#no one proofread this for me...

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki katsuki katsuki but you haven't told each other "i love you" yet. he's like in his third year and he's interning at endeavour's agency again. you're interning somewhere else, unfortunately for him. he gets antsy when you're not around, gets overstimulated just a bit more quickly. so whenever he gets back to the agency to go to bed he makes a quick call and he prays to god you're still awake, and when you are he mutes his mic so you don't hear the big sigh of relief he lets out.

he's asking you about your day first always, so he has your voice to hear to calm him down before he rants about his bullshit day. he grumbles about how you giggle about his experience. you defend yourself by saying he's just so dramatic when he tells stories. he scoffs, but chuckles just a bit when you copy his way of speaking.

it's just supposed to be a quick call, but katsuki wishes you could call all night. or, he'll do you one even better, he wishes you could just be here with him. where you're supposed to be.

so when he has to hang up, his shoulders hunch a little bit 'cus he can already feel his ears burning and he lowers his voice just a bit more cus you're the only one that he wants to hear his next words.

" all right, i gotta go."

"mmaaaaaww..." you whine over the phone, he feels an affectionate smirk pull at his face and he snorts "yeahh," he teases. "you free tomorrow ?"

you hum, thinking for a bit "i should be. 'round nine maybe ?"

"good, i'll call you." he says. "kay, can't wait." you giggle excitedly. "goodnight, suki. sweet dreams, okay ?"

there it is. his heart beats harder in his chest, he readjusts in his chair and he sighs. good night, i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you he wants to say. his face burns and he's sure to others he looks pissed as fuck, but it's only because he's trying to keep his blush down.

"yeah, yeah.." he gulps, ducking his head down so he's sure you and only you hears him "miss you."

it's soft, the way he says it. gruff and unfamiliar but honest. you offer him a sweet little giggle he's sure he'll think about before falling asleep, try to image your face and what you looked like to help sleep come to him easier.

"i miss you too, sooo much.." you swooned, voice sweet and shaky from the smile pulling at your face that he can almost see. "but i'll see you again soon, okay ?"

he grumbles under his breath in agreement. " yeah sure, whatever. gimme a kiss."

"ooh ? now you want my through-the-phone-kisses ?" you tease, voice playful. he can almost see how proud you are and it makes him roll his eyes.

a simple "shut up," is all he can think up, he repeats himself "gimme a kiss." he demands, scowl fixed into an almost pout.

and you do, you make it extra long for him and with a sweet little "mmuuah !" and a final good night and wishes of sweet dreams and good rest, you hang up. katsuki stays with his phone by his ear for a moment longer before he decides to get up and get ready for bed.

i love you, he wants to call back and tell you he loves you.

but you need rest, and so does he. so he'll tell you that tomorrow.

dreamy sigh,,, katsuki katsuki katsuki

[pupkashi]

satoru is the kind of boyfriend that you are constantly falling in with over and over again

he takes out a spider that you found in the hallway, promising he’ll let it into the backyard and won’t kill it. he’ll tease you relentlessly for running to the other side of the house while on the phone with him, begging him to come home to take care of the ‘grave danger’ you were in. satoru never once tells you how his heart flutters knowing your instinct is to cal him for help.

satoru is the kind of lover to pick flowers for you when you walk hand in hand, giggling as a spring breeze hits the two of you. he smiles, bending down and picking the daisy from the ground.

“look! i got you a flower” he grins, handing the small flower to you with a smile on his face.

“oh wow this just for me? you broke the bank with this one” he can’t help but laugh loudly, “I’m in deep credit card debt,” he replies, “think you can cover dinner for tonight?” you laugh, nodding your head- knowing he’d never let you pay for anything as long as he was around.

the kind of boyfriend to run late, but pick up flowers on the way to make it up to you, buying extravagant bouquets on a whim and making sure every vase in your home is filled with flowers at any given moment. there comes a point in the relationship where you have to sit him down and ask him softly to cut down the flower buying to once a week, as you’d run out of vases to put the flowers in.

satoru ends up buying you more vases, but realizes it’s gotten out of hand when you have no free surfaces in your home due to the overflowing amount of flora. he cuts it down to once a week after he found a bee in the house one day.

your lover brings back souvenirs from all the places he goes when on missions, trinkets that he knew you’d love spilling out of his pockets as he walks into your shared home.

“i think you’d love this little bunny figure so i got it!” he’s beaming at you, his face lights up even more when he sees how excited you are, gushing over the small figure and thanking him with a plethora of kisses.

satoru is the kind of boyfriend to tell you ‘told you so’ when you get cold because you didn’t bring a jacket, all while simultaneously taking his off and giving it to you. he tries his best to hide how much colder he is to try and make sure you stay warm, but his shivering six foot something body is hard to miss.

“satoru i think you’re colder than i was, please just take it back” you beg, shoving his jacket back into his hands, he just shakes his head, teeth slightly chattering as he lies to your face.

“im not even cold, you need to stay warm” he’s steadfast and stubborn on his stance, only taking his jacket back when you two enter a cafe and make it a point to say how hot you felt when you stepped inside.

satoru is the kind of boyfriend to hang mistletoes all over the house, giggling when he pulls you in by your waist and places a giddy kiss on your lips.

“man i love christmas” he sighs, pointing at the fourth mistletoe in the last hour as you two decorated for the holidays.

“seriously how many of these did you buy?” you laugh, pulling him closer to you and placing your lips on his. satoru smiles into the kiss, chasing after your lips even when you pull away and managing to steal one last kiss.

“mmm, alot” he whispers, snowy hair tickling your face as he presses a kiss to your cheek before continuing on with the tree lights.

satoru gojo is the kind of boyfriend to kiss you from 11:59 pm on New Year’s Eve to 12:01 am on New Year’s Day, just to say he made out with you into another year. he also does it just to make sure you can’t say you haven’t kiss him since last year.

“you’ve been kissing me since last year sweetheart just admit you’re crazy about me” he teases you, his cheeks and ears flush from the two cups of champagne he’s had.

“angel boy you have no idea” you giggle, taking in how beautiful he looks as the fireworks pop around the two of you, making his crystalline eyes shine a little brighter.

satoru gojo is the kind of boyfriend that makes you believe in soulmates, because there was no other way to describe what he was to you other than that.

satoru gojo was your soulmate, and you were his.

a/n: hi hi ! just wanted to write something short and sweet to get me back into the flow of writing <3 hopefully this help kill my writers block :3

masterlist

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke

[snowluvvie]

FUCK AWFFF COLLEGE RODRICK

everybody gave you two the kind of “really, him?” “how’d he get her?” sidelong glances when you’d started dating in high school. you’d basically swooned over him the first time you’d met at school—but for most of your classmates, the way he’d chase people down to convince them to attend his band’s shows rubbed them the wrong way. most people would describe Rodrick as ‘desperate’—but they weren’t fucking him, so they didn’t know how truly desperate he was, did they? either way, it didn’t matter. you wanted him, you had him hook, line and sinker. you weren’t exactly upset that people weren’t trying to snatch your boyfriend from you—you got his shaggy hair that was always too long, his hands calloused from the drum sticks, his nervous smile that he tried to play off as a smirk. you got him. you liked it that way.

you went off to college together, and Rodrick looked different by the end of freshman year. he was different. he laughed at the frat boys and grimaced at the music they played at parties. sure, he’d always been into different stuff—but now he was confident about it. he liked his music. he liked his friends. he liked his band. and, of course, he liked you (doesn’t count though. that’s not controversial. everyone knows you’re hot.)

you noticed this change in confidence before anyone else did. before it showed in his eyes and his clothes, it showed in the way he grabbed your face to kiss you, tangled his hands in your hair, grinned into your mouth. it showed in the way his fingers dug into his hips when he was fucking you, the way he ran his mouth. it had always been “this is so hot” “i can’t believe i’m fucking you” “you’re so hot” with him. now, he was boldly moaning “you like that, huh? i can feel it” he chuckled at the way you gushed around him when he was buried inside of you, he loved it, and now he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it.

people did notice him now, though. his new favorite bomber jacket did wonders for him, and his arms had gotten a little bigger underneath it. he wasn’t ‘hunky’ now, by any means, but in college people were a lot more forgiving of the eyeliner-and-unsuccessful-band thing. it wasn’t lame and desperate here, it was cool and niche. you two weren’t hot girl and “he makes me laugh” loser like they called you in high school—now you were hot girl and cool drummer boyfriend.

but even now that people actually come to his band’s dimly-lit club and coffee shop gigs, and buy some tees from the merch table, and giggle a little, waving their fingers and going “heyyy Rodrick, you were great this weekend!” when they walk past him on campus, it doesn’t really matter. you’re the one he searches for when he’s playing, grinning proudly at you in the crowd. you’re the one who sits shotgun in the band van, leaning on the center console while he tells you how pretty you’ve looked all night. you’re the one who passes out on Rodrick’s shitty dorm mattress with him, tangled together and attempting to kiss but failing because you’re both so exhausted, and the one who wakes up the next morning and watches him yawn and ruffle his hand through his dark hair, moving sluggishly through the dorm without a shirt and with eyeliner from last night still smeared on his face.

you’re the one he’s fucking—his people-pleaser desperate-for-validation tendencies are still very intact when it comes to you. his eyes still practically pop out of his head every time he sees your tits, he still has to squeeze his eyes shut when you dirty talk because the sound of your voice drives him insane, and he still rolls his eyes hard when you tell him that no, he can’t eat you out right now, you have to go to class. the audacity. at the end of the day, he’s your Rodrick, no matter how many other people are suddenly paying attention to him

[rovermcfly]

English subtitles for the German remake of Ghosts:

or

Thank you to @average-imperfection for proofreading and finding some awesome solutions for difficult translations! I recommend coming back to this post and checking for updated versions of the subtitles regularly! On that note, I will always welcome any suggestions for changes.

Tutorial for how to watch the show with the subtitles:

Download the Open Subtitles Add-On:

2. Download the subtitle file of the episode you want to watch from one of the links above 3. Open the episode you want to watch on the ARD Mediathek Streaming Site:

4. Click on the Open Subtitles Add-On

5. Click on the button that says "Click or drop file to this area to upload"

6. Upload the subtitle file 7. On the video, click the subtitle icon and select "English" in the category "Untertitel"

The subtitle file will automatically be synced to the video, no further steps required.

If you encounter any problems or have any questions, feel free to ask me!

I would appreciate it if you guys could show your support by sharing this with anyone you see who's interested in watching but doesn't speak German.

[zevrra]

𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩: the last thing you had expected in your years of peace was to see a ghost from your past; joel miller. a man you had known years ago, who had left you years ago, and one you had tried your hardest to avoid since you ended up in jackson. but none of that mattered now when he shows up on your doorstep with a pale face and a wounded leg.

𝐰𝐜: 2.5k

𝐟𝐭: jackson!joel x ex-gf!reader

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬: mdni, one shot, angst, hurt/comfort, tw blood, tw injuries, tw needles, ex established relationship, slight age gap, medic!reader, eventual fluff, mentions of joel being a smuggler, joel is on the verge of tears in this, he’s a lil insecure if you squint.

𝐚/𝐧: this probably isn’t any good but i couldn’t get the idea of it out of my head AAA

“H-hey, uh, can I come in?” Joel half ass chuckles before sucking in a breath from the pain, leaning against your door to support himself. 

You quickly glance over the pale man, immediately catching the scarlet staining his pants from what you assume is a pretty deep wound. And in your heart you know you’ll never turn him away but dammit if you don’t consider closing the door, stepping away, and leaving him this time. But you couldn’t. No matter what, he was still Joel, and you couldn’t leave him to die. 

“This way. Just try not to get blood…everywhere.” You say with a roll of your eyes before moving to his side, taking up one of his arms and laying it across your shoulder and guiding him into your home. You carry him off towards the bathroom, the cleanest place you can think of, settling him down on the edge of the tub. “Take off your stuff.” 

“Not gonna help?” Joel teases but the look you give him shuts him up, for the moment. He begins to strip to the best of his ability while you rummage under the sink for your damn first aid kit. Finding it right about the same time he’s attempting to shed his durable jacket. 

You set the first aid kit on the closest ledge to the bathtub before begrudgingly helping Joel out of his clothes. You toss his brown durable jacket onto the floor behind you before your fingers head straight for the buckle on his belt. You twist and turn it, like you’ve done…far too many times, before discarding it along with his coat. Your nimble fingers quickly work on his jeans next; using your own knee for support as you strip him of his stained jeans, finally allowing you a decent look at what he’s gotten himself into.

“Shit…” You swear under your breath, slightly turning his badly wounded leg to the side, just to see how far the knife wound goes. 

Joel laughs though, despite the circumstances. “That bad, huh?” He groans at the first press of your fingers, sucking in another sharp painful breath.

You don’t answer him, ignoring him for the moment as you continue to look at the wound. Blood bubbles under your examination and you needed something to stop the bleeding an hour ago. You move back to the bathroom sink, grabbing a towel and drenching it in the warmest water you can manage before moving back to the battered man. You press the soaked towel into his wound as hard as you can, fishing for another towel at your feet and handing it to him. “You know what to do with that.” 

Joel takes the towel you offer him, wrapping it around the thicker part of his thigh, right above the wound, and ties it tight around his leg; a late attempt to stop the bleeding while you work your magic. “Damn hunter,” Joel grunts through the pain, tightening the towel with every word. “Didn’t see him. Caught me on my way back to town.” 

You weren’t that interested in how he got to this point. Knowing what happened would just make your fingers tremble and your heart hurt. So you try your best not to indulge him. “You’re just getting old.” You mutter back before you press hard into the wound, your other hand rummaging with the lid of the first aid kit beside you. You retrieve a thin needle and the sutures needed for stitching the wound, nodding your head for Joel to replace your hand with his as you attempt to thread the needle as quickly as you can.

Joel starts to chuckle but the pain spreading across his thigh has him trailing off into a groan. Once successfully threading the needle, you return to your work, peeling off your now ruined towel from Joel’s wound. 

“You know I was, uh, never…good with words,” Joel frets, picking at something invisible under his nails. Dull and dim from years of working with his hands. “But uh…thank you. For this.” 

“Yeah, you made that a little too obvious, Joel.” You hum back, hoping to hurt him as much as his knife wound did, before continuing to work on the task at hand. Your fingers trail along his inner thigh, smoothing over the edge of his wound, sizing it up once more. “Now, no more moving. Or talking.” You add before placing the needle on some clean gauze, reaching for alcohol to sterilize the wound and the needle. 

Silence falls between the two of you, allowing you to focus entirely on fixing him up. With a deep breath, you steady your hands before pressing the tip of the needle directly into his skin. You move skillfully, having also done this a time or two, pushing the needle in, stitching it across, threading it back down to tightly seal the wound. You keep your gaze locked on the work you do. Watching every press of the needle and the sutures that follows suit. You may be upset about some other old wounds of your own opening up— but at least Joel wouldn’t die to this one; not this time. 

“Just like…old times, huh?” He says through gritted teeth, tossing his head back when you press the needle through his skin.

You exhale an annoyed huff through your nose at his statement. Trying your damned best to quickly do the rest of the stitching needed to keep him from bleeding out everywhere. You didn’t want to linger too long anyway.  “Heh, yeah, before you left me in the middle of the night, right?” You say, biting your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. No, you couldn't break down crying…not right now, not in front of him.

After what feels like maybe forever, with just a few more twists of your needle, you’ve managed to completely sew up his knife wound. Quickly, you knot the edge of the thread as tight as you can, clipping the suture with a pair of metal scissors before tossing the entire kit back into its box. With a slam of the lid, you forcibly close it, turning to put the first aid kit back where it rightfully belongs— for next time. Why you would ever hope there was a next time…you didn’t know. Didn’t really need to get your hopes up. 

What you needed was a fucking drink. 

“You’re still angry at me.” Joel weakly says, clearing his throat in an attempt to try and not make everything so damn awkward…it obviously wasn’t working. 

In that moment, everything comes back to you in a rush. The feelings, the sleepless nights, the tears you shed…everything rushes up like a punch to the gut; knocking the air from your very lungs. “Dammit Joel!” You yell, turning on your heel to stare him down, unable to stop the tears from forming this time. “Of course I’m still angry! I spent months waiting on…fucking anything from you! You left me in a world full of shit!” You choke out, picking up his coat and throwing it at him with as much force as you can manage. It almost pisses you off more that he easily catches it without so much as a flinch. Your next target is the bloodied towel as you pick it up with a tight grip.

And you think the silence that stretches for mere seconds right then and there was going to be the end of it…but your thoughts just keep spilling out. 

“You would rather throw your life away than tell me goodbye! You didn’t care if you died tomorrow while I sat waiting, hoping, praying for your god forsaken safe return.” You cry out, pointing an accusing finger his way. “But what hurts the most, damn you, is that I could never stay angry at you! I knew you had your reasons! Knew in my heart I…I would always forgive you!” You finally snap, slamming down the blood soaked rag into your sink. You turn away from him once more, tension lining every inch of the muscles in your shoulders as you grip the edge of your bathroom sink for any semblance of balance. You wished you could keep going, to yell at him some more to make up for all the lost time the two of you had but your words are quickly replaced with broken sobs and hot tears streaming down your face. 

The silence, once welcomed, is now suffocating. The only sound echoing inside the room was that of your pathetic sobs. You think for a split second that maybe he’s going to just gather his things and leave you, to flee into the night, never to be seen again…but instead of listening to him run away, you feel a shaky hand press into the small of your back. 

Joel stands beside you, hazel gaze full of sadness and worry as he looks down at you. He leans heavily against the vanity, trying his best to keep up off his hurt leg for the moment. 

“I’m…an idiot. And sorry.” Joel whispers as he retrieves his hand from your back, moving it to caress the side of your face— and like a fool, you let him. “I can’t apologize enough. I just…dammit, I was scared. I’m not a good man, darlin’. I was a smuggler back then and was…terrified you might end up hurt because of it. I’ve lost too fuckin’ much. I couldn’t…lose you too.” He admits with a weak tone. 

If anything, at least you knew he was genuine about the entire thing; you truly had never seen such a vulnerable state out of Joel before. It was evident that the years had changed him; and you. 

“So you just left?” You ask with that wobble to your lip, tears still streaming down your face. 

Joel frowns, swallowing a lump in his throat, as his thumb moves to brush along the trails of tears left behind on your pretty face. “Yeah, I left. It was wrong. And I’m…a fuckin’ coward for it but I was fallin’ for ya, too hard and too fast and it scared me.” 

You want to say something, to stop him from speaking, but all you can manage is a whine followed by a sniffle. With the back of your free hand, you wipe across one of your tear filled eyes, trying to return to your previous cold-like state. 

But before you can, Joel with his other hand, catches your own in a firm grasp. His fingers press gently into the cup of your palm, smoothing along your soft skin while butterflies dance in your stomach. He brings the back of your hand up to the curl of his lips, placing a gentle but forgiving kiss against your skin. You watch his eyes fall close for just a split second, as if he’s gathering the strength to continue. “You may never be able to forgive me for that and…and…I’m so sorry.” He mumbles apologetically. He was never able to find the right words so all he could muster was to apologize. And he would, until his very last breath. 

Now you really can’t find the words to respond to him. Cotton in your mouth, choking you, keeping you from further speaking your mind. 

He takes your silence as an answer though. 

He coughs slightly, clearing away the pain that lingers in his own chest. “I’ll leave and this time…uh, I’ll stay gone.” Joel finally says, promising to never return. Didn’t want to hurt you more than he already has. 

And yet, he lingers letting go of you. His warm hand catches one more tear from your reddening eyes before he slowly begins to slip his hand from your face. Sculpting you— as if he wanted his hands and his heart to never forget you, if this was to be the last time he ever saw you. So when his hands finally fall away, untangling entirely from you, it feels like the weight of the world slams into your chest. You watch as he stumbles back to the edge of the tub, fishing after his stained jeans. 

Time slows as your gaze follows him. You watch him move sluggishly towards his clothes littering your bathroom floor. You imagine him leaving, for good, this time, limping his way back to his little corner of Jackson, leaving you, avoiding you for the rest of your numbered days, never to see each other again…and that thought hurts more than anything.

You were not losing him a second time. 

You reach out for him. A firm hand stretches out quickly and you grip around the thick of his bicep; stopping him in his quest for his clothes. Tears spring free once more before you can stop them, and now it’s your turn to caress his confused face. You shake your head and thankfully, without any words, Joel seems to know exactly what you mean. His hand slips over your own, tangling his fingers into yours once more, while his other hand returns to press flush into your back. He moves like a man not wounded as he sweeps you up into him; closer and closer, he needs your body against his far more than he needs anything else. Pain, to be forgotten, as his lips crash into yours. He kisses you, full of longing and passion and need and all sorts of want. As if he had been waiting for ages to get the chance to kiss you once more. 

A sob slips from your lips and into his own but you kiss him back nonetheless. He gently squeezes your hand as you reciprocate his yearning, kissing you deeper and you accept it all. Falling into a perfect rhythm, as if you two had never parted in the first place. Twisting and turning, stitched together, made to fit perfectly for each other. 

You’d never admit how many nights you had lied awake, hoping for another moment like this with him. Never once had you sought out someone to fill the hole he had left. There was never going to be anyone else— it was always going to be him, and deep down you knew that from the moment you two had met. 

You’re the first to break from the kiss. Sucking in a sharp breath, tilting your head down and away from him for the moment. A laugh bubbles in your throat but it never comes out, so Joel oddly laughs for the both of you. 

“I don’t deserve this.” He admits, shaking his head in disbelief. As if he truly cannot grasp that whatever this was, that it was happening. 

“Maybe so,” You respond, finally clearing your throat of every obstacle from before. “You’ll just have to do a really damn good job of making it up to me.”

“I’d…like that. To make it up to ya.” He echoes your request, brushing his thumb once more across the high of your cheekbone, collecting any tears that he possibly could. His gaze is softer than you had ever seen it before; even when it had just been the two of you, surviving in Boston. Regret, sorrow, and love in those damned hazel eyes of his as he looks so sweetly at you. “I wrote…letters. Tried to, anyway, was just never good at words.” Joel chuckles, restating at how bad he truly was with words…and his feelings. That much was obvious, again.

This time, you finally manage to laugh along with him. “Mhm, tomorrow, I’d really like to read them.”

[cerisereids]

hi all (18+ ONLY NSFW) don’t mind me just thinking about how aaron would be super apprehensive to opening himself up again sexually after haley, especially not when it’s with the new agent hired at the bau. he’s been trying to resist the teasing glint in her eye over the past few weeks she’s been hired, but clearly he’s failing miserably as he scrambles on top of her. she’s made a mess of him, his tie long forgotten, his button up half undone as she runs her long, manicured nails through his stiff hair. it’s like he’s on fire, a burning desire coursing through his veins as he slots his knees between her thighs, the plush skin squeezing around him, making him dizzy. he rocks his hard length against her warm, damp core and his eyes roll back in his head. he hears her gasp at the impressive size of him, and the noise is enough to make his stomach flip, a warmth settling deep in his belly grower hotter and hotter the more she writhes and moans underneath him.

“don’t wanna hurt you,” he breaths out as more clothes fly off, the skin on skin contact making him crazy.

“i can handle it,” she whispers, beaming up at him with a determination that swells his heart by three sizes. what other choice does he have?

[nyxtickled]

feels like a good enough time to add to the discourse that there is a difference between cancel culture and accountability.

cancel culture is usually created by an affected community in response to an acknowledgment of harm. sometimes the person acknowledging said harm is the one at fault for instigating such a response, sure, no denying that; usually this is the case when you see callouts that are riddled with insults, character attacks and/or unproductive attempts at private conflict resolution prior to the post.

but there really needs to be more fucking acceptance and less defensive backlash for the act of acknowledging harm done with the sole motive of raising awareness of unacceptable actions/behaviors and minimizing the repetition of these acts elsewhere. sometimes people have tried to resolve the issue privately and were dismissed. other times people have stayed silent and then gone on to witness that individual inflicting the exact same harms onto others.

if a callout is genuinely done from a place of concern and with the intent to reduce harm being done, it’s not “cancel culture” until a bunch of other mfs start jumping on it saying “wow fuck them! blocked! cancelled!” etc. that’s one element that can be improved upon as a community when it comes to a generalized response to these matters. not every callout constitutes a pitchfork-wielding mob.

however, that also requires a community to utilize some critical thinking skills and determine whether an offense is actually heinous enough to call for excommunication (i.e. physical/emotional abuse, boundary violation accompanied by no acknowledgment of wrongdoing, repeatedly preying on new or younger community members who don’t recognize red flags). sometimes people just cause unmalicious harm, but if a victim chooses to acknowledge that harm, it’s their right to do so.

maybe instead of policing every victim or perpetrator’s intent, you could just listen to them and acknowledge that it was in fact wrong or harmful without attaching the event to someone’s character (unless it’s genuinely their character that is harmful - then we end up in a position where the safest option is to ensure that person does not have access to you).

like at the end of the day unless you are the victim or the perpetrator involved in a situation you don’t actually know what it felt like or what the intent was. so if someone’s trying to make you aware of something, simply become aware of it and act accordingly. lashing out at victims who speak about any level of harm they experienced literally does nothing but dissuade other victims (who may have experienced serious harm that NEEDS to be spoken about in order to end a pattern of abuse in a community at large) from speaking about shit.

and maybe learn to discern between a harmful behavior and a harmful person. that alone will make the correct solution much more intuitive when it comes to keeping people and a community accountable, responsible and safe.

[girlsdads]

https://www.tumblr.com/girlsdads/762007245755170816

It looks like daniel is peeing

em!!! you put this in my brain and i promptly had a crisis, so of course i had to give Max that same crisis, and somehow this became 1.3k 🫡

cw: (consensual?) voyeurism, romanticized peeing

Practice gets red-flagged early on. Max doesn’t see who is in the barrier as he slowly passes, just knows it isn’t Daniel. He’d been assured of that down his radio almost instantly, though he hadn’t asked. He thinks it must be team protocol to tell him this, that it’s not his teammate in the totaled car. Still, Max flushes bone-deep, feeling too exposed, too obvious. Feeling like they know, everyone must know, his brain turns to goop around Daniel and he never catches himself in time.

He trails Daniel to his driver’s room anyway, knowing how it looks. Daniel grins over his shoulder at Max, starts skipping ahead, makes Max chase him. Warmth blooms in Max’s belly. He may be always following behind Daniel, but Daniel is always looking back.

Daniel shrugs his race suit off his shoulders, lets it hang open around his trim waist. The humidity has stamped dark patches on his white fireproofs where he’s started to sweat through. Max closes the door behind himself and stands there awkwardly, trying to think of something to say that will make Daniel laugh, trying not to make direct eye contact with Daniel’s sweaty armpits, lest he shove Daniel against the wall and stick his nose there.

What happens instead is much, much worse.

Daniel is making a beeline to the bathroom, thumbs hooking into the elastic over his flat pelvis. Max’s vision tunnels, the air in the room seeming to close in around him with a swoosh.

“What are you doing?” He hears himself ask, stupidly.

It’s obvious what Daniel is doing. He’s shimmying his hips side to side as he nears the toilet, wiggling the Nomex down. He’s left the door wide open. He stops and smiles at Max, blinding. “Gotta drain the snake, as they say.”

Who is saying this other than you, Max wants to shoot back, knows he should match Daniel’s cheeky tone, rib him a little then leave the fucking room like a normal person. He hears the wet pop of his own bottom lip dropping open, feels the weight of the words against his larynx, but is struck completely dumb watching Daniel pull out his flushed, soft cock.

Max has of course seen Daniel’s dick before, it would probably be more weird if he hadn’t, like he was purposely trying not to. But the handful of other times have only been glimpses in his periphery, nothing like this. Like this, close range and staring openly because Daniel knows Max is there and still he didn’t close the door, Max can see everything.

The double-stacked waistband of his briefs and fireproofs is tucked up snug under his balls. Max can see where the dark, stubbly hairs are starting to grow back, on his sac and around the base of his cock. Daniel has joked before, about manscaping, but to see the evidence of it like this is dizzying. Max wants to go to his knees and pull each ingrown hair free with his teeth.

Daniel holds himself loosely in his left hand, the ruddiness of his shaft clearly visible through the gaps between knucklebones. The head is peeking out past the circle of his index finger and thumb, fat and flushed a little darker than the rest of him. Even soft, his cock looks heavy and full. Max’s mouth floods with saliva and he sucks it back with his cheeks pinched in, hoping Daniel won’t hear the wet slurp.

His skin feels hot. He’s stuck like an ant under a magnifying glass in the sun, his insides incinerating as he watches an arc of piss flow from the gorgeous tip of Daniel’s cock, noisily splashing into the bowl.

Daniel groans, his chin bobbing down toward his chest like someone cut the string that was holding his head upright. Piss hisses out of him, harder now, like he’s pushing it. It is so loud and the walls are thin—anyone lingering nearby must be able to hear, to know. Max wishes he could put up a forcefield, shelter them both inside where only Max can hear the sounds Daniel’s body makes.

It is all over so quickly. The stream trickles to a stop and then Daniel is shaking off the last little dribbles before he’s tucking himself away. Max feels a pang in his chest like grief—he hadn’t finished mentally cataloguing every angle of this moment, needs the image 3D printed into his brain so he can remember forever. Daniel will probably never speak to him again after this, will certainly not let Max anywhere near his bare cock once he turns and sees—Max is hard.

Daniel is shrugging back into the shoulders of his race suit and Max is standing there tenting his own, mortifyingly obvious. Max braces for whatever awkward joke Daniel will try to make to mask his disgust, as he faces Max finally.

He watches Daniel notice. He watches his eyes go slightly bigger and rounder, watches his jaw tick like he’s going to drop it. His gaze feels like a physical weight. Max’s dick throbs once, twice. There is no way Daniel cannot see.

Daniel says nothing, in the end. He smiles at Max, easy as anything, as if Max isn’t a complete freak of nature with a boner from watching his teammate take a piss. He even claps Max on the shoulder as he passes on his way out the door, doesn’t seem to catch how Max sways, knees wobbly, under his touch.

And then Max is alone in Daniel’s driver’s room. Alone and hard and—fuck, a realization burns through him—Daniel didn’t flush.

Max lurches forward before he can stop himself. His foot catches on some part of the floor and he stumbles, nearly going to his knees right there in front of the toilet.

It should be mostly clear, with how they are supposed to be staying hydrated, but apparently Daniel is not doing a very good job. Max has to steady himself with one hand on the wall as he stares down into the bowl, dazed. The water is tinged an unmistakable yellow. It hits Max viscerally, that Daniel has bodily functions and that he did one of those right in front of Max, was comfortable enough to not care if he saw. It’s unbearably intimate in a way that Max can’t think too hard about or he’ll forget how to drive his car, probably. He thinks, wildly, that he wishes he could live inside Daniel’s body, surrounded by all the microscopic things that make him him. He wants to kiss every single one of Daniel’s cells and thank them for keeping him alive.

Even more wildly—he wants to massage his bladder from the inside, tell it he’s sorry it had to get so full, that Daniel should never have to hold it for too long, that he could always if he cannot wait tell Max to go to his knees, and Max would, anywhere, tip his head back and open up for everything Daniel has to give—

Max rips his layers off, feeling frenzied. Elastic stretches around his thighs as he squats lower, his cock now leaking bare over the bowl full of Daniel’s pee. He had foregone underwear earlier, the crotch of his fireproofs now absolutely soaked through with precome. It will be cold and sticky around his cock and balls when he gets back in the car, he will have to drive again and feel it and he will think about Daniel and his dehydrated piss and the sound he made when he let go—

Max comes, shaking, aiming his cock so that it splatters into the bowl, milky white swirling with yellow. Max and Daniel together, like it should be always.

[pupkashi]

satoru loves you & he’s tired of being your friend

a/n: loosely inspired by taehyungs song fri(end)s i hope u guys like pls lmk what yall think plsplsplspls

word count - 1,764

masterlist

the only light illuminating your living room was from your tv as it played your favorite comfort movie, one you’d seen countless times before. the familiarity of it had you dozing off on your couch, in and out of sleep as you lost the battle with your heavy eyelids.

there’s a soft knock on your door that has you jumping out of your skin, heart racing loudly in your ears. you pause the movie, wondering if maybe you’d hallucinated it and it truly was time for you to go to bed.

knock, knock, knock

your palms are sweaty, checking your phone before standing up. there’d been no missed texts or calls from anyone you knew, who the fuck knocks on a door at 3:24 in the morning?

you grab the baseball bat by the door, peeking through the peephole and being met with tousled white locks. a color of hair you’d be able to spot a mile away, one you’d grown to care for.

“what are you doing at my door at four in the fucking morning?” you whisper-yelled, setting the bat down and opening the door wider to let the man in. he gives you a small smile, one hand pushing his hair back and out of his face and the other holding his side.

“sorry sweet cheeks, didn’t wanna go home just yet” he mumbles, stepping in and standing by the doorway, waiting for your instruction.

“d’you get hurt? are you bleeding?” the annoyance in your voice is gone, and it makes satoru relax. he gives you a small nod, shrugging his shoulders and trying to play it off.

“nothing that won’t be healed by mornin’” you roll your eyes at him, muttering a small ‘come on’ and walking to the bathroom down the hall. “i miss you y’know” satoru says softly, watching as you searched for the first aid kit under the sink, grabbing the box and making him sit on the toilet lid.

“did you really?” you scoff, not meeting his gaze as you grab a soft rag, running it under warm water. satoru furrows his brows, confused as to why you think he wouldn’t have missed you.

“‘course i did,” he replies, opening his mouth to continue but closing it quickly when you turn to face him.

“can i take your blindfold off” you ask, your hands fiddling with the damp rag before setting it down when he nods ‘yes.’ you find the small knot hiding in his hair, gently undoing it.

the black blindfold loosen instantly, and you’re quick to gently take it off his head, setting it on the counter. his hair flops onto his forehead, falling almost perfectly to frame his face. despite the countless times you’d seen his eyes, your breath still hitched in your throat when you looked into them.

you try not to stare too long, brushing his hair out of his face and cleaning the dried blood on his face. satoru doesn’t take his eyes off you, eyes tracing your every feature. his gaze is one you always faltered under, growing nervous when he’d stare at you for too long.

“what” you ask, a small nervous smile forming on your face. satoru shakes his head, a small upside down smile on his face as you wipe the cut on his cheeks with an alcohol wipe.

“you’re just real pretty” he says, watching as you bite your bottom lip, surely trying to stop the smile fighting its way into your face.

“is you side hurt too?” you motion to where his hand is covering, trying to brush past the compliment he’d given you.

“healed it up a good amount while you were cleaning me up” he shrugs, lifting his shirt and showing you the brand new scar, “I’m not completely helpless.”

“no you’re the strongest” you tease, throwing away the used items and washing your hands. “did you wanna shower? you look like you could use it” satoru pouts at your words.

“don’t have to be so mean about it” you laugh softly, drying your hands before you’re standing in front of him again. you let your hands brush through his hair, exposing his forehead before you press a kiss to the skin.

“sorry angel, you’re the one who woke me up” satoru lets his eyes close softly, heart sinking a bit when you pull away from him.

“I’ve got some clothes you’ve left over so I’ll leave ‘em on the counter” you smile, closing the door behind you and sighing softly.

how’d you get to this point? how’re you stuck between friends and something more?

friends don’t feel the way you do about satoru. friends don’t place feathery kisses on their friends scars. friends don’t act the way you two act.

satoru steps out of the shower, smiling when he realizes his clothes smell like you. his heart leaps when he exits the restroom, finding you still awake and waiting for him on the couch.

“waiting for someone?” his voice makes you jump a bit, shaking you head and watching as he sits next to you. “did you have plans for tomorrow?” he questions, watching as you send a text.

“told them something came up,” you shrug, “figured you need me more.”

the words tugged on satoru’s heartstrings. there was a never night you hadn’t been there when he needed you. you’d been there for him since the day you’d met him, there to comfort him and ease his racing mind. you were there to calm him from panic attacks and frustrations, help him through grief and stress. everything.

you were a great friend.

he hated that word. you weren’t his friend, you were something more. he knew how he felt about you, he had an inkling feeling you felt the same. so what’s stopping him?

satoru shakes the question out of his head, focusing instead on the tv. the end credits are rolling but you’re not looking away, eyes unfocused and your mind elsewhere.

“should we go to sleep?” satoru whispers, a feathery touch to snap you back to reality. you nod with a small smile, the two of you making the familiar walk to your bedroom, satoru turning off any lights and closing the bedroom door behind him before slipping in next to you.

you’d always liked having your head on his chest, you were able to hear his heartbeat this way. the rhythmic pitter-patter never failed to make you smile or help you relax. it also gave away anytime he was nervous.

“your hearts beating real fast” you state, not looking up, instead continuing to draw circles in the palm of his hand. “what are you thinking about?”

there’s too many thoughts in satoru’s head, so many that he can’t begin to process a single one of them. so instead he blurts out what had been on his mind all night.

“i love you.”

you never thought people were telling the truth about time stopping when something like this happened. you’d always figured they romanticized their life a little too much.

but you felt time stop.

your fingers faltered and you felt your breathing hitch in your throat. your stomach erupted in butterflies, face hot and your eyes wide as the three words landed on your ears.

there was a million thoughts in your head, memories flooding in. spring nights around a fire pit, hot summer days at the beach, cool autumn afternoons carving pumpkins and cold winter mornings drinking hot chocolate. and in every one of them you bit back three words while staring at the white haired man.

“you don’t have to say it back” satoru begins, his heart beating even faster than before, “i just- I’ve been think-” you sit up quickly and cut him off, shaking your head and finally looking him in the eyes.

“I love you too,” you smile, letting yourself enjoy the the moment of euphoria the two of you felt upon hearing the other say the three words you’d dreamt of.

there’s only a second of silence before satoru’s blue eyes are looking at your lips, flickering up to meet your eyes momentarily. all it takes is you leaning in ever so slightly.

his hands are cupping your cheeks, crashing his lips against yours, a sense of urgency as his lips move against yours. he tastes like his vanilla lip balm and toothpaste, smiling as the words replay in your head.

“what’s funny?” he mumbles against your lips, laughing softly, not bothering to pull away from your lips. satoru’s cerulean eyes are fluttering open, completely focused on you.

you pull away a couple inches, staring into his eyes, you can see the emotions swimming in his eyes, love and excitement written over his face as he takes in your beauty.

“just happy” you reply, “never thought you’d put the end in friends” satoru pouts comically at your words, shoving his face in your lap and groaning softly.

“‘m sorry” he grumbles, “new to all the relationship stuff” there’s genuine frustration and remorse in his voice, it makes you smile as your run your fingers through his hair, tugging softy.

“‘s okay” you say, “thought technically I’m not yours since you haven’t asked me” he knows you’re poking fun at him, not rushing him into anything.

“don’t worry,” he says, sitting up and adjusting himself to lay down next to you, smiling when you lay your head on his chest, “gonna make you mine as soon as i can.”

the words make your heart flutter again, a sheepish smile on your face as your cheeks and ears burn.

“alright smooth talker let’s get some sleep.”

funny enough satoru feels the weight on his shoulders grow lighter with your body weight pressed against him. he feels a sense of serenity running his fingers up and down your exposed skin.

you can see goosebumps rise where your fingertips touch, smiling softly and holding back a giggle as your fingers ghost over his abs, causing him to shiver.

it’s different from before, more intimate.

satoru wonders why he was so afraid of baring his heart to you in the first place. he can’t find an excuse as he watches the golden ray of sunshine hit your face softly, causing you to stir. he’s still as he watches you immediately nuzzle your face into his side, falling back into a deep sleep in his arms.

it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep too, a smile on his face when he feels your grip tighten.

lovers, he thinks, it has a nice ring to it.

taglist (send an ask to be added): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke

[blueberrybeomgyu]

୨⎯ "insomnia" ⎯୧ (lcy)

+*:🍓:*﹤smut w a little plot, sub!anton, roommates/friends to lovers, unprotexted sex, edging, wet dreams, palming, blowjobs, light nipples touching, petnames: baby boy, anton calls reader noona, switching povs, fem reader, clit rubbing / wc: 5k / masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

anton can't sleep. 

he tosses and turns just to wake up two hours later, hot, sweaty, and heaving. he writes it off as having nightmares, but that doesn’t explain the hard-ons he always has. he considers getting one off to help him relax, and that works for the first two nights. then, in the days that follow, it's like no matter how long he goes at it, getting himself all whiny and desperate, he can't cum. that realization only makes it harder to stay asleep, lucky if he dozes off for forty minutes.

it's so aggravating. during lecture, he can barely keep his eyes open, but when his head hits the pillow, it's like he can't shut his mind up. 

tonight, he gives up around 1 am after going in and out of sleep for an entire hour. he's restless but exhausted, and his mood is shot when you walk in the apartment. you had a long shift, so you can’t wait to snuggle in bed and watch a couple of comfort movies. you stop by the kitchen on your way to your room, unable to ignore your roommate's quiet grumbles. 

“anton?” you call out, but his back is turned toward you, and he's still mumbling to himself, fiddling with a container.

“sweetheart, is everything alright?” you ask, placing an arm on his shoulder and gently turning him toward you. 

“m fine, can't get this stupid box open.” he mumbles grumpily. in his hands, a box of hot cocoa packets is bent out of shape. you look at him in question (how did he bend the box like that? they aren't hard to open), but your attention is instead drawn to his features.

to put it short, he looks terrible. his eyes are puffy and red like he's been crying, his hair is tangled like he hasn't brushed it in days, and his oversized shirt is hanging off his shoulder, wrinkled and stretched out like he’s been pulling at it.

“do you need help?” you reach for the box, but he moves out of your way, tucking the box to himself protectively as he continues struggling with it.

anton knows he looks stupid, struggling to open this goddamn box, but ever since his problem of not getting off started, he hasn't been able to look you in the eyes. every time you guys make eye contact, he feels ashamed.

what’s frustrating is that he doesn’t know why. you're beautiful, and he can't lie and say he's not attracted to you, but he's never thought about you in a sexual way, because he’s put in great effort to not do so.

so why is it hard to be around you all of a sudden? he can’t help but feel sad about the circumstances, as he was enjoying the friendship you two had been building for the past three months.

“i got it.” he mutters again, tone sharp and stern. you watch him for a couple seconds and conclude that he doesn't in fact have it.

“are you sure, toni? i can-”

“i said i've got it.” he snaps, voices suddenly raised and face scrunched up in annoyance. you slightly flinch at his outburst, a wave of your own irritation washing over you. 

“excuse me?” you ask, offended by his tone. his face falls and he turns away from you again. seconds later, his shoulders begin to shake with his sobs. 

he wishes you would leave him alone, because having your eyes on him makes him feel things he can’t explain. he just wants to have some hot cocoa, get off, then go the fuck to sleep. 

“oh, toni.” you coo, mood softening as you begin rubbing his back. “what's the matter?”

you and anton aren’t extremely close, and not by lack of trying. you’re so attracted to him, but love being his friend and don’t want to mess it up by asking him out. despite that, you've never seen him in this state before. his usually cheerful, even charismatic personality is completely gone, turned into something snappy and miserable. 

“i'm so tired.” he says, his voice shaky and so quiet you almost don’t hear him. the palms of his hands come to rub his eyes aggressively. “can't sleep, no matter what i do.”

you wonder how long he had to be in this state to be acting like this, feeling a bit guilty that you hadn't noticed the signs earlier. you think for a second about how to help. 

“i was going to go watch some movies in bed.” you offer after a few moments of silence. “do you want to join me? it might be nice to have some company for a little bit.” 

he lowers his hands from his eyes and thinks about your offer. you guys have huddled in bed for movies before, so it isn’t a wild suggestion, and your bed is always so warm, multiple blankets and plushies adding extra cushion. he turns around, ignoring the heavy feeling he gets from looking at you.

“here, i'll even make this for you.” you gently remove the box from his hands, ripping its cardboard flap and opening it with ease. he looks at you in surprise for a second, then nods. 

“okay, why don't you go get settled and i'll be there in a minute?” 

he pads softly to your room, shoulders slumped and feet dragging.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

anton is buried underneath your duvet and blankets, only his eyes up to his forehead visible when you walk into your bedroom. 

“comfy, are we?” you ask with a light chuckle, reaching out to hand him his cocoa. he sits up in bed and takes the mug. after changing into pajamas in the bathroom, you settle into your own space and pull up a selection of movies on your phone. 

“how's the cat returns?” you ask, watching as he downs the drink and snuggles back into the sheets. 

“fine.” he mumbles, eyes droopy. you feel bad for him again, hoping he'll be able to get some sleep tonight.

you get through that and a third of coraline when you hear anton huff loudly. you glance down to see that he's snuggled up by your chest, eyes shut and breath even. he’s never slept in your bed before, but you don’t want to wake him up from some much needed rest. you take a moment to appreciate his beauty. in the glow from your bedside lamp, you can see his rosy cheeks and furrowed eyebrows, and your heart swells with fondness. maybe this will make you guys even closer. you smile in triumph and continue the movie. 

ten minutes later, you hear it. you ignore it the first time, but it happens again soon after. anton lets out a faint whimper. for a second, you think he's talking to you, but he doesn't respond when you call out his name. instead, he full-on moans. 

“n-noona.” he mumbles. the blankets have fallen from his chest and pooled around his pelvis, and you see his hips twitch slightly. “please…”

was he…having a wet dream?

surely not, you tell yourself. the circumstances of this happening are quite unlikely. 

“y/n…need you.” he whines quietly, and your eyes jump to the size of saucers. 

he was having a wet dream about you?!

your cheeks heat up, feeling flattered but scandalized. he doesn't say anything else, but his breath picks up rapidly, becoming more choked off as it progresses. seconds later, he jerks awake, gasping and panting, his fingers tangled into the blankets. you watch as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to slow down his breath. then, he opens them again and looks up from your chest. 

“oh, noona, did i wake you? i'm sorry.” he asks, voice thick and words slurred.

you ignore the way hearing him call you that now makes you hot all over, arousal manifesting in your panties. he sits up with messy hair and puffy cheeks. is he just going to pretend like he wasn't dreaming about you? 

“what?” you scoff, a smile tugging at your lips. you can't help but laugh at how weird this situation was.

“sorry for disturbing you, i'll head back to my room now.” you watch in disbelief as he sluggishly stands up from the bed and not-so subtly covers his boner with his large shirt.

the truth is, anton can't wait to get out of your vicinity. your scent is stuck to his clothes, and he doesn't know why he likes it so much. that shameful feeling is back, and he wants it off his skin.

“wait, anton.” you call out, dropping your phone on the sheets and just barely catching his wrist.

shit. he turns back to you, eyes falling to your mouth, and he could've sworn you were almost…smirking?

“did you get to sleep?” you ask, but your eyes lack genuine curiosity.

“oh, yeah, i guess i did.” he answers awkwardly, looking everywhere but your eyes. he’s so cute, and his nervousness makes you feel empowered.

“what did you dream about?” 

“what?” he looks at you finally with a look of confusion.

“dreams? did you have any?” you slowly lead him to sit back down. he follows easily, pulled back onto your soft, comfortable blankets.

“uhm, no, not that i remember.” 

“you can't remember what you dreamt about?” you ask, incredulous. he looks away for a second, thinking, then turns back to you and shakes his head. 

“i think i've been having nightmares a lot recently. i keep waking up on the verge of a panic attack.” he explains. you hum in contemplation. you can’t help but wonder if any more of these “nightmares” have actually been wet dreams, and if so, how many of them have been about you. 

slowly, your hand trailed along his thigh, and you delight in the sound of his breath hitching. his body is tense, eyes looking at you in question. “but that's alright, i guess i don't w-want to if they were that scary.” he stutters as your hand trails higher and higher. you’re giving him a sultry look, and he wonders if this is going where he thinks it’s going, and is surprised to realize maybe he wants it to go there, despite it being so sudden.

“that's interesting, because i think i know what you dreamt about, and why you can't get to sleep.” you say, circling your finger around a spot right on his hip. they twitch under your touch, and you almost coo again watching him try to restrain himself. 

you’re not sure where you suddenly got the nerve to act like this, but you say to hell with it. you’ve been harboring a crush on him ever since you became his roommate, and he obviously shares the same desire, if his subconscious is anything to go off of. his shy demeanor only makes you more confident. you move on from his hip and slide a hand up his loose shirt.

anton’s almost relieved by your statement—he wants almost nothing more than to have a full night's rest—but he finds it hard to focus on your words as your nails lightly scrape his skin. his eyelids flutter prettily.

“when was the last time you came?” you ask abruptly, causing anton’s eyes to snap open.

“i’m sorry?”

“you likely can't go to sleep because you're so tense. when you do, you can't stay asleep because you keep having wet dreams about me that eventually wake you back up.” you’re not sure if the last part is true, but that’s your working theory. you watch as he struggles to comprehend your statement as you graze a couple of fingers over his nipple, voice catching in a gasp. 

“what are you talking about? i'm not even having inappropriate thoughts about you.” he defends, because he tries so hard to not have inappropriate thoughts about you. he doesn’t want to be a pervert and take advantage of the friendship you guys have, so he pushes away any sexual thoughts that creep up in his mind. sometimes it’s so hard, but he values your company so much, and doesn’t want to upset you.

“oh, yeah? so when you moaned, ‘y/n noona, i need you’ in your sleep, you weren't having inappropriate thoughts about me?” you ask, over-exaggerating the way he moaned. his eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of you tugging on his nipple, then you trail your hand back down to lightly trace his bulge. his hips lift towards your hand, and you pull it away. 

even in his aroused, half-asleep mind, your words make sense. why he feels shame looking at you, why he’s always rock solid when he wakes up. it’s not a far fetch to think he’s been having sexual dreams, nor is it to wonder if those dreams are about you, since you’re the only person he’s been attracted to lately. 

you wrap your hand around his member through his pants, snatching him out of his thoughts. 

“f-fuck.” he gasps quietly, surprised at your actions. “what are you doing?”

“did you think you could get off on the thought of me and i wouldn't take up the opportunity to finally fuck you?” 

questions swim around in his head. have you been wanting to have sex with him? you’ve been thinking about him inappropriately this whole time? the mere idea of you finding him attractive gets him even more hot and bothered, but he has no time to dwell on these thoughts once you start palming him roughly through his sweatpants.

“oh, g-god.” he whimpers out after a few minutes, hips finally bucking into your touch. “please, ‘m close.” his breath quickens again, uneven and harsh like it was in his sleep. his cheeks are dusted with baby pink, embarrassed about how close he’s gotten so quick, but he can’t help it. you’re so beautiful and you’re touching him and he’s realizing maybe his feelings are bigger than he previously thought. 

“you're gonna cum from humping my hand?” you ask, unimpressed. “we haven’t even started yet.”

your words make him feel like he’s being boiled alive. part of him can’t believe this is happening, but he’s so desperate to please you. anton gasps, pushing his hips back onto the blankets to get away from the stimulation.

“please, stop. wanna last.” he begs. he’s so cute, all weak and compliant, and you want to tease him more, see how long he holds out, but you can tell how much he wants to last, so you relent. he mumbles weak “thank you”s as he comes from the edge, and once his breathing returns to normal, you straddle him. he opens his eyes and looks at you in question, audibly gulping when he sees your dark, hungry gaze. he starts a sentence, but you cut him off as you grind your cunt against his member. 

“god, y/n.” he groans, throwing his head back into the pillows. 

“sorry, you were saying?” you ask, giggling meanly. you keep the movement up, building a rhythm while watching him struggle to string words together.

“i can’t– ahh– can’t believe t-this is happening.” he manages, interrupted by a particularly rough grind. for a second, his head catches on the opening of your cunt, and even through two layers of clothing, the feeling has him reeling.

“hm.” you sigh into the feeling and accept the fact that you were gonna have to throw these underwear away. ���why’s that?”

“you’re so pretty a-and nice and– fuck, fuck, need you, please.” he whimpers out, echoing the words he spoke while asleep. you take in the sight of him, and he just looks so beautiful, brown hair fanning out beneath him. his lips are red from him biting them, and you can’t resist the temptation to lean down and kiss him. he tastes a little like the cocoa he had earlier.

it starts out slow, anton taking a couple of seconds to comprehend the situation, overcome his shock, and actually kiss you back. then it becomes more of him panting against your mouth, hips jerking erratically under your weight.

you still don’t want him to finish just yet, so you lift off of him and ignore the displeased whine he lets out. you pull his sweatpants off slowly while lightly scratching the skin of his thighs, reveling in the sharp gasp he takes. he’s so responsive, so fun to play with.

“oh,” you whisper, shocked to realize he’s not wearing underwear. “so what’s this? were you expecting to come in here and get your dick wet?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing his cock. it’s about average, but thick, and just thinking about having that in you has your pussy throbbing. you’re just teasing, but your words break anton into a cold sweat. 

“n-no! no– these are m-my pajamas.” he explains desperately, words clipping off into a whine as you lift his hard cock with two fingers then let it flop back down. you can’t help but be mesmerized by it. it was a deep shade of pink, almost red, and a white bead of precum was forming at the tip. you subconsciously lick your lips at the sight. you professionally move on from the fact that anton doesn’t sleep with underwear on in favor of running your tongue across the slit of anton’s dick.

he let out a choked sound and his hips jerk violently, but you’re able to back up before his penis collides with your nose. 

“toni, if you want me to touch you here, you have to be still.” you warn, one hand coming to rest on his hip.

“sorry, sorry, i can do that. i can-” his rambling is cut off by you taking his entire head into your mouth. “shit, shit, i– ‘m.” his hands come to tangle into your hair, but you pull off of his dick and place his arms back by his side. you don’t say anything, but you’re sure he gets the command.

“gonna cum already, baby boy?” you ask teasingly, rubbing his wrists gently. his breath hitches at the pet name, and you make a mental note to revisit that later.

“no,” he mumbles defensively. your eyebrow lifts in suspicion, but you take his word for it.

“if you get close, let me know, okay?” you hold eye contact while saying it, and he responds with a nod. “no, baby. answer with your words. can you do that for me?”

“i’ll let you know, promise.” he says, nodding quickly, so desperate to get your mouth back on his dick. you’re not sure how much you believe him, but you oblige, slowly taking his member into your mouth inch by inch. since he’s on the shorter side, it doesn’t take long for you to bottom out, his tip barely even reaching the back of your throat, but he’s hot and heavy on your tongue.

you wait and adjust for a second then begin a pace. under you, anton doesn’t say anything, the only communication being his gasps and grunts. you can tell he’s close by the way his hips stutter, desperate to buck up into the wet heat, but still, he doesn’t say anything. you pull off his dick to instead suck at the head, tongue sliding across and dipping into the slit. almost immediately, anton verbally explodes.

“stop! stop, please– too much, ahh–” he rambles, stuttering around portions of a sentence. he’s so embarrassed, but it’s not his fault you’re playing his body like a fiddle. 

you love the sound of him begging, so you keep up the ministrations a bit longer until his whines are so loud that he’s practically screaming, squirming on your blankets. you pull off again and rub up and down his thighs slowly. he gasps and pants as he comes down, so tense, and his cock is even more red, twitching as a steady stream of precum leaks out of the tip. it’s so vulgar that it almost drives you insane, and you’re starting to think you’re gonna lose it if you don’t sit on his cock in the next few minutes, but you push through it.

“aw, that looks like it hurts. want me to help you, or should i just leave you like this?” you ask, rubbing lightly at the head. in anton’s sleep-deprived, sexually frustrated mind, he can’t see how much you want him, how you’re just as desperate as he is, and thinks you’re serious.

“no, please, please, don’t leave me, it hurts so bad.” his hips jump lightly, drawing your attention to his member in an effort to prove his point. “i can’t–can’t get off alone, need you.” he can’t even fathom the thought of you leaving him like this, tender and submissive and so, so hard. 

you can’t help but coo at that. you slip your pajamas and underwear, as well as his shirt, off, then straddle him again. you grind your cunt against his member again, this time without the barrier of clothing. before he can beg, you crash your lips into his, swallowing any small sounds that try to escape. 

you kiss him until your lips hurt, making up for all the time you spent silently pining after him, not knowing he wanted you just as bad. when you pull away, he’s struggling to catch his breath and looking at you like you hung the stars. 

“you’re s-so stunning, i c-can’t believe you l-like me.” he mumbles through stuttered breaths. his hands lay awkwardly by his sides, and you lift them up to rest on your hips. his thumbs rub circles into them shyly, which causes your heart to swell up.

“how could i not like you, sweet boy? you’re so handsome and smart, so caring.” you run your hand through his tangled hair, gently undoing a couple of knots as you remember the traits and quirks that made you like him from the beginning. he practically melts into your touch and praise, but you’re not done with him just yet. you raise your hips and lean into his ear.

“you’ve been such a good boy, do you want me to fuck you now?” you barely get the question out before he’s nodding again, all eager at the idea of finally feeling your walls against his cock. 

anton watches with slow, bated breath as you line your opening up with his length, but then you actually take it in, bottoming out with no hesitation, and his eyes roll into his head. he screams, but the sound is muffled due to his teeth trapping his bottom lip. you sigh in pleasure while letting yourself adjust to the feeling, then study his features as you clench around his dick.

his eyebrows furrow, and he lets out another high-pitched keen, and you’re mesmerized by his beauty. anton’s grip on your hips tightens as you lift up and slide back down, but you feel a bit annoyed that his eyes remain closed. 

“look at me, toni.” you request, hands resting on his chest to support your weight. his eyes barely open, fluttering like it’s a struggle, and you can't help but think again that he’s just so cute. you want to destroy him.

“good job.” you praise and graze his nipples with your fingers. his hips jerk at the sensation, pushing himself deeper into you, and you squeeze your eyes shut momentarily as a wave of pleasure washes over you. you breathe through it in an attempt to hold on to some sanity. on the next inhale, you pick up the pace, sliding his length in and out of you rapidly. 

“oh, oh god- fuck, th-that’s so good, you’re so good.” anton rambles, his voice strained and high-pitched in a way you’ve never heard before. you’re instantly obsessed with the sound and make a tsk-ing noise when he bites his bottom lip. you lift your hand off of his chest and squish his cheeks. his bottom lip juts out in a forced pout.

“none of that, baby boy. i wanna hear you.”

“-t’s embarrassing.” he mumbles weakly, which tapers off into another moan as you sink down fully and roll your hips. you throw your head back, feeling his thick size touch you in places you’ve never reached. you pick up a rhythm of sliding him in and out of you a couple of times then bottoming out and rolling your hips.

“damn, anton. you f-feel amazing.” you moan, stuttering when his hips buck into your own. you look back at him and his eyes are still open, and he’s giving you that look again, the one that makes you want to shy away under all of that adoration. before you can, he throws his head back, baring his pretty, flushed neck as another high-pitched noise rips its way out of his throat. 

“f-fuck, -m so-sorry, can’t look– gonna cum, i’m–” 

you still on his lap and ignore the frustrated noise he lets out. next to his ear, you whisper, “not yet, toni. don’t you want to make me feel good too?”

he nods dumbly, unaware of how good he’s already making you feel. his eyes are empty and glossed over as you guide his hand to your clit. he rubs it experimentally, and your pleased sigh has him speeding up a bit, pressing a little harder to hear more of those sounds from you. 

his entire body is tense and burning hot, so close to the release he’s been chasing for a week, and watching your beautiful body react to his touch only makes it worse. he wants to get you there first, but when you roll your hips down again, he doesn’t think he can do it.

“p-please don’t move, please, please.” he begs, words slurring and eyes shining with desperation. he’s so deeply submitted to you that it’s almost unbearable, and you have the sudden need to please him, make him cum so hard he forgets his name, then kiss him to sleep. you support your weight with your shaky arms and lift your hips up.

“fuck me, baby. don’t you wanna cum?” you ask, putting on your sweetest voice for him. 

“fuck yeah, yes, need it.” anton grunts out. he wraps your arms around his neck and grips your hips tightly before roughly thrusting into your cunt. 

“oh, fuck, toni–” you gasp out with your face burried in his neck. his desperation shows through his lack of rhythm, his strokes uneven and harsh. he’s hitting your sweet spot so aggressively it feels like you might lose your mind, then his hand comes to rub your clit again, the grip on your waist strong enough to hold you up with one hand. 

“oh, god. cum, please cum, i-i can’t hold it.” he begs, words interlaced with keens and gasps. despite your previous permission, he’s still so desperate to please you, even with wet cheeks and eyebrows furrowed in agony. the sight, the feeling of him pounding into your sweet spot, and the harsh, uneven rubbing on your clit sends you into overdrive. you cum so hard your hearing almost goes out, but you can faintly make out his muffled screams, and you feel him cream in you, hot fluids spilling back over his cock as he works himself through it. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

eventually, the air stills, and for the first time in hours, anton’s tense body fully relaxes, his bones melding into your pillows. you lift off of him to let him fully catch his breath, and slip into the bathroom. his eyes are closed when you return, and flutter open when he feels something warm and wet touch his skin. 

you’re clean now, having wiped yourself down in the bathroom, and he’s silent as you clean him up as well. his blinks are slow like his eyelids are heavy, and you’re overwhelmed with the desire to leave kisses all over his puffy cheeks. 

you put discarded clothing as well as any dirty blankets in your laundry basket, then climb under the duvet with him. he’s warm and cozy when you pull him to lay on your chest again.

it’s silent for a few minutes, but you know he’s not asleep, because his breath is irregular.

“...noona?” he calls out so quietly you’re surprised you hear it, alert to make sure he’s got everything he needs, so you hum in response. 

“did you mean it? that you think i’m…handsome, and stuff?” he mumbles. his voice is so soft and sweet that you just wanna eat him up, but you don’t wanna disturb his comfort. 

“i meant every word, anton. i’ve adored you since we met.” you confess while running your fingers through his fluffy, tangled hair. 

moments of silence pass.

“i think i’ve been denying my crush on you for the past four weeks.” he whispers again, almost uncertain. his words have your heartbeat picking up, the idea of him reciprocating your romantic feelings makes you so happy you could jump on the bed, because you don’t know how you would’ve gone back to being just friends after tonight.

similar thoughts run through anton’s mind. he can’t believe he didn’t see his feelings for you sooner. it feels like after a full week, he’s finally able to relax into his skin again. you’re so comforting, and remembering how you took care of him gives him butterflies. curiously, he looks up at you, and your eyes are staring back at him, as soft and sparkly as they’ve always been. he can’t believe how deep his feelings for you actually run. 

your lips curl into a big smile, then you're suddenly cupping his cheeks and pressing warm, wet kisses all over his face.

“so cute. you’re so, so cute. i can’t resist any longer.” you say through smooches. he grunts in feigned annoyance, pretending that his heart isn’t threatening to jump out of his chest. you lay him back down, but he still has one question on his mind.

“noona, w-will you…be my girlfriend?” his uncertain tone is back, despite everything.

“i better be.” you say lightly, half-joking. you continue running your fingers through his hair, and anton’s eyelids become so heavy that he can’t keep them open despite wanting to stay here in this moment with you. 

you want to be sure before you drift off yourself, so you wait for a few more minutes, and then his breath evens out, and anton falls asleep.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : this story on ao3 <33 pls lmk if i missed any tags i should add! this is my first ff so it's lacking, but i tried my best to fix up any obvious plotholes!!

[the-broken-pen]

Hi! I love love LOVE your writing so much!!!❤️❤️(it’s the only thing sometimes that can help me reorient myself when life sucks)-

Idk if you’ve already written a work like this- but could you write about a villain who fakes being in a relationship with hero to get information. Hero absolutely loves them and thinks that they can finally be happy….but then Villain breaks their heart- while saying they never loved them and that it was all a lie.

and then later on Villain regrets it and realizes they are actually obsessed with hero and go full psycho?

The hero had spent their childhood watching as their parents fought viciously with one another. Slamming doors and breaking plates, and then sullen, withdrawn and nearly silent conversations illuminated only by the dying lamp in the corner of the living room. Whatever the hero’s parents had, it wasn’t love, and never would be. The hero had no way of knowing if it ever had been. 

And then the hero had watched as time after time, their sister loved someone with her whole heart and was left shattered on the hero’s doorstep at the end of it. Fairytales that ended with no happy ending, ripped up love notes and a hundred playlists made for people their sister could no longer bear to name out loud.

The hero had watched their entire family reach for love and fall flat every time, and had resigned themself to a fate of the kind of heartbreak you cannot escape. The kind that hangs over heads like a cloud and fogs mirrors.

And then–

The villain. The hero had met the villain, and the villain had smiled, and they thought maybe, just maybe, they had beaten the curse. That they were meant for the soft kind of love they had only imagined when they were young, before the pain of it got too great.

The hero had let the villain intertwine themself into the hero’s life, and they had thought they were okay. They had thought they had made it. 

Which was why, now, they couldn’t seem to make themself think anything sensical at all.

The villain settled the file in front of the hero gently, on the table they had picked out together with as much care as one was capable of. They almost, almost, looked like they regretted it, face soft and breakable.

The villain cleared their throat in the silence. “If you just read it–”

“What, can’t say it yourself?”

The villain stopped, swallowing. This was the first time in a very long time the hero had seen them look unsure.

The hero scoffed at them. “I know about Project Pegasus.”

The villain went very, very still. They looked down towards the folder.

“So then–”

“This?” the hero picked up the folder, waving it once. They tossed it onto the floor without looking. “I’ve already read it. Two weeks ago.” They stared at the villain, and did their best not to blink. “I just hoped it was fake.”

The hero wondered if maybe, this was what had happened to their parents. If they had spent all of that time fighting and hating one another and crying in darkened rooms just so they could spend the rest of it constantly reaching back towards one another. Pretending that the file wasn’t real. That the fights were nothing more than a blip in existence and not the roots of a rot so deep it would never be fully cut out of them. 

They had wondered about a lot of things, curled on the bathroom floor around that wretched file, but mostly they had wondered if they had always been meant to end up here. If this was what being doomed felt like. 

The villain blinked.

“You hoped it was fake.”

The hero felt a little like they couldn’t breathe. They sucked a shallow breath in through their nose anyways. 

“If you–” their voice broke. “If you were me, would you want to believe it?”

The villain’s shoulders, almost imperceptibly, slumped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yes,” the villain said, but in the space where they should have explained themself, where they should have said it was fake, and that they loved the hero more than anything, and that this little apartment meant everything to them–they said nothing.

“So, what,” the hero snapped, voice wet with barely held back tears. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you? That this was an accident? That you’re sorry again? That you never meant to hurt me–”

“No,” the villain corrected gently. “You were always meant to fall in love with me.”

A tiny sob wormed its way out of the hero’s throat before they could stop themself, and they pressed their shaking fist to their mouth before anything else could follow, turning away.

“It was just about the information,” the villain said, and the hero shoved themself back from the table, just to get further away from the love of their life.

“You knew what you were doing,” the hero said bitterly. “You know me. You knew. You knew I would never be able to get over this, and you did it anyways–”

“It’s my job,” the villain protested, and it took the hero everything in them to remain standing. “It wasn’t personal.”

“You made yourself my world, you made yourself into my everything, you made me fall in love with you–”

“I never made you do anything.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that. This was your goal, wasn’t it? Own up to your accomplishments. Go on. Tell me how proud you are. Do it.”

“Hero.”

“I loved you,” the hero was screaming, maybe.

And there it was. Past tense.

Loved.

The villain stepped back like the hero had slapped them.

“Hero,” their voice was barely a whisper.

The hero picked up the file. Rifled through it once more.

“Hero–”

The hero held out the file. The villain didn’t take it, hands remaining limp at their side.

“Take it.” They gestured with the file. “Take it, and get out.”

The villain sucked in a breath.

“Hero,” the villain said again, uselessly. 

“Tell me you love me, then. Tell me you meant it.” They gestured to the file once more. “Tell me that this is the lie.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

The villain opened their mouth, and for a second, the hero hoped–

“I don’t love you.” 

The hero wished the villain had just killed them. 

“I never loved you. It was all a lie. A really, really pretty lie.”

The hero wanted to say something elegant to that. Something biting and vicious and jagged in the same way the inside of them felt right now. They wanted to say everything they had felt earlier, every thought that had cut them so that it could cut the villain too.

Instead, all they managed was a choked, “Get out.”

They threw the file at the villain.

The villain didn’t bother to catch it, letting it slam into their chest. It thudded against the floor, papers spilling out in a halo around the villain’s feet.

A part of them wanted the villain to argue further.

A part of them just wanted the villain dead.

“I’m sorry,” the villain said once more, and then they were gone.

The villain had known as soon as the hero had thrown that file that they wanted the villain dead. 

That they were more likely to claw their own bones apart than willingly reach for the villain’s hand again, and the logical part of their brain was viciously pleased about it.

It made this whole thing easier. No lingering attachments to further butcher. Just a field, burned so badly nothing would ever grow in it again, and god, wasn’t that convenient for their mission. 

A tiny, smothered part of their brain, however, wouldn’t stop screaming.

They drowned it.

But then the villain would catch themself glancing to their side in search of a smile. They would wait a beat too long after they said something, would wait for laughter, and then there would be none, and they would curse themself for it, and that little part of them would come gasping back to life and start screaming again.

Possibly it was that little part of them that had made them send a message to the hero, offering the apartment. It was the least they could do, right? Fuck up their life and then get the fuck out of it. 

But the texts had said delivered, but never read, and three days later when the villain used their key to open the lock, they found themself stepping into a mausoleum and not a home. 

They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Dust hanging in the air. Blank squares left on the walls where pictures had once hung. Empty cabinets, empty floors, empty rooms; no, whatever they had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

For a reason they couldn’t name, they went from room to room, searching for something without quite understanding what. It wasn’t until they had come full circle back into the living room, fingers coated in dust and an aching chest, that the villain had realized. Ghosts. They were looking for ghosts. 

Because there was nothing better to describe the way they felt right now other than haunted. And if there was something, anything, of the hero left in here to burn, to destroy, to exorcise, they could use it as an excuse–

There was nothing left of the hero. There were no ghosts. This place was just dead.

The villain made a shuddering little sound, and slammed the front door closed behind them when they managed to stumble into the hallway. 

This was an easy mission, it was–

–two years and dates over ramen and houseplants–

–something even a new recruit could do–

–i love you’s in the dark and the scent of the hero on all of their clothes and–

–something the villain was trained for, countless hours spent–

–laughing and crying and rainy days and sunny ones–

–learning how to fake love, and somehow–

–the villain had forgotten it was fake.

The villain couldn’t breathe.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love, too.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love too, and they had just set their entire world ablaze around themself.

Fuck.

It really only made sense, then, that they found themself standing on the roof of their old apartment building as it burned. And when that didn’t work, they moved onto the next, until a third building went up in flames beneath their feet. They knew the kind of message it would send, and they knew exactly who that message would get sent to–

The hero landed on the other end of the rooftop, as far away from the villain as they could possibly get. 

“Stop,” the hero hissed, teeth clenched. “Stop lighting things on fire to get my attention, just stop–”

“I’m in love with you,” the villain said, voice wrecked, and the hero reacted like the villain had shot them. They stepped away, feet bumping against the edge like the fall was a better option than the villain.

“No,” the hero said. They shook as they said it. “Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I love you,” the villain said again, and the hero pressed a hand over their own heart.

“Stay away from me,” the hero managed after a moment. Another deep breath, and their hand dropped back down to their side. “Go do whatever it is you need to do, go ruin anyone else’s life, and stay out of the wreckage of mine.”

“We have a life together,” the villain tried. If the hero could just see, could see that they could fix it– “I’m sorry. I was stupid, I was so, so stupid. But you can’t just leave, please, just let me fix it–”

“I told you to get out,” the hero said, and there was nothing soft in their eyes as they looked at the villain. “What about the way I said it made you think it was temporary?”

“Hero, please, let me fix–”

“Villain,” the hero said calmly, voice sharp. “Some things aren’t meant to be rebuilt.”

All of the air left the villain’s lungs in a pathetic sort of wheeze.

“You’re my everything,” the villain choked out. “My whole world, and I’m so sorry. I was–I made a mistake, but you can’t just throw us away–”

“No,” the hero spat, and the villain flinched. “You burned that world to the ground. You’re standing in the ashes of it. You don’t get to come to me begging for it back.”

The villain felt unmoored. Like the world had shifted one step to the left and they had no idea what to do with their limbs anymore, no idea how to keep existing.

“But I love you.”

“The only person who feels anything when you say that is you.”

This time, it was the villain who stepped back.

“Please,” the villain whispered, and the hero closed their eyes.

“What were you expecting to happen. That I would forgive you? Would fall back into your arms? You could tell me that you’re sorry in every language for the rest of your life and that wouldn’t make what you did hurt me any less. So why would you think you could light a building on fire, tell me you love me, and then make everything go back to the way it was?”

“I–I don’t–”

“There is no back,” the hero said firmly. “There is no undo.”

“I don’t know what to do,” the villain said. A tear dripped off the edge of their chin.

The hero appraised them.

“Learn to live with it.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“I can’t live without you, okay, I can’t–”

“Then die.”

The villain froze. They waited for the hero to take it back, but the hero just stared at them, face stony and cold. An avenging angel on the edge of the rooftop, firelight flickering at their back and smoke rising into the air, not an ounce of sympathy left in their bones for the villain.

And before the villain could say anything, say that the hero couldn’t possibly mean that, the hero spoke again.

“I mean it. You are not my problem.”

The villain was choking. They were drowning on air and the hole they had left inside of themself when they ripped the hero out of their life and the hero was just watching them–

“Please,” they said pathetically, and even as they said it they knew it was futile.

The hero didn’t bother to give them another response.

They watched the hero leave without saying anything, smoke beginning to sting their eyes and nose as their hands shook. 

It felt terminal. It felt world-ending. It felt deserved.

They wished the hero had just killed them.

[quibllyfish]

Can I have Mammon being possessive headcannons plz😊

౨ৎ﹒Mammon x Reader : Possessiveness HCS．𝝑𝝔

﹕You are MAMMON'S human! He's a little possessive when it comes to you- what else would you expect from the avatar of greed??

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა：❝—Whipped this one up in about half an hour! Short and sweet, just a couple of ponderings ꒱ . . ♡

‹𝟹﹕ In my opinion, I think mammon would do a lot of subconsciously possessive things. We see this already when Mammon flippantly calls you 'my human' and whatnot. Often mindlessly, his hands find themselves holding onto you. One rested on your thigh while he's driving or his arm consistently draped over your shoulders as you walk side by side. When other demons ask you a question, he also has a tendency to answer for you (which… can get annoying at times). In his mind, you're practically his, which means he knows everything about you! Why wouldn't he be able to pipe up in your place?

‹𝟹﹕ When you succeed, your success feels almost like an extension of his. If his human gets a good mark on a test, he will be as EQUALLY ecstatic as if he were to have done that well. You answer a question correctly in class?? A giddy smile tugs at his lips- because of course his human would be that smart!!

‹𝟹﹕ A majority of his possessiveness likely finds its origin from the fact that he views you as genuinely his. Maybeee its a bit toxic, as no one wants to be viewed as something thats owned, but these habits of his are oftentimes less harmful as they are irritating. For instance: Mammon is going somewhere. He automatically assumes that you are also coming, as you are his human and therefore need to be brought along. He will most definitely barge into your room whenever he sees fit and announce 'we are going to X/Y/Z' as if it's a statement of undeniable fact.

‹𝟹﹕ He WILL get jealous of almost anything under the sun. Why is Asmo taking you to the mall?? HE can take you to the mall, and he can most DEFINITELY buy you many more things than his brother can. Hell, he'll even go into debt for you! Do you want a car? A house? Asmodeus definitely wouldnt buy you a house. Mammon is either going to the mall with the two of you, or the avatar of lust will have to lock him in a closet and make a mad dash for the door.

[pixiest1cks]

i'd like to think no matter where he's at in his life, dottore likes to ramble as he works.

no matter if he's prime, or the more ill-tempered scholar from the akademiya or even omega build, dottore quietly mumbles as a habit when he's working.

some things he says aloud are just to commit certain details to memory. in the grander scheme of his plans, the details seem small-- but they hold a crucial grip on the entire project. because of this, dottore reasons that the habit holds its merits.

sometimes, he makes sarcastic remarks when something doesn't go well. short, choppy words that mostly go unheard even by those in his general vicinity. when you first worked under him, he had mumbled to himself like usual (it was second nature at that point). what he hadn't expected though, were your responses.

"stupid thing tightly screwed--"

"do you need a wrench, sir?"

before he could respond, you had one held and ready to hand to him. from then on, you would help him out here and there in his more foul moods and dottore would be lying if he said the additional assistance wasn't helpful.

the mad scientist had found an adequate assistant.

work went by smoother, toning down a good portion of his irritation. it's almost as if having someone to support you (even if it was strictly for work purposes) provided more benefits than he had originally thought. of course, he would never admit that. the most he would do is thank you here and there when you proved to be extra useful.

work continues the same for a while. the interactions grow more frequent and so his musings change from your responses. instead of talking to himself, he talks to you. he asks you for your input, for you to pass him whatever he can't reach from his other desk, he asks for you.

that is, until you're gone one day.

dottore doesn't think anything of it. he's worked alone for his whole life, what's a few days without you? but his segments have been more irritable as of late, resulting in lackluster performance as a whole not only from his segments, but his troops. the fatui are fearful of the doctor, but even more so of an irritated one. you'll turn up eventually and everything will be back to normal, he reasons.

but as the days go on, you are still nowhere to be found in the cold, desolate laboratory. he finally pauses in his work to think about where you could be.

something must've happened. something outside of his jurisdiction. it's not like it's his problem. you might've proved a useful assistant to him, but his work holds utmost priority.

yes, work. back to work.

and dottore mumbles as usual, but it's not the same.

by habit, he calls out for you to hand him something--

but you're not there.

dottore is a scholar first and foremost. all it takes to find you is a little bit of research, so he does exactly that. he finds out you've been working somewhere else, somewhere closer to home to better support your family.

well, that's no problem. he'll have his assistant back as soon as possible, no matter the cost. all he needed to know was your whereabouts.

[mae-lou-ron]

Some friendly advice: if you want to get into writing fan fiction, don’t be like me and pick a fandom where the characters tend to lose their body parts at an alarming rate.

[porto-rosso]

when people say tim drake has no personality like oh you dont even know about the unwavering faith in a flawed cause you were loyal to long before being a part of?? 🤨

[softpine]

can you please, please relate? i’m not holding up

[transcript]