#sometimes people send me asks that are not a clear question

[actuallysaiyan]

57. “have you seen the things that the fans write about you and *other celeb*?” With Toshi? Maybe the *other celeb* could be a younger pro like Hawks or even Fatgum! Just someone obvi closer to the readers age and makes him a bit… upset. Jealous. Because hey, just because he’s older doesn’t mean he can’t do those things too! Hell, he probably has moves these youngsters ain’t even heard of!

warnings: smut, lewd themes, vaginal fingering, confident Toshinori, age gap, lewd magazine article, mentions of erectile dysfunction prompt: “have you seen the things the the fans write about you and *other celeb*?”

You were appalled while reading this magazine. Why you even decided to pick it up was beyond you…maybe it was because you saw that someone had decided to lump your husband with other pro heroes. It was a gossip magazine but this time you were worried they might go too far.

The article was all about fans sending in love letters, theories or even their thoughts and wants about these heroes. It was pretty clear to you that they all found your husband to be too old. Too outdated. Even if he had been the number one hero, people didn’t think too highly of him these days. It angered you to no end sometimes to think about how people spoke about him.

When he gets home, Toshinori comes over to you and he presses a kiss on your cheek. He leans over the back of the couch to look at what you’re reading. He frowns as he scans over some lines but then he laughs.

“It’s not funny!” You cry out, throwing the magazine on the coffee table. “Have you seen the things that the fans write about you and the other pro heroes? It’s terrible!”

He sits down next to you. “Like what? That I’m no longer suited to be number one? I know that already.”

You blush and look down at your hands on your lap. “Well there’s that and there’s…”

The way you look right now would suggest there’s something else going on. They must be writing something pretty nasty about him. He tries not to let it get to him but he’s definitely curious now. So he grabs the magazine and begins reading the article.

“When I found out how old All Might is…” he recites some words from one fan. “Jeez! She really thinks I can’t…I can’t get it up?!”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “That’s tame in comparison to how they treat you when it comes to the younger heroes.”

His brows furrow. “You don’t believe these words do you? I mean…I know Hawks and Fatgum and even Enji…they are all younger than me.”

You shake your head. You know that Toshinori is more than capable of making you feel good. There’s a smirk that spreads on his face when he leans in to kiss your lips.

“Can’t get it up, huh?” He grabs your hand and brings it to the growing bulge in his pants. “How about this huh? I may not be as young as I used to be, but I think I’m still hung like a horse. What do you think, baby?”

You swallow hard. Your throat feels so dry, but that’s about the only thing that is dry. You can’t believe the way he’s speaking to you right now. Toshinori doesn’t always talk dirty but when he does, it makes you so wet. He nips at your bottom lip.

“Baby, I asked you a question. Now could you please answer it?”

“You’re…you’re fucking huge. Hung like a horse.”

He laughs at your words. Your world gets flipped upside down literally when he pushes you onto your back and he grabs your legs. He places them on his shoulders before kissing you hungrily. Toshinori lets his kisses linger before they trail down your neck to your chest. He slides off your shirt, kissing your shoulders before he cups your breasts in his hands.

“Besides, do you think those pro heroes know how to make you cum so hard you forget your own name?”

His question is almost rhetorical. How could they know how to make you cum the way Toshinori does? He slips one of his hands down your sweatpants, toying with your pussy through your panties. Meanwhile, he’s sucking on your nipples.

“Already this wet, hm?”

He pushes your panties aside, teasing your folds and your hole. Toshi actively ignores your aching clit in favor of ramping things up with a lot of teasing. By the time his long fingers even brush against your clit, you’re already dripping. He looks into your eyes while he rubs your swollen nub to a shaking orgasm.

“Remember baby,” he kisses you to swallow up your sweet moans. “Just because I’m older, that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to make you feel good.”

He then pulls down your pants completely and wraps your legs around his waist. You watch through hooded eyes as he unzips his pants and pulls out his throbbing erection. He chuckles at the hungry but fucked out look you give him.

“I guess I’ll just need to fuck you so hard you forget all about that silly magazine article!”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2025– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @thissaintjessi.  @cherryblossombankai, @sunflowers-heart,  @erebus-et-eigengrau @sareenthedreamer

[the-dominant-script]

Dear Men on Tumblr,

Many of you run porn blogs, message women, and when they eventually realize your intentions are purely sexual, suddenly it’s: “I just wanted to talk.”

Really? What exactly did you expect? That people would trust you blindly? That they’d believe you’re here to build a real friendship, to have deep conversations, to form a genuine connection?

Here’s the truth:

Many of you are willing to invest time. Days, weeks, sometimes even months. You build trust. You ask harmless questions. You listen. You pretend to care. All just to reach that one day: when she finally lets her guard down, and you use that trust as your weapon.

You tell the same story every time:

Single. Looking for something long-term. Not into one-night stands. Just haven’t met the right one yet. Meanwhile, your wife and three kids are sitting in the other room.

You charm. You ask questions. Then the chat gets more intimate. Photos start to get exchanged. And then suddenly, you want more. Always more.

And let’s make one thing very clear:

No one wants your unsolicited dick pic. No one. You’re horny. You’re desperate. And somehow you think sending a piece of meat is going to spark connection? How stupid can you be? That’s not flirtation. That’s sexual coercion.

You’re forcing someone to look at your (often hideous) genitals without consent. Do you really believe someone’s going to say:

“Wow, what a beautiful dick. I should reply immediately.”

You think that’s how this works? It’s not about the dick. It never was. It’s about connection. About chemistry. About actually knowing someone and building something real. A dick without depth is just skin. And no one is here for that.

And another warning:

Be cautious with blogs that have no pictures at all. So many young, naive girls are following faceless blogs (blogs like mine, and they get obsessed).

Ask yourself this:

Why doesn’t the blog owner post a photo of himself?Is it because he’s sweet and attractive, just like you imagine?

Or maybe…

because he’s not who you want him to be. Maybe he’s older. Much older. Maybe he’s underage. Maybe he’s someone whose face wouldn’t match the voice in your fantasies. There are endless ways to steal pictures of men online.

Don’t be stupid.

If it’s the sun-kissed, six-pack, jawline-heavy dream guy, why is he spending hours on a blogging platform, writing to strangers, every single night? Watch for the signs. Ask for proof if you’re unsure. Three fingers, a handwritten word. If that’s “not possible right now,” there’s your answer.

True intention shows in the small things: Does he remember your favorite color? Or has he already forgotten what you told him yesterday? Does he respect your limits? Or does he try to talk you out of them? Does he pressure you? Twist your words?

Set clear boundaries.

Put them in your bio. Pin a post. Call it: “Things to know before you message me.” You’re not an object. Not a toy for someone’s anonymous fantasy. You’re a person, with limits that deserve respect, not manipulation.

Protect yourself.

Because Tumblr isn’t a safe place.

But you can navigate it more safely.

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 1 ▷ || play next song?

summary : After another horny stream, you drop the bomb: fuck-a-fan fridays—seven weeks, seven fans, seven filthy videos. masks on, faces hidden, just you and one lucky subscriber tangled up on camera each week. All they have to do? strip down, get hard, and show you why it should be them. Auditions start now.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men

A/N : and so it starts!!! is everyone ready to see the submissions from your favorite horndogs? :) (also i hope you can tell whose who hehehe) i'm trying to keep the writing inclusive for every sort of female presenting person so let me know how i've done!

The next few weeks passed in a blur of lace, lube, and direct deposits that made your head spin. What had started as a desperate half-joke had morphed into a full-blown empire - your empire. The girl who once contemplated selling her underwear for gas money was now clearing rent, tuition, groceries, and still had enough left over to drop serious coin on clothes and silk bed sheets.

You’d gone to the next level. Your friends were of course benefitting from your suspiciously newfound wealth, you casually said you had found a better part-time job, never letting them know the truth when you decided to take them shopping. Not yet at least.

Private requests were your bread and butter. You weren’t just good anymore - you were a professional tease, a digital siren with a library of toys, outfits, and vocal tones that could bring grown men to their knees. They paid for everything; soft whispers, rough talk, slow stroking, filthy roleplays. Some just oddly wanted to hear your moans on loop. Others wanted personalized videos where you called them by username and told them exactly what you’d do if they ever had the balls to show up in person.

You were making big bank. Like “accidental tax bracket change” big. Like “should probably consult a financial advisor” big.

And the men?

Oh, the men were obsessed.

Especially the regulars. Their usernames lit up your screen night after night, tipping with reckless abandon, flooding the chat with unfiltered thirst. You didn’t know who they were in real life, yet, but their personalities bled through the screen in such vivid, chaotic little ways.

EmoWithaBoner was yearning. Desperate in a way that made your chest clench and your thighs twitch. His messages were usually soft, almost sweet - You deserve everything, You looked so beautiful tonight - until something cracked open inside him mid-message and he’d type something crazy like: I would lick your cunt until you beg me to stop. Now that had gotten a small “Oh.” out of you. He wanted to worship you and ruin you all at once.

SixEyesOnly was a fucking menace. Flirty, cocky, constantly sending emojis that were way too smug for someone probably watching with only one hand available. His tips were ridiculous, like, spend $300 just to watch you eat grapes in a bad wig slowly sort of ridiculous, and his messages read like he was trying to fluster you on purpose. You assumed it was some sort of control thing with him, throwing money at people and getting them to do it. No complaints from you.

TempleOfSin was smooth, a little poetic, a little filthy. He asked for long, descriptive videos where you described what you were wearing, how you’d touch him, how you'd taste. He liked to also order roleplay videos where you pretended to worship him like he was some sort of God. Sometimes he called you his loyal little follower. You didn’t ask questions.

daddyissuez was feral. No other word for it. His requests were blunt, primal, always toeing the line of what the platform allowed and your own, now lacking, self-control. He liked spit, degradation, and power games. His tipping was sporadic and a lot less compared to the others, though, it was enough to keep him in your attention.

OfficeAfterHours was different. Polite. Polished. His messages came like little business memos laced with innuendo. “You looked stunning tonight. That color suits you,” followed by a $200 tip telling you to buy more in the same color. Never crude, always composed. It made him stand out more, somehow. Like a man who didn’t need to beg. A man who expected what he wanted, and always got it.

And then there was KingOfRot.

Unpredictable. Crude. Arrogant. He dropped tips like they were nothing. $500 just because you looked at the camera in a way he said was like a ‘deer in the headlights’. Odd, but $500 was a good amount to keep your mouth shut. He called you “pet,” “whore,” “delicious little thing.” You should’ve blocked him. Instead, you kept reading his messages twice over with your jaw unhinged and in wonderment whether or not he actually said that. His energy was intense and you hated how hot that was.

Which brings us to tonight.

You were perched in your new silk sheets, ring light warm against your skin, wearing your most transparent slip where your nipples were clearly on display and a smug little smirk behind that now iconic mask of yours. You’d hyped this stream for days - teased it on your feed, hinted at it in DMs. The chat was already on fire and you hadn’t even said a word yet. Tonight was a big one.

EmoWithaBoner: god ur so fucking hot tonight SixEyesOnly: i logged in 15 minutes early and i still feel late :(( OfficeAfterHours: You’ve outdone yourself this evening. KingOfRot: Come on, get to the fucking point, girl.

You grinned, slow and lethal, dragging your fingers along your inner thigh and ignoring KingOfRot.

“Well,” you purred, “I figured since you’ve all been very generous lately… it’s time I give something back.”

SixEyesOnly: oh fuck You licked your lips, loving the short little power trip it gave you. “I’ve been thinking,” you said, voice sweet and dangerous. “Maybe it’s time to start a little… tradition.”

You paused for dramatic effect.

“Fuck-a-Fan Fridays.” You bit your lip. Boom. Chat detonation. SixEyesOnly had sent you $200 just for the phrase.

EmoWithaBoner: you’re joking SixEyesOnly: oh shit baby TempleOfSin: Perfect. KingOfRot: You say when and where, pet. daddyissuez: i’ll be first. fuck the line OfficeAfterHours: I trust you've thought this through..

You leaned in close. OfficeAfterHours was cute in the way he was concerned for you. “I mean, why stop at one, right?” You giggled, cheeks burning behind your mask as you kicked your feet a little bit out of the view of your webcam. “I was gonna keep it casual, but um… yeah. What if I made it a thing? Like, a series?”

Another pause. You leaned in even closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried heat.

“One fan. Every Friday. For seven weeks.”

You crossed your bare legs over one another, your slip rising on your thighs as you did so. “Seven Fridays. Seven people. Seven chances to fuck the brains out of a very nervous, very willing woman who cannot believe she’s actually saying this live right now.”

You sat up again, brushing the slip back into place like your nipples weren’t clearly on display.

“I mean..obviously, we’ll keep it anonymous. Like, we’re not stupid here. Masks. No faces. Just hands. Bodies. And my camera.” The chat was still in full meltdown, comments stacking so fast the shitty platform could barely keep up. Your heart was pounding, your skin warm and tingling from the high of it all—of watching them fall apart just from your voice, your words, the soft shift of silk and skin. You hadn’t even done anything explicit yet, and they were on their knees.

God, it was addictive.

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft sigh, the movement pulling your slip just high enough to tease your hips. A final little gift before the curtain dropped.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” you said with a giggle, feigning innocence even as your gaze sparkled with something much dirtier. “You guys are gonna give me a heart attack.” SixEyesOnly: no no no don’t leave yettt!! :(( KingOfRot: You owe me for the buildup, woman. You tilted your head, lips curving into a sweet little smile as you leaned forward, giving them just one more generous view of your tits before the curtains closed.

“But before I go…” you said, voice slipping into something quieter, softer, like a secret you didn’t mean to share. “If you’re serious about Fuck-a-Fan Fridays… I want you to show me.”

The pause that followed had its own kind of weight. You watched the chat stall for half a second. The anticipation was thick enough to choke on.

“Send me a message,” you murmured, “with a picture. No face. Just your body, and cock, obviously.”

You let your fingers trail down your own torso, to your hips, your thighs, hinting at what you wanted to see. “Let me see what I’d be touching.. What I’ll be fucked braindead by.” EmoWithaBoner: fuck i’ll take a hundred SixEyesOnly: don’t lose your mind too much baby KingOfRot: It’ll be mine you dream about when you touch yourself. OfficeAfterHours: Submission will follow shortly. No face. Clean framing. High quality.

You had to laugh—giddy and a little breathless. You honestly didn’t think they’d go this feral.

“Think of it as an audition,” you said, tucking your knees to your chest, playing sweet again. “Show me what you’re offering. How you’d fit against me. In me.”

You smoothed your hand up your own thigh, lazily now, teasing.

“And just so you know,” you added with a little grin, “I’m only really looking at the ones who’ve tipped enough to keep my attention. You know who you are.”

Oh, they most definitely did.

The seven of them were already scrambling—photos incoming, tips rolling, blood leaving their brains. You didn’t need names. Their usernames were burned into your memory. Their obsessions with you were paying your bills.

“Goodnight, boys,” you whispered. “Impress me.” The second you ended the stream, you collapsed backward into your pillows with a dazed little laugh, limbs spread like you’d just run a marathon and won a gold medal in filth. The glow from your laptop cast a soft haze across your legs, the screen already lighting up with the chaos you’d left behind—tips still pouring in, messages stacking, your inbox begging for attention.

And the photos?

Oh, they were already flooding in, from people you didn’t want, but it was there regardless - upping your activity.

You rolled onto your stomach, chin resting in your palm as you clicked open the first one with a half-curious, half-unhinged smile.

No face, just like you asked. Neck down. The guy was standing in front of a mirror, one hand wrapped tight around his cock, the other lifting his hoodie to show off his chest. His abs were flexed. His cock hard enough to cast a shadow.

You blinked. Let out a slow breath.

“…Damn.”

Another one came in. Different guy, different vibe—tattoos on his hips, hand slick and stroking himself in a dimly lit bathroom, captioned: Fridays look good on me. Want to see how I look underneath you?

“Oh my god,” you whispered, laughing as you pulled your legs up behind you. “This is real. I’m really doing this.”

And you were. One fan. Every Friday. Seven weeks. Seven videos. Each one getting posted to your feed, available for your hundreds of subscribers to watch, rewatch, tip on, comment under, and probably break their dicks to.

It wasn’t just a hookup. It was content. Premium content.

Still riding the rush, you opened your messaging panel and started typing.

New Mass Message Sent to All Subscribers:

Hey babes— If you missed the stream tonight (rip to you), here’s your official invite.

Fuck-a-Fan Fridays is happening. Starting next week, I’ll be choosing seven of you to spend one very intimate night with me. Every Friday for the next seven weeks, I’ll be posting a new video. One fan. One full-length scene. Just me… and whoever impresses me the most.

How to audition:- Send me a photo. - Neck down only. No faces. Masks will be worn on camera, so full anonymity will be protected. But I need to see everything. Cock out. Hard. Your body. Your vibe. The way you'd look on camera—underneath me, on top of me, behind me, inside me.

Show off a little. Or a lot.

Make me want it. Let the auditions begin.

xoxo,

—Your girl

taglist : @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @syubseokie

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[7s3ven]

FILE LOADING. TF 141 x hacker! Reader, pt 1

( full master list) (intro to this series)

IN WHICH… you needed a way to lessen your prison sentence and TF 141 needed an efficient hacker… as well as someone to spoil.

Notes: hacker! Reader, reader has a criminal background, reader has piercings, tattoos + tooth gems

A/N: first cod series finally lol… please like this post guys, I finished it right after I slipped while practising a taekwondo kick and body slammed into the tiled floor 😭.

—

The air inside your prison cell was muggy and overall unpleasant, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead as you fanned your face.

The pathetic excuse for a window was not helping, letting only a small amount of oxygen enter the tiny room.

In all honesty, you weren’t treated as badly as other prisoners. A coworker of yours had pulled some strings the moment you were arrested, which meant you got better food and some perks.

But as always, life in jail still sucked.

You were too busy staring at the blank wall in front of you to notice the metal door keeping you locked up was now creaking open.

“Get up.” The warden harshly nudged your shoulder, barely giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your hands were yanked behind your back, the cool metal handcuffs digging painfully into your soft skin.

Your jaw clenched as you were dragged down the dimly lit hallway. You knew better than to ask questions as they would not be answered. All you could do was walk in the direction the warden shoved you in.

The breeze from the well-ventilated interrogation room was the first thing to hit you as you entered. You arched an eyebrow at the woman sitting at the table, her hands gracefully clasped together.

“And you are?” You didn’t recognise her as you slumped into the seat across from her, purposely sending the warden a biting glare.

“I’m Kate Laswell, a CIA operative.” She didn’t waste time before she spoke, leaning forward to catch your attention.

Your lip peeled back into a sneer, “The worst kind of people.”

She ignored your jab. “I’ve come here to give you an offer. You see, SAS is in need of a hacker and I’m told you’re the best fit for the job.” You watch as she opens a slim folder, spreading out the images for your careful gaze to study. They’re printouts of your exploits, files nobody was supposed to obtain. You had deleted your digital footprint after hacking databases, you were sure of it.

“You’re good. Too good to waste in a cell." You hear her softly sigh.

“I did what I did. The justice system isn’t so flattered by my ability to retrieve their sensitive information. Plus, I did murder someone… a few people, actually. So in all honesty, this isn’t an unfair punishment.” You leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We are well aware of your long record.” Laswell sends you a pointed look. You merely grin, your canine teeth glinting in the light.

“Did you see my arson report?” Your lips spread into a grin, “Because that’s the best one. Set an ex-boyfriend’s car on fire and it just lit up. It was great. You should read it sometime.”

Laswell cleared her throat, reminding you of the situation at hand. “As I was saying, I can lift your jail sentence with a click of my fingers but only if you agree to work for me.”

“Thought I was working for SAS.” You interrupted.

“You’ll work for an elite team called Task Force 141… but you’ll answer to me. I give you the orders.”

“And the catch of this job?”

Laswell’s lips curve into a faint smile. “This is not a job offer, Miss L/N, it is a uniquely presented opportunity. You will get no pay for your services. The reward it reaps, however, is greater.”

You paused for a second. What could possibly be better than money?

“Freedom.” As if reading your mind, Laswell spoke again. “If you do this, you’ll be free before next year. This is possibly your only shot at freedom, do not throw it away. If you stay locked up here, you’ll only rot while the world keeps spinning.”

Now she had your attention. “You must be desperate if you wanna hire me.” A chuckle slipped past your lips but it was mainly to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “What would the job include?” You tilted your head, subtly shifting forward to hint your interest.

“You’ll be working alongside Task Force 141, giving them intel on possible threats and making their jobs easier by gaining access to classified information. I hear you don’t work well with other people but really, what choice do you have?”

Her words prodded at you and the teasing smile on her face aggravated you but she was right. You had no other choice.

The room was silent as you weighed out your choices. The walls seemed to close in on you, a stark difference to the freedom you were promised mere moments ago.

“So I risk my life for this so-called elite team… and in return I get some vague promises of freedom? Smells like bullshit. You lot will probably stab me in the back.” You scoffed.

“You’ve already painted a bright red target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before people realise you’re worth more dead than alive. With us, you’ll have protection. And a purpose.”

Laswell stood up, pushing her chair back with deliberate calmness. The legs scraped against the concrete floor as she did so. “Make no mistake, L/N, people like you don’t simply disappear. Someone will come for you… someone who wants your head on a stick.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes and like a feral predator, she ate it up.

“Okay.” You slowly murmured. She had convinced her with her carefully concealed threats. “I’ll do it.”

Laswell smirks. "Good. Pack your things. Your new team will be picking you up in an hour.”

—

The loud roar of the helicopter blades filled the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, shielding your eyes against the bright sun. You rubbed your aching wrists, clicking your tongue at the bruises the tight handcuffs had left.

A few soldiers are waiting for you into the chopper, their silhouettes barely visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Couldn’t just send a car?” You grumbled as you climbed into the helicopter. Laswell followed close behind, unbothered and seemingly used to such a commotion.

“Always for the theatrics, John.” She jokes with the man sitting across from her, eyes crinkling as she grins.

You glance at the man’s name tag, reading Captain John Price. He’s handsome… for a man his age. In a ruggish and rough sort of way. A cloud of smoke slips past his lips as he calmly puffs on a cigar, not at all caring how the chopper unsteadily tilts to the side.

“This the hacker? That pretty ‘lil lass over there?” A voice, thick with a Scottish accent, cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart to stare at the burly man with a Mohawk as he looks you up and down. “Thought the hacker was a bloke. Ain’t complainin’ though.”

You stiffen at the comment, running your tongue over your top row of teeth. It unintentionally gives him a view of your shiny tooth gems. “Thought you lot were an elite crew. Y’all don’t fact check?” You lean back into the cushioned seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, much better than the stone-hard mattress back in your cell.

The Scot laughs, unbothered. “She’s got bite. I like ‘er. Name’s John McTavish but most call me Jonny. You can call me Soap if ya want.”

You sarcastically laugh. “Soap? What kind of muppet name is that? You had a reputation for eating soap as a kid?”

Soap’s eyes light up, not what you were expecting with your insult. “Ay! The cap’n said the same thing! Called me a muppet too!”

“You still are.” Someone chimes in from the front. You didn’t even realize there were two more people squeezed in to the seats in front of the controls.

The one in the passenger seat turns around, smiling. With his soft brown eyes and gentle features, you can’t help but find him pretty.

“Y/N L/N, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle Garrick.” His voice has a slight British accent to it. “This is Ghost next to me.” He jabs a thumb at the man wearing a skull mask who’s doing a poor job at steering the helicopter.

“Ghost?” You question, “What sort of name is that?”

“Simon Riley.” Ghost grunts out. His British accent is somewhat aggressive, evident in every syllable he barks out.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. For some reason, he annoys you. It’s more like the way he’s looking at you through the eye-level mirror.

The chopper shakes again. You watch as Kyle grasps his seat, his grip so tight it almost cracks the delicate leather. “Sorry.” Simon gruffly replies.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s up with him?” You nod your head in Kyle’s direction.

“Fell out the bloody helicopter when Ghost was last flying.” Kyle replies. You almost laugh. It’s not something that should be amusing but your lips quirk into a small grin.

“So… does this whole arrangement cover my food and accommodation?” You question, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. Laswell slips out a small folder, handing it to you.

“Your accomodation will be one of our safe houses twenty minutes away from base. We considered having you live on the base itself but socialising isn’t part of your job. You’ll be living with the Task Force to ensure you don’t run. And all your costs will be covered. You will be given an allowance for your own expenses such as impulsive purchases.”

“Thought you said I got no money.”

“Once you have completed what is necessary, you will no longer have access to the allowance.” Laswell clarifies.

“And I walk free.”

Laswell nods, “Then you are free to go. If needed, CIA will pay to transfer you to another country so you can start anew. Most do not get second chances, L/N, so be careful.”

You lick your cracked lips, aimlessly playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. Maybe you could go to Europe; it had been a little dream of yours as a kid.

“Should go to Scotland, lass.” Jonny pipes up above the loud helicopter blades.

“London’s better.” Simon retorts, “Can actually understand what they’re saying.”

“What about Korea?” Kyle butts in.

“You aren’t even Korean.” Jonny argues back, lightly scoffing.

“Yeah, but I wanna go. Is that a crime, Soap?”

Their pointless bickering was comforting in a way. You had spent the last few years of your life locked away, isolated most of the time and alone. It was nice listening to people talk again.

Simon landed the helicopter with surprising grace, being the first to unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out. Kyle was next. Laswell unlocked the sliding door, stepping aside to allow you to slip past first.

You merely stared at her before muttering a tense thanks.

“Watch your step.” Kyle warned you as he held out a hand to steady you.

“It’s literally three feet. I can manage.” You snap back, effortlessly stepping out of the chopper. Jonny lightly chuckled while Kyle slowly withdrew.

“Feisty.” Kyle muttered.

You stared up at the safe house, tilting your head. “It’s… cute.” You hummed. It was a cottage, not the first thing you expected as a safe house.

“Were the pink roses your idea, Riley?” You joked, pointing at the pretty flowers.

He grunts, a sound you’ve suddenly become familiar with. “I prefer Ghost.” He corrects you.

You shrug. “Used to call inmates by their last name. Helped me ignore them when they tried hitting on me in the early years of prison.” You stepped forward onto the stone cobble path, admiring it.

“A small cottage… bet this is a military dream, huh?” You kicked a pebble.

“It is, actually.” Jonny pipes up, “It’s every man’s dream to retire in a cute little house with a pretty lass.”

You lightly scoffed, “I ain’t here to play work wife, McTavish. Can’t even cook.”

“Thank goodness we have Gaz then.” Jonny retorts, “Bloke should be a chef if this career doesn’t work out.”

You take a moment to study the house and its surroundings while the others file through the door. There’s a small white Pickett fence wrapped around the land, bright green blades of grass wrapping around the neatly painted wood.

The cottage is clearly old but well renovated. Rows of vines adorn the side, a surprisingly aesthetic sight. There’s a garden filled with sweetly smelling flowers and the same pink roses sitting at your feet are also perched on top of the porch.

The windows are the favourite aspect of yours. They decorate the stone walls, a sharp gothic detail to them.

It’s almost too pretty for a criminal like you.

“You comin’ in?” It’s Kyle who notices your absence, peeking his head past the doorway. For a moment, he thought you had made a run for it but he was relieved to find you standing among the garden.

You clear your throat, pulling at the bottom of your shirt. “Yeah.” You step onto the rickety porch, the wood creaking under your weight.

The interior of the house is so different from your tiny cell. Walking past the door almost feels like walking into an entirely new life.

Jonny is scavenging through the fridge, pulling out a tall bottle of beer. “Want some?” He offers it to you.

“I can’t drink, warden’s orders.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“It’s just a beer, can’t hurt ya. ‘Sides, you ain’t in jail no more.” Jonny insists, shaking the bottle. It’s tempting but on instinct, you glance at Laswell.

She’s sitting beside Price, talking to him in a hushed tone and going over a file, presumably one containing details about you.

“I ain’t stopping you from drinking, kid.” Laswell says, feeling your stare on her face.

Hesitantly, you snatch the bottle from Jonny, popping the lid open with practised precision. You haven’t tasted beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, in a long time. You’ve never liked beer… but the first burning sip feels heavenly.

“You got any vodka?” You ask, glancing into the top cupboards.

“Do we look Russian? Nah, can barely drink that shit straight.” Jonny’s face scrunches up at the thought.

“Bourbon then.” Your words catch Simon’s attention.

Jonny grins as he reaches up, grasping a fancy-looking bottle. “Only other person here who likes bourbon is the LT. Guess he isn’t alone anymore.” He pours you a glass, handing it to you in exchange for your bottle of beer.

“Don’t understand how you lot can stand beer. Too bitter for my liking.” You mutter, pacing around the room.

You hear Simon quietly hum in agreement. “Finally someone smart.”

COD TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @jenepleurepasbaby @rm25711 @talia-the-gemini @margaaaa30 @mixplara @alex—awesome—22

@lunamoonbby @little-b33 @ghostswife-8 @tea-drinking-nerd @certainlygay @lucienofthelakes @supaturtl3 @pr3ttypupp4 @royalz658 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ashy-akuma @1bucky-barnes-wife1 @chloepluto1306 @voguiing @eyeless-kun @joshwashingtonmybeloved @fuzzyducky3 @childishname @angel-bugz @kee-0-kee @undercover-smutlover @10honeybee01 @kat247 @munson24 @sweetlittleblackrose @babybimbo777 @wfinniegenx @galactict3a @hyperfixatedcatlover @creepumiku @yoontoons @moraxnomora @1ckyfairy @lunerbitch @tizylish

[hotchnerwrites]

I loved your fic Warmth!! You write caretaker Hotch so well, I would love to read more cute or caring moments where Hotch is looking out for a shy reader!!! Little things like giving his jacket, watching closely on cases, the sweet stuff!! you killed it

Soft Spot

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: SFW, fluff, no use of (y/n), no continuous plot it's fragmented stories tbh

A/N: Thank you so much!!! So very glad you enjoyed Warmth <3 I spent all day indulgently dreaming of the things he'd do OMGGG anyways this is the product. It was supposed to be a 5+1 but i think a headcanon-inspired style suited this story better where you kinda see fragments of their daily interactions. I hope you like it and it's what you imagined!!! Enjoy reading, mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open! Send me stuff :)

You didn’t want to be a burden. You liked putting people first. It felt good to be in a caretaker role yourself. You liked bringing Reid his coffee loaded with ten packets of sugar. You liked bringing Garcia collectables for her desk. You liked giving Rossi your chair if the room was one too short. It didn’t matter that it sometimes came at the cost of your discomfort. You’d never liked being the centre of attention anyway.

But perhaps that begged the age-old question— who cared for the caretaker?

●・○・●・○・●・

The first time it happened was on the jet. 

It was a late-night flight, nothing new. But the AC in the cabin must have malfunctioned that day. It was brutally chilly, and since you were returning from a case in Florida, you had nothing but summer clothes. Your tea wasn’t doing much, so you occasionally walked the length of the cabin, trying to be quiet so the others could sleep. It hadn’t even crossed your mind to ask for something as simple as a jacket.

But Hotch saw. 

He didn’t look up from his paperwork— he just held it out as you passed his seat again. His arm barred you from dodging past, so you reluctantly draped it over your shoulders. Just five minutes, then you’d return it.

Maybe he heard your thoughts because right then, he said, “Keep it on.” It wasn’t a polite request; he had already decided for you.

But it’s Hotch so you listen.

No one questioned where you got the jacket from when the jet landed. But you catch JJ’s faint smile from the corner of your eye when she sees the jacket hanging from your desk chair the next day.

Hotch never asked for it back.

●・○・●・○・●・

You’re a great agent in terms of fieldwork. The whole team trusted you. Of course, you wouldn’t be there if they didn’t, but it felt nice to realise that nevertheless. 

But blind trust didn’t mean Hotch wouldn’t watch you like a hawk.

It was probably just a coincidence. You always ended up paired with him when heading into dangerous situations. He never hovered or anything, he always let you do your thing. But it was the way he positioned himself slightly ahead of you when clearing rooms, a silent wall between you and any potential threats,

And then there were the crime scene situations. You could hold it together; your poker face an acquired skill. But some cases hit home. You never let it show too much, but Hotch noticed when your fingers curled into tight fists, shoulders going rigid.

He never called you out on it, or put you on the spot.

Instead, his voice came through the comms before you and Morgan breached a suspect’s house. “Be careful.”

He said it to both of you, but somehow, you knew it was meant for you.

And later, when the case was over, and you were sitting on the back of an ambulance with a shallow cut on your arm from a scuffle, he was there.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, voice low.

You shook your head. “No. It’s fine.”

He didn’t argue, but he sat next to you long after the paramedic finished patching you up.

●・○・●・○・●・

You didn’t even realise when it started.

One morning, you had walked into the bullpen, and there had been a steaming hot cup of coffee on your desk. Just the way you took it. You blinked at it, confused, but you assumed Garcia was behind it.

But it happened again the next day. Then the day after. And again the following day.

It was never a big thing or a grand gesture. Just a simple takeaway cup with your order etched into the side. When you finally thanked Garcia, she looked utterly bemused.

“Oh, sugar. That’s not me,” she’d said, a grin stretching across her face.

No way.

So the next time it happened, you glanced towards Hotch’s office. Sure enough, he was already looking at you. But he never said a word. He didn’t even smile. He just looked down at his files and kept writing.

You sipped the coffee at your desk slowly, savouring every sip, willing it to last longer. The warmth spreading across your chest had nothing to do with the drink.

●・○・●・○・●・

The rain had been terrible all week. Sick of fighting your way through public transport where everything was slippery and wet, you had treated yourself to an Uber. You didn’t have an umbrella while you waited, so you stood under the awning in front of the building. You’d make a run for it when the car showed up.

As you scanned the road in front of you for your designated car, a black umbrella swung open over your head.

You turned, startled, only to find Hotch standing behind you, holding it up without a word. His coat was getting wetter, but he didn’t look like he cared.

“You’ll get soaked,” you said, noting how he had angled it more over you than himself.

“I’ll be all right,” he replied simply.

And that was that.

He waited till your car came, and then he helped you get in, ensuring not a drop touched your head as you bundled yourself into the backseat. 

It wasn’t until you were almost at your front door that you realised— he’d never had an umbrella with him when he came to work this morning.

Hotch had taken the time to find one— just for you.

●・○・●・○・●・

The Denver case was a disaster. 

Too many close calls. Too many what-ifs.

Sleep was difficult that night. You stared at the ceiling of your hotel room, letting yourself dissociate. But a buzz from your phone snapped you out of your reverie. When you checked your screen, there was just one text message.

You did well today. - A.H.

You stared at those four words for too long. No over-the-top reassurances, no unnecessary fluff. Just an acknowledgement.

You never responded, but the next morning on the jet, he caught your eye and nodded, ever so slightly. Like he knew you saw the message. Like he knew it helped.

And maybe, just maybe, it had eased your worries a bit that day.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[creatingblackcharacters]

Black Character Design Poll: Event Rules

I am an avid lover of graphs. I like numbers, I like trends and the absence thereof. I like the mindsets that make people make decisions, I like recognizing the biases, both conscious and unconscious, in sampled populations. I like how you'll always gain some sort of answer, even if it's not the one you expected (it's the scientist in me)! Best of all, I like making people question themselves! So... Why not a poll?

This is going to be a TWO-PART event. The first portion is going to ask the First Question, starting Sunday April 13th and I will stop taking submissions Saturday April 19th. The second portion is going to ask the Second Question, starting Sunday April 20th, and I will stop taking submissions Saturday April 26th.

See below the cut to find out all the details!

The goal is:

To see how different groups feel about the same character design, specifically Black audiences

To make participants question how and why their own beliefs may be affected

When I tell you "consider your Black audience when you create Black characters", that's not me pointing you to an amorphous concept- I'm talking about real people who are looking at a work! And very often, we find out that a creator's intent, versus a particular audience's perception, are not on the same page. That's not always a bad thing, nor something we can always control. But sometimes, it can reveal some lack of understanding, or biases we aren't aware of. So let's test that out! Let's have that conversation!

Submissions:

You will be submitting characters! There are three things requested in an ASK format:

A good, clear picture of Black Character from the Source Material

Black Character's Name

Title of Black Character's Source Material

DASSIT! No, I don't want leading arguments or why you love them in the ask. I will delete it. Let people make their own conclusions!

Responses:

Your options will be "Peak", "Mid", and "Nah".

Answer honestly and instinctively! If you thought it was great, choose that! If you thought it was ass, choose that! Don't let a need to "look nonproblematic" or "to be nice" affect your answer. Just take the time to consider why your opinion may be different from others. This is an opportunity to consider something new!

That being said! I'm not arguing or doing discourse with y'all in the comments or tags- I'd have to keep up with far too many conversations. Think before you speak! That thought that you think might be racist- you do not have to say it!

I will be organizing responses into three groups of viewers: "White", "Nonblack POC", and "Black". One, so that the Black voters have a little more chance to be seen (and we're not like, 97-3 every time 😅) and two, because sometimes I think people of color assume they are immune to antiblackness. I want everybody to think!

Do not send me an ask or message telling me why you're uncomfortable and why you think I shouldn't ask these questions. It's meant to bring people out of their comfort zone. Considering that you may have a different perspective on the presentation of Blackness than an actual Black person is not a bad thing, and no, it's not causing racism to have a conversation about why that may be an issue. Just don't participate.

I will add the questions and rubric in a reblog- stay tuned!

[roturo]

⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚ WATCH IT!

Gojo Satoru didn't predicted this move... So he ended up fucking you lol ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ G!Satoru x afab!reader and sex pollen!

tags: smut, sex pollen, unprocteted sex (wrap it and pee after sex), overstimulation (like A LOT), use of nicknames (princess, baby, good boy, love...) multiple rounds, praise kink, angst if you squint your eyes till you cry like gojo, sub(ish)!gojo satoru, god complex, fluff if you take one eye out, crack, belly bulgde, creampie, breeding kink, crempie kink, A LOT of cum, dumbfication, cock warming, npr.

A/N: happy holidays! might be my last writing of the year so i wish you lots of love and happiness <3 i might write pt2 for this one and 'she's back', which one would you like first?

o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

DAY 1: HOW IT STARTED

How the fuck at his grown ass age Gojo Satoru could be this stupid. And that’s big coming from him, because this man considers himself the senior of seniors and god of gods. So, how come he falled into this?

And you know what? Maybe it is his fault! For believing he’s a superior and underestimating such a weak and useless curse he just killed. But, this weak and useless curse has him going crazy. That really was karma paying back to him because motherfucker- Why is he feeling all giddy and hot all of sudden? This has never happened to him before, so that’s why he’s losing his mind right now and almost sprinting into his room because of how bothered he was feeling to just teleport. 

Everything was like hell. Really, like hot as hell. And how does Satoru know that? Uh well, because he’s living it right now.

He couldn’t bear the sensation anymore and dialogue Shoko’s number like it was a habit.

“What do you want, Gojo? I’m in the middle of trying to know how Yuuji’s body is capable of being Sukuna’s vessel. Like- It’s quite important right now, and more than debating about some of your dumb tv shows you-”

Shoko’s voice was interrupted by a whine coming from Gojo’s line, seconds of silence continued the awkward moment between the both of them, while all Gojo could do was breathe and maintain his whines inside of his body before he started literally moaning.

“Are you okay, Gojo?...”

“Fuck, no. Some fucking curse sprayed me all over with some fucking stinky pollen. Didn’t even taste great, by the way. And now I'm just feeling really hot, sometimes dizzy… or kinda giddy? fuck. And my breathing became irregular. I’m fucking sprawled out in my bed trying to find a comfy position but my legs won’t cooperate.”

A loud laugh was heard coming from Shoko’s line. It was clear she’s been holding it all this time just trying to make sure she’s gettin it right.. and well. 

“Gojo.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you hard right now?”

Silence. 

“You know what? I’m sending Y/N over there with some medicine. You’ve been sprayed with sex pollen by the way.”

Sex- what?! 

Before he couldn’t even ask Shoko any question since she quickly hung up. Leaving a needy and confused (and hard) Gojo.

Knock. Knock. 

No answer, but a weird sounding moan? You gave yourself permission to enter Gojo’s room since no life signals were heard. But- holy fuck. Was this a reward or a punishment from the gods?

He was kneeled down on his bed, one of his hands used as a support placed in his bare calf while his other hand was as fast as possible jerking himself off. You stayed still some seconds before rewinding back to what Shoko told you before coming here.

“He might be another type… of… Gojo?... Anyways. He’ll be really needy and like a lost puppy looking for some salvation. I gave you this backpack with all you would need, yeah? Thank me later and good luck.”

So that’s why her flat ass was quickly sending you off with a backpack full of water bottles and snacks. Sex fucking pollen. Great.

It’s not like people don’t know that both of you have been crushing into each other lately, hell- even his newest student asked about this. But you never expected for it to be like this.

“G-Gojo…?”

Your voice was barely a whisper, but it’s like a hawk located his next prey because of how instant his reaction was just for your voice. A drunk smile on his face, while both of his hands fall infront of him trying to hide the act that was going on minutes ago. His sculptured white as snow body covered in a hot layer of sweat. Not being able to catch a breath thanks to this sight, somehow he’s in front of you. 

“Are you here to help me? Y/N?”

His voice sounded so different. But at the same time it was just Gojo.

A small nod was all the reaction he got. You could smell that sweaty smell, looking down you found yourself looking at a large wet spot staining his black briefs. While his cock does nothing to imagination, marking perfectly the shape of it. Moving your gaze to his v-line, a white happy trail proudly adorning it. Eyes moving up, you found yourself looking at his clearly erected nipples, But all this examination was over once he interrupted your thoughts.

“I need a verbal affirmation, princess”

Ah, the nicknames. If you weren’t wet by now, you’re pretty sure you’re leaking right now all because of him.

“Yes Satoru, I’ll help you.”

His knees felt weak. Literally. He kneeled down in front of you, it was like he hypnotized and somehow could smell through your body into emotions. His hands were cold but hot at the same time he roamed your body.

You tried warning him by calling his name while he started kissing the softness of your thighs, telling him to at least move you towards the bed. And his body was doing what you said like if you were controlling him, while his mind was somewhere else. He moved the both of you towards his bed, making you lie down. His head not wasting any second between your thighs until his nose touched where you needed him the most and you whimpered at the feeling. Clearly triggering a new kind of need inside Gojo.

Everything happened really fast. Between some kisses and moaning, Gojo ripped your shorts and pantoes a muffled noise coming out from him of what you suppose was “I’ll buy you new ones later” but right now you couldn’t care less.

Not when his tongue slowly started tracing the way from your entrance until it reached your core. Teasing it with kitten licks, while his hands remained on your hips from preventing moving them.

His tongue quickly found a rhythm between your entrance and your clit, forming infinite signs between them. And the simulation was too much you couldn’t notify Gojo about your orgasm- But he was so lost in the feeling of your thighs suffocating him and the taste of yourself in his lips, he swears he could die as a happy man right now.

And like it wasn’t enough, Gojo kept eating you out even after your intense orgasm. Overstimulation taking over your body, trying to take him off your core, ended up with annoyed groans coming out from him.

“Satoru, love, fuck. I need you to stop, please.”

The nickname had him exploding with happiness, he really looked like a puppy from this angle. His eyes looked ethereal, his mouth covered with your fluids and his face was with a cute smile while he called out your name.

“Will you please let me fuck you?”

A small giggle came out from your mouth, Gojo’s face looked a little sad and embarrassed, but was quickly erased when you pecked his lips. And that was all he needed to clumsily take off his briefs and while he climbed back to the bed, taking off your top while doing so. His eyes were full of adoration looking over your body, before he pressed his lips into yours, locking them for a long moment, clearly enjoying the moment, before the kiss turned more heated and he started kissing every part of your body again.

His tip was now wet thanks to your folds, Easily slipping through it. 

“Ffuck- Ssatoru- Be a good boy and put it in, please?”

Gojo needed no more words before thrusting his cock whole into you with one swift movement, hitting perfectly against that spongy spot that made you see stars. But something didn’t feel right. Not in a bad way. Since you re-opened your eyes to find a glassy eyed Satoru mumbling a lot of ´sorry’s´ while he kept thrusting.

Oh.

He came with just one thrust and was overstimulating himself, still rock hard with no break while he hid his face in the crook of your neck while marking it as his and tearing down from the pleasure. 

You’re pretty sure he came again, when he whimpered your name and moaned against your ear but still continued thrusting into you perfectly. And he was so lost in the pleasure of overstimulating himself he didn’t realize once he confessed to you.

“You’re so pretty- ffuck– I really want to make you mine now. So no one could look at you, not even in a friendly way. Just… have you all for me- sshit. I love you.”

You didn’t want to get your hopes up, thinking it was all because of the moment, so you just had to enjoy it for now. His thrusts were so  fast and hard, but somehow still felt romantic. Like this was a normal routine on a daily basis. And you would be disgusted by the pool of cum forming under the both of you if you weren’t so close to your third orgasm this night. No matter how many times you told Gojo to stop for a moment and take a break, he would cum again, and still be hard so he had to keep thrusting.

Your mind is lost now. All you could ever think about right now was Gojo Satoru and his immense cock. He wouldn’t stop mumbling praises to you, saying this was all for you to feel good and he would stop once you cum at least 3 times more than him. A hard dare to get over with. Or maybe it already happened?

You begged for mercy, not thinking he could get another orgasm out of you. Hell- to even get an orgasm out of him. His hands interweld into yours, and moved it down towards your tummy.

“Do you feel it, baby? I'm right here. Ahh~ I’m pretty sure my cum is there too heh. Your tummy is full of me and my cum.”

He sounded drunk. Like. Really drunk. But his words took off your last orgasm of the night, apparently your reaction making his trigger off and cum… dry?

How many fucking times did Gojo Satoru came inside you?

Will pills even prevent a pregnancy?

“Ah- shit baby.”

You couldn’t pay attention to him anymore, quickly slipping into dreamland. Gojo not once leaves your side. Literally. He was cock-warming, still hard, but no energy (and cum) to continue his misery.

You were here at 7.45 o’clock, one last look at the clock and it was 3.23 in the morning.

And it was like you just blinked, because a whimper came out of your mouth. Looking again into the clock, it was 10 AM, and Gojo was not over.

[lowryuk]

What Was Mine.

Pairing: Eren x F!Reader, Jean x F!Reader

Word Count: 10K

Summary: Your older sister, Mikasa, steals your first love so you get your lick back. But it becomes a little more complicated…

A/N: Ahhhh, my first fic on here!! Let me know your thoughts and if you’d like to see an alternative version because I wrote this like 3 different times before settling on this one LOL.

(Warnings are below the undercut)

Warning(s): Angst, reader is adopted, cheating, heavy betrayal, rough sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, overstimulation, dirty talk, possessive!eren, multiple orgasms, dry humping, teasing, begging, cum eating, unprotected sex (wrap ur Willy pls), lowkey sad reader but it gets better, happy ending

I will post this on AO3 as soon as I get invited which should be around sometime next week!

There was a time when Jean was your everything. The boy who made your heart race, the one you thought you'd grow old with. He was your first love, your best friend—the one person who made the world feel small and safe with just a look. You were so sure of him, so certain that no matter what, he’d always be yours.

You met him at a party. One of those suffocating high school gatherings where the air was thick with sweat and cheap beer, where kids who barely liked each other pretended they were family for the night. You weren’t supposed to be there—Mikasa had dragged you along, making it clear she wasn’t going to hold your hand or play babysitter.

She didn’t say it outright, but you knew what she was thinking. You were only there because of her. Because her parents had taken you in, raised you as their own. Because no matter how many years passed, no matter how many times people called you “sisters,” you would always be the outsider.

And then there was Jean.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, red solo cup in hand, grinning at something Connie had said. His laughter was loud, careless, the kind that filled a room without trying. The dim lighting made the sharp angles of his face more defined, casting shadows that made him look older than he was. He exuded confidence—comfortable in his own skin in a way most high school boys weren’t.

Then, as if sensing your gaze, he looked at you.

And for a second, everything else—the music, the voices, the heat of the packed house—faded into the background.

You turned away quickly, pulse stammering in your throat, but it was too late. The moment had already settled into your bones, anchoring itself somewhere deep, somewhere permanent.

The party moved on without you. People came and went, music thumped against the walls, conversations turned to white noise. But you felt his presence like a weight against your skin. Every time you dared to glance in his direction, he was already looking back.

It wasn’t until much later, when the night had blurred into a drunken haze of movement and sound, that fate intervened. Someone shoved past you in the crowd, sending you stumbling forward—right into him.

A hand caught your wrist, steadying you before you could fall.

"Woah, you good?" His voice was smooth up close, warmer than you expected.

You lifted your head, suddenly hyper aware of how close you were. The scent of him—something faintly like cologne, something distinctly his—lingered between you.

"Yeah," you managed, breathless. "Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention."

Jean smirked. It wasn’t mocking—it was curious, amused, like he’d just discovered something interesting.

"You’re Mikasa’s sister, right?"

There it was again. That title.

It shouldn’t have bothered you, but it did. You were used to hearing it, used to the way people looked at you when they said it. Like they were reminding you of something you were supposed to remember.

You nodded, half-expecting him to brush you off, to turn back to his friends. But he didn’t. Instead, he let his gaze flicker over you, something unreadable in his expression.

"You want a drink?" he asked, and somehow, it felt less like a question and more like a challenge.

You weren’t sure why, but you followed him.

The next hour passed in a blur. You weren’t drinking much, but Jean was intoxicating enough on his own—his sharp wit, his effortless charm, the way he leaned in just a little when he talked to you, like you were the only person worth listening to. He had a way of making you feel seen, like every glance was intentional, like every smirk was meant just for you.

It was stupid, how easily he pulled you in. How quickly you forgot the world outside of this moment, this feeling.

And then, at some point, the night was over. The house was thinning out, the music quieter, the air cooler as you stepped outside. Jean walked with you, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking over to you in intervals like he was debating something.

Then, finally—hesitantly—he stopped.

"Hey," he said, voice softer than before. "I had fun tonight."

You looked up at him, searching his face, waiting for him to say something else. And when he didn’t, when he only stood there watching you, waiting, you knew.

It happened before you could overthink it. He leaned in first, but you met him halfway.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, lingering just long enough to make your chest tighten. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of your shirt, grounding you. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t reckless—it was the kind of kiss that felt like a promise.

And back then, you believed in promises.

You were young. Naïve. Convinced that love, once found, couldn’t be undone.

Because at that moment, Jean was everything.

And he was for the last 4 years until his birthday night.

It was supposed to be his night. Jean’s 20th birthday—the one you’d planned so carefully, hoping to surprise him. You’d put everything together: the decorations, the cake, even his favorite drinks. You had spent hours making sure every detail was perfect because you knew how much he appreciated things like this. He came in, eyes wide in surprise, and when he saw you, there was that warmth in his expression—the kind that made your chest tighten. He was grateful, and you were too, basking in the glow of his genuine happiness.

The night went by in a blur of laughter, music, and clinking glasses. Jean spent time with his friends, and you were busy with yours, navigating the usual ebb and flow of a party. You watched him from across the room occasionally, smiling to yourself at how easy he was to talk to, how he’d light up a room just by being in it.

It wasn’t until it was time for the cake cutting that you realized he had slipped away. You looked around the crowded room, your gaze flicking to the spots where you’d seen him last, but he wasn’t there.

Curious, you made your way through the house, trying to spot him. Your eyes flicked over every face you passed, but he was nowhere to be found. Maybe he was in the backyard, you thought. You started searching the rooms upstairs, thinking maybe he just needed a moment to himself.

Then, as you walked past Mikasa’s door, you heard it.

His voice.

It made your blood run cold.

Without thinking, your hand reached for the door handle, a nervous tremor running through your fingers. The knob creaked under your touch, and as the door cracked open, your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

There they were.

Jean. Mikasa.

Kissing.

His hand in between your sister's legs and his other hand gripping on her breast. You froze, unable to tear your eyes away. Your lungs tightened, and before you knew it, tears started to blur your vision. The ache in your chest was so sharp, it felt like your entire world had just shattered.

They didn’t even notice you. Not at first. They were lost in each other. But when you sobbed—just once, a broken gasp of disbelief—it was enough to catch their attention.

Jean’s eyes widened in horror, and Mikasa, too, seemed startled, but the damage was done. You couldn’t move fast enough. Your body turned on its own accord, propelling you back downstairs, retreating into the chaos of the party.

The voices, the music, the laughter—it all collided in your mind, distorting everything around you. You didn’t care anymore. None of it mattered.

Your best friend grabbed hold of you, her face contorted in concern as she noticed your tear-streaked face and the way your breathing was shallow, rapid.

“Hey,” she said, voice trembling with worry. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

But you couldn’t speak. The words were tangled in your throat.

She rushed you out of the house and took you back to her place. Your phone buzzed in your pocket—Jean, messages, calls, apologies. You couldn’t bring yourself to read any of them. Without even thinking, you blocked Jean on everything. Facebook. Instagram. Texts. Calls. You didn’t want anything from him anymore.

You collapsed in her arms, sobbing until your body felt like it might break.

The blowout after that night was messy. People took sides. Jean and Mikasa’s friends stood by them, defending what they’d done, making excuses. But you couldn’t stomach it.

Even your parents, who didn’t agree with what Mikasa had done, found a way to justify it. “She’s your sister, and maybe they were in love. Maybe you were in the way of that.”

“Life is strange,” they said.

And through all of it, they expected you to forgive her. “Please, find it in your heart. She’s still your sister.”

It wasn’t that easy.

Time passed, and you focused on healing—on trying to forget, or at least bury the pain long enough to function. But the ache never really went away. Not when Mikasa and Jean made their relationship official. Not when she brought him around the house, acting like nothing had ever happened. And definitely not when you’d have to listen, helpless, to the sounds of them together.

The sound of her laughing, of their whispers, of him—him—with her, in the same spaces that used to feel like home.

The betrayal was a weight you couldn’t lift, and you started to wonder if you ever would.

Their relationship seemed to be smooth sailing after that. Mikasa and Jean were inseparable, the picture-perfect couple everyone admired. She flaunted it, of course. Every chance she got, she rubbed it in your face, whether it was with a sly comment, a smug smile, or the way she’d casually mention Jean’s name in conversation—like she had to make sure you knew, that you saw how happy she was. How perfect they were.

And it stung every time. Every time she smiled too brightly when she mentioned him, or when they’d show up together at family dinners, laughing, holding hands, as if everything was normal. But nothing felt normal. Not to you.

It wasn’t that you wanted Jean back. You’d buried that pain deep down, letting time work its numbing magic. But seeing them together—seeing her with him—was a constant reminder of how she had taken something you once thought was yours. And for what? Was it worth it? Was he worth all of this?

Then, a year later, Eren Yeager stepped into the picture, and suddenly, everything changed.

He was new to the city, fresh-faced and confident, a star on the court with a reputation that preceded him. He was everything Jean wasn’t—intense, magnetic, with a presence that made people stop and take notice. Eren wasn’t just another guy. He was the guy.

It didn’t take long for him to become well-known at university. You could see the effect he had on people—on the girls who couldn’t stop talking about him, on the guys who wanted to be him, and the way Mikasa’s eyes followed him whenever he walked by.

At first, you thought it was just harmless admiration. But soon, you could tell it was something more. You saw the way she’d pause when he entered the room, how her face softened in a way it never did around Jean.

And Jean noticed too. He wasn’t blind. It didn’t take long for him to start feeling the pressure—especially when Mikasa began to subtly pull away from him, her attention now split between her boyfriend and her new, undeniable crush.

Jean wasn’t the kind of guy to back down, but you could see it in his eyes, the insecurity creeping in. Mikasa was slipping from his grasp, and Eren was right there, making his move without even realizing it.

You, on the other hand, stayed quiet. You weren’t going to say anything. You weren’t going to make it worse. But it was hard not to notice the way Eren’s presence changed the dynamic—how Mikasa’s attention shifted.

It was like watching a slow-motion car crash and you couldn’t look away.

Connie and Sasha were quick to befriend Eren, welcoming him into their circle as if they’d known him for years. Mikasa, unsurprisingly, was thrilled, her excitement visible every time he was around. It didn’t take long for you to notice the shift. Jean, on the other hand, was becoming noticeably more distant, his cool façade hiding what was likely insecurity. He was fading from the group.

Then, one evening, it all came to light. Over a casual family dinner, Mikasa casually mentioned that she and Jean had split. No drama, no confrontation, just a matter-of-fact statement as though it didn’t matter.

And it hit you like a ton of bricks. Your sister had ruined something that was once beautiful—for no damn reason. Mikasa had always been so quick to go after what she wanted. Now, she had Eren, and you? Well, you were left to pick up the pieces of what she had torn apart.

It didn’t take long for Mikasa to set her sights on Eren. Within a month, they were official. She paraded him around like a trophy, gushing about how he was the captain of the basketball team, how he carried the team to victory every game. She thrived on the attention—not just from him, but from everyone else on campus. She was dating the golden boy, and she wanted everyone to know it.

But it all faltered when Eren met you.

It happened on a quiet evening. Your parents were away on business, Mikasa was supposed to be with Eren, and for once, you had the house to yourself. Dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts that barely passed as clothing and a loose tank top, you were sprawled out on the couch, enjoying the rare solitude.

Then the front door burst open.

You turned your head just as Mikasa rushed inside, Eren trailing behind her. You sat up slightly, the movement making your top slip lower, exposing more than enough to be considered inappropriate. Mikasa's eyes narrowed.

“What the hell are you wearing?” she snapped.

You blinked, feigning innocence. “Didn’t know you were coming back, let alone bringing someone. I’m just in my comfy clothes.” You shrugged, making no move to cover up.

It was then that you felt his stare.

Eren hadn’t looked away since the moment he walked in. His gaze was heavy, dark, lingering. He wasn’t subtle about it either, drinking you in like he was committing every inch of you to memory. And that’s when the idea struck.

At first, this was accidental. A chance encounter. But now? Now it was an opportunity.

You knew Mikasa better than anyone. You had watched her cycle through relationships, but never had she been as enamored as she was with Eren. It wasn’t just him—she loved what he represented. The status, the envy in other girls’ eyes when she walked into a room with him on her arm. He was an ego boost, a walking validation of her importance.

And you made it your mission to take him from her.

It started subtly. The skimpy outfits when he came over, the calculated flirting when Mikasa was too preoccupied scrolling through her phone to listen to him go on about last night’s game. But you listened. You engaged. You actually cared about what he had to say, and it didn’t help that you were breathtaking while doing it.

And Eren noticed.

The way his eyes lingered a second too long, the way his voice dropped when he spoke to you, the way he leaned in just a little closer than necessary. You could feel the shift, the unspoken tension building between you both. He was slipping, and you were ready to catch him.

Then, at some overcrowded party, it finally happened.

Mikasa was off somewhere, lost in the sea of her so-called friends, and you had been searching for him. You found him in the back of the house, seated on a couch, playing cards with a group of guys you didn’t recognize. The moment he spotted you, his lips curled into a smirk, and he patted the empty space beside him.

You didn’t hesitate.

They dealt you into the game, but neither of you were paying attention. His arm draped lazily across the back of the couch, his fingers tracing light patterns against your bare shoulder. You leaned into it, just slightly, but enough for him to notice.

The tension was suffocating, electric.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe it was him, maybe it was you. But suddenly, his fingers were in your hair, tilting your head toward him, and your hands found his jaw, pulling him down. The moment your lips met, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn't careful.

It was desperate.

Eren’s arm curled around your waist, dragging you onto his lap like he had been waiting for this moment all his life. His hands burned against your skin, his touch rough, hungry. The kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping past your lips, tasting like whiskey and recklessness.

The guys around you barely reacted, either too high to care or too used to this kind of debauchery. But it didn’t matter.

You feel the bulge growing in his pants and moan softly when the denim of his jeans slightly rubs against your clit. You try to pull away, just enough to see how far Eren is willing to go, to test him, to see if he’ll hesitate.

But he doesn’t.

His grip tightens around your waist, keeping you flush against him, his breath hot against your lips. His eyes, half-lidded and dark with something unmistakable—search yours, daring you to stop him.

“Eren, we can’t—” your voice is barely a whisper, a weak protest, but even you don’t believe it.

“Let’s go to my car,” he breathes, his lips brushing against your jaw, trailing lower, voice thick with want.

Your stomach flips. The rational part of your mind warns you, reminds you that Mikasa is somewhere in this house, that this is wrong.

But then his hands slide down your thighs, fingertips pressing into bare skin, and suddenly, you don’t care.

He pulls you out of the crowd and to his car, opening the back door and pushing you in before getting on top of you and kissing you all over. You laid on his back seat, dress pulled up to your stomach as Eren grinds his bulge against your slit. His hands roamed your body, exploring your curves with an urgency. He cupped your breast, his thumb brushing against your nipple, eliciting a gasp from you.

"Fuck, Eren," you moaned, leaning into his touch. He responded with a low growl, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses.

He moved between your legs, his fingers coming down and finding your pussy wet and ready. You let out a gasp as he began to tease you, his thumb circling your clit in a maddening rhythm.

You moaned louder, head falling back against the seat, surrendering to the pleasure. Eren continued his motions, his fingers dipping inside you, making you squirm with each thrust. "Eren please, m’ gonna cum," you panted, body trembling with the impending orgasm.

Eren didn't stop. He increased his pace, his fingers moving in and out of you, his thumb pressing against your clit. You came with a cry, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. But Eren wasn't done. He pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean. "You taste so fucking good," he growled, his eyes dark with lust.

He moved lower, his hands pushing your legs apart. He buried his face between your thighs, his tongue finding your clit. “Eren!” You squeal, hands tangling in his hair as he begins to lick and suck, his tongue dipping inside you, tasting you. You come again, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

Eren moved back up, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, a heady mix of arousal and his desire. You reached for his pants, your fingers fumbling with the zipper. You pulled his dick out, long and hard, ready for you to take.

You sat up and straddled him, his hand guiding his dick to your entrance. You sank down on him, taking him inch by inch. He filled you completely, stretching you more than Jean ever could. You begin to ride him, hips moving urgently, like you had been waiting for him your whole life. Eren's hands were everywhere, cupping your breasts, squeezing your ass, pulling your hair. He was rough, his touch bordering on painful, but it only served to heighten your pleasure.

“Fuck baby, you’re so fucking pretty. You have no idea how fucking long I’ve waited to do this.” he utters, thrusting his hips up to meet yours. You squeak in response, syncing up with his thrusts and nearly crying at the sheer pleasure he brought you as the tip of his dick reached your overstimulated g-spot.

You knew the car must be shaking but at that point you didn’t care. The world was second until you soaked his cock with your cum and nearly passed out in exhaustion. You’ve had sex countless times with Jean, but never once had he made you feel like this. You nearly laugh at yourself, at the absurdity of it all. You used to think Jean was everything, used to cry over him, used to let his half-assed love break you. But now? Now, with Eren fucking Yeager between your legs, making you feel things you didn’t even know were possible, you realize how foolish you were.

Mikasa really saved you from mediocre sex for the rest of your life.

The car reeked of sex, but neither of you minded. You were trying to collect yourself, touching up your makeup and hoping that feeling would come back to your legs, but Eren kept kissing on you.

“Eren, we have to go back, or people are gonna notice we’re MIA.”

“Let them notice,” he mutters against your skin, nuzzling into your neck and making you giggle.

“Stop, your girlfriend is going to have my head if she finds out.”

He pulls back slightly, green eyes locking onto yours. “We’re not gonna tell her?”

You give him a dumbfounded look. “Of course not! She’d kill me! Her room is right across from mine—there’s no doubt in my mind that she’d suffocate me with a pillow.”

Eren sighs, shaking his head. “It’s a shame. I wish I met you first.”

Your heart skips. But you recover quickly, tilting your head. “I’m not saying we can’t do this again.”

That makes him smirk. “Our little secret, huh?”

You lean in, pressing one more kiss to his lips before slipping out of the car and heading back inside.

After that night, things spiraled. Sneaking around became second nature—quickies in the janitor’s closet, locker rooms, empty classrooms, even a napping pod once. It was reckless. It was thrilling. And it didn’t help that Eren was so good. Too good.

Whenever he’d come over, you’d be lounging on the couch, and the second Mikasa got up to grab a snack, he’d have you pulled onto his lap, kissing you like he was starving. And before she could see, you’d be on the other end of the couch, casually scrolling through your phone, stifling laughter.

Then, it shifted. The secret dates started. And the biggest problem emerged—you were falling in love with him. And worse, he was falling in love with you.

The guilt set in. Not because you were sleeping with your sister’s boyfriend. No, you didn’t give a damn about that. But because you didn’t want Eren to feel like a pawn in your game. You didn’t want him to wake up one day, realize the truth, and feel used.

So, you came clean.

It was late. You’d already had sex, and now you were sitting in his car, eating ice cream. He could tell something was off. The ice cream was his way of cheering you up.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” His voice was gentle, but there was an edge of concern. “You’re being quiet. It’s freaking me out.”

You inhaled deeply. “If I asked you to break up with my sister for me, would you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Your stomach dropped. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting.

“Why… Do you want me to?”

“I was just wondering why you haven’t already.”

He sighed, rubbing his jaw. “Because I don’t know what we are. I feel bad for dragging your sister along, but I don’t feel that connection with her. She tries to like my interests, tries to be a good girlfriend, but it all feels forced. With you… It’s just easy. Like you were made for me or something.”

His sincerity made your chest ache. Your eyes burned. He noticed immediately, setting his ice cream down and pulling you over the console onto his lap, reclining the seat so you could lay comfortably against him.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he murmured, voice softer now.

“I don’t think we can keep doing this, Eren.”

His jaw tightened. His arms locked around you like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. “Don’t say that.”

You swallowed hard. “I feel bad for dragging you into this.”

“Why?”

You took a shaky breath and told him everything. About Jean. About Mikasa. About how the night you met him, you’d plotted to use him against her, knowing how much she liked him. By the time you finished, tears streamed down your face, the weight of your confession crushing you.

Eren’s expression hardened. His jaw clenched, fingers tapping against the steering wheel in a way that made your stomach twist. Then, without a word, he reached for the seat controls, pushing it back into place before lifting you off his lap and setting you back into the passenger seat. The silence was suffocating.

You buried your face in the sleeve of your sweater, unable to look at him as he started the car. The drive back was agonizing. He didn’t speak, didn’t even glance in your direction. When he finally pulled up a block away from your house, he didn’t tell you to get out, didn’t ask if you were okay. He just waited. Watched. And the second you slipped inside, he sped off, leaving you alone with the hollow ache in your chest.

Eren didn’t message you after that. And you didn’t reach out to him either. He was still with Mikasa, and that broke you more than you wanted to admit. You avoided them, choosing to immerse yourself in school, in your friends—anything to keep yourself from falling apart.

But Eren saw you. And when he did, his stare burned into you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Then, as if to twist the knife deeper, he became the perfect boyfriend. Mikasa was happier than ever, always by his side, gushing about their dates, his sweet gestures, the way he looked at her like she hung the stars. And you? You were unraveling.

You tried to distract yourself—drinks at random bars, meaningless hookups with men who never once made you feel the way Eren did. But it only made things worse. Left you feeling emptier, dirtier. So you stopped. Chose to rot in your bed instead, watching mindless shows to drown out your thoughts.

Then one night, everything changed.

It was late, the house quiet except for the hum of your TV. Mikasa had left hours ago, off to some party, giddy about spending the weekend with Eren. Your parents were away too, leaving you entirely alone. It was supposed to be peaceful.

But then came the pounding on the front door.

Your heart lurched as you glanced at the window, spotting Eren’s car parked outside.

What the hell?

You grabbed a bat before making your way downstairs, your pulse hammering. Peeking through the peephole, you saw him—his expression unreadable, chest rising and falling heavily.

You hesitated, but opened the door anyway.

“You scared the hell—”

Eren pushed past you, eyes scanning the room before snatching the bat from your hand. He didn’t stop, storming up the stairs like a man possessed.

“Eren, what the fuck are you doing?” You shut the door and followed after him, heart pounding.

He threw open your bedroom door, searching like a madman—checking under your bed, inside your closet, even the bathroom. Then he turned to you, eyes dark, wild.

“Where is he?”

“What?”

“Jean.” His voice was a growl. “I know he’s here. Don’t fucking lie to me.”

You stared at him, utterly baffled. “Jean? Why the fuck would he be here?” You argue.

Eren’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer, backing you against the wall. His scent surrounded you—faint cologne mixed with something desperate, something unhinged.

“Your friend told me he was here,” he said through gritted teeth. “And Jean was nowhere to be fucking seen at that party.”

Your brows furrowed. “My friend?” You turned your phone over and sure enough, there was a notification from her: ‘Angry Eren headed your way 🫡.’

You exhaled, rolling your eyes as you showed him the screen. “She lied to you. He’s not here.”

Eren’s eyes flickered with relief for only a second before something darker took over. He grabbed your phone, tossed it onto the bed, and then his lips crashed onto yours.

“Fuck it,” he muttered between kisses, hands gripping your waist. “I can’t stop fucking thinking about you.”

You gasped as he pushed you onto the mattress, his weight pressing down on you. His fingers trailed up your thigh, squeezing, possessive.

“You have me so fucking crazy in the head,” he rasped against your lips. “Had me leaving a party, abandoning my girlfriend to see if you were with that piece of shit.”

His mouth was everywhere—your neck, your jaw, your collarbone. Desperate. Consuming.

“Thought I could ignore you. Move the fuck on after you used me like that. But fuck,” his teeth grazed your skin, making you shudder, “I can’t stop thinking about you. I close my fucking eyes, and I see you. I get into my car, and I miss you. I read our messages every fucking day, hoping you’ll reach out. But you never fucking did.”

His words made your chest tighten, your hands fisting his hoodie. “Eren…”

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breath uneven. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “And I will.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, you pulled him closer, sealing your fate with a kiss that tasted like everything you’d been running from.

Eren’s lips trail down your jaw, rough and desperate, his breath heavy against your skin. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s kissing you again, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent ignoring you. His hands are gripping your waist, fingers digging in like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“You fucking ruined me,” he mutters against your lips, his voice low, strained. “Made me lose my fucking mind. Do you know how many times I’ve been this close—” his hand moves up your thigh, pushing your tank top higher “—to driving to your house in the middle of the night?”

Your heart is hammering against your ribs, but you manage to whisper, “Then why didn’t you?”

His eyes darken, and suddenly, he’s flipping you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress. “Because you didn’t fucking reach out,” he growls. “You left me there, made me think I was just a fucking game to you.”

You shake your head, fingers gripping the back of his neck. “It wasn’t like that. I swear.”

Eren scoffs. “Then why’d you do it? Huh?” He’s searching your face, looking for something—maybe a reason not to hate you, not to love you as much as he does. “Why’d you play with me like that?”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You don’t even know if you can say it. But when you look into his eyes, into the frustration, the longing, the hurt—you know you have to.

“I was angry,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “Mikasa… she took everything from me. I just wanted to take something from her for once.”

Eren’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t loosen his grip on you, doesn’t stop looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Then why does it feel like I’m the one who took something from you?” he mutters.

You swallow hard. “Because I didn’t expect to fall for you.”

Eren exhales sharply, like the words just knocked the air out of him. His fingers tighten on your hips, and he curses under his breath before pressing his forehead against yours.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

Your breath hitches. “Eren—”

“Say it again.” His voice is hoarse, pleading. His lips ghost over yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.

You close your eyes, hands trembling as they tangle in his hair. And then, softly, “I fell for you.”

A sound leaves his throat—something between a sigh and a groan—before he’s crashing his lips into yours, kissing you like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting for this moment since the day you walked out of his car.

And maybe he has.

Eren’s hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, sliding under your shirt, tilting your chin up so he can kiss you deeper. It’s messy, desperate, all-consuming. You feel like you’re drowning in him, in the way he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“You’re mine,” he breathes against your lips, like he’s making a vow. His hands tighten around your waist, pressing you closer to him. “I don’t give a fuck about anything else. I don’t care what we were supposed to be—I just know I can’t lose you again.”

Your chest is heaving, heart pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it. “Eren…”

“I mean it,” he growls, his lips ghosting over your jaw, down your neck. “I don’t care about Mikasa. I don’t care about Jean. I don’t care about whatever the fuck happened before—I just want you.”

Your breath catches, fingers trembling as they dig into his shoulders. “Eren, if we do this… there’s no going back.”

“Good,” he mutters, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide. “I don’t fucking want to go back.”

And then he’s kissing you again, harder this time, like he’s trying to fuse himself to you. Like he’s trying to make up for every second you spent apart.

You don’t stop him. You don’t want to.

You let him pull you closer, let him steal the breath from your lungs, let him drag you under because if this is what drowning feels like—being swallowed whole by Eren Yeager—you don’t ever want to come up for air.

Eren’s hands slide under your shirt, rough palms grazing over your heated skin. He’s impatient—grabbing, pulling, desperate to feel more of you, like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he lets go for even a second.

“Tell me you missed me,” he pants against your lips, his breath hot, his voice low and dangerous.

You swallow hard, head spinning. “Eren—”

“Say it.” His fingers dig into your hips, his jaw clenched so tight you think he might shatter. “Tell me you fucking missed me like I missed you.”

Your throat is dry, your heart slamming against your ribs. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, don’t want to let him know just how badly you’ve been aching for him, but you can’t lie. Not to him.

“I missed you,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.

His eyes darken, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah?”

You nod, hands gripping his shoulders, trying to ground yourself, but he’s everywhere—filling your senses, stealing the air from your lungs.

He leans in, lips brushing over your ear. “Then show me.”

And just like that, all hesitation crumbles. You crash into him, fingers threading through his hair as you kiss him like you’ll never get the chance again. He groans against your mouth, hands roaming your body like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressing against yours. His eyes, normally sharp and cold, are burning with something raw, something unspoken.

“You’re mine,” he breathes. It’s not a question. It’s not a request. It’s a fucking fact.

And for the first time, you don’t want to fight it.

You nod. “I’m yours.”

Eren lets out a shaky breath, like he’s been waiting forever to hear you say that. Then, with a smirk, he grips your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“Damn right you are.”

Eren doesn’t waste another second. His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your shirt, his fingers digging into your skin like he wants to pull you inside him.

“You have no fucking idea what you do to me,” he growls against your lips, yanking your body flush against his. You can feel him—hard, throbbing, pressing into you like he’s already lost all patience.

You whimper, fingers twisting in his hair as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your throat, sucking at your pulse just to hear you gasp.

“Eren—”

“Shhh, baby,” he murmurs, voice husky as he nips at your collarbone. “I got you.”

His hands slip under your shirt, pushing it up, his thumbs brushing over your heated skin. He pulls back just enough to yank it over your head, tossing it somewhere in the room before his mouth is on you again—hot, wet kisses trailing lower, lower.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he mutters, his breath fanning over your stomach. “So fucking perfect for me.”

You arch into him as his fingers slide under the waistband of your shorts, playing with the elastic. He looks up at you through heavy-lidded eyes, his smirk downright sinful.

“Tell me how bad you want me,” he teases, voice dripping with arrogance.

You bite your lip, your body screaming for him. “Eren, please.”

His smirk grows. “That’s my girl.”

He tugs your shorts down in one swift motion, leaving you bare beneath him. His eyes darken, his tongue swiping over his lips as he takes you in.

“Fuck,” he groans, gripping your thighs and spreading them apart. “Been dreaming about this.”

Your breath hitches as he kisses the inside of your thigh, his hands gripping your legs like he never wants to let go.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, teasingly slow, lips ghosting over where you need him most.

You nod frantically, hands reaching for him, but he only chuckles. “Use your words.”

“Eren, please,” you gasp, squirming under his touch.

He grins against your skin.

Eren groans, low and deep, like he’s barely holding himself together. His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into your skin as he spreads you wider beneath him, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive spot.

"Fuck," he rasps, voice rough with need. "You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this."

His lips skim over the inside of your thigh, slow, teasing, his tongue flicking on your clit just to feel you shudder. He smirks against your skin, eyes dark as he watches you squirm.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with hunger. "Already dripping for me. So fucking perfect, baby."

You whimper, arching toward him, but he just chuckles, gripping your hips to hold you down. "Patience, sweetheart," he taunts, pressing a lingering kiss right where you need him most—just barely, just enough to make you gasp.

"Eren," you plead, voice breathless, fingers threading into his hair to tug him closer.

He groans at that, his control slipping. "Shit, you’re gonna fucking ruin me."

Then he’s on you—hot, relentless, devouring you like he’s been starving for this moment. His tongue flicks, his lips suck, his grip tightens as he pulls you closer, deeper, like he wants to drown in you.

Your back arches, a cry spilling from your lips, and Eren growls in satisfaction. "That’s it, baby. Let me hear you," he rasps against your skin, his pace ruthless now.

You’re already trembling, teetering on the edge, and he knows it. He feels it. He fucking loves it.

"Come on, pretty girl," he coaxes, voice rough, hands gripping you even tighter. "Give it to me. Let me taste you fall apart."

Eren is relentless. His grip on your thighs is bruising, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to claim every inch of you. His tongue flicks, slow and deliberate, his lips wrapping around your most sensitive spot just to suck—hard.

Your body jolts, a sharp gasp escaping before you can stop it, and Eren groans at the sound like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. "Fuck, baby," he rasps, his voice muffled against you. "You taste so fucking good."

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. His tongue moves with precision, stroking, circling, teasing, while his hands keep you pinned, leaving you completely at his mercy.

You squirm, panting, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer. He groans at that, the vibration of it sending shockwaves straight through you.

"Eren—oh my god—"

He chuckles darkly, lifting his head just enough to meet your dazed, desperate eyes. His lips are glistening, his pupils blown wide with hunger. "That’s right, baby," he murmurs, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. "Say my fucking name."

Then his fingers join the mix—two of them sliding inside, slow, stretching you, curling just right as his mouth latches onto you again. The combination is devastating. Mind-numbing.

Your back arches, a broken moan spilling from your lips as pleasure crashes over you, and Eren growls in satisfaction, his grip tightening, his pace ruthless.

"That’s it, sweetheart," he groans, his fingers curling deeper, his mouth working you over mercilessly. "Let me feel you come for me."

You shatter. Your whole body tenses, thighs trembling around his head as the pleasure rips through you, wave after wave. Eren doesn’t let up—he keeps going, dragging you through it, devouring every second of your undoing like he lives for this.

When you finally slump against the bed, boneless, breathless, he presses one last kiss to your sensitive skin before making his way up your body—hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing up your stomach, your ribs, your throat.

By the time he reaches your lips, he’s grinning, cocky and devastating. "You’re so fucking pretty when you come," he murmurs, dragging his thumb over your swollen lips.

Then he kisses you—deep, slow, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His hips press against yours, hard and insistent, reminding you just how much he needs you.

Eren doesn’t give you a second to recover. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, trailing up your stomach, pressing into your thighs like he owns you. His mouth is back on yours, hot and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes you whimper.

"Fuck," he groans, grinding against you, making sure you feel how hard he is. "You feel that, baby? This is what you do to me."

His hands slip beneath you, gripping your ass, pulling you against him harder, and you can feel him, thick and throbbing, pressing against your slick heat through his sweats. It’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.

"Eren," you gasp, your nails raking down his back, dragging over the firm muscles beneath his skin.

He growls at that, teeth grazing over your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. "You like driving me crazy, don’t you?" he mutters, voice rough, his breath hot against your skin. "You like knowing I can barely fucking think when I’m touching you?"

You moan, thighs squeezing around his waist, desperate for more friction, more him.

He smirks against your throat. "I can feel you dripping for me, baby. You want it that bad?"

"Yes," you whimper, back arching as he grinds against you again, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. "Eren, please—"

"Shit, you sound so pretty when you beg," he groans, his lips dragging lower, lower, his teeth scraping over your collarbone before he sucks, leaving a mark—his mark. "Say it again."

You’re already dizzy with need, your fingers twisting in his hair as you pull him closer. "Please, Eren," you gasp. "I need you. Need all of you—"

His control snaps.

He sits up, yanking his hoodie over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. His eyes are dark, ravenous, as he watches you, chest heaving, lips swollen from his kisses.

"You’re gonna be the fucking death of me," he mutters, his hands hooking into the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down.

And then he’s there, bare and thick and aching for you, his cock standing proud against his stomach. Your breath catches because fuck, he’s big—so big it has your thighs squeezing together in anticipation.

Eren sees it. Loves it. His smirk turns wicked, one hand stroking himself as he watches you with those heavy-lidded, lust-filled eyes.

"What’s wrong, sweetheart?" he teases, voice dripping with arrogance. "You think you can take me?"

You swallow hard, your whole body burning. "I—I want to."

That does it.

"Fuck," he growls, surging forward, caging you beneath him again. His lips crash against yours, desperate, hungry, his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing, taunting. "I got you, baby. I’ll make it fit."

His fingers trail down, teasing your slit, groaning at how soaked you are for him. "So fucking wet," he mutters. "All for me."

Then, without warning, he thrusts—slow, deep, stretching you open inch by inch. A strangled moan rips from your throat, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you completely.

"Fuck," he grits out, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath ragged. "You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect for me."

You’re gasping, legs wrapping around him, overwhelmed by the way he stretches you, the way he owns you.

Eren groans, his hands gripping your hips as he pulls back before slamming into you again, his jaw clenched, his control fraying. "Oh, baby," he pants, setting a deep, punishing pace. "You’re gonna fucking ruin me."

Eren is gone. Completely wrecked, consumed, feral. His grip on your hips is bruising, his thrusts deep and devastating, like he’s trying to carve himself into you, like he wants to ruin you for anyone else.

"You feel that, baby?" he growls, his voice all grit and desperation. His forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged as he drives into you, hitting just right, making you gasp. "Feel how good you take me? Fuck—you were made for me."

Your nails scrape down his back, leaving red-hot lines in their wake, and Eren groans, his pace stuttering for a second.

"Shit," he pants, his hands sliding down your body, grabbing at your thighs, pulling them higher around his waist. "You’re so fucking tight—so perfect, baby. Squeezing me so good."

You can’t even speak, can’t do anything but take it, your body trembling beneath him as pleasure builds like a wildfire. Every drag of his cock against your walls, every filthy, desperate moan that spills from his lips, sends you spiraling higher.

And he knows it.

Eren watches you with hooded eyes, his expression downright sinful as he slows just to tease, rolling his hips in deep, controlled thrusts that have your back arching off the bed.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he murmurs, dragging his tongue over your throat, biting down just enough to make you cry out. "I can feel it. You’re so fucking close."

You are. Your entire body is burning, your muscles tensing, the pressure coiling tighter, tighter—

"Come on, baby," he coaxes, one hand slipping between you, his fingers finding your clit, circling it in slow, teasing strokes that have you whimpering. "Give it to me. Let me feel you."

And that’s it. The pleasure snaps, crashing over you in a blinding, breathless wave. Your body convulses, your back bowing, your walls pulsing around him as you shatter with a strangled moan of his name.

Eren loses it.

"Fuck, that’s it, baby," he groans, his pace turning desperate, sloppy, chasing his own high. "Shit—gonna fill you up—fuck—"

With one last, deep thrust, he breaks, his body tensing as he spills inside you, groaning your name like a fucking prayer. His grip on you is tight, like he never wants to let go, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rides out his release.

For a moment, all you can do is breathe, tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with heat and satisfaction.

Then Eren lifts his head, a lazy, cocky smirk curving his lips as he brushes a damp strand of hair from your face.

"You okay, baby?" he murmurs, his voice low, teasing. "Did I fuck you stupid?"

You glare at him—weakly, still dazed—and he grins, chuckling as he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your swollen lips.

"That was just the first round, sweetheart," he murmurs against your mouth, his fingers already trailing down your body again.

"You did say you needed more, didn’t you?"

Eren doesn’t even let you breathe. He’s still inside you, still hard, still fucking hungry, and from the way his hands are already trailing lower, gripping your thighs like he owns you, you know he’s not done.

Not even close.

"You thought I was finished with you?" he taunts, voice thick, teasing, dripping with arrogance. He rolls his hips—slow, deep—making you whimper at the overstimulation, and fuck, his smirk is wicked.

"You can take it, can’t you, baby?" he murmurs, fingers tracing over your swollen, sensitive clit just to tease. "Be my good girl and let me ruin you."

You’re still shaking from your last orgasm, body sensitive, nerves on fire, but that only makes it better. Your head lolls back, a needy whine slipping from your lips, and Eren grins.

"That’s what I fucking thought."

Before you can respond, he moves. Fast. Suddenly, you’re flipped onto your stomach, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you onto your knees. His chest is warm, burning against your back as he leans down, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

"You’re so fucking pretty like this," he groans, his cock pressing against your soaked folds, sliding through your slick without pushing in. Teasing. Torturing. "All spread out for me. Ready to be fucked proper."

You’re desperate. Arching your back, pressing against him, trying to push yourself onto his cock, but he just laughs.

"Needy little thing," he coos, one hand wrapping around your throat, pulling you back against his chest. His other hand dips between your legs, fingers sliding through your wetness, making you tremble.

"You want it that bad, huh?" he murmurs, pressing a soft, almost mocking kiss to your temple. His fingers glide up, circling your clit, barely touching—just enough to make you squirm.

"Eren, please," you whimper, your voice already wrecked.

He groans at that, his grip tightening. "Fuck, baby," he breathes. "I love when you beg."

Then, without warning, he slams into you.

A guttural moan rips from your throat as he bottoms out in one thrust, stretching you all over again. His grip on your throat tightens, his breath hot against your ear.

"You feel that, baby?" he growls. "Feel how deep I am?"

You can barely think. Your fingers claw at the sheets, your body arching, completely at his mercy.

Eren loves it. Loses himself in it. He pulls back and thrusts again—hard, deep, his pace brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, filthy, obscene, mixed with his low groans and your desperate, broken moans.

"You’re taking me so fucking well," he grits out, his hand sliding from your throat down to your mouth. His fingers press against your lips, and when you gasp, he shoves them inside.

"Suck," he commands, voice raw, and fuck, you do—hollowing your cheeks, moaning around his fingers as he fucks into you even harder.

His growl is pure filth.

"Shit, you’re so fucking nasty," he groans, his other hand coming down on your ass—hard. You gasp, the sting of it making you clench around him, and Eren loses it.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" he taunts, his pace somehow turning even more devastating. "Like being fucked like a little slut?"

You whimper, drool slipping down your chin, body shaking as pleasure builds like a fucking storm.

"You gonna come for me again, baby?" he pants, yanking his fingers from your mouth, trailing them down between your legs. He finds your clit and rubs in tight, fast circles, making you wail.

"You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?" he growls. "Come on, baby. Make a mess all over my cock."

And then you snap.

Your vision blurs, your body convulsing as a scream rips from your throat. You come so hard it nearly knocks you flat, your walls pulsing around him, milking his cock, dragging him to his own breaking point.

"Fuck," he snarls, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Then he shatters, his entire body tensing as he spills inside you, filling you up with a guttural moan of your name. His grip on your waist is bruising, his body collapsing against yours as he grinds his hips, riding out every last pulse of pleasure.

For a moment, neither of you can move. You’re both wrecked, sweaty, panting, tangled together in the best possible way.

Then Eren chuckles—low, breathless, still cocky as hell.

"Holy shit," he pants, pressing lazy kisses to your spine.

Your whole body is shaking, skin burning, sweat dripping—but Eren? That man is insatiable.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s moving again, hands gripping your hips hard, pulling you up onto all fours. You let out a weak, breathless moan, and he grins—that wicked, cocky, downright sinful grin.

"Aww, what’s wrong, baby?" he coos, teasing, breath hot against your ear. "Too much for you?"

You don’t even get a chance to answer before he spanks you—hard—his palm coming down on your ass with a sharp crack, making you jolt.

Your gasp turns into a moan, and Eren laughs, the sound deep and filthy.

"Ohhh, you like that, don’t you?" he taunts, rubbing over the stinging skin, his voice dripping with amusement. "Such a dirty little thing. Getting all wet just from being put in your place."

You whimper, back arching, needing more.

"Use your words," he warns, fingers teasing at your entrance, rubbing through your slick but not giving you what you want.

"Eren, please," you gasp, pushing back against him, desperate, needy. "I want you."

"Yeah?" he breathes, leaning down, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "Want me to fuck you stupid again?"

"Yes—yes, please," you beg, voice wrecked, trembling beneath him.

He groans, dragging his cock through your wetness, teasing, taunting, making you squirm.

"Since you asked so nicely," he mutters.

And then he slams into you.

A wail rips from your throat as he fills you to the hilt, stretching you open all over again. Eren grunts, gripping your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow—but you don’t care.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, pulling back just to thrust into you again, setting a brutal pace. "You love this, don’t you? Getting fucked like a little whore?"

You can’t even answer—can barely breathe. Your fingers claw at the sheets, your mouth open in a silent moan as he wrecks you.

Eren notices.

He laughs, breathless and cocky, and suddenly, his fingers are tangling in your hair, yanking your head back so your back arches perfectly for him.

"Aww, is it too much?" he teases, his voice mocking, his pace relentless. "Look at you, baby—drooling for me, fucking shaking, taking every inch like a good little slut."

You whimper, body trembling, completely at his mercy.

"Say it," he growls, snapping his hips so deep you swear you see stars. "Say you’re my little slut."

"I—I’m your little slut," you gasp, the words wrecked, choked.

"Fuck," he groans, his cock twitching inside you. "Good fucking girl."

Then he’s really losing control. His hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, brutal circles that have you screaming.

"You gonna come for me again, baby?" he taunts, his breath hot against your ear. "Gonna make a fucking mess all over my cock?"

You can’t stop it. The pleasure crashes over you, tearing you apart, your body convulsing, your walls pulsing so tight around him that he growls.

"Shit," he grits out, his pace turning desperate, erratic, wrecked. "Gonna fucking fill you up, baby—fuck—"

With a deep, guttural groan, he snaps, his body tensing as he spills inside you, hips jerking, grinding, making sure you take every drop.

For a moment, all you can do is breathe, both of you shaking, panting, wrecked.

Then Eren chuckles, low and teasing, pressing a lazy, cocky kiss to your shoulder.

Your whole body is spent, muscles trembling, skin hot and slick with sweat. The air is thick, the room still humming with the aftershocks of what just happened, but before you can even think about moving, Eren is already on you.

Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, and the second your body melts into his, he lets out the softest sigh. His lips press lazy, feather-light kisses to your shoulder, up your neck, across your jaw—slow, tender, like he’s savoring you.

"You okay, baby?" he murmurs, voice low, husky, but gentle now. The contrast from the way he was just wrecking you makes your heart ache in the best way.

You hum, still a little dazed, nuzzling into his chest. "Mmmhmm."

He chuckles, all warm and fond, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "That’s not a real answer," he teases, fingers tracing lazy circles over your spine.

You smile sleepily, turning your face up toward him. "I’m good," you mumble, voice soft, satisfied. "So good."

Eren grins, his hand sliding down to your thigh, kneading it gently, soothing over the marks his fingers left behind. "You sure? You need anything?"

You shake your head, completely content, but that doesn’t stop him from fussing over you. He shifts, reaching for something—his discarded shirt—before gently wiping you down, murmuring little praises under his breath.

"So fucking perfect," he whispers, pressing another soft kiss to your shoulder. "So good for me."

When he’s done, he tosses the shirt aside, pulling you right against his chest, wrapping you up in his arms like he never wants to let go.

“What’re you going to do about her?” Eren follows your gaze that’s on his phone with Mikasa’s name flashing on it. “I already told you what I’m gonna do. She’s nobody to me.” He whispers, his fingers running through your hair down to your back.

A small pause follows.

"Stay right here, baby," he murmurs, tucking your head under his chin, his fingers stroking slow, soothing patterns into your back.

You sigh, completely boneless, curling into him. "Not going anywhere," you mumble. "Ever."

Eren chuckles, the sound soft, sweet. "Good," he murmurs, tilting your chin up just to steal one more slow, sleepy kiss. "Mine."

[spread-the-influence]

OH COOL ! A MASTERPOST !

a horror-comedy fan comic based on The Amazing Digital Circus where ragatha's the host of a parasitical virus and it becomes everyone's problem ! neat-o beans !

* this is also a VERY buttonblossom / pomni x ragatha-centric AU so if you don't enjoy that ship i don't recommend engaging with this sorry

[DISCLAIMER!] while this comic is mostly lighthearted in tone , this comic and au will contain topics that could disturb sensitive readers ! this includes ; graphic violence , depictions and discussions of emotional abuse , depictions of mental health issues , self-harm imagery , obsession , and discussions of suicide . any more specifics will be tagged in the pages , but these are the ones that encompass the Entire comic basically !

( also i hope it's a given that i'm not romanticizing the toxic yuri in this au , )

if any of these topics make you uncomfortable , it's alright to click away or block the #tadc influence au tag .

!! if you want to support this comic , try sharing and talking about it in other platforms OR throw some money at my ko-fi page ! it'll be radical either way !!

LINKS

>> READ THE BEGINNING !

or , if you prefer ...

* TABLE OF CONTENTS ( returning reader or just someone who's not up for scrolling through the tags ? here's the table of contents ! contains links to the comic pages all in one place , any extras , and possible relevant posts in the >>info; tag ! )

* FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS ! ( questions that i have constantly been asked ! )

* AU POST ! ( for those who have read the comic and are curious about the au — and people that want to spoil the first half of the comic for themselves . i don't judge ! )

** OFFICE LORE POST ( not a necessary read , but would be cool to read if you're interested in the backstory for ... some reason ! )

* INFO CARDS ! ( info cards for the characters , just for funsies ! will contain blank templates for any ocs (: )

TAGS

[ highlighted are those of relevance + may be interesting ! ]

>>COMIC; - the comic ( be warned things will be out of order )

>>INFO; - specific asks about the au answered !

>>ASK; - old roleplay posts if you want to see em

>>MISC; - answered asks / non-comic stuff

WARNING: ESSAY - mod rambles

>>DOODLES; - doodles from yours truly

>>PRE-FLUENCE; - stuff before the horrors

>>POST-FLUENCE; - stuff after the horrors

>>ANIMATIONS; - ... animations

>>OFFICE LORE; - pre-circus

>>REBLOGS; - ... reblogs !

>>EXTRAS; - some extras or ' ambiguously canon ' comics !

GUIDELINES & BOUNDARIES

READ THE FAQ , PLEASE ! there are some questions that are , well , frequently asked ! so please read the faq and only send an ask if the question's not there

this is NOT an ask blog ! i will sometimes play along with ask blog-esque asks , but that's only just once in a while — so just please only ask me , the mod , for anything about the au !

you can call me mod bee . i go by she/her in this account

keep it impersonal please ! i would prefer if the asks are related to the au , my art , or tadc . i'm fine with being asked about my interests or what i think of something but otherwise , i appreciate if you do not ask about my life or what timezone i'm in .

my art is free to use ! feel free to use it as an icon , in an edit — anything really as long as you don't sell it or it's not used to spread hateful messages ! my only condition really is to credit me

reposts are fine ! just please make it clear that you did NOT create the art and LINK the account . i gave the free rein to repost the art , all i'm asking is to please respect these conditions !

please do not dm me . i do not like dms . any form of communication is only through the ask box .

this is not a tadc art requests blog so please don't send me any , i am Not going to draw your ship or draw ragatha as that animal . any requests should be about the au itself , or if you want me to draw a particular character .

i am uncomfortable with nsfw asks so please don't send them . i am fine with suggestive humor , though

remember to spread the influence.

[vervainandspritz]

CRAWLING BACK TO YOU

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word count: 4k

Warnings: drinking, swearing, feelings, friends to lovers trope kind of

Notes: Guys thanks for 400 follows love y'all

Was it possible to get used to a life so bizarrely unusual and different to find it… peaceful? Feeling her lungs fill out with fresh air when in reality every piece of clothing Y/N owned was sprinkled with ash of the wild flame that the Shelby family was?

People were scared of getting burned, naturally. Fading in and out of her life as soon as they'd find out she was associated with Peaky blinders.

At first it bothered her, oh, so much. That people didn't see a thing about her besides her association. Now, she was years into the strange peace she found in one of the most dangerous cities in Britain, with a gun settled in her hand so frequently it fit better than the several sets of leather gloves she owned.

A matter running so deep in her mind, she found herself touching it over and over, sometimes with a glimmer in her eyes.

…or like that day, sitting in the Garrison with her gaze fixated on a glass in her hand. Mentally fiddling with the churning in her stomach as his blue eyes filled her head all over again. The room was as loud as ever, accompanied by both men and women in questionable states of sobriety, laughs and conversations that didn't matter. Not one bit.

An upcoming weekend allowed people of Birmingham to loosen up, shake off the tension from the hard work they've been holding in their tired bones.

Nobody seemed to notice when the door swung open, allowing cold air of a Friday night to seep in. Nobody but her.

Footsteps echoed quietly, going unnoticed in the loud crowd but Y/N knew exactly who came in despite her eyes remaining on her glass of rum.

”Y/N, what do you think about him?” A voice came to her ears suddenly, a slight nudge to her side bringing her out of the weird state.

”Hmm?” She asked before quickly glancing at her friend, gaze looking for clues as to not show her disinterest. Emily rolled her eyes with a sigh, dramatically slumping her shoulders.

”Don’t tell me you just zoned out, again, after I just spent five minutes explaining the matter.” She raised her eyebrows while her blue eyes narrowed for a moment before she sighed again. ”Alright. You're lucky I can't be mad at you. What's wrong?” Y/N’s demeanour seemed to be a little different than usual, and knowing her for so long, Emily immediately picked on it.

Okay, maybe not immediately, she thought, but eventually she got there.

Y/N cleared her throat, a chuckle pushing past her lips before she pushed her glass away.

”Nothing really. I haven't eaten much today, and alcohol hit me harder than usual.” Came out of her mouth so smoothly, despite being just partially true.

”And it absolutely doesn't have anything to do with the pack of wolves you surround yourself with, does it?”

Just like that Y/N loosened up again, laughing at the way Emily always so easily joked about them so lightheartedly, as nobody else would dare. ”Speaking of the devil” she added with a smirk, glancing towards the door. ”Yours just appeared. Right on time as well, because I need to wrap it up and go home. Betty refuses to sleep when I'm not home.” Y/N sighed, feeling bad for not paying attention before Emily had to leave.

”Of course,” She nodded, ”Arthur will drive you home” Y/N said, as usual but Emily shook her head while making a funny face.

”Absolutely not! Send the younger one. Arthur can't seem to understand I'm married,” She rolled her eyes with a giggle as she nudged Y/N’s side. ”I’ll wait outside”

As the taller woman walked away, Y/N threw back the remaining liquor and took a deep breath before she got up, looking around.

Before she spotted the Shelby brothers, she felt a heavy gaze on her back which admittedly made things easier. Turning around, her eyes met Tommy's from the other side of the room. He was sober while she clearly already had a few, her gaze a bit softer around the edges. Making her way to their table, she took a deep breath once again.

”John,” Y/N greeted him first with a smile, “would you kindly drive Emily home tonight?” her speech came out a little smoother than usual, tension from her voice long gone which showed her state, already a bit softened by alcohol.

“I don't mind driving her,” Arthur abruptly interjected.

“No, no that's all right Art you're in no state to drive clearly.” She stated firmly with a hint of humour in her voice. His brows shot up.

”I just had ONE drink! Are you mad?” He asked pretentiously with a huff, making John laugh.

”Seems like you need to try harder, aye!” The younger brother chuckled before getting up and standing by Y/N.

”Sure thing, Darling, but you owe me a drink” He winked, making her roll her eyes playfully.

”Sure thing” She repeated, mockingly.

”Someone already had a few” Tommy interjected suddenly, a hint of teasing in his voice, but one only Y/N could pick up on.

”Oh, and you're here as well” She replied, her gaze meeting his once again with that mischievous glimmer. ”Found time to spend among us, Mr. Shelby?”

Thomas watched her for a moment before slowly but surely one corner of his lips twitched in sort of a smirk.

”Sit down before I kick you out of my pub, eh?” He patted the free space where John was sitting just a few moments ago.

And so she did, ignoring his comment while pouring herself a glass of whisky with a smirk. One thing that never changed between them were their verbal skirmishes. Ever since the young blue eyed boy chased her with a stick dipped in the mud, devilishly proud of himself while at it.

Arthur kept mumbling to himself about the unfairness of the situation, unserious as ever. Pouring himself another drink, he glanced at Y/N, feeling her amused look on him.

”Don’t need me as a driver, so let the man be, would you?” He threw in a snarky remark with a hint of amusement, to which she lifted her hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

”Wouldn’t dare to tell you what to do, old man”

a smirk slowly spread on his face and so the game began all over again. Soon John came back along with other Blinders crowding the table as they drank, talked and had fun just like always while making sure everything in the pub was going just fine.

Y/N’s nonchalant, easygoing aura was strong as ever when Tommy's eyes drifted towards her every now and then. Time was passing by quickly when they had fun simultaneously drinking.

Nights like these were secretly meaningful to all the Shelby's, giving them space and time to forget for a little while about the heavy responsibilities and dangers of their day to day life. It was one of the instances where people could see Tommy slightly let his guard down as the alcohol affected his mind, causing him to behave more freely in a less controlled environment.

A lazy smile appeared on Y/N’s face as she chuckled listening to the colourful stories, obviously enhanced into dramatic details to be more entertaining. She liked seeing them like this, these fleeting moments of freedom making each of the men by the table turn into these young boys she used to know long years ago without the scarring of life they all carried nowadays.

Reaching for a pack of cigarettes sitting on the table, Y/N plucked one for Tommy, putting it into his hand out of habit without even thinking. One of those things she'd do even under the influence, with her better judgement clouded almost completely.

Without looking at her, Tommy put it between his lips, reaching for matches to light her cigarette before his own. The gestures were so natural nobody even noticed.

Putting the little box back on a table, Thomas let his hand fall down, landing on her thigh as his fingers began slowly stroking her soft skin mindlessly as he spoke to Isaiah across the table.

Her eyes drifted briefly on his face, grazing over his strong features and the way his lips remained formed in a relaxed smile as he spoke when suddenly another person got her attention.

A man in the background, about ten feet away from them, stood with a woman, kissing her cheek as she hugged him quickly before disappearing in the crowd.

His familiar features and cocky grin immediately sparked her interest, as she recognised Paul, a good friend of hers who happened to be delivering ingredients to her bakery everyday.

Seeing her, he moved closer before finally standing by the table.

“Evening, Y/N” He spoke up, nodding towards the men who quickly realized he was familiar with her, so not a bother. ”Care to go for a smoke with me?” He suggested, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. His light hair dishevelled, eyes shiny from the small amount of alcohol he had as well.

Tommy's hand remained on her thigh, only slipping away as she moved towards the exit.

”Lead the way” She responded, grabbing her coat as well as her eyes briefly met John's who was clearly having a good time tormenting her whenever a man would show any interest.

”See you tomorrow then, aye, Y/N?” John called after her with mischief in his voice followed by a chuckle from Arthur.

She just shook her head with amusement before they disappeared through the door.

Tommy straightened his back, reaching for another cigarette to light, nodding to Isaiah to pour another drink.

”Well..” John started off, clearing his throat, ”At least someone gets some action today” elbowing his brother to the side he laughed, reminding Arthur of the failure in pursuing Emily. One of many.

”Already told you to fuck off, didn't I?” He responded, rolling his eyes before shoving him back.

Tommy remained quiet, his mood taking a hit from Y/N’s abrupt exit with another fella. His emotions usually kept at bay, now strengthened by the alcohol, grew to an alarming size in his head.

Throwing back another glass of whisky he relaxed into the seat once again, barely listening to the conversation as he zoned out, consumed by his contradictory thoughts.

Not long after he decided enough was enough, raising from the seat slowly, letting his brothers know he'd be going back home as tomorrow he had business to attend, as usual. It took a moment for his eyes to regain focus as whisky affected him a bit more than usual, perhaps because once again he forgot to eat anything substantial throughout the day.

Saying his goodbyes Tommy pulled his cap onto his head, walking through the crowd as people parted, not wanting to disrespect the mobster.

Cold air of the night hit him as soon as the door swung open, his eyes getting used to the darkness fairly quickly as he gazed towards his vehicle, simultaneously searching for keys in his pocket.

Making his way to the car he squinted, trying to grasp the right key which was a bit of a challenge in his current state. Getting a hold of the right one, he suddenly dropped the keys hearing a familiar voice behind his back.

”You’re absolutely not driving in this state” Y/N said, grabbing his arm.

”Fuck!” Tommy groaned, eyeing the fallen item. He could barely see them, wiping his eyes he turned towards Y/N. ”I dropped my fucking keys” He informed her, as if she wasn't a witness to this situation.

His balance was slightly off as he narrowed his cloudy eyes, obviously blaming her for what just happened. His drunken state made Y/N unable to hold in a giggle as she rolled her eyes stepping closer. Bending over she grabbed them, choosing the right key as she opened the door on the driver's side, slipping into the seat.

He stood there, his brows raised in a question which she immediately answered.

“I told you. You're not driving. Get into the car before you'll have to walk.” Her voice was lighthearted as she held his gaze.

Thomas tilted his head to the side, the small hint of bitterness making it through his exterior.

”Don’t you have places to be?” He asked, obviously hinting at the man she left with, making Y/N roll her eyes once again on his dramatics.

”Tommy get in the car” She repeated, knowing there was no point in arguing with him over whatever In his current state.

He stood for another longer moment before finally sighing and making his way around to the other side, sitting on the passenger seat. Tilting his head back he let it rest, closing his eyes.

Y/N let her eyes linger on his face for a moment before taking a deep breath and starting the engine.

They didn't say a word throughout the whole drive, and only later she realized Tommy fell asleep. Parking the car she leaned closer, touching his shoulder.

”Come on, let's get inside” She whispered, watching as he slowly opened his eyes in an awfully adorable way.

She bit back the smile as he nodded, mumbling something before climbing out of the car.

She grabbed his arm wanting to help him walk, but he pulled it back, telling her he was perfectly capable of walking alone. Stubborn as always.

A couple minutes later she shed her coat, pulling his own off of him as well along with the cap, making him roll his eyes.

”You realize I'm not that drunk, eh?” He asked, seeing her behaviour.

”I’m not allowed to help, am I?” She shot back, grabbing his hand as she pulled him towards the stairs leading up to his bedroom. ”Oh, and by the way, no. I've got no places to be so I'm staying over.” She stated, completely unfazed and with enough attitude to make him laugh out loud.

”Good to know” He replied, letting her pull him along. Despite his stubbornness, they both knew it happened more times than they'd be able to count. Their relationship was so specific in ways other people wouldn't understand… and neither of them seemed to be ready to admit it.

Thomas was on the edge of bed, groaning as he took off his boots. Y/N walked across the room, opening the wardrobe as she found her own shelf.

He watched her as she pulled out his shirt and her shorts, knowing well she'd be sleeping in this set. Thomas realized he couldn't remember the time before she was in his life. Before the top shelf was hers, filled with pieces of clothing he never cared to move.

She moved around so confidently, knowing exactly where everything was. It brought him a weird sense of comfort, even though his face remained in a neutral expression as she looked back.

”Do you need help changing or are you perfectly capable of doing that too, Mr. Shelby?” She asked, matching his neutral expression along with a professional tone of voice, obviously teasing him.

He shook his head slightly, letting out a sigh as he finally smirked. Looking at her for a longer moment, Tommy let his eyes linger on her body before meeting her eyes again.

”Are you trying to take advantage of me, Dove?” He asked, his voice clearly lower and with intent as he gave her the smile, one he learned long ago worked on women ever since he was a boy.

Y/N chuckled, approaching him to the point where he had to tilt his head back so their eyes could meet. Leaning down to his level, she started unbuttoning his shirt.

”I wouldn't dare” Her voice was calm, even though she felt everything but calm seeing him looking at her like this. Unable to put up the walls that usually surrounded him when he was sober. The tension seemed to grow rapidly as she was halfway down, eyes focused on the task but Tommy's gaze had her face turn slightly red which was not visible in the dim light luckily.

Stepping back, she looked up at him.

”You take care of that, and I'm going to change. Try not to fall, eh?” She teased with a smirk, walking into the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Y/N took a deep breath, leaning forward as she needed a moment. She was very aware of the tension surrounding them the whole night and as she stood in front of him, with his eyes gazing at her this way, it felt more dangerous than ever before despite the fact they were bordering on this line for years now.

Everything felt stronger lately and she was.. more anxious than anything.

Looking up she caught her reflection, silently grazing over her face and body before sighing deeply as she turned around, swiftly changing into his shirt and her shorts.

Returning to the room, she looked up to check whether he was sleeping and surprisingly, Tommy was laying on the bed, shirtless and wearing only his undergarments. His arm was draped over his head, eyes closed but the tension in his shoulders was visible. Y/N knew he wasn't sleeping, but she didn't want to risk anything more after today so she let him be, turning off the lights as she moved around the bed, slipping on the other side.

His bed was big, more than big enough for the two of them. Y/N and Tommy never had an issue sleeping together even back when they were teenagers, sharing a bed in his small room in Small Heath.

She covered herself with a blanket, facing away from him for a while, attempting to get comfortable but the silence was deafening. She heard him move and turn as well, looking for a position comfortable enough to sleep in. Minutes were passing and Y/N was still wide awake, unable to even close her eyes for longer than a moment with the amount of thoughts running through her head.

The clock was ticking, and she looked through the big window, moonlight seeping in through the blinds and she still yet to be comfortable enough to feel even remotely tired.

Eventually the frustration took over and she sighed with annoyance, slowly sitting up. Y/N desperately wanted to sleep, as it would be the easy way out. Making it to the morning and hoping the infatuation would pass or fade away into something more bearable, just like always.

The moon looked beautiful that night, she thought, as she heard him move in a different way this time. The mattress dipped closer and she felt him sitting right behind her, the warmth of his body contrasting to the coldness of her hands caused by anxiety.

Her heart started thumping wildly in her chest, the anticipation almost took much to handle, shivers running down her spine as his breath touched her skin.

Yet she didn't dare to look at him, stubbornly keeping her eyes fixated on the view while he moved closer.

After a longer moment his fingers grasped her chin, making her look at him. Tommy felt the stirring too, somewhere in his chest, and the desperation seemed completely impossible to escape.

Forcing her to look at him, he moved closer. His face seemed even more unreal that way, kissed by the moonlight in the middle of the night causing her to sigh weakly.

He didn't move either, not for a while as they watched, fixated like it was the very first time, even though they knew each other’s features by heart. From her chin his fingers moved to cup her cheek instead, feeling the subtle warmth of her skin.

Lost in the moment Y/N sighed, his face so close to her own she could see every detail. Every scar and freckle decorating his skin. Her lips parted slightly as she tried to catch a breath, but his presence and warmth felt so.. overwhelming in a way she couldn't describe. A warmth she grew to associate with safety while simultaneously feeling like she's gambling every time they're close.

His arms wrapped around her tighter, pulling her on his lap with one hand holding her hip while the other cupped her cheek so roughly. Delicate caresses of his calloused fingers feeling better than she cared to admit. She couldn't think properly while his firm chest was pressed against her soft bosom, his lips ghosting over her jaw.

”Y/N” He whispered, Tommy's hot breath against her skin making her shiver and her eyes fall shut.

She moved her hand on top of his, trying to ground herself. Chaotic snippets of moments and thoughts running through her puzzled mind as her core ached for his touch.

”Look at me” He spoke again, tilting her head down to look him in the eyes. His own were barely open, pupils blown out with need as he stared at her with something she couldn't really understand. Failing to keep herself at bay, Y/N slowly leaned down, their breaths mingling and noses touched. She could feel the ghost of his soft lips touching hers, but couldn't quite force herself to let him have her. Again.

“Why do you keep doing this?” She whispered breathlessly, her other hand grasping his shoulder so hard she thought he might bruise.

Thomas' breath hitched, and he stopped moving for a moment, frozen as he realized the sense of her question. His heart began racing but he kept holding her so close, panting against her lips as he tried to search for an answer in his mind, which now seemed to be.. empty.

Y/N squeezed her eyes painfully hard waiting for an answer that seemed to never come before letting go of his shoulder with a humourless chuckle. Pulling his hands away from her she raised from his lap, quickly fixing her blouse before grabbing her black coat from the chair.

”Y/N” He spoke up, his voice gravely with disappointment aimed nowhere but at himself. ”Y/N, don't go” Tommy tried to convince, attempting to grasp her wrist but she slipped easily, seemingly between his fingers.

Like she always did.

”Goodnight, Tommy”

~~~

The whole next day Y/N threw herself into a bunch of work, whether it was around the house or finishing up the new recipes she prepared to introduce in her bakery the upcoming week.

By the end of the day she was covered in flour, but her apartment was squeaky clean. Her hair was a complete mess when she saw herself in the mirror, making her chuckle. She was physically tired but mentally proud of herself for taking her mind off of the blue eyed man so successfully.

…and then her phone rang. It was late, way too late for any other person to call, so subconsciously she knew it was him. Silently cursing herself for it, she picked up.

”Hello?” Y/N asked nevertheless but she didn't hear anything else for a moment before he cleared his throat.

”Because I can't force myself to let you go” Thomas spoke up, his words a little blurred, gravelly with the weight of his confession. ”...and I'm tired of pretending. This needs to end.” A moment of silence seemed to stretch into eternity, but Tommy knew she was listening. He could hear her breathing. As Y/N finally found some words, wanting to respond, he hang up.

She stood there, frozen for a couple moments, holding the phone as if he was still on the other side. What are you talking about, she wanted to ask, but Y/N knew what he meant. Despite her asking yesterday, it intimidated her a little to hear it from him. They never confronted each other before, but.. her heart swelled with the emotion she was never able to express before.

Suddenly a loud knock on the door came to her ears, her heart froze still for a moment before she opened it.

His eyes were bright, raw and vulnerable as he held her eye contact.

“Can I come in?”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Eight

“Uh hu,” Chrissy says into the phone, pacing back and forth across Eddie’s lounge, “so that sounds pretty certain?”

“Who are you talking to?” Eddie asks, Chrissy doesn’t answer.

She smacks Eddie’s legs down off the coffee table so she can make that part of her route. Eddie stares at the muted TV. Mid morning ‘Seinfeld.’ He’s pretty sure ‘Fraser’ will be on right after. Or is it ‘Everybody Loves Raymond.’ ‘Cheers’? maybe.

Eddie flops his head back on the back of the couch. Maybe time is actually cyclical, and he’s living the same shit day over and over again. Or maybe he’s dead, and this is purgatory.

“So can we book Steve for that?” Eddie perks up, looking over the back of the couch, watching.

Book Steve for what? “Book Steve for what?”

Chrissy glares at him, mouthing, ‘shut the fuck up.’

“Uh hu. Uh hu. Okay, send that over to me. No, male Beta is safest, trust me, Eddie’s impulse control is- yeah. Okay, yeah, Tommy, right, I’ll let Eddie know.”

“Hey,” Eddie frowns. Yeah, okay, his impulse control has, maybe, been questionable of late but, fuck. That’s just rude. And who the fuck is Tommy? “Who are you talking-mpfh.”

Chrissy leans over the back of the couch to shove a cushion over Eddie’s face.

Eddie doesn’t fight it. He can kind of breathe, he’s not going to die under here, but ‘Manager murders recovering rock star addict,’ is legitimately a hilarious headline.

“Okay,” the pillow comes off, “they think you’re going to rut again.”

“What? Already?”

“Yeah, basically you fucked with it so much for so long it’s going to take a few goes to settle.”

Eddie flops his head back again, he really doesn’t want to spend another week feeling like a warm gritty turd. “I didn’t fuck with it that much-”

“Eddie, if you weren't suppressing it you were inducing it for a fucking orgy-”

Eddie flaps a hand at her, he doesn’t want to hear it really. He’s fucked a lot of people, and sometimes thinking about the...group activities Eddie has been involved in makes him feel a little dirty. A little sick. Don't get him wrong, he absolutely fucking loved it at the time, then Eddie felt like he was winning at life. He felt like he was peaking. King of the world. Screwing people he didn’t even know the names of. Didn’t care to know their names, even. Now Eddie knows he's so fucking lucky he never caught anything major considering all the risks he took, and no one’s ever come out of the woodwork claiming to have an illegitimate Munson.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it, necessarily, consenting adults and all that jazz but...it’s like finding the best food in the world, and then eating way, way, too much of it.

One day you wake up and just the thought of it is enough to make you throw up.

Eddie’s Alpha bristles at the thought, his stomach turning over. He’d loved it, at the time. Constantly being in a position to dominate everyone around him. His Alpha constantly satisfied. Never being without options for a willing hole to knot, Eddie’s Alpha had been on as much of a rampage as he had. Those times have ended though, and just the thought of it has his Alpha bristling.

Eddie’s Alpha pines for a mate, now. One person, one scent, one nest. Now, the thought of all those mingled scents has him taking shallow breaths trying to clear them. Memories of waking up in damp piles of limbs, covered in the cloying, overwhelming soup of Alpha and Omega scents filling his nose, coating him, suffocating him.

It was fine at the time, but a lot of things were fine at the time.

He briefly flashes on the memory of Steve’s very inoffensive scent. Clean and clear. A sun warmed breeze carrying the scent of something green and alive.

It jogs Eddie back to the present, “is that why you were asking about Steve?”

“Yeah, he can’t do it, you’re having some guy called Tommy.”

“What? Fuck off, no I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, doing his best to reign in his irritation and have a sensible conversation about this, he knows he stands a better chance of actually getting somewhere with Chris if he talks it through, “I only just got used to Steve, I’m not having another stranger in my house again. Please, Chris...I...me and Steve had a system going by the end there.”

Chris sits neatly on the couch next to him, “I know honey, but Steve can’t so-”

“Then I’ll go it alone-”

“Absolutely not. You need someone here to take care of you-”

Eddie scoffs, “I am not a child-”

“Uh hu, someone needs to be here, and it’s not going to be me. No offense but,” she makes a hand wavy motion.

“No, yeah, I get that. Why can’t Steve make it?”

“I don’t-”

“I want Steve. Steve or no one,” Eddie crosses his arms.

Chrissy sighs, rubbing her forehead, “Eddie, I feel like you’re old enough that I shouldn’t have to explain this, but honey, you can’t always have what you want.”

Eddie huffs and stomps off into his bedroom.

Eddie’s done a bit of a lyric pick and mix, and now his chicken scratch stares back at him, mocking.

He’s pretty sure he has something, he just...can’t...make it. There’s got to be a beat in there somewhere. A stupid tune hiding out. Elusive. Cuntish.

Eddie taps at the counter top with his pencil, immediately reminded of Steve and his stupid cross words and his stupid tapping.

Eddie taps. Mirrors Steve. There’s...something, in Steve’s stupid tapping. Maybe-

“Eddie!”

Eddie startles, jolted from his thoughts, good job he’s already sitting down or he’d be on the fucking floor. “What?!” he snaps back.

“I spoke to them, Steve definitely can’t do it, he has PTO next week and that’s likely to be when your ruts going to happen, or at least overlap. He’s dog sitting.”

Eddie pulls a face, deflating, because honestly that sounds like a big fat lie. Steve’s just avoiding him, “dog sitting? For who?”

“Eddie, I don’t know this mans life, come on-”

“I like dogs. Why can’t he just bring the dog?” Eddie can’t resist but poke at it. Will he just make up another lie? Steve never seemed to be the kind to lie like that. Eddie was pretty sure Steve was on the level.

“I-” Chrissy frowns spectacularly, “since when do you like dogs? You don’t like dogs, I had to stop you from punting Paris Hil-”

“I wasn't actually going to do anything to her dog-”

“You called it a ‘vajazzled rat’-”

Eddie immediately looses it, howling with laughter, he can barely speak, “I don’t- I don’t remember saying-”

Chrissy crosses her arms, looking deeply unimpressed, “because you were fucking cross faded Eddie-”

“Oh come on! That’s funny!”

Chrissy sighs, “it is kind of funny. It wasn’t at the time though,” she slaps his shoulder, trying to hold her smile in.

She hits kind of hard actually, “ow,” Eddie rubs his shoulder.

“Shut up you big baby, I’ll go find out if Steve wants to bring the dog.”

“He’s a golden retriever called Falkor, and he belongs to a good friend who is going on holiday. Steve said, if you really truly don’t mind, he will bring the dog-”

“Yeah okay-”

“But the condition is that you will walk the dog, twice a day, with Steve.”

“Why the fuck do I have-”

“I really don’t care Eddie, that’s the deal. Take it or take Tommy. If you refuse to walk Steve’s going to pack up his shit and trade out with the other guy, Steve was very, very clear about it. One strike and you’re out.”

“That does sound like something Steve would say.”

Sitting in the studio is way better than sitting in Gareth’s garden. There’s stuff to do here, distractions, and it takes the attention off. Or at least, spreads it around a little.

“It’s not much,” Eddie is telling the guys as he sits himself at the drum kit. He can play a little, kind of. He’s proficient enough to get his point across at least. He never lasts long though, the pedal makes his shin hurt after about ten minutes and he’s never bothered to push through.

Building callouses on his fingers to play guitar was painful enough, he doesn’t need to suffer any more for his art. It’s not long before Jeff is nodding along regardless, he understands the assignment pretty quick, grasping the bones of it, Eddie can trust him to make it his own.

The bass line is simple, maybe a little too simple for what Eddie usually produces, but it’s enough background noise for Eddie to tentatively wedge the words where he wants them, his guitar slung at his back, headphones half on and half off.

It’s day three, and progress may be tentative, but it feels alright. Feels like the old days. Kind of like starting again.

Eddie does his absolute best to ignore the building itch under his skin.

Part Ten

[22ayla21]

Hi! First of all I wanted to say that I love your stories. And i have a request as well.

I know how you already wrote about the Amphoreus trio’s reaction to their wife getting flirted with. But how about the opposite, because these men would have fan clubs no doubt. I’d think that the women would know they’re off limite but still, they’re hot. So like imagine a woman just starts to flirt with them while their wife is right there. Would she be used to it by now and let her husband take care of it or just give the woman a death stare/ tell her to fuck off(✨politely✨)

Quiet jealousy

How would his wife react when other girls hit on him.

She never doubts her husband. Mydei is not one of those who cast glances at others, especially when he has her. She knows that he is indifferent to other people's attention and does not tolerate obsession.

If a fan is too persistent, Mydei's wife does not make scenes. She will simply look at her with such a look that the latter will immediately lose the desire to approach. Without words, but extremely eloquently.

She does not even take them seriously. Someone can sigh languidly, looking at her husband, but at the end of the day, it is she who falls asleep in his arms.

If someone dares to go too far and try to touch Mydei, his wife will literally make the rival realize with one phrase ("Are you really that stupid?") that it was a huge mistake.

She does not experience fierce jealousy, but if she sees someone looking too admiringly into her husband's eyes, she can demonstratively take his hand, cuddle up to him, or even give him a kiss, just to show that this is her man.

He does not like fanatical attention. If he sees that his wife is even a little offended by it, he will definitely say something, making it clear that only she is important to him. He can even deliberately lean over and whisper something intimate to her, causing embarrassment and laughter.

Yes, if she really gets tired of someone, then her look will say more than any words. If the fan still does not get the hint - well, let him try to meet a woman who is not afraid to put even Mydei in her place.

The wife knows very well that despite his outward attractiveness and cold aristocratic appearance, Anaxa shows no interest in his fans. He is too rational to waste time on such people, and she understands this. So, jealousy? No, thank you.

If someone crosses the line of what is permitted, starts flirting or, God forbid, touching her husband, she is no longer so calm. Steel appears in her gaze, and an icy warning in her smile.

If someone is too persistent, the wife will not make a scene. She will simply look at the fan in such a way that she will want to disappear. These are not hysterics, not scandals - this is a calm, murderous look, after which the man immediately loses the desire to test her patience.

She does not need to prove anything. She is already his wife, they already have a family. Sometimes it's even funny for her to watch how some try to get his attention, not realizing that it's useless.

But if someone goes too far. For example, if someone decides to question their relationship or says something like "Anaxa's wife? I don't think he's worthy of just one woman...", she will act very decisively. And perhaps Anaxa will have to intervene before his wife sends someone to the hospital.

It's not about insecurity, but about territoriality. She doesn't doubt her husband, but if someone sticks his nose into her family too persistently, he gets a silent but very eloquent warning: "Go to hell."

And Anaxa? He rarely even notices these women. But he likes to see how his wife calmly puts them in their place. Sometimes he even smirks when she gives him another murderous look.

Once he asked her if she was jealous. She just shrugged: "Who could have you but me?" It was not a question, but a fact. And Anaxa agreed with this fact.

Phainon is charming, of course, but his wife is confident in his devotion. She doesn't waste her nerves on jealousy and simply chuckles when someone sighs for her husband.

But if someone goes too far... Admiration is one thing, and outright pestering is another. If some fan starts to behave too persistently, his wife will give her an icy look and calmly but firmly make it clear: "Try again - you'll regret it."

In public, she smiles, remains polite, but as soon as the fan goes too far, her smile becomes predatory: "Oh, you love my husband? How sweet. But, unfortunately, he's mine." She likes to watch Phainon's reaction when someone hits on him. He can play the role of a sweet and polite person, but she knows how much he gets offended by excessive attention, especially when he's married and has three kids.

She can approach Phainon, take his hand or even hug him when someone is staring at him too brazenly. Her look at this moment speaks for itself: "He's mine. Envy him silently." Sometimes he deliberately flirts a little (within the bounds of decency) to see how his wife will react. And when she looks at him with the expression "Are you serious?", he only smirks.

She understands perfectly well that he has his own army of fans, but in the end he always comes home only to her. She is not one of those who are jealous without reason, but if someone dares to seriously try to take her husband away, then the fan will very quickly understand that she has no chance.

In general, she does not worry about his popularity, but if someone is too brazenly pestering - her look says more than any words: "Step aside, girl, while I'm kind."

[frownyalfred]

Hi, what is a polite way to ask authors if they will be updating? Or questions that could be taken as you the reader being negative or criticizing

Here’s my hot take on this — they’re either updating or the story is abandoned, right? There’s only two options at the end of the day. Maybe three, if you count plans to update. So what we’re really saying, as readers, when we ask that question, is I’m excited for this story and I’m worried I won’t see more from it soon. Right?

Getting the “is this fic abandoned?” question on a WIP I haven’t updated in a bit stings for some reason. There’s a lot of reasons why that fic might have stalled! Instead of it feeling encouraging, it can sometimes just feel like a reminder of failure, at least to me. Like oh god, I felt terrible about this writers block and now other people are noticing too.

My advice is, if you truly want to see an author update — talk to them about their fic. Send praise, send commentary, but most importantly, send questions! Ask them why they made certain choices. Ask them the inspiration behind a certain scene or event. Get their brain clicking back into that writing mode! I can’t count how many times a good ask on here has reminded me that I love that WIP and want to continue it.

I would not send negative or criticizing questions to authors unless they’ve made it explicitly clear that they are open to receiving it. If the question can be rephrased into something more neutral like “you did X — I didn’t quite understand that. could you explain why?” that works, in my mind.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

SAVE YOUR LOVE

LINEMAN!RAFE X STRIPPER!READER AU

note: Thank you to all who sent in questions about my au. I really appreciated it🩷 if any of you have any more questions, feel free to send them in 😊 I promise to write some more happy stuff for this au soon lol

summary: You and Rafe finally have a baby together, but things don't go as planned

warnings: childbirth, pregnancy, toxic relationship, yelling, feelings of abandonment, swearing,

The physical changes of the pregnancy took a toll on me, leaving me feeling exhausted and drained every minute of the day. I eventually had to stop working at the strip club when my bump became more noticeable. Rafe promised he would help me find a new job. He said he knew some people down here in Vegas, and he managed to secure me a position at a construction company, creating schedules for the workers. Although the work was boring and the pay was much lower than what I was used to as a stripper, it provided enough income to support myself and the baby. The hours were manageable, and I found some sense of stability in this new job.

Instead of meeting at the hotel like in the past, Rafe started coming by my apartment. His visits were less secretive, yet a sense of unease and tension still hung in the air.

“Are you staying the night?” I asked, my voice laced with a mix of hope and hesitation.

Rafe walked over where I was sitting on the couch, his expression unreadable as he considered my request. “Yeah, I’ll stay for the night.”

“Do you think you’ll be here for the birth?” I pressed, trying to remain calm. “I think it would be good for both of us if you came to the hospital with me.”

Rafe didn’t seem happy, his voice flat. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I can’t make any promises. Things are complicated right now.”

I felt a pang of disappointment. I thought this pregnancy would make things better between us, would force him to become more invested, but clearly, I was wrong. He seemed so uninterested, almost detached from the whole thing.

“I mean, would you at least try to make an effort to be there?” I asked, desperately seeking something from him.

Rafe sighed, avoiding eye contact. His voice remained neutral, but I could hear the reluctance in his words. “I just told you, I don’t know. I’ve got a lot going on. But... I’ll try my best to be there, if I can.”

Even though Rafe didn’t know if he’d be around for the birth of our baby, at least he did his part when it came to the nursery, leaving the decorating to me. He made it clear that it was “a woman’s job.” He might’ve pitched in with some of the more physical tasks, like putting together the crib, or perhaps offering some financial contributions, but the creative aspect of the nursery was entirely mine to handle.

A few months back, when the doctor revealed that the baby’s gender was going to be a girl, I was excited. I had always told Rafe that if we were to ever have a baby, I wanted the firstborn to be a girl, and now that dream had come true. However, Rafe didn’t seem nearly as excited. His tone remained indifferent as he stated that he didn’t care about the gender as long as the baby was healthy.

-

The months of pregnancy were emotionally draining. Rafe’s unpredictability and inconsistency only added to the stress. Sometimes he’d show up, but his presence felt more distant than comforting. Most of the time, I faced doctor’s appointments and navigated the challenges of pregnancy alone.

“I have one last doctor’s appointment before my due date,” I told him.

Rafe nodded, his expression remaining unbothered. “Oh yeah, right. That’s next week, right?”

“Yeah… will you come?” I asked, hoping for some show of support.

Rafe hesitated for a moment, then gave an indifferent shrug. “Sure, I’ll come.”

“I was thinking we could do a bit of shopping before the baby gets here, you know? We can buy her some cute little dresses.”

Rafe’s expression started off indifferent, but a small sigh escaped him. His shoulders sagged slightly as he replied, “Yeah, I guess we can do some shopping. But forget it, I don’t care for all that pink stuff. You know I like the more natural colors.”

“Oh, come on, pink is essential,” I teased him, trying to lighten the mood.

Rafe rolled his eyes, a slight hint of annoyance in his voice. “Essential? You’re going to make our baby look like a walking cotton candy or something?”

“Yes, and she’ll be the cutest cotton candy to ever exist,” I replied playfully.

After the doctor’s appointment, Rafe and I went to a few stores to pick up some last-minute necessities. He followed me around, slightly frustrated, bearing with the shopping trip. He picked up some items with a hint of annoyance, mostly focusing on the practical things.

“Oh, Rafe, look at this! Isn’t it adorable?” I gushed, holding up a tiny Hello Kitty onesie for him to see.

I held up the onesie, but he barely spared it a glance. “Yeah, it’s cute,” he mumbled, his tone flat and uninterested.

“I’m going to get it,” I said while walking to the checkout line.

Rafe nodded, his expression betraying his lack of enthusiasm.

-

The birth went smoothly, thanks to the epidural. Rafe had come down to Vegas a week before the due date to make sure everything went smoothly. And while he wasn’t exactly bursting with excitement, there was a hint of anticipation in his eyes when he saw his baby girl for the first time.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” I said, my voice calm but full of affection.

As Rafe looked down at our newborn daughter, a flicker of admiration sparked in his eyes. His voice, softer than usual, added, “Yeah, she is. And she’s ours.”

“I’m going to name her Margaret. A beautiful name for a beautiful baby,” I said, my heart swelling with love for her.

As Rafe heard the name I chose, he nodded, his expression neutral. But there was something in his voice, a subtle approval. “Margaret, huh? That’s a nice name. Definitely better than some of the other ones you had thrown around earlier.”

“Oh, stop it,” I laughed, rolling my eyes playfully.

Rafe smirked, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Hey, I’m just being honest. Some of those names you suggested were ridiculous.”

“Do you want to hold her?” I asked, wanting him to have a moment with our daughter.

He hesitated for a moment, his usual confident demeanor faltering. “Uh, sure. I guess I can hold her. Just for a minute.” As Rafe held the tiny baby in his arms, his expression softened. The usual boldness melted away, giving him a tender tone. He spoke to her in a sweet voice, his words filled with awe. “Hey there, little one… You’re just a tiny little thing, aren’t you?”

-

Initially, it seemed like things might improve after the baby’s birth, especially when I came home from the hospital. However, over time, Rafe’s behavior changed back to his usual, uncaring demeanor. The brief baby bliss he displayed in the hospital quickly faded.

The phone rang for a few moments before Rafe picked up, his voice slightly irritated as his usual nonchalance seeped through. “What’s up?”

“You promised you’d be here a week ago. Where the hell are you?” I asked, frustration lacing my words.

Rafe sighed, clearly annoyed by the question. His voice remained apathetic as he responded. “I told you, I’ve been busy. I’ve got things to deal with, you know?”

“You have a daughter now. I know you’ve got a wife and two kids back home, but you can’t just abandon us like this,” I said, my voice shaky but firm.

Rafe grumbled, his irritation sharpening his voice. “Abandon? I’m not abandoning anyone. I’m just handling things with my family. I can’t drop everything just because we have a kid now.”

I stayed silent for a moment, processing his words. Does he not think before he speaks? Does he not realize how much his words sting? “Okay, Rafe. Well, make sure you come by... please.”

His tone softened slightly, but his voice remained neutral. “Alright. I’ll swing by in a few days, okay? Don’t keep nagging me about it.”

Six months have passed since Margaret’s birth, and she’s growing cuter and bigger each day. Yet Rafe’s behavior remains unchanged. He continues to act distant, rarely showing any real interest in me or the baby. Rafe is at the apartment again. I thought it would be a calm visit, just the two of us, so he could spend some time with his daughter. But it seems like we can never be around each other without arguing.

“Seriously, can you just relax? You’re being overdramatic about everything,” Rafe says dismissively.

“I’m not being overdramatic! You’re barely here, it’s like we don’t even exist to you,” I snap, unable to hold back the frustration anymore.

Rafe rolls his eyes as he gets up from the floor, where he was playing with Margaret. His voice laced with anger. “Oh please, just because I’m not here 24/7 doesn’t mean you don’t exist to me. I’ve got another family back home. I can’t just ditch them for you.”

“That’s not the point!” I shout, hurt and angry. “At least make an effort to show you actually care. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine, but at least try to be in your daughter’s life.”

He groans in frustration, clearly annoyed by my point. “I do show I care, alright? I provide for you, don’t I? And I’ve been over here plenty of times to see her. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to be a man,” I yell, my voice shaking with anger. “I don’t even know how you can call yourself a father!”

Rafe’s irritation boils over as Margaret starts to cry from the shouting. He shoots me a glare before shouting back in an authoritarian tone, “For Christ’s sake, stop yelling! You’re scaring her!”

“You should blame yourself for this,” I snap, my voice cold. “If it wasn’t for you, this argument wouldn’t have started.”

Rafe’s patience snaps. His frustration morphs into full-blown anger. He steps closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I’m the one paying your rent, so you better watch your fucking tone. ”

“Or what?” I challenge him, my heart racing.

His eyes narrow, his voice more menacing. “Or you’ll regret it. I’m warning you, don’t test me, not when I’ve got you living under my dollar.”

Rafe walks past me and storms out of the apartment, and the moment the door slams shut, I let the tears fall down my cheeks. I try to hold back my sobs, attempting to stay strong for Margaret’s sake, but the weight of the argument makes it impossible. The situation has reached a breaking point, and I can’t help but wonder how things have gotten so out of control between us.

[mrsmangi]

Hibiscus 🌺🌺🌺

late night call - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: hibiscus - the realization of a friendship becoming something more - meaning: in victorian times, the gift of a hibiscus bloom meant that the giver was acknowledging the receiver’s delicate beauty. ♡ w.c.: 1k ♡ a/n: hi, love! thank you so much for your request. srry for the delay, i'm a bit backed up with requests. she's a short one, but i hope you enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

“Do you ever think people realize just how loud their ceiling fans are?” 

His voice comes through the phone, low and scratchy, like he’s been lying on his back for too long, staring at his own ceiling. You giggle softly, shifting against the pillow propped against your back. Your own fan spins above you, a rhythmic hum filling the space between his words and yours. 

“It’s white noise,” you say, quieter than usual. “After a while, you get used to it and stop hearing it.” 

“Mm, not tonight,” Luigi sighs. “It’s like the fan’s trying to keep me awake for as long as possible.”

You laugh again, a soft, breathy sound that feels just a bit too loud in the stillness of your room. It’s past midnight–long past the time you’d planned to be asleep–but this is how many of your nights with Luigi go. What starts with casual texts morphs into a phone call, then into hours of talking about nonsense; everything and nothing.

“Maybe it’s just your thoughts,” you tease. “What are the voices yelling at you about tonight?” 

He pauses on the other end of the line, just the faint sound of his breathing audible. You know Luigi well enough by now to know he’s not actively ignoring your question; he’s only deciding how much of himself to give away. 

“Life,” he answers lamely, though the vagueness of the reply altogether makes it clear there’s more to it than that. “Do you ever feel like no matter how much you do to succeed, it’s never enough?” 

You roll onto your side, pressing the phone closer to your ear. The dim glow of your bedside lamp casts uneven shadows against the wall. 

“All the time,” you reply honestly. “It gets exhausting, though. I feel like I’m just running a race no one even cares to watch.” 

He exhales, a sound that crackles through the receiver. When he speaks again, his voice carries the kind of understanding that comes from being seen. “Yeah. I get it.” 

The two of you fall into shared silence, the steady hum of your ceiling fan whispering across the line. You let yourself picture him for a moment–probably sprawled out on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes. His phone would be balanced in his other hand. The image feels familiar, like something you’ve seen a thousand times before, even though you haven’t. 

“Can I ask you something?” His voice breaks the quiet.

“Always.” 

He’s quiet again, but you don’t rush him.

“Do you think…” He pauses again, and you can hear the shift of his breathing. “Do you ever think it’s possible for something to change without either person realizing it? Like, to wake up one day and feel like everything’s changed, even though nothing is actually different?” 

“Maybe,” you say cautiously, voice softer now. “Sometimes things can change so slowly you don’t even notice until it’s already different. Then, you find yourself wondering how long it’s been that way.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “That’s exactly what I mean.” 

You stare up at the spinning fan, asking him, “What’s different, Luigi?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. His continuous pauses make you grow somewhat uneasy, stretching a distance between you. “Us,” he says. “I think we’re different.” 

You exhale slowly. “Different how?” 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But it’s like every time we talk, it feels different. More important, somehow, like there’s something there that wasn’t before.” He stops and you can nearly hear the way he’s turning the words over rin his head. “I used to just…enjoy talking to you, but now, it feels like I catch myself waiting for it. I’m counting down to the next time I’ll hear your voice. And when we’re not talking, I’m thinking about what I want to tell you the next time I see you, or wondering what you’re doing, or–” He breaks out into nervous laughter, cutting himself off. “Um, does any of that make sense or am I just rambling?” 

It makes perfect sense. Too much sense. Your heart picks up speed, the weight of his words pressing against the thoughts you’ve tried to push to the back of your mind. You notice it too. You’ve felt a change in the way you catch yourself thinking about him at odd moments–when a song reminds you of something he’s said, or when you replay the voice messages he sends just to hear his laugh on repeat. Tonight, he speaks heavier, like he’s cracked open a door you have both been staring at for weeks, maybe longer, unsure of who will turn the handle first. 

“It does,” you whisper. 

There’s a small, nearly imperceptible breath on his end, like he’s been holding it and didn’t even realize. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You chew on your bottom lip, letting the word sink in. “I didn’t know if I should say anything. I didn’t want to ruin what we have.” 

“Me neither,” he says, “but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it. I do. All the time.” 

You close your eyes, the glow of the lamp behind your lids is a soft orange hue. “So, what now?” 

“I’m not sure,” he says. There’s no pretense, no cleverness to soften the edges of his words. “But maybe we can figure it out. Together.” He says his last word carefully, almost like it’s fragile–like it may break under the weight of its meaning if he doesn’t say it the right way. 

You hear him shift, the faint sound of fabric rustling through the receiver. It’s a small thing, but it makes the moment feel so real, tangible, like he’s not just a voice in the dark. You let his words settle over you. Luigi doesn’t have the answers to all your worries and neither do you. But, it feels comforting somehow–to know that he’s with you in this journey, and you with him. 

“Okay,” you say. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You know he can hear it, even if he can’t see it. Your heart is full of love for this boy as you exhale: “Together.”