#album: bitter tongues

[bunnyboylyricbot]

did nobody ever tell you grapes are better in september?

[recordshop-archive]

ID copied from alt text, credit to @/shrubmogai

[ID: a flag with nine horizontal stripes, which fades from light blue to dark blue and mirrors across the middle, with light yellow stripes on the top and bottom. End ID]

[PT: wherehaseveryonegonesongic. End PT]

@io-archival @radiomogai @musicamogai @archive-of-music @the-mogai-archives

wherehaseveryonegonesongic - a gender related to, described by, or connected to the song "where has everyone gone?" by james marriott

[sillystappen]

This may be niche and I am aware of that but something about the Are We There Yet? album by James Marriott is so Daniel Ricciardo coded (ft his perspective of Maxiel) to me. Like I listen to it and think of him.

[wigglesforsquiggles]

i did not anticipate James Marriott making my top 5 artists this year, but respect to my February self for listening to a single album so much that he did

[rulingmarz]

last vlog of the year!

song used: Car Lights by James Marriott

[smileysuh]

model cowboy - TEASER

🌙 starring. Jeong Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You maintain eye contact until the moment your lips meet, and then, you do your best to just relax, to forget about the cameras pointed at you. You allow yourself to melt into the kiss, following Jaehyun's motions, following the gentle notes that soon become more heated. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and on instinct, you open your mouth for him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer.  You try to convince yourself that you’re leaning into this for the sake of the scene, that you’re just being good actors together, but there’s something underneath it all. There’s a desperation. You can almost taste it below the spearmint on his tongue. 

tw/cw. unprotected sex, dry humping, breast worship, slow and adequate foreplay/pussy stretching/prepping, pussy eating, fingering, praise, slight switchy power dynamic but Jae is generally the dom/top, slight overstim, face riding, slight hair pulling, precum (jae is horny), dirty talk, sappy sex, alcohol, etc… I pet names: (hers) superstar.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 13.2k

🍭 aus.actor!Jaehyun, singer!y/n, fake dating au, enemies to lovers au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. 

“Talk to me,” Johnny says lightly, giving an air of friendship despite the fact that he’s still in his role as manager. “Talk to me about this whole PR, fake dating thing.” 

Jaehyun shrugs. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Those fake tabloid pictures of you and y/n from yesterday on set dropped an hour ago, they’re trending on Twitter,” Johnny points out.

“It’s called ‘X’ now, actually.” 

Johnny narrows his eyes. “I’m never going to call it ‘X.’ It’s fucking Twitter.” 

Jaehyun can’t help but laugh, for real this time. He loves Johnny, loves him for all of his little millennial quirks.

“Honestly?” Jaehyun sighs, feeling his energy sift again. “Y/N’s super uptight, but… she can act like she’s not, and that’s a different side of her that I wasn’t really expecting.” 

Johnny is quiet for a few moments. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

“That song from her first album, ‘Forget About Him,’ was that written about you? Is there a past here?”

“Nah, it wasn’t about me,” Jaehyun assures his manager. “As far as I know, she’s never been interested in me like that. We had this other costar, Haechan-”

“Lee Donghyuck?”

“Yeah, him. They uh, I think there was something there between them, for a little while at least.”

Jaehyun can feel Johnny’s assessing gaze, and he averts his own eyes. 

“It almost seems like you’re jealous, Jae.”

“Yeah, well, Haechan never went on to become a brand ambassador for Prada or star in movies, he was just some little child star.” Jaehyun can taste the bitterness in his words, but he can’t help himself. 

“You know who’s not just a child star?” Johnny asks. “Y/N. You two are, without argument, the most successful people to come out of the show you were in when you were younger.”

“We’re both very driven,” Jaehyun admits. “I do admire that about her, she has a Grammy for fucks sake.”  

“What I’m getting from this,” Johnny concludes, “is that you’re completely fine with this whole fake dating arrangement.”

“Well, as my manager, you should know I’m a good actor."

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.4k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or wait till the fic is posted on tumblr Friday the 13th of December 2024

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

interact to be tagged when the fic is posted, reblogs and replies will be prioritized

[prongsiepotter]

down bad | j. potter

summary: you're so in love with james potter but he's a little too good at giving you mixed signals that it might actually ruin you

pairing: james potter x reader

warnings: angst, a little fluff if u squint, and so much longing & yearning. omg so much of it

a/n: i am unfortunately completely obsessed with taylor swift's new album, so everything i'll write in the near future will be based on one of the ttpd songs (yey!) & this one's based on 'down bad.' feel free to send requests if u want pick the next song for me x

──────── 𑁍︎ ‧₊°

"So he just said no?" Mary all but hisses. Marlene shushes her, glancing around the classroom before leaning down from where she's sitting on your desk.

"Are you sure it didn't mean something else?" She rests her hand on yours. "Maybe it was just a misunderstanding. He wouldn't…he just wouldn't, right?" You smile weakly at her, then shake your head. She squeezes your hand.

"The note was pretty clear," you say with a soft sigh. The sentence rolls off your tongue with unhidden bitterness. "Sorry, can't. Need to catch up on some assignments."

You would show it to them, so they could see for themselves and maybe divert their sympathetic gazes from you. But you had set it on fire right after reading it, just like the other two notes friendly rejecting you. You still aren't sure why you did it. After all, you did just tell Mary and Marlene that you're fine. At least you will be. You should not be this devastated over some guy.

Even if that guy is James Potter.

James who is now strolling into the room with his mates, looking as invincible and full of life as he always has and always will.

Quickly, you force a smile at the girls and pull out the chair next to you. Marlene, bless her, gets the hint and lightly shoves Mary's shoulder to have her take the seat. You're going through your book bag, pulling out your inkwell when four bodies make their way past your desk.

"Ladies," comes Sirius cheerfully loud voice as he bows at the waist because, of course, he does. Peter and Remus aren't as dramatic with their greetings. The latter, however, does take the time to slow down in front of you until you look up and return his kind smile. Belatedly, you realise perhaps you shouldn't have done that. You lock eyes with James, who's right behind him.

He sends you an easy smile and a wink. Like he's letting you in on another one of his rare secrets. You're not sure if you're smiling back, but it's almost a given that you are.

He takes his seat behind you, laughing blithely at a joke Pete just told, and it's all so painfully charming that you want to die. You fear he will always make you feel like this. Like you're somehow the chosen one. It's such a sickening feeling, you can't help but whip around and look at Mary, pleadingly. Though, you're not sure what you're pleading for anymore.

She shoots you another unbearably sympathetic smile, looking like she's close to cooing at you. You sigh, hiding your face in the crook of your arms.

You can't help but think how easy it would be to just cry right here. It's embarrassing to admit, but you've done it plenty of times over the weekend after you had seen James out at Hogsmeade with the others. Miserably, you had realised that he was, in fact, not too busy working on his assignments. He just didn't want to spend time with you.

You almost let out a sob.

A hand rubs your back and you know it can only be Mary, but you let yourself believe that it's the universe consoling you, as if to say there, there because there's nothing fair about this and she knows it, but there's nothing she can do it about now, can she?

History of Magic passes in a blur. Before you know it, you're in the library, pouring all of yourself into an essay that you normally couldn't have cared less for. But you're willing to do whatever it takes to keep yourself busy. You know your thoughts will stray the moment you're lying quietly in bed anyway, awaiting another sleepless night.

You finish the sentence and look up, satisfied with your work. Apparently it's been a while since you've torn your gaze away from the parchment before you, seeing how stiff your neck is. You knead at the uncomfortable knot in your shoulder while looking around the library. It's relatively full today with every other seat being taken.

Which makes it all the more irritating when your gaze snatches on a figure sat at the other table right across from you. He's not even looking up, head bent over a book, but you would recognise that mop of unruly dark curls anywhere. James must've seen you when he came in, but that might have just been your hopeful self speaking.

Begrudgingly, you resume your writing and it takes everything in you not to look up every few minutes. To glimpse the slight furrow in his brows and the small pout of his lips as he's carefully reading every paragraph. You know he's likely looking for something to prepare for a prank. Normally, you would simply go over and ask him what he's up to. You know he'd happily tell you. But you're glad to have at least a little bit of pride and dignity left that keeps you rooted in your spot.

Seemingly not enough though since all you can think about is that there's no way he doesn't know that you're right there. It really does make you want to bang your head against the table. Maybe that would finally catch James' attention.

Pathetically, you glance at him only to notice that he's packing his things to leave. The tip of your feather goes back to the parchment so fast, it almost pierces it. You haven't got a clue what you're writing, too busy tracking James' movements from the corner of your eyes.

You watch him stand up, walking down the length of his table towards the door down the hall on his right. Then he stops. You hold your breath. James seemingly hesitates before fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He turns left and walks towards you. You're staring at your hand as it writes illegible words, completely out of your control, when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey," James whispers when you look up, giving you a familiar grin and small wave. It's an innocent gesture, sweet, but there's almost something hostile about this encounter. Like you have no choice but to let him occupy every single one of your senses. You stare up at him, a matching smile sweeping over your lips before you can think better of it.

That's when you notice the scarf he's wearing and its frizzled ends. It's yours. You know it is.

Did he not give it back to you after one of your nights out together on the stands? After you had flown on your brooms, so close to the sea of stars that you could've dipped your fingertips in them? You could almost hear the echoes of your windblown laughters as the memory pushes itself into the foreground of your mind.

James is sitting still, rosy-cheeked, watching you with curious eyes while you babble on about the Leo constellation. He had just told you that you could do whatever you want to him—another quite maddening thing to casually say to someone—and now he's apparently keen on staying true to his word by letting you wrap your scarf around his neck.

It took some convincing before he'd finally accepted it from you. You promised that you wouldn't be cold with your high collared sweater, but James only gave in when you had accepted his wool hat in exchange.

He had carefully put it on you, smoothing down your hair and pulling out some loose strands to frame your face, mumbling something about how much lovelier his hat looked on you than on him. You told yourself that he surely must've known what it did to you when his knuckles brushed your cheeks. Right? Surely.

James pokes your side, chuckling, as if he sensed that your mind was drifting elsewhere. He cracks another joke, saying that if you were the one to teach him Astronomy, he might actually pay attention in class. He says it like it's a deal and you feel inclined to do whatever it takes to hold up your side of the bargain.

You laugh helplessly, feeling drunk on a little bit of everything; the stars above, James' gentle laughter, the familiar smell of broom wax and crisp winter air. This must be cosmic love, you think to yourself. Your breath clouds in front of you, becoming one with his. All the while, you're too aware of James' shoulder bumping into you, his leg pressed against yours. There's no one out here but you two.

You have all the room in the world, but James chose to sit this close to you. Probably close enough for him to hear your heart pounding. Did he do it for a reason? You'd love to know.

"You don't need me to pay attention in Astronomy," you find yourself saying in response, something daring laced in the drawl of your voice. His eyes flash, bright and a bit wild. It's the same look he gets after you challenge him to a race on your brooms. His grin grows wide, carefree, and oh so lovely.

"Please." His face comes impossibly closer and you lean in without another thought, eager to take whatever it is James will give you. You feel his breath on your lips.

"I will always need you, Y/N."

Somehow he makes it sound genuine.

Then he winks and leaves you a horrid, forsaken mess. Somehow he makes that feel like a nice gesture too.

Incredulously, you stare at him as he leans back, elbows resting on the seats behind him. James Potter, you think weakly, what are you doing to me? Not for the first time you ponder what you would do if you can't have him. You almost double over from the striking pain in your chest.

Then he points out another constellation and you nearly forget all about yourself. He's good at that. Never ceasing to show you that the world is bigger than the two of you. Making you forget and remember that you might be in love. Because what if you were in love?

James cups the back of his neck, then points towards the door of the library, almost shyly letting you know that he's leaving. You nod slowly, still dazed. A small smile crosses his lips before you watch him round the corner, his back disappearing from your sight.

You blink, letting out a ragged breath. You feel like you got the wind knocked out of you. Like you just lost your twin. Someone who knows you like no one else ever will. Someone who might just be your better half. Someone who sometimes makes you feel like they want nothing to do with you.

It's ridiculous, you think bleakly to yourself, you're so down bad.

And James Potter makes it feel like a curse and a blessing.

[jiarkives]

the 1

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ summary — if your wishes came true, you wouldn’t have been blue.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ character — rhysand ft. azriel (a court of thorns and roses)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ content — angst ; talks of wing clipping ; reader is an illyrian ; written with fem!reader in mind

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ notes — welcome to my new series, the eras collection, where i write fics and drabbles based on taylor swift songs from different albums. you may request for this series with a certain TS song and a character! also, my hand was basically on autopilot as i wrote this so idk if it makes any sense lol 😵‍💫

~

You watched as your heart felt heavier and heavier with each second that passes and the bitter taste in your tongue grew more and more apparent.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. It certainly wasn’t theirs. It wasn’t their fault you fell in love with someone who wouldn’t ever look at you like how he looked at her, someone who was so close yet so far away.

You had always been Rhysand’s ride or die ever since he had saved you from getting your wings clipped in a camp. You had been by his side even before Azriel and Cassian became his brothers.

You didn’t mean to, but he made it too easy to fall in love with him. He was everything you had ever wanted, yet he never found himself to be deserving of love.

Then, everything changed after what happened Under the Mountain. He had come back a different male, far from who he was when he left. He was paler, thinner, quieter. He wasn’t the same Rhys who left. He was broken.

But none of you commented on it. You helped him to get back up, to get back on his own feet. You let him come to you, let him speak about everything at his own pace.

Then, he did.

You thought you’d feel happy that he was finally opening up, and you were, but your heart broke further when he started telling you about her, his mate. Feyre Cursebreaker. The savior of Prythian.

You were happy for him, really, but you couldn’t help but feel envious, and angry, and hurt. But you didn’t blame them. You didn’t blame anyone else, not even the Mother, not even the Cauldron. After all, it was solely your fault for falling in love with someone who was never destined to be yours, who was destined to be with someone else.

Then you had met Feyre. And you wanted to scream as you watched how she had treated Rhys, and how he had let her.

You wanted to yell at him that you were there. You were right there as you had been the whole time, that you weren’t going to hurt him like that, that you weren’t going to treat him like she did, but you didn’t. You kept your mouth shut and swallowed the lump in your throat every time.

Then, everything had gotten better slowly. She had started getting along with him and the Circle. You weren’t being left out and pushed away in any means, but you couldn’t help but feel like you had been replaced.

It still wasn’t their fault, though. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but yours when you felt your heart breaking with each step they took away from the crowd and into somewhere more private.

When they were out of sight, you excused yourself and moved to another vacant balcony and leaned against railing as she watched as the bright stars crossed the horizon.

You sighed as you looked down at your clothes. It was blue, making you laugh at the irony.

Amren had always told you that your color was blue. At first, you thought she was talking about the clothes you were wearing at the time she told you, and so you agreed. The color blue did complement you well.

Now, you realized that she was still right. Your color was blue. It was not about your clothes, though. Maybe she was talking about how you had always felt blue as you watched Rhys, as you reminded yourself time and time again that he wasn’t yours, that he will never be yours. You had always felt blue as you watched him worm his way into and break through Feyre’s walls slowly.

Then, you felt a presence join you and you didn’t even have to turn to know who they were.

“Were you bored enough that you have decided to join me, Shadowsinger?” Your tone was light and teasing, a stark contrast to the heaviness you felt in your heart.

“Is it so wrong to keep a lady company?” He fired back, leaning against the railing.

“Maybe not, but it’s not quite like you, is it?”

Then, your eyes caught a flash of blue. His siphons. And you realized.

Maybe Amren wasn’t talking about your clothes or your emotions, but maybe she was right anyway. Maybe blue really was your color.

[princehyyuck]

[1.30am]

While trying to snuggle deeper into your pillows, you realise the bed beneath you feels colder than it should. A pang of worry stirs in your chest as you softy rub the sleep from your eyes. You have the urge to wrap yourself back into the warm blankets when you pull yourself from them, but the absence gnaws at you, forcing you to your feet.

You step quietly into the living room, the dim light of the moon casting jagged shadows across the sofa; onto the laminate flooring before the rug in the middle of the room. Your heart skips a beat when your gaze lands on a still figure perched on the edge of the couch. For a split second, fear stiffens through you, but then you recognise him. It’s your boyfriend.

Switching on the small lamp, the warm but dim light pools around the room. You sink into the cushions beside him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his broad frame, trying to offer comfort to whatever storm he’s weathering.

"Channie, it’s late. Why are you awake?" The nickname slips out without thought, and You watch as his jaw tightens, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows reluctantly.

His voice, when it comes, is quiet but sharp, like a knife dragging across glass. "How much longer are we gonna keep pretending?"

The question pulls the breath from your lungs. Your arms drop as you lean back to study his face, searching for something—anything—that will help you understand. His dark eyes, once so full of love, meet yours, empty and unreadable, a look you'd never have thought you would see, bearing from his once soft features.

"What are you talking about?"

He exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to the photo album in his lap. The corners are worn, the memories inside heavy with years of love and laughter. "I feel like we’re falling apart and neither of us is talking about it."

The knot in your stomach tightens. Words hover on the tip of your tongue, but none of them feel right. You glance at the album, at the way his fingers trace its edges like he’s afraid it might disappear.

"I spent the past two hours looking through this," he whispers, his voice thick with something between longing and despair. "Wondering if we can ever be as happy as we were here."

"Hyuck—"

"I’m sitting here, tormenting myself with all our memories, all these what-ifs, and here you are sleeping without a care in the world." His laugh is bitter, broken, and the sound cuts deep. You hear the sniffles he tries to stifle, his composure fracturing.

"Do you even love me anymore?"

"Of course I do," you answer quickly, the words trembling with desperation. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"Then why am I hurting so bad?" His voice cracks, raw and vulnerable. The question hangs between you, pressing down like a weight you can’t lift.

Tears blur your vision as you watch his emotions unravel, his face heating as the first tear spills over. "Why am I the only one who’s suffering?" he whispers, the heartbreak in his voice shredding what’s left of your composure.

You reach for him, but he flinches, curling into himself as his sobs fill the room. The sound is agonizing, a chorus of every unspoken hurt, every unresolved fight. You sit there, your own tears falling silently, until his cries fade into quiet, uneven breaths.

"What do you want from me?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

"Tell me how I can make you love me again."

"I never stopped," you say, the words breaking as they leave your lips. "Why are you doing this, Donghyuck? Why do we keep going through this?"

For a long moment, he says nothing. His hands clench and unclench, his body folding in as if to shield himself from the world. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely audible.

"I’m sorry," he mutters, wiping furiously at the tears on his face. "I’m so sorry."

You reach out again, and this time, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans into you, letting you hold him as your chin rests on his head. Your fingers trace slow, soothing circles on his back, anchoring him as you both steady your breaths.

"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice soft and fractured, "I don’t wanna end like this. I don’t want you to leave me."

"I don’t want to either, hyuck," you whisper, the ache in your chest unbearable. "But I can’t keep being strong for the both of us."

His arms snake around your waist, and he presses a gentle kiss to the curve of your neck. "I’ll be better. I promise."

You don’t reply, instead pulling him tighter against you as if holding him together might keep him from falling apart.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispers into the quiet.

"I love you too," you reply, and you mean it with every fiber of your being. But deep down, both of you know love alone might not be enough. The cracks are already forming, and the weight of them threatens to split you apart. And yet, for now, you stay. Together, you sit in the fragile silence, choosing to hold on even as the edges fray, both knowing the damage might one day be irreparable.

-----------

dk if this made me sadder than i am already or not, poor baby :(

(Also not proofread so i apologise for any mistakes)

[mndvx]

joshuatbassett Encapsulating the bitter-sweet nostalgia of my late teens and early twenties, my debut album is a love-letter to “the golden years” of my life thus far. From the stomach-butterflies of a first love in “Cherry Blossom” to being unrecognizable due to depression and addiction in “Mirror”, this body of work spans the hope and heartbreak of my transition into adulthood. Dancing with tears in my eyes, Biting My Tongue, going in Circles, and starting a Wildfire, it’s a genre-bending journal entry from the bottom of my heart.

[starsfic]

Xiaotian points out one day that Zhu Bajie, Ao Lie, and Sha Wujing had to have had partners if his family and friends are their descendants. Sun Wukong is eager to spill the tea.

Anon: Monkie kid prompt: Wukong learns about Zhu Baije’s punishment (the love tragedy one) from Pigsy. And makes sure that it doesn’t happen or it ends with Pigsy’s and Tang’s relationship The Zhu Bajie and Ao Lie stories inspired by @twinklecupcake's wives.

A huge chest slammed onto the table, the dust on it thick enough that Xiaotian was sent into a coughing fit. "That's huge," he wheezed. "What's all in it?"

"Oh, a lot," Sun Wukong said, throwing open the chest. He pulled out a bunch of scrolls and loose pictures, what looked to be at least two fancy hanfus, and other stuff. Tang reached for one of the scrolls only for Wukong to slap his hand. The last thing he pulled out looked to be a photo album.

"Now," Wukong said, reaching for the scroll Tang attempted to grab. "I have no idea where Sha Wujing got his kid," He unfolded the scroll to reveal an ink picture. The giant river demon beamed next to a nervous-looking Tripitaka, the taller holding a small demon child. The child beamed with sharp shark teeth. "He just popped up one day and asked if I would basically be the kid's godfather and never asked any questions."

Sandy made a grabbing motion and Wukong let him take the scroll, ignoring Tang's pout. "So, he adopted?" the demon asked.

"Either that or he kidnapped the kid from a bad situation."

Wukong grabbed another scroll and unrolled it, presenting to Long Xiaojiao first. She cooed at the image of her white-haired ancestor in wedding robes, holding hands with a pretty dark-haired girl. "Oh, she's so pretty!" she said, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture. "Who is she?"

"She was a farmgirl, living on a farm near the ocean. Ao Lie apparently worked as a farmhand for her dad for several months because he got bored and ending up doing the whole Princess Bride schtick," Wukong said, unfolding one of the robes to reveal the red fabric was stitched with green dragons. "We didn't even get told about the wedding until she was expecting their second kid, although Master insisted on them having a second wedding so we could be there." His smile grew bigger. "They had a big stuffy court wedding where she was apparently so upset the entire morning because she had no idea Ao Lie was a prince and thought she was marrying some random stranger, so they didn't need much convincing."

Xiaojiao's eyes got bigger. "Can I-?" She made grabby hands. Wukong handed over the wedding robe with no protest. She zoomed out of the room and soon returned, striking a pose. Whatever preservation spell was on the fabric was strong, since it looked perfect despite its age. Xiaojiao was a tad shorter than Ao Lie, so some of it dragged on the floor, but it looked amazing.

"What about..." Pigsy sighed, as if the name was bitter on his tongue. "Zhu Bajie?"

Wukong's smile froze on his face. "He...uh...he returned to Blue Orchid, and I helped them find a new place in the countryside since her dad put up a stink," He reached for another scroll, handing it over. "They were besotted with each other. When she got pregnant, they were so happy...But he had a curse to be never happy in love."

Connections did not need further help.

The scroll depicted a scene of wedded bliss, the tiny woman dwarfed by the giant boar, a hand pressed protectively to her round stomach. The artist had caught them smiling at each other, eyes full of love and hope for the future.

Wukong, lost in memories, didn't notice Xiaojiao grabbing the scrapbook. "Is that why you were stalking Pigsy?" she called.

The monkey went stiff. "What?" Tang said.

"There's no need to see that-" Wukong made a grab but Xiaojiao danced back, her grin getting wider.

"Is this their first date-?!"

"WHAT?!"

"I wanna see!"

"I just wanted to help-"

Sandy, watching as his friends, his family, broke into struggle over the scrapbook that memorialized his oldest friends' happiness, smiled. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture.

This could join the rest of the memories of the pilgrims.

[bunnyboylyricbot]

what's love if it's not true?

[holybibly]

when i tell you that hongjoong has had my shy submissive ass in a chokehold these past few weeks,, i can’t stop thinking about riding him in his studio (maybe even with seonghwa watching 👀) and having him taunt me like “aww poor baby couldn’t wait? needed me that badly?” oh my GOD.

kim hongjoong when i (consensually) get my hands on you I’ll give you the night of your life

Today is the last, the hard hours continue until the end of the week.

Looks like you’re not the only one under our captain’s cute little finger. Most of the requests I get now concern him.

Something makes you incredibly soft and submissive when you have sex in the studio with Hongjoong. It's just a certain level of intimacy between you that only the two of you realise. But lately, more and more, you've started to imagine what it would be like to have Songhwa's sparkling cat eyes watching you as you bounce up and down on Hongjun's cock.

When they started working on their new album MATZ, that idea became even more powerful. There were always three of you. The small studio became cramped and filled with too much sexual tension. Every time you sat on Hongjoong's lap, you felt Songhwa's hot, dark gaze slide over you, making you squirm in your seat and rub against Hongjun's cock in the most delightful way. You're getting so wet that you think you're going to stain your boyfriend's trousers.

Joong doesn't seem to mind being in public at all, as his hand quickly finds its way under your dress shirt. Or, to be more precise, under the shirt you wear as a dress. The warm, possessive touch of his palm against your needy pussy sends a pleasant shiver throughout your body.

"Wait! What are you doing? Hongjoong, stop it right now. Hwa is still there." You whimper softly into his neck, but damn, he smells so delicious. You don't even notice how you start to kiss him. Slowly, lazily, you lick his honey skin. Joong is just so sweet, so bitter, so spicy—damn, he is just so divine. 

"Mmm… please kiss me. I want you to kiss me." You moan into his neck as you run the tip of your tongue along the tantalising mole. You will find yourself falling into subspace without even realising it. The effect that Hongjoong have on you wash away any rational thought.

"So needy, aren't you baby?" He chuckles with a dark chuckle and runs his fingers through your hair. "My baby just a little slut, you act so naughty when Seonghwa is looking at you. Are you going to show him your pretty pussy as well, mm?"

"Whatever it is that makes you happy."

"You are so pretty. Isn't she beautiful, Hwa?"

"A beauty, for sure." You just go with the flow and let yourself get lost in the velvety sound of their voices. Seonghwa has always sounded so sexy and dark, or is that just a figment of your imagination?

"Do you know that she looks even more beautiful when she is riding on my dick?" Hongjoong kisses your lips sweetly and lifts up your dress to reveal your pretty, semi-sheer panties. This cute but slutty set is what he especially loves. "Do you want a look?"

"Limits?" Hwa asks, getting up from where he's sitting and coming closer to you. His hot body is pressed against your back and his soft, inviting lips are touching the back of your neck. It hits you like an electric current through your body.

"Please, I need you so much. God, daddy, I need you to be inside me so badly. My pussy hurts." You shake your hips desperately, clinging to Hongjoong's shoulders and lean your head back against Seonghwa's, immediately getting trapped by his gaze. His eyes are impenetrable dark and you feel like you want to be swallowed."I beg you."

"Absolutely unlimited. You can do whatever you want".

That's just how you find yourself, desperately bouncing on your gorgeous boyfriend's cock as Seonghwa rubs his graceful long fingers over your clit, further stimulating you and leaving wet kisses along your neck and shoulders. Hongjoong plays with your breasts, pinching your nipples and tugging at them. He bites and kisses you so hard that every single cell in your body dries up like a white flame.

"You look so perfect between us, you sweet little slut. We'll just ruin your needy pussy. That's what you want, isn't it?"

And yes, that is exactly what you have such a craving for.

[kiame-sama]

Cupid's Arrow- (Yandere!Rook x Reader)

Warnings; yandere, yandere relationship, yandere temper, yandere rook, stalking, predator/prey dynamic, Rook is canonically 18 so don't come at me sideways, reader is 18+, invasion of privacy, Rook is an absolute creep, gross Rook, obsessive yandere, drugging, non-con cuddling,

~~~~~~~~

Love is blind.

Rook heard this saying many times, but if love is blind, then so too is Cupid. A blind huntsman would need to be quite skilled to be able to take down prey. Still, it seemed Cupid has fired an arrow right through Rook's heart and he couldn't be more thrilled. Beauty came in so many forms it was almost impossible to quantify, but the beauties in Rook's life were beyond what words could do justice.

Rook's favorite way to commemorate those he found beautiful was through a sort of collection. From pictures, to items, to whatever he could get his hands on, Rook needed to collect mementos of such beauty. Luckily for Rook, his most recent quarry was a beautiful ray of sunshine that he loved to stand in the radiance of. From having a genuine heart of gold in a school of poisonous and bitter people, to the pure affection shown towards those his beloved loved, everything they did made his heart skip. Sure, he didn't like when that smile was directed at anyone other than himself, but who would he be to deny such a wonderful person their happiness?

Even now, Rook admired the beauty that was his beloved enraptured within dreams and deep in the bliss of sleep. He couldn't help but take countless photos, trying to get all of your cute expressions in the memory of his phone. More memories for him to print out and place in the photo album he has lovingly crafted for his secret paramour. Sure, you may not realize it now, but Rook knew you would come around to his thinking and eventually accept him and his devout worshipping.

For the time being, Rook would have to satisfy his desires in other ways until that blessed moment you notice your loyal huntsman for the lover he can be. This meant that the vice-housewarden was breaking curfew to appease his ever growing cravings to know more about you. He wanted to know your touch, take in your warm and unique scent, feel how well you fit in his arms. All of it. Rook wanted it all.

Of course, you were trusting despite the hunter that stalked your waking and sleeping hours. When the huntsman came to you late at night and offered you a drink he had made rather 'special' for you, you happily gulped it down with no hesitation. Rook would never forget the way you licked your lips and caught the spare drops as they tried to escape your pink tongue. Of the several morally questionable things Rook had put in your drink, the sleeping potion was the most potent and it didn't take long until he was helping you into bed.

He was lucky he convinced Epel to take Grim for the evening for some studying, leaving you without your typical companion. This meant Rook could get closer to you than he ever had prior and you would be free for him to hold as you slept off the dubious drink.

He was simply glad you didn't question how long it took for him to make this drink for you, that and the fact the ghosts weren't around to witness his depravity. The sleeping potion wasn't all he laced your drink with, and he will certainly remember watching you gulp it down for countless sleepless nights to come. There was no way he would admit to how he almost moaned when you commented on how delicious it was. He would happily make you as many special drinks as you wanted and he certainly looked forward to watching you drink them.

Now he could simply slide into the bed next to you, holding your soft figure against his own. You felt perfect in his arms, laying your head on his bicep and cuddling into his chest for the warmth that rolled off of him. He had happily helped you change into your sleep clothes before discarding his own clothes minus the boxers he wore. Despite how much he wanted to indulge in his most beautiful love and feel the warmth of your bare flesh against his own, he was going to try and restrain himself. After all, the hunt was almost as much fun as the reward.

Your figure was so soft against his chest he almost forgot he was not supposed to stay in your bed with you. You had not technically invited him into your bed and would likely be unhappy if you woke with the hunter next to you. He would have to move himself to the worn couch at the far side of the room before he allowed himself to succumb to sleep. Rook anticipated the ear-full he was going to get from Vil about leaving Pomefiore in the middle of the night, but the experience he was currently having was worth it all. You needn't know the things he willingly sacrificed for you or the way Cupid had pieced through his heart with endless love for you, all he needed was the warmth of your body against his and the ever soft places he could now put his hands.

For now, it was enough for Rook. He was a hunter and he knew how to be patient, after all. Soon he would pierce your heart with a golden arrow the same way Cupid had pierced his- and if you didn't accept his love, it would be quite the literal arrow- so he could finally call you all his own.

[hughiecampbelle]

Unornamented (Hughie Campbell Oneshot)

Character/s: Hughie

Word Count: 1,691

Requested: Not requested, but here are the prompts I used :) 13.) Hum, 36.) Scraped Knees 34.) “Still awake?”

Inspired By: Foxglove by Haley Heynderickx

A/N: I love him, I love him, I love him!!!! Anyways, just an appreciation fic for your patience!!! Thank you my loves!! I actually kinda love how this turned out. I think it's very soft and sweet, even a little sad. Heavily inspired by the song/album. Slowly working through my writers block so that once I start posting again, my work will be what you deserve!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! 💜💜💜

The cicada's sharp pitch moves with the wind, seeping through the open window screens. You never knew what that peculiar sound was, the screaming, bleating, wailing, only that it swept through you each night on your long, humid walks home. A kind of begging. A performance. A tongue you have not yet mastered. Shakespearean tragedies, you imagine, wars between families, between forbidden lovers and bitter marriages. Feuds. They step out into costumes covered in ruffles, pearls, thick collars and high stockings. The children dress as fauna and flora, roaring like cubs, nipping at one another playfully. On stage, they are someone else. Largely unseen as the sun sets, they intend to make their presence known. The rest of them, the crowds for miles and miles, sing their songs in appreciation. A hum that vibrates through the leaves, the open air, their roaring praise and applause settles goosebumps across your flesh. They’ve grown accustomed to sweet summer shows and they will be forever grateful. Harmless, they went about their time as you wished to do. No biting, nor stinging. Without violence. They draw out these shows, afraid they will be left alone to bear their lives, their thoughts, mundane and overpowering respectively. 

Beneath you, the springs of the mattress puncture the thin fabric, poking at the spokes of your spine the way a mother would her child. It tickles, her bony knuckles, the sharpness of the spring. Interchangeable. A comfort you have forgotten of, one that fills the cavity of your chest with dread. What else have you forgotten? What else have you given up for a life like this? The sheer curtains blow with the breeze. Thoughtlessly, they move and dance and grab at one another, like sisters. They must be laughing, you think, for they are warm underneath the butter yellow street lights and safe and together. They must be laughing, because they are together and that is who they’ll only ever need: their twin. Leaves rustle underneath the insect melodies. A bass, low and of the earth, the tone of an old man telling stories of his youth. You can hear him smiling. 

The sheets are soft, newly washed, and sticking to you. Wrapped around your torso, your legs free to breathe, kissed by the thick air. Lying like this, with your knees tented, you can see the scrapes across them. Earth scorched. What was once torn open, alive and mouthy, had healed only slightly. The skin is pale and thick and chewy. Shiny. They don’t hurt as much as they did. You’re not sure how it happened, only that it must’ve been recent. There are other aches and pains. Healed and unhealed, bruised and not. Old wounds stitched together. Deep purples, cobalt blues, sickly greens. They’ll yellow soon enough. You were always getting hurt. You were always in some sort of danger. Unwise, you knew, and yet there was something about the thrill. The taste of blood in your mouth. Last time – the last time – you’d almost been sliced in half. Not yet a scar, the settled skin inching its way across your belly remained snakelike. Sensitive, you were careful to wash and dry, to dress and dress again. Your fingertips brush where it rests beneath your shirt. You don’t like looking at it. It remains too much of a reminder. On that day. Of what you were attempting to leave behind. Too soon to joke, to laugh, the both of you still a little rattled. 

It’s how you ended up here. 

There is a body beside you. Not unfamiliar. His skin is warm, and though forgiveness was never one of summer's virtues, you find yourself curling into him, all his nooks and crannies, despite the humidity in the air. His chest rises and falls evenly. His lip is split and there is a scab at his temple. How many times have you kissed that very spot? How many times had you checked on it, to make sure it was healing properly. Free of infection. His shirt is worn and thin and it smells of him: soap and sky and the dinner he burned earlier. One arm rests beneath you, your head, the other thrown behind the pillow, perching it up further. His rest is not easy, not without effort, but there is a certain softness to his features. Maybe it’s the light, the setting sun, the deep, bright blue of the night sky. Maybe not. Either way your eyes follow the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the furrow of his brow. His hair is wild, some of it slicked back. It is his best effort not to overheat. His dreams are still water, not yet broken by growing, gruesome waves. Not yet entering the heart of the storm. It will, of course. And when it does, he will startle awake. Panting. Gasping for air. Clinging to you. 

For now, though, he is quiet. 

The bedroom is cozy. Cozy, you think, is a nice way of saying it’s small. No matter. You had little with you anyways. A lamp. A mattress. You have yet to get a frame, a bedside table. Frivolities. A single dresser you split down the middle, neck to groin. Autopsy-esque. Photos of friends. Notes and doodles. Passports, fake IDs. Enough clothes to get you through the season. You know, when the snow threatens to fall and the cicadas are long gone, you will need more than what you’ve got. The drawers stick and, embarrassed, as quiet as he can, he’ll shake it open. He has done this since you got here. Untethered himself from you, from the bed, gentle enough not to startle you. He’ll dress, and kiss your head, and leave a note: Be back soon. XO Hughie. He’ll disappear in the early morning. Wandering, you suppose. It is the only way he can breathe easily, if he knows where you are. If he understands the layout of the land. You weren’t in the city anymore. The crowds you’d slipped into, becoming just another strange face, were no longer an option here. The hiding places were minimal. Open roads, nothing for miles. The underbelly you could run to for safety, the trains you could crouch into, your hoods up, your faces low, were unavailable. Nonexistent. You’d traded one anonymity for another. You’d pretend to be asleep, watching him, wide eyed, as the morning sun enveloped him. The rays are subtle, not yet full, and they stretch out towards him. Sometimes you’ll fall back to sleep. Sometimes you’ll lie there, soaking in every inch of the room, wondering what became of everyone you’d ever cared about. Wondering if you could make a life like this. When he comes back, he will make you coffee. The only two mugs you brought with you. Chipped and worn. He’ll place his on the dresser, careful with yours, as if it were something precious. He doesn’t voice what he’s seen, what he’s taken into account, but his features are quick to give him away. You will reassure him: he could never find you here. You are both safe. Everyone is safe. The words are hollow, You know this. As long as Homelander is alive, you are in danger. There is only so much of you you can give to him anymore. There is only so much of your mind, your body, your fears, that you can dole out to him. Hughie nods, the steam from his cup bringing color to his face. You will find something else to talk about. The strangers you met on your long walks. The pets you wave to through fences, through windows. The long summer you’ve been granted. How lucky you’ll be when the weather chills and the leaves begin to turn. Anything but Vought. Anything but him. 

That isn’t for many hours, of course.

Your thoughts spread like fog through the apartment. The kitchen (tiny) and the bathroom (even littler). Enough utensils for two. A spongy bath mat. Anything that would fit in the backseat, really. Silly things you grabbed without thinking. The kitschy salt and pepper shakers. A dozen mismatched socks. Only the case of Hughie’s mouth guard. Half a set of slippers. A handful of books. The rest? You would never be sure what happened to them, to anything. You had what the old tenants left behind. The dresser, the lamp, a table for four with three chairs, a shower curtain. There are other things here as well. Spiders in the corners, weaving their webs. Occasionally, you might find one on the bar of soap by the sink, crawling across the counter tops, making its way through the length of the apartment. A mouse or two. If you’re quiet enough, you might hear them scurrying in the walls. Worse, you suspect, though that’s as far as you can name definitively. The first thing he did was get you a mattress. Paid in cash under another name, beaming with pride, he pushed it up the stairs and through each doorway. It was perfect.  The cicadas sing their songs, harmonizing with one another. The sky has darkened. There are so many stars here. That was the first thing you noticed. Driving for days on end, you watched the inky black glitter, thousands and thousands of holes opening up, letting the twinkling light through. It wasn’t like this in the city. It had never been this clear. Perhaps it was the running, the escaping, the tiresome ways you’d been living since you left. Perhaps it was the first beautiful thing you’d been allowed to take in in a long time. There were wildflowers and small towns and houses built long before you, but the time to look in awe, to appreciate, had been so fleeting. Mere moments, that’s all you were allowed. This would go on forever. The scars embedded in your skin ache just a little. You readjust, placing your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Hughie, coming to, wraps his arm around you, pulling you even closer. “Still awake?” He asks in his sleepy voice, and you know he is smiling.

[hokusu]

Post-breakup dabihawks artist AU where they just release nasty songs about each other until they finally get back together.. 

'I hope you hate this song like I hate you too / when you hear my voice, I hope it makes you sick / next time you sing along, you can choke on it' (x)

. . . . .

They break up. And make it everyone's fucking problem. Tabloids can't keep up. They're on every front page of every celebrity magazine over the span of months. They air all their dirty laundry out into the public, not shying from the specifics or the too much information, not shying from all of the worst about each other. Because no one knows them better than the way they know each other.

And they know how to hit where it hurts, they know how to dig under each other's skin and there's so much bitter, resenting unresolved anger about everything  between them, they can't just let it go. So they don't hold back and they get back into the studio, do the only thing they have left without each other, lyrics flying off the tip of their tongue as they sing about how much they hate each other on every song to their new album.

Because surprise surprise, they're competitive assholes both releasing new singles. New albums. Thirteen songs. Thirteen tracks solely about each other. To be released on the same date.

If they weren't so damn good at what they do, they'd surely be committing career suicide.

They're not subtle, they throw digs about each other on every interview and talkshow host they get invited to to promote their album. The inspiration to their songs, the meaning behind their lyrics, it's all painfully each other and they don't pretend it's not.

And their singles all sell off the charts, doing numbers they've never done before, taking turns beating each other off the number 1 spot with every week that goes on. No other artist even comes close. It's just... them. Tied for topping the charts. Weeks after weeks.

The public doesn't know if it's a blessing or a curse, but their music is on fire and their lyrics are downright nasty, but it's also some of the rawest and honest emotions they've heard and they can't get enough. 

Their fans feud, but most of all, many of them overlap.

Like their lives. Their music. Their inevitable everything. They're attacking each other on every soundtrack but it's almost like... their albums compliment each other when listened to back to back.

Hidden behind every message of 'fuck you', like an unhinged love declaration.

On the day of their album release, they sell out through every store across the nation.

Months later, they are both  nominated to win awards for album of the year, song of the year, best vocals, best lyrics, so on and so forth...

It's the first time they're cited to attend a public event together since they broke up and the whole country is watching. 

And when they win, arms full of awards, in their final acceptance speech, Hawks calls Dabi to join him on the stage

Their eyes level, a careful raised brow and a taunting challenged smirk on their lips. The room is silent. 

Hawks hold the mic up, but his eyes never leave Dabi's, has never really left his since the moment they walked away from each other, and he inhales a breath and then exhales, "I personally want to thank Dabi for all these awards. Because I wouldn't have done it if I didn't fucking hate you. So thanks, sweetheart."

And Dabi laughs, mean and just as amused as he raises his own awards from the evening up to Hawks and mouths, "Fucking hate you too, angel."

Everyone holds their breath, there's so much heat and intensity between that single moment, like they're all witnessing the most private moment to their lives, the chance of a fight not out of question.

No one expects Hawks to reach out and pull against Dabi's tie, fingers fisted against silk as he leans over and kisses him hard, right there right then.

And Dabi's free hand goes to tangle into Hawks', fingers tugged roughly into golden locks and kisses him back, just as hard.

In front of the audience and live streaming award show for the world to see, right as they just won best everything for the album on how much they hate each other.

The lights dim, the music starts and Hawks breaks into performing his song of the year– and Dabi sings right along with him. Because of course, every song that Hawks has released he knows by heart now.

He hates those fucking songs.

And he fucking love Hawks.