#so I just break down and don’t go anywhere

[sereia4skz]

hey!! I saw the head cannons and was wondering what it would be like if they were the one to sub drop??

Seungmin, Lee know and Felix??

headcanons | they subdrop after a scene

pairing: sub!ot8 x reader

genre: suggestive, comfort

warnings: 

word count:

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

BANG CHAN

He masks it at first, tries to be "fine" because he thinks he should be able to handle it. But his silence is too still, too heavy. Later, when you're cuddling, his voice breaks just a little:

"Did I do okay? I just… need to hear it."

You hold him close, whispering reassurances, running fingers through his hair as he finally relaxes into your chest. It’s not about being strong, it’s about being seen.

LEE KNOW

He gets snappy, almost bratty, not because he’s mad, but because he doesn’t know how to ask for comfort. You recognize the shift in tone immediately. You sit him down and cup his face gently.

"You're safe, Min. You were perfect."

The moment your words sink in, his shoulders fall, and he buries his face in your lap, not saying a word. You just let him be, present, calm, yours.

CHANGBIN

The aftercare starts strong, but he crashes hard about 20 minutes later. It hits him like a wave, unworthiness, overthinking, vulnerability. You find him staring blankly at the floor.

"Hey, Bin, where’d you go?"

He leans into your arms without hesitation, needing to be held tightly, grounded by your heartbeat. You whisper how proud you are of him, and he finally exhales.

HYUNJIN

He feels raw. Oversensitive to everything, emotionally naked. He clings to you with wide eyes, like he’s unsure of his place. You let him crawl into your lap, wrapping a blanket around both of you.

"I don’t want you to go anywhere."

"I won’t. I’m right here. And you’re mine."

It calms him instantly. His trembling fingers find your hand, and you sit in silence until the heaviness passes.

HAN

Jisung drops fast, like, mid-cuddling. His jokes suddenly stop and he looks a little too spaced out. You can tell something shifted.

"Hey. Come back to me, yeah?"

He nods quickly, almost panicked. You hold his face and ground him with affirmations: you’re proud, he did well, you love him. He tears up quietly and lets you hold him through it.

FELIX

Lix feels too much, emotionally overwhelmed in a way he can’t express. He doesn’t cry, but his eyes shimmer with unshed tears. You sit him on your lap, wrap your arms around him, and sway gently.

"You’re so good to me. So, so good."

He melts under your praise, finally letting the tears fall as he hides his face in your neck. You kiss the top of his head and let him take all the time he needs.

SEUNGMIN

He turns into the quietest version of himself. You ask if he’s okay, and he says yes, but he won’t meet your eyes. Eventually, he confesses:

"I don’t know why I feel like this. It’s stupid."

You stop him right there. No feelings are stupid. You hold his hand, softly stroking it, and let him talk when he’s ready. Once the floodgates open, he clings to you until sleep takes him.

I.N

He’s embarrassed about it, scared you’ll think he’s too needy. He paces a little, clearly out of it, before whispering:

"Can I… just be close for a bit?"

Of course he can. You lay him down, wrap around him like a blanket, and reassure him over and over until he sinks into the safety of you. It’s soft, intimate, just the two of you breathing in sync.

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere @bangchanspineapple @sunfk88 @sillyseob @rougegenshin @yaorzu-blog

[monstersflashlight]

Can you do a monster lover comforting their S/O after realizing they hid in the bathroom because they were having a mental breakdown?

You’d never be alone

Shadow monster x fem!reader || hurt/comfort, sfw || tw: (very light) anxiety attacks

Shadow monster who finds you curled in the bathroom after a very rough day.

Everyone is out and having fun, and you can’t do much to contain your tears as you sit down and hug your knees, trying not to sob. The tears break free either way, and you have to cover your mouth not to let out a pitiful sob as your anxiety gets the best of you. It’s not an anxiety attack, you aren’t there yet, but you know if you don’t get a hold of yourself soon, it’s going to get so much worse. It always starts like this, a loss of control of your own cries, just to end up struggling to breathe as dread fills every cell in your body.

You are so lost in your own mind that you don’t see the shadow created by the shower curtain transforming into a humanoid figure in front of you. “What’s wrong, baby?” His voice is extremely worried as he kneels in front of you, his shadow tentacles hovering around you but not fully touching you, which you appreciate.

“They- I- I’m not-,” you try to explain but your voice breaks every time, more tears running down your face as his tentacles wrap around your body until you can’t see anything but darkness.

It’s weirdly soothing, his coldness embracing you until your breathing calms down enough that you aren’t shivering anymore, and you have no more tears to cry. It might be a couple of minutes, it might be an hour. You aren’t sure, but he wouldn’t stop squeezing you into his body until you feel strong enough to look at him again.

“Why were you crying in the bathroom, baby?” He asks, caressing your tear-stained face with his cold fingers, his eyes two burning orbs of nothingness. “Somebody said something to you?” You shake your head, but when you try to answer him, your voice breaks. “I’ll hurt them for you,” he adds, with a smile that’s way too evil. That makes you smile a tiny bit.

“I thought I’d be alone,” you tell him after you gather your thoughts enough to summarize all the turmoil inside of you.

“As long as there’s darkness anywhere, you’d never be alone.” It sounds like a threat, but also like a promise.

[starrihan]

Thanks now I need a fic of Fuma talking all about Pokemon while he's balls deep 💔

→ Pairing: Fuma x gn! Reader

→ Plot: cockwarming Fuma while he teaches you about Pokémon

→ Genre: smut, edging, slight spanking, cockwarming, Fuma calls reader ‘slut’

→ Warnings: none!

→ Word Count: 638

→ Notes: ask and you shall receive my love 😈 like imagine if you didn’t know anything about Pokémon 🤤 question for you all: do you know pokemon more through the games or the anime?

→ Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

“Well, there’s eighteen different types. Two were… added in gen two… and one was added in gen 6 and… can you stop moving?”

His grunts filled your ears as his calloused hands found your waist, grounding you into him to stop you from moving. You had been on his gaming chair, sitting on his cock for almost thirty minutes, his balls deep in you trying to explain Pokémon to you. You whined into his neck, trying your best to stay still but needing the friction after being here for so long.

“Anyways, like I was saying, each type has 3 things, something it’s weak against, something it’s good against, and something it resists or is immune to…”

His hand came down delivering a harsh slap to your ass, one that made you moan out at the pain but also at the way he thrusted up into you a little when you jolted up in shock.

“I’m almost done explaining the basics. If you can sit through this I’ll give you a reward. But if not, I’ll have you sitting on my cock all night while I explain the entirety of Pokémon to you, got it?”

He picked you up a little, slamming you down on his cock a little harder than he intended to. You almost screamed, biting your lip so hard and almost drawing blood. You swear you tried, you really were interested in everything he had to say, but you couldn’t focus when your hole was literally dripping around him, the stickiness getting uncomfortable.

“…but early on you don’t have many options so that’s why I think she’s the hardest gym leader…”

You haven’t a clue what he’s talking about anymore, the words blurring with your intense need for him to move, even just a little. So you kiss him, catching him off guard.

“You weren’t listening were you?”

“I was…”

“Oh yeah? What was I talking about then?”

“Something about every Pokémon having a type they like, right?”

He shakes his head, feigning a chuckle when his hands grip you tight, slamming you up and down onto him again.

“My needy little slut. So cock drunk that you can’t even pay attention to what I’m saying.”

He picks you up again, slamming you down on his cock repeatedly. You moan each time, throwing your head back at finally getting what you wanted from him. He smirks, pulling you close to kiss and nip at your neck, making sure to bite a little harder than normally, the stinging sensation mouthwatering.

“Mhmm Fuma… fuck!”

Your moans are his fuel, going even faster when he feels your body twitch, hole clenching around him to signal that you’re close. Right when you’re on the brink of cumming, he stops, laughing at you as tears well up in your eyes.

“It’s not funny!”

You scream, lightly hitting his chest in the pain of your denied orgasm.

“I told you if you didn’t listen I’d have you sit here all night listening to me. Are you forgetting that you asked me to teach you? We’re gonna try again with the basics one more time, if you fail, I’ll make sure you don’t cum for the next week, understood?”

You nod in defeat, really trying to zone into what he’s saying this time. It doesn’t take long before you start to get dazed however, hole clenching around him more anytime he shifts even a little in his seat, not to mention that your legs are going numb from dangling off the side of the chair. A drawn out sigh breaks you from your thoughts.

“I guess we’re gonna have to keep trying, you’re not getting it at all.”

He shakes his head, pinching your nipple hard to snap your attention back to him.

“I hope you don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.”

༄ ༄ ༄

-> Here’s a link to my other masterlists!

[ptej1980]

Wow!

Ok so…it is obvious by now that the subs and others are going to get a grip on every little bit of footage…break it down and analyse either for the Pro or the con.

Let’s break it down.

The alleged ass grab…ok it is a screenshot from an 19 sec video on the Boss TT and also shared to IG. They are walking up stairs and Life guard Luke the gentleman that he is puts his arm out, as it is raining to assist. She puts arm out, I do not see grab I see a graze and hardly a touch. Unfortunately if you see a screenshot it does look like a butt grab, play in real time, you don’t know who the person is or walking up the stairs. So I get why people would definitely think that.

The Panoramic picture gate…ok someone posted a pic saying it what looks like Luke take a picture of 🐜 posing in front of a car….but in reality the way he is holding the phone so down it is definitely him taking pictures of the cars.

Everything on X is very much taken out of context. I encourage make up your own mind using critical thinking.

🐜 was wearing Boss clothes getting professional pics done, possibly she is trying to get stuff for her modeling portfolio.

How we know that the 🐜 situation is completely fake is every other celebrity with a real relationship does not use there SO to this kind of brand launch. Corey, Rege, Johnny, all have partners all are private and do not throw PR of there SO to the detriment of there career and the partners.

Whatever is going on with Lukola and the adjacent narrative I really hope the obligations are wrapped up soon. Luke and now 🐜 have started to use the same AI bots Nic did to block people from there accounts. Honestly I would have thought that would have done 12 months ago after pap gate lol 😂. A new PR company, deal obligations ect whatever is needed. I want the best for Lukola and ATM this is not it

Obviously I am not going anywhere, I am strong in my beliefs, I just hate to see what it must be doing to Luke and Nic and to see it dull his shine.

I am trying to be patient, today I think I have drunk way too much coffee, but still waiting and watching until the reveal

Enjoy your day 💛🐝

[euno11a]

Saw some of the saja boys fanfics you've written! They're so good!! Could you perhaps do one where they comfort us while we're crying?

"You're okay..." w/ Saja Boys

Jinu

The cold air of the practice room felt sharp against your skin, as if it could freeze the emotions threatening to spill out of you. You sat alone in the corner, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn up to your chest, face buried in your hands. Tears flowed freely, as they always did when you allowed yourself to feel anything. The pressure, the constant weight of expectations, had finally cracked the façade you’d been holding up.

You hated that it had to be like this. But here you were—vulnerable, raw, broken in a way you hadn't allowed anyone to see before. You had kept it together for so long, but sometimes the mask slipped, and now it was impossible to pretend.

Jinu entered the room quietly, his steps light but deliberate. He noticed you instantly—hunched, fragile, the silent sobs almost too quiet to hear. For a moment, he froze. He didn’t know what to say. You had always seemed like the one who kept everything together, the one who smiled through the hardest of times. But now...

He exhaled softly, taking in the scene, before walking toward you with slow, purposeful steps. Jinu wasn’t the type to shy away from confrontation, but comforting someone in a moment like this... it was something new for him. Yet, his protective instinct kicked in without hesitation.

"Hey," his voice was soft, warm, like the touch of sunlight on a cold day. "You okay?"

You shook your head slightly, too caught in your own emotions to answer. His heart sank a little. Jinu had seen you deal with the world’s pressures before, but this was different. It was rawer. It was real.

Sitting down beside you, he didn’t ask you to explain. He didn’t push you to say anything at all. He just sat there, close enough for you to feel his presence, but far enough to give you space. His arm brushed against yours, and the small contact was enough to draw you out of your storm, if only for a moment.

It wasn’t long before he spoke again, his voice low, almost like a secret between just the two of you. "I know you feel like you have to be perfect all the time... but you don’t, you know? You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself."

You sniffled, trying to stop the tears, but they wouldn’t stop. "I... I don’t want to let anyone down. Not you, not the fans... no one."

Jinu turned to face you, his eyes steady, understanding. "You're human. You’re allowed to break. You’re allowed to be tired."

The words hung in the air between you, simple yet profound. No one had said it like that to you before. It was always about strength, about pushing through. But Jinu... Jinu understood that sometimes strength wasn’t about holding on, but about letting go. Letting yourself feel.

He took a deep breath, a small chuckle escaping him. "If I told you how many times I’ve felt like I was gonna break... I swear you’d probably laugh. But I get it." His voice softened even more, like a warm blanket. "It’s okay to fall apart for a while. I’ve got you."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You had always admired his confidence, the way he could light up a room with a single smile. But here, in this quiet moment, he was offering something far more valuable: his support.

You leaned into him, just slightly, a silent acknowledgment that you weren’t alone. He didn’t flinch or back away. Instead, he placed his hand gently on your shoulder, a steady weight that anchored you.

"You don't have to be perfect for me. For anyone," Jinu continued, his voice low and steady. "I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’re in this together."

For the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to lean fully into his comfort, shoulders shaking with each quiet breath, but somehow, the tears slowed. Not because the pain was gone, but because there was someone beside you, someone who understood that you didn’t need to hide.

Jinu stayed like that, not trying to fix anything, just being there. And in the silence that followed, you realized something: you weren’t alone.

Abby

It was late, and the practice room was nearly empty—just the hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic tapping of shoes against the floor. You’d been running through choreography for hours, your body exhausted, but there was still that nagging feeling deep inside. Something wasn’t right.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was a mix of frustration and fatigue, with your usual confident smile nowhere to be found. The weight of the upcoming performance was pressing down on you. The team was counting on you, the fans were expecting perfection. But, at this moment, it all felt like too much.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice, one you recognized instantly.

“Yo, you good?”

Abs was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. But you could tell by the way his jaw was clenched that something was on his mind.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, trying to brush him off with a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Just tired, you know?”

He didn’t buy it. Abs wasn’t the type to let things slide, especially not with you. He pushed off from the doorframe and walked over, his tall, imposing figure casting a shadow across the floor as he approached.

“Right.” He cocked an eyebrow, glancing at the mirror, then back at you. His eyes narrowed, as if sizing up the situation. "You sure? Looks like you’re holding back something more than just sweat."

You were about to brush him off again, but something about his directness made you pause. It was like he could see through the act, cut straight to the heart of things without even trying.

Abs didn't move, waiting for you to speak. He wasn’t pushing, but there was a quiet intensity in his gaze that said he wasn’t going anywhere until you let it out.

With a frustrated sigh, you dropped your head, looking down at your shoes. "I just... I don’t know. I’m trying so hard to keep up, but it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough. I’m scared of failing. Scared of letting everyone down."

Abs stood there for a moment, his presence heavy in the room. For a split second, you thought he might brush it off, tell you to suck it up like he usually would. But instead, he did something unexpected.

He took a step closer, his posture relaxed but his eyes softening. “Listen,” he said, his voice lower than usual, like he was speaking to someone who deserved more than just a quick fix. “I get it. The pressure's unreal. I see it in your eyes every damn day. But you don’t have to carry that on your own, alright?"

You looked up at him, startled. Abs didn’t talk like this often. He was more about tough love, about pushing people to be their best. But now? Now, he was offering something different: understanding.

“You’re not a machine," he continued, his voice a little rough around the edges, like it pained him to admit it. "I don’t care how many hours you put in, how perfect you are on stage—no one’s gonna call you out for being real. Not on my watch.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Abs raised his hand.

“Don’t even start,” he cut you off. “I see you pushing yourself to the edge. It’s exhausting, I know. But I’ve seen you at your best, and no matter how much you struggle, you’ve got what it takes. Don’t forget that.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was nothing but the quiet hum of the lights and the distant sounds of the city outside.

Abs took another step closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not asking you to be perfect, okay? You just gotta show up, and that’s all you can do. The rest, well... we’ll figure it out.”

You could feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just slightly, the tightness in your chest easing a bit. Abs had this way of cutting through the noise and making things simple, making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when it didn’t feel like it.

He didn’t offer any hugs, didn’t try to be overly sweet about it. That wasn’t his style. Instead, he gave you a look—a look that said he understood, but also that you didn’t have to say anything more if you weren’t ready.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked after a pause, his tone still matter-of-fact but with a softness to it now.

You nodded slowly, feeling that familiar trust bubbling up despite your hesitation. Abs didn’t have all the answers, but in his own way, he knew exactly how to help you take the next step—no words, just presence.

Without another word, he gave you a slight nod, the kind that spoke volumes. "I’ll be around, alright? But you better show up tomorrow with that fire again. I know you’ve got it in you."

And just like that, he turned and walked toward the door, his confident swagger back in full force, leaving you with something you hadn’t expected: the quiet, simple reminder that you weren’t alone in this fight.

Romance

The dance studio was buzzing with the usual energy of the team running through choreography, but tonight, something felt off. Your movements were stiff, lacking the usual flow you prided yourself on. The routine was more complex, but it wasn’t the steps that were holding you back—it was your head. You couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Maybe it was the pressure of the upcoming comeback, or the fact that you’d been running on empty for days now, trying to stay sharp. Whatever it was, it was messing with your focus, and you could feel it.

Romance, as usual, was the first one to notice when something was wrong. Not that he ever missed a chance to mess around. But tonight, his playful demeanor was sharper than usual, his eyes catching the small things you couldn’t hide.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that trademark smirk of his. "Well, well, well... If it isn’t the hottest mess in the room." His voice was playful, teasing. He was always like this—light-hearted, easy with a wink and a grin that made you want to smile, even on the worst days.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding how the words had hit a little too close to home. "What do you want, Romance?" You tried to sound nonchalant, but your voice came out a little more strained than you intended.

"Just checking to see if the world’s still spinning," he replied smoothly, pushing off the doorframe and strolling into the room. "But honestly, if you keep up with whatever this is," he motioned with a playful gesture to your uncoordinated movements, "I might just have to save the comeback and give you my backup dancer spot."

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if it was half-hearted. Romance’s charm was relentless, like a ray of sunshine breaking through dark clouds. He had that way of making everything feel less serious, less overwhelming, but you knew he wasn’t stupid. He could see through your act.

He crossed the floor in two strides, his confidence smooth like he was walking down a runway, but his eyes were still locked onto you.

"Hey," he said, his tone softening, just enough that it pulled your attention back to him. "What’s really going on?"

You bit your lip, trying to think of something to deflect the question, but Romance wasn’t having it. He moved in front of you and stopped you mid-spin, gently grasping your wrist to hold you in place.

"I’m not buying the 'I’m fine' routine. Not from you, of all people." He tilted his head, his usual playful smirk now replaced with something more genuine—a quiet concern that made you pause. "What’s eating at you?"

For a moment, you didn’t answer. His proximity, his steady gaze... it made you feel exposed in a way you weren’t ready for. Romance had a way of disarming you, making you forget the walls you’d built around yourself.

"I’m just... tired," you said finally, your voice quieter than you meant. "Everything’s been piling up. And I’m scared I won’t be good enough when it’s time to perform. I’ve been messing up more than I want to admit, and I don’t know how to fix it."

Romance didn’t hesitate. His hand, still holding your wrist, moved slightly to rest on your shoulder, a grounding gesture, one that let you know he was there. "Look, I get it. The pressure? It’s brutal. But you’re not in this alone, alright?" He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate level, one that made the room feel smaller, like it was just the two of you.

"I’ve seen you on your worst days, and you’ve always come through. So you’re telling me, this time’s different?" He raised an eyebrow, his flirtatious demeanor returning just a touch, but there was something softer behind it now. "You, the one with the moves? The one who can make the entire stage light up just by walking in? You think you can’t handle this? I’ve got news for you, babe—there’s nothing you can’t do."

You blinked, surprised by the confidence in his words. The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, like it was a universal truth—like he knew you could do it, even when you couldn’t see it yourself.

"Besides," he added, stepping back with a wink, his usual playful edge slipping back into place. "If you need a little more inspiration, just remember—you’ve got a pretty great dance partner waiting to pick up the slack. I mean, who else could pull off a move like me?" He gestured to himself with a grin, a clear invitation to tease him right back.

You laughed, the tension in your chest starting to melt away. "You’re ridiculous."

"Yeah," he said, eyes glinting with mischief. "But you love it."

And just like that, the weight that had been sitting on your shoulders felt lighter. Romance had a way of bringing you back to yourself, reminding you of who you were—without needing to say anything too profound, without trying to be perfect. Just a little flirty, a little serious, and exactly what you needed in that moment.

"Now," he said, stepping back into his usual carefree stance. "You gonna finish this routine or what? Because as fun as watching you fumble around is, I’m kind of ready to see you shine."

With a deep breath, you nodded, your confidence returning, even if just a little. "You’re right," you said, your smile teasing as you raised an eyebrow. "I’ll show you how it’s done."

"That’s the spirit." Romance shot you one last wink before stepping back, giving you the space to reclaim your energy. "And just remember, I’m here when you need someone to drag you across the stage."

The room no longer felt heavy. You’d found your rhythm again, thanks to Romance. With a final glance at him, you took your place, ready to finish what you’d started.

Mystery

The studio was quieter than usual, the only sounds being the soft shuffle of your sneakers against the smooth floor and the rhythmic thud of your heartbeat. The lights were dimmed, casting long shadows across the room as you sat against the wall, knees drawn up to your chest. You’d been rehearsing for hours, your body aching, but it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that weighed you down. It was something deeper—a frustration you couldn’t shake, a fear that had been building silently for days now. You didn’t know what to do about it.

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the cool wall, trying to quiet your racing thoughts. But the pressure, the constant push to be perfect, it was like a weight that never left. What if you weren’t good enough? What if the comeback failed? What if you let everyone down?

You hadn’t noticed the soft footsteps until they were right next to you.

Without a word, Mystery sat beside you, his presence so still and calm that you almost didn’t realize he was there at first. It was typical of him—quiet, like a shadow that just appeared and blended into the background, never drawing attention. But you knew he was always aware, always paying attention, even if he didn’t say much.

You didn’t say anything at first, just continuing to stare at the floor, feeling the weight of the silence between you.

But then, as if reading your thoughts, his voice broke the stillness, low and soft. “You’re thinking too much again.”

It wasn’t a question, just an observation. His tone was casual, but there was a certain warmth to it that made you pause. You glanced up at him, surprised to find him looking at you with that familiar, almost teasing glint in his eyes. His usual aloofness had softened, replaced with something... gentler.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but even you could tell it didn’t sound convincing. The words were hollow, meant to push him away, but he wasn’t having it.

He leaned in just a little, close enough for you to feel the subtle shift in his energy, though he didn’t invade your space. “No, you’re not,” he said quietly, his voice still holding that soft edge of care. “You’re never just ‘fine’ when you’re like this.”

You were about to argue, but something about the way he said it made you stop. There was no judgment in his words—just the quiet certainty that he understood. And somehow, that made it all the harder to keep up the façade.

Before you could speak, Mystery reached out and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, the weight of it a comfort more than anything. You looked at him, and for a brief moment, he let you see something in his eyes—a rare, almost puppy-like concern that was unlike his usual stoic demeanor.

He stayed silent for a moment, just offering you his presence, before speaking again, his words almost a whisper. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone, you know. It’s okay to let it out.”

You blinked, taken aback by how much sincerity was packed into those few words. It wasn’t like him to be this open, but with you, in these rare moments when it was just the two of you, it felt... different.

“You’re always so quiet," you said with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood. "I forget you’re actually capable of talking."

At that, he gave you a small, almost shy smile—a rare thing, but it was enough to make you pause. “I talk when it matters,” he replied simply, but there was something in his voice that hinted at a deeper layer of care, something he didn’t usually show to anyone else.

You chuckled softly, feeling the tightness in your chest ease just a little. His presence was like a warm blanket in the middle of a storm—quiet, but undeniably there.

For a moment, you both sat in silence, but this time, it wasn’t suffocating. Mystery’s hand stayed on your shoulder, grounding you, like a steady anchor in the chaos of your mind. He didn’t need to say much—his silence spoke volumes. But then, just when you thought he’d fall back into his usual quiet self, he spoke again, this time with a playful glint in his eyes that made you laugh despite yourself.

“You know,” he said, the corners of his lips curling up slightly, “you’re really bad at hiding things. You always think you’re fooling everyone, but I can see it in your eyes.”

You blinked at him, not expecting this shift. “What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his face. “The way you get all serious when something’s bothering you. Like right now. It’s written all over your face.”

You tried to look away, but the slight teasing in his voice made you realize he wasn’t mocking you—he was trying to make you feel better, in his own quiet way.

“And,” he added, his voice softening again, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone in this, alright?”

You nodded, your heart swelling just a little. It wasn’t often that Mystery opened up like this, but when he did, it was clear that he cared more than words could say.

Finally, you leaned your head against his shoulder, just for a moment, letting the silence stretch out between you again. This time, it felt like a comforting presence, not an uncomfortable void.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mystery didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the small shift in his body as he relaxed, his hand gently resting on your shoulder again.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, with just a hint of a smile in his voice, “but I’m your weirdo.”

And somehow, in that simple moment, everything felt a little more manageable.

Baby

It had been a long day—rehearsals, interviews, press, and endless schedules had left you mentally drained. You’d spent the last couple of hours in the studio, trying to work through some choreography that just wasn’t clicking. Despite your best efforts, nothing seemed to be coming together, and it was starting to wear on you.

Sitting on the floor, you rubbed your eyes, exhausted and frustrated, the pressure of the comeback weighing heavily on you. You just couldn’t seem to shake the anxiety that had been creeping up on you for weeks.

The door to the studio creaked open, and a familiar voice broke through your frustration.

"Yo, what’s with the drama?" Baby’s voice rang out, a little louder than necessary, like he was trying to make his presence known, trying to keep up the cool front he always wore like armor.

You didn’t even look up, knowing exactly who it was. Baby had that aura of confidence that was borderline cocky, always moving like he owned the room—even when he didn’t need to.

“Nothing,” you muttered, your tone a little sharper than you intended. “Just tired.”

Baby didn’t take the hint. Instead, he strolled over to where you were sitting, his usual swagger on full display as he threw himself down next to you with a dramatic sigh.

"You sure?" he asked, tilting his head in a way that looked far too casual for someone who clearly could see you were a bit of a mess. "You look like you’re ready to drop dead, so I’m gonna assume this isn’t just ‘tired.’"

You shot him a half-hearted glare, but even that didn’t manage to hide the exhaustion in your eyes. “I’m fine, really,” you insisted, trying to brush him off.

But Baby wasn’t fooled.

He tilted his head back with a smile that could light up the room, his cool demeanor quickly shifting as he let his guard down. “Psh, no way. I’ve seen you a hundred times, and this isn’t ‘fine’ you’re giving me right now.” His voice was teasing, but there was something underneath it that made you pause. He was serious about getting through to you, even if he had to act a little ridiculous to do it.

“C’mon,” he continued, nudging you playfully with his elbow. “I know the weight of the world’s not really on your shoulders, right? Just tell me what’s up.” His usual teasing tone was warm and genuine now, the "cool" act completely dropping when he noticed your weariness.

You sighed, leaning back against the wall, your hands pressed against your forehead. “It’s just everything. The comeback, the performances, the interviews. I feel like I’m not enough. Like no matter what I do, it’s not going to be good enough.”

Baby’s expression softened almost immediately, the playful teasing in his eyes replaced with a more serious concern. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Hey, listen to me. You’re more than enough. You always have been.”

You shook your head, not fully convinced. “I don’t feel like it.”

Before you could say anything more, Baby let out an exaggerated sigh and dramatically collapsed back on the floor, arms flung out wide. “Okay, hold up. I need to take a second to process this." He looked up at the ceiling, clearly trying to regain his "cool" act, but it was clear that he wasn’t letting you go without a fight. "Why does this always happen? Everyone gets all stressed and forgets that we’re literally made for this, huh? If anyone can nail this comeback, it’s you.”

You looked over at him, your lips curling into a reluctant smile at his antics. His attempts to play it cool were always a little over-the-top, but that was what made him so... well, Baby.

“Stop being so dramatic,” you said with a soft laugh. "You're not that cool."

Baby rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow, his smile as bright as ever. “Okay, okay. So I’m not that cool. But you know what? That’s why you need me.” His voice dropped to a playful whisper. “I’m the sunshine in this room, and you’re the clouds. I’m here to brighten your day, whether you like it or not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. The way he said it, so over-the-top, with his usual grin and energy—it was hard to stay upset when he was around. Baby had a way of turning everything around, even when it felt like nothing was going right.

“Just... don’t burn me out with all that sunshine of yours,” you teased, feeling a little lighter already.

“Psh, I’m shining,” he said dramatically, pushing himself up into a sitting position and flicking his hair back with a grin. "But don’t worry. I’ll always make sure you’re in the shade when you need it.” He nudged you again, this time more gently. “But seriously... don’t let the pressure get to you, alright? You’ve got this, and you’re way more than enough. Don’t forget that.”

You glanced at him, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. Baby’s words, no matter how goofy or over-the-top, always had a way of cutting through the noise. His energy, even when he was being a bit much, always made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, the words carrying a weight of sincerity that surprised even you. "I needed to hear that."

"Anytime, kid," Baby replied with a wink, standing up and offering you a hand. “Now, let’s get up, take a breather, and remind the world that we’re unstoppable. And maybe I’ll let you in on some of my cool dance moves." His grin was all charm, his confidence almost blinding.

You took his hand, letting him pull you up with ease, already feeling the pull of his unrelenting energy working its magic. Maybe you weren’t as far from being okay as you thought. With Baby around, it felt like things would be just fine.

[newyqrk]

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍: 𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐊

She wasn’t supposed to want you like this.

You were just the new media girl. Not her type. Not interested. Too quiet, too reserved. Always looking away when she stared too long, always trying too hard not to stare back.

But Caitlin noticed. She always noticed.

The way you crossed your legs during film sessions. The way you bit your lip when you were focused. The way you acted like you didn’t know how fucking good you looked walking into the locker room with that little clipboard and your soft little sweaters.

So yeah, maybe she’d been a little mean. Maybe she liked getting under your skin.

But nothing prepared her for tonight.

Nothing prepared her for you showing up at her apartment, that same guarded look on your face, like you didn’t want to be here but couldn’t help it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the one who begged.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

Because Caitlin stepped forward, closed the space, and tilted your chin up with two fingers.

And then she kissed you.

Not gentle. Not sweet.

Just rough, hungry, possessive, like she’d been starving for weeks and just got permission to eat.

You gasped when her hand slipped under your shirt. She took the opportunity, tongue slipping past your lips, dominating the kiss like she was trying to prove something.

Maybe she was.

She backed you up to the couch without breaking contact. Pressed you down into the cushions. Crawled over you like she belonged there.

And then—her mouth was everywhere.

Jaw, throat, chest, stomach. You tugged at her hoodie, breathless.

“Take it off.”

She smirked, pulled it over her head. Nike Sports bra.

“Eager now?” she teased, dragging her palm down your stomach. “Wasn’t so loud when I was teasing you at practice.”

You rolled your eyes. She laughed.

Then her hand was between your legs, pushing past your waistband, finding you warm and wet and already undone.

“Fuck. You’re soaked,” she muttered. “All this for me?”

Her fingers moved with precision — not soft, not slow. Just intentional. Deliberate. Mean.

She worked you over in short, calculated strokes — pressing her thumb hard against your clit, then pulling away just when your hips started to stutter.

“You gonna cum for me?” she asked, cocky, breath hot against your neck. “Or you gonna make me work for it?”

You were already there. Already shaking under her.

“Caitlin—please.”

And that did it.

That cracked something in her. The calm, the cockiness — it faltered.

She pressed her forehead to yours, breath stuttering.

“You sound so fucking good when you say my name.”

Then she slipped two fingers inside you, hard and deep, curling them with brutal precision as her palm ground against your clit.

And you broke.

Moaning into her mouth. Clinging to her shoulders. Falling apart while she held you together.

She kissed you through it — deep, messy, desperate.

Like she didn’t want it to end.

You tried to sit up.

Tried, because Caitlin didn’t move — just stayed over you, her fingers still buried inside, her mouth grazing your jaw.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

You blinked up at her, flushed, dazed. “You got what you wanted.”

She scoffed. “You think I wanted just that?”

Her hand shifted and your whole body jolted. She curled her fingers again, slower this time, knuckles brushing deep inside you, her thumb grazing that spot just under your waistband. Teasing. Testing.

You moaned softly.

“That’s what I wanted,” she whispered. “You. Right here. All mine.”

Your breath caught.

Because Caitlin never said things like that. Not out loud.

But her eyes—fuck—her eyes were locked on yours like she couldn’t help it anymore.

“Keep looking at me like that,” she muttered, “and I’m gonna fuck you again.”

You swallowed. “Then do it.”

Something in her broke. She grabbed your face and kissed you again, filthy and hungry, like restraint was never even on the table.

And then she pulled her fingers out, slow, watching the way your breath hitched.

She dragged them up your stomach, resting them against your lips.

“Suck.”

You did. Obedient. Quiet. Her breath stuttered.

“Jesus,” she muttered, her voice cracking for the first time that night. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

And then she was moving again — hands pushing your legs apart, mouth back between your thighs, hot and focused and relentless.

She kissed you there like it was a promise. Like she was proving something to herself.

And when her tongue slid between your folds again, flat and heavy and deep, you knew you weren’t walking out of this untouched.

You came again. Harder.

Caitlin didn’t stop.

Didn’t stop until your hand was in her hair and your voice was raw from saying her name.

She sat back, breathing heavy, lips glistening.

You could barely move.

And she just looked down at you, smug but shaken.

Then she said it.

Low. Quiet.

“Stay the night.”

You blinked. “Thought you didn’t care.”

She swallowed hard, jaw clenched. “Yeah,” she muttered. “I lied.”

★ by @newyqrk

[winchesterwild78]

The Unveiling pt 2

Master list

Characters: Mark Meachum x Reader,

Warnings: ****Spoilers Ahead***** if you haven’t seen the first three episodes don’t read this. You have been warned. 

Language, fluff, violence

Catch up on part 1 here

A/N: Part 2 coming in hot. This one explores Mark opening up to the reader, then things take a turn.

I do not own the rights to this character or any of the characters from the show. I’ve taken creative liberties with the story, but put some elements of the show in the story. 

Do not take my work, all work is my own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+ 

Dinner was a quiet affair, the usual easy conversation replaced by a strained silence. I watched Mark push food around his plate, his jaw tight, a distant look in his eyes. The light from the kitchen cast shadows that seemed to deepen the lines of exhaustion around his mouth. It was unlike him to be so withdrawn, even after a tough case. The warmth of the room felt like a thin veneer over something cold and sharp.

Finally, he put down his fork, the clink against the ceramic plate startlingly loud in the stillness. He looked up, and his gaze met mine. There was a vulnerability there I hadn't seen since before he left for his undercover op.

"So I went to the doctor today," he said, his voice flat, emotionless.

My breath hitched. The words were simple, but the weight behind them was crushing. A cold dread seeped into my bones. "And?" I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of deep weariness. "It's the same, Y/N. The glioblastoma multiforme... it's stable. Not growing. But the location... it's still too risky. Surgery, radiation, chemo, they all carry risks that outweigh the benefits. Dr. Albright said the side effects would be too much. Not much of a life, he said."

Something inside me fractured. It wasn't a loud, dramatic break, but a quiet, agonizing splintering. All the fear I'd compartmentalized during his absence, all the unspoken anxieties about his dangerous job, coalesced into this single, undeniable terror. This wasn't about bullets or bombs; this was about something insidious, something that couldn't be fought with a gun or a disguise.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head, tears burning my eyes. "No, Mark. You have to fight it. You have to. There has to be something else. We'll find another doctor, we'll go anywhere, do anything—"

He reached across the table, taking my hand. His grip was firm, but his fingers were cold. "I can't, Y/N. Not right now."

My gaze snapped to his. "What do you mean, 'not right now'? Mark, this is your life we're talking about! There's a ticking time bomb in your head, and you're telling me you can't fight it because of some secret task force?" The words were out before I could stop them, laced with a bitterness I didn't know I possessed.

His jaw tightened, and he pulled his hand away. "They need me. This thing with 'The Engineer,' the ghost shipments, the Port of LA... it's bigger than anything I've ever seen. They said I'm uniquely suited. I already have an in."

"An 'in' for what, Mark? To die while trying to save a world that doesn't even know you exist?" My voice rose, cracking with desperation. "I need you, Mark! I need you here, alive, healthy. I don't care about the world right now, I care about us! I just got you back!"

He pushed back from the table, standing up abruptly. His eyes were shadowed, a mixture of pain and a stubborn resolve I knew all too well. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I want to be here, fighting this damn thing? But this is important, Y/N. This isn't just some case. People could die if we don't stop this."

"And what about you?" I cried, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. "What about me? What if you run out of time while you're off playing hero? What then?"

The argument hung heavy in the air, a raw, exposed nerve between us. The perfect bubble of his return had burst, replaced by the harsh, terrifying reality of our new, uncertain future.

The silence after my last words was deafening, thicker than any tension that had ever fallen between us. Mark stood rooted by the table, his face a mask of conflicting emotions – pain, frustration, and that stubborn resolve. I watched him, my chest heaving, the tears still streaming, blurring his features.

He took a slow, deliberate step towards me, then another. "Please, Y/N," he said, his voice raw, stripped of its usual strength. "Don't say that. Don't say I'm choosing this over you. You know that's not true." He reached out, his hand hovering, unsure if I'd recoil. "This isn't about playing the hero. It's about responsibility. If I don't do this, if I just walk away, then who does? This isn't just about drugs, it's about something that could tear things apart on a scale you can't even imagine."

My own pain was too sharp, too immediate to acknowledge the greater threat he spoke of. "And what about the scale of us?" I countered, my voice trembling. "What about what this is doing to us? To me? I spent nine months wondering if you were alive, and now I'm supposed to just accept that you're willingly walking into something that could kill you, while something else is already killing you on the inside? How am I supposed to live with that, Mark?"

He finally took my arm, his touch gentle but firm. "I'm not doing this because I don't care about you. I'm doing this because I do care. I care about the world you live in, the future we might have. And yes," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper, "it's also because it's who I am. I can't just stand by."

"Then who am I supposed to be?" I sobbed, pulling my arm away. "The woman who waits? The woman who watches you choose a secret war over your own life? Over our life?" The words tumbled out, sharp and accusatory, fueled by a terrifying fear that eclipsed everything else. "You're killing yourself for them, Mark! You're choosing them!"

His eyes, usually so warm and understanding, hardened. The stubborn resolve finally won out over the pain. "That's not fair, Y/N," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't understand the stakes."

"No," I choked out, shaking my head. "I understand my stakes! And they're sitting right here in front of me, choosing to throw away a future because someone 'needs him'!"

The argument hung heavy and suffocating in the air, a chasm opening between us. Words were spoken, hurled in the heat of fear and desperation, words that were too sharp, too deeply felt to be easily taken back. The unspoken threat of his illness, combined with the impossible demands of his job, had become a wedge driven deep into the heart of our relationship.

Neither of us moved to bridge the gap that night. The quiet tension vibrated through the house. I eventually retreated to the couch, curling into myself, the cold emptiness beside me a stark contrast to the warmth of his presence I'd so desperately missed just hours before. My heart, which had been slowly mending since his return, now broke even more, shattering into countless pieces. He was killing himself, not just for the world, but for a part of himself I suddenly realized I might never fully comprehend. And there was nothing I could do to stop him.

The next morning was a suffocating quiet. The dawn light, usually a gentle balm, felt harsh and intrusive. We moved around each other like ghosts in our own home, the unspoken words of the previous night hanging in the air, heavy and poisonous. The scent of coffee filled the kitchen, but neither of us offered to make the other a cup. I avoided his gaze, my eyes fixed on the countertop, on the steam curling from the kettle, on anything but the haunted look I knew would be in his eyes. He dressed in the bedroom, the rustle of his clothes a low, almost mournful sound.

He came into the living room where I sat huddled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring blankly at the wall. He stopped in the doorway, his silhouette against the morning light. I felt his gaze, heavy and sorrowful, but I couldn't bring myself to meet it.

Then, a whisper, so soft I almost missed it. "I love you."

It was barely audible, a fragile thread of sound in the overwhelming silence. He didn't wait for a reply, didn't push for a look. The click of the door closing echoed through the house, final and definitive.

And then, the dam broke. The tears I had been holding back all morning, all night, streamed down my face. A choked sob escaped me, then another, until I was shaking, burying my face in the blanket, the fabric damp with my grief. He was gone again, and this time, the separation felt like a deeper cut, a wound that might never truly heal. My heart ached with a pain far sharper than simple loneliness. He was killing himself, choosing a battle he might not win on two fronts, and I felt utterly powerless to stop him.

The sterile, humming environment of the task force headquarters offered no solace for Mark. He sat at the conference table, the holographic globe spinning silently in front of him, but his mind was miles away, replaying the silent, tense breakfast, the whispered "I love you," and the silent tears he knew would have followed. The images of ghost shipments and encrypted data points swam before his eyes, but his focus was fractured, his concentration a sieve.

Everyone noticed but no one dared to question what was wrong with him. His usual cocky self, quiet and hollow.

He caught Nathan's eye across the table. Nathan, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow, a silent question passing between them. Mark just offered a fractional shake of his head, enough to convey that he was not okay. Nathan's expression softened with concern, a look that spoke volumes of their long history.

Later, during a break, Nathan found him staring blankly at a whiteboard covered in complex flowcharts.

"You're off, Mark," Nathan said, his voice low. "Your head's not in the game. What's going on?"

Mark just shrugged, running a hand over his face. "Just a rough night."

"Rough night?" Nathan scoffed gently. "Mark, you're usually sharper than a scalpel after a week on the streets. You almost missed the intel on the Port of Singapore link. That's not a 'rough night' kind of mistake." He paused, his gaze searching. "Is this about... everything? Or is it about her?"

Mark didn't answer, but the silence was confirmation enough.

"Look, I get it," Nathan continued, his voice softening. "This job demands everything. But you can't be here, risking your life and everyone else's, if you're not fully present. Especially not on a case like this. The stakes are too high."

Mark finally met his gaze, his eyes shadowed with an unbearable weariness. "I know," he said, his voice raspy. "I know."

He knew he had to pull himself together. But the image of your tear-streaked face, the sound of your breaking heart, echoed louder than any briefing. How could he focus on saving the world when his own world felt like it was crumbling?

Nathan’s hand on Mark’s shoulder was firm, a familiar weight that usually steadied him. But today, it only highlighted the tremor in his own resolve. "Go home, Mark," Nathan said, his voice quiet but unyielding. "Fix whatever's broken. You're no good to anyone here like this, least of all yourself. Don't come back until your head's on straight."

Mark didn't argue. He knew Nathan was right. The drive home was a blur of self-recrimination and a desperate hope he could still salvage what felt shattered. He walked through the front door, the silence of the house thick with the lingering echoes of their fight. He found you at the kitchen table, surrounded by a constellation of open medical journals, articles, and printouts. Your laptop glowed, displaying a complex diagram of the brain. You were hunched over, brow furrowed in concentration, a half-empty mug of cold tea beside you.

You looked up at the sound of the door, and your eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, met his. In that instant, all the anger, the fear, the unspoken pain of the past night evaporated, replaced by a raw, overwhelming sorrow. The sight of you, tirelessly searching for answers, for hope, for him, broke whatever remained of his composure. A choked sob escaped his throat, and then yours, mirroring his.

The chasm that had opened between you last night, a terrifying void created by fear and desperate words, suddenly felt bridgeable. He took a hesitant step, then another, until he was kneeling before you, pulling your chair closer. He reached for your hands, his fingers intertwining with yours, pulling them to his lips.

"I love you," he whispered, the words ragged, filled with a desperate earnestness. "God, I love you so much. And I want to fight. I want to fight this thing in my head, I want to fight for us, for our future. I don't know how, but I promise you, I'll find a way."

Your tears flowed freely now, mingling with his. You leaned forward, burying your face in his shoulder, holding on as if he might disappear again. The silent acknowledgment of his vulnerability, his stated desire to fight, was the bridge. It wasn't an easy solution, not a magical cure, but it was a promise, a shared commitment to face the impossible together.

The sobs slowly subsided, leaving us clinging to each other, the quiet rhythm of our breathing filling the kitchen. The medical printouts and glowing laptop, symbols of a terrifying truth, lay forgotten on the table. All that mattered was the feel of his arms around me, the weight of his head against mine.

Our words became whispers then, soft confessions of fear and fierce declarations of love. We talked about the tumor, no longer as a silent, unmentionable terror, but as a shared opponent. "We'll find the best doctors," I murmured, tracing the line of his jaw. "We'll explore every single option, no matter how small. We'll get second opinions, third, fourth... whatever it takes."

His voice was hoarse as he replied, "And I'll do whatever they tell me. I promise. No more dismissing it, no more pretending it's not real."

Then, the conversation shifted, softening into promises of a different kind. Promises to live like we had forever, even if the cruel reality suggested our time might be finite. We vowed not to let the ticking bomb in his head overshadow the precious moments we had left.

"We'll travel," he whispered, his lips against my hair. "That trip to Italy we always talked about? We're going."

"And the little cabin by the lake," I added, a teary smile forming. "We'll make it happen. Weekends, long ones, just us."

We talked about laughter, about quiet mornings with coffee, about loud nights with friends, about holding hands on long walks, about falling asleep tangled together. Every dream, every shared fantasy for the future that had been put on hold by his job, now took on a desperate, vibrant urgency.

"No more waiting," I insisted, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes, already red-rimmed but shining with a renewed light. "No more putting things off. We live now, Mark. We love now. Every single day."

He nodded, his thumb stroking my cheek. "Every single day," he echoed, a solemn vow. "We don't let it win. We don't let it steal our joy, or our love. Whatever time we have, we'll fill it with everything good."

The chasm had not only been bridged, but filled with the profound, unwavering certainty of our love. The fear was still there, a cold, persistent ache, but it was now dwarfed by a fierce determination to embrace every moment, to live and love with a passion sharpened by the awareness of time. We were a team, now more than ever, facing down two formidable enemies: one external and global, the other internal and deeply personal.

Mark returned to the task force headquarters the next day, not with his head "on straight" in the way Nathan might have hoped, but with a new, unsettling intensity. The promises exchanged with me, the raw commitment to seize every moment, had paradoxically amplified his recklessness. If every second counted, then hesitation was a luxury he couldn't afford. He was driven by a fierce urgency, a need to dismantle this global threat as quickly as possible, fueled by the ticking clock inside his own skull. He moved with a barely contained fury, pushing harder, taking more risks, as if daring fate to catch him.

His colleague, Amber Oliveras, a sharp, intuitive agent, noticed the shift immediately. She partnered with him on an operation to gather more intelligence on the Port of LA's "ghost" shipments, targeting a mid-level logistics operative suspected of facilitating 'The Engineer's' network. It was a classic surveillance and snatch-and-grab: observe the operative, intercept their meeting with a contact, and extract any information they carried.

The op itself was textbook: they trailed the target through the labyrinthine streets of downtown, blending seamlessly into the urban landscape. They pinpointed the meet, a clandestine exchange in a dimly lit parking garage. Mark, fueled by his new, dangerous drive, took the lead on the approach, moving with a controlled aggression that made even Amber, seasoned as she was, raise an eyebrow. They secured the operative and his contact, downloading data from their burner phones and encrypting the intel for immediate transmission back to HQ.

As they returned to their unmarked vehicle, Amber was already relaying key findings to their external point of contact, a low-level analyst waiting in a separate car a block away. The handoff was quick, seamless. Mark was just closing his door, Amber already buckling her seatbelt, when the world exploded.

The car where their point of contact sat, a nondescript sedan parked twenty yards away, erupted in a fireball, a concussive blast that ripped through the night. Mark was flung backward against the headrest, a searing white-hot pain blooming behind his eyes as his skull slammed against the solid frame. The force of the explosion deafened them, leaving a ringing silence in its wake, punctuated only by the distant wail of sirens already converging. Smoke billowed, and the acrid smell of burning plastic and fuel filled the air.

Amber, though shaken, was quickly assessing the scene, radioing in a Code 3 emergency. Mark, however, just lay there for a moment, the throbbing behind his eyes escalating into a full-blown jackhammer. This wasn't a normal headache; it was a deeper, more profound ache, resonating with the very spot where the tumor lay dormant. He could feel it, a chilling certainty, that the impact had stirred something, aggravated it.

He finally made it home, hours later, after a perfunctory medical check at a local ER that cleared him of any immediate, life-threatening injuries from the blast. But the relentless pain in his head persisted, a brutal counterpoint to the quiet comfort of our home. He moved with a deliberate slowness, each step a careful negotiation with the agony.

I met him at the door, my heart leaping with relief just to see him, then sinking at the sight of his strained face. His eyes were shadowed, and a subtle tremor ran through his hands as he shrugged off his jacket.

"Are you okay?" I rushed forward, my hands immediately going to his face, searching for cuts, bruises, anything. "I heard about the explosion on the news. I was so worried, Mark, god, I was so worried."

He flinched almost imperceptibly when my fingers brushed his temple. "I'm fine," he mumbled, his voice tight, hoarse. He avoided my gaze, turning away to hang his jacket. "Just a rough night. Typical LA traffic." The sarcasm was forced, brittle.

"Don't lie to me, Mark," I pleaded, my voice soft but firm. "I can see you're in pain. What happened? Did you hit your head?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "It's nothing," he said, too quickly. "Just a headache. Long day." He walked past me, heading for the bathroom, the subtle stiffness in his gait betraying him. "I just need a shower."

He locked the bathroom door behind him, leaving me standing in the hall, my heart aching. The silence that followed was louder than any explosion, filled with the terrifying knowledge that he was hurting, and shutting me out, just when we had promised to fight together.

I stood there in the hall, the sound of the shower running a dull roar through the closed bathroom door. My mind raced, grappling with the sudden re-emergence of his protective shell. This wasn't the Mark who had whispered promises just hours ago, the Mark who had finally allowed himself to be vulnerable. This was the old Mark, the one who bore his pain in silence, who shielded me from the ugliness of his world. But we had promised. We had vowed to face this together.

I wouldn't let him retreat. Not now. Not when the stakes were so incredibly high, both for him and for us.

When the shower finally stopped, I took a deep breath, steeling myself. I heard the rustle of a towel, the clink of a medicine bottle. I knocked gently, then pushed the door open. He stood in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around his waist, running a hand through his damp hair. His eyes, when they met mine in the reflection, were still shadowed, still distant. He had clearly taken something for the pain, but the tension in his shoulders, the subtle grimace around his mouth, told me it wasn't enough.

"Mark," I said softly, stepping fully into the bathroom. The air was thick with steam and the scent of his soap. "We talked about this. We promised."

He turned slowly, facing me. "I'm fine, Y/N. Just a headache. I told you." His voice was flat, dismissive.

I walked closer, stopping directly in front of him. I reached out, my fingers gently touching the side of his head, right where I knew the tumor was, right where the impact would have been. He flinched, a sharp intake of breath.

"You're not fine," I insisted, my voice low but firm. "And you're not alone in this. We made a promise, Mark. To fight this together. To live every moment, no matter how much time we have. And that means you have to trust me, really trust me, when you're in pain." My thumb stroked his temple, feeling the pulse throb beneath my skin. "If you want a life with me, if you want us to have any kind of life, then you have to let me in. You have to open up. I can't do this with you if you shut me out every time it gets hard."

His gaze finally met mine, and the hard shell around his eyes began to crack. The pain, the fear, the exhaustion that he'd been trying so desperately to hide, swam to the surface. His jaw tightened, then relaxed, and a single tear traced a path down his cheek. He didn't speak, but his arms came around me, pulling me into a fierce embrace. His head, still throbbing, rested heavily on my shoulder.

"It hurts," he whispered, the words barely audible, a raw confession. "God, it hurts. And I think... I think the hit made it worse."

His admission, simple and honest, was the bridge we needed. It was the crack in his armor that allowed me back in, a fragile reaffirmation of our shared fight against an enemy neither of us could see.

Part 3

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[emeraldcosmos1]

Steel and Sunrise pt.11

The house is silent, except for the creak of the rocking chair and the slow rhythm of a newborn’s breath against his chest.

Rafe stares out the living room window, where the porch light flickers over damp pavement. The storm passed hours ago, but the air still tastes like wet soil and pine. A small part of him wants to step outside barefoot, just to remind himself he’s still here. Still standing. Still tethered to something real.

The baby—his daughter—is asleep on him. Skin against skin, her tiny fists curled against his collarbone like she’s clinging to his heartbeat.

She’s so small it scares him.

Like holding something made of tissue paper and miracles.

You’re asleep down the hall.

You hadn’t slept in two nights straight, not really. Rafe had all but begged you to lie down. You didn’t fight him. You were too tired to.

He hadn’t meant to stay up this late. But when she whimpered in her bassinet and her mouth searched for comfort, he’d lifted her against his chest and started walking.

That was two hours ago.

Now he’s afraid to move.

Afraid she’ll wake. Afraid he’ll wake you. Afraid the spell will break and this moment—this tiny pocket of stillness in a world that’s always asking for more—will disappear.

His hand cradles the back of her head.

The rocking chair groans gently beneath his weight.

She lets out a breath that sounds like a sigh and buries her face deeper into his chest, nose pressed to the base of his neck.

He closes his eyes.

He doesn’t deserve this.

He can still hear his father’s voice sometimes, the one from before things got bad. You gotta be the man of the house now, Rafe. Take care of your sister. Don’t screw up.

Then Ward got louder. Meaner. Smarter in the ways that hurt the most. Guilt as a weapon. Expectations like bricks strapped to a boy’s spine.

Rafe had been seventeen when he realized his father’s love came with a price tag. Twenty-three when he stopped trying to pay it.

Now, at twenty-eight, with a daughter breathing against his chest, he still doesn’t know how to outrun the fear that he’s not enough. That something inside him is cracked too deep.

That he’ll repeat the same damage he barely survived.

He looks down at her.

She’s frowning in her sleep. Her lips twitch. One tiny hand grips the edge of his shirt like she’s afraid he’ll disappear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers.

His voice shakes.

He leans back slowly, lets the chair keep swaying.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he tells her. “But I’m trying. I swear to God, I’m trying.”

He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You don’t have to be scared of me.”

His fingers brush her downy hair.

“I’ll be different than he was. I’ll love you so hard you’ll never wonder.”

The room feels full.

Of ghosts. Of promises. Of every version of himself that brought him to this moment.

He thinks about you asleep in the next room, curled on your side with your arm around the dent in the mattress where he used to be.

He thinks about Milo—how he used to be this small once. How he’s already growing up too fast. Rafe missed those early years with him. But he won’t miss this.

He won’t miss her.

His daughter lets out a little cry in her sleep and startles herself.

He presses his palm to her back.

“Shhh, I got you,” he murmurs.

She quiets instantly.

And for a second, Rafe forgets every voice that ever told him he couldn’t do this.

He’s doing it.

Right now.

Outside, the wind picks up again. Leaves scatter across the driveway. The old screen door creaks.

But inside the house, the rocking chair moves slowly. Steadily.

His heartbeat evens out with hers.

And for the first time in a long time, Rafe breathes easy.

[userlofyy]

[AKNK] Xmas Circus - Miyaji Oldia

⚠️ Please note that I am by no means a professional and there may be mistakes/mistranslations along the way.

🚫 DO NOT use my translations for Machine Learning/AI training or repost them anywhere.

優しき猫使い

Gentle Cat User

Episode 1

 - A few days before the circus performance - 

As I was walking around the tent while watching the butlers practice… There was a cluster of cats sleeping under the stage… In the center, I found Miyaji, unable to move. The cats sleep comfortably on Miyaji’s lap and in his arms.

Miyaji: Hmmm… I can’t move…

Aruji: Miyaji… What happened?

Miyaji: Ah. Hello, arujisama. Sorry. Please excuse me for sitting down.

Aruji: These cats…?

Miyaji: Hmmm… After practice, I was sitting here taking a break… At first, a cat climbed onto my lap… and started dozing off. I thought it would be bad to wake it up, so I stayed still… Before I knew it, the other cats started to gather around as well. And when I realized… As you can see, I was stuck.

Aruji: Being besides Miyaji, is calming

Miyaji: I-is that so? Because I have a big body… I was worried that the cats would be scared of me… I would be glad if that was the case. Just… As expected, my legs are starting to go numb…

Aruji: Could it be, were you sitting like that the whole time?

Miyaji: Yeah. I guess it will stay like this for several tens of minutes. Just, both me and these cats have finished today’s circus practice… I think I will leave them alone until it’s time for dinner.

Aruji: That’s quite a bit of time though…

I understand the feeling of not wanting to wake up the cats who seem to be sleeping comfortably, but… As expected, that would make Miyaji more tired. Instead of the kind Miyaji… I decided to gently separate the cats one by one.

 - A few minutes later - 

Cats: *purring*

Miyaji: Huh… Thank you, arujisama. As for the numbness in my feet… Actually, I was trying to hold back so as to not wake up the cats. In that situation… I can’t even sneeze carelessly.

Aruji: It must have been tough…

Miyaji: Hmmm… Of course, if there was an emergency, you can’t help but move… When I look at their sleeping faces… I can’t bear to wake them up.

Aruji: Miyaji is kind

Miyaji: Thank you. But in reality, I’m just a timid person. I’m afraid of being scared by the other person… As you can see… I’m already big and have scars in my face. Whether it’s as a teacher or a cat user… To not make your companions feel intimidated… I don’t think I can make the most of their true potential. So, for the cats who too are my companions on the same stage… I don’t want them to be in a bad mood. Rather than being kind… I guess I’m just doing what I think is appropriate given my position…

Miyaji says that his actions are not out of kindness, but… Looking at his eyes filled with compassion… I really don’t think so… And more than anything… He always treats me kindly.

Aruji: Miyaji is also kind to me.

Miyaji: Hm? That is…. I would be happy if you think so…

Aruji: Are you being kind to me because you’re my butler?

Miyaji:... No. In the case for arujisama… Maybe it was like that when we met… It’s different now. It’s natural to want to be kind to your loved ones. Hmmm. Even though I feel like I’m saying something a little embarrassing.

Aruji: Thank you, Miyaji.

Miyaji: No… Thank you to you too. Now then arujisama… To think that I’m a kind person… Arujisama may be the only person to think that way… It makes me very happy. …. That’s it. After saying something embarrassing… Just one thing arujisama… May I ask you a favor?

Aruji: A favor?

Miyaji: Yes. Actually, when the circus performance ends… I want to put on a show just for arujisama. The performers will only be me and the cats… I think it will be a small show without any flashiness… If arujisama would be willing… I would like you to come and see it.

Aruji: Of course, I would love to see it.

Miyaji: Thank you. I’m happy to hear that. Hm… After hearing that, I became even more motivated. Both the actual stage and the show just for arujisama… Please look forward to it.

Aruji: Yeah, I’m looking forward to it

After a few days later… At the actual circus performance, Miyaji and the others’ stage performance was very popular. The butlers and I won the championship beautifully…  We decided to spend a long vacation in the city of Velis.

･──✽──୨୧──✽──･

Episode 2

 - A few days after the circus performance - 

I sat in the empty audience seats… I was waiting for the stage to open. As I promised Miyaji… From now on, he’s going to put on a show just for me.

Aruji: (I wonder what kind of show I will see)

I was waiting with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness… Eventually, Miyaji appeared from the wings of the stage. He bowed respectfully at the center of the stage. He looked into my eyes and smiled gently.

Miyaji: Dear guest, thank you for coming. Well, the stage this time… It’s a little different from the last performance. It’s a special performance I thought, only for arujisama… It was my first time thinking about a circus program by myself… I don’t know if it will work though… In order for arujisama to enjoy themselves… I promise to show you our best performance. Well then… Please enjoy it till the end.

*clap clap clap*

The stage started with the modest applause of just one audience member… And then there was the show that Miyaji showed me…  It was truly amazing. During the actual performance, to help the cats and the other performers stand out… Miyaji always has a modest position, but On this stage, it felt like he was the main character… He stands in the front and puts on a performance. His drawn gaze was always directed towards me in the audience seat… Those eyes… It was as if he was saying, “I want people to only see me”

Miyaji: Hehe… How is it? The fun is just about to begin. My appearance today… I’ll make sure that it is etched into arujisama’s eyes

 - After a while - 

After Miyaji’s stage was over and he and the cats had left the stage… I couldn’t get enough of the excitement from the show. I sat at the audience seat for a while, soaking in the afterglow.

Aruji: (It was amazing…)

*footsteps coming*

Miyaji: Arujisama. Thank you for watching today. I was so excited that it ended up longer than I had planned, but... Aren’t you tired?

Aruji: [I’m not tired at all] [I had so much fun that I forgot the time]

Miyaji: I see… That’s a relief.

Miyaji must be tired after the show. I asked him to sit next to me.

Aruji: Sit here.

Miyaji: Eh? But I….

Aruji: Miyaji must be tired too.

Miyaji:... Thank you. Well then, I guess I’ll take your word for it. Hmmm… It’s true that I’m a little tired, but… It seems that arujisama was happy… It’s a very satisfying feeling. For this stage… All I was thinking was about making sure that arujisama had fun. The cats also responded to my feelings… They gave a great performance. I have to thank them too.

The cats’ performance was also great… This is probably the results of Miyaji’s kindness towards the cats being rewarded. It was such a wonderful stage that I felt it was a waste to have just one audience member. I conveyed my honest impressions to Miyaji.

Miyaji: Thank you, arujisama… That’s the best compliment for me. But this performance… I think it was possible because the audience was just arujisama.

Aruji: Why…?

Miyaji: That… If there were other people in the audience other than arujisama… I would have to treat all the people watching me equally… That is what I think. Even if there was a special audience for me… To the audience who took the trouble to come and see… I just want everyone to have as much fun as they can. Of course… I’m not saying that everyone on stage should do this, but… For me… I really don’t like favoring someone in particular. As someone who teaches children… Maybe it’s because I discipline myself to be equal to everyone… Not being able to treat someone special… It’s frustrating. That’s why for this show… I wanted to be alone with arujisama. I also want to feel like I am able to treat you in a special way… I also wanted to tell you more about me… I also feel like I wanted people to see it…

Aruji: Miyaji…

Miyaji: I’m sorry, arujisama. It’s not just the two of us… The cats were there too. Good grief. Even though I just said I wouldn’t show favoritism… As a person, I still have a long way to go…

Aruji: But I feel happy

Miyaji: Really… Thank you. Anyway… I’m glad I was able to convey my feelings that arujisama is special. Thank you for listening to my selfishness. My memories with arujisama have increased… I’m very happy. From now on, just like now… I want to increase my memories with arujisama. Oh dear… I said something selfish again.

Aruji: That’s not true

I turned back to Miyaji, who was sitting next to me… So that I can respond to his feelings… I also expressed my honest feelings.

Aruji: I too want to increase our memories together.

Miyaji: Arujisama… Thank you. I’m happy that you said that.

Miyaji’s gentle smile came into view. After a moment of silence passed between the two… Below my knees while I was sitting… I felt soft fur pass through me.

Aruji: Eh…?

Cats: Nya~

Miyaji: Hm? You guys… Before we knew it, the cats that finished the stage… They had gathered at Miyaji’s feet. I guess they liked being close to Miyaji. Some cats even lied down and started dozing. One of them… It curled up into a ball and began to sleep, using my shoes as a pillow.

Miyaji: Hm… Sleeping on arujisama’s shoes… I’m sorry, arujisama. I’ll move them now…

Aruji: Don’t wake them up, Miyaji

Miyaji: Arujisama… But if I leave them as it is…

Aruji: We can’t move… right?

The cats are sleeping comfortably near Miyaji and my feet. In order to not wake them up… It looks like we’ll have no choice but to continue sitting next to each other.

Miyaji:... Certainly, we can’t move… Hmm… There is no choice. I guess we have no choice but to stay like this for a while…

Aruji: I agree

Miyaji and I sat next to each other, feeling each other’s presence… I hope that this situation continues for a while longer… I wished to the cats at my feet.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT • MINORS DNI • Jim Hopper x Reader SMUT

No-context angry sex with Hopper & bratty Reader • Literally all porn no plot • Come eat, Hopper sluts • alcohol mention • angst level: HIGH • Hopper is a big meanie �� • oral (m receiving)

Hopper aggressively removes a can of beer from the fridge and slams the door closed, popping the tab. “Now I’m gonna say this as nice as I can,” he grumbles. “If you don’t stop being a goddamn brat, I’ll have to fuck you.” You bristle at his crude, unexpected language, ignoring how it excites you. The can never leaves Hopper’s lips as he downs the beer in one loud gulp. He crushes it easily inside his meaty fist. Droplets of beer cling in his mustache, sparkling. Hopper drags his forearm across his mouth to wipe it.

“What?” he snaps. “You need me to say it again? Okay.” He discards the can onto the counter. “I will.” Hopper rounds the corner towards you, his approach somewhat menacing. You instinctively take a step back, intuitively sensing danger, however misplaced.

Looming over you like some kind of giant, Hopper’s broad shoulders obscure the light behind him. He holds his finger in front of your face, scolding (or warning) you. “Fix your mouth,” Hopper growls, his tone deliciously low and threatening. “Or I’ll fix it for you…”

It doesn’t surprise him when you dismissively roll your eyes. “Okay,” he chuckles darkly, stroking his thumb along his jawline. “I expected that. What’s next? You stomp off to the bedroom and pout for an hour or two?” Hopper waves you away with his hand. “Go ahead, run off and-.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you announce, adamantly putting your foot down. His eyebrows lift in surprise. “Why don’t you go for a drive and cool off a little?,” you continue. “You’re being a dick, Hopper. I’d like a break from you, honestly.”

For a brief moment, you see a look of hurt flicker across Hopper’s eyes. He quickly erases it and pretends your words didn’t sting. “Alright, your majesty,” Hopper concedes. “But before I’m exiled, let me make sure I understand one thing crystal clear.” He leans closer till you can feel his breath on your nose. You take another step back, realizing from Hopper’s body language that he isn’t going anywhere. “Did you just order me out of my own house?” He’s not just annoyed with you anymore; he’s pissed. “Remember who foots the bills for this place?” Hopper asks, as if you don’t already know. “So you can stand in this kitchen with a cookbook and play Betty Crocker, which, to be honest, you’re really not great at-.”

“-That’s enough!,” you snap, but Hopper keeps going.

“Oh I’m not done yet,” he continues. “Not only do I own this kitchen, I also own the bedroom you made me paint that god-awful pastel peach shit you said was-.” Hopper uses his hands to create air quotes as he mimics you: “-So in style”.

You roll your eyes again. “That’s what you’re going to yell at me about?!” you chuckle indignantly, shaking your head in disbelief. “The color I painted the bedroom??”

“I did the painting,” Hopper clarifies. “All you did was pick the color out and I handled the rest, like I always do. And anyway,” he insists. “Don’t try to make this about the bedroom.”

“You’re the one that brought it up!” you scream.

“Oh, fuck this,” Hopper growls. He pushes past you and reaches for his keys. “Can’t get any goddamn respect in my own home. You want me out of your hair for awhile? Fine.”

You watch him stomp off for the front door, a twinge of guilt knotting your stomach. “Hopper!” you call out, your voice breaking. He stops in the doorway, his broad back facing you. You approach him carefully, gingerly wrapping your arms around his waist. Hopper softens immediately inside your embrace, the tension in his body fading. He turns and pulls you against him, swallowing you up in the safe shelter of his arms. “Are you done fighting, tiger?” Hopper asks. Part of you wants to smart back in response, but you resist…until Hopper’s earlier threat plays back in your mind. The one where he said if you kept being a brat, he’d have to fuck you…

“No,” you tell Hopper boldly. “I’m not done.” His cocky grin fades as your words sink in. “Is that right?” he asks, his body tensing, heat rising behind his eyes. “Well by all means, continue.” Just as you’re about to smart off, Hopper whips you around and pins you against him from behind, your back pulled to his chest. “But it’s gonna be hard to talk back-.” He wraps his hand over your mouth and kicks the door closed behind him. “-With my cock down your throat.”

As if transporting a doll, Hopper easily moves you where he wants you, dropping you onto the sofa. The old piece of furniture creaks under your weight as you shift to sit, facing Hopper. His hands are already working his belt undone, quickly making way to his zipper. A raised outline pulses against the inner seam of Hopper’s jeans, extending in a thick line towards his thigh. He follows your gaze, smirking a little as you ogle him. “My house, my rules,” Hopper dictates, tugging his shirt over his head. He wraps a hand around his bulge and squeezes, the girthy appendage throbbing inside his grip. Hopper takes a step forward and reaches for your hair, bundling your strands in a fist. “Any last words?” he asks. “Before I plug that bratty mouth of yours for awhile?”

You respond by opening your mouth and extending your tongue like an offering. Hopper guides his cock inside your mouth, exhaling as your lips seal around him. “Finally some peace and quiet,” he muses through a slightly strained voice. “I could get used to this.” Hopper’s other hand makes a fist inside your hair, giving him full control of your head. He bounces you on his cock, thrusting his tip into the back of your throat repeatedly till you gag. Hopper pulls out briefly to let you retch and cough, then immediately guides you back onto his cock.

Sucking, gurgling sounds slip up your throat as Hopper plunges it. His belly tenses against your forehead, his thrusts becoming shallow till just his tip is penetrating you. This is your clue that Hopper’s close; he always likes to finish just inside your mouth, while you nurse his tip. Massaging the head of Hopper’s cock on your tongue, you taste precum leaking from his slit. You look up and see Hopper’s eyes sealed in concentration, his lips parted and trembling, eyebrows drawn together. Semen spits across your tongue, bathing your mouth in Hopper’s release. You gurgle him inside your throat and wait to swallow, letting him see his cum resting on your tongue before gulping it down.

“That’s a good girl,” Hopper pants down at you, wiping a hand across his glistening forehead. You make room for him on the sofa and he plops down beside you, making himself comfortable as his cock gradually softens against his thigh. “You wanna know somethin?” Hopper asks, and you hum in response. “I think that mouth of yours is the reason our bedroom’s painted peach…” 🍑

[eatsbooks]

I do like to imagine Eris ending up with a partner who’s actually super Normal and Healthy. I think it would be good for him eventually but in the beginning he would not know how tf to deal with them. Like he says something nasty because he’s in a bad mood and they gently correct him and talk him through it. A “it’s not me vs you it’s us vs the problem” type partner

me too!!! he would spook like a horse initially, but that sort of warmth and compassion would be so novel to him, i don’t think he’d have any sort of defenses against it once he let it in? he wouldn’t trust it at all, would suspect ulterior motive, would try to scare it away, but then when there’s nothing but kindness and kindness and kindness, he finds it has found its way into him without him even realizing. he needs it so bad. he has craved it for the whole of his life but didn’t know it could exist for him. (that’s also why he’s so susceptible to emotional manipulation and abuse — even a scrap of softness feels like everything to him. he would endure anything, do anything to keep it, to get it back when it is withheld.) but yeah eris learning how to equalize his emotions by doing it with someone rather than against them? good shit

[chibishortdeath]

Great googley moogley it’s all going to shit! Every day becomes exponentially more terrifying!

And all perfectly timed to just right at the start of what’s supposed to be my adult life where I get my shit together and be useful and productive!

[nevvaraven]

.

[astral-catastrophe]

me and the generic extra strong Tylenol and the pure rage in my system

[kaitoru]

୨୧ broken bed ! nanami kento

in which kento accidentally breaks the bed

kento had been relentless his attention fixated on the way your back arched beneath him, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him closer with every thrust.

“more, kento!” you gasped, your voice a desperate plea as your nails dug into his broad shoulders, his response was immediate, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he drove into you harder, his movements precise but forceful, each one sending a jolt through your body.

his hands gripped the headboard for leverage, his knuckles whitening as the wood creaked under the pressure, the rhythmic slamming of the headboard against the wall echoed in the room, a testament to his unyielding pace.

“careful what you ask for,” he murmured voice low and gravelly, laced with that dry edge of control he always clung to, even now.

his sharp eyes flicked down to meet yours, a glint of hunger. “you’re making it hard to hold back.”

“then don’t,” you shot back breathless but defiant, your hips rolling to meet his thrusts, his lips twitched, not quite a smirk but close enough to hint at the fire you were stoking in him.

nanami grunted the sound almost primal, and tightened his grip on the headboard, the force of his movements intensified, each thrust deliberate, calculated to push you both closer to the edge.

but then, with a sharp crack, the bed lurched beneath you, the frame gave way, one side collapsing and tilting the mattress at an awkward angle.

you yelped in surprise, your body sliding slightly, but nanami froze, his chest heaving as he registered what had happened.

“shit—honey, i—” he started, his voice clipped with a rare edge of embarrassment, his hands were still braced on the headboard, his body hovering over yours, and despite the mishap, he hadn’t pulled away.

his length remained buried inside you, a steady presence, he glanced at the broken bedframe, his jaw tightening as if mentally calculating the cost of repairs already.

“i didn’t mean to break the damn thing.” you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up despite the heat still coursing through you.

“kento, it’s fine,” you said, your voice teasing as you reached up to touch his face, guiding his gaze back to you. “you think i care about the bed right now?” his eyes met yours, you whimpered softly, bucking your hips against him, a silent plea to keep going.

that was all it took, yis expression shifted, the stoic mask slipping as something fiercer took over. “alright,” he said,his voice low and resolute, like he was making a decision he’d already committed to.

“hold on to me.” before you could respond, nanami’s strong arms slid beneath you, lifting you with effortless strength, you gasped as he maneuvered you off the broken bed, your legs still wrapped around him, and lowered you to the floor.

you barely had time to register it before he was moving again, his thrusts resuming with a desperate edge, he braced one hand on the floor beside your head, the other gripping your hip to keep you in place.

“kento,” you moaned your voice trembling as he set a punishing rhythm, each movement driving him deeper.

“don’t stop—please.”

“wasn’t planning to,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear, his usual restraint was fraying, his focus entirely on you—on the way you clung to him, the way your body responded to every thrust.

“you wanted more, didn’t you? i'm giving it to you.” you nodded frantically, your hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, his back, anywhere you could reach.

“yes, yes, just like that,” you gasped your words barely coherent as the pleasure built to a fever pitch, nanami’s jaw clenched, his breathing ragged as he pushed himself harder, chasing his peak with a single minded intensity that was so quintessentially him.

© written by kaizer | do not copy plagiarize or translate any.

[mooningningg]

ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴ ᴀʀɢᴜᴍᴇɴᴛ.

toji, sukuna, gojo, suguru, and choso.

genre, angst to fluff. notes, i yearnnnn.

Toji Fushiguro

"You said you'd be home earlier, Toji."

"Yeah, and I got caught up. You want me to lie about it?"

His voice is curt. Not loud — but it cuts. He’s pulling off his hoodie like this is just another night.

"I just wanted to spend time with you," you say. "We barely talk unless it’s late or rushed."

"So now I’m the bad guy for working late?" He rubs his jaw, annoyed. "Jesus."

You don’t respond. You can’t. You’re just… tired. And the moment you blink, the tears fall.

Toji notices immediately. And freezes.

"...Shit."

You don’t sob. You just cry — quiet and heavy, like your whole body is tired of holding it in.

He steps closer. Hesitates. Then slowly reaches for you.

"...Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me."

He gently pulls your hands from your face and cups your cheek, unsure but trying. He’s never been good with words, but his arms wrap around you anyway. His chin rests on your head.

"I didn’t mean to make you feel like that," he murmurs against your hair. "I just don’t know how to be good at this. But I’m tryin’, alright? For you."

Ryomen Sukuna

He’s still grumbling about something dumb when you go quiet.

"What, now you’ve got nothing to say? Typical. Always pulling away when it gets—"

You sniff.

He freezes.

"Hey. Hey, baby? What’s wrong?"

You shake your head and cover your mouth, trying to hold it in — but the tears come hard. Sukuna’s face drops completely.

"Shit. No, no. Don’t cry. Baby—hey—"

He’s instantly on you, hands cradling your face. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your jaw — frantic and soft.

"Don’t do that. I didn’t mean to be an asshole, alright? I’m just loud and stupid sometimes, you know that. You can hit me later if you want. Just—please stop crying."

You let out a small laugh through the tears. He grins, but it’s shaky.

"There she is. My girl. You scared the hell outta me."

He pulls you into his chest, wrapping you up like you’re something to protect.

"Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. Just don’t shut me out. I’m not going anywhere, got it?"

Satoru Gojo

He was teasing you. Light sarcasm, maybe a little too sharp.

"You always act like everything’s fine until it’s not. Kind of hard to guess what’s real, you know?"

You’d already had a long day. That one comment pushed you off the edge.

Your eyes well up.

He notices immediately.

"Oh… oh no. Shit. Baby?"

You try to turn away, but he’s already there. He drops everything in his hands, reaching out to you with panic in his eyes.

"Hey, no. Don’t cry. Please. I didn’t mean it. I swear."

You cover your face. He gently pulls your hands away and kisses your forehead.

"Hey. Look at me. I’m right here, okay?"

His voice is softer now. Completely stripped of the usual teasing. Just warmth.

"You don’t have to say anything. You don’t even have to smile. Just let me hold you."

He pulls you into his arms and sways you slightly, kissing your temple over and over.

"You’re my whole world, alright? You’re allowed to break down. I’ll carry it until you feel better again."

Suguru Geto

"It’s not a big deal, Geto."

"You say that, but it clearly is to you."

"I just—" You sigh. "I don’t want this to turn into a fight. Everything already feels so... fragile."

He’s about to reply when you suddenly wipe your eyes — and your voice cracks.

His whole expression changes.

"Baby... talk to me."

You try to say something, anything — but the tears spill too fast. He’s already closing the distance.

"No, no. Come here."

He takes your face gently in his hands, thumbs brushing away tears, forehead resting against yours.

"Let it out, alright? Don’t hold back with me."

You press your face into his chest. He holds you close, hand soothing down your spine.

"I’ve got you. Whatever you’re afraid of, whatever’s weighing on you — you’re not alone. You never were."

Choso Kamo

You were both getting frustrated over something small. Schedules, plans, who forgot to text who.

He says your name once, then again when he notices your breathing shift.

"...Wait. Are you crying?"

You try to shake it off, but your lip trembles — and suddenly he’s already walking toward you.

"Come here, baby."

You fall into his arms. He pulls you tight against him and buries his face in your neck.

"It’s okay. I’m right here. Everything’s gonna be okay."

You clutch the back of his shirt and cry into his chest. He rocks you gently, arms wrapped securely around you.

"You don’t have to be strong right now. Just let me hold you, okay?"

He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"No matter what it is — we’ll face it together. Always."