#Not sure how to present it but if anybody else wants to run with it feel free!

[somegrumpynerd]

Has anybody done like, a utmv murder mystery? Like clue?

Nightmare is found dead in his castle and everybody's a suspect; his henchmen for killing him to escape, the stars for being his enemies, error for wanting to kill everyone, etc. and you have to find out what everyone was doing and figure out who did it

[callmemickey]

Cumming Home for Christmas

synopsis: Simon surprised you by being home 3 weeks early, which means you get to take him to your family’s Christmas get together! Unfortunately, Simon hasn’t had his fill of you… How thin do you think the walls are in the bathroom?

content: Afab, porn w a plot, smut (dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, quickie, slightly public? maybe other stuff idk) fluff fluff fluff kind of angst if you squint real hard he just loves you sm my sweet Angel babey reader muah love u 2

word count: 3.7k

notes: Don’t ask me why I chose Christmas this is purely self-indulgent. Also, he’s a brunette going off of the comics, so I’m running with that thx!

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Warm Christmas lights, sparkling ciders and the expensive alcohol, the soft hum of cozy Christmas jazz on the speakers, family buzzing and soaking in each other’s presence - there was nothing else you could ask for. In this massive sea of black and red formal attire, your family, both close and extended, came together for an amazing holiday party at your grandparents’ estate.

Simon, who surprised you by coming home over three weeks early, has accompanied you as your plus one to the family’s holiday party. It made the event even better. Your family adored Simon to bits and pieces, constantly embarrassing you in front of him, begging to know when he wanted to start a family with you, your aunts drinking too much and asking him to take off his coat and flex. He dealt with the melting pot of clashing personalities better than you had ever imagined.

Simon expertly handled the socializing carefully and precisely. He preferred to be an observer in these bigger settings rather than to speak. He gave simple answers that were concise one liners, saving his social battery. So, to make up for it, he would escape to assist anybody needing aid. When dinner was ready, he assisted in the kitchen, making sure that everybody had their meals first, and was later caught cleaning the kitchen (much to your displeasure). He also helped light your grandfather’s cigar outside. The Parkinson’s has been making it difficult for him to light them on his own, and Simon even listened to an old war story.

It was unbelievable how much you loved this man.

Now, nieces and nephews weaved between adults and furniture, the fireplace burned hot and strong, people laughed and yelled happily over the gentle music, and the scent of baking pies and pastries wafted and filled the air. Your lovely military fiancé, overworked and tired on his break, did so well to deal with this. Of course, Simon, being an incredibly selfless person willing to compromise in any situation or scenario just to make you happy, said that it was alright when you invited him. “Nothing would make me happier,” he had said in a low, roughened voice - which was right before he buried his face between your legs.

But I digress.

Simon stood next to you as your uncle told you both in absolute monotony about his recent trip to Italy, “So beautiful. Your aunt Amelia and I want to get a vacation home there.��� He finished, and you nodded awkwardly. “Sounds like you and aunt Millie had a great time, uncle Mike.” Your tone was dry while Simon nodded and hummed in response. He just wasn’t… very present.

Simon had his attention and focus set on pretty high at the beginning of the night, but he was able to relax a little bit since then, to let himself just be in the moment - or so the psychiatrist says he should. He was actively paying attention to the conversation, yes that is true, but the hand holding your waist began to… wander, a little bit. Slowly at first, but much faster now. With a hand that started on your shoulder in the beginning of the night, bit by bit lowered down your back, smoothing above the top of your ass and to your hip. Fingers pressing deep into the black velvet of your dress, Simon tried to keep you caged next to him. That didn’t matter though, because you would have done little to resist him.

You two shared a quick glance. His dark brown eyes were slightly glossed, his gaze a salaciousness that he always brings home. Ooh, it made you want to rub your thighs together just to feel something. You nodded again to your uncle Mike when he brought up something else that was equally boring. Simon, having a better idea and use for his time, suddenly seemed to have remembered something, “Apologies, Mike, but Y/N and I have to make an important phone call.” You looked up at him.

That brief look in his eye was so, so hungry. The greed brewed like a dark storm. You felt a hot chill race down your spine, your core began to burn. You acted as if you remembered the same ‘something’ as well. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we almost forgot!” You gasped in a low voice. His fingers squeezed your hip, making your chest slowly fall into shallow breaths as you could imagine him purring in your ear.

Good girl.

You two waved him off as you turned to leave the kitchen. Simon took the wine glass from your hand and placed it on the countertops as you two walked through the doorway. His hand pressed on your lower back, guiding you into the dark hallway. The armoire in the middle lit with warm candles that smelled of cinnamon and spiced apples, casting shadows that bounced and flickered across the walls. It helped light your way to the restroom, but it also kept you two enveloped in shadows to help hide whatever sins you were going to commit. Simon, without a word, opened the bathroom, and with nobody inside, he sweeped you in, locking the door behind you two.

The bathroom had warm string lights strung across the crown molding, and a window with fake candles sat high on the wall. The room was a little loud with the echoes, so you smacked the switch on the wall to turn the fan on, hoping to mask whatever sounds were going to flood the room.

Not even a second, in such a calculated move, Simon plucked his mask off and had your lips locked with his as he hoisted you onto the sink counter. All you could do in that flurry of movement was gasp, his hands gingerly holding your jaw as his mouth worked against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, sighing as you felt a hardened tent in his trousers press eagerly against your clothed cunt.

You ran your hands through his dark brown hair, a moan running from you into him as his hands gave your ass a harsh squeeze. He ground his hips into you, pulling a whimper from you as he pressed roughly against your thrumming clit. Simon broke from your mouth, kissing your neck as his fingers pushed up into your dress, grabbing your panties.

“Quiet - or they’ll hear us,” he whispered against your flesh. You panted with a nod as he slipped your panties off, tossing them onto the floor along with his jacket. Simon quickly unbuttoned his white sleeves, rolling them up to reveal his heavily veined forearms, his one arm tattooed with black. He expertly undid his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down slightly, his hardened cock springing free.

He kept kissing your neck, lightly sucking to tease but not enough to hickey or bruise. His fingers dipped into your embarrassingly wet sex, rubbing at your clit and folds before pushing two fingers into you. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, so wet already.” His voice was a growl against your neck, slowly pumping them, his fingers rubbing up against that spongy spot inside.

It caused you to mewl. Simon’s one hand jumped to cup your mouth shut, making you gasp. The movement threw you off balance, your upper back falling back to press against the mirror while grabbing onto his wrist for support. He continued to finger you and hold your mouth closed, your whimpers mumbled in his hand.

Just as quick as you just started grinding your hips, he pulled his fingers away. A disappointed moan left broken up between your mouth and his palm. Simon grabbed his cock and started to pump himself, lubricating it with your juices before rubbing against your clit. He moved his hand from your mouth down to your hip.

You whimpered, “Oh my god, Simon.” Your hips wriggled and bucked against the dizzying sensation. He chuckled, slowly pressing his cock into your hot, wet cunt. The familiar stretch made you hum in need. “You’re gonna tease me? On Christmas?” You whined, your legs once again wrapped around his hips, urging him to sink into you.

“Ahh, have you been a good girl, though?” He asked in a low rumble, his other hand grabbing the other hip, his prepared stance making your hole clench around his member. He had a half-lidded stare, swirling with a level of lust you couldn’t really see the end of - bottomless and ravenous. Simon towered over you.

“I’m always a good girl for you, Simon,” You cooed.

He slowly pushed in, making you inhale sharply as you stretched so wide to allow him to fit. You held your breath as he pushed his cock through. “I’m just teasing, love - I know you’ll always be my good girl,” he said with warmth in his voice.

His tip kissed your cervix as he nestled fully, deeply, completely. Your head rolled back on the mirror as a satisfied sigh escaped you, but Simon’s grip on your hips tightened intensely. You gasped as he began a fast pace, his hips slapping loudly against your thighs and echoing in the bathroom. It was almost too much. It gave you little time to prepare for his entering, but you settled nicely around him after a few more thrusts.

Simon wasn’t normally this fast. He loved to hit with hard strokes, but nothing typically of this pace. Fortunately, you weren’t one to complain. It was so goddamn good. You hate it when your fiancé is away, not knowing where he was for most of the time, but when he’s gone for so long and comes back? Fuck. It’s criminal how good the sex is. His impatience made it impeccable.

But you were desperate. You wanted to cry and moan and yell, to beg and pray for him to bring you to a higher plane of pleasure. Oh, God, you would do anything for it, anything for him. You grasped at his forearms, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving stinging crescent moon shaped imprints in their path. He groaned lightly at your sharp grip, a soft chuckle coming from him. “Oh, you like this?” He asked, and you nodded, biting your lower lip to keep anything but your gasps, pants, and squeaks from escaping.

“Touch yourself,” his voice wasn’t harsh, but it was a demand.

With one hand still on Simon’s arm, the other moved to your clit, and you began to rub in quick circles. Simon watched your face twist and change: your mouth hanging open as you panted, but occasionally closed to bite your lip so to stop yourself from moaning; eyes half-lidded, barely open, glazed, and painfully horny; back bowing and arching, your toes curling, body just at a loss at what it can handle. This was Simon’s favorite view in the world. It’s what he came home for. It’s what he fought for.

A moan tumbled from your mouth as you held on for dear life. “S-Simon!” You whined his name, the heat inside of you burning red hot, uncontrolled, and rampant.

“S’alright love,” his voice was soft, “you gonna cum?”

You nodded quickly, the fingers on your clit stuttering as you found your release fast approaching, his almost brutal pace not slowing in the slightest. “I’m gonna c- ah- cum, Simon!” You struggled not to say too loud. “Don't stop!”

“Come on, Y/N,” he ushered, “cum for me.” Simon knew how to drive you over the edge. His hand reached out, firmly but gently cupping over your mouth to keep your head in place - and to push back your lascivious sounds.

A moan found itself trapped, lodged in your throat as you fought with your whole might not to yell and cry out. Your orgasm ripped through and crashed over you like a tsunami. He had unraveled you.

Your back arched, and you couldn’t roll your head back. Your lashes flickered as you struggled to keep your eyes from crossing or rolling back to look at Simon while you came. The fingers you had on your clit stopped moving as you were paralyzed, but the grip you had on his forearm stayed strong, “Ahhh, fuckin’ look at you. That’s a good girl, cummin’ nice and pretty on my cock. You like that, yeah?” He groaned, hips putting in more power to drill into your tightened pussy, tears pricking at your eyes as the orgasm left your legs shaking around him.

Simon retracted his hand, grabbing back at your hip. You let out a quick, small cry as your free hand held back onto his forearm. “Y’alright, love?” He grunted, and you nodded furiously before he could stop, but he started slowing down. You didn’t want him too. “Need- I need you,” you gasped, “don’t stop, Simon.” You whimpered.

Oh, to be buried deep inside your pussy was all he could have ever hoped for upon coming home. Y/N, ever so kind and giving. Simon tightened his hands around your hips again and began the brutal pace as you struggled to keep silent.

That’s when you felt your body heating up again. Your sex thrummed with the building pleasure and excitement once more, causing you to moan while you held onto his wrists. A light sheen of sweat sat on your skin, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your flesh.

Simon moaned softly with a smirk, your fucked out expression and legs lazily clinging onto his hips was such an amazing sight. The snapping of him against you had beat your pussy red, leaving it angrily aroused. “You gonna cum again? Yeah? Ahhh, thas my needy girl.” Desperate, tiny grunts popped out of you with each thrust, your pussy swallowing Simon deeply.

“Si-Simon! Gonna- c-cum!” You gasped out with each pump. 

Your orgasm hit like a rapid flash of heat and pleasure. A squeal escaped you, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Your eyelids fluttered as your eyes rolled back, legs around Simon’s waist tightened, your whole body trembled from his unrelenting pace. Your face was flushed red, eyes completely glazed and lost as your hair stuck to your face.

“Ah, f-fuck, so fuckin’ tight. So good - my girl is so good, God, cummin’ on my cock, just like that.” He growled, his hips slowly beginning to fall off rhythm while his orgasm began to creep up on him.

You moaned and begged, “Ah, Simon, nngh, I-I can’t- please cum!”

“Don’t you worry, g-gonna cum inside this pretty pussy,” Simon groaned, “gonna fill you up, yeah?”

You nodded furiously as your body screamed in overstimulation. “Please, I- ah! Too much, ah, you’re too much, Simon!” You cried out, your ever tightening cunt being stretched open, begging for his release.

“Y/N- Y/N, fuck!” He hissed as his hips slammed against you, tightly holding his cock against your cervix as if he was threatened to be ripped away. He groaned, emptying himself into you completely, his cock jerking and flexing harshly, making the veins on his shaft more pronounced. You whimpered, your cunt tensing around him as you felt hot waves shooting inside of you. He stayed for a moment while panting, his thighs shaking slightly, relishing in the feeling as oxytocin and dopamine flooded his brain. Simon pulled out, a throaty groan leaving you at the sudden emptiness, your legs letting go of him.

“Well… let’s hope nobody heard that.” Simon said in a low voice, pulling up his underwear and pants, buckling his belt and grabbing your panties for you. You slid off of the sink and inhaled sharply as your knees buckled. He immediately latched onto your arms, making sure you wouldn’t fall. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, y’alright?” He asked, slowly loosening his grip to make sure you were okay on your own.

“My legs, Simon. Jesus Christian Christ - I can’t stand.” You huffed, leaning against the sink, glowering at him as you took your panties from his hand, embarrassed.

He unrolled his sleeves, buttoning them. “You’re really gonna talk like that? On Jesus’ birthday?” He looked at you as he grabbed his jacket, shaking his head. “What would your nan say, hmm?” He feigned sincerity, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he swung the jacket on.

“Well, the jokes on you because Christmas isn’t even Jesus’ birthday.” You snapped back at him, slowly sliding your underwear on as your knees shook like a newborn giraffe. He tutted in disapproval as he moved up to you.

Simon’s body was close, his body radiating warmth. He wasn’t one for a lot of physical affection, which was alright, so when he took the time to be attentive to you… you always melted against him immediately. His finger lightly hooked under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. Your body subconsciously gravitated towards him, like a moth seeing the moon for the very first time.

He leaned down, lips brushing so close to yours, your eyes still connected . “Fuck what day it really is - I just know I’m home.” Simon pushed in for a deep kiss, brimming with emotions, the kinds he couldn’t really say. As he pulled away, he couldn’t help but admire you.

The golden candlelight fluttered across his face. His tired but warm eyes studied you, as if seeing you for the first time, memorizing and mapping every freckle, wrinkle, and spot, because he’s scared that the moment he looks away, he’ll forget. He took in your flushed, messy appearance as if God himself sent down a heavenly body to give him a reason not just to fight, but to live; an angel on its mission as a guide, and he would willingly martyr himself on the ground at your feet if it meant he could just hear you say his name. Once.

Simon wanted to say these things, but he wouldn’t. He might never. But that’s alright, too. Not everyone is meant to love so boldly.

You cocked an eyebrow as he stared at you so intensely. “You okay there, Lieutenant?” You asked, a small smile on your lips.

He realized that, yes, it was alright that he didn’t say those things. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have to - you just knew. Everyday he thought about how he didn’t deserve you. You, ever so loyal and strong. You’ve given him a purpose, motive, after all of these years - alone.

He often wondered what he had done to deserve having someone like you in his life. Someone who loved and cultivated, with hands of soft mercy, so tender and kind. A voice of validation, honesty, reason, all stemming from your unconditional love. If he had met you years ago, before the therapy and psychiatry helped, he would’ve let your fingers prick and bleed as you grasped at his thorns while he plucked you of your petals, leaving you broken and bare.

He didn’t deserve you.

Simon returned the smile, his voice soft, “Never better.” His hands moved to hold your waist as you two shared a few more kisses. “You know I like it when you call me that,” he hummed in between the lip locking.

You moaned gently and teasingly bit his bottom lip, your hands pressing against and gliding up his shirt. You kissed his jawline and sighed, “Is that so, Lieutenant Riley?”

He squeezed your waist in a warning. “Careful, love, we don’t have time for round two. Save it for tonight.” Your pussy purred just as Simon pulled away, picking up the mask from the sink and putting it back on in an attempt to obscure his identity.

You hummed, legs still a little shaken. “Well, I might need a minute to get my feet under me. You… okay with managing my family alone?” You asked hesitantly, eyes slightly squinting as if to flinch. He studied you for a moment, eyes glancing you up and down. It made you a little self-conscious, causing you to shift.

“Of course, Y/N,” his tone was reassuring, and subtly professional, “you sure you want me to leave you? Just say the word, love.”

Your body relaxed a little, and you nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

Simon faltered, if for a moment, before he gave you a soft squeeze on the arm, and left. You sighed, turning to lean onto the counter and fix your hair in the mirror. Your legs really were shaking, much to your surprise. Yes, yes, Simon makes you shake plenty, but he doesn’t always fuck that hard, if rarely. You couldn’t be more embarrassed. Sending your fiancé, who is not the biggest people-person, back to the wolves, but it’d be more embarrassing if you walked out there in your current state.

You fixed your dress and made sure you were able to stand properly again after a few minutes. Making sure your hair, makeup, and dress were all still together, you left the bathroom with caution. You quietly snuck down the hallway, back against the wall. You got to the doorway and peeked around the corner to peer into the party.

You don’t know how long you were in the bathroom for as the crowd surprisingly died down. Family members left for home, hotels, or whatever bedrooms your grandparents had available, so the end-of-the-night afterparty was intimate and calm. You inched into the room, eyes falling on Simon, who was outside with your grandfather, lighter in his hand.

You smiled gingerly as your mother called you over. “Sweetie, everybody loves Simon. I know he isn’t much of a talker, or a hugger, but he made a great impression.” Her voice was filled with warmth and happiness, and she spoke in a hushed tone. “He also listens to your grandfather’s stories, bless his heart.” She cooed. Your mother continued to speak, but her voice drowned out as you watched your future husband.

Simon stood at ease, with his hands held together and relaxed behind him as your grandfather engaged him in a story, puffing his cigar shakily as his hands trembled while he was animated. It was so calm and serene, watching him nod, the ghost of his jawline moving beneath the mask as he spoke. Your heart fluttered as Simon’s eyes flicked over and locked onto you, giving a little wink before turning his attention back to the present conversation.

Okay, you’re definitely sitting on his face tonight.

[colourstreakgryffin]

Big bad Overlord Husk does things to me... Can you please do something for him with a reader who combs his hair and makes sure he is presentable by doing things like adjusting his bowtie? (Romantic, please!) Thanks!

Hehe~! Oooh~! I like this idea a lot and it kinda reminds me of that Overlord Husk + Casino-Bae Angel Dust AU thingie! Why not make us the Casino Bae or I’m gonna call the ‘Casinofly’? I also need to start asking for gender, because I always default to female for most of the guys *sigh*

Overlord! Husker- Dolling Up

How did you manage to land being able to spend so much time with the Gambling Overlord? Not even you know, you’ve just become his personal little casinofly. The pretty face that gets to pamper and doll him up every single day, who may or may not be his current girlfriend

Husk enjoys the feeling of your cute little hands running over his blackish-gray feathery hair, gently combing the smooth semi-hard bristles of a brush over his head. The attention you put into grooming him

Husk knows this routine instinctively. He’ll sit down on his bed and order you to enter his room, waiting for you to brush his hair, style him up, spray him with some cologne, clean him to utter perfection so he’ll glow for his casino. You’re the only one he wants to be his pamperer

Husk can’t help but purr and purr loudly with every kiss and brush you give him. Kissing his ear tips or kissing the smoothly brushed back of his hair. He loves it and he couldn’t imagine anybody else doing this for him. He ends up walking out of the room with you on his arm whilst purring under his breath

“So… is today a Overlord meeting, hey?” You ask smoothly and elegantly in a soft-tone, lips perking out slightly with the nice black lipstick that your not-so-secret boyfriend, Husk, the gambling Overlord of the Pride Ring put on for you. A powerful, influential figure amongst this huge city so you’re pretty surprised he would spare you time and especially allow you to be his little pamperer. The lady that gets to dress him up and make him look presentable for the day

Husk nods slowly and carefully as you brush and style back his hair with a precise scoopful of gentle slick rather expensive hairgel, making sure it stays still, attractive and appealing. Making his quite tall tuft-tipped ears pop out a bit more as you clean off your fresh hair briefly with the nearby makeup wipes laid on the bed besides your makeup bag, before beginning to tie up his business meeting bowtie. It’s a different one than the usual bowtie

“Well yes, love. It’ll be for a hour or two. Now, may I ask you something?” Husk purrs out in his strong, deep and almost hypnotic voice, his hands laid in his lap as his high collared shirt snuggles his hips and his arms well, big feathery red and detailed wings drooped over on the bed comfortably

Sat down on his own grand silky bed in his mighty suite, fitting his appeal and his style very well. You’re the only one allowed into his room, just the pretty casinofly he has his eyes on

“Yes, Sir?” You ask warmly and almost delicately responding to your own boss, the Overlord that has both your soul and your heart in his grasp effortlessly, as your own gentle sparkly eyes focus on readjusting the bowtie around his neck slightly to make sure it’s neat and presentable for this important event

You want Husk to shine out the rest of his fellow Overlords, which is why you’re being precise but you’re always so precise, you always want him to look incredible

Fixing up the collar cuffs of the white dresshirt, you make sure his hands are free and smooth, the fur brushed and clean. All of his fur is brushed and clean, just as you desire. As soon as you’re done, waiting for Husk to speak once again after the few seconds of silence that radiates throughout the magnificent fancy room, the Gambling Overlord finally speaks again. His voice has that certain charm that can always put you in a trance

So effortlessly, you cannot believe just how effortless and impressive this demon is

“I wish for you to accompany me to this meeting. Do not worry about being unable to enter with me, I’ll let you in” Husk saying this so confidently and fearless, he is very certain about what he wants and he doesn’t suspect that you will not say no, but, he is surprised by the way you respond; widened glowing eyes, hands halting at putting on his suit jacket over his shoulders, your lips parting

You look so damn kissable and he can’t wait to kiss your pretty little face as soon as he can. For now, he’ll stay put and listen out for your own response as well as behave for your sake

Controlling your nerves and your beating heart. The idea of being around so many powerful sinners is intimidating and the idea of Husk wanting to bring you up to the Overlord meeting. It makes your cheeks burn up, you never thought he’d ever want to show people that he’s dating you, outside of the casino and outside of his domain. He must really like you! It almost feels unbelievable…

You quickly shake your head and begin to continue putting on his suit jacket, his three-piece suit for the business. Almost completely ready, Husk is waiting patiently and sitting silent like a curiously watching cat. As soon as your done, attaching a golden suit tassel chain

The Overlord towers over you as you step back and he smoothly picks up your hands, beginning to slide your bicep-length silky sparkly gloves. Finishing up the touches of that pretty classy yet semi-sexy ‘casino bae’-style of yours

Your eyes sparkled a bit more at Husk dressing you back, slowly and strongly turning you around. He offers his arm out and waits for your next action, sharp golden yellow eyes gleaming in your direction, almost sizing you up

He is waiting for you to accept his enticing welcoming invitation, he wants you to join him for this meeting and he’d be disappointed if you said no

Your heart dropped a bit at hearing the usual yet soothing vibration, humming through the air, of cat purring. Of Husk purring

“Shall we head out now, sweetheart?”

[stromblessed]

Mizu was wrong to let Akemi be taken because they both deserve better

First, a confession. When I saw this for the first time:

I was relieved. I knew that was what Mizu was going to say and I felt like it's what I would have said in that situation too.

When Akemi does this:

I cringed, because if we know anything about Mizu, it's that she (1) isn't quick to make friends (though to be fair, even though Akemi did try to kill Mizu, so did Taigen - multiple times! - and look how that turned out lol), and (2) doesn't take orders.

So when Akemi and Ringo and later Taigen get angry at Mizu, are they being unfair?

Sure, Mizu isn't obligated to treat Akemi - or Taigen or Ringo or anybody else - nicely, or to serve them, or to be honorable, or be a hero to them, or whatever. No human being is obligated to any other human being. We all have the choice to do whatever we want to anybody else. But the point of flawed characters in storytelling is the tension between those characters and their potential. Their growth into someone who can choose the higher, harder path, who chooses to be obligated to others, who chooses kindness and compassion.

Because Mizu's problem isn't revenge. Nobody is preaching at Mizu that revenge isn't the answer. Her circumstances do suck, her life has been incredibly unfair, she is marginalized, and as far as we and Mizu know for most of the season, she is a child born of violence and no one is saying that that violence doesn't deserve to be repaid in kind.

Mizu's problem is isolation. And the fact that she thinks she has no responsibility toward her fellow human beings, because her hatred of her own circumstances and her having no life outside of her quest devours everything else. This is a problem because it turns Mizu into the worst version of herself. A version that hurts the people who like Mizu, the people who care about her.

Practically, Mizu has just taken on an entire army almost by herself. She's hurt. She's exhausted. If she were to defend Akemi now, it'd be yet ANOTHER fight, this time against horsed and armored samurai.

But that's not the reason Mizu gives Ringo. Mizu's ability or willingness to fight isn't even on her mind. All she says is, "She's better off."

"She's better off" is Mizu deciding what's best for Akemi. Akemi's entire story is about her being a caged bird longing to fly free.

One after the other, every man and woman in Akemi's life makes her decisions for her. She has to grovel and smile prettily and lie through her teeth just for the chance to be heard. Mizu judges Akemi for being a rich princess who isn't being more grateful for what she has, all without understanding Akemi's situation, and without any curiosity for why Akemi feels the way she does. From Akemi's perspective, Mizu is just one more person (one more man!) in a long lineup who ignores Akemi's wishes and (casually!) makes a decision for her that impacts Akemi's life greatly.

In the end, even Seki concludes that Akemi should get to decide what's best for Akemi. What others think that Akemi SHOULD want does not matter compared to what Akemi wants for her own life. As Madame Kaji said - Madame Kaji, who despite calling out the weirdness of Akemi's situation as well as the childishness of her decision to run away - is the only person Akemi meets who doesn't try to make decisions for Akemi, but instead only challenges Akemi to work for and be worthy of what she wants - she needs to decide what she wants for her own fucking self, and then take it.

Mizu being born female does not make her automatically wiser for letting Akemi be taken, and it does not preclude her from having a hand in giving Akemi back to her jailers. A patriarchy that Mizu knows full well would stop Mizu from achieving her own goals if she didn't present as male.

Mizu is still understandable here. She just had to kill Kinuyo, a disabled girl sold by her father into prostitution, a girl in a situation so far beyond Akemi's worst imaginings that I can practically feel Mizu's world being rocked just by comparing them in her mind the way she most likely is. That still doesn't make it right for Mizu to let Akemi be carried off to be sold into marriage by her father against her wishes. Those "good options" Mizu thinks Akemi has don't exist, no more than they ever existed for Mizu. Akemi and Mizu both have to get creative, make the best of their circumstances, take dangerous risks, and break rules in order to have any control over their own lives.

Even on my first watch, when at first I thought that Mizu had made the right decision and that Akemi was being unreasonable, Akemi screaming Mizu's name while being dragged, LITERALLY DRAGGED, back to her father was haunting as hell.

Mizu had the power to help Akemi, and simply chose not to.

Mizu lets Akemi be taken, Akemi who has just begun to trust Mizu. Mizu calls Ringo weak and quickly - seemingly easily - turns her back on him. Mizu values her quest over Taigen's life, after Taigen has endured days of torture to protect her, and she not only risks his life in the process, but doesn't tell him that Akemi is engaged to someone else, or that she came looking for Taigen, or that she is in danger.

Mizu's sword breaks because it is too brittle. Too pure. Too singleminded. Mizu only melts down the meteorite metal when she mixes the metal with objects from parts of her life that have nothing to do with her quest. Objects from the people she cares about, and who care about her.

All I'm saying is - Mizu doesn't have to be a hero. But she is the better version of herself when she reaches out to help and connect with others. When she's just a decent, kinder human being. And I think that's what this story is telling us that we should want for Mizu.

[lunaeclipse1057-ao3]

Prev. Prev prev prev. I love your thoughts, especially the turning Phil into a weapon.

God how will Chayanne feel about phil jumping.

BRO IF PHIL FUCKING GOT DOWNED DURING THAT MAN.

UGH MY HEART

I've been thinking, what if Phil died when the workers were trying to kill him

[glossdebut]

take a bite | MYG ★ 6

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you’re finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off… Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You’ve accepted the fact that romance isn’t for you, under any circumstances. You won’t risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you’ll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: um... CLIFFHANGER?

✧ WORDCOUNT: 5.4k

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: chapter 6 is here early!!! holy shit. this is the second to last chapter of take a bite, so next week's update will wrap everything up! i don't want to give too much away about what happens in this one, but just for reference... um. P.S. i'm sorry in advance. P.P.S. thank you so much tanni @love4myg for beta reading this chapter for me! you saved my wordy ass from publishing so many run-on sentences.

CH. 6: Y’all Ain’t Never Been To A Party Before?

“Y/N, YOU WHORE!”

So, many things are happening. Holy shit.

First, to your surprise, midnight kimchijeon with Yoongi last night very quickly devolved into more sex.

You had been a little bit anxious while you watched him cook, and even more anxious while you both ate in relative silence, that the weirdness coming off of Yoongi in waves at the mention of Yijeong had effectively killed the vibe. Thankfully, being bent over his kitchen counter and fucked into oblivion did wonders to kill that worry before it fully took root.

It was… You’ve never been fucked quite like that before. Practically drooling onto the marble beneath you as he pounded into you, his hands gripping at your ass, his gravelly voice in your ear, growling “thank me again. You wanna come? Thank me for fucking you like this, come on, show me how much you fucking like it,” and you did. Fuck, he was mean, but you liked it, you liked it so much.

For somebody who very openly prefers to remain completely stationary (and horizontal, if he can help it), Yoongi sure has a fuckton of stamina. So… score.

Second, due to said stamina and your resulting exhaustion following round two, you ended up staying over at Yoongi’s apartment last night. Which was not the plan originally, but both you and Yoongi were unconvinced that you could safely make the journey down the hall back to your own apartment. When the opportunity to crash on a purple mattress presented itself so enticingly, you were powerless to resist.

You both fell asleep very tired and very unclothed, the latter of which probably would’ve resulted in even more sex come morning—sex you were very much looking forward to—if you hadn’t awoken to approximately seven trillion notifications on your phone from Rina, scaring the absolute piss out of you and forcing you to leave a very confused Yoongi to deal with his morning wood all by his lonesome. 

It’s around eleven in the morning, the latest you’ve slept in months, when you roll into your own apartment, sleep-mussed and fucked out.

Which brings you to the third thing.

Rina is here. Like, here. In your apartment. Not in Paris.

Breaking the sound barrier with her excitement as she looks you up and down, in all of your walk-of-shame glory.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice still scratchy with sleep. You toss your keys on the closest flat surface to give Rina a very confused hug. You missed her, of course. Terribly so, and that outweighs anything else. But also, what?

“What weren’t you doing here?” Rina quips, squeezing you tight in return. “And please tell me the answer is Yoongi.”

It dawns on you that you and Rina haven’t really spoken since you actually went through with everything, being in different time zones and all. ‘Yoongi invited me to his studio where he produces music and then made me come with his tongue so hard I almost died’ didn’t seem like an announcement to be made over text.

“I don’t think that makes sense,” you mumble into her shoulder before pulling away, sheepish. “But yes, I was at Yoongi’s.”

“Slut,” Rina squeals, her hands latching onto your shoulders and shaking you. “I need to meet him.”

Oh, fuck.

Your eyes widen instantly, slight panic overtaking you as you glance back at your door. You know Rina, and you know that she is not above striding over to Yoongi’s apartment right now and getting a good eyeful for herself.

“Oh my god, Rina, no.” You grab Rina’s hands firmly, pleading. “He’s barely even awake. I promise I’ll tell you every last detail if you don’t do that, holy shit.”

She laughs, pulling her hands away to cross her arms, raising an expectant eyebrow at you. “I’m waiting.”

You sigh, trudging into your kitchen to start a pot of coffee, since you’re clearly going to need it.

“Tell me why you’re in my apartment first,” you say, fishing two mugs out of a cabinet and setting them on the counter. “Not that I mind, but… Paris?”

After the coffee is brewed and doled out, you both move to your couch for a much-needed debriefing of the past few weeks. 

Over your steaming mugs, Rina explains to you that she has come to the liberating realization that the show will in fact go on without her. 

Her stint in Paris, as fun and fabulous as it was, also made her lonely, and once she was confident the theatre company she was collaborating with would do her work justice without her helicoptering over them, Rina immediately booked the first flight to you.

She plans to stick around for an undetermined period of time, as long as you’ll have her, if you’re okay with that—duh, you tell her with a flick to the forehead—and then go home to her boyfriend for a much-needed hiatus from theatre.

Rina tells you everything about Paris: the sightseeing, the shopping. Her show, the reaction it garnered. In return, you give her all of the gory details about Yoongi. All of them, because she’ll sense it if you leave anything out.

You tell her about the night in his studio, how you deliberated and deliberated until you finally gave in, and how you were rewarded with Yoongi’s head between your thighs, eating you out like a man starved.

You tell her about the horribly inappropriate and ridiculously hot sexting that took place in your open floor plan office, how he described in detail what he was going to do to you when he finally got the chance. You hand your phone over without a fight when she demands to read the messages herself, staring down into your mug as she screeches with delight while reading.

You tell her about last night, how Yoongi made good on all of his promises and then some. How he took his time learning the cues of your body. And about the kimchijeon, because it’s really unfair that Yoongi seems to be good at everything.

Rina whistles lowly, raising an eyebrow at you as she takes a long sip of her coffee.

“Okay, I really need to meet him now,” she says.

“There was a weird moment,” you lament, sinking into the couch. “I might be overthinking—”

“Most likely—”

“But, there was definitely a moment,” you continue, firm. You know what you saw. “I got this killer opportunity at work to write about this producer, and Yoongi knows him, so I asked him to put in a good word for me, and he, like, froze up for a second. I don’t know.”

“Was that before or after he fucked your brains out?”

You snort, mumbling into your coffee as you go for a sip. “Between.”

“Okay, so, he’s probably over it if he went back for seconds,” Rina reasons, shrugging. “Why don’t you just ask him about it?”

You shake your head. “If he’s moved past it, I don’t want to bring it up again and risk popping the sex bubble we’re in,” you say. “You’re right, I’m probably overthinking. Yoongi’s Yoongi. He would’ve said no if he really wasn’t cool with it.”

Rina hums, nodding sagely. “Don’t pop the sex bubble,” she agrees. “It’s your job, anyway. Using your connections. I’m sure he’s dealt with reporters before, being who he is. He probably gets it.”

Your phone buzzes, and you set your mug down to fish it out from between the couch cushions. “Yeah.”

Speak of the devil.

Once you grab hold of your phone, you’re greeted with a text from Yoongi. It seems he’s been busy since your abrupt departure. 

[11:58] Yoongi: Spoke to Yijeong. He’s going to be at a label party tonight and he’s down to meet you if you’ll go. I’ll take you.

And then, another.

[11:58] Yoongi: Kind of a fancy thing, though. Cocktail attire. Lmk. 

Normally you’d dread everything he’s proposing—uncomfortable shoes at a party where you don’t know a soul wouldn’t be your first choice for a Saturday night—but you find yourself biting your lip to mask the stupid grin forming on your face. You’re getting your interview and there’s a high possibility you’ll get to see Yoongi in a suit? Everything’s coming up Y/N. 

You lift your gaze from your phone to Rina, who looks at you expectantly. 

“Bring any dresses back with you from Paris?”

★ ★ ★

When Yoongi swings by to pick you up hours later, you’re more than a little grateful you share a dress size with your best friend. 

Rina did, in fact, bring dresses back with her from Paris, and the second this particular one slipped onto your body she had no choice but to declare that it was yours.

It’s just your style—black, simple, form-fitting enough that you look fucking good in it, but long enough to wear to what is essentially a work event. Lace detailing on the bodice. A teasing slit up the side. And it’s from Paris, and while you don’t particularly love the French for much, they can make a damn garment. Yeah, you want to be buried in this dress.

Yoongi leans against the door jamb, not the slightest bit subtle as his eyes rake over you. You smirk to yourself as you bend down to get your heels on. 

“Pretty dress,” he says, though his tone does little to mask what he’s really thinking. Fuck the party. Under any other circumstances, you’d agree, but duty calls.

“It’s hers,” you say, standing upright and jerking your chin back in Rina’s direction. Rina, who is lingering in your kitchen, very obviously exercising all of her restraint not to crowd Yoongi right now and inspect him like a toy. 

“It’s yours,” she corrects, gritting the words out. Good thing you made her promise to be normal.

You take a moment to look at Yoongi, who, to your delight, is wearing a suit. Black, like your dress. What a pair the two of you make.

“You clean up nice,” you say, drinking in the sight of him just as shamelessly as he did to you. Letting your eyes speak for you.

The suit is simple, also like your dress, but the long lines accentuate his legs, making him look taller. Crisp white shirt. Black tie. Hair styled out of his face. He looks good, and he knows it. You can tell in the way he’s carrying himself.

Yoongi hums, smirking. “So I’ve heard.” He glances behind you, at Rina, and then back at you. “The playwright? Rina?”

You nod, surprised that he was able to recall her name. 

He looks back at Rina, smiling at her. “How was Paris?”

The memory on this man. 

“Great,” Rina says tightly. You’re almost proud of her.

“I’m Yoongi,” he says, eyebrow raising at the weird tension wafting from your kitchen.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she says emphatically, and you snort.

“Ah.” You note that the tips of Yoongi’s ears are pink. Yours would be too, if you were in a room with two people who discussed the way you fuck in-depth. “Good things, I hope.”

“Ready to go?” you chirp as you grab your bag, taking pity on Rina. Any more and she’ll snap, you’re sure of it.

Yoongi nods and steps back into the hallway, allowing you to slip out the door. 

“Nice to meet you,” he calls to Rina as you shut the door, and then you’re both moving.

★ ★ ★

The ride to the party itself is uneventful. Although you’re giddy at the confirmation that the sex bubble has indeed remained unpopped, the second you’re seated in Yoongi’s car you shift into work mode. 

The tiny notepad you’d stuffed in your bag is now clutched in your hand, and the near silence in the car is only interrupted with the occasional question or clarification on something you’ve jotted down in your research on Yijeong. Yoongi answers to the best of his knowledge, supplementing where he can, but it’s clear you’ve done your due diligence. You’re ready.

Yoongi’s car comes to a crawl, and you peer out the window at the outrageous mansion he’s brought you to. You’d barely been paying attention when he’d stopped at the gate to give his name for entry, but now that you’re here, you’re struck by the luxury that awaits you on the other side of the passenger door.

A huge, freshly manicured lawn. Equally manicured shrubbery. A neon-lit fountain in the middle of the driveway, right in front of the imposing entryway to the biggest house you’ve ever seen in person. Modern, sleek architecture composing the monolith before you.

Yoongi hops out of the car to walk around to the passenger side and open the door for you. He helps you out, steadying you as your heels connect with the gravel beneath you.

The house is clearly bustling with people, music seeping out into the night as partygoers filter in and out, as others gather on the balconies (plural!) for cigarettes.

“Whose party is this?” you ask, amazed as Yoongi hands his keys off to the valet—a valet, at somebody’s home. 

“Bang Si-Hyuk,” Yoongi says as he watches his car depart without him, clearly not sharing your amazement. Right, you remind yourself. He’s used to this kind of thing. You, however, feel horribly out of your element, even in your Parisian dress.

He offers you his arm and you take it, staring down at your feet as you walk through the gravel so as not to twist your ankle. You can do this. Networking opportunities galore.

The doors to Bang Si-Hyuk’s mansion are opened for the both of you by the two men flanking it, revealing the party unfolding inside. You gawk, clutching your bag and the notebook inside of it, as Yoongi takes your free hand. He gives it a small squeeze before guiding you past the foyer, past clusters of celebrities and executives, caterers balancing trays of tiny hors d'oeuvres, all the way to the bar.

When prompted, Yoongi, predictably, orders an old fashioned. You opt for a vodka martini, something to quell the nerves mounting inside of you. You’ve come a long way from plastic cups of cheap beer at a Western bar, it seems.

The bartender procures your drinks, sliding them over to the both of you on cocktail napkins, and Yoongi clinks his glass against yours.

“You look like you’re going to shit yourself,” he says, grinning into his glass and taking a swig.

“I hate you,” you mumble in kind, letting the vodka warm your throat as you take a sip of your own. “Remind me again why you live in our apartment complex?”

“Because I’m not Bang Si-Hyuk,” he says simply, setting his drink down as a woman with long, sleek hair in a slinky dress approaches the both of you, though her eyes are focused on Yoongi.

She’s gorgeous. You recognize her, but your memory fails you as you come up short on her name.

“Min Yoongi, as I live and breathe,” she says with a dazzling grin as Yoongi extends his arm out to clasp her hand. She takes hold of his easily and doesn’t let go as she continues speaking in a familiar tone. Hm. “What a surprise.”

“Noona,” Yoongi says, mouth quirking up at the corners as he turns his head to you, his hand still clasped in hers. “Y/N, this is Shin Suran.”

Suran like the singer, your brain helpfully pieces together. You’ve heard her songs on the radio before, read about her in Look Here long before you started. She had a single years back that charted like crazy, a single that you personally own. She’s done a song with Dean before. And she seems to know Yoongi very well, based on the way she’s still touching him. Something stirs in your gut.

Suran’s attention finally turns towards you, her hand leaving Yoongi’s at last as she reaches out to shake yours. You set your glass down on the bar behind you, wipe the condensation off on your dress as discreetly as you can.

“Y/N,” she says, tilting her head at you as you take her offered hand and shake. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“You as well. I loved ‘Wine,’” you respond, politely extricating your hand to pick up your glass and take another sip of your drink. It’s true, you did love ‘Wine’ when it came out, and despite your distaste for this interaction in general, Suran is supremely talented, there’s no denying it. Not to mention a potential connection for you, thanks to Yoongi.

Suran laughs, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “I appreciate that,” she says warmly before glancing at Yoongi. “Although, that song wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for Yoongi-yah.”

…Huh?

It clicks then, your brain coming online in an instant. 

Yoongi, your Yoongi—the one who lives down the hall from you, who sends you cat videos while you’re at work, who calls you baby when he fucks you—is Suga. 2017 Hot Trend Award winner Suga. Over one hundred KOMCA credits to his name Suga. That he’s not just your Yoongi, but very likely one of the most famous people in this room. That he might’ve been Suran’s Yoongi, too, at one point.

You’d known that he was famous, sure. You’d been to his studio, seen the awards on the wall, although you’d been to preoccupied with wanting to fuck him to actually read them. His studio setup alone told you that he had money, not to mention the paid driver he sent you, the small flashes of luxury in his otherwise humble apartment. But this…

You realize, to add insult to injury, that the song filtering through the speakers right now is his. 

“Noona,” Yoongi says, his eyes locked on you as he speaks, although you sure as hell aren’t his noona. “We’ll catch up with you later.”

You barely catch their goodbyes, picking up your martini to stare into as Suran departs.

“Y/N,” Yoongi says softly.

“You didn’t tell me you were Suga.” 

The name feels weighty on your tongue. You don’t know why it bothers you so much, that you didn’t know. That he didn’t tell you outright. But it does.

Yoongi shifts from one foot to the other awkwardly, his body stiff next to yours.

“You didn’t ask,” he mumbles. “It’s not like I was hiding it from you.”

“Seems like the kind of thing to lead with,” you mumble back, taking a long swig, letting the alcohol burn on its way down.

“Yeah, I don’t make a habit of doing that,” he says. You lift your head to look at him at the bitter tone in his voice, trying to decipher the look on his face, but you’re at a loss. You’re beginning to realize just how little you know about your neighbor. Your friend. Your… Well, he’s more than that now, isn’t he? 

How many details about Yoongi have you let slip from your memory, while he seems to hold on to every little thing he learns about you?

He polishes off his drink and sets his glass down, pulling his phone from his back pocket to send off a text, not looking up from the screen as he speaks. “Ready to meet Yijeong?”

You sigh, suddenly right back where you were last night when you asked him about Yijeong in the first place, but you nod. “Yeah.”

At the responding buzz, Yoongi pockets his phone and wordlessly leads you through the party. You ignore the way your hand in his feels more like a necessary evil this time around.

★ ★ ★

Jang Yijeong is remarkably handsome, tall and lithe in his suit as he puffs on a cigarette. Meeting him isn’t nearly as nerve wracking as you’d thought, although you’re sure you have Yoongi to thank for that.

As soon as you step foot on the balcony, your brain shifts back into work mode with little effort. You watch as Yoongi and Yijeong greet each other with a hug, which you didn’t expect, and they immediately fall into a rapport that can only come from years of familiarity. Yoongi said he knew Yijeong, but he conveniently left out the fact that they’re, like, besties or something. They’re getting a little annoying, these omissions of Yoongi’s. 

Mercifully, Yoongi seems eager to get out of your way as soon as possible. According to Yijeong, he and Yoongi have been working closely for the past month, so he’s kind of sick of looking at his face anyway.

After a muttered, almost fond ‘go fuck yourself’ from Yoongi, he’s leaving you in Yijeong’s care, both of you sitting on the patio furniture kindly provided by Bang Si-Hyuk on the balcony.

“So,” your interviewee starts, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You must be pretty special, getting Yoongi-yah to make an appearance at one of these things.” He gestures at the fanfare through the balcony doors with his free hand.

“I’m not here to talk about me,” you say shyly, balancing your notepad on your knee as you set your phone to record and slide it onto the table between you, next to an ornate ashtray. “I’m here to talk about you.”

“Very nice,” Yijeong hums, amused. “I’m serious, though. I’ve been going to these since I debuted. Album release parties, award ceremonies, anything I could get an invite to. But I haven’t seen Yoongi at one in years. He hates this shit.”

“When I made the switch to producing, I practically begged him to come out of hiding and be my plus-one. He’s been producing for way longer. He knows the people at these things, knows how to work them if he has to,” he continues. “Yoongi and I have been friends for a long time. He’s practically my brother. But I couldn’t get him to say yes.”

Nothing about that tracks. Yoongi and Yijeong, if your math is mathing correctly, have known each other for the better part of a decade. You’ve only known Yoongi for a month and a half. If he’s as much of a hermit as Yijeong insists, why would he do this for you if Yijeong couldn’t get him to budge?

You think about Suran and how surprised she seemed to see Yoongi. You think about the text you got this afternoon, how he didn’t give any indication that going to this party was outside of his comfort zone. Another omission, except this time you don’t feel annoyance, but something else entirely. Something you don’t dare name. You shift in your seat.

“I’m just saying,” he says warmly, ashing his cigarette in the tray between you, meeting your eyes. “You must be special.”

You don’t know what to say in response, and you know it shows. Yijeong laughs at whatever expression he finds on your face, warmth blooming in your cheeks as your eyes burn holes in the notepad on your knee. 

“Okay, okay,” he says, grinning and raising his hands up in surrender. “Do your worst. It’s been a few years since I’ve done this, so I might be a little rusty. But for you, mystery girl, I’m an open book.”

Yijeong speaks to you like an old friend. He tells you about how he fell in love with singing in the fourth grade, when he sang ‘Azalea’ by Maya in front of the eommas and appas of his peers and got a taste of what it’s like to sing for an audience. He opens up to you about losing control of his own voice during his career as an idol, how he didn’t know what was wrong, was wracked with fear over it. 

He tells you about becoming friends with Yoongi, about being taken under his wing to learn a whole new skill and take a new direction with his career. How Yoongi opened a door for him that he didn’t even know existed. You learn that Yijeong has been collaborating with Yoongi for years now without drawing too much attention to it, but now that he can stand alone, he’s ready to step back into the limelight as EL CAPITXN.

You get so enraptured in the conversation, dutifully scribbling notes and asking follow-up questions, that you barely notice that over half an hour has passed by.

“Y/N,” Yijeong says, smiling at you as he wraps up his answer to your last question. You don’t know how to explain it, but it makes so much sense to you that this man is Yoongi’s friend. Maybe it’s the warmth in his voice. “You should probably go rescue Yoongi-yah from those leeches inside.”

“Yeah,” you agree, biting back a smile at the thought of Yoongi braving rookie idols and sleazy executives, trying to find a wall to hug while he waits. For you. He’s doing this for your career, for you. “It was lovely to meet you, Yijeong.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Yijeong insists, watching you knowingly as you pack up your notepad and pen, moving to stand. “Y/N-ah,” he calls, making you pause at the balcony door. “Treat him well, okay?”

Something that you’ve been ignoring for a long time unfurls in your chest.

“I will,” you promise softly.

You push the balcony door open, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you make your way back to the bar. You will rescue Yoongi, want nothing more than to be with him again, but you need the liquid courage now more than ever.

Here’s what you know: You have spent the last three years terrified of falling. Starving yourself from the full breadth of friendship, of intimacy, of love, because of what happened the last time you let yourself have it. You’ve convinced yourself that any man that claims interest in you would do the same in the long run, that being career-driven is a deterrent to love and nobody will ever accept you for who you are.

But you also know this: Yoongi sees you. He understands you. Unlike your ex, he doesn’t feel hurt when you disappear for days on end, lost in your work, because he’s very likely doing the same. And yet he still finds time to read everything that gets published under your name. He offers his studio as a safe haven for you to write when the words stop flowing in your own office. He goes to parties he’d normally rather die than attend just so you can get an interview, because it’s important to you.

You don’t want to starve anymore. Min Yoongi has been staring you in the face for the past month and a half, offering you everything you’ve been scared of since your ex left you three years ago, all alone in a strange city. Offering you all of his support and kindness and closeness like a filling meal. And for the first time in a very long time, you want to try and take a bite.

Terrifyingly, you really, really fucking like him. Not just as a friend.

You finish your martini quickly before weaving through the crowd to find Yoongi. And you do, leaning against the furthest wall. Drink in hand, just like the night you met.

When you approach, he lifts his head and your heart soars when your eyes meet.

“Ready to go?” he asks, none the wiser to your sudden change of heart. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, let’s go.”

★ ★ ★

You barely make it into your shared hallway before you’re on Yoongi, your body pressing against his and your arms looped around his neck as you pull him into a searing kiss. He tastes like whiskey, and normally you’d hate that, but it tastes all the more sweet because it’s on Yoongi’s lips.

It’s so different, now that you’re allowing yourself to really feel it. You fit together so perfectly. His lips feel so right on yours. How could you have been so blind before?

You expect Yoongi to press you against the wall, or slide his hands up the skirt of your dress, or groan your name into your mouth like he can’t get enough of you. You know you can’t get enough of him. In his suit, waiting to be unwrapped like a present.

You want Yoongi to do those things, desperately. You want to pay attention properly this time, you want not to shy away from the intimacy of it all. You want whispered praise in your ear, eye contact while he fucks you, his lips on yours and his stilted moan as he spills inside of you. You want the softness that comes after, for him to clean you up with care and wrap you in his arms. You want to sleep in his bed for a reason other than exhaustion. 

But instead, Yoongi pulls away, grasping your shoulders gently as he creates distance between you. You look up at him, confused.

“Rina’s probably waiting for you,” he says.

“I promise you, she’s not,” you snort. Rina knows better than to expect you home before morning at the earliest. You surge forward, leaning up to chase his lips again, but he remains out of reach.

“Y/N…” Conflicted. 

Right. Of course, duh! You’re getting ahead of yourself. 

You forgot, in the haze of your epiphany, that your last conversation with Yoongi didn’t exactly bode well for your sex bubble. You need to set the record straight, then.

“Yoongi, if this is about earlier… the Suga thing,” you start, leaning in to pepper kisses down his neck, your fingers coming up to fiddle with his tie, loosening it. “I’m not mad, okay?”

Yoongi shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. “No, I just…” He trails off, sighing. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, Y/N. The friends with benefits thing.”

You freeze.

Dread fills you instantly, replacing all of the warmth that had been inhabiting your body just moments before.

Why now? What’s changed? You know what’s changed for you, but it can’t be the same for him if he’s pulling away from you like this.

Yoongi gently removes your hand from his tie, takes a step back from you. Crushes all of your hope with his next words.

“I just don’t know if I can do this with you.”

With you. 

“Oh,” you breathe. You feel like you’re going to cry. The beginnings of tears are already welling up in your eyes, and you do your best to blink them away.

“I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be,” you say, forcing your expression to remain neutral. “I appreciate your honesty.”

“I still want to be your friend, Y/N,” Yoongi says, his voice pained, like he can see right through you. You wish he’d stop. “Please.”

“Yeah,” you say, your own voice breaking just a little. You don’t want to cry in front of him. Fuck that. “I’m gonna go home. See you.”

Before he has a chance to say anything else, you’re speedwalking to your apartment, fishing your keys out hurriedly to unlock it and rush in. 

Once you’re inside, you lean back against the door, sliding down until you’re sitting on the floor. It feels so similar to the night you met him—running away from him in the hallway, feeling like you can’t breathe once you’re on the other side of the door. Too bad it’s so, so different.

At the sound of the door, Rina comes out from your bedroom, Pepper in tow.

“Y/N? Is that you? I thought for sure you’d be getting dicked down right about n—” You watch her stop in her tracks at the sight of you, her expression laden with concern. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“There are strings,” you sniffle, looking up at your best friend with watery eyes. “And it’s my fault.”

“Oh, Y/N,” Rina breathes, setting Pepper down and immediately joining you on the floor, wrapping her arms around you.

Your mind flashes back to three years ago, in a position not all that different from this one. But that was for a relationship, one that lasted years. One that you foolishly assumed was heading for marriage. Why does this hurt just as much? Why did Yoongi nestle himself into the softest, most vulnerable parts of you just to rip himself away at the last second?

You finally allow yourself to cry.

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[aquatic-armageddons]

How the mercs would react to Y/N who listens to screamo

A/N: I've decided to make it so that Y/N can also sing screamo as well, but only for Scout and Demo. I've also put down (what I think) their opinion of screamo would be.

SCOUT:

I strike him as the type to also listen to a little screamo, so he'd be kinda pleased to meet another fan, though he'd be a little surprised at first. And even more so if Y/N can scream as well.

Y/N had just walked into the base's training gym to blow off some steam, as the team had lost a battle that day. Everyone was understandably disappointed and on edge, so after the team was asleep, they snuck into the gym to play some Whitechapel. The music played on a mini speaker that could echo throughout the entire gym, but not disturb the others' sleep.

Scout also had the same idea of sneaking into the gym (but to work out), and was shocked to see Y/N headbanging and screaming along to the song. He never expected this of Y/N, but he was definitely not gonna complain.

"Well this is surely somethin' different, short-stuff!" Scout exclaimed.

"What the hell, Scout?! How long were you standing there??" Y/N sputtered.

"Not too long, but damn, I didn't think you'd be into all that. And being good at it too!" Scout beamed, poking them on the cheek.

Y/N and him would spend awhile blasting screamo and singing along, at least until Spy would drag them both out by their ear for causing too much noise xD

SOLDIER

I can imagine Solly being familiar with screamo, though I doubt he would listen to it very much.

It was getting close to sundown, and he and Y/N offered to go out on a supply run for the team. While out getting said supplies, Y/N's phone began to ring, playing Lamb of God on full blast.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry about that!"

"Dear God, I never expected that of you!" Solly chuckled as Y/N scrambled to shut their phone off, dropping it in the process.

He'd find their behavior cute, but he wouldn't bring it back up unless Y/N wanted to talk about it.

But he'd ask Y/N to ease him into the genre, and it would take some time, but eventually he'd enjoy it.

PYRO

I would think their music taste varies, as there are so many other things we don't know about them (and probably never will).

Y/N was unable to attend a battle as they were down with a nasty cold (I know Medic could probably use his gun here but whatever haha). After the team got back, Pyro decided to whip up some soup for Y/N and the rest of the team.

Pyro was about to knock on the door when they heard Y/N playing some Lorna Shore in the background. They waited until the song was over before they actually knocked, causing Y/N to slightly yelp.

"Come in!" Y/N called. Pyro opened the door with their head tilted, as if to ask about the music.

"I've liked this kind of music for a long time now. Wanna listen with me?"

The two of them would spend some time shuffling through Y/N's playlist, completely forgetting about the soup (they later heat it back up so it wouldn't be wasted haha).

DEMOMAN

I'm convinced Demo would be open to listen to any kind of music, and screamo is no exception. He'd enjoy it even more while drunk (it's actually quite funny to watch).

One day he and Y/N decide to go out drinking at a karaoke bar nearby (it was Demo's birthday present). They both are pretty tipsy by the time it's their turn to sing.

Demo sings his part (and is predictably terrible at it but who cares xD). But when Y/N selected a screamo song and began singing, the bar grew silent.

"Go on, lass! Sing yer hear out!!!" Demo slurred, headbanging to the loud song.

The two ended up being escorted off the stage, since hardly anybody else was interested in listening to another second of the song. Once outside, Demo sobered up a little at the feel of the cool air hitting his drunken face.

"I'm so sorry, Demo. I ruined your birthday night out-" Y/N started before they were cut off.

" It's alright, hon. Let's head back so you can do some more screamin'~" He got even closer to Y/N's face.

"And I ain't talkin' about the music anymore..."

HEAVY

Not exactly a fan at first, but would be open to listen to a few recommendations.

Y/N was feeling quite lonely, so they decided to pop in with Heavy, who was busy cleaning Sasha for the ntheenth time that day. He didn't mind having some company, only if Y/N didn't make too much noise.

Y/N decided to listen to some Cannibal Corpse while Heavy worked. They must not have connected their Bluetooth headphones to their phone properly, because their phone played the song on full blast, nearly scaring the daylights out of Heavy.

"Матерь божья!" He exclaimed, dropping the rag from his hand. Y/N quickly shut their phone off, completely red in the face.

"I-I'm so sorry about that, Misha! I thought my headphones were connected..." Their words trailed off as Heavy stared at them in mild disbelief.

Heavy couldn't help but chuckle. "Heavy didn't know you liked this music!" He ruffled the top of Y/N's head playfully.

"Let Heavy finish cleaning Sasha, then we listen to some more later."

ENGINEER

Same with Heavy: not a big fan in the beginning. But if given a few songs, then he would give it a try.

It happened to be the team's day off, and Y/N decided to lounge around in one of their favorite T shirts. They just grabbed a random one, as their dresser wasn't exactly the best organized.

Engie happened to be in the breakroom when Y/N walked in for a small snack. His eyes lit up slightly when he saw them, and even more so when he read their T shirt.

"So you listen to 5FDP too, dear?" Y/N whipped their head around to look at Engie in shock.

"Oh, since high school. They're my favorite!" Y/N beamed excitedly.

"I can play a few of their songs on my 6 string. Interested in a listen, sweetie?"

Y/N couldn't help but gush at the fact that they met another fan, but also with the sudden pet names.

'Let's see where this goes...'

MEDIC

I see him as a closet fan. He'd let on that he's a rock fan, but not the full extent. Like he wouldn't mention that he liked bands like Linkin Park and Metallica.

But he'd act quite excited if he discovered that Y/N was also a fan.

Medic and Y/N happened to get into a conversation about said music genre. "Vhat sort of music do you listen to in your spare time, Schatz?"

Y/N was hesitant to answer. The last thing they wanted was being put on the spot like that. "You'd hate the kind of music I like, Medic."

He scoffed lightly. "I highly doubt zhat, Schatz! It can't be zhat bad, can it?"

Y/N fought back the urge to roll their eyes. "Okay, I like screamo. Like the heaviest of heavy metal." They averted their eye contact with doctor, not wanting to see his disapproving face.

"Really?!" Medic practically shouted, making Y/N flinch a little. "Zhat's amazing! It's so nice to finally meet another fan like me!" He couldn't wipe the smirk off his face.

Y/N was not expecting that kind of reaction from him, but at least they didn't feel that nervous anymore (even with the slight ear damage lol).

SNIPER

He's definitely the kind of man to like classic rock, like Eric Clapton and Lynyrd Skynyrd. He'd know of screamo, but wouldn't be too big a fan.

He and Y/N had become quite close over the past few weeks, and at one point he finally decided to allow them to accompany him to his tower.

Y/N decided to bring their earbuds along, but they didn't realize how loud their music was (it was enough for Sniper to tell what it was).

"You like that, Sheila? Never strike you as that kind of person." Sniper spoke with his eyebrow raised.

"Oh snap, I didn't think my music was that loud. Sorry about that, Mundy." Y/N apologized while rubbing their neck nervously.

"It's alright, love. Just keep it down a little, 'kay?" He smirked while gently squeezing their shoulder in reassurance.

SPY

Not a fan whatsoever. He's tried to get into it, but he just couldn't do it.

Y/N was a decent judge of character, so it didn't take a rocket scientist to know he didn't like that kind of music.

Months passed by since Y/N joined RED/BLU. And in that time, Spy has made them his personal protege. One day, Y/N happened to be scrolling through a website (on their phone) that sells their favorite band's merch.

Spy happened to take a little peek other their shoulder, a smirk creeping on his face.

"So that's what you like, Mon chéri?" Y/N nearly jumped out of their skin as he spoke right next to their ear. "You never cease to amaze me. I'm always finding out new things about you."

"Spy! Ever hear of personal space??" Y/N hissed while blushing furiously.

Spy let out a hearty laugh. "No need to act all feisty, honey. Besides, at least now I know what to get you for your birthday."

[epickiya722]

Ok, i think there was a bit of a misunderstanding here? Katsuki apparentely was talking abt recruiting Izuku as a sidekick since that was the topic of conversation i think, and Izuku refused bc he is already a teacher. Kirishima makes fun of them both for being dense dumbasses.

I think ppl were upset bc they thought Katsuki was inviting him to run the agency together instead of just working there.

Still, Katsuki mentioning how he hasn't accepted no interns bc none of them meet his Deku standards, and looking so tired after Izuku refused is still pretty painful to look at ngl. And the thought that they considered mentioning it in canon just to say "it ain't happening" is also kinda painful.

I thought that Katsuki was doing just that, asking Izuku to be an intern/sidekick there which is why I was confused that some were acting as if Izuku pulled the meanest glare to Katsuki and went "No, I hate you, I despise you, I curse you till the end of time".

This is why we WAIT before jumping to conclusions and cursing someone's existence.

Like, he turned down being an employee at an agency. Which I'm sure Izuku would have done to anybody else in their class had they offered the same.

I still don't have a recollection of Izuku and Katsuki ever mentioning running an agency together though. The most I remember is them wanting to be heroes together when they were kids. I do feel like the "running an agency together" aspect is fanon.

By the time Izuku and Katsuki were old enough to even though what an agency was their relationship was still rocky.

As sad as it is, I don't think Izuku deserves to be bashed for it by the fandom. He isn't the only dumbass here.

That was just sprung up on him and yeah, Izuku would want to continue being a teacher. Interning at an agency would be extra work for him. How he's even managing as a teacher and a Pro Hero?!

(Looks at Present Mic having about 50 occupations.)

Also, maybe just me, but I felt like that was something Katsuki could have asked in private.

I don't know... it was just something simple, but still giving how the scene is seemingly framed, that felt like had Kirishima not have been there, that could have been a conversation for Katsuki and Izuku to have instead of "hey, about you work at the agency" "no".

And wait, ain't no way Katsuki is really turning down interns because they're not Deku standards? No, Katsuki, honey... listen... there can only be one Izuku 'Deku' Midoriya. I adore him, you adore him. But... how can interns ever be up to Deku's level... IF YOU DON'T GIVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO GROW AND LEARN?!

He is such a disaster...

Just a thought though, it would have been so funny if on a later date, Katsuki tries asking him again and Izuku just goes "no" but that time Katsuki is just like "WHY?! YOU'LL HAVE YOUR OWN WORK SPACE AND THESE BENEFITS AND..." He goes on and on and then Izuku is like "Kacchan, try asking me again but in a different way".

And at first Katsuki doesn't get it until much later and then asks "would you like to run the agency with me" and Izuku says yes and that whole time Izuku knew Katsuki wouldn't settle for Izuku just working under him as an intern, but couldn't bring himself to ask Izuku to be his partner. So Izuku had to give him that push.

[veryextraincorrectfegbaquotes]

Sad Shanna Lore won the poll so now I present to you the text that explains that one thing age said while beating Ain with a chair!

To say it all changed when he died would be inaccurate. Him dying had just further entrenched things. Shanna had already been feeling minimised, underestimated and babied. She was naturally meek, shy and soft-spoken, and on top of all that she was the youngest of four sisters. The only way to avoid being babied would be to run away, and Shanna would never have the guts to do that. Well, she'd have the guts, but not the lack of sense to try to strike out on her own in a small town. Could she get set up? Sure, there'd be folk nice enough to give her a place. Could she avoid her family? No way in hell.

What sealed her away as shouting on the inside only was when her father died. He'd been a poor father, to say the least, but being handed a divorce made him realise what he'd been taking for granted, and made him desperate to reconnect with his family. But Fiora, Farina and Tate had all chosen their stance, and it was that they wanted nothing more to do with him. But Shanna was too young and too kind to a fault to genuinely hate him. So he brought everything he had to reconnecting with her. Days out, short trips, everything he could manage. It was the happiest she'd been in ages, since he kept bringing her to new places where she could try her hand at things. Winning at carnival games, going on the biggest roller-coasters, sitting in the splash zone. They were her efforts, her choices, hers.

Then he died. It was a mundane thing, slipped at home, hit his head on the edge of a counter, nobody there to call for help, closed his eyes and never opened them again. For everyone in Shanna's family except her, it was a morbid convenience. A drawn out divorce involving a man they wanted nothing to do with was suddenly tidied up. They could wash their hands of him, and so they did. They assumed Shanna felt the same. Assumed she'd just been humouring him, meek little Shanna too shy to tell him no. They didn't go to his funeral. So no-one could take Shanna. They never even imagined she might want to go. Too sad an affair for someone as emotional as her, they reasoned.

Who could she talk to about this? Tell her family that the man they could never love again she'd learned to love? Not forgive, but still see value in? Someone to cry over in private? Someone all the photos of had been thrown out, except the few she had snagged and hidden? They hated him. She couldn't say they were wrong to hate him, he'd earned it. But she didn't hate him. She didn't hate anyone. She hated conflict. So she withdrew yet further, spending her time alone. Her dear sisters would only see her as their baby sister. Her mother would only see her as her baby girl. Did anybody see Her? Was it only when she looked in the mirror? Was it ever?

With no-one to talk to, nobody she felt she could be genuine with, and no desire to cause trouble, Shanna could do nothing. She could sit in her room, look at secret photos and write in secret diaries, while away hours reading scary stories and watching scary videos to remind her she was alive. Was she depressed? How could she tell? If she was, what would it matter? Who would she tell, what would she do. Stay quiet, stay out of the way, say Hi with a smile, do your chores and a bit extra to show you care, stay in your room so you don't spend more time than you have to feeling like your family is condescending you. One day into the next into the next, look out the window at night and wonder if anyone else feels like this, put your hand against the glass, hoping a bit of your warmth can reach them if they're out there, get a bit scared from staring out into the darkness. Night into day, day into night, what day is it? Doesn't matter. Nothing can keep earnest little Shanna down, she's anxious and scared but does her best! It's not wrong, but it's not everything.

Go on forums and never say anything. Go in chatrooms and don't type. It doesn't feel real, but what does? Day in, day out. Have I seen this video before? Are they all blending together? No matter, watch it again, it's not real anyway. Say Hi with a smile, do your chores and a bit extra to show you care, go to the town wall just to look out at the forest, imagine going there at night, it'd be so scary but so alive. Does the tree falling alone in the forest at least own the thud it makes? Ride your pegasus, imagine just flying in a direction and not stopping until you hit the ground. Where would you end up? Would the sky look different, there? Is emptiness less lonely than feeling like nobody sees you? Does any of it matter out there, with nobody else in sight or sound? Day in, day out.

Get dragged out of your room, told to make a friend. Push back, you're tired of always acquiescing, emptiness is comfortable now. Meet someone, she's different from you, but also seem to want to get away from everyone in the world for a while. You feel like there would be comfortable, but still not yours. She feels like she'd belong there, like a proud stone pillar, like Stonehenge. Maybe you could learn from her? Is this being friends? Being with her makes you happier, it'd been a while. She's protective, but not to a degree that makes you want to go somewhere else. She doesn't bar you from things, if you say you want to try she hangs back as you try. She's harsh, not as harsh as she is to others but still enough to make it feel like she knows you can handle it. Her name is Clarine. She's your best friend.

Day in, day out. Go spend the day with her, both of you want nothing else. Go out walking, go have picnics, go to her place that's small but being so close to her makes your heart flutter. Smile brightly, hurry through your chores but still doing a bit extra to show you care, almost skip out the door to see your friend, tell her stories about the things you do without her, she listens and questions, doesn't just pat your head and call you cute. Day in, day out, always something to look forward to. Look at the photos, wonder what it would've been like if they'd met. Only look at them though, not staring. Don't stay up late, lots to do tomorrow. Go on an adventure, do things that matter that only you are trusted to do. Everything has changed and it's all getting better. Still not time to tell her about the past, but it's not as important anymore.

[bkgexe]

he ain't heavy (he's my—)

caleb (love and deepspace) x reader ✾ 8.3k

info! You and he used to be synonyms. Two words with the same definition. The question you both try and fail to answer: what are you now? ✾ tw! pseudocest. and im sorry. size difference mention multiple times. f!reader, referred to with gendered language ✾ notes! lordddddd they're so weird i need them to be together. this is really sappy and self-indulgent and the smut is like. ???? i don't even know. look mc's got a lot to think abt while getting railed. you can also read on ao3 instead with like proper grammar and stuff lmaooooo

you’ve always been like this with him. a little more childish, a little more petulant. it doesn’t matter that you’re older now, that you consider yourself a decently mature person when it comes to every other situation in your life. 

he hurt you, and you want to hurt him back.

maybe hurt is a small word for what he’s done. you missed him. you mourned him. you went back to the burnt husk of your childhood neighborhood for weeks after the explosion, looking for any trace of him that might’ve gone unnoticed. as if you would be able to discern his remnants because you knew him better than anybody else. like you could pick his ashes from the rest, set them aside and declare them clothing or muscle or tooth. 

the two of you were inseparable when you were younger. even when you got into different hobbies, made friends outside of each other, attended different academies after high school—it was unspoken that your home was with one another. you grew up, but not apart. long periods of time spent away from each other were difficult. you might have doubted that he felt the same if he didn’t constantly tell you how much he missed you, if he hadn’t been the one that called you every day, that asked if you were eating enough, that texted to make sure you were going to bed at a reasonable hour.

the more unfamiliar distance is, the sharper it becomes. you can’t see the blade of it at arm’s length. when caleb died, you became acquainted with distance so quickly that you couldn’t remember what it felt like when the knife wasn’t already between your ribs.

you’re sure he felt that too. your wounds mirror each other’s, as they often do. as they often did. but there’s no comparing temporary and permanent. antonyms. something you and caleb hadn’t been until now. it’s why you want him to hurt. it’s why you want to lash out like you used to when you were a child, mad because he went and played with his friends for too long, frustrated because his fingers would tangle in your hair and pull uncomfortably when he undid your braids. you’re doing that on purpose, you would accuse, and he would laugh and call you a crybaby. 

lashing out requires his presence. this is why you seek him out. even though he still doesn’t tell you everything—can’t, he reminds you whenever it’s brought up—you still visit him whenever he tells you he has time off, allow him into your home when he shows up uninvited. you pretend that you don’t know it’s not a coincidence when you run into him in both skyhaven and linkon, more often than not when you’re hanging out with male friends. you want him to be there because you can’t hurt him if he’s not around. maybe it’s unfair, but you’re allowed to act like this with him—he’s your big brother. was. tenses have been harder since he returned. you had only just gotten used to putting everything in the past. the present is different than it used to be. you’re adjusting at too slow a pace, already tired from the adjusting you had to do after his death.

but there’s something that’s been building between you that’s different. something like heat, something you’re not sure you should feel with a person you once considered as close as family. something you can’t look at closely, its details all primed to change things too dramatically, too quickly.

the point: you’ve known caleb your whole life. (you’ve also known zayne your whole life, an entirely unhelpful voice in your brain provides, and your grandma always joked about the two of you getting married.) that doesn’t matter. it’s inconsequential. he didn’t grow up in the same home as you, like caleb did. he didn’t walk you home from school every day, or help you dry your hair on wash days, or make you late night meals when you had to stay up doing homework.

(zayne also doesn’t give you the kind of look caleb does when you come visit him, like you’re the sun and the center of the universe and the most perfect being to ever exist all at once.)

you like being revered—who doesn’t? but that’s normal, because people often hold their family members in high regard. in the same way you hold caleb. because you’ve looked up to him your whole life, from when he was getting into fights as a kid to protect you from bullies up until now, where—despite the things he’s keeping from you—he’s very obviously taking on more than he can handle. you’ve always admired his selflessness, his willingness to carry burdens. like atlas, a world forever on his back. your entire universe sitting in the divot between his wide shoulders.

caleb made you cry after he went to the daa only once, when you first visited. you were terribly attached to him, devastated by him leaving home. you were an emotionally high-strung wreck and anything even slightly distressing made you well up, made it feel like the world was coming to an end. maybe that’s just being sixteen.

but his roommate had come back to their dorm and asked, “oh, is this your sister?”

caleb had been laughing with you only moments prior. he stayed smiling, but there was something underneath—a seriousness that he reserved for anyone but you. a little cold, ultimately more severe than you ever thought he should have to be. “no,” he said, like the idea itself was ridiculous. “we just grew up together.”

people had referred to you as brother and sister plenty when you were little, and even though it wasn’t actually the truth, it wasn’t something you dismissed as easily as caleb had to his roommate. you were tearing up when you asked him about it. the hormones, the devastation, the thought of him wanting to remove himself from your life in some fashion.

“i just—don’t see you that way,” he told you. “it doesn’t mean you’re not special to me. you’re the most special to me.”

you’d accepted it because he called you special and (back then, not so much now) you could always tell when he was lying.

(maybe you’ve never been good at discerning his lies from truth. maybe the two run so concurrently that they rest hand-in-hand, so colored by the other that they don’t have clear start and end points. synonyms, like you and caleb used to be. you worry that you don’t know him the way you thought you did when you were a teenager, when you could call him and accurately predict which ring he’d pick up on.)

you always feel flushed when you think of him like this. heat on your face. because he’s not your brother. or he was, but he isn’t now. or he is still, in some ways, and in some ways he’s not. he’s still the boy that showed you how to catch fireflies and poke holes in the top of mason jars so they could light up the porch during summer nights, and you’re still the girl that reminded him to open up the jars before you both went to bed so that the fireflies would be there to catch another day. but he’s also the man that looks at you with something so terribly heavy in his gaze that you’re scared to put it into words—and you’re also the woman that surrenders into the warmth of his palm when he cups your face, that doesn’t pull away when your mouths are so close that you can feel his breath on your lips.

it's this new heat. new, you tell yourself, even though you know it goes back further.

you touched yourself to the thought of him even before he died. this is something you can’t ever tell anyone—can barely even think about yourself. it was an accident. it didn’t count. you got distracted and thought about his thumb against your tongue and his broad shoulders under your hands and the weight of him between your thighs and you came so hard that it felt like dying, just a little. every time it happened after that, the mantra: it was an accident. it didn’t count. it was an accident.

and you wonder if you could classify the way you punish him as an accident, too. because you want him to hurt. but you also know what he wants most, in some abstract way. it would be clear if you let yourself think about it, but the same haze fixes itself over those thoughts—accident, doesn’t count—so you act half on instinct. a vague comment here, a gaze that lingers too long there. a finger drawn up the back of his uniform’s coat after you fix his collar, ghosting across the long length of his spine. 

a fever pitch. its synonyms: excitement, agitation. two opposites shoved into the same feeling. that’s the only way to describe the way things are around you and caleb now. breaths are counted, often hitched. touches are limited before they get dangerous. caleb has invited you to skyhaven for a long weekend, even with the fever pitch, the heat and the excitement and the agitation. maybe he’s a glutton for punishment. maybe he knows he deserves it. maybe he’ll take you any way he can have you.

“there she is,” he says when you let yourself in, the same way he always does. grinning wide like he can’t stop himself. handsome in a way that makes your stomach twist. your mouth goes a little dry when you see that he’s only half dressed, just in his uniform slacks and socks because he didn’t realize how early you’d be getting to his place. 

the socks are ones he got when he was with you. cheap, girly, cute. pink and green, little frogs dotted all across his large feet. you’d been walking around skyhaven together and it had started raining, and soon enough your shoes and socks were soaked, same as his. he took you to a convenience store and bought temporary replacements, and these were the only socks, for some reason, that were sold in men’s sizes. 

“dressed up for today, huh?” you ask, motioning to the socks. “special occasion? were you the belle of the ball?”

“i got to dance with the prince and everything,” he tells you. comes over to greet you with a hug, and you try to ignore the heat of his skin, his unbuckled belt. he’s so big that the embrace swallows you up, makes you feel like you’re eighteen again and caleb is coming home from the daa to see you. home is the word that sticks in your mind, that refuses to leave. “and, would you believe it, they crowned me homecoming queen.”

“i thought they stopped doing that at royal gatherings,” you say into his chest. “too many queens in one room, you know? a lot of tension.” 

he laughs and holds you for longer than you feel is necessary. you have to shoo him away to get ready and try not to let your eyes wander as he walks to his—your?—bedroom. that matter will have to be settled before you sleep here tonight. you do a decent job at not looking at his wide, muscled back.

you do less of a good job at not looking when all he puts on is one of his old sleeveless shirts and a pair of basketball shorts from the daa. like you’re both back home. like he never left. irresistible isn’t a word that caleb is allowed. not in the context of you. but when he’s like this—when things feel close to before—that word comes closer to applying.

“wanna go to the ice cream place around the corner?” he grins when he asks you this, cocky, because he already knows your answer. “i think they have that weird old man flavor you like. what is it? rum raisin?”

“pecan praline,” you say, but you know he already knew that too. “and shut up, it’s good.”

he takes you to ice cream and pays. gets rocky road for himself. takes licks from your ice cream cone when you let down your defenses and makes you watch the flat of his tongue curl in a way that should be illegal.

well—he doesn’t make you watch. you make yourself watch. you think you would die if you didn’t. you wonder if he notices because he takes more licks than he has any right taking of a flavor he describes as "ancient and gross.”

when you get home—to his home, you clarify in your mind, though he has gone through pains to make it feel like yours as well—the ice cream is all gone. your hands are a little sticky. the cost of something whimsical and fun. he asks if you want to watch a movie before dinner and you say, “i don’t want to watch a movie.”

and everything gets a little quiet.

you hate that there’s something building between you. you hate that you can’t look it in the face and very easily figure out exactly what it is. you hate spending time with him but you don’t think life would be worth living if you never got to spend time with him again.

“what do you wanna do, then?” his voiced is laced with insinuation. you don’t think he meant to sound like this. his eyes dart away from yours for a moment to safer territory before coming back.

you feel like you’re in high school, like you’re visiting a guy friend’s home and he’s doing something that’s going to make you call caleb to come pick you up. except you don’t want to go home and you don’t want to be picked up and caleb is already right here in front of you, where you’ve maybe wanted him always.

“i want—” you start, and you can’t. you can’t look at it.

he steps towards you. he’s big—so much bigger than you remember. wider. he’s put on muscle since he came to skyhaven and part of you wants to know how much. “hmm?”

you want something he can’t give you. you want that something so bad you could unravel into yarn, ball yourself up and roll under a bed somewhere, never to be found. you think that longing and mourning are two different flavors of the same thing.

“cook for me,” you command, because telling him to do something is easier than making yourself do something, and you can have space from him while he’s in the kitchen.

he makes you dinner. your favorite. has the ingredients on hand like always, like when you used to drop in on him at the daa. like he was always prepared for you to be a part of his life, a permanent fixture. you eat together while watching a film that just came out, one you both wanted to see. thought you said you didn’t want to watch a movie, he teases when you put it on, and you ignore him because you’re both well aware that he’s prodding at a wound that’s liable to open.

the idea of space was abandoned the second he sat down—you’re pressed flush against his side, your head resting on his shoulder when you’re not taking bites of his incredible cooking. it’s the way you used to eat together when you were kids. you’re aware of every stretch of bare skin that touches his. he takes up so much space—needs basically half of the couch to accommodate him, leaning back, legs spread wide. he’s your caleb when he’s like this: relaxed, always poised to smile, wearing the same clothes he’s worn since high school.

you stretch your legs out across his lap, curling yourself into him. his arm instinctually reaches across the back of the couch, lets you find purchase against his chest. it’s a familiar spot. distance seems far away, a dulled knife. this is your well-worn home, a niche you carved out with your bare hands over many years.

he clears his throat and his body stiffens. just a little. doesn’t count, your mind provides. a false memory, his thumb against your lips. an accident. “gettin’ comfy?”

“mmhmm.” you let him take your empty plate from you to put it on the side table, the muscles of his chest shifting and flexing underneath your cheek. you free up one of your legs and run your instep down his bare shin. go further, loop back so the outside of your foot traces a path up his calf, smooths against dark hair and warm skin.

he stops breathing altogether for a moment. but then he laughs low, like he’s amused, like you can’t hear the hollowness in it. “need me to move? we can’t both fit in this seat.”

sometimes you wish you could fit in his skin. that your bones could lie next to each other’s long before you’re buried together. that you could be synonyms again, that your definitions could match. 

(but you wonder, even if the explosion never happened, if there wouldn’t have eventually been this rift between the two of you. if it was an accident it doesn’t count would’ve been able to hide everything forever, if you could’ve succeeded in living happily like you always had. as family.)

“i’m not comfortable yet,” you grumble, petulant, and you get closer. scoot your body until you’re nearly sitting on his closest thigh. 

his free hand goes to your legs immediately. firm. holding you purposefully, a little more distant from his body than you want. “careful,” he warns very quietly. his voice is cold. that new tone that you’re not as familiar with. that he never used to use with you.

it’s him showing too much. careful of what? you could ask, and he wouldn’t be able to answer you. 

and then, the return of the caleb you know, as if he’d never left. “you wanna sit in my lap?” an innocent question, tinged with boyish charm. if he controls it, he can handle it. his voice is a little hoarse, only around the edges. you pretend not to notice.

you used to sit in his lap and nap against his chest all the time when you were little. there wasn’t this feeling there before. this trepidation. there wasn’t the man who used to be your brother holding you away from the lines that could be crossed because the lines hadn’t been there.

now, when you nod, he situates you easily. part strength, part evol. he places you mid-thigh, moves his legs closer together to give you more of a seat. brings your arms up to wrap around his neck, hands smoothing up your forearms and leaving nothing but heat in their wake. “better?” he asks. 

you want to be closer. your throat burns with something you don’t want to name. he wears the same cologne he started wearing his first year at the daa, the one that you got him for his birthday. light and clean and after a while it became so intrinsic to the thought of him that you bought a second bottle to spray on your pillows when he was away from home. you often thought about burying your nose against his neck just to smell, just to take in as much of him as you could. 

and what’s he going to do to stop you? it seems like you’re both incapable of addressing this terrible thing that sits between you—this half-truth, this accident. you tilt your head up, nose brushing the underside of his jaw. he inhales sharply, begins to turn towards you in askance, but you hold his chin with your thumb. tilt his head so you have better access to his neck.

he lets you, because he always lets you have whatever you want. spoiled. you breathe in deeply and you can smell his pulse, his fear, his sweat. you feel the way he swallows against the skin between your nose and your lips.

this isn’t close enough. you move to straddle him—your legs bracket his, your face buried in the skin of his neck, cheeks burning hot against his skin. you breathe in deep and it’s still not enough. you need him inside you in a way that doesn’t make sense. not sex—something deeper. you want the air in his lungs to be in yours. you want his blood to pump through your body, keep you alive. you want his scent beneath your skin, trapped, only for you. your nails scratch across the hair at the nape of his neck. 

his hands go to your hips like instinct, like magnetism. his touch is the difference between temporary and permanent. or it could be. “wait,” he says, voice a rasp, a scrap of something ruined. “wait.”

“what?” you ask. what you really want to ask is should i not be doing this? you shouldn’t. you shouldn’t and you know this and there are many reasons why. 

your lips drag across his neck when you speak and he groans, a deep noise punched out of him, his fingers digging deeper into your skin. he had to do sensitivity training when he got the metal arm, he told you when you had discovered him doing repairs, when you added another secret he was keeping to the growing pile. another piece of the boy you knew lost to you forever. he had to train himself to hold pieces of fruit without bruising the skin. how easily he could bruise yours. “pip-squeak,” he says, chastising—playing at brother, playing at something he can no longer be. “what are you doing?”

he’s already hard, stiff against your thigh. this is not a position he should be in if he wants to play house with you still, play at family even though he told you all those years ago that he doesn’t see you like that. he knows what you’re doing. you know what you’re doing. you take the lobe of his ear in between your teeth and he pulls you against him like he can't stop himself, hips rolling to find friction, a moan building in his chest. an automatic response, a base need. the feeling of him hard between your legs makes you want to pry your own skin off with need.

“i can’t—” he starts, pushing you away again. scrambling to be a better man. holds you just so, makes sure your bodies aren’t flush. he’s never been able to fully remove you—just keep you at a distance, somewhere he can control your comings and goings. his fingers graze your wrist, then trap it easily. you let it happen because you want to. he pulls your hand from his face, frees himself, forces you to remove yourself from hiding and look at him. you can barely look him in the eye—too afraid of what you see in his gaze. something like desire atop the usual reverence. he brings his captured prize close to his lips, his breath warm against your palm. “i don’t wanna make assumptions.”

laughable. this is past assumptions. but you understand. an accident. it doesn’t count. there are excuses, even now, you could use to get out of this. “if you were going to make one,” you ask, “what would it be?”

he smiles, that terrible little grin that got him into so much trouble as a kid, but it’s a facsimile. a performance. something he’s gotten better at since he died—but you know him too well. he looks at your palm like he wants to lay his face there, nuzzle into your warmth. you want to tame him like a dog. you want to be the only person that knows him for the rest of his life. “it’d be one that’d change things,” he says, a little more serious. not cold. still caring—just a warning. this is a point of no return. this is something I can’t come back from.

“as if things haven’t already changed,” you say, and you sound bitter because you are. because you’re not just talking about him between your legs, beneath you. 

you know him too well. his expression falters. he’s worried that you’re being self-destructive, that you're not doing this because you want to. you can see it on his face—the muted hope turning into concern, the desire banking its flames because there’s another problem to deal with, another emotion he has to fix for you. this is when you failed an exam at the hunter academy and told him you wanted to drop out. this is you catastrophizing, making the worst of a problem because if it already hurts, it might as well hurt more.

before he can put a true end to this, you say, “there was a point where you saw me as your sister.”

he swallows hard. his cock twitches against your thigh but you have to ignore that for your own sanity. “not now.”

you consider your next words very carefully. realize you shouldn't say them. “you’re the only person i ever think about when i touch myself.”

his breath stills. he says your name, quiet, like that’s going to stop you.

you’re punishing him. you’re punishing yourself. if you were a better person, you’d tell him you love him instead of telling him this. “if i’m not thinking about you, i can’t...” the word feels dirty. something you shouldn’t say in front of caleb, even though in your fantasies, he’s the one that makes you cum with his fingers, his tongue, then tells you how much he loves you after. he’s the one that fucks you like it’s the thing he was made to do.

he lets go of your wrist, runs a shaky hand down his face. breathes out through his nose in a way that sounds pained. “why are you doing this?”

“you always told me that i should tell my big brother the truth.” it’s the worst thing you could have said and it shows. he looks so guilty that you almost feel bad for him. but there are other things he should feel more guilty for, arguably worse than this. for you—for his punishment—this can be enough. “did you change your mind?”

he stares at you for a long moment, obviously warring with himself inside his head. the choice: to give in or to push you away. one of those would be the right thing, and one of those is what he wants. are you his sister or not? are you more than that, or less?

that question you can answer. more, always. because it’s the same for you. he’s always been more, the center of your universe. you gladly fell into his orbit long ago, and there’s nothing he could do that would make you want to leave.

his chest rises and falls rapidly beneath his sleeveless shirt. his arms tense as he reaches for you, then stops himself. “it feels like you’re doing this because you hate me.”

so he’s caught on to the fact that this is punishment, partially. “i could never hate you,” you say. “didn’t you tell me that, too?”

“when’d you get so mean, huh?” he asks. “where’s that pretty girl i grew up with?”

you sulk a little. tactical. “do you not think i’m pretty now?”

“‘course i do,” he says, giving in to what he wants, trailing long fingers up the side of your neck, spreading out his hand to hold your jaw. “still the prettiest girl in the world.” he��s looking at your lips, your chin in his hand, his words so quiet it’s almost as if they’re not for you. 

“do you do the same?”

“hmm?” he asks, still distracted by the tips of his fingers and their proximity to your lips. what could be: his thumb on your tongue. an accident. or not, anymore.

“do you think about me when you make yourself cum?”

a deep groan, this time. his hand moving to hold you in place by the back of your neck, his forehead against yours. the way he used to check your temperature when you were sick. he always takes care of you. he squeezes, and you think of the bruised skin of a fruit, you think of just how much pain you’d have to inflict for him to feel it. “if we do this,” he says, “i’m yours for good.”

yours for good. “i thought you already were?”

he looks up at you, laughs breathlessly. shocked, maybe, by your claim. amused by it. but not contesting it. “i really did spoil you too much when you were little, didn’t i?”

he did. you reach between your bodies, tugging at the tag of the necklace you’d gifted him when he graduated high school and regifted him when he came back from the dead. he knows what you want. you’re synonyms again, even if briefly. your desires run parallel.

he kisses you like he’s done it a million times, like it’s familiar. his mouth warm against yours, his body yielding under your touch, and you let out a noise that feels like mourning. there’s something lost in this moment even as there’s something gained. 

he pulls you to him closer, like he’s trying to make up for the loss. his tongue slides across yours, warm and careful despite his harsh grip on you. you part so he can pull at the hem of your shirt, and wordlessly you take it off, request the same of him. 

there’s a period of time he just spends looking at you, gaze hazy, fingers trailing up your sides. it’d feel like scrutiny if you didn’t understand it so well—finally seeing the real thing when you’ve imagined it so many times. it takes a moment for fantasy and reality to click, for you to realize that you’re not dreaming.

“i'm gonna move us, okay?” it’s now that he cracks, that he realizes he doesn’t want to have you on his couch. he’s always been like this—traditional in some ways, odd in others. your first time is going to be in his bed, you think, because that’s where first times are supposed to be. 

and you’re right—he carries you to his bedroom, mechanical arm looped underneath your legs. he has the skin graft on. you hate that there’s a new part of him that’s hidden to you, that you don’t know as well as the rest of him.

when he lays you down on his cool sheets, lays himself between your legs, intent on kissing you again, you stop him. a finger against his lips. he looks down at you, a little frantic. “you wanna stop?” he asks. his tone implies that this would be okay. his body language does not. if you wanted to stop, he’d let you—but he would never let you uncross the line of touching him the way you have. you can hear the fear in his voice. the worry that you’ll ask for things to go back to normal and for the first time in his life, he won’t be able to give you what you want.

you shake your head. relief makes the lines of his body soften, makes him take the hand you still have proffered to him and softly kiss each knuckle one by one. you use his sudden pliability to grab his hand, pull it closer to your face. you inspect the grafted skin closely, pretend it doesn’t make you insane that he can’t feel the touch. it alarms you how faithful it is to the original, even though you’re assuming there wasn’t much of caleb’s arm left to replace after the explosion. he has a scar on his ring finger from knocking a boy’s tooth out after he tried to touch you inappropriately on the playground at school. it’s still there, smooth and pearlescent. you kiss it and wonder if he remembers.

“something's on your mind. you gonna tell me what it is?” he asks. kisses you light and reassuring. confident, like this is something routine from the entire time he’s known you. you wonder if it’s the same for him: you imagine having something so often that when it's finally yours, it’s easy to forget that there was a point where it wasn’t.

“i don’t want you to belong to anyone but me,” you tell him. it’s the tamest of what you could say. you’re worried you’ll scare him with the intensity of your thoughts, with the need you feel for him. 

“thought we covered that,” he says. yours for good. he sports that boyish grin that you could never capture in photos because his whole heart is only in the expression when he’s looking you in the eyes. it makes you feel like an animal in heat and like you’re saying goodbye to a loved one for good. two opposites shoved inside the same feeling, forced to become synonyms.

you make him undress entirely, your breath nearly petering out when you see him fully, his body a trained weapon. he's so hard for you that it looks painful, that he shudders and grabs your wrist when you try to slide your palm against him. "not yet," he tells you, lightly snaps the strap of your bra. when you undress you keep your panties on. you didn’t wear anything special for him—didn’t think being with caleb like this would be in the realm of possibility, even though everything has been leading here for weeks—but he still short-circuits at the sight of you in very regular underwear. stares for too long before pulling at the elastic with his long fingers, eyes fluttering closed, breath coming quick. “god… look at you.” his fingers dip into the waistband, tug a little harder.

“not yet,” you say. copying him, like you used to when you were younger. bat your eyelashes at him when he gives you an exasperated look. he laughs like he’s not at the edge of his patience, laughs like your commands are amusing to him, but silently complies. he slots himself between your legs, ruts against you, kisses you messier and messier. your underwear is ruined by his precum and your arousal, the fabric so slick that it’s almost like you’re feeling him skin-to-skin. almost, but not quite. the noises he makes go from composed to completely unrestrained. you’re making him wait longer than you should, maybe. 

“what if i told you to cum like this?” you ask, legs tightening around him.

he makes a defeated noise, a plea devoid of words. “you have to let me cum inside you.”

“i have to?” you ask, teasing. then, a little pouty: “you’d say no?”

he pulls away from you and groans, and in his eyes are you’re killing me here and i can’t believe we’re doing this and clearer than that i need you, i need you however i can have you. “no,” he says after a moment. “no, i’d do it, but—give me something. let me eat you out, at least. please.”

you relent. maybe you’re too easy to persuade. but you think, in all honesty, that you’re just as bad at saying no to him as he is to you. you pull him back between your legs, drag his hand as if commanding him. you use his fingers to slip your panties to the side. “i just wanted to hear you say you’d do it.”

when he touches you fully for the first time, his skin meeting wet heat, the noise that comes from his chest is indecent, fully broken. “oh… fuck,” he says, and like he can’t stop himself, there’s a long finger inside of you, curling, and then two. he sits back to watch, to see where he disappears inside of you, and you want more than just this.

“caleb,” you say, and he should know what you mean because he always does. the different tones of his name—whether you want him to do something for you, or stop what he’s doing, or do something different entirely—it’s a language. even with this new element to your relationship, the basics haven’t changed.

he knows this. he understands. he smiles, wide and wicked. “what?”

“you know what.”

“yeah, i know what.” his focus is unbroken. he’s always been intense about the things he thinks are important. “i’m gonna make you cum first, and then you can have what you want. sound good?”

you would respond but his thumb finds your clit and he works you like he’s always known what your body wants. maybe he has. maybe it’s automatic, a knowledge deep in his cells from all the time you’ve spent together. 

he looks so smug you could stop everything right now just to wipe that look off his face. you could give him everything he ever wanted just to keep seeing it. there’s a deep thrum within your body that’s just his name over and over again, like he’s the blood pumping through you, like he’s the only thing you need to stay alive. 

“wait,” you say, and at first he doesn’t but when he realizes you’re serious, he stills, concern putting a crease between his brows. but you’re fine with his plan. you just want something. “keep kissing me?”

“needy,” he chides, but his expression softens. less cocky, more reverent. he keeps a slow pace until you need it faster, keeps his fingers pumping inside of you until you tighten around them so much that he can’t move them anymore, until every breath feels like a moan. and the whole time his lips on yours, the kisses much too chaste for what he’s currently doing to you. so careful, so loving. 

when you finish on his fingers he chuckles, presses an open mouth kiss to your neck that has your thighs clenching around his arm with a force that makes you scared you could snap bones. 

“no way in hell were you gonna get me off first,” he says into your neck.

“it wasn’t a competition,” you say.

“it kinda was,” he says. kisses the flutter of your pulse, teeth so close to your skin that it’s all you can think about. he pulls off your final piece of clothing, fingers still wet, tracing your own slick across your skin. “and i won. so i’m gonna help myself to my reward now.”

it makes sense that your first time with him is in missionary because that’s how you’ve always imagined it. you want to see his eyes, his face, the way his jaw clenches when he fills you entirely. the only thing that's different from your fantasies: it’s unspoken the way you both need to be making unbroken eye contact as he slides in. as he stretches you much farther than his fingers did. 

you keen like a dog when he bottoms out, and he looks bereft of belief. laughs, breathy, like this is something easy to brush off, like this isn’t him inside of you for the first time, and then gets very serious, quiets, because there’s no way to minimize this moment. you’re connected in one of the deepest ways you can be. he barely breathes. he doesn’t stop looking you in the eye, a connection so intense that you can almost feel it more than him physically within you. 

he can’t keep it up when he begins to move. he brings you forehead to forehead, one hand holding himself up and the other gripping the head of the bed frame—the mechanical hand, because you hear the groan of twisting metal, and you think of skin bruising, you think of how easily he could kill you. how easily you could kill him. because he’d let you, if you tried. if you really wanted him dead.

“i don’t understand what you do to me,” he pants. you wonder if he misspoke or if he really doesn’t understand what it is you do to him, why he feels the way he does. his thrusts grow increasingly frantic, hips sloppy in their movements. “thought about this—so much," he tells you, and you know he's telling the truth by the way his voice breaks on the words.

the thought of him being with someone other than you crosses your mind and you feel pain so sharp you could die. you dig your teeth into his shoulder because you want to mark him. you want to mark him so deep that it’s retroactive, that anyone that might have seen him like this before you knows that he was always destined to end up yours.

he whines, pitchy, a hand—flesh and blood, the one he can feel you with—pushing your thighs up higher, spreading you out to infinite ends. “that’s good, baby,” he murmurs—about the bite, you think. he tries to pull you closer, as if you could get closer than this. you feel him in your throat, he’s so deep. “love you,” he whispers, quiet like he didn’t mean to say it, but he repeats it again, and again, and again.

and you love him so much. you love him so much you could burst with it. you hate that he left you and you hate that he’s different now and you hate that there are parts of him you don’t know entirely, that you didn’t help create. you cradle his head, let him whisper into your ear, press a kiss to his hairline between shaky breaths. 

“not gonna last,” he bites out, voice tight. “can you... please, one more time for me?”

it’s easy with the pressure that’s building within you. his hand moves between you, messy, thumb pawing at your clit with little to no rhythm. confident but clearly inexperienced. it doesn’t matter—it’s him, caleb, and you’ve wanted him like this for so long that even that small touch is enough to push you over, to have your muscles tensing and collapsing and folding in on themselves. you curl around him like you’re never going to let him go. 

his hips snap to yours once, twice more before he spills inside of you, your name spoken over and over again. a mantra. an accident. it didn’t count.

but this counted. this wasn’t an accident. this was everything you wanted since the first time you saw him as more than a brother, more than the boy you grew up with. his cum inside of you and his spit in your mouth and your name on his lips. his skin wedged underneath your fingernails as you leave whatever marks you can. undeniable proof that you were here, that you were his, that he was yours.

he lies against you—holding himself up, maybe, so he doesn’t crush you with his weight. but you want all of it. you want to feel all of him always. you lay in silence for a minute before either of you have the strength to move. you card your nails through his hair and he hums into your neck, then rolls you, uses his strength instead of his evol to carefully place you at his side. you slide your arm across his perfect chest, curl a thigh and slot your calf between his. now that you’ve been that close, it’s impossible to remove yourself.

loudly, he hums again, satisfied. you'd be annoyed with him if the sound didn't put such warmth in your chest. he plays with the ends of your hair, kisses the top of your head. “so… are you gonna patch up my injuries or do i have to call a medical team?”

you snort, smacking his chest. still flushed, so pretty in the dim light of the bedroom. “i didn’t do anything that bad.”

“i dunno, you bit me pretty hard." he plays at massaging his shoulder, and for a moment you worry. but even if you did hurt him—even if you drew blood—you think he wouldn't mind. "if it scars I’m gonna have to think of something to tell people when they ask me about it.”

“just tell them it was me,” you say. you’re only half joking.

“you wouldn’t believe how I got this,” he says to an imagined crowd. “my girlfriend’s got chompers like you’ve never seen.”

he can’t see your face, but you bite your lip—hide the magnitude of your smile. press your heated face into his chest and enjoy the way his drying sweat feels against your skin. “someone should take her in for scientific study,” you respond. an unspoken answer to his unspoken question. “put her in a museum.”

“nah, you can’t spend all your time being studied. you’ve got more important places to be.”

“my job?” you ask. “protecting linkon?”

“hmm…” he pretends to think about it, rubs his chin against the top of your head. musses up your hair on purpose to make you laugh. like when you were younger and would sleep huddled up next to him after a nightmare, but so much different. “no. here with me.”

you sigh, dramatic, as if that’s not the only place you ever want to be. “guess i’ll have to disappoint the greater scientific community.”

“i’d keep you here with me forever if i could.” his playfulness is suddenly gone. the words are full of longing, the kind that feels sticky, the kind where you know you can never truly have everything you want but you’ll take what you can get.

there are so many things that would make this impossible—not just the impracticality, but the pieces of your lives. the outside forces driving a wedge between the two of you. the secrets, the things that have changed, the things that have stayed too much the same. and yet, if things were simpler, you could want that. just to be his implicitly, and him yours, and nothing else. only existing to each other. synonyms, almost—something closer than that. one word with two slightly different meanings. in minutiae, the same.

there’s no way to truly put this into words for him. “forever could be negotiated,” you say, and hope that some fraction of what you feel is expressed in the words. you want to keep him in a way that’s impossible. you want to hold him in your mouth like a secret, in your body like a breath.

he’s quiet for a while. holding you, feeling your permanence. “you can say you love me back, you know. i won’t even tease you for it.”

and you remember the way he whispered love you, i love you, fuck, i’m so in love with you into your ear and feel guilty for not saying it then, for making him wait. but the words are heavy. trapped. it’s difficult to say a secret aloud after you’ve kept it for so much time, despite the fact that it’s already been revealed.

you prop yourself up on an arm, take his face in your hands. he doesn’t look as confident as his words sounded. there’s a hesitance in his gaze, a fear that even now you would reject him. even now you would ask to return to the way things were before, that you would expect him to swallow his feelings—or worse, that you would leave because he couldn’t. 

“i’d live inside you if you'd let me,” you say, because somehow this is easier. and he understands—pulls you towards him for a kiss, like he’s telling you it’s okay, for now this is enough. but it’s easier with your eyes closed, with his hand cradling your face, when you can feel his proximity but you don’t have to look. “i love you.”

he smiles when you kiss him again. grins so wide he can hardly kiss you back. smug, content, entirely too pleased with this situation. it annoys you how much you adore the cocky side of him, the side that can allow itself to be overconfident in retrospect. now that you’ve said the feelings out loud, he can tell you how obvious it’s always been that you’re head over heels for him.

he opens his mouth to say some smart comment and you have to put your finger against his lips to preemptively quiet him. “you said no teasing.”

“i don’t remember that.”

“then you have a terrible memory.”

he kisses your finger, amused at your insistence on quieting him. “you know that’s not true. i’m gonna remember every detail of today. and at our wedding, everyone is gonna hear the story about how you finally told me you love me after years of pining—”

“you’re projecting,” you say, “but i'll let you tell your little story.”

his cheeks are rosy, flushed. maybe because you hit a nerve he left wide open for you, or maybe because you weren’t phased at all by his choice of words—another quiet presumption, another quiet acquiescence. “i’m still waiting for medical attention, in case you forgot.”

“can i kiss it better, or are you actually going to make me go get your first aid kit?”

he pretends to think about it. tries to hide his smile and fails. you love him so wholly that you could die from it. “there’ve been some crazy strides in modern medicine recently,” he tells you, mock-serious. “that first option might just work. i’m putting my life in your hands, doc.”

you kiss the mark you left on him and you think: i’d keep you here forever if i could. one word, the same definition. you’ll run parallel to him until there’s nothing left. 

[jacksonseymour13]

This post is long

Anybody feels disappointed there wasn't enough angst, mistrust or tension between Gi-Hun and In-Ho? Angst!Inhun

I love these old lovelies and this ship with all my heart but I can't help but feel like it was lacking in overall conflict. Two people working together,main protagonist and main antagonist being allies. Gi-Hun's massive trust issues that were played up in the first 2 episodes leading up to him joining the games didn't nearly impact enough as the episodes proceeded. The significance of #01 and that connection to the old guy from S1(help I forgot his name😭🙏🏻).

I needed In-Ho proving and bending over backwards to have Gi-Hun trust his ass. In-Ho was on a mission to infiltrate Gihun's trust before ripping it apart last second as a "I told you so honey".

Gi-Hun definitely had a stronger tense dynamic with Sangwoo in the game, yes you could argue their childhood besties and have known each other for as long as possible but it doesn't change the fact Gi-Hun was weary of Sang Woo and showed several moments doubting his authentic nature in the game, especially after glass Bridge.

GIVE ME A HANDOUT! I need them screaming at each other and having a power struggle with Team X, I need them driving each other crazy and wanting to beat the living shit out of each other(although they never come to blows😉). Fake player In-Ho and Gi-Hun's dynamic was IMO wasted and could've been so much juicier. I'm happy with what we got but...

The greedy desperate cunty that I am needed just a little more gravitas and sprinkles of a little bit of this and that in their relationship. Gi-Hun should have been 100% suspicious and kept his guard up with In-Ho after he was the sole responsibility why everyone continued in the games post-1st vote. His red flags should have been going off crazily. Gi-Hun joined the game with focus not to play the same game again and play as Level 1, nah bro. He had his stats and composure maxed out.

He should have made a mental note of In-Ho never being present(becausenowayGihunwouldsuddenlyforgetahandsomemofolikethat)for waking up,red light green light and before the vote. Blud just teleported in. Gi-Hun had no real reason to trust In-Ho either but let me run with it before I get cooked by everyone(I still ship but the writing was a little questionable)

I would have loved Gi-Hun and In-Ho to have a conversation after 6 legs about In-Ho 'crash out moment'. That's his first glimpse exposing himself to Gihun without this unpenetratable armor of confidence. He saw In-Ho at a stressed point and would've been nice of him to reach out, make sure he's okay. They have a heart to heart there and In-Ho gets some truth off his chest that he has all this pressure of maintaining a perfect exterior. It would show a sense of inferiority complex and a little more depth of In-Ho in Gi-Hun's eyes. Gi-Hun just has the reason why In-Ho voted 'O and nothing else.

Using the fanon brainrot with this last one but I would have Gi-Hun replace Jung-Bae in the last mingle round of 2 players. It makes sense they would go together, It would be very interesting and turning point in Gi-Hun's eyes regarding In-Ho. It sucks because the writers HAD it right there and just did nothing with it. Jung-Bae not telling Gihun or Gihun ever picking up a sign In-Ho cannot be trusted was so fluffy and for what? I love fluff Inhun but angst Inhun would have went TWICE as hard.

Gi-Hun trust would probably solidify after seeing In-Ho kill that player after he votes for 'X but the potential, the confrontation and doubt needed to be shown so we can see how In-Ho would tip toe around such questions. Gi-Hun asking him where he was during RLGR,why he really voted for 'O in the first game just to turn around and vote 'X afterwards. The writers really let me down with this one yall but still a super sexy toxic ship that didn't fail me. Can't wait to see what Reveal!Inhun has in store for us.

[thelazycorset]

A Glimpse of Us

Geto x gn!Reader The reader is a sorcerer, with a unique domain

You inhaled deeply, enjoying every second of the time you have. A strong musky fragrance tickled your nose, with a hint of gunpowder and something that smelled like the ocean. You threaded your fingers through the silky, dark hair, eliciting a sweet hum from its owner.

You smiled, eyes still closed as you felt his arms hook around your waist, pulling you even closer.

“Gosh, I love you.”, he said, voice deep but so, so sweet.

You opened your eyes to find his already staring at you.

“I love you too, Suguru.”

He smiled, but it was tinged with pain. He knew that this time he had with you wasn’t going to last forever. It was going to end painfully; physically for him, and emotionally for you.

“Don’t look at me like that, Suguru.”, you sighed, wanting to make the most of the little time you had.

He immediately corrected himself and smiled, truly happily.

“I’m sorry.”

You held back tears as you leaned over to kiss his forehead, the scar from those hideous stitches scratching against your lips.

You held him there, lips against his scars, hands in his hair, as you allowed yourself to feel all the emotions that had been piling up inside your chest.

Suguru held you as you sobbed, hating himself for having to put you through this pain.

But he had to do this, for the sake of the people he loved the most.

And sadly, the only one who could help him end this misery, was the one person he loved the most.

You.

He nudged you to look at him, and held your tear streaked cheek as he spoke.

“I’m so sorry, my love…”, he said, voice lowering, “But it’s time.”

You sucked in a breath, and nodded.

You knew this is why you were here. It was comfortable, but agonising.

It had been a while since you had heard about Geto’s death. You were heartbroken and destroyed. But you somehow made it through the agonising nights and drab days.

Everything was finally going well, when he walked in through the door.

You saw him, standing so tall and alive, that you almost thought that you must have been dreaming.

But then you felt him.

The presence that had taken over your beloved’s body. A curse so evil and strong, that it almost overshadowed Geto’s energy.

You just stared at him, feeling the time around you freeze.

You hadn’t been in contact with anybody from jujutsu high for quite a while. The last time you spoke to Gojo, you had fought, during Geto's funeral.

The man, who was a mix of two sorcerers, turned to look at you, sensing your gaze. He seemed perplexed. 

You couldn’t read his face. He looked nonchalant, until you saw a sliver of shock.

He smiled at you, a crooked grin, as he said, “It’s been so long, y/n”

That’s when you broke out of the momentary spell, and gulped, choking out a feeble, “Yeah.”

Kenjaku cursed himself for running into one of Geto’s old buddies. He could sense the slight unease his body felt the moment he saw you looking at him, shock and an unknown expression on your face. He could remember your name, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t remember anything else about you.

He found it strange. It was almost as if Geto was purposefully keeping information from him.

But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Mahito had assured him that no traces of Geto remained in this body.

“You’re going to have to die now..”, he mumbled to himself, planning to lure you outside and get rid you in an alleyway; somewhere out of sight.

“Why don’t we head out of this cafe?”, he said, the smile ever-present.

“Why?”, you asked, not trusting him. You knew he was an enemy if he had taken over Geto’s body, but you couldn’t cause trouble here. The place was packed with people. And a fight here would mean many would get injured, if not worse.

“You know what, it’s been so long.”, you chimed quickly, “Sure, let’s get out of here.”

That’s how you got here, in your domain. Your domain separated the soul from the body. Any soul that enters, takes a form that it is most comfortable with. In this domain, everything is transparent. There are no lies, and everything is seen, including all the scars your soul has gathered throughout this lifetime.

This allowed you to talk to Geto, his soul. He explained everything that had happened, and how he needed you to do him a big favour. A favour that he hoped nobody would ever have to go through; to kill the person you love.

Your domain didn’t let Kenjaku enter, as you had control over whom to allow in. He remained on the edge, an area that was just outside the real world, but not fully inside your domain.

If you decided to let him enter, he would be equally as powerful as you and geto, which was fairer than in the real world, as Geto had little to no control there.

In your heart, you held a lot of love for Suguru. When your souls entered the domain, you felt the scar on your chest, a reflection of the hurt your heart had felt when he passed.

You were both selfish, utilising this time to express your love to each other, and mutter those promises that had been left unsaid back then. That’s how you found yourself lying next to him on a silk bed, with sounds of birds and nature singing you awake from outside the window of the quaint house you were in.

It was all fake. 

A mere figment of your imaginations; a glimpse of the life you both had wanted.

“Is it already time for us to go?”, you whispered, scared to let go. You wouldn’t mind exhausting all your energy in keeping this domain up, if it meant that you could spend more time here, with him.

He chuckled, kissing you.

“It is, I’m afraid.”

You nodded, looking down. You had to do this. This is what he wanted. He just wanted to die, peacefully.

With a flick of your wrist, you changed the scene.

The house was gone, so was your bed. The sheets you both had spent hours shuffling were replaced by a darkness, everlasting and endless.

He stood a few feet from you, smiling, hope in his eyes.

That’s when you realised just how tired he was.

He looked forward to death.

“Okay.”, you whispered, a sad smile on your face.

“I loved you Geto. I always will.”

A flame rose in his chest, eating away at him.

That’s when you closed the domain, merging kenjaku and Suguru’s soul in that split second.

In the real world, you saw Geto bend over, clutching his chest.

He looked up at you, eyes wide, “What the fuck have you done?!”

“Rest in peace, Suguru.”, you said, a tear escaping.

“And I hope you go to hell.”

You watched him collapse to the ground, flames engulfing his body.

This time, you will see it through.

This time, you wont leave early.

This time, you will ensure that’s its a final goodbye.

[danieyells]

I have a memory span of a goldfish so I probably forget if someone has written about something related to this topic or not... but excluding Taiga who directly mentioned the topic to us, why does it seem that only Tohma and Alan are the only ones shown so far to know/talk about the existence of the spy and actively searching for them? I can only theorize that they were only being made aware of the spy's existence because something happened in Vagastrom that was caused by an unknown party and it probably directly/indirectly worsen the situation during The Clash... but it still made me curious why they were never seen communicating with ghouls from other houses about the spy even in subtle/discreet manner (either because they don't want to alert the spy or still aren't sure where the spy came from...?) and why none of the other ghouls seem to notice the oddity/draw their own conclusion and do their own investigation? (unless it is just... never being shown yet to us on-screen so we're left to believe that only Tohma and Alan and Taiga are the ones who know about the spy hjhdjdjdjdjdjfkl)

There's also this question about what makes Tohma and Alan trust each other/believe that neither of them are the spy himself... but I'm not ready to (over)think about this question so I will just believe that being a Vagastrom and (probably) forging their friendship through fistfights has created unbreakable bonds between them that can't easily be destroyed by mere existence of an unknown enemy 💪

So far we haven't seen anybody else talking about the spy, no! To be fair we haven't really found out who they would be spying for. . .they're trying to defame the ghouls as a whole but they're one of the ghouls themselves. . .to be fair we've only seen so many conversations between the ghouls without the PC present--and most of them seem concerned about their personal lives and missions more than any sort of greater plans.

It makes sense for Tohma--he has big plans that involve changing the Institute. Of course he's aware of the spy. And Alan is someone he probably trusts more than anyone. Alan is blunt and honest and straightforward--he couldn't run an operation intended to damage the reputations of the ghouls or be a spy or anything, he's just not built for it as a person--which also means he's vulnerable, I think. So he needs him to be aware for his own safety. And like you said, for characters like them I think a bond forged with bare fists is a bond that can't be broken lmao. He can trust Alan not to talk, even if he can't trust him not to let on that he knows something. But also Alan's reputation is already a mess. The likelihood that the spy would get too close to him feels slim to none to me. Just. Too big and obvious of a guy overall.

Taiga has his possibly stigma related Awareness--so if he just. . .knows, that also makes sense. He even says "do you wanna know who it is or keep letting them fool you" which tells me that he already knows and he's just not telling. He doesn't have to look for the spy, he's waiting to see what happens. He's looking out for himself and Romeo. Maybe the pc and Ritsu now too.

Also I feel like Tohma's interactions with Haku and Rui are supposed to be implicit of the spy situation, especially when Leo says someone(most likely Alan and Tohma?) are meeting near the "gross forest"(Obscuary, probably.) and there's Rui who can obscure himself in the shadows and admits to keeping an eye on people. . . .

But I assume that Tohma doesn't trust others with it at the moment, not until he knows for sure who the spy is. And everyone else is far too busy running their houses and living their lives to notice whatever Tohma and Alan noticed(or they simply don't question it or they accept it because 'whatever, our reputations sre bad anyway, how much more damage could someone else do?' or 'we're graduating soon anyway' for the third years, and they're probably not nearly as reliable in Tohma's eyes? I mean think about who all the other second and third years and captains and vice captains are. Not really the most trustworthy bunch with a delicate situation, especially if it's possible that they could be connected to the spy.

I imagine we'll learn more whenever we get back to Vagastrom or Frostheim!! But I think the spy situation is gonna have to be addressed closer to learning about the Clash. And I feel like we haven't quite gotten there with everyone yet, so we're a ways off.

On the other hand, Ed has a home screen line to the effect of "the ghouls are rioting again? They're so energetic. Anyway i was watching a youtube video." and next chapter is Obscuary so. . . . . . . . . . .

[danmeiconfession]

My thoughts/rants aren't very coherent so just take it as me rambling instead lol .

 Although sj's treatment of lbh was awful, lbh is still sj's direct disciple and the matter of his discipline rests on sj, so it's awkward for outsiders to interfere. it's not right but hey neither is slavery or child marriage so them's the works.

LBH was free to leave Qing Jing Peak at any time - but perhaps not in his own mind. This is interesting bc imo him and sj never had a relationship where sj was gaslighting lbh into staying. in fact i'd say sj made it plenty clear he found lbh to be an eyesore but maybe in those years sj had some intermittent spots of mercy lbh latched onto and then just never gave up hope.

Unless, Well looking at SV canon and how the system didn't penalize sy for the medicine + carriage ride after sy explained his thought process, it wouldn't surprise me if those types of events happened with sj and lbg. if sj had to bring lbh out on a night hunt he prolly made sure lbh was patched up + looked presentable so he didn't ruin the cohesive aesthetic of his peak haha and well NYY is always a weak point. these things definitely wasn't usual but likely happened often -enough- for lbh to get his hopes up over and over .

As modern people, we of course abhor the way that LBH was treated and SQQ comes off as abusive and a slimy lecher. But by the standards of his own age, everything he's done is perfectly acceptable. In traditional Chinese philosophy, the teacher is like a father, and a father and a teacher can do whatever they want to their child / pupil. Even in modern China, teachers have been known to get away with beating their pupils. In the UK (where I'm from), it wasn't so long ago that teachers could cane their students and no one blinked an eye about parents beating their kids. Slavery, child marriage, selling your wife or daughter into prostitution, all of that was totally legal in ancient China.

I always thought it was strange that OG LBH fixated so much on SQQ that he tortured him so horribly, but there's no mention of him doing the same to everyone else who ever wronged him, no matter how small. I think being pushed into the Abyss the last straw but I also think the reason he so hard-wired to think of his Shizun as this unfeeling man and tortured him limbless is because He got rejected so many women like him but the one man he chased relentlessly for years for his eyes to even graze him he look the other way which is why I think his eye got taken out ?

After the loss of his mother, lbh expected to find a new family in qjp and a new parental figure in sj. The greater the expectation the greater the disappointment. obv jiumei is not in the right condition to play mother hen to anybody. | ಠ ∧ ಠ | but lil bingbing didn't know that and arguably maybe he understood his foster mother was treated bad bc she was a servant but he couldn't understand why sqq, an immortal cultivator, is so hellbent on bullying some unknown kid.

Also, why does it bug Binghe that much? Why was it brought up against SJ during his trial in Proud Immortal Demon Way? Maybe it's just critical research failure on Airplane's part, but in ancient China, visiting prostitutes was completely normal. Men could have multiples wives and concubines and sleep with their servants and go around to the local brothel. Visiting a prostitute was just a leisure activity.Like, t says something about Binghe's obsession with SQQ in PIDW that he's fixated on SQQ's alleged bedroom habits?

Of course we modern people and Luo Binghe have a right to be mad, but justice in ancient xianxia China is... putting it lightly, biased... This is a world that shrugs off almost any crime if your position is high enough.

100% LBH is right to be upset, but the problems run much deeper than SQQ, their whole world is rotten. Him being mad about SQQ yeeting him is kind of confusing, he's legit to be hurt about it but any Cultivator would have killed LBH on sight when he was revealed to be a demon, and a heavenly one at that.

Which is why i'm forgiving with Shen Jiu because why judge him from a lens from the modern viewpoint because on top of the shitty things that happened to his life him being an abusive teacher isn't really so damning when the entire Cultivation worls is corrupt??? In a way the original PIDW was a hypocritical abuse apologism story with the mentality that any abuse against the protag was unjust and wrong and any abuse he committed whether disproportionate or targeted at people who never did anything to him was righteous or deserved was a criticism of the stallion protags and that it was never equal to begin with Shen jiu never deserved such torture they were never on equal footings to begin with. Yeah, he was vicious but it hypocritical. I never took Shen Yuan being with Binghe as a reward but a punishment for being such a troll and idol-obsessed that he ended up with Bingmei dude. Sorry if ending up with a mentally ill man and one who sa him and only cared for his own needs during the act with no regard for their partner and i'm breaking yall illusion with this toxic ship.

Considering what went down with LQG and SJ when they where disciples it does seem like there is a lot of bullying. If PIDW is like other Xianxia novels, or even historical dramas then there is probably a lot of underhanded sabotage by students against one another. Many cultivation novels with sects have kids fight over food and resources and if you can't cut it then you leave or you languish. A peak like SQQs may well have such things as part of their education because it's a strategist and scholarly peak, any student who couldn't figure out how to sabotage rivals, curry favor with the right people, manipulate, info gather, and navigate dangerous political situations on top of doing well in normal studies wouldn't fair well in such a place. - I doubt this to be the case in canon as SQQ is supposed to be a scum villain but its fascinating to speculate.

In a way Binghe is weird he thinks more in terms of a modern person I guess in a meta way? Because... He isn't special .It always strikes me as funny that LBH apparently like, idk, despite also being native to the culture is upset by it? as if he wanted more from specifically from SQQ? bc he wanted SQQ to find him special? meta hand-of-god type stuff where LBH accidentally has a more modern attitude bc of the way he was written?

Hell, his 300 wives scream self-enforced heterosexuality. like some DEEP repression and distraction.Ur telling me this guy fought more powerful sect masters, demon lords, survived assassinations but the mean teacher deserved prolonged torment.

If only Shen jiu played up the role as a mother things wouldn't have escalated lol. Freud should study Binghe though cause damn his mother issues run deep. His father though he doesnt give a damn and is detached from him but when it comes about the jade pendant youre basically finished. feeling the hots for ssq was part of the mommy issues lbh had lmao

.

[marshmallowprotection]

Hello, hope you're doing well : )

Your posts have made me start another Ray route playthrough, and I had the thought recently (because of my own asthma) of what if an MC with asthma started having an attack in front of the RFA? How would the different members react? Especially the different aspects of Saeran, because I feel like they'd all have different reactions.

Apologies if someone else has already asked about this. And no pressure to answer. Either way, wishing you a pleasant day : )

Jaehee is well-versed in responding to difficult situations. It's a part of her job description at this point. Even if she doesn't know what she knows how to hold herself together long enough to find someone who does know what to do. She knows the worst possible thing she could do in a situation where someone is having a health episode is to panic, and not respond to the crisis. So, she takes a deep breath, runs through a mental checklist of what she needs to do, and goes through it because you need that.

It would take her a moment to identify the problem, but once she does, she's fast to sit you down and ask you to point her in the direction of your inhaler. If this is the first time you've ever had an episode, she's quick to call someone to help you. You won't have to worry about things getting out of hand with her around.

Yoosung shouldn't be too surprising for you. He's had plenty of time to train for health emergencies over the years thanks to his time with Rika. He's volunteered a lot, and he's learned plenty to help others in a crisis. Sure, he's dedicated his time to animals as of late, but that's not going to erase what he knows that can help people. He's gentle, even if you expect him to panic, because he knows better than to put his worries onto someone who needs him to be forthcoming.

He helps you locate your inhaler so you can slow down, take some air, and try to ease the pain in your lungs. If it gets too bad, he'll know the next thing to do is to get you medical attention. It's scary to know he can't do anything but sit with you and watch for the signs of anything getting worse, but he knows from his studies that he has to focus on what he can do instead of what he can't.

Zen... is the type to panic when his loved ones are going through something! It doesn't mean he's not good at finding a solution to help you when you need him to, but it just means his knee-jerk reaction isn't to think things through, it's to react and not always do the right thing because of it. His mistake would likely be trying to ask you questions when you ideally shouldn't be trying to talk.

He would piece it together not long after you make it clear to him that you can't do that, but that's the only hiccup you'll encounter with him. He's not used to anybody having issues with their health in his life because he's inhumanly healthy—so this is certainly opening his eyes to the fact that he needs to educate himself a lot more, not just for your sake, but any people he may interact with in the world. Leave it to him to learn something in the heat of the moment. His heart's in the right place.

Jumin has interacted with people who live with asthma before, and the topic has come up as a discussion point. His family is involved in the health care industry, after all, and while he doesn't have to be well educated in health conditions, Jumin is the kind of man who wants to learn as much as he can about something when it's presented to him. When you tell him you have asthma, he begins to discern what might be a possible trigger for your health.

Do you need dust cleaned up? Is it possible he may need to tidy up Elizabeth's hair more often? Twice a day instead of once? He's quick to make adjustments like that. He trusts you to know how to handle yourself in a crisis, but if it becomes too much, he's fast to call on a doctor to check you out and make sure you'll be okay. Thanks to his status, you always have a speedy response in an emergency. He isn't one to panic unless you panic.

Saeyoung plans for all kinds of crisis situations. He knows what he needs to do when his friends need him, and most of all, when you need him. He understands that you can take care of yourself when you need to, but... he's your defender of justice. He wants to be sure of your well-being even in a situation where he has no control over it. That's where his troubles always begin, wanting to control things he can't, and that's likely where he'll make a mistake.

He'll have prepared a full-proof plan for you whenever you have an asthma attack, but his plan might not be what works for you. He'll coach you through the motions but you'll have to shoo him away... because he's not helping, he's making it harder to relax. It's a blow to his paranoia, but this is a part of his self-acceptance journey. He can't always be right, nor can he always be a hero. Sometimes, he has to let go of control and let you push him in the direction you need him to be.

V has done enough volunteer work with Rika to know his way around a health episode. Sure, he may not have had as much time as say, her cousin did, but he knows when to look and listen. That's what people did for him when he spent time in the hospital after the house fire as a teenager, after all. He listens to what you need when you tell him he may need to grab your inhaler without question, or anything else you need to counteract an asthma episode. He knows it's better to take it as you say than to make assumptions.

Next to GE Saeran and Jumin, he's surprisingly gentle and steadfast to your needs. He won't look around for someone to do something to help you, he'll take your head and help you sit somewhere safe until it is safe for you to walk around. If it gets worse, he knows Jumin will be the first one to send for help on your behalf. He trusts his friends, and he trusts you to trust him with your safety.

Ray has detailed a full-blown plan for your health. He didn't know anything about asthma before he found you, but now he's learned everything he could about it. He knows what to do if you need him, and he hopes you'll never need him like that, because you being in pain isn't something he wants. But, he knows it's likely to happen no matter what, so it's better to have a plan. His plans are what would later tip off Saeran into knowing how to help you.

However, he is prone to fully panicking when none of his pre-planned methods work out. That's where he'll have some trouble trying to help you. He'll be able to help you sit down, but if your inhaler doesn't work right away, he might work himself up, too. He'll spend that time doing his best to comfort you, but by the time you're okay, he'll kick himself for "not being smart enough" to help you. He knows what it feels like to be sick, he just wishes you didn't have to experience it.

Suit Saeran reacts way faster than you might expect. At his core, he is somebody who needs to protect the people closest to him because that's the focal point of his existence—to survive as the strongest no matter what so Ray's hopes and dreams can be protected. He's well aware of your health issues if they were documented beforehand. If you had a major episode, he'd drop whatever he was doing and go to your room to make sure you have your inhaler. His toy can't die from something so preventable.

He makes you sit down, slow down, and do nothing until you can breathe again. If it gets so bad that you need someone who knows more than he does, that's when he would panic. He can't trust you with anyone because they'll likely give you the elixir and that... that won't help. It will make you suffer more, so he has to pray sitting in the corner will help you, and if it doesn't? He doesn't know what he'll do.

GE Saeran is the best during a health crisis. He's had enough time to work out a plan with you for what he might need during an episode... and in contrast, he's spent a lot of time asking you what you may be in need of when you're struggling, too. You've worked out plans for all kinds of situations over the past couple of weeks, and because of the work you put into seeing each other's needs, he doesn't need to feel panicked when you have your first full-blown episode since he's met you in front of the others. He planned for this!

He is gentle when he asks the others to do something for you, and he sits with you until the episode calms down enough for you to express yourself. He doesn't make you feel cornered. He holds your hands at the moment when you need him the most, and he helps coach you to conserve your energy and breathe.

[multifandomslxt]

I’d love to know your take on the perks of dating a chubby!reader. Seventeen or NCT, it’s upto you!

I mean as a chubby girl I make a great heater, pillow, stress ball, gym weight, and taste tester 👅

I’m sure not everyone has a smutty outcome but I’m sure a few of the boys would love death by bosom. Jeonghans always cold and I’m pretty sure I could give jungwoo the softest squishiest cuddle he’s ever had haha

Nct 127 perks of dating a chubby! S/o

Taeil

Tits and tummy

He’s alllllll about the tits and tummy

Idgaf what anybody else says😭😭

Goes feral when you walk round the hose without a bra.

His hands always find a way to creep up under your shirt and play with your nipple

As for your tummy…

His personal pillow

Although if he were to choose between the two

It’s your tits😌

Doesn’t mean he shuns the tummy though

9 times outta 10 he gives you hickeys all over your tummy

Makes you wear crop tops every time he does it too.

“You’re so soft and comfortable”

Taeyong

Choke him with your thighs🧍🏿‍♀️

Loses it when you wear shorts

He gets to see your thighs double in size when you sit 😭

I’m sorry but he groans out loud at that some times😭😭

Pinches them when he thinks you’re being a tease

As we all know taeyong is a man (SHALALA)

As a result

In his eyes

Death by pussy is the best way to go

In other words…

SIT ON HIS FUCKING FACE!

He sucks the life outta you

Past

Present

And

Future

Also likes how rough and calloused his hands look next to your soft and plush thighs

Oooooo

He would loose it if you wore short tennis skirt but lemme stop😭😭✋🏿

Johnny

Okay okay hear me out

This is very specific

Yk when thick girlies wear body con dresses and they sit down

And you can see their tummy rolls?

Yup

That’s his calling

Your fucking tummy rolls AND your back rolls

I’ve said this before but when Mr.Suh is fucking you from the back

there are certain things that just make him want to fuck a baby into you😭

Another one of those being your back rolls

HE MAKES YOU ARCH MORE SO THAT THEY BECOME MORE PRONOUNCED 😭😭

I said what I said

And don’t let him catch sight of those stretch marks either 👀

Also we know this man has a size kink so if you just happen to be short and chubby….good luck with that😭😭

Yuta

Ma’am 😭

Chileeeeee

Yk exactly what this man will do to you😭

Anyways even though I believe Yuta would love EVERYTHING

I think is absolute favourite would be

Your love handles.

Why?

Not only because you skin is soft and supple there

But also because

When he’s fucking you and you’re trying to run away or escape

He knows that Holding on to your love handles tightly will keep you right here he needs you

Also likes how your tummy jiggles when the orgasm is too much😩

Doyoung

Unlike the previous ones his isn’t as horny💀

Baby like your cheeks

He just loves how plum they are🥹

He loves how he can squish them and how they puff up when you’re angry😭😭

So cute🫶🏿🫶🏿🫶🏿😭

Also Loves your chubby hands

Loves how they can barely wrap around his hard dick

Loves how you have to use both hands to pump him

And also loves how your cheeks puff up when your trying to swallow all his cum🧍🏿‍♀️

Ik I said his wasn’t gonna be horny but I lied😂

Jaehyun

Okay

Lemme see if I can explain this well

lie down on your back

lift both your legs up

don't spread them just lift them up and pull them to your chest

THAT!

THAT IS WHAT HE LOVES

more specifically

he loves the way your pussy is being squeezed between your thighs

he would call it a sweet treat

because this man eats pussy like he's been starved.

Jungwoo

Anon you couldn't have been more on point.

Although I believe Jungwoo is horny 24/7 lmaooooo

His favorite thing about you would be the cuddles.

Especially when he's sad or tired he just likes to be spooned

imagine this big baby curling up next to you

OMG

OMG

He would definitely leave light kisses on your tummy

AJFJHWEIKJDSBVINJEKLHDGVESK,S;DFJP

I'm devastated

Mark

STRETCH MARKS

And if you think I'm wrong

argue with yo mama, not me.

Don't get me wrong Johnny would break your back in if he saw your stretch marks

But mark?

Mark?

Mark is gonna have you trying to push him off you.

Like you are literally going to try and run tf awayyyyyyy

Stretch marks are necessary for his survival.

Can and will fuck you just because you showed him how some of your stretch marks are darker than others

OML this is so dirty and specific but hear me out

He uses his cum to trace some of your stretch marks😭😭😭

Haechan

Loves how you look in his clothes

Especially his basketball shorts

One time he spilled something on your bottoms and he offered you his basketball shorts to change into

It's loose on him but when you put it on it looked skin tight

THE MAN WENT FERAL

because why is your ass so pronounced in a pair of basketball shorts???

long story short that pair of shorts now has a hole in the crotch

don't ask why

yk exactly why

HE FUCKED YOU