#this isn’t the most coherent thought but. it’s something that always bothers me when I see like. a normal/modern au and the twins have like

[taketheringtolohac]

Like one of the things that is essential to knives and vash’s relationship is that knives sees vash as someone who is incapable of taking care of himself. He ultimately sees vash as misguided, hopeless, and naive in his efforts to protect humanity, and thus feels the need to protect vash from not just humanity but from himself. That’s part of why knives tried to absorb vash into himself, too. He understands that vash is clever in his own right, but underestimates his ability (not just to take care of himself but his plant ability as well) to the very end. It always boils down to knives thinking that he is the only way vash will receive salvation and protection from those who would harm him and their sisters, and the need to hurt those who would hurt them and to see himself as the ultimate protector through carrying out violence. Vash’s own feelings come second to all of this, as long as knives feels that he is keeping vash safe. And it’s like ok at the end there is some reconciliation that happens and much more acknowledgement of vash’s autonomy and capability but uhhhh notably that is not what their relationship is for a majority of the time. And it’s certainly not all fixed even after all that.

[shigayokagayama]

Uh Oh I Thought About The Music In The Finale Too Hard And It Started Bothering Me Again

ok so aside from one of my favorite scenes in the entirety of mob psycho getting cut from the last episode, a decision which will haunt and torment me until my dying days, my biggest issue with the last episode was always the music and i think ive been able to finally pin down a coherent explanation as to why

disclaimer: i am not a music expert. i was in choir in middle school and i like listening to people who actually know about music talk about music, but this is not a professional opinion so take it with a grain of salt

so first, 99 playing during reigen running towards mob. my problem with this is less the song choice and more that the anime decided to completely change the tone of the entire scene. like, 99 works perfectly for the hype exciting scene they were trying to create! i just dont think this scene should have been hype and exciting. this isn’t a “music is tonally inconsistent” problem so much as a “tone is inconsistent with events unfolding” problem so im not going to put much focus on it.

what IS tonally inconsistent though is the next track that plays after it (timestamped)

this scene is supposed to be not just the reveal that reigen is okay but the reveal that dimple, a character who we’ve spent the last six episode thinking was dead, is alive! and the music they chose is so... sinister??? wouldn’t something more triumphant or energetic fit here??? i get that it has to segway into a really emotional song next so it can’t be too upbeat but wouldnt something like this maybe fit better??? it’s another song associated with dimple possessing someone who isn’t especially powerful to let them achieve something they normally wouldn’t, it’s pretty dramatic, it’s exciting, it has kind of an emotional through line in the back of it with the violins???

the next song is perfect. no notes. the second i heard it in the mob character trailer before season 3 dropped i was like “oh theyre going to use that for reigen’s confession” and i was 100% right. in fact, this song being so perfect for this scene is what makes the next song choice so confusing.

huh? what? why???? on the elementary school level of “well this is labelled mob’s theme and this is mob’s moment of self acceptance so it has to go here” i can maybe understand but it is the most jarring tonal whiplash i have ever felt watching a television show. this is music that we normally here when mob is fighting an enemy, this is supposed to gear us up for conflict. it does not fit the bittersweet catharsis of mob accepting his whole self at all.

ive seen two different edits with different soundtracks i prefer, one with “Passing my heart, I'm getting bigger” (at least im pretty sure thats what its called?  すれ違う心・大きくなったなぁ?) and one with “Mob’s Kindness”. personally, i feel like mob’s kindness would be the best option. for one, one of them already played at an emotionally climactic moment during the final episode last season so it might be a bit weird to do it a second time. second, for when we last heard “mob’s kindness” it actually fits really well with this scene on a couple different levels.

just the title of the song on its own fits with the scene. it’s the first time mob really extends kindness towards himself rather than trying to repress it or smother it in guilt and self loathing. we also have to consider the last place it was used and how that echos this scene. the first time we hear mob’s kindness is in season 2 episode 1, following the line “i made the decision to consider my feelings more”, a line which fits really well with what the “100% shigeo kageyama” moment is trying to get across. “shigeo kageyama” is mob’s repressed power and, more relevantly, his repressed emotions that he’s been bottling up for years now. “mob” flaking apart and forming “shigeo” also kind of visually echos emi’s novel getting ripped apart and brought together again by mob’s power, so that’s another little mirror between these two scenes. mob putting emi’s novel back together is the first time we see him using his powers for another person, not to save them from any sort of threat, but just as an act of simple kindness. it’s the beginning of a realization he has during the mogami arc, these powers arent just a burden, he can use them to help people. and he doesn’t even need to limit it to that, he can just use them to express himself and have fun because they aren’t just tools that can be used, they’re a part of him.

[divinitysheart]

ACHIVEMENT UNLOCKED ;; The Marks Chains Leave

@ervaurem , I’m serving up a fresh plate of angst ! :D

The dream starts out like most of her more pleasant dreams do, she’s sitting next to Noctis on the shores of Destiny Island while just talking. And it truly feels comforting, it finally feels as if it’s okay to be her. She feels truly free from the chains that once squeezed oh so tightly around her. She’s no longer burdened by Castle Oblivion now. Or at least that’s what she likes to think.

He says something and she laughs at it for whatever reason, and as the conversation continues it’s blurring out, she’s missing key parts of what's going on now and it’s beginning to frustrate her. And while she knows she should be more wary of the dream as it blurs between coherent and unintelligible, she just can’t bring herself to. For she still has hope that she can force it to stay a good dream even while everything seems to slowly be falling apart at the seams.

Her train of thought is interrupted by Noctis ruffling her hair, which obviously causes her to whine playfully about him messing up her hair.

“ Nocttt, you jerk! Now my hair is all messed uppppp. 

What she expects is the typical teasing or sassy response from her dearest friend, to hear him laugh at her obviously over exaggerated playful whines about the fact he’d messed up her hair. Not anything else, so which is why his response not only stings but it makes her heart clench somewhat.

“ …You can just fix it can’t you? Stop being so dramatic Namine. “

Her mouth opens and then closes, because he’s never once told her that before. Has she become annoying to him? Was she becoming too much for him and he’d grown tired of her without her knowing? She quickly shakes off those questions and reminds herself it’s just a dream, and that she can just play it off as a joke that didn’t bother her. Yeah, that’d work!

“ Hahah, fine, fine, I’ll stop. And I can but it’s just so annoying to do so without a brush y’know? I’d probably need to go get myself a brush before doing anything else! Or else who knows how much of a disaster my hairline will become. “

While she’s laughing, he’s just eerily quiet now, with an unreadable expression on his face which makes her uneasy. For it’s not an expression she often sees decorate his face, for she’s typically able to judge or come up with a rough idea as to how he feels based on his facial expression. Namine ignores the pit of dread deep within her and tries to get a response out of Noctis, for the silence really isn’t pleasant to her.

“ Err.. I’m sorry if I’m being too much. I just thought we were having fun and stuff! I really didn’t mean to cross a line if I did Noct. Honestly-! “

That’s the only word she can get out before she hears a scoff from her friend, which makes her feel as if something’s wrong. But before she gets the chance to ask him what’s wrong, he finally breaks his silence.

“ That’s what you always say, ‘you didn’t mean to’, it’s what you always say when you do something out of line. As if that’s supposed to make things all okay, because if you really didn’t mean to, then it shouldn’t have happened in the first place no? “

It leaves her speechless when he says that, for why is he being so harsh? He should know she really didn’t mean to upset him at all, but before she can gather any more of her words she notices the area around her transforming into a place she knows all too well, Castle Oblivion. This causes her to swallow her saliva nervously, for this wasn’t going to end well.

“ ...The fact you’re not even trying to defend yourself just proves you know I’m right and that you just don’t want to say it. I can tell that you don’t really believe you did anything wrong do you? You just want me to think that you feel guilty so that I pity you huh? Because you’re just a lonely witch who can only make friends when they pity poor little old you. “

His words become more sharp and brutal with every syllable, they make her skin crawl as she tries not to cry from the harsh yet false accusations thrown at her.

“ Noct, I- “

“ Don’t call me ‘Noct’, and stop trying to pretend that we’re friends. Why would I want to be friends with a witch who altered my memories? Who was willing to strip me of my freedom in exchange for her own until she grew a conscious? “

She wants to scream it’s not true and that he’s her dearest friend, that she really never wanted to hurt him. Namine wants to cry so bad, and it’s starting to become very apparent as it becomes harder to hold back her own tears. She doesn’t understand why this once so sweet dream has turned into one of her worst nightmares, but she doesn’t like it at all.

“ Look at you getting all teary eyed, like you have the right to get teary eyed at all. You hurt me, I never hurt you, not once Namine. You’re truly a witch through and through huh Namine? You just love to make people suffer and throw the blame on someone else to gain people's pity, for while Marluxia may have told you to do these things, YOU’RE the one who chose to do them. “

Namine can feel her heart cracking with every word and syllable spoken, why is he being like this? He doesn’t think this way about her actually. Does he?

“ I’m sorry I… I didn’t want to alter your memory or hurt you. I really didn’t! I promise! Please, you’ve gotta believe me..! “

She can’t help letting her tears fall down her cheeks and her hands shake, for this hurts so much. She just wants for this constant agonizing ache in her heart to stop, she just wants to be happy for once in her life. Is that too much to ask for?

“ …You aren’t even pitiful for an act, you’re just that pathetic aren’t you? “ He shakes his head at her before continuing on, “ I can’t believe I ever wanted to save some little witch like you. I don’t know why I didn’t just kill you the moment I found out you’d been messing with my memories, that could have saved me so much time in not only my journeys, but my life. But as much as you probably wish I would, I’m not going to kill you. For you’re not even worth my time Witch of Memories, you’re just a pathetic hollow shell of another person who’ll always shine brighter than you ever will. “

She tightly hugs herself as her lips quivered from pain with how broken and shriveled up her heart felt. Why did she have to be so pathetic? Why couldn’t she have just been born strong? Why couldn’t she be more like Kairi?

“ Stop. Just, stop it please. “

“ What’s the matter? Nobodies aren’t even supposed to exist, let alone feel anything, so why don’t you stop pretending you’re hurt over the fact you’re nothing but an unwanted shadow to your Somebodies’ light. You’re a greedy shadow leach who takes light from others for yourself in order to live. “

It burns so bad, it really does.

“ Stop it, you’re… you’re wrong! “

“ No, I’m right. You do nothing but take from people. You do nothing but hurt everyone you try to ‘care for’, you sap the light out of life. Especially mine. So, I’m going to do the only thing you can do to get rid of a leach. “

Before she could ask what he meant by that he’s walking away from her, and she can’t bring herself to do anything but call out to him.

“ What are you..? “

And before he’s finally left out the door, he turns to look at her one last time before speaking,

“ I’m cutting you off. I don’t need a lightless witch of a leech in my life. Be grateful I’m not killing you, for leaving you alive is the only mercy someone like you will EVER be able to afford. “

And before she can cry out, she finds herself resting into the bedroom she’s been staying with her head face first into a pillow. And while most times she finds herself crying over her nightmares from pain, all she feels right now is just numbness. For how else was she supposed to feel waking up from a dream like that?

She’s tired of hurting and being hurt, for Namine can only take so much before she shatters into pieces that can’t be glued back together anymore.

She just wants to find peace and happiness within herself.

Is that truly too much to ask for?

[merakiui]

Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, and Childe Finding out That You’re Being Abused HCs

cw: mentions/descriptions of (physical and emotional) abuse, injuries, depressive mood/thoughts, implied violence **please proceed with caution and do not read if this is triggering! note - submissions are confusing for me, so I wrote it in this format. I hope that was okay! 

@tuestika said: Hi! Sorry that I send my request through submission, tumblr has sometimes eaten my asks either wholly or have omnomned whole ask xD Usually my requests sent through submissions arrive intact so…. I saw that you had done Scaramouche reacting finding out their s/o is being abused headcanons, may I request headcanons for Kaeya, Diluc, Xiao and Childe finding out their their s/o is being abused? Keep up good job! <3

🔥 Diluc 🔥

Diluc might not be the most vocal person in the world, but he’s definitely observant. He’s gotten rather skilled at picking apart your social cues because he’s spent a lot of time with you. 

So when you barge into his tavern one evening, looking absolutely disheveled and asking for one of the Knights, he’s feeling two emotions: confusion and irritation. 

For one, you shouldn’t even entrust your issue to those inadequate Knights. Nevertheless, you are his friend and he isn’t going to kick you out just because you mentioned them. 

He waves you over to the bar and is thoroughly shocked when you beg him to let you hide behind it. Then he notices your split lip and the fresh injuries on your face and forearms, and he wastes no time in getting to the point.

“Why were you out so late fighting hilichurls? I hope you haven’t led any here. We don’t need that sort of trouble right now.”

“Sorry. No, that’s not it. I just—you’re the only one...” You’re struggling to piece a coherent statement together, too busy looking over your shoulder to keep track of your thoughts. “I didn’t know where I could go. I mean, I thought of you and—“

“Please slow down. Start at the beginning.”

More concerned over your safety than professionalism, Diluc allows you to slip behind the bar counter, where you cower on the ground to avoid being seen. 

You gesture for him to come down to your height and he sighs, silently complying when he finds there aren’t any new customers to serve. Bending down to your level, he holds onto the countertop to keep his balance and then he locks eyes with you. 

“What exactly happened?”

You inhale a shuddering breath, wrapping your sore arms around yourself for comfort. Tears are gathering in your eyes as you recall the event. Your abuser had found you after you’d left to get some fresh air, they’d cornered you in a secluded alley, and—you can’t finish the rest of the story.

Diluc doesn’t expect you to continue. He nods as he lets the information sink in, already harboring a deep resentment for this despicable individual. 

“Wait here. I’ll close the tavern early. In the meantime, we should see to your injuries and then we’ll look for that person.”

“I really think we should tell the Knights...” you mumble, knowing he’ll disapprove. “They’re more suited to these types of cases.”

“The Knights are incompetent. The investigation will take days, if not weeks. What happens if your abuser knows they’ll be coming for them? They’ll try to escape and then there’ll be no telling where they’ve gone.”

“I know, but it wouldn’t hurt to—“

“I’ll take care of it.”

You try to object because it’s dangerous and you don’t want him to get injured on your behalf. But he’s insistent in his decision, claiming that if the Knights can’t help you no one can. And you really wouldn’t feel safe if your abuser was still roaming free, so you have no other choice but to allow him to carry out the investigation himself.

And Diluc can be quite clever at times. It won’t be hard to traverse the interior of Mondstadt at night, where his identity melts away into that of the sneaky Darknight Hero. 

He’s going to protect you no matter what. Your abuser won’t receive an ounce of sympathy from Diluc. All he feels is cold hatred when he catches them. Someone as precious as you does not deserve to be put through such torment, and he’ll see to it that your abuser pays a hefty price to make up for all of the damage they’ve caused.

🧊 Kaeya 🧊

Kaeya can’t understand why you’ve started isolating yourself from everyone. In the past, you were always such great friends with the Knights, always catching up to talk to one of them.

He’d spent a lot of time with you and has since gotten to know you through lighthearted conversations and gossip from the people of Mondstadt. 

For someone so appreciated and well-known, he can’t wrap his head around why you might want to suddenly disappear, hiding yourself away as if you didn’t exist. 

And then he happens to catch you in town one day while you’re out running some errands. It’s so like him to pop in with a few flirty lines, but the words stick in his throat when he notices the bandages stuck to your arms and legs. 

“That can’t be good,” he says as he approaches you, leaning ever so gracefully against a wooden support beam. “Why don’t we find Barbara? I’m sure she’ll have you patched up in no time, my dear friend.”

You don’t think you’re worth it so you shake your head, nervously hoping he’ll take the hint and go away. 

“I hope you’re not accepting those dangerous commissions again,” he adds, half teasing and half serious. You can’t tell whether he’s trying to sound chiding or not. 

“Please just...leave me be. I’m a little busy right now.” You try to leave the stall you’re at, walking stiffly to avoid limping in front of him. “I’m not feeling well, so if you’ll excuse me—“

Kaeya pushes off from the beam, standing in front of you with a posture that appears immovable. “By order of the Calvary Captain,” he’s saying, a playful glint in his eyes, “you aren’t allowed to move from that spot until you tell me what’s bothering you and why you’re covered head to toe in bandages.”

You can easily object to such an order, but you figure it’s better to answer instead of arguing over your physical condition. So you explain a modified version of the story, telling him that you simply got into a disagreement and it ended in bruises on both sides. 

Kaeya hears the tremble in your voice when you say it; you’re lying. His expression softens at once and he steps away, indicating that you’re free to leave. But you don’t; you’re looking at him with such a helpless, pleading look. It breaks his heart.

You break before him, lips quivering as you beg for his help. You’re so scared and alone, and you’re not sure how long you can suffer through this before it seriously hurts you. 

“This is the first time I’ve gotten out in weeks.” So that explains your sudden isolation. “Please... I don’t want to go back home anymore. I’ll do anything. Just don’t let them hurt me again.”

Kaeya’s absolutely stunned to hear the silent revelation in your words. You’re awkwardly reaching to undo one of the bandage wrappings to prove your point, but he stops you short. That’s all the proof he needs.

You’ll be brought back to the Knights of Favonius’ Headquarters to be tended to while he gathers a team to search for your abuser. Since you gave him a solid description, it shouldn’t be too hard to find them. 

And once they’re apprehended, Kaeya will subject them to a grueling interrogation. There will be no gentle punishment; it’s going to be as unforgiving as the abuse you had to suffer through. 

☁️ Xiao ☁️

You’ve never really been keen on physical touch and Xiao understands that completely. He usually avoids any sort of interaction to begin with, unless it’s absolutely necessary, so it’s not a surprise whenever you shy away from large crowds.

He has grown rather fond of you, which has lead to the two of you meeting at Wangshu Inn for some Almond Tofu and relaxed chit-chat.

During one of your many conversations, you bring up a few alarming statements. They’re just personal points you’d like to change, such as your weak fighting spirit or the way your joints brokenly click when you stretch. 

Xiao wonders why you’d want to change yourself. You’re not usually this doubtful of yourself. In the past, you would always play the role of his smiling friend, putting on a positive face even when he was in a disagreeable mood. 

Xiao is examining your movements as you awkwardly explain yourself and when your arms move he catches the sight of a rope burn etched into your wrist. 

“What happened?” He gestures to your sleeve, to which you react in a nervous manner, shyly pulling your sleeve down to hide it. Xiao frowns a bit. “Did you get into an accident?”

“No, of course not! I’m fine. It’s just a result of my clumsiness.”

It really doesn’t look like that to Xiao and when he truly looks at you again he finds that you appear abnormally tired and exhausted. He isn’t going to sugarcoat anything and he could be making a giant assumption, but he still asks.

“Is someone hurting you?”

Your eyes widen for a split second and Xiao catches that movement like a cat drawn to a laser pointer. He won’t force you to explain unless you feel comfortable doing so. The last thing he wants is upsetting you or pressuring you into something you don’t want to talk about.

Eventually, though, the story will come to light and he’ll hear all about the horrors you’ve gone through. That rope burn was just one of many punishments you’ve had to endure, and Xiao’s just about ready to snap. How dare someone lay their filthy hands upon you in such a violent way?

Xiao will calmly tell you to stay at Wangshu Inn or anywhere else in Liyue where you’ll be safe. He’ll watch over you while you take time to recuperate and heal. He’s going to make sure you’ll never have to go through something like that ever again.

Having Xiao by your side makes the healing process all the more comforting.

And when you fall asleep in a soft, warm bed, Xiao slips out into the night to search for your abuser. It won’t be a pretty sight once he gets his hands on the human trash who dared to hurt you.

💧 Childe 💧

He’s very perceptive when it comes to your health and overall well-being. After all, he’s got brothers and sisters to care for; perception is absolutely necessary in order to keep them happy and healthy.

So it doesn’t take long for him to realize your behavior is uncharacteristic. You’re jumpier than usual, always apologizing for the littlest of things, and you’ll look over your shoulder whenever you sense something.

It’s almost as if you expect someone to suddenly come at you, which isn’t all that odd. Childe has been known to keep you on your toes when he’s looking for a fight.

But on one particular day he manages to give you a spook when he comes up beside you, grinning and showing up in your peripheral so suddenly that it nearly gives you a heart attack. 

You’re so frightened as you back away, practically folding in on yourself in an effort to protect yourself from an imaginary blow. Childe pauses, that silly grin fading when he realizes you’re shaking.

“Hey, it wasn’t that scary. Come on, comrade!” He’s approaching you warily, not entirely sure why you’re acting the way you are. He’s always been spontaneous; you should be used to this by now.

But you refuse to let him come any closer, having to distance yourself so that you can ease your racing heart and hyperventilating lungs. Once you’ve calmed down, embarrassment floods through you at the fact that Childe just witnessed all of that. 

Childe will ask if you’re okay with him stepping closer and if you nod he’ll be on you like a hawk, pulling up your sleeves before you can stop him. 

For once, you catch an expression you normally don’t find on Childe: surprise. He’s genuinely shocked at what he sees: dark bruises and shallow lacerations from something sharp. 

Either you got these in your many sparring matches or there’s another factor at play here, and Childe is almost certain it’s the latter.  

His voice is gentle as he asks you to explain what’s going on and once you do he’s already set on finding the one who did this. He seems to forget all about his Fatui work, wanting to capture your abuser and give them a piece of his mind—and subject them to more than a few pieces of his strength, too. 

He’ll have you protected in no time, offering to take you to the best healer. You’ll be treated wonderfully and he’ll even lay off on your sparring matches for a while. 

In the meantime, once he gets his hands on your abuser, everything becomes fair game. After all, someone has to handle the brunt of his anger and pent-up bloodlust from the lack of a fight. And your abuser is the perfect match to pummel into the ground. Childe shows absolutely no mercy for them. 

[dreadfulsanity]

Of Archdemons, Evanuris and Old Gods

Sometimes I'm rather... slow. Okay. That's nothing new, and I mostly accepted that my brain isn't as... flexible as it used to be. Why it's bothering me now? Well, let me tell you. Grab a seat, have a beverage and listen to my tale. Well, less of a tale and more of thoughts I'm trying to put into a somewhat coherent format.

There is this theory floating around in the Dragon Age sphere. It involves this particular mural. And it roughly goes as follows:

The black space with the golden triangles is the sky.

The large half-circle represents the Fade, and within Black City. If you look long enough, you can see the silhouettes of buildings in the background.

The smaller circle in the middle stands for the Evanuris (14 eyes = 7 Evanuris).

The dotted line around the half-circle stands for the Veil.

And the blobs surrounding it stand for the Archdemons. Four grey blobs for the Archdemons that have been slain so far, three golden blobs for those that haven't.

"But we have already slain five Archdemons," I hear you saying. Yes, that's right. One explanation for this is that Urthemiel's soul/essence can be saved by doing the Dark Ritual. Another one is that the mural was created before the fifth blight. Whatever it is, in the theory, the Archdemons function as seals, locking the Evanuris away.

And here we come to the part were my brain had an issue with it. How would slaying something on this plane of existence have an effect in the Fade? Other than sending a soul/spirit/whatsoever into the Fade. Now I have played through Dragon Age: Origins so many times now that I lost count (646h on record, not counted the runs I did with the box version before I had Origins). And I never thought 'Hm, isn't it weird that there is a beam shooting up to the high heavens when the Archdemon is slain?'

But then it dawned on me. While I was trying to fall asleep. It's always when you're trying to sleep that your brain goes into overdrive. Or when you're on the potty. I wonder what breakthroughs we could have if we tried to fall asleep while taking... I digress. I mean, why would a beam shoot up to the high heavens when slaying an Archdemons? What reasons could there be for that to happen?

And I looked up and saw The seven gates of the Black City shatter, And darkness cloaked both realms.

Canticle of Exaltations

Seven gates to the Black City. Seven seals to lock them shut. And why wouldn't they be on Thedas, in the waking world? I mean, you want those seals to be as hard to reach as possible, right? Especially for those you sealed away. No one has a lock on the inside. Though since all the Evanuris are depicted bald, maybe they wouldn't have hairpins to pick locks with.

We do not know when exactly Solas created the Veil, but it is said that humans don't know a world without it, so we can assume it was before -3100 Ancient. 300 years later, in -2800 Ancient, the "Old Gods" whisper to human Dreamers from Arla... the Golden/Black City, and taught them magic. "Why would the Evanuris teach humans magic," I hear you asking. Because they want out. They don't like being locked away in a corrupted city. So they start to plan a jail-break. And for beings that are immortal, time is irrelevant. I'm sure, when you're immortal, you've learned to be very patient. What are a couple hundred years? Even two millennia?

Which brings us to -395 Ancient, when—according to the Chantry—the most powerful magister lords try to breach the Golden/Black City. While we do know that magisters went into the Fade to breach the Golden City, I don't buy the part where they are cast out by the Maker, and the city turns black. It was already black long before Corypheus and his cohorts tried to pry open the gates. But opening the gates did not work, thanks to the seven seals. And so the magisters are repelled, cast back into the waking world, but now tainted.

Through the taint the Evanuris now create a link between tainted creatures. And what is it that drives every single darkspawn out there? Finding the Archdemon. Corrupting it. And what does the corrupted Archdemon? Attack the waking world, causing death and destruction, and is ultimately killed by the inhabitants of Thedas. One less seal to worry about. And the death and destruction does another thing. I mean, even if all seven seals are destroyed, there is still the matter of the Veil. And we know that areas that have seen a great many battles have a weakened Veil. Therefore, conflict and strife weakens the Veil.

Yes, the Evanuris play the long game here. But they have nothing but time. I just wonder what the taint did to them in all those years. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd lost all their marbles. Can't wait to find out. Because of one thing I am sure. The Veil comes down. Oh, that reminds me...

I'll repeat the image from the beginning, so you don't have to scroll so far. There is some interesting imagery that's coming up again and again.

I want to direct your attention to the half circle containing the Veil, the city and the Evanuris. 

Is is repeated in the fresco of the 2020 trailer, where the Dread Wolf breaks through the barrier. Oh, and...

What's that at the bottom of the map that came with Tevinter Nights?

So, I think there's a barrier around the Black City to keep the taint and the Evanuris in, sealed by whatever the Archdemons are before they become corrupted dragons. And the Veil creates another barrier for good measure. And it's all come crashing down soon. We're in for some shit, and I'm so excited. I said what I've said.

And now I need to stop because my imagination is running rampant and we're going from "theories I at least try to back up" to "wild guesses". If you've read this far, thank you so much, I really appreciate you. If you want more of what's going through my head at any given time, follow me on Mastodon. It's where I post most of my ramblings. I'll read you guys later. Byyyyeeeee! 💋

[engie-ivy]

Yes, he's in the hospital and doesn't remember anything about himself, but it's actually not that bad. His memories are sure to come back in a matter of days, and until then, he can spend time eating, sleeping, reading, daydreaming about that ridiculously attractive Healer...

(The aim is Funny and Fluffy Wolfstar)

It's Like the First Time

“Everything seems to be in order,” the Healer Trainee, Aubrey, says. “As we expected. How’s the dizziness?”

“When I’m laying down, it doesn’t bother me,” he replies.

“That’s good,” Aubrey smiles. “The dizziness and light-headedness should gradually disappear over the upcoming days, and then the memories will come back after.”

He nods. He’d be more worried about all his memories being gone if the Healers at St Mungo’s weren’t so certain they’ll all come back in a matter of days. Dizziness, light-headedness, and amnesia; it’s a familiar picture when being hit with a Confundo-charm from a defective wand, which the Healers have encountered many times before and has apparently happened to him during some friendly duelling.

It’s always the same picture: the dizziness and light-headedness slowly lessening, and the memories all coming back at once after two to at most five days. Like, one moment you know nothing, and the next you remember everything.

Well, he doesn’t exactly know nothing. His semantic memory is intact, meaning he has basic knowledge and remembers facts and skills. He knows he’s a wizard, he knows the hospital is called St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, he knows the people in the lime green robes are the Healers, he knows that since he’s a wizard he probably went to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he knows perfectly well how to perform a wide variety of charms, jinxes, hexes and curses. (So luckily those years at Hogwarts weren’t for nothing)

What he doesn’t know is anything about himself. His episodic memory, memory for any kind of life events, is completely gone. Who he is, what he does, what he has done, who he knows, it’s all gone. His own mum could walk into the room, and he’d think she was the laundry lady. (Luckily, she seemed like a very nice lady, and had thought it rather funny)

The only thing he knows about himself, not because he remembers, but because it’s the only thing they told him, is that he’s someone named Remus Lupin. Apparently, in the past, trying to fill in the gaps has proven to be more frustrated than helpful for the patient and, as the memories will come back on their own anyway, quite unnecessary. Therefore, they don’t tell him much else, and all he can do is wait.

Past experience has also shown that the patient often finds it quite stressful, and even frightening, to be surrounded by lots of people who all know him, and whom he feels like he should recognize, but doesn’t. Therefore, friends and family are only allowed in limited numbers, one new person a day, which started with his mum.

His mum had brought him his favourite novel, saying that he read it so many times, and would always wish he could erase it from his memory just so he could read it again with the same sense of anticipation. Well, she had figured this was his chance. Now, all he can do is lie in bed, read his book, and eat food, which is... Well, pretty great actually.

He doesn’t have anything to worry about. How can he worry about anything if he doesn’t remember anything? It’s like having a little break from life and all its expectations and responsibilities. (Though the fact that he’s so happy about having no worries, makes him think that this Remus Lupin normally worries quite a lot)

When a Healer comes to see him, he suddenly knows something else about himself: he’s very, very gay.

The Healer has a classic, aristocratic beauty to him, with his sharp cheekbones and full lips, and his eyes are of a clear grey, that appears silver, which contrasts quite nicely with the strands of raven black hair that have fallen from the messy bun on top of his head. And no one has the right to look that good in lime green robes, which he fills out pretty well with his lean, muscular body.

The Healer gives him a soft smile, and really, if he smiles at all his patients like that, the whole hospital must be diagnosed with palpitations. “How’re you feeling?” the Healer asks in a warm, deep voice.

He wonders whether his semantic memory has failed him after all, as he suddenly seems to have forgotten how speaking works. “Erm...” he says, very eloquently.

The Healer frowns, and looks at Aubrey. “Isn’t the confusion supposed to be gone by now?”

Aubrey looks from the Healer to him and back to the Healer, while a knowing smile appears on her face. “Don’t worry,” she tells the Healer. “He has been perfectly responsive and coherent all day.”

“Has he had some Anti-Confusion Concoction?”

“He’s had a small dose, as the confusion was already wearing off on his own.”

“Are you going to give him Memory Potion?” the Healer continues his questioning.

Aubrey shakes her head. “We have already given him Mandrake Restorative Draught against the spell’s physical effects. Adding Memory Potion might make the dose of Stewed Mandrake too high. As we can be certain all memories will come back on their own, it isn’t worth the risk.”

The Healer nods thoughtfully. “So only a daily dose of Restoration Potion until all effects have subsided, I assume?”

“Yes,” Aubrey agrees. “Based on past experience, that’ll in all likeliness be sufficient.”

The Healer turns his head back to him, and that soft smile is back in place. He opens his mouth to speak, but right at that moment, a bright flash can be seen, and a gazelle made out of shining white light is standing in front of them.

“I’m so sorry to disturb on a moment like this,” a stressed-sounding voice of a young woman comes from the Patronus, that is directing itself to the Healer. “But you’re needed back at the HADA department immediately! We’re having an emergency.”

The Healer curses under his breath. He takes a step towards the door, but then stops to look back at him with a pained expression.

“He’s in good hands,” Aubrey says.

The Healer nods. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he tells him, before hurrying out the door.

Though his mum was right, and the novel is really good, he has trouble focusing on it from that moment on. He’s constantly interrupted by thoughts of bright, silver-grey eyes. Merlin, he’s seen the guy once, and he’s acting like a twelve-year-old with a crush!

Telling himself off for it doesn’t stop him from looking up hopefully the moment he catches a glimpse of lime-green robes. It’s quite a disappointment when the Healer that walks in to check his vitals is a greying, grumpy man with a face that seems to be twisted in a permanent scowl. Asking him where the good-looking Healer went to seems kind of impolite though, so he just sits and nods whenever the Healer grumbles something unintelligible.

“So, why have I gotten a different Healer?” he asks Aubrey later, trying to sound casual.

“Different Healer?” she asks, not understanding.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling to his great annoyance that his cheeks begin to flush. “There was this older man checking up on me, while before, there was the young man with the broad shoulder, shining dark hair, sweet smile, pretty eyes...” He trails off.

“Oh!” Understanding, and a not insignificant amount of amusement, appear on Aubrey’s face. “Oh, he wasn’t not your Healer, sweetie! He was visiting.”

“Ah,” he sighs disappointedly. So the Healer had only been here for some sort of second opinion, and he probably won’t be back. It was too good to be true, to have a Healer like that around as a nice distraction.

“Healer Black works for the Healing Against the Dark Arts Department,” Aubrey continues.

“You know him?” he asks.

“I know of him. But honestly,” she adds with a wink. “Everyone working at St Mungo’s knows of Healer Black!”

He chuckles. “I suppose he cannot not catch your eye.”

“It’s not just his appearance,” Aubrey says. “Healer Black is the leading expert on healing Dark Arts-related injuries and combating curses from the Dark Arts. He has invented novel Healing Spells and revolutionized the protocol for treating curses. Healers from all over the world consult him on their cases, and patients come to see him from all over the world.”

“Wow...” he sighs again, but this time it’s a more wistful sigh. He doesn’t even care anymore that he sounds like a love-struck teenager. Maybe Aubrey will write it off as a side-effect of the Confundo-charm. He briefly wonders about that himself, but as those bright, silver-grey eyes come to mind again, he knows he’s under a whole different kind of spell.

“Yeah,” Aubrey smiles. “He’s quite a remarkable man.”

“So I guess I won’t be seeing him again then,” he says dejectedly, letting his head hang. He wonders why they’d sent that Healer to come see him in the first place, as he surely must’ve had better things to do.

He hears a choked noise besides him, and he looks up at Aubrey, who seems to be stifling a laugh, with her hand pressed against her mouth. “Don’t worry, love,” she says with obvious amusement in her voice. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of him.”

The young man sitting next to his bed has been talking about his wife and their baby for an hour straight. Though it really isn’t so bad. His stories are quite amusing, and the man is very charismatic. He has sparkling eyes, and hair so messy, he had immediately checked whether it wasn’t storming outside when the man had entered. He has a disarming smile and a contagious laugh, and is surprisingly easy to talk to. He says his name is James Potter, and he’s Remus Lupin’s best friend.

He has to give Remus Lupin a pat on the back for having made such a nice friend. Honestly, the idea of socializing with new people, trying to make friends, does not appeal to him, and he’s glad to know Remus already has them.

“And I just went to see Sirius,” James says. “Well, more like I was speed walking next to him in the two minutes he had to get from one room to another. He still managed to apologize twenty times though. Normally, I’d say he should be sorry, but the poor guy seems to hardly have any time to eat or sleep.” James shakes his head. “Did you hear what happened? Three children were playing in the woods, and they must’ve accidentally touched an unknown cursed object. They were brought in barely conscious and with a mother completely beside herself. So of course, ‘the widely renowned and highly acclaimed, capable-of-the-impossible Healer Black’ was the only one who might save them. And he has, as they seem to be recovering,” James adds, relieved. “But really, there aren’t many excuses that would justify him not being here, but having to save children’s lives is definitely one of them.”

“Thank Merlin those children are alright. That sounds- Wait,” he says, before sitting up. “Healer Black? You know Healer Black?”

James blinks at him. “Ehm... Yeah?”

“Merlin, that man is so handsome!” he exclaims. “He was here for like two minutes, before he got called away to other patients, but I just can’t stop thinking about him! He already looks perfect, and now you’re telling me that he’s some kind of miracle Healer saving children’s lives?” He sighs. “It’s just not fair.”

At first, James still looks confused. Then his eyes widen in understanding, and his mouth starts twitching like he’s trying to hold back laughter.

He doesn’t blame him. He’d laugh at himself too, with how ridiculous he’s been acting over this random Healer. He just hopes he won’t have embarrassed Remus Lupin too much once his memories have returned.

“Don’t worry,” James says, in an amused voice. “Healer Black will come back as soon as he has the time.”

Now, his own eyes widen. “You really think he’d come to see me again?”

James lets out a strangled noise and starts coughing, which he strongly suspects being a laugh quickly covered up by a cough. “Yes,” James replies, suppressed laughter still sounding through in his voice. “I really think so.”

He knows it’s rather pathetic, but as he’s got nothing better to do, he did it anyway. He practiced what he’s going to say to Healer Black when, or if, he comes back.

He’ll tilt his head slightly downwards, so he’ll look up at the man through his lashes, and then he’ll give him a coy smile, while softly saying ‘Healer Black. It’s so good to see you again. I’ve heard many great things about you, and what you did for those children is truly admirable.’ Luckily, flirting seems to fall under semantic memory.

However, when the moment comes that Healer Black enters the room again, his carefully constructed plan falls apart.

At first, he’s stunned that yes, Healer Black really looks like that, and he hasn’t made it better in his head. Alright, the man has bags under his eyes, his robes are rumpled, and his hair is slightly greasy and so much strands are peaking out of his bun, making it look more messy than what would qualify as a normal messy bun, but he still looks like the most beautiful person in the world. He doesn’t even notice Aubrey and James walk in after Healer Black.

He opens his mouth to deliver his carefully practiced lines, but the words die in his throat as Healer Black... Well, flings himself at him. He literally splays out on top of him, hugging him close and pressing his face in the crook of his neck. “I missed you so much,” Healer Black murmurs against his skin.

He freezes. Yes, he has forgotten quite a lot, but he’s still pretty sure this is not the standard operating procedure for Healers to greet their patients. “Erm...” He says, once again ever so eloquently.

Healer Black lifts his head and looks up at him in confusion, but he can’t possibly be more confused than he’s feeling.

James scrapes his throat. “Remus, may I introduce you to Healer Sirius Black-Lupin, your husband?”

“So neither one of you decided to tell him?” Healer Black has crossed his arms over his chest and is glaring at Audrey and James.

“I’m sorry, Healer Black!” Aubrey squeaks. “I know I should’ve told him, but it was just too cute, watch him be all smitten with his own husband.”

He isn’t really listening. He’s openly staring at Healer Black. Apparently, he bloody married the guy, so it’s allowed, right?

“I don’t know how you pulled this off, Remus Lupin,” he whispers under his breath. “But thank you, and kudos to you, mate, kudos to you.”

As he looks at Healer Black up and down (at some point he’ll really have to stop referring to his husband as Healer Black, probably), he suddenly really wishes for his memories to come back fast, as there are some things he’d really like to remember.

Though on the other hand, he thinks, biting his lip, maybe ‘Healer Black’ won’t mind freshening up his memory in the meantime?

“Ugh,” Remus groans, hiding his face against Sirius’ chest. “I can’t believe I was practically drooling over you!”

Sirius chuckles while he’s rubbing soft circles on Remus’ back. “You were cute.”

As a reply, Remus just groans again.

“I’m sorry, though,” Sirius says, suddenly quietly. “It wouldn’t have happened if I had been by your side as I was supposed to be.”

Remus lifts up his head to look at Sirius. “Hey, none of that! You were saving lives.” He presses a quick kiss to his husband’s lips. “You wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else, and I wouldn’t have wanted you to be anywhere else.”

Sirius smiles softly at him, and Remus lays his head back on his chest. “Besides, it was a good reminder that I should be more proud of my accomplishment to get Healer Black to marry me.”

Sirius barks a laugh, that Remus can feel vibrating in his chest. “And how exactly was me down on one knee practically begging you to become my husband ‘you getting me to marry you’?”

Remus smiles fondly, happy that that memory is safely back in his head. “And it was nice to feel like having a new crush again,” he continues. “ All exhilarated, enraptured, and in awe.”

“Oh, Moony,” Sirius sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of Remus’ head. “I feel like that every time I look at you.”

[softluci]

aggressive affection, i think

(part two here!)

[ @yourlocalsinnamonroll​ (hi!) sent me an ask to do more gen z headcanons and i started working on something for her, except it isn’t actually a set of headcanons, but rather a really long...one-shot? but anyway, i thought of actual headcanons that i can share now, so i can return to my ROOTS hopefully this will do in the meantime. ]

i’m not sure if this is something unique to younger people, but i am one hundred percent sure that younger people do it a lot, just going off of the behavior of my friends and i. (i’m gonna tell you now that this isn’t entirely sfw, so minors dni please and thank u)

but i’ve found that it’s pretty common for friends to be, like, aggressively affectionate with one another, for lack of a better phrase. if not aggressively affectionate, then just really flirtatious, often for no reason, and it is still meant entirely in a platonic sense. some examples of this that i have experienced include, but are not limited to:

“i’m gonna eat you,” “do u wanna make out,” “just remember, no matter WHAT happens, i will ALWAYS wanna make out with you,”  “i have literally wanted to fuck all of you at some point,” “let’s have sex,” “stfu before i kiss you,” [points to lap] “is this seat taken?” “every day i’m like, ‘wow, [name] is so cool, we should make out,’” and so on and so forth.

so you can imagine the fun i’m about to have.

lucifer

“blindsided,” does not even begin to describe what you’ve done to this man. while his recovery time was quick, he was still so, so confused. 

all he said was, “you look nice today,” why did you threaten to kiss him? was that even a threat? 

he doesn’t know because you said, “stop before you get kissed on the mouth,” but it doesn’t matter because you failed to consider that he is obsessed with you in dire need of a kiss on the mouth, and you, silly thing that you are, just provided conditions under which he can get one. 

that said, have fun trying to explain to this man that you were joking while he’s holding you against him with the most smug look on his dumb little face. if you don’t wanna kiss him, okay, but by the time he feels like letting you go, your face is gonna be scorching and you will have properly learned not to do that again. unless you enjoyed yourself, in which case—

by the way, if you believe in a higher power, you had better pray he doesn’t do this to you because now that you’ve planted the idea in his villainous little brain, he’s just biding his time. so the next time you compliment him innocently, and he says, “be quiet before i kiss you,” like the monster he is, assert your dominance by kissing him first, it’s the only way to maintain your dignity. 

mammon

why would you do that to him. he is literally in love with you, you can’t be doing this. he knows he’s an attractive person, but you can’t tell him that, and you especially can’t do it by flirting with him, it’s embarrassingly disarming. especially since he was going to make fun of you once he saw that you were looking at the issue of majolish with him on the cover. he had a plan and everything, and you ruined it. he was gonna say something dumb cool, after which you would be embarrassed , and he would laugh. 

but then you looked at him, said, “i’m gonna eat you,” and his entire plan was thwarted. now you have to stand there and watch him struggle to form a sentence while his face gets red. you should take this opportunity to bite him, give him a little nom on the shoulder or something, just to razz him. it’ll be great, i promise. 

luckily, he can’t even think about doing this to you without having to lie down, so you should be safe—unless, of course, he catches both you and himself by surprise. so if you get nommed on, you had it coming. 

levi 

you menace. you absolute villain. you’re laughing. 

levi was about to go into a match he was nervous about, and then you said, “it’s okay, no matter what happens, i will always wanna make out with you,” and then he dropped his controller and blacked out, and you’re laughing. 

you’re terrible. absolutely awful. acquaint yourself with shame while you blow cool air into his face and shake him awake. 

when he does wake up, and he reminds you that he’s the avatar of envy, do nawt be surprised. 

try to explain to him that you were kidding and let it slip that you say these types of things to everyone and you’re getting a tail around your waist. no matter how much he might stutter while he makes his point, the fact remains that he’s the only one you’re allowed to say these things to now. you can do it to the others while he’s not around if you feel so inclined, but he’s going to find out eventually, so good luck explaining yourself while he doesn’t keep his tail still when he uses it to hold you in place. 

your only saving grace here is that he is physically incapable of doing it to you, but, you know. that probably gets overridden by how possessive he’s gonna get.

satan

you’re deranged. or just really confident. or a fool. it doesn’t matter, you fucked up. he said a normal thing, and then you threw him for a loop. 

you were nervous about an exam the next day, he said, “you’re a capable person, you have nothing to be worried about.” 

and then you, evidently forgetting that he is not one of your human friends, said, “flattery will get you made out with,” and tried to walk away. 

first of all, how was that flattery? he was stating a fact. second of all, who said he didn’t wanna make out with you🤨. he never said that, you are making assumptions about him and his character. 

anyway, he has no idea where you think you’re going, but you didn’t make it very far before he caught up to you anyway. 

when he repeats what you said back to you in the form of a question, with that deceptively polite look on his face, know that he is being rhetorical. do not bother trying to explain yourself, it’ll be difficult to do so in a convincing manner while he’s backing you up to the nearest wall. do not be surprised when he takes this opportunity to blindside you with praise, directly into your ear, with that fatally smooth voice of his. and do NAWT be surprised when he pulls back and says, “why am i not being made out with?” with a dumb little smile. it brings him a lot of joy to see you squirm.

you don’t even have a saving grace here. this man is ruthless, he’s gonna do this to you literally whenever he wants, and he won’t even let you look away, let alone run away, so find joy in the monster you have created. 

asmo

listen. unless you are genuinely empty headed, there is absolutely no way you did this on accident. 

he wasn’t even doing anything out of character either, it was the middle of self-care night, he was putting moisturizer on your face for you, and he went, “you’re even cuter up close,” which is a normal, tame thing for him to say.

so unless you just have uncontrollable knee-jerk reactions, no way did you say, “so make out with me then,” to this man, by accident.

you’re lucky he has some knowledge of the fact that you sometimes say things that aren’t smart, so he didn’t just immediately jump on you; however, you are by no means in the Clear. 

you blinked and he was nose to nose with you and basically in your lap. now you have to deal with his wandering hands while you try and explain yourself—that is, if you can even overcome how flustered you are, which you probably can’t. luckily, he knows you probably didn’t mean it, but he’s still asmo, so he takes it upon himself to be respectfully heinous like the gentleman he is.

so when he somehow manages to get even closer to you and says, “honey, you should really get a handle on those impulses of yours, unless you plan on following through,” like the bastard he is, know that from that point forward, whatever happens is on you. 

here is another man with whom you have no saving grace; now that you’ve given him the idea that he can be more explicit with you,,, well.

beel

you’re a heathen. why would you do something like this. well, you know what, maybe you aren’t that much of a heathen, considering that you did bake cookies for him. that was really sweet of you, so he thanked you and complimented your skill, like a regular person.

so why, exactly, did you say, “i only accept thanks in the form of kisses, preferably with tongue,” ? something is genuinely not right with you. 

now you have this man standing there, confused and red in the face. he’s trying to do the math, and nothing is adding up. like, it’s definitely doable, he can definitely do that, but, like, why would you make this request so suddenly?

this is probably the only instance in which you can coherently say, “i was kidding, you don’t actually have to do that,” and it almost doesn’t work. 

you absolutely should not have been leaning against the counter because now he’s standing in front of you, and you have nowhere to run. 

however, the thing about beel is that he is someone who flusters people without meaning to, so he has no idea of the effect that his, “are you sure?” has on you. 

luckily, you’re still mostly coherent because you know that beel isn’t heinous like his brothers, so you manage to tell him that he doesn’t have to kiss you if he doesn’t want to because you were kidding. 

you have every right to be surprised when, all of a sudden, you’re sitting on the counter, and he says, “why do you think i don’t want to?” 

do you have a saving grace with this man? kind of. he would never say what you said or something similar, but the next time he compliments you and you choose to be normal and say, “thank you,” he’s gonna ask if he should kiss you, so try not to collapse.

belphie

now. he isn’t the Worst Person you could’ve done this with. but by god you are out of your mind.

your first mistake was choosing to lie down next to him, not because you had plans to be a menace, but because he is always a menace and has a thing for reminding you, which he can do more easily when you’re in proximity to him. 

so when he said, out of nowhere, “are you ticklish?” you should’ve just rolled away, which wouldn’t have worked, but it would have been less chaotic then saying, “you are legally required to make out with me before you try and find out.” 

you said it so casually that he was almost stunned into staying still, but his recovery time was excellent.

the next thing you knew, you were laying underneath a very smug, very menacing man, who seemed entirely too prepared to listen to what you had to say for once. 

“legally?”

okay, so, maybe you should’ve chosen your words more carefully, but he was seconds away from tickling you, so you didn’t exactly have time to defend yourself. you can never backtrack with belphie anyway, so it makes sense that you went headlong into your claim, telling him that yes, this is, in fact, the law of the land. 

“i was never one to pay attention to the law, but since you’re being so insistent, i guess i don’t really have a choice—”

leave it to him to pretend like you’re a burden as if he isn’t literally head over heels in love with you like everyone else fond of you. bastard. 

there is absolutely nothing to save you from this man. he isn’t tactful enough to wait for an opportunity to do this to you, like satan or lucifer, so expect to be Just Sitting There when he tells you that you’re required to make out with him right this instant—it’s the law. 

[rocorambles]

Hit It Till It Breaks

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Mafia AU, NSFW, Drug Dealing, Dub-Con/Non-Con Sex, Dub-Con/Non-Con Drug Consumption, Drug Addiction, Manipulation, Humiliation, Degradation, Prostitution, Slight Pet Play

Prompt: Hard At Work

Summary: Growing up, you’d always loved fairy tales and happy endings. You’d always believed that despite how bad things might seem or get, there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. But you’re quickly realizing that this isn’t a fairy tale, that there is no happy ending, and that sometimes, you only go downhill, farther and farther from the light. 

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt.  

(Thank you as always @sawamooora for helping me keep this a coherent degenerate mess~)

It’s hard to believe that bright eyed girl holding her college diploma in the photo on your nightstand was you not that long ago. And your heart clenches when you remember how hopeful you had been. So excited to venture out and experience life. Ready to enter the job market. Ready to be an adult. 

Doors opened and closed. But you hadn’t let it deter you at first. It just wasn’t meant to be. You can’t expect to get the first job you interview for! 

But then more and more doors opened, only to be shut in your face.Your rose-tinted glasses began to crack as your funds quickly dwindled, as you lowered your standards, desperately mass applying to any small time company vaguely related to your major, only to be turned away at every step. 

And now, here you are, barely able to make rent, barely able to even feed yourself with the little you have from odd part-time jobs you’ve managed to stitch together into some sort of financial life line. 

Well, you HAD been barely able to make rent, but your hands tremble when you stare at the letter notifying you that your rent will begin to increase starting next month, mind speeding into a panicked haze as you unsuccessfully try to think of what to do, how you can possibly afford to live even in this dump anymore. And before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re scrambling, stumbling to your bathroom, throwing open your medicine cabinet as you rummage for the little pills that you know will help slow down your racing thoughts and provide much needed clarity. 

You swear everything seems clearer as soon as the smooth texture hits your tongue and you can finally breathe, slumping down on the cold tiles of your floor, pill bottle still clutched in your hand as you allow yourself to relax, praying for any ideas to flow through you. And it hits you like a ton of bricks when your grip on the plastic container accidentally loosens and the bottle clangs against the floor. 

A humorless chuckle slips past your lips as you stare at the rolling cylinder. 

Drug dealing. Fucking drug dealing. 

You can’t believe you’re even thinking of going down this route, but your mind flashes back to old roommates, old friends, old classmates who had nonchalantly made a pretty bundle on the side, carelessly tossing around and selling all types of prescription drugs on campus. And you vividly remember how simple they had made it seem, how they had all gotten away with it. Scrumptious meals, pricey alcohol, far beyond a college palette, and beautiful clothing were the only “consequences” for their crimes. 

If they could do it, you could too. Or so you’d like to think. 

But as naive and ignorant as you are about this line of work, even you know there’s a difference between selling to silly college students on campus, and selling it at a popular nightclub owned by an infamous crime syndicate. 

Even as far removed as you are from the more seedy underbelly of the new city you live in, you know of the Seijoh Syndicate. Everyone in town does. It’s hard not to when they literally run and own the entire place. 

Oikawa Tooru and the rest of the Seijoh Four run their domain with an iron fist. They’re practically nonexistent, merely a scary story to keep people in line, for those who abide by the laws and keep their noses out of trouble, but an all too real nightmare for those who choose to defy them. And you shudder, remembering the horror stories you had heard of exactly what happens to those who decide to try and start their own nefarious business and practices on Seijoh streets without Oikawa’s permission. 

But surely they wouldn’t pay you any mind? Right? Surely a mere girl in her early twenties selling the leftover prescription medicine she has in her cabinets for one night won’t do any harm? 

Maybe it’s stupid to go to such a prevalent and well known club, especially one that’s notoriously favored by the Seijoh Four. But you convince yourself that it’s the most crowded venue in the area with a target demographic who’s guaranteed to buy you out, even at the obscene prices you plan on charging. How would anyone even notice you? Where else could you go? What options do you even have? 

So despite the nervous pit swelling in your stomach, you soldier on, plastering a cheery smile at the bouncer who easily waves you in without a second glance, slipping into the sweaty mass of bodies, going deeper and deeper until you’re surrounded - skin, bones, and muscles pressing against you on all sides, safe from any prying eyes. 

Or so you believe. 

You know who the Seijoh Four are. You even know their names. But never have you met them, never have you ever seen a picture of what they each look like. Not that it would help you if you did when you’re so laser focused on finding potential customers, not even bothering to look around to see if anyone’s watching you. So you carry on, unaware of the four sets of eyes looking at you in amusement from their roost high above the writhing crowds. 

There’s nothing subtle about the way you sloppily nudge people, practically shoving your pills in stranger’s faces, almost wildly waving your merchandise around you in a desperate attempt to pull in buyers. Sweaty nervous hands fumble as you exchange little plastic baggies for wads of cash and Matsukawa raises a brow in disbelief while Hanamaki cackles when you drop your merch and payment, getting on all fours on the trashed dance floor to recollect your goods. 

It might be the most amusing show they’ve had in a while, but Iwaizumi feels a pang of pity at the wild hopeless look in your eyes and he swiftly stands, brusquely telling the other three that he’s going to go down and tell you off with just a warning, only to be stopped when Oikawa smoothly stands to his feet, effectively blocking Iwaizumi’s path. 

“Now, now Iwa-chan. Don’t be so hasty. Let me go talk to the cutie. I’ve been so bored recently and she looks like she’ll be fun! Plus you’ll make her cry with that scary face of yours.” 

Suddenly the sight of you bumbling around isn’t quite as entertaining as the remaining three men watch the brunette prowl towards you, heavy realization of what’s to come sombering the mood.  

 You’re frantic, flitting about the throngs of flailing limbs and swaying bodies, frustration from not being able to get through your supplies fast enough weighing at your conscious. Sure, you’ve managed to accrue some cash, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough to even feed yourself for the coming week let alone make a dent in the daunting rent that looms over you. And you can feel hot tears prick at the corner of your eyes when you see that it’s almost closing time and you’re still stuck with more than half your inventory, no closer to figuring out how to survive. So when a hand firmly rests on your shoulder, you whip around, ready to take your anger out on the poor soul who’s managed to catch you at the worst time. But you freeze, vicious words stuck in your mouth when you see the handsome man beaming down at you, a thick wad of rolled up bills haphazardly dangling from his fingers. 

“I heard you might have some stuff I’d be interested in.” 

You wonder if this is all a dream, if the man in front of you is (ironically a devilishly) handsome angel swooping into save you when he casually asks you how much stuff you still have, how much you’d be willing to sell everything for, not even blinking an eye at your outrageous price tag. You’re so stunned by how quick he is to call it a done deal, not resisting even a bit as he wraps his hand around your wrist, pulling you after him, saying some vague comments about wanting to go somewhere a little more private since it’s a bigger trade. All you can think about is how you’ll finally be able to eat something other than instant noodles and not have to worry about rent as you throw yourself back into interviewing, too lost in thoughts to be wary of how you’re being dragged farther and farther away from the rowdy crowd. 

But the sound of a door slamming shut behind you jolts you back to reality and Oikawa fights back a laugh at how adorable you are, eyes blown wide like a deer in headlights as your head swivels side to side, dismay and panic making you tremble when you survey the private room you’re in, throat nervously gulping when you notice the three other occupants. 

You’re so predictable and Oikawa just rolls his eyes fondly at how you swiftly turn around, trying to lunge towards the door in an attempt to escape, taking his time to leisurely make his way towards you, brown orbs taking in every inch of you as Matsukawa and Hanamaki hold your writhing body in place. 

It’s so satisfying watching you crumble to pieces before his very eyes at just the mention of his name, despair and fear swirling beautifully on your face when he continues to introduce the rest of the Seijoh Four. It never gets old, that deliciously addicting feeling of power he feels when people tremble from just a few syllables and he relishes in your pleading apologies and your tears, patiently waiting for you to finish your little sob story, barely listening to the details as he focuses in on how gorgeous you are, broken and vulnerable. 

And really, there’s no need for him to pay close attention to your blabbering anyway. It always comes down to one thing…

 “So you need money, cutie? How about working for me?”

 “Oye! Oikawa-”

“I’m just asking her some questions, Iwa-chan.”

There’s tense silence and your eyes nervously flicker back and forth between the two imposing figures staring each other down, green and brown eyes clashing in a silent argument. But as if they’ve somehow come to a conclusion, Iwaizumi tsks and looks away while Oikawa turns his attention back to you, a sickeningly cheerful grin on his face. 

Blood curling fear lances through you and you’re almost grateful for the two pairs of strong arms holding you tight, their grip keeping you from falling to your knees as your legs threaten to give out under the pressure you feel as Oikawa thoughtfully looks at you. 

You know the smart answer would be to adamantly say no and promptly figure out a way to leave this moment far behind you, even if it means forfeiting any money you had made tonight. But...a job is a job, right? And surely a job in the Seijoh Syndicate would be more lucrative than anything you’re doing now, right? 

Oikawa hides a smile at the way he can see the cogs in your head turn, apprehension turning to curiosity as you stutter out questions about pay and what the job would entail. Desperation is a good look on anyone, but it suits you particularly well and just like that, hook, line, and sinker, he has a new cute live-in maid to replace the recently vacated role.  

Working as Oikawa’s maid is more...normal than you would have expected. Not that you’re complaining and other than the embarrassing maid outfit he makes you wear, complete with frilly bow and garters, the chores are mundane. Bring breakfast to him and wake him. Clean his room and do his laundry when he’s away at meetings or jobs. Make sure guests have refreshments when they come over to his large estate, a mansion you now also call home. 

If you’re honest, it’s much more relaxing than the multiple part-time jobs you had been juggling previously, and with free board, free food, and the substantial paycheck that regularly makes its way to your bank account, you can see your future brightening up again. When your duties are done for the day, you resume practicing for interviews and keeping up with the industry, feeling emboldened and empowered to finally resume working towards the career path you had always dreamed of. 

But the more time you spend with Oikawa, the closer and more entangled in your life the brunette becomes. Alarm bells ring wildly in your head as you’re forced to join him for meals, forced to dress in elaborate gowns and jewelry while you’re waltzed around on his arm, forced to travel around the world with him, and attend to him like a glorified assistant. He’s too charming, too familiar, too bold, and you can’t help but feel like you’re racing towards some inevitable crash as he easily brushes aside any boundaries between the two of you. 

You know so many women would kill to be in your shoes and you can understand why, not completely immune to his playful smile and the lilt of his voice yourself. But you know better, know exactly how dangerous it would be to get involved with a man like Oikawa Tooru. 

It’s clear from the crimson stains on the clothes he leaves for you to either dispose of, or have cleaned. It’s clear from the wails and sobs of woman after woman he uses and tosses aside like garbage on an almost daily basis. It’s clear from the guns, knives, and weapons, most of which you don’t even know the name of, filling up all the walls, drawers, and cabinets.  

So you do your best to keep your distance, building titanium walls around your heart. Always polite, too terrified of what would happen if you pissed him off, but cold enough to deter him from more amorously or intimately testing his boundaries. 

And it seems to work as he turns his eyes towards other women, leaving you alone after throwing a few flirty comments and winks your way and ultimately falling in bed with some other poor damsel. But you nervously gulp when it’s just the two of you one night and just as you’re ready to make yourself scarce after turning down his bed and laying out his pajamas, his voice beckons you over and you anxiously bite your lower lip at the sight of pills of all shapes and sizes splayed out across his desk.    

Other than your prescription medicine, you don’t have a lot of experience with drugs other than the few blunts here and there during your college years and you had always strictly kept to your recommended doses, never even entertaining the idea of taking more. So the sight in front of you is overwhelming and you hesitantly stare anywhere but at the table surface, anxiously waiting for Oikawa to explain why he called you over. But what you’re not expecting is the warm hand gently grasping your wrist and holding your arm out, small objects being carefully placed in your outstretched palm, and soft coaxing from Oikawa to “give them a try”. 

Every part of you is screaming to throw the pills and make a run for it, begging you to come up with some excuse or just outright reject his offer. But it’s as if your body is frozen and he firmly pushes your hand to your mouth, grip tightening enough to make you wince when you hesitate to listen. The slight pain is enough to remind you that you’re not exactly in any position to negotiate and you force yourself to down the pills and gulp down the glass of water he holds to your lips. 

The last thing you remember is the unsettling feeling of beginning a descent to an unknown place from which there is no return as Oikawa pulls you to his bed. And then euphoria floods through you as your body slots against his larger frame. 

It feels good. Too good. Unnaturally good. But it’s intoxicating and you can’t help but let yourself drown in the hazy waves crashing down upon you, feeling lighter, freer, happier than you have for years. You vaguely register roaming hands, a hot wet mouth, a body on top of yours, something hard pressing against the apex of your thighs, filling you, consuming you in heady pleasure only amplified by the drugs coating your insides.  

Bliss. Pleasure. Pure unadulterated joy. And then nothing. 

When you come to, the weight of what had happened last night comes crashing down on you, making your foggy mind throb even more and you can feel bile rising inside of you as a toned arm around your waist tightens its hold on you. Oikawa grunts in annoyance when you claw your way out from his hold, scampering on shaky legs to his bathroom, heaving and expelling the contents of your stomach, trying futilely to cleanse yourself of your employer’s touch. 

You flinch when you hear footsteps approach, shrinking into the corner of the tiled room, body crouched and curled into a tight ball as you try to save any shred of dignity you still have by hiding your naked body as much as you can from his prying eyes. Salty drops threaten to trail down your face when he hovers over you, sweetly cooing down at you “not to be like this”, “you liked it so much last night”, “come back to bed with me” only to stream down your face when his countenance swiftly changes, handsome face glowering down at you before brusquely turning away and snapping at you to “get on with your work then if you’re going to be an annoying bitch”. 

It’s easy to convince yourself that you’re just being smart, just trying to survive as you obediently wash up and don your humiliating uniform, that it isn’t just you being a coward as you submissively go about your usual work day, still sitting with thighs pressed against Oikawa’s legs at meals, making no move to brush off the heavy arm he slings around your shoulders, only slightly flinching when his fingertips teasingly play with the hem of your skirt as he converses with the rest of the Seijoh Four. 

But you can’t deny that all you are is a weak fool, desperate to live when you shakily accept the pills he pushes towards you again that night, silently crying yet not doing anything to prevent the inevitable as you swallow any self-respect or pride you had along with the smooth pellets under his watchful gaze, too scared of the glimmer of gunmetal you see on the inside of his jacket to even think of resisting. 

And history repeats itself. Over and over again. 

Oikawa smiles at how different you are from that skittish creature who fled from his every touch, smirking at how naive and innocent you still are as you try to hide how eager you are for your daily dose, unaware of how he’s slowly been increasing it every night, ignorant of how you unconsciously lean into his touches, pretty lips wrapping around his fingers as he hand feeds you. 

Do you know what an animal you are in bed these days? Do you realize how little there is left to differentiate you from one of his filthy whores when you’re so doped up on whatever he gives you, moaning like a pornstar and leaving vicious red claw marks on his skin as you bounce on his cock? 

And he knows it’s time to move onto the next phase of your conditioning when there’s not even a speck of shame in your clear eyes when the sunlight begins to filter through the window, knowingly smiling in satisfaction when instead of slinking off to wallow in your regret you shimmy down between his legs and begin to nuzzle and mouth his morning wood, face full of nothing but wanton desire as you take his cock in your mouth. 

He doesn’t give you anything that night. Or the next night. Or the one after that. He doesn’t so much as even look at you outside of your usual eye contact, not a single flirtatious word slipping past his lips.

You should be grateful. This is what you wanted, right? To keep things strictly professional between the two of you. To not be coerced into the artificial pleasure you’ve been swallowing on a daily basis for the last month now. To not feel like just another warm body for Oikawa to taint. 

Your interview notes and open tab of job listings are right there, begging for your attention, practically screaming at you to pursue the life you’ve always dreamed of. 

Yet here you are, not even a week later, on your knees in between Oikawa’s legs as he leisurely reclines in his chair, peppering his inner thighs with kisses and rubbing your face against the growing bulge in his trousers, begging and pleading for another dose, feeling utterly empty and cold inside, unable to sleep, unable to focus, unable to function without the nights of hazy ecstasy. 

Your heart drops at the long disappointed sigh the brunette releases. 

“Drugs are expensive, cutie. I was just being nice and letting you try some new batches we’ve been producing, but now that they’re on the market, I can’t just keep on giving them to you for free.” 

He rolls his eyes when you adamantly tell him you’ll pay whatever the price is, a condescending smirk splitting his face from how quick you are to shut up, soul crushed when he reveals the extravagant cost, a price he knows you can’t afford with the salary he’s providing you with. 

But he artfully softens his smile as he begins to unbuckle his pants, sliding the fabric down and letting his throbbing cock spring into view, chuckling when it lightly slaps your face as it’s released from its confines, wondering if you’re drooling from the sight of his erection or the pills he’s playfully placing along the length of it. 

“I know you don’t have that money, cutie. But I’d be willing to accept other forms of payments.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before you’re rushing to take him in his mouth and he loudly laughs at how obscene you look, slobbering all over his length, fervently bobbing your head up and down, hastily trying to deep throat him to reach the pill strategically placed right at the base of his shaft, lips puckering as you inhale the drugs, swallowing around him in a way that has him groaning as you stuff your face full of chemicals and pre-cum. And it doesn’t take much longer for him to wash your mouth and throat with warm rivulets of sticky white fluids as he watches the goods take effect, his balls tightening and cock straining with arousal as you reach between your legs, fingers playing with your tight dripping hole while your lewd moans vibrate against him. 

It’s pathetically endearing how you can’t keep off of him after that, insisting on sitting on his lap during meals, your cute ass grinding against his clothed cock, always dropping to your knees in between chores, warming his cock in your greedy mouth, always asking him how many pills you’ve earned so far. You really are just his little slutty drug addict now, aren’t you? 

But he needs you to be more than that, needs you to learn that you belong to anyone who’s willing to give you the high you crave, needs you to realize that you’re just a free use drug addicted whore for anyone and everyone to use. 

So despite how tempting it is to just plunge balls deep inside your tight little pussy, he shoves you off of him one night as you try to grind against his body, feigning exhaustion and boredom of your body, watching in amusement at the panicked crazed look that flashes across your face at his words. Well aren’t you a beautiful sight, throwing yourself at his feet and groveling, saying you’ll do anything for another dose. 

Anything, huh? 

In your defense, even through the daze of your withdrawal, there’s still a wary expression on your face when Matsukawa and Hanamaki enter the room. Maybe you aren’t as broken as Oikawa had thought. But when you see the little baggies filled with the tablets you’ve become far too familiar with twirling between the duo’s fingers, you practically lunge at them and Oikawa finally allows himself the pleasure of reaching into his pants and stroking himself to the debauched sight playing out in front of him. 

Maybe he needs to fuck you in front of a mirror more often if this is what you look like from an outside perspective. It’s like you were made to be used, to be just a warm toy for men to use and Oikawa can’t help but think you look best like this, cocks penetrating both your front and back holes, your body squeezed between two bodies. And he fondly smiles at how you have Hanamaki’s face between the palms of your hands, your lips locked in a sloppy kiss as your tongue ravages the strawberry blonde’s mouth, searching for the pills the man had playfully placed on the tip of his tongue in front of your very eyes before winking at you and telling you to come and get them yourself if you wanted them so badly. 

They keep your daily training a surprise, mixing up who gets to wreck your body each day, how many cocks and rounds of cum you’ll need to pay with, what pills and dosage you get. Always keeping you lost and confused, making sure your mind is just a muddled mess that can only think of reaching your next high by any means necessary. 

Hell, even Iwaizumi takes part when he realizes that you’re beyond the point of no return, that Oikawa wasn’t joking when he said that there is no other choice for you anymore. This is your life now. This is who you are now. This is your “happily ever after”. He knows all that, can see all that in the way your dazed eyes only come to life at the sight of your addiction, your otherwise listless body perking up at the sound of the tiny objects rattling in their container. And yet a small sliver of guilt has him growling at you to get on all fours, ensuring your face isn’t visible, turning you into just another body for him to mindlessly use as he pleases. 

It’s an uncomfortable position, borderline painful as your knees rock back and forth on the hard floor with every brutal thrust of Iwaizumi’s hips. But you don’t care, the aching pain in your legs just dull background noise as you fixate on the tablets scattered on the floor in front of your face, dropping your entire upper body low to the ground, only your hips raised high as your mouth snaps forward. You’re so close and you mewl as your lips make contact with the first pill, uncaring of the pitiful sight you make licking and lapping the floor, whimpering when a hand firmly grabs you by the hair and roughly pulls your face away from your feast. 

“Maybe we should get you a dog bowl, cutie. It’s humiliating even for you to be eating from the dirty floor like that. Hold her hair for me, Iwa-chan.” 

You crane your neck back and forth, jaw jutting forward as you frantically fight against the tight grip holding you back, mouth drooling and tongue extending like a ravenous animal. But it’s no use and you whine, too focused on your unfinished “meal” to notice how Oikawa is still standing in front of you, cock pulled out from his pants, his hands rapidly fisting the shaft. And only when thick white spurts glaze the remaining pills do you whip your attention towards him, staring with hopeful wide eyes when he crouches in front of you and grabs your face. 

“When Iwa-chan lets go of your hair, you’ll get to have the rest of your treats, but you also have to eat the special seasoning I’ve generously given you, okay? If I see even a speck of it left, you’re not getting anything tomorrow, understand?”

Oikawa laughs at how vigorously you nod your head and with a nod in Iwaizumi’s direction, you’re released and the two men watch on as you lick the floor until it’s sparkling clean, slumping your face in the mess of your own drying saliva as you reach euphoria once more. You wail as Iwaizumi shoves you off a cliff and into floating clouds of bliss with one last thrust, the drugs in your system weaving a comforting cocoon around you that you melt into, unable to escape its soothing pull, giggling in content as his seed fills you to the brim. 

There’s silence as Iwaizumi pulls out of you, tucking himself back into his pants before sitting besides Oikawa, joining him as he continues observing your used and drugged up body sprawled across the floor, a dopey smile on your face as cum begins to leak out of your spent pussy. 

Minutes pass and Iwaizumi sighs, knowing what Oikawa is waiting for him to ask despite how insistent he has been over the years about not wanting to be involved in this particular side of the business...

“Are you going to have her start working at the brothel soon? She seems just about ready.” 

“Not yet. I want to give her a few test runs first before I have her work full-time at that establishment. She’s only been with the four of us, so I’m curious to see how she is with a complete stranger. It’s perfect timing too since Sawamura is coming over for a meeting soon and I know he won’t damage the goods if I gift her to him for a night or two. Plus, she hasn’t completely lost her mind yet so we can get some more use out of her before we toss her aside...”

The brunette rambles on, tone light and airy as if he’s just discussing the weather or a TV show he watched, as if he’s not mere feet away from a woman he’s utterly destroyed and rebuilt into just another brainless profit-making doll. 

And Iwaizumi tunes him out, already having heard almost this exact speech countless times by now, unable to even keep track of how many others like you there have been in the past, unwilling to think about how many more there will be in the future. But he snorts at Oikawa’s typical closing line.

“I guess it’s almost time to find a new cute maid.” 

[foli-vora]

reflections

masterlist

A/N: I’m back, baby! This is completely self indulgent because I’m feeling shitty about my bod, who better to help than certified soft boi Marcus? This is dedicated to all the goddesses who sometimes struggle with remembering that they have the body of a bad bitch, regardless of what it looks like or what society tells you it should be. I love you.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: insecurities, body image issues, SMUT 18+ ONLY - body worship, unprotected p in v, I may have cried writing this no I won’t apologise

+

It was one of those days.

Your clothes didn’t feel right on your body, clumping in certain spots and hanging wrong everywhere else. The reflection in the bathroom mirror showed someone desperately trying to piece together what was left – a bit of extra serum here, a heavier swipe of makeup there, as if it would all come together in the end and you’d be able to walk around with your head held high.

It didn’t work.

How you landed Marcus Pike, you’ll never know, and it’s that thought that festers, ugly and unyielding, in your mind throughout the entire day and well into dinner.

He watches you from across the table as he eats, head tilting when he quickly catches onto the fact that you’re unusually quiet, reserved, curling in on yourself and pushing the food around your plate instead of enthusiastically diving in like you normally do when he cooks.

“Is everything okay?” His voice is soft, his gentle probing so much more different from previous partners and their passive aggressive ‘What’s wrong with you?’.

Your eyes find him, flickering across his face creased with concern, your stomach twisting uncomfortably as you force a little smile. It doesn’t sit right on your face. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

He knows you’re lying, knows from the sudden shine in your eyes that something’s bothering you, something’s hurting, but he lets it rest for now, sensing your discomfort from miles away and instead choosing to reach a hand across the table to fold softly over yours as he fills the silence with the goings on of his day.

You don’t eat.

He doesn’t comment on it.

He hides when he hears you tidying in the kitchen, thinking he was already getting ready for bed. He watches you swipe away the food on your plate with a quiet sniff, the back of your hand quickly catching a lone tear that streaks down your face, and then he knows.

You pull at your shirt, shift uncomfortably in your tight pants – his favourite – and he knows.

Heart breaking for you, Marcus makes sure to make a noise as he enters, smiling softly when you jump and laugh quietly. You force a smile, turning your back to him to start washing dishes when warm hands cover yours in the soapy water, a body pressing up close behind you.

“Take a shower with me?” He asks into the hot skin of your throat, kissing softly below your ear as he sways with your body gently. A habit of his – always swaying to music that isn’t there. The music of your love, he liked to say. The cheesy idiot.

You want to say no, he can feel it in the way your body tenses.

“I had one earlier.”

He leaves it, nodding against your cheek in understanding before kissing it softly and fading away upstairs. He takes your composure with him, and you can’t help but cry as you finish up the dishes.

You really don’t deserve him. He was far too good for you.

The ugly thought that had long settled in your mind, suddenly sprouts into something bigger. It fills you, the unworthiness, and your chest tightens as you fight off the heavier sobs, struggling to swallow around the lump lodged in your throat from the effort of keeping it all at bay. You’d save them for later, when he’s oblivious and lost in dreams.

You must have taken longer than you thought because he’s already pottering around the room in his pyjamas by the time you make your way upstairs, dark hair dripping small droplets of water onto the collar of his comfy tee. He never dries his hair properly. Usually you’d do it for him – cover his head with a towel and rub it vigorously until he’s unsteady, chest heaving from the laughter muffled by the fabric.

Not tonight.

He watches sadly as you retrieve your pyjamas and head for the bathroom, head downcast.

“Hey,”

You stop instantly, a small smile twisting your lips uncomfortably as you turn to raise a brow at him.

“Come here.”

When you get to him, he quickly steers you to the full-length mirror by the walk-in closet and shushes your quiet refusal, standing close to you as you both appear in the reflection.

“Look.” He says.

You frown at him in the reflection, “What?”

“Look.”

And so you do.

You can’t help the sting of more tears in your raw eyes as they roll over your body, automatically drawn in to the bits you don’t like and picking them to pieces in your mind. He watches intently, heart breaking even more in his chest with every second he watches resentment fill your features.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your head shakes. It’s automatic. Can’t he see out of those gorgeous brown eyes?

His voice remains gentle, “Stop it – look.”

His fingers gently fiddle with the hem of your shirt before he’s pulling it up, careful as he pries it from your body and slides it over your head. Your arms automatically go to cross over your chest, to cover the suddenly exposed skin, but he doesn’t have it.

“No.”

His hands are warm on your shoulders, palms soft as they rub soothingly up and down your arms, and you don’t bother hiding the sadness anymore. Why bother? He already knows.

“What were those affirmations from your new year resolution?”

You snort before you can help it. “They were bullshit –”

He didn’t think so. You were all about them for the first few weeks – writing them in your journal, saying them in the mirror while he watched from behind the shower curtain. You even made him write some down and they’re still stuck to the side of his computer screen in his office.

“What were they? And look at yourself when you say them.”

You heave a sigh, eyes rolling from his to meet your own in the reflection. “I am strong.”

He mhm’s softly into your neck, chin resting softly on your shoulder. “And?”

“I am powerful.”

“Incredibly so. And?”

“I am beautiful.”

“Yeah, you are. Now again.”

“Marcus –”

“Again.”

You do as he asks, heart thundering in your chest as his hands smooth down along your torso and across the skin of your stomach, wrapping you up in his arms as he watches you. He turns you once you finish, hand tenderly smoothing along your cheek before cupping your jaw.

“I know this won’t fix it, I know what you’re feeling goes deeper than this, and I know nothing I do will take your pain away, but will you let me try, honey?”

His thumbs sweep under your eyes, brushing away the tears that had fallen from your lashes, and you smile, heart thundering in your chest as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

You really didn’t deserve Marcus Pike, but God were you lucky.

“I love you.”

He grins, eyes shining, “I love you.”

A part of you says no, no he doesn’t, but then his hands gently cradle your face and bring your lips to his, and you’re lost in the slow movements of his kiss, unaware he was backing you up to the bed until the backs of your knees hit the sides and you’re falling back onto it with a startled giggle.

You try to fight off the wave of hesitation when he goes for the button of your jeans and relax, but he can feel your reluctance, always so attuned to you and what you were feeling. He pauses, fingers stopping their movements as he looks at you.

“It’s okay.” You don’t know why you’re whispering. It’s just so quiet in the bedroom, so still, maybe you were afraid of shattering the silence.

He continues then, slipping the button through the loop and pulling your fly down before he grabbing the denim and dragging it softly down your legs. You lift your hips, shimmy a little to get them past your thighs and smile at his soft expression when he settles on his knees between your legs after throwing your jeans to the floor.

There was something magical about being the sole focus of Marcus Pike’s attention. Your skin hums under his gentle touch, goosebumps following the path of his fingers as they dance softly over your body. You don’t shy away from his open gaze; don’t cross your arms over your chest and try to hide your thighs like your mind is screaming at you to do. You just simply lay among the pillows, letting his eyes crawl over every inch of you.

And there’s no disgust hiding anywhere on his face. No flicker of repulsion. No curl of the nose or judgement in his gaze.

It’s pure admiration, pure awe.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You want to scoff, you know that’s not the truth – the planet is full of drop-dead stunning women – but the longer he stares at you, looking all over your body and straight into your wide eyes, you think maybe he’s not lying… maybe there is a tiny bit of truth to his statement and, well, what’s the harm in believing it? If only just for a little while.

So you smile, heart beating wildly when he grins in return, eyes soft as he reaches back and pulls his tee off in one smooth swipe, and then moves to hover carefully over you. You welcome the soothing heat of his skin as he presses into you, hands greedily grabbing at his back as trails his lips across the skin of your jaw, nipping softly at your throat before he moves to your lips.

It’s easy to lose yourself in his steady stream of affection, your mind all but blanking as he steals the breath from your lungs, his tongue taking the last of any coherent thoughts as it moves along your own. He swallows your whimper and presses further into you, grinding his hips slowly into yours and relishing in your quiet moan.

He softly pulls away, keeping his voice low as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his question, and he smiles before kissing his way down your jaw, following the path to the curve of your shoulder to where the flesh of your breast melts from the cup of your bra.

He pauses, eyes flicking up to yours, “Still okay?”

You lift your chest to answer his question, one of his hands quick to whip around your body and undo the clasp before pulling it away from your completely. He inhales quietly, watching your breasts fall to a more natural position once free of the bra, and heat creeps along your ears the longer he stares, wandering hands moving to cup the soft flesh delicately.

A light sigh leaves you when his thumbs brush over your nipples, circling over the stiff peaks before he rips a surprised gasp from your lips. His fingers tickle the harsh sting of his pinch away before he envelopes a nipple into the wet heat of his mouth, tongue soothing any remaining pain. He moves to the other side, repeating his actions before pulling way to blow softly over the wet skin, chuckling quietly at the way you squirm under him.

He continues his slow journey downwards, but stops when he reaches your stomach. A part of you doesn’t want to look at him – what if he doesn’t like it? But then you’re reminded that he’s seen you naked hundreds of times, in all sorts of places and positions. Why would now be any different?

So you look at him, eyes following to where he rests comfortably between your thighs, gaze already trained on you with an air of soft fondness. He smiles when you look at him, and only when you look at him do you realise what patterns his fingers are tracing over your skin – he’s tracing your stretchmarks.

The sudden wave of apprehension is washed away when his lips trace over the shallow valleys in your skin, kissing along every single one he could see while his fingers continued running up and down your sides softly.

“Marcus,” you giggle, when he moves too close to the ticklish spot above your hip.

“What?” He asks innocently, a loud raspberry quickly cutting through the peace of the bedroom as he nuzzles into your side. You laugh louder, squirming against his hold and batting him away as he continues his attack. He glows when he sees the lazy smile stretching your features, no shadows hanging in the back of your eyes.

“Idiot.” You mutter affectionately, smile widening.

“Your idiot.”

His fingers trace over the waistband of your panties, waiting for your go ahead before they slide under the fabric and move them softly down your legs. He discards them off the side of the bed and hums lowly when your legs part under his gentle coaxing, eyes zeroing in on your folds shining with the arousal that had built from his tender ministrations.

“This okay?” He whispers, eyes watching the way your brow creases when he runs his fingers up and down your slit, his cock jumping in his pyjama bottoms when he feels your arousal coat his fingertips.

“Mhmm.” You relax into the pillows, eyes closing in bliss at the rhythmic circles he was rubbing over your clit. “Marcus?”

“Yeah honey?”

You knew where this was going, and as much as you adored his tongue and the absolute magic he could make with it, you just wanted him close. Your hands greedily grab at him, “Come ‘ere.”

He frowns, pouting as his fingers dip into your heat. “But I –”

“Not tonight. I just want you… please?”

He softens, nodding with a smile as he melts back over you, lips eagerly meeting with yours as you feel the weight of his body carefully press into you. He shimmies out of his pyjama bottoms, quick to settle back in between your legs and you exhale shakily as the head of his cock slides between your folds, a fire kickstarting in your stomach as he lazily drags his hips back and pushes forward until he runs his tip over your clit again and again.

His hand darts in between your bodies, fumbling to line himself up with your entrance as your lips work messily against his, throwing his thoughts into a complete jumble, and it’s not long until he’s sinking into you, bottoming out in your wet heat with a low groan. Your walls flutter deliciously around him and his hips jolt, before he’s rolling forward and starting a steady, unhurried pace.

“I love you,” he whispers as you pant below him, the slow drag of his hips against your clit as he grinds into you steadily building the fire in your core.

You can’t help the tears that build in your eyes, the intense power of his adoring gaze too much for your damaged heart to handle, but he doesn’t let you turn away, he won’t let you hide. His forehead meets yours, hands moving to intertwine tightly with yours as you breathe in the other, the slow pressure of his hips staying steady as your chest tightens from the sparkle in his dark eyes.

You put that sparkle there. You can see it now.

It was love.

Your love, his love –

It all morphed together in a wild frenzy of colours and sounds and everything was just right. Here now, with him, everything was right. There was no pain, no doubt… just pure devotion. Your heart struggles with the pressure of it all, chest threatening to surrender under the weight, but you welcome it eagerly, desperate to feel and breathe all of him as he moves over you.

The tears break free. “Marcus –”

“I know. I’ve got you, honey.”

“I love you,” you murmur, sniffing quietly as you wiggle a hand free to tangle into the damp locks at the back of his head to keep his forehead pressed against yours. His nose runs softly along your own and your heart squeezes at the sweet tenderness of it. “So fucking much –”

His face crumbles, completely unashamed as a wave of tears build in his own eyes, his own insecurities biting at the back of his mind, and he nods, pushing the shadows away and instead, nuzzling into you and your warmth.

“I know – almost as much as I love you.”

You share a watery smile, your thumb brushing softly over his cheek to collect the stray tear that falls free and then he’s moving, your hands winding to grab at his back as he picks up the pace, keeping the pressure of his hips rolling against your clit and you cry out quietly as your stomach tightens with the threat of your oncoming crash of pleasure.

He senses it, moves just that little more desperately against you, and then you’re shattering under him, eyes closing as fire floods your veins and rips through your body. He falls with you, his own end coaxed on by the sudden tightening off your hot walls and the rush of slick that floods him. He shudders above you, face pinching as he fills you, and you moan when you feel his cock twitch inside you.

You pull him to rest in your arms, head tucked comfortably in the curve of your shoulder as he huffs into your throat. You try to steady your own breathing, your heart beating wildly against your chest as the post-climax tingles settle into your limbs, your body melting into the bed as exhaustion rolls through you.

He’s gentle as he pulls out of you, carefully falling next to you, and watching you shift onto your side to face him with a languid smile.

His voice is barely a whisper, his fingers moving to find yours as his racing heart calms. “You really are incredible, honey.”

Heat crawls along your chest and fills your cheeks, “You’re not so bad yourself, Agent Pike.”

“Seriously,” he says quietly, “I wish you could see it.”

You swallow the sudden lump building in your throat, and you smile widely at him, filled with such a sudden wave of confidence you wish it would last. “One day I will.” And you know in your heart that it could be possible, it would be. “One day.”

+

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[hereticpridevinyl]

Ok I finished your gay!dean manifesto and SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE!! I am incabible of putting words together and sounding coherent cause my brain is melting from my ears and psalms 40:2 has gone and replaced it. Gonna think about it for life but honestly it’s made me such a gay!dean stan now! Can I hear more of your thoughts on it and just why cause it’s so big-brained snd there but I feel like my head has been caved in by the concept cause how tf am i only seeing this NOW???

first of all, i'm so glad you enjoyed my fic! thanks for reading :)

as for the gay dean brainrot... WELCOME BESTIE, JOIN US! gonna preface this all by saying that i adore every sexuality headcanon for dean (except straight—vile energy. evil, even, and wrong) and as a bi person i would be remiss if i didn't acknowledge how wonderful bi dean is. however. HOWEVER.

(under the cut because this got away from me enormously)

i've talked about this a lot on twitter, and i know a lot of people have said this more eloquently than i, but i'll try to sum up my thoughts here.

the way dean is into women is so incredibly performative that often it can't help but be read as an act. there's almost a routine to it: dean meets Beautiful Woman, dean flirts with Beautiful Woman, dean (sometimes, but not always) sleeps with Beautiful Woman, dean pats himself on the back for fulfilling his role of Most Hetero Man In America. it's as if being into women is another aspect of his job, another skill he was taught and forced to utilize, much the same way he was taught to hunt. in early seasons, dean's interactions with woman quickly gain a stale, rote sort of taste. we as the audience expect dean will hit on any attractive woman he sees; dean as a character seems to expect it of himself. there's no anticipation behind these interactions. they're predictable and often lead nowhere—especially if dean thinks the woman is unattainable. dean's hot-blooded all-american cishet lady's man persona is just that—a persona.

we see the cracks in this persona most often during moments that are ostensibly played for laughs. haha, dean likes a show about a sexy male doctor! he gets flustered when he's around the lead haha! he's so masculine and straight and tough but he falls apart when his favorite wrestler shakes his hand and winks at him! he can't form a coherent sentence when he thinks this man is flirting with him, and he's so flustered that he doesn't try to stop it haha! he's psyching himself up for this hookup with a woman because it's funny if he's not confident! look, he likes wearing panties and his comfy bed and cooking for his family and dressing up like a cowboy but those are all things he does in private because he's actually very straight and manly! see? in an effort to make dean seem incontrovertibly heterosexual, his character becomes a parody of himself. these brief moments that we're supposed to laugh at become tragic; watching dean winchester perform his compulsory heterosexuality becomes a waiting game, seeking out those flashes of his true self, his most genuine self, from-moment-to moment.

and then something insane happens: post-season 12, dean stops hooking up with women at all.

his hookups had been waning in the two or three seasons leading up to this point, but after s12 he stops trying completely. it's as if that aggressive need to perform this learned role eventually died out. he just... stops. late seasons dean is a man who would rather stay home and watch lost boys with his husband and his brother and their son for the millionth time than have sex with a woman he's never going to see again. this is who he becomes—and the show forgets to make us laugh this time.

and we all know that supernatural has a disease that almost always keeps them from writing women well—all marginalized groups, actually, but that's a topic for another rambling post—which could be a significant factor as to why dean's most compelling romance-coded relationships are with men, but it can't be the only reason. sam's relationships with women are frequently interesting to watch, and if not groundbreaking, they seem natural. there isn't anything forced or performative about sam being into a woman. obviously the brothers are very different people and cannot be compared one-to-one, but there's definitely something to be said about sam's lack of go crazy go stupid hot girl summer star-crossed lovers cas-benny-crowley situation that dean's got going on at all times.

in my opinion, the best chemistry dean has with a woman is charlie—and while that's very strictly platonic seeing as she's a whole lesbian and probably wouldn't go for dean even if she wasn't, it's undeniable that there's just something intoxicating about watching them on screen together. while i might be biased with this analysis, i think it's worth pointing out: it's like dean's letting out a breath he's been holding his whole life when he's with her. because he knows she's unavailable, he knows there's no world in which she'd be into him, and therefore he doesn't have to bother putting on his macho straight dude persona. he doesn't have to go through the motions of hitting on her, or sleeping with her, because it's out of the question. he can be himself. turns out, "himself" is a huge fucking nerd who likes to pretend he's someone he isn't and hang out with a woman because he loves being her friend and not any other reason. the axe of heterosexuality is no longer hanging over his head.

there's a throwaway interaction way back in s2e11 that sums this up more succinctly than i can:

DEAN: of course, the most troubling question is why do these people assume we're gay?

SAM: well, you are kinda butch. probably think you're overcompensating.

DEAN: (pause) right.

we've got some splendid jacting here where dean gets control of the vessel for a moment and sort of nervously smiles at sam, a sad kind of scoff that just gets me. here's another moment where we're supposed to laugh, but there's nothing funny about the way dean reacts to sam's words. there's no overblown anger, there's no begrudging laugh, he doesn't roll his eyes. he just smiles. looks down. doesn't argue.

[realcube]

haikyuu!! boys’ reactions to you speaking 💗 uwu💗

characters: tsukishima, ushijima, yaku, kenma & iwazumi

thank you anon for this cute request 💕 idk what i just wrote but i had fun 👍

IWAIZUMI & KENMA’S ARE AGED UP! MUTURE THEMES - MINORS DNI

tw// fluff, swearing, uwu language, cwinge

kenma’s hcs tw// sexual themes, implied switch!reader, phone sex(?), mentions of a blowjob, mentions of punishment

iwaizumi’s hcs tw// breeding kink, fem!reader, orgasm denial

Kei Tsukishima

you realised he didn’t like it so you did it just to annoy him LMFAO

he was scrolling through tiktok and a girl popped up on his fyp talking like that, so he snarled and immediately flicked it away, muttering something along the lines of ‘why do people speak like that? do they think it’s cute? ‘cause it’s really not; it’s just embarrassing.’

so you wasted no time in responding, ‘sowwy? what was that?’

HELL 👏 FIRE

his blood literally ran cold, he was aware that you liked taking the piss but he didn’t expect you to do it to this extent

 ‘what did you just say?’ he murmured, silently praying that he had just misheard you

you rolled your eyes before scoffing ‘nothing.’ you deepened your voice, just playing around at this point tbh

tsukishima hummed in agreement, deciding not to inquire further as he figured that he must’ve heard the echo of the girl’s voice in his head rather than yours

so he was just about go back to scrolling until he heard you coo in a high-pitched from behind him, ‘tsukishima is a lil’ bitch.’

‘(Y/N), FUCKING STOP!’ he let a throaty scream at you

‘you’re so boring, tsukki-’ you spoke, quickly cutting yourself off so you could switch to your uwu voice, ‘or should I say; bowing.’

you said, hopeful that your voice would make it clearing that you meant ‘boring’ rather than the act of playing an instrument with a bow

‘go to hell.’ he grumbled, trying his best to tune you out by pulling his headphones over his ears 

‘babe~’ you purred, shuffling over to him and peppering kisses along the nape of his neck as you were feeling extra evil today, ‘wuv you~’

‘jail.’  tsukishima simply stated as he switched over to Spotify so he could blare some Mother Mother to drown out the sound of your voice

the worst part was that he couldn’t even tell if he liked it or not PFFT

like it was cute but the fact you weaponised it against him annoyed him

but you were also giving him kithes so he couldn’t exactly complain 💞

Morisuke Yaku 

ok don’t even lie yaku does a variant of the uwu voice whenever he’s trying to insult kuroo IUGBEIGVA

it’s something like ‘aww, kuwoo, does your lil’ undewdeveloped bwain not undewstand algebwa?’ but in a mocking way yk?

so when a he watches a lil’ tabby cat approach you on the street, then you busted out the uwu voice that he had never heard before- he was taken aback

at first he was like ‘woah why are you making fun of that cat?’ bc he always associated that voice with ridicule LMFAO

but when he processed all the nice things you were saying he realised that you were being nice lol

so then he was like ‘awwww 🥺 (y/n) + cat = SO FKN CUTE!! 💕💗💖’ *click click* and he just starts taking photos

he probably puts them on his private story with the caption ‘their an angel 😍’

(then kuroo probably replies with ‘they’re*’) (don’t ask why yaku put him on his private story ✋)

anyway, he’s probably so fond of the voice too like ofc he thinks it’s cute

bc it’s a lil’ kitten and you’re talking to it in a high-pitched voice as if it can understand you SO FKN CUTE

he’s not too effected by it tho- it’s mostly how well you get on with the cat that he really admires

then he couched down beside you to talk to the cat too and y’all had a whole conversation with it in uwu

‘aww, look! are you hungwy, baby?’ you asked the cat as it licked the back of it’s paw

‘i think, it is!’ yaku continued, aware that if anybody from school caught him doing this, he’d pass away on the spot but what can he say? he’s soft for you (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

 ‘i have some blueberries in my bag, you can have some if you say please.’ he told the cat

you were both met by the cat’s blank - but adorable - stare, accompanied by silence until the kitten let out a faint, ‘mew’

‘AWWWWWW!!! 💞💕💖🥺👏 ’ you both squealed in unison, impressed by the kitten’s response 

‘it understands us!’ you gasped while applauding the cat for it’s excellent communication skills

‘the voice must work!’ yaku concluded as he scrambled to throw his bag off his back and rummage through it in search of the tub of blueberries

you nodded, watching in awe as yaku pulled out the tub to carefully pick out the plumpest berries and feed them to the cat

yaku noticed your expression out of the corner of his eye and chuckled, ‘what?’

‘you’re so cute.’ you snickered, lighting bopping his nose with your index finger as he continued to allow the cat to feed out of the palm of his hand

a furious blush immediately covered his cheeks as he hastily turned his head away to hide it - in a typical anime fashion, ‘be quiet.’

Kenma Kuzome

it’s a sex thing-- it’s 100% a sex thing

a kink perhaps?

ngl he loves it when you do the voice in bed 

like don’t ask why it turns him on so much

he’s weak for you whenever you do the voice tbh

BUT it’s only hot when you do it 

when any other person does it - especially if it’s over text - he literally gags 🤢🤢🤢

when a streamer he watches does the voice, he’s just thinks ‘ew ✋ that isn’t cute. pls stop.’

but when you do it- boner alert pfft

especially when you moan in that voice yES HE LOVES THAT

you just execute it in a way these other bitches just can’t, okay? 💅 IUERBGFERIBG

he doesn’t mind putting the voice on sometimes if you like it when he does it but he’s really embarrassed by it 🙈

he’ll try to say something in the voice while you’re rearranging his guts for a change and you’re praising him like 👏👏👏 ‘awh, precious kenma bb.i love that voice on you, i might just let you cum early--’

and he’s fucking groaning from pain, pleasure and humiliation 

‘never again.’ was the single coherent thought he could form

you’re only giving like 20% of the time but if you happen to giving on a day that you’re feeling especially evil, you might make him do the voice in exchange for orgasm privileges

but he gets you back for it though 

you’d call him, whining and pleading for him to help you with the throbbing between your legs or at the very least, give you permission to touch yourself

but considering that the day prior, you had tortured his ass to the point were he was now struggling to sit down, ofc he was just like ‘no ❤’ when you ask for his assistance 

even after your continuous begging, he didn’t budge 

‘don’t you dare put your hands on yourself until i get home. i’m leaving right now so i should be back in half an hour but if you keep pestering me like a little bitch, then i’ll be sure to go extra slow on the highway.’

although, for kenma ‘extra slow’ is probably the speed limit lmao

(istg he drives like he’s in mario kart)

however, half an hour was just too long 😩 i mean, you had probably been on call with him for 5 minutes already and it took you 20 minutes to get him to pick up the phone so by now, you were clearly on the brink of madness

‘kitten~’ you whined, desperately trying to think of a way to convince kenma to aid you 

then you remembered; his weak spot

‘pwease, baby?’ you softened and raised the pitch of your voice

kenma perked up as he realised what you were trying to do, the tips of his ears burning, ‘don’t bother to try that with me, (y/--’

‘i’ll suck you off when you come back.’ you promised, keeping the voice on, the aching getting worse and worse by the second

kenma was now partially able to relate to your circumstance as he began to feel a straining of his own, between his legs at your cutesy tone along with the image of the last time you blew him tormenting his mind

‘whatever. but only use your hands. i can tell when you use a toy so don’t even try; or else i’ll dick you down ‘til the sun rises- okay bye.’

atm the moment, that hardly sounded like a punishment but then you reflected back on how you’d be crying for a mercy after the fourth round with kenma so- yeah

anyway, moral of the story, if you perform the voice well enough, it’s basically kenma’s weakness so use it wisely 

Hajime Iwaizumi

you first did the voice in front of him while you had a friend’s baby in your arms and you were trying to communicate with it 

it kinda looked like 

you: hewwo babyy~ who’s the most precious thing? you are! 

the baby: 🤠

the parent: 🙂

iwa: 😶

iwa ON THE INSIDE: breeding kink go brrrr 😩 i want to put a baby in her so bad- she’ll scream my name in that fucking voice tonight

and he was right

cut to him pounding you while demanding that you say his name in ✨the voice✨ or else you won’t be allowed to cum

ofc you had too much pride for that so you just let him dick you down and cum whether he likes it or not but he could tell that was the plan you had in mind so he suddenly pulled out just as you were about to reach your high

he looked at you with a mean scowl, ‘fucking say it or i’ll stop right now.’

if he were to stop, it would kinda be a punishment for him too but he didn’t care- anything to see his lovely gf suffer tbh 😇

also he could get off to you fingering yourself, struggling to orgasm- he’s done it before and he’ll gladly do it again if you don’t say his damn name 

‘iwa..’ you groaned, gripping at the sheets as you anticipated him sliding his cock back into you 

‘in the voice.’ iwaizumi reiterated, delivering a hard smack to the side of your thigh out of annoyance

you hissed at the sharp impact , gulping to lubricate your dry throat before choking out in your best imitation of the voice he desired, ‘iwa~’

he was only half-satisfied with what you uttered but i mean, it got the job done

his dick was throbbing, practically begging for the comfort of your warm cunt once again so he hastily slipped back in, letting out a low groan as he did so

so he’d continue hammer you from behind, probably muttering incoherent things about your babies and your voice while doing so but you chose to pay little attention to it as you couldn’t help but focus on your own intense pleasure

once he finally climaxed, he did it inside you which you wasn’t surprising as y’all had already established that you love being being filled up and he loves filling you up 💕

but then he insisted that y’all go for another few rounds to increase the chance of pregnancy 

like- sir-

you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were on birth control 

bc surely......he would’ve known

but he didn’t

you eventually told him that you had no interest in coming off birth control and he wasn’t mad LMAO he didn’t even want a baby tbh he was just caught up in the moment 

yeah no but if you do the voice again, the cycle will continue

Wakatoshi Ushijima

you were both hanging out in your bedroom, doing your own things, and you were sending your friend a (video) snap so you ironically used the uwu voice

ofc this caught his attention so he shifted his gaze off of his revision sheets and onto you, shooting you a weird look

you couldn’t help but snicker, turning to him and continuing with your little impression, ‘can i hewp you?’ you tried to ask in all seriousness but you couldn’t suppress the smile that was tugging on the corners of your lip

were you a little high? yes

ushijima just blinked rapidly, wondering why you sound like a cuter version of mickey mouse all of a sudden

was it a trend?

or maybe it was for one of those ‘tiktoks’?

either way, ushijima couldn’t help what he said next

‘no. i’m fiwne.’

IUERSBGTOHAROHSGBGFRO

HE SAID IT LIKE ‘fi - whine’ THO

you passed away 💀⚰

‘TOSHI!!!’ you screamed, feeling your soul leave your body

ushijima gasped, thinking that you had just been possessed or sumn, ‘hm?’

once he realised that you were in fact sane, he figured that your reaction must have something to do with his response 

‘did i say something wrong?’ his lips curling into the tiniest of smiles, simply because you looked so joyous so ofc he was he was happy seeing you happy

‘nope! please say it again, toshi! i’m beggin’ ya’

‘no.’

although he loved hearing you laugh more than anything, the man had his limits

ngl he doesn’t mind when you do it - it just doesn’t especially effect him, that’s all

you could just randomly start talking like that during a conversation and he’ll just go from 😐 to 😐

but he gets butterflies when you call him ‘baby’ which is something you usually pickup whenever you put on the voice lol <3

pls call him ‘baby’ or ‘babe’ more he just wants to feel cared for and loved for a change instead of always having to constantly put on a front of ‘big, stoic man with no feeling that you can push around to your hearts content’  around literally everyone. sometimes he just wants to come home and feel like he can actually express himself and be soft without getting ridiculed  

[siriusblackmakesmesoft]

Angel

James Potter X Reader

A/N: hhhh it’s been so long sorry if this sucks but I love you!! Requests are open if you’re willing to wait weeks for me to finish something

Taglist:  @emmaev

@whompingweasley

Warnings: Sad dramatic James, house neutral reader, She/Her pronouns, cheeky reader, kind of short, the most cliche thing I’ve ever written, let me know if I missed anything !!

Word count: 1428

enjoy :)

James rarely had bad days.

Quidditch star, potions genius, loving friends and family, his life was pretty much perfect. His day had started great, if you asked him, with telling of his quidditch dream to Sirius and Remus while eating his favorite breakfast foods. It was a good morning, he got an essay returned with good feedback from his professor, Gryffindor had the pitch right after lunch so he got loads of practice in, and Remus helped him study for his Herbology quiz, so now he felt confident in passing it. Yes it started out a great day for James Potter.

Until it all stopped.

On his way to herbology, James wanted to stop at his dorm to get a sweater- for herbology was outside today and it was quite chilly. He ran quickly, grabbed his quidditch sweater and a fresh quill, and ran to the classroom as fast as he could. He was 10 minutes late, and that was the start of a very bad day.

After the professor gave him two days worth of detention, he sulked to the back of the class. James slipped on the way to the back, mud getting on his new quidditch sweater, getting caked in the screws of his glasses. Usually he’d laugh along. Usually he would jump up, make some sort of silly comment, and strut back to the space he meant to be in. Usually James had good days. But today, being late and detention, falling and listening to everyone laughing at him, he decided that today was the worst day of his life.

After the laughing calmed down, he brushed his hair out with his hands and left the class. Sneaking out of herbology was an easy feat, especially when class was held outside, so walking into the school and to his dorms was no problem. He put his sweater to wash, sniffling as he got mud on his face as he took his shirt off. He took his glasses off, running them under warm water to try and get the dried mud off. He took a shower, hot water swaddling him as he watched mud melt out of his hair. He put sweatpants on and an old knit sweater his mum got him. He decided he would go to the library for the rest of today. Nothing bad can happen in the library.

And for the most part he was right. The library was calm, serene, nobody to laugh at him and nowhere to slip in mud. He wrote a list of the things he would have to do after skipping the last half of his classes today, and circled ones he would ask his friends for help with. He felt calmer now, almost silly, as if he overreacted for such small things happening to him.

“May I sit here?” James was startled out of his thoughts, looking up to see a lovely (Y/H) girl looking down at him. His brain short circuited, every word he’s ever spoken slipped his mind, he stared at her as if she were speaking a different language. And even though his brain was screaming and begging him to say anything, anything at all, nothing came out. His mouth just kept opening and closing, gaping like a fish out of water.

“You can say no, it won’t upset me.” She spoke again, and in the short two minutes that James had known this girl, he convinced himself that she was an angel. Sent to him to save him from his day worsening.

“I’d actually love it if you sat with me, perhaps some company could make my day better.” He tried his best at a genuine grin, showing his dimples and reddened cheeks, and though the smile didn’t reach his eyes, she smiled back and sat in the chair next to him.

“Do you want to talk about your awful day? Talking about stuff always makes me feel better.” James looked at her as he thought about it. She was very pretty, and very sweet too. And even though they just met, James decided he had to keep her in his life forever.

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, really, but dwelling always makes me more upset. I find that pretty girls are enough of an antidote.” He winked as he said it, waiting for her eruption of giggles and her cheeks to get hot, but it never came. She just looked at him, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. “My name is (Y/N), by the way. You’re James Potter, right? I’m friends with Remus. We study on Thursdays.” James found himself only able to nod, staring at her with his lips parted, studying her face as she introduced herself. She knew his name, said it so casually, as if she didn’t steal his heart out of his body and make it beat with her hands.

“Are you an angel?” He hadn’t meant to say it outloud, he’s been thinking it this whole time.

“Not last time I checked, though I’ll admit it’s been a while since I bothered to look, why do you ask?” Her lips were quirked up so slightly, he almost believed her.

“You’re just,” How would he end that sentence? He watched as her smirk got bigger, turning into a smile. Hot cheeks and a cheeky grin, she only got more enticing the longer he was near her.

“‘M just what? Surely you’ve got a few ideas.” Her voice was laced with humor, her teasing lilt making him snap out of the trance he was in. Suddenly his head was clearer than ever, coherent and moving and happy. In a good mood. His bad day erased from existence.

“You’re perfect, is what you are. An angel sent straight down to me.” His smile grew, turned boyish, as he ran his hand through his hair.

“Perfect? However did you come to that conclusion?” Her voice was teasing, a silly gasp at the start of her sentence, her hand going to her chest in pretend disbelief. James giggled at her, making her smile grow twice as big, and she started to giggle too.

“Perfect because you made the worst day of my life into one of the best days I’ve had in weeks. Perfect because you made me smile and laugh, and if I weren’t so smart I’d tell you I’m in love with you. If I were to create a contract where you have to make all my bad days into great days, would you sign that?” She giggled even more, covering her face with her hands and taking a deep breath.

“What’s in it for me?” Her smile became shy, and James noticed. Her hot cheeks burned even more now, her eyes looking up at him through her eyelashes. He suddenly felt bold, felt drawn to her, felt the need to keep her near him forever.

“I’ll take you on the best dates of your life.”

“That’s for you too, isn’t it?” She smiled knowingly at him.

“Of course it is, can’t let my angel go now, can I?” His dimples were showing. He hastily grabbed his bag, pulled out paper and a quill, and started messily writing.

“I, James Potter, agree to take you, (Y/N), on the best damn dates of your life, as long as you’ll let me, so long as you promise to make my bad days better.” He read the paper out loud, drew a big X, signed his name, and passed it over to her.

She looked at him for a long time, making James feel nervous that he went too far. What was he thinking? They met half an hour ago.

As he was scolding himself, she grabbed his quill and wrote on the paper.

“I, (Y/N), promise to do my best to make all your bad days good ones, so long as you, James Potter, take me on the best damn dates of my life, as long as I’ll let you.”

She drew a big X, signed her name, and reached out her hand. James' smile took up his whole face as he shook her hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. James Potter. I’m free on Saturday for a life changing date. Do let me know if you’re having a terrible day.” She grabbed her things and packed her bag. Before she walked away she leaned down and kissed his cheek. As she walked out the library doors, she turned to him and winked.

“I need to start having bad days more often.”

[jincherie]

four’s company | rapline [m]

✘ — pairing: boxer!rapline x male!reader ✘ — genre: smut!, boxer au, poly au ✘ — wc: 6.4k ✘ — rating: 18+ ✘ — warnings: minor injuries (occupational hazard kind), smut: mxm, light (accidental) voyeurism, light hand kink, baby boy reader, sub/bottom reader, dom/top members, foursome, anal sex, protected sex (don’t forget to wrap ‘em, lads and ladies!), fellatio ✘ — notes: part of a fic exchange within the ghostie network, i’m sorry it’s late!!!!! please accept my humblest apologies!!! @bangtanloverboys​ here you go!! i hope it’s not too shitty!!!

If accidentally walking in on your three crushes in a heated moment, not once, not twice, but thrice isn’t enough to capture their attention, then you don’t know what is. You’re about to find out that you’ve had their attention for a while, though.

— posted; 02.01.2021 || masterlist

For what is far from the first time tonight, you feel the weight of a certain gaze.

Well, to be more specific, it hasn’t just been one gaze you’ve felt on you tonight. More like… three. 

You know who they belong to, unfortunately. It’s the same three people that you found in an… interesting situation earlier. On that was, no doubt, not meant for outside eyes. 

Well, you say that, but you feel like that’s just because you, yourself, are mortified. To be honest, the three boxers you found locking lips and making out in the locker room didn’t seem to be all that ashamed about it.

In fact, when they caught you in the motion of fleeing, they’d had the audacity to grin about it! 

Utterly humiliating. You haven’t been able to bring your gaze anywhere near them all day. To make matters worse, you couldn’t even flee to the safety of your home or anywhere similar, because there is a match tonight and you’re needed as a qualified first aid officer. 

Which brings you to the current predicament; sitting ringside and attempting to avoid the gazes of the three boxers seated on the side adjacent. Try as you might, it’s actually a struggle to keep your eyes on the current match. It’s a rookie night, and you feel extra bad since one of the people in the ring is actually a close friend. 

Though, perhaps you should demote Jungkook from ‘close friend’ status considering he is the reason you started working here and subsequently, had the opportunity to stumble upon a certain scenario this morning. Were it not for him and his stupid, pleading puppy eyes, you wouldn’t have a particular embarrassing image burned into the back of your eyelids.

You know that despite his rookie status, Jungkook is quite a naturally talented boxer. Perhaps that is part of the reason that your brain thinks it’s okay to let your eyes stray from the match instead of watching attentively as you’re expected to. The subconscious certainty that Jungkook can handle himself seems to be your undoing, because in a moment of inattentiveness your eyes manage to reach the area you’d been trying so hard for them to avoid. 

As you’d both feared and expected, they are in fact already looking at you. Well, one of the three. It is the piercing gaze of the club's current lightweight champion, Min Yoongi, that bores a hole into you right now. The two accomplices to his side aren't joining him in drilling their eyes into you across the room for now, instead leaning into each other as though they're whispering amongst themselves. 

There's something about Yoongi's eyes, dark and piercing, that seem to always root you in place no matter where you are. His expression, as it usually tends to be, is unreadable. It's a certain kind of neutrality that graces his features, thin enough that you can tell there is something behind it but too opaque for you to be able to discern exactly what. 

You don't even realise you're trapped in his gaze until the sounding of the bell snaps you out of the spell that seemed to be cast over you. Your head whips back around and you see the referee signalling the end of the bout, and just beyond him Jungkook is standing slightly bent over as he offers a hand to his opponent on the canvas. To your alarm, it is only now that you notice the blood dribbling down the man’s face. The reasonable crowd that has gathered is still cheering (Jungkook was quick to rise as one of the fan favourites) and it’s a wonder you can hear the referee’s call above the ruckus.

“Medic!”

That’s your cue. 

x – x – x 

 “You look kind of on edge, man. Are you alright?”

You’re almost too busy staring into your coffee in a borderline dissociative state to hear Jungkook as he calls for your attention. It has to be about the thirteenth time in the past half hour, but you can’t find the energy to be ashamed about it. Mostly because all of your shame and embarrassment are focused on other areas right now.

It had happened again. 

Is it just your luck? You don’t know whether to dub it as rotten luck, because you feel it would be a bit of an insult to the boxers you’d once more found in a suggestive situation.  But considering it good luck feels kind of sleazy, because although you’re embarrassed as hell, all things considered what you walked in on wasn’t a bad view—

No, that thought is stopping there. Any further and you’ll only incriminate yourself and you’ll have to dose yourself with another fresh shot of shame. 

Realising that you still haven’t answered the concerned-looking boy sprawled in the chair to your side, you offer him a non-committal grunt. It’s the best you can do while you take another moment to form actual coherent thought. 

“I’ve never been better,” you say, and immediately Jungkook lets loose an abrupt snort.

“You look like shit, so don’t bother trying to lie. Are you having trouble sleeping again or something?”

You survey him for a moment, touched that he remembers the insomnia that had ailed you for a few months a while back. “Actually, I’ve been sleeping pretty good the past few months.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, making you squint at him in question. “Oh, I’ll bet you have, considering the things you were saying in your sleep last time I stayed over.”

You simply look at him, wondering whether he’s going to be an ass and continue.  You don’t have to wait long for an answer.

“You were all like, ‘nngh, Namjoon,’ and ‘oh, Yoongi’, and then you said something about Hoseok too but I can’t quite remember, probably because it was so x-rated that my poor baby brain banished it from my memory—”

“Jungkook,” you cut him off, gripping the plastic spoon that came with your drink painfully tight. “Shut up.”

This is most definitely not the conversation to be having in the café barely a block away from the boxing gym where the two of you frequent, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to get the hint. Actually, you’re pretty sure he got the hint and he just doesn’t care enough to heed it.

“You really ought to do something about that crush of yours, bro. There’s three of them, so there’s three times the misery if you sit on your ass instead of—”

“Jungkook,” you attempt to warn him again, glaring slightly this time. You’ve scooped some of the whipped cream off of his plate of pancakes and hold the tip of the spoon back, threatening to fling it at him should he keep talking. 

“—doing something, you know? I’ve seen them practically undress you with their eyes enough times by now that I could fill out a diary with all the incidents I’ve witnessed. Plus, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how often they ‘hurt’ themselves as an excuse to see you? I really don’t think you have much to lose, especially with an ass like yours—well, it’s nothing like the cake I’m serving, but still, it deserves some praise—ACK!”

Ah, so he has chosen death.

You discard the now-empty spoon onto a napkin, taking a long sip of your drink. It seems Jungkook has engaged his ape brain more today than usual as instead of wiping the cream off his face like any normal human would, he’s attempting to reach it with his tongue. His chances aren’t good, to be honest; though you reckon your mutual friend Jimin would be able to get it from that distance. Dude has a tongue like a lizard. 

“You have Seven Days,” you tell him, struggling not to let a smile through as the amateur boxer whines, unable to reach the cream.

“You have seven days,” he grumbles sulkily, reaching with a begrudging hand for a napkin. “Do something or I’ll expose your ass.”

You roll your eyes, ninety-nine percent sure that he’s kidding.

… 

That other one percent worries you a bit though.

x – x – x 

You take back what you decided earlier— something is definitely wrong with your luck.

“And how did you hurt your knee again?”

“I tripped on the stairs.”

Jung Hoseok, the club’s current star welterweight boxer, sits before you in your little medical office. There aren’t any matches on today, but you’re on shift because the club members are doing some of the more rigorous training; there is an important few matches coming up for a few members, and they all want to be as prepared as possible. As tends to be the occupational hazard, training can often lead to injuries that need to be immediately attended to. 

You can’t say, though, that this is the type you were expecting when you rocked up today.

Hoseok is beaming at you, all sincerity and sparkles. There’s a slight bit of dark regrowth in his hair that catches your eye as you survey him, the crimson ends sticking to his forehead lightly from sweat. He looks every bit earnest and honest as he sits in front of you, but you can’t help but suspect him just slightly.

Because you’re not sure any of the club members have ever made their way to your office for a graze that wouldn’t even phase a kindergartener.

“Well,” you say, trying to ignore what Jungkook had said barely a day or two ago that floats back into your head now. “The good news is, it’s not fatal.”

Hoseok lets out a great, dramatic huff in relief. “Oh, thank god. I was so scared this might have been the end.”

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how often they ‘hurt’ themselves as an excuse to see you?’

Is that what this is? An excuse to see you? A look spared for the man before you leads you to conclude: probably not. He’s a little too radiant to be seeking out lil’ ol’ you.

“Not this time,” you say, rummaging through your small box of mismatched bandages. Finding what you’re looking for, you turn back around and begin preparing it to place it on Hoseok’s knee. “You live to see another day.”

Hoseok shifts like he’s about to say something in response, but cuts himself off with a surprised laugh when he sees the band-aid you put on him. “Wh—you have Minions band-aids?!”

“I reserve them for special patients,” you say before you can stop yourself, promptly clamping your mouth shut a little too late. Your cheeks… you just hope the heat gathering there isn’t obvious.

Something shifts in Hoseok’s gaze as he surveys you for a moment, before hopping from the bed, testing his knee out like he’d sprained it instead of scratching it. The look is gone before you can fully decipher it and he’s back to grinning brightly once more. 

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll have to come back often. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.” Hoseok’s smile adopts a slightly cheeky edge as he makes his way to the door, lifting two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute. “See you later, doc!”

Then he’s gone before you can return the farewell, door closing definitively behind him and leaving the room in silence. 

Are you going crazy, or did Hoseok— one of the three boxers you’ve happened to walk in on twice now—just return your light flirting?

… God, you hope it wasn’t because of the minion band-aid.

x – x – x 

You wish that visit had been an isolated incident, but you had a repeat of it at least twice a week. Each time Hoseok would rock up grinning at your door with some other minor injury, all but demanding a minion band-aid for his troubles. You gave it to him, of course, but you still hope he doesn’t remember you as the minion band-aids guy. 

Surprisingly enough, it isn’t only Hoseok that has been cropping up more often in your day-to-day. You’ve had a few surprise encounters with Yoongi, who lately has taken to giving you a sly, unreadable look before turning away, leaving you in your own confusion. Sometimes you’ll get carried away watching him or one of the other boxers practice, and before you know it he has caught you staring red-handed and you’re forced to flee the room to escape the smug, intrigued look that slips into his eyes. 

It’s after such an occasion that you find yourself in the main locker room, attempting to multitask by looking for a box of first aid supplies hidden in the top shelves and giving your face a chance to cool down. It’s taken you so long to even find the damn box that your embarrassment has all but evaporated by now. By the time your eyes lock onto the scuffed white box peeking over the edge of the highest shelf in the corner of the room, you’re more than ready to snatch it down and escape back to the comfort of your dingy little office. 

Of course, it couldn’t ever be so easy for you. Not given your recent string of poor luck. 

You don’t consider your height to be remarkably anything, and normally you don’t have that much trouble reaching the cookie jar on the top shelf in your apartment but for some reason the shelves in this building are built to cater to giants, and try as you might you simply cannot reach. You’re literally about to abandon the last of your dignity and attempt jumping for it, when there is a light scuff on the floor from behind you and then a firm warmth pressing into your back. 

In all honesty, your brain short-circuits. For a second you think you might have even blacked out, because it takes at least three seconds for you to realise what is happening, and by that time the figure has already retreated back from your form. 

Somewhat dazed, you turn around to see one Kim Namjoon, the clubs leading middleweight champion and the third and final member of those racy scenarios you happened to walk in on oh-so long ago. In his hands is the box you’d been struggling so much to reach, and on his face is a look that somehow blends sheepishness and amusement into one attractive cocktail on his features. 

“Here you go,” he says, and for a shamefully long moment all you can do is stand and soak in the lovely timbre of his voice. By the time you snap out of it, a small smile has begun to curl on his lips. You pointedly avoid looking at the dimples that are beginning to show as a result. 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you say, trying to make it as natural as possible as you reach and take the box from his hold. “Whoever put it up there seems to have a vendetta against me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he says, and there’s suddenly something a little secretive about the way he’s smiling. It makes you suspicious, and once more the words Jungkook prattled into your ear a week or so ago come rattling back into your brain. 

Is this something similar to what Hoseok had done? Did Namjoon put the box on a higher shelf?

“Are you calling me short?” For some reason, that’s what comes out of your mouth. There is a slight disconnect from what you said and what Namjoon had said previously, but he seems to make the connection. He tilts his head back and a rich laugh tumbles forth. It sounds nicer than you wish to admit to yourself. 

“Never,” he finally answers, grinning. “Though, feel free to come get me next time you lose against a shelf.”

Your mouth drops open in affront, but he makes a departure too quick for you to respond. His laughter echoes down the halls and you’re left reeling in your spot.

This isn’t what you expected to happen after walking in on a few intimate situations. In fact, this is quite the opposite.

What is happening?

x – x – x 

As the weeks go by, there are several big nights and several big matches. Hoseok and Yoongi, among a few others from the gym, emerge victorious. At this point you’re not too ashamed to say that you spent the entirety of their matches watching the way their muscles rippled as they dodged, swung and wove around the ring. If the last shred of dignity still clinging to you had disappeared, then you probably would have drooled like a dog. 

 The nights tend to go by weight classes, and the next upcoming night is to showcase the middleweight boxers. While Jungkook classifies for the class, as one of the newer recruits he isn’t the first choice for the match—much to his dismay.

It is approximately a week before this big match, in which Namjoon, one of the three men who live in your head rent-free these days, is participating, that you’re woken from your sleep and called into the gym.

It’s your night off, actually, so for you to be called in there must have been a pretty serious injury. You’re proven right when you enter the building and walk into the main room.

Before you can even assess the scene, Yoongi spots you and darts on over. He has a look on his face that you don’t think he’s ever sported before, and it fills you with a feeling of dread. It seems an appropriate feeling, considering what you see when you advance further into the room, towed by the frantic blonde who’d fetched you.

“Holy shit, what the hell happened?!” You dart forward, Yoongi’s grip slipping from your wrist as you move out of his reach. 

Namjoon is seated on the floor in a squat, cradling his left hand to his chest. A grimace twists his features, eyes glistening but face clear of tears. 

To your complete and utter surprise, the familiar tenor of Jungkook’s voice reaches your ears. You didn’t know he had stayed behind to practice tonight.

“We were leaving after practicing a bit later than normal, and some assholes drove past and picked a fight. I think—I think they were members from one of the rival clubs on the other side of the city but it was kind of dark and I didn’t get a good look.”

Your brows shoot up—that’s risky behaviour on their part, if it was actually members of a rival club that did this. Judges of this particular tournament don’t look kindly on foul play.

It would make sense if it’s true, though; a lot of local clubs tend to have boxers in the middleweight range, and Namjoon has emerged from enough matches victorious that he’s actually quite a threat. 

“Let me see,” you say, holding your hands out to Namjoon for him to rest his injured one in your hold. “Jungkook, go get the big tin box with the red cross from my office. Make sure it’s the one with antiseptic and bandages.”

You don’t even need to check he’s listened, because you can hear the frantic, obedient pattering of his feet fading away in the distance as you unwrap the blood-drenched towel from the hand in your hold. Namjoon’s busted up limb takes all of your attention the second you lay eyes on it properly, your stomach filling with an unpleasant, nameless cocktail of sensations. 

“Holy shit,” you say, unable to contain your wince.  “Tell me you didn’t get this from fighting them bare-knuckle.”

Namjoon has enough capacity for humour right now that he lets out a little huff. Yoongi fills you in before Namjoon has a chance. 

“No, though I almost did.” His expression is dark, the heat of his anger reaching you even when it’s not directed your way. “They were probably drinking before coming here, since they had a few bottles they threw into the mix.”

That explains the gashes you’re seeing on Namjoon’s palm— it seems he caught one of the bottles, though you’re not sure whether it was already broken or whether it broke on impact. Thankfully, from what you can see, the gashes and lacerations aren’t too deep and shouldn’t cause lasting damage, but they’ll definitely take a while to heal, and one or two of them look like they will need stitches. 

“Alright,” you begin, sighing softly. “I’ll do what I can to fix this up for now, but you’re going to have to go to the ER, because some of these will need stitches…”

You look up, reading the expressions of everyone in attendance and knowing that they have all reached the same conclusion regarding Namjoon’s immediate fate as a boxer.

“Sorry, Namjoon,” you start, watching his features crumble ever so slightly into a look of resignation. “This isn’t going to heal in time for next week, and you definitely won’t be able to train for a while.”

It’s just as you announce that, that Jungkook returns with your box of first-aid goodies. Hoseok, who has remained surprisingly silent the whole time this conversation has gone on, takes the box from his hold and delivers it next to you. Surprising all of you, Namjoon is quick to look up and pin Jungkook with a grin.

“Well, since I can’t participate—how do you feel about making your Big Boy Boxing Debut, Jungkookie?”

Your friend is rooted to the spot in shock for a solid few moments, before he snaps out of it and an excited if slightly nervous expression filters onto his face. 

“I will defend your honour, Namjoon!” he declares, saluting stupidly. “Count on me!”

Cheesy of him, but you can’t help the smile that tugs your lips. You just hope it’s not too late-notice for him, and that Namjoon’s injuries really aren’t that serious, as you surmise.

x – x – x 

 The week passes quicker than you anticipate, and before you know it, it’s the night of the big match—Jungkook’s first big match, that is. Namjoon had done his best over the days to coach Jungkook on the particular fighting styles of the opponents he normally faces, and to everyone’s pleasant surprise, Jungkook has picked it all up with ease. 

You’re more surprised to say that you’re not even that nervous, as you sit waiting for the match to begin. Jungkook stands in one corner, his opponent from one of the more renowned rival gyms in the other. You prepare to be on standby in case either boxer is injured enough to need aid, but cross your fingers that if anything at least Jungkook will be alright. 

In the blink of an eye, the match begins and the first bout kicks off. Jungkook’s opponent is slightly stockier, likely pushing the upper limits of the weight class, and is the first to make an offensive move. The familiar sound of cushioned gloves making impact rings in the air and you find yourself tensing in your seat as you watch the two interchange blows. 

It’s pretty much neck-and-neck for a majority of the bouts. Some of them go quick, and others seem to consist of the longest three minutes of your life. Still, the match goes on, and the night is filled with the siren song of the crowd and the ring of the bell.

After a night of close-call bouts and baited breath, Jungkook finally emerges victorious. 

Ever the fan favourite, the crowd that has amassed erupt into cheers as the referee declares the end of the final bout and Jungkook is held up as the victor. With the match decided, the club members that had been watching ringside burst up and swarm around the young boxer who brought pride to the gym on his very first big match. The three boxers that usually occupy your thoughts wriggle their way up there too, and it’s Hoseok’s bright tone that pierces the ruckus of the crowd.

“Drinks at ours to celebrate our victor, Jungkookie!” he caws, rubbing Jungkook on the back in something akin to pride. “Members of King Hit Gym, we better see you all there!”

You mightn’t be a technical member, but the way you suddenly feel three sets of eyes on you tells you that you’re still more than invited. 

x – x – x

It’s three hours since the end of the match, and you’re more than a little tipsy.

You can safely say that you haven’t ever been to the house where Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi live, but you’re nothing short of impressed. It’s a three-storey townhouse, with three rooms— presumably one for each of them, though from what you’d glimpsed on the way to the bathroom earlier only one of them appears regularly lived in.

It didn’t take you long to ponder exactly why, considering the things you’ve accidentally witnessed in the past month.

Most of your time tonight was spent celebrating with Jungkook as he made the rounds and received congratulations from the rest of the club members. Music thrums through the building, bass vibrating pleasantly through your chest every time you pass the expensive speakers in the living room.

You’ve paced yourself well, all things considered. All you had to do to avoid an early night ending in blackout drunkenness was steer clear of Jungkook whenever he made his way by the kitchen to refill— he’d learnt his mixing skills from Jimin, a verified alcoholic back in the day who spent his time in university trying to throw together his own signature cocktail with the same alcohol percentage as absinthe.

So you’re relatively proud of yourself to only be a little over tipsy at this point in the night. You can’t really say the same for the rest of the club members, though— even Jungkook has reached a point where he is stumbling and giggling. Which, of course, led to the event that splattered drink all over your shirt. 

You’re wandering up the stairs now, mind occupied with everything but what you’re doing as you absentmindedly seek the bathroom to clean your shirt. You haven’t seen any of the homeowners in a while, actually, which is kind of disappointing because you’re really longing for some eye candy right about now. They disappeared about ten minutes ago, and you figured it was just to socialise or maybe grab more snacks but you haven’t paid it much thought since then, and now you’re realising they hadn’t returned to the party yet. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, you pause for a moment to try and recall which room is the bathroom. There’s two of them, you remember being told, one ensuite and a main bathroom. There was also a third one on the first floor, but that was too far for you to attempt reaching it. Unable to remember which door is which, you simply decide to wing it and march on forward towards the first door to enter your line of sight. You’re pretty stable, but your head is kind of fuzzy, so your hand hovers by the wall as you walk just in case you stumble. 

Upon reaching the door in question, it takes you about a second and a half to realise the room you have reached is not the one you want, and another second for the shock to reach you.

Because, for the third time in a month, you have walked in on something you shouldn’t have. 

Except this time, you can’t seem to pull yourself away as fast as you should. 

It’s Hoseok and Namjoon tangled before you this time, in a position much more intimate than the last you’d seen. Their lips are locked, Hoseok straddling one of Namjoon’s thighs with one hand tangled in inky locks and the other rubbing over his crotch, where a prominent bulge makes itself known even to your eyes. Just when you remember that you should really be on your way, their lips break apart and Namjoon’s head tilts back, a sinful, velvet moan climbing from his throat as Hoseok leans to pepper it with kisses. It’s mesmerising, and you forget you’re even there as you watch the red-haired man’s hand climb up Namjoon’s stomach and then slip beneath the waistband of his jeans. 

You come back to yourself when you feel a familiar tightness in your own pants and a throb between your legs— of course, you’re hard. You’re too hazy-brained to even be ashamed of it right now. It does pierce through the fog, though, that you’re intruding on something you’re not meant to see. Like you’re trying to move limbs filled with lead, you start to drag your feet and turn around. 

You barely get a step in before you’re face to face with someone strikingly familiar, and your heart drops in your chest before kicking back into motion at double speed. 

“You always seem to enjoy watching, don’t you?” Yoongi’s question catches you off guard and puts you on the spot— before you can panic, though, his lips curl in a kittenish smile. “It’s alright, we already know you do, baby boy.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, stomach flipping giddily. Your eyes track it with surprising clarity as Yoongi’s hand— strong and sculpted and deliciously vascular, as you’d admired many times before— rises to caress your cheek, and he leans forward until his lips brush the sensitive skin of your earlobe.

“Why don’t you join us, this time?”

You find yourself nodding before you even realise it, but it’s definitely a decision you would make again any other day. 

You feel Yoongi smile against your ear, and then he is pressing a soft kiss to your cheek and pulling back. That same strong hand winds around your wrist and you’re tugged into the room, the door shutting behind you. The two on the bed barely bat an eye at the arrival of their third lover and an extra figure, merely smiling dazedly at the two of you. 

“Baby boy is finally gonna join us?” Hoseok asks, eyes lidded and dark to match the tousled look of his hair and clothes. His words are slightly slurred but the keenness to his gaze tells you he is still very much aware of everything he does. 

Yoongi hums in confirmation, coming up behind you to wind his arms lazily around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder. “Mhmm. Don’t stop on our account— why don’t you give him a bit of a show to start, hm?”

Hoseok needs no further prompting, a grin all you glimpse before he is diving back to crash his lips into Namjoon’s, hand moving inside his pants and eliciting a deep, throaty groan. It makes your own cock throb in need, and almost as though he reads your mind, Yoongi's voice sounds in your ear once more. 

“You already hard, baby boy? Like what you see?”

Something about the husky quality of the boxer’s voice makes a shudder roll down your spine, a light whine slipping from your throat. Yoongi presses soft kisses to the skin of your neck as you watch the two on the bed undress each other between heated kisses. 

“Want me to touch you, baby boy?”

As though possessed, your head begins nodding before you even think to act on the urge. Yoongi requires no further prompting; he begins to kiss and suckle along the column of your neck while his hands move— one creeps up beneath your shirt to flick a thumb over your nipple, and the other slips down, down, down beneath the waistband of your pants and boxers, until that hand you admire so much is slipping around your cock and squeezing just enough to make you gasp out a moan. 

Pleasure and desire wind together to mix with the tipsy haze in your mind, and you’re more than happy to surrender yourself to the current situation. Slowly, you’re urged over to the bed, eyes still locked on the pair occupied there as Yoongi’s hand works magic on your length. You don’t even bother attempting to stem the gasps and moans tumbling forth because you know at this point it would probably be futile. 

Hoseok has now stripped Namjoon entirely and is making his way down his body with his mouth, pressing a kiss against every inch of golden skin he can reach. Namjoon is quite generously endowed, and you can’t tear your eyes away as Hoseok finally reaches the apex of his thighs and begins to lavish attention to Namjoon’s flushed cock. 

You can feel Yoongi grinding lightly against you as he strokes your own aching member, the two of you observing the show before you with rapt attention. At some point you’re rid of your shirt and the air feels cool against your flushed skin, your upper body leaning back against Yoongi contentedly. The noises spilling from Namjoon’s throat are downright sinful as Hoseok’s mouth sinks down on him with practiced ease.

It’s almost too much for you, really. Almost sensory overload. You’re urged ever so slowly to the bed, and as you sit on the plush mattress you happily oblige as Yoongi begins to undo and remove the jeans that are now uncomfortably tight. Your boxers follow soon after and then you’re joining the other two in their nudity. As though sensing the change in plans, Hoseok pulls off of Namjoon’s cock with a ‘pop’, licking his lips and ignoring the whine in protest that Namjoon lets out. “In a minute, bubs.”

Yoongi leans over to the bedside table to retrieve lube and something else you soon realise to be condoms as he tosses them on the bed between him and Hoseok. 

“Are you alright with this?”

You turn at the sound of Yoongi’s voice, eyes meeting his own— though heady and full of desire, they’re also determined. You don’t doubt that if you say no, he will stop things here.

“Yes,” you confirm, and you watch as a smile pulls over Yoongi’s face.

“Excellent. Now, lean forward, baby boy. This might be a little cold.”

Without question, you allow him to shift and bend your body as needed, knees digging into the plush bedding. Tilting your head up, you manage to meet the eyes of Namjoon, who is in a similar position to yourself, just in time for you to gasp at the sudden cold sensation at your ass. 

You’d think by now you would be used to the feeling of lube— you’re immediately distracted from that though at the sensation of Yoongi’s finger beginning to toy around your asshole. You allow yourself to relax as much as possible, turning your attention to Namjoon and Hoseok and simply enjoying the sensations Yoongi is eliciting. 

Namjoon’s hand raises, cupping your cheek and dragging down ever so gently. Hoseok catches the movement and lets out a coo, eyes boring into your own. 

“Wanna kiss him, baby boy? Go ahead, he’s good at it.”

You don’t need to be told twice, and neither does Namjoon. You find Hoseok definitely isn’t wrong as Namjoon’s lips meet your own, the kiss quickly turning heated as his mouth moves against your own. He swallows down your moans as Yoongi’s fingers begin to stretch you slowly, one by one.

You lose so much time in the hypnotic motion of bodies against your own that before you know it there is a gentle yet firm hand against your shoulder pulling you back from the man before you. 

“Ready, baby?”

You nod, and soon after hear the familiar tear of foil before the head of Yoongi’s cock is pressing against your hole. You take a deep breath in, allowing your eyes to flutter closed as he begins to press himself in and stretch you open bit by bit. The burn isn’t particularly painful tonight, and to be honest sometimes you’re partial to the sensation. 

By the time Yoongi is fully seated within you, you’re almost panting, soft moans escaping unwittingly. Through the fog of pleasure currently addling your brain, you hear similar noises in front of you and realise Namjoon must be in a similar state. Unconsciously, your hand stretches out, seeking contact, and manages to entwine with the large, warm one you identify as Namjoon’s good hand. 

As soon as Yoongi receives the green light from you, he begins to move. The sensations of him dragging against your walls are enough to almost drive you mad, especially at the slow pace he’s set. It isn’t long before he picks up though, and soon rough the slap of his hips against your ass is one of the many sinful noises echoing in the room, muffled by the loud music still booming beyond the bedroom walls. 

“O-oh, fuck,” you moan, barely coherent enough to respond to Namjoon’s seeking lips. Absently, you hear Yoongi’s soft groans and low murmured praises, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Good boy,” he all but purrs, hand caressing down your spine before finding purchase at your hips. 

Time blurs and you’re wound so tight that it isn’t long before you feel yourself approaching that edge, your hand lowering to begin stroking your own cock again in an effort to reach your high faster. It’s one deep stroke that hits you in all the right places that is your undoing, and with a cry you’re cumming hard, spots appearing behind your eyes. 

The sudden tightness around his cock has Yoongi stilling, a low, drawn out groan sounding from his throat as he joins you in your high, throbbing inside you. Your arms are a little too weak to continue holding you, but he seems to be in tune enough that he notices and his own slip around you, easing you into his embrace as he adjusts on the mattress and hums into your skin. 

Namjoon and Hoseok aren’t far behind you, the two of them reaching their own end not long after. Namjoon flops against the bed, spent and Hoseok hops up to retrieve a bin and some wipes to clean up a bit before he too flops across the mattress, smacking Namjoon’s ass as he does and eliciting a brief whine in protest. 

“Well fuck,” you hum, staring absently at the ceiling. Yoongi snorts, pulling you closer, and like they all share a hive mind you’re very suddenly in the middle of a cuddle pile as the other two join in. 

“Beats just watching, doesn’t it?” One of them queries, probably Hoseok— you’re too tired to really discern it. 

“Mhm,” you respond, basking in content. “Four’s company, I suppose.”

There are a few hums of agreement, and then comfortable silence falls over the room. You find yourself smiling as you sink into the most content sleep you’ve had in a while, in the arms of the three boxers who have nestled their way into your heart one by one 

[burneddownthegym]

When do you think Buffy and Spike started developing feelings for each other? I think for Spike it started in season 2 which has been kind of confirmed by Dru, but what about Buffy? Their relationship seemed to change after Spike let Glory torture him to protect Dawn, but I like to believe Buffy had unregistered feelings for Spike way earlier. I don’t know what’s true though. She let him live many times when she shouldn’t and that could just be the writers wanting to keep Spike but it could also be read as Buffy not wanting to kill him for some reason. If I were Buffy I would have at least been attracted to him from the start but I’m not Buffy. What do you think?

oh god. i started writing this and it just got more and more unhinged until i was left with a novel. but here’s my headcanon under the cut.

i think for spike it started in season 2, yeah. kind of immediately. i mean in his second episode he already has like ten tv’s mounted on the ceiling to obsessively watch buffy fight? ok weirdo. obviously the writers weren’t planning on spuffy at the time but it all fits with the dru retcon in “fool for love”. i think any feelings he had were super repressed in him for a while though, and were probably closer to obsession than anything (where does one draw the line between obsession and love? much to think about!!). tbh, and maybe this is controversial, i kind of think it’s not until “intervention” that he really understands just how in love with her he is, or what it really means to be in love with her. he definitely thinks he’s in love, he has a raging, identity-crisis crush, but i don’t know, something just feels different after that episode. i feel like it’s when his feelings for buffy really become less about him and more about her. like, less about having her or wanting her to recognize him, and more about wanting to be what she actually needs. less about *loving* buffy and more about loving *buffy*, maybe. so even though his feelings before then are real, they feel real in a different way to me after “intervention”.

buffy is harder. personally, i don’t think she was ever consciously attracted to spike until maybe s5. (buffy being immediately attracted to him in fic is actually a huge pet peeve for me; it doesn’t feel in character at all and can even make me stop reading). i think there was latent attraction, but spike was just so far outside the bounds of who she thought she would be attracted to that it doesn’t register that way (reason #34095 spuffy is a lesbian ship, obv. also it’s why her being attracted to him immediately can turn me off in fic, bc it makes the relationship feel less gay, and that’s kind of important to me). i think she finds him tacky and annoying and lame and just not a sexual object. he’s a soulless vampire and you don’t sexualize those. and so anything sexual she felt toward him she dismissed the way you might dismiss a weird sex dream about someone you’d never want in real life (jane espenson apparently had notes on her desk pre-s5 saying buffy had sex dreams about him, which i totally buy, especially after “something blue”). i think one of the reasons she freaks out so bad in “crush” is that suddenly spike isn’t in the non-sexualizable category anymore. like, what, vampires and slayers are sexualizing each other now? like in real life not just innuendo? you broke the rules, what am i supposed to do now? it’s why she’s so weirded out when he tries to kiss her in “fool for love” and goes on about how people can’t love without a soul in “crush”. spike isn’t fitting his sexual category and she doesn’t know how to deal with it so she tries to stuff him back in. long story short, i think it’s only after “crush” that she actually consciously thinks about his attractiveness, because before then he just wasn’t someone on the table for her to think about that way.

(oh i should also add—i think spike’s “crush” moment with buffy is “who are you?” when faith comes onto him. because it was sort of a similar thing for him. even though he was attracted to buffy before that episode, it was something he repressed or treated as kind of a game. innuendo and eroticism as a battle tactic but not something you’d actually follow through on in real life. but he thinks buffy breaks the rules in “who are you?” and suddenly makes herself real-life sexualizable. so i think his attraction becomes more conscious after that, even if he’s still trying to act like it’s something that disgusts him, like buffy post-“crush”.)

(also, this is why it’s so easy to read violence and murder as sublimated desire in a gay way with spuffy. it’s not really about murder and violence. it’s about them expressing romantic/erotic desire within the bounds of what their roles allow, because they can’t conceive of each other in other roles.)

but i do think buffy did still have some sort of draw to spike before s5. i feel like instinctually she saw him as more of a person than other vampires pretty early. definitely not consciously, and definitely wasn’t love. but she talks to him like he’s a really annoying guy more than she talks to him like some sort of mindless enemy. she doesn’t bother telling other soulless vampires that she violently dislikes them, or mock them about their breakups. i think the only other soulless vampires she sort of treats that way are harmony and holden in cwdp, which makes sense since both of those are vampires she knew before they were vamped. she didn’t kill harmony either, and wasn’t excited about having to kill holden. but spike is the only “stranger” vampire she sees that way, and i think that’s interesting! i think a lot of her conflict over him is due to this too, tbh. he instinctually feels like both a person and not-a-person to her, and that’s hard for her to process.

i have zero canon to back this up, but i think the first time buffy kind of sort of falls in love with spike is in “the gift”, when he says he’d protect dawn until the end of the world. i mainly think this because i don’t think it can be understated how important dawn is to buffy, or how telling it is that she kisses spike in “intervention”. other people have said this, but she just doesn’t kiss people every time they do something nice for her. i don’t think she would have done that unless she felt some sort of latent *something* for him, and unless he’d done something that really deeply affected her. him being willing to sacrifice himself for dawn’s sake, or protect her above all, affects buffy first: because of how self-sacrificing she is. she’s always the one who has to die or put herself on the line for other people. and second: she’s the only one who cares about dawn the way she does. no one else goes into a coma or threatens giles or vows to protect her until the end of the world…except spike.

so the fact that spike would understand the self-sacrificial and protecting-dawn parts of her, or help her with them in the same unthinkingly committed way, when no one else is, i think hits her where she lives. he understands and is not just supporting, but *embodying* this hugely important thing to her at the time when it counts the most. so she falls a bit in love with him. maybe just a second, or a minute, and then she ignores it and saves the world. but that’s the first time it happens.

then as far as s6 goes, i pretty much take buffy at her word when she says she has feelings for him, but that they’re not love. i think she has really intense and confusing emotions around him and for him, but they just don’t cohere into something that could be called something clear-cut like love. and that’s sort of the tragedy of that season? it has all the potential and intensity and chemistry for love, but she doesn’t like or trust herself and she doesn’t trust him, and he isn’t in a place where he can understand the guilt and self-hate she’s going through, or be moral without her guidance, and so in a lot of ways her lack of trust really is justified. so it just can’t quite reach the realness of love, where you want and want to care for the other person’s whole self. but (adding this edit based on a comment by marinxttes!), i totally agree that a lot of her breakup with spike is about her feeling enough for him that it doesn’t feel right to use him anymore. i think that’s the decisive moment when she stops being confused about whether he is or isn’t a person (and whether *she* is or isn’t), and decides he is one. maybe not one she thinks she can love yet, but one she genuinely cares about doing right by, and that’s a huge shift.

i believe her in s7 too when dawn asks if she loves him and she says she feels for him. i don’t know when exactly that whole mess starts cohering into something that really is love for buffy, but i feel like it’s happening the whole season. like air condensing into water. all the pieces have been there, amorphously, for a long time, and finally they’re allowed to take form. so when she says “i love you” in “chosen”, it’s at once something new, and also something that’s been there all along.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Give You Hell (one-shot)

Synopsis: When you’re in a relationship with someone famous while being famous it can be difficult. But not for the Reader and Harry, yet when her past comes knocking, she’ll make sure to know where she stands.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, some minor angst, like microscopic 

Warnings: swearing, reference to past abusive relationship, but nothing explicit.

Word count: 3428

100% inspired by ‘All American Rejects’’ ‘Gives You Hell’

Dating someone famous while being famous yourself had pros and cons, much like everything in life. The cons mostly came from the outside, not from the inside. It was the opinions of others, thinking what they said mattered, the scrutiny of the press, hoping one of them would mess up, and they could run some bullshit article just so their numbers could go up, without a second thought of how the people involved felt, and it was some jealous fans who didn’t seem to comprehend the people they admired were actual human beings with feelings and thoughts and emotions and autonomy. But other than that, Y/N’s and Harry’s relationship was just like any other. Save for when their emotions bubbled over, millions of people heard them in songs.        They’d met at the iconic yellow-suit-Harry Brit awards. She’d been right next to Hugh Jackman opening the show, a red glittering bodysuit with a black and gold ring-master jacket, a top hat adorning her head as she dominated the stage. If Harry had been sloshed at that point (much like he was later on, but who was Y/N to say, given how most of the night was a blur for her), he would’ve absolutely started drooling at the sight of her, and he was one of the thousands who stood up, hollering and clapping as she and Hugh ended their performance.

       Much to his dismay though, Y/N wasn’t one of the people assigned to sit by his table, instead, she was a couple of rows behind, whispering something into Billie Eilish’s ear, the two erupting into uncontrollable laughter.        He felt like a creep as he tried to catch every possible glimpse of Y/N, her smile making his heart race. She’d been on his radar for a while, had even thought about asking her to collaborate on a song for ‘Fine Line’, but at the end of the day, it was an album of personal discovery (and when one of his producers told him Y/N was halfway across the world in the middle of Norwegian woods for the next half-year working on her own music, he didn’t want to be a bother). But seeing her then, Harry wondered why he hadn’t reached out on his own, especially after at the after-party Lizzo had dragged Y/N to him and introduced the two.        The following day, pictures of them dancing together, drinks in hands and drunken grins on their faces would sweep the web, sparking millions of rumours, but, at that moment, they didn’t care, nor did they care about what was written because as Harry twirled Y/N under his arm, as much as the connection was there, that night they went their separate ways. Even when they were drunk, they understood that about the other person, and wouldn’t accept anything else, but a sober and coherent ‘yes’.        Sometime midday the next day, Harry reached out to Y/N through a DM on Instagram checking in on how she was doing, which then turned into a six-hour FaceTime call.        “What do you mean you’ve never had a hangover?!”        Y/N laughed at Harry’s almost offended expression. “I mean I’ve never had a hangover. I’ve never thrown up while drunk or after being drunk, my head’s never hurt – nothing. I mean I’m tired, but that’s because I’m still on New York time and got to bed at like five AM.”        “You… are something else.”        She wiggled her eyebrows. “Is that something else something good?”        Y/N didn’t know, but when Harry saw her eyes sparkle, his heart skipped a beat, and he immediately knew – she was it. “The best.”        “Well…” she bit her lip. “If I’m the best, would it be too forward of me to ask you out for a coffee?”        What Harry didn’t know was that when she saw him smile as if those were the best news in the world, her heart skipped as well, and she knew he was the one.        “Only if it’s my treat.”        “But I was the one who asked you out.”        “Yes, but you can pay for the second date.”        Holding in her squeals of joy was tough, but she raised her eyebrow, giving Harry a sly smirk. “Already so confident there’ll be a second date?”        Harry scoffed. “And a wedding!”        Seeing Y/N throw back her head as she laughed, made all sorts of butterflies fly through his stomach.        “Okay, Styles. I’ll take your word for it.”        Three months into the relationship, the two were booked to appear on The Graham Norton show together, which was also the first time they’d appear officially as a couple at a work/outing kind of a setting since the rumours started floating, and a picture of Harry kissing Y/N outside of a hotel room had sort of confirmed that.        “So, you two.” Graham pointed between Y/N and Harry with his cards. “Have started to date? Not to say anything Harry, but Y/N… I didn’t think boy-bands were your type.”        That made her lean over in laughter as Harry gave everyone a shocked face, before slumping back and pouting, nudging Y/N with his knee. “That’s not funny.”        “I mean it kind of is.”        “She was twelve when she swore off boy-bands.” Graham nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “Isn’t that what you said last time you were here?”        “Hey, it’s been ten years since I said that!” Y/N laughed. “Cut me some slack. All the people I was crushing on are married anyway… with kids… and could probably be my dads… I have issues, don’t I?”        Everyone exploded into giggles while Harry shook his head, chuckling.        “Love you with all of your issues.” He nudged her shoulder, and she nudged right back, taking a sip of her drink.        “Yeah, give it a couple of months. You’ll regret your words.”        The thing was Y/N was so wrong, and she’d never been happier to be so wrong. Each morning they were together, Harry woke up to her showering him with kisses or vice versa. As private as Harry was, his Instagram stories were now filled with pictures and small videos of them, of Y/N’s face half-covered by a blanket, glasses crooked as she smushed her cheek to his chest and watched a movie, or her eating breakfast while re-watching old Bones and Castle episodes with captions like ‘dunno how she keeps the food down’ and ‘she swears it’s just for research’, while her feed was full of candid Harry photos or her rummaging through his closet and showing everyone his immaculate style, and giving tips how others can recreate it (also she may or may not just use that as a reason to steal his clothes).        Generally, people loved it, and their love for one another. It was refreshing to see them enjoy each other’s company, and not be afraid to do so, especially now, given how it was a couple of days before Y/N ended her tour in New York in Madison Square Garden, to which Harry had specifically flown out for despite being in the middle of filming for ‘The Little Mermaid’. Three AM blinked on the clock, as the two finally drifted off to sleep after five hours of a passionate reunion when her phone dinged, indicating a message had arrived.        “Turn it off,” Harry grumbled into the skin of Y/N’s back. “’S too early.”        She hummed in agreement, furrowing her brows as her palm blindly searched for the offending device, and she squinted her eyes as the light burned her retinas before widening in shock at the message.        Harry felt her body go rigid, and he pressed a kiss to her neck. “Everythin’ alright, lovie?”        “Uh – “ she stuttered, trying to process the words on the screen. “Uh, yeah. Yes, everything’s fine. Just… some last-minute changes for the show. They want something really big for the ending, and some of the propositions are just…”        She could feel a smile stretch across Harry’s mouth. “Extravagant?”        “You could say that, yeah.”        “Sounds like it’s gonna be one hell of a show. Not that the others weren’t.”        Y/N switched the phone off wiping away the message first and then turned to cuddle into Harry’s chest. “It most certainly will.”        For the next two days, she was an anxious ball of mess, as her crew got everything ready, and her and her band rehearsed relentlessly before she asked all of them to gather at the studio to add a song to the setlist.        “It’s gonna be a couple more hours, Hazza,” Y/N murmured into the phone as Harry had called in to check on her. “ ‘M sorry. You don’t have to wait up for me. I know you’re still adjusting to New York time.”        “ ‘S alright,” he slurred, clearly already falling asleep but determined not to. “Can’t sleep without you anyway.”        At those words, Y/N’s heart did that stupid flipping thing it’d been doing ever since Harry entered her life to stay, and a shy grin blossomed on her lips. “You’re exhausted, sweetheart. But I’ll tell you what - if you do go to bed, I’ll be sure to wake you up with a kiss when I get back.”        “You promise?” She could hear the smile on his face.        “Swear it.”        “Alright, lovie. I’ll be waiting to cash in on that kiss.”        “I’ll run to give it to you as soon as I can. G’night.”        “See ya’ in a bit.”        Y/N let out a shudder as she heard the call disconnect. She entered back inside the studio and clapped her hands, drawing the attention of her producers and band members. “Where were we?”

***

       The hour before a show was always nerve-wracking for Y/N. It’s when the adrenaline truly started to rush, when her feet and palms got all tingly, and her ears and cheeks heated up. It was when their warm-up band exploded on stage, and the crowd got pumped up. But the best moment that night by far was right when she was about to run out, Harry had pulled her back by the wrist and kissed the living daylights out of her.        “You’re gonna kill it tonight,” he muttered against her lips, words skimming her mouth and making her smile as bright as the sun. She seemed to do that a lot around him. It’s why he now dedicated Golden to her every time he sang it.        “Thank you. For being here.”        Harry flicked her nose. “Always. Now go. People are waiting.”        When Y/N finally appeared on stage, pretty much glowing as brightly as the stage lights, her fans went wild, and even more so when she jumped, starting off the show. The whole time, her gaze flitted to backstage just to get a glimpse of Harry, and whenever she did, she saw him dancing, singing along, filming her having fun and some clips of himself as well, going absolutely ham to her songs.        As the night was moving towards the end, usually, she’d feel euphoria from giving a great performance, after hearing thousands of people sing her songs in unison, now Y/N felt closer to throwing up and fainting.        “So uh…” She pushed back strands of sweaty hair, hollers of people echoing in her head. “This is a very special show tonight. Umm… this is the first concert my boyfriend’s come t - .” She didn’t even get to finish the sentence before the cheers of the people interrupted her, deafening the girl even with the earplugs.        “But umm… it’s also a special show because two days ago someone reached out to me, and uh… he… well, he was as important of a person once the same way Harry is right now, and he wrote this.”        Y/N went over to where the piano chair was, lifted it and fished out her phone from it, revealing the message that’d been basically haunting her nights and days since receiving it.        “Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake I ever made.” To her own surprise, her voice was steady and sure, unlike her hands which were trembling like leaves in a storm. “I know you look happy and in love, but I know it’s not true. I’ve known you for five years, I know how to see through the mask you put on every day just to make sure others are happy while you yourself suffer an inauthentic life. But you do deserve to be happy. And I’ll be waiting for you if you decide to give us a chance again. I’ll be at your concert in Madison Square.” She looked out into the crowd. “You wrote a song once for me. If you sing it, that’s how I’ll know you feel the same.”        By the time she got to the end, there were no more shouts or screams, but confused murmurs. Y/N let out a shuddering breath, hoping that she could manage to do what she wanted, and everything didn’t fall apart. “The thing is, I’d like for Harry to come on stage, please.”        She could see the fear in his eyes as he jogged to stand next to her, but he disguised it with an overenthusiastic smile as he waved over towards the raging sea of people. He’d seen the message, had seen her reread it more than fifty times by that point, and as sure as he was in their relationship, when someone who held such importance, no matter if good or not, in someone’s life came knocking again, you could never be too sure what would happen. Harry didn’t want to say anything, believing if it was important enough, she’d tell him. Guess that was it.        “So, uh…” Y/N pulled Harry’s arms over her shoulders and grasped onto them, grounding them both. “This is for you.” Y/N looked over into the crowd before glancing over her shoulder, Y/E/C eyes meeting Harry’s wavering green ones. “And you,” she whispered so that only he could hear. “Hope you know I mean everything.”        As the cords started playing, she felt Harry unwarp his arms from where she’d been holding them over her shoulders and a smile erupted on her face.        “I wake up every evening,” Y/N sang, “with a big smile on my face, and it never feels out of place.”        “And you’re still probably workin’,” Harry’s voice joined in, grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s, as he now had a microphone in hand, the other placing earplugs in his own ears, “at a nine-to-five pace… I wonder how bad that tastes.”        “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell,” the two harmonized, Y/N’s eyes locked onto the masses, imagining the face of her ex-boyfriend who had the audacity to send that message.        “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell.” Harry was looking at the crowd as well, now fully understanding the message and the person behind it, and although he lived by ‘treat people with kindness’, he couldn’t help but gloat at the fact he got to sing with the love of his life on stage, and basically serenade a break-up song to a person who didn’t know how to appreciate what he’d had.        Y/N cocked her head to the side. “Now, where’s your picket fence, love, and where’s that shiny car? It didn’t ever get you far. You’ve never seemed so tense, love. I’ve never seen you fall so hard. Do you know where you are?” It was hard not to smile, knowing where she was and who she was with. Harry threw an arm over Y/N’s shoulders as she sang, giving a mock sad look, while Harry pouted. “And truth be told, I miss you… And truth be told, I’m lying!”        “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well.” Y/N pointed towards where she imagined her ex was standing. “Then she’s the fool, you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell! Hope it gives you hell!” For a split second, the music slowed down, guitar strumming in the air, as Harry pulled Y/N by the palm and towards his chest.        When the next lyrics came out of his mouth, he knew them to be true as he sang them to the man, he’d heard Y/N talk about, to the man who thought everything he’d done to her, every horrible word and deed was justified, to the man who thought breaking someone else down was the only way to bring themselves up. “Now tomorrow you’ll be thinking to yourself, where did it all go wrong, but the list goes on and on.”        “And truth be told, she misses you,” Harry hummed, Y/N letting out a large laugh, holding onto his bicep, as he slightly changed the lyrics. “And truth be told, she’s lying! When you see her face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you walk her way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!  When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well.” Harry sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Then she’s the fool you’re just as well hope it gives you hell.”        “Now you’ll never see,” Y/N took over the song. “What you’ve done to me.” She placed a hand over her heart. “You can take back your memories, they’re no good to me. And here’s all your lies, you can look me in the eyes, with that sad, sad look that you wear so well.” She dragged her finger down her cheek, giving a pout while Harry mimicked her stance before turning the mic to the audience.        “When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell,” the crowd sang back with such vigour, Y/N was sure the whole ground was shaking just from their voices, and the clapping and stomping to the drum rhythm would bring the whole world down. “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well, then she’s the fool you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell!”        The two were jumping around the stage like madmen, adrenaline filling their veins. “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!” “Hope it gives you hell!” Everyone else repeated.        “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!” “Hope it gives you hell!”        “When you sing this song and sing along, well you’ll never tell. Then you’re the fool, I’m just as well, hope it gives you hell!” Y/N grinned once more, placing her hand over her heart, meaning every word – she was just as well. She had amazing friends, a career that’d flourished, and a person who loved her more than words could describe.        “When you hear this song, I hope that it will give you hell!” Harry crooned down the mic, knowing their happiness would, Y/N’s happiness would give him hell. And he enjoyed it, knowing how good her life was.        “You can sing along I hope that it puts you through hell!” Her voice became the only sound as the last word echoed around everyone, her chest heaving up and down from the exertion, from all of the emotions running through her body as well as the overwhelming feeling of not only having Harry watch her perform but to end up performing with him.        When his hands wrapped around her body, it startled her out from the daze, and the popping confetti startled her even more, as the rest of her band joined the two to take their bows, grins on all of their faces while they did so.        “Not the song you thought I’d sing, is it?” Y/N laughed into the mic, Harry’s arms tightening around her waist. “There’s a reason I blocked your number, let alone you from my life. Don’t think I won’t do it again.”   ��    “But I would like to say thank you, to the asshole in question,” Harry said, making Y/N’s forehead scrunched up. “You let go of the best person ever; you had the honour of calling yourself her boyfriend, but instead, you chose to walk away. So, thank you for that. Because now I’ll have that honour and pleasure for the rest of our lives.”        Yeah. It was one hell of a show.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I love ‘All American Rejects’ and have been listening to ‘Gives You Hell’ non stop. It’s the best break-up song ever, and you won’t convince me otherwise. 

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. please don’t repost my work on other platforms without my explicit written permission. reblogs are fine :)

[sardonicallys]

𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝗺𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗳𝘂𝗹

mobile masterlist | web masterlist

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Jisung + Female!Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Smut, PWP, Comic Relief

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Cursing, sexual content, sort of sub!Jisung, kind of exhibitionist but not with intention

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: You're distracting Jisung while he's working and he wouldn't have minded it much if it was only you.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2,055

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: This was supposed to be a drabble but the longer I let this marinate, the more I wanted to write.

For something as perceptive as the human eye — of course in conjunction with the logical reasoning of the brain — it had a tendency to selectively hide away things that seemed...Unnecessary, to say the least.

The way your nose disappeared simply because your eyes found that it was only taking up space from your vision, or the way your mouth was around Jisung's length as he struggled to choke out responses to Chan who was standing just a ways away, in front of the desk that cloaked you. Hollowing out your cheeks with care, you quietly lined your tongue along the underside behind the guise of music all while Jisung's grip on the back of your head grew tighter; it wasn't his idea but he seemed easy to convince according to his current reaction.

"The down beat sounds kind of weird after I mastered it, something with the frequency I swear, so just when you have time can you look at it?" Brows furrowed, he nodded simply with his free hand over his mouth — mimicking the way someone may have looked when deep in thought and he was but not over the beat Chan was droning on about. Right now, he used his palm as a silencer, his mouth tempted to gun out every sound that bubbled to his lips and drained back down his throat. Hell, he couldn't even hear the track clearly as you scraped your teeth along his skin, fingers digging into his inner thighs, with full intention to tease him.

The silence created an awkward breath between the two conversing, "...You're quiet today, you alright?"

"Yeah!" Yelping out a strangled groan suddenly as you let him hit the back of your throat, it took everything in you not to smile, "Yeah, all good. Thanks, I'll look in a second. You can go now. Bye."

"Uh...Okay. I'll check on you later."

"Uh huh sounds good. Bye."

As the door frame clasped the wooden plane finally, Jisung abruptly wheeled the chair backwards as you tumbled into his lap, mouth releasing him with a loud pop before you expelled a bout of giggles in response to his flushed face, "Really?!"

Adjusting yourself between his thighs you shrugged your shoulders before pressing your tongue flat along the protruding vein, stiffening the pressure you applied as Jisung attempted to keep a straight face, "You're kinda loud Ji, so that's on you."

"Please don't get us in trouble again," it's sort of a plead. You rolled your eyes as you playfully traced the tip of his length along your swollen lips, "You act like Mr. Christopher Bang is gonna scold us for being bad kids."

"He has," Jisung reminded you as you took his length back in your mouth, letting the vibrations of your laughter work its magic as the boy shivered, hissing with narrowed eyes as warning since he couldn't really make use of coherent and comprehensive sentences.

This wouldn't be the first time you and Jisung were almost caught fucking in the communal studio — not to mention the times you two were actually caught. Your favorite being the instance Jisung was so close that even though Chan had walked in, absolutely mortified, and the two boys shared a literal look of pure horror, Jisung didn't — couldn't — stop fucking into you cause he wasn't about to let his orgasm run. With your head tipped back at the sudden interruption, you remember Chan looking like he had completely blacked out in place as the blood had dispersed from his face.

"He's seen worse," mumbling as you caught your breath, you realize your words fall on deaf ears as the haze clouded his eyes in a way that indicated he was swirling in euphoria. An impish grin played on your lips as you pumped him gently with your hand, "...But if you really want me to stop, I can wait."

The internal duel leaked onto his face as perpetuating turmoil plagued his heavy expression all while he combated with his moral obligation and lust filled desires. The latter won, it always won, and he responded curtly, "Don't stop."

"You got it," easing back into your ministrations, carefully pushing your tongue past your lips as you took Jisung as far back as you could fit, you stole a moment to peer up at him while you set a pace to row back and forth. Sometimes this was to be coy but most of the time this was your excuse to drink the desperate expression he had on his face, like he was some hormonal teenage kid, and he never once had a different reaction painted across his parted lips and dazed, glassy eyes. Always the expressive one, it was what made blowing Jisung your favorite hobby that came just slightly under riding him. Just conscious enough to lazily comb through your hair, you felt his fingers gently rest at the back of your head and you knew what was coming the moment you dragged back. Preparing for the impactful force, you squeezed your eyes shut and Jisung pushed you down with haste. You would have choked if you hadn't heard the knob on the door turn once more, the chair wheeling forward as you just barely inched back enough not to be completely run over. Playfully bringing your mouth closer, Jisung grabbed your jaw with one hand to stop you, holding you in place as you released a soft breath in defeat.

"Ji, can I borrow the drum pad and your pop filter? I just want to record something real quick," Changbin mumbled out while dropping on the couch just inches away from the desk, though he wasn't really paying attention, typing something out on his phone. You could see Jisung's frustration as he awkwardly shoved himself back into his pants before relinquishing an exasperated sigh, "Hold on."

The shuffling does nothing to hide the sound of Changbin's soles hitting the floor, indicating he had removed his shoes and likely propped his feet up on the cushions, and you get cozy in your space as you tucked your bottom lip in between your teeth — concealing your laughter just imagining Jisung's face. It's exactly as you imagined too, the stem between his brows prevalent from how close they're tensed, the corners of his lips downcast, and the usual honey that swirled in his eyes pure obsidian. Changbin isn't looking — he hasn't been the whole time he entered the room, tapping away on his phone as Jisung returned to his chair, wheeling back and forth impatiently, "Didn't you say you were going to record something?"

"Damn kicking me out already," Cracking a grin across his lips, you could hear Changbin readjust in his seat while he sighed out a little chuckle. Jisung returns it with silence. More silence, and you abruptly heard the screech of soles on the wooden flooring before the slight attitude bit through the older boy's voice, "I got it, I got it. Geez, what crawled up your ass and died?"

Apparently unfinished blow, but he didn't need to know that.

Listening as the door clasp clicked into place, you finally released your spell of laughter before crawling out and sprawling on the floor, your chest hiccuping in an effort to catch the air that you recycled back and forth through your giggles. Elbow rested on the arm of the chair, Jisung was cradling his cheek while watching you with amusement, "...Having fun?"

"Yeah," sitting up, you combed your fingers through your hair while dusting off any debris you might have attracted.

"And all by yourself huh?" Jisung pouted at you, half joking and half not, with intent to urge you to help him finish. As you stood in front of him, he draped his arms just below your hips while peering up at you, his head tilted as if the question itself was not rhetoric.

"I could let you in on it, since you were so nice and well behaved," cupping his cheeks, you mimicked his expression before pushing your knee between his legs, applying just enough pressure to make him hiss. The feigned innocence all but disappeared as Jisung clenched his teeth, "Well you better decide before someone else walks in."

Fair.

Moving your knee to sit snug beside his outer hip, you hiked your other leg up for it to mirror. Settling comfortably in his lap, you could feel his impatience succumb him as he began hastily thrusting up against you, creating his own friction any way he could. Peering down as if you were curious to what he was doing, you pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, nuzzling your nose against his but in contrast, matching his rhythm. The pleasant hums that left his lips alone were enough to have you arch against him.

"Did you plan to edge me or something?"

"Trust me, I wish I did."

Jisung doesn't like your answer, frowning before transferring it to your lips and letting it linger on your tongue. Fingers through his freshly dyed hair, you feel one another's breaths between the careful bites and licks that you ensued. Earlier, you may have been the one in control, but now you were just as careless as Jisung. Standing, you hurriedly began peeling off your jeans, leaving them askew on the floor as you returned to his lap, little moans escaping your mouth as Jisung's teeth grazed your clavicle. Reaching past the waistband of his sweats, you gripped his length as a strangled breath departed from his lips while your other hand nudged away the fabric, "...You couldn't be more gentle huh?"

"Sorry, Ji," your halfhearted apology earned you an eye roll as his hands went to grip your behind, helping you balance as you shifted your panties over and swung your hips like a pendulum against the tip of his cock. Jisung can't be bothered to look at you in the eyes, so mesmerized by — maybe — finally getting his dick wet, you gently lowered yourself down, feeling your nerves surge down your inner thighs at the stretch. Head rolled back, you steadied your breath but not before throwing Jisung a little shit for his impatience, "...Don't finish too early."

"You wish," confidence oozed through his lips as he huffed out a hearty groan. Bottoming out, he reclined against the chair and grabbed the hem of your shirt, stuffing it between your teeth as you rolled your eyes. For some reason, he always got off on watching himself fuck you. You never really understood it, but to each their own. Biting down on the fabric, you both attempted to move at the same time and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foolishness for telling him to hold it in cause you weren't sure how long you could last at this point either.

Finally managing to adjust, the throbbing you felt between your legs a mix of both of your anticipation, you lifted your hips before experimentally easing back down. It electrified you instantly as you pressed your forehead against Jisung's, moaning to your heart's content while appreciating the soundproofing installed all along the walls. You wanted to drag this out, let the wax melt and trickle, but he didn't. Almost as soon as you figured out your pace, he picked up the tempo and you were choking out moan after moan along the percussion of your skin meeting.

Your body went stiff the instant you heard the soft raps at the door contrast the timbre of your hips were meeting, immediately climbing off Jisung's lap before he had a chance to relive Chan's ultimate nightmare. Without waiting for a response, you managed to duck down when the door forced open. Speak of the devil, Chan shut the door behind him before leisurely falling into the couch. Jisung was sitting upright, tensed and just barely back to his reality as he attempted a response, "I haven't had a chance to—"

"...Wait what, she still hasn't finished blowing you?"

Jisung is absolutely mortified but you? Death by laughter as your symphonic giggling rang in everyone's ears. Rolling his eyes, the younger boy looked directly at you, "See, I told you."

"I'm going to leave again, so hurry it up because I need the mix to be finalized and you two are taking way too long."