#where is 'I was always following him everywherE... now there is no one else to follow...'

[rosenclaws]

sorry if you did this one already, but showering with versions of logan headcanons?

Oo i have not!

Origins Logan -

Showering with him is a very intimate thing and its always after a long day of work. He’s all dirty and dusty from chopping trees and so he always takes a shower when he gets home. When you get to join him it's all cuddles and and sweet talking. His hands wandering and begging you to let him wash you because well, he had a long day and all he wants is to get to help clean his honey. It is just an excuse to feel you up but hey, you don't mind. Trying to get dressed after the shower with him around is another story. You have to send him out of the bathroom so you can put your clothes back on or else he's gonna be whining and pouting in the mirror. You do tend to steal his already worn flannels though because they smell like him and he loves it.

Trilogy Logan -

He is a fucking menace. Absolute fucking menace oh my god you are getting nothing done in that shower. It starts innocent enough. You come back from an exhausting mission and you really need to shower and sleep and Logan is right behind you trailing like a dog. Following you all the way to your bathroom and begging to shower with you with those big hazel eyes. You just roll your eyes and start to strip and he follows suit. He cannot keep his hands off you. He wants to do everything. Wash your hair, wash your body, push you against the wall and make out. You know, typical shower things. When you tell him you actually want to be clean he gets sooo pouty. You're literally standing here naked and wet and soapy and you expect him NOT to do something about it?? You quite literally use up all the hot water by spending way too much time in the shower. His fault and he'll admit it. Once you get out it takes some convincing but he does get you to just go to bed without getting into pajamas which he'll take.

DOFP Logan -

Look they're all fucking menaces alright and though this Logan is older and a little wiser he's just as pervy when it comes to you. He's the guy to hear you start the shower from like 3 floors down and hurry up the stairs so he can slip in and join you. One minute your scrubbing your body and the next Logan has taken the loofa out of your hand and replaced it with his own two hands. Doesn't matter what time or when he will jump in the shower with you. It's really cute but sometimes you are in a hurry and Logan adds about 20 minutes to your shower. Sometimes if you really need to make it quick you tell him to stay out and he gets all huffy. The best showers are the ones where he can really take his time. Kissing you and spending all the time in the world just loving on you. He promises to keep you warm when the water gets cold and makes good on it when he presses you against the glass with his very warm body.

Old Man Logan -

Showering with him is much more intimate than with any of the other Logans. He's very vulnerable at this point, exposing all his scars and tired worn down body to you. He knows he doesn't look like he used to and sometimes it gets to him. The shower is the moment you get to show each other how much you really love him. Washing each other and being close and just getting to be with him. His rough hands do their best to be gentle. It's just really sweet. Plus...Logan is still really hot so.

Worst Logan -

The shower is kind of the only place the two of you can get any peace and even then Logan has to barricade the door so Wade can't just show up unannounced. Like he's done before. Multiple times. He's flirty and also kinda pervy. His hands slipping every where and he's taking advantage of having you all to himself. Totally picks you up and presses you against the wall with the hot water running down his back and he's kissing you everywhere he can and he's mumbling about how that asshole can't interrupt him now. Safe to say you don't come out of the bathroom for a while.

[frequentlykit]

Helping Hand Pt3 - Bang Chan

Bang Chan x fem!reader

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

WC: 1.8k

Summary: Chris is torn about seeing Y/N again and looks to his members for help.

A/N: i'm sorry this has taken so long and please don't kill me for breaking this up but i wanted to get something out for you, i promise to update again soon

- kit <3

Part 1 Part 2

Though you hadn’t seen Chris since that night in the hotel, you had been texting with him pretty frequently. And more often than not it was him who texted first. Asking about your day, if you’d eaten, what your plans were or apologizing for not having time to hang out.

Your phone was almost knocked out of your hands as you slammed into someone else, also looking down at their phone, “Oh my god I’m so sorry I-”

“No, no, I’m sorry, my fault.” That voice… you knew that voice.

No way. No FREAKING way. This was not happening to you again. But sure enough, as you looked up, you locked eyes with Hyunjin.

“Jesus christ, you guys are everywhere. What is this?”

“Huh?” Hyunjin looked at you with his big brown eyes, confused.

“Uh, nothing, sorry. How are you, Hyunjin?”

He squints at you, “...good? Do I know you?”

You shake your head, “No… I’ve seen you though, I mean, not in a creepy way! I’m a fan.”

“Oh! You’re Stay?” He says with a small smile.

You nod.

“Well nice to meet you.” He smiles.

You laugh, shaking your head, “You too.”

“What?” He asks, again making that adorable confused face, like he’d been left out of a joke.

“Nothing, nothing.” You wave him off. “Where are you heading, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Convenience store, we’re out of my favorite ramyeon.”

“I am also heading that way,” You smile, quickly adding, “I swear I’m not just saying that to follow you around–”

Hyunjin laughs, “I believe you.”

CHRIS' POV

I never thought I could be friends with a fan, I always thought it would be too complicated. But I now realize that while I don’t think I could be friends with a fan, I could 100% have a friend who happened to be a fan. 

Or maybe more than a friend. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About the way she looked at me. About that kiss.

I hadn’t mentioned her to the kids, I didn't want to try and explain myself. Though I did debate thanking Hyunjin for telling me about that dumb spa. Which, while very nice, I spent most of my time there thinking about her. Then that phone call.

I could tell right away that something was wrong. Though I thought it might have been a wrong number, I was glad I trusted my gut.

Y/N hadn’t answered my message so I set down my phone on the desk. I was sitting in the studio with Jisung and Changbin, staring off into space as the two of them debated which of two beats they wanted to use for the song Jisung wrote.

“Hyung? Hey Hyung!”

I blink, turning my attention to Jisung who was waving dramatically in front of my face.

“What?” I shove his hand away.

“What is going on with you lately?”

“Nothing is going on.” I say, less than convincingly.

“Come on, Hyung.” Changbin chimes in, “You’ve been spacy since the break.”

“I have not!” 

“Hyuuuung!” Jisung whines, shaking my shoulders.

“Stop! Nothing is going on, I swear!” I say, standing up and stepping away from the pair of them.

“Is it a girl?” Changbin said, obviously teasing.

I tried not to make a face, tried to scoff and act like that was ridiculous, but based on the face that Changbin made, I didn’t do a very good job.

“Oh my god, I was kidding, is it a girl!?”

“No…”

“God, you’re a worse liar than Felix.” Jisung grins, “So who is it?”

“No one!”

“Is it Jihyo-noona? You’ve been spending more time with her lately.”

While that was true, I had gotten lunch with Jihyo three times in the past two weeks, it wasn't for the reason Jisung was thinking. She had been kind enough (pitied me enough) to let me pick her brain about dating as an idol, especially a fan, as well as how I should go about things with Y/N. I'd even text BamBam who was, while insightful, unhelpful.

“No, god, no. Who are you? Dispatch? You know we aren’t like that.”

“Who is it then!?” Jisung insists.

“No one… no one you know…”

“Oh so it’s someone you met?” Changbin grins.

“Okay, this is ridiculous. Can’t I keep my private life private?”

“It’s like he doesn’t know us.” Jisung looks at Changbin who nods.

“See, you can tell us and we won’t tell the others. Or you can try to keep your stupid little secret and we’ll get the others to pester you about it too.”

“Are you threatening me?” I squint at the pair.

“No,” Changbin grins, “I’m just telling you how it is.”

“Wow, Minho is rubbing off on you.” I shake my head.

“Hyung!” Jisung whines again.

“Okay, okay, fine. I met… a girl, while I was in Japan.”

“At the spa?” Changbin asks.

I shake my head, “On the plane ride over.”

“Were you sitting next to her? How did it start? What does she look like? Is she cute? Does she-”

Changbin covers Jisungs mouth, “How did it happen?”

“She… caught my attention and then offered me an empty seat next to her when the people I was sitting next to were falling asleep on me. We got to talking and it was nice to just be and talk to someone without expectations. I… I gave her my number when the plane landed and then I left.”

“That’s it, that’s the interaction that had you all wrapped up.”

“Well no…”

“Spill! I’m glued to my seat!” Jisung grins.

I sigh, “She called me two days later and asked for help when some drunk guys were creeping on her, I picked her up and took her back to her hotel. We talked for hours, I've never been so relaxed with someone outside the group, and then… I kissed her.”

“Hyung!”

“Don’t even start!” I point at them, “You would’ve too if she looked at you like that.”

“So what now?” Jisung asks.

“I’ve been texting with her and it’s good, I’ve wanted to meet up but we’ve been so busy and honestly… I’m a little scared.”

“Does she live here?” Changbin asks.

I nod, “She was on a work trip in Japan, she lives in Seoul.”

“So plan a date with her! You’ve had time to see Jihyo, you can make time for her.”

“What were you doing with Jihyo-noona?” Jisung asks, suddenly suspicious.

“Asking her how to go about seeing Y/N…” I mutter, looking down.

“Oh my god, you’re adorable.” Jisung grins. “I’ll bet you called BamBam too.”

“Shut up!”

“Hyung,” Changbin steals my attention, “Ask the girl out, I promise it’s not as complicated as you’re making it.”

“Where do I take her though?” I groan, sitting back down on the couch.

“What did Noona say?” Jisung asks.

“The basic stuff, park, restaurant, cafe, but honestly I’m more worried about getting photographed. I don’t want her to have to deal with that but if I pick somewhere too secluded she might be freaked out or uncomfortable and I don’t want to come across that way andsinceshe’safanthere’sthatpowerimbalanceandIalreadyfeelweirdaboutkissingherwhenIdideventhoughshesaidshewanteditbutIdon’t-”

“Chan!” Changbin calls, interrupting my word vomit. “Calm down.”

“Did you say she was a fan?” Jisung asks, ever observant.

“...yes.” I mumble.

YOUR POV

“Do you frequent this convenience store?” You ask as you and Hyunjin peruse the aisles.

“Not really,” he shrugs, taking a few bags of ramen from the shelf and putting them in his basket, “But Felix and I were hanging out nearby and I wanted to pick these up before we left.”

“Felix didn't want to join you?” You ask, grabbing some candy.

“He said he didn't want to walk all that way.”

“How far did you walk?” You ask, chuckling softly.

“Eh, a couple blocks.” He walks over to the counter and sets down his basket. “Here,” he reaches his hand out for the candy in yours.

“Oh, Hyunjin, you don't have to do that.” You say, shaking your head.

He slips the candy from your hands, “I want to. You've been so nice to talk to.”

“Well thank you,” you smile.

Your phone suddenly buzzes in your pocket and you remember that you'd been texting Chris.

“Who are you texting? Your boyfriend?” Hyunjin teases, leaning his head over your shoulder.

“Uh…” You don't really know how to respond, or if he'd even believe you if you told him the truth.

“You don't have to answer, I'm just being nosy.” He smiles, handing back the candy you'd picked out.

CHRIS' POV

“Huh.” I chuckle as the texts from Y/N come through.

“What now?” Changbin asks.

“It's Y/N.” I answer.

“Ooo, what'd she say!” Jisung grabs my arm and leans over my shoulder to take a peek at my phone.

I shake him off, “She ran into Hyunjin.”

“For real?” Changbin laughs.

“How'd that happen?” Jisung asks.

“Don’t know yet, but apparently he bought her candy.” I shrug.

Changbin and Jisung looked at me for a moment and they were so quiet that I looked between the pair of them, “...what?”

“You’re jealous.” Jisung grins.

“What!?”

“You are!” Changbin adds, “Your shoulders got all tight when you said that.”

“I am not. Why would I be jealous?”

“Because he’s with her and you’re not.” Jisung pokes my side.

“Jisung, I swear to god-”

“Call him.” Changbin interrupts.

“Call who?” Jisung and I say together.

“Hyunjin.”

YOUR POV

“Uh, yeah, no, umm,” You aren’t sure how to start, making yourself busy by putting the candy in your bag. “Remember when I said ‘You guys are everywhere?’”

Hyunjin nods as the pair of you walk out of the convenience store.

“Well I said that because I met another member a few weeks ago.”

“Really?” Hyunjin laughs.

“Yeah, I-”

You’re cut off as Hyunjin’s phone starts to ring, he pulls it out and laughs again, “Speaking of other members.”

He answers, “Hey Channie-hyung… I’m just about to head back with Lix… uh…” He glances at you, covering the speaker of his phone, “I never caught your name.”

“Y/N.” You smile.

He nods, going back to the phone, “Yes I am… how in the world did you know that?”

“Hi Chris!” You call.

Hyunjin pulls the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker phone.

“Hi sweetheart.” His voice rings through the phone. “I figured this would be an easy way to ask, do you want to join the kids and I tonight? For hot pot?”

“Oh…” You say, shocked at the invitation.

“No pressure,” Chris is quick to add, “It was Changbin’s idea.”

You laugh, “I’m flattered.”

“You should!” Hyunjin said, looking excited.

“Okay.” You shrug with a smile, “Let’s do it.”

“Great! You can come back with Hyunjin and Felix if you want, unless you want to change or something since you just got off work.”

“I’d rather go home and shower but I can meet you guys at the restaurant.”

“That works for us, I’ll text it to you.” Chris responds.

“Can’t wait.”

Hyunjin ends the phone call, “Well, small world.”

You nod, “You have no idea.”

“Well I guess I will see you tonight.”

“See you then.”

He waves before crossing the street and walking around the corner. Just then a text from Chris came through.

A/N: i swear i will post again soon, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist. thanks for reading and don't forget to like and reblog (god i feel like a youtuber lol)

TAGLIST: @akindaflora @lezleeferguson-120

[kamitv]

Your best friend Sukuna is a complete slut.

Though you’d never say that aloud—albeit more than true. That's the only way to describe him because why else would he be in your bedroom, sitting on the edge of your bed, with his legs spread wide open, fingers wrapped around his thick cock, and groans of your name leaving his lips?

Because he’s a goddamn slut, that’s why. And normally when you interrupt his… sexual acts, you quietly apologize and rush off as quickly as possible.

Yet, here you were, being ordered by your best friend not to run away this time.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself,” Sukuna’s raspy and slightly husked voice drawls out to you, eyes boring into yours from across the room, “Bring your ass over here.”

Funny how he said he wasn’t going to repeat himself only to follow up with a literal repeat of his initial order-

“Now,” He hums, his voice sending a chill down your spine.

You stiffen up where you stand, trying your absolute best to keep your eyes anywhere and everywhere else except for the hand he had stroking his cock.

Gulping, “Sukuna-,” He shoots you a pointed glare and you start getting nervous. “You can’t just… j-jerk off in my room and expect me to… to help you.”

“Fuck,” He hisses, your eyes nearly falling on him again as the low noise makes you fidget, “Fine, then get out,” Sukuna tells you.

Your brows push together at the audacity of him, not that it really surprises you anymore, “But-“

“Out. I’ll be done soon,” He cuts off, sitting back and fisting his cock at a quicker pace, eyes drinking in every inch of your still figure.

You didn’t want to look at him. Nor did you want him jerking off in your bedroom. But, you also didn’t want to leave for some strange reason.

Hence why you just stand there and look around your room as if you don’t know the interior already. Sukuna can’t help but crack a smirk as you stand there, his breath growing heavy before he calls your name— watching the way you flinch at the sound.

“Kinda’ awkward if you just stand there, y’know,” He chuckles out to you, finding you oh so amusing.

You frown, “Kinda’ awkward if you just jerk off in my bedroom.”

“It wouldn’t be if you came over here,” He snaps back.

You hate how quick he always is with his responses, something you still haven’t gotten used to throughout all your years of friendship. Swallowing, you just barely glance at the man, “What?” You huff out.

Your eyes were on his and his were on yours. Tension was vexed into his gaze, desire pouring out of his maroon shaded eyes and making you so utterly nervous as you stood across the room from him.

All as he just sat there, shirtless, tattooed and chiseled chest very difficult not to gaze at, large thighs spread lewdly, and hard curved cock twitching within his grasp as precum oozed out his tip.

You couldn’t help the way your gaze dropped for a moment, catching sight of his cock and the way his plump tip glistened under your dim bedroom lighting. His hand movements got noticeable faster as you watched and you drew your thighs closer together.

Sukuna lets out a deep sigh, “Y’know,” The sound of his voice makes you flinch yet again and you lift your gaze as though you’d been caught doing something wrong, seeing the smirk on his face, “You can come get a closer look.”

You bat your lashes at him, “W-What?”

“Is that all you know how to say?” He chuckles, “Hah, just c’mere already,” He suddenly requests, voice softening ever so slightly. “I won’t bite.”

And that’s… roughly how you ended up on your knees in between his legs. With a mouthful of his cock, you don’t even remember what’d come over you after you listened to his request and came close to him.

One moment you started shyly teasing him about being a pervert who jerks off in your bedroom and the next you were curling your fingers around his shaft and making your way down to your knees. Sukuna had let out a long shaky sigh as he watched you settle in between his spread legs, his urge to tease you dying off as some other emotion swelled within his chest.

He’ll never admit it to you but, he was shy. How could he not be when your soft hand begins stroking his cock like he’s just some kinda toy for you to play with—what’d you expect him to do when you look up at him and lean forward to wrap your lips around his drooling cockhead? 

Unfortunately for him, his expression gave away everything and as soon as his dick began disappearing into the warm caverns of your mouth, he was a goner. A hand was now tightly gripped onto your scalp, his breathing unsteady as he watched you suck him off with that pretty ass mouth of yours.

He’ll never be able to forget the sight of drool spilling out from the corners of your mouth while you tried your best to take him all the way into your throat. And his mind just about blanks when you move your hands to his thighs, push them further apart, and then sink down completely—your lips meeting his base.

Now that was a sight to see. 

“F-Fuck,” Sukuna stammered, the sound alone leading you to choke a bit as a moan attempted to leave your throat. His darkened eyes were seconds away from rolling to the back of his skull with how sexy he found the sight of your lips bulging around his thick cock.

When you finally do pull your mouth off of him, he doesn’t even get a moment to breathe before your hands are wrapping around him. He goes from leaning back slightly to sitting up a bit straighter and moving his hands down to one of your wrists, his lips unknowingly quivering.

Then a pant escapes him and you’re bringing your eyes back up to look at him. “Slow, woman—fuck, go… hah, slow.” He says hoarsely.

Oh the desperation on his face was priceless. Why ever would you listen to him when using two hands to jerk him off is all it takes to receive a slightly pouted lip and furrowed brows from him. He probably doesn’t even realize the face he’s making at the moment, too grumpy trying to take control of the situation to feel his features faltering. 

You coo, “Aw, go slow? But, ‘Kuna, I thought this was what you wanted?” 

The nickname you just threw at him has to be evil in some way, shape, or form because the wild twitch it invokes is enough to have your hands tightening their grip around his thick cock. 

Sukuna grits his teeth and you can see a vein popping out in his forehead—he’s so annoyed with you now that the roles have reversed, it’s cute. “Fuck you,” He curses, as if that’ll help him avoid the embarrassment bubbling up within him right now.

“Oh, there he is,” You purr, removing one of your hands just to angle his cock back toward your lips and then tapping it against your skin gently. “S’kinda hard to be mean to me when I’m makin’ you feel so good, isn’t it?”

He swears you’ll be the death of him. He’s never experienced this side of you, nor was he aware it even existed. All he’s ever known you as was his shy roommate who’s so unintentionally attractive that it pains him to be around. Is this really the same woman who was stuttering moments ago when she walked in the room and caught him jerking off??

Sukuna huffs out an almost bratty breath of air, “Stop… talking.” Just as he’s never seen this side of you, you’ve never seen this side of him and fuck is it hot. He’s usually such a big intimidating man and yet here he is literally folding and gasping to your touch.

You completely strip your hands away from his cock and then open your mouth, staring right up into his eyes as you whisper, “Make me.”

All that embarrassment and temporary shyness is gone within the blink of an eye. Sukuna’s stumbling up slightly to his feet and grabbing a firm hold of the top of your head, letting out a gruff sigh while taking his dick into his hands and properly aligning himself with your mouth.

His chest is glistening in sweat and his head is pounding, he was all nervous seconds ago for what? Because of you? Oh please.

It only took those two words of yours for him to remember who the hell he is as he then thrusts his hips forward and quickly fucks himself into your mouth. “That’s more like it,” Sukuna grunts, giving your mouth some mean thrusts as he forces your head to move and meet each one of his motions. “Fuckin’ slut, m-makin me nervous,” He admits hoarsely, his tone aggravated with you. “Who do you think you are, huh?”

You’re obviously too busy getting your face fucked to answer that properly but the moan you let out that leads to drool filthily dribbling out your mouth is enough of a reply for him. Especially when he catches how it drips down onto your thighs. 

Sukuna releases a pretty groan out into the air at the mere sight of you. He thought he was losing his mind before but now it’s even worse. You don’t even have your hands on his thighs to try and brace yourself or control what’s happening—you just let him have his way with your throat, taking things a step further and moving your hands behind your slightly arched back.

Fuck, he needs a picture of this. He desperately needs this display of you burned into the forefront of his mind for the rest of his life. Especially as he starts hitting the back of your throat and you purposefully choke against him. Sukuna’s other hand lifts to cover his mouth because he swears he almost whined.

Your throats too fuckin’ tight, you’re holding eye contact with him for too damn long, and if he feels your tongue flick against that specific vein of his one more time—

“Hnngh—” Sukuna moans, his grip almost bruising as his head flies back and his cock presses right against the very depths of your mouth, hips stalling with the way his orgasm comes rudely rushing out of him. 

Then he feels you swallowing and even though he was trying to keep you head still, you begin to bob yourself back and forth on his cock while he’s cumming and that’s when a whimper is choked out from his lips. Sukuna’s whole body just clenches and he’s letting out all kinds of sounds as his hand, now shaky, holds onto your head for dear life.

Even when he stops cumming, you’re still sucking and his eyes roll back, voice coming out strained. “S-Shit, fuck—stop,” Sukuna moans again, “Please?” Never in all your years of living did you ever think you’d hear Sukuna Ryomen begging you for something and yet here you are.

You steadily pull your mouth off of him with a slick pop, sting after string of saliva hanging in between his tip and your glossy lips. He’s above you panting for a moment before stumbling back to sit down on the edge of your bed again.

A hand of yours moves to causally wipe your mouth off and you don’t even know if you wanna tease him now or later about what just happened. “So, that was—”

“Don’t speak,” He cuts off immediately, his voice surprisingly airy. “Ever. Never bring this up again.”

You snort, “Promise me you won’t jerk off in my room again, first.”

Sukuna scoffs. “Tch. Whatever.”

Like the vixen you are, you begin to lean toward him again and you don’t know if you image it but he flinches ever so slightly. “Promise me,” You say as your hands meet his knees and you begin to lift yourself up.

His eyes go wide and he internally panics at the sight of you moving. “Fucking fine. I promise.”

Smiling, you move to lean over his tensed body and plant a kiss on his cheek, “Good boy.”

…

Yeahhh, his brain just powered off.

pt. 2

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤLOVE ME GENTLYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : Cute Things That They Do When They're In Love.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

He gets up earlier just to make you coffee —and not just any coffee, the perfect one: oat milk, a swirl of honey, exactly 173 degrees. He’ll place it on your nightstand with a silent kiss to your forehead before disappearing into Bat-mode. You pretend you don’t notice—but you totally do.

Leaves post-it notes when he goes on patrol. They’re hilariously robotic: “Breakfast in fridge. Don’t forget vitamins. Love you. — B.” But he draws a little bat in the corner every time, and you keep every one of them.

He reads bedtime stories to you when you can’t sleep —but it’s always classic literature. Pride and Prejudice. The Great Gatsby. He’ll be half-asleep himself, voice rough and low. One night he mumbles, “Mr. Darcy is weak. I would’ve burned down London for you.” You never let him forget it.

Sleeps with his head on your chest. The man carries Gotham on his back but curls up like a cat when he finally sleeps. His favorite thing? Your heartbeat. He won’t say it out loud, but that’s how he knows he’s home.

He keeps a framed candid photo of you on his Batcomputer. It’s you, mid-laugh, covered in flour, from when you tried to bake together. Tim caught it. Bruce keeps it where no villain will ever find it—but he looks at it before every mission. Every single one.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

He gives you piggyback rides literally everywhere. Down the street? Piggyback. Grocery store? You’re climbing on. You joke that his back must be destroyed—he grins and says, “Baby, I do flips off rooftops. You weigh like, three clouds.”

Kisses your cheeks 37 times a day. Minimum. Your temple. Your jaw. Your nose. Bonus kisses if you’re mad at him. He’ll follow you around the apartment like a puppy, peppering kisses like, “Still mad? What about now? Now?? NOW???”

He talks in his sleep and it’s always about you. Once he said, “No, she can’t marry Chris Evans, I’m hotter,” and you laughed so hard you woke him up. He whined, “Wait—what did I say?” You just kissed his dumb forehead.

He braids your hair. Like, really well. Like it’s a thing. “Comes with the package,” he claims. He’ll sit behind you on the couch, legs on either side, humming some 80s song while twisting your hair like he’s done it forever.

He fake cries to get cuddles. Full pout, big eyes, “Baaaby… you don’t love me anymore…” until you sigh and pull him into your lap. He melts. Absolute cuddle slut.

— JASON TODD ⋆

He lets you paint his nails. He acts all annoyed, muttering about toxic masculinity, but then he flex and be like, “Damn, I look good.” Also lets you do matching colors.

He makes you playlists with names like ‘If You Ever Leave Me I’ll Die (jk... unless?)’. It’s full of angsty rock and a few disgustingly romantic acoustic songs you know he’d never admit to liking. You tease him. He shrugs. “I’m a man of culture.”

Carries your lip balm in his jacket. He grumbles about it every time: “You have, like, five of these.” But he pulls it out before you even ask, like some sort puppy.

Always comes home with something for you. A book you mentioned once. A weird snack from a gas station. A kitten once. “He was gonna get hit by a car, what was I supposed to do?!”

He gets super possessive when you're sick. No one else is allowed to help. He makes soup (burnt), tucks you in (aggressively), and yells at your fever. “She’s not answering your texts because she’s DYING. BACK OFF.”

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

He draws you in his sketchbook all the time. But never shows you. He’ll be all tsundere about it—“It’s not for display,”—yet the moment you catch a glimpse and say, “Is that me?”, he’s like, “Tt. Obviously.” (It’s always you.)

He feeds the stray animals because you like them. Now Gotham has a growing population of cats, crows, and one raccoon named after you that follows Damian home. “She understands command. Clearly superior.”

He makes you lunch bento boxes. They’re perfectly arranged. Like, Michelin star level. Sometimes they have little food animals. You once teased him about it and he straight-faced replied, “Aesthetics are important.” But his ears were so red.

He picks flowers for you during patrol. Like—he’ll come home at 4AM covered in blood with a perfectly intact wildflower in his hand. “It reminded me of you,” he mutters. “Resilient. Pretty. Sharp if touched incorrectly.”

When he’s injured, he goes to you. Even when Alfred or medical professionals are RIGHT THERE. You could have no medical knowledge and he’ll still stumble in, covered in blood, saying, “I’m fine. Just… hold me for a moment.”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

He only speaks to you. One or two words max. But when he does? It's so soft. You’ll be talking and suddenly hear a tiny: “Pretty.” Or “Sad?” Or “Stay.” He’ll tug your sleeve and rest his head on your shoulder and that’s it. You’ve melted.

He copies everything you do. You tilt your head? He does too. You braid your hair? He stares until you let him try. He mimics you like a curious baby bird, trying to understand the world through your eyes. He loves your laugh and repeats the sound softly under his breath when he’s alone.

He believes everything you say. You once told him ducks are just water chickens and now he will fight Bruce over that fact. “Chicken,” he says seriously, pointing at a duck on patrol. “No, Cass—” Too late. He’s already gone.

When you cry, he cries. He doesn’t understand why it happens—he just feels it. Even if it’s a sad commercial. Suddenly he's sitting next to you, eyes full of tears, holding your hand. “Why?” he asks softly. And it makes you cry harder.

You’re his safe place. You talk, he listens. You sit, he follows. You nap, he curls up at your feet like a puppy. Sometimes he tugs your hoodie sleeve and signs, Home? And he doesn’t mean a building.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

He falls in love with you hard. Like day one. He makes it everyone’s problem. “I think I met my wife,” he says to Barry (M!Barbara). He's like, “You’ve known her for five minutes dude.” Stephen shrugs. “Yeah. I’d die for her.”

He wants to match with you in EVERYTHING. Pajamas. Costumes. Hoodies. He even altered his vigilante suit to match your favorite color. Tim saw and just walked away like he couldn’t handle the secondhand embarrassment.

He builds you blanket forts. Complete with snacks, fairy lights, and a “no sadness allowed” sign. He calls it “The Anti-Depression Fortress.” You both stay up giggling like kids.

He cries when you do nice things. You brought him lunch once and he got misty-eyed. “No one ever packs me food,” he said, voice cracking. You put a sticky note on his sandwich and he framed it. It said, “Eat your damn veggies.”

He accidentally proposes once a week. You’ll say “this soup is amazing,” and he’ll go, “Marry me.” You’ll trip and land in his arms? “That’s a sign. Marriage time.” He’s serious every time. You’ve started keeping a tally.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[wheelscomedyandmore]

You Might Not Ever Guess

Captain Kangaroo passed away on January 23, 2004 as age 76 , which is odd, because he always looked to be 76. (DOB: 6/27/27 ) His death reminded me of the following story.

Some people have been a bit offended that the actor, Lee Marvin, is buried in a grave alongside 3 and 4 star generals at Arlington National Cemetery . His marker gives his name, rank (PVT) and service (USMC). Nothing else. Here's a guy who was only a famous movie star who served his time, why the heck does he rate burial with these guys? Well, following is the amazing answer:

I always liked Lee Marvin, but didn't know the extent of his Corps experiences.

In a time when many Hollywood stars served their country in the armed forces often in rear echelon posts where they were carefully protected, only to be trotted out to perform for the cameras in war bond promotions.

Lee Marvin was a genuine hero. He won the Navy Cross at Iwo Jima. There is only one higher Naval award... the Medal Of Honor

If that is a surprising comment on the true character of the man, he credits his sergeant with an even greater show of bravery.

Dialog from "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson": His guest was Lee Marvin Johnny said, "Lee, I'll bet a lot of people are unaware that you were a Marine in the initial landing at Iwo Jima ..and that during the course of that action you earned the Navy Cross and were severely wounded."

"Yeah, yeah... I got shot square in the bottom and they gave me the Cross for securing a hot spot about halfway up Suribachi. Bad thing about getting shot up on a mountain is guys getting' shot hauling you down. But Johnny, at Iwo I served under the bravest man I ever knew... We both got the cross the same day, but what he did for his Cross made mine look cheap in comparison. That dumb guy actually stood up on Red beach and directed his troops to move forward and get the hell off the beach. Bullets flying by, with mortar rounds landing everywhere and he stood there as the main target of gunfire so that he could get his men to safety. He did this on more than one occasion because his men's safety was more important than his own life.

That Sergeant and I have been lifelong friends. When they brought me off Suribachi we passed the Sergeant and he lit a smoke and passed it to me, lying on my belly on the litter and said, where'd they get you Lee?' Well Bob.. if you make it home before me, tell Mom to sell the outhouse!"

Johnny, I'm not lying, Sergeant Keeshan was the bravest man I ever knew.

The Sergeant's name is Bob Keeshan. You and the world know him as Captain Kangaroo."

On another note, there was this wimpy little man (who just passed away) on PBS, gentle and quiet. Mr. Rogers is another of those you would least suspect of being anything but what he now portrays to our youth.

But Mr. Rogers was a U.S. Navy Seal, combat-proven in Vietnam with over twenty-five confirmed kills to his name. He wore a long-sleeved sweater on TV, to cover the many tattoos on his forearm and biceps. He was a master in small arms and hand-to-hand combat, able to disarm or kill in a heartbeat.

After the war Mr. Rogers became an ordained Presbyterian minister and therefore a pacifist. Vowing to never harm another human and also dedicating the rest of his life to trying to help lead children on the right path in life. He hid away the tattoos and his past life and won our hearts with his quiet wit and charm.

America's real heroes don't flaunt what they did; they quietly go about their day-to-day lives, doing what they do best. They earned our respect and the freedoms that we all enjoy.

Look around and see if you can find one of those heroes in your midst.

Often, they are the ones you'd least suspect, but would most like to have on your side if anything ever happened.

Take the time to thank anyone that has fought for our freedom. With encouragement they could be the next Captain Kangaroo or Mr. Rogers.

Send this on will you please? Nothing will happen to you if you don't, but it will tell what a "real" HERO is made of.

[ghstzzn]

red haired heeseung hate sex where he keeps overstimming you until you finally squirt everywhere😁

// uhhhhhh quick CATCH!!!!! warnings: not proofread, arguing, rough sex, no prep, fingering, squirting, biting, hair pulling, scratching, spitting, clit smacking, manhandling, mentions of death & murder, unrealistic everything, every term is made up i don’t know shit about anything i made this universe up for some sex. im not labeling this as a fic, i just went insane IM SORRY wc: 3.7k

you were sure that as soon as this patrol was over, you would chokeslam the general. 

as soon as you walked towards the departure gate, you saw him. bright red hair, standing tall and cocky, always the brightest in the room. lee heeseung. and you fucking hated him.

you could see the faded red stains around his scalp, it was freshly dyed. he had a new hair color almost every month—he just had to be the center of attention. a sore sight to you. 

“soldier,” a gruff voice calls out to you. turning around, you let out a sigh and your captain holds his hand up. “save it. save your anger, save the stress. i need you in your best conditions for this run.”

“wasn’t this supposed to be a patrol?” 

he nods, taking off his leather gloves before taking a tablet from another soldier nearby. “there was a breach in the area you two were supposed to patrol.” the older male turns the device towards you.

“it’s swarmed,” you start, leaning in to study all the moving red dots. “but it’s nothing i can’t handle, general.”

“yes, i believe you can. but you’re one of my best, which is why i’m sending you with our best commander.”

“heeseung?”

the general shakes his head, “it’s commander lee to you, and you know that. i expect you to put aside any differences for this and remain professional. there are lives counting on you.”

he hands you the tablet before walking away, spitting commands at nearby hunters and soldiers.

“you know, he runs this entire place. shouldn’t you show him at least a little respect?”

you don’t even have to look behind you to know who’s talking to you.

“fuck off heeseung.”

“i believe that's commander lee to you.” he lets out a dry chuckle. “old man's words, not mine.”

you roll your eyes and turn around, hugging the tablet against your chest. “reassign me.”

“excuse me?”

“you heard me,” your blood was boiling at this point, and you couldn’t take your eyes off his obnoxious hair color which irritated you more. “i want off. trade me out.”

heeseung scoffs, hands on his hips as he looks around in disbelief. “believe me, if i could then i most definitely would. however, we all have someone above us that command us.”

“the general is your fucking grandfather, he wont care.”

“soldier.” he warns.

“i want out. reassign me.”

he’s had enough by now, his own jaw clenching every time you speak. “need i remind you what your rank is? and who i am to you?”

“i’m only a hunter because i refuse to take the rank,” you spit back. “i’ve been here longer than you.”

“damn right you’re only a hunter. which means you follow my command. not anyone else's, not your own—just mine!” 

you attempt to argue back again but he’s quick to cut you off.

“you want out? that’s fine, i’ll have you investigated and on trial for treason and failure of your duty.” heeseung steps closer to you, just inches away from your face. “like you said, i have my connections and i’ll make damn sure of it that you go down here. do i make myself clear?”

you give him a short nod. nothing more. 

“there are lives to be saved out there so i suggest you get your head out of your ass.”

it was silent in the airship, not a single sound inside and out. space was quiet enough, but not hearing a single peep from the pilots or crew made it all worse. 

you wondered why they feared heeseung so much. sure he was strong, but everyone knew you were stronger. you have to assume nepotism.

the drop off was quick and the ship was out of there in the blink of an eye, blowing dust around the two of you.

it’s still silent. almost deafening.

“do you hear me, soldier?”

you shake your head, suddenly aware of where you were. “what?”

heeseung sighs, tilting his head back. “stay close.”

the general was right, it was completely raided. wild, alien like beings crawling the floors and walls everywhere you look. this was once a safe zone, a place where you had rescued refugees. but now, it’s a warzone. almost apocalyptic.

you glance ahead at heeseung, and you could tell he felt out of place walking through this area.

sure, he was a fighter. but only when it came to wars and space battle. he was more smart than brute, which wasn’t a bad thing at all in your line of work. in fact, it was most respected out of any skill you could attain.

but he’s never been face to face with a swarm like this, especially not with such beings as this. 

“thought they’d be militants from other bases,” he mutters, “not… whatever these are.”

“some call them aliens, some use their names. i see targets.” you respond, stepping over a puddle of a foreign liquid, it’s best to avoid any type of fluid you can’t recognize with just the eye. “i know you’re used to fighting beings with a plan and a brain. creatures that are able to fall back and escape, not these.”

“you underestimate me?”

“i underestimate you and your rank.”

heeseung scoffs, pointing his light away from you, “i got here because i’m smarter than the majority of our planet. smarter than you. i run our warplans and i win them. you wouldn’t know because you refuse to use the only skill you have to lend a hand to our battles.”

“i protect our people.”

“yeah? by going on these ‘missions’? by rounding up refugees?” he mocks you. 

“the refugees that your wars leave behind.”

he smirks at that. he actually finds it funny. you shoot him a glare and heeseung shrugs in response. “i just don’t understand why you, who has the best ranking, the strongest and most agile among every soldier and hunter—yet you… what? refuse to make a name for yourself because you…?” 

“i don’t want it.” you finish his sentence for him.

“because you're selfish. because you lack respect for authority because it… remind me again,” he taps his finger against his chin. “destroys planets? splits apart families? kills innocents?”

“i wont be like them.”

“oh, save me the sob story,” heeseung groans dramatically, “poor girl got her family torn apart by some higher up ranking soldier who’s not even fucking alive anymore. seriously? get over it.”

you stop in your tracks, staring him dead in the eyes. “fuck you.”

“is that why you stay? you think helping those refugees will give you some badge of honor?”

you don’t respond to him. you physically couldn’t.

“no, please. answer me. i’m just so curious as to why you do it,” he continues to press on. “does bringing those few helpless, and i mean helpless, civilians give you some sort of morale boost?”

“shut up.”

“oh come on… you know just as well as i do that they contribute nothing to our society. our strong, most respected society that others fear. do you really think any of us give a fuck about those people? the general laughs at your pity stories—they’re just more mouths to feed.”

it all happens so fast. one second you were controlling your breathing and the next you were throwing punches at heeseung. 

he dodges, and dodges again before grabbing your wrist. “oh? you are strong.”

“stronger than you.”

“strong enough to save them?” his eyes flicker to the bodies laying on the floor. once living beings, desperate for an escape, once filled with a will to live, scattered and taking up space in the halls of the base.

you pull your wrist back, “you’re a piece of shit.”

“so, i’ve been told.” he shrugs, “but i do more for these people than you ever have in your life.”

and you snap. throwing punches, slapping and throwing yourself at heeseung in unpredictable and sloppy ways, a true reflection of your anger.

“i’m not saying this to anger you—i’m trying to help.”

you pull back your fist, panting heavily. he remained unscratched. you did underestimate him. he watches carefully as you rest your hands at your side and slides his gun back into its holster along his back.

and you both continue down the long, dark halls, once filled with life.

he was right. and it made you angry. your hands wouldn’t stop twitching and every time you looked at the bright red hair leading you down the corridors, your blood boiled the same color. 

you both enter a large lab, completely empty and far away from the lifeless bodies you had seen before. heeseung leans against a table, looking down at his feet. 

“just promote.”

you shake your head, “i can’t.”

“you aren’t betraying anybody by doing it. you’re being selfish by remaining at your rank, and you don’t even realize that you’re disposable. unimportant.”

he knew how to get under your skin. “you may be strong and fast, but you’re nothing more than just a piece of trash floating in the wind. nobody respects you.” heeseung glances at you, a smirk playing on his lips, “nobody listens to you because of your shitty title. don’t you want to be respected?”

“and be like you?” you step closer to him, inching towards the lab table. “i think i’d rather be thrown out, or put in prison.”

“and why’s that?” 

“you’re cocky, messy, you have no humanity. i watch as you walk all over your subordinates and crew, you treat them like dust on the shelf and you give nobody the time of day unless they can provide for you,” your voice is low, calmer than before and it makes heeseungs lips twitch in irritation. “sure, i’m disposable and nobody cares for me from inside of the base, but god do i actually have something to show for it. friends, family and a fucking personality.”

“you talk about my selfishness for not taking a promotion but you killed hundre-“

in the blink of an eye heeseung has his hand wrapped around your throat. “i deserve my spot. i did what i had to for our fucking lives.”

“you did it for a fucking title, heeseung.”

you push against his arms, freeing yourself from the chokehold he had you in. he steps back, giving you an opportunity to to kick his side, but before you could, heeseung grabs your knee, pushing you backwards and slamming you onto the table. 

“you talk too much,” he grunts in your ear, pinning you flat against the table, “come on, tell me more. tell me how much you hate me despite your constant staring when you see me around the base.”

“you’re a fucking narcissist,” you bring your hand up to slap him but he grabs your wrist, yanking it away roughly..

he tilts his head and stares down at you, a look you’ve only seen from him while analyzing his enemies shining in his eyes, “is that why i’m so turned on right now.”

heeseung digs his knee between your thighs, chuckling when you breathe out in response.

“you’re disgusting.”

“let’s not get ahead of ourselves, soldier.”

he slams his lips against yours, smiling into the kiss when you immediately respond to it, lifting your head as much as you could to deepen the kiss. you chase after his lips every time he pulls away, it was desperate and you hated that your body was betraying every word that came out of your mouth earlier.

heeseung pulls away, trailing his hand that was once gripping your jaw down your torso, gripping the zipper to your uniform and tugging it down very slowly.

“strange behavior coming from the girl who just called me a murderer,” he mutters against your jaw, “it’s funny, i really did think that you hated me.”

“i do,” you respond before bucking your hips upwards, surprising heeseung just enough to loosen his grip, in which you take as a chance to kick him away.

but you’ve always been unpredictable. you grab him by the coat and hold his body upwards before yanking it off his shoulders and down his arms. he shoots you a grin but it’s wiped off his face in less than two seconds when you use all your force to push him down to the ground.

“fuck,” he grunts out when he hits the floor with a loud thud. you straddle him immediately and yank him up by his shirt.

“i’m stronger than you.”

he chuckles, staring up into your eyes before flickering his gaze to your lips, “i’m sure you are.”

it’s like a battle of dominance, because before you could even process his words, he had you flipped under him, laying on top of the coat that you tore off his body.

“but i’m smarter,” heeseung flashes you a cocky smile, pinning your hands above your head with one hand. “and i know exactly what you want.”

he drags his finger down your bare torso, pushing aside your uniform top he had unzipped earlier. 

“one thing we have to look out for during our long, boring peace treaty meetings is body language. alien or not, everyone shows their true feelings with their body.” heeseung continues, undoing your belt with one hand.

“they ever teach you to shut the fuck up in military school?” 

in one swift movement, heeseung pulls the belt from the loops of your jeans, “oh, please. i’m the general's son. i get what i want with just my voice.”

he lets go of your wrists to tug your jeans down your thighs, wasting absolutely no time on any of this.

“you’re right about pretty much everything,” heeseung continues, yanking your jeans completely off.. “i’m a piece of shit, mean to my subordinates, to people equal to me. to everyone. i’m a commander, i command shit. i command submission.” 

leaning back over you, he lifts your knees to your chest and pushes as you grip his shoulders, pushing him back. “wheres the fight in you, soldier? don’t tell me i’m right…”

you grunt and push against his chest, “i fucking hate you.”

he slams his lips against yours with more force this time, biting and pulling at your bottom lip. your hands find themselves pulling at the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up his chest with intention. heeseung leans back with a scoff and pulls it over his head before leaning back down, attacking your jaw and neck with rough, sloppy kisses and bites. 

you pull at his hair, lifting his face above yours. he grunts and grabs at your hands, “if you’re gonna fuck me then do it right.” you tell him impatiently. 

his hand comes up and grips your neck again, “anyone ever tell you that you’re a fucking bitch.”

you let out a dry laugh, causing him to shake his head in disbelief. as soon as your fingers loosen their grip on his red strands, he takes the moment to tug down his own pants, freeing his angry, dripping cock.

its heavy against your clothed cunt. your thighs squeeze together, but there was no way you were letting him have this—your submission. you attempt what you tried earlier, bucking your hips upwards, pushing your legs against him but it was near impossible with the position he put you in. 

“stop fucking moving.” he growls.

“fuck you, heeseung.”

he smacks your thigh, the sound echoing throughout your room. you wince at the feeling but it all made you throb. heeseung grips your jaw again, ignoring the feeling of your nails digging into his skin, “what’d i say earlier? it’s commander lee.”

you roll your eyes, further pissing him off. he wasted no time pushing your flimsy underwear to the side and lining his angry tip up with your fluttering hole. 

heeseung pushes in, not slow but not fast. he bottoms out, sending a sting through your cunt, traveling down your thighs. your nails rake down his chest and he lets out a loud groan.

you adjusted to his size rather quickly, the wetness between your thighs acting as a helping hand to the lack of prep he gave you beforehand. his grip doesn’t loosen on your jaw, his hips moving in slow but deep thrusts. you swallow every moan that threatens to spill from your lips, and it displeases heeseung the most.

but he doesn’t relent, only quickening the pace of his thrusts. you compensate for your lack of noise by scratching and digging into his skin, abusing the surface of his body from the roughness and pleasure he delivered. 

“this easy to get you to shut up?” heeseung grunts, slamming his hips into yours, the sound ricocheting off the walls. “where’s that mouthy low rank from earlier, huh?”

your hand comes up to grip his face, nails digging into his cheeks, then you spit. you felt victorious for a mere second until heeseung halted the movement of his hips, pulling himself out of you with haste. you take this chance to win back dominance but he beats you to it, landing a loud smack onto your clit, causing you to cry out, hips twitching for how good it felt.

“what’d i say?” heeseung mutters, anger spilling through his teeth. another slap. “you want me to show you where you belong? is that what you want?”

he slides his finger through the wetness, gathering your slick before shoving two fingers inside you. heeseung curls and pumps his fingers with no remorse, digging the palm of his hand against your clit. 

“come on, speak. respond to your commander.”

you let out a grunt, bucking your hips upwards. he was good—too good. you could already feel your stomach start to tense up with every curl of his fingers. “y-you’re not my c- fuck!”

“that’s it… i know you can do it, spit it out. it’s just a few words.” he coos, looking down at you as if you were dirt beneath his shoe. “words can’t be that hard for you, can they?”

you only respond with a whimper, biting your lip between your teeth until the skin finally breaks. heeseung watches you intently. “that’s fine.”

he speeds his hand up, spitting a wad of saliva onto your clit before using his thumb to toy with it. and that’s what breaks you the first time. your thighs tighten around his hand and you cum. hard. your hand that was once pulling at his face, now gripping and pulling at his arm as he continues to finger fuck you at a fast pace.

heeseung finally removes his fingers from you, but not before rubbing your sticky release all over your own cunt and shoving those same fingers in your mouth. 

“i wont say you obey easily, but you definitely take what’s given to you.” he taps his cock against your clif, eager to fuck you again. and so he does.

immediately pushing himself inside you and catching up to a brutal pace. your moans are muffled by his fingers, pressing over your tongue, edging your gag reflex. 

you were drunk off the pleasure, drool piling up in the corners of your mouth. his cock was knocking against your sweet spot, and your walls fluttered around him with each thrust. 

“gonna cum again? already?” 

you look up at him. the red hair dye dripping from his scalp from all the sweat. it was almost grotesque. it reminded you of what you had told him earlier—and yet, it made you clench around his cock. 

he smirks, “like what you see?” 

a grunt escapes your throat and you bite down on his fingers in response. he winces and pulls them out of your mouth, you could feel his cock twitch inside you. heeseung grips the back of your knees and pushes them up to your chest, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

the new position had him hitting spots deep inside you. the head of his cock abusing your spot deliciously. your eyes roll back, feeling a new high never felt before. 

heeseung was doing no better, though he maintained himself well. grunts and groans leaving his lips with every thrust of his hips. he was close, but he needed you there first.

and you were there. your entire body tensed up, tears rolling down your cheeks. this was unlike before. your thighs were trembling and you were pathetically reaching for anything. 

you manage to grab onto heeseungs neck with one hand, nails slicing across his neck, if you were able to focus you would be able to see the the tiniest of crimson blood peek out through the broken skin.

“that’s fucking right,” he spits, face centimeters from yours. his red stained sweat drips onto your face and chest, coloring your own skin. “fucking take it.”

your body stutters and a loud yelp spills from your lips, your release gushing out of you in the form of clear liquid, soaking the bottom half of both you and heeseung. 

a mix of a broken laugh and moan comes from heeseung, and he cums immediately. but his pace doesn’t relent, he keeps fucking you. fucking you until he hears his name spill from your lips in the form of a whiny, desperate moan.

and all of heeseungs wishes come true. 

“h-heeseung! fuck—it’s too… too much!” you cry out, body trembling from the overstimulation. 

“no… n-not quite,” he stutters out, feeling himself become more sensitive by the second. “come on—give it to me, soldier.”

your stomach tenses up again, “fuckfuckfuck!”

“almost there.”

you cum again. it wasn’t as intense as earlier, but it hits you hard. and all you could do was cry out for him, giving him exactly what he wanted. “commander please!”

and he slows his hips. moving at a soft gentle pace, riding you through all three orgasms, milking his own cock of his seed. “that’s right.”

the man you hated stole three orgasms from you in one go. it made your blood boil but your cunt flutter. 

“make it back to the airship without asking for help and you might see a reward in the near future,” he says, glancing over as you zip up your uniform. 

“also, no way in hell i’m reassigning you now.”

[heechwe]

ANYTHING FOR YOU | 전원우

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ꒰ MY FIC FOR JUPITER'S SECRET CUPID COLLAB

⟢ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 3K ⟢ GENRE: slight comedy, fluff, smut ⟢ TAGS: best friends to lovers au, drunk confession, dirty talk, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Wonwoo has been your best friend forever. And maybe something more could be in the cards with a mature, sophisticated confession. Or a lot of alcohol. ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inspired by LANY's song "anything 4 u"! Big thanks to my betas for this fic Tiya (@gyubakeries), Honey (@heesuncore), and Mitchie (@seokgyuu)! I love you all so much. And this fic is for my Secret Cupid Ally (@lovetaroandtaemin)!! I love you loads and you're an incredible friend. I'm so glad I got you so I could share a small token of appreciation for our friendship. I hope you love this story as much as I did writing it! ♥︎

Valentine’s Day weekend. The one weekend you have to suffer through everything being doused in red, pink, and white decorations. It’s everywhere: across your work office, all around the city you live in, and even plastered around the hole-in-the-wall bar that all of your friends are drinking in now. 

It’s not one of your least favorite holidays, per se. But the intensity of it can be incredibly draining. The constant declarations of affection, the emotionally gooey visual representations of one’s desire for another person, it’s too much even for some of your own friends who are coupled up. 

The reality of your loneliness pushes your mood down just enough that staring down your third bottle of beer makes you yearn for another, despite your alcohol tolerance being less than stellar. And to make matters worse, it sucks to be surrounded by others’ happiness when you’re so alone in love and in love with someone too enmeshed in your life as a friend, rather than a person of romantic interest.

Wonwoo sits with Vernon and Soonyoung at the high-top bar, nursing tequila shots and Coronas without bothering to look back at the rest of your table of friends. Yes, you were all celebrating Soonyoung’s new promotion and Vernon finally nabbing a girlfriend in time for Valentine’s this year, and they only stalked off a few minutes ago to share a few drinks on their own, but you wish Wonwoo was sitting next to you again. 

You always mocked him for telling you to slow down. To drink water to avoid dehydration or to eat something to offset your alcohol intake. With all of his parroted wisdom that drives some of his closest friends crazy, you love him for it. You love him for a lot of reasons, really.

“Maybe you should just tell him, you know?” Seokmin says across from you, looking over at you from the rim of his Whiskey Sunrise. It’s a sickly shade of red, grenadine mixed in with the other ingredients to commemorate the holiday season. You wonder if it tastes like cough syrup, because it sure looks like it.

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” You ask with a slur, licking the remaining beer on your lips. “It’s not that easy to destroy seven years of friendship.”

“Come on. You act like nobody else has noticed when it’s plain as day, babe,” Seungkwan pipes up next to you, elbowing you softly in the ribs with an accompanying waggle of his eyebrows.

“And what is your best course of action, Dum and Dee?” You split your stare between both of your friends, your irritation peaking. “I just go over to that bar and confess everything to him. Then he’ll say he’s felt the same this entire time and we ride off into the sunset together?”

“One, you don’t need to be rude,” Seokmin responds. “Two, you don’t have to make it so dramatic. Get him alone tomorrow, maybe. Talk it out, see where it goes.”

“Exactly,” Seungkwan says. “It doesn’t need to be this big movie scene thing.”

“What movie?” Soonyoung asks, sitting back down next to Seungkwan and in front of his empty bowl of ramen. The other boys follow suit, Vernon alongside Seokmin and Wonwoo next to you once again.

It feels like torture and sanctuary in the same moment, so close but so far from what you wish the two of you could be.

“Nothing, just this documentary we all saw the other night,” you respond. You press your lips to your bottle again, pouting when the last droplets hit your tongue. “I’m gonna get another,” you say to nobody in particular. Wonwoo perks up once he notices you stumbling to get out of your chair.

“Not so fast,” Wonwoo says as you fall back into his arms. “I think I should get you home.”

“No, the night’s still young!” You whine into his jacket, your hair ruffling the skin on his neck. His chest rumbles with laughter, but nothing at the moment is funny to you. You don’t want to leave just yet, and he doesn’t need to treat you like a baby. “We still haven't even gone to karaoke.”

“Another night. Go sleep it off!” Vernon calls from behind you.

“You kids have fun!” Seokmin says with a conspiratory wink. You and Wonwoo walk towards the entrance of the bar, and you want to throw something at Seokmin to make your idiot best friend’s dumb smirk and even more ridiculous idea of confessing your feelings to your mutual friend blip out of existence.

Wonwoo has seen you at your lowest. He consoled you after you ran your car into a parked motorcycle when you were sixteen, your humiliation palpable the whole three hours you both waited for the police to show up. He’s held you in his arms after every failed romantic relationship, telling you it was always them and never you when it ended poorly. There’s nothing the two of you haven’t been there for each other for, no experience too vulnerable to share and overcome together.

But Wonwoo holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you throw up may just be the all-time low of your embarrassing moments. He whispers in your ear that you’re okay and rubs your back with a soft hand, and you feel all the worse for it. How could he ever love someone this prone to disaster, this cringeworthy?

“You should go home,” you cry into the toilet bowl. “I’m disgusting.”

Wonwoo says your name in a mocking tone, pretending to be serious but in no way critical of you or the situation. He takes off his plaid button up and throws it in some random corner of your bathroom, free to hold you as close as possible as you continue dry-heaving. “You’re not disgusting.”

“Of course you’d say that, you’re you.”

He laughs again, tucking what hair he can from your face so you can lift your head off of the toilet. “And what’s that?”

You look at him with puffy, half-open eyes. “Perfect.”

He helps you up from the tile floor and moves you to your bedroom on your weak legs. He sheds off your overshirt as you kick off your denim jeans. Your mind rumbles with a whirlpool of thoughts as his brain ruminates on the word you used when comparing himself to you.

“I’m in no way perfect, kid,” he whispers. The nickname he’s used on you forever feels like a backhand, a copious amount of salt in a wound you know will never heal. He’ll always see you at a distance from him, his feelings leagues away from yours.

“Don’t call me that,” you cry into your pillow, resting your cheek deep into the material to muffle the quiet sobs in your throat. He can’t be serious, talking to you so tenderly when you’re falling apart.

“Hey, can you look at me?” You shake your head and settle deeper into the pile of comforters and throw pillows. Wonwoo suddenly feels his gut turn into a dozen knots. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, how to fix it, or what to say to make things better, and it kills him. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Because you’re too perfect to love someone like me. But I love you so much, and it fucking sucks,” you hiccup, the darkness of your bed making you believe he’s not there, this isn’t real, and it’s okay to release all the words in your heart into the dark. “And every time I see those damn red and pink hearts all over the place, I think of you and I want to die.”

The force of your confession almost knocks Wonwoo on his ass. At the very least, he settles onto the desk chair near your bed and hears your whimpers give way to light snores.

He runs his hands through your hair again and tucks the covers up to your chin. He holds himself back from pressing a kiss to your forehead, the one thing he’s always done when you’ve passed out countless times before in his presence, but never recalled the next morning. This time, though, he prays you’ll remember your drunken admission.

“I hope you meant everything you said,” he whispers before retreating to your couch to fall asleep to the sounds of the cityscape below.

You wake up to low jazz playing from your living room TV and the smell of sizzling eggs. Each limb aches from the heavy sleep you fell under last night. You quietly pad out of your room to find Wonwoo cooking what looks to be the perfect mix of breakfast and hangover food. A makeshift Bloody Mary sits on the counter next to him, waiting for you.

Wonwoo turns when he senses you behind him, and he grins. “Hey, you’re awake. I was worried you’d be passed out until the afternoon. I wouldn’t blame you, though.”

You blush a shade deeper, still sporting your tank top and clad in a pair of boy shorts. You forgot you had taken your pants off before slipping into bed the night prior, but it isn’t the first time Wonwoo’s seen you half-clothed. You drink half of the concoction and set it down, your headache throbbing a little less. “How bad was I last night?”

He smirks. “Bad enough to throw up another three times.”

You groan into the back of your hand and hitch yourself up on the counter across from Wonwoo, his focus still on the over-medium eggs in the pan. “I’m sorry you had to take care of me again.”

“I wanted to,” he says without looking up at you. “I always want to be here when you need me.”

“I know, I know, it’s your job to say that,” you joke.

He drops the metal spatula next to him on the stove, and you jump up at the sound. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t say a word for a moment, and you’re unsure if he’s even breathing when you ask him if he’s okay. “So, you don’t remember then?” His question comes out almost like a statement, but the wavered edge of it proves he is concerned with whatever has slipped your mind.

“Woo, you’re freaking me out.”

He turns the stove to a low, simmering heat before facing you. His eyes look sad but expectant, waiting for the inevitable to come to you. “You really have no idea what I’m talking about?”

You tuck your hair behind your ear, and in that instant, you recall that last hour before you fell asleep. Wonwoo helping you into bed. Crying in your bed. And all the words that followed.

The memories bring tears to your eyes and your hands to your face. “Oh my god—”

Wonwoo takes your palms away and holds them to his mouth. “Stop running from me.”

“Don’t make me say it again, Woo, please.” Your bottom lip trembles. You fight every instinct to run from the kitchen and out of the apartment altogether, wanting to accept the continuous pain of hiding your feelings than the truth that this could be the end of the both of you as you know it, for better or worse.

“Fine, you don’t have to.” Wonwoo’s lips curl into that grin you’ve adored for almost a decade. “I’ll say what I need to first, then.”

He takes a deep breath and sets his jaw. “I’ve been in love with you since the minute you threw your ice-cream at that biker who almost clipped me in the foot on the way to school. Remember? I may have loved you long before that, but that’s the moment I realized.

“And I don’t want to lose you. I want to be more than just the guy you call your best friend. I want to be the only friend that matters, the friend that kisses you goodnight and tells you how beautiful you are because there’s no other way to describe you. I love you, too, kid, whether you realized it or not.”

A breathy yelp leaves your mouth before you kiss Wonwoo on the mouth. It’s a hard one, a clash of teeth and a bit of tongue, but you didn’t expect less from such an unexpected and perfect confession. Maybe this was the way you rode off into the sunset together. Sure, there was the smell of burning eggs instead of the sounds of a white stallion gallivanting off to the unforeseeable future, but it’s perfect. It’s yours.

Wonwoo shuts the burner off entirely before he takes you by the hand into your bedroom. When your bed is in full view, he kisses you long and slow. It’s nothing like the first kisses you shared a second ago, but it’s earth-shattering all the same.

You moan into his mouth when he presses a free hand to your breast, teasing the skin above your shirt until your nipple pebbles.

“Is this too fast?” He asks in a gruff voice. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable, I just—”

You press a finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up. “If you do not take my clothes off right now and fuck me, I will never speak to you again.”

Wonwoo smirks and kisses you once more, only stopping to pull your tank top over your head and rip your underwear off of your legs. His fingers delve between your folds, and you shudder in his hold but refuse to let him take his hand away.

“You like this,” he whispers, the statement thick with his lust.

“Yes, it feels so good,” you whimper. You gasp when two of his fingers curl inside of you, his thumb still nestled on top of your clit to swirl around with the pad. The amount of pleasure he’s already given you is indescribable, and he hasn’t even truly done much yet.

You whine when he takes his hand away, but it’s to discard his own clothes and sit at the edge of your bed. He beckons for you to sit on top of him, and he doesn’t think twice about swirling himself between your essence and lining the head of his dick with your entrance. His tip is so swollen and covered in pre-cum, there’s no problem sinking it inside of your heat.

You share a mutual curse of pleasure when he bottoms out, his pelvic bone meeting your skin. You stay like that for a moment. You’re so full and unable to move from the size of him filling every empty space inside of you, you think this has to be a dream. Last night has not given way to day yet, and now is just a conjuring of your cruel mind. 

You get lost in your thoughts for so long Wonwoo brings his hand to your face and traces his fingers over your cheek, staring at you lovingly. “Where’d you go?”

You smile shyly and kiss his nose. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

“I guess I’ll just have to remind you it’s real.”

He takes your ass between his hands and spreads you out before thrusting up inside of you, making you gasp hard. He moves long and slow underneath you, almost taking his cock out of your pussy completely before delving back into you.

“I want to give you everything,” he pants. “All that I have—will have—is for you. You know that, right?”

“Yes, fuck,” you whisper, meeting his hips with yours as you try to set your own pace, sinking down onto him with every thrust where your skin meets with loud smacks.

“I love you so much,” he says into your neck before biting down on your soft skin. You moan loudly and press yourself deeper and harder against him. His cock hits you at the perfect angle as you straddle him, and you feel the start of your climax deep in your stomach.

Seven years of missed opportunities. More than too many chances for days and nights like this spent together so intimately gone to the wind. It’s easy to be regretful for all the time that you’ve wasted without each other, but you realize it’s not wasted at all.

Every step, every thread of fate that tied you two together, brought you here. Whatever comes of today is just an extension of what has already existed in your hearts. So what more is there to ask for?

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he growls in your ear. His balls smack against your skin as he continues to slam into you. Tears spring in your eyes as he moves even harder, trying to take you both to your peaks together. “Where can I come, baby?”

“Inside of me. I want all of it, all of you. Please,” you beg. You bounce harder on top of him, circling your clit with your fingers to fall off the precipice with Wonwoo by your side.

“You want to feel all of me, yeah? So full of my cum it’s all you’ll think about?” He smirks and replaces the fingers on your clit with his own. “Maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you with how much cum I give you. Would you like that?”

You see stars behind your eyelids as you listen to the beautiful, dirty words on his lips. You nod vigorously, wanting nothing more than for him to claim you in this way. It’s all you’ve thought about for years, truthfully.

“God, I’m coming,” you say into his neck, thighs quivering as the rest of your body goes slack from the pleasure. Wonwoo grunts into the shell of your ear as he orgasms himself, his seed spilling into you so deep you think there’s no way any remnant of him will slip out.

When he takes himself out of you, he swirls the mixture of both of your releases on his fingers before you take those fingers into your mouth, sucking them dry.

Wonwoo chuckles and kisses you deeply, the taste of the two of you on both of your tongues. “That’s one way to end Valentine’s weekend, don’t you think?”

You giggle and kiss him on both cheeks, too eager to see the rest of your future together. “You could say that.”

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @okiedokrie-main @brownbunnyb

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @/sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

[tiramissyoucake]

Can I request a scenario where Mohawk Mark and Girly reader first met each other, like he's the school's bad boy and no one mess with him since he's basically crazy.

Reader was maybe getting hit on and cornered into a wall or being followed then bump into mohawk mark and ask for his help, then he did. Which ends with the results of reader following him everywhere and over sharing to the the point they started dating.

Getting in trouble together, having quickies in the most unlikely places and sleeping naked together even though they didn't do anything before that, they're just enjoying each other's company

I love this idea so much. Mohawk Mark x girly reader you will always be loved.

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

CW: semi-public? Piv, fem reader (girly/Bimbo coded), corny ass flight confession thing, stripping after fucking, not proof read

.

When Mark's powers started coming in slowly but surely, he immediately thought of all the things he could do for his own satisfaction. A few days after getting them, at school, he punched a student so badly he was suspended for a week, he saw it as a vacation.

When he came back, the student he punched had a patch on where he got hit and everyone steered clear from Mark with uneasy eyes or judgemental glances followed by whispering, (except William, but William already barely talked to him now.) He didn't care, he was a God among men now, he learned to pull his punches, he had a feeling killing a student with a singular punch would be more trouble than it's worth.

He talked back to teachers, harshly bumped into whoever was in his way and glared back twice as hard to anyone who had the gall to look at him, he was untouchable so why should he care about what anyone else thinks? He doesn't mind suspension if it means scaring these losers into knowing who's stronger.

His appearance was enough as is, he was certain he was the only student with a mohawk. He fumbled with his locker, the weight of the books growing more irritating as he finally got it open, tossing whatever he didn't need inside, he heard speaking next to him- not the usual shit talk some gossip fiends would jabber about, he heard arguing.

"Can you back off?! I have a class to get to!"

"Just ditch with me! Who cares about class?"

"I do, dumbass! That's the whole point of school?!"

Following the noise, he immediately saw you, your annoyed expression didn't match the adorable appearance. Pretty glossy lips, styled hair, a bag with too many charms and keychains. You were fending off a guy who was getting a bit too close, even for him. Some no-name jock who he was sure had less personality than he had brains which was already low.

"Don't touch me!" You jerked your shoulder out of his hand with a glare. "What, now you're too good for me?"

Okay, this was embarrassing. Mark rolled his eyes before slamming his locker shut, approaching the bickering.

"She's not interested, dickhead." He started, taking your side. "Why don't you fuck off before I make you?"

The guy scoffed, sure he was more muscular but he didn't have half-viltrumite genetics. "What're you gonna do? Think you're some kinda hero?"

He didn't wait for anymore incentive, his fist flying immediately into his jaw- granted he had to hold back *a lot* of momentum he picked up in his swing, you gasped, the jerk staggered and held his jaw and stared in shock.

"Yeah that's what I thought, pussy." Mark grinned, his fist unaffected as he turned to you- you looked starstruck. "What do you have for first period?"

It took you a moment to find your voice, stuttering. "Uh— history..?"

Huh. So did he. "Come on." He grabbed your arm and tugged you along, you followed with no protests. Mark was surprised at how obedient you were being given you were arguing with the dumbfounded idiot back there like hell, a small smirk came onto his face- maybe you were terrified of him like everyone else.

He stopped once he reached the correct room, letting go of your arm to open the door, he turned to you to say some cool goodbye he'd been practicing but paused.

You practically had hearts in your eyes as you stared at him, restraining a smile. "I didn't get to thank you for helping me back there!" Your friendly tone was a welcome change from the earlier hostility. "I'm (Name), you're Mark, right?"

"... how'd you know?"

"Duh? Everyone knows you! You're the guy that punched a guy." Yeah, that was about right. "I didn't know you were such a Knight in shining armor, though!"

He scoffed, almost offended at that. "Hell no, he was just pissing me off. You just happened to be there."

"Whatever you say~"

It started from there, in that history class, you sat next to him and kept trying to pass notes, to which he crumpled and tossed aside. You chalked it up to the tough guy persona he was trying to uphold because why else would he repeatedly glance at you?

You walked with him to his classes and monologued since he barely responded to make it a conversation. "-but I dunno, like sometimes I wanna go for the messy hair look but I can't leave my house without styling it! What do you think? I mean I like your mohawk, like rarely any guys can pull off a mohawk-"

Details he didn't care about were being retained in his head, and he prayed to God you'd leave him alone during lunch, maybe you had your own bimbo friends to talk to so he could get some peace and quiet.

All hopes of that were thrown out the window as he saw your tray land on the table he occupied, you sat down and smiled like he was the best thing in the world. "Hey, you!"

He dropped the plastic fork, sighing. "Fine. What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" You responded so cluelessly as you brought out a compact mirror from your bag.

"You've been following me around like a damn dog since this morning." You pissed him off, how could you worry about if you had enough glitter on your face at a moment like this. "What the fuck do you want?"

You scoffed, like he was stupid. "Uh, because I like you? And wanna get to know you? I know you have a pretty... yikes. Reputation. But I don't care, earlier this year they spread rumors that I slept with everyone on the football team." You leaned closer, grinning. "I wouldn't touch any of those losers with a ten foot pole."

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, he didn't trust you fully but you weren't exactly a nuisance. He shrugged. "Suit yourself, princess."

The gasp you let out scared him into dropping his fork again. "'Princess'?! We're on a nickname basis now?! Omg, okay! I'll call you Marky!"

"Don't." He gritted, that made him sound like a boy toy, he hoped his scowl brought your attention away from his reddening cheeks.

.

He hated admitting his parents were right, but he knew why keeping the powers thing a secret was important, he didn't want government losers trying to recruit him for corny hero work or get civilians talking, but he figured you wouldn't be a problem and shockingly, you weren't. The first thing you asked him was if he was like 'real life superman'.

Sneaking into your painfully adorable bedroom, he ignored all your questions of "how'd you get in?!" And "what's wrong?", holding your wrist.

"C'mon, I gotta show you something." You got up from your bed, magazines discarded as he tugged you closer to the window. "Hold on! Mark, my parents are gonna kill me!"

He rolled his eyes, one leg already out the window. "They won't know, trust me. C'mere."

He pulled you closely, chest to chest as he guided you out the window. One moment, your feet were on the windowsill, and the next he's soaring through the sky with you held tightly in his arms.

"If you drop me, I swear I'll kill you!!" You yelled as you clung to his shirt, Mark grinned and propped you up.

"Uh oh, my hands slipping!" His little jab made you yell and cling to him harder, he almost went crazy feeling you hide your face in his neck and tighten your hands' grip on him. "MARK!! THAT'S NOT FUNNY!"

He couldn't help laughing, you were adorable enough as is, seeing you huddle up to him in his arms in the sky was a sight to see. At this point, he hovered and went at a decent pace over town, watching your expression. "What'd I tell you? Worth it or not?"

"Everything looks so pretty from up here.." You mumbled while glancing around, looking up at him. "Taking me out for a romantic flight, what's next? Are you gonna confess to me?" Your smile gave him the message that you'd hoped he would.

"Yeah? And if I was?" He leaned in, a grin on his lips, truth be told, after accepting your presence as a reoccurring thing in his life he found himself liking you more and more, following him around like a lovesick stalker. (it helped that he thought you were hot as hell too)

"I'd be real happy if you did?" You hummed, a blush dusting your cheeks. "You already know that I really like you, Marky."

That stupid nickname he came to accept, you were gonna be the death of him. "I like you too, princess. I really really like you." He repeated as he leaned closer, tightening his grip on you.

Pressing his lips to yours, you had a feeling the first kiss wouldn't be innocent, and you were right. A groan escaped him as if to silently say "finally", it was messy, biting your bottom lip, his tongue darting out to deepen the kiss further and tilting his head when you parted your lips for him, if only he did this in your room so he could properly kiss you until your lips were bruised.

the scenery itself made him want to roll his eyes, your Mark holding you in the air in the nightsky- hovering over the town like he was some cheesy comic book hero with a damsel; as corny as it was, it was perfect.

.

You kept in contact after getting accepted into college while he didn't make the effort to even apply. How could you not? Every time you'd see that stupid mohawk in the distance, you'd get so excited you could burst. Mark still had his methods of sneaking in your dorm and whisking you away to God knows where.

A house party hosted by someone you both don't know, a club that was way too exclusive, a festival with everyone bringing their own spread blankets for some show, that one was your favourite; your deviant of a boyfriend found a secluded corner near the woods you could set up your blanket at and he wasted no time having you all to himself.

"Be quiet you— mmff..!" He hissed, his hands grabbing your hips to guide your movement, his dick buried inside you under the skirt he thanked god you decided to wear, perfect for tugging your panties off and having his way. "Fuck, just like that..."

Your whimpers and moans drove him insane but he didn't want any festival goers to find you two like this, you bouncing on his cock with his pants tugged halfway down, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. "C-can't, Marky..! So good...!"

Mark let out a breathless laugh, bucking his hips up to you. "C'mere- kiss me." You obeyed, you always did. Lips parted as yours slotted against his own, his tongue invading your mouth almost instantly to swallow any of your adorable moans, he groaned as his hand came down to spank you briefly, a short but strong swing that stung in the best way and made you yelp into his mouth.

"You like that?" He grinned, mischievous and filthy. "Such a good slut for me- mmh, mine, right?" You nodded rapidly, that didn't seem good enough as he spanked you again to ellicit a response. "Ah! Yes! Yours..! Only yours..! Mark!!"

He noted your pace, humming. "As much as I love seeing you hop on my cock, bunny." He sat up, flipping you over and shoving you back down to the blanket he chuckled at your shocked noise. "I wanna fuck you proper."

His hips pistoned against yours, a devastating pace as he panted and grunted over your moans, his hands intertwining with yours. "Yes, fuck- take it, that's a good princess.." he huffed, your legs locking around his waist.

And that wasn't the end of it, as if fucking you like it was your last time meeting wasn't enough, back at your dorm he pinned you back to your bed and threw your clothes off for round two. It must've been Viltrumite stamina or something because he couldn't get enough of you, or maybe he was just that obsessed with you.

He stilled with a loud groan as a stuttered moan escaped you, his hips grinding against you as he pumped you full. "Yes, yes, yes. Fuuhuuuuck...!" Mark almost drooled out as your pussy hugged his cock closely.

"God— I love you, Markyyy..." You extended the nickname, a blissed out expression on your face as he came closer, licking his lips. "I love you too, you're so fuckin' cute..." a satisfied moan escaped him as he kissed you, your hand cupping his cheek gently as you reciprocated happily.

"Mmm... gotta go soon.." he begrudgingly reminded you, to which you whined and clung to him. "Nooooooo..!"

"Baby, come on. You know you'll get in trouble if anyone finds me here." He remembered your college's harsh guidelines on 'uninvited guests' in the dorm, that didn't stop you from insisting. "God, they won't know! Don't worry!"

He rolled his eyes affectionately at you as he settled next to you. "Okay, okay! Just gimme a sec to take this shit off.." he threw aside whatever remaining clothes he had on, a pile forming in the corner as he tossed aside the articles of clothing one by one. "You took, off. Now."

A giggle escaped you as he started to remove your clothes, almost too playfully as he coaxed you. "What's funny? C'mon! You gonna let me be the only naked freak here?"

Sweat had coated your bodies from the rush at the festival and running back, so peeling off whatever remaining clothes was a huge relief. Laying back in the small bed, the size wasn't an issue as you two shuffled closer, skin to skin.

"You comfy?" His arm wrapped around you while the other propped up his head up on your pillow, you let out a happy hum, kissing his cheek. "Uh-huh, you better not leave before I wake up in the morning!"

"Oh, baby I wouldn't dream of it." Mark grinned, holding you possessively.

He wasn't ideal, he wasn't someone who would encourage you to be your best, you knew these late outings and rendezvous that ended up with him naked in your bed wouldn't end well, but the two of you didn't care, you were perfect for each other and that's all that mattered.

[witchthewriter]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Also this is 18+ ... we acting like grown ups.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑼𝒉𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒅

“Destiny is all… but you were never part of the plan.”

・This marriage is a strategic alliance. An act to broker peace between two warring factions.

・Even though Uhtred wants this peace, he isn't thrilled about it.

・At first his mindset was to keep you alive, but the more you got to know each other...the more he was in denial:

“I don’t care about her. I just need to make sure she stays alive… for the alliance. That’s all.”

・What started as a simple sword lesson had turned into him pushing you harder than he intended. Wanting you to see the true strength of opponents.

・He didn't want to sugarcoat what war and battles were. (Not that you had been fantasising about them anyway).

・Uhtred thought his lesson was going well until you finally knocked him to the ground.

・For a split second, he was shocked...stunned and then he stared up at you, breathing heavily. And then he smirked.

・Showing indifference, Uhtred trains you to fight. And adorns you with proper fighting gear, a shield and gets a blacksmith to make your very own sword.

・Even in the early stages of your marriage, Uhtred would subconsciously protect you - no matter where you were or what you were doing. E.g., even at the tavern, he never let anyone get too close (his men were like three other bodyguards)

・You were glad for Finan, he became like a brother to you. Always making things lighter, bringing the humour.

・Because you were constantly on the road with the four men. And Uhtred didn't trust anyone else to take care of you.

・But he would never say that...

・Sihtric barely spoke to you, but he held a lot of respect for you.

・Over time, Sihtric becomes one of your fiercest defenders, in battle and in life. Like a quiet shadow, a forcefield ensuring no harm comes to you.

・Osferth; he's your first friend, real friend, although he was a bit awkward. You become the sister he's always wanted. And he becomes that little brother who wants to follow you everywhere and do everything you're doing...

・The truth of Uhtred's feelings comes out during a heated argument. After nearly getting himself killed...again, you accuse him of putting too much at risk to gain Bebbanburg, that he cares too much about gaining that castle back.

・Shocked, ashamed, embarrassed that you would say that. Uhtred's face heats, and what you say is truth. Well, it was truth, until:

"I have spent my whole life fighting for Bebbanburg! But then you came along, and now I’m fighting for something else. For you. Don’t you see that?”

𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖:

“My Heart” uses this one when you have private moments and when he feels vulnerable. I.e., after a battle or during soft, intimate conversations.

“Shieldmaiden” is used in front of his men, showing his pride in you.

“Wife” is both teasing and affectionate, often said when you’re being stubborn.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Shared Vision and Purpose

Closed Off (Uhtred) x The Person They Warm Up To (You)

Brave Warrior (Uhtred) x Self-Assured Damsel (You)

Places His Wife Above Everyone

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Home Is Wherever You Are

The Parents Of The Group

Reluctant Allies to Lovers

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Kingdom Dance by Alan Menken

Scotland by BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra

I Had To Do That by James Newton Howard

𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒏

“I didn’t want this, but now? I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

・Your marriage was a political alliance to strengthen ties between Ireland and the Saxons. Finan, as Uhtred’s right hand, was seen as a valuable connection.

・How else could Finan endure this other than with humour?

・As soon as you met him, he was cracking jokes. Sometimes he was funny, other times you were annoyed - because he was constantly making light of ... everything.

・When you called him out on it, he sighed, "I'm sorry lass. It's ah...the only way I know how to cope sometimes."

“She’s alright, I guess. I mean, for someone who can’t keep up in a fight…” (He says this right before throwing himself in front of an arrow meant for you.)

・Day by day, you were slowly opening up to each other. Learning through talking by the fire, on horseback, walking through the forest.

・Soon Finan began to lean close while talking to you, staring into your eyes, moving a piece of hair behind your ear, brushing past you "accidentally", etc.

・Finan was always looking to see if you were okay. Even in a crowded hall, his gaze would flick to you every few moments, but if he was ever caught, he'd smirk and look away.

・Whenever you feel down, Finan doesn't mind making a fool of himself to make you laugh

・If talking doesn't help, he'd happily slip in the mud during training or let Sihtric carry him around bridal style.

・One night, as a joke, you tied a small braid into his hair, saying it makes him look more "noble." He laughed it off but didn't take it out... he wore it for days afterward.

・His feelings are brought to light during a drunken night around the fire. The others were sharing stories about what they fight for; land, honour, family, ... fun.

・Someone asked Finan and as he was about to make a joke, he glanced at you.

・Your face was illuminated by the light of the flames, and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Her."

Silence fell. He looked to you who was wide-eyed, "I'll always fight for you."

𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖

“Lass” is his go-to—light, teasing, and affectionate.

“Trouble” slips out when you’re bickering or challenging him (which is often).

“Little One” is playful, his everyday teasing, often when he’s trying to make you laugh.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

You Fell First, But He Fell Harder

Constant Banter

The Sarcastic Duo That Can Finish Each Other's Insults

Places His Wife Above Everyone

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Height Difference

Bickering and Banter

Timeless Love

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Say Yes To Heaven by Lana Del Rey

Valerie by the Midnite String Quartet

Happily Ever After by George Fenton

𝑺𝒊𝒉𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄

“You make me feel like I belong… like I'm worth loving.”

・For Sihtric, he was forced to marry you. The King willed it so. It was a cruel decision. the King wanted to somehow split up Uhtred's group - make it harder for them to be connected.

・It didn't turn out how the Monarch intended...the group just kept you with them.

“I don’t care if she notices me. I’m just here to protect her.” (He says while carrying a pouch full of the random trinkets you’ve given him.)

・You were trained by all of them in battle; how to defend, attack, how to do a shield wall etc.

・Spending time with the men was fun; even if Sihtric was silent most of the time.

・Finan always made you laugh, and Osferth made you feel comfortable no matter what the context was.

・In time, you truly thought of Uhtred as your leader. And you too called him 'Lord.'

・Sihtric constantly lingered in the background. He was always nearby, however, he was never imposing. Just ensuring you were safe.

・You were very different to what everyone thought. There was a softness in you. A heart of gold.

・When you became comfortable around Sihtric, you started to give him things.

・Particularly things you found on your journeys. E.g., many many rocks; smooth river stones, shiny pebbles (anything shiny really), beautiful feathers from birds, flowers that have specific meanings etc.

・And he keeps every single item.

・His pockets are completely full.

・Sihtric is constantly staring, but instantly looks away when he's caught. A small blush dusting his cheeks.

・Another thing is his quiet gestures...he'll fix your armor, puts extra supplies on your horse, sharpens your sword without saying a word.

・The love you hold for each other comes out during the aftermath of a brutal fight.

・You were tending to Sihtric's wounds, hands trembling as you stitched a deep cut on his arm.

・Sihtric couldn't help but watch your face, the concetration, the look of concern.

・You were both silent until you uttered, "You...you could have been killed," your voice was soft but full of emotion.

・Sihtric caught your wrist, his blood-stained fingers entwining with yours.

In a voice so wrapped with truth, Sihtric whispered, "I would die for you. Without hesitation. "

・This marriage wasn't duty anymore. Now...it was love.

𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖

“Little Blade” pops up during training sessions or when you sass him.

“Mine” is possessive, intense, and usually slips out during high-stakes moments.

“Angel” when he’s overwhelmed with how much he adores you.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Madly In Love (Sihtric) x Ridiculously Oblivious (You)

Sun (You) x Moon (Him)

Always Bringing Them Rocks They Think They Would Like (You) x Keeps The Rocks (Him)

Places His Wife Above Everyone

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Healing and Redemption

Unbreakable Bond

Emotional Intimacy

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino

Sex On Fire by Midnite String Quartet

Fire In The Water by Feist

𝑶𝒔𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒉

“You make me brave. Brave enough to be yours.”

・The marriage was to save your life. Many Saxons wanted you dead, but a marriage to a religious Saxon meant you'd be safe.

・Early on in the marriage Osferth would blush at everything you did. From compliments to teasing, he was constantly red-faced.

・But as your time together grew, he started seeking out those moments.

・Even though he’s usually mild-mannered, if anyone speaks poorly of you, Osferth is the first to step up; sword in hand, voice shaking, but unwilling to step down.

・Osferth would give you thoughtful gifts. Small items like a bunch of wildflowers, a smooth stone, etc. But never admitting they’re from him.

“She’s just being friendly. That’s what this is… right?” (As he turns red after you compliment his sword-fighting.)

・Both of you faced your feelings when he thought he lost you.

・It was after a battle; a close one where you all were separated from each other. You were missing for a few hours, and Osferth had been searching unrelentlessly.

・With each moment his panic had risen. His heart beating so fast he thought he might die.

・But he did find you. You were unconscius but alive.

・Osferth cradled you, tears in his eyes while whispering his feelings:

“Please, don’t go. I… I love you. I should have said it before.”

・You stirred at his words, opening your eyes, smiling lightly.

・Blinking slowly, you hummed. Moving to hold onto his arm.

"I love you too."

𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖

“Sweetheart” is his everyday term — filled with gentle love.

“Dearest” slips out when he’s overwhelmed with love — often in moments of shyness or soft confessions.

“Braveheart” is used when he’s overwhelmed by your strength, often after emotional or dangerous moments.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

He Confessed His Love When Thinking You Were Unconscious 

Black Cat (You) x Golden Retriever (Osferth)

Menace To Society (You) x Living Moral Compass (Osferth)

Places His Wife Above Everyone

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Trust and Dependence

Intertwined Destinies

Love Conquers All

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush

The Train by James Newton Howard

Let The Light In by Lana Del Rey

𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒈𝒈𝒓

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth—because without you, none of this matters.”

・There was constant tension whenever you were around Sigtryggr.

・He rarely spoke to you in the early days of your marriage.

・Seeing it only as a way for him to gain more power

・And in return, your family would be safe - your village, kingdom, would not be harmed by any Dane.

・You kept your own beliefs and wore your traditional family clothes, even though you did not know when you would see your family again.

“She talks too much… but I don’t want her to stop.”

・Watches you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

・His stoic exterior hides it, but he studies you. Including how you smile, how you move, how you speak.

・Sigtryggr knows what your favourite colour is, what you like to do with your time - all because he notices things. And he wants to know more about you.

・He lets you in; allows you to see glimpses of his vulnerable self.

・He shares stories of his past, things he’s done, things he regrets and waits to see if you’ll turn away. You never do.

・And in a world where he controls everything...he lets you make decisions. E.g., about where to travel, what to eat. He values your opinion.

・When both of your feelings were revealed, it was during a difficult situation.

・You had confronted him after a harsh decision in battle. He had executed someone who defied him.

・It shocked you. But ... you understood. Traitors had to be punished, maybe he went a bit far this time but you understood.

・In the comfort and seclusion of your shared bedroom, you spoke your thoughts.

"Don't you think that was a bit ... brutal? I mean, yes he was a ... traitor but you could have done anything else-"

"I know you think I'm a monster," he replies, his voice low. He wasn't facing you, almost as if he wouldn't. Or couldn't.

"A monster?" You replied, shocked.

"Yes! Do you think I wanted this? To be this man?" His words came out like venom.

You soften, and step closer, "No. No, you aren't a monster. Sigtryggr, I have seen the good in you!

His gaze turns to you, utterly and completely. Gently taking a hold of your wrist, voice low and vulnerable: “I’ve done terrible things… but I would burn the world for you.”

・No more pretending. You had the realisation that...he is completely, undeniably yours.

𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖

“Beloved” used during rare, emotionally charged moments e.g., after a battle, during confessions, or when you’re vulnerable together.

“My Flame” is used when there's passionate, heated arguments or intimate moments.

“Little Chaos” he calls you this when you’re being unpredictable or teasing him.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Soulmates

"I've done terrible things in the past" (Sig) x "All i care about is who you are in the present" (You)

The Hyperactive (You) x The Unheeded Voice of Reason (Sig)

Places His Wife Above Everyone

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

I Can't Exist Without You

Healing and Rebuilding Together

I Go Wherever You Go

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

One More Hour by Tame Impala

Margaret by Lana Del Rey

Dance Me To The End Of Love by Leonard Cohen

[astonmartinii]

bad blood (lando's version) | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem carlos ex!reader

band aid's don't fix bullet holes but his best friend might

based on this request:so reader is a famous model who’s also carlos ex (dated YEARS) and after the breakup he jumped straight to rebeca (we just need a tiny bit of bad blood). soo she and lando always got along, ever since carlos was in mclaren. the point is they get together and come hand in hand to a gp out of nowhere so drama and more bad blood surface - you can lead this to whatever you want hehe, thanks!!! - @lorenakaspersen

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

vogue

liked by hunterschafer, landonorris and 1,209,433 others

tagged: yourusername

vogue: y/n y/ln takes the cover for this month, where she talks re-discovering herself and giving yourself time to move on. copies in stores everywhere this friday.

view all comments

user1: i am once again asking how the fuck that man fumbled a bad bitch like her

user2: do not bring that man up here, he actually boils my blood

user3: honestly thank god they wear helmets in f1 cause if i saw his smug little face i may have smashed by tv

yourusername: thank you for having me hehehehhe xx

vogue: you dropped this queen 👑

user4: not vogue supporting her more than carlos ever did 🤨

user5: at least lando still supports her

user6: i'm glad the friends she made... i.e lando, charles, max, daniel, etc did also abandon her when carlos just dropped her

hunterschafer: you're the person i see in your dreams

yourusername: are you sure i'm not just your sleep paralysis demon?

hunterschafer: you're welcome to stalk mine dreams anytime

user7: how am i meant to care about f1 without y/n?

user8: she's the reason i learnt about the sport but at leats now i have an excuse to support someone else LOL

landonorris: tinkerbell looks a little bit different here

yourusername: i thought you were too old to watch peter pan?

landonorris: i just said that so you would think i'm a big macho man :(

yourusername: that is tragic

landonorris: can i interest you in a movie night some time soon then

yourusername: you might

user9: WHAT IS GOING ON HERE ^^

user10: idk but i am excited

f1wagupdates

liked by user11, user12 and 4,032 others

f1wagsupdates: carlos sainz debuts his new girlfriend rebecca donaldson at the bahrain grand prix, just one month after breaking up with model y/n y/ln. sainz and y/ln were together for three years, and sainz was seen with donaldson for the first time just a week after the breakup.

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user13: lol the wag accounts are done with his ass

f1wagsupdates: i am a y/n y/ln stan first and foremost

user14: anyone see the absolute stink eye charles and lando gave carlos LOL

user15: that's the thing when you're together for so long, the friends get attached as well

user16: i mean if certified homie hopper charles leclerc is calling your bluff then you know you've fucked up

user17: i will never understand how he jumped into a relationship with her after three years ?? LIKE IT WAS NOTHING

user18: things like that make me glad i'm single

user19: the thing that is bothering me that no one has said yet is the fact that he's been with her what a month? and he's already brought her to a race when he made y/n wait months to go to a race?

user20: screams insecurity - like "look i have moved on, i'm an alpha male who can get whoever i want"

user21: i never understood why he didn't let her come to races for months when they first got together, like not even his home race?

user22: i've always got the vibe that he thought that he was better than her and that she was using him?

user23: the way if he ever posted her (which was not very often) he never tagged her

user24: which is ironic because she's one of the most celebrated models in recent history, she has millions more followers than him and has a bigger network than him, so really if anyone was using anyone it was carlos using her

user25: anyone else pulling for her to get with lando?

user26: i always thought they got on more in the videos of them all together but honestly i just want her to be happy

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 2,018,552 others

yourusername: not much going on recently

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user27: SHE'S SO HOT

user28: i need her to give me one chance please

charles_leclerc: are we still down for the road trip to lourdes?

yourusername: needed now more than ever

charles_leclerc: trust and believe

user29: charles and y/n friendship you mean so much to me

user30: need her to sit in charles' side of the garage

user31: mother went to the university of servington where she got a degree is cuntology with a minor in slaying the haus down

danielricciardo: miss ma'am, leave some for the rest of us

yourusername: why thank you good sir

danielricciardo: where do i procure a veil as such?

yourusername: i may source one for you if you promise not to shave that moustache

heidiberger: preach

user32: i bet carlos just thought everyone would just forget about y/n when he dropped her, but he forgot that she's probably more liked on the grid than he is LOL

landonorris: why are you staring into my soul like that

yourusername: why are you lurking in my comment section

landonorris: i thought we were friends :(

yourusername: always and forever

user33: but he wants it to be more

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo

user33: I SAW THAT LANDO X Y/N COMING SOON?

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 803,774 others

landonorris: hostess with the most-ess?

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user34: is that a ... WOMAN?

user35: he's saying he's a host ... maybe he's hosting a friend who is a girl, it's not illegal

user36: i get your sentiment, but that photo is straight out of the soft launch girlfriend pinterest boards

user37: well now i'm picturing lando scrolling through pinterest and asking ??? to recreate the pics 😭

carlossainz55: missing my golf partner, round this weekend? ⛳️

landonorris: let me check my schedule buddy 👍

user38: okay... well someone else tell me that they can feel the vibe shift

user39: it's their first online interaction after the breakup, i think we can guess who's side lando is on

oscarpiastri: someone needs to debrief me asap

landonorris: someone forgot that he owns a phone

oscarpiastri: needed the added pressure of the public call out to make you actually do it

landonorris: fine, but you get three questions and that's it

user40: if the call out was public can't we get the public answers

yourusername: are you coming for my job?

landonorris: you saying i could model 😊

yourusername: i'm definitely saying you should let me give my agent your number

landonorris: you already have my number babe

yourusername: okay pretty boy

user41: i need this type of nepotism in my life

user42: i need the nepotism and the sexual tension cause PHEW it is through the roof

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 2,760,521 others

yourusername: enjoy the picture of me fucking up a pretzel

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user46: okay where are the detective freaks from f1twt?

user47: reporting for duty 🫡

user46: what car is that?

user47: it looks strikingly similar to a jolly, but i don't know if that's just my brain pushing me to make it lando. but there is a florist in monaco that wraps their flowers just like that as well ....

user46: thank you for your service

danielricciardo: this is very ballerina core 🩰

yourusername: has the old man been spending time on the internet?

danielricciardo: yes he has 😃

yourusername: omg proud

danielricciardo: no but seriously how did you do it? it looks sick

yourusername: very fiddly, needed an extra pair of hands

danielricciardo: an extra pair of hands [wiggles eyebrows]

yourusername: did you just comment your own stage directions?

danielricciardo: funny 😄

user48: okay i am glad we're not being deprived of the y/n and daniel friendship.

landonorris: i am enjoying this picture of you fucking up a pretzel

yourusername: i am a whore for carbs

landonorris: i am a whore for you

this comment was deleted

landonorris: i am also a whore for carbs (don't tell jon)

maxverstappen1: 📸📸📸 saw that mister !!

landonorris: you didn't see NOTHING

user49: we saw everything. i am so disappointed in lando, he's carlos' bestfriend and he's doing this?

liked by carlossainz55

user50: oh i know this man aint speaking

f1teaandgossip

liked by user51, user52 and 10,945 others

ftteaandgossip: carlos sainz was caught liking this tweet about his ex girlfriend y/n y/ln and his (former?) best friend lando norris. what do you think?

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user53: the audacity of men never fails to astound me

user54: you know what, i feel like a guilty man only acts this bold. so i'm saying it. i think there was overlap between his relationship with y/n and his relationship with rebecca

user55: you're right and you should say it

user56: carlos got with rebecca within a WEEK of the end of a three year relationship but is angry that she's finally moving on after months ?

user57: for real the first sight of lando and y/n was after at least two months

user58: i know people will say she's in the wrong because it is lando but honestly carlos has no leg to stand on with him parading rebecca around the paddock

user59: i really couldn't give a fuck if lando is his best buddy you act like a fool expect to get treated like a fool

user60: also the whole "whoring around the grid" is so dumb. you mean her FRIENDS? you know the friends she had to make when you would just leave her in the paddock or ignore her at parties ?

user61: babe really thought he was more loved in the paddock and expected everyone to go along with his messiness

user62: men don't talk about women this way challenge

user63: imagine talking about a girl you were with for THREE tears like this

user64: i wish lando and y/n all the best and i hope they're together for a long time, she deserves a good man after all of this

user65: i have faith 🤞

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 3,109,413 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: sloppy seconds you say? i never come second with him. pun intended x

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user66: SERVE

user67: user67 found dead in her home, cause of death: this post

landonorris: what can i say i'm a giver 🤷‍♂️

yourusername: i'll say 😮‍💨

oscarpiastri: ENOUGH

landonorris: i thought you were happy for us oscar :(

oscarpiastri: i am !! i even took the second picture. but i think you forget that i am staying with you in monaco :/

yourusername: whoops my bad

landonorris: i swear my hospitality is usually better

yourusername: i can attest to his hospitality

oscarpiastri: STOP PLEASE STOP

user68: poor oscar being traumatised by y/n and lando 😭

carlossainz55: real mature

yourusername: how about instead of liking shady tweets and commenting on my instagram posts, you come confront me like a real fucking person.

carlossainz55: you'd love that wouldn't you

yourusername: i really would because if i said everything you needed to hear i'd be banned from this app

carlossainz55: you really are the gold digging slut my parents warned me about

landonorris: you will absolutely not talk to her that way. if you do so again we'll have a very real problem

carlossainz55: you have no sense of loyalty lando

landonorris: the call is coming from inside the house

user69: the girls are FIGHTING

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landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,866,398 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: nothing better than a podium at home and time with family

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user72: the sky camera shady as fuck for cutting straight to y/n in the mclaren garage when carlos crashed LOL

user73: her and lando's dad trying not to laugh had me creasing

yourusername: beyond proud of you baby

landonorris: your support means everything pretty girl

yourusername: and your family are the loveliest, tell mama i said thank you for having me (and my sandwiches for the plane)

landonorris: she say's thank you and come back soon (i also want you to come home asap)

user74: he already refers to his house at their home

user75: and y/n has been accepted by the family - the sainzs could take notes

oscarpiastri: oscar piastri erasure

yourusername: sorry osc, you're our favourite pookie on the grid

landonorris: also mama made you sandwiches too

oscarpiastri: i know they were very yummy 😋

danielricciardo: HOLD ON, oscar is your favourite pookie, where am i ???

maxverstappen1: i think you'll find i am their favourite full stop

charles_leclerc: nuh uh it's clearly me

yourusername: i'll just say lando is my favourite

landonorris: and i'll say y/n is my favourite

yourusername: and that's that

danielricciardo: boooooooo.

maxverstappen1: cop out :(

charles_leclerc: 🍅🍅🍅

user76: i am so confused right now

yourusername

liked by bellahadid, landonorris and 3,109,766 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: you are in love, true love.

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user77: omg the letters? i swear there were letters in her first post after carlos took rebecca to the first race of the season

user78: wait so do you think they were from lando the whole time?

yourusername: yes they are from lando ! after the carlos stuff had somewhat died down he had them all delivered to me and it definitely swayed me for a first date

user79: but i thought some of those letters looked pretty old

landonorris: i won't deny that i liked y/n for a long time but i obviously couldn't express that so i put them in letters. an idiot was an idiot and i'll never not take my chance

user80: okay that makes this whole thing so much cuter

user81: y/n is the definition of never letting your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband

landonorris: you're my best friend and i love you so much

yourusername: i'd go through all this mess and all this heartbreak again if it meant i still end up with you

landonorris: but i'm by your side forever now you can't get rid of me

yourusername: i wouldn't dream of it

user82: lord i have seen it all, please bless me with a relationship like this

danielricciardo: god you people are ridiculously cute

oscarpiastri: just think yourself lucky that you no longer share a garage with them

landonorris: we're not THAT bad

oscarpiastri: i have working ears

yourusername: sorry not sorry osc x

fin.

note: hope you all enjoyed. i am dying trying to do 75 soft but i also signed up for burlesque class !!

[moonstruckme]

James being a big bear of a boyfriend and always just like lifting u up so easily to hug and sit on his lap and even tho u hate when anyone else does it he’s so BEEFY that you’re fine with him doing it

Yessssss I'm not much of a physical touch person irl but James I would allow

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 847 words

Sirius is trying to follow Remus’ example and focus on the puzzle, but his eyes keep flitting up to you worriedly. You’ve monopolized the couch, laying flat with a hand cast over your eyes and your mouth pinched in obvious discomfort. Sirius had tried rubbing your leg and Remus had offered you tea, but they’d both given up when the attention only seemed to worsen your mood. Remus suggested they work on the puzzle while you rest (not Sirius’ favorite activity, but forced upon him because it keeps him quiet) and now they’re both simply trying not incur your wrath. 

“Quit looking at me,” you growl without opening your eyes. 

In Sirius’ case, not doing a very good job. 

“Fine, sheesh,” he says, and you press your lips together like you’re restraining yourself from snapping at him. 

You cringe when the door opens, every line of you pulling taut. James is all smiles as he tosses his gym bag to the floor with a heavy thump. “Hello, my loves!” His voice is a decibel short of booming, but it softens when he sees you on the couch. “Oh, sorry, is she napping?” 

Remus shakes his head, lips pursed as he watches your hand tighten over your eyes. “Headache,” he explains quietly. 

“Oh, I’m sorry lovie.” James reroutes from the kitchen, heading for you. Sirius tenses. “How bad is it?” 

“Prongs,” Sirius whispers urgently, “don’t—”

But James has already lifted you, one hand under your knees and another supporting your back as he moves you smoothly from your chosen position of rest and into his lap. He makes it look like nothing, which is the first offense (Sirius isn’t sure which of you he’s more jealous of), but the second is that you let him. Sirius and Remus have both looked up in alarm, waiting for a biting protest that doesn’t come. Instead, you remove your hand from your face, burying in it James’ brawny shoulder instead. 

“Bad,” you grumble, but your tone lacks the venom you’d spat at Sirius a moment before. 

James coos like he’s got a kitten in his lap instead of a viper, bringing his considerable arms around you. His palm cups the back of your neck, kneading gently at the tensed muscles there. “Where does it hurt, darling?” 

“Everywhere.” 

“By your eyes?” 

“No.” 

He hums, brows furrowing as he works steadily at your neck. You’ve gone nearly lax in his arms, trusting him to hold you up as you slump against his front. “Have you been drinking water?” 

“It’s not that.” Some of the irritation is back in your tone, Sirius notices, but it’s been markedly softened for James. “I had tons of water this morning.” 

“Probably a tension headache then, yeah?” He looks to Remus, who nods. The quiet boy looks as dumbstruck as Sirius feels. 

James moves his grip to your sides and lifts you again, rearranging his legs to get more comfortable before placing you back in his lap. He places a hand on each side of your head, thumbs pushing into your temples and rubbing in slow, soothing circles. You begin to look like you might fall asleep.

“This is so unfair,” Sirius hisses to Remus. 

“He has a power,” Remus admits weakly, “which transcends understanding.” 

“Do you want some tea?” James murmurs to you after a while. Sirius’ eyes have gotten stuck watching the movement of his forearms, and he snaps them reluctantly back up. 

You hum, uncertain but definitely considering it. Behind you, Remus throws up his hands. James sees him and smiles, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. 

“I’m getting the sense this isn’t the first cup you’ve been offered,” he says, looking immensely entertained. 

You sigh, but even that sounds pleasurable as his big thumbs drill diligently into your temples. “Yeah, but I just wanted to be left alone.” 

Remus and Sirius exchange a look. You seem perfectly fine with company now. 

“Don’t be silly,” James chides lightly, “a warm drink will make you feel better. Remus, love, would you be so kind as to make her a cup?” 

“Sure.” His voice is gruff, but then you murmur a quiet thanks, Rem and Sirius actually sees the moment his boyfriend’s heart turns to mush. “No problem,” he says, softer now. 

“Attagirl.” James’ hand drops to give your shoulder a squeeze, his bicep flexing slightly with the movement. Christ, Sirius might have to fake a headache later, if this is the sort of treatment those receive. “Drink your tea and then we’ll get you to bed, yeah? You can sleep the rest of this off.” 

“You know, I offered to carry her to bed earlier,” Sirius says, still slightly bitter, “and she told me very clearly to fuck off.” 

You don’t sound so much exasperated now as exhausted. “Siri, when you carrying me doesn’t involve setting me down every five steps for a break, then we’ll talk.” 

James’ laugh surprises both of you, and he apologizes hastily for jostling you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before resuming his ministrations. You don’t seem all that upset about it.

[heartlessvirgo]

No Saints Left

Summary: You hesitate too much, too naive for your own good. And Joel can’t stand it. He’ll make sure you learn.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. DARK!JOEL. Blood, Gore, Death, Murder, Unprotected sex (PxV), raiders, language, assault, weapons. Please read these warnings.

word count: 9.4K

a/n: This was dirty, filthy, and I hope you like it.

The nights in Jackson were quiet—so much so that it felt wrong. Joel wasn’t used to quiet. Quiet was dangerous. Quiet was the breath held before the crack of a gunshot. The lull before the wet thud of a body hitting the dirt.

But here, in this town where fools believed in redemption, the quiet wasn’t a warning. It was real. And it clawed at him, sharp and relentless, prying him open and leaving him alone with the wreckage of his mind. With every single goddamn thing he’d done.

He didn’t dream much anymore—not the way he used to. No hazy glimpses of Sarah’s face lit by sunlight, her laughter bouncing off the walls of a life that had long since crumbled to dust. Those dreams were gone, suffocated under years of blood and bone.

What came now were nightmares. Brutal, unrelenting things that clung to him like the reek of gunpowder and rot. They didn’t fade when he woke—they stayed thick and heavy in his chest, like a hand pressed over his mouth, forcing him to swallow it all down.

In his sleep, he saw flashes of violence, red and raw. The swing of his fist, the crunch of cartilage beneath his knuckles. The glint of a blade catching light before it plunged deep. The sound of a man choking on his own blood, gurgling as Joel turned away, cold and unflinching. Sometimes, he’d watch closely and savor the way they died in his hands. 

And then there were the eyes. Wide and wild, reflecting fear and something worse—recognition. That moment when they knew he wasn’t going to spare them. When they understood that mercy had no place in him. Not anymore.

Tonight, he dreamt of a girl. She couldn’t have been older than Ellie. Her hands trembled as she pointed a gun too big for her grip, the muzzle wavering as Joel stepped closer. He’d told her to drop it, his voice low and steady, a predator’s calm. But she didn’t listen. They never did.

The shot rang out, a deafening crack that lit up the night. It missed. They always missed.

And then he was on her. His hands around her throat, her small frame pinned beneath him. She fought, nails raking his arms, legs kicking in panic, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The sound she made—wet gasps, desperate and animal—rattled in his ears long after she went still. Deadweight, dead eyes, death that followed him everywhere he went. But sometimes, Joel wondered if he brought it with him on purpose, like an old friend.

He woke with a gasp, his chest heaving like he’d been drowning. The room was dark, shadows pooling in the corners, but the dream still lingered, vivid and consuming. His hands ached, curling into fists against the mattress, phantom blood slick on his palms.

Joel sat up, dragging in shallow breaths that barely scratched the surface of the hollow inside him. The air in the room felt too thin, pressing down on him as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. The quiet of Jackson surrounded him, warm and safe, but it felt like a fucking lie.

Because in the dead of night, when everyone else in this godforsaken town was dreaming of brighter tomorrows, Joel Miller didn’t dream.

He remembered.

And it was worse.

You were one of those people. Consumed by the good, too naive for your own good. Joel hated that. He hated you. And he despised his younger brother for pairing you two together for patrols. He didn’t need to carry extra weight anymore; his bones had enough pain, fused together in a fucked up way that reminded him of all the times he’d snapped them back together. 

Joel didn’t know why he deemed you naive. Maybe it was because you were half his age or that you had a little sparkle in your eyes that he wanted to stomp out, crush it beneath his worn boots. He wanted to smother the goodness from your body with his battered hands, and what little humanity that was left in him was scared for you, of what he would do when you were alone with him. 

So he kept to himself on your first patrol together. 

You didn’t think much of Joel Miller, not at first. Just another broken man, old enough to remember the world before it fell apart. You couldn’t imagine what that did to someone—what it carved out of them, what it left behind.

So, you tried. Tried to be kind. Tried to bridge a gap that he didn’t seem to care about closing. Why? You didn’t know. Maybe it was habit, maybe hope. 

You didn’t mean to be so hopeful—it wasn’t something you chose. It was instinct, like breathing. You searched for the good in people, even when it was buried under layers of filth. You looked for light in the cracks, no matter how faint, and clung to the belief that dawn always came to shatter the dark.

You swallowed the looks he gave you, sharp and cutting like he wanted to dissect you with his eyes alone. You learned to read the grunts he gave when he wanted your attention, when he needed to show you something, or when he was about to warn you in that low, gravelly tone that left no room for hesitation.

Being near him felt like walking a tightrope over broken glass; every word and step was a risk you couldn’t afford to miscalculate. You never knew when the silence between you would break—whether it’d be his voice or his violence that shattered it. 

Out there, beyond Jackson’s walls, the infected were mindless. Predictable. Joel Miller wasn’t. And you couldn’t decide which one you were most scared of. 

Joel pounded on your door before dawn, his knock sharp and insistent, like he was trying to crack the wood. He always came early—always fresh from his nightmares, his face shadowed by whatever horrors had dragged him from sleep.

“You’re up,” he’d mutter when the door creaked open, his voice rough, scraped raw by whatever hell had played out behind his closed eyes. “Time to ride.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He never did. Out there, beyond the walls, the world didn’t wait, either—not for you, not for him.

By the time you stumbled out, the day had already started for him. Patrols to begin. Horses to saddle. Mistakes to point out before the sun even dared to rise.

“The knot’s wrong,” he’d mutter, jerking the reins from your hands like you were a goddamn rookie. “Gate wasn’t shut right,” he’d add, his voice a low growl as he tested the latch with unnecessary force. “Bag’s too heavy,” he’d snap, shoving it back at you without so much as a glance, as if your failings were as predictable as the cold morning air.

“Mistakes like that’ll get us both killed,” he growls, his voice low and sharp, like the edge of a blade. He doesn’t even spare you a second glance—he doesn’t need to. His words cut deep enough without it.

What stings more is that he’s right, and he knows it. That’s the part that gnaws at you.

“You’re not steppin’ outside those gates again ‘til you fix this,” he snaps, the finality in his tone hitting harder than any shout ever could.

So, you obeyed without question, silently cursing your luck and wishing for a partner who didn’t wear indifference like armor. But deep down, you understood—this was necessary. One wrong move could be the slip that sent everything crumbling. So, you swallowed the fear that knotted your stomach and followed his lead, even though he unsettled you in ways you couldn’t fully explain.

Now, your horse moved ahead, its hooves landing softly on the mossy gravel, the rhythm muted against the damp earth. The air was thick with the sound of the river—a rushing torrent that swallowed your steps and left the world hushed. This path was deliberate. You chose it because stealth was your only true ally. You were always going to be smaller than your enemy. 

This was a test—your first patrol where the choices were yours to make. And Joel? He wanted you to fail.

The trail slithered through the forest like a vein under pale skin, narrow and treacherous. Each twist and turn pulled you deeper into its grip, leading toward the stretch you’d been assigned to patrol. You’d studied it obsessively, tracing every jagged curve on the map, committing each blind spot, every lurking shadow to memory.

Out here, familiarity wasn’t just an advantage—it was the only thing standing between you and a knife in the dark. Joel had made sure of that, drilling it into your skull until it felt less like a lesson and more like a scar carved into your mind.

“Rest here.” Joel’s voice cuts through the stillness, more command than suggestion. You glance back at him, perched on his horse, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a physical thing. You nod, trying to salvage some scrap of control. You’d wanted to stop here anyway, you tell yourself. Not that it mattered.

Swinging your leg over the saddle, you drop to the gravel with a jarring thud, the impact shooting up your legs. The sound feels too loud, too exposed, in the vast, empty quiet.

Your eyes flick around the clearing, scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. Shadows stretched long in the morning light, shifting with the breeze but revealing nothing. Still, you nod to Joel, your throat tightening as he dismounts with ease. His rifle hangs heavy on his back, a constant reminder of what he’s capable of. What he’s always prepared to do.

He doesn’t speak again; he doesn’t need to. The air between you is thick with unspoken expectations. It didn’t matter if he let you take the reins today. This was his call, his pace, his world—you were just moving through it. 

You eat in silence, chewing mechanically as the cool air presses against your skin. Spring in Jackson is deceptive—the thaw feels like a promise, but the nights still bite, and the mornings cling to the kind of cold that sinks into your bones. Behind you, Joel disappears into the treeline, his pack slung over one shoulder, rifle in hand.

He never ate with you. Never waited. Never said anything unless it was necessary. Lately, even the necessities have felt strained, like pulling teeth from a wolf.

Your horse snorts softly as you give him the scraps of your meal. You pat its mane and glance toward the direction Joel had gone. He wasn’t one to wander aimlessly. If he left, there was a reason. And yet, the silence around you feels off—too hollow, too still.

You grab your rifle and sling your pack over your shoulder, boots crunching against the damp ground as you follow the faint trail he left behind. Twigs snap underfoot, and the smell of wet earth fills the air. The woods are coming alive with the season—patches of green breaking through the gray, shoots of wildflowers curling toward the light.

Still, you don’t find him. The trail vanishes into the dense brush, and frustration creeps in. He wouldn’t have gone far.

Your fingers graze the bark of a nearby tree as you pause to catch your breath. That’s when you see them—small, scattered patches of wild strawberries, bright red against the muted earth. You crouch down, brushing away a stray leaf, plucking one, and rolling it between your fingers. The smell is faint but sweet, a strange comfort in the middle of all this quiet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

The voice snaps through the stillness like a gunshot.

You barely have time to turn before Joel’s on you. His hand clamps around your arm, dragging you to your feet and shoving you back against the rough bark of a tree. The impact knocks the breath out of you, your back stinging where it scraped against the trunk. A ringing clouds your thoughts before Joel’s voice pierces through it.

“Out here pickin’ berries like it’s a fuckin’ picnic,” he growls, his face inches from yours. The bark digs into you through your jacket, his forearm pressing against your collarbone, pinning you there. His eyes are dark and furious. “You think this is a game? You think the world gives a shit if you stop to smell the goddamn flowers?”

Your chest heaves, but the words catch in your throat. He doesn’t let up, his grip firm, his presence overwhelming. The smell of leather and sweat clings to him, sharp and suffocating.

“I could’ve been anyone,” he snaps, his voice low and venomous. “You wander off like that again, and I won’t bother comin’ after you.” 

“I wasn’t—” you start, but his arm digs into your throat just enough to cut you off. You can taste the blood in your mouth from where you bit your tongue.

“First mistake,” he growls, leaning in close, his breath hot against your cheek. “Second mistake was not keeping your head on a swivel. Thought I taught you better than that.”

The air is thick with the taste of metal, your lungs screaming for a breath that doesn’t come. You can’t see much—everything is blurring, the world dimming at the edges. Your hands flail uselessly, but it’s useless. His arm is a vice, a wall you can’t scale, suffocating any defiance before it even starts.

“Joel, I—” The words catch in your throat, swallowed by the tightening of his arm, choking the air from your lungs.

“Gonna get us both killed,” his voice low, cold, like gravel scraping across exposed bone. “Maybe I should just end it for you now, one less mouth to feed. Do everyone a favor.”

The bite of his words cuts deeper than the grip on your throat. His eyes—those eyes—aren’t just cold anymore. They’re something else. Something dangerous. Like he’s weighing your life, watching the fear play across your face with a detached curiosity. A hunter deciding if he’ll kill his prey now or later. There’s something raw about the look. Something savage.

Just as the darkness starts to close in, when the world begins to slip away, he finally lets go. You gasp for breath, your chest heaving, but his eyes never leave you. They watch with a strange, detached satisfaction as the life slowly filters back into you.

It almost seemed like... he wanted it. Wanted to see you shatter. Wanted to know if you’d fight, claw, beg for your life.

He shoves himself off you, turning his back without a second glance like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just threaten to carve your life out with his own hands. You feel the burn of his grip still, the imprint of him on your neck, and the bruises linger long after he’s gone.

You rub the tender skin, the faint pulse of pain a reminder of how easily he could’ve ended it all. You don’t question him again. You don’t ask. You just do what you’re told, stay out of his path.

Of course, you begged Tommy to switch you out of Joel’s patrols and pair him with someone more capable of handling his... rage. Someone more his speed. But Tommy wouldn’t hear it. Said someone gentle was good for his brother. You never told him what happened in the woods. You didn’t speak of it ever again. 

There was something wrong with you recently—something in your head that didn’t quite fit anymore. Maybe it was the blow to the skull, that crack against the tree that left you gasping for breath. Whatever it was, it twisted you. Rewired you.

It was the dead of night, the kind of darkness that crept under your skin, suffocating in its silence. And there you were, hands searching places they shouldn’t. Fingers tracing a path down your body, touching with a desperation that was as violent as it was uncontrollable.

Your mind wandered to him—Joel. The way his body felt pressing into yours, the weight of him suffocating you, his heat seeping into your bones. His hands, rough and unforgiving, find your throat. He wasn’t gentle. Never was. It was slow, the pressure building, suffocating, until you couldn’t breathe—until you didn’t want to. Every breath, a struggle, every second a rush of power, his dominance a dark, intoxicating force.

It wasn’t love. God, no. It was death. The kind that burned, that crawled under your skin, settling deep in places you shouldn’t let it. The type of death that made you burn in ways you couldn’t explain. Maybe it was because you knew he could kill you and didn’t, and that made you feral. 

And then the release—the moment when everything shattered, your body betraying you, desperate and uncontrollable. Slick, burning heat on your fingers, streaking down your thighs, staining the sheets with every desperate, filthy inch of it.

But it didn’t matter. None of it did. Not the fantasy, not the sick thrill that came with it. All that mattered was the ache that lived inside you—an ache that would never be filled.

“You don’t sleep, you’re not in control, you’re not in control, then you’re dead,” Joel says, the words coming out like they’ve been chewed and spit out a hundred times. He doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, his gaze fixed ahead, scanning the horizon with that hard, unblinking stare. The shadows under your eyes are deep, and he noticed without even so much as looking twice at you. 

The smell of damp earth rises around you, clinging to the cool spring air. The soft squelch of your horse’s hooves in the mud seems deafening like a beacon giving away your position. The morning sun filters through the canopy of budding trees, its warmth streaking the ground in golden patches. But it doesn’t reach you. There’s a chill in the air, one that creeps up your spine and settles at the base of your neck, making the fine hairs there stand on end.

Joel sways with the rhythm of the horse’s stride, just enough to betray the tightness in his every move—like a coil wound so damn tight, it might snap at the slightest touch. The tension’s crawling in his shoulders, the muscles under his shirt flexing with its weight. His fingers are locked around the reins, his knuckles pale, and his grip is so savage it’s a wonder they don’t snap in his hands. The leather groans under the strain.

And you—you can feel the sickness stirring in your gut, that sick, twisted hunger. You wanted to be those reins, wanted that grip on you so hard it’d leave marks, bruises you couldn’t hide. Something about the way he holds everything in like he's just waiting for something—anything—to break makes you want to be the thing that breaks him.

You notice then, suddenly, when Joel’s horse halts abruptly. The birds, which had been chattering just moments ago, have fallen silent. Their absence feels unnatural like something has swallowed their songs whole, leaving behind a silence so dense it presses against your ears.

Joel senses it, too. You can tell by the way he stiffens in the saddle, his back straightening ever so slightly. His horse stops, and you stop yours beside him. His jaw tightens, the muscles flexing beneath the uneven scruff of his beard. His eyes flicker toward the treeline, scanning the shadows, searching for something unseen. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, but his fingers drift toward his rifle anyway.

"Silent," he mutters; his voice is quiet but seems so loud in the space. 

You nod, gripping the reins tighter, though your palms are already damp with sweat. The weight of the quiet grows heavier. Every creak of your saddle and snort from your horse feels amplified, each sound bouncing back at you from the tangled trees.

It feels like eyes. Like something is watching, hidden just beyond the edges of your vision. The kind of feeling that prickles along your skin, primitive and raw, whispering to you that you’re being hunted.

You glance toward Joel, hoping for reassurance, for him to tell you this was another test, and you just failed. But his face is hard and carved from stone. He doesn’t look at you. His focus is ahead, unwavering.

Your heart slams against your ribs, a frantic, erratic beat that drowns out everything else. Fear and adrenaline twist together in your chest, cold and electric. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing, just your mind playing tricks, but the feeling won’t leave. It’s real, as though the woods themselves are holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing moves. Nothing happens. But its weight doesn’t lift.

So you press on, hooves sucking at the mud left behind by last night’s rain, each step dragging like the earth itself wants to swallow you whole.

The town comes into view in fragments—weathered rooftops tilting under the weight of age. It should be a relief, a sign that the unease crawling up your spine was just paranoia, but instead, the sight twists something in your gut. The houses are scattered and quiet, their windows hollowed out like staring eyes. Like every shadow has teeth.

A chill brushes the back of your neck, light as a whisper, and instinctively, you glance over your shoulder. Nothing. Only the trees swaying softly in the breeze, their leaves trembling against the stillness. But the feeling lingers—the prickle of being watched, the sense that something, or someone, is just out of sight.

Somewhere ahead, there’s a faint crack. Just a shift, subtle but sharp, like a twig snapping under a deliberate step. Then, a rustle. It’s soft, barely a sound, but it’s all wrong. 

And then you see them.

Four figures slip from the edge of a tattered home, their movements slow and deliberate, like predators testing the range of their prey. They melt out of the shadows one by one, their shapes cutting sharp and jagged against the soft spring light.

They don’t bother hiding. They don’t have to. The way they move—languid, assured—screams of dominance. Like they’ve been watching you for miles, circling just out of sight, waiting for this moment. One of them shifts slightly, armed with a glint of metal catching the sunlight. A dull machete. 

One man slinks forward, tall and skinny, a shotgun slung over one shoulder like an afterthought. Two of them circle around you like sharks that smell blood.

His face is filthy, streaked with layers of grime so thick it’s like the dirt has become part of his skin. The sun catches in the cracks of his skin, highlighting the deep, gnarled lines etched into his face like a map of pain and neglect. His eyes, though—they're the actual weapon.

They’re wide, bloodshot with a sheen of madness that makes the back of your throat tighten. There’s something feral about them—dark pits that seem to draw you in, colder than the death itself, slicing through you with a hunger that goes beyond survival. And the way he looks at you—like he’s already measured you up, already tasted your fear. Like he’s made his decision. You can almost feel its weight as if it were a decision carved in stone.

You’d heard of the people who resorted to cannibalism out here—sick, desperate souls that had been chewed raw by this world. But hearing about it and seeing it are two different things. You never imagined it would leave such a mark. His lips curl back, exposing broken teeth that make your stomach turn. You can’t help but notice the faint, sickening smell that follows them—something rancid, like the last remnants of human decency had rotted away years ago, leaving nothing but a shell.

They’re all scrawny, the bones in their faces jutting out sharply. But it’s the way they surround you. You can see the monster lurking beneath the skin, the beast that’s waited for too long to feed.

Joel’s hand drifts toward his revolver, the movement fluid, but he doesn’t draw it.

The man tilts his head, the hint of a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth to reveal broken teeth. “Told ya I heard somethin’,” he drawls, his voice thick with amusement. His eyes flick to you, lingering too long. “Didn’t think anyone’d be out this far. Lucky us.”

The others chuckle softly, a low, rumbling sound that ripples through the still air. 

“Got yourself a pretty little partner, huh?” the man continues, his gaze crawling over you. “What’s she good for? Bet she’s—”

Joel’s voice slices through the air, low and venomous, like a predator of his own. "Don’t."

"Don’t what? You gonna protect her, old man? You think you can still play hero?” The man bristles but doesn’t back down. Instead, he steps closer, his boots grinding against the dirt, dragging his posse with him. Your horses start to stir, their breaths heavy and sharp, restless under the growing pressure. They can sense it—everything about this feels wrong, off. You can feel it, too.

The world narrows until all you can hear is your pulse in your ears and the low, dangerous hum of Joel’s silence, the weight of his restraint. You could run. You could get away if you had to. But you don’t know if you can get through them without blood spilling. Without—

The man makes a cold, humorless sound. “Those are fine horses." He raises the barrel of the shotgun so it's pointed at you. Only you. 

“Off,” he spits, his voice low and rough as if he’s talking to a dog. He jerks his head toward the man next to Joel, who has his own rifle trained on him.

Your eyes flick to Joel, trying to read him, searching for any sign of what he might do. His gaze meets yours, but there’s nothing there. Just emptiness, like the void behind his eyes, swallowed everything that ever mattered. You swallow the knot in your throat, but it doesn’t help.

He dismounts slowly, his movements stiff, like the weight of the world is pressing down on him with each deliberate step. Below you, the men loom larger, their bony frames stretching unnaturally tall, like dead trees in the winter. Their faces are gaunt and hollow-eyed, stretching skin tight over bone. The shadows twist around them like something alive and hungry.

The man gestures with his gun, the barrel cutting through the air toward Joel. "Hands up," he orders, and you both do, watching as he takes Joel’s weapons.

Joel’s eyes flick up, but there’s no surprise. No fear. Just that cold, unwavering look that always sits behind his gaze. His mouth pulls into a thin, sardonic line.

“Big talker for a small guy like you,” Joel says, the words thick with disdain, a flicker of sarcasm that rings far too loud in the silence between them.

Your head snaps to Joel, disbelief flooding you. Why the hell would he say that? Did he want to die?

Before you can even react, the blow lands. It’s brutal—an unforgiving hit with the butt of the shotgun that sends Joel stumbling down, falling to his knees from the force. His cheekbone erupts in a burst of red, blood splattering like a twisted painting, dripping from his face in thick streaks. The sickening sound of metal meeting bone rings in your ears.

Joel grits his teeth, his breath ragged, a low groan of pain escaping his throat, but his eyes—they don’t waver. His gaze is locked onto the man with a quiet fury, like the blood running down his face doesn't matter. It’s just another fucking wound.

The man steps forward, his grin splitting his face, sharp and cruel. “You think you’re tough?” His voice is venomous, each word spat out like poison. “Not so tough now, are you?”

Joel spits on the man's feet, blood splattering against the cracked asphalt and his boots. 

“Take the horses,” he commands to the other two behind you, the two sneering and grabbing the horses by the reins. You watch them take them away, your heart sinking every step. 

”Please, we don’t want trouble.” you beg, trying to be the voice of reason here. Since Joel seemed incapable.

“Seems to me he’s already asked for it though,” 

“No—I swear, let us go; you can keep the horses,” you beg. 

"Shut the fuck up, or I’ll give you somethin’ to beg about." the man snaps, so close to your face you almost gag. 

Joel’s eyes flicker to you for a second, so quick it’s almost nothing. But it’s enough. There’s no word, no sign, just a flash of something desperate. He’s telling you to run. And you know it’s not a suggestion, it’s a fucking order.

When the other two men disappear into the distance, leaving you with the last two, Joel moves. He’s a blur of muscle and force, using their hesitation to slam one of the men into the other, the three of them falling to the ground with a sickening thud. The crack of bone, the wet sound of flesh hitting dirt— a sound you’ll never forget.

But you don’t think about that. You don’t think at all. The guilt claws at your insides like a poison, but the fear is worse. You run.

Tears burn down your cheeks, hot and shameful, but you don’t have time to care. You run, legs pumping, every muscle in your body screaming at you to stop, but your feet won’t obey. You charge through the mud, slipping and sliding, the cold air ripping at your lungs like shards of glass. Your chest burns with the effort, and you push yourself harder, faster, your body on fire.

But then you hear it. The sound of footsteps. Heavy, fast, closing in. Your heart thunders, adrenaline surging, and suddenly, you feel him—the wind knocked from your lungs as he tackles you down into the muck. You crash to the ground with a sickening thud, pain blooming through your body. Your head rattles against the dirt, your vision blurs, and for a second, all you can taste is blood.

Then his weight is on you.

“Be good— for me,” He says in the struggle. He’s grinning down at you, his breath hot, fetid, mixing with the smell of sweat and rot. His hands are everywhere, tearing at your clothes. The desperation in his grip, his hands slick with grime, slides over your skin like the feel of a predator’s teeth sinking into flesh. He doesn’t want to kill you first. No, he wants to break you.

The thought makes your stomach twist, bile rising in your throat, but you can’t let him win. Not this. Not ever.

“Fuck you!” You fight back, not with hesitation but with pure instinct. You headbutt him hard—your skull connects with his nose with a sickening crack. Pain explodes in your forehead, white-hot, blinding, but the blood that splatters across your face, his blood, makes you want to spit. 

“You fucking bitch!” He roars, hands coming up to clutch his face, and that’s when you see your chance.

Your fingers rake through the air, finding purchase in his eyes. His scream is feral, a guttural, panicked thing, and you push harder, gouging into the soft, vulnerable parts of him. He’s stronger than you—bigger, more powerful—but he’s not faster. You’re smaller, quicker, and you use it to your advantage, sliding beneath his grasp, slipping out of his grip, making him chase you.

“Get back here, you little fucking cunt!” You’re on your feet again, lungs burning with the effort, but your legs don’t want to carry you. Still, you fight. You turn, every ounce of strength pulling into your fist as it crashes into his throat. The force behind the punch is brutal. His Adam’s apple caves in with a sickening crunch, and he stumbles back, gasping, choking, bloody eyes wide with shock. He claws at his neck, gurgling, but it’s too late. You strike again and again until the fight leaves him entirely, and all that’s left is a ragged body collapsing into the dirt.

Your hands are slick with his blood, the crimson staining your skin, thick and tacky. It clings to you like a sickening reminder, seeping into every crack, every groove. Your whole body shakes—nerves on fire, muscles trembling from the raw, jagged shock of it all.

“Fuck,” You whisper to yourself. Your blood, hot and wet, trickles down from your forehead, coating your face and dripping into your eyes and mouth. The taste is iron and salt, foul and sharp. You spit, your teeth gritting, but it doesn’t help. It’s everywhere. It burns as it slides down your throat, coating your lips with something worse than just blood—something... savored.

The ringing in your ears grows louder, a high-pitched whine that drowns out the rest of the world. You stand there, trembling, staring at the mess you’ve made. Your hands curl into fists, nails biting into your palms as your pulse hammers in your veins. Adrenaline’s a rush, a sick, sweet flood that courses through your body, making everything feel alive.

You felt the pain—raw and gnawing, a fire that burned through you. You felt the anger, deep and savage, boiling up from somewhere darker than you thought you knew. But underneath it all, in the twisted wreckage of your mind, there’s something else. Something ugly.

You felt... good.

Joel felt the pain radiate through his limbs, the ache setting in as the adrenaline wore off. His body throbbed, but that was nothing new. He'd earned every bruise, every wound. And the fight had been nothing but instinct. He'd killed the three raiders quickly, just like he always did. Their blood soaked into the earth, staining the ground beneath him with a crimson that could never be washed clean.

Gripping the machete by its handle, Joel shoved his boot against the skull of the nearest raider, pressing down hard. The sickening sound of bones cracking was almost comforting. He twisted the blade free from the man's head with a wet, sucking sound, his machete covered in blood and grey matter. The stench of it hit him like a punch to the gut, but Joel didn’t flinch. He wiped the blade off on the raider, the fabric catching a streak of viscera.

The horses whined quietly, tethered nearby. Their quiet snorts and twitching ears as they witnessed the carnage caused by Joel. 

Joel’s mind was already somewhere else, locked on the next threat. The raider who’d gone after you. His gut twisted with certainty—the bastard was still out there, lurking in the shadows, maybe covered in your blood. The thought didn’t churn up guilt, just a sour pit of dread. Dead or alive, you were his responsibility now. And if you didn’t make it back to Jackson, the blame would land squarely on him, just like everything else.

The machete felt heavy in his hand, slick and sticky from someone else’s blood. He followed the faint trail of footsteps stamped into the mud, his boots squelching with every step. Eyes scanning, ears straining for the faintest sound. A misplaced breath. The snap of a twig. He couldn’t afford to miss it.

Then he saw it. The churned-up earth where a fight had broken out, the mud streaked red. Blood, fresh and still shining in the sunlight. So much of it. Joel crouched, running his fingers through the dirt, smearing it between his fingers. You’d bled out fast or close to it. He shook his head, swallowing the bitter weight that came with the realization. Deadweight was heavier, and he could already feel it in his shoulders, the drag of carrying your lifeless body back to Jackson.

A pair of grooves marked where they’d hauled you away, your boots carving lines into the mud. Joel followed, his steps methodical, dropping the machete as he withdrew his pistol. The trail led to a house, and the door cracked open just enough to show the yawning black inside.

Joel stops short, his breath hitching, sharp as broken glass in his chest. The bastard was in there—waiting. He could feel it in his bones, a sixth sense honed. The tension pressed against him, thrumming like a live wire.

The rusted hinges scream as Joel nudges the door open, his pistol raised. Inside, the scent hits him like a punch—rotting wood, stagnant water, the sour tang of mildew baked into the walls. 

His boots scrape against the floor, the sound muffled by the filth beneath them, as his eyes follow the trail of blood. Dark and glistening, it streaks jagged lines further into the house, smearing the warped floorboards like a cruel breadcrumb trail.

And then he sees you.

His sharp inhale is reflexive—because, for a moment, you look like another corpse. There’s a wildness in your eyes that’s unrecognizable. You're crouched, your hands tangled in the dead raider's limp arms, dragging him inside. The body’s throat is mangled, caved in with such force that bone and cartilage poke jaggedly through torn flesh. 

Joel's grip loosens on his pistol, dropping his arm to his side. Your head snaps up at the sound, eyes blown wide like a cornered animal. Your chest heaves, breaths tearing out of you fast, and for a second, Joel can see the adrenaline surging through you—hot and primal. For a moment, all he can do is stare. Joel was confident you were dead. Hell, he’d been ready to write you off. But here you are, standing in front of him, smeared in gore like something dragged out of a nightmare.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, a short, humorless huff. “Well, I’ll be damned.” His voice is low, gravelly, but there’s a sliver of something in it—surprise, maybe, though it’s buried beneath the usual roughness.

“Didn’t think you had it in you.” Joel steps further into the room, holstering his pistol with a casualness that feels deliberate. Like he’s trying to downplay the moment. 

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t show a hint of surprise as he steps closer to the body, nudging the lifeless arm with the toe of his boot. His eyes flicker across the mess, his jaw tightening as he surveys the ruined throat—just another death. Just another moment. The cold, detached look in his eyes makes your stomach twist like he’s seen this so many times it doesn’t even register.

“Messy work,” he mutters, his voice flat, void of anything resembling emotion. “But it got the job done.”

You swallow, your throat tight with the residue of rage and disbelief. You don’t know why you say it—maybe it’s the blood, perhaps it’s the tension gnawing at your insides—but you find your voice rough and raw. “Thought you died.”

The words are a bitter mix of relief and frustration, still edged with that wild energy from the fight. The animal instinct that drove you to act.

Joel turns his back, scanning the room, his eyes taking in the sight of this abandoned house. It’s a shitty place to stow a corpse, but you did what you could.

“Can handle my own,” he mutters, and you want to roll your eyes. Of course, he could.

“That’s not what I mean,” Instead of replying, he crouches beside the body, pulling a knife from his belt and inspecting it before taking it. 

“Guess I should be grateful I don’t have to drag your ass back to town,” he says, the words more of an observation than a concern.

“That’s all you got to say? He’s dead.” You swallow, avoiding the body in the room, your eyes still on Joel. The blood on his face—on his hands—isn’t so different from your own, but his expression remains stone cold. You know he’s seen worse, lived through worse. To him, this is just another day. Just another body, just another death. But for you, it’s different.

It’s your first.

"You think feelin’ bad’s gonna bring ‘em back? Grow up. They were gonna kill us. Doesn’t matter either way. What’s done is done.” His tone is flat then, low and cold, and he adds, “Get used to it.”

And somehow, despite the weight of the horror pressing down on you, despite the reality of what you've just done settling into your bones, you can’t look away from Joel. Not now, not when he's standing there—bloodied, indifferent—and yet still so... there. His presence, his stoic stance, even with all that carnage around you, makes that sickness stir. 

“I’m not like you,” You say, trying to fight it. For a moment, there’s a flicker in Joel's dark eyes—maybe it’s annoyance, maybe it’s hatred. It’s gone in an instant.

“No. You’re not like me,” he growls, voice jagged. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in my shoes. You’re a goddamn fool. Draggin’ that body in here like you wanna die. Anyone could’ve cornered you. You must be real fuckin’ stupid. If it weren’t for me following your trail, you’d be a corpse already.” His tone bites deep like he’s daring you to argue with him.

"I didn’t drag him in here for fun. I did what I had to do." You narrow your eyes at him, voice cold now. "Maybe you're too old for this shit, but I’m still breathing, so I guess I’m doing something right.”

“Ya think you’re doing somethin’ right?” Joel steps closer. “You’re still here because I’m letting you breathe. Ya ain’t smart; you’re just lucky. Don’t get that twisted.”

“What, you gonna kill me? Do it, then.” you wager; the anger in you bubbles up, thick and heavy, like blood sputtering. You cross the room, shoving at his shoulders, but it’s useless. He’s like a goddamn rock—sturdy, too damn big, too hard for you to move.

“Know what, maybe you are like me,” he says as he studies your eyes.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you spit, pushing again, harder now, but it only makes him take a step back. He doesn’t even flinch. His eyes flicker with something like amusement, but there’s a darkness in them that makes your skin crawl. The gash on his cheekbone is still bleeding, slow and steady, and it churns something sick inside you.

So you push again, and this time, his hand snaps out to grab your wrists, his grip like iron. You don’t even have a chance to fight it. “Ya done yet?” he growls. His face is close now, the sweet smell of his sweat thick around him. 

His eyes bore into yours. His grip on your wrists tightens, bones creaking under the pressure, and he shoves you back against the wall with a thud that rattles your teeth. You barely have time to gasp before his hand clamps around your jaw, forcing your face upward and locking you into his stare.

He presses into you hard—every inch of him a dead weight, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His body is a cage, but it’s not just about dominance. This is a test. Another one of his twisted games.

There’s no escape, no help coming. Just him and the sick thrill in his eyes as he waits for you to snap. How far will you go before you claw, before you scream?

But you didn’t care anymore. Thoughts weren’t yours to hold—excessive blood, too much death. For once, the silence was the only thing that felt real. But even that was poisoned. You hated him. Joel. The way he made you feel small.

But the hate… it was thick, slow, like tar. It oozed between your legs, crawling until it reached places you never wanted it to. Making your pussy clench around nothing. Your body twisted in response, involuntary, as you arched your back, hips grinding into his in the chaos. You hoped that it would go unnoticed. But Joel noticed everything, down to the slightest shudder of breath.

And against your hip, you felt him heavy and hard through the worn denim, like a brand in your flesh. The weight of his cock is solid— and just a slight shift and you feel him stir behind the confines.

Your shock didn’t stand a chance against the gravity of the moment. But in this instance, there is no room for shame. No room for anything but the hunger, the violence, the inevitable collapse of everything you’d tried to be.

“Fucking filthy…look at you,” Joel growls, his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. His hand that cages you brushes away the tangled strands of matted hair clinging to your face—strands that once might’ve been soft, now hardened by the soft pulse of blood still trickling from your head. 

Your eyes—those eyes—narrow at him, blazing with hatred, slits of fury cutting through the haze of the room. There’s no fear in them. Just rage.

“You like that?” Joel’s hand drops to the column of your throat, pressing hard enough to choke the breath from you. He leans into it, staggered breaths, each one trembling with the same anger that’s boiled over in every kill he’s made, every life he’s ended. 

“Like when I can fuckin’ feel your pathetic life in my hands?” His words hit like a slap, but they only made the gnawing emptiness inside you worsen. “No one’d notice if you didn’t come back.”

That dull ache deep in your core twisted, something dark and instinctive rising in response to the violent tension between you. You felt it low in your stomach, a heavy pull as your arousal pooled. Joel's face, the roughness in his eyes, stubble on his jaw, now covered in filth. It should’ve disgusted you. Should’ve made you pull away, retreat to whatever small semblance of dignity you had left. But you didn’t.

The pressure was a fire. It burned, it scorched, but it also made you want to dive deeper into the wreckage. The ache was something you couldn’t shake. It pulsed deep in you, and you wanted—needed—a way to release it. The anger, the fear. You wanted him just to feel the friction of all the ugliness between you two collide in some twisted outlet.

The world outside was cruel, and the one inside you wasn’t much better. So, you nod, and Joel’s eyes burn before narrowing. By your throat, he pushes you around the room, shoving you until you’re up against a dilapidated couch. 

“Am I wrong?” Joel questions darkly. 

“No,” you answer, and that satisfies him. His rushed hands find the waistband of your tight jeans and drag them down with your underwear. You’re completely exposed to him. And he is brutal, grabbing your shoulders, turning, and pushing you onto your knees on the cushions. Forearms against the head of the couch, you arch, pushing your bare ass against the front of his jeans. 

“No, what?”

“No, no one would miss me.” You can’t help it; you rub against the rough material, and you're already so wound up. It would only take a few more seconds, and you’d be coming all over the front of him. You were like a feral cat in heat, and you preened knowing he was watching you. Exposed, arching into him, rubbing your pussy until you were raw. 

“Knew it,” he rasps, his words dripping with grim satisfaction. “Pussy this wet? You’re just as fucked up as I am.”

“I’m not—” The words falter, sticking in your throat as his hand presses against the curve of your back. Rough, calloused fingers, stained with a violence that never washes clean.

“Stop fuckin’ lyin’.” His voice is low, guttural, a growl pulled from the depths of something broken. “And I’ll let you have it.”

You flinch, squirming as his hand drags upward, slow and deliberate, the scrape of his palm a warning in itself. The grip tightens, tangling in your hair, pulling hard enough to sting. It forces your head back, exposing your throat.

“Fuck—I am, I’m fucked up… and I want it, please.” you plead, pulling against his grip on your hair to look at him with hooded eyes. Joel responds with the rustle of his jeans as he unzips and drags them down enough to pull his cock out. 

Joel can feel the blood rush to his head as he watches you beneath him. Begging for him, needing him— your wet lips parting with a sigh as you feel the fat head of his cock pushing against you. 

“Dirty little thing, turned on by fuckin’ death.” Joel breathes out, almost a gasp, as he runs the tips along your soaked folds. Joel hadn’t been fucked in ages, and your young tight cunt before him made his balls tighten. He didn’t know how long he’d last, but still, he slammed into you with one fell thrust. 

“I know ya can take it,” You cry out at the way he splits you with his cock, giving you no time to adjust to his length. You search for purchase with your hands, but the fabric of the couch disintegrates as you pull on it. So, you push back against him, feeling the head of his cock nudge against your cervix. A jolt of pleasure fuses with the pain as you feel his balls against your clit.  

“Joel—oh my god.” You whine, your skin overly sensitive. 

Joel fucks into you, the stain of blood on his hands as he clutches the flesh of your hips savagely. 

“Should fuck the innocence outta you for your own good.” Joel feels your pussy clench around his girthy cock—stretching you, filling you completely with each thrust. 

A pathetic cry slips from your lips as his hand tugs at your hair, fingers weaving through the strands, tightening their grip. He drags you closer, your back flush against his chest, the weight of him pressing against you as he thrusts into you. His fingers slip around your throat again, finding their hold with familiar, bruising ease.

“Said ya could take it, so shut the fuck up,” he threatens, squeezing at your throat. Your pussy swallows him, and every time he withdraws, she sucks him back in. 

"I can—I can take it," you murmur, a sigh slipping from your lips. Your head falls back slightly, lost in the haze of numbing pleasure, the world around you fading into the background. The sensation builds, all-consuming, and you find yourself craving more. "Faster," you breathe, the words slipping out before you even realize you’ve said them.

Joel wanted you to suffer, just as he did when he felt that knot in his stomach every time he looked at you. To endure the hurt, he squeezes your neck as he thinks about it. He wanted to give you pleasure, to completely control you, to ruin you. His cock spears you with wet squelches, your pussy gushing with how fucking wet you are. You completely drench him, the hair at the base of his cock now coated with your arousal. 

“Always makin’ too many mistakes, too fucking stupid—fuck.” Joel pounds into you now as if he were driving his point into you with every thrust. 

"I'll be better," you whisper, the words heavy with meaning, though you’re not sure if you believe them yourself.

"Not for you to decide." Joel huffs, a hot puff of air against your tender skin. His lips brush against the side of your neck, teeth grazing before sinking in. 

The pressure tightens in your stomach as his teeth sink deeper, his grip on your throat tightening with an almost suffocating certainty. The tip of his cock pushes and grazes the spongy spot inside you that intensifies your pleasure. Joel can feel it when you suffocate his cock as he rams into you sloppily.

You look down at the arm circled around you; the blood splatters like paint on his skin. You feel the sickness tangle inside you, but the feeling unravels more and more as he continues. Like Joel was the one who had planted this inside you, and he was the only one who could fuck it out. 

A throaty moan vibrates under Joel’s grip as the thoughts consume you. It eggs him on, your silent cries, your loss for words—and he chases his release selfishly. His fingers slide from your neck to your face, the pressure firm as he squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout.  

Your lips part instinctively, soft and eager, but Joel is quick—he twists your body in his grip, tilting your head back so that your mouths collide in a rough, open kiss. It’s sloppy, fervent—slick, so desperate. The heat of his mouth burns against yours, his tongue sweeping in to taste you, hot and hungry. The scrape of stubble on his jaw drags across your cheek. As he thrusts against you, his lips slide messily, reaching for you—again and again, leaving a trail of wetness behind. His teeth graze your bottom lip, pulling at it hard enough to draw blood.

The smell of his sweat overwhelms you, the weight of his body pressing against yours, and without warning, the tension snaps. Your walls tighten, pulse racing, and you feel every inch of him as your body reacts instinctively, urging him deeper. Pulsing, as if your pussy wanted—no needed to milk him inside you. It’s almost as if your body itself is begging for him, claiming him. The thought spins you into a daze, making you cry out his name, imagining him taking you completely. Your eyes roll back as your body loses itself, pliant under him, molded to his will. With a rough shove, he presses you down again, your arms against the couch.

Joel fucks your swollen pussy relentlessly until he’s on the verge of coming. His balls tighten, a warning he fights to suppress. Joel holds off, biting down on the need to release, but it doesn’t last. With a growl, he pulls out, gripping his cock as his hand pumps in quick, tight strokes. The surge hits hard, and he comes—hot, creamy spurts splattering against your bare skin. He paints you with thick, molten heat, groaning low, biting back the sound that follows as he watches you, chest heaving.

You pant, throat dry, your breath shallow and quick as a shudder rolls through you. Slowly, you twist your sore neck, casting a glance back at Joel. He’s a mess—blissed out, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. For a moment, he’s completely still. No biting remark about how you could’ve done better. No gruff comment, no criticism. Just silence. It's not the kind that hangs heavy with something else, but it's a quiet one you almost don’t know how to read.

"Don’t be expectin’ anything from this.” His voice is gruff, as if the words were meant to warn you and distance yourself from him. Like you didn’t already do so. Watching him, he tucks himself back into his jeans, fixing his belt before straightening up with a quiet sigh. 

"You’re too old for this kind of shit anyway." You lie with a smirk, a tired but almost amused glint in your eyes. You pull your jeans over your ass once you clean yourself off, pulling your shirt down.

"Don’t get cute.” He grunts, his jaw tightening, but there’s a hint of something beneath it—exhaustion. 

“Scared I’ll make you feel somethin’?” you quip, standing from your kneel on the couch cushion. 

He shoots you a glance, his eyes flicking up to yours with a quiet edge, but his lips twitch—just slightly, a nearly imperceptible shift that betrays the bite in his words. “I ain’t scared of you. Just tired of your shit.”

You laugh softly, not backing down. “Sure, Joel. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

"Quit fuckin’ around, let’s go.” He replies, his movements stiff, like he’s already mentally moving on. You can hear his boots hitting the floor as he heads for the door, his back to you. 

He doesn’t need to say anything else. There’s no need to explain what just happened. No need for words. You know you’ll never speak of this—never speak of the violence and pleasure, of the heat between you, of the power his hands had when they were all over you. You’re too young, too naive, too goddamn full of life for someone like him. But he still finds you. Back in Jackson, he finds you when he wants, when he needs…

You know better than to expect anything more—this was what it was, nothing more. So, you mount the horse, the leather of the saddle creaking under your weight, and without another word, you both head back home. Bloody. Battered. And thoroughly fucked out.

Back to Jackson. Back to survival.

masterlist!

[envy-of-the-apple]

Earth Kills Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 6.3k

Part one: Sun Eats Moon

Part three: Moon Starves Sun

Synopsis: A retelling of Sun Eats Moon in Suguru's perspective

(Warnings: forced relationships, bullying, non con touching, non con kissing)

Suguru liked you. 

It wasn't even a crush. A passing interest, maybe. You were pretty. You had a nice smile. Though, he'd never directly spoken to you, he could tell that you were kind. Not in the artificial cherry most people were. Natural, like honey, never spoiling. You share the same homeroom as Satoru, and he'd always tended to be observant, unlike his friend. One thing he liked about you was how observant you were. You were constantly looking out for your friends, mere acquaintances, and everyone in your vicinity. Often, Suguru wondered if being a people-pleaser was natural or from a fear of not fitting in. 

Suguru is observant. He notices the lingering gaze Satoru gives you when you walk away, hurrying to catch up with the rest of your friends. Satoru then turns back to the carton of chocolate milk you'd left him.

"Cute," Satoru says after a minute. It's more of an afterthought than anything. He pops the carton open. Suguru hears the fabric tear. He hums in agreement. The topic switches to something else, a hot celebrity maybe? Suguru can't remember. That day had been so insignificant to him. It hadn’t mattered to him for Suguru to remember anything further.

A few days later, Suguru noticed Satoru was spending a lot more time with you. 

It was hard not to notice, actually. His friend attached himself to you like he'd die if he couldn’t. Satoru went everywhere with you now. Suguru caught him walking you from school, offering you rides in his new car, following you to the lunch hall. And if he couldn’t go to where you were, he’d drag you back to him. Watching you and Satoru was a bit like watching two magnets. North pole and South pole. So different, yet constantly finding the other. 

“Tryna’ run away from me, now?” Satoru asks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he watches you fiddle with your bag.

You laugh, continuing to fish out your lunch box. “Just grabbing lunch.” 

“Eat with us,” Satoru insists, “we found a great spot up at the rooftop.” 

You meet Suguru’s gaze just then. He’d been silently lounging on a nearby desk, observing the two of you. He gives a smile. You return it. Polite. He wonders if your mother taught you to smile like that.

“I thought students weren’t allowed up there?” You ask Satoru. 

The boy rolls his eyes. “So, who cares? It’ll be fun.” 

You pause, right then. The tiniest of hesitation. Suguru wonders if you’re noticing just how different you and Satoru were. You, the people pleaser, meek, always more than willing to bend towards authority. Satoru was rougher, more resilient, uncaring of signs and rules. The gap between the two of you is astronomical. Could you feel it as well?

Whatever you’re thinking, it’s gone in a moment. You rise, giving Satoru another laugh. To Suguru, it sounds pretty. 

“Well, have fun for me. Besides, I can’t ditch my friends. They’re waiting for me.” 

With that, you give both him and Satoru a tiny wave, before disappearing out of the classroom. Suguru waves back. Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes on your back until he can’t see you anymore. 

“Got ditched again, hm?” Suguru teases. Satoru only groans, tossing his head back as he leans dangerously on the chair.

“Always leavin’ me for ‘em, too,” he complains, “so fuckin’ annoyin’.”

Suguru can only smile, getting up to follow his friend out the door. He can barely count how many times he’d seen this before, each with a different person. It starts the same. Satoru will cling onto you for a couple more days, and then ask you out. When you say yes, he’d date you for a few weeks before eventually getting bored and dumping you. 

It’s a cruel cycle, something that’s just an inevitability with Gojo Satoru. The boy can’t stay in one place, he’s constantly moving around, never one to stop. For Satoru, Suguru was the most permanent thing in his life. Which made sense, they were pretty similar in terms of ideals. 

A cruel cycle, and Suguru feels a tiny bit of sympathy for you. You were sweet, unlike the type Satoru typically went for. Honey. Natural. Truthfully, Suguru was a little disappointed as well. The type of disappointment he’d feel when someone took the last crab stick before he could. A fleeting feeling, one that ultimately wouldn’t matter. 

◉

From the day they first met, Suguru knew one thing: Gojo Satoru has never been told no before. 

It made sense. He was the only child to one of the most powerful families in the country. Spoiled from day one, some could say. Satoru grew up knowing nothing but wealth and prosperity. They met when they were both still in elementary school, still with high-pitched voices and large eyes. Suguru’s family was fairly affluent as well. Now that Suguru thinks back, perhaps their meeting had been orchestrated by meddling parents in order to form more connected. It didn’t matter, either way. It had benefitted all three parties, after all.

Yes, Suguru knew from the moment Satoru pointed at him and declared him his ‘best friend’, that Satoru had never been told no before. 

Satoru was the Sun. The universe revolved around him, catered to him. Suguru supposed he wasn't much better considering he too spoiled his best friend in that sense. They were different. They'd been born different, coming from families who cherish them with wealth and power. Suguru supposes it was natural for them to be so intertwined. Like calls for like. 

Suguru isn’t aware of the exact details, but he knows you rejected Satoru. 

The boy doesn’t have to tell him. His friend is uncharacteristically quiet during that weekend. He has no interest in the arcade, or the next basketball tournament his team is going to compete in. Satoru just sits on top of Suguru’s bed, casually sucking on a carton of chocolate milk. Suguru glanced down at the abandoned PlayStation remote. He’d lost yet another game against his dark-haired friend with no complaints. Satoru didn’t even play

You’d really done a number on him, Suguru thinks to himself. Suguru would assume it’s heartbreak, but he knows his friend better than that. Something burns in his chest, but he’s pushing it away before he can figure out why. Nipping it in the bud. It was a cruel thought. A bad one. He should ignore it.

Well, it’s done. It doesn’t matter anyway. Satoru would eventually get over it. He’s not known to sulk. 

He’s not there to see what Satoru tells them, but he’s there to see the effects. 

It starts out small. Or perhaps just not noticeable enough. Gojo Satoru has always attracted attention, whether it was satisfactory or not. Lackeys, Satoru often calls them because they're too far beneath him to even be called equals.

Suguru notices their sudden interest in you before even you can. A harsh word here and there. Giggling at the word 'easy'. You peacefully trek on, not noticing the abuse until it turns physical. That starts at the end of Monday. 

By Tuesday, they're already shoving you down each chance they get. You get surprised when it happens the first time, then the second, then the third. You have soft skin, plushy, Suguru could tell. He wondered if it was getting marked now. He wonders if you go home, peeling of your uniform, staring at the bruises of hands on your skin because you’re so fragile.

(They never go too far, not enough to completely injure. Suguru knows this because one time, one of the idiots had pushed you too hard. You’d stumbled, nearly hitting the back of your head with a metal locker. Satoru had seen. Suguru doesn’t know what Satoru did, but that particular one was gone the next time and the rest got the memo to scare, not injure.)

Satoru never takes part in this, but he keeps an eye on you sometimes. Tuesday evening comes and they both silently watch you through a window. You move through an empty hall, before they arrive again, slapping your binders out of your hands, chortling with each other. They're too far away to hear, but Suguru could bet it would sound like nails scraping against a chalkboard. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru watches his best friend. Satoru looks impassive, face blank as he stares down at your figure. Akin to a child watching ants burning through a magnifying glass, instilled with that innate desire to see them explode into ash. 

When the lackeys leave, you bend down on the floor, collecting your stuff. Your hair covers your eyes, so he can't see your expression, but he can see your shoulders tremble. Were you-

A corral of people run to you. They lean down, picking up the stuff you had missed. You look up, your eyes are shiny but you're laughing when they say something. You wipe at your eyes, standing up as they lead you out of the hallway. Suguru had seen them hanging out with you before. They all seemed like they supported each other, supported you. 

Suguru feels his frown deepen, conflicted. He doesn’t like it.

"It's not nice to pick on the weak, Satoru," he quietly says. 

Satoru's eyes trail your figure out the door. He gives a small hum.

By Wednesday, your friends disappear from your side. 

The abuse is getting worse, noticeable to the point where the rest of the student body is heavily avoiding you. Teachers won't raise a finger at what's happening. As much as they like to preach about their 'zero tolerance for bullying', Suguru knows they'll willingly turn a blind eye when matters involve Gojo Satoru. No teacher wants to deal with the wrath the Gojo family is more than willing to unlease for the sake of their heir.

Yet, you aren't getting it. You don't break, don't bend. He can feel the humiliation roll off of you in waves, yet you don't react. Which was strange because he knew your archetype. A people-pleaser, constantly bending over backward for other's sake. You want nothing more than to become part of the crowd again, completely invisible. You’re community-oriented. You thrive off of companionship. This ostracization must be killing you. Suguru doesn't get it until he spots your face, just once, narrowed eyes, anger. 

Pride. He'd forgotten other people had that too. Though, Suguru admires it, a part of him knows it shouldn’t last.

Suguru thinks he does it because he pities you. You're a little naive. Suguru has your thought process figured out. You think if you take the torment long enough, Satoru would eventually just forget about you all together. Once he's done with you, you'd focus on picking up the pieces that used to be your life. It's not a bad plan, if you weren't dealing with Gojo Satoru. 

The boy is a hurricane. Fast, unrelenting, unforgiving. Satoru won't stop. He won't stop until you're ruined and broken. Turned into a mere asteroid of what you once were. 

So, Suguru decides to give you a push in the right direction. 

The students have already created a wide circle for you by the time he steps in, bending down, picking up the stuff you had dropped. You're silent until he hands you his pieces. He doesn't bother responding to your timid thanks. 

"Give in," he tells you, watching the way your eyes widen as you look up at him.

You're weak. Physically, emotionally. He could easily pick you up with one hand, crush your body with his fist. Satoru could eviscerate your body from existence. You don't stand a chance with him. With either of them. 

His advice to you is good. Reasonable. And yet, he sees the face you make, the way you slowly get up. You won’t listen. That same burning feeling in his chest starts. It's gotten more painful. 

You don't listen to him until you lose nearly everything. Just as he warned you. Friday comes. You become Satoru's. And it's a little too late for everything. 

◉

Suguru doesn't think you ever learn that Satoru loves messing with you. 

Or, perhaps you do, but you can't help it. You're too honest, too open. He often wonders if that's how you were raised. To be honest, open, vulnerable. Your parents must have filled your thoughts with delusions, coddling you with words of cheap motivation. The world is your oyster. You just had to reach out and take it.

Maybe now you're finally realizing, sitting on Satoru's lap, that all men aren't created equal. 

Clearly, you weren't happy about it. Yet, you aren't complaining, sitting there pliantly legs firmly crossed, hands curled into tiny fists, staring rigidly on the floor. The first few times Satoru had done this in public, you were always biting your lip, tears threatening to fall. Now, Suguru thinks you just dissociate, coming back when Satoru laughs at something, jostling you in his arms. 

It's a bit like watching a helpless bird on the ground, twitching and spasming after it had just collided with a glass window. Pitiful, but there was nothing that could be done. It's the inevitability of it all that makes him pity you more than anything else, really.

Every so often, your eyes would catch his. It's a quick glance, as though you were wondering if he was watching. He can barely catch it, but Suguru is observant. Much like you. It's meaningless, and your gaze returns to the floor. Your fists tighten. 

Granting you mercy, Suguru stops looking at you during those times. 

He's not sure how Satoru sees you. Perhaps, you're akin to a dog for him. Though, that might not be very good for you. Satoru hadn't been very good with animals when he was younger. Satoru had always been rough with any pets he came into contact with, pushing and tugging. Suguru doubted that had changed. 

Satoru's is your official title. It isn't a relationship. It's an ownership. Unequal from the start. The one who holds the leash in the end, will always be Satoru. 

It took a while for you to fully learn that. 

Suguru didn't mean to catch the two of you. Looking back, it was probably because Satoru couldn't care less if someone was watching. Maybe Satoru was being obvious on purpose. It was a little while after school had officially ended. Suguru knew your usual routine would place you right at the library, scrolling through books. Satoru would most likely be there too, pestering you about this and that. It's the scene Suguru prepares himself to walk into.

Instead, you're wedged in between the white-haired boy and the wall, there's no space for you to do anything but sink. You're already crying (when was the last time you smiled?), trying to pull away but Satoru isn't letting you. He's gripping you by the chin, forcing eye contact. His sunglasses are off, tucked on his collar. 

Suguru's close enough to hear. You're begging. Apology after apology. It's barely a whisper, but they're spilling out of you like a prayer. He can't discern the context, but he knows enough. 

You made Satoru angry. 

He's still smiling, but it isn't sincere. Almost bordering on mania as he tightens his grip on you, forcing you further into the wall. Suguru doesn't think Satoru has ever hit you before, but now he's wondering if quick violence was preferable to this. 

"Don't be like that," Satoru chides as another squeak leaves your lips, "Where was that smile you were givin' him, hm? C'mon, pretty girl. You were wearin' it just a second ago." 

"It-it wasn't like that, I swear," you continue to plead, still not realizing that it's too late, "he was giving me his notes. Please-please Satoru-" 

"Wrong answer," he cuts you off, you flinch at his harshness but Suguru decides Satoru's being nice to you. He's been known to do worse, "we've been over this before, haven't we? Or did your stupid brain forget?" 

You're choking down another hiccup. It takes a minute for you to calm down enough to speak clearly. Ever impatient, Satoru's hand digs into your shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, Satoru," you say, "it won't happen again." 

He tilts his head, waiting. You wilt under his gaze. 

"I'm sorry...’Toru." 

Satoru gives a satisfied hum, pulling back and Suguru can practically see your lungs sag with relief. His mania is gone, replaced by something much more lighthearted and carefree. Suguru'd seen it before, but it was certainly something watching Satoru go from one high to the next. Even to Suguru, it's terrifying to witness. 

Suguru decides to make himself known right then. He comes out of the shadows, acting as though he'd just arrived. His friend lazily gives him a wave, curling an arm around your waist. You try to scrub away your tears with your forearms, unaware of how much Suguru had seen. Another mercy Suguru grants you. He doesn't acknowledge it. 

The three of you sit in the library for half an hour until you're done pretending that you're studying. When Satoru walks you home, Suguru follows. He notes that you barely hesitate to give Satoru a chaste kiss on the lips, and he wonders how often his friend has demanded one from you for you to be so casual about it. 

He thinks he gets it when he and Satoru are walking on the street without you. To Satoru, you aren't a dog. You aren't a pet, something that he keeps to see bark.

No, you are just Satoru's. 

◉

Towards the end of the year, Suguru realizes that Satoru loves you. 

He's nicer to you, now. Suguru doesn't think you've realized how softer Satoru's gotten, but the change is there. He spots less marks on you now. The biggest evidence he has is that stolen moment of you and Satoru. You'd accidentally fallen asleep during lunch break, dozing off on your desk. Satoru was right next to you, gently pushing your hair out of your face. Satoru loves you. 

You've changed too. Adapted, he should say. You cry less, now. Each time he sees you, you look more and more put together. As though, you're done mourning. The final stage of grief. Acceptance.

Despite how much nicer Satoru is to you, he's still just as clingy. Suguru notices that even now, none of your former friends speak to you. No one at school does. It's an unspoken rule to not mess with Satoru's things. 

Suguru can still remember the last guy who hadn't gotten the memo. A new student. Freshly transferred. Suguru had heard the conversation. The guy was hardly interested in you. It was nothing more than small talk. The pat on your shoulder had been thoughtless at least, friendly at most. 

Satoru beat him until the boy was bloody and had a broken nose. A week later, he'd transferred again. 

You're off limits. To everyone but Suguru. 

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

So, sometimes when Satoru can't walk you home. Suguru does. 

It was just the beginning of spring. The school year was starting to end. The school itself was starting to slow down. Teachers were getting less and less strict, less work was given out. It didn't matter. Colleges had already been picked. They were all close to the end. 

You don't say much when the two of you are alone. Suguru understands. It's hard to say much of anything when you're crushed by the weight of Gojo Satoru. But Suguru could have sworn he'd seen a flicker of relief when he came to pick you up and not his friend. You're clearly happier when it's him. Suguru decides he likes how that feels. It's a quick feeling of superiority. Something that quickly disappears when your eyes flick down. 

He knows where your house is, but he lets you take the lead anyway. Suguru figures it's the least he can do, give you that sense of control when nothing you do ever really does anymore. 

You and him have forged a shaky companionship. He's not sure what he is to you entirely, but you seem reliant on him in some way. it’s his fault, he thinks. He wonders if it has to do with the contraception he'd given you. He can still remember the trembling hands as you took it from him, curling the packet into your grip. That day he went home and his fingers felt strangely itchy. 

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

When he asks you a question, you answer. At least you aren't mute, though Suguru doesn't think he'd blame you if you ignored him. Your voice is stilted, with enough words to answer the question, but still not enough to fully sate him. 

And then, you break. 

Just a bit. 

A tiny piece of you shatters, and you show yourself to him. 

He'd been talking about something insignificant, college, his plans. Just ramblings. Somehow, Satoru comes into the conversation and he's talking about the area of his friend's college campus, how Satoru mentioned that he's looking for apartments for the two of you to stay in. And then, you're uncharacteristically scoffing. 

"Right," you say, head faced down on the sidewalk as you kick a rock, "because I'm following him there." 

Suguru can't help but place the sarcasm in your voice. The bitterness. He's heard it before, but it's a fascinating thing hearing it come from you. And then Suguru realizes that you accidentally gave something away. 

You were leaving. 

Somehow, it never crossed Suguru's mind that you were still rebelling, even now. And yet, he can't shake off the heat in your voice, your words. 

You seem to realize this too, freezing. 

He lets you falter for a few more moments before giving you a reprieve. 

"Satoru's idealistic like that," he let out. 

Your shoulders lower, and for the sake of both you and him, he doesn't press any further. 

He doesn't let himself let it go, even when he drops you home, arriving to his own house. Always cold. The mansion's lights are always off. No one's ever home. And Satoru's out of town. 

It's better this way, Suguru thinks as he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. No distractions, he can think better, as he replays your words over and over again. You were leaving. You were leaving. You were leaving Satoru. 

The night passes. When Satoru comes back to town, he's joyful as always, an arm slung around your shoulders. Suguru watches the way he coos at you, saying how much he missed you. You take his affections the way you always do, with a strained smile and wavering eyes. 

You glance at Suguru. Suguru stares right back. 

For a moment, Suguru thinks he understands why people are so enthralled with solar eclipses. The moon is seen as an underdog in most instances. It must be thrilling when a weak satellite can cover the sun's rays. Even for just a little bit. 

Suguru doesn't tell Satoru. He pushes the burning in his chest, ignoring the itchiness in his fingers. Things are better this way, right? After all, the two of you come from completely different worlds. It's nonsensical to think otherwise. 

Two weeks before graduation, you disappear without a trace. 

And Satoru breaks. 

It's a slow dissent. It comes in stages. The boy is angry at first, searching for you at school, when he can't find you there he loses his facade and demands where you are from your parents. They can't give him a clear answer because you're an adult now and you barely told them a thing before moving out. Suguru doesn’t think they knew what Satoru was to you. He doesn’t think they ever will.

The heat fades day by day, Week by week. Satoru starts to deflate the longer you aren't in his hold, his to mangle, and grab, and keep. He stops taking care of himself. His skin became paler, cracked lips, hollow cheeks. His eyes turn into this grayish blue that Suguru can't bring himself to look at for too long. He loses weight day by day. 

Suguru had never seen him react this way before. Satoru was always shining. He was the sun. Now, the center of the solar system was dying. He can feel himself dying with it. 

Satoru hadn't just loved you. Satoru had been obsessed with you. He breathed you in, inhaled your essence like oxygen. You'd been a part of him; a necessity. And then, you tore yourself away, leaving him bleeding on the concrete.

Guilt. Suguru feels it in his stomach, rising to his throat, threatening to stain his clothes. It's too late to say anything now, so he keeps it huddled deep inside of him. Suguru hopes it'll never come out. He helps the best he can, being there for his friend, his best friend. 

It takes a month for Satoru to start eating properly again. A few months later he starts regaining his usual physique. The gray in his eyes stays for a bit longer than Suguru likes. Suguru supposes he should take what he can get.

A year passes like that. The evidence of what you left behind fades, like bruises disappearing on skin. Suguru and Satoru become college students. Then, they graduate.

When Satoru joins the business, Suguru, his right-hand man, his second, his best friend, is right next to him. They’ve always worked well together, but that doesn’t change as they shift into adulthood. Despite how different Suguru and Satoru were, Suguru liked to think that their personalities were stagnant; unchanging even to the times.

What Satoru feels about you remains stagnant as well.

Suguru doesn’t think about you often, these days. Barely a few times a year, when he feels nostalgic enough to get out his old high school yearbook. He’d page through, spot your smiling portrait face. He’d find himself staring at you far longer than he liked too.

At first, Suguru thought Satoru was the same. Much like how one thinks about a lost toy they cherished when they were younger. The resentment would fade with time. Satoru didn’t speak about you for years.

Suguru hadn’t expected the girls, however.

He doesn’t notice the first one. He sees her, but he doesn’t internalize it. She’s hurriedly putting on her clothes after a clearly exciting night, so Suguru respectfully averts his gaze. He’s more focused on his exasperation at how Satoru had missed yet another meeting with the board. They would be less than pleased if they discovered Satoru didn’t show up because he was hungover.

The second time it happens, Suguru has a passing thought of how familiar the girl looked, despite being sure he’d never seen her in his life.

The third time it happens, Suguru realizes all the recent girls Satoru’s been bringing strike an uncanny resemblance towards you.

It’s not anything too obvious, but all of them would look a bit like you. Most would have your skin tone, your hair. One had your eyes, not the color, rather the shape of it. Satoru had kept her around the longest.

Suguru doesn’t say anything about it. Part of him wonders if Satoru is even doing it on purpose.

Suguru loves Satoru like he would his own brother, but his recent hobby was starting to get on his nerves a bit.

“So much work,” the man complains, “Why can’t we just send all this off to Ijichi?”

“He has his own work to complete,” Suguru reprimands, “the sooner you stop complaining, the sooner we can finish.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but moves to another page of meaningless paperwork; Something that would be scanned into their system and then tucked away into a random file cabinet. They currently sat in Satoru’s grand kitchen, lounging on the barstools after Suguru had pounded Satoru’s door in. Satoru had let him in with an irritated look, complaining that it was the weekend and he had ‘stuff’ to do.

“He’s my assistant,” Satoru retorts, “my work is his work.”

“The reason why we’re in this mess in the first place is because you kept pawning off your job to the poor man in the first place. You’ve given him wrinkles from just the stress of being in your vicinity.”

“That’s insulting,” Satoru counters, “my presence is nothing but calming.”

“You do the exact opposite, actually. A black hole that sucks the soul out of everyone who hangs around you.”

“You hang around me all the time and you don’t have wrinkles.”

Suguru smiles. “It’s because I don’t respect you enough to listen to anything you’re saying.”

Satoru’s about to respond, when another voice interrupts him. Alluring, feminine.

“Satoru,” she coos, “When are you getting back here?”

From his seat, Suguru has a clear view of Satoru’s bedroom. Only her head is peeked out, and Suguru notes her bare shoulders. Your eyes, and your lips this time. She’s tilting her head, mouth curved in a coy smile.

Of course. Suguru can only roll his eyes. There’s that same burning feeling in his chest. During the years, it hasn’t really gotten any better.

“Coming, coming,” Satoru calls back, “just a minute, babe.”

“Stuff to do, hm?” Suguru drawls with amusement. Satoru flips him off.

"Worry 'bout yourself," Satoru says, "when's the last time you got any, huh? Honestly, when's the last time you've taken a break? A vacation?"

"I can't," Suguru replies, "I'm always stuck babysitting you."

“I’ve been waiting for half an hour, ‘Toru." The woman interrupts. "Can’t you just do it later?”

Suguru hadn’t even noticed it. He brushed it off, barely hearing their conversation as he shuffled around the papers.

Satoru had.

He hums. Straightening his back.

“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. You should head on home.”

At first, he thought Satoru was talking to him. Then, he hears the woman’s annoyed huff.

“Hold on, you’re kicking me out?” She asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Satoru says, not sounding very apologetic, “I got a lotta’ stuff to do and you’re not gonna wanna stick around.”

His tone is light, but Suguru can’t help but place a sense of annoyance in them. The anger. His posture is stiff, almost like he’s primed for a fight.

‘Toru. She called him ‘Toru.

You used to call him ‘Toru.

“Seriously, I-”

“I hate repeating myself: Get the fuck out.”

There’s silence, and then Suguru can hear her mutter to herself as she shuffles inside the room. She comes out minutes later, not quite dressed, but presentable. She shoots Satoru a glare, to which he only waves off. The door shuts with a noticable thud.

“Back to work,” Satoru says, “do you feel hot? The AC has been acting up, lately.”

He carries on like that, back to normal, as though he wasn’t about to snap just a few minutes ago. Suguru follows suit, not aknowledging the outburst, much like he doesn’t aknowledge most things regarding you.

Later, Suguru laughs about the hypocrisy of it all. Satoru brings home physical reminders of you, but he refuses the remnants of you. The most intimate parts, he’d kept hidden away from his life, yet he still wishes to touch, to feel. He wonders how you’d feel if you knew that Gojo Satoru is wrapped around your finger, even now.

◉

Satoru had done something yet again. It's always something with Gojo Satoru. Suguru should have left him to deal with the legal team himself, but here he was, trailing beside the firm’s directors as the man droned on and on how well Mr.Gojo would be well taken care of how here our clients are family. He forces himself to push away that feeling in his chest, scorching his throat. He was getting sick of the constant blabbering. He’d glanced away for just a second.

And then he saw you.

You, not some remnant, not some picture, not someone similar. You. He knew it was you. A little older, a little taller. You’d switched the high school uniform for a blouse and a pencil skirt. Suguru stares. He’s tempted to say your name, seek you out, as though you’re old friends-

He reels himself back in.

You disappear through a frosted glass door, completely unaware of his gawking. You hadn’t seen him. Good. The firm’s director didn’t notice his pause, carrying on as though nothing happened. Suguru smiles and laughs at the horrible ice breakers, but he also steals a glance at the name of the door you went through.

Later, Suguru looks up Higuruma Hiromi. A well-established lawyer. Worked at the firm for nearly a decade.

You are his sole paralegal.

Law. He had never considered it for you. Now, he thinks it’s a little fitting. He can’t help it. He looks you up. You have no social media, most likely from a remnant fear, but he finds where you went to college, what your area of study was, where else you’d worked, your life. Questions he’d had for nearly a decade he finally has an answer.

Honestly, Suguru was a little mad it was all so easy.

He can’t see the entire scope of your life, but he knows you were happy after high school, away from Satoru. You seemed happy when he caught that glimpse of you. There was a slight smile on your face, you never did that with Satoru around.

Satoru’s a little pathetic, a thought he has to concede to. He’s still hung over you, while you clearly hadn’t thought of him in years.

Suguru stares at your picture a little more.

The burning feeling comes back again. Hotter, melting.

Oh.

Suguru is disgusted by you.

You, that bitch loitering in Satoru’s bedroom, that greedy firm director. Disgust, that sick feeling crawling down his stomach, seeping into his bones. He’s disgusted by the weak.

He’s even more disgusted when they think they can defeat the strong. Decieve them.

You always thought you were better than Satoru, better than Suguru, even from the beginning. Even when you rejected him. Even when Satoru’s goons were torturing you, you still thought you could get out of it somehow. Even when Satoru had his hand on your shoulder, claws sinking into your flesh, you were still looking for a way out. It was like watching a rat trapped in a cage, pathetically sniffing around for an exit.

The weak could never escape the whims of the strong. It was a truth of the world, something he’d always known and yet it’d take a decade for him to put the words together. The weak could never make a fool of the strong.

You are weak. A mere satellite floating along, before getting trapped in the Earth’s gravitational force. Suguru could crush you with one fist. Satoru could evisirate you to atoms.

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

“I’ve put together a legal team that will represent you.”

Suguru places the neat stack of documents onto Satoru’s desk. The white-haired man barely gives them a glance. Suguru knows Satoru won’t ever look at them, even when your name is hidden somewhere within the sheets, along with Higuruma’s. Suguru wonders how long it’d take for Satoru to figure it out. It’s a shame he won’t be there to see it unfold in real-time, but perhaps, once Satoru puts the pieces together, he’ll thank him.

Here, in the present, Satoru types away at his computer, barely paying attention to Suguru’s words.

“Oh, great,” Satoru says off handedly, “thanks, man.”

Suguru sighs.

“Uh, I love you?” Satoru tries again.

“Never repeat those words to me ever again,” Suguru responds, “I wish you’d be a bit more interested in this, considering it’s your fault the company is in this mess in the first place.”

Satoru gives a hushed hum of agreement. Suguru smiles.

“In other news: I won’t be here next week.”

That catches his best friend’s attention. Satoru gapes at him.

“You’re quitting?”

“No, idiot. I’m taking your advice. I’m taking a few weeks off. I already put it in the calendar that you never check so why did I even bother.”

“A vacation? You never take vacations, even when I beg you to,” Satoru squints at him, “What’s the occasion?”

Eventually, Satoru will figure it out. For now, Suguru wants to enjoy this.

“I worked hard this year. I should reward myself, shouldn’t I?” He reasons, “oh, and I have a surprise for you showing up in a week or so. Let me know what you think of it.”

“A gift? For me?” Satoru beams. “You really do love me.”

“Don’t push it.”

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then Suguru supposed he would be the Earth. Close enough to receive the star's radiance, but with a strong enough magnetitic field to shield from solar winds. 

If Suguru was the Earth, then Suguru supposed you would be the Moon. A tiny cratered satellite he tugs along with him, forever in sight of the burning sun. 

[firelilyfox]

Deadly Eyes

Dune: Paul Atreides x female reader

Warnings: se&ual harassment / angst / curses / hateful words / comfort

If someone means harm to the girl he loves, Paul won't hesitate

Words: 1k

_______________________________

You stare at the men and women right in front of you. All of them were looking at you with the same emotions pictured in their faces. Disgust. Outrage. 

Today was the first day after Paul announced your relationship to his people. The Fremen welcomed you with open arms… well some of them at least. Your roots lies with none of the big houses. All you know about your family is, that they were travelers who never lived at the same place for more than a couple of years. You are one of the Lost Ones. But when Paul rescued you from being tortured by the brutal Harkonen a couple months ago, you never thought about traveling somewhere else again. Your people always praised that the soul is a free from wich never settles and never find the one and only home. Paul changed your way of thinking. With him you felt at home for the first time ever. 

„The Mahdi can’t be with someone who is lost“, one of the believers growled as you were passing by. All you wanted to do was taking a walk and exploring the hallways of the Sietch, one of the rocky formations what the Fremen call their home. And now you are standing in front of a hand full of believers who are talking bad about you. 

A old, wrinkly woman hisses. „You don’t belong here, Lost One.“ 

You look at her fully blue eyes. The same color your eyes have turned as an outcome to the effects of spice everywhere. „Please let me through. I don’t wish for trouble.“ 

Now a young man steps right in front of you. Too close to be comfortable with. You try to move and bring some distance between the two of you, but your back almost immediately hits the wall. Your chest tightens up. This feels like a cage. A cage of people who hate you. 

„But you are trouble, whore.“ He couldn’t have been more than five years older than you, but he was so intimidating that you wanted to flee before he would hurt you. You still are one of the Lost Ones. Their are no fighters. Your people staying alive because they run for dear life when problems appear. That’s why the Fremen always looked down on your kind. 

„All your people do, is stealing and living in the shadows. You are not worthy to be here. Your are not worthy to be with Muad’Dib“, he grabbed your neck with a tight grib. „But I’ll find some use for u, don’t you worry.“ 

The others looked away while he is dragging you to a shallow corner at the end of the hallway. Your screams got muffled by his greasy hand and silent tears filled your eyes. The back of your head hit the wall hard and your vision flickers for a moment. Fear crawling all over your body, followed by the tip of his knife. You’re trying to beg for him to stop, but all he does is giggling at your helplessness. 

„I will show you your worth and after that I will give your body to the desert. I will…“ 

A voice is shouting at the near distance. „Where is she?!“ The man fearlessly let’s go of you and hiding his knife. You fall down on your knees as Paul rushes around the corner. Gentle hands pulling you up and you begin to sob, hiding your face at his chest. 

„How dare you to touch her!“ Paul growls at the man who is now lowering his head in respect for his Duke. 

„I did not want to bring any disrespect to you, Mahdi. But this woman damages you reputation. She is not worthy to be …“ but Paul cuts him off. 

„She is equal to me. I am who I am today, because of her. How dare you to speak about her like that?“ His voice became dangerously silent and you could feel under your palms how tense his muscles were. As you look around you discover that people have stopped and watching the scene with wide eyes. 

You reach up to gently touch his cheek, so Paul would look at you. „I’m okay, Paul. Nothing happened. I’m unharmed.“ 

For a moment the coldness in his eyes vanished, but as he looked down at your neck and saw the bruises … he was ready to kill someone. Paul kisses your forehead and it feels like that he needed to do it just to calm himself down, before he would actually cut a throat. His grip around your waist thightens but not in a hurtful way. You never felt more protected as right here in is arms. 

Paul turns his head slowly. A deadly look on his face. The man kneeled down in fear of his punishment. „I will only say this once and for all. Who ever touches this woman and mean harm to her, will be sentenced to death. Without exceptions.“ He looks around, making eye contact with everyone who is watching. „Spread the word. I will personally kill everyone no matter if man or woman.“ 

The Fremen quickly leaving the place murmuring and chattering. The message was clear. If you break this rule, death by Muad’Dip will find you. 

„And for you“, Paul looked down at the man who tried to do unspeakable things to you. His voice full of dark rage. „If you ever come near her again or look at her even from afar, I’ll break your neck.“ He gave two other men a sign to carry him away. 

„I should have known that something like that might would happen“, Paul curses. „I’m so sorry. I should have never left you go alone.“ His eyes meet yours and the deep sorrow in them breaks your heart a little. 

„You couldn’t ever have guessed that. This isn’t your fault and it’s not your job to see something like that before it happens.“ 

Paul pulls you closer now that the two of you are alone. „But is is my job to protect you.“ 

„And you did.“ 

He leans his forehead against yours, taking a deep breath. His body is still tense but his touch is so gently. „I don’t want to imagine what could’ve happened if I weren’t be here on time … I couldn’t…“ his voice breaks. This is the side of him no one ever sees. The softness and the vulnerability. To everyone he is the fearless Muad’Dib. But to you he is Paul Atreides. The man who owns your heart. 

„Then don’t. You saved me. I am right here.“ To prove your point you get on your tiptoes and kiss him softly. Paul cups your face with his hands, holding you so close to him that nothing would have room in between. 

_____________________________________________

Thank you for reading! Comments, ideas & reposts are very welcome <3

[twstowo]

Their Magicam Accounts[Twst]

♡︎How I think their Magicam Accounts would look and what they do in them.

♡︎This was been catching dust in my drafts for months now. Crazy

♡︎Includes: NRC, RSA and Rollo

⋆⋅☆Riddle: Owns two accounts on Magicam. The first one is only used to like or comment on posts from friends, Carter set up this account against Riddle’s will. He once accidentally posted a picture of the two of you and had a heart attack trying to delete it. The second account is a secret one where he only posts hedgehog pictures.

⋆⋅☆Trey: Has one account where most of his posts showcase his cakes, including pictures from unbirthday parties and moments of you cooking with him. His profile picture is him with that dog filter, you can’t change my mind.

⋆⋅☆Carter: Literally Owns Magicam, posting pictures every time he does something or is with someone. #Thevoicesarewinning. Comments on every post and totally knows that Riddle owns the hedgehog account. He also has a side account for stalking people. Changes his profile picture daily.

⋆⋅☆Ace: Initially only posted embarrassing pictures of people and would only take them down if they paid him. Got suspended quickly from Magicam. The second account is more relaxed, where he shares random content whenever he feels like it. He’s also the type to edit group pictures to make everyone look bad except himself, just to annoy everyone.

⋆⋅☆Deuce: Was the one who reported Ace’s first account since most pictures were of him. Has Shaky pictures, the best picture he has is one of him, Ace, and you together. Probably uses social media mostly for chatting with friends. Also, he, Ace, and you have one of those quirky couple profile pics.

⋆⋅☆Leona: Owns an account with no posts, profile picture, comments, or followers. Rarely uses Magicam, but he occasionally checks your posts.

⋆⋅☆Ruggie: Uses Magicam for selling stuff. Created a group for selling second-hand items and pins all his stuff to ensure faster sales than everyone else.

⋆⋅☆Jack: Gym pictures? Nah, I feel he’d be too shy for that. Probably has one image that he uses everywhere else just to identify himself.

⋆⋅☆Azul: Opened an account to promote Mostro Lounge, daily posts feature new dishes, prices, menus, and sales. He also has a personal account but doesn’t post (doesn’t think he looks nice in pictures).

⋆⋅☆Jade: Mushroom account, has so many followers who share his fascination. Their conversations are all about their mushroom hikes and can last for hours. Makes really aesthetically pleasing posts filled with detailed information about different types of mushrooms.

⋆⋅☆Floyd: For legal reasons I won’t say why, but his account got suspended after one week of its creation.

⋆⋅☆Kalim: Sends party invitations through Magicam, Jamil had to create a group to prevent Kalim from sending individual invitations constantly. Enjoys capturing pictures of the sky. Once posted a picture of Jamil, after it was deleted, he didn't post anything for a whole month, I wonder what happened.

⋆⋅☆Jamil: Similar to Leona, but he often checks Trey’s account for his cake posts. When he saw a picture of you and Trey together, he invited you over to cook with him but didn’t have the courage to ask for a picture of the two of you.

⋆⋅☆Vil: Posts frequently, sharing about himself and his daily routine, always looking impeccable. Regularly receives barking comments, he spends hours deleting all of them.

⋆⋅☆Rook: We all know he has a fan account for Neige. Likes posts of all the celebrities he adores. Writes extremely lengthy comments whenever he finds someone beautiful. He's been blocked so many times he's lost count.

⋆⋅☆Epel: Initially tried taking cute pictures following Vil’s advice but got annoyed as he looked too feminine. Instead, he started promoting stuff from his farm back home.

⋆⋅☆Idia: Uses an account with a weird name to hide his identity, posts about games and occasional activities. Engages in lengthy debates with anyone who disagrees with his new hyperfixation. Has a different notification ring for your posts.

⋆⋅☆Ortho: Shares many pictures of you and him and others doing silly things, sometimes posts gossips and causes huge scandals with them, to the point he decided to create an account with only gossip info. (Azul is literally taking notes.)

⋆⋅☆Malleus: This man owns a Nokia 3310.

⋆⋅☆Lilia: Creates posts about the Doramas he watches, managing a fan page to discuss them with others. Shares pictures of Silver, Sebek, and Malleus, although the latter two get embarrassed, leading Lilia to take down their pictures.

⋆⋅☆Silver: Posts images of nature and cute animals. There's only one picture of him – you took it while he was sleeping and posted it. He didn't have the heart to delete it, knowing it was you.

⋆⋅☆Sebek: Shaky hands #2. Takes pictures of his paintings of Malleus; if you scroll long enough, you might see an accidentally posted painting of you.

⋆⋅☆Che’nya: Shares pictures of people's scared faces, taken while invisible when the flash goes off.

⋆⋅☆Neige: Lost track of his posts; like Vil, he has many followers. Captures moments with the dwarfs and shares funny stories about his day in every picture.

⋆⋅☆Rollo: Has one account filled with pictures of Fleur City. His profile picture used to be a croissant, but he removed it since it looked dumb. He was blocked every magic user, except for you. Yet.

[uravitypng]

previous

soulmate hanta who is completely oblivious that it's almost shocking. the way you skirt around the subject of soulmates whenever someone brings it up, while nervous and looking everywhere that isn't in his direction.

you think you've been careful, you think you've tried to not put hanta in a difficult position and people do let the topic go when you try to avoid it. they don't think your soulmate is hanta but they know something is up.

hanta doesn't. for someone who spends all his time with you, thinks about you all the time, and always pays attention to the little things you do he doesn't notice something is up about the topic of soulmates. you act like he acts around the subject so it doesn't weigh on his mind at all.

soulmate hanta used to get asked a lot about his soulmate. denki whining about how he hasn't found his soulmate yet. "i know they're out there somewhere! it just sucks that i haven't found them yet! aren't you in the same boat? loads of people have already found their soulmates or are uploading pictures online trying to find them! there's a whole reddit page dedicated to it, it's so frustrating."

"i don't care about my soulmate," he responded flatly and kaminari looks at him like he's grown two heads.

one day in your second year of ua iida and hatsume walk around campus stuck together, glued to the hip. it seemed super out of character for him. he didn't even tell anyone he found his soulmate, not until the following week where asai asked about why he was spending so much time together with her. hanta regrets being in the room when that happens. "she's my soulmate."

"what?" midoriya looks so excited for him. "so many people have found their soulmate now! there's not many people that haven't, i'm so happy for you iida. speaking of soulmates how are you and uraraka tsu? you found each other before i found todoroki and before most people found there soulmate."

he drowns out her answer but when hearing his name he's back to paying attention, that is, before hearing the full question and wishing he was anywhere else. "sero you still haven't found your soulmate right? i'm sure you will soon."

"thanks midoriya but i'm not interested in meeting my soulmate." his phone is face up on the table, it beeps and he sees a text from you, his whole face lights up. they all see your name flash on his phone, a photo of you and him on his background, they never bring up his soulmate again.

in your third year of ua mina comes bounding into the dorm shouting about how she's found her soulmate. "i've never even really spoken to yui before but i've always thought she was pretty and her quirk is so cool! sero have you posted a photo of your mark online? you never know if someone will come across it and it'll be you introducing yourself or they'll recognise their handwriting."

"even if i did find my soulmate it wouldn't matter." she's about to ask what you mean but you walk into the room, his eyes trail yours with fondness she's never seen in his before and drops the subject.

people don't ask him questions anymore. he doesn't care about his soulmate because he has you.

soulmate hanta who, even though he doesn't get asked about by his friends anymore, still has to see online articles and speculation from fans all over social media. 'have the famous ua alumni war heroes found their soulmates?' 'i'm still holding out hope that me and cellaphane are soulmates !!!!' 'cellaphane and froppy spotted together out of their hero suits.'

after reading the headline, 'PROOF that reveals pro hero cellaphane's soulmate,' he made sure to never enter that restaurant in the thumbnail with you again. the whole article is full of photos taken by fans and paparazzi of the two of you. there's a lot of them but it makes sense to him with how much time you spend together. there's more regular photos like you two on patrol or walking down carpets together on your way into the entrances to a gala and some not so regular ones that fans have taken without either of your knowledge or consent but that's one of the cons about being a hero.

there's a photo taken at the cinema when you went to see the new studio ghibli film the boy and and the heron. you can tell it's the two of you even though it's dark, his elbows and your hair gives it away. you're leaning against him and sharing popcorn, his arm resting on the armrest.

there's a photo of his tape wrapped around your hand, while you're both grinning, it was christmastime and you were shopping, you couldn't find any tape so he said he'd give you some of his.

there's a blurry photo taken of the two of you in a small cafe, it looks like it was taken in a hurry. you and hanta are sitting across from each other at a table and you've got your mouth open, hanta's leaning forward with a fork, going to feed you some of his food.

there's dozens of photos and it just makes him want to be more careful when going out in public with disguises.

'PROOF that reveals pro hero cellaphane's soulmate.' hanta wishes that was true.

he looked at the first comment but clicked off when it was someone talking about how you're 'couple goals,' the amount of likes on that comment was astonishingly high for two words.

soulmate hanta doesn't care if people see his soulmate mark, he doesn't even think about so when he lifts up his jumper and his shirt lifts up as well during games night bakugou scowls.

he doesn't remember random words and sentences his friends said to each other nearly a decade ago now. but this. he knows this. on hanta's hip, in your handwriting, is his soulmate mark.

bakugou knows your writing well, he made you study. he'd put a timer on his phone and you'd sit together studying until the timer ran out, he'd talk you through anything you didn't know and understand. he'd snatch your paper out of your hand after it got graded and read everything you wrote. bakugou is one of the reasons you passed your classes, he's probably the only reason you passed your classes. that's why he knows that's your handwriting and seeing that it's your handwriting just pisses him off.

'why the hell is soy sauce face always looking at her like that if she's his soulmate and they're destined together.'

someone else could think that they're together but just haven't announced it to the public but bakugou knows that isn't true. he knows you're single, he's a hundred percent sure you are. it's true that something is definitely up about your soulmate situation and now he's got a clue of what that might be but whenever he makes a comment about how being single is good for his career because he can focus more on being number one you agree with the same sentiment.

'does that mean she rejected him? i don't know about that. would someone spend that much time with someone they rejected? what if they never realised. no that doesn't seem possible.'

"yo bakugou, you good? you're just kind of staring at sero with daggers in your eyes." kirishima asks noticing that bakugou hasn't taken his off of sero for awhile.

bakugou is straightforward, he's honest, he speaks his mind, he cares about his friend even if the public doesn't understand that. he gives his friends nicknames that people don't understand, even though he's the number one hero he still get's backlash for that. even with the backlash the nicknames stay the same, his first two friends at ua still get called 'shitty hair' and 'shitty women', he still calls denki 'dunce face', jirou 'ears' but he cares about them all.

all that caring is amplified when it's comes to you and you're involved, he's protective of you- emotionally. ever since he's met you you've been competing on who's better, you're the number ten hero always saying that you'll take his place soon, he knows you can handle yourself but when it comes to emotion- he worries. without him would you be friends with all the people you are now? you were worse at making connections with people than bakugou was and that's saying something, all because you were so quiet and worried about your soulmate situation.

he knows there's speculation that you're his soulmate but you both ignore it, he doesn't love you, at least romantically. it's definitely an emotion he can't put his finger on though, he guesses it's likely brotherly love but he's an only child so he can't be sure about that.

"why the hell do you act all lovesick all the time when your soulmate is spending everyday with you?"

hanta's mind goes blank. what the hell is he talking about? "huh, i- what?"

bakugou tuts, 'why is he acting like he doesn't know?' "i'm not a fucking idiot. shitty women's handwriting is on your hip."

hanta's eyebrows furrow, "i think i'd know if one of my best friends was my soulmate bakugou. this isn't her writing."

"holy fuck, you are an idiot. i've spent enough time studying with her to know."

"you obviously didn't if you think that." hanta retorts. 'there's just no way that's her writing.' he hasn't actually seen your handwriting that much and certainly not in recent years. it's one of the things he hasn't committed to memory about you but he knows for a fact that's not your handwriting. 'wait was does my soulmate mark even say?' he doesn't remember, he hasn't properly looked at it for so long now.

hanta lifts up his top again to read what it says, tilting his head trying to read it upside down. bakugou answers his silent request knowing that he wouldn't have asked and tells him what is says.

"i don't remember hearing 'thanks sero, you were great too,' but... wait, that... that does look a bit like her handwriting." he stares at the mark, trying to think back.

"yeah, plain face that's because it is." bakugou crosses his arms and looks at him annoyed.

soulmate hanta thinks everything bakugou just said to him through. "hold up," hanta lets go of his top again letting it drop down and moves around the all the furniture to go into a back room. he's so glad this game night is taking place at his. he leaves without anymore explanation and starts rummaging around in his spare room where he keeps things from the past, from ua and before that.

in one of the cardboard boxes at the back is notes from you that he's kept. they weren't meaningful or particularly very sentimental but they were notes you passed him in class. you sat far away from each other and would do mad libs and hangman. he didn't focus on the way you wrote each singular letter at the time.

you'd give him notes that said things like '6 letters. clue: current annoyance' he was able to win that fairly easy. after winning, writing back 'is mineta a current annoyance if you're always annoyed at him?'

you'd pass back a note for him that read, 'write me back: celebrity name, colour, adjective, object, colour, emotion, animal! after class - if you can read the completed filled in sentence without laughing or smiling you get to choose the film for tonight' it was always hard for him not to laugh or smile, especially when he had to say things like "hawks always wanted an orange handsome dildo-" he couldn't keep it in and grinned after that, you ended up choosing the film.

hanta can't pinpoint the exact moment he started to crumple up the paper, holding it tightly in his hand. he's figured it out, that's your handwriting! he clutches onto his shirt and takes deep breathes. he has to tell you! you have to know! you're meant to be together the proof is right in front of him, the proof is forever marked into his skin. it'll be a shock to you and he knows it's probably not the best to spring it on you but you have to know.

leaving all the notes scattered across the floor he quickly gets up to talk to everyone. "bakugou's right!" bakugou rolls his eyes at that. "i-i can't believe she's actually my soulmate. i have to go."

"wait what, go where?" kirishima questions. kaminari overlaps him, at the same time congratulating him.

"she's not on duty tonight, i have to tell her!" no one really has a proper chance to respond before he's already left.

"should we leave?" kirishima looks around the room.

"nah, we've already opened our drinks and booted up the tv. we'll go later." kaminari picks up his beer.

soulmate hanta who rushes over to where you live, banging on the front door loudly. you wonder who's knocking at such an hour and so noisily at that. it's not abnormal for hanta to come by but he's with the guys tonight and he doesn't knock like this, he usually knocks the same pattern which he refers to as his own chime of a doorbell. you open the door and you're surprised to see hanta, looking at you... strangely? "oh, hanta! i wasn't expecting you. weren't you supposed to be hosting games night tonight? is everything okay?"

hanta doesn't answer the question and instead asks, "can i come in?" he says in a low voice and licks his lips, wetting them. your eyes quickly glance at the movement before looking back up at his almond eyes. you move to the side for him to come in and shut the door behind him. you don't think something's wrong, at least it doesn't look like something's wrong by the way he's looking at you and his posture. he's looking at you for a second before pacing around the room, you don't press him on anything you just stand where you are and wait for whatever he needs. he stops his pacing and turns back to you, the intense look in his eye almost makes you want to squirm out of embarrassment for being seen that much. "i need to tell you something."

"okay," you respond, prolonging the end of the word. you're confused.

"we're soulmate!" hanta almost shouts at you. with knitted eyebrows and a bewildered expression you repeat okay. "w-w-what do you mean okay?" didn't you just hear me?" hanta's in disbelief and he scans your face.

"i mean... i heard you but i don't know why you're telling me something we both know." you don't even have time to feel anything other than puzzled. this situation should be making you feel heavyhearted or heartbroken but instead it's just filled with questions of 'why is he bringing this up? we already know this.'

hanta splutters, "why are you acting like you already know this?"

your mind goes blank.

"what?" you whisper, your mouth is dry and your limbs feel heavy. ''why is he acting like this? he doesn't seem drunk or high. is he being controlled by someone? there's no way he'd be this cruel.' you open your mouth breathing softly and you're finding it hard to keep your breathing steady. "why are you being like this hanta? it's cruel." your voice is even quieter than it was.

hanta's eyes soften as he sees you and goes to reach out to you before stopping himself. "i'm not trying to be cruel, i'm just trying to understand what you're saying. i've just found out you're my soulmate and i needed you to know... but... but you're acting... you're saying that you already know. i don't understand why you've kept it a secret."

you blink slowly, trying to process everything hanta's just told you. "what do you mean that you just found out? i haven't kept anything a secret. i knew from the very beginning we met. you tripped over my bag and praised me after a practical lesson. did you really forget?"

soulmate hanta's eyes widen. "forget?! i didn't even know. you really think i'd forget the woman i've been in love with since i saw her is my soulmate."

you have questions but all you can focus on is, "you love me?" you ask- softly. shyly.

hanta goes bright red. "w-well yeah, of course i do." you giggle and he smiles affectionately at you, he loves hearing you laugh especially when he's the one getting you to do it.

"i love you too," you let him know sweetly.

hanta grins, "really?"

you hum and nod your head. "did you really not know?" hanta shakes his head. "how did you find out in the end though?"

hanta rubs the back of his neck and appears guilty as he responds, "oh, that... well, it was bakugou. he saw my mark and knew it was your writing."

you pout at him, "god, you didn't even realise yourself." hanta chuckles nervously. "what am i going to do with you hey? my oblivious soulmate." you wrap your arms around him and hug him, your face on his chest, gazing up to make eye contact.

soulmate hanta grins when he hears you call him your soulmate and reciprocates the hug, holding onto you and squeezing lightly for a second. "i can't imagine what it must of felt like for you, i'm sorry. all those wasted years we could of had together if only i connected the dots better. i promise i'll make it up to you."

there's plenty of time to talk about your feelings, to express to him how you felt rejected. there's your whole life for that but right now there's something better. "oh, how are you going to make it up to me?" you say teasingly and smirk.

hanta chuckles loudly and grins, "what do you have in mind?" one of his hands that was holding you sneaks in under your top. neither of you have ever done this before but soulmates are made for each other, you'll know each other's body better than you know your own because, at the end of the day, you're meant to be.