#SHIT SHIT STAR I MEANT STAR WRONG SHAPE

[hwallazia]

XMAS DINNER GOES WRONG – 정우영

⋆ synopsis. it seems like your husband can’t keep it in his pants, not even on a fucking christmas dinner with his family. but, as the lovely wifey you are, you gotta give him some relief, right?

pairing. husband! jung wooyoung & fem! reader.

wc. 3,2k

warnings. smut (mdni!), suggestive language, cussing, almost!! getting caught by wooyoung’s mom (oops), pet names (love, babe, my wife, pretty girl & more), nipple play, wooyoung sucks your entire skin (neck, collarbone, tits and the list can continue…), teasing, wooyoung tears your panties to shreds heh, not dirty—NASTY TALK, begging, yn at some point says “stop” but it’s bc she’s far too blissed out; not bc she actually wanted him to stop, this is alllll consensual!!, unprotected sex, praise ofc, squirting, gut-wrenching fluff in the end ‘cause love him too much.

nic’s notes ⋆ first ff of the xmas event yes sir !! i felt some shit writing this istg (๑/////๑ " )

you know holidays, right?

the perfect opportunity for the entire family to gather and celebrate achievements, blessings, and thousands and thousands of other things. cousins, nephews, aunts, uncles, and even great-grandparents were reunited in that cold and windy winter night. an entire feast was splayed on the table for everyone’s delightfulness, different kinds of foods and smells mixing and creating a delicious, toe-curling experience for anyone’s nostrils.

the hours you had spent shopping for every ingredient for each dish, cutting the vegetables, cooking everything to the exact, perfect point and term really paid off once your and your husband’s family were brought together at the large, dark oak table to celebrate your very first holiday — both families now joined together as one.

nothing could go wrong. the chatting flew as calm and joyful as spring water, sharing experiences and old memories pleasingly, smiles spread like the most enchanting disease—as well as the wholesome ambience, and everything was accompanied by a delightful meal, the well-deserved five star bonus of the evening.

so, if everything was meant to go perfectly, then why the hell was your husband staring at you with the most explicit, sluttiest “fuck me” eyes you’ve ever seen?

wooyoung sat in front of you, his two cousins sitting each on his sides. his plate was rather full, and that had an explanation: he was far too gone and busy burying heart-shaped daggers into your eyes while his hand cupped his cheek, head tilting to his right — his tongue glided over his dry bottom lip every now and then. you’d bet that none of his thoughts were in the bible. ‘cause fuck, even his younger brother would guess that something’s odd about him. that that’s not the usual behavior of his dear older brother.

“yn? darling?” the voice of wooyoung’s mother dragged out quickly of your insulation bubble. her tilted head clearly showed that she had been trying to talk to you for a while. a soft, warming hue of red struck your cheekbones.

as you gyrated your head to meet her worried gaze, you replied. “yes! mrs. jung, ‘m sorry. what were you saying?”

“are you doing fine, sweetie? you were gone for a bit.” she stared at you intently, genuinely worried about her daughter in-law. oh that woman was almost a fallen angel—if not one. if only she knew it was his own son who was to blame—the very last person she’d suspect, and oh, how deliciously ironic that was.

the figure of your husband’s shit-eating grin could be seen out of the corner of your eye—a sight that ignited a fiery rage within you, yet one you couldn’t help but savor, lingering on the view as long as possible before responding to your sweet mother-in-law. “oh, it was nothing. i’m prolly just zoning out because of how tired i am. y’ know, spending the entire day in the kitchen was exhausting.” the cherry on top of the excuse was the little, innocent giggle you emitted by the end. the woman gave you the most pitiful, yet endearing look. she lifted her arm, indicating with her open palm the white stairs, the reflection of the christmas-decorated banister lighting up her eyes.

“oh, sweetheart. you should go rest, it’s pretty late after all.” her gesture softened your heart, chest clenching a bit.

this woman was going to be the death of you! … uhm, never mind. first place is taken by wooyoung, who seems quite excited with the idea of going upstairs with you, by the way. take a guess at what his mind is scheming.

you shook your hands in front of your chest, quickly denying the opportunity. “thank you really, but i’m okay. i’ll just go wash my face.” you excused yourself, hovering your leg over the other and getting yourself up. “maybe that way i can wake up completely.” ending with a little giggle, you started walking towards the staircase when suddenly, the voice of your dear husband rang inside your ears.

“excuse me. i’ll go help my wife.” his foxy eyes curved into crescent moons, and his lips stretched wide, forming an upward line. oh fuck, you were done for.

“oh yes, i was about to ask you to do the same. please, son.” she stated, nodding approvingly. oh what a gentleman she had raised.

you resumed your steps quickly, arriving to the second floor in less than you expected. you turned your head, only to be met with an empty corridor. thank goodness he hadn’t gotten there yet.

or so you thought. ‘cause when you refocused your attention to your front, a pair of arms grabbed you by your waist and swung you around the air in a swift motion as he dragged you to an empty room. the last sound heard in the corridor was the slam of a closing door.

your breathless body was pinned against a cold wall, trapped between two quite familiar, tanned arms. simultaneously, your disoriented irises tried to adjust to the darkness of the room and focus on the feverish, hungry eyes standing in front of you.

“wh… what the fuck was that.” you muttered as the remains of your breath flew away. wooyoung seemed enchanted by your current state though.

“heeey, don’t curse at me like that.” his gentle, cocky voice penetrated your mind like a bullet. knuckles crept up the sides of your exposed arms, providing soothing strokes — goosebumps prickled to life in response. he opened his warm palms and reached to your also bare shoulder, massaging them. “after all, ’m jus’ here to help you.” he pulled his secret weapon and started making out with your neck, licking your flesh like a starving man and spreading wet kisses all over it.

“help me? how are you helping me like this?” you uttered as your breath hitched, head leaning to the side at the right angle to give him enough space.

wooyoung sucked that sensitive spot that always made your eyes roll to the very back of your head, dragging a whine out of you successfully. his chuckle and victorious smirk didn’t go unseen by your already blissed-out self. he leaned back a little to admire you. just for a bit, palms not leaving their place. “you’ll know when we’re done.” his hands moved in a swift motion, arms wrapping around your thighs and shoulders, lifting you effortlessly in a princess carry. “for now, just shut up and enjoy it, hm?”

“w-wooyoung—you know we can’t do this now— angh!” your anxious, flustered self made a futile attempt to reason with wooyoung, hoping he’d remember that both your families were gathered downstairs for a fucking christmas dinner—while he, entirely unbothered, seemed more than eager to spend the evening thoroughly ruining you in the bed just one floor above. and that was clearly shown when he threw you to the bed as if you were the lightest feather and immediately crawled to you.

“c’mon, love. i just wanna help you stay awake” his gravelly voice purred gift next to your ear as his taunting hands played with the sides of your dress, fingertips aching and itching to rip it off you.

he had you underneath him, completely flustered and nervous. he knew you were really anxious about the dinner—you’d spent a whole hour straight ranting about how nerve-wracking the preparations were, only to end up feeling physically ill from the overwhelming surge of dopamine flooding your system. but your reddened cheeks were smiling at him and your plump lips were whispering nasty things to him. holy fuck, how couldn’t he be tempted?

he needed to be balls deep in you. now.

his skillful tongue found home in your neck and collarbone, sucking cute love bites all over. but, your body was still tense, too uneasy at the thought of the possible scenario of someone entering the room and catching the two of you in such a compromising position.

“b-babe, please—hmph”

in a sultry tone, he muttered, “already begging. so fucking cute.” a smirk was drawn on his lips before his hands reached to your cleavage and popped your tits out of your low-cut dress. “y’ want me to fuck you? ‘s that what it is?”

before you could even think of an answer, he dived right into your breasts, licking your sensitive nipples as though they were his favorite toy — because they absolutely were.

god, the incessant thoughts that ran through your head and his tongue lapping around your buds were too much. everything was starting to be too much, and he hadn’t even taken your clothes off. with heightened sensitivity, your lips fell open and a beautiful, sweet melody of your moans and whimpers escaped through them — a delightful melody for your husband’s ears.

impatient hands stripped you of your glittery dress, leaving you with nothing but your black, thin panties. wooyoung took a moment for himself — well, more accurately for you, to admire and revel in your beauty as he should. a rush of blood surged to his cock, making it throb even harder than before. he was no more than a man, overwhelmed by desire. “you’re fucking irresistible, y’ know that?” he started down to where your and his crotch connected, brows furrowing when he saw your clothed pussy. “i think it’s time for this to go.”

a sharp rrrrrip! bounced through the walls and brought your attention. “woo did you just—?!” you followed the movement of his hands, which discarded the shreds of black fabric to the floor. “that was my—! hahh” and his thumb flew right to your already swollen clit, stimulating it with circling motions.

“why’re you whining when you know i’ll buy you ten more pairs,” he whispered as he soaked in the unsteady shiftiness of your body — and for that, he posed a strong yet harmless grip on your waist. his fat thumb worked nonstop over your bud, sending sparks right to it. your body jolted upward at the feeling of his middle and index fingers tracing soft lines up your pink folds. the sight of your walls clenching and relaxing around nothing spun him. “ooh, what a greedy wifey i got.” he chuckled under his breath, gaze stuck to his home — and i mean your cunt. “sooo desperate for my fingers, huh?”

at this point, any sense or unsteady thought had already vanished away, completely replaced by a selfish state of mind. you wanted him to finger you, fuck you, drive you insane. and you wanted it right fucking now. and so you mewled, “god, please just do something.”

“got the name wrong, darling.” and with that, he pushed two fingers at once inside your fluttering walls, tugging a satisfied moan out of you. “it’s wooyoung. or hubby” he giggled. he fucking giggled as he rammed those fingers mercilessly, shooting stars and fireworks filling your vision.

“w-wait stop— baby, please— fffuck!” stuttering words and incoherent gibberish spilled from your swollen lips, too red and slick from how often and harshly you’d bitten them; eyes welling up with tears from the intense pleasure overload.

“stop?” a chuckle rumbled through his chest. “fine then” he withdrew his long phalanges, leaving you empty. completely fucking empty, with velvety and throbbing walls already missing him. you cried as you felt the void of your pulsating pussy, but before you could coax a desperate “please” from your lips, wooyoung grabbed you by the waist. you gasped, as he manhandled you, positioning you on top, naked folds grazing his clothed sex.

you pouted and wooyoung laughed. he was finding this shit way too funny. “since you so nicely begged me to stop, then put your back into it, mm?” a loud smack! reverberated through the walls as his heavy palm landed on the flesh of your ass. “fuck yourself on my cock, pretty girl.”

and did he have to tell you twice. desperate, shuddering hands worked on his dress pants, quickly undoing his belt and zipping it down just enough to uncover his rock-hard bulge. you grabbed the band of his boxers and pulled it down as well, his cock springing finally free. with a smooth movement, you took his member and positioned it below you. and just before you sit down on him completely, someone knocked on the fucking door.

the surprise caused you to jolt and lose control, sinking in a faster and sloppier motion than you intended — a loud cry resonating through the thin walls the moment his tip kissed your cervix perfectly. with eyes wide open, you slapped a hand over your mouth, cursing yourself for being so fucking noisy and sensitive and—

“yn? are you in here?” the muffled voice of wooyoung’s mother echoed from the other side of the door.

shit shit shit.

“y-yes, ma’am! i… ’m kinda busy over in here—ugh!” you tried to speak as loud and clear as you could, but wooyoung seemed to be unbothered by your efforts since he grabbed your hips and started swaying your core up and down his girth. up, down, up, down.

you stared at your husband with glaring eyes, stabbing knives into his. fuck, did this man even care about being heard by his own mother? now, with all doubts gone, you’re certain you’ve married a freak.

“are you okay, sweetie? what’s going on over there?”

and you swear you heard the door creaking open, so you exclaimed. “no! everything’s fine!” you yelped, your voice higher-pitched than you intended. “please don’t come in.”

wooyoung chuckled underneath you, soaking in the sight of your nervous self trying to mute your cries as your tits bounced right on his face. he could die right there and then and he’d be happy. “what’s wrong, baby? can’t take it?” he whispered as he gazed directly into your tightly scrunched eyes, your partially open mouth releasing nothing more but silent cries and pleas.

“fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” you hushed soundlessly, yet willingly bouncing up and down his length. the low, manly giggle he uttered spun you. fuck, he had you wrapped up around his finger.

“oookay? uhm, do you know where my son is? is he there with you?”

he grinned. that shit-eating grin you hated so damn much appeared all across his face. “c’mon pretty, tell her the truth. tell her how good i’m fucking you, how good you’re taking my cock, hm?” he growled into your ear, his voice low and raspy, sending shivers down your spine. the sound was intoxicating, clouding your thoughts and turning your mind into mush.

your throbbing walls clenched around him subconsciously, his head rocking back in reaction. “he’s… he’s here with me, h-helping me like he said he would.”

wooyoung seemed utterly satisfied by your answer, his grin only spreading wider. “that’s my wife. so beautiful.”

“perfect then! i’ll see you in a bit then.” after those words, no other sound was heard — other than the wet clapping of your flesh against his hips.

“‘s she gone?” your half-lidded eyes stared down at your husband, who was hugging you by the waist, face deeply buried in your bobbing, soft tits. your hands flew to the back of his head, cupping his neck whilst caressing his raven hair fondly. at your words, his head lifted, and took a glance at your divine expression.

“baby, i didn’t care, not even a second, if she was hearing or not.” his intoxicating, dark irises sent love letters to yours, utterly drunk in love. “i jus’ wanna cum inside your sweet pussy.”

skillful fingers crept to your hardened, overstimulated nipples and all the way down where your bodies collided, positioning right on your clit. his left hand stroked your firm nipple and played with one breast, letting wooyoung’s tongue take care of the other whilst his right hand shifted rapidly over your bundle of nerves.

he fell in love with you again as he saw your back arching into a perfect crescent moon. “good girl.” your loud whines and moans only encouraged him to keep going. “so responsive to me.” he exhaled breathlessly. “fuck, are you about to cum, baby?”

“y-yeah, fuck— woo, i-i’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna fucking cum” you yelped as your bounces became sloppier, more desperate and more reckless. wooyoung motivated you by whispering sweet things and heart-melting praises right into your ear.

“cum, baby. cum for me, milk me dry.” and with one last bounce, you sprayed your juices all over him, soaking his pants and white shirt even more.

exasperated grunts and exhales left your husband’s mouth at the sensation of your folds clamping down on him — you definitely understood the assignment of milking him dry. ‘cause your pussy received the hot ropes of cum that his dick spurted out with great pleasure, sucking the life out of his poor, now softened length.

you crumbled down on him, your weakened core landing on top of him with his dick still inside you. your head found home in the crook of his neck as his hand reached to your back, wrapping your waist safely whilst the other provided soothing ministrations to your face. with your last ounce of strength, you pulled the sheets over your naked bodies, an even warming sensation drowning the both of you.

“fuck” was all you could mutter. “how’re we going to get back there, they’re waiting for us.”

wooyoung hummed thoughtfully, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and brushing against your skin. “we could pretend we fell asleep. with that, they shouldn’t suspect a thing.”

“hey that’s actually a great id—“

the door creaked open and your bodies jerked softly. the both of you knew exactly what to do, so your eyes flew shut. wooyoung even started snoring quietly to add a spec of realism to the scene.

the sound of your mothers’ voice echoed through your ears. “she said wooyoung was helping… her” wooyoung’s mom immediately lowered her voice as she took in the scene. an almost soundless aww escaped your mom’s lips.

“well sure he was helping her.” your mother sighed at the wholesome moment she had the luck of appreciating.

“i think he was massaging her. ‘cause when i knocked on the door, i could hear like— muffled sounds, that seemed like moans.” she stated, and you froze in place — well, not like you could move an inch. “at first i was confused, but then she clarified that wooyoung-ah was helping her “like he said he would”” she remarked your words as if she had studied them.

“oh i see.” your mother spoke. “i think we should let them sleep. my poor yn had a long day.”

and with that, the door shut closed with a soft click.

wooyoung giggled under the covers as your face burned from the embarrassment.

“massaging? well, that’s a way to put it.”

“wooyoung, babe, as much as i love you, please shut the fuck up.”

he laughed wholeheartedly, a gut-wrenching sound that never fails to make you smile. “you embarrassed, my love?”

you slapped your open palm against his exposed chest as you whined. “stoppp.”

his small, soft giggle buzzed inside your eardrums before he left on the top of your head a kiss full of fondness and affection. “cutie.”

| masterlist

[cautious-soup]

Bully!(You're never like that around me.)Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Part 3

Part 2 | Part 1

CW// dubcon, mentions of blood, period sex (hear me out 🙏🏾)

Summary: Satoru mulls over your smile, then fucks your period cramps away.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♠︎♤♤♤♤♤

"Satoruu~"

Satoru turned at the sound of your voice, "You're not supposed to be in the men's locker room baby,"

You loop your arms around his neck, and he pulls you close, "I know, but I watched the game, and you were absolutely amazing," you coo.

Satoru smirks, "Heh, yeah I know. Those other teams don't stand a chance,"

"Mmm," You hum, trailing a finger down his chest, "Well, you did so good I'm thinking you deserve a reward, Sa-to-ru,"

Satoru feels his face might break in half with how much he's grinning, "Really?"

"Yes, baby, really," You giggle, kneeling down and thumbing the hem of his shorts.

Satoru looks down at you, and you smile up at him.

"Fuuuck, this is amazing," he groaned as you pulled his shorts down, opened your lips and beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep--

Satoru's eyes flew open. He cussed and pawed at the sheets for his phone, shutting off the alarm and trying to go back to sleep.

"God damn it," he grit his teeth, winding himself tight in the covers and willing himself back asleep, "Come on, come on--shit," his mind grabbed uselessly at the fading shape of his dream. It slipped away like mist.

Satoru splayed out on his bed and sighed.

What the hell was wrong with him?

What was the point of dreaming about something he could have whenever he wanted?

Your roommate wasn't even a problem for him anymore. Having RA friends who folded easily under bribes meant he could have you all to himself.

Everything but her smile, her consent.

Satoru scowled, he didn't care about it before, so why now?

You were supposed to be fun, but just thinking about you put him in a crappy mood.

Well, if he was being honest, it was mostly the video.

A few days ago, Satoru took the time to really dig through your friends' social media, just to see what else he could find about you.

One post was a video, you and some guy cozied up to each other. Your highschool boyfriend, he found out.

You touched him so gently, looked at him like he'd hung the moon and stars himself, leaned up and kissed him, then panicked when you saw your friend was recording. The video ended with the sound of both you laughing.

Meanwhile, he still hadn't managed to make you laugh. Tickling was a no. Jokes didn't work, because you were always so fucking miserable around him, it was annoying, you were such a killjoy and he hated killjoys.

So he grabbed his phone again and texted you.

Satoru: wakey wakey

Satoru: im gonna swing by in a bit

Y/N: i cant today

Satoru: lolol doesn't matter if you want to or not im still gonna fuck u

Y/N: i seriously cant, you wouldnt want to either

Satoru frowned down at his screen, then realized what you were talking about.

Satoru: dont care, see you soon~

Y/N: fuck you

Satoru snorted at your response. Seriously, you weren't cute at all. You being on your period should've been a boner killer, since your pussy was all you had going for you.

But, Satoru read somewhere that orgasms helped ease period cramps and well, he couldn't just say no to such an intriguing hypothesis.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♠︎♤♤♤♤♤

You sigh when Satoru enters your room, dread pooling in your stomach.

You cast a weak glance over to the now empty bed where your roommate once was. She'd just suddenly up and left; your RA said it was a family emergency and didn't elaborate. It was far fetched, but you suspected Satoru had something to do with it--his toxic roots ran all over campus.

"Y/N," Satoru says, waving a hand in front of your face, "Jeez you space out a lot, what's your deal?"

You don't say anything, and wince when a band of pain winds tight around your abdomen. You groan and scoot away from Satoru, "Go. Away. I'm not doing it today, I swear if you try anything I'll bite your dick off."

Satoru rolls his eyes, "Uh, why do you think condoms were invented dummy, a little blood isn't gonna stop me,"

He reaches for you, but you bat his hand away, "Stop! It already hurts and you'll just make it worse--" you say, but Satoru grabs your jaw tightly and forces you to look at him.

"I thought I made it clear that I like hurting you," Satoru says, voice dropping, "You're just a toy for me to have fun with, that's it," he says it like he's talking to himself.

So, you end up on your back, with a stack of towels underneath your hips, absolutely mortified while Satoru rolls a condom onto his dick, looking like a kid in a candy store.

"I genuinely don't know why you wanna do this," you mutter, flinching when Satoru spreads your thighs apart.

"Neither do I," he sighs. He lines himself up with you and, before pushing inside, glances up to meet your gaze. Like he was looking for approval or...consent?

You scoff, "Just get it over with," and look away, biting your lip as Satoru's cock fills your bloody cunt.

"...oh," you both breathe at the same time.

Satoru groans, but tries to play it off as a laugh. Your position is awkward, to try and avoid too much of a mess, but he still finds a way to get close to you.

Always so close...

"F-fuck, ow..." you whimper when he pushes in too far, your aching walls quivering.

"Jesus it's like...totally overflowing," Satoru says.

"That's kind of the point. But sure, push all of that toxic shit back inside with your massive dick,"

"Massive?" Satoru looks back up at you and grins.

The corner of your lip quirks up in a half smile, despite the situation, "Yeah, like the rest of you. Makes you a freak," you say, looking away.

When Satoru doesn't say anything or move for too long, you turn to look back at him.

"U-um," you stammer, "Aren't you gonaaAAH! Fffuck!"

Your breath hitches when you see his face, eyes lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed the most perfect shade of pink.

Satoru slams into you, his pelvis flush against yours despite the blood. A low, pained whine escapes from his throat.

"Sah, saaht- oh my god," Your head falls to the floor as Satoru starts fucking you.

"So fucking slippery inside," he groans, there's hardly any friction, but it still feels incredible somehow.

Overcome with embarassment, you squeeze your eyes shut, but Satoru is leaning down and kissing you.

The pain radiating through your pelvis gets lost behind the haze of pleasure, you feel yourself rolling your hips against Satoru's.

Satoru pants, and looks down at you with a smoldering expression, "Trust me," he pants, "You're gonna thank me for this."

Before you can ask what he means, you squeal as Satoru presses his thumb against your clit, moving it in tight circles and driving you batshit insane.

"Satoru!" you cry out, eyes fluttering shut and thighs burning. Satoru groans and pulls you impossibly closer, kissing you until his hips start to stutter. When he finally cums, he collapses on top of you.

The room is quiet except for the two of you panting. You whimper when he pulls out of you, flushing as the scent of copper meets your nose.

"That was so gross--hey!"

You're about to answer yes, but then you wiggle your hips and realize, "Um, not as much as it was a little while ago..."

Your jaw falls open as you watch Satoru examine his now very red thumb, "Woah, it really is blood huh," he looks down at the red smears covering his crotch, "Does it hurt?"

Satoru huffs, and you watch him hide a smile behind his hand.

"Can I please just take a shower," you sigh.

"No, you can't," Satoru says, "But we can,"

Satoru picks you up and carries you over to the bathroom.

Under the spray of warm water, you clutch your arms and watch the blood swirl down the drain, while Satoru spends too much time lathering your tits from his spot behind you.

But really, it isn't so bad.

Part 4

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♠︎♤♤♤♤♤

A/N: I swear I don't know how I'm writing this fast, it's insane.

[hobi-side]

Stars We Never Caught 4.0 | jhs

—  summary: At eleven, you met Hoseok. He was your older brother’s best friend, and for years, he was a constant in your world. Growing up alongside him, with Yoongi, your brother, and the rest of your crew, you never imagined that anything would ever change. Hoseok felt like family—always there but never quite a brother. It was a strange kind of closeness, one that never quite fit into the lines of what you understood.

But as you grew older, things started to shift. You got caught up in your own life, distracted by the swirl of adulthood. Now, back in Seoul, you find yourself drawn back to him. Whether it’s fate or coincidence, Hoseok is still there, and you can’t shake the pull that you’ve buried for so long. But perhaps some things are never meant to be—some stars are never meant to be caught, no matter how brightly they shine or are they?

— playlist: what was that - lorde, ribs - lorde, panic - beomgyu, wildest dreams - taylor swift, i need u (urban mix) - bts, run (ballad mix) - bts, cigarette daydreams - cage the elephant, the less i know the better - tame impala, 0x1 love song - txt, writer in the dark - lorde, somebody else - the 1975, your dog - soccer mommy + every mitski album.

— word count: 5k for this part—this is a long one shot like around 60k for the full thing, this is finally the last part.

—  warnings: angst, longing, yearning, deep Yearn (I meant this), pinning (sorry), slow really slow burn (I meant this), brother's best friend, coming of age, yoongi being a big bro (we love you yoongles), overthinking, lots of inner monologue, growing pains in your 20s, adulthood being a pain in the ass, lots of deep talks, tension... so much tension (shit goes wrong or not....) OKAY, now onto other warnings: sweet love making—then horny people being horny people because they're deep in feelings but freaky as hell: big dick! hobi, f! m! masturbation, sex with feelings™, strenght kink, hickeys, HICKEYS, biting, deep throathing, choking, missionary, manhandling?

please, read the note !!!

part one | part two | part three

He stared at you for a long second, his hand still resting on your thigh.

The room felt heavy — not just with lust, but something else. Something close. Real.

And then, without a word—

He dropped to his knees.

Not to tease.

Not to rush.

Just to look up at you from below, hands dragging softly down your thighs as he settled between them.

His breath was warm against your skin when he spoke.

“Have you ever been loved right?”

Your lips parted—no sound.

He tilted his head, eyes burning, soft and sharp all at once.

“I’m not talking about fucked.”

His hand moved higher.

“I mean touched. Worshipped. Felt.”

You whimpered, already dizzy from the heat in his voice alone.

“Please,” you whispered. Desperate. Wrecked.

But he didn’t move yet.

Just leaned in, lips close enough that his breath hit your skin with every word.

“I’m asking you, baby.”

“Have they touched you here?”

His fingers brushed over you—barely.

You gasped.

“I’m sure they have,” he continued, “but the one you remember after this?”

His mouth curled into a grin—slow and devastating.

“It’ll be me.”

And then—

He put his mouth on you.

No more teasing.

Just heat.

Soft at first—testing, tasting—

And when your head dropped back and your thighs tightened around his shoulders, he moaned into you.

You cried out—sharp, sweet—

Your body already tipping forward, your hands grasping at the sheets, his name breaking from your lips without shape.

Your eyes rolled back.

And he didn’t stop.

He devoured you.

His mouth was everywhere.

Hot. Wet. Knowing.

And you were unraveling — not just under the pressure of his hands, not just from the slick slide of his tongue,

but from the way he said your name.

Or—what he used to call you.

“My precious star.”

The words dropped from his mouth like sin.

Low. Velvet. Drenched in heat.

So unlike the way he used to say it — bright, teasing, with a lopsided grin and a juice box in hand.

No.

This was different.

This time, he said it like it meant something.

Like he was tasting not just your body, but the years between you.

All the soft edges of your childhood.

All the versions of you he used to know.

And the one he was learning now — mouth open, thighs shaking, fingers twisted in the sheets.

“So sweet,” he murmured, licking slow, deliberate, his voice crumbling at the edges.

Like he was remembering and forgetting you at the same time.

Your breath hitched.

You should’ve blushed.

But you didn’t.

Because it wasn’t just a name anymore.

It was a confession.

A claim.

A way to say you’ve changed without ever having to say it.

He kissed you again, deeper.

And then—

“Sweet, tasty star.”

You gasped.

Not because of the pressure.

But because that name, once so innocent, now felt like the only thing anchoring you to your skin.

Like you were being rewritten in his mouth.

Grown.

Opened.

Made new.

This was the moment it shifted.

You weren’t the girl with a quiet crush anymore.

You were a woman, shaking in his hands,

and he wanted you — not in spite of the history,

but because of it.

You didn’t even know what you were saying.

“Please—”

It fell from your mouth over and over.

A sound more than a word.

A sob soaked in heat.

You weren’t begging for anything specific—

Just more.

Just now.

Just him.

Your thighs were shaking, hips chasing every flick of his tongue like your body was hunting something your brain couldn’t even name.

“Please,” you choked again, one hand gripping the sheets, the other lost in his hair.

You were too far gone.

Too high.

Too blind from lust, from want, from the sharp edge of release curling deep in your gut and pulling tight, tighter—

“I’m gonna—”

But you couldn’t finish.

You couldn’t say it.

Because your body did it for you.

You shattered.

Loud.

Shaking.

Your voice catching in your throat as everything in you let go.

Your vision blurred.

Your chest stuttered with a breath you couldn’t catch.

And through all of it, his mouth didn’t stop.

His hands held you in place.

And his voice—low, dark, proud—was the only thing that tethered you back.

“That’s it,” he murmured, dragging his mouth up your thigh.

“Let me feel you break.”

You were still shaking.

Still catching your breath, mouth open, chest rising in uneven bursts.

Your thighs twitched every time the air hit you—slick, sensitive.

He looked up at you from where he hovered—lips wet, jaw tense, hands loose at your hips like he didn’t know whether to hold you or kneel again.

His eyes were dark, unreadable.

“Jesus,” he muttered, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth like he could wipe you off of him. “You’re—fuck, baby, that was—”

You didn’t wait.

You moved before the thought even finished forming.

Your knees hit the floor with a thud.

He barely had time to react before your fingers were at his waistband, your breath still uneven from your own undoing, but your eyes locked on him like a dare.

His hand came to your jaw, cupping it gently, thumb brushing the corner of your lips like he needed to slow you down.

“My sweet star,” he said, voice barely there. “Baby, you don’t have to—”

Your eyes flicked up.

“But I want to.”

He sucked in a breath, jaw tightening.

Still—he hesitated.

“I’m not gonna be gentle,” he warned, already half-choked on the image of you like this. “Not if you do this. Not with the way you’re looking at me.”

You smiled.

Sharp. Wrecked.

And deadly honest.

“Did I ask you to be?”

His control snapped just like that.

He was standing over you, shirtless, wrecked, still recovering from what he just pulled from your body.

And yet—he smirked.

Slow. Crooked.

Like he still had a little bit of control to burn through.

He leaned down, cupped your face in his hand, his thumb brushing across your lip like he was thinking about everything you could do to him.

Everything you would.

“Tsk tsk.”

His voice was low, playful. But edged.

“So you told me rough,” he said, eyes heavy as he looked down at you.

“That’s how you like it too, right?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

You just looked at him—wide-eyed, mouth parted, body still humming from the high he’d given you moments ago.

He tilted his head.

“Mmm. Okay, Star.”

The name hit different now.

Weighted. Filthy.

“Red was your word, right?” he asked, more serious now. Still steady, still with care anchoring every bit of the burn.

You nodded.

His thumb dipped under your jaw, made your mouth fall open just a little.

“Good. Then come on.”

He leaned in, voice velvet-dark.

“Do your thing.”

You were still on your knees.

Your hand around him, slow and slick, watching the tension in his jaw sharpen every time you twisted your wrist just right.

But that smugness in your smile?

That didn’t last long.

Because Hoseok was done watching.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair—not harsh, not painful, but firm, possessive—and tilted your face up.

“Open,” he said.

Voice like a command wrapped in velvet.

Low. Steady. No room for teasing now.

You obeyed.

And the second your mouth parted, he guided himself between your lips—slow, deep, with a groan that sounded like it had been waiting years to come out.

His grip in your hair tightened as your lips closed around him, heat blooming on your tongue.

“Just like that,” he muttered, already breathless.

“Fuck, you look so good like this.”

You tried to take control again—hands moving, setting your rhythm—

But he stopped you.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, pulling your hands away and pinning them to your lap.

“You wanted rough, remember?”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide, mouth full.

He grinned—sharp, dangerous, hot.

“Then keep your hands to yourself, baby.”

And then he moved.

Not too fast.

But deliberate.

Rhythmic.

In control.

He rolled his hips just enough for you to feel the weight of it, the pace of it—his hand still fisted in your hair, guiding you up, down, slow and deep.

You moaned around him, the sound strangled and thick.

He cursed, low.

“God—look at you.”

Another thrust.

“You were made for this, weren’t you?”

Your eyes watered. Your jaw ached. But you never stopped.

And neither did he.

“If it’s too much,” he muttered, voice ragged, “say it. Otherwise…”

He pulled your hair tighter.

“Take it. All of it.”

His hips moved again—steady now, purposeful—each slow thrust brushing the back of your throat just enough to make your eyes flutter.

You moaned around him, soft and thick, and that—

That broke him a little.

He looked down, sweat on his brow, hand tangled in your hair, chest rising fast.

“So you’re a masochist, sweetheart.”

A breathless chuckle followed, dark and wrecked.

“That it?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Not with him filling your mouth like this, owning the rhythm, guiding your every movement.

And he loved it.

“Mouth full of cock,” he rasped, hips twitching slightly, voice strained.

“So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your throat tightened at his words, heat surging lower.

He pulled your head back just enough for you to blink up at him—spit-slick, flushed, ruined.

“Can’t even talk, can you?”

You gave him what he wanted.

You nodded, slowly, shamelessly.

And then you made it worse—

You let your tongue drag over him deliberately as he held you, made a fucking show of it.

His grip tightened in your hair.

“Jesus, Star—”

You took him deeper again, gaze locked on his.

“You like it like this?” he asked, voice cracking.

You nodded again, eyes glinting, filthy and perfect.

He swore, hand clenching harder, his body tensing—his thighs shaking now, muscles straining with the effort not to lose it right there.

“Fuck—baby, you’re gonna make me—”

You had him.

You knew it.

The way his body was shaking under your hands—

The way his voice cracked, chest heaving, knuckles white where he gripped your hair—

He was close.

So you didn’t stop.

You dragged your mouth over him again, slow and filthy, tongue teasing just enough to push him right to the edge.

You looked up—eyes glassy, mouth wet, lips stretched around him—

And Hoseok let out a sound you’d never heard before.

A groan, broken in half.

Raw.

Wrecked.

“Fuck—Star, I’m gonna—”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

You just gripped his hips, braced yourself, and took it.

His hand tightened, pulling your head down just enough for his breath to catch, spine arching—

And then—

He came.

Hard.

With a gasp and a curse and your name strangled somewhere in the middle.

You felt every pulse of it.

Every tremor in his thighs.

Every breath he couldn’t catch.

You stayed there until he finished—until his body started to slacken, his hand falling from your hair, his whole frame wrecked above you.

And then you pulled back—slow, careful, a little smug.

Wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks flushed, heart racing.

He stared at you.

Like you weren’t real.

Like he never expected this.

“Holy—fuck.”

He dropped onto the bed behind him, still catching his breath.

One arm flung over his face, the other blindly reaching for you.

He peeked at you from under his arm—eyes soft now, a little stunned.

“I didn’t know you were gonna try to end my life.”

You laughed. Breathless.

And he pulled you into his chest.

Tucked your head beneath his jaw.

Still panting, still dazed.

His hand slid into your hair—gentle now. Reassuring. Familiar.

“You okay?”

You nodded.

“You?”

“We aren't done, babe”

You looked up — and he was already smirking.

Already shifting onto his side, one arm sliding around your waist.

“What else do you like,” he asked, voice soft, teasing, mean.

“Hmm? My sweet, nasty star.”

He was still above you, eyes dark, chest rising slowly.

Watching.

His hands didn’t move fast.

But when they did move—

They moved you.

Like it was easy.

Like it was nothing.

One hand around your thigh, one bracing your waist—

He adjusted you underneath him, hips tilted, legs spread, just so.

You whined.

And he smiled.

“Ohhh,” he murmured, like he was learning something delicious.

“You like that.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

He shifted you again, deliberately, dragging your hips a little higher with one hand. The ease of it, the control, the effortless way he could place you—

Your breath stuttered.

His smirk deepened.

“You like how easy this is for me?”

He kissed the side of your jaw.

“How I can just—”

He flipped you again.

Not all the way. Just enough to force a gasp out of you.

“—move you however I want?”

Your whole body arched, instinctive, needy.

“Fuck,” he breathed, more to himself now. “You’re so into this.”

You whined, pressing your thighs together, only for him to spread them apart again with a single knee.

“You like being handled like you weight nothing?” he asked, mouth at your ear.

“Knowing I could flip you over, drag you down, fuck you through the bed—”

You moaned—open, honest, wrecked.

“Jesus, baby.”

He kissed down your spine, hands firm on your hips now, and you could feel it—

The shift.

His control breaking just a little.

His restraint cracking.

“Please,” you gasped— More breath than word.

A whine pulled from somewhere raw.

And that—That broke him.

His body shuddered.

His restraint snapped.

He looked down at you—ruined, flushed, eyes glassy—and his voice came low, tight, like it hurt to speak.

“Tsk, tsk…”

His thumb brushed your lip.

“My beautiful star making such pretty sounds.”

He shifted, just slightly—just enough for the tip of him to slide through the wetness between your legs, teasing, lazy, maddening.

“Sounds I never thought I’d get to hear.”

You whimpered again, hips chasing him.

And he moaned at the sight of it.

“So wet,” he murmured, dragging his length along your folds, slow and torturous. “So fucking ready.”

You clawed at the sheets.

He leaned in, mouth to your ear.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Has anyone ever loved this pussy right?”

You shook your head, breathless.

He pulled back, just enough to look you in the eyes.

“Let me.”

A kiss to your cheek.

“Let me show you how much I fucking love you.”

Another kiss—hot, shaking—along your jaw.

“Let me show you how fucking regretful I am of the years we missed because I was a fucking idiot.”

He thrust in—deep, slow, wrecking.

You cried out—no shame, no filter, just need.

“Let me show you how a man loves a woman—”

His hips snapped forward again, harder.

“—hard.”

You arched into him, open-mouthed, completely unguarded.

And that was it.

That was when you both started to unravel—together.

The rhythm was relentless.

Consuming.

Each thrust harder, deeper—every inch of him claiming space you didn’t even know you could give.

“Oh my god—”

That’s all you could say.

Barely a whisper, your voice cracking with every movement, your nails digging into the sheets like they were the only things anchoring you.

He was everywhere.

Above you, in you, all around you—

Breathing hard, burning, skin against skin like friction was the only language he knew now.

“Oh my—fuck—”

You couldn’t finish.

Your eyes rolled back, mouth open, breath shattered.

He was destroying you in the most perfect way.

And he knew it.

“Take it, baby,” he growled, his voice thick and broken.

“You wanted rough, right?”

His hips snapped again, slamming into you with precision, with purpose.

You sobbed something incoherent, body arching up to meet him.

“You can take it.”

His hand slid under your thigh, lifting, opening you more.

“So fucking deep, right?”

You couldn’t breathe.

You nodded, head tipping back as he filled you again—slower now, but harder—dragging it out until your whole body trembled.

“You’re perfect like this,” he rasped.

“Fucking made for this.”

You whimpered—again.

High. Breathless. Embarrassingly loud.

And he loved it.

“Gosh,” he chuckled darkly, breath ragged but voice smug,

“you love being noisy, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer.

Not with the way he was pounding into you—hard and fast, the rhythm so good it felt illegal.

But that didn’t stop him.

“Mmm... should I give you something to really scream about?”

His mouth was suddenly everywhere—

Teeth scraping down your neck, tongue sliding hot against your throat, breath warm as he pressed kisses into your skin between thrusts.

“Should I bite you?”

He licked slowly up the side of your neck, deliberately drawing it out.

“You like it rough, right, Star?”

A sharp snap of his hips followed, making you yelp.

He moaned into your ear.

“Should I mark you?”

His voice dropped to a whisper, sinful and reverent.

He kissed just beneath your jaw, then slowly dragged his tongue to the curve of your shoulder—right before sinking his teeth in.

Not hard.

Not painful.

Just enough to make you feel it.

You gasped—head thrown back, vision blinking white.

“Fuck—”

He groaned, his grip tightening on your waist.

“Oh, you like that.”

Then he pulled back—barely—and his eyes dropped lower, trailing down your body.

He brought a finger to trace between your breasts, slow and teasing.

“Mmm,” he said, gaze dark. “Can I bite you here next?”

His hand flattened between them, palm pressing against your sternum.

“Right in the middle... between these perfect tits?”

Your breath hitched.

And then he did it.

He bent low, kissed between them—once.

Then sucked. Slow, hot, deep.

Not hard enough to bruise.

But hard enough to claim.

And still—he didn’t break rhythm.

His hips drove into you with perfect pressure, relentless, leaving you crying out with each thrust as his mouth worked its own magic lower.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Not the sounds.

Not the need.

Not the truth that had been clawing its way up your throat for years.

He was everywhere.

Inside you, above you, hands gripping your waist like he’d never let go.

His mouth was still pressed between your breasts, lips swollen, breath hot as he bit down again—harder this time, and you cried out.

“Say it,” he growled, voice wrecked, rhythm punishing.

“Say you're mine.”

And you did.

“I’m yours—”

Your voice cracked, hips lifting to meet his thrusts.

“I’m yours, please—fuck, I’ve been yours—”

Your head fell back.

“I don’t even know how long.”

He swore, loud, raw, his rhythm faltering for the first time.

Your hands clawed at his back, your legs tightening around him.

“Please—fuck—”

You were sobbing the words now.

“Please don’t stop, I’m so close—”

And that was it.

His control shattered.

He grabbed your wrists, pinned them above your head, and fucked into you like he was trying to bury the years between you inside every thrust.

“You’re mine,” he gritted, sweat dripping down his temple.

“You’ve always been mine.”

Your bodies moved like they were chasing the same end—

And when it hit—

It wrecked you.

You came with a cry, legs shaking, mouth open, back arching into him like your body was breaking apart around his name.

And he followed—cursing, groaning, collapsing into you as he came, hard, pulsing deep, hips still grinding slow as he rode it out.

For a moment—

There was nothing.

No sound but your breaths.

No thought but him.

No feeling but the burned-out, beautiful aftermath of everything you'd held in finally being set free.

You didn’t remember when he stopped moving.

Only that at some point, his forehead was pressed to yours, both of you gasping into the tiny space between your mouths.

Your skin was slick—his was too—

And every part of your body felt used, loved, shaken.

Your hands were still tangled in his hair, your legs still around his waist.

Neither of you had moved.

Not yet.

Just breathing.

Hard.

Fast.

Trying to catch up to the fact that your bodies had just told the truth before your mouths ever could.

Hoseok's lips ghosted over your jaw, your cheek, your mouth—

Not hungry. Not teasing. Just… there.

And then he kissed you.

Soft.

Slower than anything he’d done to you all night.

Like he was still apologizing for the years he wasted.

Like he needed to taste the moment before it slipped away.

You kissed him back, eyes closed, breath still shaky.

Your hand slid down his spine—damp with sweat, warm and familiar—and you curled into him like you never wanted to leave.

He rested his weight on top of you, careful not to crush, but refusing to let go.

No words yet.

Just the thump of his heart against yours.

Just his hand brushing the side of your thigh.

Just his lips pressed to your shoulder now.

And your fingers brushing his jaw as if to say I’m still here.

After a while—

He whispered it. Quiet. Barely a breath.

“Still with me?”

You nodded.

Tightening your legs around him just a little.

Breathing him in.

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

His hand slid to your cheek.

Lifted your face just enough.

His eyes were warm.

Wrecked.

Honest.

“You okay?”

You smiled.

Small. True.

“I think I’ve never been more okay.”

He kissed you again.

Deeper this time.

You didn’t realize you’d been drifting—

Not fully asleep, not fully awake—

Until you felt his fingers.

Gentle.

Tracing soft shapes into your hip.

You blinked, slowly, still wrapped around him, still sticky and spent and so full of everything he just gave you.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just moved.

One hand brushing sweat-matted strands from your forehead.

The other lifting your leg slightly, shifting you with ease, like your body was something he knew now. Something he could read.

“Hurting?” he whispered, voice thick and low.

You blinked at him, eyes half-lidded.

“No,” you said softly. “Just… sore.”

He smiled.

Pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Good sore or bad sore?”

You gave a sleepy smirk.

“You’re asking like you don’t know the answer.”

He chuckled—quiet, low in his throat—and slipped out of bed only long enough to grab a warm towel and a bottle of water from the side table.

You didn’t have to ask.

He just cleaned you gently, whispering nothing into your skin. Words like:

“So pretty.”

“Still can’t believe.”

“Mine.”

Then he pulled you back into him, wrapping the covers over both of you like a second skin.

You pressed your face to his neck.

He smelled like sex and warmth and something safe.

“Sleep,” he whispered into your hair.

And you did.

The first thing you felt was light.

Sunlight spilling through his curtain-less window, soft and golden against your bare back.

The second thing you felt—

Him.

His arm was still around you, his hand resting just beneath your chest.

One leg tangled over yours.

His breath warm against the curve of your neck.

You smiled into the pillow.

Your body ached.

Not in a bad way.

In the kind of way that reminded you exactly what had happened—

And how much it mattered.

Slowly, you turned.

He was already awake.

Eyes open. Barely.

That lazy, morning kind of smile tugging at his mouth.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he murmured back, voice rough.

Then, after a pause—

“So, uh… that wasn’t a dream, right?”

You laughed—quiet and warm.

“No. You definitely weren’t dreaming.”

He grinned, then leaned in, kissed your shoulder.

“Good.”

Another kiss, closer to your collarbone this time.

“Because I’d really hate to wake up from this.”

You stretched with a wince—limbs sore in the best way, muscles tired, your whole body buzzing from everything that happened hours ago.

He was still beside you, propped up on one elbow, watching you like you were some dream he didn’t want to blink away.

You rolled toward him, dragging your fingertips lightly down his chest, smirking.

“You know I’m sore,” you said playfully, voice low and sleep-soft.

“But I just realized…”

You trailed off, tracing a slow path over his ribs.

“I didn’t mark your back like I wanted to.”

He blinked, and then — smirked.

Slow and devilish, like he’d just won something.

“So you wanna mark my back, pretty?”

His voice came out hoarse, still raspy from sleep, and full of teasing pride.

You shrugged—innocent, dangerous.

“Would be a shame to waste the moment.”

“Oh?” He leaned in, lips brushing your shoulder.

“That why you’re straddling me now?”

You hadn’t realized you’d done it—but you were.

Knees planted on either side of his hips, hands on his chest, your hair a mess and your grin feral.

“Maybe,” you said, hips grinding down just a little.

He hissed, hands already finding your thighs.

“God, you’re shameless.”

You leaned down to kiss him, slow and hot.

“I’ve never been like this,” you whispered against his lips.

“Not even with huh.. Daniel.”

His grip on your hips tightened.

“Good.”

A breath.

“I don’t want your past.”

He looked up at you—dead serious now.

“I just want you.”

You kissed him harder.

You didn’t realize how slow you were moving until he touched you.

His hands—warm, steady—slid up your thighs, anchoring you on top of him.

You were already straddling his hips, your body flushed from teasing, sore in all the best ways, but still buzzing with want.

The kind of want that didn’t burn like fire anymore—

It hummed like music.

Low. Steady. Deep.

Hoseok’s eyes were soft, but his grip wasn’t.

He guided your hips down just enough for your bodies to brush—his length hard against your entrance, your breath catching in a sharp gasp.

He didn’t move.

Just held you there.

“Still sure?” he asked, voice hoarse from sleep and moaning your name all night.

You nodded, biting your lip.

“I want you slow,” you whispered. “But I want all of you.”

His head tipped back.

“Fuck.”

And then—

He guided you down.

Inch by inch.

Slow enough that you felt every part of him.

Every twitch. Every pulse.

You gasped—quiet but breathless—your nails dragging over his chest.

“Shit,” you breathed. “Still so full—”

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured, voice breaking, “So soft. So fucking warm.”

He held your hips and didn’t thrust—

He just let you settle.

Let you feel him.

Your eyes fluttered closed.

Then—

The first roll of your hips.

A grind, not a thrust.

Drawn out, deliberate, slow enough to make your entire body light up.

Hoseok moaned beneath you, hands trailing to your waist, your ass, your spine.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Ride me, baby. Just like that.”

You moved again, a little faster.

Still slow, still deep—

But now his breath was catching.

Now his hands were trembling.

And every time you dropped your hips, he lifted his—just barely—meeting you, feeding the rhythm like it was the only thing left keeping him sane.

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “Like you were made for me.”

Your forehead pressed to his.

Your fingers tangled in his hair.

And as you rode him—slow and soaked in heat—

He kissed you like he was trying to say everything without words.

It wasn’t last night.

It wasn’t urgent.

It wasn’t messy.

It was yours.

And when you came—

He did too.

Silent.

Breathless.

Clinging to each other in the morning light.

You were still lying on his chest.

Both of you were a mess—sweaty, sore, skin sticking slightly where your legs tangled together under the covers.

Neither of you had said much after.

There wasn’t much to say.

Just breath.

Just the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

Just the feel of his fingers brushing lazily up and down your back.

Until—

“So…”

His voice was hoarse, still ruined from the sounds he made hours ago.

“How’s your back?”

You snorted.

“Sore. You?”

He turned his head, eyes crinkling.

“I think I saw God at one point.”

You laughed—really laughed this time—and lifted your face off his chest just long enough to kiss the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

He yawned, stretching dramatically beneath you.

“And I think you broke my spine with that last move.”

You grinned.

“Which one? The slow grind or the bite?”

He fake-wheezed. “Both. I was a goner by then.”

You sat up, still draped in the sheet, hair wild and lips swollen.

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m right,” he mumbled, then added under his breath,

“My soul left my body and you were still grinding.”

You blushed, but didn’t deny it.

Instead, you leaned down, lips brushing his ear.

“You loved it.”

He groaned, arms flopping over his face.

“Don’t start. I’m gonna die if you get on top of me again right now.”

“So no round three?”

“Babe—”

You cackled, falling beside him again.

And that’s how you stayed.

Naked. Sweaty. Wrecked.

But smiling.

Together.

And in love, whether either of you said it or not. But he did though, it was so much better

You didn’t expect anyone to be there.

You were fresh out of the shower, hoodie zipped halfway up, skin still damp, hair wrapped in a towel. Hoseok had practically shoved you out of bed with a lazy smirk and a “I’ll come by later, babe, go act normal before your brother disowns me.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him goodbye anyway.

You hadn’t even thought to check your phone.

So when you unlocked the apartment and stepped in—yawning, hoodie barely covering the tops of your thighs—

You froze.

Because sitting around the coffee table?

Yeji. Jungkook. Yoongi.

Three heads turned.

Three pairs of eyes locked on you.

And the silence that followed was deafening.

Yeji blinked once—then grinned so wide her face could’ve cracked.

Jungkook looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh, his lip already tucked between his teeth.

And Yoongi?

Yoongi just stared.

Arms crossed.

You were still standing there, damp hair in a towel, oversized hoodie swallowing your thighs—

And all three of them were staring like you’d just strolled in wearing a wedding dress and a hickey.

Yoongi rubbed his temple. “Did you at least talk to him?”

You blinked.

Swallowed.

“Yeah,” you said carefully. “We… talked a lot.”

Silence.

Then—

“Yeah,” Jungkook added helpfully, not looking up from his phone,

“You also seemed to have fucked a lot.”

“JUNGKOOK—”

Yeji screamed laughing.

You choked on air.

Yoongi stood up like his soul was leaving his body.

“Oh my god,” you hissed. “Kook—shut up—”

He shrugged, grinning.

“I mean, I’m just saying! She’s glowing. She walked in like she levitated home. Hoseok’s hoodie looks slept in. We all know what happened.”

Yeji clapped her hands. “This is the best day of my life.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands.

And right then—

Your phone buzzed.

[Hoseok 💛]:

outside. do I come in or is yoongi still armed?

[You]:

come in. jungkook already set the building on fire it’s fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

You didn’t know how you knew —

Only that it felt true.

In your body. In the softness of your smile.

In the way the quiet didn’t feel heavy anymore.

You felt lighter.

Gosh, even… hopeful.

Life wasn’t perfect.

You were still figuring it out — fumbling through Monday mornings, trying to make peace with emails and deadlines and who you were supposed to become.

You didn’t have all the answers.

Hell, you barely had a plan.

But you had this:

A moment.

A stillness.

A stretch of peace that didn’t feel like waiting — it felt like living.

Because your people were here.

Your stars — the ones you caught without even realizing it.

Yeji, wild and luminous.

Jungkook, loyal and soft beneath the mischief.

Yoongi, steady as a lighthouse, even when he swore too much and cared too quietly.

And Hoseok.

God, Hoseok.

A man who loved you with hands that knew where to hold and when to let go.

A man who looked at you like the sky wasn’t quite enough.

A man who laughed with you, cried with you, burned with you — and stayed.

That kind of love?

It made everything else easier.

Even Monday.

Even growing up.

Even the not-knowing.

Because maybe adulthood wasn’t about having it all figured out.

Maybe it was just about choosing people who made the journey worth it.

And letting them choose you, too.

You looked out the window, blinking up at the darkening sky.

There were stars tonight.

Real ones.

But the brightest?

Were already here.

And you had never felt more at home.

— note: I’ve spent over two hours fighting with Tumblr to get this post up — so first of all, I’m sorry for the delay. This story means everything to me. It was the reason I created this blog in the first place. It was supposed to be the first thing I ever shared.

A one-shot that grew roots and refused to let go.

Coming-of-age has always been my favorite genre — there’s something about nostalgia that sinks into your skin.

It aches, longs, yearns. You ache for old memories, for the people you once knew, for the feelings you used to feel. Even for the feelings you haven’t had yet — the ones that still wait for you.

I wanted to write something that felt like that. Something dreamy and soft, but grounded — something that caught fire with reality, because the truth is: happiness alone has never been enough to carry us.

This wasn’t as angsty as I first imagined it would be. Somewhere along the way, the story took a different shape — and I let it. It’s been sitting in my drafts for 2–3 years, slowly becoming something else.

There’s a part of me that feels like I failed to capture exactly what I wanted. That I got lost in the middle.

But I’m learning to be gentle with myself — because there’s still so much more to explore.

And I really, really wanted to post this.

So if you read it — thank you.

If any part of it reflects your own thoughts, your insecurities, the weird ache of figuring life out — I hope you feel seen.

Growing pains aren’t a flaw.

They’re just the moments when we brush up against the truth that growing up is hard — strange, messy, beautiful and confusing. Sometimes, that's enough.

PD: Tumblr hates me, this post is up, yeah, technically. I hate that is up without the actual edition like I was pasting from my Word document includic italics / bold, but for some reason it doesn't look like I did. This app hates me I'll manage to change it later.

[psformybss]

Sailor Song

JJ had seen a lot of girls in his time on the Cut, but none like you.

Not in the blinding way you lit up a porch at midnight. Not with your head tossed back, eyes closed, laughing around the clouds of your vape pen as if the sky wasn’t heavy and the world wasn’t breaking down around you.

You looked like you belonged in a movie, maybe not the kind his teachers would let play in class, but the kind he’d watch again and again.

You looked like trouble, the best kind.

And he was a sucker for trouble.

“JJ,” you whispered, voice thick like honey as you leaned up from the floor where you’d ended up sitting cross-legged by his legs, “baby, would you please?”

He blinked. “Please what?”

“That thing you said you’d do.”

You grinned like you had a secret, like the night was bending in your favor.

You kissed him like he was oxygen and you’d been underwater for days.

You kissed him like it meant something.

And JJ? He kissed you back like he didn’t care if the house caught fire.

⸻

It wasn’t supposed to be this deep. It wasn’t supposed to stick.

But the thing was, nothing hit quite like you.

You tasted like cherry vape and salt air.

You smiled like you knew the mess you left in your wake.

And JJ Maybank, reckless, grinning, sunburned JJ, was completely gone for it.

He told you once, between breathless kisses and tangled sheets,

“God’s never done anything for me.”

And you’d just smiled, pulling his hand to your mouth, lips brushing the tips of his fingers like a silent prayer.

“But you…” he murmured, heart thudding in a rhythm he couldn’t control, “you might be the closest thing.”

⸻

Your mom said you were a storm waiting to happen.

His friends said he was a trainwreck already crashing.

But when your nails scratched down his spine and your breath ghosted across his collarbone, all JJ could think was that it had never felt this right to be wrong.

⸻

There were nights you both couldn’t wait, where dreams blurred into memory.

Where JJ woke up in a sweat, half-crazed, whispering your name into the dark.

He’d sneak out, barefoot and drunk on need, just to find your window.

Just to be the cat to your mouse.

Just to crash into you like the tide, over and over, until you forgot everything else.

And when you laughed at some dumb shit he said about the stars or how he’d fight the moon if it ever made you cry,

he thought—this.

This was it.

His favorite flavor. His home in chaos.

⸻

“Tell me something true,” you said one night, curled up with your head on his chest.

JJ traced shapes on your shoulder, kissed your temple.

“I’d ruin myself a thousand times just to taste your name.”

You looked up, lips parted, stunned.

Then you kissed him again.

Soft. Slow.

Like you’d waited your whole life for that line.

⸻

Because even if it all burned down tomorrow, JJ knew one thing:

You were the kind of girl who’d make a boy believe in something again.

And he’d go to war just to keep that feeling.

Even if it killed him.

Even if you laughed, and coughed, and ran away again.

He’d always chase.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

sooo what do y’all think? i lowkey hadn’t had inspo to write anything for jj that wasn’t just depressive since november but this song randomly reminded me of him

[ma1dita]

hiii can i have 1 ticket to the give em' a pumpkin to talk about starring luke castellan with popcorn and candy??

welcome to my nightmare

[STARRING: LUKE CASTELLAN x reader “Just forget you saw this happen.” “I’ve just never seen you this mad before.”] wc: 700+ a/n: no warnings this one's just dumb and goofy and inspired by sylus x mc's aether tie from LNDS if yall have ever played haha; title from the alice cooper song

monster mash-terlist

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

For the past week, you and Luke Castellan have been stuck at the hip. Well, kinda…and definitely not by choice.

“I swear to the gods, when I get my hands on you Castellan…” 

“Sure, go ahead. Call on Nemesis again and maybe this time if I stay quiet, the goddess of retribution will keep me out of whatever stupid punishment you get next!” he spits, yanking at the invisible force that has your wrists linked together. You chew a guy out in the presence of a sacred temple once and now you’re stuck to him indefinitely. Perfect.

“We can’t go out like this,” you groan exasperatedly, “you’re messing with my game.” Luke’s eyes might roll to the back of his head if he tries any harder. Everything is always a game with you—and he’s about to lose it.

“You’re the only person I know that would pull the shit you do, y’know? He was being annoying,” Luke scoffs, remembering the barista who was trying to chat you up an hour earlier. He never thought he’d say this, but he absolutely cannot wait to get back to Camp Half-Blood. You stop in your tracks to protest, “He was being nice! And I was trying to score us a free lunch, but you had to be all macho, ‘Can’t you see she’s cuffed?’ CLEARLY NOT!” The invisible link between your wrists strengthens as you try to tug your arm away from him—the pull almost tightening around your skin as his arm follows the shape of yours with no dispute. 

“He was too nice. There was something wrong with his face.”

Your eye twitches as you snort, “I’ve just never seen you this mad before, is all.” Luke stops short in front of you, turning suddenly and it makes your arm jerk towards him. Standing toe to toe, he looks down at you with an unreadable expression, grumbling, “I’m not mad.”

“Jealous, then.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I think it would be less painful to hack my arm off with a sword than be stuck to you,” he starts walking again, hoping that if you stop trying to start a fight you can make it back to camp by nightfall. It’s never that easy though— you start walking back towards the cafe, making his knees buckle at the force of the redirection, “Are you serious?”

“You won’t mind if I walk in there and get his number then?”

Luke’s bound hand catches yours so that the unfamiliar feeling in his stomach will settle. Actually, he does mind—and he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad to be stuck to you for the rest of eternity if it meant you don’t go back in there to get that guy’s number. 

There’s an unspoken tension that reverberates through the both of you as you stand there in the parking lot and neither of you can find the words.

“Don’t.”

Luke’s voice is soft under the flickering streetlights, “Not without me,” and you could’ve sworn he was going to say something else, but he doesn’t. 

“Not like I have a choice…” you start, and he bites his lip reluctantly—”Not like I would want to. Brighten up, Castellan. We still have to get home.” Your tone is less serious now, nudging your shoulder against his, and you’ve barely noticed he’s still holding your hand, or the fact that the pull between you two is less of a punishment and more of a surprising reward for this situation.

The gods do love a good joke.

Walking back into the cafe, you follow Luke towards the direction of the bathroom and he’s back in a goofy mood now that there’s an irrevocable understanding between you two. He pushes the door open slightly, smirking at you as you scan the area to see if anyone’s watching you follow him into the men’s bathroom. After a week of having no privacy due to your predicament, nothing is that awkward anymore.

“So…” he smirks, “You wanna hold it?”

You whack him across the chest. A glass clatters to the floor behind you and it’s the cute barista from earlier. Your face pales, “Just… forget you saw this happen.” 

With Luke’s eyes meeting his, he tugs you in by the hand anyway.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

ma1dita's monster mash is closed for requests but ongoing for the rest of october!

[darin-nidk]

Prettier when quiet. | Male!Reader x Vox.

Content: R18. Implied vouyerism, blowjobs, male genitalia, dom/sub undertones, service bottom M.Reader, submissive top Vox.

"— currently Vox is busy, if it's an emergency then tell me your name and contact information so I write it down". (Y/N) was Vox's righthand, cold and heartless secretary that gave away their soul in order to secure protection, a roof over their head and a job in exchange for their skills (or newfound demonic powers). Not to mention, working for Vox meant working for the rest of the Vee's to some extent — mostly calming down Valentino's tantrums and nonsensical unfiltered wrath when one little thing went wrong; since Velvette was a sweetheart in comparisson to those other manchild two overlords.

However, as of now, (Y/N) was sitting on the big boss' business chair and taking phonecalls while having said boss underneath the office desk and in between their legs, gripping their thighs and forcefully keeping them appart. The secretary in question was using one hand to write down the information from the caller while the other was gripping tightly the edges of Vox's screen, fingers curling as they found their way into some sensitive ports causing the overloard to twitch and moan around their cock, (Y/N) is sure they heard Vox's knee hitting a side of the desk.

To think (Y/N) was initially unwilling to start this extremely unprofessional office romance fuckbuddy situation... Whether Vox had used hypnosis, or spiked their drink (or whether (Y/N) had purposedly wore tight clothing without underwear to leave no place for imagination, among other less than noble tactics), it didn't matter when his generous sized cock was buried ballsdeep inside their needy hole, arching their back when his cock was slightly curved an angled at the right sweet spot making (Y/N) see stars, cumming shamefully quicky upon feeling pleasant vibrations hitting their prostate — fucking Hell, how did (Y/N) reach their high without Vox's dreamy cock that rearranged their insides, stretching their hole, shaping their gummy walls entirely to Vox's demanding cock. Toys weren't the same, and their fingers were no longer satisfying.

(Y/N) needed to get dicked down by their narcissistic egocentric boss.

"Thank you for trusting our services, sir, we'd love to keep our business on float. Have a lovely day", hanging up by practically slamming the phone down, (Y/N) moaned loudly as they felt Vox's long tongue wrapping itself around their sensitive member. The secretary was delirious with pleasure, Vox had initiated a vibrating mode of sorts, such pleasant vibrations sending waves of pleasure through their feverish body. "Ah, fuck! You mn, you are so good for me sir, haah".

Thrusting their hips upwards, (Y/N) was fucking their boss' throat, feeling the ocasional zap and electric shocks that made their balls feel close to release though all of that wasn't enough, tears were present in the corner of their eyes as they tried to pull away their boss from their weeping cock. "Shit, ah, Vox please, sir, I need, mngh..! Nno, I don't wanna cum like this, sir I need you ah, inside—".

Nonsensical blabbering left their lips, drool rolling down their chin as they felt oh so close — yet it abruptly stopped. Vox had pulled away and wipped his screen with a handkerchief that (Y/N) had prepared with anticipation. Standing up, the overlord had an evident bulge in his pants. The sight alone making his secretary swallow saliva, (Y/N) never pegged themselves as someone to like to suck cock, but Vox's? Neatly trimmed pubic hair, the way the tip had a bright cyan color. Truly a mystery as to why they liked to wrap their lips around his cock, taking it down their throat as much as they could yet enjoying inmensely when Vox would push their head down to take more, regardless of gagging and feeling tears in their eyes—

"As much as I'd love to have you on your knees worshipping my cock", that seductive voice of his, his claws gripping their face and forcing them to look directly onto his eyes, the sharp edges of his claws pressing painfully against the skin of their cheeks yet not quite tearing it. "I need you to bend over my desk, I've got a meeting in an hour and oh, believe me... I have to ruin that pretty face of yours or I won't be able to focus".

If you like my stories, consider donating to my Ko-Fi! Even cents are plenty of help!

Y si hablas español, 'tonces no seas garca y dame $2 para honrar el billete que no esta en circulación y que ni siquiera es de colección a mi MP .

[italianhomosexuality]

you don't have to know what to say or what to think on ao3

The first time it happens, it's an honest mistake.

(The times after that are also honest mistakes, but Nico feels like he should've known better.)

He's been working really, really hard to learn American Sign Language. After his three days in the infirmary, after working night after night, talking to Mr. D, struggling to learn how to open up to other people and how to finally be a 15-year-old teenager who tries his best to not let his lifelong trauma get to him too much, Nico di Angelo had become close friends with one Will Solace.

He'd never thought he'd be able to have a friendship with someone like Will. Someone who didn't take shit from anyone—he made sure to make that clear—, but was doting and cared for everyone else, sometimes a little too much. Someone who was as bright as the sun itself, who could light stars in the sky just by smiling, who could coax Nico's fears out of him and make him feel equal, not judged.

Someone who Nico could see himself loving.

Okay, and, woah, that might be a little too far, but was he wrong? He was finally allowing himself to feel hope after The Incident (mental trademark), letting himself have friends and a crush that didn't feel like ripping his insides apart and stir-frying them for dinner. So what if Nico's eyes lingered a little too long on the way Will's hair glowed against the infirmary's emergency lights?

(“Nico, when the siren rings and lights up, you stop everything and you go help!”, Kayla had yelled at him the first time it happened. He only felt death in the air after Will finally started running after the patient.

It was that bad.)

Who could blame him, then, for wanting to learn the language the boy he liked felt more comfortable with? Will had assured him that he did just fine with English, that his Cabin Nine hearing aids worked more than perfectly, but Nico had seen the way he got excited whenever he got to sign with someone. There were a few Deaf demigods around camp and Will knew every single one of them. Sometimes, he would sign while speaking, and it made Nico's Italian self happy because hand gestures! Then it made Nico's gay self happy because Will's hands, oh my gods, and then Nico wanted to learn how to make Will's face light up like that.

So, he learned. He got familiar with the computer in the Big House, watching YouTube videos on the matter, practicing in the mirror, going up to other campers who were signers and fighting social anxiety like his life depended on it. He had nailed most stuff by week three. The power of hyperfixations.

He did it all hiding from Will, of course. It was meant to be a surprise. He would walk up to Will, sign something, and Will would be like, “Nico, I didn't know you signed!”, so Nico would reply, “I learned just for you!”, and they'd hold hands and kiss and skip into the sunset.

A guy can dream, right?

“Hey, Nico!” Will yells out from the infirmary steps. “I'm done with my shift. Wasn't expectin' to see you here.”

Gods, his accent is so cute.

“I just thought I'd stop by, see how you were doing,” says Nico, preparing himself mentally for what comes next. “I have a surprise for you, actually.”

“Oh, you do?” Will gives his side-tooth smile, the one he does when he's excited for something he doesn't want to show excitement over.

Nico takes a deep breath.

“Food-you-want?” He signs, slowly but surely. “Me-hungry.”

Will blinks.

“Do that again.”

A warm feeling bubbles up in Nico's chest. Embarrassment, adoration, nervousness, teenage crush? He doesn't really know. He only knows that Will's cheeks look flushed and his voice is barely above a whisper, a tone Nico doesn't get to hear often, so of course he signs his sentence again. He'd do anything Will asks for.

“Do the last sign again.”

“Hum,” Nico starts, feeling a little off. He signs it again, anyway, placing his hand shaped like a C in front of his torso, following a line from the center of his collarbones down to the middle of his chest, then vice-versa. “It means 'hungry'... Right?”

Will takes a deep breath, face redder than Nico's ever seen.

“It means 'hungry' when you do the movement once,” he explains, carefully, doing the sign. The same handshape and movement Nico did, but just once, from the collarbone to the middle of his chest. “When you do the movement twice… It means something else.”

“What does it mean?”

They stare at each other. Nico's eyes are wide. Will's eyes are so blue. Nico would pay more attention to the blue if he weren't so preoccupied with—

“It means 'horny'. You signed, I'm horny.”

—With running away.

☀️🤟🏻⭐️

The second time it happens, Nico is still embarrassed by the first one.

Maybe it had been his fault to not pay a lot of attention when the online video he was watching went over the five parameters of ASL. But it wasn't entirely his fault the two signs were so similar, right? Will assured him afterwards—after he found Nico and after a few awkward laughs—that it was a very, very common mistake. The signs were really similar, after all. Nothing wrong with admitting that.

Still, Nico couldn't help but feel his face heat up every time he remembered that day. He'd told his crush he was horny. Unwillingly, sure, but it was sort of true! Nico was still accepting what being horny meant, but he knew that, even in the mildest sense of the word, he was horny for Will. Embarrassing, but honest.

So now, they were hanging out in the Hades' cabin, just the two of us and a bunch of DVDs they'd stolen from the Apollo cabin and Chiron's stash in the Big House. A mix of old rom-coms, sci-fi, noir, and historical dramas, limitless options, but they still argued over what to watch.

Nico suggested, finally, Back to the Future. Will adjourned his case.

As Will walks back from the DVD player, having put the disk in there, Nico takes a deep breath.

“You-eat-want-what?” he signs, going over each sign in his head like a mantra. He does not need a repeat of last time. Then, he raises his eyebrows, signing, “Pizza?”

Will goes as red as a tomato in the face.

“N-No, I'm good,” Will stutters, fanning himself like Hazel does when she's shocked. “Not hungry.” 

“You just came back from a 12-hour shift,” Nico deadpans.

“Let's just watch the movie.”

So Nico is taken back to nights at the Lotus Hotel, when they would have movie nights and play Back to the Future in a loop. Marty McFly might have been his first boy crush. Briefly, he imagined Will in a costume like that for Halloween. But, for now, they're doing just fine, thighs close enough to touch, Will's hand nearly making its way to Nico's scalp for some good head scratches, and life is good.

Sooner than Nico would've liked, it's curfew time. The DeLorean is long gone, and Will is rising up to his feet, stretching, his shirt riding up, and Nico sees the sliver of skin, with a little of hair on his navel, and, oh, gods, he shouldn't be seeing this, but Will is really handsome, and—

“Walk me out?” he says, sweet as ever, and Nico can't say no.

“I had a good time,” says Nico, leaning on the door panel. The moonlight makes Will's hearing aids glimmer.

“Me too,” Will replies, smiling. “The infirmary today was as excitin' as a mashed-potato san'which, good Lord.”

His accent got thicker the more tired he got, just like Nico's.

“Good-night,” Nico signs. “Sleep-good, you.”

Will's eyes linger on Nico's hands, then on his face. His expression is unreadable. It seems… fond? Happy? Nico doesn't know. He just knows he wants that big smile.

“By the way, Nico,” Will starts, voice a little serious, “this is how you sign 'pizza'.”

He goes through the motions. It's just fingerspelling, Nico notices. P-i-z-z-a.

Nico furrows his brows. “What did I sign?”

“You signed…” Will takes a deep breath. “You asked me if I wanted to eat, uh, the… The female genitalia.”

Nico slams the door so hard he doesn't know how Will keeps all of his teeth and nose intact.

☀️🤟🏻⭐️

The third time it happens, Nico is just plain tired.

He had been on a week-long trip for his father, working on some old business in Louisiana, fighting the occasional monster that came his way and shadow-traveling out of danger—no longer to an inch of his life because he didn't want to make Will worry about him. His clothes are a mess, his hair is greasy, there's soil built up under his fingernails, he hasn't had an actual meal in days, and he's exhausted to say the least.

After showering, eating, and bed-rotting any leftover worries away, he sleeps for fifteen hours straight. He wakes up still exhausted, though a little less, so he walks up to the infirmary since he has nothing better to do. Might as well get a check-up while he's there.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he says to the head of blond hair when he sees it.

“Good afternoon, di Angelo,” Will replies, looking ready to tackle any challenge, bloody or non-human, that comes his way in his combination of scrubs, cargo shorts, and Jesus sandals. “You look like you're near 'bout past goin'.”

Nico doesn't know what he's saying, but shrugs anyway. “I'm tired.” Then, he signs, “Me-tired. Coffee, me-need.”

Will smirks.

“All you had to do was ask, Death Boy,” he replies, amused, and Nico lights up.

“You have coffee?” He doesn't know why Will looks so smug about coffee, in a way he's never looked before, but he lets himself be led to the infirmary kitchen, watches Will drape over the Nespresso machine, churning out a nice cup of pure, slightly-processed espresso.

The smell is enough to make Nico's eyes open a little more.

“Also,” Will says, putting his doughnut down by the table, still smirking for reasons unknown, “the sign for 'coffee' goes like this.”

He demonstrates. Nico barely follows, focused on taking a sip from his coffee.

“You signed, I need to make-out. You've gotta pay more attention, di Angelo, or— oh, my gods, Nico, breathe! You're gonna burn your throat! Nico!”

☀️🤟🏻⭐️ 

Nico is tired of failing.

It's not like he's failed-failed. Will has been more than helpful, willing to show him the ropes and correct his signs, and they've actually spent more time with the other Deaf campers, practicing and practicing. Nico is still fighting the flush that decorates his cheeks whenever he signs with someone else, but he's getting there. Anything for that megawatt Will Solace smile.

So, on the Fourth of July, as they're watching the fireworks, Will takes his hearing aids off, saying the noise makes it hurt. Nico gets a little antsy, but shakes it off, and would rather focus on the way the red, white, and blue from the sky makes Will's freckles change colors, too.

And he looks so good tonight. He ditched his usual medic attire for something still Will, a white tank top, denim shorts, an American flag bandana to keep his curls out of his eyes and flip-flops. Nico dressed similarly, but in a black t-shirt and black shorts, black socks and black sneakers. No bandana; only Will can pull it off.

The tank-top is low cut enough that Nico can see his tattoo peeking out. Gods, he's so beautiful, he thinks to himself, lost in thought he almost misses the way Will is waving his hand in front of Nico's face.

“Hi,” Will signs. “Here, fun.”

Nico nods.

“Confess-me,” Will signs. It's a closed fist by his sternum, opening outwards, like he's pulling something out of his chest. Nico translates it to, I need to tell you something, then nods again. Will takes a deep breath. “Me-like-you. Me-like-like-you.”

Nico's breath is stolen. He doesn't know where it went. He doesn't know what's going on. Off in the distance, someone whoops loudly and a group of campers cheer, but he can only focus on the opaque thump of the fireworks and his own heartbeat increasing pace against his chest. Will is staring at him, blue eyes like the sky, like the bandana, like the prettiest gemstone one could conjure.

“Sign-you-learn. Why? Me. Special-you. Me-like-you, why? You.” When he points at Nico, the final 'you', he does a flourish, like he's honoring Nico. You learned sign for me. You're special. I like you because you're you.

Nico feels words bubbling up in his throat, but doesn't let himself say anything. Instead, he moves his hands like he's practiced so many times in front of the mirror before.

“Me-like-you. Long-how? Long. Favorite-person, you-mine. Date-you, I want.”

I've liked you for a long time. You're my favorite person. I'd like to date you.

With that, he finally gets a megawatt Will Solace smile.

[luvhiromi]

i love you, i'm sorry | satosugu

content: inspired by gracie abram's song "i love you, I'm sorry". so basically this is about gojo's pov about geto and i thought the bridge from that song was perfect for it. the lyrics in this fic are in italic but not bold just an fyi for you guys. happy reading!

c/w: satosugu itself is a warning, angst.

w/c: 664, so short ik

He was… everything. In the quiet of the night, his words linger like a beloved whisper, soothing my soul and filling my heart with comfort. He says my name in such soft loving whispers that send shivers down my spine. In his arms, I find my sanctuary, a warm embrace that shields me from the world. With him, we were the strongest. 

Unfortunately, he is just a wistful memory. I always find myself drifting back to the times we've shared. Those memories both warms me and leaves me yearning for him. I’ve always thought of the laughter we shared under the summer sky, the quiet whispers in the night, and the way his eyes would be shaped like a crescent moon when he smile.

I’ve always thought how I didn’t realize. How sudden everything about him seems so gray. He was so devoid of color, lost all of his brightness. When I finally saw, It was all too late wasn’t it? You’ve made up your mind. I couldn’t bring myself to hate you for it. 

Suguru. Do you know what a wistful memory is?

Here’s a brief definiton:

Wistful Memory, moments have become—bittersweet, tender, and ever so precious. They are the echoes of our love, lingering in my soul, reminding me of what we had, what we have, and what we will always carry with us.

When I saw your mind and body conquered by another when you have no control of it… Your soul still recognize me didn’t you? You were standing right before me, my brain and my eyes knew it was you. But my soul said otherwise. 

You were the best as much as you were the worst. You were the sweetest of dreams, wrapping me in bliss, and the most haunting of nightmares, killing my peace. You were my greatest joy and my deepest sorrow, the one who lifted me high above the clouds, only to let me fall into the abyss. You were everything good that ever happened to me, and everything that broke me, all at once.

As sick as it sounds, I loved you first. In the quiet corners of my soul, where no one dared to pursue, I loved you—long before the world made it seem wrong. It started long before the higher-ups told I had to execute you. And though it may never be understood, it was the first love, the truest love, that I ever knew. 

I was a dick, a habit to kick and age-old curse. Times I pushed you away, not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t know how to show it. I’ve carried the weight of my own shortcomings, the scars of past mistakes. It’s not easy to break free from the patterns that have haunted me for so long. 

I tend to laugh whenever I’m sad, I stare at the crash it actually works. My laughter becomes a balm, soothing the wounds that losing you has carved. I gaze at the wreckage of my life, the chaos and the pain laid bare before me, and in that midst, I find a strange sort of solace. Laughter becomes my defiant cry against the darkness. Laughter has become the wall to guard my past, charmed with humor as people say. 

Making amends, this shit never ends. The quest for redemption feels like a relentless tide, washing over the shores of my regret, where every effort to amend seems to dissolve into an unending sea of resolution. It feels like rubbing salt into my wound every time I saw you. I couldn’t bare to do it when I first saw you, I don’t know if I regret it.

I’m wrong again. I was always wrong, seeing only shadows where there was light. As time unfolded, it got worse.  I’ve misread the map of your soul, casting shadows where light was meant to dwell. Your presence was my guiding star. My one and only best friend. 

Love is the the most twisted curse of all. I love you Suguru, I’m sorry.

a/n: my first fic here! english ain't my first language so don't be too harsh on me. i recommend reading this while listening to the song. i also saw an edit of them with this song in tiktok *chef's kiss* it's so good.

[ginger-snap-makes-art]

The Backlot is Burning:

Return To the Fray

“A Benny and William Story”

Year: 1929

By: Ginger Snap

“-We left Zippy!” Were the first words Benny could hear over the piercing sound in his own ears ringing as he blearily looked around.

He was in a forest somewhere, William was standing over him looking a sickening mix of heartbroken and terrified as he continued to incoherently ramble out his own jumbled thoughts. Benoit blinked, trying hard to focus.

They had been on the front porch having a cigarette after their trip to that stupid wrestling ring. Apparently it was down to some lady who had killed Freud in a scattershot and some vampire Hunter they had never heard of. Benny had sideyed the notion that William had even let a vampire hunter be one of the contestants but he shrugged it off as just another persona. I mean, some kid was pretending to be Dracula in the same fight, it’s not like these costumes and characters meant anything. Besides, nothing could be worse than Jack the Ripper being allowed to live and thrive as America’s favorite wrestler.

Then-

Benny shot up. He remembered the falling star in the sky, that sickening feeling of dread that he hadn’t felt in over a decade-the kind that made his legs shake uncontrollably. Then, the blast of light exploded towards them. There was no time to consider what it could be or what this meant-there was only one thought on Benny’s mind.

“William. Danger. Run.”

He had William in his arms and was bolting from the set before William could breathe in. He felt the sands of the California desert turn to glass under his feet as he sped up faster and faster. Something he had only done once, many years ago. The world around him was a blur of dark shapes. He couldn’t see or hear anything. He didn’t look back. His mind normally raced a mile a minute but right the only thing keeping him going was the fear of stopping. Of whatever that was getting to them-getting to William. He had to move faster.

There was no telling how far they had run by the time Benny’s legs finally slowed down just enough for him to feel the impact of a tree fully stop his body and knock him unconscious.

“William?” Benny stared at him, eyes wide and body shaking. “I-I didn’t…” The realization sunk in.

Zippy, their friend, the person they started their careers with. The friend that had been part of their adventures long before the incident with Jack the Ripper in New York. If whatever that was had taken out all vampires in its radius, and something deep inside him told him it did, Zippy would’ve been caught in the blast. He hadn’t even thought about him, what was wrong with him? Tears welled in his eyes. It was happening again. A friend was dead because of him. Because he hadn’t been able to save him.

“I didn’t mean to…” A strangled sob escaped his throat. “Oh god not again please god no let me wake up fuck this can’t be happenin’ again…”

William collapsed to his knees next to him. They stared at each other. William brought his hand up to Benoit’s cheek. Benoit pressed into the touch and his eyes got steeley and dull. He took William into his arms and held him while William sobbed into his chest. His arms wrapped around him tightly, like letting go might kill one of them. William pressed deeper into him, and together they sat for a while. Letting it all hit them.

There was no telling what time it was when they pulled away from each other, no more tears left to shed in William’s exhausted body.

“What do we do now?” William’s voice was hoarse and tired.

Benny sat in silence for a moment, staring at the ground before pushing himself up off the ground.

“We need to keep moving. I don’t know how far we managed to get away from…whatever that was, but for all we know it’s still growing. We can’t risk waiting around here.” He took a step forward and immediately collapsed under his own weight. “Shit! I musta burned myself out more than I thought.” He looked up to see William getting up to help him and put a hand out. “I’m fine I just-fuck, ow-I just need a minute. We have to get somewhere safe we can’t just-”

“Benny.” William’s eyes bore into him. He looked scared. “Benny I don’t think there’s anywhere safe for us right now…”

“Don’t say that!” Benny snapped, causing William to reel back in surprise. Benny rarely raised his voice at him. Benny struggled to his feet, using a tree to support himself. Benny sighed. “I’m sorry, I need to calm down. There has to be somewhere, we ain’t dead yet and I intend to keep it that way. Come on, we’ll get a little further north and then we’ll figure something out. A plan, a place to go. Something.”

William attempted to protest again, but Benny was already taking shaky steps deeper into the woods. “William…” He looked back at him with a pitiful expression. “Please…I can’t lose you.”

William swallowed dryly. He ignored the lump in his throat and stood up, walking towards Benny and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You won’t. I’ve got your back.”

The two continued north for a few hours before the total exhaustion of what they’d been through finally managed to catch up to them and they had to stop again.

“I’ll make us a fire, wait here.” Benny said.

“You sure you don’t want-”

“No. I’m fine. Please don’t go far.” He wasn’t facing William, but William could tell there was something deeply wrong between his voice and rigid body. He supposed he wasn’t surprised, but even when they had lost Loco in New York he hadn’t been this bad. He would’ve rather gone with him, but Benny clearly needed a minute alone. If he thought about it, so did he.

As he walked off into a nearby clearing, William sat down on a felled tree and exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. His body hurt and his mind felt foggy. Now that the adrenaline was starting to pass, he could really take stock of all that had happened. They had lost their friend, their home, and the life they had spent over a decade meticulously crafting all in the blink of an eye. He closed his eyes tight, some faint part of him hoping when they opened he’d be back in their home and he could just crawl into Benny’s warm, comforting arms and forget this whole nightmare. But nothing happened. His life was truly over. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared up at the sky. The stars looked fainter than usual. William turned his head towards the clearing he had stalked off to find wood, imagining how Benny was probably trying to come up with a way to spin this positively and cut the bitter, anguished feelings they were both reeling from.

Benny had always been good at pushing all that misery and fear off of him until it disappeared. He sort of admired it-William himself was always one bad incident from flying off the handle, and was never good at seeing the glass half full. Not like Benny was. It was that kind of confidence in the face of doubt that kept them going during their years in the woods.

“Years that we were destined to return to, I guess…” He muttered to himself. He took a breath. The air was nice and cool against his skin. They had lived near the city so long he had almost forgotten how quiet and comforting the woods could be.

He let his eyes readjust to the scenery. Even in the darkness he could just make out the towering pines and tall patches of brush and grass. Fireflies buzzed around him, and the shifting and rustling of small woodland creatures made his shoulders untense. He thought back to all those years ago, when it was just him and Benny against the world. Two young idiots tearing through mages like they were made of sugar glass. The days saving other vampires, asking for no reward. The nights when everyone would go their separate ways and it was just him, Benny, and the stars. Sometimes Benny would be lucky enough to find some kind of instrument (or steal one, if he was totally honest) and he’d fill the night air with his music. He hadn’t heard that music in a long time. His heart clenched at the thought of Loco and Zippy, who had been with them for so long on their journey back then. Both gone now. It was just them again. Two idiots, a little older now, against the world. His heart unclenched just a bit. Just the two of them…that could be worse. At least they still had each other, after all. At least someday soon Benny could find a guitar on some poor fool’s doorstep and he’d hear those soft, melodic notes and that gentle country voice play for him again like no one else in the world mattered.

William heard a ruckus that pulled him from his thoughts. It was coming from the clearing Benny had walked into. Not bothering to think about it, he bolted out of his seat and ran towards the noise.

“Benny?!” He called as the noises got louder. Shrieking and screaming and things being broken. He pulled his needle out of his pocket, poised to strike at whatever was attacking his Benny. This was the wrong day to pull anything on either of them, and he’d make sure whoever was trying knew that. “Benny are you-Benny?” He paused.

In the center of the clearing was Benoit, screaming at the sky. He watched him throw a fist into a tree, busting a hole through it and rendering his knuckles bloody. He pulled it out as though he had noticed and swung with the other fist, pounding into the large pine in front him.

“Why!? Why!? Why does this keep fucking happening! Fuck, is this what you want!? Will you never be satisfied until everything I’ve ever loved is ripped from me!?” He screamed at the heavens, tears streaming down his face.

He hadn’t even noticed William walk into the clearing.

“I finally did it, damn it! I was finally happy! He was safe, I was doing something I was good at, I had him! He loved me damn it! How the fuck can he look me in the eyes now after I lost another one!? Why am I destined to be the universes fucking punching bag! Why am I such a fuck up?! Fuck!”

He collapsed to his knees, pounding the ground and wailing in a rage William had never seen Benny capable of before. The screaming turned to full on sobs. As William approached, he could hear Benny muttering under his breath. “You can’t have him…take my life, take my body, but please don’t take him too…” He was praying. To what, William couldn’t be sure. He didn’t think Benny was either.

“You can’t take him from me…I can’t live without him, please please please I can’t-”

“Benny, it’s me.” William kneeled down, gently taking his face in his hands and bringing Benny’s eyes to meet his own.

Benny’s face was a red mess of tears and scratches. He looked horrified to see William kneeling in front of him. “William? I told you to-”

“I heard something coming from where you ran to. I had to make sure you were okay.”

His eyes were heavy and dull. “I’m not okay, William-neither of us are. It’s all over…” He sounded more defeated than he had ever heard him.

William felt like the air had been pulled out of him. Benny was supposed to be the one with the spirit to get them out of this. That was the deal: William had the plan and Benoit had the can-do spirit to make it happen.

“I was supposed to protect you and Zippy a-and Loco and I was supposed to stick around and save Bart and Paula and Barkeep wouldn’t have gotten killed if I had been faster and-”

“Woah woah woah, Benny. You know you’re not responsible for any of this, don’t you?” He rubbed a thumb over Benny’s face, wiping a fresh tear away. “You did what you could.” He paused. “For all of them.” He added.

“I didn’t.” He choked out. “I could’ve done more I could’ve been faster I could’ve thought about our friend instead of leaving him to die in-”

“You didn’t have time.”

“I-”

“You saved my life. Even though everything in you told you to run and save your skin you still managed to save me. I didn’t thank you for that.”

“I don’t understand.” He replied in a watery voice. “You should hate me-I ran again and lost someone we love because of it…”

“Oh, my dearest, my warm sunbeam, my Benny,” He pulled Benny close, holding him to his chest. “I could never hate you.”

Benny shuddered in his embrace. His arms wrapped themselves around William.

“Thank you…thank you…” He whimpered out. “My William, my northern star, my everything. At least I still have you. I’m so sorry, I know I’m a mess right now. I’m just so scared. We lost everything in that blast, what if I lose you too?”

“Hey.” William forced out a smile and tilted Benny’s head up once again. “I already told you. You won’t lose me.”

Benny stared at him, expression weary. “Don’t make me promises you can’t keep, William.”

“I’m not. Look at me. I swear on my life, I will be by your side come hell, high water, or evil vampire killing death rays…” His smile may not have reached his eyes, but they still glinted with that fierce determination Benny adored in William.

Benny sniffed and let out a weak laugh. “You know I can’t argue with you when you look at me like that.” His expression turned to one of worry. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be honest, I got used to our comfortable life on the lot. It’s been a long time since we've had to think about surviving.” He sighed. “I guess we could just keep running north. Canada isn’t my first choice of places to live but it might be safer there than here.”

“Is that what you want?” Benny asked.

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? Us being safe somewhere far away from all of this? Why question it?” William replied.

“You’re my northern star, Willie-just say the word and I’ll follow you anywhere, but you’ve never been the type to want to run. That’s always been my thing.”

William stayed silent for a long time, thinking things over. “I want to fix this country-I want people like us to be safe. I thought us working at Universal would do that, you know? Change society’s perception of vampires. Make the world a better place. But it still meant nothing in the end…what if we can’t do anything to change this? What if we die trying to change something too big for us?”

“I think we made a big difference.”

“How could you think that after what just happened?”

“You think we’re the only people who are gonna miss Zippy? That guy was a superstar.” Benny pushed away from William and sat next to him, still holding his hand. “Maybe we didn’t get rid of every crazy bastard who wants to do our kind in, but I think we did something. Someday, a long time from now, some kid is gonna know that William O’Reilly wrote the world’s best romances.”

William cracked the first genuine smile of the night and nudged Benoit with his elbow. “I doubt that.”

“No, I’m serious! You know Zippy will go down in history as one of the world’s best clowns, and the first real vampire actor to make a difference. Why wouldn’t you?”

William smiled at him. This time it wasn’t forced. “You always think the best of me.”

“It ain’t that hard. You’re you, after all.” Benny smiled back at him.

“Who knows?” William picked at the grass next to him. “Maybe we’ll live long enough to go back one day. The world’s best director/writer duo back in Hollywood. You know, once those idiots run themselves into the ground in the next 50 years.”

“Psh, that's ridiculous.” Benoit laid back on the ground. “Like they could survive that long without us.”

They both laughed, and for just a moment the world didn’t feel like it was ending. It was just Benny and William, together in the woods, alone but content. The moment passed and William’s face grew serious again. “Benny…I don’t want to run.”

“Yeah, I figured you didn’t.”

“We didn’t need that film studio to survive and do good before. Now look at us.” He stood up, gesturing to himself. “We’re older, stronger, smarter.”

“That last one is debatable.” Benny cracked, the faintest of smirks lingering on his face.

“Watch it.” William warned, feeling warmth bubble in his chest. “What I’m saying is, maybe it’s time to stop making movies about heroes, and get back to being heroes. What do you say?” He stuck his hand out to Benny. “You wanna return to the fray? Kicking ass and saving vamps? Just you and me, like old times?”

Benny stared at his hand for a long moment. “No matter what I do, I’ll never be able to ensure you’re entirely safe. Not forever. Tonight proved that.” He grabbed William’s hand.

“If we’re going out, I’d rather go out together, swinging. Let’s go kill some red-blooded American rat bastards.”

The two stood facing each other. The thick miasma of misery lingered in the air as they felt their hearts weighed down by all they had lost, but a renewed sense of determination managed to outweigh it. Maybe they had lost most everything, but despite it all they still had something worth fighting for. That was more than enough to keep them going.

Battered, bruised, and bleeding.

But not broken.

“Watch out America,” Benny shouted into the skies. “This is gonna be one hell of a sequel…”

“Seriously? That was the best movie-themed one-liner you could come up with?”

“Oh I’m sorry, I’d like to see you do better.” Benny scoffed.

“Ummmm…” William snapped his fingers. “America, you’re undergoing a massive rewrite!”

“Worse, so much worse than mine.”

“Aw, what! No way, yours was way stupider.”

“Back in action! It was right there!” Benny smacked his forehead.

“Too late-moment’s passed.”

“Aw, dang.”

The two laughed, and together they watched as the sun rose slowly in the east, backs away from the second sun engulfing their former home, looking onward at their future that lay ahead. Uncertain, terrifying, unfair. But as they held each other close under the warm glow of the sun, those thoughts became secondary.

They had each other.

That was enough for now.

[jewishcissiekj]

Rewatched Hunt for Ziro (Quinlan's one of two TCW appearances, S3E9) because now I have more information about Quin and wanted to judge his characterization but now I have like a bunch of quinobi screenshots so:

Why is this episode so gay. What was the reason. Did they know wherever Quinlan goes homosexuality follows. Oh he has an effect on you. You are both men. What's wrong with you

Dude why was his second line in the ep complimenting a dude Also why is he trying to squeeze his way into every homoerotic relationship of Obi-Wan. First Cody then Cad Bane dude maybe chill Additionbally I strongly dislike his TCW design, maybe it's the blocky shapes that don't fit with the fluid image of him from the comics I have in my mind or maybe it's just that I hate the TCW style and maybe both It just doesn't work for me idk

KEEP YOU FUCKING HANDS TO YOURSELF MAN WE KNOW YOU WANT HIM

Quinobi content but at what cost (reduced to a comic relief character)

Yeah well where else would your eyes be looking deep into the other's eyes what the hell Obi-Wan

I need them dead

This is a 20 minutes episode where men touch each other more than they do in the other 132 Clone Wars episodes love me some 'close friends'

Holy shit they're holding hands!!!@!@!!!11!11 holy fuck!!!!!!21!1

Geuine question what is Quin looking at here for almost 10 seconds. That's not where Obi-Wan eyes are. Is he just staring at hs chest. Is he looking at his- *gunshot* (Is that what Obi-Wan meant by keeping their eyes forward)

I never doubted you moment! Woah this is just like Star Wars: Republic #70-

Hey why are you fighting with another man's lightsaber. Why is he putting his life in your hands. Why. Perish.

Yeah ok next one

You are? hanging off a cliff? with another man?

Insane that this is how their portion of the episode end. You'll know they'll be ok with each other. Especially after seeing that gayass smirk

His only (TCW) apperance after this was in Destiny (S6E12) btw, and probably the only thing close to an interaction with Aayla (HIS FUCKING PADAWAN) in canon

He should've had full Jedi robes here idc if it wouldn't make sense for them to design an entire thing for a bg character that appears for 10 second he's wearing his mission gear it's stupid

[rickv-786]

The Venusian Club was pulsing in violet and blue, synths howling low through the humid air like an electric ghost. The crowd was thick with Miami’s finest sinners,models, moguls, and misfits swaying beneath chandeliers shaped like exploding stars. Vice stood in his booth above it all, gold chain catching the lights like a flare. He spotted them when the suits walked in. Two of them. Buttoned up in Bureau regulation dark wool, out of place in a city that begged for linen and sweat. They moved through the crowd like oil in water. Too stiff. Too focused. Vice caught the flash of a badge too early for it to be accidental. He exhaled slowly. “Shit.” They didn’t come with guns drawn or voices raised. This wasn’t a raid. It was something worse. The quiet kind of knock. The one that meant they didn’t have you—yet. Agent Morton was the one who talked first. Tall, rigid, and humorless. His partner, Agent Kerr, was younger, sharper in the eyes, more curious. She scanned the room like it might breathe. “Ricky Valencia, also known as Ricky the trick.” Morton said, voice cutting through the music like a scalpel. “Mind stepping away for a word?” Vice raised an eyebrow, bringing the whiskey he was nursing to his lips, took a sip and replied with a razor sharp smile. “Not exactly on the clock, gentlemen. Unless you're here to dance.” Morton didn’t crack a smile. “We’re here about your recent business dealings. Specifically… your alleged partnership with a visiting member of the Yamamura-kai.” Vice froze only for half a second only to recover with a mock shock look, and waved down a bottle girl. “Two waters for my friends here. On the house.” He turned to them, all easy charm, like silk over a knife. “Lot of visitors in this city. Japanese, Colombian, Canadian. I try not to discriminate. Makes for bad business.” Kerr spoke this time. “So you do know who Kenji Yamamura is.” Vice didn’t smile, but he came close. “Is that his name? He introduced himself as Mr. Tanaka. Played baccarat like a pro, tipped like a goddamn legend.” Morton narrowed his eyes. “He’s not just a gambler. And we know he wasn’t here for the music.” “Then maybe you oughta talk to Immigration.” Vice said coolly, tossing back the rest of his whiskey. “Because if you’re here accusing me of something, you better bring more than just vague curiosity and matching ties.” Morton stepped closer, voice lower now. “We’re not accusing. Not yet. But people talk, Rick. And your name’s starting to come up in the wrong places. Quiet places. If you’re clean, help us out. If you’re not—well. I’m sure you know how the Bureau plays.” Vice’s jaw ticked just once. Then he chuckled, dark and low. “If I was in bed with the Yakuza, Agent Morton, I’d be too dead to enjoy my champagne. You got eyes on the wrong man.” Kerr studied him for a beat longer, as if trying to peel back his skin. But then she nodded once to her partner. “We’ll be in touch.” She said simply. “Don’t go far.” They left the way they came without noise. Vice stood in their wake, face unreadable now, the weight of the conversation sinking beneath his gold and swagger. He turned to the bartender. “Tell Frankie to check if we’ve been tapped. Sweep the whole goddamn place.” Then he leaned against the bar, eyes narrowing toward the horizon of pulsing lights. Because the thing was—he was clean. Mostly. But the truth had a way of bleeding into rumor. And in Miami, blood always found the water.

[master-of-the-game]

seeing you make oil paintings of elim garak has changed something about the way i perceive art, both in what others make but also in what i am capable of making.

it’s probably due to learning mostly euro-centric art history, but i’ve always thought of oil paintings as like the peak of painting ability? like, it’s fancy and it takes a while so i thought that it must be the best (ignoring the fact that my artistic field is mostly in acrylic paints and 3D sculpting and yet i still consider it very good). and i’m still working on disproving this sort of mentality that there are mediums inherently better than others, because it’s incredibly limiting to my creativity to impose a higharchy, and also it feels kind of xenophobic.

i digress a bit. point is, i’ve viewed oil paintings as a medium only deserving of gallery-type realistic portrait stuff, which is very much not what i do. i don’t make the sorts of fancy art rich people would pay for- the type of art i thought oils were for. i make paintings of comic book characters and sculptures of my personal heroes, i make jewelry and clothes and stuffed animals. stuff that i enjoy. which is good!

but still somewhere lurking in my brain was this voice telling me that on some level my works weren’t as meaningful or creative because they were fan works or made from materials i’m not an expert in or because the only people i draw and paint and sculpt are queer and trans, like me. that because my art was self-indulgent, on some level i suppose i thought it lesser.

but then i see your art. and holy shit! you’re work is INCREDIBLE! at first i was excited because, hey, i’m a big star trek fan, and garak is one of my favorite characters. i love coming across fan art of him, and it always manages to strike a chord with me. but then. as i looked at it closer, i realized it was on canvas. as i scrolled down i realize it was oil on canvas.

before, i’d pretty much only seen fanart as sketches on paper or digital drawings. one that is really only meant art-wise for quick sketches or planning of what will become “real” works, and one that doesn’t actually take up any physical space in our world, and is stored away in a little digital file.

but oil on canvas? that’s not meant to be thrown away, it’s meant to be held in gloved hands, as it is precious, and it’s not meant to be hidden away in the “files” on a laptop. no, those hang on the walls of museums or houses, meant to be displayed with pride for all to see.

and with those too colliding thoughts, that of fan works as some lesser form of art but oil paintings being the art of the rich and talented… well i realized that both were wrong. fan works are not in any way shape or form lesser than original works. what makes my layered ink painting of dream of the endless any less important than my painting of the ocean during a storm? nothing! they’re both good works. and on the other side, there is nothing that makes my oil paintings more important than my acrylic paintings or my sculpture or my knitting. it’s all art, lovely art, in the end. and the only thing that really matters is that i enjoy it.

seeing your art has helped me break some (minor) yet harmful thoughts i didn’t really even realize i had. so thank you for that. also your garak art is fucking good, and it really makes me think about what sort of life he would have after ds9. anyways, thank you. that’s what i’ve been meaning to say (that’s what this whole thing is). thanks for changing my vision for the better.

Oh wow! You know, it is very important and gratifying to know that results of your work make person rearrange their thoughts and views on something. Thank you for your sincerity! Now back to subject. I personally believe that fan work can be something fine and vice versa something fine can be a fan work. One thing that is very important to remember and remind yourself is that most of fine art that you've mentioned - gallery and most famous works (at least in european tradition) - are, well, derivative. Of Bible, of ancient myths. Yes. All this stuff can be considered maybe not fanart - but it is a subject for discussion - but illustration at least. And it is still fine art. Book illustrations - oh well. Sometimes I want to hang them on the wall, especially old ones. So - why not? Fan work always has a connotation of something derivative, and it certainly is... But just as well as most of the most prominent works. Dixi :D So that's the matter. Medium of course matters but medium does not always define the subject of art (except for common sense), as you've said. It's just maybe the cost of medium (some watercolor brushes for some reason cost... ehm. Too much :D) that defines its price, but not necessarily. I like thinking about this issue and discussing it... Plenty room for ideas. Thank you!

[myrequestblog]

Mafiafell Sans X Reader Probably Incorrect Quotes

Sans: Do you want to explain the text you sent me last night?  Y/N: It was autocorrect.  Sans: Autocorrect wrote "You're so hot. Please step on me."?  Y/N: Yes.

~~~

Sans: Y/N is playing hard to get.  Sans: Little do they know, I'm a master at playing hard to get rid of.

~~~ Sans: *angrily presses Y/N against a wall* WHERE'S THE MONEY?!  Y/N: ...  Y/N: Are we about to kiss-

~~~

Sans: Valentine’s day is just a consumerist holiday that holds no real value other than drive people insane buying heart shaped chocolates for their significant others and pos-  Y/N: I wrote you a poem.  Sans, already crying:You did?

~~~ Y/N: The stars are so beautiful...  Sans: They're just giant balls of gas.  Y/N: You know what, if you're just going to ruin this, then-  Sans: And yet none of them are as huge as my love for you.  Y/N: Oh...

~~~ Y/N: What are you in the mood for?  Sans: World domination.  Y/N: That's a bit ambitious.  Sans: You are my world.  Y/N: Aww...  Sans:  Y/N:  Sans:  Y/N: OH.

~~~ Sans: Did it hurt when you fell-  Y/N: From heaven? Wow, I didn’t think you were such a flirt-  Sans: No, I meant when you fell down the stairs.  Y/N: ...  Sans: You just laid there for 15 minutes.

~~~ Y/N: Wait, what's going on? Are we all talking about how hot Sans is? Because Sans is a straight up sexual fox riding a red-hot nuclear bombshell right toward the yowza plaza in the heart of Babe City, Assachusetts, U S A. The last A just stands for more ass.

~~~ Sans walking into the kitchen and seeing all the limes peeled: Y/N, I love you but, what the h-e-double FUCK.  Y/N, sipping coffee happily: I love you too :)

~~~ Y/N: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.  Sans: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

~~~ Sans: Is something burning?  Y/N, leaning seductively on the counter: Just my desire for you.  Sans: Y/N, the toaster is literally on fire. ~~~ Y/N: You know my motto: carpe diem, carpe noctem, carpe coles.  Sans: Seize the day, seize the night, what’s the last one?  Y/N: Seize the dick.

~~~ Sans: Where are you going?  Y/N: To get MYSELF a gift cause somebody didn't get me one!  Sans: I told you I did! Its coming here on Friday!  Papyrus, knowing full well that Sans got Y/N an engagement ring: *eating popcorn*

~~~ Y/N: How do you tell someone that you wanna have sex with them in a polite way?  Sans: Excuse me Mx. Would you give me the honours of indulging in sexual activities with you?  Papyrus: What the fuck is wrong with you two?

~~~ *at 3am*  Papyrus: *runs into Sans’s room and turns on the light* Wake up sleepyhead!  Sans: *wakes up* Wha-!  Papyrus: *cackles*  Y/N: *sits up from where they were sleeping behind Sans* What the fuck, man?  Papyrus: *jaw drops* Wait WHAT-

~~~ Papyrus: Hey, what’s up?  Sans: The sky.  Papyrus: No, I meant like, what are you doing?  Sans: Oh, Y/N.  Y/N: *highfives Sans* Nice!

~~~ Papyrus: I like your top, Y/N!  Sans: I have a name, you know.  Y/N: *sighs* Why. Why are you like this.

~~~ Papyrus: So… I’ve seen you’ve been spending a lot of time with Sans recently.  Y/N: No, Papyrus, it's not what it looks like, I swear.  Papyrus: Oh really? So no reason for me to be jealous?  Y/N: No! You’re the only one for me.  Papyrus: Is that so?  Y/N: I promise! Sans and I are just dating, okay? They’re my partner.  Papyrus: So there are no best-friends-feelings involved?  Y/N: You are still my one and only best friend! They’re just the love of my life, nothing more!  Papyrus: But I’m still the platonic love of your life, right?  Y/N: Of course bro!  Papyrus: Bro...  Sans: What the-

~~~ Y/N, looking through their clothes: Has anyone seen my top?  Papyrus: Sans's in the kitchen.

~~~ Papyrus: Sans doesn’t deserve you.  Papyrus: If they don't treat you right by now, you're gone.  Y/N: I'm gone.  Papyrus: Now go chop their dick off.

~~~ Sans: Are you a painting?  Y/N: What-?  Sans: Because I want to pin you to a wall.  Papyrus: OH GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY YOU WANTED TO HANG THEM OR SOMETHING-

~~~ Gaster: I sleep with a gun under my pillow.  Papyrus: I sleep with a knife.  Y/N: Both of you are pathetic.  Gaster: Oh yeah? What do you sleep with?  Y/N: Sans.

~~~ Gaster: *about Sans and Y/N* They make a cute couple, huh?  Papyrus: They certainly are standing next to each other.

~~~ Gaster: What’s the announcement, Y/N?  Y/N: It’s a lecture. Papyrus’s gonna tell us everything they know about sex.  Sans: It should be an enjoyable 60 seconds.

~~~ Y/N: This food is too hot... I cant eat it.  Sans: You’re very hot, and I still eat you.  Everyone at the table: *silence*  Papyrus: YOU GUYS ARE DISGUSTING!  Gaster: One dinner... I just want ONE DINNER!

~~~

Sans: Y/N! I can't do this stupid math!  Y/N: What’s the math problem?  Sans: Well, we have to add the bed, subtract the clothes divide the legs, and hope we don’t multiply.  Gaster, covering Papyrus's ears, while Y/N smacks Sans upside the head: Not going to lie that was hella smooth.

~~~ Papyrus: Y/N, you'll be working with Gaster and Sans.  Y/N: Alright! My fantasy threesome!  Everyone else: *blank stares*  Y/N: ...Of people on a team.

~~~ Papyrus: Do you love Sans?  Y/N: Yeah, I do.  Papyrus: Gaster! I told you I knew it! You owe me 100 bucks!  Gaster: We all love Sans. You should've asked if they were IN love with them.  Y/N: I thought that was implied.  Gaster: ...  Papyrus: ...  Y/N, looking straight at Gaster: Congrats Papyrus, you just won 100 bucks.

~~~ Y/N: Time sensitive question how flirt boy.  Papyrus: Throw rocks at he.  Sans: Hot Dogs.  Gaster: Kill him.  Y/N: Thanks guys.

~~~ Papyrus: Why do you look like that?  Y/N, laying face-first on the floor: Like what?  Papyrus: Like you’re dead.  Y/N: It’s because I’m dying. Leave me here to perish.  Gaster: Y/N accidentally called Sans “babe” in front of everyone today.  Y/N: *sobs into the floor*

~~~ Sans: That's ridiculous, Y/N doesn't have a crush on me.  Papyrus: Yes they do.  Gaster: Yes they do.  Y/N: Yes I do.

~~~ Sans: I love you.  Y/N: I love you too. I've waited so long to hear you say that.  *Sans and Y/N kiss passionately*  Papyrus, to Gaster: You owe me 20 dollars.

[droppingartintotheinfinite]

little fic/poem thingy i did about dave and bro

-

TG: i keep thinking about you

TG: its stupid i know

TG: youd call me stupid over it too

TG: sneer or sigh or some shit so id know how goddamn disappointing i am to you your would be knight raised and trained to be a hero given every opportunity to live up to you and endlessly fucking it up failing at it harder than i probably wouldve at school if you let me go to one

TG: but you gave me so much shit its all piled up in my head a big ol mountain of fecal matter flies buzzing around it and that many flies are fucking loud ok i can barely fucking hear myself think in here

TG: and i gotta get it all out somehow and tossing it into the infinite void of your goddamn inbox like yesterdays garbage or me in a spar with you when theres stairs nearby seems about as likely to work as any other thing

TG: so

TG: i think

TG: actually

TG: fuck this is hard

TG: i

TG: i kind of hate you sometimes, bro

TG: and i

TG: god

TG: fuck it you know what

TG: here ill ironically rap it

TG: i coulda been a poet man

TG: i coulda been a star

TG: and instead here we are here i stand the last will and testament of a dead fucked up broken little man

TG: you musta thought you were god cuz you put me up on the cross

TG: every damn day but im not jesus im just bleeding freely from these fucking holes you cut into my palms

TG: or maybe you thought he was god or it was just a semi ironic nod to a mythos you knew was wrong or it was just your note to play in sburbs shit song

TG: damn thing went on and on

TG: the chorus was my death or maybe that was the melody and the chorus was my endless panting breaths a medley of exhaustion left me huffing puffing never able to catch my breath never able to find a fucking end to that heady rush of deadly bloodshed dripping steady

TG: was it your will or his will that led in letting my blood spill bloodletting red spilling all over the floor hands blistered raw desperately gripping onto that fucking sword

TG: holding tight like it was a lifeline like i was ever gonna win a fight against you like if i just tried harder cried harder id somehow come out fine like being a hero of time ever meant anything but a shitty corpseparty conga line

TG: like i didnt wonder some days if youd give a fuck if i fucking died

TG: and god bro i didnt hate you for the crime of making me john technically created me but youre the one who brick by brick laid out the shape of me cut me like a gemstone to get the grade of me

TG: always a failing grade never a pass maybe you always knew id be a failure at this class for all it was supposedly made for me maybe they all knew and i was the last to understand that my dumb ass never woulda had a chance

TG: sorry if im being a little crass but i learned it from you because you taught me everything i knew and everything i know too i know im too much of a screwup failout dropout loser to live up to you

TG: thats the lesson you taught me best the message you drilled again and again into my head and its the one that sticks with me now youre dead and gone all these texts left unread whether theyre sitting in your inbox or bouncing around in my head

TG: youre a hero and im a pawn and maybe im wrong but that seems a little fucked up a little messed up kind of a not great thing to tell your son

TG: and it took me so goddamn long to understand that

TG: for the truth to dawn on me that it wasn’t wrong of me not to wanna play along to the song he wrote for me the one thats broken me the one you sung for him so loyally all along

TG: did you want the best for me when you took a sword to the chest for me or was that just another test for me you faced down death for me and lost and sometimes i wonder if you loved the rest of me or any of me and all this thinkings gonna be the death of me but i cant stop

TG: i feel like im gonna pop all these thoughts bouncing round and round my head like rubber fucking balls and they call me a god but im just a shitty kid in shitty pajamas and what are the odds ive ever earned a nod like that applause like that a cause like that and god, bro

TG: it was fucked up

TG: what you did to me was fucked up

TG: you arent even a real ghost but yours wont fucking leave me alone no matter how many times i tell myself youre gone

[gooopy]

also 🌧 and 💔...

WOAAAAA GOOPY HOW COME YOUR AWESOME FRIEND LETA YOU HAVE TWO ASKS. YAYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!

🌧 what would they do if they have some free time and no responsibilities?

-scully i think would drive around a bit in his shitty car. Pack some lunch and a few beers and drive out somewhere pretty, sit in the bed of his truck and eat his lunch and drive home (being a little tipsy makes him drive better <- NOT TRUE.) And then he would probably not know what to do with himself, maybe get drunk for realsies and sit out on the steps of his porch and watch the sun set and the moon rise, look at the stars and make up shapes and sleep off his hangover the next day without needing to go to work. (He still wakes up on time, but lets himself curl up in bed for longer)

-teddy i think would similarly go out and drive! Go to a nice little cafe hes been eyeing, treat himself to little goodies. He would be obsessed with little treat memes if he had tumblr. Bring his camera out to a park and take some pictures of flowers and bugs, go to a fancier grocery store and pick up some high quality chicken for walter at home and maybe a bouquet of flowers to spruce up the dining table! Eat out too, just fully treating himself! Then go home and sit at home (if he really has NO responsibilities then the photos he took will develop themselves while he sits on the couch!) And tell walter about his day (shes indifferent and is only mildly interested in the fancy chicken)

💔 how are they at forgiveness:

-scully forgives way too easily. Its a bad habit, he tends to get real mad if someone does something to him but as he thinks about it and it simmers in his noggin he starts to think about ways its pro'lly just his fault. He shoulda seen it coming, or hes assumin' shit about what they meant, or hes just plain rememberin' wrong or didnt understand. Makes sense, hes not the sharpest tool in the shed. Then he goes and says sorry for reacting the way he did and the cycle repeats

-teddys a lot better about it. Hes got more of a spine for sure and has a much better idea of when someone actually made a mistake and when theyre just saying sorry to be nice. Tends to accept apologies, and the chances of that happening tends to go WAYYYY up if you get a little goody for him along with it. Wont apologize for standing up for himself (unless he really needs their favor, like a boss) and doesnt mind giving the cold shoulder until he gets an apology in turn. When he gets a little loopier he tends to forgive way less though, assumes everyone has it out for him and has some secret ill will!

[luesmainblog]

aight so for years i have said "Kawaii is a punk movement" because of the Ideology behind it, but by this chart, it's a lot closer to grunge. Essentially, Kawaii began as a rebellious move from young japanese girls. i'm summarizing this post and this article but basically in the 1970s schools had to start banning an overly-cutesy way of writing that girls had developed thanks to the fine-writing ability of the mechanical pencil. students would add hearts, stars, and other little shapes to their characters, the same way girls in the states might dot their i's with little hearts. As cute as it was, a lot of teachers found it SUPER illegible, and it got banned. some students were even expelled for continuing to use it!

this cutesy, rounded style of writing, called marui-ji, was picked up by companies and local businesses that thought they might be able to appeal to this side of girls. and honestly, it Did, in a major way.

the thing about being a girl in japan is a lot of them find it very stiffling, especially as they get older. you're expected to grow into a fine, polite young woman, get married, probably get a respectable boring job, and throw away all the childish princesshood of your childhood. choosing to Embrace that cutesy bubble world instead if a form of rebellion against those societal expectations; why SHOULD i become boring just because i'm growing up? what EXACTLY is wrong with being soft and sweet and pink and sparkly? why, PRECISELY, am i "too old" for princesses and tea parties and brightly-colored sweets? it's a mixture of rebelling against japan's strict comformity culture(the nail that sticks out gets the hammer, as they say), and against the larger problem in developed countries of Femininity being looked down on and seen as lesser; by being Kawaii, you are being LOUDLY feminine, in the most childish, standouty way possible. and if that weren't already a bit feminist for you, there's also an appeal against the expectation that femininity must inherently be for the attraction of men. Kawaii, especially subsubcultures within it such as Decora and Lolita, take a LOT of effort; it's a look that very obviously took HOURS to put together, while also being very, VERY obviously not meant to be sexy. not that nobody's ever found a way to fetishize it, but that base concept of dressing up like a princess in a little girl's story book is pretty unsexy, and for a lot of people, that's the point. and of course this appeal of embracing femininity and going against the grain is also MASSIVELY true for boys who engage in kawaii.

it should also be noted that marui-ji was popularizing around the same time that we were seeing the Gyaru subculture("Girly", more of less), which nowadays is largely considered within the same branch as kawaii. we likely wouldn't have kawaii if it weren't for gyaru.

and, as is common for alt subcultures, kawaii also has its appeal within queer communities; i've seen many a trans person, girl boy and enby alike, embrace kawaii because of that rebellious and highly feminine nature. many trans women find it's an excellent way to try and recapture the girlhood they missed out on, while many trans men find it a comfortable enviornment to embrace the girly shit they grew up with and still enjoy while still being seen as A Boy. it's also an easier place to be a boy if you're small and cute, which many trans guys still are in the early stages of their transition. there's also a decent chunk of lesbians to be found, with yuri content often drawing from kawaii culture.

and, just like basically every other alt subculture, it's been commodofied to hell by businesses looking to make a quick buck.

-w-" remember, y'all, making your own decorations with some polymer clay and cheapo hair pins is JUST as cute as the ten pack you found at the mall!! and speaking of, like many of the cultures mentioned up top, Malls are one of the best place for kawaii to thrive, at least in the united states. besides food courts being a great spot for unreserved meetups, the general space of capitalism trying to appeal to as many demographics as its able means that you'll always find a spot you fit in; particularly, shops that mainly appeal to tweens such as Claires and Justice. and hot topic. there is a LOT of kawaii shit at hot topic.

long story short, hyperfeminine subcultures like kawaii, gyaru, barbies and bimbos all have their place at the table of alt subcultures alongside punk, grunge, goths and emos. (wonder what the underlying ideology of scene is meant to be... society sucks so i'm just gonna be me? idk) and if we're defining grunge as "i'm opting out of societal expectations", i would DEFINITELY say that kawaii falls under that line of thinking :3

I was thinking recently about how "alt" subcultures are so aestheticized now but they used to be much more about your societal views than the clothes you wore or even the bands you listened to, and my brain connected some dots. Idk if this is anything