#anon yapping

[majesticallyunmagestic]

Hi! I saw a post you made back in June, when you were kinsidering a bunch of Hazbin characters. If I may ask, are you still kinsidering? Have you confirmed any of them?

I'm fictionflicker, and very recently confirmed Lucifer (specifically, pre-fall, but whatever). I'd love to talk to someone who might have similar experiences :)

HIHIHIHIHIHI waves at youuuu!!!!!!!! I did kinfirm!!!!!

I kinfirmed Lucifer as well :]] p sure this one's psychological but!!!!! He's one of the first I kinfirmed

I also kinfirmed Vox, which is??? Matching the "blue and/or ego-to-mask-inferiority-complex" theme I have with the rest of my kins, and shifts with him are always. Like if Katsuki Bakugo was Capable of at least Pretending to be Calm(im allowed to make fun of Katsuki because That Is Me /j).

Sometimes I get bouts when I miss Charlie, and one time I almost cried because of Lilith once(it was a whole thing I'll talk about later if you're curious, anon!), othertimes I miss Valentino(knowing full well what he's done and I'm not condoning his behavior) or Alastor(I guarantee you missing Alastor is thanks to my partner who Kins Alastor /lying)

One thing I've noticed is I really like the idea of Vox having a tail thats like an outlet plug?(can draw(not well) if this is confusing) and I'm not sure if its I Widh I Had This or I Did Have This but I choose to believe its the second thing lol

Sometimes I wonder if I am Husk or Angel still, but I'm fairly certain it's no more than Gender Envy(I crave Husk's deep voice and also Angel's sense of fashion </3)

I think?????? That's it????? Currently fixated on Others in the Kinsidering Pile(and Wolverine 💔💔💔💔I cringe at myself you guys dw) but if you have more questions feel free to send another ask or dm me!!! Dms are always open to anyone who wants to!!

[maybanksprincess]

face sitting with munch!jj

warnings: smut and face sitting obviously, pussywhipped!jj, dom! jj, ass slapping, squirting, pet names, and dirty talk.

pairings: gf!reader x bf!jj

requested by this ask! (thank you anon!🤍)

jj had tried convincing you all day to sit on his face, you were afraid of suffocating him, or even more so you were afraid he wouldn't like it, and would regret asking.

you'd think after three hours of asking, he would drop it already. but of course he didn't because he always gets what he wants, especially from you.

after a while you finally had enough of his begging and pleading, all of his "please mama"'s and "ill do anything you want"'s, you had enough of it and just gave in.

following the pleads that comes out of his mouth, you sigh and agree. "okay jayj, fine. ill do it"

he looks at you with surprise, raising his head up to look at you from your chest. "yeah?" a smirk suddenly spreads across his face.

"yeah." you echo. his smirk grows wider and he sits up, laying on his back, arms behind his head, his blonde hair messy and all over the place.

"cmere mama." he beckons you over with one of his hands, that mischievous smirk still plastered on his face.

you can see the way his eyes go up and down you body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, as his dimples poke thru his left and right cheek.

you can feel the pool between your legs getting wetter by the second, and as much as you were scared to sit on his face, you knew he would do a good job at it.

you sit on his lap, and he moves a pillow behind his head, peeling your pink laced panties off. he watches as your pussy and your panties connect with a string of wetness from your arousal.

he lets out a soft groan at he sound, you can feel his length pressing up against you in his boxers, then suddenly he pulls you up by your thighs using his strong arms.

your now hovering over his face, your pussy so close to his pink and plump lips. you slowly sink down onto his face uncomfortably, not putting your full weight on him.

he grunts disapprovingly, he gives your ass a warning slap, pulling you all the way down.

he moans as he feels all of your pussy on his mouth. "mm good girl" he mumbles against your heat. his tongue flattening against your core.

his tongue does fast figure eights on your clit, then licks long stripes up and down your pussy.

you relax against his face, and your hands fly down to pull at his hair, your hands tugging at the blondes unruly strands. "yeah. jus' like that jay." you were enjoying this a lot more than you thought you would. you were starting to think maybe you should've agreed to it the first time he asked

he buries his face inside, his strong arms flexing around your ass, he feels like his cock could explode at any moment from how hard it was. it was literally painful at this point.

you look back and see his cock strained against his boxers, and that only adds to the moans flying out of your mouth. you didnt know if it was the way his cock was jumping or the way his tongue was rapidly flicking at your folds. but all it once, the pleasure hits you, and your cumming. tugging at his hair, your head thrown back, and eyes rolled to the back of your eye socket.

your moaning pathetically, trying to prolong your orgasm as much as possible, riding his tongue, his nose nudging your clit. and before you know it your cumming again, except this time you feel liquid flowing out of your hole. and the orgasm feels much more powerful this time.

your legs are shaking and your body falls limp against his, you move off his face, and down to lay on top of him.

after a few minutes coming down from your high, he breaks the comfortable silence.

"so your letting me do that again sometime, yeah?"

"yeah."

[xxkissesforchanniexx]

❥‧ be soft with me (김승민)

in which: as much as seungmin acted like he didn't care. there were a few days where he couldn't hold in his love for you.

genre: fluff rating: n/a. wc: < 300 pairing: seungmin x reader masterlist.

warnings: n/a

a/n: I know this is a really random drabble im totally not trying to apologize for the heart break you guys are going to go through this week when i post the first actual 1k event post ;-;

You walked into your apartment, and slipped off your shoes, setting your bag down on the table as you passed by it. "I'm home." You said, walking into the main room, finding it empty. You made a face, peeking into the kitchen then the bathroom, "Seungm-"

Arms wrapped around you from behind and you almost jumped, if it wasn't for your boyfriend's familiar scent clouding over you.

"Hi.." He muttered into your shoulder.

You reached up and patted his head. "Hi..."

Seungmin nuzzled into your shoulder and you giggled. "That tickles."

"Missed you." He squeezed you a bit tighter.

You smiled slightly. It was a rare occurrence for Seungmin to admit he missed you. "Did you?"

He huffed into your shoulder, pulling you away from the bathroom and steering your feet to your shared bedroom. "Don't push it."

You turned in his arms as you reached your bedroom and kissed his nose. "I need to take a shower."

Seungmin made a face and turned so his back was to the bed, he hugged you tightly and flopped back onto the mattress. "Not yet."

"Seungmo I need to go-"

He squeezed you. "Stay here a little while more."

You sighed and relaxed, "Okay."

As much as Seungmin wouldn't admit it, he loved quiet moments with you like this. And you loved it all the more.

"Get off me you smell like train and office building." Seungmin muttered after half an hour.

You glared at him.

He smiled and kissed you gently.

© 2024 xxkissesforchanniexx. DO NOT COPY OR TRANSLATE MY WORK !

➤ taglist

@asahisimpnation @seolarsonlyloveisyou @leeknowsnot @oddracha @palindrome969

@armystay89 @bubblespop @honeyybbuubblleess @igetcarriedawaywithyou @seungminindabuilding

@ot8 @rylea08 @todorokiskitten @stay-tiny-things @boi-bi-ahaha

@bookswillfindyouaway @pinkdranks

[auroreliis]

I imagined a situation that I found funny.

Imagine, the entire Batfamily on the beach while making a point of hanging around the reader's neck so they can participate in family activities(Forcibly) . But the reader is not at all in the mood to be part of this fake family scenario, and decides to stay in the shade on the sand making a sandcastle :3 . Jason, seeing this, decides to provoke the poor reader, accidentally destroying the sandcastle :(. Angry reader throws sand in Jason's face. Causing yet another punishment and forcing the reader to sleep in Jason's room. Poor reader

Hot. It was really, really hot.

Of course it was hot. It was the middle of summer and you were sitting on sand that had been in the sun for hours. In this heat, what could you even do? You wanted to stay at home and sleep, but they didn’t let you.

They wanted you to come with them to the shore and practically dragged you there, ignoring your complaints. So, here you were, sitting under a palm tree on the scorching hot sand. Though, you had kind of stopped feeling the pain. You didn’t want them to come talk to you under the guise of you seeming “unoccupied”, so you started building a sandcastle.

Most of them were in the water, probably to cool off.

Yeah, the heat was starting to get to you…

For just a moment, you considered going swimming, but immediately decided against it.

First of all, they would certainly bother you. You could already imagine Damian wanting to compete with you to figure out who could swim faster (obviously him, but he wants to spend time with you). You could already imagine Dick carrying you around inside the water because you “can’t swim properly” (you can, he’s just looking for excuses to hold you) and you could already see Jason trying to “drown you” as a joke, despite the fact that you wouldn’t find it funny at all.

“Hey, aren’t you hot sitting there?”

Yes, that’s exactly what Jason would say to lure you into the water.

“Uh, hello? You there?”, Jason waved a hand in front of you face.

Huh, that wasn’t your imagination, that actually was Jason. You looked up unamused, ”No, I’m quite cold, really.”

He rolled his eyes, seemingly having caught your sarcasm,”Sure. So, wanna go swimming?”

And let you drown me? No fucking way. Oh, right, be polite…

“Um, no thanks”, you smiled awkwardly, not wanting to anger him and, as a result, Bruce.

“C’monnn, it’ll be fun. You do know how to swim, right?”, he teased, trying to rile you up.

“No”, you persisted, “Thanks…”

Jason crouched down next to you, clearly more persistant than you, “Oh, come on. Surely you’d rather spend time with me than Dick, right? If you remain alone for much longer, Damian will surely force you to do something with him.”

Ah…

Well…

You disliked Dick and spending time with Damian was…tedious.

Jason wasn’t any better, though.

Noticing your silence, he spoke again, “Not a bad sandcastle, but I could help you make it better.”

“…”

“We could compete and see who builds better sandcastles”, his smile was still present.

“Um…”, you looked around, trying to find a way to distract him.

“C’moooon. Here look, I’ll help ya”, he started adding sand to your castle.

“Wait! Nonono! Don’t touch that!-”, you froze after seeing your entire sandcastle collapse.

Silence prevailed for far too long.

You couldn’t think of anything to say. Jason, however, felt the need to salvage the situation.

“Oh, I’m…sorry.”

Sorry? He was SORRY?

The audacity left you speechless.

The only thing you could do was grab a fistful of sand at throw it at Jason. He dodged most of it, but he certainly felt your wrath.

To avoid further conversation with him, you got up immediately and left.

It took only a few steps for you to notice that what you had done was certainly punishment-worthy.

What would Bruce make you do? You shuddered as you remembered the time you had to hug and say 20 things you liked about Jason…yikes. Never again, you swore and yet, here you were.

You had barely gone a few metres, when you heard Bruce calling your name. When did he even arrive here? Was he here from the start?

You stopped walking and turned towards him. The look on his face was…stern. He did not seem very happy. Next to him, Jason was rubbing his eyes.

Wait, did you get sand in his eyes? No, you couldn’t have, he dodged it! Did he…lie to Bruce about what happened?

No, Jason wouldn’t do that-…

Well…would he?

Bruce called you over to him and Jason, so you slowly walked towards them, trying to come up with a good excuse to avoid doing whatever he wanted you to do.

[ihopeiexplode]

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna x Supermodel!Reader

. Mixed of 2 requests!

. A/N: wrote this in class filled w sukuna haters 😞😞 (also I might be flopping chat!!)

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who met you before your modeling career started, but you met him when he was already a trending streamer but of course your relationship was kept private under your request

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who's an attractive man, no surprise in that, did half of his followers only follow him because of his looks and voice? Yeah.. hundred percent...

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who gets away with saying the most unhinged and outrageous things on stream just because of his good looks..

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna whose female audience became devastated after they heard he was taken, but do they know he's dating a famous supermodel? Nope, does he want them to know? Yes, but can he tell them? In his dreams

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna whos surprisingly into reading theories everyone made when he revealed he was dating, seeing how they gathered up every female he interacted with and tried seeing which of them had the most chemistry, he laughed when they all came to the conclusion he was dating uraume

(yes I'm aware uraumes gender is not confirmed but let's just say they're female here!!)

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who revealed he was dating you by accident, totally!!

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who called you into his room one morning, but you were unaware he was live, you know his schedule on when he's going live so your relationship with him could be avoided from being revealed

"You called?"

"Mhm, just wanted a little kiss,"

"... Are you live right now...?"

"Hm? Oh, whoops,"

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who felt like a proud idiot when word got around saying a supermodel was dating him, I mean it was only 5 Minutes after the big reveal he was dating you and word immediately got out that Sukuna was the mystery person you were dating and you were his

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who laughs at the "he's only dating her for her money!!" Comments, you both dated before your modeling career, plus he's also rich he has no need to go after your money, not to mention he doesn't even let you spend a dime of your money and insists you should spend his instead....

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who secretly watches edits of you on tiktok and has a whole collection of all the edits he found of you

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who also has a separate collection for every edit he finds of both you,

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who absolutely hates it whenever A guy hits you right in front of him. Sure it's known you're taken by him but does it stop the flirting and stares? On his side yes, but on your side? No, no it does not.

"I must say you rather look gorgeous this evening ms I/n"

"she's taken."

"Hm? I'm aware she is,"

"do I need to—"

"Sukuna enough, were in public..."

"I really don't know what you see in him ms l/n you could do so much better, like me for example,"

"nevermind, Sukuna go."

Woah I wonder how the guy ended up in the hospital the very next day!!! I wonder who caused that!!

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who loves it whenever a girl tries hitting on him only to run away and apologize the moment they see you approach him and give him a kiss

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who also loves it whenever you bring him up during one of your interviews

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who always has to mention you at least more than once during his streams or just mentioning you in general

"you look handsome"

"yeah I know my girlfriend told me that earlier this morning, only her opinions matter to me by the way"

Streamerboyfriend!Sukuna who acts like a lovesick puppy whenever he's with you, surprising everyone who sees your photos with him on your Instagram seeing how Sukuna is known and theorized to be the dominant one in a relationship if it ever came to that (the theory was made before ur relationship w him was revealed), but it seems to be the complete opposite in your photos...

[⛩️] @: Likes & Reblogs R appreciated! ^^

Permanent Taglist: @cadibearrr

[simpee9000]

I love your “not just friends” series🥹 im obsessed! Im hoping to see more I love it soooooooooooo muchhhh!!!!!!! Even telling my friends to read it

But I saw a bakugo headcanon by another anon about him having a crush which I wanna add a spin on, what if he rejected this said crush back in middle school but developed feelings after xD I find it funny

Thank you !!! I'm glad you enjoy it so much!

And that is literally Katsuki Bakugo, can't see him not doing it tbh. (This was also a lot longer then I planned for it to be- I just started typing and here we are- 1k)

He isn't confused about a lot of things in life but his feelings definitely stump him. He tries to analyze other people and how they react to people, but the dots just don't connect. He hears people rave on and on about how cute their crush is, but he just doesn't get it.

It's not that he hasn't been introduced to it either. I mean, it's middle school. Everyone is crazy about dating someone even if it's just to hold their stupid hand. Bakugo didn't get it, he honestly didn't want to get it. Sure he wanted to understand it, but only so he could know a weakness or some shit. He didn't want the gushy feelings or anything such.

Rejecting girl after girl was normal for him, people just loved how great he was. But after the first year of middle school that stopped. Mainly because of how rudely he rejected every girl in the past, but also because of you.

You got extremely close with him rather quickly, working your way into his life and friend groups. It was rare to see you away from each other.

Yet when you confessed to him in your last year of middle school, he stood still. It was the only confession he hesitated on. And while you swayed on your feet, anxious for a reply, he tried to cough up any words possible.

But the only ones that came out were. "You're not special."

In the most blunt way possible, he crushed your dreams. With the way he was looking at you, it was like he couldn't fathom the thought that you thought you were good enough for him, different than all the other girls. So you choked up any spiteful things you wanted to say and nodded before walking off.

He didn't necessarily like you then, but the thought didn't seems gross. So when he watched you walk away, he shrugged it off. You'd talk to him tomorrow definitely.

When tomorrow came and went, he was waiting for you to show up by his side at any second. But of course, you never did. You waited a day before showing up to class, but when you did you stuck near your other friends.

It stayed that way too. You only nodded at him after you finished middle school, a small final goodbye.

So it was rather unfortunate that one of your friends happened to be Izuku. It was a hard-built friendship, but he's very forgiving.

You came and visited the dorms often, encouraged by his mother to help him get by easier.

Bakugo hated it, you never even looked his way.

When he googled his feelings he didn't want to believe the words typed on his screen. It was all saying he was jealous. He'd never been jealous of anything, especially nothing Deku had.

Eventually, Kirishima pointed it out, commenting on the glare he was giving Midoriya. He also called him out the next day, when he kept glaring despite you not being there.

The day he cracked was after he fought Deku, after being yelled out by Aizawa he and Deku were told to wait.

Bakugo mentioned your name in a mumble at first before Deku questioned it. "She like you or some shit?"

"What?!"

"You fuckin' heard me," he spat back.

"No!" Deku scrambled for a reason. He knew you had a crush on Bakugo before, but you haven't mentioned it in a while, "Do you?"

"Do I like you?!"

"NO! HER!"

Bakugo's aggression faded as he thought. Everyone was saying that. Kirishima, his dad, and now Deku. He gave a small shrug because he was unsure.

"She still asks about you," Deku decided to say, rather than poke the bear.

"Hm."

"Wanting to know if you're okay. After the sludge, and after.. well you know," Deku mumbled.

The door opened before anything else could be said, but even if it didn't, they both knew the conversation was over.

Feeling the commonly named butterflies in his stomach, at just the thought of you thinking of him still, was odd. It was an entirely new feeling. After googling, once again, he came to terms with the fact that he finally felt all the gushy feelings that everyone else got in middle school. The ones you used to have for him, hopefully still do.

He still waited a year to act on his conclusion first. But he still slowly tried to weave his way back into your life. Choosing to sit next to you when you visited, to othering you the remote.

Everything was without words for a while. Almost a year in he was forced to talk to you often. All conversations being awkward and strained.

Confessing was a different story, it was the last day you could visit before it was officially summer break before the second year. Everyone was all sat around watching TV, people leaving before they got too tired. Surprisingly, Bakugo and you were the last people in the living room. He didn't want to miss a second of your presence because he knew he couldn't see you during summer. He was so glad Aizawa let you stay late.

His head snapped away from the TV when you stretched to stand, silently grabbing your stuff.

"What are you doing?" he spoke before thinking.

You looked stunned, he never talked to you without you talking first, "It's late, I should go. Plus is it not past your bedtime?"

He glared at your joke before looking at the clock. It was 2:54a.m, you asked him out at 2:54 p.m in middle school.

"Do you still?"

"What?" you switched your weight onto one foot, crossing your arms confused.

"In middle school," he sighed, "do you still?"

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Have feelings and shit."

He still wasn't looking at you, but out of the corner of his eyes, he could see how you froze.

"I don't know how that's relevant," you huffed, embarrassed and annoyed that he'd be so cruel to bring up the rejection again.

"I do."

"Do what? Know how it's relevent? Of course you do, it's your brain-"

"Have feelings and shit," he mumbled, crossing his arms at how irated you sounded. He was finally making his move and you seemed pissed as hell.

You barked out a laugh, muffling it with your own hand, "You can't think I'm that stupid, right?"

"I'm being serious," he looked at you straight on for the first time. He was always easiest to read when you could see his eyes, and he looked nervous. Out of all the emotions you've seen on him, this wasn't one.

"Oh."

He sighed and looked down, "Don't gotta say anything, you can spend the night in the common room. No one will care," he pushed himself off the couch, turning to leave.

"Bakugo," you called out softly.

"Hm?"

"I might," your voice was shaky, "but I need to think about it. Know that you're not fucking with me or something."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. Take your time. You have my number."

[sboochi]

Now make them smooch 🔫

(Yes I mean hiijack)

(please)

Thank you for giving me an excuse I was missing them 🥺

[sierrale8ne]

So in honor of Paige’s birthday-

I bet she can taste when you’re ovulating and it makes her absolutely feral.

K byeeeee

okay one more smutty blurb to hold yall over for some time bcs i’ve been thinking about this ask pretty much all day 🧍🏾‍♀️

She’d have your legs spread wide in the backseat of her car. Normally you’d tell her to wait until you got home, but this was different. Her cologne wafting through the air coupled with her hand on your thigh was enough for you to soak her seat.

So you allowed her to pull over and direct you to the back. Her head nestled between your thighs while her tongue licked you up and down rapidly. Your taste was otherworldly, and each time she licked up all of your arousal, more of it just gushed onto her tongue.

She looked up at you though her lashes, your tank top pulled up just over your tits so your hardened nipples were on display. Paige’s nose brushed against your clit and you shook in response, hips bucking up into her mouth.

“Baby…” You whispered, cupping the back of her head and guiding her motion. “Holy shit, keep going.” You encouraged.

She pulled back from you to catch her breath. Blonde hair covering her face and blocking her from making you feel good. She brushes it out of her face, her breath hot and heavy on your cunt.

“Are you ovulating?” She asked.

The laugh you let out rippled though the car. You looked down at her incredulously. “Wh—yes. How do you know that?” You giggle, sitting up more and Paige presses her hands to your thighs to keep them open.

She dives back in, sucking your clit between her lips. “I can fuckin’ taste it.” She mumbles against you. She pulls away for another second to watch as your pussy leaks and throbs in response. Paige smirks before delivering a smack to your clit, causing you to jolt with a moan of her name.

She spits on your heat and goes back to absolutely devouring you like it was her first meal in ages. Paige was absolutely feral, you tasted like candy and she didn’t want to stop. Your left hand moved to grab onto her hair, while the right gripped onto her shoulder.

"Fuck, I'm cummin'." You warned in a shaky voice.

So, Paige went harder. Faster. Circling your clit messily with her tongue until your toes curled into your shoes and you came on her tongue.

kalena speakss 🪽! ok that’s enough freakiness from me, let me get back to writing for fdafn 😂

[impish-baby]

Hey, could I have more HIWTHI content please? Possibly with them finding out reader would write in their journal a lot, possibly hinting towards reader having large amounts of self worth issues, and instead of them leaving because no one notices them, reader left because they feel like a burden?

I’m particularly interested in Marcus and the twins reacting.

Also, please make sure to take care of yourself. I love all of your writing, but no one will ever blame you for taking a break. Also, please stay hydrated.

-🌙

👀 close to something that would happen canonically actually!!

HIWTHI cast's reaction to reader's journal

(Trigger warnings: reader's struggles with self worth, mentioned/referenced suicide)

Marcus feels like a complete and utter failure as a father. No matter how cold or stern he is with his children, he does love all of them with everything in him. So the fact that you feel like a burden? That you felt like a waste of space in your own home? He hangs his head in shame.

Doesn't even bother with asking why you didn't speak up, he's well aware that this is his own shortcoming. It's his fault, that's the simple truth of the matter.

Once you are back home, you're required to start therapy. He'll even let you do in person instead of online if you promise to actually give it a shot, Marcus legitimately wants (needs) you to get better. He has no delusions of their being an overnight change, and so he tries to go at your pace.

There's lots of long conversations, firm reminders that you are loved and of value no matter what. Especially at night, he'll sit at the end of your bed and tell you how much you mean to him. He'd go on until he's blue in the face if that's what it takes for you to believe his words.

Clara refuses to believe what she's read for a long while. She knows it's real, she has the proof held in her hands. Just... her child, her baby, was struggling with almost the same thing she was. And she didn't know. She didn't know and now they're gone.

If she wasn't worried about reader before, she's actually terrified now. The worst outcome is going through her mind, because really, what was stopping you from doing something dangerous? Clara is constantly eyeing the news, fear eating her alive.

The next time she sees you, you're getting the tightest hug. The woman sobbing into your shoulder, thanking whatever higher being that her baby is safe.

You aren't allowed to have sharp objects, unportioned medication, or anything that could be used to harm one's self anymore. Clara doesn't care, she's not leaving a chance. She knows what it's like being in that state of mind. She'll be dammed if she doesn't start acting like a mother should and protecting her child.

Jack is bawling his eyes out right away. The pen ink in your diary smudging as his tears hit the paper. You...oh god..

He feels like the shitiest person on earth, he doesn't deserve to call himself an older brother. He knew Jaiden had his struggles, and now this..

He pockets the journal. Jack reads it as some form of punishment. You suffered with this, he'll suffer with it too. When you're back home, he's trying his best to include you in everything.

Movie nights, board games, he comes up with anything and everything so you can spend time together. See? He has fun with you, he likes hanging out with you, you aren't a burden..

Theo feels bitter, resentful. At your parents, at themselves, at the fact that you felt that way. His resolve to find you becomes ten times stronger, there isn't a single doubt in their mind that you need to come home.

Much like Marcus, they'll affirm how much you're loved and wanted any chance they get. Theo cages you in their arms and mumbles praises for what feels like forever. They'll even go into morbid detail about how everyone fell apart while you were gone just to prove how needed you are.

Jaiden is tempted to rip the pages out. He goes through a rollercoaster of emotions.

At first, he's pissed. That you didn't say anything, that you didn't do anything to get help, that you just sat there and felt fucking miserable for years-

He's ashamed. Deeply, deeply ashamed.

It feels.. awkward between you. Jaiden stares constantly, like he's never seen you before. When he finally breaks down sobbing, he's willing to beg at your feet if you'd forgive him for being such a horrible big brother

[freckliephil]

if them "taking back control of the narrative" means more hiding and lying then idk why they're even bothering. Aren't they tired? Don't they just wanna be free?

Im curious about what you mean by hiding and lying bc like i personally don’t see keeping physical intimacy and details about the romantic and sexual parts of their deeply personal, deeply unique relationship for themselves as hiding OR lying. I think their relationship is quite literally the most important thing in the world to them, and i think “taking control of the narrative” for them is about working out what they want to share, what they don’t, and what’s still open for them to test the waters on. I think theyre very intentionally in a period of transition and exploration right now re: sharing things about their relationship.

Like, as someone who was in the fucking trenches back in 2012-2015, its beautiful that they are where they are in terms of openness, being able to proudly brag about sharing a mortgage and tell anecdotes about spending holidays with Phil’s family, sharing increasingly coupley pictures of each other, ect. I think its beautiful that they never shut up about being gay, that theyre out and at peace and finally able to fully feel like they can embody being the queer role models they’ve been for so many people for so long. I think being open and out and honest looks different for every person, and while i think dan and phil probably will continue on the path of sharing more about their relationship, i also think they’ve always moved at a snails pace and that they’re perfectly happy and content where they’re at right now, probably more than they ever have been. This isn’t like when dan was having one of his public meltdowns about authenticity, because theyve already explicitly said MULTIPLE times now that theyre more than friends and they love each other very deeply and intimately. Theyre not keeping that from anyone. Its not a secret. Theyre just figuring out what the boundaries are, which is like. So healthy

[majesticallyunmagestic]

Jumpscare!

High-key thinking about splitting up my blog? Like. Keep this one for just random stuff, but make like..Two more? One for just broad kin stuff and another for just overall negative stuff. I want this blog to remain silly and lighthearted, but lately I've been..upset?(I'm not going to do anything harmful, I promise)

May do custom tags too, we'll see...And maybe a craft/crochet blog!

How do I sign these off..? It feels rude to just leave it. ..Thanks for reading? Lol

-The Scout!

Edit: Starting on those custom tags! If anyone has suggestions, I'd love to hear them!! /gen

(Custom tags go here until i make a better intro. IF I make a better intro.)

anon yapping - Anonymous creatures that show up in my mailbox to tell me or ask me things!

The Fish Speaks - My partner @/maggotpoolautism showing up in my mailbox! May also use if i reblog anything it makes^^(please ask to be removed)

A Message Of The Lord Of Thirteenths - My partner @/tangerinetime69 if they ever come into my inbox OR if i reblog something from her :3(please ask to be removed)

scout yapping - me just saying random scout-related shit LMAO

vox speaks - vox-related posts :]

howling to the void - non-kin-related posts

rockin' n rollin' - Montgomery Gator Posts

no. one talks - Bakugo posting

the king answers - Lucifer(HH) related posts

[maybanksprincess]

How do you think JJ would react to new girl friend reader telling him she has a pain kink? I bet he would be a little stand offish at first not wanting to hurt her but then he would go absolutely crazy with it after he hears her moan when he bites her shoulder in doggy. He is so into it that he’s pinching her in public to let her know when he’s horny. I find that to be so hot and very much like jj🤭🤭

you two had been taking your sex life very slow, having sex in limited positions because you weren't sure what the both of you liked, and of course neither of you were bold enough to bring it up.

you both have had sex in doggy, and had sex in the car a few times, other than that...its a wrap

eventually when he gets comfortable enough he would pinch her thigh or waist in public to let her know he's got a boner and they need a quickie in the car.

jj honestly didn't know what came over him when he leant down to bite your shoulder during one of y'all's quickies, he almost apologized, stilling his pace from behind you a bit, just when he opens his mouth to speak, he hears a pornographic moan escape your throat.

before he can register whats happening, he feels you clamp down on him and fuck yourself on his cock. it only escalated from there.

he leans down and bites your neck and shoulder softly, nipping at the skin as he meets your thrusts. "mm you like that mama?" he growls in your ear

he was so turned on from the fact that he made you almost cum from literally biting you, the next few seconds he feels your creamy release on his cock.

he was never gonna let you live it down, and hes gonna keep biting you during sex more often <3

[slowd1ving]

Hiiiii can u write Kim Dokja x Goth!Male!reader this sponsor constellation is Apollo and The reader is a simp for Dokja ( I love this man )

LOVE LIKE BLOOD ・゜゜KIM DOKJA

“The life is short, and I’m running faster all the time, Strength and beauty destined to decay, So cut the rose in full bloom.” By chance you meet him, by chance you become his friend, by chance you stay by his side; until it cannot be called fickle, capricious chance any longer, but an example of the inevitable law of universal attraction between two starving masses. art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! also thank you anon this ask was so big brained I yapped on for like 5k words (very sorry if you wanted headcanon/drabble form I got the most profound inspiration for this at like 3am :3) also damn you have no idea how many song titles I was perusing trying to find a suitable one for this... pairing: kim dokja + male goth reader warnings: pretty graphic metaphors, child abandonment/implied parental death, child neglect + abuse, alcohol, smoking, depression + bullying, hurt/comfort, injury, violence (as it's orv), does 10+ year long pining and oddly tense homoeroticism need a warning, anon I hope you ENJOY reading because I enjoyed writing wc: 5.6k (YAP because i love this silly man, I've never written so much for a request before lmao)

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Fundamentally, you and him are the same. 

There’s a sense of loss that’s too heavy for either of your bodies to comprehend. Rather than a heart, there’s a black hole right where the organ lies; so greedy, so hungry for acknowledgement. Born blue into this world—deprived of oxygen yet wailing, screaming for your voice to be heard—it’s little wonder you’ve always been avaricious for the love your parents could never give. The hands cradling the babe were never loving; they were clinical, they were covered in sterile blue gloves and they smelled only of caustic antiseptic. There was no kiss on your slimy, puckered forehead. There was only the sting of alcoholic sanitiser. 

Kim Dokja is similar, yet his parents wouldn’t (rather than couldn’t, for in your embittered mind the two concepts were so different as to be alien) spare him scraps of care. Rather than press a kiss to their son’s awaiting cheek, only bruises blossomed where the love should’ve been. No flowers were given for Children’s Day—only oily blood spilling and macerating against his chubby hands as a last, vibrant gift for their son. 

These two black holes sputtered on their axes while they spun round each other: gluttonous, esurient for care that didn’t come with bruises and wailing grief. 

Seoul had been unusually cold; blue afternoons spanned across the school rooftops. They were frigid and foggy—perfect for avoiding detection. Thus, the boy without kisses (only contused skin) encountered another like him on the rooftop that day. Against the haze, your own cigarette smoke had dulled the edges of what he saw—a boy canted against the railing with rippling earphones and a head tilted so far back he could taste the polluted mist. 

A merger had occurred. 

And though neither of you said it, there was an unspoken recognition of each other’s greed in that moment. Your eyes, ghosting over his injuries while the heavy bass played and the prussic wisps trailed around him: deep reverberations sounding a bit too like his careening heartbeat—as he made sure no one had followed him up here, that he was safe. And his umbrous eyes—honed in on the cigarette wedged between your lips, now stained black from the gloss decorating your humourless smile.

Maybe it was just that inherent feeling of kinship that came with avariciousness: a snarling sort of camaraderie that snagged at your skin with its claws. The wounds left behind were tender, but tender was precisely the adjective you were looking for—as was he. 

And so, Kim Dokja found himself coming to this particular rooftop the next day. When his breathing came ragged and his vision began to swim, he instinctively sought the numbness the frigid azurine firmament would bring. Like a wounded animal, he sought safety. Flight over fight—a lesson he’d learnt too late. Bruised fists would never save him. 

There you sat—eyes closed and lips still glossed in modest black. There were silver rings on your hands; rings he’d seen flashing before his eyes before he was hit, that those people no longer sported. Quietly, he matched up the scrapes on your own knuckles to the ones decorating their faces: to their unusual sullenness today. They’d furtively sequestered themselves in a club room all break, touching their swollen lips and eyes with bruised fists. Bruised fists. Like trophies, the achromatic metal glinted against the cobalt haze, and for once, his heart didn’t skip any beats at the sight of the gleaming metal. Neither did you acknowledge his presence nor their sins, but still, he sat on the same bench you were sprawled upon: hugging his bag to his chest while he scrolled the hallowed pixels of Ways of Survival. 

There was no grand exchange of words, no heartfelt conversations between Kim Dokja and the boy with a messed-up uniform. 

This was how tentative company was kept for a fragile week. 

Tuesday was the day that fragility finally shattered. He still remembers every detail about it—down to the particular cigarette brand you’d purchased that morning, down to the chips in your dark nail polish, down to just how many rings you’d worn on your left hand (three—it was three rings). Tears had spilled down his cheeks that afternoon; they warped and distorted the words that had saved him thus far, evoked from the pain in his purple ribs and his empty stomach. Somehow, the salt he’d kept tightly bound had been coaxed by your cold presence—perhaps, knowing your indifference made it easier to cry pathetically in front of you. 

You still didn’t speak, but you did hand him a tissue. You still didn’t speak, but you did press your shoulder to his own trembling one: smelling of caustic smoke, and something rich and sweet lingering beneath the plumes. You still didn’t speak, but your rings clinked on your left hand as you unhooked the earbud in your pierced ear and offered it to him: fingers brushed against his palm as he was forcibly shocked out of crying any further, like a blubbering child faced with such a conundrum that their little brains focused entirely on that rather than the reason for their tears. 

Melancholy had streamed out of the device. Doleful chords twined against threnetic voices—which he could not translate nor understand but could feel in pulsing waves. 

In that short whorl in the great machine of time, in the chill of the blue hour, he could not help but feel warm.

And thus, that Tuesday changed the trajectory of this merger somewhat. A deafening hum had finally blossomed from the gargantuan event; your presence could no longer be described as distant. 

When he went to class the next day, you were in the seat next to him: a mirage brought on by his lack of food, no doubt. He limped to his desk, but there your corporeal form remained: this time with silver chains lining the base of your throat and a dry, sharp grin decorating your face. Sure, he knew there was a student that never showed up in his class, but he wasn’t expecting it to be you: your name now a permanent fixture in his mind. 

There was a new name for this phenomenon: friendship. 

The boy, with the pensive music and trophies stolen from Dokja’s tormentors, smiled up at the reader staring at him. It was an inviting gesture: the proverbial hand reaching out, the hand which he took.

You weren’t a particularly talkative friend at first: preferring to simply share your music rather than speak much. That was fine with him—it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to reading alone. Then, you started bringing boxes of food alongside your cigarettes: containers that lacked the refinement of store bought meals. One for you, and one sheepishly thrust out to him with a smile bright as burst yolk and as messy as it too. Consequently, he returned a wobbly, unsure smile back at you—not mentioning that the vegetables were slightly burnt, slightly too salty. But that was fine. The more lunches you brought, the more skilled your hands became—until he never felt truly full unless he was eating what you gave him. 

In return, he cracked open his soul: pried its rusted walls with bleeding fingernails in a gesture never before seen, not since his childhood when he still knew what hope meant. Dokja for once didn’t blubber apologies and pleas for mercy—but became a teenager rather than a groveller. He complained about teachers, he discussed Ways of Survival at length (noting how you listened even when you showed no particular interest in reading it), he finally developed his own, modest aspirations for his own life. Lying in his bed in his lonely apartament, it suddenly didn’t feel so claustrophobic (yet somehow far too big for one) when you were there with your shoulder just brushing his own. 

You were not as cold as you seemed: though this was always obvious from that fateful Tuesday. You made fun of and empathised with the eternal regressor; you diligently stood at his half-broken stove frying meat and vegetables; and you talked at length about whatever band you were currently into—“I’ll take you to one of their concerts when we’re older,” leaving your lips, for your dense black-hole hearts did not conceptualise a future where the other was not present. He saw your loneliness—heard the rumours of you bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage, roaming the streets and working nights rather than return to that boreal home. 

So, more nights than not, he woke up from his nightmares to see you sleeping on the small couch in his home—legs just about peeking over the armrest, for your avarice didn’t only cover the abstract but the heaps of food you swiped from the canteen (and over the past two years he’d known you, you got your growth spurt far more obviously than he had). It partly contributed to almost skittish aversion his tormentors had of him—one you never did acknowledge, and so he learnt quickly to not mention it either. In this way, he too never mentioned why he invited you to sleep over more nights than not. And so, neither of your selfish hearts ever spoke a word of pity, but rather conveyed an unspoken understanding that bound the two of you in this merger. 

This routine continued.

He enlisted after graduating from the local university, and so did you—suffering the eighteen months of hazing with the smoke lingering on your skin and that same, humourless smile he first saw on your face. Frigid mornings turned his own lips as blue as the sky, yet he found it was harder to feel the chill when he saw you. Just like back then, you wore the same smile that brimmed with such colour it was practically incandescent with its heat. 

Two outcasts. It was hilariously terrible. Two outcasts, still sharing a pair of earbuds that had seen better days—blaring out the dolorous music that had grown on him, that described this situation perfectly. Stars were strewn in the fabric enveloped around you: memories that would continue to shine even after the world slowly marched towards its apocalypse. 

In that cramped bunkroom, it had been just like school—blue nights with the moon just barely peeking through the window, with your leg still hanging off the side of the bunk and within his field of vision. And he still found the steady rise and fall of your breathing far more comforting than any white noise: like a guard dog, almost, you still shielded him by his proximity to you throughout the brutal eighteen months of mandated service. 

Adulthood had crept up unbidden. In his single-room apartment, he sat on his couch with your legs sprawled just as lazy as they had been eight years prior. Though, your appearance certainly had changed—beneath the loose material of your tank top, he could see the ink seeping and decorating your skin. He’d gone with you to the underground artists right after the discharge: worriedly biting his lip while you simply grinned at him as if there wasn’t a needle pressing into you. And despite his initial concern, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away—sneaking glances even as he browsed through job sites since the winding patterns under the fabric and silver jewellery was oddly entrancing to the eye. 

In the end, he applied to the same company you had done on a whim: Minosoft, where you carefully wiped off the black residue on your lips and the smudged pencil round your eyes. You still shared your earbud with him on the subway (though you’d sent him your playlist aeons ago), you still smoked the same brand you did eight years ago, you still occasionally put on those rings you’d kept as prized trophies, you still made two sets of lunches for work. You still listened over drinks while hammered Dokja updated you on the latest update of Ways of Survival. You still angled your body just so, so that you would bear the brunt of Han Myungoh’s scolding rather than him. 

You hadn’t changed. 

But in some ways, he could no longer see the same boyish guy who’d awkwardly offered him his earbuds nine years ago. The look in your eyes was far more intense, the messy smiles splitting your cheeks were sharper, more overwhelming, and there was no longer any clumsiness in your movements from your sudden growth spurt from years prior. Even the very hand that occasionally clasped his shoulder, even the legs that you still casually flung over his on his beaten old couch, were far more scorching than he remembered. 

You had changed. 

And in the end, it was him who was left behind. 

Eternal loser, Kim Dokja. 

Though, he could never find fault with you for that. Not when you leaned over the tangle of limbs on his couch, not when he caught the thread of oud lingering beneath the smoke on your throat, and not when you thrust your phone screen at his face with that stupidly boyish grin that only peeked out when you brimmed with excitement—with a “look, I finally got us tickets for this festival!”. And he knew at that moment that you weren’t leaving him behind: stretching out your rough palm just like you had more than a decade ago. 

He let you tousle his hair to give it more spikes. He let you dress him up in your clothes—they sat too large on his frame, but he found himself unconsciously burying his body in the fabric that smelled like your laundry. He let you slip your rings onto his fingers: slender digits jolting at the sensation of the cool metal and the action itself. 

Finally, he let you rub your dark pencil on his lashline—lids fluttering up at yours while he did his best to not avert his stare. His gaze traced the bold lines of your brows and eyes, and finally onto the dark stain on your lips as you bit them in concentration. “There,” you’d murmured, gently grasping his chin. “That looks pretty.” 

And just like the loser he was, he felt his chest tighten at the casual compliment, for seemingly no reason. 

Over the din of the hall, he could barely hear the ebb and flow of music. Goth chords jostled him, weaving past the throes of post-punk and metal as band after band took the stage. In this crush of people, he was more focused on how your index finger threaded through his left-most belt loop; linking the two of you just enough that he wouldn’t get thrown into the mosh pit. No doubt the buzz of cheap liquor contributed to his distracted train of thoughts—he never was the best at handling alcohol. His hazy gaze distorted his view of your side profile; in the dim lights, obviously the wide smile (yolk-like, as was your grin years back) couldn’t possibly be that bright. 

It was at this moment that sentimentality got to him. He was thankful that his friend had stuck by his side for so long: gazing so softly at your happy expression he was unaware of his look himself. 

This was the night before the apocalypse began. 

When the crowds trickled out, when the reverb of bass still played through the club, you hugged him tight for coming with you. Outcast with the outcast, you’d thought introspectively. There were cheap spirits clouding your mind that night—a hangover would surely strike you come morning—which was why you weren’t as reserved as you usually were. As you leaned down to press the man into your arms, your lips had brushed past his cheek accidentally, and you could feel the black hole in the centre of your chest constrict. 

Profanities had whirled through your mind when the dark smudge remained on his cheek, and especially so as he made no move to wipe the umbrous gloss off on the subway back. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed—not with the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. There was a terrible, discordant crescendo to your pulse as you gazed at him. The gloss, from where it smeared slightly past the boundaries of your lips, burned your skin. But you made no moves to wipe the corners either—for this night only, there was something linking Kim Dokja to you. 

Thus, for the first time since he was a mere babe cradled in his mother’s arms, there was a kiss planted on his cheek that wasn’t from a fist. An accidental one, but one that could not be considered devoid of affection. And though neither of you remembered it after the hazy stupor faded, it did not change the fact that it happened nonetheless. 

A small snippet of joy in the bleak landscape. A caesura found within the long, winding elegy of this world. A reprieve before tragedy. 

It was a fitting conclusion for the night before the end. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

[The free service has now been terminated.]

Back in the carriage, wedged between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja, the two of you had shared a glance confirming the unspoken truth. Minds intrinsically linked together—he did not need to speak for you to understand his thoughts immediately. And Yoo Sangah had recognised this—as did she remember the devoted gleam in your eyes whenever you spoke to or of the man seated adjacent to you. Yet ultimately, her lips would remain closed. 

When the scenarios began, it was Kim Dokja’s turn to repay you. He would be your shield moving forward—protecting your messy smile even as the world burned away. He vowed this to himself, and though the promise was heard only by him, it did not change the fact that the constellations watching him and his companions could see the oath brimming from him as he put you first. 

[Almighty Sun has sponsored you.]

Even when Apollo chose you as his incarnation, even when you were just as capable as you had been before the cataclysm occurred—he could not help but feel his fists clench as you put yourself in danger. 

“Hold on,” you’d murmured, rings flashing as you’d caught his wrist in your firm grasp. Even with his coins improving his stats, he still felt so much weaker than you—still the boy who ran to the rooftops while your fists bruised against the faces of those who tormented him. 

Had your touch always been so scalding?

Privately, he thought Apollo had chosen the right person—smile bright as the sun, skilled fingers deft enough to play the electric guitar you’d bought on a whim, presence practically a healing balm for his soul. 

“You’re injured, Dokja-ya.” And the words had made him shiver as the syllables ghosted over his flesh—your face was too close to his chest where he’d been slashed by a monster, while the affectionate tone added to his name made this situation far worse than it was. Secluded like this, in an abandoned corner of the station, it was easy to misread the situation; this was the only reason his face flushed red. His friend was far too close. When those aforementioned fingertips brushed over the wound—just grazing the wounded flesh—he jolted. From the pain, of course. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire has sponsored 200 coins.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire would like to see more action.]

“Steady.” You eased him against a pillar while ignoring the message—ignoring how your pulse was now leaden in your mouth, how the golden gleam stitching flesh back together seemed far more shaky than usual. Though, you couldn’t ignore the pain you felt as you saw the rise and fall of his torso grow shallow; you were useless when it counted—arrows meeting their target far too late. 

“Dokja-ya,” you breathed, sweeping the hair that plastered to his clammy forehead. He didn’t meet your eyes, and the heavy feeling in your chest grew more burdensome. He was supposed to tell you what was wrong; as his best friend, you duly heard his complaints and dealt with them where you could. More often than not, you could intuitively tell what bothered him; much like you had from the very first day you saw him all those years ago. And as time passed, the object of your adoration only grew easier to read. 

But he was never avoidant like this. 

What happened? As you watched him leave with heavy steps and not a glance spared back, you could feel the crushing weight of the sky drop back down on your shoulders. Fuck. Burying your face in your hands, you barely registered the message that popped up. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire expresses her sympathy.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire says she knows how the two of you can make up.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire sponsors 69 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun tells the Demon-like Judge of Fire to not be stingy.]

[The Almighty Sun sponsors 6969 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun empathises with a lover’s quarrel.]

“Shut up,” you seethed, and the bad mood carried on late into the night. It was obvious to anyone with eyes; the conjured lamps lining the perimeter of camp had seethed with you. Gold had been interspersed with bleeding red—crackling like true fire, though it was anything but. Even the tattoos that lined your skin had begun eroding into ember-like patterns, as though lava was breaking through the dermis of your skin. 

Unsurprisingly, it was Yoo Sangah that had approached first: past the harsh glow of your lamps, gracefully weaving through the brightness with the light steps that belied her nebula. She’d taken a glance at the incandescent splintering of your body, your hands furiously working away at the guitar plugged into your practically-bulletproof earphones, and finally the imposing frame of Yoo Joonghyuk only a few metres away as he stood guard tonight. 

But when you paused, when you hastily yanked the buds from your ears, she could also see the wobble in your lip. The furrow in your brows wasn’t angry, it was anguished, while the fearsome glare in your eyes contained only pain. If she was being honest, it was hard to approach you at work and even nowadays—with ease, you picked off enemies from a distance and your longbow conveniently morphed into two curved daggers when it came down to it. You were a maelstrom with the capacity to take lives—stained with blood as you bared your proverbial teeth at any threats to Dokja. But it was precisely that that allowed her to see your stupidly blind adoration of this man. 

(“Your devotion will only hurt you,” she says, as if that will dissuade you. You’ll take whatever feeling he gives you: greedily swallowing each and every morsel of emotion. Tender is your heart, but tender is good. It means you aren’t going mad over the situation you’re in.

“Yoo Sangah, I appreciate the advice,” you reply politely—you do respect her, after all. “But I do not mind that.”)

Yoo Joonghyuk had bemusedly watched as she left: staring the the dim red tattoos strewn across your body as if they could possibly help him decipher the fool in front of him. His Sage’s Eye flashed as golden as your lamps for a brief moment—detecting that your statement had, in fact, been true. 

Fool, he’d said as your hands flew over the fretboard once more. Fool, as you disappeared up the stairs to the rooftop. Fool, when your lips had pressed together tightly against one another. 

You did mind, even when you thought it was the unequivocal truth that you didn’t. 

Maybe it was futile to even think it, but he thought that idiot didn’t deserve the long-standing care in your hands, and the veneration in the timbres of your voice. It was pointless to get attached to someone like that—especially when the end of the world was upon you. 

But you wouldn’t know that, since you could not read his mind. But you wouldn’t know that, since he would never explicitly say it. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’d long-since accepted your self-torture as perfectly and utterly a part of what came with knowing Kim Dokja for as long as you did. 

The rooftop was like all other rooftops. Similar. The same. Azurine fog was at your fingertips: just like that day all those years ago. Except this time, Kim Dokja was not in your sights, and you were left alone with wisps of smoke trailing from your lips and no other company save the glowing stick in your fingers. Just like it had been; before you met the boy with a heart as greedy and all-consuming as yours. Before the merger between two black holes occurred. Before he ran up to the rooftops with bruises on his face and placed new stars in the endless vacuum of your universe. 

There was no charge in your phone, but the song that played that day still rested heavy in your neurons as you sprawled out on the bench. Mindlessly, you summoned the lyre-turned-guitar: doleful chords germinated, flourished and withered away once more under distressed fingertips. It was a night between scenarios; another caesura in this ceaseless tragedy. Though those days were filled with an empty stomach and an endless struggle, they were your halcyon days. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, it was a blue Monday once more. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, you didn’t hear the heavy run of footsteps through the heavy burr of music. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, Kim Dokja’s black hole heart pulsed with each discordant twang of chords—though this time the link was acutely clear to him. 

The boy who once tasted the mist and tilted his body into oblivion was no longer there: replaced by a man who’d faithfully stayed by him for more than a decade. Though you hadn’t changed, not at all; not when he could still see the rings you took off his bullies, gracing your fingers just as they had back then. A trophy, dedicated to his protection. When his plans involved his sacrifice, you were the first to reach him. Your face was the first he saw, tears brimming from your lash line. For despite how you’d grown into your looks, you wore your emotions clear on your face. Your heart had been taken from the cavity in your chest and replaced with a dense core that greedily always wanted; yet it had been sewn messily onto your sleeve rather than discarded. 

Kim Dokja suddenly remembered another interlude. A club, where the amorphous ebb and flow of bodies could not sweep him away from your side—since you kept him there, treasured his presence enough that you hooked your finger firmly into his belt loop and rooted him there. An anchor: you’ve always been the rock beneath his shaky feet, after all. He remembered that, and not the endless churn of music that made your face glow with happiness. 

(A black smear of gloss left on his cheek. His hands, carefully wiping eye pencil away yet not touching the remnants of your lips—not until it smudged away on its own, forgotten for all of time but this day.)

A sun of his own. The reader trod his slow orbit around you long before he could conceptualise the gravity that drew two masses towards each other. Newton’s theory of universal gravitation be damned; you were the only centre of the universe, the only body that ever existed to draw others towards your brilliant light. 

His eyes flickered over the smoke in your lips: the dim embers of a glow from the lines in your skin made it seem as though you were alight yourself. Instinctively, physically, he was compelled towards the patterns just like he had been all those years ago: your music, your stupid piercings and your stupid discussions about bands and the stupid way you listened attentively to his yapping about Ways of Survival. Stupid, because why did you do that? Why did you convince him to make a shrine for you in his heart? Stupid, because why is it only now that he can see what exactly lays atop the stone altar?

“Kim Dokja,” you spoke through your plumes, formal in the way he knew you spoke when you were upset and trying to keep it together. He swallowed, and he could feel the same pitter-patter of his pulse as he did all those years ago—heartbeat colliding loudly in his ear drums while he steps towards you, unsure. You didn’t let up with the strum of strings: electric in the drizzle of rain and wind and cold Seoul air. 

For once, he was the one looking down at your impassive face. He was the one brushing his fingers through your hair, he was the one whose hands made themselves comfortable on shoulders—for it’s always been you wrapped around him, you whose legs wedge on top of his domestically on his shitty couch in his shitty studio flat. 

“It’s Dokja-ya,” he corrected: tongue thick and leaden. It constricted his larynx and made his cadence oh so small at this moment. Tentative. Because he was your close friend and you his. He was the one who knows all your expressions—even the ones you deliberately tried to hide from everyone. He was the one who’s been with you the longest: always staring up at the muscle of your back while you act as his shield. He was the one who’s been blind. 

Your fingers halted against the strings and the instrument dissolved into the wind; the concert for two had reached its conclusion, just like it had all those months ago. For despite being packed full of people, the club only ever had two people in it for him. 

Lazily, those same hands that have bruised for him—but somehow had a touch that was far more painful than any torment that was physically inflicted on him—wrapped round his own that rested neatly on your shoulders. 

“Dokja-ya,” you answered, and the axis the world tilted on is finally righted. This man, Dokja thought—and his umbrous eyes traced down the warm lines of your face, stopping on your lips. Bittersweet. 

“Don’t leave me,” he all but begged—voice only a whisper. Don’t die on me, the black hole wanted to say instead; selfishly wishing for you to always be by his side so he doesn’t see you depart this world first. That would end him more than anything else. 

“I can’t leave you,” you murmured, and oh, the hand brushing his tear-stained cheek suddenly made more sense. “Dokja-ya, I should be telling you that.”

He pressed his face into your warm palm—scorching even with the boreal damp settling over his skin. There was something twisted within him that revels in your admission: that you, too, feared him abandoning you just as he feared you leaving him behind. 

“Idiot.” And he twined his fingers in yours, seeing the surprise on your face bloom—for he’s already established that you’re ever so easy to read. Idiot, because it’s ludicrous to even think that he’d ever willingly walk away from you like that. 

“You’re the idiot,” you whispered as your phantasmal hand ghosted from his cheek to his collar, yanking him so he fell onto the firm sprawl of your legs—in a way he’s never felt. So warm, he thought through the haze as he straddled your languid body—fit so right against you that there was none of the tension nor the anticipation that he might’ve felt. His hands splayed out onto your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart, tracing the glowing lines he adored on your body. 

So warm, he thought as your hands gently cupped his face—for you’ve never been anything but soft with this stupid man perched on your lap. 

So warm, as your lips met his and he melted into your body. He could taste the acrid smoke on your tongue, but he could also taste the food you’d prepared earlier for him, and the traces of whiskey you’d scavenged. All traces of you; his insatiable heart could not help but want to merge into you. 

So warm, as your tongue melded against his and he could feel the seam of his mouth against yours grow ever more ragged and messy. His hands desperately curled into your shirt, and he could feel your palms pressing harshly against his waist and canting his torso into yours more—something which his avaricious heart eagerly swallowed. 

On a blue Monday just like this one, two boys met for the first time once more on a rooftop just like this one. 

Again. Like and like created a merger for the second time, or perhaps it was already the third. Or fourth. Or the thousand-eight-hundred-and-sixty-third time this has happened—over and over and over and over. 

Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, or maybe it’s just the intrinsic law of gravitation that binds two black holes in a binary system. 

Blue Monday. What a silly notion, when the man beneath Kim Dokja is as warm as the brilliant sun. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

Fellas is it gay to pine after your best friend for over ten years and have oddly homoerotic moments with them

✦ . 　⁺ 

EXTRAS

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire returns from her work and asks what she missed.]

[The Almighty Sun keeps his lips shut.]

[The Abyssal Flame Black Dragon stays silent.]

[The Prisoner of the Golden Headband, perhaps not fearing his imminent hair loss, opens his mouth.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire promptly goes catatonic and explodes.]

[simpee9000]

Thoughts on Bakugo having a staring problem and sometimes dosent realize he’s starting into (y/n) / reader for too long? 😭

Bakugo would get called out for it a million times but just doesn't know how to stop. Denki and Mina tease him the most for it but even Deku and Shoto throw in some jokes as well.

"Dude you've been staring for the past hour."

"Fuck off."

best part is that Reader would constantly get told that Bakugo is starring but she always misses it by two seconds. kinda oblivious to it

[thelesbianluthor]

Calling Kate selfish and saying she didn't care about Edwina's feelings is the most ridiculous statement ever made when she was the one that sacrificed everything FOR HER.

Edwina was naive and thought that Kate's multiple warnings were misguided protectiveness. Anthony never promised love to her, he stated he was not able to give it to her, but of course she didn't know him at all, she didn't understand him at all (and that was bc Anthony himself never intended to be open with her or anyone really) and that made her think that his courtesy could turn into love at one point. She thought her infatuation with the viscount was love. But she never really knew Anthony and that is not her fault.

I love Anthony but I will always say that most of the blame of Edwina's hurt falls on him. He was the one that kept following Kate, kept looking for her, could barely contain himself in her presence while still courting Edwina against Kate's loud protests and then proposed to the wrong sister.

Kate stopped being loudly against their union when Edwina said she didn't care about his disinterest in love and then pressed for the wedding with full intention on going back to India on her own because Edwina thought she loved him. Kate had never even considered the idea of taking anything when it was for herself. She had spent a life of service to her family and she would have done the same thing again, dismissing her feelings and wants in favor of her family, if Anthony had been able to keep his feelings in check.

Would that have been an incredibly sad ending and worst for all ? Of course it would have! Because Anthony would have never learned to let go of his trauma and would have spent his life keeping his family at arm's length. Edwina would have grown to resent Anthony because of his cold and detached demeanor. And Kate would have spent a life of solitude.

Anthony shittiest action was understanding he loved Kate and immediately going for the worst possible decision, asking Edwina to marry him, especially after what happened between Kate and him in the library. But I understand the reasoning behind his stupid actions. Do I still think he was a huge clown for it? Yeah obviously. But I know that it was a necessary stressful moment to amp up the angst and drama caused by his never addressed trauma and issues.

Either way the rules of their society, the stubbornness of everyone involved and the lack of honesty with themselves and each other plus years worth of unaddressed trauma are the reason behind it all.

I still think that some of the thing Edwina said when angry were not really fitting with the situation (i mean writing wise) but I can justify them if I think of them as words said in anger in the heat of the moment by a young girl who has spent her life following her sister like a guide and not having to worry about the world because her sister would always protect her and take the brunt of it all.

Also one thing that people that blame it all on Kate conveniently forget is that the moment she realized she had feelings for Anthony she WAS ready to tell Edwina, especially after Lady Danbury told her to be honest. But he proposed to Edwina and Lady Danbury told her it was too late to do anything basically and she should just swallow her feelings because the marriage was gonna happen at this point.

Not saying that it's Lady Danbury's fault because she is just trying to work with what society gives them and trying to keep the situation under control, like all the women in the show really...

The moment something was actually about to happen between Kate and Anthony she was gonna tell the truth but Anthony was a clown and society made it worse.

In Kate's mind, at that point, she was just gonna have to keep her feelings in check until the wedding because then she would leave for India and leave it behind.

I keep thinking I am done ranting about this but I see someone being a Kate hater and I have to ramble about all the shit my girl has had to deal with and defend her.

Also I am late to the party so I have many thoughts to express

[sierrale8ne]

what kinks do you think Paige has 🙏

-🌠

oh anon i’m so glad you asked.

I think more than anything she has a huge (huge) praise kink. Obviously it’s shown in what she says to you, but hearing you praise her was a completely different story. She’d like it when you tell her how good it feels when she fucks you, how you love the way she kisses you. Even when you’re topping her, telling her how pretty she is, or how much of a good girl she’s being. That one is her favorite.

Daddy kink for sure. I genuinely cannot get the thought of that Daddy Paige cake out of my mind. She’d love hearing you say it while you beg, responding to you cries of please please please with “what’s my name?” Or when the sex is rougher than usual, when she’s breaking you apart with her strap and nearly manhandling you, the sheer dominance she feels when you call her daddy alone is enough to make her cum. She’s freaky like that I believe it.

Maybe it’s just because I write her like this but overstimulation? YEAH. She loves doing it to you for sure, making you cum over and over and over again just to prove she can; but there is another level of dominance that she loves in watching you go from her overconfident vocal partner to a a silenced little play thing for herself only. Then when she’s on the receiving end? I think she’d love the complete feeling of euphoria every time. Maybe after physical game or on a night where she just wants to be felt on, and you just push her to that edge repeatedly until you’ve deemed that she can’t take anymore. Sure she loves having that power over you but when those roles are reversed it’s almost even better.

Spit kink and please just hear me out! Thinking about your tongue between her legs, eating her out until your jaw is sore and she’s cumming in your mouth with ragged breaths and the occasional moan of your name. To have you lean up, and spit it onto her tongue? Or riding her strap— which I believe to be one of her favorite positions (we can get into that another time)— and the constant pressure of your bouncing on her cock, against her clit is becoming blinding. Your hand gently grips her face, instructing her to open her mouth just slightly so a hot glob of your spit lands perfectly on her tongue for her to swallow. PLEASE!

Let me stop it’s too early in the morning for this but I can (and will eventually) continue 🙂‍↕️