#what the fuck does yield mean

[mushed-kid]

okay as a big voltron fan, i’m gonna come clean about something. i didn’t get “patience yields focus.” i didn’t get it!

i don’t know what yield means.

i’ve been thinking in my head that i can understand it in the context but i’m finally admitting that i have no fucking clue.

i’ve googled it several times but that’s a made up fucking word, that cannot exist because what is the meaning? i don’t know! it’s driving me crazy because what does it mean to yield??

fucking idiot fucking language fuck

[coquelicoq]

In talking about Chaucer (p. 74), I said that, in general, puns and verbal connections of sound were unimportant and not to be sought out; and now, you will say, I have been using them to explain cruces in Shakespeare. Alas, you have touched on a sore point; this is one of the less reputable aspects of our national poet. A quibble is to Shakespeare [Johnson could not but confess] what luminous vapours are to the traveller; he follows it at all adventures; it is sure to lead him out of his way and sure to engulf him in the mire. It has some malignant power over his mind.... A quibble was for him the fatal Cleopatra for whom he lost the world, and was content to lose it. Nor can I hold out against the Doctor, beyond saying that life ran very high in those days, and that he does not seem to have lost the world so completely after all. It shows lack of decision and will-power, a feminine pleasure in yielding to the mesmerism of language, in getting one's way, if at all, by deceit and flattery, for a poet to be so fearfully susceptible to puns. Many of us could wish the Bard had been more manly in his literary habits, and I am afraid the Sitwells are just as bad.

William Empson, 7 Types of Ambiguity, ch 2 pp 100-101

i'm sorry this is so fucking funny. that pathetic loser shakespeare who loved puns so much it cost him everything, except of course his status as the most famous, most read, most immortal english-language author of all time. but everything else, he lost and it's all because of how weak he was to resist a pun :/ pouring one out for my sad little girly man who could have had it all if only he was better at writing, the thing he is the most famous guy in the world for.

even empson, who disagrees with johnson that shakespeare "lost the world", is like, too bad our favorite poet is susceptible to the thing that made him famous :/ really tragic that the guy whose wordplay we've been talking about for 300 years likes wordplay :///

also i can't get over writing a book about the types of ambiguity and NOT INCLUDING PUNS?? sorry but puns are ambiguous! that's where their juice comes from! imagine liking ambiguity so much you write a book about it but never mention puns except to dunk on them. imagine being a POET and POETRY CRITIC who looks down on sound-based ambiguity! could not be me!!

[the-atlas-sister]

RANDOM TOKYO REV HEADCANNONS BECAUSE IM BORED

Mikey does not fucking play around when you're play fighting. Maybe it's because of his ego or the title of being "unbeatable" but he does not mess around. You have had times when it's turned into a physical fight before you yield and give up. And it you're trying to play fight with him to just get him to pin you down or start something dirtier- it will not work. He just is so cocky and worked up that he will be absolutely oblivious to what you're trying to do.

Mikey also goes on more dates with Draken then he does with you. Draken says their not dates with a scoff but Mikey insists that they are. He says him and Draken are a package deal.

Chifuyu likes to lick you. Not in a sexual way either. You two will just be sitting together, cuddling and reading and he'll just stare at you before licking your cheek. He'll grin when you squeal and try and wipe it off with a disgusted look.

Husband!Draken cooks shirtless. King is unbothered. You often wake up to him cooking breakfast in just a pair of sweatpants.

Naoto shows his affection by giving you his favorite books. He's spent so much time focused on his police work and schooling that he doesn't exactly know how to show affection. One day when at a bookshop for a case, he noticed a copy one of his favorite books. He remembered that you had mentioned that you like hearing about his interests and hope to one day be able to gush with him about them. So he bought you the book and when he came back home gave it to you with a shy blush.

(I love Naoto- hehe)

Kakucho will often just stare at you. Before you started dating you thought it was because he fucking hated you. You often still think it's kinda creepy but now he'll mumble something like... "pretty," as he does and all creepiness melts into love.

Kokonoi bites you. Again, not in a sexual way- he'll just- nom. When it first happened it really freaked you out. He was staring at you and just leaning forward- gently biting down on your nose- not a nip- a whole ass chomp.

Mitsuya has a nasty habit of using the same language he does around his sisters with you. If you work with little kids you know what I mean. Once you were asking him to pass you some hot chocolate and he said, "What do we say?" with the most serious expression. Once you blinked at him and mumble a small, "please," he realized what he had said. He quickly turned red and profusely apologized.

Shinichiro gets genuinely offended when you call him anything but handsome or hot. Once you told him he was adorable and he was so offended. He was frosting some cookies you two had baked and he was just so concentrated, his tongue poking out from his lips. He was just so cute! "You're adorable," you told him with a smile. He told you to never say such a thing with the most serious face you had seen.

Izana likes to kiss your neck. You don't know if it's the sense of control it gives him or just the way it makes you blush, but he likes to randomly grab you by the back of the neck and place his thumb under your jaw before kissing the front of your throat.

Rindo's love language is annoyance. Like he doesn't verbally tell you he loves you but he'll absolutely stick his finger in your ear while cuddling. And just like Kokonoi and Chifuyu, he'll bite and lick you to show affection. You're honestly on edge every time the both of you are cuddling.

Seishu hates being tickled. Like fucking despises it. As in will not hesitate to physically attack you if you try and tickle him. How you first found this out was while you were trying to get a one up on him as you were play fighting. As he was sat on top of you, you tried to tickle his sides. He ended up elbowing you in the face, resulting in a black eye and pretty major silent treatment.

[melrodrigo]

friends? p.2

Cairo Sweet x Fem Reader

Summary: A rivalry between you and Cairo has been going on for several months…what does it take for her to finally break?

Warnings: there r literally none they bicker like an old couple and cairos mean

Word Count: 2k+

A/n: helloooo i’m not sure abt this chapter but lmk what u thought, i cranked this out in its entirety last night, enjoy!

part 1

Friendship was not Cairo Sweet's strong suit. Ask her about Dickinson or Austen or Shakespeare—these were all things she could answer. But the ultimate question of friendship was not something hot on Cairo's mind.

She didn't need it, that was her take. And why would she waste time on something she didn't need?

Friends, much less a partner, was something she never saw for herself. The thought of being a housewife, living in a picture-perfect picket fence house, appalled her. The only things that mattered were her, her writing, and Yale.

So when a certain girl had entered her life, she hated it.

You.

You with your stupid face, and pretty hair, she hated you. A burning passion so intense it heated up her heart and made it race. So intense that she wanted to punch you in the face whenever you passed, only to bandage it up with feather light touches so she could punch you again harder.

At first it was nothing; she didn't have a thing to worry about. A blushing face while you stammered and fumbled around trying to give Mr. Miller an answer, she disregarded you as someone she could respect immediately.

But obviously she had caught you on a bad day, because after those first few weeks, you managed to present yourself in a less idiotic way.

You were, surprisingly smart.

Almost too smart, she pondered. It was getting in the way of her own studies. How could it be, that someone was on bar (never better) than her?

Often she found herself seething at you, arguing at every chance she had with your answers; but, you had given her the same treatment as well.

It wasn't strange for your classes to end in heated debate, both sides failing to yield. It bothered her greatly. She went back home and read more than she'd ever read before, studied just a few minutes longer because she could feel you taunting her.

"Sweet." You nodded, as she pushed open the doors to Millers class. You'd made it a habit to arrive early, leaving only you and her for a good thirty minutes before everyone else arrived.

It was infuriating. To have you so close, open, ready to harm, yet she could do nothing. She'd been having a particularly grueling week. Her parents had just come back from Brazil; and, always seemed to be ready to go at her throat. Gone were her lonely but comforting nights on her bed, candle-lit. Now it was just fights and condescending jabs.

"What did you get on the paper?" Your voice piped up, breaking her from her train of thought. You were referring to the paper Mr.Miller had given back last week, one that counted for forty percent of the grade.

She felt a swell of pride. Scores were something she could argue about. This would take off the stress she'd been building.

"99." She smirked, cocking her head to the side.

You whistled approval, nodding adamantly. Even though there was nothing to suggest so, she could swear she felt condescension in your tone.

She was good at picking out stuff like that. The roll of someone's tongue, the way they smack their lips—it all meant something to her.

She pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "What did you get?" She asked, brows furrowed.

You didn't say anything, simply holding up a finger and mouthing 'one hundo' and watched as disbelief took over her features.

"You're fucking lying." She seethed. Her good mood had suddenly disappeared just as fast as it had appeared.

You spun around in your seat, stupid smile on your face. God, she wanted to jump at you and claw it off.

"Hey, hey, it's okay to be mad. You can't be the best at everything." You told her, hands behind your head.She gripped the desk harder, knuckles turning a faint white.

She stood up, walking over to your desk."You little shi-"

"Good morning, the both of you!" Mr.Miller interrupted, cheery smile. His enthusiasm radiated off his body like rays radiated from the sun. He stopped short when he saw Cairo stalking close to you, a clear pout on her face.

"What are you doing?" He asked, question directed towards her, voice sickly sweet. He had grown fond of Cairo since the beginning of the term; she was his favorite student.

"I'd like her to be removed from the class. Can't you do that Mr.Miller?" She avoided his question, tilting her face at an angle where her chocolate colored eyes shone bright.

His white brows furrowed, not quite comprehending. "You mean," He started, "right now...?"

Bless him, he had no clue how manipulative Cairo was.

She doesn't let up, doesn't let her disappointment show. You notice it in the slight clench of her jaw--she's annoyed.

"I meant for the rest of the term, I can't stand being in the same class as her." She emphasized her words with a glare in your direction. You send her a sweet smile back.

"Please, flattery will get you nowhere." You winked, smile turning into a real one when you see her get visibly agitated.

"Please, girls. Let's be civil here all right?" Mr.Miller pipes up, trying to stand in between Cairo and you. It does nothing to lessen the tension in the air.

He turns slightly to Cairo, voice firm. "And no...I won't kick Y/N out."

The childish part of you desperately wants to fist pump the air; but, the more serious side of you decides maybe you shouldn't do that in the company of your arch nemesis.

Class turns weird fast. Cairo—normally quick and adamant—stays quiet, seemingly distracted by the simplest of things: a bird singing softly from a window, the great big forests where her house stood, the sound of your feet continuing to scrape against the carpet.

It irks you a little. It has you not listening in class, wanting to focus on the girl in front of you.

You almost don't hear it when Miller announces that you'll be working in pairs for the midterm project, preoccupied with her bobbling head, moving as if she were listening to some imaginary music.

"You will not be able to pick your own partner, that's already been done for...by me." He adds, after hearing the onslaught of voices from the students. It's clear he's not changing his mind.

"Alright. When I call your names, go sit with your pair and discuss how you'll do the assignment. Olivia, Taylor." He calls out the first pair, going down (what seems like) an endless list of names, never quite getting to yours.

You watch as countless people move around, silently looking out for who hasn't been called yet. You needed to get a good grade on this, and a lazy partner was going to be a nightmare.

You strain your ears to hear Mr.Miller over the commotion of students moving, but when you turn to squint at him you're surprised to see he's already looking at you.

A sinking feeling eats your entire being whole as you watch his mouth move. He points his finger at you, then someone in front of you.

Cairo Sweet.

Fuck.

Even though you loved to tease her, you did not need to have Cairo Sweet as your partner. She was likely to ruin you before you even got to starting the thing.

You don't make the first move to get up, instead you sit dumbly in your chair, bracing yourself.

Your peace is disrupted by a huff from above you. There she is.

"Move over. I need a seat." She says, something in her voice making you oblige. She pulls over an extra chair and sits by the other end of the table.

"You can come closer ya know." You say, unsure of how friendly to be. You'd only ever really spoke with her from a distance, a comfortable distance. Now that she's up in your personal space you feel ike you're going to suffocate.

She ignores you, pursing her lips as she listens to Miller explain the project.

You inch your chair closer, prepared to make a sly jab at the way she's being a teachers pet, but her stare—which has now been redirected on you—stops you in your tracks. She looks scary.

Lips downturned, nostrils flaring, you're a bit taken aback.

"Okay jeez. You don't have to be such an ass about it." You mumble, distancing yourself a great deal further than you already were. The mood, if it weren't enough already, turns more sour.

She ignores your suggestions and remarks on how to do the project, scribbling something down on to her notepad every now and then.

"Earth to you, Sweet. Are you listening to me?" You press, starting to feel those tendrils of annoyance grabbing you. It was one thing to be an ass, but to put her own feelings above doing good work was low, even for her.

Especially for her, you think.

"Do you ever shut up?" She growls, biting her cheeks so hard you could see the indent it was making on the outside.

"Okayyy...someone's obviously going through something, but can we just-" You gesture to the sheet of paper on the table, you haven't even been allowed to look at what she's written yet.

"I am NOT going through something." She says again, voice cracking. The sound brings forth a peculiar reaction in you, your mouth hanging open. Her eyes look...watery.

Before you can utter a word she's getting up and storming out the classroom, making heads turn left and right at the loud noise.

"Um...I'll be right back too." You say, sending Mr.Miller a cheeky smile and a wink, hoping that'll lessen his curiousity enough to not come out after the two of you.

You push open the doors, call Cairos' name a couple times.

You eventually find her outside, back pressed against the brick wall. She's lighting up a cigarette.

Her body language looks more calm now, but you're not sure what to do. You shuffle on your feet, twiddling your thumbs.

"Sorry I did that." She speaks, not turning to look at you. It startles you a bit, you hadn't realized she saw you.

"Cairo Sweet saying sorry? I must be dreaming." You try, although you're not smiling and she doesn't laugh. Humor seems to be sucked away in this little bubble belonging to only the two of you.

You move a little closer, then even closer when Cairo doesn't object. Even though you did hate her to the bone, you wanted to make sure she was okay.

"Are you...alright?" You ask softly, watching her face for an answer. She seems to be deep in thought.

She takes a swing from her cigarette and blows. "I don't like you." Is what she says.

The ice breaks. You no longer feel like you're supposed to pity her. This was Cairo Sweet, her heart was made of coal.

"Yeah I think we established that. Anything else?" You sigh, leaning back so you're also pressed up against the wall.

She turns to you, and for the first time, she doesn't seem very mad.

"I don't like you." She says again, moving closer. It's in your natural instinct to step back, why was she being so weird? Was she going to hurt you?

She grips your shoulder lightly, enough for you to get the message to stay still.

"I don't  like you." Cairo mutters for the third time, eyes piercing into yours. She seems to be speaking a little lower, a little raspier than normal. Cogs seem to be turning in her head, debating and debating and debating.

Debating on what you can't be certain.

"I get it, you don't like me. So what?" You mummur, voice lower than normal. The proximity is making your mind feel a little clouded.

You try not to let your gaze drift down to her lips, but when there's nothing around to distract yourself with, they do.

Her freckles, the ones that litter her face. You get the disgusting urge to touch them.

"So...don't get the wrong idea." She says before taking your lips in a kiss.

It takes you a second to comprehend what's really happening. You stand frigid, mouth parting to gasp. You're gasp is swallowed by her own lips, soft and supple.

Once Cairo feels that you aren't responding, she pulls away, frightened look on her face. Pink lips downturned, her cheeks a rosy red. You don't have time to process what the right move is. For now, you don't need Cairo thinking you didn't like whatever that was.

You reach for her neck, pull her in for a second kiss. It's somehow better than the first. She responds quick, hands wandering to cup your face, then down to circle your waist, then up to tangle in your hair—like she's changing her own mind too quick.

You let her take the lead, pressing you into the wall with a strength you didn't know she possessed.

You're too lost in it all, the smell of her shampoo, the feeling of her teeth scraping your lips, biting down only the slightest, her fingers burning traces wherever they go.

"Sweet." You breathe, coming out more like a soft moan than you would've liked.

She breaks apart from you, a wild mess. You think she's never looked prettier, hair everywhere, lips torn from your heated kisses.

Her eyes are soft until they flash and something else takes over. It's as if your voice had brought her back to life.

"I don't like you." She snarls, and promptly turns on her heels, just a slight increase in speed than her normal strut.

You're left breathless, staring out into the green plains. Mind and heart racing, you're not sure which organ you should listen to.

The implication of what you did hits you like a freight train. You groan and press your hands to your head, willing and willing and willing for a solution to come out of it.

Not to anyones surprise, nothing comes. A magic fairy doesn't tell you what to do, and you're still standing behind school panting.

"Oh god."

[charliemwrites]

Part 7

Content: sparring and injury

Sparring is one of your favorite activities. With your team, it’s a chance to learn and improve, to keep from falling into old habits. And yes, okay, it’s also become something of foreplay. Especially with your captain, who seems to delight in tossing you around and pinning you with his bulk.

(And Keegan, who came in his pants once when you had him in a chokehold, one your thighs between his. But no, no, now is not the time to think about that…)

You’re not the best hand-to-hand operator on the team, sure. That title belongs to Nikto, who hits so hard and fast you’re down before you even realize he’s swinging. But you’re certainly a force to be reckoned with.

Not this much though.

If you were in the mood to give them credit for anything — and you’re really not — they’re at least subtle. You don’t catch on during the first round with Soap. Your brain has completely transitioned into the comfortable rhythm of practice combat. Something to be taken seriously, but not the high-stress of victory or death in a mission.

No, Soap gets away with it in the moment. You only notice as you’re taking your water break, rotated out with the uneven numbers between your teams. You’re surveying the pairs and notice him sparring with Keegan.

There’s something decidedly more intense about it. Like… like he’s putting real effort into trying to beat Keegan. An effort he did not put into fighting you.

Rage burns through you, hot and thick, buzzing in your head.

Does he think you’re not worth any real effort? Does he think you can’t handle a proper fight, that this is just playtime? Is he really treating you like some fresh-faced recruit that needs to be babied after all this time?

When you captain finishes wiping the floor with Gaz, you go to his side. One look at your face and he knows.

“Whose head is rolling?” He asks, plucking your bottle from your hand for a sip.

“Soap threw our match.”

His eyes flare before he closes them, swallows the water in his mouth and sighs.

“How do you want to handle it?” He asks.

“Wait, wait,” Gaz interrupts. And the look your captain gives him… Christ. To his credit, he doesn’t back down though. “He probably just thought it would be good, yeah? To… let you get some anger out.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, a mean laugh slipping out. The captain arches his eyebrows in what could almost be sympathy. Or arousal, hard to tell when he’s got such a good poker face. (Mix of both, you figure)

“Oh, he wants me to get some anger out?” You roll your shoulders. “Sounds like a great idea.”

Ghost is your last match before reset — before you’ll get a chance to show Soap just how much steam you need to let off.

Except now that you’re looking for it, you recognize almost immediately that he’s throwing the match. Probably especially because it’s Ghost. You never stood a chance against him before leaving, even now you didn’t have optimistic expectations for a fight with him. So the fact that it doesn’t feel like you’re working for every inch you gain…

The final straw is when you try a move from before. Something he never fell for once and always reprimanded you for using. He “falls” for it this time. You don’t pull your punch when it goes directly into his face.

Know immediately that he’s feeling it, that wicked hook Keegan always whistles over. Blinking past his mask. And you don’t let up, pressing and pressing the advantage. Take him down to the ground using all your built strength, twisting into a vicious arm bar and pulling, pulling, pulling—

“Bloody hell, I yield!” He snarls, palm slamming against your thigh.

You release him, but not without one last nasty kick to the soft spot beneath his ribs.

The gym has gone silent. You don’t care, pushing to your feet with hands still balled into tight, angry fists.

“You ever throw a fight with me again, I’ll break your fucking jaw, Riley,” you snarl.

Price, expression stormy, takes a step forward.

“He threw the fight?” He asks.

You scoff, “Either that or the 141’s quality is lacking nowadays.”

You step off the mat to join the rest of your team, exchange a frustrated look with your captain. Nova comes to your side, curling a finger into your belt loop in solidarity.

“Gotta say, Price, I’m disappointed,” your captain says. “This is getting out of control. I won’t have my team put at risk because yours can’t keep it professional. I’d rather just tell Laswell to get you a different support team.”

You’re almost surprised to see how the 141 jolts, four pairs of eyes flicking to you in panic. What in the actual hell?

“Take it easy,” Price says, eyes flashing. “I’ll have a word with them.”

You glance up at your captain, see from the twitch in his jaw and the tightness around his eyes that his patience for this is wearing gossamer thin.

“See to it. In the meantime, we’ve got work to do.”

He turns his back on the 141, and you’re all too happy to follow suit, pressing a kiss to Nova’s cheek when she sends you a worried look. Whatever weird issue the 141 is having, they need to stop making it your issue.

“Keegan, with me,” your captain says. “Nikto, you’re up against the girls.”

Nikto tilts his head in a nod, then jolts as you and Nova take either side of him.

“Gonna show us a good time, Nik?” You coo.

“Always love a tag-team,” Nova purrs.

The captain grins. “Have fun you three.”

[askmerriauthor]

Homie. Darling. Muchaco. Please help me. You're an animator. You've worked in the video game industry. When you get to That One Memory in TOTK (you know which one I mean and if you don't, you will),

Please help me figure out what the fuck is going on with Ganondorf's face rigging

Man, I didn't even need to look anything up: I knew EXACTLY what you were talking about as soon as you said it.

Short Answer: Need more polys.

Long Answer: It's simultaneously a case of limited model structure and potentially some degree of intentional design choice specific to Ganondorf's presentation in this particular game.

Discussion below the jump, just for the sake of not stretching out people's dashboards. No worries about spoilers: none of this is story-relevant.

So! To give a very broad strokes bit of coverage on the wide and varied nonsense that is 3D modeling, this is a case of Topology. The basic thrust is that topology is the overall structure and layout of the mesh that makes up the 3D model's various shapes. The lower the polygon count on that mesh, the more angular its structure and the less capacity for deformation it has. The higher the polygon count, the smoother its structure and the greater its capacity for deformation. The trade-off, however, is that low-poly models are easier for a game engine to render. High-poly models are a massive drain on processing power, to say nothing if they're built inefficiently with a bunch of wasted geometry bogging things down.

Here's an example of a low-poly model on the left and a high-poly model on the right.

So when you want to make a character emote, you're basically grabbing a bunch of those polygons around the face and moving them around to shape the face into the desired expression. If you don't have a lot of polys to play with, it causes folding and tearing issues where the model and its textures do some pretty wonky shit.

Something both BoTW and ToTK have going for them is that they're actually very low-poly games, which is extremely helpful in making the games run as smoothly as they do given the world size and seamless loading. The lighting and texture work do A TON of heavy lifting to make the game look as good as it does. Really look at these models closely and you can see how angular they are. Look at Zelda's outstretched hand or how sharply light falls across the character's features. In the bottom right, notice how you can see the sharp points that make up Zelda's shoulders? They're not rounded; they're angled just enough to give the general illusion of a curve at a glance. Same goes for her eyes; you can count the angles that make up the shape of her eye but, at a distance and at a glance, they look big, round, and doleful.

Something you can also notice is when characters talk, a lot of them have little to no facial deformation. Mineru, for example, basically has a one-hinge Muppet mouth outside of pre-rendered cutscenes. A lot of characters' eyes are basically painted onto their faces and switch between static texture shapes as opposed to being fully rendered and animated orbs modeled into their heads.

Ganondorf actually has a fairly complex character model, especially compared to Link or Zelda, but he doesn't have a lot of model deformation. Basically the only parts of his head that move are his eyes/brows and mouth/jaw. If you look closely around his eyes you can see they're rendered basically as triangles. There's only two or three points along their shape the model can deform at. Further, since the rest of his face doesn't really deform when he emotes, it means the only thing that really moves are those small key elements. Which yields moments like this:

The animators are basically pushing his expression as much as they are actually capable of with this model's limited structure. See the hard fold in the lower eyelid, or the fact that his teeth aren't attached to anything inside his jaw? It does the job though; it overall looks good and, in the moment this scene happens, really adds something to the unsettling nature of what's going down.

I mentioned before that there may be a certain intent as well. Something specific to Ganondorf in this iteration is that, more than ever, he's become an Oni. Ganondorf's character design has slowly been leaning toward more Japanese-specific visual concepts over the past few appearances but he's gone full yokai for ToTK. Not just in his build, but in his clothing and weaponry. Dude is swinging around a kanabo for the first time ever in the franchise.

In Japanese mythology and Noh theater, a Red Oni basically functions as the embodiment of all the worst parts of mankind. They're greedy, brutal, cruel monsters who revel in causing destruction. If you want to look at their good aspects, it's traits like passion, ambition, and a wild spirit. But, overall, they're the bad guys. Ganondorf is 100% depicted as a Red Oni in ToTK. So when you keep that in mind, add in the implications of what Ganondorf just did in that scene, and consider the traditional appearances of a Red Oni...

...then that face-breaking grin makes a lot more sense.

[manfuckthisimout]

I promise to god if that man looked at me like this?

FOLDED IMMEDIATELY!

Let me take you through my mid for a moment:

Yoongi doesn’t argue.

He simply doesn’t have the energy to waste on something little and petty like that.

Unless it’s something relationship changing, he’s not going to dwell on it. He prefers to squash the little stuff in favor of peace and solitude.

But that doesn’t mean you can talk crazy to him.

“You know what, fuck the dinner! I don’t care anymore, you can starve for all I care!” Yoongi has been coming home late for three days now, often taking his work home with him. You came into his home studio to ask him what he wanted you to make for dinner, but you were only met with short answers. “Like I said babe, make whatever you want. I’m gonna eat it regardless, just lemme finish this.”

Yoongi was knee deep in producing something or another for some artist in the industry. His work was superb, but he often threw himself into it, often neglecting eating or sleeping for hours at a time. You just wanted to sit down and have a nice meal with your boyfriend, is that too much to ask? “I’m asking you because I want to make something you’d eat now, not after I go to bed.” You spat, eyes narrowed into slits. “I’m still gonna eat regardless, what does it matter the time?” Yoongi replies, his voice cool. You can’t see his expression, for his back is turned to you, but you just know that furrow that appears when he’s focused on two things at once is present between his brows.

You storm over beside his desk, forfeiting your position in the doorway a few seconds prior. “I know you eat Yoongi, but it’s timing that matters! You can’t keep neglecting your needs for some stupid beat that will still be here tomorrow!” You holler, your frustration getting the better of you. His eyebrows raised at the mention of his name. You kept going, “Y’know, why is it you keep bringing this shit home anyway? Are you too busy at work doing something else than get this done? Or someone? Am I not enough for you anymore Yoongi? Is that it?” You seethe.

Yoongi’s head whipped up and over to you so fast you hardly saw it happen. His chair was turned around now, parallel to you standing beside his desk.“What did you say? Say it again.” He says, his voice dangerously low. He was looking at you, daring you to make your assumption again. You were taken aback, almost tripping over his chair due to the sheer closeness of him. But stupidly, you did not yield. “Are you sleeping with another girl! Is that why you seemingly never have anytime for me anymore?” You hiss. His brows raise further, pinching at the top of his forehead to make wrinkles in his skin. He looks positively bewildered, speechless by your audacity.

You two stay like what feels like an eternity. Not blinking, hardly breathing. Suddenly Yoongi turns in his chair and unceremoniously closes his laptop. He’s up and out to his chair a moment later, and approaching you. Cornering you onto the couch that sits besides his desk. “You think…I would cheat on you? Over something as petty as dinner?” His voice is still that same tone, and you suddenly feel like prey about to get eaten whole by its predator. You’re fucked. Suddenly your knees are weak and you can feel your heart hammering in your chest. Yoongi’s eyes are slits, his brows still in that same pinch from when he was sitting down.

“I get the taking care of myself part. I get you wanted to do something nice for me. But assuming I’m cheating on you because I took home some work? I don’t know how you could think that,” Yoongi says, cool and collected. He’s cornered you so far that you’ve fell onto the couch, on your back, facing him. He climbs on top of you. Lowers his face inches from yours. “I have everything I need laying out in front of me. Why would I ever step out?” He says softly.

You’re speechless, a flush crept onto your cheeks. You can feel his breath fanning over you. He’s looking deep into your eyes, following your head movements to keep the contact going. “Answer me, hm? Why would I do that?” Yoongi leans down to press fleeting kisses into your neck. “I-I don’t know…” You say, meek and shy with your words. You feel like an idiot for ever thinking it. Here is this man, tired, hungry—still proving to you that he loves you no matter what.

“You don’t know and..?” Yoongi replies. He pulls from your neck, resting his lips onto your forehead. “I was silly for thinking it. I-I know you would never do that to me. I’m sorry honey.” Yoongi pecks your forehead, leaning back to look at you. He smiles. “I forgive you. Just—don’t do that to me again, please? I don’t know if my heart can take it.” You nod. “Can I have a kiss?” You ask, shyly looking into his eyes. “Of course my love.”

Note: I’ve never written anything this long! (At least not about yoongi lol) this was going to be short like the rest of my content, but it turned into this.

I hope you enjoy!

[99woez]

don't talk about it ᰔᩚ j.sc

warnings. smut, best friend!sungchan, roommate!sungchan, arguing, it's a dumb argument but you are fighting this man, physical fighting, just shoving nothing crazy but a physical altercation starts this all, unprotected sex, hair pulling, some angst? idk if i missed something let me know! i also did not proofread this because i got out 5k words in one night which is crazy for me. anyways, enjoy!

wc. 5k

summary. your best friend embarrasses you in front of your campus crush. so, of course, you decide to fight with him in the living room and learn some interesting things about him in the process.

Sungchan had always been stupidly large, in your opinion.

He was so large that you couldn’t resist the urge to playfully test his strength, curious to see how his fit frame would react to your playful jabs or if he would sway with a gentle nudge. He would playfully push you back, never with full force, but these light-hearted scuffles became a regular part of your friendship. It was a source of joy, a shared silliness, it meant everything.

Except for the times it did.

“You’re so stupid sometimes, oh my god!” You shouted at your so-called “best friend,” shoving hard into his chest. This shove wasn’t like the ones you usually gave him. This one was harsh and mean. There was not a semblance of anything alluding to happiness on your face as you looked up at Sungchan with knitted brows and parted lips, shoving hard into his firm chest once again, this time with a shout of frustration.

If we’re being honest, you two have been drinking. It’s not like you’re shitfaced and neither is he, but the alcohol is just enough to make the world blurry at the edges and your words harsher than you typically allow them to be. His chest, solid as a boulder beneath your pushing palms, doesn't yield like it usually would during your fond roughhousing. He stands firm, his expression teetering between annoyance and worry.

"Stop it," he gruffly says, grabbing your wrists mid-shove. Just like that, the playful laughter that usually echoes between you two gets choked in the tension-filled silence. You try to yank your hands-free, but his grip is firm yet gentle. He was never rough with you, even when the fights turned serious like this. It was a rarity for things to turn nasty, but sometimes Sungchan was so oblivious you couldn’t stop yourself from lashing out at him, especially with a few mixed drinks in your system.

“Let go,” You snapped. Sungchan leans in with a tilt of his head, letting out a “Hm?” as he does so, challenging you.

“Chill out first.” That did the exact opposite of chill you out. You hated it when he took that tone of voice with you, as if you were some child that needed to be put into a timeout. 

There were many things you loved about Sungchan: His kindness, his dedication to anything he sets his mind to, his eyes, you loved a lot about Sungchan, but there were many things you couldn’t stand about him. He was oblivious to the simplest of social cues, he got loud when he was drunk, and the way he comforted people was an absolute joke. If you hadn’t known him for more than half your life and shared an apartment with him, you would’ve ditched him when you two graduated high school.

But you didn’t. Now, you’re stuck with a big, dumb roommate who loves telling the men you like that you like them. God, Wonbin was never going to talk to you again after the scene Sungchan caused trying to get him to give you his number. You still can feel the embarrassment hot in your veins, making you lurch forward and finally give his chest a shove that makes him stumble a few steps.

“I won’t chill out! I won’t! What you did was fucking rude!” You yelled, pointing a finger in his face to punctuate your words and get your point across. Sungchan scoffed, turning his head away from you, but you could see his tongue press against the inside of his cheek, making the skin push out slightly. It was a habit of his you had noticed when you two went to parties together in college. It’s what he does when he’s annoyed and holding himself back, beating someone’s ass. It’s a rare occasion for Sungchan to beat someone’s ass, but when it did happen, it was always deserved. Typically, it would be a drunk guy who wanted to buck up to the biggest guy at the party, a one-sided battle of masculinity that Sungchan always won, no matter who came up to him. You’ve only seen Sungchan throw a punch twice in your entire friendship.

Once, when you were in high school, and the last time was at a party during your junior year of college when a man put his hands on you despite you telling him to fuck off. The other times, he had simply told you about when you’d see him in the kitchen with littered bruises on his body. You think about that night more often than you’d like to admit. Sungchan didn’t hesitate to throw a punch for you, knocking the man clean out by the time he was done with him. It lit a fire in you that you’re not proud to admit. There was just something in his eyes that rubbed your brain right. You would never admit it, but were desperate to see that look again. You wanted to see him angry, to watch him lose control no matter how fucked up it sounds.

“Get your hand out of my face,” Sungchan told you firmly, looking you in the eyes to get his point across, but you weren’t deterred. You step closer to him, finger still in his face.

“No. Not until you apologize. Admit it was rude. You were rude.”

“I wasn’t fucking rude,” Sungchan argues, swatting your hand down when you don’t move it from his face. You bring it back up without a care of the consequences, resulting in a game of him swatting your hand down every time you bring it up.

You two look stupid. Thank God this is in the privacy of your living room.

“You had no right-”

“You were never going to talk to him if I didn’t! You’re a chicken-”

“I’m not a fucking chicken––Oh my god, don’t call me a bird.”

“You’re such a fucking chicken, dude. Do you remember how long it took you to even talk to Shotaro? Months. ‘Took you months to even say hi to him, and that’s because-”

“Shut up.”

“That’s because I had to step it! I was the one to get you to talk to him!” Sungchan continued with a shit-eating grin, voice picking up volume as he leaned down to get closer to you as if you couldn’t hear him clear enough, pointing to himself like he had won some kind of award. Your already flushed cheeks begin to heat up when you remember the Shotaro incident of 2022. He always brought up Shotaro, and even if it was just to pick on you playfully, it still struck a nerve. You were more shy than Sungchan ever was, always letting him start the conversations or introduce you to new people. Half of your friends are Sungchan’s friends; half of the people you’ve dated are because Sungchan knew them first. Every connection in your life could be traced back to Sungchan, which drove you insane.

“Now, you want to talk all this shit because you got embarrassed I had to step in again and help you get some dick,” Sungchan pressed, his grin turning into a smirk as he nodded at his words, feeling them in his being because they’re true. You stared at him with contempt, teeth grinding as your fists balled up tightly. “You should be thanking me. You’re so ungrateful for everything-”

You lunged at him. You swear you don’t have control of your body when you do it, you just throw your entire weight into his chest and hope for the best. Sungchan let out an “Oof!” sound when you collided with him, staggering back and hitting the ground with you on top of him. You act as if you two are playfully wrestling, but none of your movements have an ounce of playfulness in them. You straddled his hips firmly as you shoved at his hands harshly to get them away from grabbing you. You knew once he got his hands on you, it was over. He’d flip you two over, and it’d be done. You couldn’t let him win this. You couldn’t do it. You had to prove it to him.

You don’t know what it was, but you had to prove it.

You grab his hair tightly, jerking his head off the carpet to distract him, tugging hard on the brown locks. Sungchan lets out a yelp that sounds pathetic. His eyes squeezed shut as his large hands wrapped around your wrist to try and pull you off of him.

“Not fair-” He started. You shake his head, eliciting another yelp from him.

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up,” You spat at him, shaking him again. His face contorted in pain and confusion, groaning softly as he did what you told him for once. You couldn’t believe he actually listened. Truthfully, you didn’t think you’d get this far. You’re not exactly sure what to do next. So, you shake his head again, making him hiss when you tugged harder on his locks. “Can’t fucking stand you, you know that? You’re such a jerk sometimes. Just big, stupid, and taking up space.” You shake his head around with every word, watching him drop his hands and put them up in front of him in faux surrender, but he doesn’t say anything. He only whined and grunted when you pulled on his hair harder than usual.

You waited for him to spit something back at you, to call you a coward, to say you needed him, but nothing but pants left his plush lips. You furrow your brows in confusion at his silence. Sungchan was never quiet. You shake him again.

“Hello? Say something!” You shake his head again, this time back and forth. You won’t lie. It was fun to have him like this. He acted like some kind of puppet that you were the master of, pulling him around in whichever direction you wanted him to go in, and he just took it. Sungchan sighed in defeat, keeping his eyes shut tightly.

“My dick just twitched.” 

Oh.

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t think of anything else to say. Your hands, which had been roughly pulling at Sungchan's hair, suddenly freeze. Your heart pounds in your chest as you gaze down at him, cocking a brow at him. His face is flushed a deep crimson, though whether from embarrassment or something else, you can't tell.

"I said," he starts again, much slower this time, swallowing hard, "My... my dick just twitched."

You blink at his repeated confession, not expecting him to repeat the words. There’s a tension growing between the two of you that you’ve never felt before, making your throat dry as you stare at Sungchan’s embarrassed face, watching his chest rise and fall as he pants beneath you. Flashes of what he’d look like without his shirt flash in your brain, wondering what sounds he’d make as you sink down on him, how his eyes would look, how the muscles would ripple under his––Jesus Christ, get it together, girl. You remind yourself, clearing your throat down at him.

“Like…Seriously?” Sungchan nods at your dry words, opening his eyes slowly to look up at you. A switch in your brain is flipped when you see his big brown eyes. He looks utterly pathetic like this, hair in your hand revealing his forehead, eyes pleading for something silent, and lips in a perfect soft pout. You wanted to take his picture like the actual definition of pitiful.

You chuckle at him, shaking him again and tugging his hair hard to see if it really did anything for him. He whines again, shutting his eyes as his hands lurch towards your hips, holding tightly with a sharp breath through his teeth. You smirk at his reaction, raising your brows in slight shock it was this easy to get him going. Maybe it was the alcohol, you think. You’ve seen Sungchan shove his tongue down girls’ throats just mere minutes after he met them, but this is you. You’re his best friend, his roommate, the girl who beat his ass for talking to her crush for her. You know you’re pretty, and Sungchan is just a man, but you’re still caught off guard by it all.

Your palm still cradled his scalp, thumb lazily tracing small circles at the base of his hairline. Sungchan’s hands on your hips squeeze gently, fingers digging into your flesh just a bit more than necessary and causing a shiver to wind its way up your spine.

Without thinking, you leaned forward and claimed Sungchan's lips in a rough, desperate kiss. His taste was different than any guy you've ever kissed - salty with a hint of beer and lime from the drink he had tonight. You wrapped your hand tightly around the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you as your other hand found its way under his shirt to feel his warm skin. You didn't let up when he moaned into your mouth, feeling your touch while he tentatively kissed you back. Your anger turned into desperation quickly as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, tasting him fully now. His lips were soft and plush against yours as they parted slightly to let you in further. You moaned the moment your tongues slid together, digging your nails into his toned chest as he pressed in further, sucking softly on the slick muscle in your mouth.

Sungchan's hands moved up your body, gripping your waist and still pulling you closer. The fabric of your shirt scratching against his rough palms made you shiver with anticipation for more contact. You grind down on him out of instinct, feeling the bulge in his pants grow as he groans against your mouth, wanting more from both of you. His scent filled your senses - a mix of sweat and cologne and something uniquely Sungchan that made you want more.

The sound of his rhythmic grunts filled the room, a mix of desire and surprise in every breath he took. His fingers dug into your skin through your shirt, and you moaned into his mouth once more. Your breath hitched when he bit down on your lower lip gently, making you gasp and whimper into the kiss before breaking it, desperate for air. You gasp softly when you part, watching with hazy eyes as he pants as well, lips slick with spit and typically wide eyes heavy with lust.

You tug at his shirt, nodding before he has any time to say something that will kill the mood.

“Take it off.”

And he listens like a dog, pushing himself up and pulling his white T-shirt over his head, tossing it aside before wrapping his arms around your torso and pulling you flush against him. There are no thoughts in your head right now, only Sungchan, touching Sungchan, kissing Sungchan, fucking Sungchan––Holy shit, you were totally going to fuck Sungchan. That hits you harder than you thought it would. You’ve thought about it before. How could you not? He’s beautiful, kind, and built like a God. Of course, you thought about fucking Sungchan. It was nothing like this, however. Typically, you thought of him having your face pressed into the mattress, back arched, and fucking you from behind like he was getting paid. You would’ve never guessed you’d be on top, but it’s not like you can’t get into it for Sungchan. You’d do anything for Sungchan.

"Are you sure?" Sungchan whispers against the skin of your neck, his hands finding your hips again to steady you against him, his bare chest warm and firm. You're taken aback for a moment, not expecting the question. But then you realize that he’s always been considerate, even when he’s on the verge of losing control.

"Yeah," you say firmly, the word slipping out without thought and causing heat to flare in Sungchan's eyes.

Without hesitation, you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head swiftly. The cool air hits your skin, making goosebumps spread across your chest and arms. Sungchan's eyes widen as he takes you in, his gaze making you feel exposed and powerful. You struggle to pull your jeans off, having to crawl off of him to kick them off in haste. You hate how desperate you look but can’t bring yourself to care. Sungchan rolls on his side when you crawl off of him, lingering towards you like a lost puppy. His eyes watch as more of your skin is revealed to him, letting out a groan when he sees the smooth skin of your thighs.

Before you have the chance to climb back on top of him, he leans in, kissing the side of your thigh with a moan. You let out a gasp in shock but watched him with parted lips, threading your hands through his hair again as he dragged his lips all over the expanse of your thigh, leaving a trail of glistening spit as he did. He grabs your ankle, pulling you towards him roughly, making you fall back onto the carpet with another gasp. You don’t argue for once; you are too invested in what Sungchan will do next, even if you care.

His lips pepper kisses across the inside of your thighs, nipping at the sensitive skin with deep breaths as he inched closer and closer to your core.

He licks his lips as he hooks a long finger in your underwear, pulling them to the side. A moan leaves his lips when he sees your pussy for the first time, looking down at it like he’s looking at a coveted piece of art. You watch him closely, ears turning pink as he lifts two fingers to his lips, licking the tips of them before bringing them down between your legs to rub circles into your clit. His gaze stays on your cunt, watching how the pretty pink flesh moves beneath his fingers, biting his bottom lip when he hears you let out a whine, seeing your thighs tremble at just the slightest touch. Finally, his dark gaze lifts to meet yours.

With his eyes trained on yours, he presses a long finger inside you. A sigh leaves your lips as your eyes flutter shut, gripping the carpet with one hand while the other dug into your side, biting your bottom lip as he pressed another finger inside. You moan this time, feeling your walls begin to stretch for him. You hear him groan quietly, making your eyes open. You’re immediately met with his gaze that never left your face. He looks like he’s in a trance, staring at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You can’t tell how it makes you feel, but you feel hot, like you’re boiling from the inside out. It aches, but it’s so intoxicating that you want more of it.

You whimper at how his fingers slickly slide out, then back in, watching him get lost in the sight of your reactions. You’re so wet for him. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you got so quickly. You swallow thickly as your chest rises and falls with each pant. His eyes stay on your face as his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing slow circles that make you shiver with a choked-out moan. His free hand cups your jaw, tilting your head back slightly, forcing your lips apart to look deeply into your eyes as he watches you crumble under him.

Feeling emboldened, Sungchan takes his fingers out of you slowly, letting out a long moan when they leave you empty. He lays a line of sweet pecks against your inner thighs, leaving tiny bites and nips on the soft flesh until he reaches the hem of his boxers. With a breathy "Fuck," he tugs them down enough to reveal his hard cock pressing against the fabric. You gulp as it springs from its confines, averting your eyes momentarily before snapping them back up to challenge his gaze. His thick length twitches with anticipation before he guides it towards you, slick with pre-cum leaking from the tip. Your heart stops for a beat before racing wildly in your chest again.

"Wrap your legs around me," Sungchan orders softly, not breaking eye contact even when you hesitate for a second before obeying. He grunts when he feels your folds pressing against his cock, pushing inside without a moment’s hesitation. He slides in so easily, groaning at how smooth the glide inside you is. He sounds as beautiful as he looks, making you moan as well. The way his cock splits your walls apart for him is delicious, to say the least, as a euphoria fills your veins as your walls spasm around him with another moan, this one airier than the one before.

“Fuck,” Sungchan curses, fingers digging into the carpet next to your head as he looks down at where your bodies were connected before back at your face. You two lock eyes again, making your heart hammer in your chest harder than before. Still, you meet his gaze with a quiet whimper, hands wrapping around his strong biceps as you bat your lashes at him.

“Feels good, Sungie?” You ask in a too-sweet voice. You rarely whip out for him unless you ask for a favor, like getting something off the top shelf or making him finish your short answer response questions because you don’t want to. Sungchan would do anything for you, and you’d do anything for Sungchan. He takes a deep breath at your tone, lips curling into a smirk before he bites his bottom lip, nodding.

Then, his hips roll into yours.

Sungchan's thick cock feels even better than you could have ever imagined, stretching you wide and fulfilling you completely. His hips roll into yours slowly, making you moan and whine beneath him with each gentle thrust. The way he fills you up is mind-numbing, his smirk turning into a grimace as he leans down to capture your lips in a rough kiss.

Your walls clamp down on him at the contact, purposely trying to get more friction between the two of you. Sungchan groans against your lips, slipping his hands under your back and lifting you up onto his lap effortlessly. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his hard chest pressed against yours. Your heart pounds in your chest as he starts to fuck you properly now, eyes closing at the sensation that washes over you. You swear you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, but you convince yourself you’re just dreaming it.

You feel every inch of him inside of you, making your walls tighten around him with every snap of his hips into yours. A tiny sob leaves your lips when he hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars. You dig your nails into the flesh of his shoulders, jaw-dropping and eyes rolling back at how your body moves like a rag doll and at how sharply his hips snap up into you. He groans into your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin before sucking softly to soothe it with his tongue. You can't help but shudder in his lap; this feels so good that it hurts. His hands hold you in place, one on your waist and the other cradling the back of your head as he takes rough control of the kiss again, teeth scraping against soft skin with every thrust. He pants against your lips, moaning your name softly and how good you make him feel. It's all too much for you; all too real with Sungchan, yet so not real. You’re fucking your roommate on your living room floor––You’re fucking your best friend on your living room floor.

Your hands find their way into his hair again, holding onto him tightly as he continues to fuck into you like your his, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck and over your collarbone. You mewl at the feeling, arching your back into his chest as he hits that sweet spot inside you once more. You could feel the warmth spreading through your veins, making you dizzy with need. The room spins around you as he thrusts harder, faster, deeper into your already aching pussy. His moans mix with yours, their tongues meeting in a messy kiss that speaks volumes about how much you both want this.

Your legs quiver as he takes control of the situation, fingers digging into your skin softly before trailing up to caress your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra. You let out a strangled cry when he pinches at one of your nipples roughly, making you moan into his mouth even more, looking down to watch him work with a breath through your teeth. Your hands' card through the hair on the back of his head, eyes shutting to focus solely on the pleasure coursing through your veins with every drag of Sungchan’s cock against your walls.

"Sun-Sungchan," you whimper. The sound of his name on your lips is like music to his ears. Your body is sweaty and flushed, a beautiful sight for him to feast his eyes upon. He growls lowly when he finally meets your gaze again, heat pooling in your lower belly at the raw desire he displays.

“You’re so fucking good, baby. ‘Should’ve fucked you soon, hm?” Sungchan groans, his voice creased with effort as he continues to pound into you. You can’t help but respond with a needy whimper, skin burning under his touch as you nod your head dumbly. You feel him everywhere, and it's overwhelming - the way he’s stretched you wide open, the way he feels pushing deep inside of you, the way his hands are holding you in place as if afraid that you'll slip away from underneath him.

Your heart beats furiously against your chest, matching rhythm with the throbbing ache between your legs. You're close, too close, but not quite there yet. Sungchan seems to sense your growing desperation, the flash of triumph in his eyes telling you he knows exactly what he's doing to you. He reaches down and begins rubbing slow circles on your clit again, thumb pressing against the sensitive nub just enough to make you cry out in pleasure.

“You gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your throat, teeth dipping into your soft flesh, causing a sharp gasp from your lips. You nod frantically in response, words failing you as white-hot pleasure courses through your veins. He laughs softly - a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine.

The way you melt against him is intoxicating. He grunts, unable to think straight as he feels his own orgasm building up. His hips move even faster, his cock sliding in and out of your welcoming heat with each thrust. He groans against your skin, panting heavily as he fucks you like it’s his last dying will, wet sounds filling the room that mixes with your pants and moans. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sounds you’re making, cheeks growing more read because of it. Sex is so embarrassing sometimes.

He pulls away from your neck just a little to look into your eyes, panting heavily as they roll back in pleasure. Sungchan's lips curl into a smirk at seeing how lost you get. Your walls tighten around his cock once again as you cum around him, making Sungchan's eyes roll back into his head and tilt his head back with a melodic groan that has you moaning as well. You feel him tremble beneath you as he finally cums inside of you, making you smirk softly as your hands run up and down his back.

You throw your head back and cry out his name, orgasm hitting you hard and fast like a freight train. He watches as you finally hit your peak, jaw-dropping at how gorgeous you look when you feel good. Your walls clamp down around him, and your muscles spasm in ecstasy; even through the haze of pleasure, you feel every drop of his cum spilling into you, the heat of it searing into your core. Your body convulses and shivers under the onslaught of pleasure, your voice breaking on Sungchan's name. 

Sungchan stays still for a moment longer, his cock still buried deep inside of you. His chest heaves against yours, ragged gasps filling the space between your sated bodies. He blinks slowly, his gaze holding yours captive as he pants out your name. You take his face into his hands with a deep breath, leaning in and kissing his lips without a second though. He moans into the kiss, holding your wrists gently as he does so.

You both stay like that for a while. Bodies joined together in the aftermath of your shared orgasm. The only sounds in the room are your gasping breaths and the rapid beat of your heart pounding in sync. Cautiously, Sungchan pulls out of you gently, making your pussy squeeze around nothing instinctively at the loss, a soft whimper leaving your lips.

He rolls off to one side, pulling you with him so that you're tucked against his side. His arm wraps around you and keeps you close to him, fingers dancing along your sweaty skin lightly. Neither of you speak for long moments, too wrapped up in trying to regain control of your breathing and coming down from your highs even to fathom thinking of words right now.

Eventually, though, Sungchan breaks the silence with a soft whisper, "You okay?"

Your lips twitch into a tired smile against his chest, pressing a small kiss there before nodding. "Yeah," you huff out after a moment, "That was…"

"Crazy," he finishes for you, making you shut your eyes with a laugh, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah…That was crazy,” You whisper, moving your head to rest on his chest to soak up more of his warmth. Your cheek squishes against his chest as you lay there, looking down at his spent cock resting against his thigh. It hits you that you’re both naked and just had sex on your living room floor. This calls for a conversation at the least but you can’t drag yourself to start it, completely spent from what just occurred.

So, instead, you close your eyes.

You’ll deal with it in the morning.

[suchawrathfullamb]

One thing I don't get is how can some fans see and write Hannibal as protective or caring of Will? He never cared about Will's safety, he has done so much damage to Will's body, it's out of character that he'd suddenly care...I don't know, I just feel like it's wishful thinking of shippers. I ship them too but I'm not delusional about Hannibal...He would still hurt Will in season 4 and I hate when fics write him as if he gives a fuck about Will's well being.

Oh wow. Okay.

Hannibal has known pain in a way most people around him have not. He has known cold, hunger, loss, abandonment, violence and death and god knows what else. All of this before his rational mind was fully developed, which essentially means his mind was shaped through those experiences. That's what it's ingrained in him, regardless of anything else, even the luxurious and opulent life he built for himself years later.

"God" throws his seeds in the air, violently, and they scatter everywhere. Some fall on fertile soil, and grow to become beautiful, strong trees. Some fall on rocky ground and don't yield any fruits. And some fall on thorns, and those thorns choke them. God is ruthless and careless, but not all of his seeds become the byproduct of his violence. But some do. That's just the way it is.

So the first part of this answer is not an attempt to justify Hannibal's behavior, but simply put it into context. No, he didn't have to punish the world for his own suffering. But he chose to do so. Well, I personally don't believe it's a choice, per se, but more of an illusion of choice. People tend to think they are always choosing how to act, but digging into human psyche, you'd find that no, you never had a choice. Free will is an illusion. The reasons behind your behavior go way back, to places you cannot reach. But that's besides the point.

So, again, don't take this as a justification. Hannibal is what he is, and does what he does.

Hannibal found himself at the mercy of a merciless, careless, amoral God, in his formative years. And so he mirrored that God, "can't beat them, join them" sort of deal. If God is careless, so will he be, if God is amoral, then so will he be. If He gives and takes as he pleases, then so will him. If he delights in bloodshed, then so will him. He won't try to please God, he will please himself. He won't worship God, he will worship pleasure, because it is the antithesis of what he feels. We worship that which we desire to experience, or that which we perceive as the opposite of what we're trying to escape from, the remedy for our specific wound. if you fear death, worship him, the one who conquered it and rose victorious above it. Or if you fear your own desires, the same one offers you to be cleanse of those things you perceive as shameful. Whatever you fear, there's a God for you.

And Hannibal's God, at least for most of his life, would become the big P's: Pleasure and Power. It's only a little funny that in order to experience one, you need to let go of the other, at least to some degree.

Hannibal is so afraid of the pain and vulnerability he felt, having perceived it as lethal, that he learned how to remain in absolute control of himself and his environment. He was, in his mind, unaffected by God. You can't hurt him, because he does not expect You not to. In fact, he expects the worst out of You.

He collects church collapses to remind himself that God does not care, since He is destroying his dedicated worshippers. To remind himself of how little his own destructions matter, how small they are, compared to God's.

So, play a little Will Graham here and see through his mind. Walk in his shoe and see. If you do so, you'll never think that him caring about Will is out of character because he hurts him.

Will did something to Hannibal that only God was able to. He made him vulnerable, made him feel out of control. Not even his sister was able to fully accomplish that. Hannibal loved Mischa, but he ate her to prove to himself (and to God), that he was beyond love. That even if he loved, he was still stronger than that feeling. That it wouldn't overpower him. Our NBC Hannibal didn't eat Mischa because he had to. He ate her to forgive her, for making him love her. "I forgive you for being so lovely, and now I will consume you to dominate this weakness". He wasn't able to do that to Will, and he wasn't going to. Bryan Fuller has confirmed he wasn't going to go through with it in the head sawing scene. No matter how hard he tries, Will always conquers him.

Imagine what this must feel like for Hannibal. He had the will to eat his sister. God took her away from him, violently, and he was still capable of defying Him by willingly consuming her, "you do what you will, but I'm still stronger, you are not capable of destroying me, look what I can do with the pain you give me". It's as if Hannibal sees God as a ruthless father who keeps testing him, over and over again. Beating him in the face, repeatedly, and all he needs to do is take it, bloody and smiling, as if he's enjoying it, as if God's intention of causing pain is futile. Does that evoke a certain scene from the show in your memory?

Hannibal finds some people slightly interesting, some disposable, some inconvenient, and most boring. He sees them as weak, mostly. They haven't endured what he has, they complain about things that are frivolous to him, they care about things that don't matter to him, and mostly, they would never relate to him, to his view of life. They'd be scared, or disgusted by him. He knows he's a monster in most people's perspective. Does he see himself as a monster? He tries not to. He looks at his church collapses whenever he feels this thought creeping inside his head. Yes, of course he sees himself as a monster. But he works very hard to argue against that...After all, God is so much worse.

Arrogance is not a an actual belief of superiority. It's just a mask for a deep feeling of inadequacy. It's an overcompensation. He has learned, from the way he was raised, and the type of people around him, that politeness and etiquette are signs of dominance, and most importantly, the opposite of what most tend to consider ugliness and brutality. Someone harmed him very gently. A nice and friendly person. No one believed him. And so, he learned the best character to play was this exact one.

I could be wrong, this isn't canon, it's just the most obvious explanation. But regardless if Hannibal is the way he is independently of the trauma, as Mads stated, that doesn't mean he didn't adapt, evolve, become. I already established that I do not think he is the way he is because of his trauma, I'm still going along with canon. But I see him as just one of God's little seeds that didn't fall on good soil. But he's still a human being, regardless if he's the incarnation of Satan, he's still incarnated, literally meaning born in flesh. He still has a linear story, a way of becoming, of flourishing (or withering) in a manner that his thorns could rise from his skin and harm others, even if they were there all along.

Punishing "the rude" is a way of justifying his own motives. Can't kill other killers, that would be hypocritical of him, he's not trying to be a vigilante, he's beyond that. Can't kill people who remind him of those who harmed in the past, that would be vindictive of him, therefore a display of weakness, as if he's still affected by them. So? Kill whoever is rude, disrespectful, unrefined out of pettiness. It's petulant and it is flippant (in most cases, that homophobic medical consultant may or may not had it coming, I didn't say it, you did), but it's the only reason he found. Other killers may kill because they can, because whatever. Hannibal needed to justify it to himself, in a way that still put him in a position of power. Again, vengeance or vigilance is too affective to his liking. He doesn't like playing good or bad. He just likes playing.

Here comes Will Graham with his rude, dismissive, agitated, grumpy and messy behavior. He's arrogant, he's childish, he lacks control of himself, yet everyone sees him as innocent, pure, genuine. What a punch to the stomach. Hannibal has to try so hard to be seen as innocent. And there goes this mongoose, acting all crazy and everybody treats him like an injured puppy. But he's just like Hannibal, he has thorns peaking out of his back, forcing their way out. And he's still able to be perceived as innocent? Oh no. Not on Hannibal's watch. So he turns people against him.

Hannibal's very aware of how Will affects people around him. He knew Alana liked him, he even told Will in the first episode, in the breakfast scene, but they cut the line out. He wanted to know if Will liked her back, but was dismissed. He tells him how Jack sees him as fragile, tells Alana they have Will dressed in moral dignity, pants, "nothing is his fault". He's very aware of how Will is able to evoke this type of unconditional compassion.

But then it affects him.

He wasn't expecting it, he was surely not prepared for it. All he knew was to hurt. Eat him like he did his sister. Hannibal realized his feelings were deepening in the opera episode, the singer who played that part (of the opera singer) said she chose the aria specifically for this, because it was like Hannibal was realizing he had a heart. He cried. Later on, Will told him he kissed Alana and that his connection to the killer, Tobias, was getting stronger ("it's our song"). This affects Hannibal in a way that disturbs him, and so he acts impulsively and sends Will to Tobias. "I do not care about him, see?". Denial.

What a shocker when he has to face the truth that he does, in fact, care. He looks defeated, and submissive in that scene ("I was worried you were dead"), even their physical positions mirrors that...But, "I got here on my own", he insists on remarking, after Will says he feels like he dragged Hannibal into his world. No. You didn't. I am here because I chose to be. I am still in control.

After that, he cannot lie to himself any longer, he knew what he felt when he thought he had lost Will. And so, it only got worse from that point on. Now, he was aware of his feelings and actively fighting them. All of his actions were an attempt to eradicate Will, as a way to eradicate his feelings towards him, to prove to himself that he can still overpower his feelings, "see? I can still do what I want with you, my feelings for you do not stop me". And Will rejects him for the first time, in that kitchen. And he still loves him. How infuriating. So he decides, "No, I will not jeopardize my own freedom for you." Anger.

When he saw Will in prison for the first time, you could almost see the exhilaration in his eyes. To cage the one who controls you, how divine of a feeling. He is elated. At first.

It seems that it takes Hannibal a few shocks to realize that he does care, a lot, about Will. And so he realizes that, once more. And needs to deal with it...Again. Meanwhile his inner world is spinning out of control, it is becoming a grand, beautiful mess, and he cannot stop himself, even though he is trying very hard to.

Bedelia brings him to awareness by telling him he's obsessed. "I'm intrigued", he tries, mostly to himself. Obsessed? Him? No, it can't be. Nobody is capable of doing this to him. Obsession indicates a lack of control, the incapacity to take one's mind off of a subject. Just imagine the war he was battling inside himself.

When Will tries to kill him (by proxy) he is as satisfied as he is hurt. Satisfied because he was right, Will is a killer. Hurt because he did almost die. The night he lets Alana kiss him and decides to engage with her, it's the night Jack made it clear Hannibal was a suspect. He felt alone without Will, and Alana made him feel less alone, "walking away what does that leaves us with?", he asks, "each other", she says. He does appreciate her, even if she doesn't truly see him and when she eventually does, she's afraid, she's still better than nothing, and convenient for his alibi. But it's more than that. This is the woman who had (has) feelings for Will, and those feelings seemed to be reciprocated, at least to some extent and at some point. Having her is like conquering Will in a petty way. "She rejected you. You rejected me. Now we're together", it says.

But he still sees potential in Will, in their union, and he still cannot deal with the ache of being without him. And so he finds a way to get him back, let his bird out of the cage, unbound, even if it means danger. He's so lost in his feelings that he allows himself to be deluded, to believe, to open himself up. And even after realizing the betrayal, he still couldn't let go, and offered his carefully crafted life, up, "we could disappear tonight". And when Will says "you were supposed to leave", he doesn't interpret it as protection, he hears it as rejection. Again. He did the same thing to Hobbs, not because he cared, but because he wanted to. He doesn't think Will did that because he cares, at most, he thinks he did because he felt guilty for lying. But mostly, this is Will rejecting him again. He is devastatingly hurt, and Will stands like God, so cold, so cruel. But at least you have a body, so I'll hurt your body, since I can't hurt your feelings, apparently. "You think you can change me?", denial, "I already did," the truth, spitting on his face. So he ends Abigail, because to Hannibal, Will cared about her, he protected her, he had compassion for her. But not him, so she will be Will's pain. "No, you haven't changed me. See? I'm still the monster". The monster he tries to convince himself he isn't, the monster he tried to show Will he wasn't, but Will didn't want that gift. That burden, that curse. But he'll call it a gift, to make himself feel better. After all, he's so much better than everyone else and seeing him in all his truth is such an honor...Isn't it?

He knows Will is right, even if he kills Abigail to prove a point, in his mind, he knows he's right (the script says so). So really, there is no point in denying anymore. But can still move on, overcompensating for the dark, endless pit in his soul, with opulence and a smile. Until Will comes to him, and once again, he cannot handle himself, and he's at it again, acting completely reckless and out of control.

"I forgive you", hope. Then Will tries to kill/harm him. And he's so done. With everything. Everything. How many times will Will Graham shake him out of his center, ruin his sense of self, spin him out of control, play him, hurt him? Leave him? No more, that's how many. He's done. He's ending it. And he knows he won't live without him. He's so deranged in that scene, so...Out of it, almost uncharacteristically insane. Consuming his God, finally. "I'll do this, so the pain will stop," he bargains.

Then, he would most likely end himself indirectly after that. After all, "suicide is the enemy", but letting himself get caught after a lifetime of expertly evading it, isn't the same now, is it? Of course not. Surrendering to the authorities even though you are certain you'll get the death penalty isn't the same as suicide, of course not. Refuting your insanity plea that saved you from getting the death penalty also isn't suicide, of course not. Not at all. Neither is allowing God to throw you off the cliff, even though you made it very clear that you were aware of His intentions.

Hannibal Lecter loves Will Graham to the point of insanity. He hurts him out of insanity, out of the inability to surrender to his love. When he finally does, he regrets what he did to Will. He's so insanely filled with regret he tries to reverse time. He's acting maniacally, and then he's rejected again. And just...Gives up. Accepts it. "He knew Will would come back, it was just another manipulation"...He gave up his freedom and risked his life just to be petty? Sure. You tell yourself that cause it's exactly what he'd rather you believe in.

At the end, he looks at a weapon and considers hurting Will, but he can't. He knows Dolarhyde is watching. Knows where he is. Will tells him he doesn't think he can save himself, and maybe that's okay. Hannibal clocks him right there, and his compassion for Will is inconvenient as he steps in front of him and takes the bullet. It's inconvenient when he allows Will to pull them off the cliff just to be able to hold him, even if it's for first and last time, because he'd rather die than live without him.

After all, how do you leave without your God once you've been graced by His glory?

So no. I don't this logic makes sense, anon. You're interpreting Hannibal as a person who follows one logic, when he in fact, "follows several trains of thought at once without distraction from any". And one of the trains is love.

[kingconia]

Hellooo I'M kinda asking for angstyy but Imaginee Gn reader does a break up prank on the Dormleaders 😶‼️(idk if this was already done??)

TWISTED WONDERLAND'S HOUSEWARDENS WHEN THEIR S/O IS TRYING TO PRANK THEM BY BREAKING UP

cw: Of course, some angst ensues.

Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️

— Riddle is having a hard time with understanding even common humour, so, of course, he has not a single idea what is going on;

— He takes your words very seriously, to the point you can see his eyes watering slightly as he turns away from you;

— An instant regret! That is too much, you realise. An attempt to fix everything apparently goes even worse. Riddle is glad that you are not breaking up, but he is clearly offended by what you had done.

•

”I am so, so sorry,” you murmur, taking his cold hands in yours. ”I didn't think that—”

”You didn't think at all,” Riddle cuts you, voice despite being cold, wavering slightly. ”It seems like you don't respect my feelings enough, do you? Someone, who loves you wouldn't do that.”

It is hard not to feel ashamed already, but the way Riddle speaks, yielding his words as swords, hurt even more. You know of his streak to be more passive aggressive when he feels offended, so you are not surprised. But it still unpleasant to hear.

”No, I do,” you kiss his knuckles softly, looking straight in his eyes. ”I will make up for you, alright?”

Riddle nods, but an expression on his face is a gloom one. It definitely will take some time to deserve his forgiveness.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Leona takes some time to process what he had heard. He is fighting the urge to say that it must be a joke, but your acting is too realistic, so he trusts you with being honest;

— Leona is tired from this urge to fight for love and acceptance, when others get it so easily. So, he is not planning to talk with you about all of it; he will merely give up. And despite his heart aching painfully at your words, Leona will only shrug it off. He doesn't want you to he aware of his true feelings;

— When you stop him by telling that it is a joke, Leona feels something between a relief and irritation. He tries not to show it, too—it will only make you understand that he, in fact, was hurt by yours words. But he fails anyway.

•

”Stupid,” Leona spats out, turning his head away from you.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, either trying to keep him out from leaving or comforting him like this. In retrospection, you can see how cruel your joke was—Leona is a neglected kid, and, perhaps, you overdone yourself by triggering it.

”I am sorry once again, and...” Your eyes widen. ”L-leona, are you crying?”

”Like fuck I am,” he denies right away, a free hand coming to rub his eyes. ”Fuck off.”

Now, you feel even worse. It is rare to see Leona so vulnerable, after all.

”Oh, Leona,” you murmur, crashing in him with a hug. ”Please, I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear...”

And that is how you settle with agreement—Leona forgets your poor idea of a prank, and you pretend that you had never seen him crying. It works for both of you well, surprisingly. And, at least, he is not mad at you.

Azul Ashengrotto. 🩵

— Azul is panicking as soon as he hears your speech, but he will never show it to you. Instead, he bluffs, saying that you will not do that;

— When you ask him why he thinks that, Azul very nervously tries to prove you that you love him, mentioning all of your recent actions and words addressed to him;

— He only relaxes, when you offer him a smile, nodding at his words, explaining how it was a popular joke on the internet. And, let me tell you this, Azul had never been so happy of being correct.

•

”You are too smart for your own good,” you sigh, sitting down on his lap, a light pout appearing on your face. ”How I supposed to prank you, when you are like this?”

Azul wraps arms around your waist, hiding face in your shoulder blades. As a deep sigh leaves his lips, you are suddenly feel like something is really wrong with him.

”Hey... You okay?”

Azul raises his head for a second, so he can kiss your bare nape, but then again, falls into same position. His answer is rather a reluctant one.

”I am just tired after lessons, that's it.”

”Ah, sorry... I probably took your time with my stupid jokes.”

”That's fine, angelfish.”

You definitely sleep better in the nights with not knowing that you are the one, who exhausted Azul today...

Kalim Al-Asim. 🧡

— Just as Riddle, Kalim is a little bit dense when it comes to pranks, so your breaking up suggestion is treated with absolute seriousness;

— Kalim is speechless for a few moments, and when he finally gains ability to speak again, he merely asks if he wronged you somehow, if he hurt you;

— He looks so lost, so genuinely concerned, that you are rushing to say him that it is a prank. However, Jamil is quicker.

•

”Ah, excuse me?” Kalim scratches his head, looking between you and Jamil, who suddenly materialised in the room, almost out of nowhere.

”It is a prank that runs around school,” Jalim says, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. ”They are not breaking up with you. It is a joke.”

”That's right,” you nod eagerly, watching at Kalim with an unhidden regret. ”Sorry, Kalim.”

His eyes instantly flare with relief and happiness as he smiles widely at you. He is clearly not mad. If anything, he is in high spirits!

”Ha! I see! Then, let's break up, Y/n!” Kalim winks at you radiantly.

You smile in return, ignoring annoyed look on Jamil's face. It is good to know that Kalim had some fun out of it, too.

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Vil is a very mature person, so he naturally treats your break up with him with an utter respect. And, he tries to talk out everything with you;

— He sats you down, brings some water, and offers to tell him your reasonings to do so. Is it his tight schedule? Is he neglecting you? Do you feel like something is wrong? Or, perhaps, you have a mental health problems? Talk with him! Even if your decision is final, Vil is still your friend. He wants to be aware of your feelings;

— When you are telling him the truth, Vil is annoyed. He is genuinely worried about you all the time, can't you not worsen it, potato?

•

”You are telling me, that I was frowning a five minutes over nothing,” Vil deadpans tiredly, folding arms on his chest.

You smile awkwardly, and move forward to smooth a wrinkle between his brows.

”First of all, you still do that,” Vil tries to relax his face instantly. ”And, second of all... Sorry. But you handled it so well, so I don't feel that bad.”

Vil rolls his eyes, and as he catches you hand in both of his, he kisses it softly. You blush under his closer look. Now, that's unfair.

”...But I am glad that you are still mine,” he murmurs quietly.

”What did you say?”

”I am not going to repeat myself,” he snaps.

You laugh quietly at how annoyed he looks.

You don't consider a prank to be a failure. More like another proof that you had chosen a perfect lover to yourself!

Idia Shroud. 💙

— I am quite sure that no one will agree with me on this one, but... Idia tries this prank on you faster. Yes, I think he can be quite mischievous when he feels safe enough, and, he is the kid of the internet just as you, so...

— You stare at him all the time as he ”breaks up” with you, and the fact that you planned to do this prank just today, makes every even worse;

— When you explain to him that you know it is a prank, and you were meaning to do the same, Idia can't help but laugh quietly. It is, indeed, stupid.

•

”That is just ridiculous,” you murmur, hiding face in your hands.

Idia puts his chin on the top of your head, arms wrapping around your stomach as he hums.

”Geniuses are always sharing the same unique thoughts.”

”Yes,” you glare at him. ”And idiots, too. So, what it makes us?”

Idia lowers his eyes as well, exchanging amused looks with you. Smiling crookedly, he offers a good compromise.

”Soulmates?”

And, well, he is not wrong.

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— Just like Riddle, Malleus knows nothing about pranks of this sorts, so he assumes that you are genuinely breaking up with him;

— An instant regret x2. There is so much sorrow in his eyes! Much like Leona, he doesn't want to be seen emotional, let alone pathetic, so he mutters incoherent apologises and scrambles to leave the room;

— Gladly, you trap him in hug faster, yelling that it is just a joke. Malleus, however, has a very mixed feelings about this one...

•

”I... See,” Malleus averts an eye contact desperately as he examines the floor. ”I apologise for not understanding it earlier.”

You sigh, feeling shame creeping on you for such an awful and disrespectful attitude. After all, you know how Malleus is mostly unaware about all humanly stuff.

”No, no... It is me, who should apologise!” Your lips are shutting in a thin line. ”Would you accept it? That is not a mistake I will repeat, I swear.”

Malleus is quick to look at you again, probably sensing a deep regret in your words. Very carefully, he smiles at you.

”Of course,” he kisses you on the forehead hastily. ”I am not mad at you, child of men.”

Ah. You are so lucky that Malleus loves you this much. Yet, it is clear as day that it will take some time to assure him that you love him, after all...

[callsign-rogueone]

not that bad at all - b.d.

Bodhi Durran x partner!reader [requested] ✉️: …maybe the reader is badass and Violet is afraid of her, so when they have to fight, Violet poisons her like the rest, and Bodhi stops what he was doing to take care of her and he worries about her, and Violet notices that she is not that bad and asks for forgiveness. words: 1.6k 🏷: very basic fourth wing spoilers, one use of “her” to describe reader but that’s it, descriptions of dizziness and fainting, short description of injury (for Violet), everyone’s favorite girl makes an appearance (iykyk 😇), I made X a bit of a jerk here but he’s going through it honestly so he gets a pass lol

It’s easy enough for Violet to dust the white powder onto the last available bagel right before you place it on your tray.

You don’t notice what she’s done, too busy talking to Imogen. It’s strange for her to see the girl so docile like this, chatting happily about some maneuver one of you had pulled on a practice flight yesterday, but Violet is thankful for the distraction she provides.

She watches from across the room as you settle into a chair near a boy in her year — Liam, the tall blonde who’s been top of the class in Emeterrio’s since day one. He greets you with a smile, continuing to chat with the other marked ones at the table.

You look terrible as you step toward the mat when your name is called, flushed and sweating like you’ve been running for miles. It’s a miracle you’re still holding yourself upright.

You can do this. Of course you can. The general’s daughter should be easy work with how fragile she is. You won’t kill her, per Xaden’s insistence, but you’ll get her to tap out in under two minutes, guaranteed.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the dizzy feeling before the fight starts.

“Ready, cadets?“ Emeterrio asks. You can tell he’s giving you a moment out of pity, that he knows something is wrong.

Your dragon does too. “This is not a good idea.”

You ignore her. “Ready,” you confirm, wavering. 

You try to move your feet into a proper fighting stance, but the floor seems to shift underneath your boots like wet sand, and you collapse onto the mat before the professor can say go. There are a few gasps from the crowd of cadets around the gym.

“I yield,” you mumble into the slick padding, knowing that even if you can manage to peel yourself back up, you won’t be able to overpower her when you can’t see straight.

Violet sighs in relief. You’re still aware enough to know what you’re supposed to be doing. That’s good. That means she got the dosage correct, and that you should be fine again in about eight hours. 

“You were right,” you admit silently.

“Of course I was right.”

Violet’s pride is replaced with guilt as another cadet rushes to your side, looking deeply concerned.

Your vision focuses enough to recognize your boyfriend’s face leaning over you. Cold hands cradle your cheeks and you squirm away from the touch, delirious. 

“You’re burning up, love,” he says, tugging your sleeves up in an attempt to cool you off, exposing the black swirls running down your left arm. He takes your pulse, and your heart is racing. Something is definitely wrong.

He looks to the professor. “Permission to take her to the infirmary?”

“Granted,” Emeterrio says, unfazed. “Barlowe and Cardulo, you’re up next.”

That will be a good matchup. Maybe one of them will kill the other, and decrease Violet’s list of enemies by one.

The other cadet gathers you into his arms, helping you up, as you clearly can’t stand on your own, and Violet’s heart nearly stops as she realizes who he is.

Bodhi. Tail section’s executive officer, Bodhi. Xaden’s cousin, Bodhi. Fuck. 

She can feel multiple sets of eyes boring into her skin. Her gaze lifts to the other side of the gym, where Xaden is glaring directly at her, along with a few other marked ones. They all look like they know exactly what she did, and they’re contemplating how best to kill her.

Something tells her that Jack won’t be as much of a threat as the rest of your friends.

————————————————————

You crack an eye open, wincing at the brightness of the infirmary. 

Bodhi is standing over you in an instant, dimming the light. “How do you feel?” He rests the back of his hand on your forehead; your fever has dulled, but you still feel warm to the touch.

“Better, but still not great,” you answer, coughing into your elbow. “It’s like a flu that should have lasted a week just condensed into a day.”

He extends you a glass of water and you take a slow sip — you’ve been sweating so much that it’s completely dehydrated you.

“What do you make of the Sorrengail girl?” You ask. “Every one of her opponents in the last two weeks has mysteriously ended up ill.”

“You’re right,” he says slowly, putting it together. “But why just put you out of the lineup for a few days? If she’s really doing this, why is she not taking it further and just killing people?”

“Murder just isn’t her style, I guess.”

“I’m glad it isn’t,” he says quietly. “When you hit the floor like that all of a sudden… I’ve never been that scared in my life. I thought I was going to lose you.”

You take his hand, squeezing it gently. “It’ll take much more than a bad bagel to kill me,” you reassure him, sitting up to kiss his cheek. “You’ve made sure of that.”

He still looks worried when you pull away, but you know what will relax him.

You look at the clock. “We have an hour and a half until dinner. Wanna go shower and cuddle for a while?” You ask, and he nods eagerly. You smile. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

At dinner, Xaden makes it abundantly clear that nobody is to seek revenge on the girl, which has Garrick grumbling and Imogen downright outraged, but you’re fine with the decision: if she’ll leave you alone, you’ll leave her alone.

————————————————————

The rest of your friends are celebrating — Liam and the two other marked first years have been chosen by strong dragons who will serve them well and provide them powerful signets.

It’s not unusual for the eldest of your group to be withdrawn and aloof, but Xaden looks like he’s going to be ill.

“Tab says that Tairn chose Violet Sorrengail,” Garrick’s girlfriend says in a whisper, knowing better than to let the wingleader hear her.

Your eyes widen. Tairn, Sgaeyl’s mate, Tairn? “I guess that makes her our problem now.” 

If Violet dies, so does your friend. 

So much for keeping your distance. 

————————————————————

When Violet gets to the gym for the workout Imogen had roped her into, it’s full of marked ones. 

Bodhi is sparring with a boy whose name Violet doesn’t know, looking like they’re going to kill each other but laughing as they do. Xaden wrestles with Garrick, Imogen is throwing daggers with Liam, and a quiet third-year girl in the corner looks to be… meditating?

You spot Violet standing in the doorway, heading over, and her heart pounds, wondering what you’re going to say to her after what she did to you.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead with a small towel. “Cool hair,” you say with a nod at her silver-tipped braid, and she blinks, stunned —  probably wondering why you aren’t biting her head off. 

“Thanks,” she replies quietly. “Sorry for poisoning you.”

You laugh at her honesty, extending a hand to shake. “Square?”

“Square,” she answers, taking it.

“Good. Now let’s see you fight, for real.”

It takes all of five minutes for something to go wrong — an awkwardly angled kick to her knee that she can’t dodge has her crumpling to the mat, lower leg bent at an unnatural angle.

Oh, fuck. Xaden will be pissed if you’ve broken her on day one.

“Angel, we need you,” you call, and the quiet girl’s eyes snap open, at your side in an instant.

Warm hands touch her skin, and Violet startles as the pain dissipates, the bone gliding back into place. She stares at your friend, stunned. “You’re a mender?”

“Not a very good one,” she answers, anxious. “And I’m sorry, I should have asked before I just… does it feel okay now?”

“Yeah, that was great.” Violet flexes the joint a few times, without pain. “Just like my brother used to do.”

There’s a flicker of… something across the older girl’s face, but it vanishes as soon as Garrick puts a gentle hand on her back, genuine worry on his face as he looks at her. “You feeling okay?” 

“Yeah,” she answers, giving him a soft smile. 

Xaden is feeling much less warm and fuzzy, eyeing Violet with generalized contempt.

You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a warning look. “Don’t even start, X. She’s trying her best.”

“If that’s her best, she’s going to get us both killed,” he says coldly.

“Which is why we’re working on it. Aretia wasn’t built in a day, and neither were any of us. She’ll get better.”

“Fine. Then training her is your responsibility now, since you’re so optimistic, but should you fail, her blood and mine will be on your hands.”

“Xay, that’s not…” the mender begins, but she falls silent quickly after seeing the look on his face.

“Fine,” you agree, standing your ground. “I’ll train her as a personal favor to you because of what you’ve done for all of us, and because I don’t want to see her die, but you need to stop being a dick. You didn’t ask to be put in this situation, but neither did she.”

Nobody looks surprised at your defense of Violet, nor your candid speech to the wingleader. Nobody speaks, either, letting you two stare each other down in silence — this must not be the first time you’ve argued with him.

Xaden sighs, clearly having something to say, but he doesn’t protest further, turning to leave.

Violet’s eyebrows raise. You defended her, the girl who poisoned you last month, and you got Xaden Riorson to back down from a fight? 

Bodhi puts a hand on your shoulder, checking in silently — that was pretty intense.

You give him a reassuring half-smile. “It’s okay, Bo. He just needs time.” You look down to Violet. “Wanna try that again?”

She nods, letting you pull her to her feet.

You’re really not that bad at all.

[kvtie444]

⋆‧₊˚ TEACHERS PET .9 - FINALE

summary: Reader has a new teacher and finds herself falling for him blahblahblah teachers pet by melanie vibes xoxo FINAL CHAPTER!!

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

"Tell me you don't love me," she breaks the silence. I almost choke up. "Y/n, we're not together anymore," I mumble. Her eyes shift, but she keeps her stand, looking up at me. "Tell me you don't love me anymore," she repeats. Fuck.

I don't know how to play my card right now. I could lie, tell her I don't. But that would break her. I want her to do better, be a better person without me. Or I could tell her the truth. I still love her more than myself.

・₊✧ Reader pov ˚｡⋆

I observe him, struggling to hold back the tears that threaten to spill. His jaw tightens, and he watches me with an unreadable expression. A fear lingers within me that he might walk away as he has done with our past issues. Tired of constructing emotional walls only for him to break them down and repeat the cycle, I feel the weight of it all, suffocating.

"Please, y/n. I'm begging you. Just get back in the car," he pleads, inching closer. I gaze up at him, my mind racing, realising he's deflecting my question again. My eyes bore into his blue ones, urging him to confront the issue. He sighs, glancing off to the side and then down at the floor.

Shifting on his feet, a sinking feeling overtakes me as he starts walking back towards the car. My lungs feel strained as I struggle to breathe, tears now streaming down my face. "You're a coward, Matt!" I sob behind him. Undeterred, he continues walking. "All I ever wanted was for you to love me, and you use me. You make me fall in love with you, and now you're leaving me, again!" I yell, frustration and pain pouring out. He halts, turns around, and takes a few steps closer.

"I didn't make you do anything, 'I made you fall in love with me?' Y/n, I didn't make you do shit!" he yells back, stepping closer and causing me to step back slightly.

"Why can't you just fucking say it? Either you love me or you don't!" I cry out, pushing against his chest. His body tenses, arms reaching out in an attempt to grab me, but I resist, pushing into his chest again. "Y/n," he softly says, my tears still flowing. He grabs my wrists, and I finally yield. He pulls me close, holding me as I sob against his chest. His now damp shirt presses against my cheek as he comforts me, his hand soothingly rubbing my head and running through my hair.

"Shh, shh," he hushes me as I attempt to control my breathing, my hands clenched against his shirt. A moment of silence goes by until I catch my breath. "You're being mean," I mumble against him. "I know. I'm sorry," he breathes out above me. I feel his chin shift from the top of my head as he leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I hate how he thinks a kiss can make it all better. I hate how he still affects me. I hate how mean he can be and I hate how much I love him.

"I'm just scared of this, y/n," he murmurs against my head. There's a brief silence as I listen to his heartbeat, which quickens slightly. "You drive me crazy. I'm so- shit. I'm so into you. Not a minute goes by where you're not on my mind, y/n. I really fucking love you. You know that. But it scares the shit out of me," he confesses. I stiffen against him. He does love me.

The only sounds that filled the night were Matt's steady heartbeat and the occasional passing cars. I shut my eyes against his chest, finding comfort in the rhythmic echoes. "What are you afraid of?" I whispered against his chest. His hand, gently stroking my hair, paused, and he let out a breath. Pulling away, he held my face with both hands, his eyes scanning over every feature.

"I don't wanna hurt you. It feels so good, but it's just so wrong. I mean, you're still at school, and I am- was your teacher. I'm scared that one day you're gonna graduate and realize this was just a phase or something," he confessed, his vulnerability hanging in the night air.

My heart broke for him, and I placed my hands on his wrists, rubbing my thumb in soothing circles against his skin. "I love you, Matt. Only you. I always will," I softly replied. A gentle smile played on his lips as he closed his eyes. "We can make this work. We will," I affirmed with a smile. Opening his eyes again, he used his thumbs to wipe away my tears and pressed his forehead against mine. "I wanna make this work," he whispered back. I nodded slightly, my voice almost a whisper, "We can do that." We lingered in that tender moment before he pressed a long kiss to my forehead and took my hand, leading me back to the car.

I opened the passenger door and noticed the spilled drink from earlier on the seat, nibbling on my lip in embarrassment from my earlier intoxicated behavior. Matt glanced over, leaning into the back seat, and his shirt lifted momentarily, granting me a quick view of his waistband and happy trail. He returned with one of his hoodies, placing it on the seat for me to sit on. I took my seat, smiling to myself, and buckled my seatbelt.

"I'm sorry for yelling earlier," he spoke up. I looked over at him, finding his eyes already on me. Taking his hand, I held it. "It's fine, I was being stupid," I smiled. He let out a laugh, shaking his head before turning on the engine. He briefly removed his hand from mine to shift the gearstick, returning it just above my knee comfortably as we started driving.

During the journey, the earlier conversation lingered in my thoughts. I couldn't help but overthink - his fear, maybe it wasn't solely about the person and timing, but something rooted in his past. He mentioned being engaged before, and she cheated on him. Then, he had casual flings with other girls as a rebound. Could I be just another rebound in his life?

"What happened to your ex?" My mind spoke before my body, and I instantly shut my mouth. His demeanor shifted instantly, and the air felt thick and uncomfortable. "Sorry," I mumbled. He sighed, "She cheated on me," he replied. "Yeah, I knew that, but like, what happened after?" I asked. He sighed. "You don't have to ans—" "It's fine," he cut me off, his grip on my leg growing slightly tighter. "After we ended things, I saw some other people, screwed around a bit but would ghost them right after. Didn't wanna commit again," he said. "Oh." That's great to hear.

We were in silence for a minute before he made a turn I didn't recognize. We were driving down a dark road, the only light coming from the headlights, and I looked around curiously. He made another turn and parked the car. We were at a viewpoint I'd never seen before, but it was beautiful. You could see the whole city from here. The soft hum of music played in the background as his body turned to face me, mirroring his actions. He took my hand, pressing his lips against it, his breath from his nose fanning over my knuckles as he stared into my eyes.

"You're different though, y/n," he broke the silence. "I'd never do anything to spite you," he mumbled against my skin. I smiled softly at him. He pressed three more kisses to my knuckles and leaned over the center console, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. He smiled against my lips. "I love you," he said.

"I love you too," I replied, my hands playing with his brown locks by the nape of his neck. I looked back at the view for a second before gazing back into Matt's blue eyes, the same eyes I wanted to spend the rest of my life staring into.

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

a/n: sappy moment🤯 guys thank you all so much for reading my work. it means the world to me seeing people enjoy something I've created and this story especially has been amazing - seeing people talk about it on here and TikTok might not seem like a big deal but to me it genuinely put the biggest smile on my face lmao. teachers let is my baby, and I'm already working on another matt series that you guys will hopefully all love as much as this. thank you all so much for reading and I love you all !!!

tag list !!

@iloveneilperry @bernardenjoyer @daddyslilchickenfingers @mbbsgf @sturnvilmed @s1urnioloslvr @mattsbratt @mangoposts @christinarowie332 @recklesssturniolo @bluesturniolo333 @flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @pepsiskiess @poopydroopt @byechristopher @solarsturniolo @m6ttsturniolo @lustfulslxt @stardustmf444 @thankyounextt @glossyfx @bellasturniolo @justurniolos @cl0esblogg @strumbolisworld @strniolosworld @chrisloyalgf @aliyahsbody @spideylovin @justangelheree @sturnioloenthusiast @nickmillersn1gf @soursturniolo@bernardenjoyer@stuniolobbg @luv4kozume@luvmxtt@urmommysbathroom@lexisecretaccx

[carriondell]

18+ | 0.5k | fem!reader riding ghost, he's patronising but it's ok i love that abt him

Ghost lets you work for your pleasure.

It'd be all too easy to squeeze your hips, to press into your back, to drive you deeper into the mattress with each stroke in your tight hole, thumbing at your clit—knowing you like a musician knows their instrument, which push draws which sounds, all moans and whines he learnt by heart, by ear. He could bring you to cloud nine with his eyes shut. With mere touching and listening.

But you like to deserve it. Hands firm on his shoulders, reclining him against the couch, you sink down on his cock. The stretch makes you flinch, but soon you melt around it with a sigh, wriggling your hips to better fit him inside you. He grunts, grip tightening for an instant, but makes no move to overturn your lead.

(If you pout or tap his abs like you expect him to do any of the work for you, he chuckles a derisive:

"What's that, love? Need my help? Thought you could take care of yourself like a big girl.")

You set a careful pace, slow rolls that only swallow half of his dick. Even that feels like a lot at first, his tip not quite reaching the deepest most sensitive parts of you but still pressing roughly into your pussy, hot, almost burning; and for all that it hurts, it's never too much, it's barely enough. How could it be? There's more of him yet and you need every inch of it.

You believe in deserving pleasure, and sometimes that means waiting, holding it just out of reach, willingly. So you edge yourself with mere bits of him, and he lets you despite the fever pent up under his skin. Taking all of him would make all of you unravel, you both know that. But fuck, something has to give.

When you finally grind all the way down, you feel so full, so good. The taut pain has given way to warm, pliant bliss, and you're half-drunk on it already, the rocking of your hips getting faster, sloppier. Ghost steadies you as your arms start to shake, but you don't yield control to him. Not yet. Rather, you grip his hand and guide a finger to your clit, a gesture he's performed many times for you. Sometimes you think even you can't touch yourself like he does.

Your thighs ache, and in a haze you almost beg him to take over, to flip you on your back and plow into you. But you can't give him the satisfaction, the chance to tease and taunt you for nights on end. your body's already all wound up, clenching tight around his cock—few more strokes, you swear, not much further 'til you see heaven. You fuck yourself on his dick desperately, and he smirks like he knows how badly you're struggling without his help. It only spurs you on, heat building in your core, rippling up your spine.

You come with a cry that sounds a little like his name, a lot like fucked-out blabbering. Entire body tensed, nails scratching his shoulders and chest, head falling first—then everything follows, going limp, curling into him, tucked in his arms or under his chin. He pats your hair and coos:

"Tired yourself out already? Did so well, lovie—just need you to do a bit more for me. You can do that, yeah? Take everything I wanna give you?"

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Peach..

I miss him so so much.

Can you gush about Jimin ?

Love how you wrote about him.

Thank you so so much in advance.

Whenever you are free. No pressure.

***

Hi @misslauwie

When your ask came in weeks ago, something in my chest squeezed a little. Because god yes I miss him too. Sometimes it feels like the whole world is kinda 'off', like everything is 'wrong', like we're all stuck in a holding pattern of sorts... And for anyone who thinks that's too dramatic, no it's not. Look around you. The world is kinda fucked, and the reason is because Jimin isn't on stage right now seducing the crowd performing like rent is past due, dancing his heart out, and singing like the fallen angel he is.

It's hard for me to talk about him these days though... I mean, there's always so much to say when it comes to Jimin, but the words don't form quite right for me these days.

Is it alright for me to simply post some pictures I come back to when I miss him and jikook?

Assuming I have your permission, that's what this post is going to be about.

(they cuddle)

*

There's this one from his last live before enlisting. Bare-faced, in an all black hoodie and beanie outfit looking hot as hell. It's the way he's giving 'Korean skaterboy who moonlights as a hacker', but at the same time he comes across as responsible, capable, and real. Cute too.

But lol, maybe that's just what I see when I'm biased.

*

Who else gets stuck looking at his eyes?

There's always so much to say about Jimin because literally everything about him could yield its own thesis. From the range and depth in his stage personas; to how pretty his body features are, before they morph into something more... deviant; to his voice that polarizes and entraps every audience. There's so much to talk about when it comes to Jimin, but I keep coming back to his eyes...

*

(This gave you whiplash didn't it :))

He's always known exactly what to do and how to do it.

*

Jimin is giving 70s cult leader in this shot and it's a fave. He's too modest to ever ask, but we all know we'd join a commune for him if he pulled that zipper down a little lower.

Anyway. Does anybody know why he likes this pair of shoes so much? I've always found them a bit ugly, but somehow, he makes it work. And it's clear he likes them a lot since he wears them all the time. But like... why?

*

Another picture I stare at on days when I miss jikook jikooking, is this one.

It's the moon in the shot that does it. The lines and symmetry, the afterglow of the sunset, Jimin's wide curved back, Jungkook focused on him, Jimin focused on him too, the fact someone else saw them like this and took this picture. They could've been chatting about what they'd like to eat for dinner or some other mundane thing, but it's the care and focus they show for each other that comes through so clearly for me in this shot.

*

This one has a place in my gallery because it's peak jikook.

*

As is this one:

*

Anyway.

Down bad for Baby G.

Imagine if PJM2 has a track like Set Me Free Pt 2 + Tony Montana... imagine the cataclysm it will cause in k-pop, imagine the havoc this cutie patootie pie will cause.

*

Sigh.

*

One day, when I find the words, I'll try to write about all the ways he charms. I owe a kind person from Tumblr (KPFT) a post about him.

*

In 2025, he'll be a 30 year old man desperate to get back on stage. And lord, I just hope everyone is ready.

*

This is the last one.

I come back to this picture sometimes because back then, they really did just have eyeliner and a dream. He gave his all right from the start and has created life-changing art. It's endearing to know he's both a bit of a workaholic and can be lazy too... and to know he still sleeps the exact way - like this:

...and this:

..and this:

*

@misslauwie I miss him too. Also miss Jungkook and the rest of the tannies. For Jimin, it makes me very happy that at least, Jungkook is with him.

He'll be back soon. 💜

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Personal Time [3]

Marc Spector x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 9: Pegging

Summary: Marc (nervously) asks for a turn. Or: Steven asks for him.

A/N: So this is actually a part 3 to my series Personal Time, but you don't have to read that to read this. All you need to know is that Steven has a strap that the reader uses on him.

Warnings: anal fingering, anal sex, pegging, anal sex with a strap on, begging, Marc being a bit of a nervous sub, Marc not communicating very well, (there is one part where Marc is uncomfortable but doesn't voice it, however the reader notices), switching who is fronting due to feeling overwhelmed, typos, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 3255

As you walk into the bedroom Marc shifts uncomfortably, a little flush of panic running along his skin. He visibly jumps and tries to shove a box under the bed. But he didn’t quite get the angle right, negating the smooth slide-in he had been hoping for. He hits the box harshly with the palm of his hand. Still, it does not yield. 

You stop in the doorway, just watching the scene play out for a moment before Marc looks up at you in trepidation. 

There is a second where you mistake his wide eyes for Steven, as you are so used to that honesty of expression coming from him. 

“I was…” Marc speaks quickly, the words blurring together and then just trails off as he tries to think of a reasonable excuse. Part of him thinks now would be a pretty good time just to tap out and let Steven or Jake front, but then his alters would see what he had been looking at and, and…

You recognise the box by his knees instantly. But can’t resist a little tease. “What you got there, Marc?” 

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Just, erm, I was just looking for…” Why can’t he think of one fucking object? Any fucking object. “Socks?”

“Socks?” 

“Yeah… socks.” He doesn’t even sound remotely believable to his own ears. 

You nod, trying to hide your smile. “Socks. In a box? Under the bed? Not in the drawer?” You point to the aforementioned furniture. “Where you, Jake and Steven keep them?” 

Marc’s mouth goes dry. “No… I had a pair and they, I dropped them under the bed so I was just… looking for them.” 

“Socks to wear?” 

“Yes.” He answers a little too quickly.

“What’s wrong with the ones on your feet?” 

“They… I wanted to change them.” 

“Oh, okay, I’ll help you look then.” You say, trying your best to sound serious.

Marc practically does a double take. “Help me?” 

“Yeah,” you walk over and sit on the edge of the bed. “You said you’d dropped some socks? They’re not in your hands so you obviously haven’t found them yet.” You smile sickeningly sweetly. “Have you?” 

The deer-caught-in-the-headlights look he gives you is almost too much to take. 

You smile gently. “I know what’s in that box Marc.” 

“I, er, do you?” He speaks a little too quickly. “I mean, of course, you do because…”

“Because me and Steven use it… which is why it’s clearly in Steven’s box.” 

“You and Steven use it,” Marc repeats, though why he’s not sure. He is well aware of how the contents are used. 

You nod. 

“Does it, erm…” A light flush breaks out along the tips of his ears. He swallows, looking down at the floor before taking a deep breath and trying again. “What’s it like?” 

That wasn’t the question you were expecting. “What’s it like?” 

“Yeah.” 

You pause for a moment, and can’t resist just teasing him a little longer. “Don’t you think you should be asking Steven that?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you lower your voice, leaning slightly closer. 

Marc’s blush intensifies instantly. “I…” 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Marc trip over his words quite so much in all the time you’ve known him, and you can’t help but find the situation undeniably endearing. 

“He enjoys it.” You say, taking pity on him. “I do too.” 

Marc swallows, an audible sound, and nods. “That’s good, I mean,” he screws up his eyes for a second. “I mean…”

“Marc Spector.” You tease and slowly slip down onto the floor next to him. Carefully you place your hands on his shoulders, giving him a second to move away if he wants to. When he doesn’t you inch forward and trail your lips over his neck. “Are you saying you want to try Steven’s little toy?” 

He shudders under your embrace but gives you a little glare when he opens his eyes. “I wouldn’t call it little.” 

You can’t help but laugh. 

.

Marc doesn’t bring up the subject again for a few days, but he does tiptoe around it. Doing his very best to be subtle rather unsubtly. 

Until, in the middle of dinner, when Steven bluntly blurts out: “Marc wants you to peg him.” 

You almost choke on your food. Not at the suggestion, of course, just the offhand way Steven says it. 

You raise your eyebrows at him and Steven smiles. 

“He- bloody hell, mate,” he turns to his reflection and scowls. “Fuck off, you do. He wants you to peg him, he’s just too much of a scary cat to ask and-” Steven tuts and rolls his eyes at Marc dramatically. “You are.” Before turning back to you. “So he’d like- oi, fuck-”

Suddenly Steven’s blasé disposition dissolves into an almost frenzied panic as Marc fronts. 

His eyes are a little wide, his breathing a little hard. His eyes flick to the side, obviously getting a bollocking from Steven. 

“You want me to peg you?” You say calmly as if you had simply asked him to pass the pepper.

Marc takes a moment. “Erm, I, yes.” 

“Okay.” You nod and carry on eating your dinner.

‘See?’ Steven says from the headspace. ‘I told you.’

Marc gives him a glare. 

.

It was unsurprising that Marc was more reserved about the matter than Steven. He was used to doing what was asked of him, following orders, not asking for something for his own pleasure. 

But you had managed to talk about it, or, to put it more correctly, gently coax out what exactly he wanted. 

You kissed him softly on the bed, both of you naked except for the strap and harness. Marc had asked that you wear it from the get-go just so he could get used to it. (You gently reminded him that he could back out or stop anything he wasn’t comfortable with at any point, which just earned you a scowl and grumbled, ‘I know.’)

Slowly you trailed your hand down his chest to his stomach. You dug in a little at his side, purposefully hitting a ticklish spot. 

Marc squirmed and snorted, quickly clamping his mouth shut to stop the giggles and gave you a look. You were sure his expression was meant to discourage you from trying the same thing again, but it had very much the opposite effect. 

However, you gave him a sickly sweet smile, kissed his nose, and didn’t try to tickle him again. 

You continued to trail your hand downwards and slowly took his length in your hand, hard and waiting for you. You pumped him up and down a few times and Marc closed his eyes, biting subtly at his bottom lip as he breathed in deeply. 

Compared to Steven, Marc’s reactions to anything pleasurable were stoic, and compared to Jake, Marc looked practically dead. 

You opened the lube bottle with your other hand, giving yourself a little silent moment of triumph as you flicked the cap open with your thumb on the first try. Marc opens his eyes as you let go of him and you pour a generous helping onto your hand. 

“Just gonna prep you okay?”

Marc shifts and nods. He doesn’t so much as avoid your gaze but try to look around it. 

“Marc, baby, we don’t have to do this if-”

“Please,” he mumbles, a little dusting of pink on his cheeks. “I want to.” 

“Okay.” You kiss his cheek and he moves his legs apart, bending his legs so that his feet are flat on the mattress. 

He doesn’t look at you, preferring to lay his cheek against the pillow and stare at the kitchen. You think about talking him through it, telling him to relax, and because of Steven’s (and yours and Steven’s) explorations the sensation wouldn’t be as alien to the body as it would be if this was the first time. But you get the feeling that your words would be unwelcome at the moment. 

Instead, you carefully watch his face for any sign of discomfort as you press lightly at his entrance. Despite Marc’s promise to stop you if something hurt, you’re not completely sure if he would. At least, not at first. 

He jumps a little at the sensation of your finger. 

“You okay?”

“Hmm.” He continues to stare to the side, biting his lip ever so slightly. 

You decide not to chastise him, or ask for his attention, knowing this is the way he settles into new situations. 

Carefully you slide your forefinger inside and Marc jumps again, the tight ring of muscle clamping down on you. He bites his lips together tighter. You pause, barely halfway in. 

“Marc-”

“Please don’t stop.” He mumbles, the flush deepening on his skin. He blinks rapidly and you do as he asks, slipping in to the last knuckle and angling to stroke his prostate. 

He gasps loudly the second you touch it, his hips jerking upwards and dick twitching against his stomach. 

His eyes close and he grasps at you, squeezing your free hand. You give him barely a second before you move, deep and slow as you press against the nerve in a way that Steven has told you feels wonderful. 

This time he groans, deep within his chest as he bucks up against you, moving up so that he can grind back down onto your finger. Quickly you add another and press deep, stretching and curling to stroke and circle in a pattern that brings him close to madness. 

“Oh shit.” He mutters, gasping and moaning. 

You watch him for a moment, letting him rock and buck mindlessly as he chases the pleasure. Every muscle tense as he writhes under your touch. 

“Nice?” 

“Hmmm, yeah,” he breathes, his eyes still shut tight. 

“Uh, uh, uh,” you let go of his hand and take hold of his jaw and chin, turning his face towards you and pressing on his plump bottom lip with the pad of your thumb. 

To your surprise you don’t have to coax him any further, his eyes flutter open to look at you through his long lashes. He moans softly around your thumb, darting his tongue out and flicking over the tip before sucking it into his mouth. 

He moans even louder as you add a third finger, tears of pleasure building in the corners of his eyes and he throws his head back. 

You let your thumb slide out of his mouth, not wanting to hamper his ability to speak, but keep a gentle, but firm, hold on his jaw. 

Sweat beads at his temples and you can’t help but get distracted by how beautiful he looks like this. Muscles tense as he bucks and squirms with every touch, embracing and chasing his own pleasure. More out of his own head than you’ve ever seen him. 

His breathing hitches, as his soft, guttural whines grow louder and louder. 

He bites his lip hard, threatening to break the skin with the amount of force he’s applying. 

You gently massage your thumb over his bottom lip, coaxing him carefully, and he finally lets go with a sob. “That’s it, let me hear how much you like it.” You whisper and Marc groans loudly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. 

You press on his bundle of nerves fully, no longer teasing, pressing firmly with every stroke and touch and Marc shudders. 

“Gonna cum.” He moans, rocking back with your movements. 

You grin. “You can cum.” 

He shakes his head rapidly, “No, I, no,” he opens his eyes, dark with lust and puts his hand on your forearm, you slow and then still your movements immediately. Despite how Marc still rocks against your fingers. 

He takes a deep breath, “wanna- fuck- wanna cum on the strap, wanna feel it.” He goes to bite his lip nervously again, but you stroke him softly with your thumb as you pull your fingers out. 

He whines at the loss, his hips trying to chase you even as you withdraw. 

“Okay,” you soothe, “I’m just gonna lay down and-”

Marc shakes his head rapidly. “No, like this.” He blinks rapidly and then swallows, his voice surprisingly timid. “Please.” 

When you’d talked about it before, you’d both planned that you would lay down on your back and Marc would straddle your thighs and take the strap. That way he would have total control over the pressure and pace and if he didn’t like something he could move away quickly. So, this sudden change took you a little by surprise. 

“Are you sure?” 

He nodded his head quickly, “Yes, I want you, want you to be on top. And…” he paused, his eyes frantically searching yours for something. Reassurance.

You kiss his lips softly, barely moving back a centimetre. “You want me to take care of you?” 

He moaned softly and nodded. “Yes.” His voice barely audible. 

You kiss him again, slow and deep, before you sit up on your knees and pour more lube over the strap. 

Marc watches you with what you would have assumed was nervous interest as you spread the fluid over the length, but you notice the way his dick twitches against his stomach, leaving a shining trail of smeared precum over his skin. 

You slow your movements a little, dragging it out a little longer than necessary and delight when Marc moans softly, his eyes fixed on your hand. 

Languidly, as if you didn’t have Marc quickly becoming a quivering mess beneath you, you inched forward. The base of the strap in your hand as you guided in between his legs. He shifted a little, spreading wider and subconsciously giving you better access. 

You push in carefully, watching his face for the smallest reactions, any hint of discomfort. 

Marc swallows, sighing as the tip notches at his entrance and hesitantly puts his hands on your waist. Urging you inwards instead of pushing you away. 

“Relax.” You mutter as you start to sink inside. 

He wriggles under you, trying to do as you asked. The sensation is odd, unusual. But not unwelcome. 

The pressure starts to feel a little uncomfortable after a few inches like he is stretched a little too wide. But he swallows again and grits his jaw.

You notice immediately and stop. 

Straight away he looks up at you in surprise. 

“Marc?” 

“Hmm?” 

You touch his face softly, stroking his cheek before leaning down and kissing him roughly. Your lips demanding and distracting. He kisses you back with equal vigour, letting out a surprised whimper when you take his cock in your hand and start to rub him from base to tip.

He groans, rocking his hips and sinking back into the sensation. His movements push the strap a little deeper with every buck. The tip just brushing against a spot that makes him see stars. 

He swears into your mouth, moaning loudly and angling his hips underneath you, lifting them up a little to push the strap more firmly against that delicious part inside.

You get the hint. 

You start thrusting steadily, and shallowly, not sinking the full way in. But just enough to nearly touch the part he wants you to. Your hand slows around his cock as you grind your hips. 

Marc moans, breaking the kiss to nip at your neck and whimper. “Please, please, please,” his words tumble over each other as he holds you tightly, wraps his legs around your hips and squeezes, trying to urge you to go deeper, harder, to hit that pleasure that is just on the edge of his vision. 

“Please, please,” you don’t think you’ve ever heard him beg this softly, or this desperately. 

You push deeper and he sobs, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” his voice raises up at the end as you bottom out, not giving him a second before you slowly inch back out and then in again. 

The words come pouring out of his mouth in half-formed sentences and breathless sobs as you start to fuck him in earnest, angling each thrust to hit perfectly inside. 

His dick twitches again, his balls drawing up as he feels a massive wave start to build in his stomach. 

“Oh fuck,” he hisses, “please,” he grabs your hips tighter, pulling you flush against him so that you can’t get any deeper. He rocks his hips against you, not letting you pull out as little huffs of air escape his lips. 

“Like this?” You swirl your hips in a figure of eight and Marc practically screams.

“Yes, yes yes, fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

You grind against him, the base of the strap rubbing perfectly against your clit as you pick up the pace. 

He moans loudly, no longer caring about what sounds he makes, too lost in the building ecstasy to even begin to think of anything else. 

A little roughly, you pull his left leg from around your waist and manoeuvre him so that the back of his thigh presses against your chest as you lean down. 

Marc tenses, the new angle making him convulse in pleasure. “Oh fuck, baby, please!” 

“That’s it,” you coo, feeling your own orgasm close as you keep rutting against him. “You gonna cum for me?” 

“Yes!” He sobs, eyes screwed shut in bliss. “Baby, I’m gonna-” His own moan cuts himself off as the wave crests and swallows him whole. Every nerve in his body sings out in pleasure as he cums, electrifying up his spine as he shoots his load all over his stomach.

“Fuck.” You hiss as you keep rocking against him, keep hitting that same spot to draw out his pleasure as long as possible. 

Marc moans, his back arching off the bed. Contant ‘I love yous’ falling from his lips. 

Seeing him so lost in bliss is what finally pushes you over the edge. You cum hard, clenching your teeth together to quiet your moans only so that you don’t dampen the sound of his. 

Finally, as you come back to yourself, you kiss his neck softly, running your lips over the spot just below his ear. Even though your limbs feel like jelly, you manage to keep yourself upright. 

Marc holds onto you tightly, breathing hard. 

You stroke his hair softly and give him a minute. However, when he stays quiet, a little knot of worry starts to twist in your chest. 

“Marc?” 

He blinks roughly, and it’s not Marc who looks back at you.

“Jake?” 

He smiles. “Marc’s out for the count, sorry.” 

The little knot quickly builds. “Is he okay?” 

“He’s fine.” Jake soothes, running his hands up and down your arms and smiles. “Really good, just got a bit overwhelmed.”

Guilt cuts into your chest, but Jake continues before you get a chance to say anything. 

“Hey, hey now.” He leans up and kisses your lips. “It's nothing you did, well…” he laughs. “You know what I mean. He just had a really, really good time.” He gives you a cheeky smile and you relax a little. 

“He’s okay?” 

“He’s better than okay.”

You smile weakly and nod. 

“Seriously,” Jake cups your cheek in his hand, “he just got overwhelmed with positive emotion,” he looked at you for a second. “Makes a nice change. Really.” 

Your smile strengthens a little.

“Though I have to admit, I am upset with you.” Jake pulls a face. 

“What?” 

He shifts his hips a little, pushing against your hips and the strap. “When is it my turn?” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading! (Using a different tag list for kinktober so I don't overwhelm anyone.)

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @campingwiththecharmings @minigirl87 @whatthefishh

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[electricsynthesis]

the way I conceive of the garrison era where the team (sans pidge) were all attending at the same time is so specific. like first of all, it’s important that you understand that I don’t just think that keith was an irritatingly competent child prodigy. I think keith was the best irritatingly competent child prodigy to grace the garrisons doors, ever. I think keith was that 1 in a million talent, the kind of talent that makes you want to claw your eyes out because he’s tiny and he’s insane and he’s MEAN but by god he can fly better than anyone. like. I don’t just think keith was the top of the sim scores. I think he was beating the records for the sim scores. Ever.

so if there’s one thing that causes groups of students to go insane it’s ^^ that. It’s knowing that there’s a guy Your Age who is not only better than you but is better than Anyone Else. mix in the fact that socially, keith is like a stray dog that’s been kicked too many times, and you have a bad combination.

I think keith got away with a lot because while he may be the star student of the century, takashi shirogane is the golden boy. he can do no wrong. A kind man with a charmed childhood who dreamed of the stars. joined the military for all the right reasons and none of the wrong ones. Isn’t a suck up but absolutely bows to authority like it’s his job. iverson fucking LOVES him. Has never raised his voice. he’ll chew keith out for 20 mins and then turn to shirogane and sweet like milk will be all…… well I guess it’s fine. I won’t give kogane detention I guess

everyone loves shiro and everyone has loved shiro since shiro entered the school at baby faced aged 15 with stars in his eyes. He’s 23 and getting married and there is a not a soul on this earth that dislikes him. so he shows up like :) so my foster brother is joining us this year! and he warns everyone that keith is “pretty shy” and “a little anxious & awkward” and everyone’s like awwww shiros baby brother is gonna be shy :) and then shiro carts in this 16 year old hell child who talks to no one unless directly addressed and even then has to get a Look from shiro before he’s like. Hi. and somehow it is the angriest sounding hi ever conceived. It’s not surly. It’s not whiney. He just sounds mad

and shiro now spends half his time gripping this random ass kid by the scruff of his neck (metaphorically and literally depending on the situation) and very kindly explaining to him that getting into Physical Altercations with his classmates does not beget learning. and he keeps using these goofy ass phrases that belong on a motivational poster. what the fuck is “patience yields focus”. What the hell does that even mean. but then it seems to WORK??? The kids like yeah. Patience yields focus. You’re right.

I don’t even think half the fights keith gets into are really the fault of his overactive temper. I think insecurity and teenaged immortality is going to be causing these children to treat keith like the dirt underneath their boots. I’m talking sabotage. Someone definitely tries the “is nice to him to get his guard down in order to sabotage something” trick but it doesn’t work because by the time keith is at the garrison he already hates the world and the children are FEEDING into this . and he isn’t going to take this with a stiff upper lip he’s fucking biting people

The reason he doesn’t remember lance is because keith was getting bullied by like 3 other people who were all actual fighter pilots in his class and shiro spent all his time talking keith out of doing the social version of chewing on electrical chords. Lance was unmemorable because he was harmless . a bit of a dick maybe but that wouldn’t have registered to keith at the time. he remembers hunk as a guy who bought him lunch once when he came into the cafeteria bleeding from multiple lip splits after having gotten his wallet stolen

The administration has wanted keith out of this school for like an entire year by the time shiro leaves for kerberos. The only reason he isn’t court martialed to hell for slamming someone’s head into a locker hard enough to bounce is because shiro hit iverson with the puppy dog eyes. once Shiro’s gone it’s a foregone conclusion and only a matter of time before keith’s getting the boot. even the most minor infraction is going to send his ass packing . They are waiting for him to even slightly fuck up. 1 feather out of place

he still manages to go out in a blaze of glory by punching iversons lights out so bad he breaks his nose. he’s five foot five and seventeen. Iverson is 6’3 and 45. It’s the greatest thing the entire student body has ever seen. lance feels something awaken in him