#like you don't know that i feel hurt by you. and there's not much reason for me to feel that way either

[peterparkerpancake]

"Well, everyone's different."

That's what I used to think. I got diagnosed when I was 7. ADHD type H. Never had an issue with attention span, but by GOD if I never had hyperfixations.

There was that time I got super into learning the bo staff because I really liked Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Donatello is OBJECTIVELY the best, thank you very much.

There was that time that I learned how to perform basic field medicine like sutures because I got into all this... zombie, survivalist stuff.

Eventually, I grew up. I went to college. UCLA, BAYBEE! And when I got there, I met my roommate; Josh Grimstone.

We hit it off immediately. He seemed to be weirdly into the Sci-fi and thrillers, though it seemed like we could never watch anything without him scoffing at it

"Oh, please! If they lost THAT much blood, they'd be dead!"

"Really?! Your telling me he could jump from five stories and just... walk away?"

*standing up to yell at the screen*

"JUST BECAUSE YOU ROLL INTO IT DOESN'T MEAN THE INERTIA IS DISPERSED!"

It was fun. We always had a good laugh about it. It made sense, he was a Creative Writing major. But still, I liked teasing him about it.

He would have... dark and... macabre interests, but like... the guy would just read HAMLET. Like, for fun. I haven't read Hamlet since 10th grade. And it was required.

It wasn't until I invited him to my DnD campaign that I got suspicious. For whatever reason, a Creative writing major was a surprisingly bad storyteller. I mean, no offense or anything, but he couldn't move the plot along to save his life.

I don't know, maybe he was nervous?

Then we took a class together. I needed a Creative writing course for my gen eds. So why not take it with him?

We planned to make our schedules align, but... he almost never came to class.

"Maybe he's just blowing it off? It's a lower-division course. He'll be fine without it"

Then he missed the midterm.

I began to get suspicious and one day, followed him.

I don't... remember much after that. Hazy flashes. Something about... a warehouse? I think. I remember his voice. Quiet, l- like he didn't want anyone to hear him. Don't know what he was saying.

...You ever get that feeling you're being watched?

What? What's the- Why does my... head hurt?

That was the last thing I remember.

My eyelids felt heavy as I slowly blinked them open.

"Josh? Is that- What're you doing?"

"Quiet. What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"I- ...what? Where am-"

"You're gonna get yourself killed, y'know that?"

He shook his head in disdain, a hint of pain in his eyes as he reached into his rear pocket. I heard something I'd only ever heard in a movie; that familiar click as the hammer locked into place.

Then I heard him scoff before feeling a piece of cold, dense metal pushed into my temple

I felt my heart drop as terror set in

"J- Josh, what're you? I- no! No! Stop this!"

In my desperate panic and attempt to stand, I noticed something for the first time.

I was tied to a chair.

My arms and legs were bound, the only thing I could freely move was my neck.

Pounding.

That was all I heard.

The pounding of my own heart as it began to drown out everything else.

I could see Josh's mouth moving, but it just came out as muffled nonsense.

Despite the adrenaline-induced tunnel vision of terror setting in, I could see his remorseful look as the cold metal pushed deeper into the gaps of my skull.

Today you just found out your roommate with strange hobbies, like knowing how to pick a lock, knows how every puzzle and cipher by heart, or how to commit tax fraud, and so many other things, wasn't a guy with ADHD, he was an ex-assassin and now you have a gun pointed at your face

[himasgod]

Wanderer x Cheerful! Reader Headcanons

Where you are traveling companions, and he is gentle with you while you are hyperactive and cheerful.

A series of headcanons based on the relationship you would have with Wanderer if you were a bit clumsy, but very happy and hyperactive. It contains a NSFW section and each headcanon section has sample dialogue.

While you talk non-stop about seemingly trivial things, the Wanderer stays silent, listening to you with a mix of exasperation and fascination. Although he pretends not to pay attention, he can remember every detail of your stories.

He acts like he’s annoyed by it, always having sarcastic comments ready to respond to your quips, but he actually loves seeing you cheer up. Your laughter is a sound he’s learned to value.

"And then the cat jumped off the roof and landed right in my arms! Isn't that amazing?"

"More amazing would be if you stopped risking your life for stray animals."

"I wasn't risking my life! I just wanted to help him."

"Of course, because you're the heroine of all the cats in trouble."

Your energy often brings him out of his state of alienation. Although he finds it hard to admit it, being with you makes him feel more connected to the world.

"Look! I bought this ribbon for my hair. Don't you think it looks pretty?"

"I don't know what's worse, the ribbon or the amount of time you spent picking it out."

"You're so insensitive! I'm not asking you anything again."

"It suits you, by the way."

At first, the Wanderer finds it difficult to fully trust you. His fear of being betrayed makes him keep an emotional distance, but your warmth and patience manage to break down his barriers little by little.

When he feels overwhelmed by his past or his internal struggles, it is with you that he finally allows himself to be vulnerable.

"Why do you always act like you're waiting for me to betray you?"

"Because betrayal is the only constant thing I've ever known."

"I'm not like everyone else ."

"That's what everyone says."

Sometimes you stay silent, resting your head on his shoulder as he closes his eyes and strokes your hair gently.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Just… stay here."

"I'm always here."

"I don't know why you trust me so much, but… thank you."

He loves to make you blush, Wanderer enjoys seeing you embarrassed too much. It can be as simple as getting too close to you or murmuring something in your ear with his low, soft voice.

Your reactions are his weakness, even though he constantly annoys you, if someone else tries to make you uncomfortable, his protective side comes out. No one can bother you except him.

"Did you know that you look cute when you're focused?"

"What are you saying?! Don't just say things like that all of a sudden!."

"What's wrong? Can't you handle a simple compliment?"

"What's someone like you doing traveling with him? You're probably more of a bother than a help."

"Say it again and make sure you have somewhere to hide afterward."

"Wanderer! It's not that big of a deal…"

"I don't care what they think of me, but no one has the right to talk to you like that"

Although he is not the type to openly express affection, his subtle gestures speak for themselves. He places his large hat on your head when the sun is shining hard. He makes sure you always have enough water or food during your travels.

If you're hurt or tired, he stops immediately, even if he pretends it's for practical reasons.

His touches are slow and deliberate, as if he's afraid of breaking something fragile. He prefers quiet moments where he can hold your hand or play with a lock of your hair while you talk.

"It's so hot here! The sun is burning my head!"

"I'll give you my hat. Stop complaining and keep walking."

"Thanks… but you could say it nicer, you know?"

"That would be unrealistic."

Your joy brightens his darkness, your optimism helps him see the world from a more positive perspective. Although he doesn't say it out loud, he realizes that you're a constant light in his life.

"Why do you always look at me like that when I'm talking?"

"Because you make those weird hand gestures. It's… entertaining."

"I don't make them weird!"

"Of course not"

His calmness balances your energy, when you're too excited or anxious, his soft voice and serene presence help to reassure you. Sometimes it's enough for him to take your hand and say, “Breathe. I'm here.”

"Isn't the sunset beautiful? It's like the sky was hand-painted."

"It's just light refracted off water particles."

"You're so boring! Just admit it, you like it too."

"Maybe a little"

Although you're opposites in many ways, you both find something unique in each other that makes you feel complete. To you, he's a safe haven; to him, you're the spark that keeps his soul moving.

"Let's go explore that forest! What could go wrong?"

"A lot of things. Starting with your tendency to run without thinking."

"But you would protect me, wouldn't you?"

"That doesn't mean you should purposely put yourself in danger."

Sometimes you argue over silly things, like who's right about a road or how to cook something. It always ends with him winning with his logic and you throwing a pillow or an indignant look at him.

He likes to give you nicknames that annoy you but that you find strangely cute.

"I told you this was the right path."

"And I told you maps don't lie."

“Then the map is wrong!”

“Or your sense of direction sucks.”

Even though it's rare, there are times when your clumsiness or your witticisms make him genuinely laugh. When you listen to him, you can't help but stay silent, admiring how beautiful his laugh is.

“That silly smile again? I should call you ‘Little Sunshine.’”

“That's not a nickname! And I don't have a silly smile.”

NSFW.

“I’m fine, don’t worry!”

“You’re a walking disaster.”

“Are you laughing at me?! It’s so weird to see you laugh!”

“Don’t get used to it.”

You notice that something strange is happening when you're talking about anything stupid nonstop and his gaze has a different kind of shine, one that's not curiosity. When you notice that predatory shine and something dark in his eyes, while his pupils descend towards your lips wet from talking so much, you know what he's thinking about instead of paying attention to you.

And so, at the moment when you continue talking, distracted by seeing his eyes like that, you get stuck while speaking and a small smirk covers his lips as he asks you, please, to keep talking.

So, while you are both distracted and trying to continue talking about anything, you notice how his hand absentmindedly travels to your thigh to give it a squeeze.

You're cooked. When Wanderer wants something, he gets it, greetings.

He teases you, whispering in your ear that you dare not continue talking as he begins to lower his lips to your neck.

Likewise, as he fucks you, he murmurs that he would love to see your hyperactive smile that you hide while you bite your lips desperately trying not to moan his name so as not to give him more reasons to tease you.

In truth, he is much softer with you, so those moments are something special. Protect him, he loves you very much, do not hurt him.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[stray-cat-with-internet-access]

TW: angst, abusive relationship (not with Simon), toxic relationship (that´s with Simon), bruises, he is kinda mean but can you blame him?, he is your ex, curse words, no proofread we die like real men, english is not my first language wc: 1168

1:54am

He opens the door at your fifth knock and his jaw clenches at seeing you.

You have a nasty handprint bruise on your neck and he is already fuming, at the bastard who did this, but also at you. Simon´s your ex, and something keep pulling you to him every time you need aid, but never taking him back completely.

This is not the first time you run to him and he is not happy about it.

He lets you in, but curses and slam the door behind him

Coming close he backs you up against the wall, forehead close to yours

"You have to be fuckin jokin´ with me..."

His voice trembles with anger, maybe not the best approach, but he is getting tired of keep collecting your pieces back together

You avoid his gaze, a bit ashamed. You lick your lips, with no urge to start talking. He is not dumb and he already imagined what happened. Tears run down your face and that seems to anger him more.

A bitter scowl etches on his face, he is mad for many of the wrong reasons, but he is trying damn hard to keep himself in check

"Is this some sort of sick game to play with me, hm?" He whispered, voice trembling with anger “You think I like seeing you like this?”

"No!" You respond quickly, finally meeting his gaze. You felt stupid because he is right to be angry. You´ll accept any scowl and curse coming from him because deep down you know you deserve them.

"Why else would you keep coming back every damn time only for you to go back to him? To test me and see how much I still care for you? Do you get off on doing this? Don´t I have enough shit in my life?"

There it is, the bitter words finally spilling out

"Simon please, I don't have anyone else, pleas…" You yelped when he punched the door, finally backing away from you, running his hands through his hair

"I left him...for good this time..."

He stops pacing and looks at you, he doesn´t believe you, that anger rising up inside of him, why was she still doing this and why he kept letting himself drag back into her? He feels stupid

"I've heard that before"

"I swear to god" You’re trembling at this point, desperate to get some gentleness.

You showed him the backpack you were carrying, talking in whispers

"I left him the flat, I grabbed what I could and left"

There is a pang on his chest, of guilt this time, the bruise around your neck is prominent and he can't help but to feel like this time is not the same as before. He wants to touch you, to make sure you are okay, but he doesn't trust himself not to hurt you unintentionally because of his anger

"Show me your neck" He finally says through gritted teeth, his tone of voice still stern

Tears start running freely now, but you cry in silence, ashamed. You pulled the hem of the neck of your t-shirt, showing the purplish marks over your throat and clavicle

He curses again before inspecting it more closely

His eyes darken at looking at the bruises, he knows exactly who is to blame and his blood boils with rage, he is going to kill him after dealing with you, he is sure of it. He touches the purple skin gently, barely a feather caress on it, checking them out

"Does it hurt?" His voice a soft whisper now

"Only when I swallow" Hugging your arms around your middle, you look around his flat, avoiding his gaze

He denies with his head, a million thoughts racing through his head. He is still sore for your break up a year and something ago, terribly bitter that you were able to left him for his "violent" line of work and the repercussions that it left on him, but not the bastard treated you like shit. Yes, he was damaged goods, but he´d never lay a finger on you

He has to stop himself from saying something stupid, he shouldn't be this close, feeling so many things at once

"Go have a shower... " he said, walking to the kitchen to pour himself a bourbon

Walking past him with your head low you make a beeline to the bathroom. You know his place very well, and the sting of the good memories here make you cry a bit more

After undressing you hop in the shower, letting the warm water wash away your tears. The smell of his soap envelopes you, making you feel more calm

Simon is a difficult man, the fact that he even let you in after you fucked up so many times says more about his feelings that anything

You reappear at the living room a while after, a dark blue towel covering you. You are pale with dark circles under your eyes, but it´s a better sight than before.

You noticed he got dressed with jeans too, and was smoking by the window when he hears you come back, he can't help it as his eyes travel over you, his own towel around you like you were his again. He has to bite his tongue, to stop himself from making promises and saying a million things he wanted to

"Did you eat?"

"I'm not hungry" You kneeled next to the sofa to grab some clothes from your backpack and he walks to grab a hoodie from the back of a chair, and you catch a glimpse of the hilt of a knife on his waist when he put it on over his head.

He looks immersed with himself, unapproachable

He turns his head to look at you again. Dove eyes, that beautiful face and that ugly bruise… God, he is so fuckin tired...

He put out the cigarette in the windowsill and put his gloves on, he does not trust himself right now, this is the reason why he needs to go and put distance between the two of you. Besides, there´s someone he needs to pay a visit…

"Go to sleep... " He said, voice strained

Getting up slowly, you approach him softly, placing your hand on his shoulder

"Why don't you..."

It's a mistake, because he shoves your hand away and strides towards the door, grabbing his mask from the hall table and putting it in his back pocket

"Go to the fuckin bedroom"

He slams the door on his way out, leaving you frozen in place, tears running down your face

-

You´ll find him the next morning, asleep on his couch. His nails are dirty and the hem of his hoodie is darkened with a reddish rusty stain. Next to the door are a couple of boxes with your all your stuff from the flat you shared with your now ex- boyfriend. Seems like Simon moved you into his own place last night.

Dividers are from @saradika-graphics Cosplayer: @mrghost.cos on TikTok

[sugurus-thoughts]

01. A nonsense christmas

❅ pairing — president! Ryomen Sukuna x singer! reader

❅ summary — You're my wish list Lookin' at you got me thinking Christmas Snowflakes in my stomach when we're kissin' And when you're comin' down the chimney, ooh, it feels so good I need that Charles Dickens You'll be Santa Claus and I'll be Mrs.

❅ w/c — 10,85k

❅ warning — age gap (sukuna early 30's reader in her early 20's), based during 1930's, angst, fluff, smut, touching, MDNI, oral sex (giving), mentions of neglect.

❅ a/n — this fic was inspired by Marilyn Monroe and JFK back in the day. I truly don't know what happened between those two but I did watch the documentary series of Marilyn Monroe and honesty my heart truly goes out to her and I love her so much! And I hope you love this story as much as I wrote it. I wasn't excited writing this but as I wrote it it became much more comforting to me :') ❤️🍰

It begins with the snow—soft, relentless, blanketing the city like a promise of peace. You’ve always found winter in the capital to be impossibly beautiful, even as it presses its cold fingers against your skin. Tonight, though, the beauty of it all feels distant, eclipsed by the grandeur of the Presidential Residence looming before you.

You step out of the car, your heels clicking against the polished stone driveway, your breath curling like smoke in the icy air. The mansion rises like a beacon against the winter night, its windows spilling warm light into the darkness. The Christmas Gala. The most coveted event of the year. And you—the season’s brightest star—are here not as a guest, but as its entertainment.The crowd itself could not withstand your siren beauty as camera flashes surround you. With your white lace dress and faux scarf wrapped all around you—how could you have said no to a camera.

Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of evergreen and champagne. The towering Christmas tree, dripping with crystal ornaments and golden ribbons, commands the room’s attention, but not as much as the man standing beneath it. President Ryomen Sukuna. His name carries the weight of a nation, his presence magnetic even among the sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits. He’s watching you, though you pretend not to notice, your practiced grace carrying you toward the stage.

The moment you step into the spotlight, the world falls silent. You don’t just sing; you command. Your voice weaves through the room, low and sultry, wrapping around the crowd like velvet. The President doesn’t look away—not once. You feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, burning through the layers of glamour you’ve wrapped around yourself.

“Sata baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Think of all the fun I've missed

Think of all the fella's that I haven't kissed

Next year I could be just as good

If you check off my Christmas list”

When the final note fades, applause erupts, but your eyes find his. He’s clapping slowly, deliberately, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. And in that instant, you know—this night is only the beginning.

After leaving the stage you navigate your way, through the buzzing crowd offering polite smiles and nods but keeping your distance.

You were used to this—all the praises, all the eyes but yet tonight it felt heavier than usual,as if all eyes were watching to see your next move.

Politicians, socialists and business tycoons—all these powerful leaders, greeting you with so much respect but yet, you could feel the lingering eyes of their partners. It was never easy to be a female with so much prominence but yet it hurt —it hurts to be hated by your own kind. We were supposed to support one another, to uplift one another but the cruelty of being a woman in this society was truly a burden.

You had to leave,the whispers among these people were too much to bear.

You slip into a quieter part of the residence—for some reason you found yourself in a cozy study filled with books and beautiful paintings . The soft hum of the party fades away and you take a moment to catch your breath, savoring the stillness in this moment.

You rarely had moments to yourself —your life was a whirlwind of rehearsals, performances, and endless scrutiny. Being an artist in a world where men dictated the rules was a challenge on its own, but being a woman in this world came with invisible chains. They didn't take you seriously, not really. To them you were a pretty face, perfect body, pleasant voice, a fleeting novelty. And yet your talent commanded rooms filled with the most powerful people in the country.

But it was just the men. Women didn't seem to like you either, much worse actually. You'd catch their sharp glances, their whispering behind raised champagne flutes. They saw you as a threat— a reminder of the rules they could never break, the freedom they did dare to take. It stung deeply, more than you can admit. You didn't want to compete,it was never what your nature —instead you wanted to be seen for more than glittering persona you wore on stage

The loneliness that came with that, was something that could not be turned away.It all settled into your chest like a cold ache. No matter how much applause you earned, how many invitations you received, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were performing for a world that would never truly embrace you.

The library is dimly lit, the polished wood floors creaking softly under your heels. You find yourself in a study, its walls lined with books that smell of leather and time. A fire crackles in the hearth, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cold edges of the gala.

You cross to the window, tracing a finger against the frosted glass. Outside, the snow continues to fall, silent and unyielding. For a moment, you feel like you can breathe again.

“Running away from your admirers?” The voice startles you, low and rich, with a hint of amusement. You turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, as if he owns not just the room but the very air you are breathing.

The President.

For a second, neither of you exchange words. Silence filled the room and the only sound that could be heard was the warmth of the fire crackles. His gaze, it feels so much heavier than the opulent chandelier in this room.

“You flatter me Mr President,” you finally managed, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

“But I'm not running. Just… catching my breath”.

“From the crowd or the applause?” he asked, stepping into the room, his polished shoes loud against the wooden floor.

“Both” you admit, leaning light against the wooden ledge. “It's a bit overwhelming, even for someone used to the spotlight”

A faint smile crosses his sharp features,his eyes never leaving yours. “ I imagine it would be. Though you make it seem effortless. You captivated them”.

“I'm sure that feeling you know well,” you counter, tilting your head slightly. “Captivating a room comes naturally to someone in your position”

His laugh is soft, almost modest, “Captivating and control are not the same thing. They listen to me because they have to. They listen to you because they want to.”

You hesitate, unsure if his words were a compliment or yet a challenge. “And which one are you Mr President?” you ask, your voice soft but laced with curiosity. “Do you want to listen, or do you have to?”

A smirk deepens as he moves around the study, looking at a few paintings. “That” he says is a very good question” his eyes caught yours, a glimmer of something unreadable expression.

You hold his gaze, feeling the weight of that moment—for the first time that evening you felt like you weren't performing —but unraveling.

His steps draw closer and closer —just close enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne —rich, warm and just utterly disarming. His gaze is unwavering, as though searching for something beneath your carefully composed exterior.

“I want to” he says, his voice low and deliberate, each word rolling off his tongue with quiet intensity.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a subtle l, almost wicked smiles,and for a moment the world outside the room feels very far.

“And not just your singing”

Irritation kicked in. You were so used to all of this. Men lusting over you, women glaring at you, finding ways to just get you in their bed. It was no surprise he was doing the same thing.

“Why do you sing?”, he asked softly.

The question caught you off guard. Never has any man nor woman asked you such a vulnerable question. For a moment you could not fathom his words, clearly you have never been seen or heard by anyone—can you be honest with yourself?. Your fingers graze the edge of the window ledge, seeking something solid to anchor yourself.

“I sing because it’s the only time I feel free,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m up there, it doesn’t matter what they think of me, what they expect. For a few minutes, it’s just me and the music. No judgments. No rules.”

You glance at him, half-expecting ridicule or a dismissive smile, but his expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on you like he’s hearing something rare and precious.

“And because,” you continue, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips, “if I don’t, I feel like I’ll disappear.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, but his gaze softens, losing its sharp, commanding edge. Slowly, he steps closer, his voice quiet and deliberate.

“You don’t have to disappear,” he says, as if it’s a promise meant only for you. “Not when the world is watching—and certainly not when I’m listening.”

His words catch you off guard, not because of their tenderness but because they feel... genuine. As if, for the first time, someone truly sees the weight you carry beneath the glamour.

“You’re not just a voice on a stage,” he continues, his tone firm yet gentle. “You’re so much more than they’ll ever understand.”

The way he says it, the way he looks at you, makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

“Mr President,” your tone exposing the faint glimmer of gratitude. For the first time, it felt like someone understood you, not Y/N for the star you are but for the Y/N who you are. “Thank you, I appreciate your kind words” you smile in his direction.

Your smile is contagious enough to draw a simple one from him. For a moment silence surrounds the both of you, the party that was long lost seems to fade away slowly.

“So, do you always have time to chase after the singer at your parties, Mr. President?” you ask, your voice dripping with charm as you rise gracefully from your seat. Slowly, you move through the library, feigning nonchalance, though his piercing gaze follows your every step.

“You know, Little Songbird, you never fail to surprise me,” he murmurs, his baritone voice rich with amusement. The nickname lingers in the air like a melody, and your steps falter for just a second. Songbird? Did he really just call you that?

You don’t dare look back, but his footsteps trail closely behind, deliberate and unhurried. The tension in the room sharpens as you realize the path you’ve chosen leads you to a dead end—a bookshelf towering before you with no opening in sight.

With a steadying breath, you turn at last, only to find him standing right in front of you, much closer than you’d anticipated. His presence feels overwhelming, his gaze holding yours like a quiet command. For a moment, the world seems to shrink to just the two of you, the warmth of his proximity sending a shiver down your spine.

“Mr President…” you whisper softly,your voice barely audible over the sounds of your own racing heartbeat. His gaze never wavers, dark and intense, ranking over your slightly trembling figure as if committing ever detail to memory.

He leans in, so close— the faint scent of bourbon—his breath brushes against your ear, the rich timbre of his voice low and deliberate.

“Some things, little songbird” he murmurs, each word dripping with meaning “are chasing —even for a president”

The air between you two feels impossibly charged, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist. That is until the sharp clatter of heels against the wooden floor slices through the tension like a cold gust of wind.

“Ryomen” a clipped, feminine voice calls out,breaking the spell. Your turn instinctively to see her standing in the doorway—The First Lady, groomed in diamond and scandal. The papers have been relentless about her affairs, her icy aura, her calculated public appearance. Now she doesn't even spare you a glance, her eyes solely on him as if you don't exist. Of course what did you expect,in such a state.

“They need you for the announcement”, she says briskly, her tone more business than affection.

The president straightens, his expression slipped back into its stoic mask, though his gaze lingers on you for a fraction longer than it should. You take a step back suddenly feeling the weight of that moment, it's as if you didn't belong there. The tightening in your chest only made it worse.

Without another, you turn to slip past him, the faint brush of his fingers against yours—intentional or accidental—you knew neither, sending a shiver through you. You leave the room without saying goodbye, your exit as quiet as the storm building in your chest.

That night —on that cold invaded night, your thoughts were filled with the man that led this country. A man adored by his power, status—and wealth.He seemed to have the world in his grasp, yet for some reason, it felt as though he was also beginning to hold your heart in his hands.

It has been more than a week ever since that cold evening. For some reason, it hasn't crossed your mind—the way the president swept you off your feet—it was just a flush encounter to you, nothing more.

It was that time of year, where you could see the snow fall, hear children's laughter, see the smile upon elders and mostly give out to those in need.

The room hummed with warmth and laughter, a stark contrast to the cold world outside. The children’s charity event was one of your favorite occasions—a rare moment where the glitz of your public persona faded into something far more meaningful. You loved working with children, their innocence and joy reminding you of a world untouched by judgment or pretense.

Dressed in a soft elegant gown, draped with a faux fur coat to cover your body from this weather. You knelt beside a small girl painting ornaments at one of the long tables. For some reason it brings back the memories of when you sat at this very table, painting but mostly single—you were truly the star back then, even now. Her giggles bring you back to reality, as she proudly displays her masterpiece, and you couldn't help but smile, feeling a rare lightness in your chest. For once you were known for “the voice” or “the star”. You were just…. you.

But the lightness didn't last long. You felt it before you saw him—that familiar commanding presence that seemed to shift the air in the room. Straightening, you glanced towards the entrance, and there he was. President Ryomen Sukuna, flanked by his wife, whose practiced smile seemed like the polished diamonds that hung around her throat.

Their arrival stole the attention of the room,applause ripping through the crowd as they made their way towards the stage. You tried focusing on the children but the warmth you felt moments ago slipped through your fingers like sand. And finally your eyes meet from across the room, everything else seems to fade slowly.

The moment your eyes locked, time seemed to slow, the loud chatter in the room fading into a distant murmur. He held your gaze for a beat longer than he should have, something unspoken passing between you. Then, just as quickly, he turned his attention back to the crowd, his expression neutral and composed as he greeted donors and officials.

You let out a shaky breath, turning back to the little girl, who was now adding glitter to her ornament. “You’ll need to let it dry,” you said softly, forcing a smile and focusing on her instead of the fluttering in your chest.

But you weren’t oblivious to him. Every move he made seemed to draw your attention, no matter how hard you tried to stay grounded. His wife, ever the picture of poise, clung to his arm as they mingled, though her wandering eyes and absent smiles told another story. The tabloids had been relentless about her rumored affairs, and seeing her up close, you wondered how much truth there really was to them.

A volunteer approached you, asking if you’d mind helping distribute gifts to the children. You agreed eagerly, relieved to have something to distract you. Carrying a box of wrapped toys, you moved to the front of the room, where several kids were eagerly waiting.

As you handed out the gifts, you felt his gaze on you again. This time, when you glanced over, he was watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. It wasn’t the gaze of a president assessing a performer. It was something else entirely—something deeper, more personal.

But before you could dwell on it, his wife stepped forward, taking his arm and guiding him toward the podium. The crowd hushed as he began his speech, his rich, commanding voice filling the room.

You tried to focus on his words, but your mind drifted. Was he thinking about the last time you saw each other? About the way you left without saying goodbye? And why, despite everything, did you feel drawn to him still?

After the speech, the president and his wife descended from the stage, moving toward the children’s area where you stood. You busied yourself with the toys, hoping to avoid any interaction, but fate, as always, had other plans.

As the President approached, you felt a strange mix of anticipation and nerves settle in your chest. He moved with an air of quiet authority, his presence commanding attention even in the lively atmosphere of the children’s charity event

When he finally reached you, his eyes softened, the faintest smile lingers upon his sharp features. “Miss Y/L/N”, he greeted, his voice formal, though there was something in his tone —something just for you.

You offer a polite smile with your hands clasped together in front of you. “Mr President”, your voice steady but you weren't sure if the tightness in your chest gave away any form of tension between the two of you.

But before the moment could stretch into anything more, his wife stepped forward, her perfectly painted smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Oh it's you” she said, her tone light but laced with thinly veiled condescension.

Your eyes widened, and a plastering smile forms across your now—nervous state.

The awkward silence between the two of you, so loud, you could hear a pin drop. You finally protest to speak but her remark caught you off guard “Performers always seem so undressed these days and at a charitable event how amusing, don't you think Sukuna dear?”.

Your plastered smile was quickly faltered for the briefest moment, though you quickly masked it with a polite laugh, pretending her words hadn't stung. Your gaze flicked to the President, searching for any hint of reaction. But Sukuna, ever composed, simply raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a thin line as he regarded his wife with an unreadable expression.

“I suppose it depends on one’s perspective,” he finally said, his tone neutral but carrying an edge that made her smile tighten ever so slightly.

You tried to find your footing, clearing your throat as you turned back to the children. “The little ones seem to enjoy the event,” you said lightly, kneeling to hand a gift to a boy beaming up at you. “That’s what truly matters, doesn’t it?”

The First Lady hummed in response, a sound that wasn’t quite agreement but wasn’t outright dismissal either. Her cold, appraising gaze swept over you once more before she turned her attention back to her husband. “You’re needed for the press conference soon, darling,” she said, slipping her arm through his with a practiced ease that was as much for the cameras as it was for control.

Sukuna hesitated, his eyes lingering on you for just a fraction too long. “I’ll be there shortly,” he replied, his voice firm yet calm.

She frowned, clearly displeased but unwilling to argue in public. With a sharp nod, she turned and began walking toward the stage, her heels clicking against the polished floor

The tension between you and Sukuna hung in the air as you stood, brushing invisible dust from your gown. “She's… lovely” you said your tone clear but yet a hint of sarcasm slipped through.

But reality crept back in, and with it, the reminder of who he was—and who you weren’t. “Well, Mr. President,” you said, offering a polite nod. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

You turned and walked away, your heart heavier with every step, knowing you’d left more unsaid than you’d ever dare admit.

“Let’s take it from the top. We need your vocals in check,” Yuji said, gesturing toward the sheet music spread out on the stand.

You nodded, stepping up to the microphone. The melody began to fill the room, soft and slow, but your mind wandered. Two days. It had been two days since the charity event, and the weight of the First Lady’s scornful words still lingered. Doubt crept into your thoughts, whispering cruel questions: Were you too much? Did you belong in spaces like these, surrounded by powerful people who seemed to thrive on tearing others down?

“Miss Y/L/N?” Yuji’s voice broke through your reverie.

You blinked, realizing the music had stopped. “I’m sorry, Yuji. My mind is elsewhere.”

He gave you a small, understanding smile. “Let’s call it a night. You’ve done enough for today.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you noticed it was nearing midnight. “You’re right. Thank you, Yuji.”

He waved you off as you gathered your coat. “I’ll lock up. Go get some rest.”

The chill of the winter night greeted you as you stepped outside. A short car ride later, you arrived at your hotel, its warm, dimly lit lobby offering a momentary reprieve from the biting cold.

Once in your room, you slipped out of your coat and shoes, collapsing onto the chaise by the window. The city lights twinkled faintly below, but your thoughts were elsewhere—on him. You didn’t want to admit it, but his gaze from across the room during the charity event still lingered in your mind.

The shrill ring of the telephone startled you from your thoughts. You hesitated, staring at the black rotary phone on the side table. Who could be calling at this hour? Slowly, you picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

There was a pause, and then that unmistakable voice came through, rich and smooth, sending a jolt through you. “Little Songbird.”

Your breath caught,you knew that nickname. “Mr. President?”

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said, his tone softer than you’d ever heard it.

You glanced at the clock—it was well past midnight. “It’s late,” you murmured, unable to mask the mixture of surprise and curiosity in your voice.

“I know,” he admitted, his voice lowering. “But I couldn’t wait any longer.”

The silence that follows through, was suppressed by the faint falling of snow,people wandering outside the hotel at this very late hour.

“How did you know where I was?”, your voice barely above a whisper,as you lay in bed.

“I'm the president, you know?” he murmured but you could hear the smirk underneath his baritone voice.

For some reason, you could not respond. You merely sat there in silence, trying to understand the situation.

“Since you are the President, I'll let you do your work. I'm sure you have loads of work to attend to” with sarcasm dripping from your tone

But before you could put down the receiver, you heard him whisper.

“May I hear your new record…will you sing it for me?”

The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the faint sound of snowflakes brushing against the window. You clutched the receiver tighter, your pulse quickening at his bold request.

“You want me to sing for you?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief.

“Yes,” he replied simply, his tone low and steady. “But not now. I want to hear it properly, away from prying eyes and ears.”

You hesitated, unsure where this was going, and yet unable to resist the pull in his voice. “And where exactly would that be?”

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “There’s a lodge I keep outside the city—quiet, secluded. It’s where I go when I need to… escape.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as the weight of his words settled. “You’re asking me to meet you there?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Tomorrow evening. No staff, no cameras, no interruptions. Just you and me.”

You bit your lip, torn between intrigue and the dangerous implications of what he was suggesting. “Mr. President… do you realize what you’re asking?”

“I do,” he said firmly. “But I can’t seem to stop myself.”

The line went quiet for a moment, save for the sound of your breathing. “I’ll send a car for you,” he added softly, his voice carrying an unmistakable warmth. “If you decide to come.”

And with that, the line went dead, leaving you alone in the stillness of your room, grappling with a decision that could change everything.

❅❅❅

Standing like a king awaiting his queen’s arrival, the soft glow of the lantern behind him casting shadows that danced across his sharp features. In his black, loose-fitted pants and a weathered brown trench coat, he seemed worlds apart from the image of power he carried in the city. Here, he wasn’t the President; he was just… Ryomen Sukuna.

“You came,” he whispered, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

“Well it was the President's request, how could I possibly say no? ” Your voice matched his tone, soft and intimate, laced with a teasing edge. But your eyes—your eyes never left his.

He stepped closer, the crunch of snow beneath his boots the only sound breaking the stillness. The biting cold nipped at your skin, but his presence seemed to radiate warmth, pulling you in like the embers of a dying fire.

“I didn’t think you would,” he admitted, his hand brushing lightly against yours, testing the waters.

“Neither did I,” you replied honestly, your breath forming small clouds in the frosty air.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you seemed to pause, the snow falling in gentle whispers as you stood there, suspended in time. His hand finally closed over yours, his touch firm yet hesitant, as if afraid you might pull away.

“Come”, he said softly, leading you to the lodge.

The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the wintry night outside. A fire crackled in the stone heart, filling the room with a golden glow. It was simple l, rustic even, a world away from the luxurious Ness you associated with him. At that moment it felt so… perfect.

He gestured for you to sit near the fire,and you did, feeling the heat seep into your chilled skin. He poured two glasses of red wine, the essence of the luxurious wine reached your nose as he handed you one before settling into the chair opposite from yours.

“You're different here,” you said after a moment of studying him.

“How so?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips as he swirled the wine in his glass.

“You're not the man I saw standing beside his wife two days ago,” you admitted. “Here you seem… freer”.

He chuckled, his tone rich and vibrant enough to fill the silence in this room. “Perhaps, it's because for once, I can be myself”

For a moment you could only bear his vulnerability, your ache slightly at his confession.

His eyes burned into yours, the space between you charged with an intensity that made your heart race. But then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, he pulled back slightly, his expression softening.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he said, his voice low, but the edges of a faint smile tugged at his lips.

You blinked, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “What is it?”

He stood, offering you his hand. Hesitant but intrigued, you placed your hand in his, letting him guide you toward the far end of the room. Your footsteps were soft against the wooden floor, the warmth of the fire fading as you moved closer to the shadows.

Then you saw it—a beautiful grand piano, polished to perfection, sitting in the corner of the lodge. Its elegance felt out of place in the rustic room, but it was breathtaking all the same.

You stopped, staring at it in disbelief. “Where did this…?”

“I had it brought here earlier today,” Sukuna admitted, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I thought… if you came, maybe you’d play. Maybe you’d sing.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, overwhelmed by the gesture. No one had ever done something like this for you—not with this much thought, this much care. “Sukuna…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I wanted you to feel… seen,” he said softly, his usual confidence tempered by vulnerability. “You said you’d sing for me, remember?”

You nodded, your throat tightening as you stepped toward the piano. Running your fingers over the keys, you pressed one lightly, the note echoing through the quiet room. Taking a deep breath, you sat down, your hands trembling slightly as they settled on the keys.

The first note you played was soft, uncertain, but as you continued, the music poured out of you, filling the space with something raw and beautiful. And then you sang—softly at first, but soon your voice swelled, carrying the emotions you couldn’t put into words.

When the last note faded into the stillness, you turned to find Sukuna standing right behind you, his gaze locked on yours.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he leaned down, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the piano, caging you in. His face was so close now, his breath warm against your skin.

“Sukuna… Mr President…” your eyes reverting away from his, trying to find a way to remove yourself from this situation.

“Say it”, he murmured his voice low, almost a growl. “Tell me, Little Songbird… tell me you don't feel it too. That this isn't tearing you apart the way it's tearing me apart”.

Your eyes met his burning ones for a moment. You could see the yearning, you could see the flames that were about to combust as if he was restraining himself from whatever chains were weighing them down.

You opened your mouth to speak but unfortunately no words were formed. You didn't need them. The way your hand reached out on its own was enough to speak, brushing against his jawline, said more than words ever could.

His head dipped for a moment, eyes closed as the softness of your hands stroked against the rough patches against his skin. He slowly leaned forward, and for a moment you thought he would kiss you but instead he stopped, his lips hovering just a breath away above yours, his eyes searching yours as if asking for permission.

Your heart pounding —he was so close you could feel the rhythm of his heart in sync with yours.

“This is reckless, Mr President…” you whisper softly barely audible over the sounds of beating hearts. He titled his head, giving just enough time to pull away if you wanted to.

“Do you believe that, Little Songbird? ”, his words cast a veil of questions against your chest. Did you? The truth was you didn't know. Or maybe want to admit you cared about the consequences anymore.

“I believe”, you whisper, lips so close you could feel the slightest touch, “you've already done something to me”

That is all it took,for Sukuna to close the distance between the two of you. His lips brushed against yours so softly at first, hesitant.

But his hand slid to cup your face, the kiss deepened, all tension, longing, and unspoken words between you spilling in that single, undeniable moment.

“Mr President” the soft mewl of your voice—saying his name like that sent him to heaven itself.

It seemed your bodies gravitated towards one another, so naturally—so perfect. His lips pressed against yours with a fervent need, and you melted into, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself in this moment. The kiss began slowly, searing burn, but soon it ignited into something wilder, something neither could suppress.

Sukuna's hands, strong and sure, slid to your waist, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing at all. A soft gasp escaped your lips, quickly swallowed but the intensity of his kiss as he guided you back. Your body met the surface of the piano behind you, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between the two of you.

The instrument groaned under the sudden shift, a discordant, jarring filling the room. You both froze for a moment, startled by the sound. Then his baritone voice filled the room with a chuckle,low and rich like velvet.

“Careful” he murmured against your lips, forehead resting against your for a brief moment. The corner of his mouth quivered into a smile, and you could help but laugh softly yourself,a flush creeping up your skin.

“Your piano might not survive, us, “ You whisper breathlessly, the teasing lilt in your voice only adding to the intimacy of the moment.

“Your piano Little Songbird” he responded with a smirk, the nickname causing you to blush tremendously. “Let it” before both his hands cupped your face, kissing you harder and much more desperate this time.

The piano hummed faintly beneath you as he deepened the kiss. His fingers explore every inch of your body.

The warm tense of the fire surrounding both of you, was only enough to fuel the intense passion you both had been burdening for the past few weeks. You could taste the red wine linger against his tongue, for no longer than a second his lips brushed against your ear. Fainting whispering “You smell wonderful you know that?” the words clearly left you speechless, he licked a long stripe beneath your year.

The mewl that escaped your lips, only made it worse—kissing you next feverishly enough for you to roam your hand all over his chest,trying to find something to grip upon.

Without hesitation, he removed his shirt exposing his exquisite upper body. You couldn’t hide your flush cheeks, you barely had the strength to move at this point.

His hand gripped your waist, firm but reverent, as though he couldn't decide whether to claim you entirely or simply admire you. The kiss deepened a dance of unspoken emotions, and as his fingers roam over the soft expensive fabric of your dress, a sharp sound tore through the air—a rip.

You gasped, pulling back to look at him, your chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. “Sukuna!”, you exclaimed, bewildered, glancing down at your now-ruined fabric hanging loosely around your waist.

He smirked, entirely unrepentant, his eyes darkened with desire. “I'll buy you another”, his voice low and filled with a teasing edge, "something even better." His gaze swept over you, taking in every curve, every detail of your now-exposed form, and he inhaled sharply.

For a moment, he said nothing, his fingers trailing delicately along your skin, reverent and slow, as if committing every inch of you to memory. "You're ... " His voice faltered, and for the first time, you saw him speechless, utterly captivated. "Exquisite," he finally breathed, his tone rich with admiration, his eyes never leaving you.

You flushed under the weight of his gaze, a mixture of embarrassment and undeniable thrill coursing through you. "You tore my dress," you muttered, attempting to sound stern but failing as his lips brushed against your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

"And I'd do it again," he murmured, his hands tracing the curve of your back, pulling you closer. "You're a masterpiece, Little Songbird. How could I not be impressed?”

The words melted you, and before you could protest further, his lips claimed yours again, silencing any remaining resistance. The ruined dress was forgotten, the only thing that mattered now was the way his touch made you feel like you were the only woman in the world.

The kisses were dark, lustful, exotic —his lips continued their journey down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The ruined fabric slipped further, forgotten and discarded as his hands traced every curve with a touch that was both firm and reverent, as though he were exploring sacred ground.

"You're breathtaking," Sukuna whispered against your skin, his voice thick with awe and hunger. The smirk that usually adorned his face was gone, replaced by something deeper, more vulnerable. He looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.

The room went quiet for a bit, nothing but the faint breathing running of your lips.

“Sukuna…”, his lips traveled back to yours only to pick you and place you safely on his lap. Resting against the piano, a proud smirk plastered on his lips.

Slowly his hands made their way to your lacy underwear , kissing your neck soft enough.

“Do you know how maddening you are?”, his tone a mix of frustration and adoration. “You drive me insane Y/N”, and before you could utter a word his two fingers that were lined up against your entrance, finally found its home in your wet womanhood.

Your form lumped on top of his as you whispered his name, softly. Slowly his fingers started forming a rhythm, a groan escaped his lips, forehead resting against your shoulder—sucking it softly.

“You so wet, I can feel your waters dripping, Little Songbird” he murmurs mumbled against your skin. The stretch simply scratches pass his broad shoulders.

“Fuck, you like that don't you?” The question hung in the air, not knowing if it should be answered or not.

“Sukuna…I-” you whine, while his fingers go faster.

“You're making a mess, Little Songbird”, your skin damp, with sweat as you moved along with his pace. You couldn’t stop moving, your hips grinding against his fingers—a low chuckle escaped his lips.

“Mr President ” you gasp, your voice trembling as the pleasure builds to an unexpected peak—something you haven't felt in a while.

Your grip tightened, as his lips started sucking your boobs, the stimulation causing a slight blush against your cheeks

“Say it again”, as his fingers hit a certain part, driving you into ecstasy. You moaned his name again—satisfying his taste.

“Look at me, you hear me” you shook your head, only for him to grab your face—control was the only thing that mattered now.

Your eyes never left his as he kept fingers you, hard enough, you throw your head back at the pleasure.

“I'm close Mr President”you moan, your mouth hung open before you could even cum he pulled out his finger. You whine at the emptiness,enough to pull a smirk on those lips.

“A mess, you really made a mess” he said, looking at his fingers—but directly making you watch as he licked them off,like a starving lion.

“On your knees, now” he commanded gently, his voice smooth and inviting as she gracefully lowered herself before him. He smirked at her—he was enjoying this completely too much. He lower his head, enough to whisper in her ear “Now be a good girl a put that mouth to use”

His eyes never leave yours,offering him a soft smile. Your now trembling hand started to unbutton his pants —fingers hooked his pants and you slowly moved them down to his feet. You could see, his large member fully erect—you could see precum spewing from the top and to admit it he was big,bigger than you could ever imagine

Biting your lip, looking into his eyes as you gather enough silva in your mouth—slowly you part your lips enough to slide his thick member into your mouth. A low groan escaped his lips, his head flung back at the feeling. You slowly began to use your tongue, against his head,flicking your tongue just enough for his hand to grip your hair.

“Fuck, Little Songbird —yeah, you keep doing that”, with he a slight encouragement,you began to bob your head, slowly enough for him to tighten the hold on your hair. You kept your pace slow and steady enough, for him to savor every moment—the sudden urge to press you down further soon compelled and you could feel his leaking tip against the back of your throat.

“You look fucking beautiful like this—faster, fuck” you catch a glimpse of his euphoric state, the hair now clung to his sweaty forehead, slips slightly parted —heavy eyelids as they looked into yours.

You moved at the pace of this hand, sliding his big member against your throat, your free hand travelling to his balls as his hips bucked at the reaction. You sped up the pace, you could feel him throbbing against your throat, his thighs were shaking, and before you knew it he came—his hand gripped you hair tightly while gliding you down his staff and you could hear him say “Swallow it”, and you did every drop of cum, not leaving one a side.

All actions came to a stop, and in an instant Sukuna gripped your figure, almost throwing you on the piano.

“Mr President” you said against his lips—the roughness against your now sensitive skin only made it worse.

“You did well” a praise coming from his lips, leaning in he kissed you neck feverishly—his fingers gripped into your flesh, as if they were touching you for the first time in such a long time.

“I hope you're ready because I can't control myself anymore,” he said softly as he suddenly sucked your breast, squeezing the other soft flesh.

“I need you to bend over”, he panted against your breast. His hands reached out for yours to guide you in a position where you were bending slightly.

As you got on your knees, the continuation of his kisses didn't stop until he reached your core. Kissing it softly, as he slapped your cheek—enough to earn a moan from you. His hand moved to your hair, twisting it between his fingers gripping hard, you let out a soft whimper.

Slowly you could feel his thick member in your wet folds—pushing through you. Tossing his head back in pleasure as he filled you up,you could hear him curse beneath his breath.

The stretch was so much you could handle the way he was slightly pushing in and out of you. His eyes revert to your heels, seeing how stalking was still visible, as he hasn't seen them yet.

“You wore these damn stockings for me didn't you” he said as he kept pounding into you. You couldn’t answer, because the pleasure was truly too much for you to handle.

“Answer me Little Songbird,” a loud slap was heard and you moaned loudly enough,for him to smirk at your actions.

“Yes… yes Mr President”, you whisper but it only came out as a loud moan.

“How sweet of you… fuck your squeezing me so tight” he murmured, throwing his head back.

“Mr President I-” you whine, his one hand grabbing a handful of your ass, kneading the skin softly,as his member continued to push in you softly.

His hands released, hair ever so softly —both coming into contact with your hips gripping them tightly enough, controlling the rhythm of your hips as he continues his ministrations.

“Fuck you feel good, so fucking good”, his hand came into contact with you ass cheek once more,and you could breathe in the star you were in.

“Again,”you whine softly.

“Oh you like that, huh?”, a smirk invaded his lips and you felt the burning sensation of on cheek take over.

“I'm so close” you whimper, eyes closed , you could feel the knot in your stomach begin to form again. Looking back at Sukuna you could see a crease on his forehead, hair hung low, half lidded eyes and once again the stinging sensation against your cheek made everything so pleasurable.

“Me too, fuck” he grunted softly and his fingers made their way to your clit. You could fall apart now if you had to “Sukuna!” you exclaimed. You were gasping for air at this point, his thrusts became sloppy and you could feel him twitch inside you.

“I'm about to-” unable to finish your sentence you came, gripping against the frail dress that now laid on the piano. Your thighs shaking, not a minute longer you gasped at the feeling of his warm seed filling your womanhood. Your eyes revert to his hung open mouth. Sliding out of you, you felt his cum leak down your thigh.

His finger grazed up your thigh, scooping the remaining substance, without being told what to do he laced his fingers across your lips “Open up”, your parted, pressing the remaining substance in your mouth, and you sucked on them softly.

For a moment he could only smile, and he slowly embraced you and gave you a kiss.

❅

Later that evening you both lay on the carpet covered in blankets and the glow of the dying fire bathed the room in a soft, flickering light, casting shadows that seemed to dance around the two of you. The world outside felt distant and unreal, as if it had no claim on this moment. You lay against his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin, your breaths still uneven from the intensity of your time together. His arm draped over you protectively, holding you close as though letting you go was not an option.

“Are you warm enough?” Sukuna asked softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that sent a fresh wave of emotion through you.

You nodded, but instead of answering, you traced small patterns along the toned expanse of his chest, your fingers brushing over the faint scars etched into his skin. You couldn’t help but wonder about the stories they told, about the battles and burdens he carried—not just as the President, but as a man.

“What are you thinking about?” he murmured, his lips pressing against your temple.

You tilted your head to meet his gaze, the depth of his crimson eyes nearly undoing you. “That I’ve never seen you like this,” you admitted quietly. “Just… you.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “And do you like what you see?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you rested your hand over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath your palm. “I think I love what I see,” you whispered.

His expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something deeper. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheek with a gentleness that made your heart ache. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Maybe you should tell me.”

Sukuna’s smirk returned, but it was softer this time, filled with a warmth that felt entirely unlike the powerful, commanding man the world knew. “I would, but I’d need a lifetime to explain,” he murmured, his voice like velvet as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss so sweet, it made the air between you feel electric.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face. “Promise me,” he said, his voice low and serious. “No matter what happens, no matter what the world throws at us, you’ll never doubt how much I want you, Y/N. Not just here, not just now—but always.”

Your breath hitched, and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I’ll try,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

For a long time, the two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the fire casting its golden glow over your entwined figures. And for a moment, it felt as though nothing else mattered—just you and Sukuna, and the fragile, beautiful connection you had built in the quiet of the night.

❅❅❅

The early morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the lodge, casting a soft golden glow over the room. The air was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the wind outside and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.

You stirred awake, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you, and for a moment, the events of the night before felt like a dream. But then, the warmth of Sukuna’s arm draped over your waist brought it all back—the stolen moments, the shared confessions, the way he had looked at you as though you were his entire world.

Carefully, you turned your head to look at him. He lay beside you, his features softened in sleep. Gone was the commanding President, the man whose decisions could sway nations. Before you was simply Sukuna, vulnerable and at peace, a side of him few had ever seen.

Your eyes lingered on him, a mixture of wonder and guilt tightening in your chest. The memory of his words echoed in your mind—“I always want you, and you only.” It had felt like a promise, a declaration that should have brought you comfort, but now it left you with a heaviness you couldn’t shake.

Slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, you gathered the discarded pieces of your clothing and wrapped his trench coat around yourself. The room was cold, but it was nothing compared to the whirlwind of emotions brewing inside you.

As you stood by the window, staring out at the snow-covered landscape, the enormity of your situation began to sink in. He was the President, a man with responsibilities, a wife, and a public image to uphold. And you? You were the woman who sang for a living, who had somehow captured the attention of a man who could have anything—or anyone—he wanted.

You heard him stir behind you, the sound of the bed shifting as he sat up. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Sukuna’s voice, still heavy with sleep, broke the silence.

You turned to face him, your heart aching at the sight of his disheveled hair and the vulnerability in his eyes. “I have to,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He stood, crossing the room in a few strides to stand before you. “Stay,” he said, his hand cupping your cheek. “Just stay.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced a small, sad smile. “You know I can’t.”

The weight of your words hung heavily between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if trying to anchor you to him.

“Just promise me one thing,” he murmured into your hair. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

You didn’t answer, not because you didn’t want to, but because you weren’t sure if you could. Instead, you pressed a kiss to his chest, letting the warmth of his embrace be your answer—for now.

A few months have passed and the two have been seeing each other regularly, it was as if you both were meant for one another. Each day played, like a movie—your smile was obvious and the papers could sense it too.

This morning was no different as you drank your coffee reading through the telegram that arrived on a quiet morning, the crisp paper trembling slightly in your hands as you read the words again and again. It was an offer—an invitation to join a renowned music conservatory in Italy, to live in a place where your voice could rise above judgment and scandal, to finally pursue your dreams on your own terms. A life of possibility stretched out before you, the kind of opportunity that felt almost too good to be true.

But the weight of it sank in just as quickly. Sukuna.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing in the lodge, the familiar scent of cedar and smoke heavy in the air. Sukuna had been waiting for you, as he always did during these stolen moments. His warm smile greeted you when you walked in, but it faltered as soon as he saw the serious expression on your face.

“You look troubled, Little Songbird,” he said softly, concern etched into his features. “What’s on your mind?”

You took a deep breath, clutching the telegram tightly in your hand. “I received an offer today,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “From Italy. A conservatory there wants me to join them. It’s… everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

His face hardened in an instant, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something colder, sharper. “You’re leaving?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you said quickly, though the words felt like a lie. “But I wanted to talk to you about it.”

Sukuna rose from his seat, his towering figure suddenly feeling more imposing than comforting. “There’s nothing to discuss. You’re not leaving,” he said firmly.

Your heart sank. “Sukuna, this is my chance—my chance to finally be something more. To be free.”

“Free?” His voice rose, and for the first time, you saw the storm brewing beneath his usually composed exterior. “You think you’ll find freedom away from here? Away from me?”

And there it was—the shift, the anger, the selfishness. You felt your emotions bubble to the surface as you stood your ground.

“Don’t you see? This isn’t about you!” you snapped, your voice rising to match his. “This is about me, my life, my dreams. For once, I’m choosing myself.”

“That’s not how this works,” he shot back, his voice a low growl. “You don’t just get to walk away from what we have.”

And then the fight spiraled—his refusal to let you go, your desperation to make him understand. The words were sharp, cutting deeper than either of you intended, until finally, the dam broke.

“You only want me when it’s convenient for you! Only for you!” you shouted, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.

The glass shattered against the wooden floor, and with it, so did the fragile balance you’d both been holding onto.Fury and pain poured out of you, a torrent you couldn’t stop as you turned away, pacing like a storm trapped within four walls. The wine glass in your hand slipped from your trembling grip, shattering against the wooden floor as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

“You can’t just keep me here like one of your laws,” you said, your voice breaking. “This isn’t love. It’s control”. Your eyes burned into his, searching for some sign of guilt, some flicker of remorse in his stoic expression. But he just stood there, watching you with that same maddening calm. “You’re so selfish, Mr. President. Just once, let me go. Let me… be happy.”

Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper now, as you clutched your coat like it was the only thing anchoring you to yourself.

“Would leaving really make you happy?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost fragile. It wasn’t the commanding tone of the President. No, this was something else—something raw and vulnerable. It was Sukuna.

The weight of his words hit you harder than you expected. For a moment, the fight drained out of you, leaving only the exhaustion, the ache in your chest from holding it all in for so long. The silence between you was heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint sound of his boots against the floor.

He crossed the space between you slowly, cautiously, as though afraid you might shatter if he moved too quickly. When he reached you, his arms encircled your trembling form, pulling you close against his chest. And in that moment, something in you broke. The tears came harder, years of hurt and betrayal spilling out in heaving sobs.

He held you through it all, his strong arms steady as your body shook. It wasn’t the embrace of a man in power or a leader commanding control. It was Sukuna—just Sukuna—holding you as if his own heart was breaking with every tear you shed.

“You think I want you only when it’s convenient?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He gently cupped your tear-streaked face, tilting it up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were softer now, filled with something you hadn’t expected—pain, longing, love. “I always want you. Always. And only you. Don’t you see that?”

Your breath caught, his words sinking into the cracks of your fragile heart. You wanted to respond, to say something, but no words came. Instead, you leaned into him, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that spoke everything you couldn’t put into words.

It was soft at first, hesitant, as though testing the boundaries of this fragile truce. But as his arms tightened around you, the kiss deepened, filled with all the emotions neither of you dared to voice before. It was a moment of surrender, of giving in to the truth you’d both been too afraid to face.

The kiss deepened, unspoken promises lingering between you as his arms tightened around you like he was afraid you’d slip away. The world outside the walls of the lodge ceased to exist. It was just the two of you—two souls fighting against the tides of power, duty, and love.

That night, the fire in the hearth wasn’t the only thing that burned. His touch was tender yet desperate, his lips tracing paths along your skin as though memorizing every inch of you. It was a moment neither of you could deny or regret—a moment where love triumphed over logic, if only for a fleeting night.

❅❅❅

As dawn broke, you lay tangled together in the sheets, his steady breathing against your neck a reminder of the man you’d seen beneath the title. He wasn’t just the President; he was Sukuna, flawed, vulnerable, and so undeniably yours. But as the sunlight crept into the room, so did reality.

You slipped out of his embrace, careful not to wake him as you dressed. The telegram lay folded in your coat pocket, a constant weight on your heart. With one last glance at him, his peaceful face etched into your memory, you left the lodge.

❅❅❅

The streets of the city were abuzz with life, the morning sun casting its golden light over the bustling crowds. Your suitcase felt heavier with every step you took toward the station. It wasn’t just the weight of your belongings—it was the weight of leaving him behind, of choosing yourself over a love you knew could never be fully yours.

But just as the station came into view, the sound of a commotion drew your attention. A crowd had gathered, their voices rising in excitement. And then you saw him.

Sukuna.

Standing on the steps of the grand hall, his gaze scanned the crowd until it landed on you. Time seemed to stop as he began descending the steps, his presence commanding the attention of everyone around him. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as people recognized their President, their leader stepping down into the throng like an ordinary man chasing what he loved.

He reached you, his chest heaving as though he had run through the entire city to find you. Without hesitation, he took your hand, his grip firm but not forceful.

“Everyone, listen,” he began, his voice steady but filled with unmistakable emotion. “This woman—she’s more than a singer, more than a performer. She’s the reason I wake up every morning. She’s the reason I want to be better, to be more. And I won’t let her go.”

The crowd gasped, whispers spreading like wildfire as his words echoed through the square. His public declaration was more than a profession of love—it was a challenge to the constraints that had kept you apart.

Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him, his gaze unwavering as he smiled softly at you. “You said I’m selfish,” he whispered, his voice just for you now. “And maybe I am. But I won’t let you leave without a fight.”

The world watched as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead—a simple gesture, yet it felt like a vow. You knew then that your life would never be the same, not with him willing to tear down everything to keep you by his side.

The weeks following Sukuna’s public declaration were nothing short of chaos. The scandal surrounding the President’s bold proclamation had shaken the nation. His advisors urged caution, political rivals pounced on the opportunity to criticize him, and the First Lady made no secret of her disdain.

But Sukuna was steadfast. For the first time in his presidency, he put himself—and his heart—first. The divorce was finalized in record time, quiet and swift, with the First Lady retreating from the public eye, taking her scandals with her.

Despite the chaos surrounding him, Sukuna remained unshaken, his resolve as strong as ever. The scandal didn’t matter. The criticism didn’t matter. What mattered was the woman he loved, and for the first time in his life, he had chosen something not for duty, not for the nation, but for himself.

The media frenzy eventually quieted, the public slowly coming to terms with the change. Some admired his bravery, calling his declaration an act of true love; others criticized his recklessness. But through it all, Sukuna stayed grounded because he had you.

One evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the city, he led you to the garden behind the presidential residence. The air was crisp, and the faint scent of blooming flowers filled the space. Fireflies danced in the twilight, their soft light reflecting in your eyes.

“I have something for you,” Sukuna said, his voice warm as his fingers laced with yours.

“What is it this time?” you teased, smiling up at him. He had taken to spoiling you recently, as if making up for lost time.

He led you to a secluded spot in the garden where a small table was set with candles and a single bouquet of your favorite flowers. Resting beside them was a box—small and unassuming, but enough to steal your breath away.

“Sukuna…” you whispered, your heart pounding.

He picked up the box, holding it delicately in his large hands as he dropped to one knee. The world seemed to stop, the moment stretching infinitely as his sharp, commanding eyes softened into something you’d only ever seen in private—a love so deep it overwhelmed you.

“I’ve spent my life fighting battles for power, for politics, for this nation. But the only battle I’ve truly wanted to win is the one for your heart,” he said, his voice steady yet brimming with emotion. “You’ve given me courage I never thought I had. And now, I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’ll always come first.”

He opened the box to reveal a ring—elegant, timeless, and perfect, just like him.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you nodded, your voice breaking as you finally said, “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

He slipped the ring onto your finger, then rose to his feet, pulling you into his arms. The kiss that followed wasn’t like the others—it was softer, filled with hope, promise, and a future you both finally dared to believe in.

The wedding was a quiet affair, intimate and away from the public eye. Sukuna had insisted on it, saying that the world had already taken too much from you both, and this day was yours alone.

Months later, as you stood by his side on the balcony of the presidential residence, overlooking a sea of people cheering for their President and his new First Lady, you felt the weight of everything that had led to this moment.

“I told you I’d fight for you,” Sukuna whispered, his arm wrapping around your waist as he looked out at the crowd.

“And you won,” you said, smiling up at him.

“No,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We won.”

And as the cheers echoed through the city, you knew this wasn’t just the start of a new chapter. It was the beginning of a love story for the ages, one that no amount of politics, scandals, or critics could ever tarnish. You were his, and he was yours—forever.

©suguru's-thoughts 2024, do not copy or translate my work. Deviders are from the lovely @adornedwithlight!! 🤍

❅ a/n —please just a reminder I was tired when I wrote then, which made me ramble a bit off and I pushed due to time as well :) I really hope you enjoy this. Deep down I feel like I put more effort into this, than the rest. I have never written anything for Sukuna and I just feel like this one took a lot effort and ideas but I had so much more idea—the time just caught up!!. But enjoy and if you seen any spelling mistakes just know I did not proofread this :') 🐈‍⬛

❅ taglist — @getobitchs, @coffee-and-geto, @emochosoluvr and @tsukuhoe 🍰🤍

[frannyzooey]

You, and this fic, own me.

This chapter had so much to give!!! I thought it was going to be pure filth and then you hit me with that ending, and I am fucking yearning for these two so goddamn bad (while also being so out of my mind aroused --)

There were so, so many good parts in this one, like the way my mouth fucking dropped open at this:

“Just another reason that maybe you should be inside that church, rather than suckin’ dick in its parking lot."

and THIS:

And so help you god, he’s wearing his tool belt. 

But THIS -- this took the fuckin' cake:

“Then play ‘house’ with me,” you purr, dragging your fingers through his hair. “You can be daddy,” you stroke down his cheek, over his lips, “I can be mommy. And you can try and put a baby in me.”

I was literally levitating at this line. ROCKETING TOWARDS THE MOON!! I was also so in love with how light and free and fun their fucking and teasing was -- the way they just slide into role play like it's no goddamn thing had me grinning ear to ear

Annnnnnnnnd then you hit me with the emotions:

The discordance stirs in your stomach. Right now, you’re actually witnessing the loving-husband-turned-infidel façade weave its way through his marriage. He’s asking her to leave…for you. To free up time to be with you. Under the guise of caring for her. 

You wish it made you feel worse. It just feels…uncomfortable to actually view firsthand.

I literally cannot even imagine what it would feel like to witness the deception happening first hand, and it's something that a lot of cheating fics don't explore? (and I should know 😌)...the way you treated this scene was literal perfection because you brought so much nuance to his emotions. He's being deceptive, but not a manipulative gross creep like this situation is often portrayed. He genuinely hurts....yet does it anyway. I'm obsessed with this scene because you're doing such a good job extending Joel, as a man, the same grace that people often give to the reader in these types of stories. They empathize with the reader feeling bad but doing it anyway, but they often villainize the man, or assume he doesn't feel as bad, ya know? Anyway, just me waxing on about your beautiful brain ❤️

I had all these amazing thoughts about your writing skills....and then they all leaked from my brain when I read this:

You: Yours is the only mouth I want sucking on these titties right now, daddy 👅

You fix your sweater and peer back through your peephole, just to see his face collapse in arousal, grinding the heel of his palm over the crotch of his jeans.

I know the desk fucking scene was so taboo and so filthy, but I felt so, so fucking soft when he said this:

setting the frame down in front of you before yanking your hair at the root and slamming his hand down next to the photo. “You stare at that girl while daddy’s tearin’ apart your slutty little asshole. Remind her that she deserves better than that piece a’shit.”

I live for this line 😭😭

And then this -- this -- was perfection:

“Baby,” he takes your face in his hands again, his expression edging on broken. On your behalf. “What has this fuckin’ monster done to you? My girl from the bar, she knew what she was fuckin’ worth. And she’d let you know it. She came first, and she didn’t apologize for it or accept anything less. What did he do to that fuckin’ girl?”

“Maybe it wasn’t all him."

I could literally envision the look on his face when she said that. What a fucking LINE, Katy and then to have it followed with her speech about how Jack isn't a monster, he's just a man??

The way you are out here giving the depth to this trope that it needs has me SAT and quite frankly, green with envy

This chapter was so fucking good 💀💀💀 ily ❤️

Good Neighbors | (joel miller x f!reader) (18+)

Part Three of Four

✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧A fic inspired by Fortnight by Taylor Swift✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧

Part One | Part Two

summary: your affair with joel heats up with a week of uninterrupted bliss. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] no outbreak!au, age gap (joel is 48, reader is 32), joel x ofc (no sexual content), reader x omc (pitiful sexual content), infidelity, daddy!kink, fingering, unprotected PIV, unprotected anal, oral (m! and f!receiving), degradation!kink, praise!kink, brief roleplaying, unashamed sexualization of the term "kiddo", discussions of SA and domestic abuse, marital discussions regarding mismatched desires on having children, reader struggles with body image as a result of her abusive husband, unhealthy/toxic age gap marriage. this chapter is a much needed break from Jack. immersion notes: reader has hair, wears dresses/makeup, and is considered a "trophy wife" type. additionally, reader is specifically implied to be conventionally thin. apologies to anyone for whom this kills immersion for, but it felt very necessary in the context of the story. word count: ~11.6k a/n: wanted to give the lovebirds a little part that's primarily fun times before shit hits the fan <3 So there will be one more chapter!

Available Only to Registered Users on AO3

[cowboylikefaith]

with great power...

art donaldson spiderman! au x reader

summary: stanford has a masked superhero on the loose, and you're trying to crack down on his identity. little do you know, it's your boyfriend art.

warnings: cursing, injuries, reader highkey gets mugged, art is being mysterious af, reader is incredibly oblivious, sappy at the end sorry, not proofread

author's note: HI so this is actually my first time writing a fic ever... but this au idea has been absolutely rotting in my brain for the past week or so and i need to get it out. enjoy!!!!!!

╰🕸️ ₊✧ ﾟ❤️⚬𓂂➢

"dude!" you say barging into art's dorm (not realizing that your poor boyfriend was in the middle of a nap) "look at the topic the newspaper just assigned me. some shithead on campus is doing parkour in a scuba suit, people are calling him 'spiderman'."

art is pulled out of his trance-like state when he hears the name fall out of your mouth. you feel bad after realizing you woke him up, seeing him wipe his tired eyes with a pout on his lips. "hey pretty" he says with a lopsided smirk on his face "what were you talking about? some spider-idiot?" you hop into bed next to him "yeah it's nothing...sorry for waking you up, just go back to bed, 'kay?"

you don't know what's been up with art recently. he rarely returns your calls, he's always tired, and when he's awake, he's either in a rush or incredibly sluggish. you asked patrick about it and he said that the beginning of a new tennis season is wearing both of them down. seems reasonable, right?

now, it's been a few weeks since you were assigned this story, and jess (your senior editor) wants you to photograph and interview this spiderman guy, because apparently he's some kind of campus superhero (returning stolen laptops, helping drunk sorority girls avoid getting hit by cars, the usual) however you have no leads so far.

until one day, tashi tells you a story about how he saved a freshman from the tennis team from being hazed, and you decide to ask your boyfriend about it.

"you don't know anything about a kid named steven mcdonald, do you?" you ask art as you settle down to watch some gossip girl.

"that freshman who survived a hazing incident? yeah, i know of him" he replies as he pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead.

you pull away with furrowed eyebrows "well did he...say...anything about that night?"

"uh no. no, not really" he says (a little distantly) "anyway! i seriously don't understand why serena loves dan so much, nate is obviously the better choice for her."

you roll your eyes sarcastically "wow donaldson...really smooth transition! way to change the subject there honey."

"i'm sorry.." he replies as he plays with your hair "it's just that...i don't want you getting mixed up in that kind of stuff. if you got hurt.." he sighs "i don't know what i'd do with myself"

and so you promise art that you'll stop working on the article...until jess says she'll kick you out of the stanford star if you do.

one night, as you're walking back to your dorm after dinner with tashi and patrick (third wheel much?), a man in a black ski mask suddenly approaches you and orders you to put your hands up.

"give me your fucking heels lady...and your purse!" he demands.

"oh god no" you shut your eyes and groan "please sir, these are really expensive and- and these are manolo blahniks!! my mom bought-"

before you can finish your rambling, you can hear a thud, and when open your eyes, you can see that he's been wrapped up in some web-like substance.

"don't worry, he's not dead" a figure says as he walks out from behind the criminal. you feel like you know him, you can't even see his face but something about him is just so familiar, and you can't put your finger on it. until..

oh my god

"oh my god! you're spiderman! thank you so much, seriously. that guy could've killed me" you say excitedly, forgetting about your past opinions about him.

art- i mean spiderman, chuckles and says that it's no problem, and asks if he could take you back to your dorm.

"yeah! i would love that, thank you." you reply "actually, could i take your photo? i'm doing an article about you for the stanford star." oh and art eats it UP. he's doing stupid poses and acting silly and goofy (just to hear you laugh of course).

you get back to your dorm safely, and spiderart bids you farewell. just before he leaps out your window, he pulls a red stanford cap (one that you've never noticed, and one that looks suspiciously like art's) out of his pocket.

"hey, maybe i'll see you around" he says as he puts the cap on...backwards. something that only art would do. lucky enough for him, you're too tired to notice.

"...and those are the differences between meiosis and mitosis." you're trying to study for another biology exam when all of a sudden you hear a tapping noise on your window.

at first you think it's a bird, or some frat boy trying to piss you off by throwing empty beer cans at your window, but the tapping turns into banging and you start to hear sounds of pain through the glass.

you run to the window and see a boy in a familiar red and blue suit sitting on the windowsill. this time with a huge gash in his side.

"spiderman? oh my god, get inside, what happened?" you ask while scrambling for a first aid kit. art falls onto your bed, unknowingly bleeding all over your new floral sheets. he groans and holds his side, mumbling something about...well god knows what.

art protests as you try to patch up the very open wound by his waist. "you're just like my boyfriend art," you say with a grin "he gets all fucked up during his tennis matches and doesn't let me help him out." you can hear him through the mask but you can't tell if it's a laugh or a whimper.

"jesus- how long is this going to take? i have an econ final to study for" he says with a wince. "not very long if you sit still, spiderboy" you retort "why don't you take off your mask? you must be dying with that thing on."

you feel his face, and it feels...familiar. you slowly take off the mask, and reveal art's lips, sculpted nose, blue and brown eyes, and tousled blonde hair.

suddenly you realize. you realize the reasons for the missed calls, hurried kisses, and rain-checked dates. all this time you've been thinking that it was tennis kicking his ass, when really art was kicking other people's.

"hi honey" art mumbles, same lopsided, boyish smile that you fell in love with gracing his face "i'm sorry. i should have told you." before you can say anything, he kisses you and sneaks his hands to the small of your back. you can feel him smiling into the kiss as he pulls you into his lap.

"i missed you" you say, pulling away with a pout. you card your hands through his blonde curls. "i know, i know, i'm sorry pretty girl, it's just that...i don't want you to worry about me." art replies, pushing your hair away from your face.

you flick his forehead. "you dumbass. of course i'm going to worry about you, whether you like it or not...because i like you. a lot. no matter what kind of freaky superpowers you have." art lets out a weak chuckle, then he kisses you like a man stuck in the desert for 40 days. you can feel him drawing small circles along your hips and caressing your thumb.

you pull away one last time. "now tell me spiderboy...how did you go from tennis team captain to stanford superhero?"

[grimaldiapologist]

Hi, my freeranged and appropriately enriched audience. I need to talk about something real big bad and I think I've already ended all of my friendships for this reason, so I'm doing it here instead.

This scene? After Colosseum?

There's so many things going on in this scene, and for the love of everything that is holy, in order to talk about any of it, I've clipped Macrinus out of the picture because he doesn't exist.

I'll start with the fact that, while these two are described as somewhat pathologically paranoid, this is the first day we see them living through that gives them significant reason to be worried. Most days, they seem to coast by being both terminally naïve and endlessly isolationist in terms of their company, focusing solely on each other and themselves, particularly their hedonistic pursuits, while assuming that everybody they surround themselves with loves them, for whatever reason. Everything is going great for them as far as they're perceiving it. They don't know the audiences are not cheering for them - they take every cheer as if it was aimed at them. Presenting Acacius at the Colosseum for the first day of the games? They receive no applause beyond what the audience is already dishing out upon their introductions. But producing Marcus Acacius has the audience heated, and these two somehow think that's for them. They're idiots. Morons. They're so stuck in their own delusions of grandeur that yes, while they do recognise they're in Rome and Roman emperors have a terrible tendency to catch a blade, they don't seem to be actually living that reality at all.

What we know from the script is, however, that they have never truly known stability or safety: his whole life, Geta has been shielding Caracalla from their father's explosive anger. Caracalla, presumably, has witnessed this if nothing else, though I'm curious about that golden tooth within this context. I'm sure he's caught some inbetween there, too, because Geta can only afford so much shield from a grown man. And they've never had any protection from any of that. Nobody would stand up to an emperor to protect a prince; they were his rightful property. He could do with his boys whatever he pleased, and Geta's sole duty has been, it seems, not to survive, but ensure that his brother does. His pain has never mattered. His rights, needs, wants, wishes have never mattered. Caracalla's have.

I'm sure they used to be at each other's throats like the wolf pups that they are when they were younger. But what you can see with them in their early adulthood is that this is something that does not apply anymore. They'll hurt anybody else, particularly anyone they perceive as hostile to them, and most often it's done just for fun and pleasure. This makes Caracalla's fetish for watching violence particularly interesting - what with the complex relationship kinks and fetishes can often have with prior trauma, feelings of powerlessness, and attempts to regain control - but that's for a wholly different meta there. What I'm getting at is that it's always others they inflict cruelty upon, and enjoy, but never each other; there is an absolute dynamic between them, it's them against the world, them for one another. Geta's first duty is to protect Caracalla, and Caracalla trusts him implicitly. At least before this scene.

While script!Geta has less patience for his brother than Quinn's Geta does, there is never any doubt there who and what his priority is. Caracalla comes first to him. So, it's safe to say that with Dondus screaming, when he flings his water in Caracalla's face, it's never with the intent of hitting him. I have sensory issues and I'll be the first to admit I've thrown things when my processing threshold is violently crossed and it's something you just don't second-guess, like someone hitting your knee joint with a hammer. But regardless of intent, the consequences are so very interesting. And I'm sure Caracalla, even, knows that this wasn't intentional. Dear gods though, look at his reaction.

This is the face of someone telling you you have crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed.

And, for the sake of my sanity, I need to make sure everybody understands that Caracalla's way to emphasise just how much things have broken here is to say absolutely nothing, leave the room, and go cry under a table. Terrifying. But I digress; what is terrifying is Geta, after this has happened.

This is the face of a man who has crossed a boundary of his own, and it has quite little to do with the previous. Yes, Caracalla is angry at him, and there will be consequences in some form. Again, for now, the consequences are that he's chosen to become inconsolable and hide under furniture, likely much as he did when their father had his rages. But Geta, for the first time in his life, broke out of his role of a protector, and the one to be beaten.

He's realised that Caracalla is not untouchable. And for ages, he doesn't move, because his whole world has shaken here; and what he does then to justify his actions is blame his brother for them. Caracalla did absolutely nothing to earn what he did to him, but it's now his fault, for being so unstable. A liability. How could Caracalla make him do this to him, truly.

This evening, Geta's been brought face to face with his reality: he is not loved. He is not untouchable. While he can mandate the word of gods, he is not, himself, regarded as a god. Not like he deserves. Not like he should be. He's suffered so much - but he is a great man, and he knows this. He's not stupid, and he's a conqueror, albeit from his comfortable seat at home. But he deserves better.

And what, pray, is standing in the way? What is holding him back? His brother is. Caracalla, who is always embarrassing him. Who is his first and last responsibility each day and each night, who needs him to watch his every move, to keep him safe not only from the world but from himself and his own instability, his insanity, his unpredictable actions. Without Caracalla, Geta could be focusing on being an emperor. He could be achieving so much more than he is, if he wasn't his brother's constant, eternal keeper, his babysitter, his court jester. And he deserves more, doesn't he? He deserves to be remembered.

So, let Macrinus (who doesn't exist as you can see from the screenshots) handle Caracalla this time. Geta has an empire to think of.

And this, this is what interests me about this scene more than anything. For Caracalla's part, things seem at a glance much more benign, though no less broken: the one thing he took as certain as air has fallen apart - that his brother would always stand for him first, and would never lay a finger on him to hurt him. His brother, who bled for him, protected him from their father, and has ever since looked after him, elevated him to the highest status, aside from some... minor symptoms of hubris, of course. But while all of this hurts him, deeply, fundamentally, it isn't enough to make him immediately see Geta as his enemy.

And I can't stop asking - should he? Should he now regard Geta as his enemy? His whole world is collapsing. It's from this very moment onwards (yes, this one, specifically) that he begins to show symptoms of acute psychosis: delusions, paranoia, severe lapses in reality, memory, and continuity. He doesn't look like he sleeps either, but of course, other factors come into play with that part. (And gods know I don't blame him for that.)

Geta was his foundation, his bedrock. They were in this together, whatever happened. Yes, they bicker, but they've always known how that goes: Geta's patience is endless with Caracalla, and Caracalla's thirst for violence is not turned towards him, even at its worst. Geta has no issues turning his back to Caracalla in the state that he is while the man is wielding a sword and doing god knows what with it in the background. Not for one second does Geta flinch when coming between Caracalla, his sword, and a man he's already condemned to die, because Caracalla would never harm him, either.

But after this? After the first blow, however small? What then?

I'm just asking questions here. This could lead onto the next subject - the way Caracalla's whole demeanor changes when he inflicts the first wound on his brother and finds that he bleeds just the same - but I'm keeping that to me for now.

[genderqueerdykes]

just saw that "you are loved" cuttlefish post on my dash again (idk if you know the one) but it goes through so many identities and just. does not include trans men. pan people, bi people, lesbians, trans women, intersex people, nonbinary people too i think, but not trans men. like maybe I'm taking it the wrong way, maybe I should celebrate that all of these types of people are being celebrated, i especially loved seeing intersex people included, but? the deliberate exclusion just hurts I guess. it would've been so easy to say trans people or just include trans men too.

another thing that makes me feel like I'm just being overly sensitive about it is that I do tend to lean into the nonbinary label sometimes, but it feels very "the only good enby is a femme-lite enby" and I'm. audibly sighing I used to like seeing that post on my dash

i haven't seen the post you're referring to, but i have definitely noticed this with queer positivity posts in general

like people think it's somehow progressive to aggressively leave trans men out of every conversation, ever. like, people have gone too far with profiling people based off their genders to the point where they trick themselves into thinking that trans men are now Cishet Male Oppressors and find excuses and reasons to target, bully, and emotionally abuse us. people literally just think we are undeserving of love and kindness because us disclosing that we're a man suddenly somehow is hurting that person

people are NOWHERE near as aggressive about this with cis gay men. people are not sitting here trying to weed cis gay men out of every space and post as possible. it sends me reeling to realize that people accept cis men more than trans men, even though they love to say how much they hate "all" men. is it really "all" men, or is it just trans men? because it feels very pointed toward a specific group of men that nobody loves to name, but everyone loves to hate.

i know that people who aren't trans men usually can't see the pain this causes us. but so many people just don't care. they assume that we have no feelings because they stereotype men to be emotional brick walls. they think it's okay to leave us out and abuse us because somehow, trans manhood has hurt them. like these people behave like a bus full of trans men showed up at their front door and kicked them to death.

like people really are so threatened by the idea that a "woman" can become a man. why is this an issue?

and good lord that is the ugliest take on nonbinaryhood i've ever seen. "femme-lite". wow. people really just do see nonbinary people as women, huh? nonbinary people aren't cis women jesus fucking christ. masc and butch nonbinary people are still nonbinary and there's nothing wrong with that. jesus christ people are SO scared of diversity. people are SO scared of something they can't relate to.

feminine people and women are not inherently safe to be around. i have been sexually and physically assaulted by multiple women. i have been groped by women. i have had cis women tell me that i'm "basically a woman" because i have a vagina and i'm a trans man. i've had women emotionally and mentally abuse me. women and femmes have stolen things from me. women and femmes are not inherently safe to be around. women and femmes can hurt you.

i'm sorry you're encountering this kind of stuff. people are more proud to talk about who they hate than who they love/like and it's just ugly. they don't care that it's affecting people. but if someone does something to even slightly inconvenience them, like, idk, being a trans man, then suddenly the world grinds to a halt. it's entitled behavior. it's people who want to be in control of the queer community and try to control our narratives.

there are some people who are legitimately a part of the queer community for the wrong reasons. the amount of people who are converting to rad feminism and thinking that the queer community needs to be a Cis Girls Only Club is staggering. people are trying to remove everyone but cis women who are pathologically afraid of an entire gender that hasn't hurt them. this isn't the terf club. stop trying to make this into the terf club.

i hope you're able to feel a bit better soon. people are so fucking shitty and it's time it stops. there's no reason to profile people. that's not what we do here. it's not right to leave people out of our spaces who rightfully belong. ignoring the existence of trans men won't make us go away. we're here and you need to listen to us and care about us because we are your siblings and we have not inherently wronged you by virtue of existing.

[sweetbunpura]

Filled with Static pt.3

Summary: Yuu was already fed up before coming to Playful Land and now that it's over... She has some very choice words for she has reached her boiling point...

Part 1 - Part 2

"Ace-"

"What?" Ace rubbed the bruise on his cheek as they entered Heartslabyul. "I heard it enough from the others, I ain't gotta hear it from you two too."

Trey and Cater look at each other as the first year shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Ace, we're trying to say we're all at fault here." Trey tries again.

Cater adds in. "Yeah, Ace. We didn't do anything to stop you-"

"But you did!" He shouted. "You both said he looked shady and I ignored you two!"

"True, but we also didn't physical stop-"

"Where do I even try to begin?"

The three of them paused as they entered the lounge. Riddle and Deuce were standing there, the first year was behind the seething dorm leader.

"I'm very sure I deliberately told you NOT to go to that amusement park." Riddle glared at the three of them. "So why did you feel the need to disobey me? And what about you two, Trey and Cater?"

Ace was silent as he looked off to the side while Trey took charge of the situation.

"Riddle, I followed him out of the dorm-"

"And yet you chose now to bring him back?"

"We ran into some problems-"

"I assume the problem was spending all day at that park."

Riddle's tone was cold and sharp, cutting off any attempt Trey had at trying to give an excuse. The vice leader deflated, not willing to try and continue for an out.

"I believed you to be better than this, Trey." He crossed his arms and directed his attention towards Cater. "And you?"

"Hahahaha...." Cater rubbed the back of his head. "I, um, Lilia-chan and I thought it would be a good idea to.... uh, allow Kalim to go to the park?"

"With Jamil's permission?"

"About that?"

"You too!?" Riddle began to shout. "What could drive you both to even chose to do this!? I understand that I've been lenient on the rules lately, but certainly not to this degree!"

Cater and Trey flinched while Ace rolled his eyes. Before Riddle could start his tangent, Deuce chimed in.

"Ace, why do you have a bruise on your cheek?"

"Huh?" Ace rubbed the mark. "Oh. Yuu punched me."

"What?" Deuce looked confused. "Why would she- I mean I get it, it's you. But Yuu hardly punches any of us-"

"Wrong, Juice, she doesn't punch you." Ace scoffed. "She punched me for no reason-"

"Ace." Cater's voice had lost his playfulness. "Yuu got hurt, you said the off comment sentence of 'why don't you just go back home?'"

"You what?" Deuce's face twist in rage and he grabbed Ace's collar. "Did you forget that she can't!?"

"Of course I forgot! It didn't cross my mind when I said it!"

"Nothing every does, Ace, and that's the problem! She's told us about how much she'd love to go back home and you rubbed it in!?" Trey and Cater tried prying Deuce's hands off of the red head.

"Fuck off and let go of me!" Ace joined his upperclassman's hands

"Ace, you do this every time! You mock Yuu for not knowing the holidays we have and for the things she doesn't know! You forget she's not from here!"

"You don't have to rub it in!" Ace snarled. "Everyone else already did!"

"You're so fucking bullheaded and insensitive, no wonder Yuu doesn't tell you shit!"

"Deuce, let him go. You don't need to waste your breath on him anymore." Riddle commanded.

The blue haired first year glared at the heart solider before dropping him on the floor like he was a pile of trash. Riddle studied Ace as he directed his attention to Trey and Cater

"....Am I wrong for assume that Yuu left?"

"....No." Trey's shoulders sagged. "She left and didn't take Grim with her. Riddle, she's.... she's done with us. Done with NRC."

His eyes widened and it took a few seconds before he spoke. "....What happened."

With much hesitation, Trey and Cater begin to recount what happened as Ace crossed his arms and added in commentary. By the end of it, Riddle was livid and trying to hold not only himself back but Deuce as well.

"I have no words." Riddle struggled to control his breathing. "You three have done irreversible damage all in the span of a day. Get out of my sight, I'll decide your punishment later. Come, Deuce."

"Yes, Sir."

They depart as they leave the trio there to ruminate on what they've done. Eventually, Cater shuffles off to his room while Ace leaves for his in a huff. Trey stands in the middle of the Lounge and feel his heart drop to his feet before he too departs for his room. The next day, all three of them are awoke by a text message simply stating:

All named students come to Crowley's office at once. Ace Trappola, Cater Diamond, Trey Clover, Leona Kingscholar, Jack Howl, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Ortho Shroud, and Lilia Vanrouge.

[tsuutarr]

Rate your children (ocs)

Who is the favorite? The first born? The problematic fave? The one you honestly don't give enough attention? The one you would hate if they weren't yours? The one you would go ape shit if anything happened to them? The most popular?

This is legit SUCH a hard question TT I love all my characters................

I don't think I have a favorite, but I have a soft spot for Cot since he was one of my first OCs (he wasn't a yandere back then lol)!

Plus Cot is super cute + fun to draw imo :3c

I also adore Aizono for similar reasons! He was a really old OC of mine that came about because I was like... what if the Love God was pining after a mortal?

2. The problematic fave... I mean, they're yanderes so I feel like they're all kind of problematic LOL Ig from my yanderes though, Tynan is probably the most problematic bc he's completely aware of how awful his actions are, he just doesn't care.

He's a man of his own desires, even if he loves Darling haha

3. I feel like I don't give enough attention to a lot of my OCs tbh TT I'm just one measly living organism with way too many OCs lol + I actually have a LOT of OCs I haven't even shared yet!! I love designing characters + writing different prompts so I just end up w a lot of stuff I think.

I do want to revisit my Vampire MILF and DILF though!

(I just think they're hot + I want to be pampered!!!!)

4. As for the one I would hate if they weren't mine... I can't really think about it rn! I feel like all my OCs appeal to me in some way for now... who knows, though? Maybe I'll make an OC I heavily dislike in the future LOL

5. In regards to who I'd go ape shit for if they were hurt... I don't really know, honestly. Maybe any of my human OCs? Most of my non-human/monster OCs can handle themselves just fine, but my human ones are (1) a weak guy who's obsessed with you, (2) a sickly guy who's obsessed with you, and (3) a rich crossdresser who's obsessed with you. None of them are strong tbh so they're much more likely to be hurt LOL

Like, no offense to Sammy, the weak guy who's obsessed with you, but he's kind of pathetic LOL

6. I think the most popular OC I have is either Mulsu or Mason!

I feel like all of my OCs get attention though, so I'm super grateful for it <3

Wow, this post got super long, but it was fun to do!! I'm super indecisive so the answers may change in the future but for now, I think these are accurate haha

(Yeah... when I post more OCs, the answers will def change haha)

Tysm for reading!! <3

[creatingblackcharacters]

Say, if someone were to take a long time (more than months) before speaking up about racism, are they wrong for not immediately addressing it and instead letting the hurt fester? The first time it happened I was questioning my own perception, and by the time I became sure, it feels like it's too late (and it's also been very long after the last time I saw it happen too), and I feel like I also played a part in not immediately speaking up because of fear of the consequences. None of the racism were big enough, but if I were to list every instance then wouldn't it look like I'm being petty and trying to smear campaign someone? Or immature for being avoidant and not communicating my hurt immediately?

I'm going to approach this from an antiblackness perspective, since that's what I talk about here.

I think it depends on a couple of factors. Are you Black? If so, then no, it's not wrong to feel hurt about it no matter how long ago it happened. What you experienced was wrong, and it'll always be wrong. Plus, not wanting to speak up because you know it'll just be a threat to you is a common reason why Black people usually don't speak up about racism. Because yeah, you'll get dogpiled and gaslit and abused when you dare suggest someone was *gasp* bigoted toward you and needs to apologize! There's no statute of limitations on racism, and we shouldn't have to create an entire case to prove ourselves the way we do. That said, if this is a stranger, you will probably not be able to approach on the offensive because you let the time pass. So unless you have receipts, really all you can do is block them and move on with your life, or tell them privately "hey, this thing you said/did wasn't okay. I didn't say anything before because I wasn't sure how you'd take it, but I have not felt as safe around you since then, and I felt you needed to know" (and then probably block them). And you can't expect them to take it well- all you can do is say something, if you choose to at all. And if they take it that poorly, now you have the ability to tell others "yeah, this person did not take hearing about their bigotry well, and is not safe for Black people to be around". Because I would want to know if who I'm sharing from hates me.

If you are not Black, then I want you to consider (using your words) why the racism wasn't "big" enough, especially given that it wasn't dangerous towards you. What do you need to see in order to speak up? And by allowing it to get that large, recognize that you helped create a space where that behavior was safe and acceptable by saying nothing when all the "small" racism was occurring! That said, people are going to take it as petty regardless of your intent, because that's how racism is treated both here and outside the internet. It may be demeaned, treated as a smear campaign, because people think calling out racism is worse than being racist. So it really depends on how much you're willing to stand on it. You saw all these things happen, you have the receipts, you know you're in the right- are you willing to speak up? Are you willing to accept what may happen, or are you more worried about your own comfort? Maybe you'll allow Black people who saw all that racism feel heard and valid, so they can speak up too. Maybe you'll start a conversation that needs to be had. Maybe you'll be a step towards cracking that environment where this racism was acceptable, or worse case scenario, you'll recognize that this isn't a place you want to be if racism is treated so lightly. Those are hard decisions!

Sorry that this probably didn't make you feel better, but it's not a light topic.

[sports-on-sundays]

i NEED some pedri enemies to lovers where the reader is dating joao felix and he is really abusive to her and when pedri finds out in a party he defends the reader

got your back / Pedri González

Summary: Pedri x female!reader - Pedri hates you. Well, that is, until he's faced with a situation to genuinely be concerned with you. Then? Of course he doesn't hate you!

Warnings: mention of sexual abuse/crossing boundaries, discomfort, language, unwanted physical/sexual action being pushed, mention of sickness, having to fake happiness/being fine, physical abuse, anxiety, fear, don't read if you could be sensitive to anything here- I'd hate to hurt anyone or bring back any pain or anxiety anyone might have - read at your own risk!

Author's Note: I got nothing against João, so instead of using him, I just made the guy an unnamed La Liga player, because I don't want to paint anyone in a terrible image, and I'm sorry if I have done that in the past, but I don't feel comfortable with it. I hope this makes sense and you understand! Thanks for the request!

Requested?: Yes.

You and Pedri hate each other. You've known each other forever, and from the very beginning, your personalities clashed. At times, things were better, but after fallout after fallout in your friendship, it's come to a point where both of you decided that what's done is done, and it's likely just the best for both of you to leave each other alone and stay out of each other's lives.

You don't think about Pedri. Not often, anyway. Now with your new relationship, too, anyway, and all the struggles that are coming with that, you're glad you don't have to worry about all the arguments you and Pedri used to have.

Your boyfriend really wanted you to come to this specific match, though. Against Barcelona. You tried to explain to him that you really would rather not go to a Barcelona game to watch him, simply because of the stress of possibly running into Pedri, though you know how unlikely that really is.

But with your bad luck, who even knows?

Well, the match goes alright, but, admittedly, your boyfriend's team gets hammered by Barcelona, so you suppose you're supposed to be disappointed.

You're walking out, waiting to meet up with your boyfriend, when suddenly, your bad luck strikes.

Of course.

Well, it really has nothing to do with luck, or the lack of it. Though you don't know that. You don't know that Pedri made the effort to find you when he saw that you're at the game.

To you, your bad luck is just making you run straight into Pedri.

"Y/n!" Pedri says as soon as he sees you, stopping in front of you.

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, murmuring simply, "Why are you talking to me."

He stares. Those stupid, stupid eyes, sharply bearing into you. He snorts, saying, "Jeez. Because I know you?"

"Didn't we agree it'd be best to go our separate ways?"

He stares, before snorting, saying, "Doesn't mean I have to treat you like a stranger."

You bite your lip, looking up. "After what you've done to me, I'd rather like it to be that way, actually."

He stares, almost dumbfounded, before the anger sets in. "Oh yeah, and what have I done to you? Get over yourself, you're acting as if I traumatized you! It was never that bad!"

"Pedri, I don't want to talk to you," you say simply, shoving past him as you see your boyfriend start heading down the hall towards you.

He snorts, shrugging, and snaps, "Well, alright, then! You fuck off, too, if that's what you want me to say back!" And with that, you both walk away, feeling angrier than you really have to be.

"He was bothering you?" your boyfriend asks, raising an eyebrows, his arms snaking around your waist.

But it doesn't provide much comfort, considering that probably part of the reason you reacted so harshly towards Pedri is because of the stress already welling up in your chest about your boyfriend himself.

He's over half the problem. In fact, he might be one hundred percent the problem, or at least close to it.

You don't want to be here. You don't want to be at your boyfriend's flat, either. In fact, all you want right now is to be in your own home, alone, in bed, with your pajamas on and a blanket enveloping you.

But instead, you have a drink in your hand, are wearing a black, lacy dress, and are thoroughly exhausted with having to stand there, arm linked with your boyfriend's, looking nice and pretty next to him.

It painfully feels just a little bit too much like all clout.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't done what he did to you last night after the match. He had forced you to do things you certainly weren't comfortable with. Especially not only four months into dating. It was too much for you.

Maybe for other people, it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe other girls would have actually loved that.

You? You've been feeling sick to your stomach for the last twenty-four hours, completely uncomfortable with your boyfriend, and having to fake it all the while. That hasn't been the first time something like this has happened. This time was just the worst.

You should've seen it coming. It's like on top of it all, regret is nawing at you as well.

The night is superficial and empty already, but your stomach lurches as soon as you get a glimpse of none other than Pedri González. You turn your head away, hoping for him to not recognize you, feeling even sicker than before, if that was even possible.

Your fucking luck, huh.

It's then, that, though you really thought things actually couldn't get any worse, that they really do.

Your boyfriend leans in and whispers close to your ear, "You look pale. Bored?"

You swallow, shrugging, "I guess."

"The night's still young, but there's nothing here for us." His hand on your lower back slips down a bit. You swallow as he continues, "We could step out and spice it up a bit."

Your jaw clenches. "Oh, no, that's okay..."

He chuckles. "Trying to be all neat and prissy? Don't play that game. C'mon," he murmurs, taking your hand and starting to lead you away through the groups of people around at the party.

"No, no, really... it's okay..." you murmur weakly, feeling dread and, frankly, fear sink in.

No, no, no. Not this again.

What's he going to do?

He seems to ignore you as you slip into a narrow hallway where some bathrooms are. Not the main bathrooms, though. You didn't even know there were bathrooms back here.

So no one promises to come this way.

Which means it's completely private.

You swallow.

It's then that he pushes you against the wall, getting close, and murmurs, "I could make this night very interesting for you, honey."

You turn your head away, looking down, towards the floor. "U-hm... You sure this is a... safe idea?"

"No," he grins. "I know it's fucking dangerous. But I also know it's a fucking good idea. Now, stop all this coy shit."

With that, he grabs your chin, shoving it up, making the back of your head hit the wall. "Ow-!" you murmur, your face crinkling with a quick grimace.

He hums. "Oh, get over yourself. You know you want this just as much as I do..."

"I-" you begin, but are interrupted by his lips meeting yours in a rough kiss.

It doesn't even feel good.

Your brain is screaming, your head pounding.

Fear grips your chest.

He moves his body against yours in a disgusting way, and every single cell in your body frantically searches for some way to make it stop.

It's then that you feel his hand stroking your thigh, grabbing at the bottom of your dress. You pull away long enough just to say desperately, "No- Please, no- Not here... please."

But he slaps your thigh, hard. You bite back a yelp as he murmurs, "I can do what I want to y-"

"And I can do what I want to you, too!" a voice suddenly says, before, in a flash, you watch as a hand slaps itself across your boyfriend's face. He stumbles back, which means you stumble forward, but there are arms there to catch you.

Not your boyfriend's, though- he's holding his face, looking absolutely shocked at-

You turn to see who has his arm around you from behind.

Pedri.

"What the hell?!" your boyfriend roars.

"Ask yourself that, asshole! Didn't she tell you to stop?"

"None of it is your business!"

"It is when you're doing it in a public area, for God's sake!"

You watch as your 'boyfriend' gulps and murmurs, "Let go of her."

"How about we stop talking as if Y/n isn't here? Y/n, do you want to fucking stay with him?"

You stare ahead, feeling so caught off guard by what has just happened, and the question that Pedri is apparently proposing for you to decide.

As unfortunate as it seems to you, you know which of them you trust more, despite all the trouble you've had with Pedri over the years.

"Listen," you say to your boyfriend, swallowing back tears. "I think you just better go now... I'll pick up my stuff from your flat in a few days... I think it'd be best- best to just end it here, now. I just don't think I'm the kind of person who's right for you."

As you ramble on anxiously, the rage builds up in his eyes more and more, before he yells, "Fine!" slaps you hard across the face, and leaves, walking off.

You stand, staring, your eyes watering in pain. You swallow.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

"I- I don't know."

Pedri folds you into his arms. "You can come back with me to my hotel room, if you want."

You sniff, holding back tears, before nodding. "I- Okay... Let's go."

Once there, you broke down. Sat on Pedri's hotel room bed and cried. And he sat there with you, being that shoulder to cry on. And your rivalry and friendship fall outs and all the other garbage between the two of you seem to slowly fade away. For now. At least just for tonight.

It's the least of your problems.

Now you lay, staring at the wall. You hear Pedri exiting the bathroom. Walking across the room. The weight on the bed shifting as he gets on.

"Y/n..." he says gently.

"Yeah?"

There's a few moments of hesitation, before he says softly, "Mind if I lay with you."

Now hesitation on your part. "Go ahead."

You feel him lay down next to you. His arm gently, tentatively wraps around you.

You lay together, in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry," Pedri suddenly says after long enough.

"For what? You helped me."

"For every single thing I did wrong over the years. I'm sorry for the fact that every time, I screwed it up again."

"It wasn't just you. I was fifty percent of the problem."

"I guess I just... I just like you a lot, you know? I just don't know what to do with that. I didn't realize it until you've been out of my life for six months now."

You nod slowly.

"I'm glad I found you when I did."

"I am, too," you say simply back.

"Seeing him do that to you... That... it's like all I could feel was pure... rage."

You don't have much to say to that, so just whisper softly, "Thank you... for helping me."

He nods slowly. Pulls you closer.

You don't mind. This kind of thing; it feels comforting. Not scary.

You lay there in more silence, before Pedri says softly, "Can we try this again?"

"Can I trust you?"

He sighs. "I think I finally realized how much I can't live without you. How much I care about you."

You snort, yawning. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that almost sounds romantic."

More silence, before he finally says, "Maybe it is. But even if it were, would that even matter right now?"

You shrug, looking back at him with sleepy eyes. "I reckon not. But it might matter someday."

He smiles softly, kisses your nose, and silences himself fully before sleep takes the both of you.

[unfriendlies]

if you remember. garam rolled his eyes and let out a long quiet breath as if to say of course he remembered. though he couldn't exactly recall what the two talked about, if they really even talked at all, but he could remember what happened. to an extent, anyways. his demeanor shifted drastically once angel told him how he knew garam had a hardon. he felt the blood rush from his head, a sort of panicked numbness settling in his hands as he gripped as tightly as he could onto the blanket that still left his legs concealed. he felt it, angel actually felt his dick pressing against him. this was so embarrassing, definitely not how garam imagined the first contact would go. but at least he hadn't tried to push further, he had the common sense at the time to do his best to hide the fact. "i must have fallen asleep after that, too. when i've been drinking, don't ever let me go past just kissing... okay?" he was really worried, mostly about the fact that he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop if angel had given him any sort of leeway. he'd never been the type to keep going or push for more when somebody denied him but knowing the feelings between them were mutual, he feared that, being drunk, he would forget about what angel has been through and pressure him into going further. garam also... just really did not want their first time to happen while he was under the influence. he wanted to be able to remember every single second of it, he wanted to enjoy every feeling instead of those feelings being controlled by alcohol. when angel began talking about their fight last night, all garam wanted was to pull away from him but he feared that angel would think it was an act done out of rejection when that was far from the true reason. garam felt so guilty for what he'd said, ashamed of the accusations he made. the smaller man just sat there, his grip on angel's hand tightening for a moment before his whole body relaxed. it was good to hear that angel was seeking professional help for what he'd been through, garam would have felt worse knowing that angel was suffering in silence, by himself. he knew he wasn't very good with dealing with his emotions, he often jumped into things too quickly and latched on to anybody that showed an interest in him. that's partially why they were both in the predicament they were in, because garam lived with rose colored glasses permanently attached to his face. he didn't want to see the obvious red flags, he chose to believe there was good in everybody. "it was my fault," he admitted, turning his body to face angel. "i said things that i knew would hurt you because i was... i was jealous. you kissed somebody else and i saw, i didn't like it. i kept bringing darius up because i do want to be friends with him, too, so you don't feel like you have to choose between us. i wasn't lying but that wasn't the only reason." garam looked away from angel, obviously ashamed of himself at this point. "you deserve someone so much better than me, someone who actually sees you and who picks you first, someone who doesn't use you. i've brought you so much trouble and i hate myself for it. i'm afraid of what might happen to you if you do choose me." garam continued, looking back to angel once again. "he went to my apartment after he hit me, i knew that he'd go there so that's why i came here instead of going back home. i'm sure he got mad that i wasn't answering, he has a key so he probably just let himself right in. it looked like a bomb exploded in there when i went to grab my things. he knows i'm here, you really aren't safe as long as i'm with you." he didn't even want to think about what could happen if axel managed to get inside while they were home, while they were sleeping, or showering. completely vulnerable. "i should have brought my bat with me."

At the mention of his drinking, Angel averted his eyes. He didn’t want to tell the man he had gotten sick. That watching him leave was the hardest thing of that night. He didn’t want to explain those couple of hours. Then he would have to lie. He couldn’t tell Garam his ex was there, not knowing how he would react. Things finally seem to be working out for them. Watching Garam spiral was hilarious to Angel. His grin turned into full-on laughing until he saw how serious Garam’s face was. “No, no, you didn’t do anything like that.” He cleared his throat, trying to stop his giggles. “We kissed more than once, if you remember. The last kiss, I pulled you against me. I could feel it twitching until you pulled away”, Angel admitted, leaning closer to Garam so their faces were inches apart. He soon noticed that Garam was serious. He truly thought he did something. Angel felt his smile would have hinted. However, the man was going through a lot. Angel wanted to be understanding. He tried once more to use his humor to calm his best friend. Angel smiled and pinched the man’s cheek, “I’m not mad. Would you stop, I’m okay. You didn’t do anything to cross any lines. You were adorable last night, if I’m being honest with you. After our kiss, I fell asleep. I can only assume you did as well,” the taller man said, the distance between them once more. Letting out a deep sigh, he tucked his wild strands behind the ears. “Since we are on the topic. You apologized to me last night. And I think I owed you a proper apology.” Angel was looking away from Garam now. Still sitting on the edge of the bed. Lowering his leg to turn his back, he was nervous. As confident as he thought himself to be, saying how he truly felt was difficult. Being the friend was his comfort space. Angel took a deep breath and pushed himself off the bed. He quickly walked over to sit right beside Garam and took his hand before he lost his nerve. “The things I said to you weren’t fair. My anger should be placed elsewhere. I really care for you, Garam. And yes. I did drink last night…” Angel paused as he tried to decide how much he should tell. “I drank too much and got sick. Most of it was out of my system by the time you got home.” part of that was the truth. “I don’t know what I can handle or what I can’t. I’m not even sure about what I want. But what I am sure about is you, Garam. My promise is the same as yours. I promise to take good care of you. But please be patient with me. If I pull away, please try and understand it’s not you. I’m seeing someone about what happened.” Angel admitted as he watched Garam’s face. He was rambling, worried that if he stopped talking, he might lose his nerve. “We meet once a week. I want you to know that I’m trying to be okay. Not just for me. But for us. That kiss showed me that our feelings aren’t just fillers for what’s going on. This is real.” the taller man squeezed his best friend’s hands, hoping he didn’t put his foot in his mouth. He didn’t want any fights between them again. If his little speech went well, they would be on their way to eat pancakes in no time.

[chillenby]

It's 2 am so um sorry if this doesn't make much sense..

I know a lot of people hate Jimmy and rightfully so. I mean he's a bad person, raped Anya, was too much of a coward to face his own actions so he decided that he should write a tragedy, then fails at it, only to be the reason why everyone died one by one and then finally killing himslef and giving Curly extra 20 years to be saved to once again avoid conciquences and to be the 'hero' he so much wishes he could be. He is selfish, greedy, a bastard and genually an awful human being. I understand that fully.

And yet, he is my favorite character along with Curly (and I don't mean only the pre-crash 'hot' Curly, but also post-crash Curly). You know why? He's so complex and interesting to think about. From psychoanalysis to just trying to figure out how he would interact with characters outside of what we see in the game.. it's all interesting. And it doesn't help that he is the reason for what happens in the game and I cannot explain how much I love the plot (the best way to describe it is that Jimmy is the core of this game, he is connected to everyone and everyone connects ro him, so in my mind, if I want to appreaciate this game fully, I need to extend it to that asshole, because we out him there would be no plot or those hard hitting messages). I love him as a character, I love how fucked up he is, I love that we play as him, I love his dialoge scenes and lastly I love his delusions because I love metaphores and I love that he is one of those characters that makes me think.

I know people shit on him and you know what? Fair. I sometimes do that to characters that've done nothing wrong, but I think they're cunts. But it sometimes just saddens me how people just ignore him or just make stupid jokes like 'sorry you had ro draw Jinglebells'. I know they are jokes, but I don't know, I'm tired of seeing them everywhere and being fed a lot of 'I hate Jimmy' stuff.

I mean there are Jimcurly fans which have amazing art and they sometimes get one thing correctly (in my tastes, this is all a personal opinion and I just want to yell it out into the void called internet) is that it hurts. Jimmy hurts people and hurts Curly, and in a lot of fics and art Curly just lets him. And I like that, as much as usually I like silly and wholesome stuff, for this game specifically I want it to hurt. I hope it hurts. Because that's the theme of the media, it's hard to consume and it hurts, it's dark and fucked up, it talks about our society and the people in it.

...

Also the aus and stuff can be fucking wild. Like there are amazing ones like surviviors au comic where instead of crashing the crew is stuck in a wormhole (I love it so much, genually can't stop thinking about it and rereading it, so beautiful and so good, didn't knew that was exactly what I needed until I read it) and like anti-tulpar (which I'm just receantly getting into and it's odd but in a good way, it's funky). But one the other side we have like lobotomy au and hypno au (the hypno au I read is like on the fence of being uncomfortable and not too bad, since the hypno used makes Jimmy docile and truthful, but on the inside he is still the same person, and like I read a smut and I was left wondering is it rape or not..). I just found out about lobotomy au and as much as I like fucked up shit that to me feels like crossing the line especially since I heard that it's usually used in a sexual manner(I don't have twitter so luckily I managed to escape most of it, but I heard a few things and I have certain opinions I just want to yell out, but if my info about this is wrong feel free to inform me :)). On that I have only one opinion, what is wrong with people? Like I get it, he is a bad person and has done awful things, but to do something to dehumanize him to the point of not being able to have deeper thoughs and not being able to take care of himself, then put him in a sexual manner where he gets practically raped since he can't consent? Why? Do people actually find this attractive or is it some type of letting out your anger? I think it's fucked up

But yea.. if anyone reads this thanks I guess? I just needed to spew out all my thoughts and make them make sense. Form them into proper words and ideas instead of unprocessed junk

So as a closing thought, please apreaciate Jimmy more and make more complex jokes. (Or at least don't like hate on this post too much aand don't post those stupid jokes under this post too much, I'd make my day if none of that would happen)

[ikamigami]

You know what?

I think that Sun will have a huge mental breakdown.. someday.. in the future..

"But how when he just got better and dealt with Nexus' hallucination?" you may ask..

It's because I think that he doesn't realize that he slowly integrates his self-blame and accepts it as something true..

See how he still feels like July 16th was his fault even if he's fully aware of what actually happened..

And now he'll falsly believe that it was mainly his fault that Nexus became the way he was.. that Nexus never liked him because he was awful to him..

When it's not true.. but Sun will never learn that Nexus was so worried about his well-being.. Sun will never learn that Nexus saw him as his light..

To me it seems that Sun slowly accepts that his guilt is true.. that things are his fault.. hence he has to apologize for everything others accuse him of.. because it's true..

But in reality he's doing a lot more damage to himself by accepting what Nexus told him as the truth and apologizing for it..

He actually should realize that he holds too much guilt..

But he doesn't even see that.. because he's unaware of this.. he's unaware of how much his guilt isn't normal..

I wonder how long he'll be able to act like everything is normal till he break..

But maybe Moon will realize that something is wrong with Sun.. that the guilt Sun feels isn't normal..

Maybe Moon will do something about it because he heard what Sun was talking about with Nexus in his head because he was speaking out loud as both sides..

Maybe just maybe Moon will see that something isn't okay..

You can say that I'm saying nonsense and trying to see cracks that aren't there..

But the truth is that you should feel guilty only for things that you did and realize how much they affected others.. because Sun wasn't sole reason for how Nexus turned out to be.. because when Nexus told him that one time that Sun refuses to see him as a different person Sun stopped speaking about Moon and the past..

Even if Sun was the reason to why Nexus lost it.. it wasn't because of something that Sun did actually.. it wasn't actually Sun's fault..

I think that Sun will start to feel and think that maybe he should admit that all the other things were his fault and that he should apologize for everything..

I don't see what Sun did as something 100% positive.. because he admits that everything that Nexus accused him of is true when it's not..

Sun shouldn't accept that his guilt is true because apologizing for something that isn't true won't do any good.. like Sun should say that he's sorry for not realizing how some of his words and actions affected Nexus.. but he should also say that he tried his best.. that Nexus never gave him opportunity to normally talk things out..

But he didn't do that.. Sun says that he's doing this for himself.. but he doesn't even realize anymore what is and isn't his fault actually..

Sun wasn't constantly comparing Nexus to Moon.. others were.. but not Sun..

And I think that what would help Sun more would be just getting out all of his feelings to Nexus about everything..

Maybe I misunderstood something from the episode so please correct me if I'm wrong..

I just don't think it's right that Sun just accepted all of Nexus' accusations as something true and apologized for that without saying that "hey I tried my best and I didn't make you a villain.. yes I didn't realize how my words and actions affected you for which I'm truly sorry.. but I never intended to hurt you.. and you never allowed me to explain myself.. I never felt like I could normally talk to you about all of this.."

Maybe it's just me.. but I think that how Sun went about it won't help him in the long run and sooner or later he'll have a mental breakdown because his immense guilt will crush him..

[eldrichfuck666]

Back to be Away Forever

Hi, dear tumblr people. You probably think that you're having a fever dream or something - considering how long I have been away. A whole year off tumblr. A lot, I know. I missed you dearly, but I'm not really there to return. I just wanted to say something. Something very, very important.

First of all. I've come to realize that I am trans. So, hello again - now my name is Alexander. And I use he/him pronouns - from the April 19th of this year. I've come out to my parents, my closest friends and coworkers. I feel much more content with myself now.

During this whole year, I've been through a rather impossible journey - at least, that's how it seemed to me at first. (And btw, I'm now transitioning. Medically. I've had my breast surgery scheduled to the February of the next, approaching year. Took me... long to realize, did it? And it's all bs that testosterone makes you more aggressive or smth. At least, for me - I feel much more mature and at peace now that I don't silently hate my own body anymore. No more mood swings and outbirsts.

People who hate themselves (and sometimes, not even realize it, like I mostly did - I... I hated not just the body I was born into, but my race. It is... hard to admit, but I struggled a lot with the inner antiblackness that I had towards myself) tend to hate others more. Or... other living things. My hate wasn't directed at people, though - but at creatures that may seem less, but... they're not. I'm truly sorry about the whole insect debacle - I had a very disgusting attitude towards it, and I did know what I was encouraging here. It wasn't a mistake. It was a very, very disdiracted (or whatever is the word) hate and just... overall, not the right mindset. Horrible. Absolutely disgusting for an adult to have. I'm truly sorry. I regained the empathy that I should've had at the very start. I can't imagine how disturbing it was to read... all that. Truly disgusting. And while I didn't overcome the fear (for me, it is still a phobia that I can't really do much about - although, on meds I feel much less unnecessary hatred. Just terror. That's all. I apologize to every single person who has empathy I didn't have. I'm sorry for hurting and making you uncomfortable. It's absolutely shameful and shouldn't have ever happened.

And I fear that this hellsite (I know that it's how twitter is usually referred to, but... well.) made my mental health way, way worse - there's so much hatred, unnecessary drama and overally, not very good people... and for some reason, death threads and other scary, scary stuff that I couldn't react more gracefully to because of how dark was the place where I've been mentally. it would've been all much better if I weren't there in the first place. 2023 was... very, very bad for me. I know blaming it on social media is not very good, but it truly affected me terribly. I regret most of it. While it was a beautiful outlet for creativity, it was also very mentally heavy. Too heavy for me to lift at the time. I should've realized it earlier. I am so fucking sorry.

But... what I don't regret was meeting you. All, all of you still here - and those who have been here with me for some time. I know how unbearable I was sometimes, and I don't know how you (who stayed there) stayed with me longer than one post. One message. Yet... you didn't leave. And you're my very reason for the change.

And to my dear, dear friends, my beloved moots that I've made along the way - I love you all and I sincerely hope that you're in a good place and you're safe. Thank you for the support, for being with me when I was so very hateful, thank you for trying to make me see sense and have discussions. Thank you for being with me mentally thought the years I've been on tumblr. You... you made me reconsider my whole life. And I'm rather lucky that it happened in the start of my twenties - when I am still not so far gone. Each of you, I owe my heart and soul. ❤️

Пишу вам, с огромной любовью (и немного хаотическим сообщением, как обычно) и искренней просьбой о прощении, Ксандер (ну или... По русски, Сашка, наверное? Ужасно, я в курсе.)

P.S. Возможно, через пару месяцев или лет... Вы увидите знакомых персонажей на обложке какой-то неопределённой, странной недо-книги. Может, вы услышите о новом инди авторе - а может, нет. Я начал активно писать - и это оказалось куда более лучшим способом контролировать свой гнев, чем что-либо ещё.

Maybe, you'll hear a familiar name or see familiar features in the author. At first, in German - where I'm most confident in. But who knows... I can't promise anything, but I promise that I won't forget you. Forget your care, your guidance, your love for me... But I feel like the decision I've made is good for both me and all of you.

Because there's pleasant, necessity solitude in writing - I felt like I've regained my sense of self when I began. I have much to work on - especially when it comes to my own being and health. But I can't express this enough - how much you've changed me.

На этом, с любовью и горечью в сердце, я прощаюсь. Оба мои блога будут удалены через два дня - прямо перед новым годом. Thank you for everything. I will never forget you.