#and if you prove him wrong he refutes it altogether

[bread-that-draws]

Feels a lil stuck up to call myself a "big undertale account" but plenty did reblog my version where I just added a sc of your tags and say that you're based 👍😭 stay based forever op!!

Omg bitches love me for my insane ramblings and my tags that I send out into the world without a second thought like a baby bird

EDIT I DECIDED TO CHECK YOUR ACCOUNT BEFORE POSTING THIS AND LITERALLY JUST NOTICED YOUVE MADE SOME OF MY FAVORITE UT FANART WTF thank you big Undertale account keep making me cry

[nouearth]

“'TILL WE SEE STARS”

zane phillips, nico greetham, drew starkey, taylor zakhar perez, tom holland, and oliver stark x male reader.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓— fic [ 14.7k ] 〳 part one

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒—male reader〳make sure to read part one!〳established relationship 〳 collage!au 〳jealous!zane 〳 sexual content: everyone is a top, bottom!reader, cum dumpster!reader, double penetration, gang bang, rough!sex, kissing, spitting, breeding, cumplay, bukkake, blowjobs, handjobs, praising, body worshipping, lots and lots of filthy sex!

You didn’t notice right away.

In your defense, Zane had always been exceptionally distracting, and that would only become harder to refute since you’d been something to him.

Rephrase that—someone.

Someone special, someone of importance, someone that meant something.

You’ve had doubts. Who wouldn’t when even your own friends looked at you with such bewilderment upon introducing him to the small group. Nerds and Jocks don’t mix; a childish verity you and your friends held with high regard since being hit in the face with a ball happened one too many times to brush those instances off as mere coincidences. That, and your snickering high school classmates would since provide you a whole new perspective on that matter.

But you went on to prove your friends wrong, prove that your doubts were meager tricks that only persisted to keep you from exploring out of your comfort zone—from living life to its fullest possibilities. The house that had once shielded you from all cruelties the world and its inhabitants brought with them began to crumble from its residence on a clifftop. Parts that made up the foundation sacrificed themselves in pursuit to bring you home. Wood, stone, red bricks; they catapulted into the ocean, swam on the surface, floated for air, and dived in the deep sea. Farther and farther, they searched for you, hopeful for any signs of life that signaled for your immediate rescue.

Instead, what they found was baffling.

It was you, but it wasn’t you at the same time. Something changed—this growing assurance in your disposition, holding onto a man, large and more than capable to protect, a threat to the house that had kept you safe since birth.

Betrayal, what happened to my son? My boy? My sweet boy?

You could hear the rage in their authoritative voice, but you’ve grown to realize their awful cadence had only been a tactic for you to come back—come back to them—to scare you into being the perfect boy they’ve raised you to be.

Every kiss from the man ignited a fire within you. He forged you with strength, with fortification, with affection—and you uttered a strong defiance, then watched the foundation disintegrate before your very eyes, piece by piece.

***

There was always so much care in Zane’s palms, yet he’d proven you to be exceptionally attentive when he was upset. Like he was trying to persuade you from deviating too far into his worries.

It was embarrassing to admit how long it took for you to piece it altogether—why he was often in a mood, or why he was adamant in making you stay the night at his apartment. You never pondered about it for too long as it never amounted to much. All it took was a night in his bed, watching his favorite shows, kissing and fondling to take his mind off of what was festering inside, and everything returned back to normal. A stressful day at work or practice, you’d reckon as you watched him sleep on your chest, his gentle snores beckoning you to your slumber.

But you began noticing a pattern. It happened every Thursday and Friday. You’d come to his place after tutoring, and he would greet you by the entrance with the most fulfilling kiss. Grappled by his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest, and your lips raptured by his.

“Well, greetings to you too! I brought dinner.”

“That can wait… I missed you,” he would say before swooping you off your feet and fleeing with you into his bedroom.

At the least provocation, he’d proven all too willing to lick into your mouth and shove his greedy hands beneath your shirt. It was a growing tendency that you weren’t inclined to draw to a close because frankly—there was nothing to complain about, other than the cold takeout.

As observant as you usually were, you blamed yourself for not puzzling Zane’s growing possessiveness to your tutoring sooner.

Or maybe you were turning a blind eye, because you anticipated the magnificent nights he’d bestow on you. On those nights, Zane was especially keen to make you take all of him—every inch, every seed, every feeling.

“Swallow it all. I don’t want to see a drop left, baby.” “M-mmfngh—“

All in all, it was beginning to become clear that those days were bothering him. You could feel the tension in the air, the heaviness in your gut as Zane swelled inside of you for the second time of the night, two days in a row.

It was beyond the fact that you tutored—he was fine with that.

It was who you were tutoring.

On Thursdays, you could feel his delusional need to investigate who’d been in your mouth. Tom? Oliver? Taylor? He would suckle on your tongue until you reeled back for a breath, and even then, he wouldn’t stop licking into your mouth.

On Fridays, his hands wouldn’t leave your body. They covertly searched high and low, back to front, squeezing, pulling, roaming, pushing, for any marks, for any evidence of Nico’s presence, of Drew’s marks—but the only blemishes were Zane’s from the day before. A love bite to your neck, and another one to the left of your hip bone.

No one.

You both knew it was the truth—your loyalty to him, but Zane was a madman who was being fed with delusions beyond your control, and in turn, it gifted you the most passionate lover only you could’ve fantasized in novels.

“Oh, g-god. Right there. Don’t go faster, Zane. Don’t slow down. Just like that—“ “Yeah? You like my cock wrecking your pretty hole? Just. Like. That?”

***

“Would it make you feel better if you were with me?” you mentioned out of the blue, the show you two had been watching finally rolled the credits.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Zane averted his gaze toward you, blindly reaching for the remote and switching the TV off. Then, he pulled you closer into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. His nose buzzed with delight at the scent of your shampoo.

“Well…” he watched you ponder—your gaze avoidant and wandering unlike the abrupt tension he felt in your body. He opened his arm out of concern, allowing you to properly gather yourself with the newfound space. You sat up and resumed explaining carefully, “I know you don’t like it when I’m… with your friends—alone. Embarrassingly enough, it just hit me—and… well, you seem off these days. And I think it’s because of that.”

It was like being caught in a lie. Not one of those major ones that Zane knew he would commit from beginning to end, but a white lie—a vaulted truth to spare your feelings, even if it meant that it was festering and poisoning him on the inside.

It was an unspoken promise. A natural response. A firm conviction that he should bear your troubles and worries in solitude.

After all, he was your boyfriend, your protector.

“What? Babe—no, what? Have I been acting different? I don’t know. I guess work’s gotten busier, so I guess that could explain…” He was teetering on the edge of revelation or secrecy, stammering until he was one step away from falling.

Zane was never a great liar.

“Come on. You can be honest. Is it because you don’t trust me? Because we study at the library and—“

“No, I absolutely trust you. Don’t say that.”

“I mean, it’s probably weird for me to be hanging out with them—in a way. It makes sense that you’d want to be there, so I get it if you feel hurt or disappointed or—“

“Babe, it’s not—“

“They’re your friends, not mine. I mean, I don’t think they see me as a friend anyway? I’m their tutor, and that’s how it should be…”

“(M/N), wait a second—“

Your hands were theatrical. Grandiose. If you had a symphony playing with you, they’d be performing with fervor, sweating until the grasp on their instruments had slipped at the nearing crescendo, and the audience would gasp altogether to fill the void of abrupt silence.

“I promise, Zane. All I do is give them assignments, like I did with you—well, not like I did with you. We were a little different, weren’t we… but with them? I-it’s like how I tutor everyone else and…!“

You suddenly stood up from the couch, clearly exasperated by the lack of words that could properly support your claims.

“Hey, hey…” he quelled you with a gentle tug to your hand, silently urging you back to his side with a consoling grin. You huffed, sucking in what he could presume to be more self-destructing words, and dramatically let the tension on your shoulders push your body onto his lap.

It wasn’t the right moment to notice, but would you kill him if he felt more inclined to annoy you in the future if this was how charming you always looked? The answer would probably be no. You had a tendency to forgive—a little too easily.

“Then what’s wrong? Is it my fault? Over-cooked your chicken? Ate your protein bar without asking? Got a stain on your hoodie, but I think I washed it out…?” Frowning, you stared back up at him through your eyelashes, chin sunken to your chest, and completely hopeless.

For a moment, he was speechless. It always took one glance from you for Zane to lose his train of thought. Even when you felt all kinds of emotions, there was still that glint in your eyes that never failed to make his heart feel like it was about to burst.

“Kinda is your fault. I mean, if you hadn’t been born with that handsome face of yours, or been blessed with brains and kindness, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Be serious!” Zane felt your body tense up again. You were about to pull yourself off his lap before he rested a hand to your chest and gently pushed you back. “So, there is a problem…”

“It’s my problem, (M/N),” he began soothing your chest in small circles. The cotton soft in his palm before it was inevitably delighted with the firmness of your chest when he slipped a hand under your shirt, resuming his caress.

“I might not have a lot of experience in dating, but I’ve watched a lot of films to know that partners help each other when either one of them have a problem.”

Guilt was quickly catching up to him. Zane could feel its presence looming over his head. Like smog, heavy and thick, and even if it had waned into thin air—completely obliterated to the back of his mind—Zane was confident he would be suffering from the ramifications of it in the future.

“God… what am I going to do with you,” he dipped forward and buried his head into your body, using your shirt to muffle his conflicted groans.

It was those eyes of yours again. He couldn’t bear to face you with the secrets he’d been withholding, but he was already in this predicament. Ignoring it, even after being called out on his behavior, would just make things worse than if he would just tell you the truth.

He waited for seconds. Then seconds turned into minutes. Then those remaining minutes were spent sighing at the softest strokes you brushed through his hair, to occupy the silence, or to break the tension between you two. Either way, his heart felt heavier despite your comforting attempts.

With a mutter, Zane turned his head towards you and looked truthfully into your eyes, “Yeah, I’m jealous.”

You immediately perked up to join him at his side again, taking his hand into yours, “Zane, I promise—nothing happens…”

“No, I know, (M/N). I trust you. I mean, what can I say? I miss you. Our schedule isn’t aligning like I thought it would, and it feels like I’m seeing you less since you’ve taken Tom, Drew, Taylor… all of them for tutoring.”

“I can cut back? Maybe arrange the meetings to fit your schedule, and that way we can—“

“No, absolutely not. I’m not going to be that type of boyfriend.”

“Well, I can’t just sit here and watch you suffer.” Zane watched you play with his fingers, clamping your hand to his, then unclasping as his thoughts prolonged another silence.

“You have no idea, (M/N). I… God, it’s all fucked up.” He rubbed his face to comfort himself, groaning into his palms before taking your hands into his again.

Nothing calmed him more than simply holding you.

“What? It’s just about us not spending enough time together, right? Maybe I’m too optimistic, but that seems like something that can be easily resolved…”

“No—I mean, yes. That’s the problem, but it isn’t the main problem…”

“Then… what is?”

From the corner of his eye, he watched you physically brace yourself, straightening your posture like the suspense had been literally killing you and your insides. You took one deep exhale, preparing yourself for the worst while Zane fished for his phone, and scrolled through his messages.

He began explaining.

Taking tutoring lessons was the last thing on the team’s mind. For Zane and Nico, it was a simple affair. Their grades were dropping like flies, and their coach didn’t like the sight of that, or the consequences that would follow. If they didn’t take their grades seriously, how could Coach trust them to lead the team? How can they lead the team with discipline—if they severely lacked it themselves? Zane was warned of this predicament for multiple semesters, and it was only recently when he began taking it seriously.

He’d never received a letter from his coach before, and as laughably traditional as it was, he’ll forever remember the sinking feeling in his chest when he read the last paragraph of his coach’s handwriting:

Fix your grades by the end of the semester, or you’re out. No more second chances. You’re great, but not that great for me to put your future in jeopardy. Sorry, I should’ve been harder on you.

Without much arguing, he did as he was told. Week by week, month by month, Zane and Nico’s grades improved tremendously, and the threat of being kicked off the wrestling team was delayed for another semester. However, as much as the guys were impressed by their success, Zane couldn’t owe the credit to solely himself. You were a major part of his triumphant journey, and the team would since become greatly fond of you and your saving contributions to the group.

Maybe it was inspiring to watch Zane and Nico dig themselves out of a rut, an underdog story that everyone loved rooting for in the movies. Or maybe it was some kind of unspoken brotherhood, where if one was struggling, then the other would join them in their agony to establish some type of rapport. Because soon after, Zane’s teammates found themselves in an awfully similar situation to him and solicited your service.

But Zane knew his teammates.

Zane knew that this decision was completely out of left field. Taylor, Tom, Drew, Oliver; it was strange to see all of them suddenly feel the need to seek out a tutor—specifically you out of all the available people—to help them with their studies.

It was odd to listen to them complain that their grades had been dropping, apparently lower and lower with every passing week.

And again, Zane knew his teammates.

He spent every waking second with them since they’d met each other as freshmen; aligned every course with the guys so he’d come into class knowing at least one person; visited each other’s house on semester breaks because why the hell not—it was on the drive home. For god’s sake, all of their parents knew the team by government name, siblings if they had any, and even their own aspirations in life.

They were teammates, but they were also best friends.

So, Zane had every right to call this entire arrangement as bullshit.

They weren’t struggling with their grades. Tom and Taylor were honor students. Oliver was a teaching assistant. Drew was interning for a marketing firm that made Zane’s eyes hurt when he snooped through Drew’s emails, and looked at the qualifications for the rather imposing position.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

They were fucking with him.

Or to better clarify—trying to fuck with you.

Trying to fuck you.

It was Zane’s fault. He wasn’t clear that he was actually serious about his relationship with you, and that unlike his previous relations, there was no sharing with the team. All hands were off—should be off—and the only ones you’d be holding were Zane’s.

No.

That didn’t sound right.

It was their fault. It had to be their fault. They were the ones talking about you like they had never seen a pretty boy in their life, like they had never seen a man sharing this dreadful place we call Earth. A man with those pretty eyes, smiling with that pretty mouth, frowning with those pretty cheeks, typing with those pretty hands—the team would practically brand you as theirs with every session they’d return from studying with you, and they boasted about it all to Zane’s face.

Maybe it was his fault after all.

Zane loved bragging about you. It wasn’t something he often did with his previous partners, but something about you changed him. Zane loved showing your selfies off to his friends. One day he’d marvel how soft your lips were, the next he’d go on a tangent about what an incredibly kind person you were for finding someone’s lost dog. It was all arbitrary. As long as it was framed around you, the topics bounced from your looks to your body to your personality, and to his surprise, his friends would chime in too.

Increasingly more, as they would get to know you following every meeting.

The worst part was that Zane allowed it to happen and found himself encouraging this behavior he was scrutinizing. The group chat was complete evidence of his participation, and with every message, he could physically feel the jury slipping out of his favor.

Drew: I shouldn’t have doubted you, Zane. There’s something about your boy’s eyes…

Tom: Oh god. Does he always look at you like that, Zane? I don’t know how you can handle it. I have to physically hold my crotch to keep myself from coming in my pants.

Taylor: Can we talk about his lips, though? They’re so plump. I couldn’t help but stare at them. He does that cute thing where he chews on his lip when he’s grading.

Oliver: I wonder what he does when his mouth is filled. Zane? Care to give us a hint, please? Or shall we give him a visit and demo for ourselves…?

Zane: Hm, I’ll just say that… (M/N)’s learning very quickly on how to breathe through his nose and relax his throat. Though, that doesn’t stop the noises from coming out of his mouth.

Nico: Always had a thing for nerds… He suck you off with his glasses on or no?

Zane: On.

Drew: Oh, c’mon…

Taylor: Shit. I’m getting hard.

Tom: Fuck. Me too.

Nico: Lucky bastard… It should’ve been me!

Oliver: Never mind. This is so much better than what I could’ve imagined.

Zane laid it all out onto the table for you. His phone was a bar of gold in your hand as you scrolled and read through the messages pertaining you between him and his friends. The more recent the texts were, the more explicit and brazen.

Taylor talked about a dream that he had of you, where you allowed him to kiss you wherever he pleased if he got a question right. This was as innocent it would get. His hand would be shoved into your pants while he would kiss at your neck, licking into your whimpers.

Tom texted about the random hard-ons he’d sport when he was with you. Something as simple as watching you lick your lips was enough to get him off for the night.

Drew daydreamed about you giving him a hand job in the library. The rush of being nearly caught, and the flood of embarrassment blooming on your neck and face resulted him coming within your fist. You’d hover your free hand beneath his cock, to catch the flood of cum, because you were a kind person who didn’t want to make a public mess. And because you were such a kind person, you’d slurp his cum off your palm, right then and there, before Drew’s very eyes.

Nico was the most yearning. Perhaps it was because he always played second fiddle to Zane’s leadership, and that reflected onto his fantasies, but he missed hearing your praises. Praises that consisted of how good he was at solving this problem; how proud you were when he went out of his way to do more problems than what was assigned to him; how nice he felt when he pushed his warm cock inside of you for the first time. You’d overwhelm him with so many compliments, so many kind words, that it wouldn’t take much for him to come inside of you.

Oliver was a brazen man. He spoke without thought, without a filter, and if it came to Zane’s decision, he would want to publish a book full of Oliver’s lewd fantasies about you. He wanted to fuck you. Point blank period. It wasn’t up for debate. He would make you take him in the car if he could. Bent over the backseat, while he pounded into you out in the parking lot, or maybe in the woods if you preferred seclusion. And when he was done with you, he’d leave you there dripping, inhaling another smoke to work up another appetite, as if the image of his cum leaking out of you and down your legs hadn’t strung up his cock like a puppet with every passing second.

“It’s a lot, I know,” Zane’s voice broke you from the spell that was his friends’ fantasies. You blinked rapidly to ward off the explicit images festering. He was reading them with you, the illusions silently feeding you and him simultaneously. “Listen, if you want to call it quits, I understand. But I just—I love… seeing them talk about you like that. It makes me… so proud. Powerful—knowing that they can’t ever lay their hands on you, as long as I’m in the picture.”

“But… you said you were jealous? I don’t understand—” You fidgeted uncomfortably against him. Zane took no mind to it, especially since you seem to be taking the information better than he’d thought, but your constant squirming was beginning to be a cause of concern. He blindly opened his arm for you, allowing you to snuggle into his side.

“Yeah, well… I guess riling your friends up and feeding into their fantasies has some consequences. I like it when they talk about you to me, but… I don’t know, I guess I imagine what they would do to you if you were alone with them and it makes me worried, yet aroused? It’s… confusing, I know. I don’t get it either—Babe, are you okay? You keep moving.“

“No, continue—it’s just—“ you groaned, pressing closer to his side and crossing your legs. “Is that why you’ve been extra affectionate? I mean, you always have been, but I swear, I think we have sex almost every day—or is that normal? Not that I don’t love it. I don’t want you to get tired of me or something.”

“First off, never going to happen. I could never get tired of you. And… it might be normal depending on who you’re asking… Might be our new normal, if I’m being honest. I can’t help that you’re so irresistible—okay, what’s going on—” For a couple more seconds, Zane endured you fiddling with the blanket on your lap before suddenly tugging it off and freeing you of your agony, or whatever was the reason of your constant writhing.

He glanced down at your lap, and your reflex was quick to hide it—whatever was near your pelvis. It was hard seeing you in the dark with the TV and his phone switched off. The moonlight filtered through the blinds on his windows, but it was only enough to highlight parts of your face, not enough to illuminate the entire living room.

Without a warning, Zane reached in between your thighs and frisked whatever that had come into contact with his palm. He raised an eyebrow at the sudden hitch of your breath, feeling nothing but the leather of the couch in his palm—until he moved it higher, toward your lack of an attempt at shielding, and pushed your hand aside.

“Oh,” it didn’t take long to guess what was in the palm of his hand. He could trace the shape of it in his sleep if he was asked to. Write the exact measurements as he recalled numerous nights with you if he was quizzed on it, even if majority of his calculations relied on his grip.

Zane knew you very well, and he especially knew what he was squeezing—gently kneading until those familiar sounds poured out of you like freshly squeezed orange juice.

Ah, there it was.

It was his boy’s cock.

“Don’t get mad—“ you warned, pausing Zane’s kneads with a gentle grasp, but he persisted, only challenging the tightness in your shorts in the end.

“Why would I be mad? You’re not mad?” his voice traveled ticklishly to your ear. He’d pulled you closer, whispering while his hand was all synonyms of tantalizing.

“Is it wrong to say that I’m not? Is this was what you felt like…? I’m confused and horny, and it’s all a mess, Zane…” you groaned when his hand into the leg opening, eagerly reaching for your stiff arousal.

“God, sorry—let’s just… talk about this later. Fuck, come on.”

“Y-yeah, good idea.”

***

“They never heard yours.”

It was cool and lulling—the baby wipe Zane was cleaning you down with. Just when you thought Zane couldn’t have gotten more attractive, the concentrated look on his face while he wiped the sweat and sticky residue off your torso made your flaccid cock twitch, his biceps bulging like they were still strenuous from holding you against the wall a few minutes prior.

Zane raised a curious brow at your vagueness and your renewed arousal altogether before chucking the wipes in a bin and tucking himself to your side. “What do you mean?”

At the advance of his arms around your waist, you turned in your position to face him, pulling him close by the hips. “Your fantasy. They all told you about theirs, but you never did. Just makes me curious… on what yours is?”

Zane pondered, his thumb pondering with him as it chased after an internal beat, a rhythm over your lower back. In the meantime, you surveyed his face, like you always did post-sex. His moles were attractive, his eyebrows and lips deliciously full, and his eyes—beautiful windows to his beautiful soul.

You were the luckiest man on earth.

“You can’t judge me, all right?”

He jolted you back from your studying, an uncertain air emanating from his disposition.

You took his cheek in your hand and squeezed him with assertion. “I would never!”

Your constant kneading made him loosen up. He exhaled deep, looking dubious, but compiled trust into your eyes in the end—because it was just a fantasy, right?

One.

BIg.

Fucking.

Dream.

Finally, Zane confessed.

“Gangbang…”

“Oh…!”

***

Zane didn’t know what to expect. He had to admit that you looked uneasy when he brought up the topic of having a safe word. As basic as it was, the traffic light system was ideal as vanilla as it was, especially for something as daunting as someone’s first gangbang.

Plus, you were getting a little too creative with the safe words.

“What about… peanut butter cup..?” “Eh… think that’s a little too long, babe.” “Ghost!” “You might freak Tom out. He apparently had an ‘apparition’ back at his grandma’s house.” “Sheep?” “Sounds like ‘shit,’ which can be misconstrued as “shit, keep fucking me!"” “Hm… pickle?” “Gross! You know I hate pickles!” “You don’t eat words, Zane!”

As hopeful and convincing Zane could be, the last thing he would’ve thought was you agreeing to this—without much hesitation too, might he add.

“Can you move okay?” Zane stepped aside for you to walk from one end of his bedroom to the other. It wasn’t much distance, but it wasn’t like you needed an ample amount of space to begin with.

You took the open floor to demonstrate your ability to walk. It seemed simple enough. You did it every day. One foot after the other, step by step, leisurely and calmly and—

“Oh—“ you stiffened after the first step and froze in place. One leg methodically moved back and forth to gauge the restrictive mobility. “It feels a little… tight?”

“We can go a size smaller, but it should be a little uncomfortable. Plus, you’re not going to be walking much? Hopefully…” Zane calmly reasoned, maneuvering you like a mannequin. His hand was searching high and low for any physical indications that a butt plug was lodged inside of you—pressing when the flange toy protruded a centimeter more than he had liked.

Your breath hitched and then you shook your head, deciding the size was adequate adequate enough, and resumed walking normally. One couldn’t have noticed any oddities, as long as they ignored the rigidness of your posture.

The feeling came out of the blue—you wanted to impress them. After all, you were the star of the night. Zane’s confession had been simmering in your thoughts for a few days, especially one comment when he described how powerful he felt knowing his friends wanted you, but couldn’t have you.

You wanted to make Zane proud. If the humblest of all brags turned his friends into complete brutes, you couldn’t imagine how they would act when they all have had a turn to explore your body inside and out, and never again. Dogs. Monsters. Yet they’d worship every sovereign step that Zane would take like they were indebted to his graciousness, like they were his men of labor, all for one more night with you again.

You wanted more than to make Zane proud. You wanted to make him feel like a king.

Three knocks at the door, and the long-awaited fantasy was a door away from becoming a reality. You tailed stiffly after Zane, the kiss he quickly granted you before jogging to the entrance like a spell to your pursuit—like a hex to the tension Zane knew all-so-well.

Zane looked back once more, a nod of assurance padded by a bright smile, and you exhaled out the tightness in your chest.

Let the party begin.

***

“Let’s make it… easier for you, babe. Warm you up instead of abruptly starting?”

“Yeah—that sounds fine to me.”

“You’ll spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on can initiate the first step. No more than a minute. Then, you’ll spin the bottle again—second person goes, so-on and so-on. Sound good? More organized that way, right? And you can get a feel of everyone’s… vibes without it being overwhelming. Fellas? Any objections?”

“Sounds good to me, Zane.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeap.”

“Mm-hm.”

“No complaints here.”

The slower the bottle spun, the faster your heart beat. Your eyes moved from one man to the next, as if you were the empty beer bottle itself. The group formed a circle in the middle of the living room, small but enough to accommodate for seven men: You, Zane, Taylor, Oliver, Nico, Tom, and Drew; in that order of the circumference. Other than the guys catching up with you—small talk about your tutoring, their assignments, dinner, new dogs, and whatnot—conversations were kept to a minimum.

All seven of you knew why you were here altogether, and they weren’t keen on drawing it out for any longer.

“You guys just came back from the gym?” Zane asked after taking a sip of his beer. You reached for his bottle, feeling parched, and he passed it to you with a composing grin, lingering to watch your expression sour as the bubbles tickled your throat.

“Yeah—was going to hit the showers, but then we would’ve been late,” Taylor explained, and the rest of the guys nodded in between sips of their beers, comically attentive to the slowing bottle. You took a silent whiff of the heavy musk radiating off of the five men; your dick twitched.

“Oh shit, who’s it gonna be?! First stud of the night!” Tom bowed his body forward and began drumming the floor in faux suspense. You laughed and joined in on the increasing drum rolls, the others including yourself finding his anticipation infectious as laughter spread amongst the group like a virus—the seven pairs of hands drumming on the floor altogether being part of the symptom.

There was nothing to be worried about, was there?

This was going to be fun.

A blast.

A bang.

The bottle slowed, passing pairs of bare feet in its rotation. Multiple postures straightened as if they could compel gravity to direct the bottle towards them, but then Drew’s slumped when it passed him, then Taylor’s, and a domino effect of lost hope was rippled—all except for one.

A chorus of oohs broke out when it stopped on Nico—Zane’s right-hand man. It must’ve been an inside joke between all six of them because Oliver made a comment about how Nico was finally having his moment, and they all erupted into another fit of laughter, cutting the tension in the air one chuckle at a time.

“You’re up!” Zane beckoned with a nod. You took another glance at him, nothing of concern, but rather to alleviate his own worries by the way he suddenly gathered his hold on your hand, and then pecked him on the lips and cheek. He smiled, returning the peck onto your lips before whispering into your ear, “Show ‘em what a lucky man I am.”

“Whew, all right..!” Nico propped himself up with a hop.

Nico made his way towards you and pulled you to the middle of the circle. Even knowing that you read his messages, he still carried that dashing smile like it was a weapon. One that regularly caused destruction on many hearts, one that charged your own like it was a battery—you just now discovered how disruptive dimples could be.

He was a sly man. Two-faced even, and you anticipated to discover this other side of him that he’d been reluctant to show.

“Hi—again,” Nico whispered through a smile. You found it charming how he couldn’t contain his glee. Dimple to dimple, they were like two separate smiles of their own, bracketing the salient beam from widening any further.

You wanted to peek over at Zane when Nico pressed his nose to yours, taunting himself—taunting you with the suspense of his soft-looking lips. But Nico’s hand on your nape was absolute and refusing, holding you like you were a weakening star—his dying wish, and made you fix his eyes on him, as he had done for you all this time. “Sorry you had to find out this way, but… I have a crush on you.”

“No—it’s fine. It’s why we’re here, right?” You braced one hand over Nico’s lap and the other on his broad chest. Sturdy, well-defined muscles graced your palm with every caress.

“Yeah… what a way to reciprocate my feelings…”

Slowly, you felt Nico’s breath warm your lips before they were taken hostage by his pair of reds, mirroring the close of his eyes upon noticing. The room fell to a silence, watching like hawks, closing in between the two bodies for front seating of the kiss.

He started gentle; soft lips moving against softer lips, careful to avoid hitting your glasses, your gasps and his groans filling your mouth with fulfillment. One hand of Nico’s maintained on your nape while the other rested on the small of your back, to pull you closer, to feel the skin hidden beneath polycotton. His hand was warm as he roamed; big as he held at nothing but something all at once; inquisitive as his fingers would occasionally dip into the waistband of your shorts.

The longer it goes on, the harder the kiss was. Nico’s mouth was illusive, now hard and abrasive to train your mouth open, and then stay open as he licked into your mouth and explored with his curious tongue. Your ears perked at an envious comment from one of the guys, but it was quickly hushed following the sound of your moans. Nico wrapped his mouth around your tongue and sucked with ardency, mining any possible sounds out of you like they were Earth’s greatest treasure. Your tongue reeled back in growing desire to tick a kink off of Nico’s bucket list, smooching a few more times on the lips, holding his cheek, and then whispering into his warm mouth with a bated breath as his hand halted its lone venture up the opening of your shorts.

“You’re a great kisser, Nico…”

“Time!”

A timer sang from your side, and a web of spit tailed your lips as you pulled away, letting your gaze linger to catch Nico’s heightened arousal in his eyes before returning to your seat.

“Fuck..,” chuckles spread from man to man when Nico returned, exhaling and shaking all sorts of trembles out of his body. Oliver and Tom aided with hard smacks to Nico’s back, sharing the thrill of the kiss simultaneously.

“Was that okay?” You whispered to Zane, fixing your glasses while the rest of the guys debriefed on Nico’s fulfillment. A collection of comments such as, “I’m fucking jealous…”, “Did you see the way he looked at you? Fucking sexy…”, “God, I hope it’s me next,” made you squirm in your seat.

Your mission from all of this was to make Zane proud, but it wouldn’t hurt if you gifted yourself a slight ego-boost in the meantime, right?

“You did… fucking perfect. I think you’re riling them up—riling me up too, actually,” he muttered, briefly maneuvering your hand to demo the boner in his shorts before returning back to his duties as the host. “Okay, settle down! Babe? Next spin, please? Think the team’s getting a little antsy.”

You surveyed the room again. Nico was subtly pushing down on his crotch while Drew, Tom, and Oliver were casual about it, openly massaging themselves through their shorts, their eyes wandering towards you with repose. If you hadn’t had the decency to look away, you could’ve indulged in their thick prints for a little longer.

But duty called. You reached for the bottle and spun it, bating the men with the suspense of who was going to be next in line in warming you up.

The crown of the bottle stopped parallel to Taylor, who was slouched on his elbows like he’d been expecting it—rigged it with his mind if telekinesis was more than hypothetical. He greeted you with provocation, flashing his brows and a smug smile all at once, then a wink, before joining you in the middle. You always found him intimidating. It was probably those eyelashes of his. They were always fluttering, even when you would go over his notes—he would blink and stare once knowing it was effective enough to render you speechless. As naive as it sounded—it felt like Taylor was adept to anything and everything, including whatever he was about to do to you.

And you were absolutely correct in that hypothesis—because Taylor immediately began stripping you down. It was inevitable, but you didn’t expect all of you to be bared within the second spin.

“Seems like Taylor’s on a mission.” Oliver laughed, catching your briefs and taking a whiff at it before passing it to the group. One by one, you watched each person press their nose to the center of your briefs, and inhale. Comments on the smell of your arousal made your dick twitch again. Harder, when Drew and Oliver engrossed themselves in the fine stain of pre-cum and took multiple lingering whiffs in hounding the sweet musk again. You’d think you laced them with some kind of potion—an elixir that amplified their excitement through every vein in their body, from hands to cock.

From head to toe, your clothes came off and were tossed aside, and you let Taylor’s spirit of inquiry explored as he pleased. Sprawling your arms and legs out like he was frisking you, smacking the back of your thighs like he was a butcher examining the quality of fresh meat. You groaned when he loitered at your naked body, noticing the constellation of goosebumps on your chest to the dimples on your backside—all with a glaze of his hand. Taylor’s fingers followed every contour of your body—from spine to muscle—studying you and the smallest reactions you’d spare him with pleased eyes as he smacked, kissed, smoothed, and licked the canvas that was made of skin and bone. You were a sculpture carved by the Renaissance, and Taylor was a curator, assessing your value through the warmth of his mouth, the slick of his tongue, and the kneads of his hands.

“Oh, what do we have here?” His mouth was on your stomach, closely tending to the warm skin with kisses, while his hand was on your rump, prodding at the plug that had been confined in you for the entirety of the day. “Guys, jackpot. (M/N) came with a surprise.”

“I-it wasn’t my idea—“ Heat rose high to your neck when Taylor turned you around and showed your ass off to the ogling group of men. While he was at it, he mind as well brand you with a price tag—right on your ass cheeks, where Taylor smacked each side once, massaging them with a firm knead, and spread you open.

“Holy shit…” Tom muttered while he stood on his knees, taking in the sight of your plugged hole. You impulsively squeezed your thighs together, covering your growing erection at the marveling shared between the six men. There was a wonder in Zane’s expression, resembling the first time he undressed you before his very eyes.

“You like teasing us, don’t you?” Drew said when your glutes tensed, and the room hummed with the soft susurrus of agreement. “Pretty thick ass too, jesus—“

“Time,” Zane stopped the alarm after a ring, sighing in between kneads to his bulge.

Five of the guys collectively groaned from the cliff-hanger while Taylor gave your hard ass a smack in midst of returning to his seat. “See how considerate I can be? You’re welcome, fellas!”

You jolted, gulping at the budding sting. It was becoming a habit to seek for Zane’s approval after every turn, and fortunately you did—because unbeknownst to Taylor, Zane was staring him down, a furious and annoyed look on his face that quickly simmered when he caught your gaze.

“Spin, please.”

The next stop was Tom—Eager Tom. He’d been making comments on your body since he stepped foot inside the apartment, so it was expected that his turn would be based on personal whims. Although, you reckoned that the plug inside of you turned the tides.

Making you kneel on all fours, Tom slowly twisted the plug in and out of you while the group gathered from behind and intimately watched. You clenched at the base, stifling your groans into the back of your hand upon the group’s growing fascination with the sight of your swelling pucker.

“Fuck, look at that pretty rim…” Oliver mumbled, and Tom took it as a hint to trace the border of your hole with his finger, lone yet devious.

“If it looks that appetizing, imagine how it tastes,” Drew covertly suggested.

Tom hummed in thought while toying thoughtlessly with your hole—into your hole. “Not much of an ass-eater, maybe I should hand that task off to someone more capable… What do you think, (M/N)?”

“P-please… anyone is fine—”

As the tip neared its exit, you desperately held onto the last bit of latex that kept you from baring it all—thighs vibrating from the difficulty, toes curling as Tom screwed—but your muscles were as weak as Tom’s patience, and you naturally gave into his tortuous wrenching, clamming up him when he suddenly plunged the plug back into you, then completely bloomed—when Tom finished you off with a tyrannical yank.

“O-oh, god!” You yelped loud as you bared yourself for the group. Deep waves of heat trampled over your body and swam into every course of vein as one person after the other, from Tom to Drew to Nico to Oliver to Taylor to Zane, moaned in chorus at the sight of your budding insides.

Your chest laid flat on the floor, your glasses tossed and forgotten, your hips and ass raised high, your cock throbbed towards the floor—you suddenly buckled your hips when you felt a wad of spit launched directly at your blinking hole.

Then another, and another, and then three consecutive more, until your hole felt completely, and utterly drenched—one from every man you presumed as you laid there, writhing and dripping.

“Fuck, so pretty when it’s glistening like that,” Tom groaned. You could hear fabrics moving, see clothes coming off when you peeked from your position, and your cock throbbed at the smallest glimpse of Tom’s naked body, followed by Oliver’s, and then so on.

“Time,” Zane said again, then a second later rescinded his announcement, rubbing an affectionate hand over your back for you to look up. “Actually, fuck this—baby, you’re okay with us starting now? I don’t think we can handle it anymore… yeah?”

“Y-yeah, no—I can’t wait any longer—oh!” Suddenly, you felt something wet breach your hole. Unrelenting in its expedition as it flicked and wiggled the group’s load of spit inside of you, sliming you up from inside and out.

“Sorry, (M/N). Drew hasn’t had dinner yet—come on, up and at ‘em,” Oliver steered you back on all fours with a rough pull to your shoulders, and knelt himself before you. He pushed your hair back once, admiring the sweat beading over your hairline, the increasingly dismayed look on your face when someone—Taylor—spread and smacked your ass apart for Drew to lick and devour inside you completely. “And neither have you. Open.” You couldn’t even hesitate as Oliver worked at lighting pace. He hooked his thumb into your mouth, pulled it open, spat a thick load of spit where your tongue deftly caught it, and pushed his thick cock into your mouth—all in one neck-braking motion.

“Fuck…” Oliver moaned at the warmth of your mouth. His eyes rolled, but the sight of your lips wrapped around his veiny dick was holier than the overhead lights spotlighting you from above, so he did his best to maintain his composure, working your mouth open with the girth of his cock—slow and steady.

At least Oliver was generous enough to not shove himself down the back of your throat, but still—your throat spasmed nonetheless when he shoved himself deeper with a tug to your nape. Upon the hit to your throat, you abruptly pushed him out with your tongue and a gag, launching into a coughing fit.

“Loosen up on him, will you? He bruises easily,” Zane muttered, noticing Oliver’s fingers turning eggshell-white upon taking your name in his hand. Although, that didn’t stop Zane’s hand from fisting his cock. If anything, it pulsed merrily at the sound of your throat resisting.

“He’ll use his safe words, right? You’re fine? Tell me if you need a break,” As much as Oliver was large and imposing, his body a thick and study mass akin to Zane’s, his eyes were made of sugar. An uncanny color for those soluble carbohydrates, but it was fitting, considering your body melted from the way he looked fondly at you and petted at your cheek. “Pretty.”

“I-I’m fine…” You said with a bated breath and nodded to Oliver with assurance. Then again, when Zane’s hand pushed your hair back and remained on the crown of your head. “I’m fine. Promise.”

“I know. I trust you.” He bent down to soothe the swell of your lips with a lingering kiss before delivering a smack to your ass and pulling away with a renewed disposition. “Suck his cock like how you suck mine. Properly, this time.”

“Fuck—“ Your body propelled forward from the never-ending feast on your puckering hole. Out of curiosity, you peered over your shoulder and instantly found yourself regretting it. It was unavoidable. Your cock leaking in agony, watching Nico, Taylor, and Drew take turns at licking stripes over your hole. Hungry animals.

On Drew’s turn, he caught your gaze in midst of his licks and came to a sudden halt. He then widened his tongue over your crack and with a leaden pace, laved his tongue over your crease like he was cleaning the last bit of crumbs off his plate, smug and teasing in his scheme to make you break.

“No more distractions, yeah? That’s not the way you treat your boyfriend’s friends.” A grappling hook to your nape tore your eyes back to your front, and your mouth was instantly filled again with the heavy weight of Oliver’s musky cock. Your hands were braced on the floor, clutching at nothing but the installed security of wood panels, as Oliver rocked into your mouth. Your cheeks hallowed progressively, adapting to the stretch of your mouth when he tested the depth of your throat numerous times before finally committing and sinking his cock into the back of your mouth, into your throat, with one gratified push.

“Good boy. Hold it, hold it, don’t move. Just relax…” Zane heartened by your right side, reaching in between your legs and fondling with your cock as he’d been doing with his own. Upon the welling of tears, you clamped your eyes shut for comfort, and nearly choked back on your own spit, impulsively squeezing around Oliver’s cock.

“Oh, shit… holy fuck, guys.” Tom was marveling at your left. You peeked your eyes open and caught a glimpse of his hand spit-shining his long, veiny cock, twisting deliciously eager over his plump glans near your temple, the sticky sound of his spit loud and clear in your ear. “Jesus, Zane wasn’t lying when he said you could take dick like no other.”

Oliver’s balls were pressed flush to your chin, your mouth was stuffed into the unshaven hairs of his pubic area, your nostrils was flared from arousal at the salty scent of the dried sweat within vicinity, and your throat was plugged with a glorious amount of thick and heavy cock.

“There we go, that’s it. Good,” Oliver moaned, tenderly massaging your nape while cutting off the supply of oxygen at the same time. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Doing everything we want, huh?”

“Mmfgh!” Your moans muffled in the cramming of his swollen cock as Oliver began patting and squeezing your cheeks, tightening the suction of your mouth by curling his body overhead, and simply pushing deeper.

Swelling harder, throbbing, the longer you endured. You’d learned how to breathe through your nose when it came down to this, but you still had difficulties relaxing your tongue. It wasn’t surprising when ample amounts of saliva began leaking out of your mouth. More spilled out when Oliver pulled you back a centimeter, only for the course of action to halt with another plunge of his cock, somehow sinking deeper down your throat.

“Think he can fit another one?” Nico halfheartedly joked, the last one to crawl over and join the group in their sight-seeing. His cock was hard, veins bulging in a way that made you delirious because Oliver alone was enough to make you overwhelmed in the best way possible.

You couldn’t possibly imagine another cock lodged in.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, right, babe?” Zane tugged on your cock harder. He pulled at your balls, thumbed the piss-slit, and stroked your shaft with the pre-cum that had been dripping in solitude. “So wet, you’re so fucking wet from being used like this.”

Finally, you were graced with the precious taste of air. Oliver slowly pulled his dick from the depth of your throat, and the group moaned at the sight of your throat simultaneously deflating from its bulge.

Your throat was sore, but it was worth it. Moving your eyes from one man to another, it was finally registering what a dream this was. All of them were exceptionally fit with sweat proudly highlighting their training. All of them sported deliciously thick erections with multiple sights of pre-cum dripping like molasses to taunt you. What was more important was that all of their eyes were on you—something as minuscular as a blink would set them off, and they’d restart the non-existent staring battle between you and the group again.

They were as breathless as you were, and your heart was pumping with the sickening volume of their cocks being cordially stroked, their pecs and biceps brawny and bouncing from the exhilaration you’d been supplying them.

It was fucking worth it.

Under Zane’s conducting, the team flipped you onto your back, cushioning your body with multiple throw pillows, and surrounded themselves around you again, where you could properly watch them pleasure their cocks with the lube Zane had distributed as they kneeled over you. Then, Taylor made the decision for himself to slot his body beneath you, embracing you from behind and using his arms around you to hold your legs and hips back, positioning his freshly lubed cock near your hole.

“You smell good,” Taylor commented at the scent of your cologne, kissing madly into your neck as he found the source. You gulped, feeling him staring again through those eyelashes of his. With one hand, he turned your cheek to face him, his lips nearing and over yours, but never meeting. Lingering, breathing, gazing, indulging—you both surveyed each other’s features. Watching your soft but swollen lips, watching his sharp but pleading eyes. He pushed himself in without as much of a warning—and then watched the enlightened expression on his face, the immense rapturing of yours. For a moment, you swore you could’ve seen something other than lust in Taylor’s eyes, but he punctuated the delusions straight out of you with an unbearable thrust, and you never looked back. You gasped at the girth of his cock stretching you out, and his breath hitched at the spontaneous clenching your tight hole was bestowing him. “Fuck…”

You breathed out a whimper, and your parted mouth was immediately seized with the taste of Tom’s thick cock as he kneeled over your body and thrusted himself selfishly down your throat. Deeper, when Tom found your gags to be indecently enticing and feeding into his cock veins.

To make everything all the more dizzying, your hands were taken and wrapped around a pair of throbbing cocks; Zane and Nico’s in your left, Drew and Oliver in your right. Every contact point on your body, from Taylor’s dick pressing deep inside of you, to Tom’s succulent cock bulging your cheek, to Zane, Nico, Oliver, and Drew rubbing against their respective partner and fucking into your closed fist, burned.

“You love being full of cock, don’t you? Look at you… pleasuring the six of us at once. Come on, use your mouth. Suck Tom off, you can do it,” Taylor mouthed at your shoulder, the warmth of his breath tickling you, and then a complimentary bite to your shoulder—making your pulse run high. His grasp on the back of your raised thighs was warring as he used his core to beat his thick cock inside of you and pummel you open.

You cried around Tom’s cock, Taylor’s balls slapping your taint with every exhilarating thrust and feeding into your indulgence. Tom was noble. You already had enough on your plate; stroking two thick cocks per hand and enduring Taylor’s aggressive fucks. The intricate position you were in made it more difficult for you to suck him off, so Tom took matters into his own hands, and used your mouth as he pleased. His hands were behind his head as if they could stabilize the swimming lewd thoughts. You peeked at the utter state of bliss he was in, and your cock throbbed at the sight of his body. His chest full, his pits trimmed, his built expertly trimmed with fine and intricate muscles, especially so whenever he sunk in his stomach and flexed from the heat of your throat. You were salivating not only because the taste of Tom’s cock was so delightfully salty, but also because you were surrounded by such gorgeous men—a heaven of greek gods.

You felt reborn.

The kiss is all-consuming when Tom pulled himself out to press his lips against yours, making you sit up on Taylor’s lap. When his tongue pried your mouth open effortlessly, electricity shot down your spine, only for it to sear back up with the vicious pounding Taylor was giving you. “You taste like my dick, you like that?” Tom inhaled every ounce of breath you dispelled into his mouth. Broken sounds of whimpers and moans, a confusing yet compatible elixir that Tom drank up, and poured it back down your throat when he licked deeper into your mouth. He licked and nipped at your lips, tangled your tongue with his, and stole your breath with the eagerness of his mouth on yours that hadn’t seem to be faltering.

Heat flushed through your veins when each person took a turn to your mouth. The straddling position allowed the group to enclose themselves around you, the air thickening and weighing heavier than the swing of their cocks. Five heavy dicks surrounded your face while Taylor’s continued to swell beneath you, turning you inside and out as his hands on your hips hardened. It was an insoluble dilemma of your sexual appetite. You were starving for something to fill your mouth, but who—was the dilemma you were faced with.

“So big, fuck—“ You caught yourself drooling at the sight of their cocks dripping for you.

You behaved like a wanton, catching Oliver’s pre-cum with your tongue before sucking hard on Zane’s cock, then simultaneously stroking Drew and Nico over your shoulders ardently. The smell of Tom’s and Oliver’s salty cocks rubbing over your face made you vigilant and heightened your arousal to a crescendo. Eagerly, you replaced Zane’s cock with the two men, and moaned when the uncomfortable stretch they had provided made you stiffen around Taylor’s shaft.

“Shit, I’m going to—“ Taylor warned, his large hand splayed on your sweaty lower back while he wallowed in the confines of your walls, squeezing and clamping around his bristling cock.

Your mouth was stretched, saliva dripping from either corners of your lips, the crown of their dicks thick enough to shut your trap without so much as touching your throat. The wonderful sounds of their moans made the strain on your jaw well-worth the ache you were surely going to feel the effects from tomorrow onwards.

“Taking two cocks at once—never seen that before, Christ…” There was a vacant space in the middle of your mouth. Tilting your chin up, Oliver pushed a wad of spit into the opening—smug as he watched it fall into the void, somewhere in the back of your throat.

“He’s a horny little thing, isn’t he?” Tom followed in Oliver’s steps, spitting inside of your mouth. Two people were enough to set off a chain reaction as the rest of the group quickly joined. Nico, Drew, and Zane added their own shipment to the pooling spit haul, and they all watched in awe when you relaxed your tongue and let it drain into the back of your throat as one load.

The dehumanizing exploitation of your body turned sweat into goosebumps, and you were eager to be covered in welts by the time you were done.

Your entire body lit up at the attention the men were giving you. Taylor fucked you harder, his hands bruising on your body. Nico and Drew occupied the sloppy void that was your mouth when Tom pulled out to join Zane in kissing your flushed neck, and Oliver tended to your abandoned cock with his hand, stroking and twisting your knob. You choked on the two cocks as they attempted to fuck your mouth. It was a constant collision on your tongue and cheeks, where loads of spit pooled and dripped for a messy bustle, and you wouldn’t let them out of your mouth until Taylor delivered one strong thrust, and emptied himself inside of you. The sudden launch of his cum erupting inside made you pull away with a bated breath and moan, your body writhing as he flooded your insides.

“Fuck!” He shouted from behind you, clawing into your inner thighs while your ass was pumped with the warmth of his thick cum. Warm spurts continued to paint you from the inside as Taylor resumed his hips for a few more seconds, dumping every seed that he could push out deep inside of your violated hole, until his sack was emptied.

“Don’t let it leak out,” Drew hoisted you off of Taylor’s limp and recovering body, and pushed you back onto all fours, your head in between Taylor’s legs. “—and clean him up. Not a drop wasted, got it?”

“M-mm, yeah—fuck!” When you began licking at the underside of Taylor’s softening cock, your hole was back to being occupied again with the hung curve that was Drew’s dick. He didn’t waste a single second in making you squirm. With both hands tucked into your pelvis, Drew used your body as leverage while fucking madly into you.

“Fuck—look at you, you’re creaming all over my dick,” the sounds were delectable. Soft and creamy with every thrust Drew delivered to your ass—you felt some cum splatter onto your back from how hard he was fucking into you. As much as your asscheeks stung from the way his thighs clapped against your flesh, you were relishing every second of it with Taylor’s cock in your mouth, languidly swiveling your tongue and lapping up remnants of his seed until he was pristine.

The rough spanking marked you as Drew’s in the moment. You felt guilty for thinking it, but it was placed in good faith. HIs palm seared your stinging ass, reminding you to tend to the others. You do, your vision blurry and hazy, but you took whatever cock wanted to enter your mouth. Tom’s, Oliver’s, Nico’s, then Zane’s—they all tasted incredible and if you were allowed to, you could see yourself coming right then and there—simply from sucking cock—cocks.

You thrived in rough hands. Drew’s, Zane’s—anyone’s. Your skin throbbed when Zane and Nico slapped your cheeks with their cocks, and your asshole spasmed when Drew sealed himself within you, pushing every drop of seed until he slumped over the curve of your back, toppling you onto the ground with his weight. Even then, he pushed into your squirms, his cock buried deep into your ass, refusing to pull himself away from the sickening pleasure.

“Up and at ‘em, (M/N). Not done yet,” Oliver smiled and pulled you onto your feet, positioning himself behind you.

“Fuck—Zane…” You called out to him, bracing yourself on the arm of his couch as your muscles were still stirring awake from their sleep.

He approached you, quick in his steps, immediately tending to your non-existent wounds. His fingers through your hair, his hand over your cheeks. “What—you’re okay? What do you need? Too much? Fuck—Drew, I told you to go easy on—”

“N-no, no! I’m okay—fuck, I—I love this… so much… So much cum inside of me, god—” You were in a dreamlike state, drunk on the lights overhead you were mistaking for stars. Reality blurred even more when you felt Oliver take your wrists with one strong hold, holding them over your back, and pushed himself inside of you with one strong thrust. “Fuck!”

“Loosen up, dude. Your boy’s enjoying it—see? Taking our cocks like it’s a fucking olympic sport,” Oliver cruelly laughed, ignoring the twisting of Zane’s face as he focused on the absolute bliss on your face, holding you parallel to his body, to the sharp thrusts he catapulted upwards into your sloppy hole. “All the cocks that’s been inside of you, but you’re still so fucking tight. You going to loosen anytime soon? Hm? Too much of a slut to let that happen, right? I know you feel me in your guts, (M/N). You look fucking beautiful taking my dick so effortlessly.”

Drips of cum were leaking out of you. You could feel it trailing from your creamy hole, then down to the back of your slick tensed thighs as Oliver fucked you while standing.

Unlike Drew, Oliver didn’t need to brand you with hard spanks to your body. His hammering cock was enough, hollowing you with ease, the crown assaulting your sweet spot with ease—everything Oliver did was with ease, and it was further aided as you let yourself go limp. He fucked you bent over the arm of the couch, then when he had enough, you were back to being fucked standing. His arms looped around your pits, then interlocked behind your neck in support of his thrusts. His cock was ruthless in your ass, spearing and ruining your hole for anyone else to come after him. Your tender hole was brutally stretched around his swelling cock, your body burning up from the hold he was restraining your body with. Oliver whispered praises for your endurance, kisses you on the neck, then the shell of your ear for providing him a pleasure that would be the blueprint for the rest of his hook-ups. He straightened his knees, pushing himself balls deep into you, and in one long groan from his gut, spilled deep inside of you.

“Bet you feel so full, don’t you? Fuck…” Oliver grabbed his dick at the base and squeezed the remaining spurts inside of you before pulling out, flicking any remnants of cum over your bruised ass cheeks.

You moaned for him. The third load in your ass, and your heart was aching because you were another man closer to concluding the night.

It was open, dripping in cum, and then immediately seized when Nico pulled you onto his lap to join him on the couch. You felt like a rag doll—pulled, tossed, and thrown however one was pleased to treat you. As long as your hole was still functioning and remained at their disposal, neither of the men had any complaints about marking your body with a few scuffs.

Nico faced you to the group, your back planted against him. You whimpered when your tired limbs were hoisted once again as he hooked his arms under your knees, and then raised your legs up to position your dripping hole over his cock. Your hole had become a luscious swell of gape. The group marveled at the sight of your puffy rim, beautifully creamed by the pleasure of Taylor, Drew, and Oliver respectively.

“Holy shit, he’s fucking hollowed out…” Tom muttered, stroking himself to the sight of your insides blooming for everyone to see.

“Shit’s getting me horny again,” Taylor laughed, tugging on his flaccid cock, his body still recovering from the high he had inflicted upon himself moments prior.

Supporting your body with his arms, Nico raised your legs higher, bending them back until your knees hovered near your temples, and then locked his hand around your neck to hold you in place. Your mouth fell agape at the stretch of your muscles, and heat spread throughout your body as the group watched Nico’s cock breach your opening with a slow shove, pushing the leak of cum back inside of your guts.

Your hands trembled as you guarded your position on the couch upon Nico folding you back and feasting on your insides with his length. You felt Nico’s thighs tense, pushing up into you with all his might while your gaze locked with Zane’s. He gulped at the unholy sight of your hole being raptured—hungrily being excavated with Nico’s throbbing tool. Nico’s cock was covered in the recent load stuffed inside of you, an increasing sheen the more he fell into a rhythm, and rutted into you aimlessly, chasing after his fill. He slid in and out of you easily, the ample amount of cum replacing any need for to renew his dick with lube.

You and Nico panted in union. His heavy cock stretched you open, and Nico apologized with a blistering kiss to your shoulder, as if fucking you couldn’t be the apology itself. When you alternated your gaze to Tom, he looked almost predatory. Eager like he had always been, but something internal was running thin—Tom’s patience. He scooted closer, watching you take Nico’s fat cock with scalding envy. While your hole took the screwing, Tom caressed the rim of your asshole. You were loose enough for what he wanted to do to you. Carefully, Tom pressed one finger against the underside of Nico’’s cock, and you choked back on your moans, throwing your head back at the sudden tightness as Tom slipped a finger inside of you. Nico continued rocking, occasionally slowing to accommodate Tom as he worked three fingers inside of you.

“T-Tom, that’s too much—“

“But it feels good though, right? You seem to like it when it’s too much.”

Spitting on his own cock, Tom massaged the layer of lube in before lining himself with your occupied opening. Your eyes widened in stupefied anticipation—in arousing fear—yet you brought your hands over to spread your ass cheeks for him, for Tom to force his cock into your body alongside Nico’s length, and you cried with the double breach.

“M-mmfgh! Fuck…!” You cried out, your eyes rolled in the sockets, leaving only the whites of your eyeballs visible as Nico and Peter began moving in opposite rhythms.

“Fuck, Tom—your dick feels so good against mine, holy crap—“

With an animalistic groan, you pushed your ass out, greedily taking the two cocks into your gut despite the uncomfortable stretch signaling for you to stop and rethink about this decision unfolding before your very eyes.

Not long after, Nico and Tom pumped their hips in harmony, filling you over and over. Cum would trickle out from Tom joining, but he was quick to pull himself back out and scoop it back inside of you with a deep plunge that made the three of you reduce yourselves to nothing but guttural moans. You felt Nico’s body tense beneath you, coercing your own to tighten at the core.

Holding your thighs, Tom pushed into you to the hilt while Nico followed suit. They shuddered with ecstasy, growling like wild beasts from the natural impulse to clamp your sloppy hole around them. Their cocks were rubbing against one another, harder, faster, as they fucked themselves inside of you, opening you more than you had thought was imaginable at a relentless pace. You mewled, collapsing back onto Nico’s hold as your body rocked from the powerful thrusts as if you were caught in a tide.

You felt your own cock throb at this, balls tightening and stroking your cock to the sound of Nico in your ear and Tom at your lips, panting into your mouth in between messy kisses. You were wrecked, completely and utterly ruined as they rocked their shafts into you in opposite strides now. One would hit your sweet spot while the other pulled himself out to renew that fresh stretch of your rim again as they pushed with conviction. Between labored breaths, you searched for Zane over Tom’s shoulder, your heart beating faster and faster as he seemed to be mesmerized by the display of your sheer dedication in following in on your promise to make him feel like the luckiest man on Earth.

Faster. Harder. Deeper. In a matter of seconds, you all came together. Your body spasmed and writhed between their own twitching, your hole clenched around the erupting cocks, your own dick throbbed and spurted out creamy ropes onto your body. Their hips were unrelenting, frothing the thick cum sent deep into your crevices with writhing and swollen flesh, and you slumped, Nico’s released hold relieving your muscles as your body shifted back and forth from the two cocks milking themselves until their shafts softened.

At the thought of Zane—the last man that you would be taking—your position came to you unbidden. Scrolled over the arm of the couch again, you felt comforted by the ample leg room, stretching your muscles for the final act while Zane prepared himself behind you, laving his cock over your crevice, submerging himself in the wetness that your raw hole was dripping out. You were depraved of touch—Zane’s touch—you barely spent a minute with him in between stationing yourself with every men. All except him.

“They did a real number on you…” Zane muttered in your ear. His left hand caressed the tense muscles in your back before joining his right in steering you by the shoulders, his grip clutching a bruising shade into your skin. “Suddenly I don’t matter anymore, hm? You only call me over to show yourself off—showing off that dripping hole of yours.” Unsolicited moans drew out of you with the push of Zane’s hips, fitting his cum-covered cock over your crevice, as a way to soothe the swelling of your puffy rim, but also to ridicule your newfound addiction. “Showing off what was mine—that has now been ruined by five other fucking men. Fuck, I saw the way you were looking at them. All of them. You reek of them too, fucking slut.” He deliberately pressed his swollen cockhead to your ring of muscle, swirling and tracing the circumference, only to move back a centimeter and slide himself right by, pressing his shaft against you instead.

You whimpered, circling your hips back for more of Zane, to apologize to him with the warmth of your hole, to make up for your lack of attention towards him by letting him milk himself inside of you—like you’d done for the others. “I-I’m sorry—Zane, please—“ Your breath hitched when Zane wrapped a hand around your throat and pulled you against his imposing chest, arching you forward.

“So, you want my cock now? Five dicks weren’t enough? You need mine to feel satisfied? Face the group. Tell them how much you love my cock,” squeezing your cheek, he forced your head to turn to his friends. They stirred in their seats, their hands back to fisting their erections again.

“I-I love Zane’s cock… I love the way he fucks me—no—the way he makes love to my hole, the way he fills me up to the brim with his thick cum, the way he milks himself and breeds me. I love that he takes his time with me, s-shows me that I’m more than just a doll for fucking,” With the way you were looking; panting from the amount of dick you had taken for the past hour, sweating from the thickened sex in the air, dripping from the loads that marked their battle claim on you; you evoked a fever that spread from one end of the circle to the other. One by one, they gathered closer, inhaling the scent of your arousal—their sex, their seed deeply embedded into your body like you had no other choice but to use them as cologne.

“I-I love that he fucks me—like he loves me,” you peeked over your shoulder to look back at him with groveling gratitude. Was it a mistake to admit this for the first time? In this moment? Where it was confessed to the public, rather than solely to Zane? Your heart raced, and Zane was well-aware as he pacified you with doting affection on your chest, roaming his free hand over the plane, tweezing your perky nipples while his other hand at your throat maintained. You brought a hand up to hold his nape, to hold you close to you because—you’d been separated from your boyfriend for far too long. You were malfunctioning, throwing yourself to every man who wanted to please you and that swollen hole of yours, and you needed Zane to ground you back to him.

And ground you he did—Zane humbled you in the process, evidently satisfied with your short monologue as the kiss he honored you with was deep and enthralling. He poured all sorts of emotion in your mouth, explored it with his tongue in midst of tucking his feelings inside of you, muttered incoherent words of affection while he was drunk on your breath feeding his lungs with life.

“I love you,” he tucked the confession into the shell of your ear and punctuated his returning feelings with one sharp charge of his thrust. The previous loads within you permeated—saturated deep into your flesh—as Zane congested your guts with his large cock, making you wail on his slow, but bellicose hips. “I. Love. You.” Zane repeated in your ear, following up with every one of his thrusts. His cock was methodical inside of you. Screwing what was loose, tightening your walls like his cock was a hammer to secure you around his girth. You felt yourself tip-toeing the floor, the thrusts catapulting your body from Zane’s strength, but there was not a second where you didn’t feel safe. His hold on you—driving into you with his cock, restricting your limbs while he showered you with the most heart-fluttering compliments—he was your sanctuary, the holiest of all places, and you felt revived.

He had his hand over your throat, vaulting your moans with a clamp, pushing you back onto your heel, but as soon as he came up again and delivered those rapturing thrusts, you returned to your natural stance on your tip-toes. You struggled to make sounds—loud mewls and whimpers that proved how absolutely fulfilling you felt in the moment. Your throat was sore and dry, and your body was exhausted and could only endure Zane for so long. You fell limp in Zane’s arms, tensing at the right moments where he penetrated your prostate. It was the unsolicited answer to your body malfunctioning.

The roll of your eyes, the spasming of your asshole, the gape of your mouth as silent moans thickened the air—you and Zane bonded as one. Your ass pushed back to meet his thrusts, creating an electrifying wave of thunderous sounds of sweaty and sticky skin clapping against each other. You felt your body ripple from Zane’s power, from his devotion to forge your hole to the shape of his cock, from his desperate need to tell you that he loved you with more than just his words. You felt every inch of him through your gut. Bent over the arm of the couch, your sweat dripped onto the leather while he fucked you against it, your skin chafing abrasively. Your knees constantly collided with the furniture, but you were too far gone, completely lost in a cycle of Zane’s affection that you didn’t realize your chin was being held up by Drew, jerking his cock over your face.

You blinked rapidly to ward off exhaustion and before you could comprehend the line forming behind him, your face was propelled with thick flying ropes of cum. Drew spilled all over you with a moan, aiming wherever, but mostly at the center. He shot at you hard, feeling himself splatter from your lips, then to your hair.

It happened rapidly, Zane’s hips seemingly quickening to sync with the group’s thunder-paced wrists. Taylor was the next person in line, pumping his hairy cock to the sight of Drew’s cum dripping off of your nose from the vigor force Zane was pummeling you from behind. With a deep grunt and a push of his hips, Taylor emptied his heavy sack, adding onto the layers of cum on your face.

You’ve seen it in the videos you’d watched. It was no good letting their hard-work go to waste. You tipped your head back and Tom helped, resting his hand at your hairline while he stroked his cock over the stains on your face. Again, he was another man to blow another thick load onto your face. Before he left, he made sure to wipe himself clean on your neck, embellishing you with his gratitude.

Then came Nico; the massive amount of loads on your face pooled as you patiently waited for his second high. Your vision was screwed, trying to peer through the cum dripping down your eyelids, but eventually you had to settle on shutting your eyes and anticipate blindly. Within seconds, you heard Nico grunt and moan, followed by another spillage onto your face. He aimed directly at your mouth, where you missed the first unforeseen shot, but quickly adapted and opened your mouth to hold his seed. The salty taste on your tongue bloomed, and whoever’s cum was trailing from the bridge of your nose, past your philtrum and into your open mouth was even saltier, making you writhe as the shudders were uncontrollable when you swallowed.

Finally, Oliver stepped up and amused himself to the heavy decoration weighing down on your face. Stroking his cock, he also played with the cum, dipping the crown of his cock into someone else’s load, scooping a white thread was dangling off your jaw and into your mouth, wiping your eyelids clean with his glans—because he wanted you to see this. He wanted you to watch him come on you with immense pride, to watch him pump the study veins in his thick cock as he indulged at the sight of your pretty eyes surrounded by the four prior men’s fulfillment. With gritted teeth, Oliver groaned from the depth of his gut and released his seed all over you. The group saved the largest load for last. Your eyes immediately clenched following one thick splatter to your lid, then the other, blurring your vision and stinging your eyes once again as Oliver targeted painting you from all corners of the face, including the ones he had helped wipe clean. He squeeze the last remaining seed, and flicked it onto your lips, groaning from the sudden sensitivity in his cock.

“Shit… you look so—” Zane groaned from behind you. He couldn’t stop marveling at it; the unholy sight of your face snowed under an ample amount of cum. The scent of the group’s sex drifted in the almost still air, and Zane ached inside of you.

You can feel the warmth emanating from his study body when he pushed his weight onto you, fucking into you harder and igniting the burn in your thighs. Peeking from one eye, your head was turned to where Zane claimed his rightful place on your lips again. His eyes flashed with hunger at the taste of someone’s cum dripping into your mouth, so he kissed harder, molding your hole to his cock and hammering into you at a breath-taking pace. There were multiple passageways the various pool of mixed semen were taking on your face. A web dangled off your cheek, a trail dripped in pursuit of the kiss, a wet clump was smushed between Zane’s nose and yours; you and Zane were a sloppy mess, and you both were baptized by the scent, the taste, and the feeling of it all.

You were gorgeous, your delicate state only adding to your appeal. One more look at you, and Zane grunted low. He reached between your thighs with his hands, so hard it hurt, and he was wild and strong, fucking into you madly while knocking your breath into a state of stasis. His hips smacked against your ass, faster and faster, and your body was up in flames. Every thrust felt punishing, like he wanted to condemn you for seducing him—for loving him—but if this was punishment, you needed to find more ways to anger him, to love him.

You whimpered into his growls, his firm hands pulled you impossibly closer by the thighs, clutching and fucking you back onto his cock, as he raptured himself into you. He stroked the inside of your mouth, his tongue feeling fat and warm, savoring the taste of salty seed on your tongue, and he groaned into you once more. He grunted and growled like an animal, powered by the group watching in awe, the ravenous noise reverberating through your guts, and you feel the eruption of cum dousing your flesh, deep in your guts, his large cock pulsating in you.

The pleasure hit you like a lightning bolt. Your thighs shook, your hole spasmed, and you rut against his swelling cock, pleasured and soothed by the warmth and thickness of his steaming cum. His release had him quivering against your back, his face tucked inside the crook of your neck while he rocked slowly, breeding you.

“So good, you’re so fucking good…” Zane muttered weakly, panting and mouthing against the back of your ear.

“So full—“ you groaned at the heavy weight of dick in you, then hissed when Zane bucked his hips once more, kissing the crown of his cock to the mouth of your prostate, as if it was a reminder for you that he owned you.

Obscene noises came from his cock plunging your ass with cum—more cum, as you struggled to contain another load, and felt it drip down to your ankles. You sighed, taking it all in—taking Zane in—and slumped over the arm of the couch, heaving a euphoric sigh of relief, relishing in the high-yielding pleasure that was Zane’s cock, dazzling by the lights above you—the stars.

“You guys okay?” laughing at the group’s sudden exhaustion, Zane refused to pull away from you. His hands curled around your hips, then carefully maneuvered himself to lie on the couch with him, still buried to the root of your hole.

“Better than a smoke,” Drew yawned, rubbing his large hand over your ankle by virtue of exceeding his expectations. Nico petted at your head, the spent look on your face charming when you turned towards him and weakly smiled. Tom and Oliver were quiet, still recovering from their orgasm. When you caught their gaze, they held up their thumb once before plummeting back onto the floor.

“Fuck, man—you were great,” Taylor slumped against the foot of the couch, limbs sprawled from the exhaust of muscles, but he joined in on the caressing of your leg, squeezing at your calf, nearly rendering you to sleep.

One by one, the group fell to a silence, a gentle slumber despite the hardwood floors forewarning a few of them of a back ache the next morning. You watched peacefully, the caressing of your body slowly coming to a halt, and then looked back at Zane, collapsed onto your back, drifting into sleep with the gentle snores near your ear.

Hopefully by morning—Zane would tell you that you fulfilled on your promise.

He was the luckiest man alive.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[redemptionarcsucker]

I was thinking about my post from yesterday, and what is infinitely more interesting to me than Brandon calling Helia a pacifist (somewhat out of spite) is the fact that Helia definitely heard him, and chose not to refute it. Instead, he decided to prove him wrong by being the only one who could actually hold back the monster. When you think about it, literally every scene which has Helia playing a big role involves him having to prove himself. Like with the whole Shaab stone thing, when some of the others are critical of his leadership. The interesting thing here, although, is the fact that he NEVER defends himself when people doubt his abilities, but sort of quietly does his own thing and people eventually grow to respect his abilities.

We can even see this as late as Season 6. When Helia feels like he’s let Flora down, he channels this energy into taking down a bunch of werewolves, instead of maybe accepting the fact that it is alright to not be perfect at everything. This is one of the reasons we barely see what’s going on with him, since he never seems to calculate his self-worth on the basis of how other people see him, it’s entirely based on how useful he feels. 

What is fascinating and kind of hilarious about this is the fact that he technically could shut everyone up by going all out. This is why I love the idea of prodigy Helia, because this mentality is typical of highly gifted people, since you start to feel kind of dissociated from your own self and capacity, especially when people praise you. It’s uncomfortable, it’s like imposter syndrome but you’re both the imposter and the standard. In that episode in S6, when Icy freezes his heart, there’s something specific that Helia says that reveals a lot about the specific brand of darkness that bothers him. He picks a fight with Riven and says something along the lines of “it being time to put RIven in his place”. One could take that as a simple goading, but think about how quickly Helia beat Riven - at hand-to-hand combat, no less, something he has hardly engaged in throughout his time onscreen. Helia KNOWS he could easily beat any or at least most of the guys, but for the most part, he couldn’t be bothered to. I’ve not a whole lot of love for the later seasons of the show, but this episode was a great example of Helia’s relationship with heroics itself. He tells Riven to “get over” himself, really highlighting the fact that despite his fairly self-assured facade most of the time, he does harbour SOME frustration for the more showy aspects of the Specialists, since that is generally what leads to him getting overshadowed most of the time.

This isn’t to say that every decision he’s made is entirely rational, but it always seems to stem about of a need to prove to himself more than anyone else that what people say about him is wrong. THIS IS WHY HIS STRUGGLE IS UNIQUE. His insecurity is built on things that happen externally, but his focus when coping with it is completely internal. Similarly, when he makes mistakes that impact other people, he deals with it by punishing himself. This is so so fascinating because it’s somehow the exact opposite of Sky’s law-abiding heroism, and even Riven’s videogame-esque worldview. When he volunteered to save Sky, he was defo doubted. It makes sense, because even his self-assuredness seems to come from a somewhat unstable sense of self. Nobody knows what Helia’s deal is because he never really feels the need to prove himself unless it is absolutely required, and ofc it was required when Sky almost fell into oblivion. Same with the Shaab stone stuff. Helia the hero seems to have a different self-perception altogether from Helia the general dudeo. 

I would think that after years of dealing with him, his friends and Flora will have realised this about him, and generally stay out of his way when he feels the need to prove something to himself. But the S6 incident is surprising to them because he’s never felt the need to prove his comparative worth, that he’s BETTER than anyone else, especially on his team. Riven is always ready for a fight we know, but getting there-is-nothing-friendly-about-friendly-fights Helia to a duel must have been exactly what he’d been waiting for so long, since even after all those years, nobody was probably still sure of what Helia’s actual skillset was. Again, SUCH A GIFTED PERSON THING TO DO. It also checks out that he’s so supportive of everyone else’s improvement while being great at what he does but still unsure of himself.

[aces-of-the-center-court]

hello dear anon, when this request came, I was already in the process of writing for the setters (Kageyama, Kenma & Oikawa) for this particular prompt as well, so I have decided to just combine all five into one! I hope this is ok, thank you so much for requesting! :)

warning: long post ahead.

Sakusa Kiyoomi:

When hanging around him and Komori, it would mostly just be you and Komori talking

He would find you strangely intriguing at first because of how similar you were to him in the sense that you both despise germs, but he would still be closed off in the beginning

Gradually as the two of you get closer, he would slowly initiate conversations with you in spite of how useless, unnecessary or unimportant it is

“Where’s Komori?”, “Have you eaten?”, or “Good morning.” – Alrighhht perhaps not too useless but the conversations usually end after your response unless you decide to follow up

When it’s just him and Komori, he would sometimes ask where you were and if you were coming despite it being volleyball practice (which means you would not be around by then)

Yes, to be honest, he would have realised his feelings for you even without Komori pointing out for the 937820th time and jokingly teasing him

He would handle his feelings for you quite well and not act any differently from before – he would listen when you’re speaking, sometimes ask questions or even insert some prickly input before being cut off by Komori

Would not show his feelings for you and would likely take a while to consider asking you out

Each time he sees you, the words he wants to tell you – his confession – would be raging to come out of his mouth so badly he’d lose count of how many times he had stopped himself

Likely to bluntly confess his feelings for you out of a blue, even if you’re not alone with him, be it the classroom, during lunch with other classmates around etc.

I really like you… he would think, “I really like you” he would let out on accident

When those words came out of his mouth, he would be visibly surprised and stiffen up, hoping you did not just hear that

You would have obviously heard it, no matter how noisy the class is, and would recognise that voice anywhere – with or without mask

Sharing the look of surprise on your faces, when you look at him, his eyes would widen and he would flush pink to his ears

Your face would also redden when you noticed his change in demeanor.

Miya Atsumu:

This boy is sure experienced in handling his fangirls, but not so much his rival

Surrounded with fangirls that would unconditionally validate whatever he says, he’s never met someone so insistent in trying to prove him wrong until he met you

You two would constantly battle one another in wits until one of you out-argue the other

Though the battle results have been pretty even thus far, frustration from being proven wrong on multiple occasions would accumulate in him

He’d find himself thinking back on some of the debates and think of some comebacks he should’ve used, then mentally prepares for the next dispute

He’d slowly find the disputes fun and enjoy spending time squabbling with you

Though he’d hate to admit at first, he would know that he’s starting to look forward to the next time he sees you

Would find you more and more amusing the more he learns about you through bickering

He’d realise that he’d want to know more about you – is there more to you than a rival he constantly bickers with?

“You know, I’ve been thinking. It seems that we got off the wrong foot,” he’d say during the next encounter with you before the squabbles start, “how about we start over and get to know each other better instead? Who knows? We could be more than rivals.”

“And risk getting trampled on by your fangirls? Yeah I’ll pass.” You would refute by habit

BUT. THIS. BOY!! Even if you had rejected him 100 times, he would ask you out 101 times

Even if you treat him coldly and ignore him, he would persistently try to get closer to you

Gradually, he would make it quite obvious that he has feelings for you

Would casually tell you multiple times that he likes you though you would just ignore him

He would also continuously act sweet and flirtatious towards you and sometimes even sly to make sure he gets to spend some time with you

If he were to get disturbed when you two are alone, he would be very upset – very, very, annoyed and pissed

And if ever, his fangirls do go threatening or intimidating you, he would be the first to know and immediately send those flies away

You would also progressively start to find him amusing in his stubborn ways and would decide to indulge in him more frequently

Atsumu would have definitely picked up on this and for the 102th time, he would ask you out  ⁠— this time, he may not just be left disappointed with your answer.

Oikawa Tooru:

This man here is very experienced and thus would easily realise his feelings for you early on

He would just be outrightly flirting with you, like he does with many

The difference is that he would find himself naturally gravitating to you and possessing this feeling of wanting to talk and be with you

It might be because he finds you easier to talk to since you understand him well underneath his flirtatious and easygoing front

His flirtatious remarks would hold more meaning and truth to his feelings when it’s meant for you than for others

Would flirt a lot more when with you compared to others

Even among the crowd that he’s flirting with, he would make the most eye contact with you

Due to his flamboyant attitude though, despite sometimes playing along with his flirting, you would not take his advances seriously obviously

He would realise so and decide to start being more serious in pursuing you

While flirting as usual, he would casually add in comments like “You’re the only one for me~” to which you would wittily retort, “Yeah right, how many ‘only ones’ do you have?”

“I’m serious.” He would say in a deep voice, free from his usual flirty tone as he locks eyes with you

He would want to make sure you’re aware of his feelings for you so that you would start seeing him in a different light

To show the sincerity in his confession, he would stop his flirting altogether and would only focus his attention on you

When you notice the changes in him and his flirting, you would start to take him more seriously

He would take his time before conveying his renewed confession to just have some quality time together with you genuinely

He would be very straightforward when confessing his feelings for you though it would be out of the blue, perhaps when you’re walking home with him and just chatting casually, he would declare his feelings there and then.

Kozume Kenma:

Other than his games, Shouyou and volleyball, Kenma was starting to have you on his mind more than he would like to admit

Whenever you’re with him, he would feel his heart throbbing and would be very conscious of it, causing him to stiffen up especially when in close proximity with you

As he’s unfamiliar with these types of situations, he would not know what to do and may act awkwardly around you as a result

He would think to himself that this is not the type of situation or position he should be in due to his self-consciousness and how it disrupts his rhythm

It’s tiring to keep feeling like this… maybe I should just put these feelings away… He would decide to try to brush off these feelings of his

Despite that however, he would find that his eyes unconsciously drift to you whenever you’re around

He would also start to talk more about you or bring you up in conversations e.g. “y/n seemed a little tired today, I wonder what’s wrong…”

Kuroo would have quite instantly notice the change in Kenma and tease him, asking why he’s so concerned about you lately and if he likes you

He would be a little annoyed at Kuroo and put off his comments, saying that he’s just worried for you as a friend

Although he wouldn’t admit it at first, he would later realise after contemplating Kuroo’s remarks that he does seem to have feelings for you

Subsequently, he would try to have more contacts with you by initiating interactions

Would express his feelings in his own way, that is, in game – giving you special limited edition items to help you win and level up for example

If he senses some competition (e.g. someone flirting with you) he would feel annoyed, but would not express it and would just be quieter than usual

At this point, it’s safe to say that most of the team would have realised what this new change in Kenma means

With Yamamoto trying to exert his seniority in his experience with unrequited love, he would try to give him advice on how to ask you out etc while Yaku would tell him with a warm motherly smile and happy tears in his eyes that he can come to him if he needs help

Basically, the team would be very supportive (while teasing him occasionally) which would annoy Kenma a whole lot to be honest

It would take him a lot to actually confess to you but when he does, it would be when you two are alone, probably in a space he’s comfortable, and tell you his feelings forthrightly.

Kageyama Tobio:

Whenever you’re around, he would feel himself heating up

In class or during volleyball practices, he would constantly be distracted with trying to figure out what he’s feeling or with thoughts of you

If possible, he would wish to put these feelings to an end so he could focus on volleyball, but things have been this way for months now

After a long contemplation, he would finally decide to seek Sugawara’s advice but face much trouble describing his feelings and end up replacing words with “bah” and “gwah” instead

Despite the initial difficulty faced while trying to understand Kageyama, Sugawara would shortly come to an understanding and explain that what Kageyama is experiencing is a crush he has on you while slightly teasing him and tousling his hair saying how he has grown

Though he would still be confused after hearing it and unable to comprehend his feelings, he would try his best to act as normal as possible around you – not without failing completely

He would be very conscious of your presence and start acting weirder unintentionally

Concerned, you would confront him to clarify if you’re making him uncomfortable

“No, not at all! That’s not the case! It’s never been!” He would insistently deny in an awkward manner, leaving you to heave a huge sigh of relief (even though you would still feel that something is amiss), and you would return to your usual smile

At the sight of your smile, he would start getting flustered all over again

What… why is my heart palpitating even when I’m not engaging in any physical activity? It was at this moment that he would finally understand that he does, in fact, likes you

After this realisation, he would always be a little restless around you

He would also quite often offer you his packet of yoghurt or milk and share the food he has on him, but would yell at Hinata if he tries to steal a piece

When he gradually feels comfortable enough to confide in you, he would bluntly confess in a descriptive manner

“My face feels hot and my heart races when I see you or think about you, which I can’t help but always do by the way. I don’t know what I should do…”

Basically, he would describe the way he feels for you in an attempt to seek help from you about this foreign emotion

[jovialyouthmusic]

Silver Service

Anton has been poisoned - who is guilty?

Word Count 2767

A/N No warnings - but there is a wee bit of a cliffhanger, sorry!

20 Whodunnit?

Liam looked haggard as he sat behind his desk in his office at the Palace in a meeting with Bastien and Lewis, head in his hands.

‘So it seems the only person who could have delivered the poison was Lucretia?��

‘I’m afraid that we can’t rule out Olivia’ said Bastien. ‘After all, how could Lucretia deliver the poison? We’re scouring High Castle for security breaches and interviewing all the staff, even though they’ve all already been vetted.’ Liam’s face clouded with anger

‘If you’re going to accuse Olivia of doing something so terrible, I have to question whether your men were blameless too’ he said in a low tone. Bastien held his ground.

‘Of course all the members of the Guard have regular performance reviews and assessments. I’m sorry your Majesty, I only mention Lady Olivia because if I don’t someone else will, and we won’t be prepared to refute the accusation. We have to be one step ahead if any of these details come up – and they may very well end up being brought to light in a court of law in the near future.’ Liam sat back, deflated, rubbing his hand over his forehead

‘Of course you’re right Bastien. It will be a moot point if Anton doesn’t survive’ Liam said grimly ‘If he dies, the Crown is safe, but someone will be guilty of murder or assassination. Do we have an update on his condition?’

‘He’s unresponsive.’ Lewis cut in ‘There’s a possibility he’s suffered brain damage from lack of oxygen and swelling, and until we find out what that powder in the envelope was they’re unsure how to treat him.’

‘Of course we’re liaising closely with Olivia’s head of security’ Bastien pointed out ‘and an expert in Lythican poisons and methods of execution and assassination. The awkward thing is, everything Lucretia has access to, so does Olivia. I think on balance I’d better make for Lythikos as soon as possible. I need to call Olivia first though – I’ll let you know what she says’ He tapped his phone, making it clear that he was going to use it as soon as Bastien was out of the room. He got up carefully, taking his cane in hand and left the King alone. Liam tapped Olivia’s number and waited.

‘Good morning your Majesty’ Her voice was clipped and cool.

‘Are you alone?’

‘Not just now – give me a moment’ He heard muffled voices and then she spoke again. ‘I am now. Tell me - how’s my so called husband?’ Now she sounded weary, and his heart went out to her.

‘Not good’

‘I’m delighted to hear it’

‘Livvy, Bastien pointed out to me that to an outsider it might seem that you could be seen as a suspect in his attempted murder’ He heard her suck her breath in, and there was a pause before she spoke.

‘I can see that. Much as I’d like to see him dead, I can assure you I had nothing to do with it. I’ve been hard at work here making sure the Court is properly housed and entertained’

‘I’m very glad to hear you say that, Livvy. That leaves Lucretia as the main suspect - not personally - but she must have found a way to get a message out. Bastien’s at a loss as to how the envelope got past security. All the staff are vetted, but they can’t find a gap in the perimeter’

‘That’s vexing’ Olivia said ‘Do we know who last occupied the property?’

‘The last person to actually live in it passed away ten years ago. That part of the coast was reputably used by smugglers, so there may very well be some sort of network of passages or a hidden cave nearby, but Bastien’s men didn’t find anything.’

‘The old smugglers were very wily and anti establishment, and they may well have passed their knowledge on to the Sons of the Earth, or they had means of finding out’ Olivia mused

‘I’ll mention it to Bastien, though I expect he’s already thought of that.’ He paused for a moment before going on thoughtfully ‘Livvy, I’m going to join you as soon as I can. We were scheduled to leave tomorrow to give us a couple of days before it all kicks off, but I’ll bring that forward. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way’

‘Liam, you don’t have to’ she said wearily

‘Forgive me for disagreeing with you, Livvy’ he said softly ‘Even if you don’t want to see me, I most certainly want to be near you’ There was a short silence.

‘Thankyou Liam’ her tone was soft for a moment, then changed ‘I have a better idea - I’ll come to you. I’d like to see that bastard husband of mine suffering.’ He could picture her determined expression and the hard line of her lips.

‘Okay Livvy. Tell me when you set off, and we’ll pay him a visit together’

------

The news of Anton’s admittance to hospital set tongues wagging. It was like casting a stone into a clear pool and watching the ripples spread out. Thanks to Bastien’s quick thinking and Sophia’s help on a press release, when Olivia arrived in the capital she was ready for the accusations that she had arranged for her betrothed’s murder, making a brief statement from the Palace.

Bastien and Lewis arranged to have Lucretia brought to the security suite in the Palace along with her lawyer. She was surprisingly co-operative, and when the meeting started, she was ahead of the game. She and her lawyer sat on one side of the table in the interrogation room, and the two men sat facing her. Liam and Olivia sat in the adjoining room behind the one way security screen. Lewis started off the recording equipment, and Bastien spoke, giving the date and stating the participants in the interview. Before he had a chance to say anything else, Lucretia spoke.

‘Mr Lykel, I understand that there is speculation regarding the poisoning of Anton Severus. That  speculation concerns my niece Lady Olivia, am I correct?’

‘You are, your grace’ Bastien’s mind worked swiftly So she wants to play it this way. Let’s see where she’s leading. She sat up straight and drew a deep breath.

‘I wish to make a statement to you and my lawyer, and I wish it to be made public. I would prefer that statement be witnessed by a representative of the Cordonian Press and TV news channel, but understand that would be unlikely to be granted’

‘I would have to know the nature of the statement, your grace’ he replied, his face passive. She sniffed

‘No matter then. This interview and a written and signed statement to you and my lawyer will have to do initially as I feel time is pressing. After that, you can decide whether to involve the media.’

‘Please go on, your grace’

‘Very well’ She drew a deep breath ‘I understand that speculation has been made that my niece, Lady Olivia Vanderbilt Nevrakis, was implicit in the poisoning of her betrothed, Anton Severus. I would like to make it clear that she had no part in the matter. That is because I am responsible for that act and she had no knowledge of it.’ At last Bastien reacted – but only by raising an eyebrow.

‘Can you prove that, your grace? How did you manage that when you are under house arrest?’

‘I got a message out to my housekeeper in a coded letter, handed over unwittingly by my lawyer.’ she said ‘She passed on that message to an operative in Portaviera who accessed the house where Anton was kept via a smuggler’s passage. I have written details down in a letter which I have given to my lawyer’ Bastien frowned and sat back in his chair while the lawyer shifted uncomfortably.

‘May I ask why you thought it appropriate to poison Lord Severus, your grace?’

‘I deemed that he was not worthy of the privilege of my niece’s hand in marriage and thought it best to terminate his claim to the throne.’

‘I was under the impression that you supported Anton’s claim, your grace’ Bastien pointed out.

‘It was an arrangement that went back centuries’ Lucretia replied ‘I was obliged to uphold it, but it became evident to me that Severus and his organisation were ineffectual. When I realised my niece was unwilling to cooperate, my allegiance to the arrangement was undermined’

‘So you decided, entirely independently, to terminate Anton Severus’ Bastien asked

‘I did.’ She said briefly, and Bastien feared that she might, as in the past, stop talking altogether. Luckily Lewis had the same thought and cut in.

‘What type of poison did you use, Lucretia?’ He asked ‘Tell us the antidote – co-operate and it may mitigate any penalty you are subjected to.’ Lucretia laughed

‘Mr Lewis, I am no longer young. I only wish to see my niece on the throne, I don’t care for my own comfort.’ She sneered ‘The poison cannot be neutralised, and would only harm a handful of people. I knew that Lord Severus was allergic to shellfish, and part of the poison was an extract of mussel shells. The other part is a closely guarded secret – a herb that only grows in Lythikos and which will only work on someone whose immune system is already compromised by something such as an allergic reaction. It was almost tailor made for Anton’ She leaned forward over the table.

‘Let me say this, Mr Lykel. I know that Olivia is pregnant with Liam’s child.’ Bastien fought to keep his expression passive and heard Lewis take a sharp intake of breath.

‘That is something I can’t comment on, your grace’ Bastien replied.

‘No matter, I know what I know’ she said ‘I feel that an alliance between the bloodlines of Rys and Nevrakis would be very beneficial to Cordonia. If there had been such an arrangement when Olivia was born, I would be a different woman. I have spent my life plotting for House Nevrakis to come into power with the Severus line, and I deeply regret it. I don’t need to be told whether I’m right or wrong - I saw my niece and I’m certain of it. I know she is fond of the King and I doubt if she would take up with anyone else – she certainly wasn’t receptive to her husband’s charms. I think you’ll find that I have solved any problems the King might have’

‘What exactly did you mean by solving the King’s problems?’ Bastien asked.

‘I think you’ll find that out for yourself by the end of the week’ she said, and clamped her mouth tight shut.

-------

Anton lay pale and unresponsive in a private room at the capital’s hospital, hooked up to a heart monitor, now able to breathe unaided, but showing no signs for regaining full consciousness. The room was guarded round the clock, and no visitors were allowed without written permission from the King, Bastien or Lewis. Liam and Olivia went to see the doctor in charge of the case.

‘Your Majesty, even though we know that Lord Severus’s condition was triggered by a reaction to an allergen, the poison administered had a second unknown active ingredient.’ The doctor informed him, confirming what Lucretia had told Bastien. ‘There has been some swelling in the brain, and until that goes down, we won’t know if there is any damage’

‘I see. I want him to receive the best care – I don’t want anyone saying that I neglected him in the hope that he dies as a result of this unfortunate incident’ Olivia fought to keep her expression neutral.

‘Very well, your grace. All we can do now is keep him comfortable and wait to see what happens.’

‘I’d like to speak to him – do you think he would be able to hear and understand me?’

‘I really can’t say, your grace. These cases vary a lot, and as many in a similar condition pass away without regaining full consciousness, we aren’t in a position to predict what he might be feeling or what mental faculties he might have’ The Doctor sighed ‘But you are welcome to try. Who knows, it may spur him on to recovery. Please, go ahead. If you notice any change, let the nurses know.’ Liam inclined his head and motioned to Olivia to follow him to Anton’s room, where the guard stood aside for them.

‘Thankyou Parker. I’ll call if I need anything’ He said as he was ushered into the room. Anton lay in the bed, his face pale and slack, a steady beep emitting from the heart monitor. His breath was shallow and quiet, and Liam drew close, gazing at his face. Olivia stood behind him, scowling.

‘Well Severus, I don’t know if you can hear me’ he said ‘There’s no love lost between us, and you have much on your conscience.’ There was no response from him, and Liam went on as Olivia watched.

‘The doctors tell us that you may have suffered brain damage. Perhaps you can’t hear or understand me, but for my own conscience it’s only fair to update you on what we know about recent events.’ He pulled the chair closer to the bed.

‘We know who hired the assassin in the cathedral’ he said, and watched for a flicker of interest. None came.  ‘We know it wasn’t your doing – Lucretia confessed that it was she who arranged it. She didn’t seem to have a lot of faith in your abilities after the kidnap attempt’ Was there the slightest change in the rhythm of the heart monitor? His gaze flicked to the monitor and back to Anton’s face. ‘I expect you find that quite a shock’ he said ‘We also know that you arranged for the murder of Lady Adelaide, as her efforts to make Madeleine queen went against your plot to gain the throne. You might like to know that a colleague of mine from Interpol intervened, and Adelaide is alive and well, and willing to testify to your organisation’s crimes’ He sat back in his chair. He wasn’t in a hurry. Whether he was in a state to comprehend or not, Anton wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Lucretia has been most cooperative since you fell ill.’ He continued ‘Some speculated that it was Lady Olivia who arranged for your demise, but her Aunt made a statement that is was she who had the envelope delivered to your room using old smuggling passages into the Manor.’ The monitor was most definitely changing rhythm, picking up speed.

‘The poison Lucretia used was unlikely to affect anyone else unless they had an allergy to shellfish, like yourself.’ He paused ‘I have one last piece of information to share with you’ he said ‘But there is someone here who is more suited to tell you’ He stood back, and Olivia took his place. She shuddered as she gazed down on his prone form.

‘Hello husband’ She said, her voice expressing the disgust she felt. ‘You’ve been asking to see me, so here I am. Am I not worth a glance? A word?’ There was no response; the monitor carried on its elevated rhythm but no alarms went off, so she continued.

‘You had the gall to uphold the outdated concept of an arranged marriage’ she snarled ‘Even when you knew I wouldn’t honour it, you continued to expect me to capitulate. But Nevrakis never give in. You never had a chance of me being your wife or your Queen.’ She leant closer

‘Know this, Anton. Liam is ten times the man you are, and he and I will secure the future of Cordonia. I carry his heir, and I will never be yours. I’ll fight that to the last breath in my body, and Liam will stay by my side, whether he is King or not’ The monitors picked up the pace again, speeding up until an alarm blared out. Olivia stepped away from the bed, but not before Anton’s eyes opened wide and he reached out to grab her wrist, his lips moving soundlessly as he strained to sit up.

‘Livvy!’ Liam cried, and stepped forward to pry Anton’s fingers from her wrist as a team of medics rushed in. The two of them were ushered out of the room as they gathered around his bedside. Liam put his arm around Olivia’s shoulders and lead her to the private lounge they had been allocated, to await news of Anton’s apparent recovery.

@emceesynonymroll @sirbeepsalot @cora-nova @stopforamoment @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria

@drakesensworld @katedrakeohd @pedudley @indiacater @texaskitten30

@be-still-my-aching-heart @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @classylady1234 @ladyangel70

@rainbowsinthestorm @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet @furiousherringoperatortoad @kimmiedoo5

@bascmve01  @ibldw-main @addictedtodrakefanfic @trappedinfandoms @princess-geek

[hachichimitsu2]

A Comprehensive List of Stan and Kyle Moments (I UPD8 AS I GO)

A Comprehensive List of Stan and Kyle Moments (I UPD8 AS I GO)

Hello. Yes, you heard me. Here are all the scenes that legit scream out “STYLE” in South Park, whether these scenes are too far of a reach or not. I mostly compiled this out of my very own convenience, and hopefully this’ll help you a whole lot too. This is extremely text heavy, so I’ll put this under “Read More”. I haven’t played any of the games, so I won’t be including it here at this time, so if you guys know any good moments from the games, please let me know and I’ll add it to the list.

Cherokee Hair Tampons:

- The entire goshdarn episode.

- Stan being concerned and distraught over a dying Kyle breaks my heart. He was even bawling next to Kenny.

- Stan willing to donate his kidney to Kyle, even if it’d hurt a lot.

- Stan knowing that Kyle ate a bean and bacon soup half an hour ago shows that he’s been by Kyle’s side for quite some time now.

- Stan holding onto Kyle while they were at Cartman’s house.

- “Dude, you’re my best friend. I don’t want you to die before I do...”

Super Best Friends:

- Yeah, um, this episode...is gay.

- Stan and Kyle entering the episode with ice cream cones while Butters and Cartman wondering where they got them from. It’s assumed Stan and Kyle were hanging out with each other off-screen.

- I think Kyle being convinced that he’s not “really happy” through brainwashing is parallel to Stan being convinced that he’s “depressed” by the Church of Scientology.

- Stan trying to help Kyle escape with him, not even mentioning this plan to Kenny, Cartman or even Butters.

- Stan and Kyle looking at each other with longing looks while dramatic music plays in the background. Ah yes. I am...not even joking...this legit happened.

- How to Find Your Boyfriend 101: “OH MY GOD! THEY KILLED KENNY!!” “Y-you bastards...”

- Stan pleading Kyle not to kill himself and to hold his breath while being there for him.

- The ending where they call each other Super Best Friends and both proceed to beat up Cartman when he teased that they should make out.

Cartmanland:

- Stan comforting a distraught Kyle.

- @belovedhomosexuals mentioned that canonically, Stan helps Kyle with his hemorrhoid cream, and IM-

- Stan doing everything he can to get back at Cartman for Kyle’s sake.

- Stan demanding the doctor to wheel Kyle out to see Cartman in misery.

Asspen:

- “YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HEATHER!!” >:(

- Kyle not wanting Stan to do the K-13. He doesn’t want him to die.

- Kyle holds a polaroid photo of the both of them. How cute. Does he bring it with him wherever he goes?

The Biggest Douche In The Universe:

- Stan not wanting to go back to Colorado without Kyle and does all he can to convince him that John Edward is a fraud.

Follow That Egg:

- They are dads.

- They take care of their egg really well.

- “As a matter of fact, it is the nicest hat I’ve ever known”

- They’re the reasons gays could get married.

- Stan getting jealous of Kyle being paired up with Wendy. It does seem like a reach I have to admit, but if you’re a Stylendy fan, then this one’s for you.

Return of Chef

- The iconic beginning “flashback” where they both look at the sunset together.

Smug Alert:

- Stan and Kyle meeting in the parking lot in the beginning when Kyle was helping his dad give fake tickets.

- Kyle being moved away from South Park has Stan write a song to get Kyle and his family to come back.

- The cute hug in the end.

Fantastic Easter Special

- Stan, out of breath, asks Kyle for help in protecting Snowball

- Kyle helping him out anyways even though he was busy with fingerprinting.

- Cinematic parallels of Kyle killing Jesus and Stan killing that alien in Pinewood Derby.

Imaginationland Trilogy

- Kyle calling Stan in the morning regarding the “dream.”

- Stan and Kyle, unsure of the notes, both trying to recall the Imagination song. It was cute.

- Stan being distraught when ManBearPig got a hold on Kyle. (I swear, I’ve used the word “distraught” for over 1948388 times now)

- Kyle communicating through Stan telepathically with his Imagination.

Guiltar Queer O

- The whole episode.

- “I know...I need you.”

- The whole episode was literally as if they went through a break up.

- They’re both in sync when playing, right up to their tongues up.

- “Oh, so the gallant knight now comes to rescue me from the bowels of mediocrity! Oh, thank you, your royal lordship!” (Foreshadowing for SOT?)

- Stan thinking of Kyle as he’s “driving”.

The List:

- Stan doing all he can to prove that Kyle is a handsome mf. Another episode that screams Stylendy rights.

You Got F’d in the A:

- Kyle being so happy to see Stan dancing back to the Orange County kids.

- It’s canon that Stan can dance well while Kyle doesn’t have rhythm whatsoever. Wouldn’t it be a cute idea for Stan to teach Kyle how to dance?

You Have 0 Friends

- Kyle pleading Stan to water his crops.

- A short detail but if you noticed when Kyle announced that they made an FB account for Stan, he only added himself as Stan’s friend. This means that Kyle legit “friended” himself in Stan’s profile and didn’t bother to add Kenny or Cartman to Stan’s friend list.

- “Yes. WE’RE REALLY GREAT FRIENDS STAN!!” :D

You’re Getting Old:

- Oof. Yeah....

- Stan obviously loves Kyle a whole lot, but him seeing Kyle slowly turn into a turd probably did break his heart little by little. And when I mean by probably, I mean massively.

- Kyle shouldn’t exactly be demonized for not being able to handle Stan’s cynicism. Because I think it’s ok to admit you can’t handle such emotional drainage even if coming from your SBF, but do mind that him leaving Stan was most likely NOT easy for him. It’s kinda sad that they’ve slowly drifted away since then. BUT NO I REFUSE TO LET THAT HAPPEN ;-;

Assburgers:

- “Fuck you Kyle! You’re a piece of shit...Kyle, I love you. You’re a piece if shit though, fuck you...! I love you...”

- Stan immediately going back to Kyle when he’s feeling “better”

- That McDonalds Exec. literally narrating Stan and Kyle’s current rocky relationship and not believing every second of if.

A Nightmare on Facetime:

- “WILL SOMEONE GET ME A CHARGER OVER HERE!!’

- Kyle bringing and guiding Stan through the iPad.

Ginger Cow:

- Jokes aside, when Stan was asking Kyle about Cartman’s farts, he was really sweet and understanding to him. He genuinely wants to understand why Kyle likes Cartman’s farts so much and knew something was up by the way Kyle was hiding things.

- I also like how he was not afraid to call Kyle a dick. I think a good level of transparency is needed in a healthy relationship. That’s just how they roll.

- Stan helping Kyle cover up in the end....though it did backfire.

Black Friday Trilogy:

- “DID KYLE KNOW ABOUT THIS?!” “Kyle thought of it.” ;-;

- Stan being grounded and Kyle apologizing at the other side of the door was peak gay angst level.

- “That’s just how Xbox people are...” D:

- Ok now for something sweet. In the deleted scene, Stan was showing Kyle how the playstation controller works and...wow.......what cute babies.

Prehistoric Ice Man:

- “Oh my god! They killed Kenny!!” *looks at Kyle* “What? I’m not talking to you anymore.”

- Them fighting and arguing was so adorable. Their voices were so squeaky and cute in this episode.

- “First one to die loses.” SOGKEKGKRI WHAT MORONS

- Stan and Kyle kind of awkwardly trying to start the fight reminds me of Tweek vs Craig.

Mexican Joker:

- Stan angrily sending Cartman to the detention center after hearing about him sending Kyle there.

Band in China:

- “kyyyyyyYYYYYLEEEE :D DUDE YOU’RE BACK!!”

- Stan making a death metal band because a.) He hates living in the farm and b.) He misses Kyle so hard.

Britney’s New Look:

- Another Stan and Kyle episode where they both realized how so far in the wrong they’re in, and they desperately want to fix it.

- Stan and Kyle giving up in the end and joining in the chant.

The Death of Eric Cartman:

- Stan offering Kyle money so he could buy milk for lunch.

Two Guys Naked In A Hot Tub:

- “You can't just hang out with your buddy Kyle all the time. People will think you guys are, you know, funny.”

- When Kyle walks over in the end, Stan proceeds to complain to him how he had the worst night and they both go to Kyle’s house to hang.

The China Probrem

- In the beginning, Stan telling Kyle to refute Cartman’s racist sayings and got overly concerned when Kyle said he couldn’t do this anymore.

- Stan going in Kyle’s room to talk about moving on from what they’ve witnessed.

- Stan holding Kyle’s hand to run away in Kyle’s dream. Kyle waking up and crying when Stan wasn’t around to comfort him.

- Stan and Kyle crying in each other’s arms and telling each other “I love you”.

- Small detail but when they were leaving the attorney’s office and the attorney and the kids were crying altogether, Stan put a hand on Kyle to comfort him as they were crying.

The Mystery of the Urinal Deuce:

- Stan appearing in Kyle’s living room suddenly.

- “Well dude, maybe we're just super badass. Have you thought of that?” Yeah I know Stan was trying to cover up what he just did by saying that but still.

Cartman Gets An Anal Probe:

- Stan helping Kyle save Ike.

- “Hahaha you farted.” WHAT GROSS DORKS

- Kyle telling a speech to the aliens and Stan remarking how beautiful it was.

A Very Crappy Christmas:

- Kyle calling Stan in the middle of the night to get the guys, and Stan answering all sleepily is so adorable.

- Stan and Kyle voice acting together.

- Stan and Kyle doing the stopmotion animation together.

- Stan and Kyle laughing when they had Stan voice act Cartman to say the “ham” line.

Fun With Veal:

- Kyle taking care of a sickly Stan despite being a bit of a germaphobe.

The Snuke:

- Stan coming over to a sick Kyle’s house immediately after school has been suspended.

Crack Baby Athletic Association:

- Stan not being afraid to call out on Kyle.

- Kyle snuck into Stan’s room and Stan was listening to him unfazed.

Quintuplets 2000:

- Them trying to do gymnastics.

Pee:

- Kyle getting disgusted after hearing Stan talk about how it’s normal for people to pee in pools and in the shower.

Butterballs:

- Kyle calling Stan out in the bathroom, and they have this long ass stare. Kyle knowing that Stan will be jackin it in San Diego.

Bike Parade:

- Stan making Kyle laugh.

Proper Condom Use

- Stan and Kyle playing with a Jennifer Lopez doll and roleplaying.

- “SCREAM FOR ME BITCH!” “AHHHHHHHHH”

- Stan and Kyle in the same car with their cute big heads protruding.

World War Zimmerman:

- Stan and Kyle playing football.

The Scoots:

- Once again, Stan and Kyle playing football.

City on the Edge of Forever:

- Stan saving Kyle in his dream.

- Stan and Kyle sitting a bit closer to each other than usual in Stan’s dream.

Grounded Vindaloop:

- The tetherball date.

- Stan and Kyle saying “fuck you” to Kenny.

Clubhouses:

- Stan reading Bebe’s note, and Kyle being unfazed about it later in the episode. It was never defined whether he was informed the note came from Bebe.

#REHASH:

- Stan and Kyle being called grandpas by the little kids.

Tegridy Farms:

- When one of Ike’s classmates blew smoke in front of Kyle, Stan got extremely defensive about it.

Raising the Bar:

- Stan informing Kyle that it isn’t cool to continue on with “Fatty Doo Doo”.

- Stan checking up on Kyle as he’s sitting alone and listening to him lament about how the bar has sunk so low because of people.

Go Fund Yourself:

- *looking at Kyle’s ass* Boy this is the life huh.

Truth and Advertising:

- Stan and Kyle fist fighting for real, and Tweek and Craig looking at them concerned since they rarely ever fight like this.

Conjoined Fetus Lady:

- Stan preparing to catch Kyle if ever he fails to catch the dodgeball.

Stanley’s Cup:

- THEIR YOUNGER SELVES PLAYING HOCKEY!

ManBearPig:

- Stan’s head on Kyle’s lap. It’s so beautifully rendered.

Board Girls:

- “Wow, you are really into board games.”

A Scause for Applause:

- Kyle confronts Stan about cutting the bracelet by saying Heidi Turner saw him with super glue.

The Death Camp of Tolerance:

- “KYLE! KYLE! YOU HAVE TO KEEP MAKING YOUR MACARONI PICTURES!!”

South Park Bigger, Longer and Uncut:

- Stan getting jealous that even Kyle is amazed at Gregory.

Cartman Join NAMBLA:

- Stan and Kyle putting their face against the glass.

Mr. Hankey’s Christmas Classics:

- Stan and Kyle making fun of Shelly behind her back.

Raisins:

- Kyle coming to visit Stan with the gang after the whole breakup.

- Kyle wanting Stan to be happy again by bringing him to Raisins.

- Kyle being annoyed over Stan being distraught over Wendy. Jealous?

Mr. Jefferson:

- When Stan hears a knock on his window, he assumes it’s Kyle.

- Stan and Kyle being good caretakers of Blanket.

- Stan and Kyle sleeping with Blanket.

[sechssstan]

Eun Jiwon: #2

“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

//hellooo, we do apologise that it took us a while to get this up! Hope you liked it! -Admin Sya//

It’s not your fault right? It’s never anyone’s faults’. You don’t get to decide who you like and who you don’t. The heart wants what it wants, don’t it?

That’s exactly how you are feeling. Your heart is leaping boundaries at the thought of the man, but you know your brain isn’t allowing it.

“Don’t get too close to him,”, “he’s not worth the effort,”, “be careful of guys like him,” were just some of the few warnings you got ever since you showed a slight interest on Jiwon.

You sipped your coffee as you looked at the man that everyone warned you off. Handsome wouldn’t be enough to describe his looks. If you had your way, his looks, you thought, was God’s favourite work. His eyebrows in the right shape, his eyes that exude charisma, his voice that is literal heaven and his jawline that could cut the tension.

You sighed. 

Jiwon locked eyes with you and you felt him boring a hole through you. Just before you looked away, he smirked a little and winked at you.

That was enough to send you off your edges. This is getting out of hand, you thought.

So you decide, that avoiding him altogether would be a better alternative. You figured if you don’t see him for a while, your feelings for him would disappear, right? 

That’s what you did. You go out of your way to make sure you are never in the same room with him. If he’s coming onto your direction, you immediately walked back the other way. When he approaches you in an attempt to talk to you, you would walk away or even pretend you had a phone call.

Jiwon is no idiot. He noticed your sudden reclusion from him. He didn’t know why and he was dying to know why. Did he do something wrong? Did you find his advances too uncomfortable? 

The dance room door swung open and he looked to see who. It was you. You scanned the room and mentally cursed yourself when you see the room empty, well except for Jiwon. You contemplated to come again later, but it’ll be too obvious if you leave now.

You walked past him hastily, and place your paperwork and laptop as you wait for the other members and managers to come before starting your presentation. 

Jiwon looked at you, reading the room. He greeted you only for you to curtly bow your head and not look up from the screen. He saw the opportunity and headed for the door to lock it. 

Just you and him, in the room, how wonderful.

Jiwon dragged the chair and placed it in front of you before he sat on it. He didn’t talk, nor did he do anything. He just sat, leaning back with his arms crossed looking at you.

You sensed the tension rising and finally looked up. You coughed, “hi,”

“After weeks of running away from me, hi? Hi?”, he asks. You note the hint of sarcasm laced in his voice.

You nodded your head, and continue typing away on your laptop, silently praying that the others would arrive soon.

Jiwon was not having this. He scooted forward dragging the chair and then took your laptop away from you, before closing it and placing it on the floor. 

“Did I do something?”, he asks.

You gave him a clueless look, unsure what he is implying. But you damn well knew what he was asking. He knows, you panicked.

“Well? Did I?” he asks again. You once again noted the sarcasm turning into frustration.

“No no, you did nothing! I wasn’t avoiding. I just got busy! You always got me at a bad timing, that’s all,” you responded, trying your best to lie your way out of this.

He raised his brows, leaning forward, hands now on both his knees, “cut the bullshit, your voice goes up every time you are lying.”

Great, just fantastic, you thought.

“Talk to me, please. Did I do something?” he softly added.

You bit your lips. “You didn’t do anything. It’s an issue with myself. I just need to get over it,” you replied. “I’m sorry I made you feel bad,” 

Jiwon features softened. He was relieved that it wasn’t because of him. He’s just happy that you won’t avoid him again because it killed him not being able to see you.

He leaned back against the chair, “What issue? Maybe I can help,” he offers.

You shook your head, “I don’t think so,”

He taps your knees continuously, “oh come on, tell me! Tell me!”

You shook your head, and turned your chair to the other direction. 

“Oh come on! It’s about a boy!” he quips. God knows how much he prayed for you to say no.

You widened your eyes to refute, “It is about a boy! Who? Who? Is it the Kwon twins? Or the planning team?” he teased again. Despite the teasing, Jiwon secretly hopes it’s neither.

You stood up from your chair, surprising him. You took your laptop and walked towards the door. Jiwon bit his lips, cursing himself for going overboard. He chased after you and stopped in front of you, “Okay, don’t leave. I’m sorry. I wont ask again,”

You nodded your head and looked at him. Since it has already come this far, you figured you should just take it all the way. The two options were either get rejected and get it over with or the start of something new. You got nothing to lose, you thought. 

You took in a deep breath, “It’s you,” you confidently spoke.

Jiwon shot you a puzzled look, “me? what about?”

You held your laptop tighter, “I think I like you,”

Jiwon took a step back, surprised at the sudden confession. “You like me?”

You nodded your head.

“If you like me then why did you avoid me?”

“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy,” you answered, “and I don’t want to get hurt. So I thought if i ran away from you, I could stop liking you.”

He looked at you, still trying to process all the information.

“It didn’t work though. I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you uttered, “but, it’s okay if you don’t like me back. I told you it’s my issue and I’ll work on it. Can we still be friends though?”

Jiwon broke into a small smile, “but I like you though. I think it’ll be hard to be just friends?” he answers nonchalantly.

This time it’s your turn to be surprised. Your grip on your laptop getting tighter. You feel the rush of heat settling on your face.

“So what do you say? Can I take you out this weekend?”, he asks, his smile not leaving his beautiful face.

“That’ll be nice”, was all you could said.

He walked back to the chair, “bad guy huh? I’ll prove you wrong,” 

[krystalkoya]

Paint Me Over | 02

Chapter Summary: Hoseok doesn't want to call himself a pessimist, but what are the chances he'll run into you again? A lot higher than he thinks.

pairing: writer!hoseok x reader

genre: fluff, future angst, smut

rating: +18 

word count: 7.7k

chapter warnings:  18+ slight smut, fingering, dirty talk, pretty tame for now

The theme for this chapter (particularly the smut) is B.M.O (also by ari lennox). This whole thing was strangely inspired by a museum project I had to do, sadly i didn't get to experience the smut. enjoy 😉

01 | 02 | 03 | 04

...

Break Me Off

“I don’t see why you're making a big deal out of this.”

“It isn’t a big deal, promise! It’s just strange coming from you, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s so strange about it?”

“Nothing, just the fact that in all the time I’ve known you you’ve never expressed an interest in coming to one of my shows before.”

“Well excuse me for wanting to support my friend.”

Hoseok collapses onto his bed, laying spread eagle on the freshly washed sheets. He had some time earlier (not really, he was just procrastinating because he didn't want to write that next section of his book) so he spent it tidying up and doing some chores around the house. When he gave Taehyung a call he assumed he would be slightly suspicious, granted he had every right to be, given the fact that Hoseok had never willingly asked to go to one of Tae's shows before, but not to this extent!

Of course, there was only one reason for his sudden interest, but he opted to keep that insignificant detail hidden from his friend. He’d like to believe it was to spare Taehyung’s feelings, but he knew the man wouldn’t be offended once he discovered how much more appealing it would be to tease Hoseok instead. And he would much rather spare himself that embarrassment.

“Fine, fine. I mean I’m not complaining. There’s one next weekend. I wasn’t planning on attending but I guess we can—"

“Great, I’ll clear my calendar.” Hoseok rushes out before Taehyung can finish his sentence.

“Uh, cool. I guess I’ll see you then? That last showing must’ve really left an impression on you…” he mutters as an afterthought.

A small smile spreads across his face as he answers. “Yeah, something like that.” And by now his grin is so wide he swears Taehyung can see it through the phone.

Next week comes much slower than expected but once Saturday rolls around Hoseok becomes an anxious ball of both excitement and anxiety. So much so that Taehyung starts to take notice.

“Okay, what the hell is going on with you? Have you been feeling okay?”

If Hoseok wanted to keep Tae from knowing the real reason he was here he was doing a terrible job at it. First asking to go to an art gala and now this? This was strange even for him.

“Seriously, you’ve been darting your head around the room so much tonight that I'm worried it's going to fall off. Did you even hear anything I just said?”

“I did,” Hoseok lies, doing his best to control himself, but his eyes still wander around the room as if in search of something. Of someone, rather.

“Oh really, what was the last thing I said?” he tests him.

Hoseok’s eyes snap to Taehyung who stares back at him blankly. The former’s expression turns sheepish when he realizes he can’t recall anything Taehyung said to him within the past 5 minutes.

Tae sighs, shaking his head at him. “I said I have to get back to my booth soon. Remember? I chose to enter last minute with some of the photos I took down at the lake with Jin the other day. Got some cool shots too. You gonna be okay if I leave you for a bit?”

Hoseok nods, vaguely remembering him saying something of the sort. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m glad you entered, people seriously need to see your work.”

Taehyung squints his eyes at him wearily.

“What?” Hoseok asks, tired of his friend's judgy eyes.

“Nothing, it’s just...you sure you’re feeling okay? You don’t usually compliment me so openly. And I'm not one to fish for compliments, trust me, but it's like pulling teeth with you. ”

Hoseok scoffs. “Not true!” At his friend’s deadpan look in response Hoseok follows up with, “Isn't the fact that I rotate out your photos as my wallpaper good enough?”

Tae snorts in response, grunting out a "For you, I guess." But to Hoseok's dismay, he doesn't quit. “Nah, there’s definitely something up with you." As Tae proceeds to break down his strange behavior, Hoseok grows more anxious, if that was even possible.

"Let’s see, you asked to come to one of my art shows, not the other way around, you were excited about it even… your head’s been swiveling around the room nonstop like the pet parakeet I used to have when I was 8, and you seem to be paying even less attention to me than you usually do.”

"You had a pet parakeet?"

"Sure did, was even training him alert me every time my brother got near my snack stash but we only got as far as a something that sounded like a garbled version my name before we got a cat and well... you know the rest."

"I'm sorry for your loss-"

"Thank you, I still miss him even to this- hey! Quit trying to distract me! I'm onto you..." he says menacingly, beady little eyes boring so far into Hoseok he's starting to think Taehyung can see straight through him. Safe to say, he's glad he wore his big boy undies today. His other boxers (the one with all the marvel characters on it) were in the wash.

He squirms under Taehyung’s gaze but he keeps reminding himself there was nothing to worry about. There was no way he could connect the dots and discover the real reason he was here. But Taehyung, the perceptive bastard, somehow always manages to prove him wrong.

He blurts out excitedly, as if having his own personal eureka! moment, though his realizations aren't nearly as profound as Einstein's. “You’re meeting up with someone aren’t you?”

Hoseok regards him coolly, responding with a calm ‘no, why would I be?’ that he is very proud of. He ups the ante on his whole nonchalant attitude by pretending to be engaged in the nearby artwork in hopes that Taehyung will drop the subject altogether. But the slight red tinge in his cheeks reveal his true emotions and not for the first time he curses his inability to control his body’s physical reactions.

“Don’t bullshit me, you only ever act like this when you're nervous. You're totally blushing right now!" Hoseok was, in fact, blushing, but despite that he still tries to deny it, clapping a hand over his cheeks to cover it up. "Am not. And I'm not acting any weirder than I usually do. I'm always like this." "Bull-fucking-shit!" Tae explains with an incredulous laugh. "Remember that double date we went on a while back? With the Park sisters? You were acting just like this. Now quit fucking with me, did you meet someone?”

"Yeah? well that was before I found out they wanted to bag the both of us. This may come as a surprise but I'm not into foursomes." He shrugs. k lashes out at that accusation, strongly refuting such a claim. Bad choice. At that moment Taehyung knows he’s right because anytime Hoseok gets this worked up over something, it most likely means he’s lying.

“Hey you passed up a good opportunity and screwed me over in the process. They were twins man, twins!" He shakes his head as if to get back on track. "Quit changing the subject! You did meet someone didn't you?” He lets out a gasp. “Was it that girl from the last art show?”

No fucking way, how did he...? Welp, the cat's out of the bag now. And Hoseok didn't even have to say anything, miraculously his friend just figured it out all on his own. If he's honest with himself, he's a little impressed. Doesn't stop him from scrubbing a hand down his face in annoyance, but impressed nonetheless. He turns to Tae with narrowed eyes. “Of all days you choose today to play detective? Why don't you take those sleuthing skills and mosey on down to the local police department. Don't you think your talents are going to waste always butting in on my love life?”

“Not at all." Tae sing-songs from beside him. "You didn't deny it so I take it it was her. I just figured because I saw you two talking the other night. And you haven't talked to a girl since..." he trails off, "so is she meeting you here?”

He wishes. “Not exactly,” he sighs thinking it was a stupid idea to even come here in the first place.

“I didn’t get her number or anything. We just talked and… I came tonight hoping she would be here…”

“You mean you don’t even know if she’s here?!” Taehyung exclaims and it doesn’t make him feel any better. In fact, it makes this dumb idea feel ten times worse.

“Well maybe if someone hadn’t been so eager to drag me away the other night I could’ve stayed long enough to get her instagram at least.”

Tae actually looks remorseful for once. "Yeah that was my bad wasn't it, sorry” he says sincerely. “But you do know it’s a long shot that you’re gonna find her. For some artist’s things like this are just a one time thing. Who's to say she comes back regularly enough to be here for the second week in a row?”

Hoseok sighs because he's already thought this through the entire week before. “I know that already. Which is why I’m prepared, more than anything, to be disappointed. We’ve been here for half an hour and still haven’t seen her so it’s not looking too good right now.”

Taehyung claps a hand on Hoseok shoulder encouragingly, if not to comfort the man whose hopes were near shot to shit. He's sincerely happy for his friend. This is the first time he's shown such an interest in someone in a long while, but he still needs to be realistic. “Hey cheer up, the night’s still young. There’s a still a chance she's here so just put all your faith in that basket." He glances behind him, expression seemingly caught between wanting to stay and help Hoseok find his mystery girl or attending to his more pressing duties. Finally he seems to make up his mind, "I’m going to head over to my booth now. You gonna be okay on your own?”

He nods to assure his friend. “Yeah, yeah. Go have fun. I know how much you love seeing the expression on people’s faces when they look at your work. As they should, you’re really good at what you do.”

Taehyung beams, a hand on his chest in shock. “Well, I'll be...you're just showering me with compliments today aren't you?" He says in a poor (extremely poor) attempt at a southern belle accent. "I’ll catch you later.” And with a wave he’s off to whatever section of the gala was his for the night.

Hoseok makes his way through the gala slowly, observing the art as he goes along, but most importantly scanning the faces of the artists who made them. Unfortunately, none of the faces he sees is the one that he is looking for. Eventually, he makes his way back to the refreshment table, located off to the side this time. This gala is a lot more minimalistic, opting to put out an off-putting combination of bottled waters and lollipops as refreshments rather than homemade cookies and punch.

Hoseok grabs a water, deciding he’s not in the mood for sweets tonight. He sighs forlornly and takes a swig, shifting his weight to one leg so that he can observe the various people viewing the artwork displayed about the room. Well, he didn’t find what he was looking for here tonight but he can’t deny it was a good showing. Just like the last one, there were several pieces he enjoyed looking at and he would’ve gone through again to get a better look at a few that caught his eye if he hadn’t heard your voice.

“Well, well, well, look who it is. How goes it stick?”

Hoseok damn near drowns drinking his bottled water. He has to hit his chest several times while he coughs up the liquid, trying his best to ignore the fact that he’s sputtering like an absolute fool as you watch on in amusement.

There’s no forced apology for startling him this time when you say, “Is this going to become our thing now? Meeting at refreshment tables, you choking on your drink?” you ask with a smirk.

He brushes off the water that dribbled down his chest as if that will change that fact that his shirt is now wet. He sighs, at least it was only water and not something that could actually stain. “I hope not. Why does it seem like I’m always at a disadvantage in these situations?”

“Oh you most definitely are.” You say as you reach past him to grab a lollipop out of the decorative bowl. "Learn how to drink properly will you?"

He stares down at you, unwrapping the lolli and popping it into your mouth, as he wills something to come to his brain so he can speak. The irony. This whole time he had been looking for you and now when you finally show up he has nothing to say.

Fortunately, you beat him to it. “So. What brings you back to another one of these shin-digs? No offense, but you don’t seem like the type to frequent galas on the regular.”

“And why not? I told you I’m an artist.”

“You’re a writer. And you don’t strike me as the ‘artsy’ type either. You’re more clear cut, precise, all sharp edges, you know? What d'you write anyway? Instruction manuals?” You question with a pop of your candy.

He ignores your question in favor of asking you one of his own.

"So what do you have a booth set up today too or are you just a member of the audience like me?”

You gesture vaguely down the room. “Yep, I actually do have a booth set up. Somewhere over there. I’m surprised I didn’t see you earlier, did you already cycle all the way through?” you ask and when he nods you quirk your head to the side in thought.

“Huh, you must’ve caught me when I was away from my booth then cause I definitely would have noticed you if you passed by.”

"Aww am I that memorable to you?" he teases but in reality his stomach jumps in glee at the thought. "How could I forget? You were the only one who pitched a fit in front of my booth the whole night. Longest argument I've had in weeks." He scoffs. "I'd hardly call it an argument. And I did not pitch a fit." You wave a dissmisive hand in the air. "Debate then, whatever you want to call it. So?" He gives you a puzzling look. "So what?" "So, did you like it? My piece?" you ask with a hint of eagerness. "Depends, which one was yours?" The smirk is there again but you don't say anything and that's when it clicks. He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. "Don't tell me." You mime zipping your lips and throwing away the key, that infuriating smile still present on your face, only this time its wider lets him know everything he needs to. "You can’t be serious.”

It was earlier in the night, but he remembers that piece so well because it was so different from the others. Blue is the first (and only thing) that comes to mind. Seriously, the whole page was just blue. No texture marks, no additional detail that would make it seem like any other effort went into it other than grabbing blue paint and slathering it across a canvas.

“I assume you want a 10 page paper on the meaning behind the blue paint or the symbolism of using 8.5 x 11 cardstock on your desk by tomorrow?”

He sputters. “Honestly, any explanation would be fine at this point.”

It’s such a drastic change from your last painting that he doubts he would have guessed that both images came from the same artist. What, did the amount of time it took to put all that detail in your first piece drain you that much that all you could come up with this time was the color blue on a page? He couldn’t make sense of this change up.

“It can mean whatever you want. The sky. The ocean. Hell, the color blue on a fucking page. That’s it. Maybe I just wasn't done.” You shrug. "Who knows I might go back and add to it later if I'm up to it."

You must notice that he’s still staring at you with what must be a look of utter bewilderment on his face so you elaborate.

“I like the color blue, so I painted blue.”

He’s about to argue again but you stop him.

“Hey, sometimes you just got to paint what you feel.” “Look, what do you write about? I know I joked instruction manuals earlier but holy shit that can't really be it can it?” You ask almost fearfully.

“God no, I'm not that boring." You seem to visibly relax at that which he finds amusing. "Prose mostly. Short stories, mostly but I'm working on a writing something longer, a book actually ”

“Prose,” you repeat questioningly. But it’s without judgement. Now you’re trying to make sense of him, maybe. It’s funny, people usually stop him to ask questions when they hear he’s writing a book. But here you are, concerned with the genre he writes instead, not the content.

“Yeah, prose. I used to write poetry a while back but I stopped cause-“

“Wait, hold up. Poetry? You?”

“Yeah…” He narrows his eyes in question. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

You take a moment to think before you reply. “I mean, in a way it’s not. Poetry’s got all those symbols and hidden meanings you English teachers love so much but… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t expect it coming from a guy like you.”

"A guy like- you know what I'm not even gonna ask. I have a feeling I'll only be offended.

“You said you stopped, why was that?” you ask suddenly.

“Stopped what? Poetry?” At your nod of confirmation he continues, “It just wasn't my thing anymore?” He shrugs not really giving it much thought.

You shake your head as if disappointed. “That’s a shame. I love poetry. It’s like the rawest of all genres— a window to the speaker's deepest thoughts and feelings.”

He nods, understanding, “Maybe that’s why I left it. All those feelings..." he shakes his head, "yeah, it just wasn't for me anymore.”

“And what’s wrong with feelings?”

So many questions tonight. Some of which he doesn't have the answer to. You're really forcing him to do some serious reflection aren't you? Well prepare to be sorely disappointed because Hoseok hasn't done that in years. “Nothing, really. I'm just…at a different stage in my life where they aren't as needed. ” He stares down at the linoleum floor, musing that it's high time he get a new pair of sneakers, while you appease him with your sharp gaze.

Though he’s not looking at you, he presumes you’re still staring him down when he hears you hum in thought. It’s quiet save for the light chatter around the room, which only serves to make him even more uncomfortable. But that doesn’t last long because suddenly you are tugging on his arm as you mutter a hasty ‘come with me.’

He can’t do much but follow you as you pull him along past the rows of people in the main room to some back corner of the museum. He muses that wherever you are pulling him off to is better than the mini interrogation you were giving him just moments ago. No longer in the part of the building that had been sectioned off for the gala for the night, you arrive at an alcove at the back, a seemingly unnoticed part of the museum. If he had to guess he would say this part of the museum was not in use from the way it was isolated from the rest of the pieces.

“Uh…” Hoseok starts, “Are we allowed to be here?”

“Relax. Of course we are. No one said we couldn’t view the rest of museum while we’re here.”

"Yeah but... are we allowed to be here here?" he asks just to get a huff in annoyance in response.

As you burrow deeper into the alcove, he notices there is an entryway off to one side, but he can’t tell what it leads to just yet.

Luckily he doesn't have to wait long to find out when you pull him through the doorway.

“This is one of my favorite exhibits. It won’t be up for much longer though. They’re replacing it soon.” He hears you say.

Hoseok looks around at the interior of the room, and, it’s not the first thing he notices, but he can’t help but see that all four walls were mirrored. He could see his reflection no matter where he looked.

Rather, the first thing he noticed is something he can barely even describe. There seemed to be stalactites and stalagmites protruding from the ceiling and the floors of the room. He moves to get a closer look at one when you press a button on the wall and the figures light up, each flashing in almost every color of the rainbow, all of them illuminating the dark room beautifully. To Hoseok, the lighting in the room is reminiscent of his high school dance, a cheesy affair where teachers had lit a disco ball in the school gym and placed strobe lights about the room to achieve a ‘70s theme’ for the spring bash sophomore year.

Hoseok walks near to one figure, almost as tall as him in height and protruding from the ground. He touches one gently and comes to find out that it’s made of the same material of the inflatable arm floats your mom puts you in when you're just a wee toddler learning how to swim. Each are dotted with black polka dots which only adds to the confusion in trying to figure out just what exactly he’s looking at. He settles on tentacles, because though the dripstones favor something you would see in a cave, they are curved in a way that looks similar to the arms of an octopus.

Before he can ask you what the hell he’s staring at, you press another button and a voice starts speaking overhead.

It’s a female voice, and she’s speaking a language entirely different from the ones he’s familiar with. It sounds… if he’s not mistaken, like Japanese. And he’s only able to make that discernment because of the several times Tae forced him to watch that cartoon with the hyperactive redheaded twink and the emotionally distant brooding tall one. Something to do with volleyball but to Hoseok it just looked like a shoujo (was that the right term?) romance and a gangbang waiting to happen.

“'Love is Calling'" you say as you return to his side. "That's the name of the exhibit. It’s by Yayoi Kusama and she’s reciting her poem ‘Residing in a Castle of Shed Tears.’”

He takes a 360 of the room, acknowledging your words with a hum. “I can’t understand a word she’s saying, but it’s nice.” He says.

You walk over to one of the figures nearest to you to touch it. “It is. One of the things I love most about it is just being immersed in this room while listening to her speak. I can’t understand Japanese, no, but I think that’s apart of the appeal. Maybe you’re supposed to explore the room for yourself while she speaks to another part of you.”

“Okay, but what if you do speak Japanese?” He counters.

You shrug, hands behind your back as you walk to the opposite side of the room. “I assume that’s even better. Being able to understand what she’s saying as you navigate this maze of a room.”

There’s quiet again aside from Yayoi’s voice. You both listen intently, as you continue to look at the flashing lights and your reflections in the mirrored walls.

“What do you see?” you ask him suddenly.

“Huh?” He heard you clearly, but he wonders what you mean. He sees exactly the same thing as you, doesn’t he?

“At first glance, what do you see? You don’t understand the poem so your just left with this room. What do you see?” you clarify.

"Ok, we're not doing this. Leave that job to my shrink."

"You see a therapist?"

"No, but I probably should. The things I see and hear from these kids on a daily? It's no wonder I'm not crazy yet."

You laugh and poorly try to mask it in favor of saying, "Be serious. What do you see? I want to know."

Hoseok thinks about it for a moment before he settles on telling you his impression of the room when he first came in. How the space resembled a cave with colorful dripstones hanging from the ceiling and protruding from the ground, and how the figures resemble tentacles, reaching out to him now.

You come to join him as he is speaking and now you stand side by side, the both of you observing your reflections in the wall before you. Hoseok takes this moment to return the question, asking you what you see.

You laugh as if finding something funny. “To be honest, the first time I came in here I was confused…”

Hoseok nods in agreement because that was certainly an experience for him.

You continue, “…and I could see that confusion in my reflection—everywhere I looked. But after that, once the lights came on I saw some inflatable pool toys with multi-colored lights stuck in ‘em.”

“That’s it?” He asks, expecting something more profound, especially after he just gave you his testament on how the figures resembled dripstones and tentacles at the same time.

“No,” you smile. “I said that just to get under your skin.” You share a laugh at that and he should be annoyed but for reason unknown he isn't. Once your chuckles subside, you continue.

“You see, I was in here for so long, left to nothing but my thoughts and Kusama’s recitation playing in the background that I started seeing something else. The room was so dark and then all of a sudden there was light—lots of it, protruding from the ground, the ceiling everywhere. It’s hard to explain...” you say, struggling to express your thoughts clearly.

Hoseok nods understanding, “Like the candlestick at the end of a dark hallway.”

You snap your fingers in excitement. “Yeah, like that. It’s like, hope in a dark place. You must be loving this, aren’t you?”

He chuckles, not denying it. “Of course I am. Look who’s talking miss ‘not-everything-has-a-meaning.”

“Hey, I still think like that, but not in the way you think. I said art was subjective didn’t I? My meaning isn’t always going to be the same as yours.”

He takes a moment to think about your words and he comes to the conclusion that you may have a point. There wasn’t just one answer.

By this time Kasuma has finished her recitation and you pull him along again. Your doing a lot of that tonight and he's not sure how he feels about being your human rag doll.

“Come here, I want to show you something.”

You arrive back at the wall, near the buttons, only this time he notices a plaque on tacked to the wall.

“It’s Kasuma’s poem translated into English.”

Residing in a Castle of Shed Tears

When the time comes around for people to encounter the end of their life having put on years, death seems to be quietly approaching It was not supposed to be my style to be frightened of that, but I am In the shadows of my loved ones footprints, distress revisits me at the dead of night refreshing my memories Being in love with and longing for you, I have locked myself up in this “castle of shed tears” Now may be the time for me to wander off into the place, the guidepost to the other world points to And the sky is waiting for me, attended by numerous clouds Overwhelmed by your tenderness that has always encouraged me I have been searching for “love” in earnest taking my wish for happiness along Let me call out to and ask the birds flying about in the sky I want to convey to them my feelings Over many long years, with art as a weapon I have treaded the path in search of love During the days I have lived through keeping “despair”, “emptiness” and “loneliness” all to myself along the way there were times when the fireworks of life “splendidly” adorned the sky Dancing in the night sky in a myriad of colors, the fireworks sprinkled dust all over my body I will never forget that exhilarating moment Now I think is the time to dedicate my heart to you, my dearest Was the beauty of the end of one’s life nothing more than illusion? Would you give me an answer to this? Devoting all my heart to you, I have lived through to this day Hoping to leave beautiful footprints at the end of my life I spend each day praying that my wish will be fulfilled This is my message of love to you

                                                                                                                                                                                       -Yayoi Kusama

“Heartbreaking isn’t it?”

Hoseok still reads it over as he replies, “Yeah.”

“Unrequited love is the worst. But I think, like many artists, that she just wanted to share her story and if anyone could relate to that, then all the better.”

He turns to look at you. “You don’t think there’s anything deeper there?”

“Oh for sure,” you nod. “The way she explores themes of death, loneliness and unrequited love all in the same breadth? That’s deep. But I don’t think it’s invalid if you experience something different while in here. Sometimes artists just want to invoke feelings of happiness, or sadness, or I don’t know, the feeling of being in love in their viewers.”

“It’s about the experience.” He states more than questions.

You smile, probably because this is the first sign of him actually getting it. “Right, just like living in the moment. At least that's how I want people to feel when they look at my art.”

He stares at you for a moment, surprised by your well-fleshed out thoughts. “You’ve thought about this a lot haven’t you?”

You pin him with a look. “I told you, it was my favorite exhibit. I’m sad to see it go.”

He agrees with you, telling you he wished he knew about it sooner. He’s reading over the words of the poem again, absorbing Kasuma’s message but he can feel your eyes on him.

 “What?” He turns to ask you.

“Nothing, it’s just, you look really nice under these colored lights.”

He quirks a brow, “And that’s funny? Are you sure I look nice?” He hastily starts checking his reflection in the mirror.

You burst out into giggles, hands out to placate him, “No, nice I promise. I don’t even know why I’m laughing really. You look more than nice actually. Attractive even...” This last part is murmured and if you two were out in the main room he probably would not have caught it.

He peaks with interest at that and when he looks over at you are looking at him, lip caught between your teeth in a coy smile.

“Attractive, huh? Is this the part of the night where you stop insulting me and starting laying me on with compliments?" He teases.

You pin him with a hardened glare, though there is no malice in it. It's mischievous more than anything.

“I have eyes, stick. I could see how someone could find you somewhat...visually-appealing.”

He turns toward you. “The feelings mutual. Although..." he squints as if trying to see better, "it may just be the lightning doing you justice.”

You scoff, hitting his arm playfully. “Hey, I look good in all lighting, especially the shitty ones.”

You both share a chuckle and when it dies down he speaks. "Fine, ok?" he gives in. "I agree."

"Good." You say decidedly, still chuckling.

Hoseok makes the fatal mistake, then of glancing down at your lips, which are now glistening due to the tongue that darted out just moments prior to wet them.

The moment after, after you both stop chuckling is spent in silence, staring at each other, waiting for the other to say something next.

But it never happens. Hoseok doesn’t know who leans in first, all he knows is that your lips feel like soft pillows pressed against his. The kiss is slow at first, taking the time to savor the taste of the other and when Hoseok tastes the sweetness of the strawberry lollipop you were sucking on earlier he moans.

He wants to taste more, so he is grateful when he licks your bottom lip, begging you to open up to him and you do. His tongue darts into your mouth, starting its exploration into every crevice and corner he can find.

When his teeth can’t help but graze your bottom lip you moan and he finds the sound pleasing to his ears. He’s eager to find more ways to make you moan so pretty for him again when you pull away.

Your arms, which at some point had slid up to wrap around his neck, now slide down to rest on his chest.

“You don’t know how badly I wanted to keep going but goddammit I needed air.” You pant heavily against him.

He smiles, bending to capture your lips in light pecks. “I took your breath away?”

You groan and roll your eyes. A second later your groaning again, not because you’re annoyed, but because Hoseok has attached his lips to your neck.

“God you’re cheesy. You’re not like this all the time are you?”

He detaches from your neck with a wet pop, sinking his teeth into the spot before dragging his lips up to your ear. “Trust me that when I tell you that when I get you into bed, you’ll never want me to shut up." You whimper slightly at his words, managing to choke out a meek, “Still corny.”

You say this but you’re turned on nonetheless. Hoseok can tell by the way you rub your thighs together in what you think is in an inconspicuous manner. But to him, a man who has been starved of sex for so long and who is so in tune with your body because it is exactly what his is feeling, your actions are as clear as day to him. And he wants to do more, so much more just to make you beg for that sweet release he's more than willing to give you.

“It's true. And you wouldn't be able to shut me up. Wanna see how wet this dirty little pussy can get for me.” He mutters lowly, a hand travelling down between the apex of your thighs.

Ever resilient, you mumble out a 'doubt it' as you struggle to keep your composure. “Oh yeah? So you don’t want my fingers on your clit? Shoved so far up your hole and stretching you wide? Hmm?” He applies pressure with his fingertips. “Rubbing this pussy to climax again and again and again?”

He smirks when you moan, hands clutching the lapels of his open shirt as you whine under his touch.

“Still too cheesy for you? I can be quiet if you want me to, I'll be good. Promise.” He says, the palm of his hand now massaging your entire center.

“No, no you’re not. Just please touch me.”

Satisfied with your response, he hastily undoes the buttons of your jeans and snakes a wrist down your pants.

He practically groans when he feels how wet you are, soaking through your panties beautifully.

“For someone so turned off by my words you’re awfully wet.” he notes.

You’re glare at him is cut short when his fingers graze your clit, focusing his attention on that little nub full of nerves. You're expression softening into a silent moan that you are no doubt trying to keep from him.

You bury your head in his chest and give in to your pleasure when he rubs harder; smiling in victory, he lets you lean against him, enjoying the vibrations of your groans against his neck.

“Right there, keep going, please…”

To your horror, he does exactly that, but only briefly. “I don’t know…” he starts up again, much slower this time, as if debating whether to continue or not. “You insulted me. Why should I?”

“Please…” you look up at him with pleading eyes. Fearful even, probably that he'll stop and leave you high and dry. “God, I need it.”

He hums, contemplating your words. “You gonna moan pretty for me if I do?”

You release a sharp moan at a particularly harsh brush of his fingers against your clit.

“Like that,” he says as if to clarify exactly how he wants you to sound.

“Yes, yes. Just please.. Shit ”

He concentrates on pleasuring you, wanting to hear what you sound like when you orgasm under his touch. He rubs faster, arm tiring but he continues just to see your brow scrunch in pleasure like that and your pants pick up in intensity.

“Oh god…” you whisper, “how are you so good with your fingers.”

He doesn’t know whether that was meant for him to hear or not but he doesn’t mind. If you think this is good, just wait till he gives you his tongue.

But that can wait for another time. And good god he can't fucking wait. Your so fucking wet it's driving him insane. He uses some of the slick collecting it on his fingertips before travelling back up and assaulting your clit again and you go absolutely fucking wild. He has to shush you, remembering your in public, though he doubts anyone is close enough to overhear. A resounding chorus of 'yeses' and a chant of his name mark your orgasm and he revels in it. Your sounds, your expressions, the way you squeeze his fingers between your thighs as if to secure him there forever.

“Hoseok, ahh… Hoseok, I’m cumming.”

"I know baby, I know. Feel good?"

He gives you no time to answer, not even waiting for you to come down from your high when he captures your lips, still massaging between your legs though much lighter now being considerate of overstimulating you (this time). He pushes your shirt up, all the way past your breasts and his lips travel down to trail open-mouthed kisses across the soft mounds encased in a simple but cute black bra. He’s just slid one cup down, exposing your quickly hardening nipple to the cold air. He helps it along by sucking your the bud into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing.

“Ahh, Hoseok slow down.” You say, winding your hands in his hair but doing nothing to detach him from your breast.

“Can’t.” He yanks the cup covering your other nipple down and attaches his lips to that breast. “Want you so bad.” He murmurs around your nipple in his mouth.

You moan approvingly. “Me too. Want it, your cock in my mouth, my pussy…”

It’s Hoseok’s turn to groan and he does so, resting his head against your chest as he tries to calm himself down because at this rate he's going to blow his load in his pants and he can't have that.

But try as he might to calm himself he can't, not when you continue to whisper all the dirty things you want him to do to you in here. In public.

“Want you to fuck me so good, right here where anyone can walk in and see. I want you to fuck me so far up this wall I’ll start screaming with how good it is.”

“Fuck.” He says because he wants to do just that. Exactly as you described because the image is so undeniably hot that he can barely contain himself.

He’s just figured out whether he wants to fuck your pussy or your mouth first (your mouth) when his phone rings loudly from its place in his back pocket.

His plan is to ignore it but you seem to think differently when you pull away, urging him he should answer it. When he hesitates you say, ‘it might be important’. He considers saying 'this is too' but decides against it, reluctantly digging into his back pocket for the device instead.

His plan B is to answer whoever is calling, tell them he can’t talk right now, and get right back on track to fucking that filthy little mouth of yours but you are already tidying yourself up. He’s sad to see your tits go as you right your bra and pull your shirt down, looking in the mirror to fix what can be salvaged of your makeup and hair.

“Hello,” he answers the phone with a bitterness, annoyed at whoever the cockblock was on the other line.

Taehyung. Of course. He said he had been looking for him all over, concerned and he just wanted to make sure he was safe. Hoseok would be touched, if he weren’t in the middle of trying to get his dick wet so instead he winds up annoyed.

He tells him he’ll meet him out front in a few minutes, it’s obvious by the way you have cleaned yourself up that his night of fun is over.

“Yeah, see you there. Okay, bye.” Hoseok finishes up his call and when done you push him towards the exit.

“Come on, we’re not supposed to be here, this part of the museum was closed for renovation.”

“I thought you said-“

“Yeah, I lied. Congratulations stick, you’re that much closer to living on the wild side.” You give him a pat on the back.

"Don't you think what we just did in there gets me some points? At least enough to drop the nickname?"

"The nickname stays, that's with you for life but I guess you can claim some cool points. Only a few though!" You clarify. "That was pretty tame to be quite honest."

By now you two have reached the main room of the gala and he can see the crowd has died down now that the night is coming to an end.

He catches your elbow before you can move any further into the room. “Careful there, lying to me never fares well for those involved.” He mutters lowly into your ear.

“Sure, whatever,” comes your dismissive response but in spite of it he can see you shiver at his words. A hint of a smile graces his lips in triumph.

Taehyung spots Hoseok and comes bounding over, the ‘where were you?’ dying on his lips when you come into view.

Instead a small ‘o’ graces his features when he realizes what Hoseok must have been up to. And who he was up to it with.

“Well,” you say, putting distance between yourself and Hoseok (and he’s only slightly sad about it), “It was nice meeting you Hoseok.” You extend your hand out formally, as if he didn’t just finger you to orgasm just a few minutes ago.

He takes it, playing along. Your gazes must linger a little to long because a sudden cough from Taehyung is startling you back to reality.

“And, Taehyung right? I heard a lot about you from other artists. Loved your collection by the way. You took some really great shots.”

“Ahh, thank you.” Tae accepts the compliment humbly, his hand coming up to brush you off.

“It was nothing. Just a last minute entry.” He tells you how he wished he had more time to go around the whole gala to see what you came up with this time. You share a knowing smile with Hoseok, no doubt Taehyung would be shocked as well to see the drastic difference between your first piece and this one.

“Anyways, I better go but it was nice meeting you both.” You say politely, stare lingering on Hoseok before you turn to leave.

Taehyung bumps his shoulder which jars him out of whatever trance he was just in.

“So is it right to assume that what I’m thinking right now is correct or...” He questions and suddenly Hoseok is reminded that he’s supposed to be mad at Taehyung. “If you’re thinking that you are an immense cockblocker then yeah, definitely.”

Taehyung’s eyes bug out of his head at that comment. “Wait. So you mean…”

Hoseok sighs, “Yeah and I was this close. But someone just had to call me right in the middle of it.”

Tae has the audacity to look apologetic as he claps a sympathetic hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. “Sorry man, but this is great. To be honest I didn’t peg you as the type to be into public sex but good for you.”

It’s only when Hoseok arrives back at his apartment that night, replaying the memories of tonight that he hopes are permanently etched into his brain that he realizes he forgot to get your number yet again.

He got lucky today, but what are the chances he’s going to find you again?

He calls up Taehyung in a panic, explaining his predicament but all Taehyung can offer is an unhelpful decree of ‘wow, you are an idiot’ so he hangs up.

Although, before he ended the call, Tae did suggest that the universe might be on his side on this one, if he found her once he could do it again. But Hoseok is not one to push his luck so he highly doubts it.

He goes to bed that night, and this time bittersweet memories of a one-night stand (could what you did together even be considered a one-night stand? Calling it a half-a-night stand seemed more fitting) interspersed with thoughts that this would be the last time he sees the peculiar painter again fill his brain.

[marlahey]

we stumbled in the dark; i knew we’d be alright (part five)

a shawn mendes rpf fic rating/warnings: standard teen language; prepare for some feels. misc notes: if you suspect that ellie’s lanyard and dress are things that I personally own, you would not be wrong. ignore the weird timeline anyone who doesn’t think shawn is at least fifty percent hufflepuff can fight me.  fun fact: I could see basically all of cophenhagen from the moment I started this fic. please reblog and/or drop me an ask if you enjoy this; it’s one of my favourite parts :)  (previously; start at part one here)

copenhagen; now “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god–”  “El?”

You jerk your head up so quickly that you nearly bang your head on the underside of the bed. Shawn seems so much taller than usual from your half-sprawled position on the floor. You didn’t think that was possible.

You should be a little mortified probably: there are clothes and towels and bedsheets everywhere.  But Shawn has seen you first thing in the morning, with gunk still in your eyes. He’s seen you crampy and irritated; he’s also seen you so ill that the tour had to leave you behind. There’s something acutely liberating about being around someone who has seen you at almost all of your lowest moments. In theory, you can only go up.  You’re also almost crying, so the mess is secondary.  “Av wanted me to...” Shawn trails off, tilting his head down at you. You pull yourself into a sitting position. “What’s wrong?” You muster yourself up to tell a lie, but he catches it before the words can leave your mouth. “Tell me.” “My mom’s ring.” You worry the fingers of your naked left hand. “I just noticed it was gone, and I–” The tornado of the room is overwhelming, suddenly. “I can’t find it anywhere. I have no idea where it might have fallen off, like, what if–”  It feels like you might be sick. “What if I left it in Berlin?”  Shawn’s crouched down in front of you now. “No way. Have you asked Ava?” You shake your head. Shame crawls up your throat, hot and tight. “I can’t tell her I’ve lost it.” You stare at his boots. “We’re supposed to go out tonight to celebrate–” You can’t finish your sentence. Your breath shakes on the way out.  Shawn’s hands curl around your elbows. “C’mon El,” he murmurs, and you let him pull you gently to your feet so he can push you equally softly to sit on Ava’s bed. “Just hang on a second, okay?”  You’re too focused on breathing properly to refute him. The bed dips as Shawn drops down beside you, so close you’re pressed together from hip to shoulder. He leans into you, just a little; the pressure is grounding. Concentrating on him is pulling you out of your hysteria. “Hey Mike. You’re still at the arena right? Can you do me a huge favour?”  Ava’s still there too, working. You should have called her. You should get Shawn to stop; sound and engineering should not be hunting around for something that will be impossible to find in fifteen thousand seats. The crew doesn’t even know what it looks like. When you look up to inform Shawn of this, he’s still speaking. “–gold, with little pearls? Three. Yeah. Probably? Pablo was being weird so she...yeah. Yeah dude, call me back. You’re the best.” He hangs up. “You were wearing it this morning. It must still be there.” Shawn finally glances down at you. “You okay?” “How...” It takes a conscious effort not to gape like an idiot. “How do you know what my mom’s ring looks like?” Shawn makes a face, as though he can’t decide between smiling or being offended. He picks up your left hand and pulls it towards him; old calluses are rough on your skin as he thumbs over the tan line on your first finger. “It’s the only one you never take off.” It strikes you then, like it has alarmingly often in the past two and half weeks, that there could be something different here. You can feel it in the way your heart lurches in your chest, in the arguably absent sweep of Shawn’s fingers over yours that leave tiny sparks jumping beneath your skin.  There’s that little voice in your head again. You’ve been hearing it a lot lately.  Careful.  When you decided forever ago that it would be near impossible to ‘catch feelings’ for Shawn in the fleeting moments between and within tour stops, as you slowly but surely amassed what feels like an enormous secret box of knowledge about him, a somewhat foolish part of you had never accounted on him knowing you, too.  Or what that would mean, if anything.  So much for the break between albums making everything go back to normal. Although, the first single drop didn’t help.  We agreed that night goes under the heading ‘Never Talk About Again’  When you look at Shawn, it’s mostly to prove that you still can.  “It’s gonna be fine,” he says, and you’re weirdly grateful at your current crisis that likely masks how newly anxious you feel. His expression is of a familiar soft certainty; faced with it, you can feel yourself almost instinctively comforted. “They’re gonna find it.”  Buried somewhere on the other side of the room, your phone pings with an Instagram notification; the noise is so startling that you jump and grip at Shawn’s hand. His amusement is familiar too, but he doesn’t let go. If anything, he squeezes back.  “Shut up,” you mutter, taking the universe’s exit. You rise to dig your phone out from beneath your backpack and some makeup. When you find it, Shawn’s still sitting where you left him, not quite laughing. But he wants to. You can tell.   “I didn’t say anything.” You make a face at him. Your phone is another welcome distraction, although you still can’t stop rubbing at your hand where your ring should sit. Hannah’s posted a video. Your throat goes tight for another reason altogether as a wave of navy gowns crosses the football field. The traditional graduation processional song is tinny, but still audible through your speaker. You can make out Hannah; her huge curls are impossible to miss.  As a half-hearted effort, you sweep your bag and make up off the floor and attempt to straighten out the contents. You can feel Shawn’s eyes on you. He looks at though he wants to say something, but is interrupted by his own phone.  You don’t dare hope. But you can see the emotion in his face, there and gone like he wants to hide it from you.  “Mike, hey. You did? Fuck, that’s amazing.” Shawn’s grin and thumbs up sweep relief through you, a flash flood that leaves you a little weak in the knees. “Yeah, I’ll get her to– yeah. Mhmm. Yeah, see you soon. Thank you. You’re a rock star.”  You have to sit down in the armchair on the far side of the room. His footfalls are muffled on the carpeted floor. “Cam found it in the green room. You must have shaken it off when you were getting Pablo to work earlier.” Shawn crouches down again. Sometimes, you think, it seems impossible that he can fold himself in half so easily.  “Hey.” His swallow on your knee. That grounding little bit of pressure. He could probably wrap his fingers all the way around, if he wanted. You look up at him through your lashes. “It’s okay, El. They found it.” You can feel your lip wobbling; you have to clench your jaw to get it to stop. Shawn looks torn, like he wants to hug you, but if he does that now you’re definitely going to cry.  You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry today. As if he can sense your resolve, he doesn’t move.  “Paul’s here to get me,” Shawn says. His thumb traces a half circle just above the bend of your leg and it weirdly tickles a little. You’re not sure when you got so comfortable with him touching you, or how you never noticed how much he does it till now, or how both of those things can be true at once.  It’s a thought you have to put away for later.  “I’ll make up some excuse to get Ava to come down to the arena before you guys go out. We’ll get you the ring back before she can even notice it’s gone. Okay?” You just nod. Even though there’s now momentarily less than a year between you, you feel very young, inexplicably, with Shawn hovering over you; it’s like there’s an invisible safe place extending through the lines of his body bent close to yours, as though all you have to do is fold yourself into the spaces of him and everything will be alright.   Resisting the desire to give into it is becoming harder the longer you sit like this. Again, as though he knows, Shawn pulls away from you and stands up. He flexes his right hand a little, like it hurts, glancing at his phone as it pings. “I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” “Shawn.” You jump to your feet when he reaches the door. It’s just Shawn, you think, berating yourself. You’re not scared of him. “Thank you. I uh, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The vaguely odd look on his face from Spain returns. You flush a little. You want to bend beneath it but you refuse to. Shawn smiles. “You too, El.” 

tour prep; before “Uh oh,” Ava says. Shawn pulls his earbuds out to find you standing over him and the couch, fuming. “You’re in for it now.” Your sister barely looks up from her book. “That’s her offended face.”  He looks like he’s about to laugh. It only stokes the flame. You hold out your phone, paused on Shawn’s Hot Ones interview. He looks from it to you, before a dawning comprehension lights his eyes. “Hang on–” “I’m so appalled at you, Shawn Peter Raul Mendes.”  Shawn visibly winces; Ava actually barks a laugh and he shoots her a murderous glare before looking at you again. “Don’t start El,” he says, a little pleading. It doesn’t work. “I can’t believe you would disgrace Harry Potter like this.” You stab at your phone and everyone listens as Shawn’s voice says, “They just like mean nothing. Sorry to all the Harry Potter fans who are offended by that, but I could I care less about Hufflepuff.” “Cedric Diggory did not die for you to slander his house,” you say, pointing accusingly at him. You crack a smile, just so Shawn knows you’re not actually mortally wounded. He sits up from his horizontal lounge. “Neither did Tonks.”  Shawn reaches forward and yanks your lanyard from where it dangles out of your pocket. Your house, school gym locker, and arena office keys you keep for Ava jangle against the tiny clay mint chocolate chip ice cream cone that Hannah bought you last year. The burgundy fabric and gold house letters and stars swivel as he holds it up.  “Says the Gryffindor.” “I’ve sat through the full sorting quiz at least four times.” You go to take your keys back. Your fingers tangle beneath Shawn’s and there’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, as though he might actually play tug of war with you. But he doesn’t. “I’m only like ten percent more Gryffindor than Hufflepuff. But it still wins out, every time.” “I’m leaving,” Ava announces, and strides to the green room door. “You two dorks can battle it out. Just no duelling, okay?” “Way to abandon me!” Shawn calls after her. He fixes you with an amused grin. “Did you actually sit through a thirty minute video of me when we were sitting like four feet apart?” You’re almost immune to the blush now. “Hannah sent it. And don’t change the subject! You’re at least half a Hufflepuff and you don’t even know it.” He raises an eyebrow. You start ticking things off your fingers. “You’d rather hug people than fight, you tried to help James up after he was the worst skater I’ve ever seen–” Shawn snorts. His ears are slowly turning red, but you won’t stop. “You shake the hand of every person working every new arena we go to. You’re so loyal to your fans that you’re almost late to rehearsal all the time because you can’t stop taking pictures with them.” “You don’t think I’m brave?” He asks then, a challenge and a genuine question at the same time. This is probably one of the most ridiculous conversations you’ve ever had, but your battered copy of Deathly Hallows in your bag compels you try and get him to understand. Hannah and Ava indulge you, more than anything. But they don’t get it.  Shawn’s Carpool Karaoke had made you laugh so hard you cried. But you know that if he was willing to do the skit, if he was willing to show that to the world, then his love for these kids’ stories is just as big as yours. It’s stupid probably, that this is still such an important part of your life. But it is. “I’ve honestly never met anyone as brave as you.” The admission is out before you can temper it with a joke. His open surprise almost dries up the rest of your words inside your mouth. “I could never do what you do and put myself and my art out there. But that’s not...” You flick your eyes away, and then back.  “Not what?”  There’s so much more weight here now than you thought. “That’s not what I admire most about you.” It’s crazy what eight weeks of non-stop touring and almost nine months of intermittent covert contact with someone will do to your understanding of them. Shawn’s looking at you like it’s hard for him for the first time, as though he’s afraid of what you might say. Fondness twists inside you.  Well, this is happening. “You have a good heart, Shawn. It’s amazing how much you care about other people.” You’re definitely not immune to the blush anymore. “And that’s the most Hufflepuff anyone can be.”

You’ve never seen Shawn speechless before. It’s oddly satisfying. “El...” “Also,” you say in a rush, because this is all getting a little much, “I didn’t know you made such a great Dumbledore.” His laugh is so loud that Ava pokes her head back inside the room. Shawn looks at you and shakes his head a little, like he can’t quite believe you’re a real person. You should probably be embarrassed. But you feel warm instead. “You’re ridiculous.” You shrug. “As long as you don’t go around bad mouthing Hufflepuffs anymore. Badgers are vicious, you know.” Another head shake. “Whatever you say.”

copenhagen; now “Hey I’m back,” Ava says just as you nearly burn yourself with your flat iron. “You getting ready?” “Almost done,” you call from the bathroom. Wrangling your normally quite flat hair into something resembling a curl is normally a challenge you could do without, but this is a special occasion. Your sister meets your eyes in the mirror. You drop your left hand beneath the countertop. “What?” “Is that what you’re wearing?”  You look down at yourself. “What, you don’t like this dress? Did you buy it for me?”  Ava rolls her eyes. “Well yeah, but it hardly says, ‘I graduated from high school with honours with distinction and a half-point away from valedictorian.” “I didn’t pack it,” you tell her. You’ve been holding onto this secret for weeks. It’s a bit of a relief to confess to it. “The dress from Nashville. I didn’t want to just remind you of what we’re missing on this tour. It seemed silly to bring a dress we got for an event we’re not even going to.” Your sister makes a face, an almost annoyed affection. “You’re the weirdest kid ever.” Before you can reply, she disappears back into your room. You turn off your flat iron and contemplate your only three lipsticks.  “This one,” Ava says, picking up the mauve rose. “And put this on while I shower, will you?” She’s holding an armful of cream lace. Your ‘don’t cry’ mandate wavers for a second. “But–” “Remember the night before we left? I went through your closet looking for my sweater.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “I told you I didn’t have it!”  Your sister waves your objection away. “I saw you left this.” Ava reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “Just because we’re not there doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, Lenny. You still accomplished something amazing. And this is what you should wear when we celebrate.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry.  You have to take four deep breaths in a row.  Your mascara holds.  * “I’m sorry about this,” she says as you step carefully out of the car in your heels. You shake your fingers a little through your hair; your wrist clinks and jangles. Despite your birthday ring on your right hand, Ava still hasn’t noticed what’s missing. “Sometimes I swear all these boys would be lost without me.” “It’s fine,” you assure her. “I want to see the final set up anyway. I never get to see the whole thing.” Because Shawn insists on using real flowers as much as possible, final touches are never made until the last minute, by which time you’re either sequestered in the green room or back at the hotel. Though, you like to set out the signs and green bags for compost as crowds leave the venue yourself. Andrew will take no chances; you care too much about the success of Shawn’s third world tour to even want to argue. You and Ava show your crew badges to a woman at the very back entrance, weaving your way through long concrete halls. It’s hard to decide if the fact that all these backstage spaces look the same is disturbing or comforting. Your sister waves at Paul, who has his walkie talkie to his mouth as he nods at you.  “Hey Paul, I got a message about some kind of emergency? Where’s Shawn?” “He’s down on the floor,” Paul says, pointing down the hall to the huge set of double doors. Her heels echo on the concrete. He turns to you. “Hello there, little one. I’m told a celebration’s in order?” You tuck hair back behind your ears. “I was supposed to graduate today. We’re just gonna go out instead.” Paul’s eyes are warm. You think about his own daughter, a twenty-one year old college student whose photos make the security agent smile more widely than you’ve ever seen. “Congratulations.” Your chest twinges through your smile, though you’re suddenly not even sure why. But then you remember why you’re here. Even with Ava safely out of earshot, you lower your voice a little. “Do you know where Cam is, Paul? He has something of mine that I really need back.” The man nods. “He’s up helping onstage. Here come on, I’ll walk you.” You glance down the hall where your sister has disappeared. “Don’t worry Ellie. We’ll make sure you two find each other.” So you follow. Hall, doorway, hall, doorway. You can see the stairs leading up onto the stage. You don’t know why you’re hesitating. It’s suddenly occurred to you that while the crew and the band have seen you at your worst, they’ve never seen you like this; waves in your hair, heels that stretch your legs, a dress that bares skin you’ve never shown anyone. It doesn’t matter, exactly. And yet... Shawn’s never seen you like this either.  You don’t know why the thought makes you so nervous.  “You look beautiful, by the way.” Paul says, as though he can read your mind. “I wouldn’t worry.” You flush. “Thank you. But I might need help on those stairs,” He just chuckles. “Please.” “Alright then.” From inside the arena you hear a distant shout. Light pours onto the stage. Paul holds out his hand; you squeeze a little harder than is probably necessary but he doesn’t seem to mind.  The smell of roses invades everything else. You have to blink against the brightness, until tall figures take shape across the stage floor and you can finally see it. “Wow.” Garlands of roses dangle from the steel ring electric above the stage; white forget-me-nots and vines twist around the speakers; the entire back panel that reaches up towards the screens is covered in blossoms and dotted with lights; petals – pink, white, red – are strewn all over the floor. The piano on B stage is open and exploding with even more flowers.  “Wow is right.” Brian, leaning a little on his mic stand, nods at you. Geoff is grinning. “I told you we were underdressed.” Your face heats immediately. “Underdressed for what?” Acoustic guitar reaches your ears. “Is that–” You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Is that Pomp and Circumstance?” Something lands on your head and dangles in your field of vision. You tug; a blue graduation cap falls into your stunned hands.  “Welcome everyone,” says a voice. Mike stands at the top centre of the stage. A single rose snakes to the top of Shawn’s stand. “to a very special pre-show.” Now that you’re actually onstage looking out, almost the entire technical crew is assembled on the floor. Ava leans against the barrier. She looks just as surprised as you. A spotlight bursts to life; you stare down at the circle edge at your feet. It’s so warm beneath the glare; you look up towards the hotspot and shield your eyes. “Is this really necessary, Kristen?” you shout.   “Put the cap on, graduate!” calls the voice of the lighting tech from somewhere above. Someone else hoots from the floor; applause fills the arena and suddenly your knees are shaking. Paul reappears at your shoulder, plucking the cap from your hands. He places it very gently on your head again, winding the tassel so it swings in and out of view of your right eye.  Paul steers you further downstage, closer to the edge. Mike is holding a scroll of paper tied with a blue ribbon, and on the far side, you finally see Shawn, plucking away at the processional song on his guitar. You could be misreading the look on his face, one that catches your breath in your throat, but there is no mistaking the awkward twang as his hand slips.  Geoff and Brian laugh. Shawn doesn’t seem to notice. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” says Mike with a grin once the bad final note fades, “Please welcome the Shawn Mendes Tour class of 2019, Eleanor May Sinclair.”  You haven’t heard your full name in so long. You’re frozen, until heavy hands land on your shoulders. “Go on, little one.” Paul leans his head close to yours. “If you don’t make it all the way across, all the kid’s planning’ll have been for nothing.” A certain, secret wall in your heart caves in. The magnet of Shawn’s gaze pulls you forward. Emotion you don’t even fully understand stirs in your chest, which becomes a genuine pain when you reach Mike and he hands you the scroll of paper. “I know that your parents would have loved to see you take this walk, Ellie. But we just want you to know that you are very much part of our family.” You chance a look out to the floor. Ava is crying; you have to turn back to the sound engineer. His gaze is so tender and you remember abruptly that he has kids, too. “We love you. And we’re so proud of you.” Mike’s hands squeeze yours. Your mom’s ring presses into your palm. You can’t speak so your mouth forms a silent thank you. He nods. “Congratulations.” Wrapping both hands around the underside of your fake diploma, you slide it onto your finger. Only when it’s back can you find the courage to look across the stage again. You think about how this moment, this rite of passage, has scared you for almost as long as you’ve been working towards it, because even though Ava is the best sister you could ever ask for, she knows that there is a hole in your heart that will never be filled. You look at Shawn now and it’s like he knows too, still. You flash back to earlier in the hotel room, to how you’d dangled on the edges of a safe place with him. Just get to Shawn. But before you can take more than two steps away from Mike, he’s shaking his head at you. You stop. Shawn mimes a motion across his forehead and you suddenly remember the cap. He gestures outwards, at a view that’s normally only his. You look out towards the floor.  You turn your tassel with a trembling hand and the crew erupts with cheers. Shawn claps in your direction, grinning. You stare at his smile until it blurs in a prism of too-bright light; it’s more than five steps to the other side of the stage but you only get that far before he’s there. You might fall into him a little but it doesn’t matter, because Shawn just pulls you in.  In your heels, you can actually wrap your arms around his neck. The cap falls. Shawn’s hands land on your bare shoulder and your back, calluses on skin. You shiver. His nose presses into your temple as Shawn speaks softly into your hair, just above your ear. “I know you’ve been trying to keep it together.” You're shaking again. His arms tighten around you. “I know I’m not who you want right now. But I wanted you to have this, okay, El? You deserve it.” You press your eyes shut a little harder, but tears slide down nonetheless. “I’m here, if you need me.” You find a grip on the soft cotton of his shirt. “I’ve got you.”  Shawn’s fingers trail up and down the length of your spine, which only makes you shiver more; he pulls you, almost impossibly, closer.  “Andrew’s gonna kill me,” he says, and you laugh before you can stop yourself.  “His Skype meeting is almost over.” It’s enough that you can step back and wipe your face with a weak laugh. “God, I’m a mess.” 

Shawn smiles with just one side of his mouth. “No,” he says, and you’re too overwhelmed to move when he reaches up and brushes at a tear with the heel of his hand. “Not at all.”   There it is again: that look. “Okay okay, give me my sister back.” Ava’s eyes are red. She squeezes so tight it aches, before holding you by the shoulders and nodding firmly. “Where’s that cap? We need photos.” “No,” you protest, but your sister’s already found it and Shawn’s already pulled out his phone. “This is happening.” Ava drags you back to centre stage. “You guys too,” she calls. Brian, Geoff, Paul, and Mike lope forward. “And you.” Ava grabs at Shawn’s wrist before he can jump off the stage. “I can’t believe you pulled this off right under my nose.” His grin is cheeky and proud. “Learned to plan from the best.” You line up in a row. As Cam struggles with Shawn’s fancy new phone, the boys hoot and holler. You end up sandwiched between your sister and Paul; from behind Ava’s back, something brushes your hand. Shawn glances over Ava’s head, and then away.  He hooks his pinky into yours. “Ready?” Cam calls. You drag your eyes forward. “One, two, three!” The flash bursts colour across your vision. For once, you don’t mind.  (part six)

[justaramblingromantic]

Counterstrike

Characters/Pairing: Kobayashi Rindou and Tsukasa Eishi/EiRin

Type: Fantasy/Medieval!AU, Dragon Heart!verse, Freestyle

Word Count: 4226

A/N: Er. Apparently I’m in a Dragon Heart type of mood lately? This plot has been sitting in my drafts for a while, but every time I dust it off and try to edit it, it gets longer. >.> So I’ve given up and am just gonna put this up as it is. Enjoy! 

She got very restless and annoyed sometimes, especially when those human females flitted around him and simpered at him, batting wide doe eyes and limpid, dewy expressions. Many of those elegant noblewomen were delicate and beautiful, and their striking appearances reminded her of dazzlingly colorful, fluttering butterflies. She normally liked butterflies, but right now she just felt like ripping out some wings. Watching them fawn over the White Knight and flirt coyly at him, subtly enticing and encouraging his pursuit made her hackles rise, her claws come out, her lips curling, fangs flashing.

This ball was a waste of time, and it was also infuriating her enough that in the midst of it, the redhead had retreated to one of the large, open verandas that bordered the massive ballroom. The dragoness was currently perched precariously on the stone ledge, an impressive feat considering the fact that she had been put in a rather elaborate, floor length ball gown just for the sake of attending this royal gala in the grand palace of Tootsuki. Her clothes were ridiculously floofy and ungainly and she really did not know how all these women in the palace managed to float effortlessly around all evening in these cumbersome getup and uncomfortable dancing slippers. Speaking of which, she very quickly shucked off the delicate satin shoes and kicked them aside, wriggling her cramped toes with relief even as she idly swung her bare heels back and forth against the outer walls of the parapets.

The golden eyed female was quickly coming to the conclusion that she really disliked living in the palace, with its many, many rules and regulations and snooty human beings who constantly frowned with disapproval and lectured, lived and breathed propriety. How boring. This was the world that Eishi had come from – she had not known what she had been expecting at first but this was something of a disappointment. Weren’t the lives of knights supposed to be filled with excitement and adventure?

Apparently, when the gallant champions of the realm weren’t being sent off on grand conquests or important quests, they all stuck around the palace pandering to the whims and wishes of their monarchs and their immediate family, power mongering and playing dangerously intricate political games, powdering bottoms and changing nappies…

Many mortal lives were ruled by mundaneness and trivialities; she silently agreed with the observations of a distant ancestor.

Rindou tilted her head back and gazed over the glittering skies above her. Even the beautiful blanket of stars seemed muted here in the heart of Tootsuki, subdued and lacking luster, nothing like the vivid, brilliantly glittering view of the celestials that she had grown up accustomed to, high up the sheer alpine altitudes…

What even was she doing here, she could not help but wonder, and not for the first time. Trying to adapt to live amongst the humans like the other dragons of Tootsuki had discreetly over successive generations, having to hide away her fangs and claws like they were something to be ashamed of just because she was now surrounded by weak, defenseless beings with blunt teeth and soft nails, told to relearn her way of life altogether because she had to behave like a proper civilized being now…as if she had been something lesser all along…and for what??

She was still pure dragon under that veneer of instructed civility and sophistication, she was still a beast, a wild thing under that layer of deceptively harmless human skin…

She did not belong here.

“The heck are you sulking over here for?”

The presence that she sensed approaching was Kuga, and the Huang Long came to a stop beside the brooding female, though he refrained from climbing onto the parapets like she had.

Rindou flicked him a dispassionate glance. “M’not sulking,” she uttered in denial, though her imperial companion merely snorted in response, unconvinced.

“Really? Was kinda obvious that you were glaring daggers at the gaggle of followers wandering after your favorite toy like moon eyed calves.”

Her gaze sharpened even more, and she started to look vaguely irritated. “He’s not my favorite anything and I don’t care about what he does or whom he does them with,” she denied vehemently…though the fact that she was able to recognize and identify just whom he was referring to was already indictive that he had hit the nail right on the head.

The Chinese dragon looked vaguely amused. “So it’s fine with you that he’s goin’ off right now with one of those women who’s been tryin’ to lure him all night?”

As anticipated, his announcement garnered a reaction.

“What.” Her raw growl of displeasure was accompanied by her turning her head quickly to look through the open veranda doors to verify the authenticity of his statement.

Of course it was a lie, or at least part of it was. Eishi was still surrounded by admirers but instead of looking like he was ready to go off with one of them, he just seemed to be politely trying to put up with their bewildering (to him) interest in him. The white-haired noble was also looking like he was increasingly desperate for some sort of intervention, but none were forthcoming. Such was the fate of one who still happened to be uncoupled and very much desirable in terms of lineage, position and appearance in the royal court...

The Chinese Dragon had basically said what he said to gain a rise out of her. Queen she might be, but Rindou was also relatively inexperienced and a bit strange, to say the least.

What self-respecting dragoness would express interest in a human Knight, of all creatures?? And she had even gone so far as to extend a claim on him, albeit an informal one. Such a precedent was downright unheard of, and the notion also not entirely welcomed.

“Heh. You don’t care, am I right?” The young Huang Long was gleeful, his point made.

Rindou‘s glare was positively deadly, but this time, she made no further refutations claiming otherwise.

“What’s with your fascination with him, anyway?” Kuga asked. The younger dragon could not quite comprehend what she saw in the white knight. In terms of physical ability, he was perhaps above average…for a human being, at least. Her interest could be better invested on their own kind, other dragons which were all stronger and much more superior to the one she had chosen, actual potential mates who could build a lasting legacy by her side. Queens made highly desirable mates not only because of their rarity amongst the dragonic ranks, but mostly due to the fact that any union with one would almost certainly guarantee robust, powerful offspring.

The Tootsuki Knight, while admittedly incredibly impressive with his tactics and the peculiarly meticulous deployment of his soldiers on the battlefield like a champion chess master placing his pawns, was weaker physically even when compared to some of his fellow human contemporaries. His personality was also oddly gentle and placid for one who was trained and seasoned for warfare and bloodshed, and he was rather contradictory and confusing in character, though possibly unintentionally so. Perhaps that was what had caught the redhead’s attention?

The bicolored haired male looked at the dragoness beside him and sobered somewhat.

“You do know that he is an aristocrat, right? Humans like their kind are expected to marry equal or above his station. You probably are just something exotic and thus momentarily interesting to him.”

His observations were mild, but his warning was perfectly serious. She just gave him an unamused, gimlet stare, but Kuga was undaunted. He shrugged at her.

“What? You know I speak the truth. How many stories of these supposedly chivalrous knights have we all heard growing up? Did you forget why dragons were even forced to interbreed with humans in the first place?”

Rindou’s reaction was simple. She reached over and smacked the younger dragon over the back of his head, imperial blood or not, much to his aggravated scowl.

“You speak as though I’m completely useless and unable to defend myself,” she pointed out. “Do you think I’d be the lamb being led to slaughter?”

Kuga cocked his head to the side.

“Dare you say that you’re not, Rindou?”

“Yes. For all you know, I’m the one leading this human about by the nose,” she exclaimed harshly. “I’m gonna be using him, not the other way around.”

“Then how come you’re sulking out here all on your own, o’ great dragoness?”

Her brow was ticking with annoyance. Kuga was not wrong. Rindou clambered onto her bare feet and hopped down lithely back onto the stone floor of the balcony, determined to prove him incorrect all the same.

“I’m not.”

Hiking her voluminous skirts up to nearly her knees (scandalous, really), the redhead sailed back into the warm ballroom filled with too many warm bodies and made a beeline right for the scion of the Tsukasa House.

She wasn’t being very delicate, nor did she ‘float’ across the gigantic ballroom in an ethereal manner- if anything, the tempestuous dragoness lowered her head like an aggravated bull and plowed through the throngs of milling crowd and well-heeled members of the noble class. She ignored the gasps and exclamations of shock and surprise rippling out and away from her location and headed straight to where Eishi was. The man was still besieged by his admirers, a fact which in itself already made her irritated beyond belief, for reasons she was utterly refusing to acknowledge.

The red-haired female no-nonsensely shoved her way into the group of young women, stomping on toes and digging her elbows into sides to get ahead of this crowd. The gentlewomen were no match for her determined motions. They were indignant like ruffled geese with their feathers all askew, but none of them quite dared to pit themselves against the barbaric beast that had forced its way into their midst, however openly unappreciated and unwelcomed her presence was. Not that Rindou cared a whit. The opinions of humans had never really been a top priority to her… Those of other dragons too, actually. She did whatever she pleased and went everywhere she wanted, and that was all she cared about.

At last, she popped out from the front of the crowd, stepped up to her human, and she slipped in front of him. She rounded the crowd and bared her sharp, pointy incisors a little, enjoying their dismayed and cowed flinches just a little too much. She also went straight to the point, seeing no reason to beat around the bush when she could nip this in the bud right there and then.

Subtlety, thy name is not Kobayashi Rindou.

“Ladies~ This one is mine until further notice…or does any one of you wishes to challenge me for him?” Her throaty drawl grew dangerously silken towards the end of her testy, prickly question. She hoped some would be bold enough to do just that. It had been absolutely boring temporarily grounded in this palace with nothing exciting to do, and playing keep away from Eishi (and frustrating him to no end) could only keep her preoccupied for so long.

Her glittering, preternatural gold eyes scanned the fidgeting crowd with predatory sharp disdain. The ripple of unease and averted gazes just about said it all. She scoffed.

“I thought as much.”

“Sir Eishi is not yours,” one of the louder voices safely hidden in the crowd rang out then. “Know your place.”

Rindou smirked. Her grin was all ivory and fang, much to the horror of her seething female audience. The palace’s etiquette master that the Queen of Tootsuki had assigned to personally oversee her lessons in royal court protocols and proper decorum was probably passed out in a dead faint somewhere back in the wings of this massive ballroom by now, done in by her complete disregard of all of his ridiculous rules and dos and don’ts in courtly mannerisms. Bleh.

“Oh, but I do know my place~” she purred. She shifted a step back to stand beside him, and then she leaned nonchalantly, scandalously close, subtly brushing his side, further taunting her furious detractors. If looks could kill, Rindou thought mirthfully that she would be dead a few times over right there and then. She started to grow genuinely amused.

Her white-haired companion was silent, his head turned to the elusive female who had been evading him successfully for the last few weeks but was now coming out so blatantly for him like this. His lavender gaze scrutinized her…but he did not protest her bold claim.  

“Excuse me,” she drawled. “I’ve got a virtuous Knight to corrupt and lead down the path of depravity. He’s too good to ruin himself, after all~”

Without another word, she grabbed him and pulled him across the ballroom to the closest exit, pointedly ignoring the scandalous murmurs and faintly amused expressions of some of the other dragonic allies intermingled amongst the crowd.

Nobody stopped them this time, and the two were able to head straight out and away from the festivities and down the passageway before anyone could say otherwise. Freedom at last! Had Rindou known that this was what it took to get out of attending this tedious event, she would have done this hours ago.

“Rindou,” Eishi only spoke once they were some distance from the grand ballroom. She paused to look at him, and abruptly remembering that she was still holding his hand, she let go…only for him to catch her withdrawing fingers and grab onto her, squeezing her digits with his own. She came to a complete stop since it seemed like he wanted to say something.

“What is it? Don’t read too much into my words – I only said ‘em to aggravate the others,” she promptly told him dismissively. That, and the fact that she really hadn’t liked the idea of other females fawning over him…but he didn’t need to know that.

He seemed vaguely disappointed by her declaration, much to her bemusement.

“Why do you look unhappy?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any further. “Did you actually want to stay surrounded by those lady admirers of yours?”

“No, that’s not it,” he denied immediately, keeping his tone as level as possible. “What you said earlier-”

“Leading you down the path of ruin and corruption?” she interrupted. “Like I said, I was being sarcastic-”

“That’s not what I was trying to point out,” he tried to wrest the conversation back before she could run off with it again. By now he was quickly realizing that subtlety and gentle directions/implications from him were completely lost on her. If he wanted her attention, the only way that he was going to get it was to be upfront and as blunt as possible. Forcefully, even.

“But I won’t mind that if you weren’t.”

She stared at him. He quickly grabbed the chance to continue. “What do you mean, ‘I’m yours until further notice?’”

She blinked at him.

This was what he was bothered about?

“You did once say that I can use you as much as I want to,” she pointed out. “That means you’re mine to do as I please.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t what he was currently concerned about, actually.

“Until further notice,” he repeated determinedly, his eyes meeting hers. “What do you mean by that?”

She was starting to get increasingly bewildered by his leading questions.

“It means you’re mine until you’re not…?”

If anything, her reply made his usually distant gaze sharpen, until he was almost frowning at her. She frowned back.

“What?”

He was visibly frustrated with her response.

“And who gets to decide that?”

Why was he nitpicking the details now? Did it matter?

Of course it did. It mattered because there were others also intent on gaining a foothold into her affection and he had no intention on sharing. Without another word, he took advantage of their connection and tugged her along with him, moving fluidly through the hallways and turning corners with a sure, knowing assurance that spoke of familiarity.

Eventually, he led them both to the guest wing of the enormous palace, and pulled her into the set of rooms reserved for the House of Tsukasa whenever he was obligated to stay in the royal quarters.

Slipping into the suite unobtrusively, he shut the door behind them and proceeded to back her against the vertical surface. His expression was very determined, and she stared at him, still wondering what he was up to.

He reached for her, lifted his hand and touched her bare neck. Fingertips scarred and callused from a life of wielding deadly weaponries and waging war in the name of Tootsuki were now incredibly gentle as he traced a line up the length of her jaw, long, lean digits at last capturing her chin and tilting her face up to meet his gaze. She stilled at his contact, and there was a quiet intensity in his pale lavender eyes as he stared at her, trapping her as effectively as any snare would.

It was imperative that she understood that he was dead serious.

“I want you.”

Her brow furrowed at the soft, candid declaration. “You mean ‘to rut with?’” she asked bluntly. She obviously wasn’t entirely oblivious about the natural mechanics that went on between the different genders, but he was hardpressed not to shift at her matter of fact reply all the same.

“I…-” His mind went momentarily blank at the thought of being intimate with her. “Yes.” He forged on quickly before he could get distracted by his own bold admission. “But not just that. I want you.”

She did not understand what he was trying to say. Her head canted slightly to the side, and he took advantage of the moment to edge in.

He could talk all he wanted, but he was coming around to the understanding that it would be the most effective just to show her.

Long fingers slowly closed around her slender neck, gentle as always, and then he paused, watching her closely for her reaction. She did not appear threatened by his action and continued to stare at him, more bemused by his demeanor than upset. She was also calm, unflustered, standing so close before him – a casual, unshakable confidence in herself that was nothing like the faux coy, trained maidenly wiles of most female nobility. Her honesty and forthrightness were intoxicating. He slowly leaned closer, allured by the candor in her bright, catlike eyes, the guilelessness reflected on her striking, beautiful features.

His thumb stretched out, softly stroked the side of her bared throat, right over where her pulse beat, thrumming slowly and steadily at first, but slowly fluttering faster as he nudged her head back, exposing more of her neck, his head lowering slowly, eying her quietly until he could no longer do so, and then he pressed his mouth against her pulse, lips tender against her soft, warm flesh, lingering. She stopped moving altogether at his unexpectedly bold move, and it seemed like she had stopped breathing as well.

His tongue gently touched her skin, lapping a slow, deliberate line along the side of her neck, and she shivered at the sensation…but she did not push him away. Encouraged, he kissed her some more, making use of her curiosity in this new, foreign but delightfully pleasurable activity to further press his advantage. The neck and the side of the throat were especially sensitive places for a dragon, or so he had observed of mated pairs. It seemed that there was meaning in lavishing his attention there, and sure enough, she jerked and pulled away when he nipped her experimentally.

Rindou immediately slapped her hand over the faintly stinging area, staring at him with faint accusation.

“Don’t bite me there!” she demanded, skittish.

He looked at her. “Why not?” His voice was lower, growing just a tad husky, his eyes darkening in a way that made her pause again, distracted by the glint of hunger that she could see in those usually passive depths. He did not look meek and gentle right there and then, but…more dangerous. She was not aware that he could look like that. She shifted, but there wasn’t anywhere she could go, already backed up against the door by him…

“You’re gonna leave a claim mark, that’s why!” she snapped, only for him to press in quickly and repeat what he had done earlier, peeling her hand off the faintly reddened area and biting down even harder. She yelped, her knees going weak, automatically submitting to his bite. His human teeth did not break skin but it elicited the same effect. She whined low in her throat, and then-

Wait a moment-

She batted him away again, scowling and flustered.

“What do you think you are doing?” she questioned in a sharper, disgruntled hiss, but much to her chagrin, he was hardly daunted by her bluster. Now that he knew what button to push to get her to relent for him, he was eager to test his limits. Another deliberate nip had her whimpering again, her fingers curling automatically into the front of his tunic, no longer pushing him away rather more like holding him, and he liked that, leaning in even more to pin her against the door, pressing chaste kisses along her neck, just reveling in this dizzying intimacy. She was letting him close, albeit mostly because she was faintly confused and overwhelmed by his unexpected ardor, torn between desiring him and wanting to avoid him…but he was making it impossible for her to accomplish the latter. A forceful individual he was not, but he was unmatched when it came to determination.

And he was incredibly determined to convey his intention to her.

His hands slipped lower, ghosting along her sides, coming to a rest around the dip of her slender waist, settling just above the flare of her soft hips. His fingers gripped her firmly then, instinctively tugging her to him, and another soft, tender bite had her gasping, liquid heat shooting through her, squeezing her thighs together at the blinding spike of need that his action derived. The redhead gave it up as a lost cause then, turning her head to meet his mouth with her own. She pushed back against him, never one to let herself to be led around blindly for too long.

Their lips coming together made her breath catch unwittingly in her throat. His proximity, his warmth, his mouth pressed to hers made her head go fuzzy and then completely blank altogether, and it was both an incredibly thrilling and alarming experience at the same time. She felt disoriented, not in control, and for someone who was used to spending the last many years on her own, depending on herself, he made her teeter off balance. As always.

She started to withdraw, a bit spooked by her own reaction, but then he parted his lips, traced his tongue along the seam of her mouth, before ravenously, firmly, sealing his mouth over hers. She moaned at the marvelously intoxicating sensation. His eagerness and ardor were hard to pull away from, and he was done restraining himself. He wanted her with a ferocious hunger. Desire ignited quickly; he coaxed her into play with him, and his gentleness was a stark contrast to how tightly he was holding onto her right now, as if he would never let her go. His tongue slipped between her lips, traced her teeth and gums, caressed hers in return. He nibbled, licked and suckled at her slick flesh until all of her objections and reservations were washed away by the tide of his deliberate seduction.

She was breathing hard when they at last separated for air, gold slit eyes heavy and half lidded, cheeks flushed, lips red and kiss swollen. His lavender gaze quietly darkened at the lovely sight.

“What are you doing to me?” she mumbled, almost in distress, limbs trembling faintly, physically shaken by his sensual onslaught. She could only cling onto him at the moment, trying her hardest to recover her strength. This lack of control was disturbing, and the corner of her plump lips pulled down a bit, as if she was unsure how to react to him now.

He quietly nosed her hair, holding her in an embrace that was so tender and filled with unspoken affection. Something in her chest was struggling to break free at the way he was looking at her. She bit her lip hard to contain that feeling, and it was a challenge not to avert her gaze from him. He offered pleasure like an intoxicating drug, and she was wary of getting addicted to him. He could be so frighteningly intense, she did not quite know what to do with this side of him…

If only she would understand that this feeling of utter freefall was mutual.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he murmured, struggling to keep his voice even, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. His blood sang with giddy want whenever she was near. She affected him like no others could, and he could not seem to stop touching her. His mouth quietly brushed against the shell of her ear, and she shuddered, helpless.

“I’m claiming you back.”

[lilysmytheuk]

“A Critical Analysis of Humbert Humbert’s Psychological State in Vladimir Nabokov’s Modern Masterpiece Lolita” by Lily Smythe

Purchase on Amazon UK here

Vladimir Nabokov’s 1952 Modern classic Lolita[1] does little to refute the image of a deeply disturbed, unpredictable, widowed stepfather from its readers; his words encapsulate a maelstrom of emotion riddled with contradictions. 

Narrator Humbert Humbert, is undoubtedly accountable for his seditious crimes ranging from paedophilia to murder and abduction, yet still begs for compassion ‘Please reader, no matter your exasperation’[2] and the chance to explain himself: ‘do not skip these essential pages!’[3] Despite acknowledging his ‘incomplete and unorthodox memory’,[4] Lolita’s narrative provides sufficient textual evidence to suggest that his inability to retell events coherently is nothing more than a clever ruse to mitigate his crimes. Humbert emits a dubious reluctance to explore the ‘deeper and darker waters’[5] of himself; an unwillingness to reveal his true character as if afraid of exposing something nefarious. Inferred by the reader early on, this is in fact the crux of the argument: is Humbert Humbert insane or is he simply pleading insanity as an attempt to diminish responsibility for his crimes? A fundamental technique used to achieve this lies in Humbert’s expertise in ambiguity. Considered a shield against his own self-loathing and the realisation of his wrongdoing,[6] it negates his ability to recall events accurately despite his claim as a ‘very conscientious recorder’[7]. The fallacy of his memory is prevalent in his confusion in chronology, companions and even locations. There is scope to suggest that this could well be an attempt to obscure important facts from the reader that may encroach on Humbert’s true nature and are therefore deliberate actions to achieve his overarching objective: to rid himself of the burdens he carries from engaging in an immoral and illegal relationship with a twelve-year-old girl. 

Another example of the aforementioned ambiguity occurs shortly after Humbert proclaims is love for Lolita, when he receives a letter. Humbert teases the reader: ‘The hollow of my hand was still ivory-full of Lolita.... She had a message for me… an unstamped, curiously clean-looking letter in my shaking hand. This is a confession: I love you (so the letter began; and for a distorted moment I mistook its hysterical scrawl for a schoolgirl's scribble) … Pray for me —if you ever pray. CH’[8]. He leaves the original author unknown until the very last minute: ‘CH’[9] (Charlotte Haze). For the entirety of the passage, the reader may be forgiven for believing the letter to have come from Lolita, thus suggesting a longing inside Humbert’s to cling to the fantasy of a requited and accepted relationship with the young girl, consequently offering a glimpse at the ‘darker’ side of his character. Moreover, it reveals a craving to tell the story as he desires, even if it means bending the truth in order to achieve a more wholesome image of himself, thus fuelling the case against him as not insane, just unreliable. Though Humbert does state, in his own defence: ‘such suffusions of swimming colours are not to be disdained by the artist in recollection’[10], implying any errors, omissions or misconceptions are inevitable when creating art to which he considers his manuscript to be. Still, not long after this admission, Humbert again contradicts himself on the vague nature of his own work, stating he felt his ‘slippery self-eluding’[11] his responsibility to not only tell the story but also to explain his actions. His alliterative choice of lexis could have multiple connotations, for instance the whole phrase could have simply been a Freudian Slip[12], returning in support to the argument that Humbert may be intentionally masking aspects of his character.

Nonetheless, in true Humbert style, Lolita proves he subverts his own defence that his work is unavoidably erroneous whilst expanding his considerations of himself as a ‘very conscientious recorder’[13]. Whilst explaining his plans to marry Charlotte over the phone to Lolita, he discusses his ‘artistic duty’[14], priding himself in his capability to recall events straight from his journal accurately. Furthermore, there are frequent occasions where his memory is uncannily precise. He even goes so far as to claim the ‘courtesy of a photographic memory’[15]. Entire diary entries are included as well as half of the aforementioned confessional letter written to him by Charlotte, to which he claims to remember verbatim but then later refutes[16]. The reader is informed that he chose to remove the part about Charlotte’s brother[17] and it is suggested that the letter going into ‘the vortex of the toilet’[18] may have been a total fabrication altogether. Ultimately, this implies Humbert considers himself practically omnipotent in terms of his narration; it becomes clear that he chooses what he does and does not inform the reader of, inevitably leading to doubt not only in Humbert’s reliability but also his judgement and moral character. Having changed parts of Charlotte’s letter and his continuation to confuse events, arguably in an effort to gain the reader’s sympathies, his unreliability soon leads to a questioning whether his altering of the facts is limited solely to Charlotte’s letter. Nabokov has often been heavily criticised for the text supposedly advocating an ‘aesthetic bliss’[19] that encourages a structure in which the reader sympathises not with the so-called victim of the crime but with the perpetrator instead. In On a Book Entitled Lolita,[20] Nabokov stated that he does not share Humbert’s morals and disagrees with him on several other subjects[21] yet Lolita essayist Ellen Pifer[22] argues that many critics remain unconvinced, simply because they have missed the subtleties Nabokov intended.

The origin of the notion that Humbert may actually be suffering from more than just dishonesty, and rather mental instability, is first hinted at during the fictional foreword[23] by John Ray[24]. Here it is implied that the dreadful events of Lolita could have been averted had Humbert sought psychiatric help or remained inside a sanatorium during the summer of 1947[25]. Whilst the text does inform the reader of Humbert’s numerous visits to sanatoriums, they do not appear to generate a change in his behaviour. Psychiatrists deem him fit for release each time, arguing in favour of Humbert’s sanity. He believes his opportunities to leave the sanatoriums came from his ability to fool his psychiatrists, he sought happiness from watching them make false conclusions concerning factors such as his sexuality[26]. This does not suggest mental instability but rather a talent for deceit, and could lead the reader to believe Humbert is merely creating a façade, using the excuse of insanity as means to rid him of guilt or responsibility for his crimes. A prime example of his actions speaking louder than his words occurs as he claims, shortly after his third stay in a sanatorium, that the ‘reader will regret to learn that soon after my return to civilization I had another bout with insanity’,[27] again suggesting that Humbert’s consistent mention of his own mental state, as insane, are an elaborate cover up. His words continually make reference to a disturbed psychological state but his ability to plot rationally and manipulate on such a large scale do not support this. Thus one may argue that Humbert is either consciously or subconsciously inventing a reason to excuse himself from responsibility and his total lack of self-control. Such allusions are an attempt to keep the reader on side; one would only attempt to excuse something if they knew it were wrong.  

With reference to these few examples of Humbert Humbert’s behaviour, there is sufficient scope to suggest, though an unreliable narrator, that he is not insane. Humbert admits to an imperfect memory and it is clear that despite biased revisions, he feels it his duty to retell them precisely, often producing a confused structure. The novella continues with confused dates, blurred facts and mistruths despite Humbert claiming to have a photographic memory; he also appears to believe it is acceptable and somewhat necessary to lie and deceive in order to get what you want. Overall Lolita provides little to support the conclusion that Humbert’s portrayal of himself and of others is entirely accurate and could be considered a ruse to fool the reader into excusing him for what he has done, at one stage even begging for compassion, referring to himself as: ‘tender-hearted and morbidly sensitive’.[28] In order to achieve this convincingly, he overplays his allusions to insanity with several mentions of visits to sanatoriums without any clear outcome of him going there. However, the text does show the occasional sign of repentance for his crimes: ‘Had I done to Dolly, perhaps, what Frank Lasalle, a fifty-year-old mechanic, had done to eleven-year-old Sally Horner in 1948?’[29] Here Humbert sees passed his own desires and to the consequences of his actions and what his actions and their effect could have on his beloved Lolita. His rhetorical questioning implies a sense of disbelief; an acknowledgement that he may consider Frank’s actions monstrous and couldn’t possibly consider his own in the same light. Recognition of the depravity of his crimes demonstrates that he is able to rationalise them, proven in his desire to alter his retellings, thus suggesting logical thinking, which is not a behaviour consistent with a man suffering from insanity.

CITATIONS

[1] Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita (London: Penguin Classics), 2000.

[2] Ibid., 131.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid., 217.

[5] Ibid.,308.

[6] Joseph C Goulden.  “Prologue: How We Began.”  The Best Years.  (New York: Atheneum), 1976) 3.

[7] Ibid., 72.

[8] Ibid., 66-68.

[9]  Ibid., 68.

[10] Ibid., 236.

[11] Ibid., 308.

[12] ‘An unintentional error regarded as revealing subconscious feelings’ and, in this case, ‘slippery’ could refer to being uncontrollable. Humbert has an uncontrollable side to himself.

[13] Ibid., 72.

[14] Ibid.

[15] Ibid., 40.

[16] Ibid., 68.

[17]  Ibid., 67.

[18] Ibid., 68.

[19] Jessica Joan Goddard. Realizing and Imagining "Aesthetic Bliss" in Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita and Pale Fire. Berkeley Undergraduate Journal, 23(2), 2011.

[20] Vladimir Nabokov. A Book Entitled Lolita. Berkeley Undergraduate Journal, 23, 2012.

[21] Ibid., 4.

[22] Ellen Pifer. “The Lolita phenomenon from Paris to Tehran”. The Cambridge Companion to Nabokov. Ed. Julian W. Connolly. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. 185-199.

[23] Nabokov. Lolita. “Foreword”. 3.

[24] Written by the fictional John Ray Jr., Ph.D., the foreword informs us that the author of this manuscript, entitled Lolita, or the Confession of a White Widowed Male, died of heart failure in 1952, while imprisoned and awaiting trial.

[25] Nabokov. Lolita. “Foreword”. 35.

[26] Nabokov. Lolita. 34.

[27] Ibid., 34.

[28] Ibid., 131.

[29] Sarah Weinman. "The Real Lolita." Penguin Random House. http://penguinrandomhouse.ca/hazlitt/longreads/real-lolita (5th February 2015). Lasalle has kidnapped Horner after a chance encounter at a bookstore and moved from state to state with her for almost two years before she managed to escape. Lasalle plead guilty to the charges and remained in prison until death.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Primary Source

Nabokov,     Vladimir. London: Penguin Books, 1995.

Secondary Sources

Bennett,     Tony, ‘Texts in History: The Determinations of Readings and Their Texts’,     in Reception Study: From Literary Theory to Cultural Studies,     ed. by James L. Machor and Philip Goldstein (New York: Routledge, 2001),     pp. 61-74.

Bodroghkozy,     Aniko. “Television in Black-and-White America: Race and National     Identity” Journal of Interdisciplinary History. Volume 38.     Issue 1 (2007). Project Muse. <accessed: 9th February 2015>

Goddard,     Jessica Joan. Realizing and Imagining "Aesthetic Bliss"     in Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita and Pale Fire. Berkeley Undergraduate     Journal, 23(2), 2011.

Goulden,     Joseph C.  “Prologue: How We Began.” The     Best Years.  (New York: Atheneum, 1976), pp.  3-1.

Keen,     Suzanne. Narrative Form. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003.

Lacan,     Jacques. “The Meaning of the Phallus.” The Critical Tradition: Classic     Texts and Contemporary Trends 2.1 (2007).

Nabokov,     Vladimir. A Book Entitled Lolita. Berkeley     Undergraduate Journal, 23(2), 2011.

Olson,     Greta. “Reconsidering Unreliability: Fallible and Untrustworthy     Narrators”. Narrative. 11.1 (January 2003).

Pifer,     Ellen. “The Lolita phenomenon from Paris to Tehran”. The Cambridge     Companion to Nabokov. Ed. Julian W. Connolly. Cambridge: Cambridge     University Press, 2005. 185-199.

Rimmon-Keenan,     Shlomith. Narrative Fiction: Contemporary Poetics. London: Routledge,     1989.

Weinman,     Sarah. "The Real Lolita." Penguin Random House.     http://penguinrandomhouse.ca/hazlitt/longreads/real-lolita (5th February     2015).

[whatthekpopofficial]

BREAKING: T.O.P's Mother Speaks Out + Refutes Police Statement Of "Sleeping Heavily"

T.O.P's mother has spoken out regarding his current medical condition. On June 7th KST, the mother of the famous BIGBANG star asked the media to stop reporting false news. An unnamed police source released an earlier statement that said T.O.P was never unconscious and was only "sleeping heavily" and wasn't in critical condition. As WTK reported earlier, however, we found no reason for this statement to be believed as the police would not have access to T.O.P's personal medical files and wouldn't be allowed to release it to the public even if they did. However, both English and Korean news outlets immediately jumped on the news, spreading the rumors that he was fine and would just need to sleep off the medication. These rumors led to extreme criticism of T.O.P with netizens saying he had done it for sympathy or was faking the overdose altogether. With the statement from T.O.P's mother, the only one who can speak with authority on the current state of her son's health, it seems like things are far different than what the unnamed "police source" wanted people to believe. “My son is still unconscious and to read articles that say he’s “deep in sleep” is hurtful," T.O.P's mother stated, "Please edit and refrain from saying such things. We don’t know how things will turn out. My son is in critical condition. I see my son dying but I see reports saying he’s just sleeping. Isn’t that wrongful reporting?" Once she made her statement, YG Entertainment finally gave an update as well and confirmed the truth of what T.O.P's mother stated, "“When T.O.P’s mother saw the police quote, she was furious. T.O.P is currently wearing an oxygen mask and he is unconscious. Visitation rights are restricted and only close relatives are looking over him.” Stay tuned for developing details! As is our policy at WTK, we will only report things from confirmed sources and never print rumors or statements from anonymous sources since it leads to rumors and misinformation. Whether you follow WTK or another media outlet, please endeavor to only share facts and not unconfirmed details that will prove harmful to T.O.P and his family. We continue to pray for T.O.P's full recovery and for his family as well during this stressful time. Media: YG Entertainment Click to Post

[araitsume]

Prophets and Kings, pp. 653-660: Chapter (55) Heathen Plots

This chapter is based on Nehemiah 6.

Sanballat and his confederates dared not make open war upon the Jews; but with increasing malice they continued their secret efforts to discourage, perplex, and injure them. The wall about Jerusalem was rapidly approaching completion. When it should be finished and its gates set up, these enemies of Israel could not hope to force an entrance into the city. They were the more eager, therefore, to stop the work without further delay. At last they devised a plan by which they hoped to draw Nehemiah from his station, and while they had him in their power, to kill or imprison him.

Pretending to desire a compromise of the opposing parties, they sought a conference with Nehemiah, and invited him to meet them in a village on the plain of Ono. But enlightened by the Holy Spirit as to their real purpose, he refused. “I sent messengers unto them,” he writes, “saying, I am doing a great work, so that I cannot come down: why should the work cease, whilst I leave it, and come down to you?” But the tempters were persistent. Four times they sent a message of similar import, and each time they received the same answer.

Finding this scheme unsuccessful, they resorted to a more daring stratagem. Sanballat sent Nehemiah a messenger bearing an open letter which said: “It is reported among the heathen, and Gashmu saith it, that thou and the Jews think to rebel: for which cause thou buildest the wall, that thou mayest be their king.... And thou hast also appointed prophets to preach of thee at Jerusalem, saying, There is a king in Judah: and now shall it be reported to the king according to these words. Come now therefore, and let us take counsel together.”

Had the reports mentioned been actually circulated, there would have been cause for apprehension; for they would soon have been carried to the king, whom a slight suspicion might provoke to the severest measures. But Nehemiah was convinced that the letter was wholly false, written to arouse his fears and draw him into a snare. This conclusion was strengthened by the fact that the letter was sent open, evidently that the people might read the contents, and become alarmed and intimidated.

He promptly returned the answer. “There are no such things done as thou sayest, but thou feignest them out of thine own heart.” Nehemiah was not ignorant of Satan's devices. He knew that these attempts were made in order to weaken the hands of the builders and thus frustrate their efforts.

Again and again had Satan been defeated; and now, with deeper malice and cunning, he laid a still more subtle and dangerous snare for the servant of God. Sanballat and his companions hired men who professed to be the friends of Nehemiah, to give him evil counsel as the word of the Lord. The chief one engaged in this iniquitous work was Shemaiah, a man previously held in good repute by Nehemiah. This man shut himself up in a chamber near the sanctuary as if fearing that his life was in danger. The temple was at this time protected by walls and gates, but the gates of the city were not yet set up. Professing great concern for Nehemiah's safety, Shemaiah advised him to seek shelter in the temple. “Let us meet together in the house of God, within the temple,” he proposed, “and let us shut the doors of the temple: for they will come to slay thee; yea, in the night will they come to slay thee.”

Had Nehemiah followed this treacherous counsel, he would have sacrificed his faith in God, and in the eyes of the people he would have appeared cowardly and contemptible. In view of the important work that he had undertaken, and the confidence that he professed to have in the power of God, it would have been altogether inconsistent for him to hide as if in fear. The alarm would have spread among the people, each would have sought his own safety, and the city would have been left unprotected, to fall a prey to its enemies. That one unwise move on the part of Nehemiah would have been a virtual surrender of all that had been gained.

Nehemiah was not long in penetrating the true character and object of his counselor. “I perceived that God had not sent him,” he says, “but that he pronounced this prophecy against me: for Tobiah and Sanballat had hired him. Therefore was he hired, that I should be afraid, and do so, and sin, and that they might have matter for an evil report, that they might reproach me.”

The infamous counsel given by Shemaiah was seconded by more than one man of high reputation, who, while professing to be Nehemiah's friends, were secretly in league with his enemies. But it was to no avail that they laid their snare. Nehemiah's fearless answer was: “Should such a man as I flee? and who is there, that, being as I am, would go into the temple to save his life? I will not go in.”

Notwithstanding the plots of enemies, open and secret, the work of building went steadily forward, and in less than two months from the time of Nehemiah's arrival in Jerusalem the city was girded with its defenses and the builders could walk upon the walls and look down upon their defeated and astonished foes. “When all our enemies heard thereof, and all the heathen that were about us saw these things,” Nehemiah writes, “they were much cast down in their own eyes: for they perceived that this work was wrought of our God.”

Yet even this evidence of the Lord's controlling hand was not sufficient to restrain discontent, rebellion, and treachery among the Israelites. “The nobles of Judah sent many letters unto Tobiah, and the letters of Tobiah came unto them. For there were many in Judah sworn unto him, because he was the son-in-law of Shechaniah.” Here are seen the evil results of intermarriage with idolaters. A family of Judah had become connected with the enemies of God, and the relation had proved a snare. Many others had done the same. These, like the mixed multitude that came up with Israel from Egypt, were a source of constant trouble. They were not wholehearted in His service; and when God's work demanded a sacrifice, they were ready to violate their solemn oath of co-operation and support.

Some who had been foremost in plotting mischief against the Jews, now professed a desire to be on friendly terms with them. The nobles of Judah who had become entangled in idolatrous marriages, and who had held traitorous correspondence with Tobiah and taken oath to serve him, now represented him as a man of ability and foresight, an alliance with whom would be greatly to the advantage of the Jews. At the same time they betrayed to him Nehemiah's plans and movements. Thus the work of God's people was laid open to the attacks of their enemies, and opportunity was given to misconstrue Nehemiah's words and acts, and to hinder his work.

When the poor and oppressed had appealed to Nehemiah for redress of their wrongs, he had stood boldly in their defense and had caused the wrongdoers to remove the reproach that rested on them. But the authority that he had exercised in behalf of his downtrodden countrymen he did not now exercise in his own behalf. His efforts had been met by some with ingratitude and treachery, but he did not use his power to bring the traitors to punishment. Calmly and unselfishly he went forward in his service for the people, never slackening his efforts or allowing his interest to grow less.

Satan's assaults have ever been directed against those who have sought to advance the work and cause of God. Though often baffled, he as often renews his attacks with fresh vigor, using means hitherto untried. But it is his secret working through those who avow themselves the friends of God's work, that is most to be feared. Open opposition may be fierce and cruel, but it is fraught with far less peril to God's cause than is the secret enmity of those who, while professing to serve God, are at heart the servants of Satan. These have it in their power to place every advantage in the hands of those who will use their knowledge to hinder the work of God and injure His servants.

Every device that the prince of darkness can suggest will be employed to induce God's servants to form a confederacy with the agents of Satan. Repeated solicitations will come to call them from duty; but, like Nehemiah, they should steadfastly reply, “I am doing a great work, so that I cannot come down.” God's workers may safely keep on with their work, letting their efforts refute the falsehoods that malice may coin for their injury. Like the builders on the walls of Jerusalem they must refuse to be diverted from their work by threats or mockery or falsehood. Not for one moment are they to relax their watchfulness or vigilance, for enemies are continually on their track. Ever they must make their prayer to God “and set a watch against them day and night.” Nehemiah 4:9.

As the time of the end draws near, Satan's temptations will be brought to bear with greater power upon God's workers. He will employ human agents to mock and revile those who “build the wall.” But should the builders come down to meet the attacks of their foes, this would but retard the work. They should endeavor to defeat the purposes of their adversaries, but they should not allow anything to call them from their work. Truth is stronger than error, and right will prevail over wrong.

Neither should they allow their enemies to gain their friendship and sympathy, and thus lure them from their post of duty. He who by any unguarded act exposes the cause of God to reproach, or weakens the hands of his fellow workers, brings upon his own character a stain not easily removed, and places a serious obstacle in the way of his future usefulness.

“They that forsake the law praise the wicked.” Proverbs 28:4. When those who are uniting with the world, yet claiming great purity, plead for union with those who have ever been the opposers of the cause of truth, we should fear and shun them as decidedly as did Nehemiah. Such counsel is prompted by the enemy of all good. It is the speech of timeservers, and should be resisted as resolutely today as then. Whatever influence would tend to unsettle the faith of God's people in His guiding power, should be steadfastly withstood.

In Nehemiah's firm devotion to the work of God, and his equally firm reliance on God, lay the reason of the failure of his enemies to draw him into their power. The soul that is indolent falls an easy prey to temptation; but in the life that has a noble aim, an absorbing purpose, evil finds little foothold. The faith of him who is constantly advancing does not weaken; for above, beneath, beyond, he recognizes Infinite Love, working out all things to accomplish His good purpose. God's true servants work with a determination that will not fail because the throne of grace is their constant dependence.

God has provided divine assistance for all the emergencies to which our human resources are unequal. He gives the Holy Spirit to help in every strait, to strengthen our hope and assurance, to illuminate our minds and purify our hearts. He provides opportunities and opens channels of working. If His people are watching the indications of His providence, and are ready to co-operate with Him, they will see mighty results.