#wrist compass

[fisheito]

So I was looking at waiter Yakumo and noticed that he had wavy hair. His hair straight normally so who was the one who curled his hair? DOES KLEIN EVEN HAVE CURLING IRONS???? Anyways all of this is to say please imagine Eiden helping Yakumo get ready and that involves putting those old timey curlers in Yakumo's hair before he went to bed so he can have curls the next morning

uhdisomFINMF u are making me IMAGINE!!!!!! yakumo about to apply for the job and wondering if he should present himself a certain way eiden going ;))) you look sexy with your hair pushed back ;))) (but before yakumo can stutter out his embarrassment) eiden gives him the very encouraging "but for real i think you look great as you are!! <3" then aster crashes onto the scene and announces that he will not have his servants treasured colleagues looking anything less than PEAK presentable!!!!! *whips out the old timey pink hair curlers*

[fanboy-feminist]

I'm currently at that point in a gender studies degree where I'm finding it hard to write this term paper because every time I think about it my eyes and brain get blurry with anger and I can't think.

[tayloralison]

she’s wearing a friendship bracelet 😭🫶🏻

i SAW!!!! I zoomed into a different photo where you could read it and was like who is maddie 😭 she's all ready to film here so I wonder if it'll be in the shot that's soooo🫶

[werewolfbneimitzvah]

vent post. There are two stories i was told in my teenage years that even before i had a real concept of trans issues made me uninterested in discussing the supposed sacredness and safety of separated sex-based spaces.

First, when i was like 13 or 14 my PE teacher told us about a time she went to a women's public restroom, some guy was hanging out outside the bathrooms, she didn't think anything of it, went to the bathroom, and he walked in after her and like, creeped on her over the top of the stall. She was ok, she wasn't telling us this to scare us, just telling us what to do in situations like that (and iirc she was telling the whole co-ed class this, not just girls, bc it's useful for everyone), but this taught me immediately and forever that there's nothing actually keeping these spaces separate really, that anyone can be a creep in any space, and that establishing a space like that as for women only isn't actually particularly useful for safety.

Second, when i was 16 i was at an anime convention, a friendly acquaintance of mine and i ended up in conversation outside, and he showed me his bare wrist and told me he'd been kicked out. A female friend of his had stepped in dog poop outside, and between that and the stress of the convention she'd had a bit of an emotional breakdown, so being her friend, he started comforting her and ushered her into the women's restroom so they could wash the poop off her shoe together. And because he was a man who went into the women's bathroom, he got kicked out, no matter that he was doing something that was actually beneficial to a woman. Punishing a woman's friend for supporting her was supposed to... protect her somehow? This made it clear to me that a no-exceptions rule separating the sexes like that wasn't actually inherently good for everyone.

And this isn't even getting into me as a child needing to accompany my younger sister to the restroom when we were out with just my dad because she had certain support needs past the age he felt comfortable bringing her into the men's room with him. And what if I'd been born a boy, or she'd been the first born? Who's helping her then?

And of course even putting all this aside, we should always prioritize compassion and support anyway. But i never even needed to meet a trans person to know that "keeping men out of women's bathrooms" is silly nonsense. But trans people also need to pee anyway and as humans they have that right, so leave them the fuck alone. your precious women's restroom is just a fucking room with a door, holy shit give it a fucking rest, if someone is attacking you in the bathroom that's bad and if someone is in there to pee that's good and it doesn't fucking matter what their junk is or was when they were born.

a woman could have done the exact same thing to my PE teacher and it would have also been bad no matter how "supposed" to be in the restroom she was, and no one should ever be punished for helping a crying friend wash their shoe.

Anyway i know I'm speaking to like-minded folks here, i just think about those two stories literally every time bathroom gender shit comes up and it pisses me off.

[yuneu]

i love being able to draw perfect circles by hand because people always act like i'm some kind of sorceress when they see me do it and that's never not funny

[hayatheauthor]

Can you post something about different kinds of soulmates? The name on the wrist or red strings are nice but a little overused, maybe. Idk. Do you have anything different?

50 Types of Soulmates in Literature

The soulmate trope might feel pretty cliche to most but I love exploring them (great short story material, esp if you want to twist it into horror/thriller/non romance). Thanks for the ask! I hope this list is what you were looking for: 

Fate-Driven Soulmates

1. Shared Dreams – They meet in their dreams every night/[idea] after they turn [age].

2. Reincarnation– They reincarnate in every era and are destined to meet each time.

3. Aura Bonds – Their auras [change] when they’re near each other.

4. Mirror Messages – They see the other’s face in the mirror when they turn [age].

5. Starbound – Their soulmate’s birth constellation forms on them after their first meeting.

6. Heartbeat Match – Their pulses sync when they meet and get more uneven when they’re apart after that.

7. Shared Memories – They have flashbacks of past lives together.

8. The First Words – Their first spoken words to each other are tattooed on their skin.

9. Fragrance – They recognise each other by a unique scent only one’s soulmate carries (i.e. in the world you can only smell roses on your soulmate).

10. Scars – They have matching scars in the same place since their birth.

11. Colour - They only start seeing colour after meeting their soulmate. Can be changed to sound, touch, smell, etc.

Cultural Soulmates

12. Mehndi Marks - In Indian/Middle Eastern cultures, your soulmate’s name appears in your mehndi/henna.

13. Karmic Threads - In Buddhist traditions, invisible karmic bonds pull them toward one another.

14. Feng Shui Alignment – Their energies perfectly balance according to the Feng Shui elements.

15. Ancestor's Blessing – Their names are revealed through a ritual that summons past ancestors.

16. Name in Flames – In some folk traditions, a fire ceremony reveals their soulmate’s initials in the embers.

17. Feather Match – They exchange feathers that later glow when their soulmate is near.

18. Shared Songlines – In Aboriginal traditions, their paths align on the same Songline.

19. Palm Reading Prophecy – Their soulmate’s features or initials are foretold in their palm lines.

20. Dance of Fate – In certain cultures, a soulmate is revealed during a traditional dance when they naturally pair up.

21. Persian Tea Leaves – Their names appear during tea-reading rituals.

Object-Based Soulmates

22. Lock and Key – Everyone is born with a keyhole shape. When you turn [age] you’re blessed with a key that only fits into your soulmate.

23. Shared Journal – They write in the same journal without knowing how.

24. Twin Trinkets – When born, each person receives a magical [trinket]. Your soulmate has its twin. 

25. Compass of Love – A compass always points them toward their soulmate.

26. Two Halves – They carry two halves of the same [object].

27. Enchanted Maps – A map updates itself with their location when they’re near.

28. Eternal Rings – Rings burn hot or glow when their soulmate is close.

29. Song – When they turn [age] they hear a song sung in their soulmate’s voice. (Interesting: in this world, MC hears nothing. They think they don’t have one, rly their soulmate is just mute). 

Connection Through Nature

30. Tree of Life – Their world has a special garden you go to when you’re [age]. In the garden, a tree starts to grow when two soulmates are near. Note: if they ‘break up’ or one dies, the tree wilts and dies too.  

31. Blooming Flowers – When your soulmate is born, you get a flower bud [different for each]. When you meet the first time, this bud goes into full bloom. If you pass without meeting, it dies. This continues till you actually meet, and the flowers finally [fall off?]

32. Animal Guides – At birth you’re assigned a spirit animal who leads you to your soulmate when the time is right. (Ooh maybe your spirit animals are soulmates too OR hmo: they’re enemies! You haven’t met your soulmate yet because your spirit animals are doing everything to keep you [and themselves] apart). 

33. Shifting Shadows – Their shadows always reach toward the other. When you sleep, your shadows break away and meet each other. 

34. Bound by Seasons – They only meet during a specific season each year. Kind of like a Divergent ‘born into a season’ thing. (But what if a Summer and Winter end up being fated? But they can’t survive in each other’s seasons. [omg Tinkerbell] lol). 

35. Ocean Whispers – It’s said if you go to the ocean’s shore and say something there your soulmate will hear it when they go to the shore. (MC’s soulmate hates the ocean. They’ve never been. One day they finally go, and sit for hours as they listen to messages from their soulmate, who apparently lives by the ocean and has been calling to them every night). 

36. Star-Written Names – When you turn [age] only you see a name written in the stars. That’s your soulmate’s name.

Unconventional Soulmate Tropes

37. Memory Keepers – One soulmate is bound to forget each other in each new life, and the other is fated to remember and find them. The other only remembers if and when they meet. 

38. Parallel Lives – They exist in parallel universes but see glimpses of each other via [plot].

39. Shared Illness – They feel each other’s pain, sickness, and recovery.

40. Shared Mortality – They can only die when they’re together.

41. The Final Wish – When you turn [age] you get to make a wish and your soulmate has to fulfil it in order for you to meet.

42. The Sacrificial Lamb – One is destined to save the other through ultimate sacrifice.

43. The Time Loop – They’re stuck in a loop, meeting repeatedly until they get it right.

44. Dual Souls – They share one soul in two bodies, feeling incomplete without the other.

45. The Undying and the Mortal – One reincarnates endlessly, always finding their soulmate, if they fail to find them, their soulmate will not reincarnate and die forever. Except, you don’t know who’s the immortal one. 

46. Time Stopper: Time stops when you’re with your soulmate. It starts again when you’re apart. 

Sense-Based Soulmates

47. Sight: When you close your eyes you can see what they’re seeing. 

48. Warmth: You feel physically cold everytime you’re without your soulmate. Your heart turns colder every year, till when you’re [age] you both die if you haven’t met.  

49. Colour: You can’t see your soulmate’s eye/hair colour till your first meeting. The issue: they don’t know the colour, so often overlook this change. (Many resort to checking a colour chart every day till they see a new colour). 

50. Touch: You can’t feel anything till your soulmate touches you for the first time. Everything simply feels like its weight, not texture. 

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[double-dare-designs]

Shriners Watch

Personalize

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[blogjhm]

Kellogg's Cocoa Krispies Cereal TaleSpin Wrist Compass

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW2 Reaction To You Panty-Flashing Them

Warnings: Implied Smut, Mean! MW2, Dominant! MW2, Victim/Reader Blaming, Slut-Shaming, Reader Getting Pimped Out, Mention of a Leash, Allusions to Injury, Mentions of Blood, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Ghost

Ghost is a territorial man. So seeing you flash not only him but Johnny as well made something in him simmer.

It wasn’t rage, for this little accident, regardless of how intentional it was, was not your fault. If he had to place it, he’d attribute it to…

Lust.

As was evident in how he excused himself from the gathering of the 141 and Los Vaqueros in your living room, grabbing you by your arm.

He stowed you away. Dragged you to a desolate laundry room and gripped you by your thighs. You gasped, gripped onto him. Felt something hard rub against you.

Ghost threw you atop the washing machine and gave you a harsh stare as he watched you try to fight the feeling building within from the machine’s buzzing and shuffling.

“Go on then, Doll,” he rasps, eyes hard and the throbbing monster between his legs harder. He palmed himself. Remorse was not in his nature. And neither was mercy.

“Seein’ as you were practically beggin’ the others to fuck you, go and put on a show.”

His voice lowered. He stood between your legs, frame blocking you from any form of help or salvation.

“Just for me.”

König

König had been sat on your sofa, an action figure in a house for a doll half his size, and you’d bent over to retrieve something from beneath the TV cabinet.

The fact that you were wearing a pair of König’s shorts was already clouding his moral compass. Seeing your underwear peeking out beneath them was what sent him over the edge.

As you remained bent, cheek pressed to the floor as you reached for what you’d lost, you didn’t hear König approach. Didn’t know he’d even moved from the sofa until something thick and hard was pressed to the back of you, followed by two heavy hands holding you at the waist, and a slow, shuttering breath.

“Don’t move,” König told you. “Stay like this.”

Slowly, he pressed deeper into you. You could feel his restraint unwinding second by second.

It was when he bent over you, had his broad chest pressed to your back, that you knew you weren’t escaping. And you weren’t backing down.

“I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you cum, bleed or pass out.” König’s voice held no humour, but you could feel the franticity building in it.

He reached round, gripped your chin. Made you look at him. His smile was sharp, his features dark.

“Whichever comes first.”

Soap

Johnny pulled the leash tighter around your throat when you tried to protest your innocence. Tried to make him see reason.

“Doesn’t matter that it was ‘just an accident’.” He mimicked you, made you sound weak, whiny. His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched. His knuckles turned white around the leash.

His shadow loomed over you from your position on the bed, on your hands and knees while Johnny presided over you with an iron fist.

Tears obscured his silhouette. Made your eyes glassy.

“Aww, Did I upset you, Bonnie?” Johnny’s tone held a gruffness that didn’t even try to hide the anger running beneath.

He huffed, a mocking laugh.

“How’d’ya think I felt when you were practically spreading your legs for Simon?”

Again, you tried to tell him what really happened. Tried to incur any fragment of mercy Soap would spare you.

He pulled on the leash again. Tighter. You gasped, hands flying up to the leather around your neck, trying to loosen it – to plead for Johnny’s favour – as the air was knocked out of you.

“Oh no, you don’t get to talk.” He said. He stepped to you. The bulge in his jeans became ever more noticeable. Impending.

“M’gonna use you like the whore you are ‘til my cum’s leaking out of every hole in your body.”

Valeria

“Do I look like I fucking care, Darling?” Valeria circled you, her belt wrapped around her hand, a glint of darkness in her eye.

Wrists and ankles duct-taped to the chair, you could do little to follow her. To understand her intentions.

“Do you really think whatever little lie you pass off as an excuse can quell the fire you’ve set?”

Before you could attest your innocence, beg for forgiveness, Valeria’s belt came down across your thighs. Crying out, you flinched, tried to withdraw, pushing your chair back in the process.

Valeria lunged forward and gripped the chair by the arms, pressing your skin into the wood, and dragged you back.

Her face twisted into a visceral snarl, the portrait of evil.

“Please, Valeria, I’m begging you–”

“Oh, you’ll beg for me, alright.” Valeria looked down at you, her face to yours. Just shy of your noses touching. With bared teeth, she smiled.

“I won’t stop until you do.”

Price

“If you wanted attention that badly, you could’ve just asked.”

Price had your arms and legs bound to a hard, wooden chair while a thick ream of cloth had your mouth gagged. He stood over you, arms crossed over his front, a glint in his eye. He sighed, brought his hands to grip your tied forearms. Pressed them into the armrests.

You winced.

“What…possessed you to go and show your arse to Alejandro and the rest of the team?” His voice reflected a tone of ponderment found only in Sarcasm’s extended family tree. And it showed with the faux confusion written in his brow.

“Do I just not cut it for you?” He leaned in. The chair creaked. Your arms hurt. He didn’t let up.

“Am I not enough to keep you from throwing yourself at the nearest soldier?”

He watched you, his stare narrow. You shook your head, eyes wide. You tried speaking through the gag, tried to tell him that he was the only man you loved, but you both knew your efforts were futile.

He withdrew, gripped his belt, adopted his default stance. He heaved a deep breath.

“Come in, lads,” he called behind him, not taking his gaze off you. Your stomach tightened.

A thin smile stretched across Price's lips as he watched your eyes widen, your gaze following Simon, Soap, Gaz, Rudy and Alejandro as they filtered into the room.

Price bowed at the waist, lowered his voice so only you could hear.

“Seeing as you’re so keen to show ‘em what’s under your clothes, I’m gonna let them use you ‘til you’ve learnt your lesson.”

Horangi

Hong-Jin popped the top button of his jeans, keeping his gaze trained on you, spearing you with a dark stare.

“Did you enjoy giving König and I a little show, Dear?”

Sarcasm nestled in his tone, a viper in a den. But the excitement running parallel beneath it, just shy of its transparent underbelly, was evident.

Hong-Jin slid the zip of his jeans down. Pulled the denim over his hips.

“It’s only fair that I…” He took your hand, placed it at the hem of his underwear. Dipped beneath the band.

His skin was scorching. Something pulsated beneath your fingers.

The implication sat heavy in his tone. In his eyes.

“Return the favour.”

Alejandro

“I didn’t know I was dating such an attention-seeking whore.”

Alejandro’s voice was the roll of thunder across a darkened valley, the weight of a downpour of knives settled into his tone.

Hands behind his back, he stood over you, having resigned you to sitting on your knees, the hardwood floor pushing against your joints.

“Luckily for you, I’m not the type to hold grudges.” A smile played at his lips. One you knew not to trust.

“But he is.”

Alejandro looked to the door, where, from beyond its frame, emerged Rudy. His face held a similar, serpentine pallor, his lips drawn up into a thin smile. Venom in his veins.

“Wasn’t expecting to get blue-balled by (Y/N) earlier, Ale,” came Rudy, his usually sugared demeanour having dropped, the veil between what he was and what he showed to the world slipping away. Retreating.

Alejandro gave him a knowing look. He turned back to you.

“Why don’t you be a good little doll and put your face to the floor. Just like we practised.”

The memory of leashes, lashings and tears flooded your memory. You held back a  wanton whimper.

Alejandro’s voice dropped. “And let Rudy see the rest of what you promised him.”

Rodolfo

“I don’t want to have to do this, Cariño. Rudy stood over you, his hands on your shoulders and his face dark. Grim.

His hold on your shoulders tightened.

“But I can’t let your behaviour go…”

He searched your eyes for the right word. His brow furrowed when he found it.

“Unchecked.”

He sighed. Pushed down on your shoulders.

“Come on, Angel. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He told you, pushing harder until you bent to his will.

Now, on your knees, you could see how desperately he needed you.

One hand came to your jaw, thumb trailing to your lip, pulling your mouth open. The other slid down to his belt, sliding it from the buckle. It hissed, pulled tight against the metal. You swallowed.

Rudy’s breath shuttered, and you could tell from the way his hand clenched, the way he slipped the belt from his jeans like a snake, that he was enjoying this. Much more than he wanted to let on.

“Now remember, mi Amor, no teeth, no biting.” His head tilted. Condescending. “Or I’ll bite you back.”

Graves

He can barely contain himself.

It was only the briefest of flashes. It wasn’t even intentional. But something about your shy smile after the fact once you realised what you’d done sent a vicious little idea to Graves’s head.

He starts stealing all your underwear. Gradually, yet in large enough volumes that he doesn’t have to wait longer than he can handle without his reward.

One day, you come into his office, face warm and tugging an oversized shirt over the top of your thighs.

“Missing something, Darlin’?” Graves drawls. Your eyes narrow at him. You know he’s had something to do with your underwear’s disappearing act.

He puts his papers down, sighs, and rests the back of his head in his hands against the backrest of his chair.

“How about you flash me again. Slowly, now.” His eyes glint with a dark mischief and want.

“Y’don’t wanna know what happens if you don't do it the way I like it.”

Gaz

“Oh, Darling, look what you’ve done,” Gaz’s voice carried despite the thickening tension in the room. Neither of you needed to look down to see what he was referring to.

Despite the chastising tone in his voice, his eyes were warm. Kind, almost.

“If you wanted my attention so badly, you only had to ask.”

He stepped towards you, placing a hand under your jaw. He smiled.

“It’s only fair that I reward you for being so creative, isn’t it ?”

His other hand came to your shoulder, pushing the strap of your tank top until it fell, leaving the sweeping juncture between your neck and shoulder exposed.

Has bit back a shuttering breath.

Despite his gentile voice, an angeline choir, the soundtrack of mercy, there lay a hunger in his eyes, in his barely-restrained grip, that suggested a beast lurked beneath his pretty boy exterior.

And you knew from the way he told you to “Get on the bed – be good for me,” that you’d be seeing it tonight.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[bloodrelationsofheavenandearth]

but i want it (sweet as cherry wine)

˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ desc; how does it feel to hold a hand, one that fits as if it were meant to do so with your own?

˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ pairing; himeko : firefly : gepard : jing yuan : feixiao : argenti : aventurine : sunday : mydei : aglaea ➜ x gn!reader

˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ mlist; !!!!! // pt 2; !!!!!

himeko is the needle on your compass, the northern star in the sky and holds you steady- your anchor to warmth, your hearth and your home. the times that you manage to hold them, her hands are warm to the touch, usually second-hand from the coffee she always seems to have on hand; she always smells like coffee, too, rich and a little bit fruity. it lingers on her skin like ichor, soft and warm like the feeling of home- she is home, always. when she holds your hand she is caking you home, cradling one or both between her own, keeping your warmth entwined with hers because that’s just how it is. how it will stay.

firefly’s hands are familiar- not because they’re the same hands that cradle you often, but familiar in the way that makes your soul settle, stretched out lazily like a house cat under your skin. to hold her hand is to return to yourself, it is to envy the way the sky wraps itself around the sun and the moon and envy for that same closeness. it is the familiarity of matter, of what you are and will be coalescing, a bone deep ache that is soothed.

now, if you’d like to hold his hand- you’ve got to get gepard out of his gloves, first. whilst they keep his hands- big, strong, calloused hands- warm and safe during the day, they’re unfortunately not made with the idea of far sweeter things in mind. time and duty permitting, he’ll shuck them off like they burn him as soon as you, so dear to him, come into his view. holding his hand is to be encompassed, to feel the graze of his thumb over your knuckles and hand it brought up to his mouth; his cheeks are red, from the cold and you, always you. he needs, desperately, to be gentle enough, to covey all that he can’t when he is off doing his duty. you, the balm to the frigid cold.

jing yuan is a man of many people’s fascinations- yet, how amusing to you, that he seems so fascinated by simply holding your hands. ever the charmer, kissing your wrists and knuckles and palms and whispering into your skin- he is quiet afterwards, plays with your fingers and traces manicured nails over your skin. his hand, holding yours, is an endless stretch of time condensed into seconds; fleeting and effervescent, timeless and unshakeable. the press of the pads of his fingers mimic his devotion that sweetens on your tongue like honey, the weight of his palms against yours like the thudding weight of another heartbeat, intertwined together with yours. thumpthump. thump. thumpthump. thump.

perhaps, feixiao has a tendency to be a little rough around the edges- only sometimes. her hands reflect her well, especially so when you can snag them within your own; her anxiety, her anger, her mirth, her exhaustion. you alone cradle her in your hands, the cyclonic emotion that pours out of her like waves lapping at the shore. you stand, with her, cradling each other, in the eye of the storm. she is a cyclone, a constant ebb and flow that gives and takes and shelters you within herself. often, this is the case when she squeezes your hands- strength and love and loyalty and shelter.

perhaps one thing to note, is that argenti is usually never not holding your hand. or linking pinkies. or offering you his arm to hold. or somehow, in someway, near enough to feel him pressing some piece of himself to some part of you. he’s sweet, bottled sunshine that spills out of his body and burns itself into your being with its light- holding his hand is like holding the sun. holding it, cupped between your hands, reflecting its brilliance into your skin and shining its light through your body; it bounces off of your ribs and bursts out of your eyes, buries itself into your lungs and lodges so deeply it will never return completely to the sky. holding his hand is mundane, domestic, and an everyday occurrence; yet his brilliance will always be a live wire, buried in your chest and tethering you close.

holding hands with aventurine is always going to be just a little bit different each time- not because he pulls some kind of trick or because he’s unpredictable or anything of the sort. he, quite simply, just hasn’t yet found a completely sound way to honour the feeling of your hand in his. he draws from within himself to count his own luck, tracing over a freckle on the inside of your wrist. the stars bursting behind his eyelids grow ever in number when he finds a new pattern to trace over your fingers, a new way to touch the skin over your knuckles and configure a mind map every time. this, this feeling is something not even he will gamble

ever one for order, sunday is as expected, meticulous in the care he ensures in such a simple act. it is an act that is cyclical, a routine cultivated between the two of you out of careful consideration for the other; a tentative melody when your fingers brush, quickly meeting a crescendo when palms greedily press together to seek assurance. it is harmonious, yet there is a quiet strength- comforting in its presence, always known to be and never, ever taken for granted.

mydei who is ever the warrior, ever the one to weather the storm has hands like one would expect; there lay thin scars from youth, split knuckles and well worn callouses over his hands that speak of his character. these are hands that know violence. these are hands that are hard and strong and unwavering. and yet.. to hold his hand is to cradle his hardness, it is to bolster his strength like kindling to a fire or gasoline and a match. it is to let him pull you into his ribcage and make a home for you of his own skeleton, it is to be his blood and muscle and his heart. because what is a warrior without a worthy cause, a worthy reason to be strong?

to be graced by aglaea, to merely gaze upon her visage is already a beauty to be consumed of- to get closer, to feel the softness of her hands and the croon of her voice is an implosion. often, holding her hands leads to conversations that leave you levitating- knowledge shared between two lovers, whispers on the wind and sweet as morning dew. sometimes the knowledge is monotonous, or spellbinding or even a tad ridiculous; yet it always sears itself into your skin, embeds like hooks and has you strung up like a puppet on strings. to hold her hand is to languish in her beauty, in her passion and her drive you simply be who she is.

notes; sigh.. i got back into hsr again (i want mydei & anaxa & thank GOD i have a guaranteed character) and i wanted to post something! idk if half of these are coherent or for any of the characters fully, but like, it’s something :’) i took inspo from this i did for ff16 a while ago^ i can do more characters if they’re wanted in terms of hsr, just let me know!

© bloodrelationsofheavenandearth 2025 ☁︎

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader Epilogue

"You're getting a vasectomy." Your face screws up in pain, and he sweeps his palm over your damp forehead.

"Okay, mama."

"I'm serious. We're done." Your nurse glances between the two of you with a small smile.

"Alright, are we ready?"

"No," you hiss between clenched teeth, "no, I changed my mind. I want a c-section." You twist his fingers, turning his wrist counter-clockwise, and he bites his tongue. He's never realized how strong your grip is until today.

"You can do it," She encourages and you shake your head, tears on your waterline.

"I c-can't." You groan, turning your face towards his, and he cups your cheek, wiping back and forth.

"You can sweetheart, I know you can. You've been through hell and back, right?" Your lower lip trembles, and then you start shaking, tensing with a contraction.

"Push." She instructs, and even though you're still shaking your head, you listen, curling around your belly as he supports you behind your shoulders. "Good job. Go again."

You do, again and again, and at the top of the hour, when your doctor arrives-

your third child is born.

He's weak at the knees, holding onto the bed as she's put on your chest, screaming and covered in god knows what, but he doesn't think he's seen anything more incredible. More beautiful.

His moon, and another star.

Pyxis. The mariner's compass. 

"Hey baby girl," you're crying and he presses his forehead to your temple, watching as you help rub her down, trying to keep himself under control, trying to swallow his tears.

"She's perfect." There's still a lot of people around, the doctor is still between your legs, nurses disconnecting things, reattaching things, doing who knows what, but in this moment, it's only the three of you. "You did amazing, mama."

"So did you," you look up at him, "good job on not fainting." He kisses you, and cups the back of Pyxis' head. The baby has a blanket over her now, cuddled up on your chest, and he strokes her cheek. "Hey Pyx. Happy Birthday." You sniffle.

"Happy birthday baby."

"Finally managed to show up together at the birth of our kid." You joke, sitting up in the hospital bed, opening your mouth, waiting. He picks another piece of sushi up and deposits in on your tongue. You chew thoughtfully. "Though I guess Nix kind of counts, since I was technically present, you know?"

"I don't count it." He places is thumb in the baby's tiny hand, and her little fingers curl around it. "She's so beautiful."

"I know." She makes a scratchy, growling noise and you rock her a little, settling her back into sleep. You peek at him, and open your mouth again. He smiles. He'd feed you every day, if you let him, especially right now since both your hands are full of Pyx. Just the sight of you, sitting in the bed, holding his baby, makes his heart pound, and he can't help himself from leaning over the bed, pulling you and her into his chest without a word. "I love you," you mumble into his shirt, and he closes his eyes. Thanks the universe for that night in the bar. Thanks whoever was responsible for you being there, thanks heaven and hell for giving him you.

For giving him everything.

"I love you too."

[carnalcrows]

SHUT UP AND LISTEN

genre: smut

pairing: sang-woo x top male reader

CW: unprotected sex, spit as lube, sub top reader, creampie, semi- public sex, a little gaslighting?

word count: 1.1k

The tension had been building for days.

Every time Sang-woo made a move, you were right there, questioning him, challenging him, getting in the way of his plans like you had some kind of moral compass that hadn’t already been crushed under the weight of this hellhole.

It was infuriating.

And tonight was the final straw.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Sang-woo muttered under his breath, voice low and tight.

“Yeah? And you do?” you shot back, arms crossed. “You think I’m just gonna sit here and nod while you throw other people under the bus?”

“We don’t have a choice,” Sang-woo snapped.

“We do. You just don’t like the options.”

His jaw clenched. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, frustration simmering just under the surface. He took a slow, measured breath like he was trying to keep his composure—but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

Finally, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply.

“Alright,” he said, voice eerily calm. “There’s only one way to do this.”

Before you could process what was happening, Sang-woo grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward the bathroom.

You scoffed, yanking against his grip. “Oh, so now you’re kidnapping me?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, shoving open the door and pulling you inside. The room was dim, the flickering fluorescent light buzzing overhead as the heavy scent of mildew and sweat clung to the air.

He didn’t stop until you were backed up against the stall door, his hands gripping your shirt as he pressed closer. His breath was warm, uneven.

“What the hell is your problem?” you asked, heart pounding—not with fear, but with something else.

“My problem?” Sang-woo repeated, his voice dropping into something lower, darker. His hands curled into your collar, tugging you just a little closer. “You. You don’t listen. You always get in my way. You—”

He cut himself off, nostrils flaring as he stared at you like you were the most infuriating thing he’d ever seen.

And then, he kissed you.

It was sudden—like he’d lost whatever battle had been raging in his head. His lips crashed against yours, rough and frustrated, like he was pouring every ounce of pent-up aggression into it.

Your brain barely had time to catch up before your body reacted, hands flying to his waist as you yanked him down onto your lap.

Sang-woo let out a small, surprised noise before adjusting, his knees pressing into the seat on either side of your thighs. His hands fisted into your shirt like he hated how much he wanted this.

The kiss deepened.

It was messy, feverish—impatient. Teeth catching on lips, tongues tangling in a battle for control neither of you were willing to fully surrender. His fingers curled into your hair, gripping tight enough to make your breath hitch. You dug your fingers into his waist, dragging him closer, pressing him flush against you until there was barely any space left between you.

Sang-woo exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head just enough to slot his mouth over yours perfectly. His breath was warm against your lips, his hands slipping to your shoulders, pressing down, keeping you in place as he dominated the kiss.

You could feel his frustration in every movement—the way he kissed you harder whenever you made a noise, the way his fingers dug into your skin like he was grounding himself.

You didn’t mind.

Hell, you welcomed it.

A sharp bite to your lower lip made you groan, and Sang-woo pulled back just enough to smirk against your mouth. “Tch. Thought you liked talking,” he muttered, his voice low and slightly breathless.

“You—” You barely got the word out before he kissed you again, swallowing whatever comeback you had.

It was intoxicating.

“If you're going to mess up with my plans, at least be useful to me now”, the older man grunts before shifting his position slightly to yank your pants down.

You hissed as the cold air hit your cock, standing erect. It was weeping, beads of precum dripping from the head.

Sangwoo wordlessly shimmied down his pants and boxers, before prodding two fingers at your mouth.

“Suck.”

You complied, swirling the digits around with your tongue, never losing eye contact with the other man.

When he felt like his fingers were slick enough, he removed them from your lips with a pop, before angling himself differently and pressing his fingers at his hole.

He held tight onto your shoulder with his other hand as he worked on loosening himself up. Your hands were at his hips, but your mind was… well– not in the room.

He removed his fingers from his hole, and brought both hands to your shoulders, positioning himself right on top of your cock before sinking down on it.

Your breath hitched, he was so tight– and warm. You were in absolute bliss. Sangwoo hissed at the stretch has he settled down all the way till your hilt. His grip on your shoulders tightened as he started moving up and down on your cock.

You were overwhelmed with sensation, the cramped stall, the way his nails dug into your shoulders, his glasses that were almost falling off his face, but god– he looked absolutely delectable.

You lifted one hand from his waist and pushed his glasses up gently. He looked at you in surprise– his movements stuttering for a quick second before he resumed his pace, his goal solely to reach his own orgasm.

He felt it coming, and without warning, he released on your shirt, back slightly arching and one hand going to cover his mouth– he didn’t want to get caught, not like this.

You came soon after, the tightness and warmth of his gummy walls taking it out of you. You weren’t as strong as you initially thought, you couldn’t lift him off you, so you had to release in him, painting his walls a pearly white. 

He looked at you with surprise, flinching as the warmth entered him, but his shoulders relaxed as his head sunk into the crook of your neck, resting from the exhaustion.

You had no idea how long you were tangled up like that, breathless and feverish, gripping at each other like the world outside didn’t exist—

Until the door creaked.

A voice.

“Wait… what the hell?”

You froze.

Sang-woo froze.

Slowly, you both turned your heads to see Gi-hun and Ali standing in the doorway, wide-eyed, mouths slightly open in sheer, unfiltered shock.

Silence.

More silence.

Then—

“I—” Ali started, blinking rapidly. “I think we should go.”

“Yeah. Yep. Good idea,” Gi-hun agreed, already backing up.

The door swung shut behind them, leaving you and Sang-woo in complete silence.

Sang-woo let out a long breath through his nose, lips slightly swollen, hair mussed. Then, without looking at you, he muttered, “This is your fault.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, smirking. “Sure, dude.”

He sighed. “Shut up.”

But he still didn’t move from your lap.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[marvelousels]

oh fuck you! | 1

authors note — (pt 2 here!) my bad i just felt like writing this 😞plus this is absolute shit I haven’t written in months, manifesting my skills will come back I hope 🙏

pairings — caitlyn x fem!reader 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

mistakes like this — prelow playing!

CAITLYN could tell you were mad—anyone could for this absolute reason. It was in the way your shoulders tensed tightly, the way you wouldn’t even meet her eyes. And honestly? You had every right to be. Caitlyn didn’t blame you for it, she rather despised herself for this too.

She was quite conflicted at who she wanted. You or Vi? The thought spun in her head like a broken compass, never pointing in one clear direction and it was driving her mad.

And tonight, with you standing there looking the way you did—like you were carved out of starlight— it only made things worse. How was she supposed to think straight when you made it so hard to breathe?

She wanted to say something, to beg you to let her explain, but what was there to say? Words wouldn’t fix this, and she didn’t even have the right ones to try. Anything she said would sound hollow, an excuse rather than an answer. And wasn’t that worse? To throw more empty words at the mess she’d made?

Still, her hand didn’t let go of yours. It clung there, desperate and unyielding, even as her mind screamed at her to let you walk away, cause she’s fucking everything up. But she couldn’t—not yet.

“Can’t you just give me more time?” she asked finally, her voice quiet but steady. Her eyes found yours. “Once this task with her is over, I’ll figure it out. I’ll have everything sorted, I promise.” Her eyes glistening with plead.

She paused, her grip tightening just slightly, as if afraid you’d slip through her fingers before she could say more. “I know it’s unfair to ask you to wait, but I… I just need you to trust me. Just a little longer.”

“for me to just get hurt?” you say still not meeting cait’s eyes, she sighed as she looked away and back at you, you really had a perfect point and caitlyn couldn’t argue back. She knew there’d be a possibility where you’d get hurt if she chose Vi.

“please understand where im coming from, please.”

caitlyn pleaded her grip on your wrist still quite tight and you just abruptly pulled your wrist off her grip and turned around now your back against her.

“caitlyn, I’ve been here for you your entire life and this is how I get treated in return? seriously?” you scoffed in disbelief.

She frowned and rolled her eyes in response “yeah but that doesn’t make me really obligated to just choose you does it?” she said quite bitterly.

You chuckle and face her “oh you’re so right! don’t choose me. don’t choose me who was always there for you.” you kept ranting about all the things you’ve done for her and abruptly stopped and just gazed at caitlyn, some slight hint of sadness in your eyes.

“why—not me? cait, why not me?”

she wanted the earth to just suck her up and make her disappear cause her heart now felt like it had shattered, oh this moment was the end, genuinely.

“y/n— I-“ she couldn’t even speak, you just wanted to kill yourself at that exact moment.

“oh fuck you, caitlyn.” your voice breaking while you said that and tears filling your eyes, your throat hurting. Oh and how clichè, it was raining. Perfect.

[vatelixx]

Ton 618,

S3-S4ish Spencer Reid x Reader (no mention of gender).

Fluff (no angst… surprisingly). Autistic Spencer (present in all of my one shots bcos it’s canon to me).

──── domesticated time inbetween cases & blind adoration.

Warnings: literally none (who am i???), brief mention of past trauma (Hankel).

w.c: 1.5k

— They’re both nerds who are a little too invested in space. Light biblical imagery & Greek mythology references. My writing has been sufficiently domesticated (dw i’ll be back to angst soon, war is not over.)

Loosely inspired by:

a/n: just giving him what he deserved to have.

────────────

For the first time, in a long time, there is little residing in Spencer’s mind. Beyond warm hands, and soft skin, and the pulse of someone else’s body. Obsessed is one word for it, a textbook definition that can’t truly articulate the ache he derives from the thought of you. Obsessed, fatefully ruined, if this is the work of divine intervention, then consider him, once obstinate in his atheism, entirely, profusely devout.

He’s still thinking about you. What’s new? The memory of your lips pressed against his, the tattooed promise of more, more because it will never be enough. He wants, god when has he ever wanted? Life before appears bleak now, black and white. Academia, pursuits of knowledge, lonely nights and the transient fear of forever being stuck in a cyclical cycle of loneliness.

You think he’s pretty. He smiles on the way home from work, Morgan pressing him, because ‘kid you can’t be that happy for no reason.’ There is a reason, a monumental, life-altering one that waits for him at the door. He likes that, the domesticity. He’s never asked for much, content in his mishaps of intimacy, always baring the weight because he wants needs to be good. For the people around him, for the home he’s carved into his skin, for anything that starves off the decades of isolation.

When he threads his arms around your waist, leaning all of his weight into the contact, you both go stumbling back.

He’s soft. Of course he’s endured more than anyone should, the sharp edge of addiction, the stifling weight of a morbid job that has him fixated, hook line and sinker, compass pointing South every time he’s thrown into the field. But for all of that, he still obtains naive, blinding light.

He burns. Or more so, he warms.

“Hi, hi. Sorry— that wasn’t very eloquent. Can I try again?” He’s halfway out of the door; you have to lean forward, grip his wrist, tug him closer, “Okay.” He laughs, “I’ll take that as a no?”

He’s certain your name is imprinted onto his heart. Carved just for you alone. There is no one else. There could never be anyone else.

That night he falls asleep on your shoulder. Hands interlocked, body splayed out across stressed leather, abandoning his book for the soft drab of safety. There’s a tangled wire of headphones draped between you, knotted further when you pull him, half conscious to bed. He follows mindlessly.

You spend his allocated time off as recluses, abandoning civilisation. No sunlight, his apartment is permanently drenched in molten light. Scattered lamps, balancing off stacked books and messy surfaces. Every morning he’ll wake you with butterfly kisses and the promise of a breakfast he will consistently burn. He’s content, over the moon, to forget the world around him. For it to just be, just the two of you.

Today, as usual, you eat his charred attempt at food. He’s trying, he’s definitely trying, even if the end result is… a health risk. Still, you eat it regardless, without complaint, you eat it.. and then he’s just… kissing you senseless in the middle of his kitchen. Cold tiled floor, and mismatched socks. Fuck, he loves you, he’s never loved someone the way he loves you.

“I’ve been dreaming about falling into black holes recently,” he says when you cradle his face. Pretty features besotted with the sight of you. “Weird. Kinda cool. Please don’t eat anymore of my food.”

“No promises,” you grin, and he has the audacity to pout.

Because that’s not fair, burnt food can cause carcinogens to form, to obstruct digestion and metabolism. “My cooking is going to kill you. Your death will be on my hands. The grief will be immeasurable. I’ll become a hermit, never leave my apartment again. Don’t do that to me.” hands wrapped around your wrists, he preserves the contact. “Please don’t do that to me.”

“Well only because you said please—“

He sighs, audibly, ”You just died, you’re dead, and the only thing you can focus on is a word. A word I very generously repeat, at any given moment.” — he’s polite, he will use his manners, and he will unceremoniously echo please please please to obtain even a fraction of you.

He’s senseless. Too far gone.

You take his hand, press it against your heart. “Still alive. I think?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “For now.”

“You’re dramatic—“

He cuts you off, “Did you know one of the largest black holes ever recorded is 66 billion times the mass of the sun? Ton 618.” Pausing to kiss you (a vital necessity), his hands play aimlessly with your hair, strands sliding through the crevices of his fingers. “Imagine falling into that—“ kiss, “You would die obviously,” kiss, “But it would be a pretty cool death.” Kiss. 

Time dilation, worm holes, cosmic demise, you. Sigh— you.

“It would take over 10 billion years for its light to reach earth.” you say, and yeah. Okay. Just casually recite facts to him. That’s okay. He won’t melt, because he’s a rational, dignified, highly-cerebral adult.

Lie. You always know when to talk, sometimes, sometimes, he gets so lost in thought-loops and spirals of intellectual confusion that you have to draw him back to the present. He disintegrates. Every. Single. Time. One intelligent word and the threads of him are woven tightly around your finger.

”You’re stealing my job. And—and you’re doing it better than me. I’m taking a vow of silence. No more words. I’m becoming a monk. Except, maybe without the celibacy?”

“Whore—“

“For you? Always.” he says, knocking his shoulder into yours, “You’re missing the important aspect to this. Don’t discard my threat.”

“Spence, if you ever stop reciting random facts to me at..” you scramble to check the time, early morning, it’s hard to differentiate the hours when they all bleed into one convoluted mess of intimacy. “At 9AM, we will have serious issues. I might get HR involved.“

He’ll ramble about the laws of thermodynamics. Dedicating hours to the philosophical differences between determinism and free-will. You’ll call him a nerd, and he’ll laugh, muffling your protests with his mouth. It’s routine. Something to fall back onto.

 “Hey! Don’t drag HR into our domestic affairs! That’s—“ he interrupts himself to kiss you, again. Just because he can.

Once he’s satisfied that his lips will ache for the next millennium, he continues. “Anyway. I think we should get old together, and then, when we’re losing our minds, and we can’t tell the days apart, we just.. take a casual trip to space, travel through Ton 618. I’d be scared, so I’d hold your hand when we fall. Getting sucked into eternal darkness would be an acceptable way to go.”

He laughs, “You know, as long as you’re by my side, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, before holding out your pinky. “Deal?”

He feeds his own through yours, “Deal.” 

Yeah, just promise eternal devotion to him. That wont have any lasting, fatal effects on his sanity. It’s not like he’ll cling to it for the remainder of his ephemeral existence.

Later that night, when you’re draped in limbs, skin pressed against skin, you sigh against the warm slope of his neck. “You’re reciting the periodic table in your sleep again..”

It’s a habit. A permanent, engrained idiosyncratic that he’s endured since adolescence. He stirs awake, turning to face you in the hazy light. Features swollen, sleep-soft and pretty. “Was I?” He murmurs, finding the audacity to ask, “What element was i on?”

Because that’s clearly essential.

“Osmium,” you say, tucking strands of tousled brown behind his ear. “Gonna continue?”

“Mhm— yeah. Iridium. One of my favourites, thank god you woke me up before I got to it.”

You humour his tendencies; you’re nothing if not a condoner of his weird quirks. “Discovered by Smithson Tennat in 1803.” is your response, “The name comes from Greek Mythology, Iris. Two stable Isotopes, 191 and 193.”

There you go again. Fracturing his mind, and stealing his information before it can fall from bruised lips.

He thinks you might be cut from the same cloth. He thinks he was probably just made for you. “I like the way you say Isotopes.” He mutters, “Like the way you kiss. You always take my top lip.”

There’s no epiphany. No sharp blade, dragging, penetrating, skin, forcing you to confront stifled feelings. They’ve always been there. Red string of fate, Plato’s Symposium: Aristophanes’ account of the ‘other half.’ Hero and Leander. It doesn’t matter. There’s only the here and now.

He does this thing. Often. Where he’ll moan into your open-mouth. Fingers sunk deep into your hair, keeping you impossibly tethered to him. You’re not sure what planet he fell from, but you’re glad they deported him, if only for your selfish benefit of circuiting around him.

“I’m in love with you,” the admittance is easy. Maybe the words have always been waiting for you to verbalise, bated breath, inexorably interlinked. Maybe they’re long overdue. Something pleading to be let out. But, maybe, it matters more to wait until this, when everything is soft and untouchable. Fresh, untainted. He’d like to live in your skin.

Here’s the thing, Spencer always thought he would be the first one to say it. Reciprocation was always a fantastical hypothetical, something he could only blindly hope for. But, to have his illimitable feelings, in their extensive capacity, matched? That’s— more than he ever thought he deserved.

He presses his forehead to yours, “Saying ‘i’m in love with you’ doesn’t measure up, doesn’t articulate even a fraction of what I feel for you.”

He’s pretty sure he could die right here, in this one fragile moment, and be happy with everything he’s accomplished.

[peachdues]

someone get a crowbar and pry these two off each other jfc

MDNI. Explicit sexual content.

COMPASS MASTERLIST HERE

Whenever you’re around, Sanemi has a hard time keeping his body to himself.

Your physical relationship is intense, especially throughout those first few weeks. Sanemi can hardly keep his hands off you, and you’re no better. Not even the layers of each other’s clothing is enough to dissuade you, when the mood strikes. All it takes is one brush of his hand against your waist, or a touch that lingers slightly too long, and the two of you are on each other like a pair of spring rabbits.

Naturally, the fact that the two of you have to sneak around to a degree only further excites you both. It’s an extra layer of exhilaration, the feeling that what the two of you do is somehow forbidden, and that makes makes it all the harder to resist sneaking into corners of the bookstore to have it out.

And have it out you do.

Never in his life has Sanemi had as much sex — or consistently gotten off as quickly — as he has with you. Maybe that’s because he’s with his dream girl and he’s so in love with you that it makes him stupid. Or, maybe Sanemi has just finally found someone whose sex drive outpaces his own. Either way, he’s thrilled about it.

And the more time you spend exploring one another, the more your confidence grows. No longer is he the only one initiating; by July, you have no qualms about telling him exactly what it is you want — what you need.

Like that afternoon he’d managed to sneak over to the bookstore. It’d been about five days since he’d last seen you, and truly, he hadn’t walked into the store with ulterior motives. He’d only wanted to see you, maybe steal a kiss or two before his title reminded him that before he was yours, he was the Corps’. All he’d wanted was a little taste of your love; of what waited for him when he could finally stash away his crowbar and pretend he was anyone else.

Naturally, what he wanted and what you had planned were two very different things.

The moment you’d laid eyes on him, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and towed him to the back storeroom. Once safely inside, you’d pushed him down, forced him to sit atop a stack of shipping crates, and crawled right onto his lap.

“Need you inside me, baby,” you cooed against his ear, rolling your hips against his with a breathy, impatient little whine that never failed to drive him up the fucking wall with desire. “Need you to fill me up.”

He hadn’t been able to respond; you wouldn’t allow it, not when your fingers were already loosening his belt buckle. Besides, a strap of your sundress had fallen down your shoulder — what was he supposed to do, not suck your pretty tit right into his mouth? How else could he have smothered his groan when you finally sunk down on his throbbing cock, and began riding him without mercy? He’s only a man, and a fucking weak one at that, as the last few weeks had made clear. Especially when it comes to you.

He came embarrassingly fast that time, only just managing to bring you over the edge with him before he unloaded inside you, fast and hard.

“More”, you’d demanded, even before he’d finished spurting his release in you. “More.”

That’s another thing: you love him cumming in you. And he’s helpless to watch as years of common sense and diligent avoidance of the consequences of unprotected sex flies right out the damn window. Whatever higher level of reasoning he may have had, it’s fucking useless when he’s balls-deep inside you, feeling you squeeze and milk him for every last drop.

Besides, he can’t help but be entranced by the face you make every time he fills you up; it’s nothing short of pure ecstasy, and it’s consistently the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He hadn’t had much choice other than to obey your command. So, still buried deep inside you, he’d lifted you up and walked you across the storeroom to one of the sturdier supply shelves, and pressed you against it. And then he fucked you again like the dutiful boyfriend he is.

Thank god you’ve somehow ended up prescribed what can only be the most elite form of birth control.

He’d asked you, once, to take a pregnancy test earlier on, in a moment of anxious weakness. The idea of fucking raw as often as the two of you did with only a small pill to prevent any accidents was foreign to him, and Sanemi had made his resistance toward kids well known to you.

You’d agreed without hesitation or judgment.

Since then, he’s insisted on paying for your prescription. It’s only fair. Besides, it does help you with your monthly period cramps — he never wants something as trivial as cost to prevent you from getting the care he knows you desperately need.

But, god help him the day you ever run out, or somehow, the market for birth control dries up. Sanemi knows the chances he has of falling back on condoms or pulling out are slim to none.

Like he said: he’s fucking weak.

[gguk-n]

Soulmate AU Masterlist

Inspired by the multiple posts on soulmate au's I've read over the years!!

Soulmarked (Franco Colapinto x Reader) The first words uttered by your soulmate are etched on a part of your skin for life.

Silent Connections (Oscar Piastri x Reader) You can hear your soulmate's thoughts. But what if one of them speaks before they think.

Fate Accelerates (Lewis Hamilton x Reader) There is a timer on your wrist counting down to when you meet your soulmate.

Hands off (Lando Norris x Reader) Your body has soulmate marks where they will touch you for the first time.

Smooth Operator (Carlos Sainz Jr x Reader) You hear a song when your soulmate is close by and the volume increases as they get close like a game of hot n cold.

The One (Charles Leclerc x Reader) Your soulmate has always been by your side because they were always your soulmate.

The moment (Zhou Guanyu x Reader) You only see colours after you meet your soulmate.

Dreamer's compass (Max Verstappen x Reader) You get to see glimpses of your soulmate in your dreams.

Soul's tapestry (Yuki Tsunoda x Reader) You get glimpses into your soulmate's memories, which feels like deja vu.

In every life (Ollie Bearman x Reader) You remember your past lives with your soulmate.

When stars align (Logan Sargeant x Reader) You are meant to meet the one, no matter what.

Linked by pain (Lance Stroll x Reader) You can feel your soulmate's pain.