right choice, for you and me. So you could find someone to give you that dream, so I could follow mine,” Harry sniffles, looking at Y/N. “And while the career I have is my dream, I realized the dream isn’t complete without you in it.”

The world seems to stop. The leaves stop dancing when the wind comes to a halt, the birds stop to sing. Y/N’s heartbeat is in her ears as she starts to cry again. The words she’s been wishing to hear, now sounding like a symphony. 

Y/N reaches her hands up to hold his face, wiping his tears as more cover her cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much, Harry,” She cries. Harry returns her gestures and rests his fingers on the side of her neck, palms on her jawline while he wipes her tears. His fingers trail down to her shoulders and down to her waist, sliding his arms around her waist. 

“I’ve missed everything,” his hands rest on her back and he pulls her tight to his body, YN’s hand on his chest with her fingers gripping his shirt. “Inside and out,” Harry presses their foreheads together, brushing their noses, “about you, my sweet Peach.” Y/N chuckles softly with a sob, more tears falling as she pulls him in for a kiss. Her shoulders roll forward and Harry digs his fingers into her skin, trying to pull her even closer. Their lips move so perfectly together, little gasps escape the corners of their mouths as they’re desperate for air, but yearning for one another's lips. 

Eventually, Harry remembers the dinner and pulls away, Y/N leaning forward and fluttering her eyes open. They smile in each other’s mouths, kissing quickly before dropping their hands to hold. “Shall we dine?” 

The night ended with Harry and Y/N getting very wine drunk, taking very blurry but a few good pictures of the shimmering Eiffel Tower, crying again and getting into a soft argument, then taking a cab back to the hotel to sleep in Harry’s bed. 

Metal clanking and curse worse mixed with a pounding headache wakes Y/N up, squinting her eyes to see Harry fumbling with room service food covers. “Good morning, Peach. I ordered breakfast because I’m sure you feel how I feel right now, I hope these are still your hangover favorites.” 

He pulls up the covers and the smell of the different breakfast foods hits Y/N’s nose and she crawls over to the edge of the bed. A fresh pot of coffee, pancakes, hash browns, scrambled eggs for her, and sunny side up eggs for Harry to put on his toast. 

“Absolutely, oh my goodness, thank you so much, H.” She leans over to kiss his cheek, and he turns his head to get a real one. He sits next to her on the bed and plates her food first, filling it with a pancake and the rest of the sides, handing her the butter and maple syrup with jams for her toast. She digs into her hash brown first, closing her eyes and enjoying every bite until she finishes. 

“I will always love hash browns. These are my favorite breakfast foods.” Y/N looks at Harry who kisses her softly. 

“I will always love you, Peach,” Harry hums and Y/N’s cheeks turn pink. “Will you marry me.. again?” 

Y/N shakes her head. “Not right now. We need to learn each other again, we’ve been apart for 2 years, that’s a lot of changes.” Y/N grabs his hands and kisses his nose. “But I will marry you again in the future, yes.”

Harry pulls her on his lap, kissing her passionately. “I’m so glad I booked this solo trip,” He mumbles against her lips and Y/N laughs, pushing his chest playfully. 

The trip extends from 2 weeks to a month and a half, from Paris to Greece. When they got to Greece, they didn’t care who knew anymore. They were posting each other subtly in photos but everyone immediately knew as their stories matched. Texts and calls came in and they both turned their phones off, enjoying the vacation from everyone’s opinions. 

They didn’t leave any stone unturned, talking through things they felt during the divorce and after and what they felt wasn’t best in the relationship. They got into arguments that they talked through instead of ignoring it like the last time, and it made things so much more easier. They wished they were smarter back then, but they were young and dumb. 

Y/N and Harry didn’t regret taking the trip, and Y/N didn’t once regret saying yes to his extra hotel room, even though she never used it. They enjoyed each other’s company, laying on the beach or in bed or in the hot tub. On their last day in Greece, Harry asked Y/N to be his girlfriend again and she happily agreed and the two headed back to the states and played out how to deal with friends and the media when they got home. 

After they finish talking, Y/N heads to sleep and Harry starts to write a new song inspired by the most beautiful trip he just went on, still not believing he was lucky enough to fall in love with his wife all over again.

[cherryobx]

pretty girl

request: here

pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

summary: Steve has been begging to take you on a date for weeks but you've said no every time because you think you're not pretty enough for him

warnings: reader is pictured as fem and has hair that can be pushed behind the ear, being insecure about acne, steve is a simp, they're coworkers, reader wears jewelry

wc: 1.1k

“Why won’t you go out with me?” Steve asks, leaning against the driver side of your car so you can’t get in the car without him moving. You were both on closing shift tonight so you walked to the parking lot together.

“I already told you, I just don’t want to.” It’s a lie. A big fucking lie. In fact, it’s your dream to go out on a date with Steve. He’s handsome, sweet and has always been very nice to you but it’s your own insecurities holding you back.

Ever since puberty hit, you’ve been struggling with acne. You’ve never once thought that other people with acne were any less beautiful but you just couldn’t get yourself to like how it looked on you, how the bumps and scars littered your face. 

“That’s bullshit. I know you like me. I just don’t understand why you won’t go out with me,” he ponders.

“My reasoning should be enough for you to back off.” You cross your arms on your chest, using them as some sort of barrier between you and him, hiding yourself.

“Have I done something to you for you to hate me?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then go out with me.”

“No,” you stand on your ground. “Can you please stop blocking my car so I can go home now?”

“No.” And he stands on his. He’s not giving up and you can’t help but lowkey admire his ambition.

“No?” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“Give me a real reason. Tell me honestly why you don’t want to go out with me,” he demands and you sigh at that. You know he won’t leave you alone unless you actually tell him. 

Steve prides himself in knowing you well enough to know when you’re lying. Couple months into working at the Family Video together he managed to spot the tells of you lying. He saw it every day first hand. They were always little white lies. Like when someone asked about a movie they wanted to rent out but you told them that it wasn’t available at the moment. The truth was that it was, he checked, but you wanted to take it home yourself. But he noticed how you pushed hair behind your ear and then pulled it back out from behind it many times. He noticed how you fidgeted with your rings and bracelets or touched the necklace you never took off. He noticed.

You take a quick glance around to make sure that there are no people near enough to hear you confess your biggest insecurity to your coworker. Not that anyone would really care. But you do. It’s something you don’t really voice out loud and write in private into your diary at night when everyone is sleeping.

“Are you sure you want to go out with me?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t. What is this about?” His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks confused.

“Don’t you find me, I don’t know, ugly?” Your voice is now quieter, vulnerable.

He’s taken aback. His words are almost choked up. “Ugly? No, I find you really pretty actually. Why would I think that?”

“You’re just saying that. You can be honest with me, Steve. My acne. Is it not making me unattractive or something?”

He pushes himself off your car and stands up straight. “I am being honest. I think you’re the most gorgeous girl in Hawkins.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not! Your acne does not make you any less beautiful to me.” He takes a step closer into your space, his eyes remaining on yours. It’s a little thing but you notice it. Most people’s attention is on the skin of your face but Steve is staring straight into your eyes, almost like he’s seeing into your soul. It makes you feel vulnerable.

Your heartbeat speeds up and you can feel your heart thumping loudly in your chest at his closeness. His hand comes up to your face and he pushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I want to take you out because I like you. I like spending time with you. I like how you make me laugh. I like how you fix my hair when you notice it’s messed up. I like how you lie to customers from time to time.” That pulls a smile from you. “ I like how you look at me. Because I look at you the same way.”

“Are you serious?”

“As death.” He places his hand over his heart. 

“I don't feel pretty enough for you, Steve. There are so many girls who’d do anything to be with you. You should be with someone who looks and feels as pretty as you are.”

“You think I’m pretty?” There’s a cocky smirk on his face.

“Was that all you heard?” You scrunch your face.

“No. I’m sorry. I was joking,” he chuckles nervously. “If you don’t feel ‘pretty enough’ for me,” he uses air quotes, “I want to help you feel that you are. I want you to show you how beautiful I think you are. I want to take you out and show you off because you deserve it. You deserve to be treated like a princess because that’s who you are.”

You almost tear up at his words. He seems to genuinely mean what he says and it’s quite literally pulling on your heartstrings. “Really?”

“Really. Let me take you out, please.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely above a whisper but it’s enough for him to hear. The smile on his face is huge as he wraps his arms around you tightly, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. You laugh and hold onto him tightly.

“Yes! You won’t regret it, I swear.” 

When he finally places you back on the ground, he keeps his arms around you, no space between you two as your bodies are pressed together. 

His eyes dart to your lips. “Can I kiss you or is that like reserved for the first date?”

It pulls another smile from you. “It is, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

It’s all you need to say before he kisses you, a hand coming to rest on the side of your neck, fingers in your hair. It’s gentle and sweet but oh so perfect.

“How about tomorrow night? We’re both off.”

“How do you know my work schedule?” You narrow your eyes at him.

He shrugs, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“So?”

“Tomorrow works.”

He presses a small peck to your lips before pulling away and backing towards his own car. “I’ll pick you up at 7 then.”

“Sure.”

“See you tomorrow, pretty girl.” His nickname for you causes your cheeks to heat up and you grin.

Maybe you should’ve given into him and his relentless begging sooner. 

[joyswonderland1108]

"Jikookers want what we have" a tragicomedy in 84 acts.

Ah yes. The cult has spoken again. That group of people so devoted to fanfiction they forgot they're not the actual authors of BTS' lives. I was just minding my own business scrolling on X and then i saw screenshots where they uttered the iconic phrase once more : "Jikookers want what we have"

And my immediate reaction is: You have what exactly?

Please, i beg, enlighten me. Educate me. Shine your flashlight of delusion upon my humble soul.

Do you mean:

The ability to look at two men in the same room and immediately start spinning a three-season k-drama script about a "secret marriage" that somehow survived a full military enlistment gap and multiple obvious real-life interactions that contradict your entire fantasy?

The audacity to claim that literally everything Jikook do is either "fanservice", "coincidence" or "they were forced to do it by the company" .. but when tk breathe the same air, it's "soulmate proof" and "date night"?

The unique talent of opening your eyes, seeing Jikook's entire interactions unfold like the final scene of a romantic film, and still going, "Nope. That's just brotherly love. Jungkook actually flew to that city for someone else."?

And let’s not forget the true crime-level sleuthing they do with pixelated photos and background objects. Like that time they saw a Christmas tree with the Wooga squad and immediately declared, “That’s it. That’s Jungkook. He was there.” Just.. a tree. A tree. Not a hand. Not a sleeve. Not a voice. A TREE. And the confidence? Unmatched.

Or when a blurry reflection shows up in a spoon, and suddenly it’s “Jungkook was clearly there. That’s his left earlobe from 2019, I would know it anywhere.” Girl..

They’ve mistaken staff members, shadows, pets, and possibly furniture for Jungkook. At this point, if someone breathes near a member of the Wooga squad, they’re like, “He’s there. He's hiding behind the lamp. That lamp is his disguise.

🧍‍♀️Be serious.

You have what? A religious devotion to editing Jikook clips and pics out of existence OR turning them into.. something else so you can post your 8-second gifs as a "proof"?

A Photoshop degree in manufacturing matching accessories that they never actually wore? A deep-rooted fear of 4K footage? A library full of plotlines that have not been updated since 2019?

Because baby, while you're out here reading a version of events that got invalidated faster than a Weverse life replay gets deleted, we're over here crying, throwing up, and questioning our own existence watching actual moments of intimacy, care, tension, fondness, push-pull dynamics, micromovements, looks that scream "I dare you to say that in public", and lips that do not lie.

Your people are defecting babes. They're not even silent about it. We've seen it. "I feel sad, i can't breathe, i will take a break because i don't know if i believe in them any longer after this", "Okay but if MY ship did what THEY did i'd be in a coma"

Exactly. You'd be in a coma. Meanwhile Jikookers are here with two IV bags of emotional damage and still managing to function (barely).

Let's talk about how your entire structure collapses when:

Jungkook calls Jimin "Jimin-ssi" with that look.

Jimin calls Jungkook "Baby" on camera.

Jungkook tells Jimin he gives him butterflies.

Jimin calling Jungkook "Hyung" with the most teasing smugness known to mankind and Jungkook malfunctions on the spot.

Jungkook sits and stares at Jimin content during his lives without blinking.

Jimin sings Jungkook's solo, doing his moves the way a man who memorized it for "reasons" would.

Meanwhile you're out there hanging your entire thesis on "they once went to the same restaurant with different people on different days but what if they actually met up?"

We don't want what you have.

WE DO NOT WANT UNHINGED THEORIES AND PERMANENT COPIUM.

What we do want is peace, peace from you twisting Jikook's actions like it's your career.

Peace from you posting "this proves nothing" under every video that shows more chemistry than a K-drama final kiss.

Peace from you crying "company script" every time Jungkook chooses to speak about Jimin with his entire chest and a suspicious sparkle in his eyes.

Let me be clear:

We don't want what you have because.. There's nothing there to want. It's like going to a buffet and finding a single ice cube and being told "this is a gourmet".

So no. We’re good. We’re full.

We're over here eating with trembling hands, yes, but we’re EATING.

Stay in your cave of denial where 2017 screenshots are still considered "recent," and please stop acting like we’re jealous of a headcanon when we’ve got receipts, replay buttons, and regret.(because the intensity of it all is emotionally destructive and yet we keep coming back).

Thank you for your time.

Back to your regularly scheduled delusion.

[casey-ackkat]

Prison Boyfriends 🧡🔒🧡

This @gallacrafts theme stirred my artist!Mickey feels because the first prison association was the drawings on the walls of their cell!

A thing that canonically happened, but was never shown to us. Mickey sketching Ian to pin the picture on the wall of their cell. Such an intimate moment that was snatched away from us. So, there you go, your weekly doze of Mickey's hands + prison gallavich + Mickey's sketching skills + a one-shot of this scene✨

A few days into their shared prison sentence in the Beckman Correctional Facility Mickey finally gets a hold of a sketch book and some pencils.

The plan was to get them earlier, before Ian arrived, so that he could pass the time directing his mind and hands into something... productive. His reputation and general demeanor quickly earned him the respect needed to purchase certain harmless objects from the real world. But, of course, the delivery took a while.

So his set of graphite pencils and a plain black sketch book end up in his hands a little later, with Ian already sprawled on the bunk above him, napping peacefully.

Mickey pays the discussed fee and studies the supplies for a few moments before putting them down in the pile of their other belongings. He doesn't use them for a while. He and Ian have things much more interesting than drawing on their minds. So many years spent in denial, in hiding, full of doubts and fears - it's only fair that now that they're finally together, locked in the same room, they fuck like rabbits at any given chance.

Mickey doesn't have enough free time to pick up the drawing kit for a couple of weeks.

The first time he actually wants to do it though, it's when the two of them are lying on his lower bunk, Mickey on his back with Ian curled up on top of him. The younger boy is relaxed and comfortable, ear pressed to Mickey's chest so that his head rises and falls with each of his boyfriend's breaths.

Mickey runs his fingers through Ian's dyed hair and massages his scalp gently. His eyes travel up and down the expanse of Ian's toned arms, perfectly shaped shoulders and biceps, the way his huge palm rests on his waist possessively.

He's gorgeous and if Mickey could he would take a picture. But he can't. Or can he?

"Come on up, Gallagher," he says softly. He makes a move to sit up himself as he ushers the man up and pushes him away slightly. Ian's features strain in concern.

"Why? What's wrong?" He rubs his hand that has fallen asleep. They were cuddling for way too long and Ian's left arm was under Mickey the whole time.

"Wanna do something," he mutters cryptically and twists his body to rummage through their stuff next to his bunk. "Stand up."

Ian obeys, reluctantly tearing himself away from the warmth of his partner, and gets up. He adjusts his prison robe as he stands there awkwardly, waiting for Mickey to explain what's going on. The dark haired man glances at him.

"Nah, man, take that shit off." He nods at Ian's chest and all of it falls into places in Ian's head.

He smirks and shrugs off the top of his yellow jumpsuit and quickly discards his wife-beater, tossing it on his top bunk. Mickey is still turned away, so he licks his lips as he leans forward to grab his chin and make the man look at him.

Mickey opens his mouth to protest, but Ian shuts him up with a deep kiss. His body reacts immediately, heart speeding up, but he manages to pull away with a chuckle.

"Not for that, you, horny bastard," he breathes out with a smile and gently pushes Ian's confused face away.

"Then what is it you want?" He asks dubiously, settling down next to Mickey's thighs with a sigh.

His boyfriend's gaze measures him up and sighs. Ian fucking Gallagher is really a sight to behold.

"Been meaning to do something forever," he mutters and grabs his drawing equipment, biting his lip tentatively.

Ian just blinks at him as the man leans against the wall behind him, pulls his knees closer to himself. He opens the sketch book and places it on his thighs, a pencil between his fingers.

"Oh," he nods slowly and Mickey sneaks a quick glance at him.

"This okay?"

Ian gulps and scratches his temple. "Yeah," he nods a few times again. "Yeah, Mick. Of course."

He gets off the bunk bed and takes a step back to give Mickey a chance to take a good look at him.

"How do you want me to-?"

Mickey bites his lip some more as he thinks about the pose. "Hands up in the air."

Ian frowns and lifts them up awkwardly, his stance resembling a 'put your hands where I can see them' situation, making Mickey roll his eyes.

"Not like this, I'm not about to shoot you, Red," he chuckles.

"Then tell me what you want to see," Ian shrugs.

"I want-" he cuts himself short, breath catching in his throat. There wasn't anything specific in his mind until Ian asked and now... Well, now there is.

"What?"

"Put them up like... Like when you danced for me," he breathes out and Ian blinks a few times at him before lifting his hands and placing them behind his head.

"Like this?"

Mickey nods abruptly and adjusts the grip on his pencil. Yeah. That definitely works perfectly. His arms on display, torso out in the open and his beautiful face.

None of them breaks the silence for the next few minutes as Mickey sketches the outlines of Ian's broad chest, his toned arms and the shape of his face.

He takes his time and studies every curve of his boyfriend's body. Not out of necessity, no. He's pretty sure he knows the way his man is built. Seen him change from a lanky teenager into a beefy grown up. Has been tracing every inch of his skin with his lips for the last few months almost on a daily basis.

He remembers every single dip of his body, every beauty mark. Freckles are hard, these are countless. Still, he does his best at memorizing the patterns they form.

He studies Ian's body just because he can. He can and he wants to and the way Ian is looking at him right now is totally worth it.

It doesn't take long for Mickey to finish the drawing. It's not like he was going to create the most detailed artwork. It's been a while since he practiced drawing bodies and his skills are rusty, but he hopes he's good enough to do Ian justice anyways.

"All done," he says and tosses the pencil away as Ian moves to sit on the bed beside him. He reaches out to pull the sketch book towards himself and his lips part.

"It's incredible," Ian mutters, eyes wide as he takes in the drawing before looking up at Mickey. He's biting his lip nervously, somehow feeling extremely vulnerable in the moment. "You're incredible."

Mickey huffs out a short breath and shakes his head. "It's... whatever." He avoids his lover's gaze, but Ian is not having any of that. He tilts his head back towards him and leans in to press a soft kiss to Mickey's lips.

"You are incredible," he states, not leaving room for argument, and seals it with another kiss. This one is deeper. With more purpose. Making Mickey believe Ian's words.

The next morning Ian jumps off his bunk bed to see the picture attached to the wall on his right. He smiles and traces it with his finger.

It is the first one to decorate their cell, but it's definitely not gonna be the last.

🧡🔒🧡