#not to imply that you don't read of course

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

She's My Animal.

Mean!Southern!Wanda x Possum!Hybrid!Reader

Word count: 456

Summary: You wandered too far and that's a death sentence out here

Warnings: Gun violence, threats with a weapon, implied past abuse, instinct of playing dead, dehumanizing language, emotional tension, protective aggression, mild swearing

Authors note: This originally started as mean!Southern!Wanda x stray!hybrid puppy!reader, but then the possum/raccoon in me took over and here we are. This is completely self-indulgent and I don't expect anyone but myself to love this. Oh and of course thank you @mommyslittlebird for talking about this and reading it yesterday~

You didn’t mean to wander that far.

But the air had been sweet that morning—warm, soft, full of dragonflies and the low murmur of frogs. You’d meant to stay close. Just stretch your legs a little. Let your tail soak in the sun. The house was always tense when Wanda was in a mood, and she’d been in a mood lately.

So you wandered deeper into the green.

You didn’t realize you were being watched until the first shot cracked the stillness.

You hit the ground hard—heart exploding in your chest, ears ringing, body seizing with instinct.

Play dead play dead play dead.

You’d done it before, with barking dogs, fast cars, Wanda’s raised voice. But this—this was different. There was no fence between you and the man stepping out of the brush, shotgun in hand and a sneer curling his lip.

“Ugly little thing,” he muttered, toeing your side like you were roadkill. “What the hell even are you?”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He cocked the gun again.

This is it.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Waited for pain.

Instead—

Ka-chunk.

The heavy, holy sound of a pump-action shotgun cocking.

“You best put that down,” Wanda's voice drawled, low and flat as standing water. “Unless you really wanna find out how fast I can pull a trigger.”

The man froze.

You opened one eye. Wanda stood at the edge of the trees, boots in mud, gun leveled, her jaw clenched tight. Hair a mess. Shirt half-buttoned. Like she’d come running the second she realized you were gone.

“I don’t want no trouble, Miss Maximoff,” the man stammered.

“Too late. You already aimed at mine.” Her voice cut sharper than any blade. “That’s a death sentence out here.”

“I thought it was some kind of animal—!”

“She is. And she’s my animal.” Wanda stepped closer. “So unless you wanna leave here full of buckshot and regret, I suggest you run your sorry ass back to town.”

He ran.

Fast.

Wanda didn’t lower the shotgun until the sound of retreating footsteps faded. Then she turned to you, still lying limp in the mud.

“You done playin’ dead now?” she snapped, voice still hot with fury. “Or you plan on stayin’ there ‘til the mosquitoes drain you dry?”

You whimpered, but twitched a little in response.

She muttered a curse and knelt beside you, rough hands lifting you with more care than you'd ever admit. “Dumb little thing. I told you not to wander.”

You expected her to shake you. To yell. Instead, her grip stayed firm and steady as she carried you back through the bayou.

“I swear to God, possum,” she hissed, “you’re gonna be the death of me before I’m ever the death of you.”

[kuro8066]

Obedience is taught "patiently".

Dom! Gn reader × brat! Aventurine

Trigger warnings: first time nsfw! We are going WILD people! MDNI. Was inspired by this. Mentioned toys, mostly gn reader but implied cock/strap. degration if you squint. Brat taming aventurine, reader is rough with him. Soft and gentle aftercare tho. Not proofread aventurine might be ooc.

Special thanks to @livelaughlovesubs for the idea. 👉👈❣️

You were exhausted.

Not just physically, but down to the very marrow of your bones. A two-day stretch of back-to-back meetings, endless reports, and a goddamn overnight stay in your office chair with only a lukewarm cup of coffee to keep you company. You had barely changed your shirt when you came home late that evening, your head pounding and muscles stiff.

All you asked was a moment of peace. Just one.

You hadn’t even made it halfway through the living room before Aventurine was on you. Smug grin, arms crossed, leaning by the doorway like he was the picture of casual luxury in his silk robe and wine glass in hand.

“Well, well, the hardworking husband returns. Did they finally let you out of the corporate dungeon?” he drawled, eyes glinting with mischief. “Or did you beg them to release you so you could come back and play house with your spoiled brat?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Aven. Not now.”

“Aww poor baby. What now? Too tired to even bark back at me? And look at you—same tired face, same rumpled shirt. Is that my punishment? That I get leftovers of you after the world’s already drained you dry?”

Your jaw clenched.

" Aventurine. I just need a minute,” you said tightly, heading to the bedroom. “Don’t push me.”

Of course, he pushed. He raised his voice and galred.

"Don't think I'm so needy for your attention. I could walk away anytime I want to."

He spotted throught his teeth. That was the last straw for y/n. He just left aventurine there and walked into the bedroom.

Later, when you sat on the couch with a book in hand—trying to decompress, trying to find a sliver of normal—he stood in the doorway again. Pacing, humming, sighing dramatically. When that failed, he pulled your favorite vase off the side table and dropped it. Glass shattered across the hardwood floor.

You didn’t flinch.

He hurled a book next.

You turned the page of yours.

Aventurine’s voice rose, sharp with disbelief. “You’re really doing this? The silent treatment?” Another glass, this time his wine glass, followed. Red wine splattered on the floor like blood.

Still, you didn’t even blink.

His voice cracked somewhere after the fourth tantrum. “Fine! Be that way, you cruel bastard. See if I care!” But even that sounded hollow.

He walked out of the bedroom and crashing sounds followed after from the living room. Some things are being thrown for sure. And when he realised it wasn't doing anything he came back into the bedroom. Stood at the doorway staring at y/n, who hasn't moved from the same position, still reading.

Hours passed. The air shifted. Desperation began to crawl into his voice, thick and unsteady. At one point, you heard him whisper, “Why aren’t you looking at me…?”

Then—silence.

Until there's a thump sound.

You didn’t look down, not immediately. But you felt the warmth against your knees, the tremble of his breath against your skin.

He was kneeling. In front of you. On the floor.

Face flushed, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, his usual arrogant air was shattered—replaced by something raw, something achingly human. Aventurine clutched at your wrists, lowering your book with trembling fingers.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You like it when I kneel, right? I'm here. I'm here now.”

His forehead pressed against your knee. “Please look at me… Don't ignore me. Touch me. Pet me. Look only at me. Talk only to me.” His fingers tightened. “Make me feel good. Don’t act like you can’t hear me! Please. I’m sorry I acted like a brat.”

Your smirk was slow, deliberate, as you finally looked down at him.

“Took you long enough huh.”

The moment your hand slid into his hair, Aventurine shuddered with relief. Like every tantrum, every wall he threw up, every game he played—was for this. This moment. Your touch. Your attention.

Your control.

“Good boy,” you murmured, thumb brushing the tear tracks from his cheek.

You didn’t say a word.

Not when you stood, not when you left him trembling on the floor like a broken doll clinging to your knee. You just stood up—calm, composed—and walked towards the bedside drawer and took something out.

Aventurine blinked in a daze, confused for a moment. But then you returned. With something small. Discreet. A toy he hadn’t seen in a while.

“You made quite the mess,” you said, voice smooth like sin, gaze pointed as you loomed over him. “I ought to spank you raw for it. But no, that’s too easy. You like that too much.”

He barely registered what was put into his hands. You tapped his cheek lightly, forcing him to look at you. He was flushed, glassy-eyed.

“Put this in. Living room. Sofa. Don’t move a muscle.”

Aventurine came out of the bedroom later and barely made it to the sofa. He collapsed into it, panting. Then you got to work. Clean the mess your lovely baby brat just made.

Shirtless.

Muscles flexing with each sweep of the broom, each lean to pick up broken glass, each bend to gather fallen books. His eyes were wide, lips parted, moans already slipping out of him by the third minute of watching you. The vibrations weren’t rough—they were teasing. Constant. Unrelenting. Not enough to finish, never enough to escape. But just enough to keep him teetering right at the edge.

You didn’t spare him a glance.

And that was the cruelest part.

Aventurine’s hands gripped the sofa’s edge until his knuckles went white. His hips shifted instinctively—but one warning glance from you earlier had him frozen solid. He wasn’t allowed to move. Not even to grind down, not even to twitch.

“Y-Y/N—ah—Y/N, please…”

You stepped over broken glass with elegant ease, veins on your forearms popping deliciously. He whimpered. His toes curled.

“Fuck, I—I’m sorry, okay?! I’ll be good. I’ll listen. Please, I can’t—I can’t—”

Your pace didn’t slow. You kept cleaning. You weren’t finished yet. Not even halfway.

By now, Aventurine had lost all sense of time. Hours? Minutes? Centuries? The only thing he knew was the maddening heat in his body and the ache from clenching so hard he thought he might go insane. The soundproof walls helped—his cries were loud, desperate, echoing back at him as if mocking his fall from smug to pathetic.

When you passed him again, glistening slightly with sweat, the toy surged to a higher setting. He choked on a moan. “Nngh—p-please! Please! I’ll do anything. Just—just touch me. Say my name. Something. Anything. I need—fuck, I need you!”

You finally stopped.

The house was clean. The books were back on the shelves. The glasses were gone. You looked at him, finally, after what felt like an eternity. He was slumped, boneless and shaking, a wreck of pleasure. Overstimulated and craving.

You walked over.

Kneeled before him.

Gripped his jaw.

His tear-streaked eyes fluttered open as your thumb brushed the corner of his lips. “Look at you. All this… just because I didn’t pay you attention for a little while?”

He whimpered. Nodded.

“Pathetic.”

A moan left his plump lips.

“Now beg properly.”

He slurred over his words.

"Ple—argh! Please daddy. I listened to you. I've been good. Please."

“You did well baby.”

The words were soft—unlike the firm grip of your hand twisting the toy out of him. Aventurine sobbed, back arching with the sheer shock of the loss, only to gasp as you replaced it with exactly what he wanted.

Yours.

Hot. Real. Thick. Unforgiving.

He moaned—loud, sharp, a sound born from weeks of need and hours of torment. And you filled him in one smooth, merciless thrust, barely giving him a moment to adjust before you started to move.

He wasn’t ready. That was the point.

“Y-Y/N—!” His hands clawed at the sofa, desperate for grounding. “Too much—ah—!”

“Too bad,” you said into his ear, voice breathless from restraint, from holding back the storm that was now crashing down on him. “You made this mess. You begged for this. Now take it.”

The rhythm was brutal.

Each thrust knocked thought after thought loose from his pretty little head. His back curved like a bow, arms limp , pinned over his head, eyes rolled back, brain melting into pure sensation. The overstimulation made his body feel like fire and static, nerves sparking with every movement of your hips.

And through it all—

Your lips were on his.

Not demanding. Not harsh.

But sweet. Addictively sweet. Devastatingly deep. You kissed him like you owned him—like you were carving your name into his soul through each glide of tongue and teeth. He mewled into it, lips parting willingly as you devoured every broken sound he made.

His body was yours.

His mind was gone.

And you used both like a composer with a violin—each thrust, each shift, each kiss dragging louder and louder cries from his lips. You pushed him down, held him in place, shaped him like clay. Your brat. Your reward. Your punishment.

“Look at you now,” you muttered against his lips, licking up the taste of him. “So good for me. Finally.”

“I—I’m yours—” Aventurine gasped, mind a hazy swirl of light and heartbeat and you. “Only yours—please, 's too deep. I can't—”

“You can. You can take it baby.”

And he did.

He broke for you, body shaking, ruined around you. Still, you didn’t stop. You kept going, pushing him past his peak and into something raw and mindless, something where words didn’t matter anymore. He was sobbing, begging for mercy, clinging to your shoulders like a lifeline, nails digging into your back as soon as his hands were freed and taking everything you gave him.

When he finally climaxed, his body was twitching, chest heaving with aftershocks, you kissed his temple. This time, softer. Slower.

“Good boy.”

He whimpered.

The storm passed. The house was quiet.

Aventurine lay limp against your chest, the fight bled out of him, replaced by soft shivers and muffled whimpers. His cheeks were still flushed, his hair a damp mess stuck to his temples. You carried him gently, carefully, as if he was glass—even though he'd spent the past hours proving just how much he could take.

The bathroom was already warm. You’d turned the lights low, letting the soft golden glow dance across the tiles, the tub filled with soothing, floral-scented water. You lowered him into it slowly, and he winced at first, overstimulated nerves twitching, but then—he sighed.

“Mmh...”

You sat behind him in the water, pulling his back to your chest, wrapping both arms around his middle, letting him just rest. Your chin rested lightly on his shoulder as your hands ran down his arms, grounding him. One of your hands reached for the cloth and dipped it into the water before gently wiping along his chest.

“You really went all out, didn’t you, Aven?” you murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear. He squirmed slightly, half a protest, half a plea for more contact. You smiled. “My little kakavasha... throwing tantrums, breaking things... just because you wanted attention.”

“Wasn’t—” He tried to argue, but his voice cracked. His pride was too fragile to admit it fully.

You chuckled low in your throat, and kissed the side of his neck, letting your lips linger. “My little spoiled princess,” you whispered against his skin, making him whimper. “You didn’t just want my attention, did you? You needed it. You wanted your thoughts shoved right out of your bratty little head.”

He hid his face in his hands, trembling. Whether it was embarrassment or satisfaction, even he didn’t know.

“Y-Y/N...”

“Shh,” you hummed, rubbing slow circles into his thigh. “I know, baby. I know. That’s why I gave it to you. You earned your reward... but you also earned your punishment.”

You shifted forward slightly, arms tightening. Aventurine melted into you, pliant and quiet now. His breathing steadied, slow and soft. He was safe.

“You did good, Aven,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his eye. “My pretty little baby. My lovely disaster. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

And in the stillness of that bath, with your arms around him and your voice so warm in his ears, he truly believed it.

He was yours.

Morning came slowly, with warm golden light bleeding through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the bedroom.

And you were everything he needed.

Aventurine lay on his side, half buried in pillows, the blankets tangled around his waist. His hair was a soft mess—less styled, more honest. His lashes trembled slightly, brows furrowed in a stubborn little frown even in sleep, like he was having a dream he refused to lose.

And you? You were already awake. Had been for a while.

One arm tucked under your head, the other wrapped loosely around his waist, fingers lazily tracing idle circles against his bare skin. You didn’t have work today. You made sure of it. Your phone had buzzed more than once, emails stacking up—but they could rot. You already had your biggest priority in your arms.

A brat. A menace. A sharp-tongued little beast who broke vases when ignored—

But also the man who curled into you like he was scared to lose you.

Your lips pressed against his forehead , just a soft, lingering kiss.

“Still pretending to be asleep, princess?” you murmured into his hair.

Aventurine didn't answer. Of course he wouldn’t.

You grinned, your voice low, teasing, “You think I don’t know? That you only throw tantrums when you’re desperate for me? That you think needing someone is the same as losing?”

He shifted—just slightly. Barely a twitch. But it was enough. His mask always cracked when you were gentle.

“You’re so ridiculous, Kakavasha,” you whispered, voice dropping into that tender, velvet tone he hated loving. “I work late one night, and suddenly you’re flinging wine glasses like a man scorned. What, you thought I’d forget I have a spoiled little husband at home?”

“You’re annoying,” he mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep. “Shut up.”

“Oh? So you can speak?” You chuckled, pulling him closer by the waist. “Could’ve fooled me, with how you were just panting my name last night like—”

“Y/N!” His voice was firm this time, but the tips of his ears were pink. He wouldn’t look at you.

You softened. Kissed the apple of his cheek. Let your hand slide up to cradle his face. “You’re the love of my life, Aven,” you said gently. “Not my job. Not the world. You. You always come first. Even when you’re being impossible. Job exists purely so that I could earn money to buy you gifts and spoil you.”

He didn’t respond right away but he muttered something under his breath.

"Who even wants your money? I already have enough you dumbass."

He will never admit but all he wants is for you to be always near him. Vulnerability didn’t sit easy with Aventurine—it itched under his skin like an allergic reaction.

But he curled into you. Just a bit. Let you hold him tighter.

That was his way of saying it.

I missed you.

Please don’t make me need you this much.

I love you too.

And you heard every word in that silence.

Bonus scene:

The sheets were warm, tangled around both their legs, and just as you began to shift—muttering something about needing to make breakfast—slender fingers traced along your abdomen.

“Aven,” you warned lightly, voice still laced with sleep.

But he didn’t stop. His hand splayed across your chest now, trailing up to your collarbone, his pink-stained ears betraying his nonchalance. He didn’t meet your gaze as he whispered, “ Hold me again.”

You paused, eyes narrowing just slightly as you caught the tension in his jaw. The slight tremble in his voice. “After last night?” you asked, one brow raised. “You should try walking first, kakavasha. I might’ve rearranged your spine and hips.”

Aventurine looked scandalized for a brief second—but only because you were right. Then, as if determined not to be teased out of his moment, he leaned closer and murmured against your throat, “This time… do it slowly.”

That made you pause. The weight of his request settled gently in the air.

He reached up, fingers touching your cheek. His thumb grazed the corner of your lips. “You didn’t cradle my face like you used to,” he said softly. “Didn’t kiss on my eyelids, or here—”

He tilted his head, showing you the barcode-like mark the side of his neck. The same mark that proves the troubles and hardships he had faced his whole life. The same mark that he had learned to not want to tear it out of his skin just because you treat it so gently. Always a kiss on the mark, just to prove you don't mind his past, just to prove that he's still worth loving after all he had done to survive.

“You missed the steps,” he added, voice petulant. Dangerously close to pleading.

And what could a man do when his lovely male wife, who’d throw a tantrum before ever admitting he needed to be cherished, looked at him like that? When he asked—so gently, so miserably—for affection like it was a rare gem?

You cupped his face instantly.

“Oh, baby…” you sighed, brushing your thumb under his eye, then leaning in to kiss the soft corner there. “My precious little beast really wanted to be loved properly, huh?”

He didn’t answer, but the way he clutched your back said enough.

You kissed his eyelids, one at a time. His cheeks. His lips. His throat. The mark on his neck got the softest, lingering kiss, followed by a whisper of, “There. Was that better, love?”

He nodded, face flushed, breathing shaky.

And when you finally moved to hold him again—slow, deep, every movement paired with a kiss or a soft whisper—you made sure not a single step was missed.

[fishhateme]

"but I don't THINK this is the life that he wants" I am reading your tags and nodding so fucking hard like he's our but a man who is doing mentally well would not be privating 200 Instagram posts while getting wine drunk on a Sunday afternoon. Literally that "could a mentally ill person do that" core etc. he is forcing himself to want the life he has

op you read my mind!! I'm going to take the opportunity to go on a long (looooong) rant, because I've been dying to talk about this

For context this was on the tags of that latest post of danny saying he's done (again) that's been going around, I said that I wish him nothing but peace and quiet but I don't THINK he wants peace and quiet, and here's the thing - I really don't. I've been trying to keep quiet about it because a part of me felt like it was disrespectful to comment on a real person's mental health, but also like, yk, he's absolutely never going to see this, so I might as well get it off my chest

These past few months of daniel hanging out in LA and doing kind of... nothing? don't seem very genuine to me. And obviously you might say none of us know what's truly genuine, but Daniel has been in the public eye for over a decade and a half, and throughout that time he's been very consistent with his personality and aspirations. Sure, the wdc dream is discarded, but he always spoke about racing with love, and he's made several remarks about liking to do things, needing to do things and keep himself busy

So for him to call it quits altogether immediately seemed odd to me? Especially when he chose to do kind of... nothing at all?

In the tags I raised another issue that I think is important - Daniel's spent 30 or so out of his 35 years doing some form of racing. To stop doing that cold turkey would imply some form of hatred towards the sport, and despite all the (rightful) anger that's been going around about rbr/horner/helmut 'stealing' or 'taking' his love of it, so to speak, I don't think that's entirely correct.

It's surely there, somewhere - practically everyone who leaves F1 still involved themselves on some other form of motorsports, even Seb goes to the track sometimes or does some event (of course, you might say seb ended things on his terms, but while I think that's important to note I also think the larger trend as a whole points to drivers loving racing even when they leave a certain category, which tracks with the whole, y'know, risking their lives for the love of it aspect)

now let's circle back to the whole instagram delete spree thing, because i have some thoughts on that, too: I'm not the first person to say this and I won't be the last, but there is not a single time in a person's life where they're more self obsessed than when they're depressed. I say this both from personal experience and just talking to people - when you're not well mentally, you start getting paranoid about how people perceive you and, above all, try to manicure your image because you feel perceived in a way that makes you uncomfortable (the discomfort can come from being perceived as weak or whiny or whatever, and it doesn't happen to everyone, but id say it stems from the feeling of failure that a prolonged emotional distress can sometimes cause).

Now, important disclaimer, I'm NOT saying daniel is depressed, because I don't know daniel and I don't have the info to get to those conclusions, it's simply outside of what I could realistically infer from his behavior! What I AM saying is that just from an onlooker's perspective, he doesn't seem very fulfilled, and the fact that he repeatedly goes back to old posts from years ago to trim and trim and trim some more seems obsessive. Once or twice at first, sure, but he started deleting posts half a year ago and he's sporadically been doing so ever since. This might just be me, but even if you're not happy about the way your past turned out, a happy person doesn't feel the need to change it for the world, y'know?

a few months in perth just catching up with his family after so many years living out of a suitcase seemed both logical and healthy to me, but like, months and months of staying in la where you seemingly don't hang out with anyone except your asshole comedian friends (who coincidentally are the exact type of macho dude to say shit like men don't get depressed or something equally as ignorant and harmful as that, bffr) doesn't seem fulfilling, stimulating or just plain fun, even after taking into account danny's -sometimes odd- preferences about how to spend his fuckload of money

To me, daniel has been coming across lately as kind of a lost man, for lack of a better word.

He was clearly more deeply hurt by Singapore than he'd rather admit, but in the middle of that he started turning down any and all offers - even ones that would've made him happy!

F1 hurt him, yes, but F1 is only a sliver of the motorsports world, even if it's the most publicized. In his rejection of anything motorsports related, he's isolated himself from his homebase, and he kind of left himself jobless (as a mere peasant I'll admit that I'd love to have the kind of money to travel around the world for months without worrying about money in the slightest, but I imagine it eventually gets old, especially when there's nothing very mentally stimulating for you to do - let's be so fr, Daniel isn't going to be picking up a book about medieval history or something like that to pass the time). op said something that I loved and that really seems to encapsulate what I've been trying to say - "he is forcing himself to want the life he has". it really seems that way, it's that simple - i think he cut off too much too early and in the midst of his pain and betrayal, and now he's either too scared of getting hurt/ridiculed or simply too proud (though that wouldn't be very much like him tbh) to go back, even if it's on a different category, so he's stuck living this retired lifestyle when, newsflash, the retired lifestyle barely fulfils regular 70yo retirees, much less people who are still so, so young (and yes, 35 is young in the grand scheme of things, look at h*lmut marko ffs)

And like, I KNOW I've given it way too much thought and this is starting to enter rpf territory but like... I don't know. I can't help but wonder. He tries so hard to look happy but I feel like his smile doesn't reach his eyes anymore. (Just for the record I was originally going to respond to this ask saying something light hearted and not nearly as unhinged, along the lines of 'daniel is on his publicly fine but privately crying in the shower after downing a bottle wine by himself era', which was a joke, obviously, but then I reread it and it didn't feel like a joke at all? So anyways, here's this parasocial feverish ramble instead, hope it was semi coherent if only for the sake of the lovely @dannielricciardo)

[foxbuck]

BuckTommy or Buddie (Endgame Spec)

Pt. 1- BuckTommy

I've seen a lot of theories about why BT/Buddie would go cannon, but I haven't seen anyone compile all of them yet. This is my best attempt at a semi-comprehensive guide to the theories that I think hold some weight! I didn't get all of them of course, so if I missed an important one please please put it in the notes. For the most part I'm using other users' ideas and then building on them, so all users and the post I referenced are linked next to their theory (go check them all out!!!).

For the sake of ease I'll be referring to all the pieces as "___ theory." Also I don't know what the fuck the writers are doing in that damn room so don't take any of this too seriously. It seems to be a general consensus that they're making some peculiar decisions recently so who knows what the hell is gonna happen next episode/season.

sahtinekryz post BuckTommy is Chekov's Gun

"A narrative principle emphasizing that every element in a story be necessary, while irrelevant elements should be removed. For example, if a gun features in a story, there must be a reason for it, such as being fired at some later point." (Wikipedia)

The Checkov's Gun theory claims that Tommy's repeated appearances must have a narrative purpose. Tommy has been consistently reappearing/mentioned in s8. His story hasn't closed yet because the gun hasn't gone off yet. Something major is going to happen with him, and a very likely explanation is that he will get back together with Buck.

Personally I started with this one because it has a lot of weight imo. Sahtinekryz mentioned this in their post, but the showrunners probably spent a significant amount of money to have Tommy and his expensive-ass helicopter stunt in 8x15. He is reoccurring in these episodes for a reason. I'm not going too into depth with it because a lot of the other theories build off of it, but definitely keep Chekov's Gun in mind while reading the other theories.

-

Main Character Tommy

vanpalmersgf post Tommy Character Independence

This theory states that Tommy is being set up to be more important in the show because they are giving him scenes where he is a) present and b) acting independently from Buck (maybe ((hopefully)) implying that the runners are trying to give him his own arc??)

The best evidence for this is Tommy's appearances in the 8x16 flashback saving Bobby and in the funeral procession. In both instances, Tommy was involved because he is a character that the show sees as important--he wasn't just there to interact with Buck. The showrunners want the viewers to like Tommy.

Building off this idea, giving Tommy's character more independence in the show and establishing his relation to the 118 in his own way (in contrast to his only connection being through Buck) allows for him to later be recognized as an important part of the 118 family, which is damn near exactly what distantreverbs brings up in their post about Tommy's 7x04 wish. distantreverbspost 7x04 Wish

“I was super jealous… All of you. The 118. How it’s become like a family over there. I mean, how you all… were willing to put everything on the line for one another. I wanted to be a part of that.”

I really do like how well these two theories fit together. Tommy outright said last season that he wants/wanted to be a part of a family like the 118. Tommy's character getting this independence feels like he could be set up for his own mini-arc, and as op said, "Tommy’s entire narrative is clearly being built around fighting through his demons and getting the loyalty and love he so desperately craves as his reward."

As I mentioned already, giving Tommy's character more independence from Buck in turn tightens his individual connection to the 118 as a whole. Having a closer connection to the 118 leads up to his 7x04 wish being granted, and, being reintroduced to the 118 through Buck, the reasonable follow up would be for him to reestablish his connection with Buck.

-

distantreverbs, niraves, Chug Ugly (yt) Invisible/Red String Theory

I think this is a relatively popular theory but I can only really find a few posts and a video so I linked those.

"String theory is a theoretical framework in which the point-like particles of particle physics are replaced by one-dimensional objects called strings."

Just kidding. I can't find a definition for this one though, idk where y'all get this shit from. Anyway.

Invisible/Red String Theory basically states that soulmates are connected throughout time and space with an 'invisible string.' I'm not exactly sure how to explain this, but I think that giving some examples of how this applies helps.

1. Tommy leaving the 118 opened the space that let Buck join. (This one feels the most tangible, almost like Tommy is literally pulling Buck along behind him.)

Abby connection (including in s1 where Abby's parents thought Buck was Tommy.)

The bubbling scene (where Buck and Tommy are thinking about each other at the same time.)

As niraves mentions, previously these were all accidental. However, the 'Abby reveal' makes it seem like Minear is solidifying them and making them now seem intentional in-universe. The showrunners are actively giving this theory substance (and Minear reposted the yt video so ..!) Points for Bucktommy.

-

Parallels

I'm not giving these a lot of weight because they can happen on accident a lot of the time I think, but I figured I'd mention a few recent ones since it was already mentioned that some accidental things are being made to be seen as noteworthy now. I also only found a few so.

sahtinekryz post Madney/Bathena parallel in 8x15

In 8x15 Maddie and Athena both listened/watched as their s/o was laying down in immense pain, paralleling Tommy watching Buck collapsing on the camera at the end of the ep. In all instances, there was a barrier between the pair (glass, distance [only audio or visual]). Iirc Tommy's scene was actually decided on film day that they should show him watching Buck. Take from that what you will.

bucktommysource Try Again

[Buck in 5x18] "Is that really love? Right, shouldn't it be when you're at your worst, they're at their worst, you have every reason to give up and you still decide you want to try again"

[Buck in 8x11] "You want to try again?"

ambernotember I should go.

[Maddie talking to Chimney] "I should go."

[Tommy talking to Buck] "I should go"

firehose118 BuckTommy at Madney wedding

Buck and Tommy having a major scene Maddie and Chimney's hospital wedding implies a parallel between their love and the love that Maddie and Chimney have. Narratively, if this parallel holds, it makes no sense to not have Buck and Tommy reconcile/be endgame

That's all for now! Feels really short so I know I missed a lot, but I wanted to get this out now so I'll have to come back or make a continuation post.

I'm planning on making a part 2 with Buddie theories so if y'all had a theory you want me to add then definitely comment/put it in the tags; it would help me make a bit of a longer post than this one (and save me a lot of research time lmao) <3. Same with if you have anything you think I should add to a BuckTommy cont. post.

Setting aside long-term spec, I really don't think that we've seen the last of the Buck/Tommy relationship. All of Tommy's minor reappearances hint at him doing something, and that is really undeniable. These theories are all of course about a BuckTommy romantic relationship, but even if we don't get that, all signs point to them making up at least platonically.

Also please no shipping discourse in the notes, these are all just theories written in good fun, not meant to say one ship is better than the other <3

[ask-encore-kinger]

Welcome To Encore Kinger's Blog!

Greetings and salutations! I'm the official VA for Kinger in the TADC Encore project, and after a while of debating it, I've finally decided to open up a blog for Kinger! (Done by the main showrunner thank you Liz fr)

Just like all the other blogs, this one has rules too, so here they are:

1: I am not Sean Chiplock, and I never will be, so anything said in the asks will be entirely non-canon unless it is a fact presented to us that we've seen already (Such as Queenie being his wife). Also the things that Kinger says here might contradict with future episodes of the show, I cannot control this, so if it happens, just cut me some slack.

2: I'm going to make it clear right now, I don't personally ship Kinger with anyone from the show. However if you want to see content based on that you can send in asks regarding it. Just know that I won't try to imply it when it's not mentioned, besides referring to Queenie as his wife who has abstracted.

3: I'm ok with answering just about anything, but that doesn't mean I'll entertain every single ask. I have my own ideas for Kinger's thoughts and feelings so if you're looking for a specific answer, be careful about how you put together your ask.

4: I'm going to try and keep Kinger as close to canon as I can, so I won't be doing anything wildly out of context. And for reference, he will be doing most asks within his fortress, so it'll be dark enough for him to remain sane and collected. Though sometimes I might have him do it elsewhere and be a bit crazy.

5: And of course, please keep the asks appropriate and respectful to both Kinger and I. No explicit NSFW topics, though being suggestive is fine since both Kinger and I are adults. Please also don't bother using slurs or graphic triggering topics, as those will not be tolerated. I am not afraid to delete an ask if you try it anyway.

I can't wait to interact with you all through here and be a silly chess man. Thanks for reading the rules!

[cosmogyros]

That moment when you have to let people be wrong about you because correcting them would make you seem like an unbearable show-off

I was at a bookstore with a friend the other day and I was looking at a book in German that I was interested in buying, but then I saw that it was a translation and had originally been written in French

I commented idly to my friend "Sometimes I don't buy a book because it's a translation and I always prefer to read in the original language when possible" and she said in an agreeing-with-me way, "Yeah it would make more sense to read it in English"

and I realized she assumed I meant English when I said "original language"

but I couldn't bring myself to say "Yeah, or French or Dutch or Spanish or Italian or Portuguese or one of the other languages I read..." because like. who says that kind of thing.

[gingerswagfreckles]

Dude I'm pretty sure half of jumblr are atheists. I've never seen any posts here even implying that only christians can be atheists. Who the heck is telling you that???

@legendarycatlover Man you know I started to write something nice and thoughtful out about this before I just decided I'm done arguing with people about this after like 6 hours. You are literally the 17th person to argue with me about this today. Most of the people who have sent me messages have in fact literally been insisting that 100% no ifs and or buts about it Atheists are all culturally Christian and 4 blocked me when I said nope not true there are Jews who will rip your head off if you even mention anything spiritual around them, diversity of culture is amazing. There has been a very clear and overt effort since around 2015 in liberal/leftist circles to frame full throttled atheism as something that purely exists as a trauma response to cultural Christianity. People decided serious 100% no spiritual beliefs at all Atheism is #cringe as a backlash to the 2011 reddit "checkmate religious people" jerks, and we have never recovered from it. This is not at all particular to Jumblr but Jumblr is certainly not exempt from it at all. If this is so baffling to you maybe just search the terms atheism and jumblr and try to find some posts about atheism that don't mention cultural Christianity? Or just block me like I suggested in an earlier post because I'm really getting sick of this.

[bell-swamp-fitzjames]

mcdonald goodsir talking scene but its like an hour bc i just would like to see them talk more

[bisexualmaedhros]

transfem furries hornyposting online about the relatively niche/"out there" things they're into have inadvertently helped me accept myself more than the body positivity movement of the 2010s ever did

[liebgirl]

rapidly nearing the end of my self assigned homework/sidequest whatever you want to call this bullshit i make myself do when i get bored and need a reading assignment. anyway is anyone else scared.

[yameoto]

butch pussy + femme cock = using you

tw; free-use, somno, cnc, morning sex, butchpussy (vi) femmecock (cait), implied bratty!reader. wc; 1.2k

vi and caitlyn linger at the doorway, to your shared bedroom. patrols are a bitch—and it is not always that they can get home, early. it's never been a problem exactly. except—

“ah..” vi’s mouth waters.

dawn crawls on the horizon. its heralding light seeps in through gossamer curtains, spilling out to bask your sleeping form in an unmitigated glow. your very nude, sleeping form. as if teasing them—you let out the most adorable yawn, in the midst of sleep. your leg curls upwards, covers slipping off.

caitlyn swallows, hard.

the two of them are immediately seized with an irrational jealousy for being so robbed from witnessing you, like this. “since when does she sleep naked?” “suppose it’s hot nowadays.” caitlyn answers airly, as if her nails aren't digging into the heel of her palm and the tent in her trousers' isn't stiffening. urgently. since when did she have the libido of a teenage boy? vi elbows her, voice teasing—if not equally as hoarse. “cupcake. you’re packing.”

"like you're not thinking the same." caitlyn scoffs, and vi can't argue with that. she is thinking the same. if the same, is the idea of hovering over your blissfully relaxed figure, splayed out on the bedspread. tearing off her pants and—

“..perhaps, we could.. indulge.”

“oh, baby. you read my mind.”

you wake, to a burning in your lungs, and your cunt. there's a stuffy headiness enveloping your head, something hot and wet and slippery pressing up against your chin. you open your mouth, only half-consciously, when your tongue meets salt and your eyelids flicker open in sleepy befuddlement. heat, and muscular thighs clamp down on either side of your head. a rough hand twists in your hair.

vi jerks you tongue-first into her cunt. your, whatthefuckisgoingon??? comes out more like; "mmrmgh?”

"poor baby. can't breathe, huh?" vi only shoves you deeper up the wedge of her thighs, your nose burrowed into the curls of her hot-pink bush and mouth at her sopping pussy. "oh, right there, princess."

she hisses, wresting you by the hair and rubbing her slickened folds against your face. your hands are scrambling at the mattress, each and every attempt at speech muffled by the squeezing of vi's legs. she pants in pleasure, as you pant in need, into her pussy—choked out by the sheer force of which vi's thighs are coiled around your head. she eases up, just enough for you to wriggle your mouth to gasp for air, and release a breathy, plaintive whine—eyes sleep-glazed and blinking hard, trying to get your bearings. c'mon, now—get with it; you're being suffocated by your girlfriend's pussy. not four AM on a workday and your chin is coated with slick. vi lets out a petulantly dissatisfied noise when you're gulping air for too long—shoving your head back down with a low growl. "don't—hah—you fuckin' stop."

you're so preoccupied with trying to breathe, head spinning, cogs whirring at a slow, slow pace as it attempts to process the fact you're gasping into your girlfriend's pussy; you almost don't realise the burning in your belly has rescinded to a low simmer. mistake.

"don't tell me you forgot about me, darling." like caitlyn can sense your distraction, there is a blinding jolt of lightning that crackles through your body as she gives you an idle jerk. something twitches, and you realise, belatedly, there is a cock inside of you. you tense up, and your walls clench. caitlyn's moan is dizzying.

"ah—ah.. fuck, sweetheart. you feel almost as good as you did, before."

vi presses up flush against your face, groaning as she rocks, grinding picking up the pace. of course, the tighter she holds, the less you can breathe, and your limbs jerk, fingers fisting into the sheets.

"stop squirming. you're only going to make it worse." caitlyn's pace is leisurely, manicured nails pinching either side of your hips. she rolls her hips forward, teeth biting down at her bottom lip. "it's a shame. you made such a good cocksleeve. all relaxed. pliant." 

it feels wrong to hear words so vulgar rolling off her silken tongue, so casually, so early-in-the-fucking-morning, as if you haven't heard filthier come out of her mouth. the shock of it is wearing, giving way to the blazing warmth that so throbs in your pussy that you can't believe you hadn't noticed. though perhaps, that was the whole point.

"you didn't expect me to wait my turn, did you?" oh, caitlyn is definitely smirking. you can hear the smug undercurrent in her voice; even if you can't see a thing, other than the swollen nub of vi's clit and the hastily-cut bristles of her bush as she gets off, chest rising and falling in shallowing breaths. caitlyn, however, is still only working in idle, languid pumps. like she's savouring your sleep-ridden compliancy; how you are, for once, thoroughly silenced by the clench of vi's pussy and vice of her thighs.

"you—mm—do look pretty when you shut up." vi gasps out, and you can feel her cunt pulsing around you, you want to whine, grumble, protest—anything—but the press of your lips only spurs her on, the hand in your hair yanking you deeper. vi's breaths stutter, tensing. "..shit." vi cums, her weight on your chest shifting, smushing you against the mattress as she squirts, right down your throat. caitlyn barely moves, content to, apparently, continue using you as her personal cocksleeve as vi humps out her orgasm against your face, milky fluid and your own saliva—from having nowhere to go—completely immersed in heat. caitlyn's thrusts are lazy, and vi's grinding vigorous. your chest is tight, thoughts almost nothing in your light-headedness, mindlessly gaping open and simply taking it.

the second vi collapses, thighs finally, finally lifting off your shoulders—caitlyn rams her cock into you. no longer muffled by vi's cunt (though, her cum still dribbling out from your lips), you cry out. you really can't catch a break, can you?

"shh." caitlyn commands, and now, you can see her eyes flicker up at you in annoyance, though beneath the gaze—gleams amusement. she slides herself in, deep, and your own hips rise in instinctive reaction, whimpering, lungs all used up.

you manage to do as caitlyn says, and shut up, chests heaving as you needily gulp in the mercy of fresh air. vi's large hands skim your bare chest, circling your nipples, thumb swiping underneath your breasts. "easy," she husks, voice gravelly, as if you have the energy to go anything but. or perhaps, she's talking to caitlyn. you can't tell, because caitlyn is certainly not going easy—and you are paying the price. in fact, she's begun to jam her hips with vicious force, pace vigorous—pulling out, ever-so-slow, before plunging back in again. there is no longer any restraint; as if she has held herself back, enough, and deserves this. to plow your pussy and drink in each and every broken gasp it elicits.

she thrusts, particularly brutal. you gasp—throat raw—and you unspool all over her cock, body betraying you. caitlyn's pupils dilate, just like that, at the sight of your cum oozing out in thick, creamy bursts around her base, with each slam of her body—has her head falling back, throat baring. her hips falter, before she drives inside you, harsh and hard—one last time—and paints your insides sticky.

[ilikeevilblondes]

Wide Open

18+ MDNI!

Summary: After a long day of work, Joel expects nothing more from the evening than getting some shut-eye. Fate has other plans, however, because the daughter of the family next door forgot to close her blinds again and is putting on quite the show.

TL;DR: Joel gets off watching you get off.

W.C: ~2.8k

Warnings: pervyneighbour!joel x reader, he's a tiny bit of a creep, accidental voyeurism (kind of…), mutual masturbation, dildo usage, lowkey a tiny breeding kink, implied age gap as per ushe (late-40s, early-20s), (no outbreak!)

Note: this is your daily reminder to close your blinds, y'all. unless joel miller is your neighbour. then maybe don't, and fuck with him.

Part One | Part Two

Joel always said he’d retire ‘soon’. 

Though as the years flew by, ‘soon’ remained ambiguously distant.

Presently, he had just come home from an unnecessarily hard day at work where some Einstein had misread the blueprint and cut every single piece of lumber half an inch too short. 

Joel was pushing fifty now. If asked toward his earlier adulthood, he’d have claimed that fifty-years-old balanced right on the precipice of retirement. And by sixty, he’d be golfing daily, attempting to read something other than the backs of DVDs, and not worrying about stupid shit like redoing an entire section of framing because of Romero’s shitty-fucking-eyesight.

“Fuckin’ Romero,” Joel mumbled to himself as he locked the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter.

With heavy footsteps, he ambled toward the fridge, praying he had the foresight the night before to leave a can or two of Modelo for his future self.

The unwelcoming sterile glare of the fridge light greeted him as he yanked open the door. Worse, it greeted him with its contents, or lack thereof.

No Modelo. 

Not even a lone, pitiful can of Keystone Light that Joel may have bought in desperation as a crappy substitute for literally any other beer.

Making a mental note to pick up a six-pack sometime tomorrow and, further down the line to maybe cut down on the beer, Joel trudged up the stairs to his bedroom.

His bedframe whined with a metallic creak as he sat on the edge, rubbing his hands down his face and feeling the scrape of his overgrown stubble on his worn palms.

Joel was more than ready to call it a night, he thought, as he leaned over to draw the curtains.

But he froze upon seeing you.

The two-story craftsman next door, formerly a ‘fixer-upper’, had been home to you and your parents ever since you moved in from the city a year ago. Your parents were mild-mannered neighbours who sent the street Christmas cards and kept the porch light on and took part in the neighbourhood watch patrol.

And you? You never made your bed, always had a book in your hands before sleeping, and more importantly, had a very noticeable habit of neglecting to close the blinds of your bedroom window.

Joel knew this, of course, because the bedroom of the two-story craftsman facing his house just so happened to belong to you.

“Shit,” Joel heaved a heavy sigh, still clutching the drawstring with notable tenseness.

Your cream-coloured blinds were slanted completely horizontally, allowing a direct view into your bedroom. And Joel found himself helplessly entranced, watching the back of your silhouette pull your shirt over your head and fling it across the room.

Fuck, you were very possibly wearing his favourite bra. The lacey ones that pushed your tits up real nice–

No. No, Joel, didn’t have a favourite bra of yours. What kind of neighbour would keep track of the family next door’s daughter’s bras? 

You turned around and, to his delight, confirmed that you were wearing the exact pair.

Him, evidently.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back, running a hand through his greying hair and letting out a deep exhale.

You continued undressing, seemingly oblivious to the state of your blinds and the lack of privacy that state entailed. And further, oblivious of the old man next door watching intently as you unzipped your jeans and stepped out of them.

A thong. You had chosen to wear a thong that day. Because, of course, you had.

Bright red and stringy and covering virtually nothing, which left no part of your lower half to the imagination and Joel was able to see most of your perfect fucking pussy from the house over—

“The fuck am I doing?” Joel mumbled to himself and decidedly tore himself away from his window.

What was he doing? 

It wasn’t like you were strangers. He knew you. He came over to barbecues hosted in your back garden, fixed the leak in your kitchen sink when your dad had called, and watched the Superbowl in your living room that one year.

And, as much as he may have indulged in watching you before, he had never lingered as much as just did. Usually, he’d be sated with a few seconds of your half-dressed state, and would only later conjure up that image in the shower to fuck his fist to.

The tightness in his pants seemed to disagree with that plan, and Joel was overcome with an overwhelming need to settle his problem down south immediately.

Joel turned back to his window, determined to draw the curtains shut once and for all and then quickly jerk off to the mere thought of you (not that that was a noble action in and of itself), when he, for the second time that evening, froze at the sight of you.

Your bedroom was furnished in a way that had your bed facing your window. So, your wonderfully respectful neighbour could easily have direct views of you lying on your bed chatting on your phone, or reading, or spread out and running your fingers through your slick folds.

If Joel thought he was hard before, he was definitely, painfully, rock-hard now.

As careless as you may have been in the past, you have never forgotten to close your blinds to this degree before.

And, owing to that logic, you would never slip up like this again.

So, one would be incredibly stupid to not take advantage of this rare opportunity.

“Fuck it,” Joel inhaled sharply.

He scrambled to undo his belt and unzip his jeans and pull them down just enough to tug his raging erection out of his briefs, all while desperately keeping his gaze set on you.

Bracing one hand against the wall, he let the other wrap around his cock, fisting it leisurely as he watched you take open-mouthed breaths while your fingers traced up your seam to rub at your clit, your thong haphazardly pushed to the side.

You looked so pretty like that; lying on your bed and touching yourself as if you had pent-up emotions of need you desperately ached to satisfy.

You went slowly, dragging your fingers down along your wet cunt and against your throbbing clit, likely savouring the intensity.

Joel matched your pace, his fist sliding in a lazy tempo around his aching member.

Fuck, he’d do anything to grind his cock against your pussy; feel it shiver and clench around nothing and coat his length with your seeping slick. He’d bet all his money he could make you come without even putting it inside, too. Needy fucking slut.

And then you dipped a finger inside. 

Then another. 

God, with the way you seemed to be shaking around two of your own slender fingers, Joel was sure you’d be a mess riding his. 

Fuck, he’d even give you a third just to see you lose your fucking mind.

Maybe you’d beg him to stop, crying prettily and gasping in pitchy breaths that you just couldn’t take any more. But Joel believed you could, and he’d tell you so as he slipped his index finger to join the other two, feeling you clench around them—

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand and it was all he could do not to come early and let the show go to waste. Instead, he adopted a faster tempo, trying his damnedest to follow yours, however erratic it was.

Your mouth opened in a silent moan and you tossed your head back against your pillows as your fingers sped up in their ministrations.

Shit, you probably sounded real fuckin’ sweet, all overwhelmed with pleasure.

Again, your mouth parted, letting out a syllable of something Joel couldn’t hear, your tongue flicking out momentarily as you sounded it out.

Maybe it was Joel’s twisted imagination, but he was somewhat sure you had just moaned his name.

You probably didn’t, but it was a nice fucking dream, anyway.

He’d do just about anything to hear his name on your lips, whispered like a prayer or screamed like a plea as he relentlessly pounded into your tight fucking pussy. And, if given the opportunity, he’d fuck you so hard, a slurred babble of name would be the only thing you could say.

A familiar warmth began to pool at the pit of his stomach and his cock tensed even more.

Fuck, he was close.

And, he assumed you were, too, owing to the sheen of sweat on your body glistening under your lamp and the giant breaths you were heaving in.

“C’mon, babygirl.” He encouraged aloud despite being a good distance out of earshot, his voice coming out raspy and low. “Come for me,”

He watched you carefully, waiting for the moment your eyes fluttered shut and your hand stilled so he could close his eyes and imagine fucking his load into your spent cunt.

But no such series of events occurred.

Unexpectedly, however, you pulled your fingers out and flopped over on your stomach to reach for the bottom drawer of your bedside table.

What… the fuck?

Did you come already? Without Joel noticing? Shit, he definitely was too cocky in his familiarity with the female body if he didn’t clock your orgasm.

“Goddamnit.” Joel sighed, his hand coming to a complete stop.

Maybe it was better this way. 

Maybe Joel could still salvage what little morality he retained and beg for forgiveness from the higher powers above—

And no, actually, he couldn’t because, being the dirty fucking whore you were, you pulled out what he recognised to be a dildo from your nightstand.

You stopped fingering yourself to get a dildo from your nightstand.

“Filthy girl,” Joel tutted through a depraved smile, watching with hazy, lust-flooded eyes as you sat back down, spat directly on the tip of the sex toy, and positioned it in front of your weeping pussy.

Who knew that the sweet girl next door, the one who always offered to help carry groceries or to water his plants while he was away, kept a thick fucking dildo near her bed.

Not just any dildo, either, Joel realised.

It must have been his lucky fucking day, because, upon squinting at the unholy sight, Joel discerned that the shade of which the toy was painted almost exactly matched the rich tan of his skin tone.

In other words, it was now going to be much easier to imagine himself fucking you when a close replica of his cock was pistoning in and out of your pretty cunt.

“You gonna put it in, sweetheart?” Joel sighed, his grip tightening around his length as he watched your dawdling.

Fuck, he was going to get humanity’s worst case of blue balls if you stretched this out any longer.

“C’mon, baby. Jus’ put it in. ‘S not that hard,” He all but whined.

He, a man pushing fifty, basically whined. Good lord, what kind of fucking temptress were you?

Thankfully, it seemed as though you heard his words, because right after, you had slid the first few inches inside your walls, gasping at its girth.

“Yeah, there you go.” Joel sucked in a sharp inhale as he thrust up into his fist. “That all? Oh, babygirl, you can give yourself more.”

As if reading his mind, you slowly began feeding yourself the rest of the tanned dildo, throwing your head backwards and chanting that syllable that was so dangerously close to Joel’s name.

For the purpose of that night, Joel took the liberty of imagining it was, in fact, his own name as he fucked up fully into his fist.

When you finally took the toy to the hilt, its fake carved balls pressing against your ass, you started moving it in and out of your drenched seam at a steady pace.

Joel let out a string of incoherent curses under his breath, which quickly turned into strained groans as he mirrored your rhythm, practically feeling the way your pretty pussy clenched around that fake dick.

Your chest was expanding and contracting frantically now and you were no doubt releasing breathy moans from the sensation of fucking yourself with those eight generous inches.

Joel wished he was in that room with you to give you the same and then some. 

He’d kiss his way down to your tits and take a nipple into his mouth, tasting the sweetness of your skin as he bent you in half and made you see stars.

He wouldn’t even have cared too much if you passed out, as long as, when you woke up, he was still driving into you and kissing your cervix with each thrust, sending you barrelling into orgasm after unbound orgasm.

He’d hold out as long as it took to get you completely sated, and even a little more after. Maybe he’d even pop a certain little blue pill just to watch himself fuck his come deep inside you again and again after rounds of laborious exertion.

Joel’s dick twitched again at the mere thought.

And again, upon seeing the sight of you pulling the soaking dildo out of your tight hole and manoeuvering yourself to hover above the thing like you were about to sit on it.

Christ alive. You were going to ride your dildo.

“Shit,” Joel breathed, his eyes widening slightly. God, this would be a treat to watch.

Worrying your teeth on your lower lip, you began to slowly sink down on the toy, a silent scream leaving your parted lips as you steadily took it all the way to the fucking hilt.

Joel, he imagined you to have mewled. Joel, you’re so fucking big.

“‘S okay, sweetie, you’re doin’ real well.” Joel sighed, watching you adjust to the size. “Brave girl, doin’ so good. Now, go on and ride that cock. C’mon, baby.”

And so you did.

Bouncing up and down on the toy, your mouth opening in a steady stream of what seemed to be expletives, and your tits springing from your efforts.  

Fuck, in his forty-something years of life, Joel had never seen such a pretty sight.

And, there you were, repeating that mystery syllable like your life depended on it.

Joel, Joel, Joel, he envisioned you whimpering.

You were close again. He was sure of it. If it wasn’t already painstakingly obvious from the way you were eagerly swiping at your swollen clit.

And so, he finally gave in and began fucking up into his fist—his hips intensely chasing his hand—at the ferocity at which he dreamed to ram inside you, dragging against your velvety walls and feeling as you shivered uncontrollably around him.

He was close, too. Very fucking close.

“Come for me, sweet thing. C’mon. Be a good … fuck, be a good slut for me and come around that cock.” Joel breathed, eyes glued to the display of you feverishly riding the toy.

Then, suddenly, your mouth opened in a long scream as you nearly went cross-eyed.

Shortly after, your face scrunched up in pleasure and your body fell still on the dildo, the only movements being small rolls of your hips against the rubber length as your breathing began to even.

You came.

Fucking finally. 

Joel shut his eyes and pictured driving into your throbbing, dripping cunt, hearing your pitchy whines as he shushed you with little follow-through.

Gonna come inside, he’d tell you in between heavy, strained breaths. To which, you’d frantically alert him of the fact that you weren’t on the pill and the two of you had chosen to forgo the assistance of a condom.

But Joel’d come inside you anyway. Mark up his pretty girl with pearly ropes of his come. And he’d keep you filled up as long as he fucking could.

Before he knew it, Joel was coming hard and fast into his fist, wildly jerking in and out of his grip as he rode out his high.

It took a few more moments for him to slow down, and a good number more for him to stop fully.

“Fucking hell,” Joel sighed as he took a seat on the edge of his bed, reaching over to a nearby table and plucking a few pieces of tissue out of its box to clean himself up with.

Satisfied, he crumpled up the tissues, tossed them into a nearby trashcan and gently tucked himself back in.

His head hung low as he caught his breath and tried not to linger on the dubious ethics of what had just transpired.

While that had possibly been the best jerk in his life, it was undoubtedly very non-consensual. At least, on your side.

After all, you hadn’t explicitly given him permission to fuck his fist to the sight of you doing… whatever fucking marathon that was.

At least, he didn’t think you did.

Until, bing!

Joel angled his head to catch sight of his phone lighting up with a recent notification.

Unsure of who could be texting him at that hour, Joel took it in his hands and unlocked it with a quick swipe of his passcode.

It was a message from you.

You: you gonna keep jerking off across the street or are you gonna come over?

Joel’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. 

So, you had seen him. Possibly even orchestrated the whole ordeal; neglecting to close your blinds on purpose, wearing that bra, and, well, fucking yourself right by your window.

Shit. Well, he couldn’t just come over and fuck you silly … could he?

Then, another text came.

You: home alone.

Joel never put on his shoes faster.

[from-izzy]

[00:35] | ATEEZ CHOI SAN

“And if I do?”

pairing » ateez choi san x fem!reader

trope/au » established relationship au, non-idol au

genre » very fluffy, falling asleep during studying and boyfriend san who is worried for you because you don't take the greatest care of yourself, (it really was supposed to be fluff all through the end) turns suggestive towards the last quarter of the story, reader is a bit playful, san is very in love with you, of course you are super in love with him too

word count; estimated reading time » 1032; ~4 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » quite suggestive at the end, indeed...a suggestive sentence at the very end, san lifts the reader up, reader wears glasses, reader implied to be smaller than san, san restrains reader's hands, pet names (bubs, baby girl)

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 the boyz lee juyeon ver.

my ateez debut! here it is @jaehunnyy !! i really wanted to post smth for your bday so please take this as a late bday present 😭 thanks for proofreading a bit of this one and finding the pictures for the banners 🥰 you saved me a bunch of tears fr 😀 have fun with the second one (even though it's the same...😭)

It’s not an unusual occurrence for you to be staying up late at night and for San to find you draped over your books and worksheets when he gets home. In fact, it’s becoming such a usual occurrence that San is making it a habit to open the front door with such gentleness that the click of the door opening would be too loud for his liking. In reality, your study desk at your shared apartment is quite a distance from the entrance of the apartment, so if San wanted to, he could enter in the same way as if you were awake.

But he didn’t want to.

In the rare case that you decide to snooze off on the couch, he doesn’t want to be the one to ruin your precious, peaceful sleeping time. Unfortunately for him, he would still be needing to do it one way or another if he ever finds you asleep on the couch or anywhere but your shared bed. The victorious smile from closing the front door quietly soon turns upside down, frowning at the sight of your head lying on your stack of handouts in the study room. The stack acted as your pillow, your arms around the rectangular pile. You look like you have been resting your body for some time now, given that San’s soft head pat didn’t faze you at all. With a slightly heavy sigh, San makes his way to the other side of the desk to get a better look at your face. He kneels on the floor, content with being more at eye level with you. 

He’s surprised to see that you must’ve been so exhausted that taking your glasses off might have been too much effort for you. The side frame completely rests on the paper, the nose pad of the glasses no longer resting properly on your nose. San hisses at how the hard plastic pushes against your nose, already imagining the pain when you wake up and realise tomorrow.

“Bubs,” he tests your consciousness with a whisper. “Your whole body is going to hurt when you wake up, you know?” Your breathing is still as even as before, and the no response from you deepens his frown. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to move you, okay?” 

San rises to his feet once again, grabbing the blanket drapped on your study desk that he has prepared. He’s told you multiple times to at least cover your body if you don’t plan to take a nap on the bed, but he should have known that when tiredness kicks in, all a person wants to do is to close their eyes. San spreads the light cotton across your back, kissing the side of your head and humming sweet melodies to avoid surprising you too much with his movement.

“San?” You slur sleepily, still unable to fully wake up. San clicks your desk light off and soon sees your content smile at his little gesture. “When did you get home?”

“Just a few seconds ago. When did you fall asleep?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” A raised eyebrow from your boyfriend is what prompts you to tell him the truth. “A little longer than that.”

San tuts disapprovingly, “You can’t keep slouching off on the table. It’s not good for your body. And this,” he takes your glasses off by the hinges, “it’s not comfortable for you.”

You hum at his loving lecture for you, beginning to straighten your back from the long nap. Truthfully, if San weren’t beside you right now, you would be sending complaints to your past self for dozing off at the table, your back cramping and sore. But Choi San knows you too well, and the creases between your eyebrows tell him everything.

“See?” He reprimands. 

You’re not given another chance to rebut when he swivels the chair around for you to face him. In a second, you’re in his arms, the back of your knee and back supported securely with his arms, and your shoulder pressed against his chest. San looks down at you, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead that you respond to by pressing yours along his jawline. Along the short walk to the adjacent room, you plant kisses all over his face, giggling at the way his cheeks grow red with every second. 

Just a few seconds before San would rest you gently on the mattress, you steal a kiss from his plump lips, arms wrapped around his nape and threading your fingers into the strands of his hair. San almost stumbles but soon regains balance when he registers the way you delicately take his lips. Along with the giggles and fabric rustling against each other in the small room, it’s not long until your head properly lays on a pillow. San doesn’t let you breathe after, climbing on top of your figure with his palms beside your head to support himself. His knees sink to the mattress beside your thighs, and you’re left breathless with the man before you. The remnants of his cologne are clearer now, and the proximity leaves you curling up a side of your lips.

Your boyfriend knows the meaning of your expression well from experience. “Don’t rile me up, baby girl…”

Just like he did a second ago, your eyebrow rises. Your pointer traces along the center of his exposed neck, feeling the gulp and his intense stare on you. You glide across his skin, tracing along his collarbones slowly, making sure that your touch lingers on his skin. When your finger slides down to the neckline of his fabric, it curls around his shirt to pull his tense expression closer to you. A quick touch of your lips is all you spare him before regaining eye contact with him.

“And if I do?”

Those words are enough for San to lose control, pulling the sheets to his palms as he fists them tightly. One hand leaves the bed, restraining both your wrists under his hold above your head. He dives closer to the crook of your neck, ragged breathing and warm breath against your skin.

“I’ll make sure you’ll sleep peacefully for days.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 the boyz lee juyeon ver.

tags: @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet @blossomnet

@haneul-and-clouds @jaehunnyy @mars101

[jeonginsleftcheek]

On the beach

a/n: this is the same pairing from Among the trees but you don't need to read that one to enjoy this!🩵

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

genre: smut

wc: 3.2k

warnings: perv hyun, 'innocent' reader, semi public sex, nipple/breast play, oral (m), masturbation, cum tasting, breeding kink, creampie, praise, implied free use

masterlist

It was a beautiful summer morning, golden sun rays highlighting all the prettiest parts of nature and your boyfriend suggested taking advantage of the nice weather by going to the beach.

You nodded your head eagerly, of course. You always loved the beach but what you loved most is seeing the wide smile on Hyunjin's face whenever you'd say 'yes' to him.

He always rewarded your obedience in one way or another, yet your biggest reward was always his happiness and satisfaction.

Hyunjin had added that this was not a regular beach and you cocked your confused little head sideways, asking him what he meant by that.

He only smirked mischievously and asked you not to wear any underwear under your pretty sundress. And that's how you currently sat in the passenger seat of his car, your thighs rubbing together as you already felt aroused in excitement.

"Angel." Hyunjin warned gently but firmly, his hand gripping at your bare thigh. You exhaled, relaxing your legs and trying to be still.

Hyunjin wasn't doing any better than you, his length was already twitching in his pants at the sight of you squirming. He thought about your pussy, you were probably soaking already, just begging to be stuffed with his cock.

He had to check. His hand slowly slid upwards towards your core, fingertips tickling your inner thighs and you spread your legs a little, anticipating his touch. Hyunjin's fingers came in contact with your wetness and he swiped once before retracting his hand and licking at his fingers.

"Sweet angel. We're almost there, be a little more patient for me, will you?" he looked at you before turning to a dirt road.

"Yes, Hyunjin." you whimpered quietly.

"That's my good girl." he smiled and kept driving until you got to a secluded beach, enveloped by trees and rocks, hidden away from the world.

You didn't see a single soul there except a few seagulls and your heart started beating fast in anticipation. Hyunjin parked and got out of the car and you waited as he gathered the stuff you needed before coming around to open your door.

"Let's go, princess." Hyunjin smiled, reaching his hand out to you. Your hand got lost in his big palm as you grabbed it and he helped you out before locking the car. His eyes fell down to your chest, your nipples were poking against the thin, white fabric of the dress, there for him to look at and play with.

"Come on." he said, taking your hand in his once again and leading you towards the sand.

You set up your towels and Hyunjin looked around before sitting down and looking up at you.

"Take your dress off." he said and you gasped a little, fidgeting with the hem of it.

"B-but I have nothing under." you looked around with wide eyes and Hyunjin chuckled. You were so cute and innocent that he just wanted to eat you up.

"That's the point, my little doe. This is a nude beach so we are going to be nude here." he explained and you gasped again.

"But what if someone else comes here?" you gulped.

"Angel. Do as I say." Hyunjin's eyes darkened as he wrapped his fingers around your ankle.

"Okay." your entire body flushed, a wave rushing through you because you loved Hyunjin commanding you like that. You gripped the hem of your dress and took it off, putting it aside.

"So pretty, my princess. Sit down."

You did as he said and he looked at you for a moment before stripping too. When he took his boxers off, his cock sprung out and it was already hard just from looking at you.

A little whimper escaped your lips as you licked at them. Every time you saw his dick you wanted to have him anywhere inside you, or at least in your hands, you just needed to feel him.

"Come closer, princess." Hyunjin smiled and you scooted closer, facing him.

"Now, I don't want you to be unprotected in the sun so pass me the sunscreen." he said and you nodded, rummaging through the bag he brought until you found the bottle and gave it to him.

Hyunjin smirked as you looked around, your cheeks rosy, your arms coming up to cover yourself.

"Angel, it's okay. No one will see you here but me. I promise." he took your hand in his and kissed it and you sighed, placing your hands down on the towel so Hyunjin had a good view of your beautiful breasts.

He gave you a smile as he went back to his original task and poured some of the sun cream on his palms, placing them on your ankle. He slowly slid them up, spreading the cream on your skin and you bit on your lip, swallowing a moan.

Hyunjin's hands always made you melt as soon as he would put them on you, no matter what he was doing, even if it was a slight tap or gentle brush of his fingers.

Hyunjin stared at you intently, watching as your eyes became more and more hazy while he massaged your foot, then your calf up to your thigh. He could see you were struggling, becoming aroused but trying to hide it as you squirmed and looked around. With a smirk, he repeated his actions on your other leg before gripping your ankles and pulling you closer to him.

You gasped as he spread your legs and then gave extra attention to your inner thighs, massaging them and watching you quiver under his touch.

It was getting harder to breathe and you dug your nails into the towel, your brows furrowed as you threw your head back. Hyunjin's eyes scanned over your parted lips, your breasts quivering as you shook a little and breathed hard. You were already under his spell.

His fingertips came closer to your core every time he slid up and then the stimulation stopped and you snapped out of it, looking at him. Hyunjin let out a chuckle, eyes traveling to your pussy.

You were so wet for him, aroused like crazy just from him massaging your legs. You whimpered and tried to close them as you felt embarrassed but Hyunjin gripped your thigh.

"Princess, show me what belongs to me." his voice was low and dark, something dangerous dripping from his lips.

Swallowing, you opened your legs, your hands falling between them before you leaned back a little, fingertips on either sides of your pussy as you spread it open.

"Looks like it's missing something, hm?" Hyunjin chuckled, a smirk gracing his lips and you nodded, chewing on your lip as you clenched around nothing and he saw it.

"Be patient, my little doe." he said, motioning for you to turn your back to him. With a quiet whine, you obeyed and turned around, gathering your hair away so Hyunjin can put sunscreen on your back.

"It's so peaceful here." you said after a few moments of silence as you melted under his comforting and soft touch.

"Mhm, you like it my angel?" he leaned over your shoulder and kissed your cheek.

"I really do." you nodded.

"It's like the beach is only ours. I love taking you to places like this." he leaned into your ear. "And fucking you in places like this." his lips brushed against you and you shivered, pressing your thighs together.

"H-Hyunjin." you whimpered when his hands wrapped around you only to grip at your breasts.

You arched into his touch, immediately giving into him as you leaned your head back on his shoulder. Hyunjin groaned and massaged your breasts, pinching your nipples gently as his lips attached to your neck. Your eyes closed and you enjoyed the way he was kissing, licking and nipping at your skin while playing with your sensitive buds.

"Play with your little clit for me." he gently bit on your ear and you whimpered, spreading your legs and pressing your fingertips into your nub, moving them in slow circles.

"That's it, good girl. Keep going." Hyunjin encouraged as he kept ravaging your neck, leaving marks on it and gripping your breasts harder. Your whimpers got louder as you sped up and pressed harder on your clit, your legs trembling as you forgot completely that you were outside.

"Stop." Hyunjin ordered suddenly and you whined but obeyed. "I want you to finger yourself. Get yourself ready for me, angel. Just how you do when you wait for me to come home from work."

"Mm, Hyunjin." you moaned, sliding your fingertips through your wet folds.

"That's it." he looked down at your fingers disappearing inside your little pussy. You started moving them slowly and Hyunjin let out a chuckle as he looked at you, so sweet and obedient for him. He wrapped himself around you and you felt his length pressing into your lower back. He gripped your thighs, spreading them as he put them over his.

"Keep going, angel." he said when your hand stuttered and you sped up a little, feeling your pussy spreading more as he opened your legs with his further, making you fuck yourself deeper.

"Ah!" you whimpered, arching up into your hand, your fingers couldn't even compare to Hyunjin's longer ones that reached so much deeper and felt so much better.

"Make yourself cum, angel. You can do it." Hyunjin encouraged you, playing with your breasts and then running his hands on your waist and stomach, down to your navel and dangerously close to your clit but he purposely avoided it.

You whined, tears of frustration building up in your eyes. You coul never cum without him, he trained you so well to only cum from his fingers, tongue or dick that you had trouble even finishing on your own fingers. Usually you would just play with yourself until he got home and made you cum with his mouth first before using you for his pleasure.

"You need my help, little doe?" Hyunjin smirked, pinching and pulling on your nipples.

"Please, Hyune." you whimpered, looking up at him with teary eyes. Your body was so heated up under the sun and in Hyunjin's arms, the little breeze that caressed your skin was welcomed as you felt like you were burning up.

"When you ask so nicely, my angel." he said, his hand gripping at yours and pushing your fingers deeper. A loud moan escaped your lips as he started controlling your hand, making you fuck yourself harder with it. His other hand pressed softly on your navel, his fingertips on your clit as he moved them in circles.

"H-Hyunjin!" you gripped at his thigh with your free hand, shaking against him as he helped bring you closer to your high.

"You can do it, princess." Hyunjin whispered in your ear before kissing the spot under it and sinking his teeth into it. Your moans kept getting louder as he cooed at you and encouraged you until you finally exploded all over your fingers with his name on your lips.

"That's my good girl." he praised, kissing your cheek as he gripped your wrist gently and asked you to turn towards him again. You turned and kneeled, waiting for his next command and Hyunjin brought the hand with your essence on it to his cock.

"Touch me." his voice came out breathy and you gulped, wrapping your fingers around him. He was already wet from precum and your juices added onto it to make your hand glide against him easily.

"Just like that, love." he said, observing you for a while as you moved your hand up and down, flicking your wrist just how he liked you to before motioning for you to come closer.

"Keep going." he said, gripping your breast and leaning in. You moaned quietly as he licked at your nipple before wrapping his plump lips around it and sucking. You gripped his length and it twitched in your hand as he groaned against you, sucking on your breast harder. You were burning up, touching him like that, feeling his cock so hot and heavy in your palm as he sucked on your breast harshly. You pressed your legs together, tearing up as you felt sensitive and needed more.

Hyunjin gave both your breasts equal love and you moved your hand faster, your other hand grabbing and massaging his balls.

"Angel." he groaned, looking at you hazily before he grabbed your hands and moved them away. He gathered your hair in a makeshift ponytail and you knew what that meant, leaning down instantly to wrap your lips around his cock.

Hyunjin moaned, gripping your hair as you slid down, taking more of him in and hollowing your cheeks. You tasted both him and yourself as you swirled your tongue on him, the taste making you drip with more arousal.

Hyunjin gripped your head and pushed you down, making you gag around him as your nose pressed into his smooth skin.

"Good girl." he lifted you up as you coughed. "Soon, you'll be able to take all of it by yourself, hm?" Hyunjin said, caressing your face and you nodded, blinking your tears away.

"Shh." he wiped your tears and kissed you gently before pushing you down on your back.

"Open your legs for me, angel." he said and your legs fell open. Hyunjin let out a little chuckle as he gripped at your thighs and pushed your knees up to your shoulders.

"Just like that. You look so beautiful like this. All for me, princess." he gently slapped your pussy, making you whimper. "Mine." he almost growled.

"Only yours, Hyunjin." you bit on your lip, shivering as he hovered over you and grabbed his cock before pushing it inside you. It always fascinated him how easily you took all of him in despite being so small and tight, he was proud that he was fucking you so well that your pussy was now shaped like his cock, always ready to be filled like two puzzle pieces connecting together perfectly.

"Sweet girl." Hyunjin groaned as he started moving his hips slowly at first, wanting to feel your little pussy clenching around him and keeping him inside, all warm and snuggly.

His hands were on your breasts again as he looked at your face, lips parted in pleasure as you reveled in the feeling of his cock inside you. It drove him crazy how good you were for him so he gripped at your inner thighs, pressing them down more as he started slapping his hips into your harder. You moaned loudly, your eyes rolling back as Hyunjin brought his weight down on your core, making sure he was going as deep and hard as he could.

"H-Hyu-Hyu-ah!" you shook, you couldn't even say his name from the way he took your breath away. You couldn't hold it in at all, exploding around his cock in an instant and coating him in your juices.

"Fuck." he cursed under his breath and pulled out, making you whine at the loss.

"You already made a mess, angel. Come here and taste it." he smirked at you and you gasped, sitting up and kneeling in front of him as he stood up. Your legs shook for a moment and he grabbed your hair, bringing your lips closer to his cock.

You wrapped them around him instantly, enjoying the dirty feeling of tasting yourself on his dick.

You sucked eagerly, swirling your tongue and swallowing around him and Hyunjin groaned loudly, fucking into your mouth and pushing all the way to the back of your throat again.

"So pretty." he smirked as you gagged. "And so good for me. You deserve your reward, angel."

Your reward. The part you always looked forward to the most even though you enjoyed anything Hyunjin did to you, there was something so raw and primal about him cumming inside you and filling you up. You loved the feeling of the warm liquid heating up your insides, you loved that Hyunjin was the only man that ever came inside you, that you were completely his, especially in that moment. And most of all, you hoped every time he filled you up that it stuck so you belonged to him forever.

"Get on all fours." Hyunjin said breathlessly and you did as you were told, your palms and knees pressed into the towel as you looked up at the sea before you, the sun sparkling on the surface and the waves licking the sand.

Hyunjin gripped your hips and pushed in, the new angle making him touch the deepest parts of you.

"Mm." you moaned, eyes fluttering. Hyunjin leaned over you and gently held your jaw in his hand, making you look forward.

"Don't I always give you the best views, my little doe?" he snickered in your ear and you whined, clenching around him as he straightened up before gripping your hips again.

You pushed back into him and Hyunjin started snapping his hips into you hard, the sound of it filling up your ears together with the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks on the side of the beach. Hyunjin ran his hand up your back and you arched it more, making him hit even deeper. He gathered your hair in his hand and pulled back as you moaned loudly, falling apart on his cock while he fucked you hard.

"Fuck!" Hyunjin groaned, his hips snapping even harder into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs. "That's it, angel. Be fucking loud. Let everyone hear whose cock you love the most." he growled through gritted teeth, pulling your head back.

His name spilled from your lips repeatedly as you exploded, squirting around his length.

"Such a good girl for me." Hyunjin pushed you down, holding your hips again as he kept pounding into you. "Gonna stuff you with my cum now. Breed this little pussy." he said, smacking your ass and you yelped loudly, squeezing around him.

Hyunjin's hips stuttered and he pushed in deep as he exploded inside you and you whimpered quietly, enjoying the feeling of his warm cum filling you up.

Hyunjin pulled out and scooped you up in his strong arms, wrapping them around you and you melted into him, pressing your cheek on his chest and brushing your lips against his damp skin that always smelled so good to you.

"You did so well, my angel. I love you so much." he caressed your hair as you touched his back.

"I love you so much, Jinnie." you looked up at him with eyes full of love and admiration and he gave you a sweet smile before kissing you gently.

You stayed like that for some time, caressing and kissing each other before you sat up.

"Did we even come here to swim?" you asked and Hyunjin bursted into giggles.

"Of course we'll swim. And then enjoy each other some more, what do you say princess?" he smirked, caressing your cheek.

"Anything you want, Hyunjin." you smiled, pressing your lips against his again.

And he knew your words were true, he knew you would do anything for him and that made him love you even more.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Love 101

my week-late valentine's post

summary: third years ask first years for love advice. the first years suck at giving it type of post: blurbs characters: cater, trey, leona, rook, vil, idia, lilia, malleus, rollo additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

I. Cater and Deuce

Cater has always loved the thrill of the chase (or, really, the thrill of stalking your magicam at 2am) and he would have been content with keeping his digital distance if he didn't see you in Vil's last post. Suddenly anxious that he's fumbling, he does what he does best: info. And who would have better info than your best friend? "Uhhh, I dunno," Deuce says. "If you really like someone, then you should be honest with them- that's what my mom used to tell me, at least. Or did I read that somewhere? Uh, never mind. I'm sure the Prefect will understand! Just- you better treat them right, or else!" Be honest? When has honesty ever helped Cater? It'd take two more nights of crushing anxiety for him to send a risky text, spilling all of his feelings for you in a Magicam DM and then handing his phone over to a very confused (but pleased?) Riddle, so he won't check his notifs for your username every twelve seconds...

II. Trey and Ace

Trust me, he was not Trey's go-to. Okay, sure, Ace is your best friend. Sure, he knows everything about you, from your favorite desserts to your grades, and sure, you've probably told him everything about your dream man, but... It's Ace. And unlike darling, doe-eyed Deuce, if someone asked too much about you, Ace would get suspicious and go right into protective best friend mode. So, Trey keeps it vague. "Eh? You're asking me for dating advice?" Ace grins. "About time! I knew you were smart. What you're gonna do is give 'em a little, not too much. Maybe ghost 'em for a week or two, so they'll really miss you when you finally text back!" ...Yeah. Maybe Trey should just stick to desserts.

III. Leona and Jack

Listen, okay, Leona didn't want to ask him, either. But Ruggie had nothing, your other frosh friends couldn't flirt their way out of a paper bag, and Grim refused to give Leona the goods without tuna payments (and he's spoiled enough as it is). Of course, the moment Leona even implied he was thinking of you, Jack jumped. "You have to be direct and honest! This could be your life partner, you have to put your all in!" Right, sure. Why does he even bother with these kids?? You'd be turned off if Leona started spilling his guts like that. He would've given up then and there... but then Jack insisted he come to "support his upperclassman", as if it were a fight rather than a flirtation. Leona cursed the Seven, the stars, and every single student on campus as he stumbled his way through asking you out. "Not that you would, or that I care, but I-" he looks over his shoulder, and Jack is still there, arms crossed like an impatient parent. Leona grumbles. "If you want to..." "He wants to please you, Prefect!" Jack barks. "DON'T SAY IT LIKE THAT!"

IV. Vil, Rook, and Epel

It wasn't like Vil sought out Epel for the sole purpose of you, the freshman simply... happened to be in the room while Vil was thinking about it! Out loud! With Rook! In a... slightly argumentative manner! "Epel, settle something for us, would you?" "Oui, you see, I say the way to win the Prefect's favor is by anticipating their every thought!" "And I say that's insane. You know them best, so, tell us, what do they like?" The poor boy looks between them like he's being held at gunpoint. How should he have known?? It's not like you guys spent your time gabbing about boys! "APPLES!" he blurts out. "The Prefect loves apples!! My grandma always said the quickest way to a person's heart is through their stomach!" Rook giggles and Vil mumbles something about Epel's peanut-sized brain. ...Nonetheless, you wake up to crates full of apples at your door the next morning.

V. Idia and Ortho

beeeeeep... beeep... bing! Idia swivels around in his chair at the sound of the printer. Crap, did he accidentally hit print page again? What a waste of ink- that stuff's not cheap, you know! But it's just... Ortho. "Here ya go, big bro! I thought you might need this!" Idia cautiously takes the warm paper, entitled Romance Intel 101. "Uh... Ortho. Why are you giving me this? You know I max out the romance stats in all my games EZ," Ortho giggles. "It's not for a game, it's for the Prefect! Based on the data I've gathered, your heart rate accelerates by 1.2 seconds, and your pupils dilate by 40% when thinking of, or speaking to the Prefect!" Idia turns pink and crumples, as if he were the paper (the first line of which, BTW, reading "step one- make eye contact!") This is going to be a looooong school year...

VI. Lilia and Grim

You probably should've been suspicious when Lilia popped into Ramshackle and offered to babysit Grim for an afternoon, but you weren't- not with assignments due, at least. You said your goodbyes, and as soon as you were out the splintered door, Lilia spun on his heels. Short as he is, he towers over the little direbeast. "Hm, seems like we have time to spare. How about a casual conversation? Yes? Good! So, how do the youngsters these days go about showing their affections? I would like to make my feelings for a certain someone known, but I'm terribly out of practice." Grim thinks for a moment, and then: "Tuna. Looots of tuna. Heaps of it! It's all the rage!" Lilia nods sagely. "Ah, yes, I understand completely. There was a rotisserie chicken fad a few centuries ago... er, so I've read. Isn't love wonderful!" You come home from the library to an unconscious, drooling, but very happy Grim, and Lilia sitting atop a mountain of empty tuna cans and beaming. "Darling! You're back!"

VII. Malleus and Sebek

It had always been Sebek's honor and duty to serve the heir prince of Briar Valley, whether in war or in love. When Malleus wistfully said he wished to know you better, Sebek saw to it. That is, he spent the entire weekend shadowing you. And not subtly- he was never more than a few steps behind, pen and paper in hand. When you asked what in the world he was doing, he- "OBSERVING! NOW, QUIET! BEHAVE AS USUAL!" "You don't have to shout, you're right behind me. And observing what, Sebek?" "NONE OF YOUR CONCERN! ACT AS IF I AM NOT HERE!" At the end of the weekend, Sebek returned to Malleus' throne with a report that titled you "inquisitive, dense, and apparently hard-of-hearing."

VIII. Rollo and You

Your friends had seemed wary when Rollo asked you on a walk with him, though he promised he wouldn't take you too far from their clutches care. You had been in Fleur City for days and he didn't know a single thing about you, other than that you were magicless and pitiful. You were so often spoken over, interrupted, and dismissed, it took Rollo a strenuous amount of grace not to grab you by the wrist and drag you away from your rude, contemptuous classmates himself... He couldn't word the feeling. And he was hoping you could. "So," he says, "They refer to you as Prefect. That is your role? Do you enjoy it?" You shrug. Has being at that terrible school rendered you unfit for social interaction? "Very well. Then what do you do for... fun? You appeared to enjoy seeing the city. Are you interested in history?" You shrug again. How can he be expected to know you if you won't tell him anything?? Rollo decides that words are worthless, and his eyes land on your hands. His own fingers twitch and tingle in anticipation, and for a brief but terrifying moment, he thinks of reaching out to you. ...In the end, he can't will himself to do it. Maybe in another life.

[plethorawrites]

How the Batboys would react to finding out and dealing with you self harming/having severe depression.

TW: Mentions of cuts, blood, suicidal thoughts, incorrect use of pills, sort of implied eating disorders.

Please don't read if this could upset you in any way.

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Bruce:

The first time he notices is also the first time you spend the night. The lights were dark and you were both a bit buzzed after downing several glasses of champagne to endure a boring event he invited you to as an excuse to see you. Of course he was more concerned with kissing the inside of your thighs than noticing the little healed scars on them.

He notices them the next morning though, when the sun is streaming through the window and you get up to find your clothes while assuming he's asleep. He wasn't. He saw the marks. The scars. He refrained from saying a word about them, waiting weeks for you to open up about them on your own terms. He could see they were healed so he wasn't terribly worried at that moment.

When you finally told him, you said you'd been clean for months. He had no reason to suspect you would start again.

But you did.

He didn't know the exact day, or the specific reason, all he knew is that you stopped wearing shorts to bed and stopped letting him leave the lights on to see you when you were intimate. You stopped smiling as often, too.

Of course, being a detective, he can tell when you start getting lethargic, not from work or stress but simply life itself. He hears when your words have less meaning, and your expressions are false. He makes it his mission to not let you fall into the spiral any more than you already have.

You might not want to tell him you're hurting yourself but he'd be damned if he didn't do whatever he could to make you stop. That started by holding you tighter at night so you couldn't sneak off to the bathroom to cut, he'd ask you to visit him at work, insist on every meal being at a restaurant so you didn't even have time to try to hurt yourself. And of course, he helps with the tasks you start struggling with, but pretends he doesn't notice.

He just says "Can I practice braiding your hair so I can help Cassandra?" and use it as a chance to make sure you don't start letting your hair tangle.

He even makes the braid a bit crooked even though he can French braid perfectly, just to sell it. He'll wash it, too, claiming it's: "A good excuse to spend time together." after a long day.

He just wants to make sure it's not getting greasy. He can see the guilt on your face when you sit in the tub, staring at the wall. You wanted to tell him to stop, that you could wash your own hair. But you probably couldn't. It felt like too much work and you just wanted to sink underneath the water of the tub for a few minutes of peace. He kept you upright though, kissing the back of your shoulder, the side of your neck, your cheek, making you hum.

You weren't able to feel much, emotionally speaking, but you could feel gratitude and love.

When he notices you skipping meals because you can't drag yourself to the kitchen or bother to cook, he will. He'll make anything, even if you change your mind about what sounds good and make him cook six different dishes before eventually accepting one of them. He doesn't care. He just wants you to eat. The second you show the slightest bit of interest in something, anything, it's yours. You make a comment about the beach sounding nice, the next thing you know he's taken the day off work and is driving you there with the top of a convertible down.

You say you kind of miss one of your old hobbies— be it painting or crochet, it doesn't matter what, the next day the nicest stuff for you to get back into it arrives. Fresh paints, massive canvases or imported yarn and crystal hooks. He watches, intently when you start to focus on something you like again, the heavy ache in his heart subsiding when he gets to show enthusiasm about your project when it's done.

You start holding him again at night, your face buried in his chest instead of sleeping facing the wall. One night you slide into bed wearing shorts and he can see your scars, red ones among the old faded pale ones from when you first met.

He knows they'll heal too in time. Just like you have.

---

Dick: He doesn't realize there's anything wrong several months into dating you until he catches you taking some pills when he was walking back into the room and later searched up the name, figuring out they're antidepressants.

He can't believe he didn't see it sooner and hates that you were always putting on a fake smile with him. He wants you to talk about it, but understands that it's hard for you too and your every attempt to open up to him ends with you in tears or walking out in frustration because the words won't form.

He suggests (very strongly) that you see a therapist and after some gentle coaxing, you agree. He sits in the car the entire time waiting for you and when you come out, numb for a few minutes as you sit there in silence before sobbing uncontrollably for the 20 minutes in the parking lot. He gets you whatever you want after— ice cream, cheesecake, brownies. Whatever you're craving.

He takes you every week, sometimes multiple times a week. He never complains and he's ALWAYS there. He'll wake up early, even if he barely slept. He'll skip family lunch, he'll rush out of a bank robbery just shouting for his brothers to handle it without him. It doesn't matter what, he'll be there.

He's taken to heavy positive affirmations, as well. He puts sticky notes up in the bathroom with smiley faces for whenever you brush your teeth or put on moisturizer. There are little hearts and words of encouragement on the front of the fridge and inside of it too for when you manage to crave a snack. Hopefully something healthy like fruit, but even if it's junk food, it's better than an empty stomach.

Every morning he wakes you up and tells you you're beautiful and he's grateful to have you.

He likes to remind you not to push yourself as well. "If you just manage to wash your hair, you'll have done something" and "If that's too hard, I'll help you make the bed." But also..."If you don't do anything at all today, you still survived. That alone is difficult, but you're doing it."

Every night he lays it on even thicker because he knows it gets harder at night. "I'm so proud of you for making it through another day." And... "I know it sucks right now but I promise I'll help you get through this." And... "Just take it one day at a time."

When you get homework from your therapist— to do 3 hard tasks over one week, make a list of every negative and positive thought to see them out loud and deduce why you have them, physical exercise—he does it with you. No matter how foolish or seemingly simple it is.

Your therapist told you to do something you struggle with? Done. He'll stand behind you while you do the dishes and help you dry.

You need to get something from a store that's dozens of miles away? Road trip. He'll buy the snacks and take turns driving so you don't het stressed out burn out.

You're told to get some physical exercise? He'll be your partner for whatever kind you want to do. Jogging in the park, keeping a slower pace than usual for you, practicing on rings while you climb the stairmaster—he falls, because he's distracted by your ass. But that's besides the point.

When you start to show signs of feeling better, that therapy is working, he's elated. And after several months and things are better, much better, you tell him whenever you're feeling off. Whenever that nagging feeling comes back over you. You guys work through it then and there to keep it from getting bad again.

Though sometimes, when he's leaving for work, you'll pout and say you feel sad just to get him to stay. You both know it's not a depressed feeling. You just don't want him to leave and he'll indulge you. "Oh, well, if that's the case, I'll just have to stay in bed with you until you feel better."

---

Jason: He's busy. Always. But that didn't mean he was oblivious. Yet, that's exactly how he felt when he realized you'd been abusing your medicine. He knew after the first few dates that you were on medication for chronic depression and he was more than understanding about it. Millions of people suffered from it, himself occasionally included.

But when he's laying in bed and catches you sneaking into the bathroom to take three more pills than you're supposed to, he's caught off guard. Then you slide down to the floor, sitting crisscrossed, making small cuts on your thighs, wincing in pain the entire time. It takes every ounce of self control not to jump out of bed and rip the blade from your hand. He contemplates it, he really does. But that would just make things worse. So he waits.

It keeps him up all night, though he pretends to sleep. And in the morning, you're back out of bed, taking more and sliding back in bed, pretending to wake up just like him.

He blames himself entirely.

He thinks he should have been better, done more, noticed something that made it better. It was his job to support you and protect you and he had failed and that killed him in ways that seemed unimaginable.

After an incredibly difficult conversation where he confesses to knowing you've been filling scripts you don't need and taking more than necessary, you're both an emotional mess. But he assures you he's not leaving or angry, just scared for you. He wants to help but needs you to let him.

He absolutely dedicates himself to keeping you away from anything even remotely dangerous.

The knives in the kitchen? Gone.

Even the butter knives are plastic now.

The razors in the bathroom? Thrown out in a trashcan outside so you couldn't find them.

Even the little blade in the pencil sharpener is taken out.

He won't let you have your pill bottles either, at least not at first. He makes sure you take them everyday, morning and night, then after several weeks starts to let you handle them by yourself.

He still sneaks out of bed to count them and make sure you weren't taking more than prescribed. He insists on being the one to wrap your arms, cleaning them to make sure they don't get infected. And wiping your legs as well. He has to remind himself not to squeeze them too hard, the way he wants to.

While holding you at night he makes sure not to hurt them, even though he wants to hold you much tighter to comfort himself as reassurance you're alright. He listens, late at night when you're whispering to avoid crying. When you explain the feeling it gave you. He knows it.

Once they heal and he can hold you tighter, not as afraid of hurting you by squeezing your thighs the way he likes to. He starts kissing them each night, making sure you know they're not embarrassing or shameful.

He's got scars on most of his body; you were the one to teach them to appreciate them. If he could return the favor, he would. A thousand times over.

He tells you the same things you told him. "You made it through."

---

Tim: When you tell Tim, and by tell I mean confess after he figured it out on his own, you're surprised to find that he doesn't have much of a reaction immediately. He stays quiet, hums a little, nods along. He never interrupts but you see his eyes glazing over a bit, the way they do when the gears start turning in his head. He knew, of course, that you had depression.

He knew you hurt yourself, not in the traditional way of cutting or attempting suicide, but in much subtler ways, like forcing yourself to finish a meal even though you're full and your stomach hurts, taking boiling hot showers that leave your skin red and raw practically painful to even touch from how dry it is, making yourself stay up late and function on the fewest hours of sleep possible.

You purposely made life harder for yourself and for the most part, didn't even realize it. He did, though. What he didn't realize was the amount of medicine you'd tried, to the point you felt none of them worked, the amount of therapists and psychiatrists you had seen, the level of depression you had truly sunk to before. It hurt him to realize once you started opening up. He wanted to make that pain go away. So, he researched. Constantly.

He wants to know every single thing that can cause depression, the statistics of self harm leading to suicide, the effectiveness of different treatments or facilities. He knows every antidepressant, their side effects, their manufacturers, and dosages. He suggests inpatient care for you, but absolutely refuses to send you to someplace like Arkham.

Instead, he finds the best of the best, way out of the city, where the entire staff passed his background check, the facility was up to date on every code possible, and the rules seemed relaxed enough to let you feel like yourself while also making sure you're safe. He's allowed to visit and does so as soon as possible, even manages to get extra hours in the night. You have the best of care there, too, he knows because he can see it on your face every time he's there.

The food is wonderful, the private room you have is nice (even if you miss his warmth at night), the activities they make you do remind you of the hobbies you used to love before they became unbearable. Even therapy sessions, always private because Tim knew you wouldn't want to speak about it in a group, are rather helpful.

When you get out after a few weeks, he's right there, waiting, like always. And he's got the biggest smile because he can see immediately the light back in your eyes that he missed so much. He keeps up with some of the tactics you learned or hobbies you started while there, gladly sitting on the floor with you while you do paper mache.

He always makes sure you know you're not weak for needing help and if you ever feel like you need to go back, even just for a week, or weekend, he'll be there for you. Just like always.

---

(Aged up. I imagine you both in LOA)

Damian: It didn't take a genius to know you were a miserable person. Most people in the league of assassins were. He rather liked your level of misery, usually. It was cynical, with a touch of wit and dark humor that always made him feel seen.

It wasn't until he caught sight of a few scars on your calf that he didn't recognize that he started to realize you were more miserable than he had originally thought. You tried to play it off, claiming you got hurt in a sparring match. But that was a lot and he knew it. Because A) you never lost. And B) the cut was at an angle a sword wouldn't be able to reach unless you were the one holding it.

You clearly didn't want to talk about it, so he wouldn't make you. He was always taught that emotions were weak and even though he didn't fully believe it as he used to, he still isn't big on a lot of sentimentality. Which is fine, because you aren't either.

He still keeps a quiet, very close eye on you. Maybe you noticed, maybe you didn't. He wasn't sure. He didn't care either way. He was worried and with your recent behavior, he felt he had every right to be. You started putting in less effort during training, if you even showed up at all. He'd find you on the balcony at night, leaning your head against the railing and staring at the gardens with a blank expression.

Even the things he knew you loved— your favorite foods, the music you liked to listen to on a record player while you got ready for bed. It stopped appealing to you. The meticulous way you'd fix your hair before bed every single night abruptly stopped, too. You simply fell asleep with it as is and woke up with it tangled. You still held him at night, but it felt less like an embrace for the both of you and more like you were clinging to him like a life line.

He pays extra close attention and anytime he isn't allowed to be by your side, he makes sure someone else is. It's hard to keep you away from sharp objects, given nearly everything around them was a weapon, but he tries to get you to vent your rage by cutting training dummies and not yourself.

He also takes you to the quieter, more secluded wing, into an empty room with pillows on the floor. He makes you sit with him and meditate, which he knows is hard at first, boring and you don't have the most energy, but he holds your hand, his fingers pressed to your pulse to make sure you're listening when he tells you to take a deep breath in and think— not of what you're grateful for, like some might suggest. No. Instead of asking you what you want to live for, he asks you what you can't die without. The grudges you're holding, the projects you haven't finished, the people who are just waiting to see you fail. He won't let you let them win.

And it works. That passion and drive slowly comes back with his help and support at your side, doing your hair for you at night and making sure someone brought you a meal three times a day even if he wasn't around to make sure you ate. Your need to be the best and spite anyone who thinks you aren't returns after a while.

One night he finds you training alone, sweat dripping from your brow, your scars both won in battle and self inflicted on display. Instead of interrupting, he simply watches, admiring your form which had improved since you started picking up your sword more often. He loved watching you find your spirit again.