#you don’t understand how much he means to me and how much i love him

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

A judgmental officer’s wife sneers slightly as she sizes up Price’s younger girlfriend—dressed in worn denim and a fitted tee, clearly out of place among the polished military spouses. The woman asks with faux innocence: “So… why are you with him? I mean, he’s old enough to be your father. Don’t you want someone who’s, I don’t know, less complicated?”

Price’s girl doesn’t flinch. She sets down her water bottle, meets the woman’s gaze, and answers without hesitation—calm but with a raw kind of loyalty in her voice:

“Because no one’s ever loved me like he does. He’s not easy, no. He’s hard as hell, actually. He’s stubborn, closed-off, rough around the edges—and sometimes I have to remind him how to let someone in. But he’s also the most loyal man I’ve ever met. He’d burn the world down for the people he loves, and he’s never once made me feel like I had to earn his protection. He just gave it without question. He doesn’t do romance the way people expect. But he notices everything—like when I’m overwhelmed, or when I’m pretending I’m okay and I’m not. He won’t say much, but he’ll fix it quietly, in the background. The kind of love he gives—it’s not soft, but it’s steady. And that’s rare. So yeah, he’s toxic sometimes. A lot of history. A lot of ghosts. But he never lies to me. He never makes me feel small. And no one—not a single person—has ever made me feel safer or more seen. That’s why I’m with him.”

She shrugs, tone even, unfazed. “If that’s too complex for you to understand, that’s fine. It’s not for you to get—it’s for me to live.”

The silence that follows says everything.

[nadvs]

ok so yk how in power play they’re gonna be apart for a while or atleast not see eachother everyday… phone sex blurb??🫠🫠🫠

like he initiates it and she doesn’t understand at first and then he guides her thru urgghhh i love them sm😭

ohhh you ATE with this idea 😌 blurb set in the power play series. FILTHY smut and lots of dirty talk. 18+!

Rafe’s deep voice buzzes through your phone as your head rests on your pillow, your bedroom plunged in darkness.

He’s telling you about his day as you play with a loose string on your pillowcase. You talk to your boyfriend every night, but no amount of calls can fill the emptiness sitting in your chest from how much you miss him.

It’s been a couple of weeks since the school year ended, and it’s been surprisingly hard to schedule time to see each other in person. You’re glad that at least you can talk like this.

“So, you had fun today, huh?” he murmurs. “I liked those pictures.”

You think back to all the photos you’d sent him from your day at the beach with your friends, mostly scenery, some shots of you in the car and on the sand.

“Wasn’t that sunset so pretty?” you say.

You hear Rafe breathe a chuckle on the other end.

“What?” you laugh. “It was.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies. “I wasn’t really looking at that.”

“What do you mean?”

He chuckles again, staring up at the ceiling from his bedroom two hundred miles away, able to clearly picture the curious look he knows is on your face.

“I was looking at you.”

You smile to yourself in the dark.

“Really?”

“I don’t get you,” he says with a resigned sigh. “You still don’t see how fucking hot you are.”

His words make your muscles loosen, warmth filling you.

“You think I looked hot?” you say.

“Baby,” he breathes. “That one of you by the water? I got so hard just lookin’ at it.”

The warmth grows hotter and you bite your lip as you imagine how big and strong and good he looks naked, how much it spurs you on to feel his growing cock pressed against you when all you’ve done is share a couple of innocent kisses.

Thinking about it, about him being turned on from so far away with no chance of doing something about it makes the sexual frustration you’ve been feeling even worse.

“I really, really wish you were here,” you tell him, your voice dripping with longing.

Rafe smirks. After your first time together, you two were at it nonstop, the knowledge that soon you’d both be moving off of campus hanging over you.

As expected, it wasn’t enough. He craves you every hour, minute, second.

Heat pools deep in his stomach as he thinks yet again about how you looked in your photos, how much skin you were showing, how if he was there with you, he would last seconds before rushing to find a place to get you alone.

“Pretend I am,” he rasps.

“What?”

Rafe veins tighten with anticipation.

“What would happen if I was in your bed right now?”

Your core coils, breath hitching as you feel the tone of the conversation sink into something deeper, more intense.

“You know what would happen,” you say with a soft, shy chuckle, enticement and arousal tangling together deep within you.

“You nervous, baby?” Rafe teases, the smile in his voice apparent.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“You want me to tell you how?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Put your hand under your shirt,” he instructs. “You wearing a bra?”

“No.”

The simple, monosyllabic answer makes his cock press against his boxers, already so hard it hurts.

“Damn,” he exhales, strained. “Alright. Tell me how it feels.”

You palm at your chest, squeezing and pinching, shutting your eyes as you imagine him with you, doing it instead.

“Soft. Warm,” you say quietly. You swallow before you speak again. “My nipples are hard.”

Rafe can’t control himself. He lowers his hand, palming himself over his shorts, thinking about how much he loves to get your chest wet with his kisses.

“I miss sucking them so much,” he rasps.

Every inch of you tenses up with arousal, but your mind loosens, sinking into comfort as you slowly buck your hips.

“You’d be doing that if you were here,” you say, then let out a groan of frustration. “Your hands are so much bigger than mine. I can’t even pretend it’s you. I can’t touch myself the way you can.”

“That’s so fucking hot,” he breathes. “You like it when I play with your tits?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“You like when I get rough?” he provokes you. “Squeeze hard. The way I do.”

He can tell by the way your breath hitches that you obey.

“Good girl,” slips out of his mouth, and it makes your head spin with euphoria. “That feel nice?”

“Yes.” You swallow, your throat dry, picturing him in his bed, touching himself. “Is your hand…”

“Is my hand where?” Rafe teases, wanting to hear you say it. “Don’t be shy.”

“On your cock,” you finish your sentence, nerves radiating through you.

“Fuck, I love hearing you talk like that.”

It spurs confidence in you, a reminder of how much you get to him, of how much power you have over him.

“Answer me,” you whisper. “Is it?”

“Over my shorts,” he replies. “I’d do anything to be inside you right now. Tell me how wet you are.”

Your hand drags down your body, into your panties, your fingers pressing over your heat.

“I want you here so bad,” you shudder. “I feel like I’m dripping.”

He groans and scrambles to finally push his hand into his boxers, gripping the head of his cock, precome already dribbled out.

“I’d look at you while I do it,” he murmurs. “Like I always do.”

You picture it, his habit of locking eyes with you right as he’s pushing into you. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you trace circles over your clit, letting out soft moans that start to slowly get breathier.

“You getting close?”

“Yes,” you say, your grip growing harder. “I’m so wet my hand is slipping.”

Rafe rolls his eyes back in need, in anguish, in such painful desire. He strokes himself faster, imagining how hard he’d be pounding into you if he could.

“Fuck, baby, you’re good at this,” he whispers.

The praise makes you feel like you’re floating as the knot in your stomach tightens.

“Say my name when you come,” he tells you, drunk on the idea of being responsible for the orgasm that’s about to rush through you.

You listen to Rafe’s instructions, your voice shuddering and breathy as you whisper his name, pleasure zipping through every nerve.

He comes seconds later, the groan on the other end of the phone making goosebumps prick your skin.

His hot come covers his hand, rubbing until he’s too stimulated, eyes squeezed shut as he listens to the sound of your heavy, relieved breaths.

It takes a moment to tumble down from the high, both of you gasping, elated.

“I miss you so damn much,” he tells you, sweat glistening over his skin, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Me, too,” you whisper through your shallow breaths. “What am I supposed to do? Cuddle myself now?”

Rafe chuckles tiredly, the lack of you cutting through him.

“Fall asleep on the phone with me,” he tells you. “It’s the closest we can get.”

And you do, satisfied, telling yourself every sleep is one day closer to seeing him again.

[blasphemyandbackshots]

who would be into creampies in jujutsu kaisen?

Satoru—“Why would I pull out when you were to take it?”—Gojo

Gojo doesn’t even pretend to pull out. He never has. Never will. The second he’s buried in you, the thought of finishing anywhere but inside makes his eye twitch. It’s like his brain short-circuits unless he knows he’s pumping you full. All warm, wet, messy and dripping. He’ll groan into your neck, hips jerking as he empties deep in your cunt. And then stay there, refusing to move. He’ll whisper, “Feel that? That’s all mine. Look how full you are, pretty thing,” while using his cursed energy to hold every last drop inside you. He doesn’t just want to creampie you. He wants you leaking for hours. He wants your thighs trembling as you walk down the hall. He wants everyone to see it.

And if it starts dripping out too soon, he’ll push it back in with his fingers or cock, just to feel you clench around it again.

Ryomen—“Be grateful I’m blessing your womb.”—Sukuna

Sukuna doesn’t ask. He doesn’t warn. He fucks. And when he cums, it’s hard and brutal, forced so deep inside you it hurts. Like he’s trying to claim your soul with it (or breed your cervix directly). He’ll growl through clenched teeth, holding your hips in place as he spills into you, chest heaving with satisfaction. If you so much as whimper, he’ll shove you back down and snarl, “Don’t waste it. I didn’t give you a choice, don’t act like you have one now.” He likes to watch you afterwards—used, filled, ruined. If it drips, he’ll slap your thigh and shove his fingers in. Almost lazy about it like plugging a leaking vessel.

He might even do it again. And again. And again. Until there’s nothing left in him and you’re too full to move.

Toji—“You want me to pull out? Hah. Too late.”—Fushiguro

Toji isn’t the ‘pull out’ type. You know it. He knows it. The second you’re under him—panting, begging, back arching—he’s already decided exactly where he’s going to finish. His thrusts grow harder, rougher, more desperate the closer he gets. And when he finally cums, it’s deep. He groans something low and filthy, like “That’s it, take all of me, let me fill you up, baby,” as his hips grind into yours and his cock twitching inside you. Toji stays there afterward, heavy on top of you, all smug and breathless. He pulls out slow just to watch the mess leak out.

Sometimes he pushes it back in with two fingers, only to hear the squelch. Sometimes he fucks it back in.

Kento—“If I cum inside, I take responsibility.”—Nanami

Nanami treats creampies like a sacred privilege. He doesn’t do it unless he means it. But once he starts, he can’t stop. He’ll fuck you so deep, slow, careful at first. But the second you moan, “Inside, please,” his control snaps like a thread. He buries himself in you, trembling slightly, breath ragged as he fills you with everything he’s got. And then he holds you there. Pressed tight against his chest and still inside, his voice low in your ear as he murmurs, “You’re mine now. You understand that?” He’s not loud. He’s not rough. He’s just so deep, so full of heat and need that you feel branded from the inside out. Afterwards he helps you clean up, but part of him always wants to see the mess he left in you.

Sometimes, when no one’s around, he’ll ask you to show him. Just for a second. Just to remember.

Choso—“I want all of me inside you. Always.”—Kamo

Choso creampies you like it’s the only way he knows how to love. He holds your face, whispers that you’re beautiful, his forehead pressed to yours as he grinds deeper and deeper until he finally spills inside, voice breaking on your name. He doesn’t fuck you to cum. He fucks you to connect. And when he fills you up, he wraps his arms around you and says things like, “I want you to keep it. All of it. I want it to stay inside you.” You feel his cock twitch inside you, his body shaking and breath hitched. If you try to get up too soon, he gently pushes you back down. “Just stay like this,” he says. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you holding me.” He’s soft, but he’s also so possessive in the quietest way.

He’ll clean you up later, but not before staring, blushing and maybe fingering some back in while whispering “One more time, just one more.”

[whambamsami]

private show pt.2

summary: what happens in the private showroom, stays in the private showroom...stripper!bucky pt.2

pt. 1

warnings: 18+ language, alcohol, almost smut! i promise theyre gonna fuck like bunnies in the next part of this lmao

note: if this doesnt flow super well im sorry, i didnt proofread and i did rush it a bit! i also dont totally understand how tag lists work so forgive me if i messed that up too haha, small chance i delete this and try to make it a bit cleaner!

taglist!: @sebastians-love @marianastudiesart @bowscale @staley83 @opheliabbarnes @hhyukasworld @unicornqueen05 @defn0tonyourleft <3

If the bouncer noticed your nerves, he didn’t let on. He just pulled back the plush red curtain and waved you in. 

You stepped inside before you could decide against it. 

The door shuts with a soft click.

The room smells like leather and cologne. Dim lights flicker warm over plush velvet seating. Your heart’s pounding in your chest. And you’re frozen where you stand.

Because in the center of the room, the man you’d seen on the stage was leaning against a pole, shirtless now, glistening faintly in the warm, low light. One silver chain resting against his collarbone, made of the same metal that made up his left arm. Tattoos dotted his chest and abs, thin black ink delicately drawing your eyes lower. A dangerous smirk on his lips. 

Bucky, they had said his name was.

Wonder if that was his real name.

“Oh.” You breathed.

His smirk turned wolfish. 

“So you’re the girlfriend,” he said, voice low and deep as he stepped closer. “Didn’t expect you to say yes.”

“...And if I had said no?” 

“Then I guess I would have had to come out there and ask in person,” he said, eyes raking over you. “And that could’ve gotten messy.”

You sputter just for a second before catching yourself.

“I- yeah. Thanks for the rescue. I really appreciate it.”

He tilted his head. “The rescue?” 

“Yeah. Saved me from my asshole boyfriend and his gross friends. I owe you.”

That made him pause for a beat. Considering. Calculating. 

Then he’s back in control like nothing happened.

“Is that what you think this is?” he smiled gently, stepping even closer.

You blink. “Um. Yeah? You got me away from Nick and made him look like a jackass. Not exactly a hard thing to do, but still-credit where credit’s due.”

Bucky laughed-low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. He had a nice laugh, you thought. 

“Sweetheart”- and you do a great job of showing how that nickname doesn’t affect you one bit, you’re sure of it- “I didn’t save you. I picked you.”

Your stomach did something traitorous as he popped the champagne, and you didn’t miss the evil glint in his eyes when the head of the bottle was swallowed by frothy foam before he could capture it with the flutes. 

He handed you a glass. 

You needed it. 

“What does that mean?” 

He leaned in, his voice dropping to something that wrapped around your spine like silk.

“It means I saw you sitting out there, looking like you were five seconds from either crying or setting the place on fire, and I figured you could use a reminder that not everyone in the room is a complete asshole.” 

Great. More pity. Just what you needed.

But then he continued.

“And I could see your thighs squeezing together when you saw me. All the way from up on the stage.”

You let out a soft breath, surprised at how much that hit you.

But he wasn’t done. 

“It also means,” he added, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind your ear, “I wasn’t gonna let some sweaty, insecure little prick keep looking at you like you were an object. Not when I know exactly how a woman should be treated, how you deserve to be treated.”

“Wow,” you breathe, almost to yourself, “you’re like… dangerously good at this.”

He grins. Like he had you right where he wanted you.

And suddenly the room around you felt like it was shrinking. You instinctively go to tug your dress down a bit, feeling overexposed. But he’s quicker, catching your hand in his own. 

“Don’t,” he murmurs, “you’re perfect like this.”

You should laugh it off. You should roll your eyes.

But you don’t.

Because the way he says it- like he means it-makes something deep inside you clench.

“I liked your show.” and it feels like a confession, like something you weren’t allowed to say out loud. 

“I know.” and you roll your eyes playfully before he cuts you off with, “So did your thighs.” 

You choke on your laugh.

“Confident, aren’t we?”

Bucky tilts his head a bit, and you can’t tell if he’s getting a better look at you or analyzing exactly where he needs to touch to make you weak.

“Don’t act shocked. You started it. Squeezing your thighs together while I was on stage? That’s flirting.”

“That’s called crossing my legs.”

“Cross them around my head next time, and we’ll call it even.”

You blink.

“Are you always this subtle?”

“Sweetheart,” he grins, “subtle gets you half the fun. You want subtle, go back to your boyfriend.”

You roll your eyes. “Ex-boyfriend.”

He takes another step forward. Then another. Gently leads you to sit on the red couch, so soft it felt like you were being sucked into it. God, you didn’t even want to think about what this room would look like if you turned on a blacklight- 

He straddles your lap.

And you forget how to breathe.

His knees bracket your legs, not quite touching you. His hands rest on his own thighs, muscles flexing just slightly, forearms thick and inked. 

He’s shirtless. You were clever enough to have noticed that when you first entered, but now, up close, it was all-consuming.

The glow of the lights dances across his chest, down his stomach, and whatever oil he must have used on himself amplifies every divot of his toned body. He must have spent years eating clean and hitting the gym to get this kind of figure. Every inch of him screams control.

He looks like a god. 

“You ever had a dance like this?” he asks softly. 

You shake your head, sure that it’s the last move you’ll make before you become paralyzed forever. 

“Good,” his voice is raspy, like he’s almost whispering, “I want to be your first.”

He leans forward, lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

“And your favorite.”

Then he moves.

His hips roll slow and deep, grinding just above your center, close enough to feel the heat of him through your clothes. His hands rest on the couch on either side of your shoulders, caging you in.

“How do you want this to go, doll?” he murmured, voice low and sinful “You want me slow? Gentle?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He was close-too close. You could smell him. Feel the heat coming off his skin.

“Or…” His metal hand gripped the back of the couch behind your head. “You want me to show you what your asshole boyfriend never could?”

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

But he doesn’t need to.

Because the way he watches your reaction-how your lips part in a silent gasp-it’s like he’s memorizing you.

You exhaled shakily.

“That one.” you say before your brain can catch up to your mouth, “That one sounds- sounds good.”

“Good,” he coos, “let’s make your boyfriend nice and jealous. Show him how a woman like you deserves to be treated.”

“God, can we please not talk about my boyfriend right now?” you mutter, doing your best to keep your hands rooted at your sides like you’re cuffed there.

Not a bad idea. 

He chuckles wickedly above you.

“You’re right, pretty girl. Sweet little thing like you, and he’s taking you to a dirty place like this? Doesn’t he know what happens when you don’t take care of your things?” he coos, rolling his hips once more, closer this time, “Someone might take them away. Take better care of them. Someone like me.”

You hear a soft, pathetic whine pass your lips before you can stop yourself.

His mouth curls. 

“That’s my girl, let me hear it. Let me hear how much you want this.”

He’s licking up your neck, biting gently at your shoulder, sucking the sensitive spot where your neck and collarbone meet, nibbling at your earlobe.

“Bet he’s never touched you like this, doll. Never had you whining, begging for him, not like I do. And I haven’t even shown you my best moves.”

“What, the ones that require me to buy two drinks minimum?”

“Mmm. The ones I really want to try on you. The ones that might get me fired.”

Then he moved-really moved.

His hips were flush against yours. His abs brushed your chest as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. And then he finally brought his hips to yours.

Slow. Deep. Grinding down like he already knew exactly where you needed him most.

You gasped.

Your hands shot out on instinct, landing on his thighs, hard muscle under your palms. Just as quickly as you touched him, you pull away, internally cringing at your lack of control. 

“Sorry, I-”

“What are you sorry for, doll? Touch me all you want.” and he’s grabbing your hand in his, the vibranium arm still rooted behind your head. He brings your shaking fingers to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he gives your fingers a soft kiss, and then he’s dragging your hand down his chest, letting you feel every smooth valley and crevice of his delicious body, still rolling his hips into yours. 

Your fingers curled around his legs as he rocked into you again-slower, rougher, the friction making the growing heat between your legs grow more intense, drawing a gasp from you. 

“God, the sounds you’re making,” he growled, pressing his forehead to yours. “You ever been this wet with your clothes still on?”

“Jesus, Bucky-” and he’s back to his attack on your neck.

You’re gonna think about this later, aren’t you?” he said against your skin. “Gonna lie in bed and replay this in your head…fingers between your thighs… wishing it was me.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, rocking your hips up to meet his.

“There she is.”

You’re not even sure when it happens.

One second, Bucky’s hips are rolling slow and smooth against yours, his hands slipping beneath your dress in ways that definitely crossed some rules, his voice wrecking you in your ear.

“You feel that, baby?”, he rasps, “That’s all me. For you.”

You’re just about to cave, to beg for him to just take you right there.

Then the door slams open.

“What the fuck?”

[voidsylus]

sylus i will forever love and main you

i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus i love you sylus

yesterday didn’t even feel like it happened, i still feel so comatose over sylus part of the main branch

the lore drop, the parallels, the action scenes, the romance, my brain was on overdrive and i couldn’t sleep well

im so damn happy to arrive at his release date, im so happy to have chosen him, im so happy to spend money on him, im so happy to pick him as my endgame— im so happy to love him

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

i saw you were open for requests and I had an idea in mind‼️‼️

a shy!reader who is just a ball of sunshine and horrendously down bad for Logan, while Logan is just grumpy as shit (myb Worst!Wolverine??) and basically hates the reader. Lets just assume that they are roommates, and one night, the reader was just being nice or something and Logan absolutely snapped at them for no reason and kicked them out of the apartment. And he never realized how much he cared for them until he had to nervously wait for them to come home, praying that they are ok. (bonus points if its raining outside cuz we love angst) And ofc fluffy ending if you're up for it :)

(Absolutely fine if you choose to ignore this, i understand and also feel free to change any parts of the prompt if you feel like doing so. Love you and wish you all the best <3 ).

A/N: I HAVE A PART TWO!!!! Please tell me you want a part two 🥺As always if you like my work please like, comment, and reblog! It means the world and keeps me motivated. Thank you so much for the request, sorry it took a while for me to get to it

The apartment was always felt a little warmer when you were in it. Logan hated how quickly he noticed how cold he felt now that you were gone. You were quiet. Sweet. A little skittish, like a bird that never realized the cage was open. You said “good morning” like it was a sacred ritual and left little sticky notes reminding him to eat or drink water sometimes with doodled smiley faces that made his chest tighten.

You never took up space. You never yelled. And you never stopped being kind, even when he gave you nothing but his usual gruffness and grunted responses. You called him “Logan” like it was a soft word. Like it meant something.

And tonight, you’d offered him a cup of tea. That was it. Just a warm mug, he glanced down at it and noticed it was your favorite one. It was held in your hands, cradled so softly it seemed like you were holding pure crystal and that gentle smile graced your face like always. You’d said, “Thought you might want something to wind down. It’s chamomile.”

He snapped.

“What the hell is this, huh? You think I need you mothering me like I'm some lost cause? I’m not a damn project!” You blinked. Just once and flinched like the words physically hit you.

“N-No, I just--I didn’t mean...”

“You never mean anything, do you?” he snarled. “You’re always flutterin’ around here, bein’ nice like it’s gonna fix something. Just… leave me alone.”

Your breath caught and Logan noticed how you physically seemed smaller after his words flooded your ears. You looked like he’d struck you. And then without another word you slipped on your shoes and left. The door clicked shut. Not slammed. Just clicked. Quiet as always.

An hour passed. Then two.

Logan paced. Growled. Poured out the tea in the sink and slammed the mug on the counter, the handle breaks off from the bluntness and his eyes followed it as it fell to the floor. Guilt immediately filled him. Shit. Where the hell did you go?

He thought about calling. He didn’t. You were grown, surely you were fine. Anxiety was clawing at him as he kept glancing at the door like he could will you through it. But you weren’t made of metal. You were made of warmth, of sunlight and gentle hands and those stupid little sticky notes. He kicked out one of the brightest lights he's ever seen into the cold night like some sort of trash.

At some point, guilt and anxiety bloomed into fear. And that fear bloomed into panic. What if something happened? What if you're hurt? What if you don’t come back? What if someone takes you?

The lock clicked. He's entire body jumps at the noise. You stepped in, clutching a paper bag from the 24-hour corner store. You looked damp, and cold, and small. “Hey,” you said softly, not meeting his eyes. “I got you those protein bars you like. Thought… you might want some for the morning.”

Logan didn’t speak. Couldn’t. You gave him a little smile much more broken than usual and quickly moved past him toward your room.

“Wait.”

You froze.

He stepped closer. “I didn’t mean it. What I said.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“You--you should’ve yelled back or somethin’. Thrown somethin’ at my head.” You laughed once; soft, tired, broken. “I don’t like yelling.” Logan stared at you. The way your shoulders curved inward. The way your hands trembled slightly, still holding that dumb bag of snacks. “I didn’t deserve that tea,” he said. “No. You didn’t,” you said gently. “But I'll make it anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. You finally looked at him. “I missed you,” he said. “I was only gone a few hours.” You responded with a confused chuckle. “Felt longer,” he shrugged before quietly muttering, “So much longer.”

Silence again. Then, softly: “You want tea now?” you asked. “Only if you sit with me while I drink it.” You smiled. For real, this time. Later, the two of you sat on the worn couch, your knee barely brushing his. Logan nursed the tea like it was pure crystal. "I'm sorry I broke your mug..." He mumbled guilty. You shake your head against his words. "It's just a mug."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, tentative at first—then fully. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t growl. He just sat there, letting the warmth bleed back in. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he mumbled. You hummed. “So are you.” Logan reached over, laced his fingers with yours. Maybe he wasn’t good with words. But he could be good with you. Eventually... Maybe. As long as you kept making him warm.

Taglist:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0nion

@fries11

@slowlikehoneyyy

@brisinggamenwearer

[unsuperingyournatural]

it means something

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader, Jensen Ackles

this materialized after watching Craig talk about Pedro explaining to a director why it would be better to not cut certain lines from scenes

dividers @saradika-graphics

masterlist

The set is quiet in that post-rehearsal hush. Lights hum. A makeup artist smooths a collar. The crew shifts around the space, adjusting marks and resetting the camera. You’re still in costume, robe wrapped loosely around your shoulders, script in hand. Pedro sits nearby, reviewing notes, calm and focused. He’s got that look he gets when he’s already half in character—present, but somewhere just behind the eyes, the scene already playing out.

Then Jensen lowers his script and turns toward the director.

“Hey,” he says, casual but focused, “what if we cut that last line? The pause already hits hard. I think it could be cleaner if we end it right there.”

The director straightens slightly. “You mean the line after your ‘I told you not to wait’?”

Jensen nods. “Yeah. I think it might be stronger if we let that sit and skip the next bit.”

You glance down at your pages. The line he’s referring to is yours. A short one. Quiet, but not nothing. It’s the kind of line that says what a silence alone can’t quite hold. It’s not dramatic. It’s not flashy. But it lands.

You don’t bristle. Not exactly. Jensen’s an artist in his own right. He knows story, knows rhythm, knows how to shape a performance that feels true to his character. And he’s not wrong—his instincts are good. They always have been. He looks at scenes through the lens of what serves the emotional spine of his role, and he’s damn good at it.

But Pedro…

Pedro sees the whole picture.

He doesn’t rush to respond. Just lets the suggestion sit for a moment, the way he does, considering everything before he speaks. Then he closes his script slowly, lifts his gaze to the director.

“I actually think we should keep the line,” he says, voice calm, easy.

The director tilts his head. “Yeah?”

Pedro nods. “It’s not just punctuation. It’s a release. It’s the first moment her character stops reacting and starts telling the truth. You cut that, and the scene still works, sure, but it loses some of its weight.”

His tone isn’t defensive. He’s not fighting. He’s explaining. Respectfully. Like a collaborator. Like someone who cares about every moving part, not just the one he plays.

“It’s not just about what my character hears, or what his says. It’s about what the audience needs to understand—that she’s shifting. That she’s choosing to let him see her, even for a second. That line is where it turns.”

Pedro gestures lightly with his thumb, almost absentminded. “And we’ve built toward that. In a quiet way. I just think it matters to let her speak, even if it’s small.”

There’s a long pause, and then the director nods.

“Alright. Let’s keep it.”

Jensen just shrugs. “Works for me.”

No tension. No ego. Just a decision made in the room. A choice Pedro didn’t have to fight for. He just offered clarity and everyone listened.

You’re quiet for a moment, watching him settle back on his mark, adjusting his collar, legs stretched out. Pedro isn’t showy with his intelligence. He doesn’t chase attention. But he has this instinct for the work—for everyone’s work—that you’ve rarely seen. He sees the shape of a moment beyond his own frame. Not just what makes a line feel good in his mouth, but what gives the scene its shape, its breath, its life.

And it’s one of the many reasons you love him.

Not the only one. But one that sticks with you, every time you’re on set with him. He treats the craft like something sacred, without ever making it precious. He respects everyone in the room: actors, writers, crew, every single person helping to build the story from the ground up. Even when he disagrees, it’s never about proving a point. It’s about making the story better.

You fold your script slowly, still holding onto the shape of his words in your mind. He hadn’t done it for you. That much you know. He wasn’t defending you out of some instinct to protect, or to be kind. It wasn’t about taking your side.

It was about the scene. The truth of it. The rhythm, the honesty, the space it needed to land the way it was written. He fought for the line because it mattered. Because someone else’s words deserved to stay intact. Because the character you built deserved her moment.

That’s Pedro. Always reaching for the whole picture. Always honoring the story, not just his place in it.

You glance at him across the set. He’s back in position now, shoulders loose, jaw relaxed, gaze focused just ahead as he resets for the take. Not looking for praise. Not asking to be noticed. Just quietly, unshakably doing the work.

And you feel it again—that slow, warm ache in your chest. The one that catches you off guard sometimes. The one that reminds you why you fell in love with him in the first place.

Not just because he’s good. But because he cares.

Because when the room goes quiet, and someone needs to speak for the story, he does.

The cameras roll again. The lights burn bright. You find your mark, take a breath, and speak the line like it matters.

Because it does.

And because someone who truly understands what you’re trying to say made sure you still had the chance to say it.

The shoot wraps just as the sun starts slipping behind the soundstage rooftops, casting long shadows and cooling the air. You make your way back to your trailer, bone-tired in that strangely satisfying way, like the work sank in and stayed with you.

You’ve just curled up on the sofa, script pages still scattered across the small table, when there’s a soft knock at the door.

Pedro doesn’t wait for you to answer. He never does. He slips inside, glasses a little crooked, eyes already on you with that quiet sort of concern he never quite says aloud.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

You nod and pat the spot beside you. “Come sit.”

He kicks off his shoes, settles in next to you, arm stretching across the back of the couch. Not touching, but close enough that his presence wraps around you anyway. The heater hums faintly. Outside, footsteps fade and laughter carries from somewhere down the row of trailers, but here, it’s just you and him.

“You know I meant it when I said you didn’t have to speak up,” you say after a while, turning slightly toward him. “I didn’t expect you to.”

He looks at you, his brow softening. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“I know,” you say, your voice quieter now. “That’s what made it matter.”

Pedro shifts, his fingers brushing against yours, then folding them gently into his. “It wasn’t about sides. It was about the scene. About the story. That line… it earned its place.”

You nod slowly, eyes on your joined hands. “You always see that. Not just your arc. Not just what makes you look good. You see the whole. The shape of it. You treat it like it means something.”

“It does mean something,” he says quietly. “Or it should.”

Your chest tightens a little, not from doubt, but from the weight of everything you feel. It wells up like it’s been waiting patiently, and now it’s just… here.

You shift closer, shoulder to shoulder now. “I love that about you.”

Pedro blinks, and your breath catches, just for a second. You didn’t mean to say it like that. Not yet.

But then you glance up at him, and the truth is already out there—warm and settled and sure.

You don’t take it back.

“I love you,” you say, more certain this time. “Not because of today. Not because of what you did. Just... because.”

For a moment, he’s very still. Then he brings your joined hands to his chest, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and smiles in that quiet, reverent way that always undoes you.

“I love you too,” he says, steady and simple, like he’s been holding it for a while. “I think I have for some time now.”

You lean into him fully then, your head against his shoulder, his arm curling around you. No drama. No performance. Just warmth. Just truth.

Outside, the world keeps turning. But in here, with his breath close and your hands still tangled—everything feels still.

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reconciliation after accusing them

Request: OT13 reacting to their s/o wrongly accusing them reacting to their s/o wrongly accusing them was soooooo good...Authorrrrr, if possible a spin off where they reconcile plssss💝

A/N: Ah tysm for letting me think about them a little more bahah, I'm glad that part interested you to see more of what happened afterwards. Also, this was written while my friend was cutting onions and my eyes were extremely wet and I couldn't see at all.

Seungcheol: He lets you cry in front of him, his arms still crossed. “I didn’t need an apology,” he says, looking down at you. “I needed you to trust me.” But when you say that you want to start over with trust this time, he nods slowly, thinking about it. The relationship needs to be worked on but for now, he pulls you into his arms. “Let’s go on that trip.”

Jeonghan: You leave small gifts, texts, a hand-written note with “I never should’ve doubted you”. When he finally meets you again after a week(s), his eyes are unreadable to you. You don't know if it's the end of the relationship, or that he's here to pick and point at every little thing you misunderstood about him. Questioning his loyalty is definitely something. The first thing he said, “You still think I’m capable of that?” This time you stay silent, your lips trembling and when you tearfully whisper, “No. I just got scared,” he exhales and hugs you tightly. “You better not forget next time.”

Joshua: He plays your voice memo again and again, gaining the right mental state to face you directly. He felt bad for raising his voice at you, he's better than that. But you mistaking calmness for indifference really hurt him especially since he cares about you sm. When you finally meet in person, you both end up crying. “I never wanted to raise my voice,” he says, wiping your tears. “Im sorry for misunderstanding you... I just... needed you to hear me.” You wrap your arms around him tightly, nodding. “This time… I’ll listen better,” he says cradling your wet cheek.

Jun: When he sees you in front of his door, holding the lunch he never gave you, he says, “why now?” looking straight into your eyes but it's not warm anymore but replaced with ice. You whisper, “Because I forgot how much you love me.” He doesn't say anything, except for looking at you, maybe trying to read and understand how much you mean this right now because last time, you meant every word of the accusation. He recalls himself feeling like the villain and still waiting for you alone, not knowing where you are or when you will be back. He finally steps forward, rests his forehead against yours, and says, “Don’t walk away again. I’ll forgive you, but don’t do that again.”

Hoshi: You waited just like he asked. You waited for him for weeks and gave him the space he needed. You love him and you know he loves you back, but you did wound his hurt with that accusation when all he ever thought about was only you. So, when you hand him the same letter he once wrote—this time written by you, he reads it and you find his eyes tearing up. “I didn’t think you’d really wait,” he says. You take his hand. “I would’ve waited forever for you, like you'd for me.” You both spend some time in silence as he just stares, you add, “Im sorry,” and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Wonwoo: You left notes, apologies folded between the pages of the books. One day after days of silence, he texts: “Come over.” You find him holding the book you gave him, your note tucked inside. “I still want forever,” you whisper. He looks at you, long and takes a deep breath. “Then let’s start again.” It'll now take again to build what you two had, not that his trust and dream was broken but he wants to make sure, you have trust in him and dream about him, too. It's just sentiments coming out of you, so things need to be sorted out and start over. Things have never been about him in the relationship; always you—because that's what he wants. You are his dream and forever person as long as you reciprocate.

Woozi: You didn't find him at his place last time, but you did see him around a couple of times but never alone. Guilt was eating you out for not being able to talk and knowing that he actually protected you. You find him at the studio, headphones on, but he sees you instantly. “Did you bring more accusations?” he asks coldly. “No,” you whisper. “Just the truth. I love you, and I’m sorry.” He sighs, pulls off his headphones, and after a beat, says softly, “I just didn’t want you hurt. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Dokyeom: Dokyeom never in his life thought you'll actually misunderstand that. How could you? The only person he ever had his eyes on was you and that was obvious to everyone even for 17 miles away. You knock, voice trembling. “I didn’t mean it.” He finally opens the door, tear streaks still on his face. “Then say what you did mean.” You cup his face. “That you’re the kindest, most loving person I’ve ever met. And I hate myself for hurting you.” He pulls you in. “Please don’t do that again.”

Mingyu: [not really much to say since they reconciled in the first part]. He says while hugging you, “I felt like I wasn’t good enough. And then you made me believe it.” You hug him tighter, crying. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything.” He sighs, kissing your head. “Then make me believe it this time.”

Minghao: He shows up holding your Mandarin letter, “you tried. I see that.” You look up at him, afraid. “Did I lose you?” You expect a, ‘yes,’ from because what else could you look for? You proved that you don't know him, that you made him feel like he had to change himself for you. So he hesitates. “No. But I need you to accept who I am, not who you want me to be.” He doesn't want to sugarcoat. If a relationship has to be healthy, it needs to be honest too. You nod, tearful. “I’m learning. Please don’t leave while I do.” “Never,” is his response as he opens his arms.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan repeated your stinging words every night, praying that it was all a bad dream and that you actually didn't say something so hurtful to him, but it all came crashing down because it was reality. You wait outside his place, holding his journal close to your heart. When he sees you, you hold it out like an offering. “You try so hard, and I didn’t see it. But I do now.” He stares at you, torn. “Do you really?” “Yes. Please let me try for you now.” He finally nods. “Then don’t stop.” “Never will... I'm sorry. I love you.”

Vernon: You show up, breathless. “I saw your message. I’m here.” He looks at you, unsure. “Why should I believe you won’t do that again?” You grab his hand. “Because I learned I can’t love you properly if I don’t trust you. And I don’t want to love you wrong ever again.” He squeezes your hand back, hesitantly. Vernon wants to forgive you, but he’s still hurting. You accused him of cheating based on something superficial [that earring], without giving him the benefit of the doubt. That shook his sense of trust and made him question if you truly saw him for who he is: loyal, and private, he is still reaching back because he loves you. That’s him giving you a chance, even tho he's scared of being hurt again.

Dino: [He kinda reconciled in the first part but he told her to prove, so continuing from there.] You step closer. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll wait until you’re ready to talk. I’ll support you without asking for anything. I’ll stop belittling your feelings, you’ve always been more mature than I gave you credit for.” He doesn’t say anything, so you don’t push. For the next few days, you don’t beg or over-apologize; you just show up consistently, the way he always did for you. One night, after practice, he finds you still sitting in the hallway outside the studio. He sighs, then sits beside you. “Tgank you” You shook your head. “Because you matter, and I was wrong.” He then says softly, “I wanted you to believe in me. Like I believe in us.” You turn your head toward him. “I do now.” Now when he reaches out to hold your hand, there’s no hesitation.

[paintedonmyteeth]

Sukuna’s Fossil Ahh and Modern Tech/Internet

Having brainworms abt Sukuna losing his mind w how much stuff has changed over 1000+ years since the Heian era and reader having to explain things to him fbskfbwksbdn. THIS IS A FIRST I’M WRITING STUFF FOR SUKUNA BTW I’M SORRY IF IT LOOKS TERRIBLE BUT IMMA PUT IT OUT AS IS, I didn’t edit much of this either, so if you see anything funky no you didn’t— Anyways if y’all did like this tho I got reqs open for Sukuna :)

⭑.ᐟ — It’s been GOD how many years since the Heian Era, the golden age of jujutsu sorcerers, Sukuna’s prime where he reigned the the strongest of them all. So much stuff has changed since then, and it’s both baffling/maddening how different everything is in this age. The city was a lot bigger, transportation was faster, newer technology, etc, etc… and there’s very few things left that still remain from Sukuna’s time.

⭑.ᐟ — Boredom was a bitch at times when Sukuna had nothing better to do, but then he remembered you helped him out the one time how to work the computer (he still struggles at times but he’s learning). Why not go for a scroll on the internet???

⭑.ᐟ — Is he doing this purely out of curiosity at this point? No. He’s lying. He just wants to see how far humanity has fallen over the years leading up to the now. His exposure to the internet were 'trends' or slang terms, along with a bunch of other things he found confusing and stupid, (it was also making him question why he thought it was a good idea to explore the internet). And NOW begins the slew of questions from the King of Curses the next morning…

⭑.ᐟ — “What’s rizz?” Was the first question to kick off the morning with Sukuna. You just about choked on your coffee and you carefully set your mug down, looking at Sukuna all funny, who’s just staring back at you, arms crossed and all serious. “Close your mouth, you look like an idiot gawking at me. Just answer the question.” It took you another hot minute to finally gather your bearings and you explained the term to him.

⭑.ᐟ — Now finally understanding this new term, Sukuna’s expression immediately turned up in disgust. Why the hell do humans need to go out of their way in creating a whole new term for flirting?? People these days really are strange.

⭑.ᐟ — And with each question answered about these trends or slang terms, Sukuna’s perspective on humanity wasn’t swayed by any means, and it threw more fuel to the fire if anything.

⭑.ᐟ — Despite Sukuna’s clear distaste for humanity, he wanted try and learn a little more anyhow. Such as your interests in certain shows, music, and other favourites you consume from the internet more specifically. Besides everything else he hated from the internet so far, he liked listening to your rambling, seeing your eyes light up and your personality coming out more when expressing your favourite movies or whatever else. Even if he didn’t understand half of it, he just loved hearing your voice.

⭑.ᐟ — But don’t ever make the mistake in throwing those god awful internet slang words around him, he will look at you all funny like you just insulted him indirectly.

[cute-little-fly]

Stolitz is crazy and delusional, and that is precisely its appeal

A defense of Stolitz from a deranged fan.

Hi!! Fly rambling here once again… wohooooo!!

This time I wanted to make this to say a thing that I’ve been feeling since I started in this fandom.

I have stumbled upon posts, videos and specific comments comparing Stolitz with other fictional relationships. Often these comments come from audience or writers, not always, but often, that think about the ship from their perspective, and how they craft their characters and relationships themselves.

Therefore, here I am talking about a deep disconnection between these types of… let’s say critics/audience and us (fans of the show for whom the relationship makes a lot of sense).

I don’t want this post to come off as me thinking I can interpret this better than them, and that is just that they don’t understand. They might have a point. Maybe their opinion comes from an informed place from their perspective.

However… here comes the BUT.

A lot of aspects of Stolitz these writers frame as “mistakes” or “bad writing” in a way they frame as “writing mistakes” are precisely part of the things that made fell in love with Stolitz so much and what make them stand out.

I have found this fascinating…. Because honestly, I think it’s the first time that something like this happens to me with a piece of media. That precisely the things some critics frame as an “mistake” are the things that I find insane, in a cool way, about them.

That they are so crazy, delusional and mentally ill, in a complementary way, makes it somehow compelling. I know I sound crazy. But I will attempt to explain this like a normal person.

Stolas and Blitzø started backwards, from the bedroom to the basic.

They have been inside of each other bodies, but don’t even know what the other eats regularly. They trust each other in BDSM, were you need to have clear boundaries with the other person, but are unable to communicate at a basic level outside of the bedroom.

That their deal was BDSM is often ignored and is important.

BDSM practices involve a lot of trust. The experience from those encounters can be so extreme that you might have moments where you rely completely on the other person. This builds trust. Non spoken trust. (I don’t know much about this, but this is from what I’ve read okay?? So I won’t talk much about it).

I love this moment in Apology tour because you can see how Stolas knows that Blitzø will always catch him if he lets himself fall.

I like how they can hold onto each other in Apology Tour after they have been repeatedly fighting. Also like… How they can find solace between each other, but can be also wounded or mad to the other at the same time.

How they can have this closeness and intimacy almost without realizing, with a complete lack of basic understanding at the same time!!! Like, what do you mean???!!

THIS IS INSANE!!

For me, this is precisely a big part of the appeal.

For me it’s not bad writing that they think they found an opportunity to love in the other, without having gone through basic steps of their relationship like getting to know each other for real. Because their relationship it’s very atypical by design.

They ate dessert before having dinner, but by eating the dessert they developed some connection, and unspoken understanding that meant something. It’s not enough for a relationship yet, but has some meaning. Like.. how often fuckbuddies catch feelings.

Both of them unconsciously were looking something beyond sex, even if Blitzø did it initially *mostly* for the deal. There are context cues that show that he felt something with Stolas the first day they were together, when there wasn’t any deal.

I think that eventually we need to be shown what happened that first night. Something important probably happened, without the deal being in motion yet.

But… I give the critics that there is a lot of delusion here, mostly from Stolas at first, but also from Blitzø’s part. I don’t find this surprising. At all. They don’t have a real image of what healthy and real love is. Have people thought of that? Maybe the only one that has it is Blitzø a little bit, because he sees M&M every day, but still…

It’s natural from the character’s perspective to treat the connection they developed there in that delusional way... even if us, the people of the audience know that you need way more to have a relationship, the characters don’t have our same standards. As they slowly progress in the future they will realize this.

Stolas and Blitzø deep down feel similar things, and the environment they were in made a bridge between them.

This is precisely what ties Stolitz with the social class sub conflict.

They were written to be FOR each other; but, separated because of the barriers created from their trauma and their different understanding of things because of the social class difference. Like… at a very essential level they are the same, but the things around them have put walls between each other.

This is what makes them compelling imo. You can see how they deep down have wounds, feel lonely, are vulnerable loving people that crave connection but the context around them decided they were worlds apart. That it is impossible for them to understand the other. This is something they have even interiorized themselves. Stolas with classism, Blitzø with his trauma and prejudice.

By shattering his classist views and by Blitzø opening his heart, is the way they can reach out. This is also a good thing for both of them that would make them evolve beyond those limitations.

I have seen critics say that they don’t think this is where the show is going… but then, why put so much emphasis on classism and hierarchies? Like, to understand most of the plots and characters we have to think about precisely that. Of course this will also relate to the development of Stolitz.

They both projected a fantasy based on their trauma and hardships

Blitzø projects the fantasy of someone that is so powerful that can’t be hurt by him. Blitzø trauma it’s related to be a bad influence on other people’s lives or someone that makes them worse. If Stolas is a powerful prince, there is no way he can do that... APPARENTLY.

Stolas fantasy is easier to notice. He projects a knight in shining armor that is going to rescue him, because he feels trapped in his life. He sees Blitzø as this guy that can do anything and is like this idealized “sexy rogue assasin” from his books.

This is a formula for disaster. Of course everything was gonna crash down eventually. But, this fantasy projection is not just about their relationship, but about themselves. This is what differentiate this from just oh silly fantasy to compelling story imo.

By breaking the fantasy that Stolas couldn’t be hurt, Blitzø had no option but to open his heart. Stolas took Blitzø’s strength as a beacon to have courage to face Stella and a complete court of demons. This is why this hits.

Which also takes me tooo….

Stolas and Blitzø would grow as people by being together FOR REAL, because they would balance each other’s flaws, and ultimately, they still can find solace in the other, even after seeing the broken shards…

This is why we root for them… even if right now they still don’t have a mutual understanding about the other, the show clearly did well showing the chemistry and connection that will slowly draw them to one another.

Blitzø is resourceful while Stolas is passive and is used to have things lent to him.

Stolas and Blitzø have the opposite issues parenting.

Stolas is on touch with his feelings while Blitzø doesn’t.

Stolas being educated in grammar and Blitzø being good physically.

Blitzø lighten a spark for Stolas to start making decisions for himself, even if that’s the last thing he intended.

Stolas ironically classist view and sheltered limited knowledge about the real world for imps, made him never doubt that Blitzø trying to have a business like that was that unlikely.

He trust Blitzø the book because he saw him capable; but he was also ignorant about how hard is for imps to make businesses.

The thrill of this is how fucking unlikely it is that the circumstances put these two people together, that look so incredibly different but… are actually meant to one another and complementary in their abilities and flaws. Is this likely or realistic? NO… like don’t try this at home PLEASE!!! (LMAO!!).

But why does it have to be realistic to be a good written story? Sometimes unlikely things happen even irl, and this is precisely the thrill.

Like… it’s crazy that even with all the harm they did to the other and how much misunderstanding they have…. Their limitations and everything they still manage to keep this connection alive and they won’t abandon the other in the middle of hardships.

Now… they need to learn how to show that like a regular person… or demon I guess?

Sinsmas is not the right episode to analyze further Stolitz, because all the rest of things going on.

Making that slowly, letting all of that entirely for season 3 instead of forcing that in Sinsmas is a good call imo.

They are starting to put the plates and preparing the meal to finally have that dinner they never had.

Stolitz is NO a major focus here and that’s important. These segments are mostly about Stolas adapting (or frankly… not adapting) to his new condition and life, about Stolas crashing without his meds and usual comforts.

For me, it’s expected that Stolas is not focusing much in learning about imps or Blitzø, since he is without his pills and thinking in Octavia.

Blitzø is also focusing on keeping the guy together after he saved him, only asking the necessary for him to be comfortable. He is also not focusing on romance right now.

He sees that being with Blitzø it’s not the fairy tale he thought, how unreal the fantasy was… BUT at the same time, that he can count on him, that he can be free and whine or express his frustration as much as he pleases without being shut up. That he is more free now.

That there are things of Blitzø he doesn’t know yet and how nice will be to discover that… also… this is important… he is not going to like some of this things. But… if those things make Blitzø be him… he will eventually love him with those too.

If he understood love and if he started to behave like a usual parter or interested person now would, that would take weight of the traumatic situation he just endured AND makes sense with how sheltered he is from reality.

I loved how everything was depicted here, because I’ve had experiences with depression, and all what I saw it’s pretty accurate to how it is. Not pretty. Not sunshine and rainbows.

So… it pulls me off when fans act like they are officially together, or when critics point out flaws that don’t consider all the picture. That it’s not just about Blitzø and Stolas here. Or when they act like Stolas doesn’t love or is interested in Blitzø, where initially he clearly show he was.

That we need to project and think about a lot of things that aren’t explicitly said/shown sometimes… well that could be an objective flaw… but it also makes engaging with it really fun?

I won’t be long on this one… because showing a little more of them interacting was needed. Maybe not just make Blitzø said that Stolas comments on his posts and calls him to just talk but show that.

However, for the other part… personally I like to engage with these sort of stories where you need to dig a little bit more than the surface.

Some people say that if everything it’s not clearly expressed it’s bad done.

For example, how sometimes we use the messages that are shown that Blitzø sent to Stolas in the hospital, and that we need to pause and enlarge to see that context. Twitter posts about the paintings seen in Octavia’s song, that aren’t that detailed in the show itself.

I find this very suitable for a web series, that had its origins on the internet and with no conventional forms of media.

So… here I have a mixed opinion. Which I like how we don’t have everything spelled out and we can have fun digging but also, it would have been nice to be shown a few things that are just implied.

At the end of the day… my objective with this post is to say that the non-conventional nature of this relationship and show it’s what made me so invested, because it ended up making this love story very different to others.

I mean… I kinda like that they don’t follow strict rules of writing sometimes. That everyone can project a lot on them from their perspectives and experiences. Which also leads to some people finding it horrible.

I even wouldn’t think about Stolitz the same if they did the “fixes” some people propose to it. Like… the reason I like it is precisely that it’s a mess, and that we are shown the timeline of the relationship in a non cronological way.

Like… of course it would be sweet and still engaging. Also, more people definitely would get on board with it, or even relate that with their own failed relationships that they looked at with rose tinted glasses… however, the way it is NOW makes other people engage with it as how it is now, even if we are like a bunch of weirdos (no offense ❤️).

I kinda dislike that now everything needs to be so grounded and so realistic…? Like, a situation like this is possible because they are them.

It’s meant to be seen as that this is a super weird and unlikely situation, and that it’s happening in this way and is possible because they are them, because of fate, because of misunderstood self-fulfilling prophecies or whatever.

I can understand not like this kind of stories. But this is not the first story to use this, and I don’t see why that’s… wrong? I can see why some people don’t like it. But not why it’s wrong because of this.

Blitzø and Verosika, for example, were drawn to each other because of their emptiness and loneliness, but weren’t the right person for each other. However, you can also have a super toxic situation where you end up finding something real. This is the difference between these two relationships.

How you could find something special in the middle of a bad situation.

[childotkw]

Omg, I also can't see Voldemort with anyone but Harry. I agree that Harry isn’t as intellectually or magically special, or morally aligned as some of the Death Eaters Voldemort is shipped with, but that never struck me as important when it comes to Voldemort falling in love. Voldemort is already above everyone in terms of power and intelligence, and I feel like he always saw powerful people as merely useful or interesting company, but never as a direct path to forming a genuine bond. I can see him enjoying the company of people who agree with him, but that's it. I just can't see him loving any of his Death Eaters, although I can see him caring for them in his own way. I see Voldemort’s relationship to love and his ability to feel it differently, but I guess I can understand why people might think he could only ever be genuinely interested in powerful, highly intelligent, or morally agreeable individuals. I think that’s one of the reasons people don’t ship Harrymort. But to me, that’s not how I see him at all. I don’t think mere good company is enough to make him actually connect. I know that normal people usually work like this, common interests, shared laughs etc. make you fall in love, but Voldemort is just...not like that. Idk, I guess it depends on who you want Voldemort to be. We never saw all of his sides in the books.

I agree with you! I always operate under the assumption that catching Voldemort's interest is pretty easy. He's attracted to intelligent, unique, powerful or influential people. He likes to collect them, likes to understand them, likes to control them. It's never surface level - if Voldemort decides you're interesting, he won't stop until he's uncovered every aspect of you that first drew his attention.

But once he has you mapped out? Once he knows how you work and what makes you tick?

His interest tapers off quickly.

That's partly why I like writing him. He's a very desire-driven character. He goes after what he wants, and then once he has it, he picks the next thing and goes after that.

Knowledge. Spells. People. All of it falls under the same pattern.

Occasionally, he'll like someone enough that he wants to keep them, or sees value in their continued existence by his side, but he's much like a kid writing their name on their property so no one else takes them.

That's why I think Tomarry / Harrymort are such an interesting pairing.

Because Voldemort never gets Harry.

Harry is, in a lot of ways, unquantifiable to Voldemort. Their pasts and traits are similar, yes, and while that should mean that Harry isn't difficult to understand - the truth of the matter is they are also incredibly different.

Harry truly is Voldemort's equal, and probably the only person to ever live who could keep and hold his interest.

[belit0]

Thinking about Hs Yan Obito and his gf 👀. I think the other people at the school would be shocked that an Uchiha has stuck to one girl so long with the way the other Uchiha’s run through girls lol. While Obito isn’t like the most popular/wanted Uchiha (like I bet everyone had crushes on Madara and also Izuna bc he’s a flirt) it would still cause people to be jealous but like not specifically of wanting Obi like y/n being with and Uchiha and everyone telling her she’s so lucky to catch one. Poor reader like “yeah I’m lucky” when she has no choice in leaving the relationship lol

Obito, for me, is the worst of the 5

It started with a kiss. Sweet. Hesitant.

The kind of kiss that makes you think maybe, just maybe, he’s different.

But now she can’t remember what that first kiss tasted like.

Not under the weight of what came after—Obito’s arm constantly draped over her shoulder like a chain disguised as affection, his hand sliding into her back pocket in the halls like she was his property. His voice, warm as honey, whispering things that should have sounded romantic, but never did.

She tried to end it a second time, after he showed up in her bedroom.

(Y/N) waited until the final bell, when he was finishing a cigarette with Shisui and Izuna. Madara was slouched against the wall, quiet, mean-eyed. Indra stood a little off to the side, unbothered, lighting a match just to watch it burn.

She pulled Obito aside, her heart pounding.

-I can’t do this anymore,- she’d said. -I don’t feel the same. I need space, real space.-

Obito blinked. Just once. And smiled.

And that’s when she realized what she’d just triggered.

Shisui tilted his head, grin stretching slow, venomous.

-She’s cute when she’s confused.

Izuna laughed. -She still thinks she gets to walk away... Thought we made it clear—he’s not just your boyfriend. He’s family. And we don’t let family get abandoned.-

She looked around.

Madara wasn’t laughing. He was watching her like a wolf watches something fragile.

Indra didn’t speak, just crushed the match between his fingers and dropped it on the concrete.

And Obito, still smiling, leaned in and whispered, -You don’t really mean that, do you? You’re just tired, again. Stressed. Maybe someone’s been putting shit in your head? Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll fix it.-

He kissed her temple. His fingers brushed her neck.

She felt like she was falling into a hole no one would ever dig her out of.

Now, weeks later, the whole school thinks she’s the luckiest girl alive.

The girl who got an Uchiha to stay.

She hears it in the whispers in the bathrooms, in the jealous stares when she passes hand-in-hand with Obito down the hallway.

Other girls look at her like she won a lottery they’d all been bleeding to enter.

They don’t understand.

It’s not Obito they envy.

It’s the status. The badge.

No one in school has ever made any of them commit—not Indra, not Madara, not Shisui, definitely not Izuna.

They fuck and disappear. They destroy girls for sport. They walk through relationships like they’re made of tissue paper, never once slowing down.

But Obito? He’s obsessed.

And somehow that obsession makes her a legend.

No one sees the way her smile twitches when he pulls her into his lap in the cafeteria. No one notices how tight his grip gets on her wrist when she’s too slow to answer him. No one hears what he says when she doesn’t text back fast enough.

-He loves you so much,- her friends say, eyes wide with envy.

She smiles. Nods. Plays the part.

Because no one would believe her if she told the truth.

No one would believe that he checks her location twenty times a day. That he reads her DMs before she does. That he warned her once, in a voice low and kind, that if she ever lied to him again, he’d make sure no one else could ever have her.

No one would believe that she wakes up some mornings and doesn’t recognize herself in the mirror anymore. That every day feels like another performance. Another test. Another slow suffocation in a golden cage.

But still—she smiles.

She sits beside him in class, fingers laced with his, heartbeat steady through practiced control. She lets him tuck her hair behind her ear, kiss her cheek, hold her like she’s something to protect.

Even though she knows the truth.

She’s not his girlfriend.

She’s his hostage.

And the scariest part?

She’s starting to forget what freedom felt like.

[darkartsandpastels]

His little housewife

(Dark!James Wilson x Fem!reader)

Okay, hi. First post, so no judgement. Just to be safe I’m adding minors DNI, but I can’t control what you read, so if you’re a minor, that’s your choice. Pretty strong themes, so I advice to ignore this post if you don’t like that kinda stuff. This is meant to be dark, as this is fiction!! English isn’t my first language, there might be mistakes.

Summary: Basically, the reader is Wilson’s controversially young girlfriend, who he’s been seeing for a few months. When I say reader is young in this, I mean YOUNG. Wilson’s in his mid-40s, she’s in her early 20s. He wants to make her his housewife, and she fights every step of the way, but he’s manipulative and sly. Reader is referred to as you. I hate using Y/N, but if you enjoy that more, tell me!

Pairing: Dark!James Wilson x Fem! reader

Content warning: 18+ (NSFW), non-con, big, unhealthy age gap, vaginal sex, looming threats of violence, manipulation, innocence kink, dumbification, sexism, Wilson being a horrible person in this, manhandling, use of pet names, forced breeding, gaslighting, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it guys).

Word count: 2,201 words.

The rain landed on the window panes softly, the yellow glow of the evening light reflecting off the transparent surface. You busied yourself in the kitchen, humming a slow, improvised tune while making dinner. Your lovely boyfriend, James, would be back soon. He’d also be bringing up the topic of children again, most likely having the idea form in his head while passing the pediatrics department. James had been persistent during the past few days, often coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your tummy. He’d stroke the area where your womb resided like a polite cannibal mapping out his next dinner. Sometimes it seemed almost off-putting how much he loved touching your soft belly, other times you found it endearing.

After all, James was the kind-hearted, puppy-eyed oncologist who wouldn’t harm a fly.

The act didn’t last long.

The sound of keys jingling and the door creaking brought you out of your daze. His voice rang out through the fairly spacious apartment, warm and tired.

“I’m home, sweetheart.”

You didn’t even have time to turn around before familiar hands wrapped around your waist, and a sentimental kiss was pressed to your forehead. James’ hand squeezed your hips, his sharp nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

You giggled, pushing him off slightly, teasing him. He spun you around, a warm smile lighting up on his face when you squeaked in surprise. His beautiful brown eyes were crinkled at the corners, a slow and tedious sign of age. The greying hairs at his temple didn’t go unnoticed either.

“You’re home early.” The question was left unanswered because he noticed something out of the ordinary.

The skirt you were wearing was unusual and sexy. James had to voice his opinion as soon as he noticed it. A frilly white thing, meant for a warmer atmosphere that the weather forecasters had promised next weekend.

“Oh? You in a skirt and making dinner. Must be going to a funeral.” He earned a half-hearted smack to his shoulder for that comment, but he simply smirked.

“I had a work party today.” You answered, voice calm and even.

Wilson raised a brow, leaning down until his breath fanned across your lips. His hand landed on your thigh, inching upwards and under the skirt. Your breath hitched, lips parting as his index finger brushed against your covered slit.

You were dry.

James’ brow furrowed, fingers pressing and rubbing, but he was met with a frown from you. You grabbed his wrist, pulling it away.

“I’m not in the mood, James.” You mumbled, pouting slightly.

He didn’t seem to understand that. It was like a switch flipped. His hand twisted from yours, making a gasp leave your suddenly dry lips. Your tongue darted out to wet them, and his brown eyes turned dark. James pushed you into the counter, hands reaching up and fumbling to push the material up.

“J-James? Stop. What are you doing?” You whimpered, but your attempts to wiggle away were futile when he turned his voice so soft and accusatory.

“Darling, I worked hard all day, came home to such a delicious sight, and you’re not even excited to see me?”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. A tug and they slid down your thighs.

“N-No, I just-” you tried, you really did. He just didn’t listen.

“You know, you’re so unappreciative of me,” he ranted, perfect pink lips curling into a sort of snarl.

“I work all night and day, come home and expect food on the dinner table, or at least you with your legs spread on it. What do I get? Nothing.” James continued, twirling you around to make you bend over the sleek surface of the counter.

His hand smacked your ass once, earning a yelp. The action left a sting, and Wilson smiled when you clenched your thighs. He cooed in your ear, his belt buckle pressing into your back with a sharp intensity.

“God, imagine you as my wife. Pretty sundress with no panties on, bent over every surface while I pound into your sweet pussy. Always ready for your husband.” He muttered, pressing a kiss to your neck.

The sound of his belt being undone echoed in the otherwise empty kitchen, and you could only plead him under your breath. James ignored all of it, talking over your please’s and stop’s. His slacks were next, button popping open and fly hastily zipped down. You could feel his hard dick plop out as soon as he moved his boxers, the tip landing on your inner thigh.

“Mmm… can imagine you all dolled up, wearing make up and formal clothes, not those ugly flared jeans or whatever you kids wear nowadays. Women fucking dress like men” His tip pushed forward towards your folds, sliding in between them.

He rutted his hips forward, moaning with a growl in his voice. His shaft slid between your thighs with struggle, the missing presence of your natural lubricant making it harder to move. Strong, somehow still gentle arms landed on the counter before you, trapping you in his hold. One of them was spat on, the sound harsh and disgusting as he used his saliva to make himself slick.

“S’good, sweetheart. Fuck… should make you my pretty little housewife.” He growled, reaching up to grope your breasts, hand sliding beneath your shirt.

His hand squeezed and cradled, rough, overworked fingers tracing the material. He suddenly spread your legs wider, and with little to no prep, he popped the head of his cock in, the bulbous pink of it disappearing into your seam. Inch by inch, he filled you up, until he physically couldn’t go any more. There were a few inches left, but being in the position they were, or the fact that women only had limited space until the cervix, he couldn’t push in.

“God, you’re so pretty. So sticky inside. You’re my good girl, right?” He asked, panting and heaving as he started moving into you.

Silence. The only sound from you were the choked sobs you tried to hide from him, the whimpered pleas falling from your lips like a prayer.

Wilson didn’t appreciate that. After all, he provided for you. Your shitty job didn’t pay that much, did it? He made 6 figures, while you barely made enough to scrap by without him. At least, in America.

“I said- Who’s my good girl?”

His voice was agressive, scratchy as he rutted into you like a stag did to a doe during mating season. The tip of his length repeatedly bruised your cervix, your wetness seeping and leaking all over his slacks. It drip, drip dripped all over the floor like an icicle melting from the summer heat, and it helped James move swiftly.

“M-me.. I’m your good girl..” you sniffled, moaning softly when he hit that spot inside you. It felt like betraying yourself, but James knew her body better than anyone, inside and out.

He hummed in affirmation, his cock twitching inside your pussy like a rhythm of a slightly off-beat song. The hands moved down from your chest to your thighs, his grip marring your soft, squishy flesh. It would undoubtedly bruise, the marks blossoming in purple and yellow colours.

“Gonna put a baby in you, sweetcheeks. Fuck, you’re so adorable. Would you like that?” He moaned into your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppier and faster, as his free hand slid down to rub your little bundle of nerves.

Those words instantly made you shiver, your body fighting to push him out. You weren’t ready for that kind of responsibility. You were barely out of university, you had student loans, dreams and many journeys planned. Your parents would be absolutely devastated to find out the old man that they thought was ‘just a phase’ would get you knocked up.

“N-no. James, pull.. pull out,” you fumbled over your words, trying to turn your head around so you could see the manic glint he probably had in his eyes.

Key word: tried.

The other hand mawling your thigh moved up promptly and grabbed the back of your head, not so gently pushing it down. You wiggled and squirmed, but his thick, firm legs encased your hips, making any movement impossible.

“No.” He snorted, sounding almost offended you even offered that idea. “I thought you liked it when I got mean and scary? You mentioned that when I was fucking you silly, practically crying into the pillow when I hit this little place.” Wilson’s lips brushed your ear, delicate and curled into a horrid smirk.

The man suddenly pulled out, angling himself before slamming in once more. The squishy, soft head of his dick kissed that gummy spot, and you nearly threw up at the force. It knocked the wind out of your heaving lungs, and for a moment, your vision doubled. James didn’t stop. He kept pounding there repeatedly, his fingers drawing figure eights on your sensitive, throbbing clit.

In another situation, if he wasn’t actively trying to baby-trap you, it would be a charming smile on his face. Now, not so much.

The older man continued talking when you stayed silent for too long. Your breathing sped up immensely when he uttered those next words, sounding so strange coming out of the boywonder head of oncology.

“Taking me so well, baby.. I’m going to pump you so full of me, you’ll look like a cream doughnut. Nghh..” he gasped, his dick bucking into you a few more times, and you completely lost it, simultaneously.

Like most of the things in your life were.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, and you clenched around him involuntarily as his seed painted your walls white. His tip was notched deep inside, butting your cervix with every tiny twitch. Wilson’s moans turned into soft-sounding growls, and then whimpers. Most of his words weren’t comprehensible, although you made out a selection, and they made you sick to your stomach.

The oncologist felt his semen start leaking from around you, and he couldn’t have that. He slid out and back in, collecting it on the tip before pushing it so it reached the entrance of your womb.

5 whole minutes passed, and James remained glued inside you, ensuring nothing came out. James finally sighed contentedly and popped his softening penis back out, tucking himself back into his now stained slacks. He didn’t move away, though. Wilson looked down at your shivering, tired body, his soft digits running over your spine.

“I love you, darling.” James smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You felt bile rise in your throat at the thought of saying it back. The warning squeeze on your waist made you choke on sobs, hiccuping and stuttering like you used to do when fighting with your mother.

He finally turned you around, tilting your chin up to catch his gaze, to no avail. You merely stared at his polished shoes, hoping the ground would swallow you whole. A tsk left his pink lips, before his thumb and pointer tightened their hold, making you instantaneously look up. There was no guilt in his eyes, no doubt or apology for defiling his younger lover.

Just pure satisfaction, maybe bliss. Definitely delusion, that you also enjoyed it as much as he did because he made you cum. That what he did wasn’t horrible, and that it wasn’t animalistic.

“I said, I love you.”

“I-I.. I love y-you.. you too.” You finally got out, dry heaving.

James looked like a smug deer, a stag who had just mounted the youngest doe in the clearing. After all, if a fawn was over 80 pounds and had her first heat, she could breed.

It didn’t matter that there were blaring red lights in someone else’s head, warnings that this wasn’t right. It didn’t matter that the doe was bleating and kicking him off, calling for her mama.

It didn’t matter that her back was shaking from the weight he held, the grace she had overruled by the pure muscle he carried.

Because that was how it was in nature. Animals didn’t care, they didn’t have laws amongst them, protecting them from harm.

A fox wouldn’t just stop being a predator because the rabbits told him it was inhumane to kill and eat them.

A wolf wouldn’t stop devouring flesh, even if his prey’s offspring was starving and half-dead somewhere in a hole.

But you weren’t animals. What James did wasn’t excused by nature, wasn’t acceptable in their society and definitely inhumane.

To make matters worse, he didn’t even react when you seeked comfort. You grabbed onto his blazer, bawling your eyes out into his chest. He didn’t look ashamed when he cooed and hushed softly, wrapping his arms around you.

It was disgusting, how you still clung to him, like he was your saviour. Like he wasn’t the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Stop crying.” Wilson said firmly, his brown eyes never holding a hint of remorse, but instead annoyance.

‘Or I’ll give you a reason to cry.’

His eyes betrayed that saying burned into his own memory, how it affected his views as a child.

“My sweet little housewife.”

[luv-lock]

hello! sorry if you answered this before but how do you write romance so well? like I find it hard to convey in my stories that two characters are deeply in love without writing big unless moments. so how do u write the small ones? like the little touches or reactions that convey devotion without it being weird or forced?

That’s such a sweet question—thank you. I think for me, it all really goes back to knowing the characters deeply. Like, really knowing them. Not just how they talk or act, but what makes them tick. What they fear. How they love. What makes them pull away vs. what makes them hold on tighter.

Romance isn’t just about the big moments—it’s in the quiet, subtle things. A glance that lingers too long. A hand brushing against yours and staying there a second longer than it should. The way someone softens when they look at the person they love. You don’t always need fireworks to show love—sometimes a character turning the mug to the handle side before setting it down is enough. It’s about intention.

For me, the difference really shows in who I’m writing. Like—writing romance for Dick Grayson is not the same as writing it for Jason Todd. With Dick, he’s someone who loves easily. He’ll flirt, charm, fall for someone pretty without even realizing how deep it’s gotten until he’s head over heels. You can capture that through spontaneous affection, lingering touches, the way he lights up around someone.

But Jason needs time. He’s suspicious of affection. He’s been hurt and betrayed, so he wouldn’t fall for someone just because she’s pretty—he needs consistency. Loyalty. Time. With him, romance is more subtle: maybe he starts sitting closer. Maybe he remembers things you say. Maybe he gets quiet and safe around you, which is his version of intimacy. His love would be shown more through protection and presence than words.

So when I write love, it’s filtered through that character. It’s about the small, human things that feel natural to them. You can’t force it—you just have to listen to your character and let them show you how they love.

So continuing on—when I say “it all comes down to knowing your characters,” I don’t just mean their favorite color or what they’d order at Starbucks. I mean knowing how they love. What scares them about love. What kind of vulnerability they can handle. Because love isn’t one-size-fits-all—it’s filtered through trauma, personality, ego, history, and worldview. So the same action can mean wildly different things depending on who’s doing it.

Like—if Jason rests his head in your lap? That’s not just physical closeness, it’s trust. It’s “I finally feel safe enough to close my eyes around you.” But if Dick does it, it might be “I want to be near you. I feel playful, soft. I want your attention.” It’s not better or worse—it’s thematic. It’s who they are.

When it comes to writing romance without “big” declarations, it’s about these micro-moments that are packed with meaning for that character. Here’s what I pay attention to:

1. Proximity & Touch

Who initiates touch? Who pulls away? What does that say? A character who has trauma with physical affection might show love by just sitting close. They might flinch before they touch, but still do it. That’s intimacy.

2. Dialogue Tone

Even regular conversations can carry romantic undertones. One character always softens their voice with the other. Or they use a private nickname. Or they answer in half-sentences, knowing the other person understands anyway. That shorthand = connection.

3. Memory

If a character remembers something small—a favorite snack, a fear, a random story—it’s intimacy. If they act on that memory without bragging about it, it’s devotion.

4. The Way They Look

Don’t underestimate eye contact. A character watching the other like they hang the stars? That’s love. A character who can’t look at them directly because it hurts too much to feel that much? Also love. Use their gaze as language.

5. Reaction to Pain

When one character is hurt—physically or emotionally—how does the other respond? Some lash out, some become gentle, some freeze. But in every case, that reaction reveals how deep the love runs.

6. Silence

People in love sit in silence differently. A charged silence. A comfortable one. An aching one. Describe how silence feels between them. It says so much.

And again—know their narrative arc.

Dick might fall quickly and wear his heart on his sleeve. Jason? He might deny it until it destroys him. Damian might show love through obsession, Tim through quiet loyalty, Bruce through reluctant softness. You can write a character giving someone a glass of water and make it romantic if you know what it costs them to do it.

That’s why I don’t think “small” moments are small at all. They just need to be packed with character-specific meaning. And when they are, they hit harder than any kiss.

[eternal-love]

WESTERN NIGHTS

Pairing: Benny Cross x Reader

Summary: You loved Benny, so much so that you were willing to put up with him. You were naive. Trying to look for freedom and love amidst his violent nature

Warning: Mentions of abuse, Benny gets violent, rough sex, Benny hurts reader, Benny is emotionally and verbally abusive towards reader. Just, Benny is an asshole.

Authors note: sorry I’ve meen MIA, but work and school have me on a fucking leash. And my mental health wasn’t the best either. But I do hope you guys enjoy this.

You didn’t even want to go out tonight, the house was a mess, it reeked of alcohol and something else you couldn’t quite figure out but it surely wasn’t a place you wanted to live in. But he had looked at you with his striking blue eyes, cigarette hanging from his mouth while putting on his jacket.

“We’re going to the bar. More than ten minutes—“ He kept fixing up his jacket. “, and you’re staying here.

He sat on his Harvey outside the house, waiting and waiting, roaring the engine to hurry you up. He was always like this, impatient. You ran around your bedroom, teasing the crown of your hair, trying to curl your lashes. Half of the time you looked like a mess. And even if you put on lashes or tried to have a decent bouffant. The wind would mess up your lashes, he would make a mess out of your teased hair when he fucked you.

In the bar, Benny only laughed but barely talked, and his laugh wasn’t loud, he only caught attention with his silence, with his body language, with his looks.

You were on the corner, drinking a beer, you didn’t quite talk to anyone. You were just Benny’s girl, always right besides him. There was a guy who kept trying to flirt, Benny was looking carefully, everyone knew that what was Benny’s, was Benny’s only. But when the guy whispered something in your ear, Benny flipped. You didn’t even know how both Benny and some random guy ended up outside the bar. It was a mess. And with the help of Johnny, you stopped the fight. But instead of thanking you, Benny grabbed your wrist tightly and pulled you towards his bike. Making you groan.

“We’re going back to the fucking house.” Benny grumbled under his breath.

“We don’t have to. Benny. You won the fight anyways—“ Benny didn’t talk, but he abruptly stopped, turned around and grabbed a handful of your hair, his other hand gripping your jaw.

You knew. You knew he showed his love through shades of black and blue, when he wanted you to listen.

“Listen to me. You are going to get on the bike, and we’re going back to the fucking house. Alright?” Benny said, his grip was painful. Like you were a lifeless doll. He let go of you harshly, making you stumble. He got on the bike without a care in the world and started it. You bit your lip to not cry as you got on it, your hands around his waist.

You cried, he hurt you, you cried every time he hurt you, you tried to get used to his ways of love. Didn’t mean you liked it.

“Don’t go weepin’, acting like the goddamn victim.” Benny scoffed, his jaw clenching.

He wasn’t gentle at all when you got home, fidgeting with the keys, yanking your wrist to pull you inside the house and slamming the door shut. And he shoved you towards the wall.

“Baby was acting like a slut all night.” He said aggressively.

“I wasn’t, Benny. He came up to me…” You defended yourself. Trying to out weight his voice.

“You liked it, right? Having him all over you?” Benny never spoke, when he did, it hurt. “Are you stupid? Too fucking brain dead to understand what Benny’s Property means? Have I fucked you dumb to the point you’re this brainless slut? Huh?”

He didn’t even let you answer, he just attacked your lips, there wasn’t any warmth, just pure lust. But you didn’t mind, at least you wanted to believe that. His hands were rough, but you liked that, maybe it was the fact that your life was a mess, that this was the only thing that was consistent: his violence.

He grabbed a handful of your hair again, tugging softly but demanding.

“You smiled at him. You smiled.” He guided you towards the bedroom.

“No. Benny! I didn’t even speak to him.” You defended yourself again.

“You did, right, baby?” Benny said through gritted teeth. You just gulped, nodding.

When Benny didn’t want to be sweet— he wasn’t sweet. Especially when he was mad and alcohol was on his system.

He pushed you onto the bed, on all fours, a part of you was attracted to all of this, it was all you knew. And it got you wet, even if you were completely ashamed to admit it.

“You’re gonna make it up to me. Wanna act like a slut? Alright.” Benny said, you could hear the urgency and jealousy in his voice, as he fidgeted with his jacket, he kicked off his boots.

You flinched when he grabbed your hips, pulling down your trousers.

“You try to play victim, while you’re this wet?” He murmured, he had a smug smile on his face, he knelt behind you, his chest pressed against your back as his breath tickled your ear.

His hand went in between your legs, touching you through your soaked panties, you whimpered softly.

“So needy. You think another man will get you going like this?” Benny purred in your ear. “Pathetic.”

His hand slid onto your panties, fingers pressed against your throbbing heat. He starting caressing, slowly, making you go breathless. Soon enough, two of his fingers were inside of you, your panties pooled on your knees. He was finger-fucking you, good, you could imagine his smug smile as you moaned while gripping the sheets.

“You’re so fucking lucky I touch ya.” Benny said, his fingers making you squirm under him, feeling yourself reaching the edge. He could hear you, the way your moans quickened, they was you tensed up.

“B-Benny!” You said his name, as if to warn him you were so close. But his rhythm dropped, his movements were ragged, almost as if he was punishing you. You thought you were close and then he would stop. It made you whine, and he laughed

“No, baby. We’re gonna fuck how I say we fuck.” Benny said.

You gulped, looking over your shoulder to see him still have that smile on his face. The smile you fell for. And then he slammed right into you, not even giving you time to breathe, didn’t even give you time to get used to him before he started thrusting.

He sounded like an animal, relentlessly moaning, but you weren’t a saint either, a part of you enjoyed this, the feeling of being possessed, because it meant he cared for you, right? While you laid on his sheets, undressed.

“I do love you. But you make it…” Benny thrusted deeply into you, making you arch your back even more. “So fucking hard to show it.”

Benny grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking it roughly. “If you weren’t so difficult, we’d be havin’ a blast, baby.” He said through gritted teeth.

Benny thrusted deep into you countless times, he was rough, as if he wanted to break you once again, and he managed. Your mascara ended up smeared all over the sheets from crying, your lips ended all over your face, and your hair? It looked like a birds nest.

“Pretty baby’s all wrecked.” Benny said as he finished inside of you. Falling on top of you. Breathing on your neck, hot breath.

You got a call by Johnny, he’d gotten into another fight because he couldn’t have the decency or survival mode to take off his colors. You were worried, his leg was basically broken, gotten into surgery.

You were worried, it really did take a toll on you. Taking care of him. Money was paper thin because Benny never worked and what you made at the diner was never enough.

As you changed the bandages of his knuckles, the phone rang and rang, you didn’t pick up and Benny was getting annoyed, he yanked his arm away.

“Pick up the goddamn telephone.” He said dismissively, you knew it was pissing him off. You came back quickly, holding the rotary telephone on your lap.

“Daddy…” you answered after hearing the man’s deep voice. “Sorry, I know it’s been a long time.” You sighed, you knew your father wondered about you, you barely called now. “We’re fine, he just got into a fight, nothing more than bleeding knuckles.” You didn’t want him to worry. “Yes, I am alright. No, don’t worry. I’ll call you again when I get the chance. Love ya. Bye.”

You looked up, Benny was smirking as he smoked a cigarette. “Daddy’s still calling?” Benny asked mockingly.

“He just wanted to know if what he saw on the damn papers was true.” You snapped at him. Immediately regretting it.

“Don’t be gettin’ smart with me, baby.” Benny glared at you.

“I’m tired, Benny. Tired.” You whispered. Benny scoffed, incredulous and annoyed.

“Tired. You’re tired?” Benny shook his head and took a long drag from his cigarette. “You knew what you were getting into. Nobody forced ya.”

You sighed. Rubbing your face. “Benny, do you always have to get in trouble? You go chasin’ it.”

“I never chase, baby. It finds me.” Benny said proudly.

“I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want you to keep doing that. I want you to quit riding and quit the club. It’s only brought me problems.” You said with your eyes closed shut. Like a child giving their parents a ridiculous ultimatum.

“When this heals up, I’ll leave.” Benny said, sure of himself, he said it seriously. “I ain’t gonna put up with this shit anymore.”

“What?” You stuttered. He never said shit like this. Like ever.

“Ya heard me the first time, baby. I’ll leave. Better yet. You fuckin’ leave.”

“B-but, this is my house!” You protested, it literally was your childhood home.

“Well, I don’t see your fucking name on it. Does it say ‘Property of Y/N’ anywhere? You don’t even belong to yourself.” Benny scoffed again

“I don’t even want to see your fucking face now.”

You stared at Benny, not even in disbelief. Just, stared at him.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do mean every fucking word, believe me, Y/N. If ya don’t get out of my sight I’ll make sure to stand up and you don’t want that, do you?” He said, threateningly, pointing his cigarette at you.

Scared of what you knew what he could and would do, you nodded and didn’t even finish changing the bandage of his knuckles, you left the room and closed it with a soft click.

Once his leg ‘healed’, he left for three weeks. You cried, everyday. You loved him, deeply, very deeply. Wondering what he did, if he drank too much, if he was with other women. He put up these walls around him and you couldn’t go past them. At all. All you could think was that one day he’d die on the road, and you’d never know.

But he came back after three weeks. It was eerily quiet, you tried to act as if he didn’t disappear for almost a month.

But he did watch you, crying watching the tv, curled up on the couch.

“Why you cryin’, baby? Hm?” Benny asked, sitting right beside you, his arm wrapping your shoulders. Pulling you close.

All you could do was lie, as always. “Because I’m happy that you’re back, and all right.”

Benny smiled, his baby, always worrying too much for him. You leaned onto him, smelling his scent, Marlboro reds, sweat and grease, disgusting to some, but home to you.

“Please don’t leave again.” You muttered to him. Clinging onto him like a love-blind addict.

All you wanted now was to ride with him, on these western nights. The wind on your face, hugging his waist.

“I promise you, baby. I ain’t leaving no more, only if you behave.” He whispered onto your hair. His love was conditional.

He loved how much you needed him. How you depended too fucking much on him even though he was a leech.

He kissed your head softly, inhaling your scent.

“I know that one day, we’ll be okay.”

He hummed on your hair, but he didn’t even believe that himself.

[baatarthefirst]

Okay, I love looking at differing opinions, and I came across this one again by a reblog notification. At the time, I didn't feel like I could respond respectfully (and responding in bad faith, nitpicking and just being generally disrespectful is reddit level behavior I try to avoid), but know I think I can explain my reasoning in good faith. So here we go.

"Except that TDP has never held that message, at all. In fact, all forms of love are treated as important in TDP. Romantic bonds overlap with familial bonds; Rayla and Callum are family, just as Janai and Amaya are family."

Yes, I think the overlap is why a lot of people did take the message that family bonds were as important as romantic ones. The fact that Amaya could compare her pain to Rayla's even though they different types of relationships showed that different types of love could be just as strong, and cause just as much pain as the other.

Why wouldn’t his feelings for her be his one truth? He was dealing with a major imposter syndrome throughout the entire arc, but you know who never had doubts about him? Her.

First, I 100% agree with everything you said about Rayla. She is the first person who made Callum feel accepted, feel like he was not a failure of some kind. What's more, just in general, they work well together, they respect each other, they enjoy each other's company, and all that makes for a great ship. So why wouldn't his feelings for her be his one truth? Well, the best way I can explain it is that a lot of people (including me) saw a young man look deep inside himself for the light in him that would drive away the dark. But instead of his own self-worth, he only saw another person, it was like he couldn't see any light within himself other than Rayla; like she was more important than himself, which shows little self-worth, or at the very least, he can not feel any self-worth without Rayla. I used protection as an example for this one truth because the truth is that every time he's used dark magic, it's not for his own self-gain, but for the protection of others. And what's more, he protected them without killing anything. So if he looked into himself and found his selfless, protective love for his family and friends to be his truth, I think it would have come across less codependent. He shouldn't have to tie his self worth to someone else. (Though I did strangely see people hating on Rayla on it for some reason? That was strange, she wasn't there at the time and literally had nothing to do with it).

Also, to add, Janai and Amaya are each other's one truths, just like Callum and Rayla, but apparently, this is only Rayllum's problem for some reason,

No, I don't pull punches with my otp, I've went on the record several times about how certain scenes don't make sense in context, and how the plot was nonsensical at times. I don't think it would be fair to give one couple a pass and fail another. So I did think about this, even made a post asking for someone to explain it to me. The short version of why I didn't compare them is I don't think they're similar enough to be compare. Callum's truth is internal, Janai's is external "Rayla being Callum's one truth is saying: "You're the light inside of me that keeps my darkness at bay." Amaya being Janai's truth is saying: "You are a beacon to let me know that I'm on the right path."" I have had someone tell me that they are both supposed to be beacons, and I don't necessarily agree, but I think I understand the logic now and I think that's a nice way of looking at it.

"If you like Rayllum, awesome! Enjoy, just don’t use it as a model for your own relationships" I mean… that's the point?? I don't think you should overall use a fictional couple as a model for your own relationships;

Oh absolutely, but you'd be surprised how many people internalize media relationships, and bring the expectations into their irl relationships even if it's unconsciously. And of course they are by no means the worst models, I could name so many that's worse. I've always said Rayllum isn't a toxic couple (not quite sure why some people say that), but a couple who has an unhealthy, but understandable issue to work through.

"it’s not healthy to be so hyper fixated on your partner that you burn other loving healthy relationships without serious consideration." Except that Callum hasn't burned his relationship with Ezran or any other person. /Callum did betray Ezran, yes, but that doesn't mean he did it without serious consideration.

I will give you this one because Callum doesn't believe he's going to have to burn a bridge with his brother. I'm not quite sure why he doesn't think betraying Ez would ruin their relationship, but that's besides the point But he does decide to betray him without consideration. I'm not talking about the actual betrayal scene, there it was a life or death decision and had no choice (I would even argue for Ez's sake, because he may not forgive himself if Rayal died on his order). I'm talking about the initial decision. When Rayla tells him that she wouldn't ask him to betray his brother, he responds 'you don't have to ask' without hesitation.

Easy: just because he was his brother doesn’t mean he had to agree with him. Ezran had every right to be mad, but he was holding Runaan hostage (the father of their best friend) when he forgave Zubeia, the main reason their father died. Callum had a point about the cycle of violence, something the show is very clear about: choosing forgiveness and stopping hate.

What made some fans angry here was Callum showing more concern for his gf's father (who killed their father) more than he did for his little brother. There's no arguing Callum is right, and even though he does start off insensitive, he does soften up and he seems to get through to Ez. It's just the lecturing tone he takes through the scene, it's feels like he's holding Ez (the victim) to a higher standard than the aggressor. I'm sure that's not what the creators had in mind, but it did give off that vibe.

Then Callum goes to help Rayla because what was he supposed to do? Let her get hurt or worse, killed? (Ezran wouldn’t have killed her, but he could have killed Runaan, her father—the one they both fought so hard to bring back).

Yes, this scene was well done, no notes here. Though I would add Rayla could have very easily been killed here and Ez would probably never forgive himself.

Callum choosing to go with her and betray Ezran made complete sense for his character.

It was never that he chose Rayla, over Ez, but the way he went about it. On the bridge, an instant decision to betray his brother, not made out of doing what's right but out of abandonment. Then in the Silver Grove...nothing. No concern for his brother, no checking in on him. No guilt that he left him there after a traumatic event. Nothing. If they had added a moment's hesitation at the bridge and shortened/removed one cute domestic scene to show us he was thinking of Ez, it wouldn't have been an issue. (I'm sure some people would, complain, but it wouldn't have got the backlash it did).

Whatever kind of relationship is more important and works better depends on the characters themselves. For Callum, his main relationship is Rayla, a romantic one; for Aaravos, it's a familial one. TDP's message wasn't that romantic relationships are superior, but that love overall is what motivates someone.

You know what, I have no argument for that. None at all. I guess I did get stuck in the main character's family/romantic bonds that I didn't look at the parental relationship between Aaravos and his daughter. And viren and his daughter, and sun, and illegitimate son in some weird way. So I will admit that I was wrong here. I think maybe I read it with shipper goggles on (ironically) because so much of the response the, as well as the tags focused so much on rayllum.

See, here I have to respectfully disagree. I don't think I've ever reduced Rayllum. It's a great ship, but since season 4 the writing has been making mistakes (offscreen breakup, I will never be okay with you!). I think it's okay to say 'I love this, but it has some flaws'. I think it's okay to give different opinions, and start conversations, because you know what? Sometimes I'm wrong. And sometimes (like here) my case may be valid, but I'm trying to prove the wrong point. I stand by the idea that they do unintentionally make the brotherly love between Callum and Ez seem like an out-of-sight out-of-mind thing. That is romantic love overshadows his familial love to an unhealthy degree (again, not toxic, just in need of therapy) I love that he's happy with Rayla, but with Katolis burning to the ground and Ez's poor mental state it feels off that he's just enjoying cake without a care in the world.

TDP Season 5: Familial Bonds are as essential as Romantic Bonds

TDP Season 7: Familial Bonds are nothing compared to Romantic Bonds.

To be fair, the problem started in season 6, where Callum's 'One Truth' isn't a deep love, or protectiveness, of loved ones; it's just Rayla. Which, I just want to bring the boy in close and tell him: "There's a difference between sharing all of yourself with the one you love, and giving up yourself for the one you love. You are you; a young man who happens to be in love with a young elf named Rayla. You are not vessel of love specifically made for Rayla. You can live with her happiness in mind, you can adjust your goals for the sake of your lives together, but you still need to have an identity outside of her."

And this is just another example of them coming up with a really good concept, just to throw it away later. It's not as big as 'it's a circle of violence, but not giving Xadia their fair share of blame', or 'it takes time and effort to get over upprejudice, except when it doesn’t for time constraints and/or would interfere with cute domestic moments', but I still think it needs to be shared.

(If you like Rayllum, awesome! Enjoy, just don’t use it as a model for your own relationships, it’s not healthy to be so hyper fixated on your partner that you burn other loving healthy relationships without serious consideration.)