#other things that a normal person would not say:

[reignpage]

Finders Keepers

Summary: in which alien!reader crash lands right in front of Gojo and your story with him begins Word Count: 1k (just trialing a new concept so it's a quick opening) Warnings: a little cursing, allusions to experimentation and alien warfare, reader is naked but not in a sexual manner

“I can’t believe aliens actually exist,” Satoru mutters to himself. 

This has been an incredibly wild evening. 

When he stepped out of his apartment to throw the bins out, he hadn’t expected to see a blinding flash of light zoom past him and explode in the parking lot. Thank goodness for his infinity, otherwise he would not have fared as well as the minivan you landed on. 

Yes. 

You.

The woman who came straight from the sky and fell on top of a car, missing him by just two metres.

At first, he thought it was a curse; these things get pretty weird sometimes, after all. But using his Six Eyes, he could tell you were different. Sure, you looked like any other person, with arms and legs and a head. But you had a unique aura to you, positively otherworldly. 

If he was any other kind of man, he would have just left you there and pretended nothing happened — ignorance is bliss and whatnot — but what kind of Honoured One would he be if he didn’t do his duty and helped you out?

So, he slides down the massive crater you made (boy is that going to be a pain for maintenance to clean up) and carefully cradles your naked body in his arms, carefully so as to not touch bits and pieces no gentleman has a business looking at. Why are you naked anyways? 

Sensing people making their way down the stairs to inspect the commotion, he teleports back into his apartment quick as a flash before anyone could think to look through their windows. 

He throws a blanket at you and leaves you on the sofa as he paces the length of his living room and ponders what to do. On one hand, he could call the police and leave it up to them to deal with you. The government would know best about how to deal about falling space women, right? But then, don’t all the sci-fi movies talk about inhumane experimentation, weaponizing alien technology, and Area 51? 

That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, at all. 

And on the other hand, he could just take care of you himself. He has the means to, that’s for sure. You really don’t look any different from everyone else — surely, you need the same things he does: food, water, shelter and warmth.

Right?

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone to call his doctor friend, you begin rousing from sleep. Your eyes flutter open and they’re a normal colour, which freaks him out more if he’s going to be perfectly honest. 

“Uh,” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, shuffling on his feet a little, “hey? I’m Gojo Satoru. You can just call me Satoru, though. If you want, or can, I guess.”

You tilt your head, scanning his body, and you open your mouth. What comes out is definitely an alien language. Or maybe he needs to travel more. But he certainly does not comprehend a single thing that you say. 

Clearing his throat, he tries to smile comfortingly. “Okay, so I didn’t understand what you said. Sorry. But uh, do you need anything? Like, do you know where you are? Yeah, you definitely don’t know what I’m saying either, do you?”

You tilt your head again. 

“What is wrong with me? Seriously. What was I thinking bringing you home? You may have fallen from the sky but I’m the one that clearly hit my head. I really am an idiot.”

Glancing around the room, you don’t look any bit as frazzled and panicked as he is. Actually, you’re as cool as a cucumber, and there isn’t a hint of shame or embarrassment on your face when you push yourself off the sofa, blanket sliding down your body. 

“Woah! Woah!”

Satoru presses his hands to his eyes and leaves them there for a second or two before realising that does absolutely nothing and when he pulls them down, he doesn’t flinch when you’re standing before him, inquisitive eyes meeting his. 

His infinity is on and he’s ready to subdue you if you prove to be a threat, but so far, he’s simply letting you reorient yourself, getting used to your surroundings and giving you the opportunity to decide he’s not a bad guy. 

That being said, however, he’s still deciding whether to keep you or not. He doesn’t want you to be poked and prodded — that wouldn’t be a very cool welcome to planet Earth and he doesn’t need you to go around telling your alien friends humans suck, though they do. But he also doesn’t know if that’s the best decision. 

You could be a danger to jujitsu society, to his students, to the world. What if, right at this very moment, you’re leaking deadly radiation? And what if his infinity can’t keep it out? Can’t keep you out?

Gosh, there are so many things that could go wrong. 

It’s entirely possible too that you’re a blood sucking monster intent on wringing him dry for all he’s worth. Maybe you’re not even an alien. Maybe you’re a special kind of curse, the kind that can bypass his Six Eyes, though he’s fairly confident that’s not the case (there’s no one stronger than him, after all). 

What if this is Kenjaku all over again?

Yeah, on second thought, he should definitely call the police. Or Ijichi, or the Prime Minister of Japan, or whoever will believe him when he says there’s a naked, alien lady in his home, and no, he’s not a pervert playing out some sick fantasy.

But just as he’s lifting his phone, you lift your hand the same time he does and cover your eyes. 

Then you say his name in perfect Japanese with a sweet, soft voice, not a hint of hesitation or unsteadiness. You smile, eyes still obscured, and he feels himself mirroring your gleeful expression. 

“That’s right. I’m Satoru. It’s nice to meet you.”

He decides, there and then, to hell with radiation, alien armies, and the deadly risk you pose to everything he knows or cares about. The military, conspiracy theorists, and scientists be damned.

He’s going to keep you. 

[russo-woso]

I'm watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians and I'm slightly obsessed with the idea of Leah being with someone from that family who is so different from her family in the sense that she doesn't get involved in many arguments on the show, she's of course rich rich but doesn't spend all her money on designer things and donates to organisations and such which is how Leah met her through an event or something

So can I request where the team/Leah's friends meet R and are just like 'Now how tf have you come back from an event in America with a freaking KARDASHIAN as your girlfriend?!' 😂😂

You’re dating a Jenner? || Leah Williamson x KarJenner!reader

Masterlist

Summary You and Leah finally announced your relationship to Leah’s teammates

You weren't like your sisters, you never were.

Despite the similarity in wealth, you never spent it on designer clothes or Botox or multi million dollar houses like your sisters - instead spending it on charity and the less fortunate.

That was just one of the reasons you weren't similar, another obvious different being that you were into women, not men.

Although there were many differences, your profile was still just as high.

Invitations to many many red carpets still in your life.

You normally said no to quite a few of them - normally the big ones - but when one in England came through you decided to accept the invitation. You don't know why but you just had a good feeling about it.

You'd travelled to England the day before the event, your body full of nerves at the thought of the red carpet.

Despite growing up with fame, you still grew nervous at the thought of paparazzi.

Unbeknownst to you, there was a person that you met during the event that took your nerves away completely, that person being Leah Williamson.

You and Leah hit it off immediately and let's just say... you didn't end up in your hotel room that night.

The two of kept in contact, FaceTiming most nights.

Leah then made a visit out to America to see you and on the final night, she asked you to be her girlfriend.

You'd said yes of course.

That was six months ago now and since then, you'd told your family and close friends but there was one group of people you hadn't told yet - Leah's teammates.

Due to your fame, you both didn't know how her teammates were going to take it.

But as you and Leah were finalising you moving in with her, you figured you'd have to tell them sooner or later.

Which led Leah to organising team bonding night at her house.

The team were aware Leah had a girlfriend but they had no idea it was you.

When Leah told them team bonding was round hers, she also mentioned they'd be meeting her secret girlfriend for the first time.

That really seemed to get them excited, most of them eager to see who you were.

"You watch, it's going to be someone we know." Beth said to Steph as they pulled up on the driveway.

"Or someone famous. She's gonna be from the Kardashian's or another famous family." Steph added

"The Kardashian's? No Kardashian or Jenner would get with Leah." Beth joked. If only she knew.

A few other girls pulled up shortly after and soon enough the whole squad was on the doorstep waiting to be welcomed in.

"Do we even know how they met?" Kyra questioned, clearly talking about you and Leah.

"Apparently at some event."

"So she's also famous then." Vic pointed out, the team humming at the realisation.

The door opened and revealed Leah, she welcomed them in, all the girls trying not to make it obvious that they were looking around for another person in the house.

"She's upstairs getting ready, she won't be long." Leah told them, clearly knowing they were looking for you.

Everyone got settled when they heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Hi everyone." You said with a big smile, waving politely as their jaws dropped.

"Oh my god..." Alessia whispered

"Hiya, pretty girl." Leah said, bringing you onto her lap as she wrapped her arms around your waist.

"You're..."

"Y/N, nice to meet you all."

"They know who you are, baby." Leah laughed, watching her teammates reactions.

"I called it. I said it was a Kardashian or Jenner." Steph exclaimed. "And here's Beth saying Leah couldn't pull one."

"Hey!" Leah frowned at Beth, offended at her past words.

"I didn't know you actually could." Beth said, putting her hands up in defense. “Like how do you go to an event and end up coming back with a Karjenner?”

“Well…” Leah began, smirking at you, obviously remembering the night the two of you shared when you first met.

“Actually no! Don’t share!” Beth immediately shouted. “We don’t want to hear.”

“Is this a joke? Y/N it’s okay if you need some help. Leah’s got you held hostage doesn’t she? I’ll ring the police if you need me to.” Alessia told you, clearly not believing that one of her best friends was dating you.

“You don’t need to ring the police.” You smiled, resting your hand on Leah’s chest as you looked lovingly up at her. “We have to hide from le first and then ring the police.”

“Why are you targeting me too?” Leah gasped, gently hitting your arm as you smiled at her.

“You’re different from your sisters.” Kyra pointed out, you nodding and giving her a smile.

“I love them, don’t get me wrong, but money doesn’t interest me. I have a lot of it but I don’t need it. I’ve got all I need right here with me.” You told her, kissing Leah’s cheek.

Most of the girls awed at your response but there was one girl who still sat with her jaw wide open - Alessia.

“Are we still all aware Y/N Jenner is sat in the room with us?”

[simp4fictionalmenandjesus]

Yandere platonic batfamily with a ‘definition of average reader.’

You’ve always been a low-key background character type person. Your grades were normal, every report card since you started getting report cards are all filled with B’s. At school, you’re not popular or unpopular. You have a close group of friends, and know a few people from outside of school. You play a sport, but don’t exceed at it.

The only thing that wasn’t average about you was your family.

Gotham’s sweetheart, Bruce Wayne, adopted you when you were 12 for IDK WHAT REASON HE JUST DID OKAY?????? Anyways. You were the normal amount of awkward that a 12 year old is in the face of their new family.

At your first official family dinner you sat between your older brother Dick and older sister Cass. (Yes, Alfred did strategically plan the seating so the most amicable people would be next to you.) Dick Ames you about school, your friends, your hobbies and all that jazz.

Now, you’d think a table full of vigilantes who have faced off against Gods, traveled the universe, made leaps of technology, and regularly interact with aliens and creatures of myth would be a bit bored when hearing about your math class and a new tv show you were watching. However, the fact that you’re biggest life problems was learning algebra made you seem somewhat precious in their eyes.

So they listen, and they watch, and they become more invested in your life, then, in you.

When Dick’s in town he picks you up from school and brings you to get a sweet treat while asking you about your school day. Unfortunately for the vigilante, he’s not stationed in Gotham so he’ll have to settle for face time calls. Sometimes it’s surprising how much he remembers from your past rambles. You swear he lost have a recording device in his brain, when you bring thay up to him, he laughs, ruffles your hair and glances at the tiny scar behind your ear.

Jason, on the other hand, insists on taking you out for outings, thought he always insists that you plan them. He asks you to bring him to your favourite places and you always comply, taking him to the street food stand where you go with your friends to buy snacks after school, or the manor’s own gardens where Jason will carry you on his shoulders to get a closer look at whatever caught your eyes in a tree. And sure, it’s kind of weird that he already knows the most efficient way to drive to those places before asking you, but he told you he just knew Gotham well.

The brother you see least is Tim seeing as he spends a lot of his time at the office or his own apartment and doesn’t particularly like going on outings much. However, you do text Tim the most. Updating him on random things as he does the same. It is a bit surprising when he texts you to stop picking your fingers in class, but when you ask him how he knows, he’ll claim it’s his sixth sense.

The brother you see most is Damian. Though he’s the one you talk to least. It’s kind of like he’s a shadow following you around. When you start attending Gotham Academy, he’ll sit with you every lunch time just listening to you talk. At the Manor, he’ll let you study in his room while he does art. All the conversations you have with him are mostly one sided with only slight nods to indicate he’s listening. When you ask why he doesn’t talk much he says that he isn’t use to saying nice things to siblings. You (correctly) assume that he doesn’t have friends and treat him extra kindly, sure, you haven’t been able to hangout with your friends at the academy lately but Damian’s family, so he gets priority, right?

Bruce isn’t too sure on how to raise you. When he suggested to his sons that they should tell you about them being vigilantes, all four refused. So, for once, the Batman didn’t really know what to do. Sure, the hundreds of parenting books he read placed emphasise on boundaries and not invading his kids privacy, but in a place like Gotham, Bruce had to be much more hands on. He has a tracker on ALL his kids, so what’s the harm of having one on you? He’s just a worried father.

The family’s yandere-ness boils over after Gotham Academy gets invaded by a group of thugs. Damian stays by you the whole time while the rest of your family, in costume, easily dispose of the thugs. You really didn’t get harmed at all, so when Bruce pulls you out of school you’re a bit shocked. Even if you can understand his worries, you explain to Bruce that you were okay and school was important to you. The conversation ends with an argument.

See, the thing with the bats is that they’re not normal at all. So the arguments that the family is used to ends with bloodshed or leaving the country. They don’t want you to hurt you but they also really don’t want you to try leaving.

The manor has a lot of stairs. Even thought Alfred can clean every corner of the manor perfectly, he won’t always know when there’s a mess. It’s rainy season as well, Titus likes rolling around in the puddles outside. So a wet trail on the stairs isn’t too absurd. Plus, it’s early in the morning, you’re a bit groggy. So when you tumbled down the stairs and break your leg, it’s not too crazy of a situation.

————————-

Posting for now but might rewrite i was tweaking when I wrote this late at night, i confused myself and I def lost the plot a lil oops

[gravedwe11er]

Some more texaid for the @keferon mecha au! Comes after part one and part two, though it can be read on its own with just the knowledge of the AU itself.

Cw: Vortex, a bit of innuendo and semi-graphic descriptions of violence and death

A new point of view on recent happenings in the shatterdome, and also Felix.

Or: Vortex is here, and he has Opinions.

Vortex really likes Felix.

Has liked him ever since he saw this quiet, boring-looking little doc sneak around the base at night, and instead of going to hook up with someone - like a normal fucking person would - breaking into the research lab and messing with quint corpses. At first, he thought it might have been an op of some sort, but no! The guy just really liked cutting the things apart. Which- Tex could relate, honestly.

Seeing Felix bumbling about in the dark and excitedly muttering to himself through the cams quickly became the highlight of his mind-numbingly boring days. And then, to absolutely no surprise, the man got himself caught, and things went from good to great real fast.

As he watches little Mr. First Aid dig dried blood out of his crevices, with a stolen butter knife of all things, he really has to applaud himself for how well it all turned out.

Here’s one thing about Vortex – he likes violence. Always has - it’s one of the very few fun things that was never in short supply during his life, and the same goes for his after-life. And now that his other sources of entertainment are largely, hah, dead in the water? He very much likes to indulge.

Despite that, the first pilot he killed actually was a complete accident. He’d been pretty freshly dead, floundering around in his new body, when whatever control he’d manage to wrangle from the mech had been ripped out from under his hands. In his horrified flailing, he somehow managed to jerk the guy’s seat so hard he cracked his skull open on the console, and that was that. Only once he felt his death throes through the neural link had Vortex even realized what had happened.

And fuck, was he livid! Now, let’s be honest, Tex could absolutely get behind some rough manhandling of his person in the right situations, but this was outright violating! And like hell was he just going to put up with it.

Here’s another thing about Vortex – he hates being told what to do. And gee-whiz, it really doesn’t get any more being-told-what-to-do than some tiny fuck crawling into what is now your actual head and moving you around like an overgrown puppet.

So, he kept pushing. The next few casualties were only partly accidental, him testing out his range of motion, so to speak. And once he figured out how to establish himself as the dominant consciousness in the mech, even with a pilot plugged in-

Hah, let’s just say they definitely weren’t accidents after that.

It was part spite, part entertainment, and part just wanting those bastards out, their minds grating against his consciousness and giving him the closest thing he has to a headache nowadays. And what fun it was! He’d never really gotten to kill people before, not on purpose at least – his minders always kept him on too tight a leash - and damn was it great to see those uppity little shits turn to red mush in his gears.

For a while, at least. Look, he’s a creative guy, but there’s only so many ways to kill a person with no opposable thumbs available for the job! Not to mention, he was sorta hoping they’d get the hint eventually. He thought if he showed his ability to function on his own and his inability to tolerate pilots, they’d kinda just- leave him to it.

But of course not – that would require those bastards in command to actually give a shit about their people. They never did while he was under their tender care either, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. Kinda stupid of him actually, but excuse him, he’d, hah, rather recently lost all his braincells. Still, it was a problem he needed to figure out.

Then the solution waltzed into his cockpit, first aid kit in hand and doing his darndest to resuscitate the latest thoroughly dead pilot, and Tex started having ideas.

Here’s one thing about Felix – he’s a real gentle, meticulous sort of guy. He’s seen it in the man’s treatment of his patients, in the way he always tried to check on the vital signs of Tex’s broken toys, even when it was super fucking obvious they’ve long since kicked the bucket. Even now, as he’s poking around in the seams of Tex’s pilot seat with a rag, he’s still displaying a level of care in it he hasn’t seen from any of his actual technicians. It’s pretty nice, being treated like an actual person for once.

And damn, it’s times like these he really misses having a human body. Having this pretty man on his knees and all up in his business like that would have been a lot better if he could properly feel it. Vortex-the-mech has sensors for pressure, temperature and structural integrity, but it doesn’t come anywhere near to what he was used to when he was alive. No sense of pain either. Boring!

But oh well; he’ll take whatever fun he can get. Aaand speaking of fun-

As Felix sticks his hand in one of the seat’s movable joints, Tex mentally reaches for the mechanism and jerks it back – easily slow enough to avoid, but more than fast enough to make the man jump.

Here’s another thing about Felix – under all his outwardly softness, the man’s got teeth.

“Fuck!” he shouts, and Vortex cackles, the mech’s internal vents clicking and hissing to convey his glee. “What is your problem?!” Holding his – completely unscathed, mind you – hand to his chest, Felix looks at the screen, awaiting some sort of answer with just the most hilarious looking scowl on his sharp little face.

Mentally kicking his feet, Tex sends his words out to display on the red glass.

JUST PLAYING, BABY

GOTTA KEEP THOSE REFLEXES SHARP!

Felix huffs, relaxing a little now. “How nice of you,” he says, snide as all fuck, reaching for the rag he dropped when trying to avoid getting his fingers pinched, “but let’s keep the fun to a minimum, please.”

Then he pauses, giving Tex’s screen a considering look. “But seriously, should I not be touching that?” he asks, concern twisting his features. “Does that hurt? Or tickle? I don’t really-“ he waves his hand in an ambiguous gesture, “-know anything about how all this works. Suppose that’s something I should look into…”

Aaand off he goes, lost in his own head. Actually worrying about him. Fuck, when’s the last time someone cared about Vortex that openly? Huh, long before he was ever called that, he’d say. Hard to remember. These days, Vortex is fifty tons of stainless steel killing machine, very much not a squishy human patient for the soft-hearted doc to be fussing over. And yet.

Damn, what a weirdo. What an odd little freak.

Vortex really fucking likes Felix.

Thank you for reading, and many thanks to my beta @jayden-writes for the help!

[kaislvves]

IN WHICH; you and kaiser get into an argument over a stupid reason which leads into a hard launch after his match.

a/n: do NAWT speak to me about how unrealistic the last scenes are. i KNOWW how crazy fans can be and they’d probably be mauling/trampling you guys to death😭 also say no to telling me to put my ear to your mouth and listen what you have to say (kaz ref…) only to tell me this is ooc leave me alone pls. & not proofread lolz

cw: swearing, arguments -> making up, my writing

“i could stay for tonight.”

it was sickening coming from your tongue because kaiser knew he didn’t want you only for tonight. he’s coming close to crushing you with how hard he’s squeezing your body like he never wants you to leave.

“just for tonight?” is a question he poses. the air around you two remains silent and it angers him—are you thinking about an answer? for there is no other answer than accepting defeat and staying in his arms, forever.

you try squirming around to wiggle your way out of his hold because it was getting warmer than you’d like it to be. “yes, micha. just for tonight.” you start whining at this point but he does not budge no matter how hard you try. he’s only growing more irritated by your response paired up with the nickname you call him to be affectionate.

affectionate his ass—you’re basically admitting you hate him. as much as he loves being seen as an enemy in others’ eyes, he hates when you perceive him in such a manner. “don’t call me micha.” his huffing out and you can feel the vibrations in his chest

“okay mr. football prodigy.” your tease is muffled by his chest. in most situations, he’d take it as a compliment to feed his ego but he knows you’re deliberately trying to egg him on. and though he currently can’t see your face because of the position you guys are in, he swears he can feel your eyes rolling at him.

“i still have a life… and a job.” now it’s your turn to get fed up by his behavior. “am i not your life?” he’s sounding like you genuinely just offended his whole bloodline and hell, maybe even very distant ancestors. you want to say he’s joking but judging by experience, he most certainly isn’t.

one thing you understood when you first started dating him was that he would not give up his career for you and using the same logic, you didn’t have to either. now can some mind reader tell you why this is happening? why is he being so stubborn about this in particular? not like kaiser isn’t dramatic or stubborn most of the time but he’s never been this stubborn over a matter like this.

“michael that’s not… i just—i can’t just give everything up for you.” oh, now you’re calling him by his full first name? perhaps that wasn’t the best way to word it because you feel grip shifting to the back of your head to keep it in place, he does this because he doesn’t want you seeing his face. “why not?” he barks a lot quieter than he normally does.

“what do you mean by ‘why not’? this has been my life, even before i met you.” you try holding in the scoff that you were trying so hard to avoid but it’s obvious now.

as if it wasn’t already tense but it feels like it bloomed into a raging silence. you believe he’s thinking of an answer but in reality, he isn’t. he’s thinking about anything else other than him opening his mouth because only the heavens know what words would spew out of his mouth if he were to—imagine how worse he’d make this petty argument.

you hate this.

you hate silence.

you hate him being silent.

and you make the dumb decision to add salt to the injury—the one thing kaiser didn’t want to do. “do you actually want to argue about this? if so, i’m not staying at all.” there you go, saying things you don’t actually mean. “do you mean that?” oh he actually responded. you did try to choose your words carefully but your mouth moves faster than your thoughts.

“and if i did?” you’re lying through your teeth, but he takes the bait.

that was what unlocked his vile mouth that should be censored on television after losing a match. “you really are annoying, you know that? i hope you didn’t because i didn’t know that either when i started liking you. or were you just leading me on? i don’t care if you aren’t staying anymore. just fucking leave.” he’s lacing his words with cyanide.

he’s second guessing his thoughts of wanting you to stay forever if you were just going to be acting like that. his grip on you is finally loosening and it’s easier to slide right past his arms. you take the chance and peak at his face. it wasn’t the look you want to see on him normally but it is justified in this situation. he has a scowl on his face but he still looks so pretty like this. he’s looking at you too, albeit not with the admiration you’re doing.

it isn’t the best idea to stay silent and so you don’t.

“fine then.” you say while walking away from him to head towards the entrance and like expected, he doesn’t follow you. you take the bag from the front-door rack and slip on the shoes he gifted you.

you spare no time opening the door, not even glancing back when you shut the door as well. kaiser is the one looking, glaring at the back of your head before you disappear behind his door. after he knows you’re off completely, he goes over to lock it shut but also ends up smelling the slight scent of your perfume floating in the air.

looks like you won’t be staying tonight anymore. and now that this happened, will you ever? did he want you to?

this argument could have been so minor if both of you had just sucked it up.

were you still together? it didn’t end in clear closure, just him telling you to leave and you did.

did you still want this? did he still want this?

in all honesty, he just wants you. no matter what form, no matter what, he still wants to say he knows you. it didn’t have to be this way.

safe to say neither of you had good sleep that night.

kaiser has many ways to express his aggression. be it words, physical contact (past), or what he’s doing right now—football. he hasn’t contacted you ever since that day and you haven’t either. makes him question what he still is to you.

why does he care? if you don’t want to talk to him, neither do you. if you hate him, he hates you.

however, whenever he does take his anger out of the field, he dominates it. effectively becoming the king of the field. from the get-go it was obvious bastard munchen would win the match against some other team they were playing against.

you could tell too, setting aside the fact you were sitting pretty far from the game. what made you want to watch the match even if you thought he was probably your ex already? you didn’t know. it’s like you just gravitate towards the stupid rat tails man, he’s an annoying magnet to you now.

and like everyone betted on, bastard munchen did win.

the team immediately celebrates by huddling together, slapping each-others hands, carrying each-other, and what not? you unconsciously smile at the scene, it was small, you could still feel it but you couldn’t help it.

kaiser is celebrating with his team, being somehow lifted on-top of ness’ shoulders (which he is really annoyed at and he’s wondering how the fuck he’s doing that, what is wrong with him?). he ultimately scored the last goal they needed to win. it wasn’t a surprise because when he plays, he wants to—needs to—win.

despite that, his teammates couldn’t help but realize his anger, leading to yoichi asking him a question that makes kaiser want to choke the black-haired man on the spot.

“the hell was that?” he asks (referring the stupidly impossible goal kaiser was able to score, but you know… he doesn’t believe anything is impossible.) “i have a question for you too, yoichi. what the hell is that kind of question?” he’s laughing out, still on ness’ shoulders. but he’s laughing so hard his whole body starts to shake, making ness stumble a little.

still, yoichi was able to tell something was off.

“uh… what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

but before kaiser could answer that with going off on him, he’s being pulled into an interview.

what made that goal possible?

“it was never impossible.”

what do you feel after winning?

“as if we weren’t going to win.”

boring questions he didn’t want to answer but he was obligated to—for he was basically the star of the show, like always. that was until a certain question was asked that made him look around the stadium for the first time.

that was quite an impressive goal.

“of course.”

is there anyone you wanted to watch that shot?

he’s silent. he’s thinking of you as he gazes around the bleachers—embarrassingly thinking everyone has your face and accidentally making eye contact with crazy fans that go berserk when he does. the only reason he never looked before and during the match was because you wouldn’t be there.

what a desperate reason, right? row after row, he’s scanning every seat, even the ones that are empty and imagining you’re the one sitting in it. 3rd to the top row, he scanning and not expecting to see you.

the fuck? is that you?

is he looking at you? kaiser is looking in your direction and in the area you’re seated but you’re so high up you can’t tell and it’s very unlikely he is but he keeps staring. you’re awkwardly looking away and around your section to hide your face.

oh but he’s already gotten a look of the face he so desperately wanted to see and he’s not going to look away, nor will he stand in one place. like a lunatic who just escaped some mental hospital, he’s booking it from the interviewer who stands shocked.

oh ok... he totally saw you which defeats the total point of you sitting so far away, was he lying to you when he said his eyesight wasn’t the best? probably. anyway, that was your sign to also walk away.

screams of fans were deafening and you felt like your eardrums were going to burst anyway.

who cursed you? because it was such a coincidence that kaiser comes out the way you were going to exit. he didn’t count how many fans who were asking all sorts of things he ran past to get to you.

as soon as you saw his face, you tried playing it off cool and spun the other way to walk away but he was by no means dumb and he saw you do that. he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

it felt like when you ask your friends to chase you and they actually do and now you’re screaming your lungs out trying to outrun them. obviously it was futile because he was so much faster than you.

no words could explain how fucking loud the crowd was, first when he ran, second when he entered the spectator area, last (hopefully) when he hugged you tightly from behind, stopping you from running.

like that night, he was warmer than you’d like him to be. arms wrapped around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. “are you running away again?” he’s whispering into your ear and despite the crowd + the booming voices around you… ++ the paparazzi basically stomping on people to get a photo, he’s unbelievably close to your ear, you have no trouble in hearing him.

“kaiser.” you breathe out in the same shock the interviewer was probably in. “don’t call me that. answer my question.” he huffs—he hasn’t heard you call him that in for like… forever! (unless you count other arguments)

“should i want to run away?”

“i don’t want you to.”

the grip is getting tighter and it slightly stops you from breathing for a second. you don’t want to run away, you don’t hate him.

you were thinking the same as him, whether or whether not he still considered you his. but you know his ego is way too high for his own good so you do him a favor and ask him instead.

“are we still something?” you ask and it hurts him that you do—did you not think that anymore? his eye is twitching with uncertain emotions. “…tell me your answer first.” there’s hurt evident in his voice because he doesn’t want to jump into conclusions and hurt his ego even more than he already has fighting for his way to get to you.

“i don’t know, are we?” he’d flick your forehead with full power if he wasn’t trying to make up with you. it’s barely audible but you hear “i still want this.” a frown is on your face and he took it as a bad sign.

“i do too, micha.” you admit, he’s spiraling by how you say his name.

as much as he wants to say that he did want you to stay with him forever, that he didn’t want you to leave him, that he doesn’t actually find you annoying, that he loves you. he decides on doing only the second and last option because he’s kept himself, you, and the fans waiting far too long.

(you also wanted to say you didn’t mean it.)

he’s spinning you around to face him.

“don’t leave me, ever.”

he holds your hands in his, leaning forward to kiss you.

and though you guys still have so much to apologize, discuss, and everything in between… you both would rather leave that for a private matter. just stay in this moment, in his arms for now? if not forever.

oh and now you hoped this was the last time the crowd got as rowdy as it was.

GERMAN FOOTBALL PRODIGY; MICHAEL KAISER AND HIS SUPPOSED PARTNER MAKE IT PUBLIC! WHO IS THE LUCKY PERSON? EVERYTHING WE KNOW RIGHT NOW…

locknessmonster : bro wtf

[gifsbysimplysonia]

Hola otra vez! For anyone not familiar with my annoying rambly feedback, ahead there be

This is the end of the first paragraph of the story and it's just so fcking ... like it works SO well for me, it makes me wanna spike a football

it's hard to find places where he's thought of as a stranger. no familiar faces, no conversation, no fuss. just logan, a bottle of whisky and time.

logan had no reason to keep count. until he saw you.

Well, if there's any indication a man is smitten, I'd say it's when he decides to keep counting after 200 years on Earth cuz of YOU *ded*

the bar was busy, as it normally was. he didn't mind it this way, less attention on him, less chances of someone trying to pick a fight with a specific stranger. not that they'd win, but logan had grown too tired for petty fights these days.

It's super interesting to think about Logan in relation to time and age. We just went from him deciding he's got a reason to keep counting the years to him being so tired that he doesn't want to get into petty fights. And as someone who grew up with Logan on the XMen cartoon lol, I know Logan to BE petty. So whilst we can't always think of Logan in terms of age, cuz looking at his appearance can make us forget, to hear that he's so TIRED that he doesn't even wanna squabble up on occasion? Well, that's impactful. The author makes it hit home in this other way and I really like it.

And here's another example of the author getting across to us where Logan is at when we meet him in life:

you're easy on the eyes, especially to these tired old hues that have grown accustomed to staring at the same old walls.

Straight up now we have the word tired, but also old. And not in relation to himself, but what he's got eyes on. It's such a clever thing the author has done here, and I really am appreciative of it.

logan can't let himself look too much, he isn't allowed nice things, especially not pretty little things such as yourself. he's poison, tainting everything he touches, spoiling it. he's experienced enough heartbreak, enough losses for a lifetime and more.

Sad face. This is very in line with the Logan I think most of us know (and adore). Gotta take all the blame, gotta punish yourself, gotta try to protect others from you by denying yourself connections. Wanna hug him.

he wonders if you know most of the tips you receive by the end of the night are from him. you're diligent, you work hard, and you deserve more than the minimum wage you're probably getting.

Also very on brand for Logan. Sees a need, fills the need, but doesn't want credit for it. He's also seeing someone he believes is worthy (and perhaps not in a way he feels he could ever be?) of more so he tries to be the provider.

it's not even lust on his mind either, he just finds himself captivated by your presence. he wonders about your life, your interests, your dreams. . .

And again, we are seeing how smitten he is because the man who has been painted as weary and bored suddenly has questions and wonderings again. That is, in the context of Logan's long a$$ existence, quite magical. But that magic is immediately followed by

though he'd be lying if he said he'd never pictured bending you over against the bar and fucking you senseless. he is an animal, after all.

and it's like

relying on others was a weakness. besides, what would you be to him but just another person he'd lose someday? it wasn't worth it. you weren't worth it. fuck.

"Relying on others was a weakness" is just hella relatable to me, so I key in on that. And then that ire being followed by showing vulnerability by thinking of her as another person he'd lose; Logan's heart has always been huge and you just know he remembers the faces and details of each person he has had to lose and she has that status already. Logan trying to lie to himself with the "not worth it" talk only to have to curse himself cuz he KNOW he's lying is also peak Logan behavior, and once again on a personal level, hiiiiiiiiiiiiiighly relatable lol. I'm always lying to myself about my own feelings.

you were strangers, this was stupid, it was all fucking stupid. but the mind of a lonely old man is a desperate one, and what logan really craves isn't just eye candy.

"Lonely and desperate" self descriptions and Logan referring to himself as "stupid." I'm sure we all wanna shake this old man, right? LOL because when he let's himself think about the truth:

he craves a touch, that first touch that sparks electricity throughout your every nerve ending, causes goosebumps to ripple along the skins surface. he craves something, anything. he was so fucking hungry. always so fucking hungry. a rumbling hunger that starts at the pit of his stomach and gnaws through him like a rabid animal frantically trying to escape a suffocating metal cage. it's a hunger he can't satisfy, he knows he can't satisfy. but he'd been alone so long.

It's connection, and it's gnawing at him. Loneliness is a helluva thing, and I think a lot of us know this. But this author is shining in the way she is describing it for us, outside of the usual age/years gone by methods. Tired, lonely, and now ravenous. And while we are in the space of a more spiritual hunger, here, it so easily slides right back to physical as well because he's thinking about a woman and wonders

surely one bite couldn't hurt?

Me literally screaming into my pumpkin pillow cuz I'm like NO IT COULDN'T LOGAN, GO GET HERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR cuz I know what's gonna follow is gonna be liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

switching bars wasn't particularly appealing to him, but it was better than having to look at you and feel that familiar ache.

The self loathing and denial is top tier Logan. He will inconvenience and punish himself just as long as it's in line with denying himself cuz he just "doesn't deserve it." Siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Logan then proceeds to go drain the snake before he beings his newest self inflicted penance, but she comes in to clean the bathrooms thinking they were empty.

Gurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl lol

your eyes lock on one another for just a split second before you quickly busy yourself with the mop again. but that split second was enough. it was enough to notice how you were looking at him.

HOW WAS SHE LOOKING AT YOU, LOGAN?!?! It's funny how if it was almost any other man, I'd snort and be like, sure buddy. But it's Logan so I have ZERO issue believing whatever he saw in her eyes let her know she DOES indeed know him and want ... well, something.

you lean back against the bathroom stall divider, eyes drifting across logan's figure. he was tall, big. this is the first time you're really able to look at him, to study the features of his face. this time he's not hiding behind a glass or a bottle.

How interesting to see the contrast of her view of Logan because while he's always looking at her and sworn that he never caught her looking his way, she's letting us know she has definitely looked his way enough to notice he was a man in hiding. And she actually acted respectfully to respect that and not ogle him, which bummed Logan out lol.

the hunger in his gaze is obvious, but it's dulled, like he's just barely holding back. you think he looks lonely, there's a distinct air about him that practically screams that he needs to be touched.

Oof, she's intuitive! So she SEES what he needs and seems to be quite willing to, ahem, deliver for him but WILL HE LET HER is the big question.

logan pushes himself from the sink and approaches you slowly. was he really doing this? after a month of pining and longing for you, a stranger in a bar, was he really going to give in to his desires? would you let him? the lust was clear in your eyes and he knew he was reflecting it right back tenfold.

you eye the stranger who's been watching you, tipping you. of course you've noticed, you'd have to be pretty stupid or oblivious not to. you've come to expect him at each shift, but his presence intrigued you more than the other regulars. not just because he was more handsome, considerably more handsome. no, it was those sad eyes that seemed to say a million words while his mouth remained firmly shut that had you curious. even now as he stands before you so silent you could hear a pin drop, when you look into his eyes you can feel a sea of words brewing.

I do so love the fact that she's intuitive, curious and sees beyond the big burly handsome cover. He never speaks but look at his eyes and boy, are there a thousand stories waiting to be told. And it's the SAME WAY in the present with her. Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike, it's about to go off.

oh how you wanted to open him up, to peer inside behind that rough exterior, to take a peek behind the facade. you're sure you're easier to read than he is.

Again, I love that this goes beyond physical with her and that she's genuinely intrigued by him and by what probably most others don't see in Logan.

"i've seen you, you know," you mumble bravely, "looking at me." logan doesn't seem surprised, he brings a hand up to hold your chin, turning your face from side to side to get a proper look at you now that he has you up close. "yeah?" "yeah," you reply shakily, "thought i was imagining it at first. but by the second night it was obvious." he smirks, so he's not as subtle as he thinks.

No because how is he the King of Self Denial but somehow automatically is giving Dom the first time he approaches a woman he means to get to know? Not even embarrassing at being caught at his blatant perusal of her. SIR.

logan grips your wrists, not the suit. he wasn't talking about that now, he had to shut you up.

When I tell you this BROKE me. King of Self Inflicted Penance. I stg. And it's quite the conundrum to be going through an emotional gut punch when it's immediately followed up with

he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as his strong hands keep a firm grip on your wrists. you submit, leaning back against the cubicle divider as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth.

and we know it is OFF TO THE RACES!!!

"taste so fuckin' sweet," he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between words, "you do this often? let men kiss you in the bathroom?" you mumble a 'no' under your breath, ". . . just the ones who tip good," you grin.

OH SH!T, WE HAVE HAN AND LEIA BANTER! They are my OTP so I'm always gonna call a combative in love couple that, but this dynamic is MY JAM and I love that what we seem to have here is a clearly dominant male with a bratty female. I am in Heaven lol

logan feels himself chuckling, biting your lower lip. oh, he liked you.

WE DO TOO, LOGAN!

his hand travels upwards, finding purchase around your neck. you gasp in response, moaning. he eagerly swallows your moan with his mouth, drowning out any sound that threatens to escape.

Always a trip when I am personally attacked by a fic lmaoooooooooo

he kisses you like a man starved, like he'd devour you if you let him. and you would, you think, if it felt this good.

"shhh, shhh," he whispers against your lips, "feel good? i know it feels good, but you gotta stay nice and quiet."

I want to diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie at the giving of instructions and reminder that, HEY WE ARE IN PUBLIC but we are absolutely NOT stopping.

"you wanted this just as much as i did, huh?" he growls into your ear, "need it, need me to fuck you."

Excellent dirty taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalk

he nods against the side of your cheek, his stubble scratching against your soft skin, "there we go, attagirl. . ."

And he praises? *dies again*

"yeah i am," logan smirks, he knows he's big, and he knows exactly how to use it. you just have time to gasp before you feel one of his hands connect harshly with your skin, the sound ringing out in the small bathroom of the bar.

"you've been thinkin' about this since you started your shift," logan says confidently, his words confirmed by how you drip around him, "thought about me fillin' you up, nice and full?"

I once again must mention top tier dirty talk!

and fuck does it make him harder to know that you've thought about this just as much as he has.

Once again, Logan's vulnerability is illustrated here because it's very human and natural to WANT TO BE WANTED so that it's exciting for him makes all the sense.

he knows if he lets you look at him, look up at him for too long, he'll lose it. he can't have your soft eyes on him while he fucks you, he doesn't deserve it.

*shakes him* He's still so Logan. Trying to convince himself again he is just not worthy. But I also do this to myself which is no doubt why I key on it, mention it, react to it. That just means the author is striking a chord with me and isn't that what we want? To feel resonance and know we are not alone in our experiences?

because he can't describe the shame that swirls in his stomach, that this is how he relieves himself, a quick fuck in a bar. this dirty older man who's seen so much sin, perpetuated sin with his own hands, who longed for the young pretty little thing in the bar. logan doesn't deserve nice things, this he knows.

It's a jarring feeling to be really into some hot smut and then have there be an intermission of this caliber. Cuz again, we are seeing into Logan's heart and his internal self who just screams and screams about not being worthy. And it's so painful and wretched for us as an audience cuz we KNOW it's not true and we just wish HE WOULD SEE IT.

you can't help but smirk, mouth stuck open as you moan softly, he likes it when you talk to him during, huh?

Even in her blissful state, she is noticing what he likes and trying to provide that for him and I love her for considering him and being thoughtful with him. HE doesn't think he deserves it, but we readers know that he absolutely does so it's sweetness in this midst of lust and shows us that she cares beyond whatever is happening now in this bathroom.

Y'all NEED to go read this cuz the smut is rough but because of the well established connection the author built between these two, it's very intimate despite the circumstances which don't necessarily lend themselves to anything other than a "quickie." Because of what's going on between these two and how well laid out that is for us, we know that the reason this is so rough and intimate is BECAUSE it's not meant for just here and now. But will Logan allow anything more?

standing on trembling legs, you lean up, giving him a surprisingly soft kiss. your hands take over his, helping him back into his jeans, zipping them up, clasping the buttons together and buckling his belt. all the while your lips are on his, slowly, passionately intertwining together.

And again, I love her for her thoughtfulness. She's being soft and tender with him. I'm not sure if it's a conscious effort to keep him from screwing things up (by trying to now brush her off) or if it's just naturally who she is and giving into her instinct to want to be gentle with him and keep him close. Either way, I love love love this moment.

". . . does that count as your tip for the night?" you joke with a smirk, hoping to see a flash of his smile again, hoping to alleviate some of that shame he's carrying.

Adore her for infusing humor into the situation and wanting to bring light back into his eyes. Whoever is going to be with Logan needs to have a sense of humor and give him as good as he gives.

the shame seems to settle, begins to dissipate. it feels less like satisfying an urge and more like. . . exploring something new. his eyes drift back to you.

Is Logan ACTUALLY going to give this thing a chance, and more importantly, HIMSELF a chance?!?!

I hate to quote too much in a story, especially an ending becuase I WANT PEOPLE TO GO READ FOR THEMSELVES but I need @silverskyeline to know that the last 3 paragraphs of this piece are SO FCKING GOOD.

The breakthrough and revelation he has, the tentative willingness to let himself release a burden and not self flagellate? OMGGGGGGGGGGG. Literally all the applause and bravo on this amazing piece. I really really fcking enjoyed it and am so grateful to you for creating and sharing.

It's really a wonderful character analysis or look at who Logan is, the person he think he has to be, with some hot smut that actually isn't a pause in the narrative but continues the throughline of exploring who he is and what he thinks he deserves and how he's giving himself permission to be a man again. I just ... I love this so so much. Thank you again.

'hunger' 18+

worst!wolverine x f!reader (3.9k words) summary: logan can't tear his mind away from the new barmaid at his usual haunt. he tries to resist you, he really does. but when you're both alone in the bathroom, he finds he's not the only one plagued with filthy thoughts. tags: for the 'longing' prompt for logan promptober, set in the bar from the movie, kind of angsty, filthy, pent up logan, alcohol consumption, doggy style, creampie, biting, light choking, pinning wrists, hair pulling, spanking, rough sex, implied age gap, sweet ending.

his usual haunts offer comfort, safe nests tucked away down isolated roads, usually requiring quite the drive to find - it's hard to find places where he's thought of as a stranger. no familiar faces, no conversation, no fuss. just logan, a bottle of whisky and time.

time spent staring into the grain of the old wood on the bar wondering how the fuck he ended up here. he'd stopped keeping count a long time ago, how long he'd been around, been alive. things get kind of hazy after two hundred years. logan had no reason to keep count.

until he saw you.

the bar was busy, as it normally was. he didn't mind it this way, less attention on him, less chances of someone trying to pick a fight with a specific stranger. not that they'd win, but logan had grown too tired for petty fights these days.

he's sat at the bar when the bartender clocks off, switching with someone new, someone he'd never seen before. you walk in and his eyes immediately scan your face, your build, your outfit. it's a habit of his, one he hoped he'd grow out of - but logan has learned that he'll never stop assessing for new threats. it's just in his dna.

but what he finds isn't a threat.

you're easy on the eyes, especially to these tired old hues that have grown accustomed to staring at the same old walls. he drags his eyes back down to his glass like he's forcing himself to look down the barrel of a gun rather than looking at you, before settling on you once more.

logan can't let himself look too much, he isn't allowed nice things, especially not pretty little things such as yourself. he's poison, tainting everything he touches, spoiling it. he's experienced enough heartbreak, enough losses for a lifetime and more.

. . . but what harm can looking do?

a few weeks pass, logan notices you're in every few nights from now on, must have been put on the regular rota. he wonders if you know most of the tips you receive by the end of the night are from him. you're diligent, you work hard, and you deserve more than the minimum wage you're probably getting.

you've never noticed him, or at least, he's never caught you looking in his direction. but he finds himself craving it, willing your eyes to meet his even for a second. the extent of your interactions have been sliding a glass or a bottle in his direction before continuing with your other duties.

it's not even lust on his mind either, he just finds himself captivated by your presence. he wonders about your life, your interests, your dreams. . . though he'd be lying if he said he'd never pictured bending you over against the bar and fucking you senseless.

he is an animal, after all.

he wonders if he should switch bars just to distance himself. he couldn't let himself become comfortable with the idea of you. relying on others was a weakness. besides, what would you be to him but just another person he'd lose someday? it wasn't worth it. you weren't worth it.

fuck.

logan curses himself under his breath for even having this internal debate. you were strangers, this was stupid, it was all fucking stupid. but the mind of a lonely old man is a desperate one, and what logan really craves isn't just eye candy. he craves a touch, that first touch that sparks electricity throughout your every nerve ending, causes goosebumps to ripple along the skins surface. he craves something, anything.

he was so fucking hungry. always so fucking hungry. a rumbling hunger that starts at the pit of his stomach and gnaws through him like a rabid animal frantically trying to escape a suffocating metal cage. it's a hunger he can't satisfy, he knows he can't satisfy. but he'd been alone so long.

surely one bite couldn't hurt?

no, he finds himself shaking his head as he stands from the bar. he'd take a leak, and leave early. it'd only been a month since he first saw you, he could get over this. switching bars wasn't particularly appealing to him, but it was better than having to look at you and feel that familiar ache.

the bathroom door swings open and he walks inside, situating himself at one of the urinals. a few moments later, the door swings open again, logan doesn't bother to look over.

"oh, thought these were empty, sorry."

his head turns quickly. it's you, mop in hand. there's an uncomfortable silence that follows.

speak, fucking speak. "it's fine."

you pause, then nod a little and begin mopping the floor.

his eyes are back on the urinal, swallowing hard. was this really going to be your first conversation? with his eyes glaring into old porcelain, dick in his hand? he tries not to picture you stealing glances at him, but he can't help it. is that what he wants?

maybe.

finishing up, he quickly makes his way over to the sinks, pushing his hands under the cool water and rubbing with soap. his eyes flit up to the mirror. and he catches you.

your eyes lock on one another for just a split second before you quickly busy yourself with the mop again.

but that split second was enough. it was enough to notice how you were looking at him.

"all done," you say with a sigh after a few moments, standing straight and gripping the mop but making no effort to leave just yet.

logan eyes you in the mirror, watches how your eyes dance across the room before inevitably landing on him again. he turns to face you, noting the distance between you both in the room.

you lean back against the bathroom stall divider, eyes drifting across logan's figure. he was tall, big. this is the first time you're really able to look at him, to study the features of his face. this time he's not hiding behind a glass or a bottle.

the hunger in his gaze is obvious, but it's dulled, like he's just barely holding back. you think he looks lonely, there's a distinct air about him that practically screams that he needs to be touched.

you rest your mop against the wall, "you're in here often." you state, it's not a question.

"guess i'm a regular," he replies curtly.

swallowing hard, you continue, "i noticed. i always have to restock the whisky when you come by."

logan pushes himself from the sink and approaches you slowly. was he really doing this? after a month of pining and longing for you, a stranger in a bar, was he really going to give in to his desires? would you let him? the lust was clear in your eyes and he knew he was reflecting it right back tenfold.

"i like a drink." he says with a subtle shrug, just a step away now, eyes never leaving yours.

a small smile tugs at your lips, "i know."

you're not sure what you're really doing. you're supposed to be on shift, designated five minutes to clean the bathrooms. five minutes you'd much rather spend doing someone something else.

you eye the stranger who's been watching you, tipping you. of course you've noticed, you'd have to be pretty stupid or oblivious not to. you've come to expect him at each shift, but his presence intrigued you more than the other regulars. not just because he was more handsome, considerably more handsome.

no, it was those sad eyes that seemed to say a million words while his mouth remained firmly shut that had you curious. even now as he stands before you so silent you could hear a pin drop, when you look into his eyes you can feel a sea of words brewing.

oh how you wanted to open him up, to peer inside behind that rough exterior, to take a peek behind the facade. you're sure you're easier to read than he is.

you're not sure when or how it happened, but he's right in front of you now, his body almost touching yours. you look up at him with a feigned innocent look.

"i've seen you, you know," you mumble bravely, "looking at me."

logan doesn't seem surprised, he brings a hand up to hold your chin, turning your face from side to side to get a proper look at you now that he has you up close. "yeah?"

"yeah," you reply shakily, "thought i was imagining it at first. but by the second night it was obvious."

he smirks, so he's not as subtle as he thinks.

your hands snake down, finding his belt buckle and brazingly begin to unbuckle it. he watches you, eyes fixated on the way your fingers move. he swears he's about to start drooling. but then you move, hands winding up to the buttons on his shirt. you splay your hands across the fabric, eyes widening when you feel what's underneath.

"are you. . . is that-"

logan grips your wrists, not the suit. he wasn't talking about that now, he had to shut you up. he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as his strong hands keep a firm grip on your wrists. you submit, leaning back against the cubicle divider as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth.

he moans, relishing the taste of you, the taste he's thought about for so fucking long. he brings your hands up, pinning them above your head, shifting his grip so one hand easily pins your wrists, leaving his other hand free.

his free hand plants firmly across your upper chest, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your collarbone as he explores your mouth with his tongue. you're lost in the sensation, knees going weak as you allow the older man to have his way with you. he needs this, you know it.

"taste so fuckin' sweet," he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between words, "you do this often? let men kiss you in the bathroom?"

you mumble a 'no' under your breath, ". . . just the ones who tip good," you grin.

logan feels himself chuckling, biting your lower lip. oh, he liked you. his hand travels upwards, finding purchase around your neck. you gasp in response, moaning. he eagerly swallows your moan with his mouth, drowning out any sound that threatens to escape.

the kiss grows in intensity, you wonder how long it's been since he's kissed someone. he kisses you like a man starved, like he'd devour you if you let him. and you would, you think, if it felt this good.

his hand on your neck gives a gentle squeeze before running down your torso, palming at your jeans suddenly. you try to whimper in pleasure, but he's silencing you with his lips again.

"shhh, shhh," he whispers against your lips, "feel good? i know it feels good, but you gotta stay nice and quiet." logan can feel the material of your jeans begin to damp and he resists the urge to growl, feeling the way the fabric beneath gives way.

you nod, whispering small affirmatives as he touches you through the material. "just give me more," you whine.

and that spurs him on. in a flash he's pushing you into the stall, stealing a few more kisses where he can before he turns you, pushing your back against his chest. his lips find your neck, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses along the skin he finds there.

you're like putty in his hands, melting back against him as his hand returns to your crotch, rough hands massaging circles against your clothed core. you resist a moan, exhaling shakily instead as you let him use you.

"you wanted this just as much as i did, huh?" he growls into your ear, "need it, need me to fuck you."

you nod quickly as you feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.

"yeah, thought so," he nibbles on your earlobe, breathing deeply through his nose as he tries to steady himself, preserve the moment. but how can he when you feel this good beneath his fingers, taste this good on his tongue? "tell me you want it."

"want you to fuck me," you whimper almost immediately, suddenly feeling so very needy. there's a hot ache growing between your legs, one you're desperate for him to fill.

logan laughs, "you can do better than that, honey, know you can."

"please," your voice cracks and you swallow back moans as you squirm beneath his touch, "please fuck me-" it becomes apparent to you at that moment that you don't even know his name. your cheeks flush at the thought of letting this stranger, this older man fuck you in the bar bathroom, but actually, you kind of like it that way.

he nods against the side of your cheek, his stubble scratching against your soft skin, "there we go, attagirl. . ."

with that, he pushes you forward, forcing your hands onto the tank of the toilet to support yourself as he bends you over. his hands find your waist, his hips connecting with yours and slowly grinding his very apparent, large bulge against you.

you let out a whimper, arching your back a little at the sudden contact.

"feel that?" he mumbles, guiding your hips to grind back against him, "feel what you do to me?"

a gasp, "fuck, you're big." you can already tell, the way his bulge is pressing against you, demanding to be felt. you swear you can almost feel it throb through the material.

"yeah i am," logan smirks, he knows he's big, and he knows exactly how to use it.

pulling back slightly, he roughly pulls your jeans down, practically manhandling you, your underwear disappearing with it. he grabs handfuls of your ass before kneading the skin. "look at that, pretty little ass, all for me."

you just have time to gasp before you feel one of his hands connect harshly with your skin, the sound ringing out in the small bathroom of the bar. "f-fuck!" you whine, feeling the sharp sting, knowing there's a bright red imprint in the shape of his large palm on your ass.

there's some jingling, the sound of his belt being moved out of the way, a zipper. you prepare yourself, or at least you try to, but his cock is already slapping against your backside before you have time to steady your hazy mind.

"you gonna take all of me?" he asks, biting his lip as his aching length slaps against your skin, "think you can?"

you nod quickly, looking over your shoulder at him, "mhm!"

"if you say so. . ." he smirks and positions himself, one hand on your hip and one aiming his cock at your tight little hole.

then, all at once he's sinking in. you gasp, he gasps. and fuck, he is big. you feel that sweet stretch, his cock throbbing against your tight walls as it slowly glides inside. you're whining as it slowly fills you, eyes rolling back at the sensation. but he pulls out a little, only to push back in again.

he's working you up just right, mesmerised by the way you take his cock. his eyes are fixed on your tight hole begging him to enter, loving the slick sound as it pushes inside.

"you've been thinkin' about this since you started your shift," logan says confidently, his words confirmed by how you drip around him, "thought about me fillin' you up, nice and full?"

despite the way your cheeks flush bright red, you can't deny it. you've thought about it more than once, fantasised about it in bed, hoping that one day that stranger from the bar would fuck you so good you forget your own name.

you don't need to reply either, because he knows. he knows from the way your wet hole flutters around him, and fuck does it make him harder to know that you've thought about this just as much as he has. he begins to pump into you at a leisurely pace, firm hands on your hips.

"holy fuck, so fuckin' tight," logan grumbles, his deep slow strokes hitting you deep as he bottoms out inside of you.

you try to turn your head, to look up at him, but he grasps the back of your hair, pushing your head down. "nu-uh, keep that head down."

he knows if he lets you look at him, look up at him for too long, he'll lose it. he can't have your soft eyes on him while he fucks you, he doesn't deserve it. he'll take you, just like this, with your head down and your ass up and his cock buried deep inside you.

because he can't describe the shame that swirls in his stomach, that this is how he relieves himself, a quick fuck in a bar. this dirty older man who's seen so much sin, perpetuated sin with his own hands, who longed for the young pretty little thing in the bar. logan doesn't deserve nice things, this he knows.

you feel his thrusts grow rougher, your legs slipping apart as you attempt to hold yourself up, hands planted firmly on the tank of the toilet. you're squeaking softly with each pump, feeling him use you to release his pent-up frustrations. and it felt so fucking good.

with his firm grip on your hair tightening by the second and his other large hand digging into your hip, you begin to bounce back against his motions, sending him even deeper. you both moan in sync with the feeling and you pant softly, cheeks flushing further at the soft 'plap plap plap' of his hips connecting with you, the sound reverberating around the small cubicle.

"that feels so fucking good," you sing, closing your eyes. logan gives a particularly hard thrust, speed picking up. you can't help but smirk, mouth stuck open as you moan softly, he likes it when you talk to him during, huh? "keep fuckin' me, just like that, so good. . ."

he groans, wrapping your hair around his fist as he relentlessly pounds into you. harder and harder, deeper and deeper, you're sure you'll have bruises littered over your body before the day is through.

"harder!" you cry, feeling your legs tremble. you're not gonna last long like this, and by the way his cock is twitching inside of you, he isn't either. "i'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me fuckin' cum!"

another groan slips from his lips, gritting his teeth as he uses you, watching you take his throbbing cock beneath him. "look so pretty like this, bent over, takin' what i fuckin- shit. . . takin' what i give you."

your body grows hotter, sweat forming on your forehead, each impact pushing you forward roughly. you're really not gonna last long.

he begins to hunch over, his chest flush with your back as he huffs against your neck, fucking you like a rabid animal. you're squealing now, the pleasure swirling in your lower stomach, threatening to send you crashing into bliss. at this point, you don't fucking care if someone walks in and finds you like this, sees his feet planted behind yours underneath the stall. in fact, the thought of the risk sends a bolt straight to your gut.

"yes yes yes," you mutter, feeling your orgasm approaching steadily. you swear you can feel him in your guts. you begin to flutter around him, begging for release, knowing it's going to completely destroy you.

logan can't even form words, just grunts slipping from his lips against the side of your neck. and then he feels it, his cock twitches, his mind reeling with the imminent release. he needs this, oh he fucking needs this.

he bites down on your neck, teeth sinking in slightly as he feels himself release deep inside you, his cum spilling out in strong waves. you feel your knees buckle, but a strong hand planted on your tummy helps keep you upright as he fucks his release deeper into you.

the animalistic nature of his thrusts combined with the sensation of his hot cum painting your insides sends you flying over the edge, your orgasm milking him as you clamp around his aching cock. he slams his hand against the stall wall with a loud metallic bang, splaying his fingers across the metal as if to ground himself as his thrusts falter.

his tongue lazily licks the indents of his bite mark against your neck, groans easing their way from the back of his throat. you can hardly catch your breath, legs still shaking from such an intense release. it's hard to think straight with his dick still buried deep inside, feeling it twitch with every aftershock.

you both stay like that for a solid minute, panting, coming down together. he's planting soft kisses along your neck as your breath slowly comes back to you.

he pulls out, stepping back as he stuffs himself into his jeans. you collapse onto the toilet seat, shakily pulling your jeans and underwear back up as you look up at him. it's clear he's looking to leave, a distant look in his eye, maybe a little shame creeping into his features.

standing on trembling legs, you lean up, giving him a surprisingly soft kiss. your hands take over his, helping him back into his jeans, zipping them up, clasping the buttons together and buckling his belt. all the while your lips are on his, slowly, passionately intertwining together.

you pull back, buttoning your own jeans as you continue to look up at him. ". . . does that count as your tip for the night?" you joke with a smirk, hoping to see a flash of his smile again, hoping to alleviate some of that shame he's carrying.

and there it is, a small smirk on his lips as he glances away. "maybe."

the shame seems to settle, begins to dissipate. it feels less like satisfying an urge and more like. . . exploring something new. his eyes drift back to you.

"i'll see you tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head.

he blinks, suddenly remembering time exists outside this small space seemingly crafted just for the two of you. "yeah," he says, quietly.

"good," you pat his chest before moving past him, leaving the stall. you stand, looking back at him. a beat, "or, you can meet me after my shift ends?"

his eyes widen, taken aback. fuck, had he forgotten how to do this? his eyes flit to the side, before making up his mind. he gives a firm nod.

you smile before leaving him in the bathroom, returning to the bar through the door.

logan stands there for a few moments, running his fingers through his hair. he smooths down his shirt, feeling the suit beneath, a stark reminder always of his past.

but maybe he could begin to take a few steps forward. maybe he deserves more than to suffer forever, forced to keep everyone at arm's length. maybe he could allow himself this small happiness, a date, or whatever this was.

maybe it was time to satisfy his hunger, his loneliness, for good.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"One of these days." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

For you and your husband, trying to find the right time to have a little fun is not always so easy.

A/N: Just a imagine that made me smile while I was writing it hehe, so I hope you guys enjoy it a bit too. Thanks! (with a small appearance of Denise fearing Daryl XD) (Not my gif!)

Daryl lifts you up for you to sit in the counter of the living room, his lips crashing against yours in a hard kiss as his hands pulls you close to him by the waist, the heat of your bodies getting mixed with the sole idea of ​​feeling each other after almost two weeks apart.

The last search for supplies had taken longer than usual, and between his arrival and your days and sleepless nights in the infirmary accompanying some sick people with Denise, the bed in your home had only recognized one lonely body.

Now, your hands tangle in his hair kissing him back, his tongue playing with yours, getting from your husband a low growl when your legs pull him close, feeling the bulge in his pants against you. Taking a ragged breath before sinking back into your skin, Daryl takes your black t-shirt off and his hands caress your soft skin as he kisses your neck, missing the contact with it; and too excited to waste time because he has to leave again soon. But your mind clouds with desire like a foggy morning, so you push his vest out of his body and start unbuttoning his shirt while Daryl kisses the skin between your breasts, making you moan.

“Do we really have time to do this?” You try to be reasonable, but your hands are still holding onto the buckle of his pants.

“Yeah…” He said, in a low, deep voice, but Daryl couldn't care less if he is late as he starts to unbutton your jeans. “Let me get ya ready.”

There was something extremely hot when he did that, like being in a beautiful hell in the way Daryl always ate you up first, like it was his duty, and his words make you lick your dry lip, feeling his on your belly that contracts with the heat of his tongue.

But when he is about to pull your jeans down, someone knocks the door, insistently.

“Shit…” He growls in frustration, getting up.

“Coming!” You get off the counter, putting your t-shirt back while he does the same with his shirt.

You start fixing your jeans as you walk toward the door to open it, feeling your cheeks red and hot while you smile at Denise.

“Hey, Denise.”

“Hey, (Y/N).” She smiles back. “Is Daryl home? I hope he hasn’t left yet.”

You nod, clearing your throat in fear that your voice will crack.

“He’s getting ready. Something happened?”

“No, no…” She moves her hand in the air, pulling a paper of her jean pocket next. “I forgot to write some things on the list I gave him yesterday.”

Behind you, the door opens and Daryl walks out, dressed and with his crossbow and his backpack around his body. He looks normal, his hair is kind of messy, but it usually is so nobody could tell the difference.

“Oh, hey…” Denise smiles at him, and he nods once at her while taking the paper, his personality usually becoming silent with people he didn't feel comfortable with yet. “I just wanted to give you this. Sorry to bother you.”

“No. It’s okay…” You say and look at your husband. “Daryl has to go now. Right, love?”

Daryl looks back at you, frustrated for your interrupted play time.

“Yeah. I better go.” He kisses your temple and looks at Denise. “Bye.”

He goes down the steps of the porch, walking away.

“Remember to keep it cool.” You chuckle, referring to his erection that would take time to get down. “And please be careful.”

Looking over his shoulder, Daryl waves his hand in the air, because that is his special way of telling you that he will be careful.

Life within the walls of Alexandria moved slowly, calmly like a sleeping river instead of feeling like wild waves, giving you and the family you made when that new world arose, a sense of peace after having been wandering out there for so long, dangerously all the time. Fortunately, life there was kind of peaceful, and that had stopped the chaos in your worlds and the fear that some members of the family sometimes fell into. But that night, as you return home from work, you can allow yourself the luxury of admiring the bright moon that shines and illuminates your path, as a sign that for that moment at least, the darkness of the world is no longer as terrifying as it used to be.

“Were you married to Daryl before all this, (Y/N)? Or did you meet him when all this madness started?”

Denise is reserved and shy, but there is also a sweetness in her that is still preserved, intact, like a living proof that there were still good people in the world.

“We actually met like two years before all this.” The memory makes you smile at her, a latent feeling awakening in your heart with some shyness. “We had been married for a few months when the dead started to rise.”

Denise nods, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Daryl is… intimidating…” She chuckles nervously, but there is something in your soft laugh that encourages her to continue. “But in this time that you two have been living here I have noticed the way he looks at you, or how Daryl looks for you with his eyes in a room full of people, at community meetings for example. But he is not very talkative, is he?”

You laugh again, a little longer this time as you see your husband sitting on the porch steps a few houses away.

"Daryl is quiet, very reserved, and has a hard time letting people into his life, but when he feels like he can trust people, you can tell that Daryl cares a lot about them."

“And he was the same with you?”

You think about that, remembering that when he saw that he could trust you, Daryl became open to showing his own vulnerabilities, only with you, so it was easier to fall for him. Plus, he was and is still hot as hell.

“Something like that...” You nod softly. “Trust me, a couple of times I was close to throwing something at his head for being so stubborn and surly, but Daryl has a good heart. Just give him time to get used to this life, okay?”

Denise nods again, falling silent as you both finally stop at your house, with her waving at him and receiving a nod in response.

“Have a good night.” Her gaze meets yours, and you smile at her before she walks away to her own home.

And when Denisse is away, you chuckle as you walk over to the porch to sit next to Daryl.

“What’s so damn funny?”

“She’s terrified of you.” You chuckle even more as his brow furrows, his gaze on yours. “You scared the poor woman.”

Confused, Daryl watches the path Denisse took, for a few seconds before looking back at you.

“Did I do somethin' wrong?”

“No. It’s just that you’re so quiet that she feels kind of shy. But you could try talking to her a little, don’t you think?”

Even more confused, Daryl's gaze takes in an empty spot beside you, the white picket fence before looking back at you.

"What should I say?"

You shrug.

"I don't know. Maybe say something more than just a hey." When your hand makes contact with his cheek, Daryl leans into your touch. "Maybe show her that you are a sweetheart."

He scoffs.

"I ain't a sweetheart."

You chuckle.

“What are you talking about? You are a sweetheart with me.”

"Yeah, but jus’ ‘cause I love ya."

His words make you smile as you both lean into each other's lips. After Daryl let you in, you realized he had a lot to offer as a person with a good and brave heart. He was always a good company: he made you feel protected, in the old world too and even when you could protect yourself, but above all, it was damn cute to see him get embarrassed when you teased him, always masking his blush with a snort.

But when things got hot, like now, Daryl could be even hotter as you feel his hands on your waist, searching for the warmth of your skin under your t-shirt until he found it, sliding his calloused fingers over your flesh, sinking you into a new kind of desire. His touch is a silent plea for you to climb his lap, and you do, his hands holding you against him as his mouth takes yours in a hot kiss. Daryl chokes a grunt in your mouth, but you can feel his erection and he pushes your body down, dying to be inside you.

“Let’s do it here.” He says against your mouth. “S’dark and everyone is sleepin’.”

“Wow. That’s kinky.” You chuckle, your hands searching for his belt as he kisses your neck. But since life has a sense of humor, you can see the light of the living room turn on through the window, seeing Carol coming closer to the door. “Wait…”

Daryl growls in frustration, again when you get off his lap, but he learns forward a little bit to hide the bulge on his pants when Carol opens the door of the house you all share.

“Hey, guys, I thought you two were sleeping…” She says, smiling affectionately at you two. “I was looking for some water and I saw the kitchen light was already on, but… did I interrupt something?”

“No.” Daryl says looking over his shoulder, in a low, hoarse voice.

She looks at you, but you only smile shaking your head.

“Okay, then. Goodnight.” Carol waves her hand before closing the door again.

You wave her back, your own body falling against the railing.

“And… strike two.” You chuckle when Daryl lay down on the floor, covering his eyes with his arm.

That night, you may have used the shadows and darkness of your room to make love, but it still felt weird about doing it knowing that you and Daryl lived with Carol and Tara, even though you were a married couple, but at the same time, the thought made you laugh: because it felt wrong like the first time Daryl climbed through your bedroom window when you two were dating, before the world went to hell, because that night, everything became adult content.

The next morning, the day started early with you organizing the new medications that had been found during the last supply run, alone in the infirmary, accompanied by a comfortable silence as Denise took a day to explore her new relationship with Tara. And it was nice to think about that, in the mounting nerves that came with finding out things about the other person, the way you looked at her or him, the smiles and the shy laughs, the way your world suddenly seemed to fit together perfectly with them.

But when a knock on the door brings you out of your thoughts, you're surprised to see Daryl on the other side when you open it.

"What are you doing here, sir?"

"What? I can't visit ma wife at work?" He walks in, looking around as you close the door again. You walk back to the desk, stopping in front of the last few medicine bottles in the center. "On ma way here I saw Denise."

"You talked?"

Daryl, who was still walking around the room, stops, frowning in confusion.

"I'm not mute, woman."

You laugh.

"I didn't mean it like that, I meant that since we got here you haven't said more than one word to her."

Daryl mutters something under his breath, turning his attention back to the place as you continue reading the open book at your side. He spends like a minute or two in silence, reading the medicine descriptions from the shelves or touching the medical instruments, at least until you feel his body against you from behind, his hands on your waist as Daryl breathes in the smell of apples in your hair, thanks to the bottle of shampoo that came with the house.

Your tied hair gives him the freedom to kiss your exposed neck, and your belly flexes at the touch of his hands.

"I knew you came to see me for other reasons."

Daryl chuckles, and you breathe in, feeling the tingling between your legs.

“I've missed ya, I've missed the warmth of yer body.” His voice is always low, but it gets sexier when you feel that he’s that happy to see you. ““And we haven’t done it in weeks.”

You gulp, feeling his hand slipping down on the skin from your belly under your t-shirt, and your palms pressed against the wood when his hand gets lost under your jeans.

“Yeah, but–uh…” You gasp through your parted lips when Daryl rubs his fingers against your folds, over your underwear just to tease you.

“(Y/N)?”

But that is not his voice. Daryl removes his hand, cursing under his breath when you two see a person standing from the other side of the blur glass of the door. You sigh in frustration, but you chuckle too while walking towards it to opening. Rosita is smiling when your eyes meet, and you let her walk in.

“Hi, Daryl.” She says.

“Hey…” Daryl says back, leaning over the desk.

“Sorry to bother you, (Y/N), but I need something stronger than an aspirin. Abraham fell on his butt during the run and he keeps complaining.” She rolls her eyes. “Do you have something?”

You nod.

“Yes, of course.” You walk toward the shelf on the wall behind Daryl, smiling to yourself as he tries to hide his erection. You take two painkillers from a bottle and go back to Rosita. “If a man as big as he complains of pain it must be serious.”

“No. He’s just a big baby.” She smiles at you and Daryl, waving her hand before walking out. “Thank you. Bye.”

And she leaves, closing the door behind her. But when you turn, and to your surprise, Daryl doesn’t seem to be so frustrated as you think he would be.

“Whatever is going through your mind…” You chuckle. “It scares me.”

“I got an idea.” He smirks. “And this time ya ain’t escapin' from me, so finish quickly whatever ya're doin’ here.”

You narrow your eyes for a moment, giving him a confused look before finishing your chores.

But what is to come (pun intended) is about to come hard.

There, alone with him, your head falls back against the thin mattress inside the last cellblock, the view of the white ceiling disappearing when you close your eyes, and your mouth opens with a hot moan when Daryl makes you cum. Your grip on his hair loses strength as he gets up from between your legs to kneel, his hand replacing his tongue you to help you ride your orgasm. You let the air of your body go, finally going down from that high ecstasy after a moment as Daryl climbs over your body to be on top of you, shirtless, with his pants hanging now from his waist.

“That was just an extra.” He smiles sideways, part of his long hair covering part of his face, while your chest goes up and down with each breath.

“Yeah… I noticed it.”

Daryl chuckles getting up, but his smile falls when you two hear someone opening the front door of the basement.

“Stay here.” He says, fixing his pant as you put on your t-shirt that covers your thighs.

Daryl walks out of there, putting on his shirt as you put your jeans back on. Counting the few minutes in silence as you wait, he comes back frowning.

“Oh, no.” You chuckle. “What happened?”

“He jus’ came to read.” Daryl says, his voice full of sarcasm, lifting up his hands to mock of that person. “Yeah, right… I’m sure he jus’ wanted to jerk off in private.”

You laugh, falling on the mattress, laying down sideways to look at him.

“Who?”

“Eugene.” Daryl growls, pushing his hand through his hair. “Fuck…”

You keep looking at him: he’s frustrated even after making love, but Daryl looks so funny complaining for something so little.

“Come here.” You say opening your arms for him. “Come.”

Daryl exhales, his expression softening, and he walks towards you as you lay down on your back with him on top of you now, holding his face to kiss him softly before pulling apart to look into his blue eyes.

“Calm down, tiger: everything is fine.”

“Yeah… now it is.” He whispers with his lips an inch from yours, his deep gaze on yours. "But ya know what I was thinkin’?"

"What?"

"That s’bout time we got a fuckin’ house of our own, 'cause I'm tired of havin’ to sneak away to make love to ma wife."

You chuckle at his words, but they make you smile, too.

“I think that’s a very good idea, love.”

@fluffy-dixon

[cece693]

May I pretty please request Hannigram with an SO that really likes biting things? Like they’ll just nibble on anything available, including themself or Hanni/Will

male reader if possible :)

Bite Me, Darling

pairing: hannibal lecter and will graham x male reader tags: self soothing mechanism, male reader bites things, Alana bashing, jack Crawford bashing, just everyone in general is against this relationship, innocent male reader, hannibal and will want to keep him this way

It was strange, how everything about him was normal on the surface but wildly unique beneath. The way he moved through life, unaware of the way people stared, was something that only a few people truly understood. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, for all their intelligence and their capacity for manipulation, had each found something in him—something pure and raw—that spoke to them in ways they couldn’t articulate.

You were innocent in the most innocent way. You didn’t know how to read people’s intentions, how to navigate the murky waters of deceit and pain that others swam in. You were a creature of quiet habits: chewing on pens, biting the corner of your sleeves, even nibbling your fingers. It wasn’t that you was anxious, but rather that this was your way of processing the world. You didn’t speak much, but when you did, it was with a tenderness that could disarm even the most hardened individuals.

For some, this made you seem almost too innocent for the likes of Will and Hannibal. They were two men who dealt with darkness constantly, who played in shadows. Hannibal, the brilliant psychiatrist with an appetite for blood, had found himself intrigued long before anything happened between them. How did such a pure soul even come to be? How was it that someone as complex as Hannibal could be pulled into a world where biting things wasn’t just a habit—it was part of who you were?

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Hannibal was nothing if not a man who craved complexity, and you, with your simple yet peculiar habit of biting, had an allure that he could never fully comprehend. He wasn’t sure when the lines had blurred, when you had shifted from being someone he wanted to understand to someone he wanted to possess.

Will, on the other hand, was less of a mystery. He found your unspoken understanding of him soothing. Will was not a man who found comfort easily. He’d had too many years of running from his own mind, of balancing between the need for human connection and the heavy weight of his empathic gifts. But you were different. You never demanded anything from him. There was no need to over explain; no fear of rejection. You were there, and that was enough.

The three of them had fallen into a relationship that no one, especially not Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford, could understand. Jack, upset that you had a greater control over his 'asset' perceived you as a problem that needed to be extinguished immediately. While he couldn't force Will to break up with you, he began to use manipulative language more frequently, hinting that his absence was endangering the lives of people. But after a while, his words began to lose power.

"Will, you can’t just leave because he told you to," Jack would say, his voice thick with frustration. "We need you to solve this case. You're part of this team." But Will, unmoved, always told him he was tired and needed a break—as if killers would respect that and stop murdering until he felt better. Jack would then begin to retort how soft Will was becoming, as if that ever mattered when others perceived him as a madman.

Alana, on the other hand, was driven by something more personal. Jealousy. She had been drawn to both Hannibal and Will. Her feelings for them had never been simple or easy, but she had always harbored a belief that somehow, one day, they would choose her. Instead, they had chosen you. The idea of you, with your gentle biting habit, managing to capture the attention of both men—of all people—was enough to make her skin crawl with resentment. How could someone so abnormal and clearly dealing with childhood trauma have the audacity to step into their world and steal both her love interests?

She couldn’t help but feel that you didn’t deserve them. You weren't like her—you didn’t understand the complexities of their lives nor seemed to be able to handle the hurdles that came with it. And so, she set to work.

It started subtly. A conversation here, a comment there.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re a little strange?” she would ask, voice light, as if it were a passing thought. “I mean, the biting…it's something you can't help, but don't you ever want to stop it? Be seen as normal for once in your life?"

At first, you had laughed it off, thinking nothing of it. But over time, the seeds of doubt were planted. You began to wonder. Was your habit of biting things wrong? Your lovers had never raised concerns, but it would be something they'll definitely keep private, perhaps a secret only shared between Hannibal and Will. You never thought that Alana's words were connived to break your relationship apart, your naivety something the woman had taken into account and used to her advantage.

So, you tried to stop.

You started small: you tucked your hands into your sleeves when your instincts told you to gnaw at the fabric, and you opted for straws instead of biting the rim of a glass cup. You made an effort—any effort—to keep your teeth away from Will and Hannibal’s skin, no matter how comforting that gentle pressure felt against them. At first, neither man noticed; after all, it was easy to dismiss as a passing mood or an unremarkable change in routine.

But after a couple of days, small signs alerted both of them to the shift. Will began to see you catch yourself mid-motion, your hand halfway to your mouth before you stopped and pressed it flat against your chest instead. Hannibal noticed the anxious flicker in your eyes whenever you realized you were about to bite down on your sleeve—or worse, on him—and yanked yourself away.

It was Will who first chose to address it. One evening, you were curled up in his living room, dogs scattered around you like living blankets. The space was quiet, the only sound the gentle snoring of a dog and the low hum of the overhead light. You were running your thumb over your bottom lip—an almost-bite—when Will finally spoke.

“Hey,” he said softly, “what’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, forcing a small smile. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

He studied you with those empathetic eyes of his. You knew he was reading more into your silence, but Will was nothing if not patient. “You’ve been distant,” he finally ventured, words slow and careful. “I don’t mind if you need space, but if something’s bothering you, I want to help.”

The sincerity in his voice tore at your heart. You wanted to confide in him, to say Alana made me feel wrong, and I don’t want to be wrong for you, but the fear of seeming weak or needy held you back. You simply shook your head and offered a reassuring pat to one of the dogs resting on your lap. “I’m fine,” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t push. “Just tired.”

Hannibal discovered your change in behavior under more intimate circumstances. The two of you were alone in his kitchen, the scent of simmering stock filling the air. He had taken your hand to guide you closer to the cutting board, demonstrating a particular technique for slicing vegetables. Normally, a casual closeness like this was an invitation for you to lean in, maybe press your teeth gently against the back of his hand or the curve of his arm—just enough to ground yourself in his presence. This time, you didn't lean in nor brought his hand to your lips.

Hannibal stilled, eyebrows lifting in polite surprise. “Darling,” he asked softly, “what’s wrong?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You swallowed hard. “Just didn’t want to hurt you,” you offered lamely, though you both knew you had never caused him pain before. His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but he released your hand without comment. You wondered if your face betrayed the unease you felt, because Hannibal’s expression shifted into something gentler, concerned. But he chose not to press you then and there. Instead, he simply carried on, instructing you gently with the knife work and occasionally brushing a reassuring hand across your back.

Though both men tried to give you space, their combined worry spilled over as time went on. Neither was used to seeing you so guarded, especially around them. On a chilly afternoon, the three of you gathered in Hannibal’s study—a routine that had become something of a tradition. Will sipped his whiskey quietly while Hannibal and you browsed through his impressive collection of classical music. There was a soothing air of comfort, and for a brief moment, your doubts dimmed.

But of course, it was Will who noticed your jaw moving—saw the slight shift as your teeth worked the soft flesh inside your cheek. He placed his whiskey glass down on the table with a muted clink before pushing himself out of the chair.

“Stop,” he murmured, crossing the room with purpose. His voice was gentle but firm as he stepped close to you. Without hesitating, he brought his hand to your chin, his touch warm yet insistent. “Open your mouth.”

You stiffened, instinctively pulling away. You shook your head, trying to avert your gaze from Will’s intense blue eyes. You didn’t want to show him. You didn’t want him to see the damage you’d done to keep from biting them instead.

But then, Hannibal appeared at Will’s side, his presence commanding. He didn’t say a word, but the look he gave you—equal parts concern and disappointment—made your shoulders slump in silent surrender. Unable to deny the weight of their worry, you parted your lips, letting Will tilt your chin just enough so both he and Hannibal could peer inside.

A faint gasp escaped Will as he saw the small puncture in your cheek, the fresh bead of crimson welling against your lower molars. Hannibal’s lips flattened into a thin line, and a flicker of displeasure darkened his gaze. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small wound, but it spoke volumes to them—volumes about how you had been coping alone.

Hannibal’s voice was low, edged with concern. “You’ve been hurting yourself to avoid biting us.” It wasn’t a question; it was a quiet statement of fact.

Will let go of your chin carefully. “Why?” he asked, his brows knitting together.

You swallowed thickly, your hand hovering near your mouth in a subconscious attempt to hide the injury you’d just revealed. “Alana said it’s weird. The biting,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

A stretch of silence followed your confession, Hannibal and Will exchanged a look—a silent conversation filled with understanding and mild anger toward Alana’s interference. Will’s gaze softened as he turned back to you. “We told you before,” he reminded you gently, “you don’t have to hide this from us. You’re not hurting us—”

“—nor inconveniencing us,” Hannibal interrupted, stepping closer again. The resolute calm in his eyes steadied you. “In fact, we’ve grown quite accustomed to it, and dare I say, fond of it. Your habit is part of who you are.”

You glanced down, feeling the sting of tears threatening in your eyes. “I just…I didn’t want you to get sick of me, or to think I was some sort of burden.”

Will’s hand found yours, his fingers threading through with a gentle squeeze. “That’s not possible,” he murmured. “We miss it…miss you being comfortable around us.”

Hannibal placed a hand against your cheek, being mindful of your tender injury. “You never need to hurt yourself on our behalf,” he said, voice quiet but unyielding. “Any pain you feel—physical or otherwise—we’d much rather help you carry it, not watch you bury it inside.”

At those words, a sharp wave of relief pulsed through you, along with an ache of regret for having doubted them. You inhaled shakily, letting yourself lean just a fraction closer to Hannibal’s touch, feeling the stability it offered. Will eased his other hand around your waist, tugging you gently in his direction. Sandwiched between them, you could almost believe nothing else mattered.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “I…I’ll try not to hide it anymore.”

Will’s lips quirked into a small, comforting smile. “No more chewing on your cheek,” he said, voice warm with affection. “You’ll let us help, right?”

With a hesitant nod, you felt Hannibal’s hand slide from your cheek to the back of your head, urging you closer until your forehead rested against his shoulder. He cast a glance at Will, who leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Despite the swirl of emotions, you felt a gentle calm in their presence—a sense of being anchored.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 3, After party

Masterlist Word count: 1.2 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Author's note: Tehee, I'm suddenly writing like I'm on fucking speed. Have another chapter while I'm not burned out from this story yet <3

Mature content under the cut.

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'Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me,' you hiss to yourself. You've gotten dried off and dressed after your very unsuccessful cold shower (that maybe ended in you masturbating anyway) and opened your phone to see if you had any notifications. The last thing you expected to see was a new video from Red Crow, aka Sylus, aka your neighbor, jacking off right after meeting you wearing the same thing shirt he had when he opened the door for you.  

Is he teasing you? No, surely not. He said he'd make a video if everyone begged for it, don't be delusional... It is a nice idea though. Him being that horny after meeting you for no more than two minutes. 

Before you can even watch the first ten seconds of the video, your doorbell rings. It scares the bejesus out of you and you almost drop your phone. Fuck, you need to calm down and you need to do it fucking now. Tara is at your door, and you need to get through a night of romcoms and facemasks before you can watch that video. 

You rush to the door and open it with a friendly smile, trying hard to hide the lust filled thoughts playing behind your eyes. There stands Tara, but she's engaged in a conversation. 'Oh, hello,' she says to you with a smile and turns to your neighbor's door, 'Kieran, Sylus, have fun. See you soon.' 

Shit, you just can't help it. You stick your head around the corner and there he stands, confidently leaned against the doorframe of his door, arms crossed, wearing a different shirt for a reason that you can very easily imagine after that video. He wears a self-satisfied smirk on his lips when he sees your head peak around the corner and nods his head to you. Your cheeks burn and you barely even notice Kieran standing there. You try to nod back at him as casually as you can but there's no saving you now. So you just head back in and wait for Tara to follow you in hopes that it won't look too strange. 

'What was that all about,' she asks, following you inside. You shrug and venture further into your apartment. 

'Do you want tea?' Tara frowns and closes the door behind her a little too loud. She seems more concerned than angry, just as she had this morning. 

'Ma’am, what is going on,' she demands, standing with her hands on her hips in the middle of the living room. If you hadn't know what kind of person she is, you might've taken it more seriously but with the way your brain is fried you fear you might not even be able to hold a normal conversation. 

'He's rude,' you blurt out, your filter completely gone. Shit, your brain really is fried. 'Anyway, what movie should we watch?' 

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'What was all that,' Kieran nearly cries out like an excited teenage girl while trying to hit Sylus’ shoulders. Not that he can. Despite his size, Sylus is incredibly fast. Blame years and years of boxing for that. 

'I have no clue what you mean,' Sylus says cold, calculated, monotone, but the slightest flinch of the corners of his lips give him away. He quickly turns to his bar cart to pour them all a drink, but then he spots the bottle of whiskey you gave him and his lips twitch up again. 

This time Luke also catches it. He turns on the couch, clutching the back and pulling himself up in a chaotic attempt to climb over and tease Sylus like there's no tomorrow. He fails miserably when Sylus looks back at him with one warning look while pouring the whiskey. 

Kieran sits down in one of the two big lazy chairs while Luke spreads out on the couch. 'Did she come over?' 

'She got me a housewarming present,' Sylus muses, trying to keep his composure as he grabs the three glasses of whiskey by the rims and walks them over to the coffee table. As soon as they're set down, Kieran and Luke shoot up to claim their glasses. 

'A housewarming present,' Luke says in a teasing tone while wiggling his eyebrows, his eyes flicking from Kieran to Sylus and back a few times. Sylus sighs and pinches his brow, still trying so damn hard to make it seem like everything is the same. 

'Whiskey,' he says to explain, 'she got me a bottle of whiskey.' 

'And you made her throat burn,' Luke teases once more, but this time even Kieran cringes. 

'And you wonder why you're single,' Kieran sighs. 

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'Come on, out with it,' Tara demands. Throughout the last two hours, you've been dancing around the topic under the guise of choosing a movie, making tea, putting facemasks on, painting each other's toenails, etcetera, but you're dead out of things to keep Tara busy. So you just give in. Well, you give in a little bit. Can't play all your cards yet. 

'He's hot okay,' you groan, 'he's fucking hot and I have a fucking dry spell.'  

That was clearly not what Tara expected you to say after you told her he was rude to you. 'Wait, back it up, I thought you were joking about you and Zayne just being friends.' 

'No, we're really just friends. We've kissed once to see if we wanted something more but neither of us felt anything.' She nods. 

'And Sylus is your type?' 

'Well,' you mumble, a blush forming on your cheeks, 'I guess. I've always liked them tall. Can't say I've ever met anyone like him before, though.' Mentally, you beat yourself up. This man is a sex God and you're sitting here, one measly wall away from him, blushing like Sylus and you are the main characters in a slow burn k-drama. 

'Fair enough,' she agrees and suggests, 'I can give him your number under the guise of telling each other about parties and stuff. Like what you did with Zayne.' 

'I don't think he's the kind of person who likes having his hand forced,' you note uncertainly, 'besides, he's a grown man. If he wants something, he can get it himself.' And shit, the way you would give it to him. They'd have to add a new level to the Richter Scale after you're done with him. Or he's done with you, whatever he prefers to say. You're not picky as long as you can feel his hands all over you. “Wait, stop, you're still with Tara. Calm your ovaries woman,” you mentally scream at yourself, hoping the blush on your cheeks still seems as innocent as it had a bit ago but you can feel your ears flush.

Tara agrees with a nod, seemingly not noticing anything: 'You're right. And he did seem to like you.' 

'That's probably just because I gave him whiskey as a housewarming gift.' 

'No, I don't think I've ever seen him look at a woman like that,' she says absentmindedly. You suddenly feel your heart pounding in your chest once more. Truly, your heart is trying to be your undoing. You're not supposed to like this person after meeting them once but at the same time, you've been watching him for ages. When you think about it, it actually feels a little bit weird. 

You've been watching him, he doesn't know you. And yet, he seems to be the more confident one.

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[curiousobsession101]

i grew up in a family where lgbtqia+ stuff wasn't usually brought up when i was a kid, not in a "don't ask don't tell" way but because it was just... normal. saying "this person is gay" would be like saying "this person likes green tea" like why would you mention that when it wasn't specifically relevant? so i never heard "your second cousin is gay" it was always "we're going to visit your second cousin and his husband and they made peanut butter cookies!"

so the first time i heard of being "gay" in anything other than the archaic sense where it meant "happy" was when i was in school - i think first grade? and my immediate response was utter absolute bafflement: "what do you mean gender is relevant to romantic relationships?? why would someone be interested in only girls or boys - how could that possibly matter? there's literally nothing that's only ever true for one of those but not the other so what's the difference?"

since then i've gotten to the point of academically understanding that this is a thing that matters to people and they can't help it and it's arbitrary. i've gotten involved with the queer community and for a while one of my hobbies was making little ms paint designs based on different pride flags for people. but on a gut level i still don't really get it.

needless to say, i'm aromantic and asexual

(also the fact that my mother is bi probably didn't help me understand people who aren't XD but for the record what i said here is true for my whole family - specific sexuality labels usually just come up when talking about politics so that's why i never heard about it when i was little. my great grandfather was a local politician so my mother once went to him for advice on a certain political issue and this was when prop 8 (an anti-gay bill) was being voted on and he made her promise to vote no on it before he would give her any advice - she told me she felt insulted he thought it was even remotely possible she'd vote yes)

so strange to me that some people aren't bisexual

[seungfl0wer]

*𝙈𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙃𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝘽𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙣𝙙*

Pairing: Changbin x Reader (GN)

Genre: Comfort?

Warnings: Slight mentions of depression and anxiety. That’s about it. Sorry for any mistakes

A/N: This has been in my idea folder for so freaking long! This was 100% inspired by “Must have been the wind by Alec Benjamin” such a good song! I hope yall enjoy this!

-🖤

Neither of you really knew each other. Only exchanging pleasantries as you passed by one another. Always a small waves and a smile. You’ve barely even said a few words to one another in the almost year living in the same building. You both keeping to yourselves.

He’s noticed in the past few days of seeing you that you don’t seem yourself. Or at least the small bit of yourself that he knew of. You have seemed really down lately. He even caught you wiping your tears away when he had stepped into the elevator as you got out. He wanted to ask if you were alright but you quickly left the elevator before he could.

His apartment was right above yours he could always hear you talking softly or listening to music. It made him almost calm hearing another person at times.

He hadn’t seen you leave today like normal. You both always leaving for work about the same time. When he had gotten back from work later than normal plopping on his bed he let out a sigh. The quietness becoming deafening around him. The quiet didn’t last long, soft sobs could be heard from below. He knew it was you, he wanted so badly to make sure you were alright. He didn’t know why he cared so much but he did. Maybe it was the way your smile brightened his day. Or the way he secretly hopes to see you before work. You’ve become a daily joy in his life and to hear you crying made him upset.

He got up pacing back in forth wondering what he should do. Would it be weird to check in on you? After the back and forth in his mind he finally made it up. He was gonna check on you.

He knocked on your door, a thousand things running through his mind on what to say. When you finally answered he could see how red your eyes were. Tear stains still lingering on your flushed face. “Uh hi” he said nervously.

“Hi” you said softly back looking anywhere but his face.

“Listen I know we don’t know each other but I could.. hear you crying. Are you alright?” He stammered out.

“I- I uhm wasn’t crying.. must have.. been the wind or something” you lied.

He studied your face for a second knowing damn well that you were lying. You felt embarrassed. You didn’t like crying around anyone, feeling like a burden if you weren’t always just happy.

“Well if you want to talk I’m here” he said with a soft smile. His kind words really jabbing at you. Why was he being so nice? He didn’t know you, he didn’t have to come down. But he did. He came down to basically a total strangers place to see if they were ok. Just the pure sweetness of this made the tears flow again.

His eyes went wide his body moving before he could stop himself. He wrapped his arms around you as you cried making you sob even harder. He rubbed your back letting you get it all out. He pushed your door closed behind him, to make sure no one else would walk by.

“Ssh sh it’s alright, you’re alright” he said softly still rubbing your back. “Wanna go sit down? You can tell me all about what’s wrong if you want. No judgement. I’m here to listen” he said with that sweet smile you’ve grown fond of.

You nodded bringing him over to your couch. As you composed yourself you sighed softly. “Nothings really wrong, I mean.. it’s just..” you tried finding the words. “I have really bad depression and anxiety.. it’s just been really bad the last few days and it all just came crashing down today.” You admitted.

He listened taking your hand in his to comfort you a bit. “You still got up today though, you’re still here and that’s something to be proud of” he said.

His words comforted you even more, making you smile for the first time in a few days. He sounded so genuine.

“And I can knock another one off if you wanna” he said smiling. You looked at him a bit confused. “How about I treat you to some ice cream? Then you’ll have eaten today.. I guess it’s not food food but ice cream makes everything better” he says smiling even bigger.

“You don’t have to do that” you said.

“I know but I want to, plus means we can get to know each other more. Yeah?” He said hopeful.

“Alright” you said smiling at him.

You got yourself together wiping your face and putting on better clothes. “Oh hey, by the way, I’m changbin” he said.

“We really never introduced ourselves huh? I’m y/n” you said.

“Well y/n shall we get some ice cream?” He said putting his hand out.

“We shall.” You giggled.

After this day you both had become really close. Making movie nights and gaming nights. You both always hung out even just coming over to one another’s house to sit in comfortable silence. It was nice. Nice to have someone to talk, nice to have someone there that wouldn’t judge and just be there.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget

[henry7931]

Billy’s College Adventure Part 2

Samuel:

“Oh fuck!!!”

I scream out as Billy’s body pours out cum all over his slim chest. I stare down at cute dick I know have possession over.

That’s when the doorbell starts ringing. Well he’s quicker than I thought. I better get his body cleaned up. I quickly wipe off Billy’s chest and grab his shirt.

The doorbell rings over and over again.

“I’m coming! Just hold on a sec!”

I look through the peephole and my body waiting outside for me to open the door.

“Who is it?,” I say just to mess with him.

“YOU KNOW WHO IT IS!”

“Hmmm… well I wasn’t expecting company. Not sure who you could be. Have we met before?”

“Dude! I’m in your body, you’re in mine. Can we just cut to the point and you let me in!”

“What’s the secret password?”

“Purple! Now let me in!”

“No… the password isn’t a ‘word.’ It’s a gesture…”

“Hey it’s me! In your body, what’s up? Is this good enough?”

I bust out laughing, I thought he was going to flick me off.

I open up the door and Billy comes storming in.

“You know! It’s one thing for you to highjack my body! But it’s another for you to LITERALLY LOCK ME OUT,” says Billy who’s now in my (our I should say his) face.

“Oof! You got a spicy side! I like it!,” I say back with a big grin.

“Are got to be kidding me! You know what, I’ll fix this.”

I watch as Billy tries his hardest to switch us back. He tries for about a minute before giving up.

“Fuck! Why can’t I switch us back?”

“Oh Billy, you really don’t know the first thing about your powers do you? You’re a swapper. A swapper can’t un-swap somebody who’s also a swapper. Now you can swap others that I’ve swapped but you can’t swap us. Only I can now.”

I watch as Billy paced around the room struggling with the fact that I’m in control here.

“So I have a few questions,” he says to me.

“Sure!”

“First off, who the hell are you?!?”

“Well currently I’m you. But normally I’m Samuel, Sam for short.”

“Great. So you obviously are a—”

“Swapper.”

“Yes, you’re a swapper. Like me which I didn’t even know others existed outside of me.”

“Well other swappers are a little more quiet about their abilities. You just have yourself away earlier today.”

“I know, I figured that out pretty quick. This feels weird, normally it’s me hitting someone with the body swap surprise. Wait a minute, why did you swap that guy and that professor?”

“Great question! That Dufus really pissed me off. And I don’t really care for that professor so freaking him out too was just an added bonus.”

I watch as he tries his hardest to get a good read on me. It’s so refreshing to even talk about this someone who’s not my family. Granted the only other swapper in my family was my great uncle. He was kind enough to leave me a rule book.

“So you just did that to be petty?”

“Well yeah I guess, sounds terrible when you put it that way. But trust me that guy had it coming.”

“That seems pretty immature of you.”

“Oh so you’ve never just swapped with someone for the hell of it?”

“That’s not what I’m saying… I mean of course I have but it’s been years!”

“Geez Billy, didn’t know you set the roles for the swapper community.”

“Shut up, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying you really freaked those two out. Maybe like a simple prank could have worked.”

“Billy, I don’t think you understand how different the two of us are from the rest of the world. Most swapper do way worse things— sides I would have eventually swapped them back.”

Billy gets quiet for a second. I watch as he flops down on his couch. 

“So now that you kidnapped my body, what’s your plan here?,” says Billy.

“Finally! That was the question I’ve been waiting on. So I’ll be honest with you. I’ve personally never met another swapper outside of a family member who I really didn’t get to know. But he did leave me with a lot about our powers. And I want to start really using mine. But the kind of stuff I want to do is hard to do alone. So I guess in the nicest way I can say this… I’ll give you your body back as long as you join me in my exploration. Thoughts?”

“Ummm… is this going to be dangerous or potentially hurt someone?”

“Ahhhh no, at least not directly.”

“What do you mean by not directly?”

“Well I guess you can either find out and get your body back or just stay as me until I decide to swap us back. Which could be a very long time… years maybe.”

“Ugh fine! I’ll do whatever.”

“Cool!”

2 Hours Later…

Billy and I crashed out on his couch. It took him a bit to speak to me but once he got going he had so many questions about me. I let him ask me about my life, my family, etc. and he eventually started to open up about himself as well.

“So let me get this straight? You forced your babysitter to swap bodies with you like every time he came over??,” I ask him.

“Oh yeah! Honestly, I feel a little bad about it now because he’s so nice. Literally has no hard feelings. I was just a nightmare growing up. I could never stay in my body when I was young and trust me my dads tried hard! I even ran away a couple of times with his body. They of course found me every time. It sounds terrible but I really enjoyed being him.”

“That’s funny, I used to get really annoyed easy at family functions. I was a very emotional teen and my dad’s brother was a bit of a prick. Always thought he was jealous since he didn’t get the swapper trait and I did. I would literally swap everyone around just to piss all of them off. I’d even make sure everyone swapped with someone who I knew they would hate to be… oh this one time. I swapped my uncle and our dog for like a week. I got into sooo much trouble but it was so worth it.”

“Oh god not the dog!!”

“Yep! Even took my dog to the park. It was hilarious!”

We went back and forth on our swap stories for hours. I door dashed us a bunch of food (on Billy’s card of course, I knew he would be cool with it the second I heard his parents are loaded lol).

“So do you have like any booze here?,” I asked him.

“Oh yeah! Want a glass of wine?”

“Sure!”

“Any preferences?”

“I mean I have your pallet so whatever you like lol.”

“Trueee, I guess I should asked for me haha.”

“Well I prefer red wines.”

“Gross!”

“You’re gonna like it I promise.”

We both crack open two bottles of wine and turn on a movie in the background. After a couple of glasses I started to feel a little frisky and maybe a little too open

“So I have a confession to make,” I say to him.

“Oh god, what is it?”

“It’s nothing bad! Oh god, I can’t believe I’m saying this.”

“Sit it out Sam!”

“Well before you got here, I um… I may have enjoyed your equipment.”

Billy sits up and for a second I thought he was going to be mad at me.

“Sam did you jerk off in my body?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t even explored your body, especially since I just rushed over here. And you explore all of mine huh?”

“Yeah I don’t know, it’s been a minute since I’ve swapped with a cute guy. I may have just lost control.”

“Ohhhh so you think I’m cute?” he gives me a cheeky grin.

“Ugh, don’t get too excited.”

“Well, I think it’s only fair for me to have my turn,” he says with a bigger more cynical grin.

“What?!?”

“You heard me! I’m forced to be you so it’s only fair for me to have my fun too!”

“Fine!,” I say back. I feel a rush hit me. I’ve never been around a guy that’s in my body talking about using my body that way. It’s kinda hot.

“So what you’re gonna go to your room or do it right here?,” I say to him sarcastically.

He takes a big swig from the bottle of wine and pulls my shirt off.

“You wanna come watch the show?,” he says winking at me.

Before I can answer Billy grabs my hand and pulls me up. I follow him to his bedroom.

Billy pulls down my sweatpants and hops onto his bed.

“What do you think? Do you look… sexy?”

I roll my eyes at him.

“Okay… here is the big reveal!,” he says to me slowly lowering my underwear.

“1..2..3…”

Billy pulls my underwear down and my dick flies out. It’s completely hard.

“Nice!! 10 out 10 dick right here,” he says holding my dick.

“You gonna…”

“Slow down cowboy! It’s my turn to explore.”

I watch Billy gently fondle my goods. I can feel his dick pulsating— I can barely hide the fact that I’m just as turned on.

“So Sam, now it’s my turn to give you two options. You can hop into bed with me and we can full around or you can stand right in that exact spot with my hard on all night. Which one will it be?”

“Bed.”

“Good, now get over here!”

Billy nearly rips the clothes off of his body.

“Is it weird that I want to kiss you right now,” he says to me.

“Nah, just a little self love,” I say back.

We start making out and he’s such a great kisser. I feel him reach down and he starts fondling his dick.

“You’re so sexy,” I say to him.

He kiss my neck and says, “your body or me?”

“Your presence, your body. But you all around.”

“So are you, even though you’re a bit of a dick.”

“What turns you on the most Billy?,” I ask him.

He lifts up his head, “you really want to know?”

“Yeah I do.”

“Feet.”

Somehow, someway, I got even harder from the words that came out of his mouth.

“Is that weird?”

“Fuck no because that’s what turns me on too.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Nope! Your feet are so sexy…,” I say to him.

He looks at mine and grins.

“You have cute feet too.”

“Would it be weird if we…,” I say gesturing to his toes.

“Nope!”

I use Billys feet and wrap them around my dick. I start stroking back and forth. He lets out grunts in between.

I maneuver back and forth using his toes to grip.

“Don’t stop Sam! Fuckkkk,” he yells out.

I go faster and faster…

Billy is moaning sooo loud…

And then he screams out, “IM CUMMING!!!”

Cum squirts out on to his feet covering them.

He grabs his foot and does something so hot. I watch as he licks foot clean with my mouth.

“Shit… that was amazing…”

[teklarn]

devoted little thing, pt 1. - j. todd

masterlist!

jason todd x fem!reader

link to the fic on AO3 -> here

genre: angst (series)

summary: After the death of your boyfriend, Jason Todd, your life has never been the same. You abandon everything you've ever known: your job working for Batman as a detective, your home, your friends. That is until three years after his death, your life is saved by a mysterious vigilante calling himself the Red Hood.

You assume it was a one-off; that the infamous anti-hero just happened to be in the right place at the right time. But you're finding his calling card everywhere. He's around every single corner―you can't seem to get rid of him. The mystery of his identity brings you back to Bruce in hopes of finding out who he is. But as intimidating as the Red Hood is, with his blurry morals and all, you can't help but find yourself falling for him.

Your devotion to your late lover, Jason, is strong, but it feels so nice to be touched again―how could you say no to the man who saved your life?

warnings: non canon compliant, heavy themes of depression and anxiety, slight yandere themes to come, slight stalking, suicidal thoughts, heavy angst, death, unedited.

-

He had always been angry. So damn angry. At you, at the world, at Bruce. 

And you knew, dammit. You had known deep down that his anger would cost him dearly one day. 

You just didn't think it would put him in the ground. 

Tears erupted from your eyes like a waterfall, Bruce and Alfred the only other people present as they dropped your beloved into the ground, his youthful face illuminated by the silver moonlight spilling over the graveyard. The three of you stayed silent. What was there to say? At any other funeral, people would say the usual: He died too young. His life still has meaning. He's looking down on us right now. He'll guide you. 

Damn it all. Damn everything. As you stared at that coffin, the dark wood splattered with raindrops violently crashing down, you couldn't help the anger boiling in your veins. Sad as you were, you couldn't help but think to yourself: Was I not enough? Not enough to stop him from chasing his anger down into a well. A pit of darkness so deep and inescapable even you couldn't pull him out of it. 

Bruce rests a hand on your shoulder, lifting the umbrella higher to further shelter you from the violent downpour. You pretend not to notice the way his cheeks are rosy from the cold, or how his eyes are watering the longer he stares at the grave. 

Death curls its bony fingers around your throat―it whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Once upon a time, you'd been just like Jason. Alone on the streets, an orphan with no direction in life. But cursed with a talent for solving any mystery you could get your hand on, Bruce welcomed you into his family, where you had met Jason. Someone who knew what it was like to be alone. Someone with the same resentment towards the world. The only person who understood you was in the ground now. And, just hours before his death, you had fought. 

Jason was no easy-going boy. There were some days where you pondered that perhaps Jason liked to bicker with you. He liked the thrill of fighting, of winning. Your relationship was perfect by no means, but it wasn't toxic. Not until his anger got the best of him, like it had hours before his death. The fight had started like many others and had ended the same way: with him storming out the door, cheeks reddened with fury, hints of tears glinting in his eyes. 

On any normal day, you would have chased after him. Told him not to run away from his problems. He would have returned with a scowl on his face, but at least he would still be home. It was the one time you didn't chase after him. The one time you let him slip away. 

And dammit, the guilt was stabbing your gut like rusty knives. 

You resisted the urge to shove Bruce's hand off your shoulder, instead opting for the respectful option of turning away, claiming you just needed space. Which wasn't entirely a lie. You didn't want to be near Bruce, nor Alfred, but if they hadn't been standing at Jason's grave, you would have stayed there and cried all night. Until your eyes were puffy, until the rain left you a shivering, soaking mess. Until Death came to claim you itself. 

Back inside, when Bruce and Alfred finally rejoined you, you'd already showered and changed into a dry pair of clothes. It had taken all the strength left inside your soul to take care of yourself. To not throw yourself onto your bed and drown beneath the plush sheets. 

You couldn't look Bruce in the eye. The fire flickered, casting shadows on his harsh features, the flames dancing across the walls. His eyes were angry. His eyes looked like Jason's. 

On long, hard days, Jason would rant about Bruce. About his antics, his supposed cowardice, his lack of courage when it came to doing the hard thing over the right thing. On those days, you yearned to tell Jason that he looked just like Bruce. That the only real difference between them was that Bruce would choose his morals over everything. 

Now, Bruce's eyes darkened. There was hate behind them. Thoughts swarming, filled with white-hot anger that mirrored your own. That same anger that mirrored Jason's. You couldn't do it. You could barely keep yourself on your feet. 

"Is everything all right?" Alfred asked, his gaze averting from his master to you. The wrinkles in his face made you sick. It felt wrong to see someone so old, so wise, someone who had lived life to the fullest of years. In fifty years, Jason should look just like Alfred. With wrinkles and smile lines pressed deep into his features. Crows feet should crinkle at the edges of his eyes and his smile should reflect accomplishment. 

You tried to shove the image from your head, but staring at Bruce and Alfred was like looking at future versions of the man you loved. The man you'd just buried underground mere hours ago. 

Blinking away tears, you waved off the poor butler. "I have to go. I'm sorry." 

Weeks later, you felt entirely, hopelessly useless. And Bruce had allowed you to rot. Your bed was your only comfort aside from your imagination. You'd pull your pillows close, running your hands over the smooth cases, digging your fingers into the wrinkles the same way you'd fist Jason's shirt when he'd hold you. Bruce's disciplined antics hadn't ceased, but he was shockingly understanding. 

Well, maybe not shockingly. To him, he'd lost a son. To you, you'd lost a best friend, a lover, a soulmate. Whatever your naive little mind could conjure up. Jason was everything. 

As the days dragged on, your anger subsided. All you wanted was him, now. One more minute to apologize for your attitude, one more second just to run your fingers over his olive-toned skin. Just a moment. One fleeting, desperate moment to say three words: "I love you." 

Your mind was a prison of grief, your body was a shell housing a half-dead soul. Periodically, Alfred came in to set plates of food on your nightstand. Your mouth watered, but the food remained untouched for the most part. Guilt prodded at your stomach. Bruce should find a way to drag you out of bed. He should force you to stop mourning; to find a distraction. Perhaps a new case for you to dive into. 

You felt like throwing up. 

Just the image of Bruce's face brought back the image of Jason's. An older, colder version of Jason hardened by the vices of the world. And Alfred, sweet Alfred could place a reason as to why you refused to look at him, too. 

It was all because of Jason. Because he deserved to live, to be old and die old. He deserved to be ninety and to rot away in some hospice, waiting for death to greet him like an old friend. His hairline would be receded and his face would be marred with age spots and freckles from years of baking under the sun. 

"Miss?" A knock at your door sounded, and the familiar voice of Bruce's friendly butler flooded your ears. 

A quiet sob slipped past your lips. Loneliness was consuming you like a disease, but who could you talk to that would be worth your time? Who would understand you, who would bring you back to life the way he always knew how to? 

A soft, "Mhm?" was all you could manage. 

You heard Alfred peel the door open with a creak, and the smell of steaming hot food invaded your nostrils, the mouth-watering spices wafting into your room and filling the space with warmth and love. He set the plate down on your nightstand, exchanging it for your un-touched dinner from the night before. 

"Master Wayne is requesting your presence. Would you...care to join him after breakfast?" The hesitance in Alfred's voice made your guilt ten times worse. You were bloated with regret and sadness―it was spilling through your mouth, your eyes. Your very being was drenched with remorse. 

"I can join him now," you say weakly. You didn't care much to make yourself presentable. Bruce had known both you and Jason's since you were children. You'd both been welcomed into the family under the same circumstances. Jason, being only a few years older than you, had been the first to make you feel truly at home. Everything seemed to revolve around Jason and it made you so...so angry. 

"He insists you take your time getting ready." The gentleness in Alfred's tone told you everything he meant to portray. Take all the time you need. There's something important he needs to tell you. 

When the door clicks shut, you don't know how, but you manage to crawl out of bed. The feeling of your feet on the scratchy carpet is foreign, even the hot water running down your body feels like a new sensation when you're able to drag your ass into the shower. Damn, how long had it been since you last washed up? 

The depression had a chokehold on you. It had sunk its teeth and nails bone-deep, slowly slurping the life from your veins. Your body obeyed nothing but sloth. It was a shock even to yourself that you had offered to meet Bruce downstairs. 

By the time you wipe the steam off the mirror and see yourself, you look the same as you had the day you buried Jason. Your eyes are still painfully puffy, your skin dry from tears dragging down your cheeks. You throw on suitable but casual clothing, and you have to admit, it feels nice to put yourself together after spending weeks sinking into your mattress, practically binding your body to it. 

Downstairs, Bruce is already waiting. Alfred has your coat ready. Your footsteps halt on the stairs as hesitance builds its way through your body. You can still barely look at Bruce without seeing Jason. You train your eyes on Alfred instead, hoping that you'll find his wrinkled face easier to bear. 

"What's going on?" Your voice cuts through the silence, echoing painfully along the empty walls of the manor. 

Bruce sighs, but you keep your eyes down or on Alfred. You can't look at him. You really can't. He takes your jacket from Alfred and holds the arms out for you. "We're relocating you." 

"What? Relocating me? What does that mean?" Confusion ebbs its way into your mind. 

"Both Alfred and I have concluded that it isn't healthy for you to stay here anymore. You need something new. Something―" 

You cut Bruce off. "What the hell do you mean by relocating me?" 

Alfred straightened. "There's an apartment Master Wayne has purchased within the city. We thought it might be better for you to be surrounded by people. There might be an opportunity for you to―" 

"To what? I don't need to be moved, I'm fine where I am. What about all the cases I've solved in the past? You don't think I'm fit to do it anymore?" You knew they were only trying to help. That this was the only way they knew how after you'd completely shut down. But your anger couldn't be snuffed out. This outburst was new. It wasn't you. "What? Are you trying to get rid of me? Am I too much of a reminder of him? Don't try to run away from your issues again, Bruce." 

You didn't want to say this. You didn't want to be so...mean. But dammit, your mouth was moving too fast for you to think. Even when Alfred and Bruce's faces flickered with sympathy and a strange sense of understanding, you didn't stop your insults. 

"I don't need to move. I don't need to run away." Your brows knit together in anger. 

"Then what do you need?" Bruce dared to ask. 

"I..." Your voice caught in your throat. I want Jason, I want his comfort. I want his words, his arms, his love and unconditional understanding. 

Bruce's stern features tightened. Instead of the father-figure you'd come to know, he was just a businessman right now. Cold, calculating, demanding. The strength it took you to meet his gaze was all you needed to snatch your coat and toss yourself into his vehicle.

The apartment wasn't shaggy, but it was homey. It felt much warmer than the emptiness you'd been accustomed to back at the estate. The ride here had been riddled with painful silence, you nor Bruce or Alfred daring to speak. A part of you wanted to apologize for your outburst. It wasn't their fault, they were just trying to help. You knew damn well that was the truth. 

One bathroom, one bedroom, a generous kitchen, and a balcony three stories up, overlooking the trash-littered street below. Gotham wasn't a beautiful place, but maybe it was just what you needed. To be around people, surrounded by the environment of people just as lost and as broken as you. 

The lack of elegance made you appreciate the apartment that much more. Bruce knew you didn't need anymore empty space to fill. And this...this was what you needed. 

Still, some wretched part of you couldn't stand the thought of decisions being made for you. You wanted someone to blame, someone to yell at. Something to take out your anger on. 

"We'd like to keep in touch." Bruce handed you a transmitter. One of his high-tech ones made just for you. It was an order, not a request. You snatched the transmitter from his calloused hands and stuffed it away. 

"How do you know I'm not going to kill myself now that no one is watching me?" You snickered. Your chuckle was humorless. It was a painful truth they hadn't thought of. Or...they had, judging by the tension pulling on their features. 

You didn't want to ask how or why. 

Don't make this about you, you scolded yourself. Gray emotions swirled within you. 

"We'll deliver your things tomorrow morning. Just allow yourself to get settled in." Alfred nodded to the transmitter. "If you need anything―anything at all―don't hesitate to reach out. This will be good for you." 

You must have pushed the awkward farewells from your mind, because somehow you ended up on the floor of your new apartment, sobbing at the emptiness. The void of your new home felt like a region in outer space that even an alien wouldn't belong to. Your mixed emotions, the pain running through your chest, it was all a constant reminder of what you lost, of who you were haunted by. Of the person you'd never see again. 

The emptiness inside of you was a permanent reminder of the person you had once loved the most, and how he had died thinking you were angry at him. 

This is good for me, you reminded yourself. 

Tears spilled from your eyes. 

This is good for me.

-

link to the fic on AO3 -> here

[evesedenramblings]

Wolfgang Akire and the Blackmail Motive

I have so much to say about this blackmail motive, and I haven’t seen anyone talk about how it’s both indirectly and directly responsible for what went on with Wolfgang. Spoilers under the cut.

Eva and the Direct Killing

Firstly, and most obviously, there’s the direct way with how Wolfgang was affected by Eva. When Damon showed Eva the blackmail he had on Wolfgang, Eva says that it “confirms her feeling that Wolfgang is suspicious”. Afterwards, the group explores the pharmacy, including Eva finding the hidden poster that led to her needing to kill someone. Had Damon not confirmed that suspicion, there’s the slim chance Eva wouldn’t have killed.

To go entirely theoretical, without the blackmail, Eva may have countered Damon when he suggested not trusting the others because of her lack of total suspicion around Wolfgang and his dominance over the group, allowing for her to avoid falling for the motive. It’s also possible Eva would have killed someone besides Wolfgang, though admittedly not likely since she considered Wolfgang the ringleader, and isn’t able to see the people who are kind to her regardless like Diana. Considering Eva’s main reason for murder was her victim complex of everyone hating her, she could have killed someone else, especially with how common it became to bully her for her talent near the end, which Wolfgang didn’t necessarily do, but did “allow” (at least, in Eve’s perspective, which was the only one she needed).

2. Wolfgang and Indirect Killing

Now, what I haven’t seen anyone talk about, is how Wolfgang indirectly caused his own death! Wolfgang is the one who implemented the “one-on-one” conversation policy for blackmail discussions. He even starts to sweat when people start discussing just sharing the blackmail openly beforehand, and he says instead that people need to “give the person a chance to explain themselves”. Given the suspicious contents of Wolfgang’s blackmail, and the fact Wolfgang himself is clearly very aware of it, he implemented this policy not for the safety and structure of others, but for himself. Is this technically, in a roundabout way, implementing a rule for the safety and structures of others, as Wolfgang was aware he had become a leader for most and didn’t want to shake their faith in him? Yes, but it’s because of this selfish decision for privacy rather than open discussion that both Wolfgang and Diana were lured to the boiler room, and Wolfgang was killed. He was trying to preserve his image, and statistically he had a great chance of succeeding with how many people he had gathered to his side. It was unfortunate luck that it was Damon, who later shared with Eva, rather than one of the other 13 students who received his blackmail and likely would have actually brought and talked to him about it. Still, had the entire group had an open discussion and everyone explained themselves, what would have happened? Would Eva still have had a reason to find Wolfgang suspicious if he explained himself? Would it have furthered group trust or worsened it? We’ll never know, but it would have certainly been an interesting thing to see, especially since that’s where it was going before Wolfgang’s interference. We definitely know what happened because of Wolfgang’s decision to discuss the blackmail one-on-one.

3. Bonus Thought: Wolfgang and the Knife

Additionally, a vague foreboding reminder, we have no idea what Wolfgang’s “come to the boiler room” note said. It was ruined by the water, and Eva (its writer) never revealed its contents. The most likely instance is it was a “discussion of blackmail” note, like was used to lure Diana. However, Wolfgang still brought a knife. Considering they were meeting in the dark boiler room all alone, and with what ended up happening, he wasn’t wrong to, but was his original plan to bring a knife to a “normal” blackmail exchange? What for? What was Wolfgang planning to do with the knife if there was no murder plot occurring that morning? Was it a last resort of sorts, if his blackmailer didn’t like his explanation? Was it really just for protection? Regardless, I think it’s fascinating that he clearly brought the knife due to a lack of trust, either for his own protection or his own safety, which goes (again) against everything he was preaching. Wolfgang, who constantly told everyone to trust each other, didn’t trust anyone- to the point he brought a knife to a private meeting and refused to share his own blackmail, which got him killed. Beneath the Veil of Hypocrisy indeed.

[fatuismooches]

i have very specific thoughts rn but,

[name] almost stomping their way to Pantalone's office, scaring the many agents they passed in the process. all because they received a package this evening containing a new dress/suit, that looks like it costed at least a few hundred thousand mora(maybe a few million if you include the jewelry).

they kick open the office door and start shouting at him for answers, he looks amused and looks so smug. the agents behind you are shaking in their boots because how can you even have the courage to do that??!! yelling directly at a harbinger and he takes it like it's a daily occurrence??!! if they told any of their mates about this they would send them to a mental hospital telling them that they're crazy and are seeing things!

anyway, you wear the outfit on the next event you were both unfortunately invited to. and it was really pretty on you plus it fit very nicely, but it still doesnt excuse the ludicrous amount he spent on it.

hah idk what im doing, more requests soon though cuz im cooking some stuff up on my other computer(and totally not during class ehe)

-luv ya

Unfortunately, it was a common occurrence for you to find gifts from your husband purchased without asking you first (because you'd stop Pantalone in his tracks from spending that much money on lil old you - literally, you'd drag him away while the clerks looked on awkwardly.) Any normal person would be squealing in elation at such pampering, but the problem was that your closets (yes, closets) were a nightmare to go through and you'd lost track of how many things you owned a long time ago. Really, you truly loved Pantalone, but you could feel a headache coming on each time he dolled you up with something new!

Pantalone already expected your presence and lecturing long before it happened. After all, this little back and forth was frequent and usually witnessed by the agents (whose heart rate climbs all the way up, even though you are the Harbinger's darling, it's still a very odd sight.) Pantalone loves to take in all of your mini rants and chuckle when you lightly punch him or pull at his cheeks, and top the whole thing off by saying he won't do it again. (He will definitely do it again.)

In the end, that's just how he shows his love, so you'll just be scolding him until the end of time. Dressing you up is also his key tactic of surviving boring parties as he can just stare at you the whole time.

[summertimesadnessirl]

It doesn't matter.

If you have done everything you can to try to get the life you want and nothing works, it doesn't matter why you got that way. All that matters is don't keep trying to get love and letting people use your desire for it against you.

I'm pretty sure it's not actually real. And it's just something they made up to sell soap.

So that's the model I work with.

As long as I refuse to allow myself to believe anyone loves me, everything works out well. When I break that, people hurt me.

People will guilt you into saying it's because you don't pick the right people but no matter what criteria you use it's always the same. And no matter what treatments you apply to yourself, it's always the same. And no matter how many new styles of communication you learn to talk to other people, it's always the same.

For me the only thing that kind of worked was doing sex work and being super fake and having several hundred shallow fake relationships that had a lot of sex and weren't boring and miserable, because whenever I've tried to not date and just hang out and do other things like working or something either people bother me all the time and are really mean and annoying or they are always "conveniently" introducing me to people they want to fix me up with. Men and women and like? Those people are always basically on the same emotional level as the people I have already dated and seem really shy and kind of uninterested in me. When I talk them out of their shell, they seem still shy, like they basically admire me for not seeming shy to them and like how I dress but don't have anything in common with me and we wouldn't have anything to talk about, or they have kind of a mental picture of a type of super assertive girl who will be into their lack of experience and want to like... put spices on them and let them sit on the counter top for a full moon cycle and then write out a recipe for them that they can use to attract someone who will love them now that they aren't virgins or something, and they don't want to admit that to me up front, which is very mean to do, to want someone to like... be your character development without asking and then not let them prepare to be left with nothing from that interaction in exchange for being a cute story you talk about with your future spouse or whatever.

Most people don't seem to want a relationship with a particular person or a particular type of relationship or even like have considered their own potential deal breakers. Not "I didn't realize this thing I thought everyone did wasn't a thing everyone did" or "i was wrong about my needs in certain areas" or whatever. They genuinely have no idea like what they do for fun that is a group activity, and they make you spend like an hour trying to figure out what they want every time they want something and most of the time when you give it to them they're unhappy.

It's like people want me to be in a relationship just so I'll be in a relationship and other people want to be in a relationship with me just to be in a relationship and even people with lots of money who can leave and who spend all their time complaining about their relationship don't want to leave their relationship. And when I'm like "I don't want to be in a relationship right now because I'm broke or whatever and I wouldn't be able to leave a relationship easily." People are like *shocked pika* why wouldn't you go enter into a relationship with someone who wants to date you based on you having a normal level of kind conversation that you would have with a person on the street and being able to give them sex? Why would you not want to break up with the person you are dating and date a random old man who did your boss a favor once because he gave you a ride in his truck? Why would you not just let other people make major life decisions for you? Why are you not jumping at every chance we give you when it doesn't look or feel right?

It feels like the goal of the whole thing is having someone else to blame for your problems. I don't wanna do that to someone. I hate when stuff isn't my fault and I have to suffer for it anyway. That's why I cut my own hair and pierce my own ears and stuff. So if it gets messed up, it's just an accident and it's because I have never done that before and I just need to figure out how to fix it and I can take all the time I need instead of trying to like... figure out the magic buttons to push to get someone who broke something to be willing to admit they messed up and will try to fix it and like... having to wonder if I can trust them if they're a specially trained and certified expert and they aren't better at doing something than a person who went on the internet and read a tutorial and kind of guessed.

Idk. It's like if you told me most people in the world don't like sex or dating or anything and they aren't in love either and there's like some kind of mystic force that attacks people who don't live with a partner by such and such a time and have a kid by such and such a time and no one told me? I'd totally be like

"That explains everything."

Was I raised without love or was I born unlovable?