#does it have a line of fabric at the end of the sleeves?

[ghoulodont]

For a Rainy Day

Mushy May 2025 — nesting. Phantom adapts intuitively to life on the road.

Characters: Phantom, Dewdrop Words: 750ish

tour bus lore, spiritual sequel to the rest stop pickle incident

Mushy May prompts by @forlorn-crows 🖤

Read below or on AO3

It’s become routine to stop by a nearby store most days before the show, just to pick up some odds and ends. While the production is certainly large enough these days that they could request some lowly member of the venue staff to find them whatever they want, there’s something about the normality of walking around a fluorescent-lit retail oasis that feels good when they’re away from home for weeks at a time. Plus, it’s nice to spend some time out and about, even on a dreary afternoon like today.

They’re a party of three this time — Rain just wants to look around, but Dewdrop has tasked himself with topping up their communal snack stockpile, and Phantom said he needed something, though he didn’t say what. As they pass by the home goods section on their way to the chip aisle, Phantom wordlessly splits off from the group. When he rejoins them in the candy aisle, he’s carrying a fuzzy fleece blanket.

Dew looks up from the licorice selection — always a a disappointment in this part of the world, why does he bother — and watches him pick up a bag of gummy bears. “I swear you bought a blanket last time we went to the store, too.”

“Okay. And?” Phantom’s eyes scan over the text on the back of the package in his hand.

“How many blankets do you even have?”

“One fewer than I need, I think. That’s why I’m getting this one.” He lifts the bundle of fabric as much as he can with it tucked in one arm.

Dew narrows his eyes. The image of him holding a blanket this way, in the middle of a grocery aisle, is strikingly familiar.

“Why is the green flavor always apple,” Phantom mutters. He puts the gummy bears back.

Upon their return to the bus, Dew loads his all purchases into the messy kitchen cabinet, save for one small bag of sour watermelon slices that he plans to hide away for himself. In the bunk compartment, Phantom is leaning into his bunk and busily rummaging around in one corner of it. A plasticky crinkle and a purple glow are emanating from within.

“What do you even have in here?” Dew pulls back the curtain, all the way to the foot of the bunk.

“Hey!” Phantom glances up over his shoulder, but quickly looks back to what he’s doing.

This may be the first time Dew has really seen inside Phantom’s bunk, more than just a quick glimpse. The string of purple lights taped around the perimeter of the far wall, he was expecting; the rest of it, not so much. There are at least four different blankets in various states of foldedness. A diversity of plushies, ranging from a small bat that someone threw onto the stage to a large creature so extremely round and unnaturally colored that it’s unidentifiable, are lined up on one side. A small battery-operated fan, no bigger than the palm of his hand, is mounted near his two pillows. There are even pictures taped to the wall — Dew spots himself in one of them, scowling facetiously next to a beaming Phantom who must have been trying to take a selfie with him.

“What’s that?” Dew points to where Phantom’s hand is tucked into the corner, digging around between the wall and the mattress.

“What’s what?”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Oh.” He pulls out a family size package of oreos in a vibrant blue plastic sleeve — the source of the crinkling. “Snack corner.”

“That’s crazy.”

“No it’s not!” He points at the bag in Dew’s hand. “You put food in your bunk too!”

“I— This?” Dew holds up his bag of candy. “No, come on. Look at the size difference.” He holds the bag up to the oreo package. It’s less than half the area of the front side, and a fraction of the thickness.

He frowns. “Why does that matter?”

“Because keeping enough cookies to sustain a family of five in your tiny bedroom is— it’s obscene.”

“I would share them with you if you wanted,” he says, with a completely earnest expression on his face. He holds out the package.

Dew wrinkles his nose. “I’m good. But thank you.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” He leans into his bunk again and stuffs them next to the mattress, making that same crinkling noise. There’s clearly other packages in there too, unseen but loud.

Maybe he has real licorice in there — it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

[muntitled]

Virginity Files: Enha Edition

▪︎ Summary: how Hyung Line would respond to finding out you're a virgin

▪︎ Cw: Established Relationship, nsfw, virginity kink, Heeseung's part is a little unethical, +18, Minors dni

Heeseung | 희승

Abstinence had never really been a major factor in Heeseung's philosophy. In fact, he believed quite the opposite. Always choosing to forgo self control, in favour of being passionate, hedonistic and sometimes even borderline lecherous in your relationship.

Discussions of sex would plague you early on in your relationship because sexual gratification is something Heeseung refuses to compromise on- and you look too fucking gorgeous in nothing but a simple bathrobe for him to be expected to have pure thoughts.

He kisses up the side of your neck first, with his arms encircling your waist from behind like ivy creeping along the sides of an archaic mansion. You tilt your neck, welcoming his kisses as you rub the rest of your lotion along your forearms, the smell of cocoa butter having dire effects on Heeseung's restraint.

"I could fucking eat you alive," he whispers drunkenly in your ear, causing the sharpest of gasps to leave your throat when you feel his hardened length push up against your ass.

'It's happening' you think idly to yourself as Heeseung's hands crawl up your front until they're dipping into the opening of the robe.

When his fingers make contact with your breasts you freeze and Heeseung groans as he dips his head between your neck and shoulder.

He squeezes and tweaks your nipple, his cock growing impossibly harder when he feels your nipples turn to hardened peaks.

"Fuck-" he whispers before dragging you down onto the bed. Your body is limp and unresponsive when Heeseung hovers over you, your back pressed against the comforter as he inspects the expanse of your body with his large domineering hands.

You should've known what you were getting into with a guy like Heeseung.

He lives, eats and breathes sex.

How could you ever be so dumb?

"I need to touch you," he whispers, undoing the belt of your robe.

"You'll be good for me?" He asks- but his movements stop when your hand on his, stops all movements.

"I haven't had sex yet-"

Heeseung only blinks once before flashing you that dazzling smile. "Well obviously we haven't had sex yet- that's what I'm trying to correct."

"Ever. Heeseung." You release a shaky breath. "I mean ever."

It only takes a maximum of 15 infuriating seconds before Heeseung continues to slowly undo the knot of your belt as he says, "Would it be unethical if I said I'm more hard now than I've ever been?”

Jay | 제이

The idea of sex comes pretty early on in the relationship because it's all Jay could ever think about in your presence. Sex had never been anything monumental in his previous relationships- it had always been exceedingly casual, like a mutual business transaction with both parties guaranteed to step away from the venture wholly satisfied.

But here Jay is, on his knees in front of you like a martyr at the altar.

The blazer he had worn is discarded somewhere around him but all that plagues his mind is evil, diabolical thoughts of you. He looks completely wrecked as he kisses up the sides of your legs, his dress shirt half unbuttoned with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. At the start of the evening he had looked dapper, not a single hair out of place and not a single wrinkle on the prada shirt. Ready to meet your patent.

But for you… here, he's a mess.

"What has gotten i-into you?"

You dig your hands into his hair, urging him to stand up but all he does is groan and nuzzle his face further between your thighs.

"You know how beautiful you looked tonight?” he breathes, lifting the fabric to reach more skin, “It was torture having to save face for your parents but secretly wanting to eat you out the whole the night-"

Jay punctuates his mind numbing confession by lifting the ends of your dress and ducking underneath. He hooks his fingers into the sides of your lace underwear and he pulls-

"Jay, stop-"

"Why?" His voice cracks under the weight of his own desire, and he peaks up from under your dress to look up at you with pleading eyes. "Baby, just let me taste you." Your heart shatters. "I know we haven't done anything, and that's fair- maybe you don't trust me yet- I don't know-" as Jay speaks all you can do is shake your head, "But I'm fucking attracted to my girlfriend- I need to be inside of you, I need to taste you and fuck you and hold you-"

"I'm a virgin."

Jay's rambling dissolves into complete and utter silence and you're left to watch as he sits back on his haunches, completely mystified.

"What?"

"That's why we haven't done anything- I-"

Your words of embarrassment completely dissolve in your throat once Jay ducks under the skirts of your dress once more, sending your heart into complete overdrive.

"Tonight's the night then,"

Is all he says with the mission of eating you out with absolute ardour.

Jake | 제이크

Being in a relationship with a boy made of literal prince tendencies meant there were a lot of lecherous acts that you had to coax out of him. When you and Jake first shared your first kiss under New Year's fireworks he had tenderly placed his hand on your cheek as if your skin was forged of porcelain and he muttered, "Is this okay?” Those three words haunted your relationship to the point that you feared your boyfriend saw you as less of a girlfriend, and more a fragile, precious thing he coveted.

These thoughts spin in your head as Jake rubs circles on your inner thigh through the duration of your Friday-night movie.

You couldn't focus on Toy Story 2 because Jake's large hand and its glorious callouses left nothing but goosebumps in their wake, and you're completely and utterly brimming with energy when you pause the movie to gain his attention.

"Can we kiss?" You ask.

You're not sure why you ask but this running theme of always seeking for consent I'd a habit that is difficult to shake off.

"Fuck, if I wasn't thinking about it for the passed hour," he replies before scooping you into his arms. "Get over here."

You're straddling his hips and his mouth crashes against yours, eliciting an unsteady moan from the confines of your throat.

Jake is such an eager kisser. Always eager to please.

Always eager to do good for you. It's like he was purposely trying to kiss away every other guy you may have come into contact with.

If only he knew how embarrassingly small that list really is.

"Woah- Bunny, what're you doing?" Jake's hands are still on the soft sides of your hips when you grind down against his length. You're both fully clothed but the intention of your actions is very much clear. He curls his arms around you as if urging you to stop, but his steadily hardening cock gives him away.

"F-Fuck," he curses under his breath finally relenting and choosing to lean back against the couch as you grinded down against him. He watches you with hooded eyes. "This is how you're feeling tonight, yeah?"

Your bottom lip clamps between your teeth, "Yeah..." and it completely erupts a wave of arousal in the pits of Jake's stomach.

"You want Jake to take care of you?" It's the way in which he says it, like every word had to be meticulously asked in order for you to understand the severity of the situation. It made you feel silly, and juvenile and so incredibly blissful.

"P-please," you whine, locking your arms behind the back of his neck as you grind down harder against the bulge in his pants. "I'm ready."

"What- like ready, ready." Instead of admiring how cute your boyfriend is, all you're able to do is bury your face in the crook of his neck.

"I'll take good care of you." He says eventually, with his large hand rubbing soft circles into your back. "Jake'll take good care of you..."

You need him to make you feel good and that alone has him soaring along the silver lined clouds.

Sunghoon | 성훈

Unlike the rest of Sunghoon's meticulously planned life, falling helplessly in love with you- and then your body- had been something to hit him quite unsuspectingly.

You stormed into his life, and shook up every aspect of his fully functional brain, making him question just how good of an idea it was to invite you to live with him. Seeing as you two were quickly becoming a serious ensemble, Sunghoon knew the time to solidify the relationship was quickly approaching, still, it caught him wholly by surprise when you admitted your inexperience under the soft glow of his overhead light. Wine intermixed with saliva lay on both your lips due to the sweet, drunken kisses you've exchanged on the couch. Sunghoon didn't mean to get handsy. He rarely does.

In fact, Sunghoon prides himself on his restraint when it comes to you. Seeing you, however, in this space, amongst his things, as if you were a part of his property... he lowered the wine glass onto the coffee table to swoop you into his arms.

"D-Did you hear what I said?" You felt embarrassed to have to admit to being a virgin but somehow you felt that consent was needed. Perhaps he may not be completely comfortable being made subject to the daunting task of being someone's 'first'.

"W-We don't have to do this?" You try to whisper. You try to push him away by his chest but his teeth sink into the crook of your neck drawing a heightened gasp out of the confines of your throat.

"We should get you ready first," he whispers instead, knocking all the air out of your lungs in one fell swoop. His hands glide down over your silk pyjamas until he's cupping your sex- the most private, most vulnerable parts of you. "We'll go slow." Sunghoon said with his nose still buried in your neck as he snuck his hand down your pants. You were a gasping mess, so unused to the feeling of it being someone else's hand on that particular spot.

"Just relax, Baby,"

"Sunghoon-"

"Right here," he whispered, drinking in your gasps like they were the finishing remains of crimson red wine. "I'm right here,"

[luveline]

hiii can you possibly write a poly!marauders x reader who is way too much like sirius 😭 i’m so so so similar to him it’s literally scary and we have the same birthday too??? same everything it’s crazy i think it would be so funny to watch them navigate through Two siriuses 😭

thank you for your request <3 fem!reader

Remus has been in love with Sirius since they were fourteen years old, so falling for you was easy. It was practically already done. 

You’re sitting by the window with a tape player in your lap and headphones over your ears. Pretty mouth turned down, eyes lined with a smudged kohl, you look lovely when you sulk. Remus can’t stand to leave you alone. 

He gives you a moment's peace, of course, but with James and Sirius entangled in a dinner-making argument and nothing left to do, he’s almost forced to sit beside you in the window seat. There isn’t much room, bless, but you don’t argue, leaning back into his arm and continuing your staring out the window. 

“You okay?” he asks. He knows the music isn’t too loud. You loathe being snuck up on. 

“Am I okay?” you ask, turning your head gently to the side, meeting his eyes through the fence of your lashes. Mascara lengthens them, has their ends kissing your brow as you widen your eyes slowly, playfully. 

“Sitting all by yourself.” 

“I’m not,” you say, the corners of your lips curling into a pleased half-smirk. You’ve too much affection about you to be truly smug. 

“But you were.” He moves the headphones off of your ears slowly. 

It’s a good thing Remus is such a flirt. You’d be hard to keep up with otherwise. He does wonder how James survives it; you and Sirius will flirt brazenly, almost darkly, a seduction in the smallest of things. Picking lint off of his shirt, wiping coffee foam from his lip. And Remus is quieter, not as shy as some might think him but without the darling charm (well, unless he wants it). 

You hold his gaze. “I knew you’d come and keep me company, Remus… that’s what you’re doing, right?” 

He laughs in your face, which isn’t to stay he’s laughing at you. He just can’t not laugh. You’re nerve wracking and sweet and his to flirt with. Plus, you hear him laughing and the majority of your facade melts away as you laugh yourself, the tip of your nose bumping against his sleeve. “Jerk,” you say. 

You and Sirius are different in some ways, of course. Sirius can’t stand having air blown in his ear and you love it, shivering with delight as you curl into his arm. 

“Hello. What’s going on here?” 

James is climbing onto the window seat before either of you can tell him not to. There’s absolutely no room for him nor his muscly arms, his shirt getting caught on your knee and rising, an unreadable mess of limbs and fabric. A tan hand uses Remus as a lift. James straddles your lap, bringing his face up to smile at you lovingly. “Hello, lovely.” 

“James, this is rather selfish of you,” you say. “Me and Remus were having a cuddle.” 

“He had you all last night.” 

“That’s not true. Sirius shared me with him. I was like a cherry pit.” 

James makes a horrified, undignified shriek like you’ve jabbed him in the gut. “What the fuck.” 

“You know full well I didn’t, Jamie, on account of my being the big spoon to your little one.” Sirius arrives, and announces his disgust with a wrinkle of the nose. “I can’t believe I’ve just said that out loud. Domesticity is becoming too much.” 

James is a tall, tall guy, and he’s not skinny either. Remus gives up his seat before he’s pushed from it, and at least finds a new embrace in Sirius’ space, a hand behind his back, ringed fingers ghosting against his spine. 

“Aw, Remus, what are you doing? …Come back,” James whines. 

You laugh again. “You’ve stolen all the room.” 

“Can I be blamed?” 

Sirius wraps his arm around Remus' waist. One moment he’s being hugged, the next kissed, silky soft kisses pressed to his jaw as Sirius murmurs, “You could’ve stood your ground.” 

But then Sirius wouldn’t be kissing him.

“Forget him,” Sirius advises, his lips parting over a soft spot near threateningly. “Who needs him? You have me.” 

“It wasn’t like that!” James insists. “I just missed her when I was in the kitchen.” 

“And I missed you, Jamie,” you murmur. 

Sirius scoffs, to Remus’ delight. “What’s funny?” Sirius asks, pulling Remus’ head back by the hair, not rough or anything but intimate enough of a move that Remus probably has hearts for eyes as he answers. 

“She sounds exactly like you, you realise?” 

Sirius narrows his grey eyes. “Well, it’s not a bad way to sound.” 

Remus has had enough of him, really, the flirting is fun but he misses his boyfriend, especially if James is going to steal the cuddle with you Remus had been aiming for. “I want some herbal tea,” he says, sewing his arms over Sirius’ shoulders, as much love in his touch and gaze as he can possibly fit. “Do you want some? I’ll make it for us.” 

In the same moment, James is holding your cheek and asking what you’d like for dinner, whatever you want, honey, so close you can smell his aftershave lingering from the morning and the minty cherry hybrid smell of his favourite chewing gum. His weight rests on your hip. Remus can see you heating up from over Sirius’ sharp shoulder.

You and Sirius are also very alike in that you both fluster at being treated with care. Immediate melting. Cheeks hot to the touch. 

“I don’t mind, Jamie,” you mumble. 

“I’d love some,” Sirius says, ever so slightly hoarse. 

[mrpenguinpants]

See you, space cowboy

— Parting words at the end of the day.

— Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Imbibitor Lunae, Dr. Ratio + Luocha

[Masterlist]

The title is from Cowboy Bebop. I used their "Parting" voice lines if anyone was curious. Ignore how I'm using a Kafka gif for a fic with only men. I promise this is still a "genshin" blog.

Jing Yuan

"Mmm, rest well... My apologies. There is still some work to be done and I can't see you out personally."

You blink at him before you narrow your eyes and give him a judging stare. Your fingers reach out to curl around the sleeve of his uniform, giving it a small tug that he willingly steps into despite his earlier words. He doesn't try to hide the amusement in his eyes, even letting out a soft chuckle that makes your lips downturn into a frown. Jing Yuan reaches up, smoothing the crease between your eyebrows before resting on your cheek.

"It's obvious that you're tired. You should rest for a little bit more before you go back to work," you lightly scold as you give another weak tug for him to return to your shared home. Another chuckle escapes him as he places his other hand on your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles through the fabric for a few seconds to attempt to appease you. "It's been a while since we've shared a meal together..."

Jing Yuan's eyes soften yet he politely removes your hand attached to his sleeve. This time he avoids your gaze, the disappointment flowing heavy in the air, when he shakes his head and steps back.

"Next time, I promise," he whispers, squeezing your hand to hopefully convey his sincerity. "I'll take a day off as well. I heard that our Trailblazer friend has restored Aurum Alley back to its former glory. I'm sure Yanqing would love to join us as well."

You seem to mull over it in your head. To trade one night for a full day is tempting, plus Yanqing has been running himself ragged given the recent events. It would be nice to have a break where it can just be the three of you without any military or political weight hovering above you.

"...fine. But if you break your promise, I'll sic Mimi on you," you pout at him, twisting your hand from his grip to poke him in the chest.

"I...shall plan accordingly then," he laughs awkwardly because he knows you will follow through with that threat. He still has the scratch marks on the walls as proof. Playful or not, Mimi is unfortunately an overly heavy lion.

Blade

"Go. When the mara strikes, you don't want to be next to me."

"Is that what you say to everyone who tries to help you?" you huff as you carefully bandage his wounds, the white bandages seeping red slowly as you wind them around his torso. Despite the sarcasm dripping from your tone, he can tell you're genuinely angry with him this time. If it were anyone else, he would shake them off to leave, but when you look like you're two breaths away from bursting into tears, so he can only take a deep breath and let you bandage him up.

"They'll heal. They always do," he says after a moment of silence. Alas, his attempt at comfort does nothing but make you more stressed. He winces slightly when you pull too tightly on the bandage, the gauze scrapping against his gash that's already stitching itself together again.

"I know, so shut up already," you spit in an attempt to save face, and he decides to offer a bit of kindness by not commenting on it, "I'm not doing this for you."

He knows. You used to be an ordinary medic before the Stelleron Hunters recruited you, and you incidentally had to switch careers to something more violent. But old habits die hard, and this small bit of control helps to ease your worries. Even if it's only by a small margin. Your weakened hold lets the bandages fall into a heap on your lap as your shoulder shag. You press your forehead against his shoulder just slightly above where his wound is already rapidly healing into another scar.

"Can't you be more careful?" you sigh into his shoulder, a smear of red on your cheek that you both ignore. Blood will wash out.

"I'm sorry," he replies. He won't lie to you and say that he'll try. For as much as the mara controls him and his emotions, he wills them away for a few seconds.

Dan Heng

"Time to turn in already…? Thanks for the reminder. It's easy to lose track of time in the archives — before you know it, a whole day's gone by… See you tomorrow."

You have to stifle your laugh lest you make Dan Heng more embarrassed that he kicks you out of the room to save some dignity. Even though he says all that, he hasn't once lessened his hold on you for you to actually get up and leave. If anything, his arms around your waist tighten so you're practically molded into his chest. To be fair, you had lost track of time as well. After the recent adventures and running everywhere, it felt nice to settle into Dan Heng's lap and waste a day away in the archives, just basking in each other's presence. No crazy hunter trying to stab Dan Heng or overactive mara-struck enemies attempting to decapitate you. Just the hum of the machines and the warmth of company that neither of you are ready to leave so soon.

"You know...technically it's already "tomorrow" since it's 2am. We could just stay here," you muse as you tilt your head up to look at his unimpressed expression. The longer the two of you stay up, the worse the rest of the day will be from the lack of sleep. Plus it's not healthy to stay up to reset a sleep schedule.

"You know we can't do that. Besides, you might be comfortable but this shelf has been digging into my back for the past few hours," he sighs, shifting his body to prove a point further.

"10 more minutes," you bargain.

"2," he denies flatly.

"5?" you try again.

"2." He stares you at with a frown.

"3!" You stare right back with a cheeky grin.

"...fine."

He hides the fond smile into your hair as you cheer on gaining a single minute.

Dan Heng • Imbibitor Lunae

"It's getting late, I won't be staying up much longer. Sleep well."

You have to stifle your amusement less you make Dan Heng recede even further into his shell, but you can't help but think it's kind of cute how awkward this dragon can be sometimes. The way he stands so stiffly and not at all relaxed for sleep, how his eyes are staring at anything but you who is standing right in front of him, coupled with the uneasy way he says for you to "sleep well.". As if he's questioning if it's okay for him to say something so casually despite all the time you've spent in each other's company. Dragon horns or not.

"Much longer...huh. And pray tell, how many minutes does that equate to again? It's kinda hard to tell when I'm talking to an infinite respawn glitch," you tease, lightly punching him in the shoulder makes Dan Heng crack a tiny smile. You mentally pat yourself on the back for that little win. Ever since the Astral Express concluded its journey on the Xianzhou, the new dragon had been walking on eggshells around everyone.

"You're talking too much to that hacker girl. That's not how the vidyadhara reincarnation works either," he sighs but the tension is gone from his shoulders. If you're able to joke about it then you're not mad at him lying about his origins, even though you haven't been in the first place. "But I will return to the Archives with the system hour."

You spare a glance at the clock. It'll be midnight in another 20 minutes. Has it really gotten that late so quickly?

"Alright, but if I check the data bank and there are new entries, I'm kicking your door open mister," you place your hands on your hips as you gesture two V-sign fingers at your own eyes, then at him. "Good night Dan Heng. See you in the morning.".

Dr. Ratio

"Another day has passed. If your problem still hasn't been solved, is it possible that the problem is you?"

He tilts his head to the side gracefully as you hurl your pen at him. The cheap plastic breaks on impact and leaves a smear of ink that you'll have to clean up unless you want another stain for Dr. Ratio to insult you for. Perhaps you can use his name as a tax write-off? It's the least he could do for you with how much attitude you put up with.

"What if my problem is you? If you didn't dodge then I wouldn't have to waste so many precious pens," you counter as you reach for the white cloth hanging from his waist to use to mop up the ink. One that has Ratio slapping your hand away with his stone booklet. He even dares to wipe at it with a handkerchief, as if touching your skin is equivalent to touching trash, rather than offering it to you!

"Ow! Geez, you really don't hold back. I wasn't going to actually use your clothing!" you fake sob as you nurse your poor hand close to your chest. It doesn't hurt as badly as you're making it out to be. You've seen Veritas throw chalk at his enemies and leave chalk-sized holes in them. "Besides, it's not like I can do anything about my "problems". [ Rahu ] isn't the easiest place to investigate..."

Your body slumps in as you think back on how little progress you've made with that strange planet. Diamond has been kind enough to not assign a deadline but you can feel the quiet disappointment every time you report that you don't have anything new to share each month. Maybe Veritas is right. Maybe the problem is you.

"Which is why you've been given the role. The numbers written on a stats page or monthly reports do not measure the trial and error of someone's pursuit of knowledge. Very few scholars I know would be capable of continuing for the sole purpose of finding the truth. Surely you're capable of seeing that? Unless I've severely underestimated your intelligence," Veritas states as if it were a fact. He reaches to take your hand, giving it a once over to see if he has truly hurt you. His words bring a small smile as your heart swells at his encouragement as you squeeze his hand back.

Luocha

"Have an early rest. I'll keep watch here."

It's the last thing you hear before your eyelids droop close and sleep takes you under. Your body slumps against Luocha's side, his hands already out and ready to catch you, before he gently maneuvers you so your head rests in his lap. He hums humourlessly as he combs through the strands of your hair, a bit of dirt clinging onto the ends. He'll have to tend to that later.

"I wonder what someone like you dreams of," he contemplates although he doesn't expect an answer. Your face is the picture of serenity as your chest rises up and down slowly with each breath, completely dead to the world. You're far too trusting of him, even his first meeting on friendly terms with Dan Heng hadn't made that man lower his guard. Sure, they had been on the same team but Dan Heng would constantly look behind him as if he was waiting to get stabbed in the back by Luocha's sword. Yet here you are, fast asleep in his lap and entirely defenseless.

A loud buzzing sounds from your pocket that Luocha reaches for to check, you're not going to be awake to answer it anyway.

"What considerate companions you have," he muses as Dan Heng's caller ID flashes on your phone before his call gets sent to voicemail. It's truly a blessing that all phones operate under the same system programming as he holds down the power button, effectively shutting the phone and other potential distractions silent. Under the artificial night light, when it's just the two of you here, no one can see the secret smile on his lips. Nor the possessive hold he has on you.

[mastermindmiko]

Apology

Pairing: Draco Malfoy + reader Word count: a bit less than 1k Summary: You and Draco have a fight. Hurt/comfort with a happy ending Warnings: none, I believe, except slight bad boyfriend behavior on Draco's part.

It’s not often when a fight reaches this point. It’s always just the slight bickering and maybe a hurtful comment that gets resolved immediately as it’s said. It wasn’t frequent when I would have to leave his prefect’s dorm and take to my own dorm room instead, this was one of those times. 

The hufflepuff dorm is wonderful, warm and cozy. The plants provide it with a certain feel to it that makes you feel like you’re at home. The kitchens are just a few steps away, making late night snacks very easy to access. I’d decided that I’d hop over there before going to my dorm for a nice cup of hot chocolate, maybe that would stop the crying. 

I use my sleeves to wipe away the tears from my face, and grimace when I notice a bit of snot on my sleeves, contrasting against the black fabric. I huff and I untie my black and yellow tie from around my neck, scrunching it up and shoving it into the pockets of my robe. 

I wasn’t sure how it started, it was all going as planned, we were getting ready to go to sleep. I was already halfway into my pyjamas, and my skincare routine, already done. The tears along with the moisturizer make my face feel very sticky and slimy, but I couldn’t get myself to care. He was already in bed, and we were discussing our days. 

He told me about his potion that he perfected. He told me about the game of exploding snaps that he won against Blaise, and the book that he started reading a week ago, that he finished. I told him about my saplings that were growing well, the excellent grade that I got in care of magical creatures and how glad I was about that grade since I’d been working so much on it. I recalled to him the long nights that Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw spent on it. 

That seemed to switch something on in his brain, or switch off his common sense, more like it. He began to ask questions more and more about Anthony. His house, his friends, how I knew him, how long I knew him, and more along those lines. He’d asked if I had spent time with him since submitting the project and I replied, “Not really, but I wouldn’t mind it, he’s a nice person.” 

When I got a few mumbles in reply, I teased, “Don’t be jealous Draco, you know you’re the only one for me.” 

“I’m not jealous! As if I’d be worried that anyone would want you.” He blurted out. I knew he didn’t mean it, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. Draco tends to say things he doesn’t mean when he’s mad, but after asking him a few more words from him and me, I couldn’t stay in the room with him any longer. 

The memories brought back an ache to my heart and I let out a sob. I feel grateful when I see the common room in sight. There’s a person, leaning against the hufflepuff dorm, their back turned against me. However, it was pretty blatant who it was by the shiny blond hair. I sniffle, hoping I don’t look how I feel, “What are you doing here?” 

He pants, “I'm a much faster runner than you’d think.” He takes a few more breaths, chest heaving and he continues, tilting his head with a small smile, “Plus, I took a different route.” 

I nod my head and his small smile falls. He takes a few steps towards me, arms reaching out, but I fold mine in front of my chest. He sighs, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

That’s all it takes for my eyes to start burning up again, and I hate that because I should be angry, I shouldn't be crying! I turn to look away, hoping he doesn’t notice, but he always does. He clicks his tongue, and takes a few steps towards me anyways. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close to his chest. Even if he’s the reason why I’m angry, his embrace comforts me. 

“I didn’t mean it, I promise. We all know that if anyone’s settling in this relationship, it's you. I don’t know how you put up with me, but I’m sure as hell glad that you do.” He admits and I upfold my arms to wrap them around him. I feel him relax under my accepting movements and he presses a kiss to the top of my head before resting his chin on top of mine. I confess, “That really hurt me, Draco.” 

“I know, and I hate myself for hurting you. I’m so sorry.” he says, I can still feel his sharp intakes of breath against me. I pull away from his arms to look into his eyes, and he leans down to press a kiss against my lips. He implores, “I’m sorry, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but let me make it up to you.” 

I smile a bit, sniffling. He presses a small kiss to my cheek which I’m sure couldn’t have been very pleasant due to the mixture of moisturizer and tears. He reaches out to take my hand, and he suggests, “How about a cup of hot chocolate before we head back?”

My small smile stretches at how well he knows me, and I lean my head against his arm. He pulls me closer to him by my waist and he whispers, “Ohh, you know I can’t have you mad at me, love you too much for that.”  

Hey! if you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist

[draculasfavoritewife]

Distracted

Summary: When Frank calls you during a mission after an extended period of radio silence, what could possibly make him break his own no-contact rule?

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

Warnings: Some language; this is practically just phone sex in every way except for me explicitly stating so ;)

I think I just need to accept at this point that my Frank fics will always get away from me in the end. This one started on the 🤭 side of the scale and by the time I reached the end it had somehow reached unprecedented levels of 🥵. In any case, I love the idea of normally taciturn Frank missing talking to reader and just calling her up out of the blue to tell her that. And then I guess everything just devolved from there, as it so often does.

When you answered your phone, your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape from your body right through your chest wall.

He never called.

Had something gone so horribly wrong that he needed to say goodbye?

"Frank?!"

"Hey there, pretty girl." His voice sounded bone-tired, but warm with affection, and your panic started to subside. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," you had murmured. "You just know how I worry."

"I do." The rough laugh on the other side of the line turns your insides into a melting mess. "Just needed to hear my girl's voice for a minute. Long day."

You lie back on the bed again, letting out a quiet breath of relief.

"I miss you, tough guy."

He hums wordlessly in acknowledgement, and you can imagine him settling back against a wall somewhere, finally letting his overexerted body relax.

"Tell me what you're wearing?"

He sounds softer now, almost a little hesitant. "I wanna picture what you look like right now."

Heat rushes to your face. "Nothing special. Just one of your shirts I uh...'borrowed'. I hope that's okay."

There's silence for a moment on the other end, then a sharp hissing sound that you imagine must be him sucking in a breath between his teeth.

"Shit, baby, lookin' like that without me there to see it? You know how I feel about you wearin' my stuff. Goddammit."

You smile and stroke the threadbare fabric between your fingers. "I know, Frank, I'm sorry. But it smells like you, and I missed you so bad today. It helps me sleep at night when you're not here with me."

He chuckles softly, a deep rumbling that you feel all the way in the pit of your chest even through the phone's less-than-ideal sound quality. "Alright, alright. Which one?"

"Black. Slightly thicker fabric, buttoned collar." You tap the worn-smooth buttons with your fingertips as you say the words, an unconscious fidgeting habit.

"That old one with the holes in the sleeves?" He's way too good at this, guessed exactly which piece you would've taken refuge in during his absence.

"Damn, Frank," you breathe out, shocked at his accuracy. "How'd you tell?" He does own at least four different shirts that match the brief description you'd given.

You hear him grunt, probably a blend of approval and the soreness that comes from doing god-knows-what for the past few days. "You like that one. Only reason it's still in the closet, to tell the truth. Would've thrown it out a long time ago otherwise."

A flood of memories rushes through your mind: cuddling up to him, in bed, on the couch, his hands in your hair and his lips brushing your forehead, warm and safe in the folds of this very same shirt. "I'm really glad you kept it, then."

"I am too." A long sigh, and the rustling sounds of his large body shifting position. "Your hair up or down?"

The warmth rapidly returns to your face. Is what you think is happening actually happening?

You wouldn't have guessed Frank was an over-the-phone kind of guy, he prefers to be hands-on in every aspect of his life, but the two of you had spent so much time together lately, maybe the separation is getting to him, too.

"It's down. I took a shower earlier and wanted to let it air dry for a bit." Your voice comes out soft, vulnerable as you answer him and lean further into the pillows behind you.

"Mmm. You know if I was there I'd help you get all the tangles out, yeah?"

You shiver at the thought of his big hands in your hair, those long, dexterous fingers patiently combing their way through, their passage sometimes halting where your comb had missed a spot. "You say that now, Castle, but how do I know you wouldn't be putting more tangles in?"

His taken-off-guard laugh rasps in your ear. "Hey now, you watch that pretty mouth of yours. Don't taunt me like that." A brief moment of consideration, a heavy pause as he imagines you on top of him, that damn shirt swallowing your figure and your teasing face looking down into his. "Maybe I would."

"Thought so." You stick the fingers of your free hand through the aforementioned holes in his shirt. "I hate this bed, Frankie."

"Yeah? Why's that? Don't be a smartass now, I practically built that bed for you."

"It's too big and empty without you." You channel all of the sad, bratty tone you can possibly muster into that simple sentence.

"Christ."

You're not quite sure if the strain you hear running beneath his voice comes from exhaustion or something else you're starting. "My girl's lonely there all by herself, huh?"

"Yeah. I need you to come back, Frank."

"Shit, I know, Sweetheart. I know. I need you, too." His breath hitches, barely noticeable but you know him, and you catch it.

"You lonely without me too, tough guy?"

He hums, a non-answer, deliberately drawing the conversation out. "Look, I like bashing faces in as much as the next guy, but the people I'm after are a little bit lacking in the affection department."

You put the phone down, switching it to speaker mode and settling into a better position. "So you're touch-starved, is what I'm hearing."

You know he must be scowling and shaking his head at the accusation on the other end of the line. "Nah, I wouldn't say that, exactly --"

"Well I am." Your admission comes out as little more than a breathy sigh. "Do you have any idea how hard that is?"

He only snorts at that, and you feel gratified that the implication landed.

"I can't even watch TV at night without wishing your hand was here resting on my thigh like usual," you tell him wistfully.

A long, huffed-out exhale precedes his next words, and you grin wickedly at the sound. "Yeah, Sweetheart. I miss how you count all my scars when we're just lyin' in bed and neither of us can sleep."

"You got any new ones for me?"

The unsteadiness is completely impossible to keep out of your own voice now as you close your eyes, remembering how it feels when his hands are the ones touching you instead.

"Probably." A sharp intake of air interrupts him for a brief moment. "Not gonna tell you where, though. I'll let you find 'em all on your own when I get back."

Your entire body shudders violently at such an invitation. "I will, Frankie. I'll find all of your new scars, I promise. I'll kiss 'em for you, too -- maybe even bite 'em, if they're in good places."

"Shit."

There's a sudden vacuum left in the air between you after his sharply spat expletive, only the uneven rhythm of two people dozens of miles apart trying to catch their breath breaking the delicate silence. You pick your phone up again and bring it close to your face so you can hear his breathing right in your ear; if you keep your eyes shut, you can almost imagine he's right there in the bed with you.

"You're dangerous, you know that," he mutters after a bit. "Got me all distracted out here like some asshole amateur."

"Hey, you called me," you point out, warmth pouring into your contrary words. "I know you're not completely naive, Castle."

"Ah, get off my ass. Was a momentary lapse in judgement, s'all. Happens to the best of us."

"Mmhmm." You trace a small heart on the blanket next to the phone. "Right. Well, you better get back here soon then, and avoid any more mistakes like this, huh?"

"I will." His promise is gentle, but steel-hard with sheer conviction underneath.

"Won't be long, baby girl. Can't wait to have you with me for real again."

[byhees]

wearing a hoodie that’s not theirs.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 700 genre fluff established relationship non-idol au warnings not proof-read skinship kissing petnames light jealousy — more

a/n. this was written back in mid-2023 ㅠㅠ

heeseung would notice right away; he tends to be more observant when it comes to you— the way the hoodie falls a little higher above your knee, the colour looking unfamiliar against your skin. would definitely ask you, in the most indirect of ways, why you hadn’t asked him for his hoodie. doesn’t want to make a whole scene, but it does tick him off a little; would ask if you’d like to swap hoodies, fingers already lightly tugging on the ends of the outerwear…

jay would spot the difference almost immediately. everything about it feels unfamiliar to him; a dead give-away would be the smell of said hoodie, the new scent of laundry eliciting furrowed brows. probably wouldn’t mention it, not wanting to seem protective over such a little thing— would only hold you closer, arm lightly pressing against the fabric as it snakes around your waist; feels like such a small article of clothing doesn’t hold much weight, given the light peppering of kisses over his features— when he loves you, and you love him, the hoodie’s out of the equation…

jake would put on a small facade— no, he’s actually crumbling internally, but he can’t let you see that, so here’s a big, radiant smile; pretends that he’s okay, and brushes off his occasional staring as daydreaming. would bombard you with a bunch of questions, all along the lines of “aren’t you feeling hot, love?”; it’s such an indirect and subtle way to hint that he’d prefer for the mystery hoodie to be off. the following day, he’d leave his hoodies all over your place, intentionally making the addition very obvious, in hopes of seeing his hoodie instead of another’s the next time…

sunghoon would take one glance at you, and notice the very unfamiliar piece of outerwear drowning your frame. would fake laugh a lot. his eyes would regularly dart to the article of clothing; whenever he observes you twirling the strings of the hoodie, or fiddling with the material, his gaze would linger on you for a second or two longer than usual. reminds himself to not make a big deal out of it, but would eventually ask you “who’s hoodie is that?”. would spring up from his seat, and walk over to his room, personally picking out a hoodie from his collection...

sunoo would be so so appalled, offended even; he has so many comfortably oversized hoodies, and yet the one that’s dawning you isn’t from the hefty selection? would probably pucker his lips in the shadow of a pout, arms itching to cross over his chest. would make his distaste towards the outerwear loud and clear; dropping very unsubtle hints, and highlighting the ‘extremely special warmth’ of his hoodies. a wide smile would dance on his lips the moment the hoodie’s out of sight…

jungwon would be pretty confused; would have probably thought that you were pulling some form of ‘social experiment’ on him, given the way you’d been twirling and beaming at the comfort of another person’s hoodie. would feel a little bit bothered after seeing you settle down next to him, arms outstretched in the motion of a hug, not a trace of intention to take off the outerwear. would often clear his throat, hands subconsciously tugging on the sleeves of said unknown hoodie; would try to subtly convince you to switch the outerwear for another one, preferably his own, in the tiniest of voices. has the biggest, tooth-rotting smile on his face when you agree to the offer— would dash to his closet, a hoodie clutched in his grip moments later…

riki would notice right off the bat; that hoodie, most certainly, isn’t his— the way it envelops you? no, there’s definitely something different about it. the way the sleeves fall, maybe, a centimetre shorter than usual? that’s definitely different. gets so grumpy; refuses to even make eye contact with you, eyes always swiftly shifting to another object whenever you turn to look at him. “where’d you get this?” he’d ask, a childish pout painting his lips. would take off his own hoodie, wordlessly giving the clothing piece to you; refuses to admit that he was, perhaps, a teeny-tiny bit sulky…

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady @gweoriz @czlluvriki @okwonyo @okwons @kimsunoops @pockyyasii networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[cece693]

I just like Hannibal crying...is that weird?? Like, there's just something beautifully poetic about this monstrous man who is still able to feel and show those emotions, in the face of something that does move him. Anyway, I just wanted to write something with a sad Hannibal and couldn't help myself. Be prepared, it's long and sad.

EVEN DEATH CANNOT SEPARATE US

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader tags: sad ending, both characters are dead, you actually have a terminal illness, it's not specific though, use your imagination, hannibal dies because he can't fathom to continue living without you, I like how this turned out, mention of afterlife

The Baltimore townhouse is hushed in the late-winter dusk, firelight peeling slow amber across mahogany paneling and half-empty bookcases. It smells of eucalyptus and polished leather and, faint beneath it all, the sterile sweetness of the morphine drip that follows you now like a last, reluctant valet.

You sit in one of the Hepplewhite wing-backs, quilt tucked around your shoulders. Every motion has become deliberate: you fold your hands, you breathe, you listen to the crackle of cedar. Hannibal kneels at your feet to adjust the quilt as though it were ceremonial—perhaps it is. He smooths the fabric over your knee, tracing the bones beneath, catalogue-careful, a man committing sacred anatomy to memory.

“You should save that strength,” you murmur; your voice is frayed silk.

“So should you,” he counters, but the words lack their usual lattice of irony. When he looks up, his eyes are almost fever-bright. He is not wearing a suit tonight—only a dark cashmere sweater whose sleeves bunch at the elbows—and the small untidiness feels indecent, a bare throat in church.

A strand of silver hair has fallen forward. You lift a trembling hand to tuck it behind his ear. “I’m not afraid, Hannibal.”

“I know.” His fingers circle your wrist to steady you; the gentleness burns. “Neither am I.”

You could tell him he’s lying, but you don’t. Fear is too small a word for what lives behind his composure. He is a creature accustomed to eternity—cultivating it in cellars, plating it in crystal bowls—yet here you sit, proof that time can still spoil the very finest cut. That discovery terrifies him more than death ever could.

“Come here,” you say.

He rises, settles on the ottoman so your knees bracket his ribs. Your pulse drums weakly under his palm. The fire pops and a coal collapses—soft thunder, like applause heard from behind velvet curtains. Hannibal’s gaze drifts to the hearth; when he speaks again his voice is hoarse, low:

“Does it hurt?”

“It already does. Not in ways morphine can touch.” You give a rueful smile. “But that’s all right. Hurt means I’m still here with you.”

A muscle leaps in his jaw. “And when you are not?”

“Then the hurt is yours.” You skim his cheek with your thumb, feel the heat of unshed tears there—Hannibal Lecter, whose eyes have witnessed rivers of blood without once watering, and yet for you... The first tear breaks, slow as syrup. It charts a shining course along the fine line of his nose and drops to your quilt. Another follows. He doesn’t wipe them away; he lets them fall the way one allows candles to gutter after guests depart—a sign that the evening, at last, is over.

You try to memorize the sight: the tremor in his lower lip, the wet lashes, the velvet darkness of his irises. You realize you are smiling. “Beautiful,” you whisper.

He bows his head until his brow meets the back of your hand. “This is unbecoming.”

“It’s the most becoming thing I’ve ever seen you do.” Your lungs tighten; you rest, catching breath. Hannibal’s tears soak your skin, warm, startling. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Live. Live like you always do—gloriously, shamelessly. Don’t pickle yourself in grief. I wouldn’t stand for that.”

He lifts his head. “You would haunt me?”

“Relentlessly.”

A ghost of a smile touches his mouth, and you see the man you met years ago—the impeccable host with jokes folded between syllables like origami knives. Now the knife is turned inward. “Very well,” he says. “I will live. But I will not love.”

“You will,” you assure him, “because loving me taught you how. Even if you hate it, the lesson’s learned.” Your eyes sting; vision doubles. “And I’ll go knowing I moved an immovable heart.”

Silence settles, thick and reverent. Hannibal slips from the ottoman to the rug, drawing your hand to his lips. He doesn’t kiss it. Instead, he rests it over his own heart, as though he means to press it through flesh, through bone, lock it there before the beat stops beneath your ribs.

The townhouse remains hushed after the last ember fails, but something enormous and wordless ripples in its bones—a tectonic shift in the house’s cruel, curated stillness. Hannibal does not rise. He feels the thin weight of you cooling in his arms and discovers, with surgical clarity, that grief is a blade he cannot grip by the handle; it cuts no matter how delicately he holds it.

It is obscene, almost comical, that the Chesapeake Ripper should finally understand loss in so ordinary a fashion. All the elaborately posed corpses, all the aria-sweet deaths he has orchestrated, and here—when confronted with a passing as gentle as candle-smoke—he is undone.

Sadness was always a flavor he served to others. Now it coats the back of his own throat like ash. It has no elegance, no aesthetic potential; it is simply weight. It drags his ribs inward until every breath rasps. The house feels too voluminous, every hallway an echo chamber of absence. His monster’s brain chases solutions—taxonomies, distractions, new hungers to hunt—but they dangle uselessly, gutted of savor.

Hours slide apart from one another like pages warping in rain. He studies your face as rigor settles, committing each micro-contour to the cathedral of his memory. Then, slowly, he begins the rites:

He braids your fingers with his and speaks to you in unhurried Lithuanian lullabies remembered from childhood.

He wipes the last tears from your cheeks, then allows more of his own to fall and replace them—an unbroken exchange, grief for grief, salt for salt.

He refuses a physician, a coroner, any intrusion. Instead, he dresses you in the midnight-blue silk you once wore to the opera, fastens the pearl buttons with hands that suddenly shake, kisses each knuckle when the tremor threatens to snap a thread.

At dawn he carries you to the music room. Mahogany shutters filter new light across the Bösendorfer. He props your body against his chest, one arm beneath your shoulders, the other coaxing a final nocturne from the keys. The notes drag like chains—dense, deliberate—and in them Hannibal folds everything he cannot articulate: rage at his own helpless biology, reverence for your courage, the terrible privilege of watching fearlessness turn cold in his embrace.

By twilight he understands: living was your last command, but obedience has never been his native tongue. To remain here, breathing, is to endure a famine no feast can sate. The concept of years—a month, even a day—spinning forward without your pulse beside his is intolerable, a mathematical obscenity he refuses to solve.

“I will not outlast you,” he murmurs against your temple, voice raw as scraped violin strings. “I gave you my fullness—my darkness, my devotion. What remains is only residue.”

He imagines the simple choreography of a final dinner: crystal decanters reflecting candle-flame, the bouquet of a forty-year Barolo softening the air. There would be music—perhaps that very nocturne, recorded and looping, a hush between phrases like a held breath. And then—quiet, clinical—he will follow your path, matching your heartbeat’s last count with a dose measured to the milligram. An ending of his own composition, stitched neatly to the end of yours.

Before he executes the coda, he wraps you in a shroud of black cashmere and lowers you into the crypt beneath the townhouse, a space he once reserved for rarer vintages. Now, it becomes a sanctuary of two. He seals the room, presses his palm to the cool door, and speaks—not an operatic benediction, but a single, naked sentence that tastes of iron and farewell:

“Wait for me.”

And he knows you will.

When midnight returns, Hannibal ascends the spiral stairs, the house sighing underfoot like an old instrument retired from concert halls. In the dining room, he lights three candles—one for the life you lived, one for the life he spent beside you, and one for the small span that will soon join them.

The monster, at last, is no more afraid of death than you were, for death is only the corridor back to your side. Every other appetite pales. Every instinct of preservation folds, effortlessly, into hunger for reunion.

[runa-falls]

he smells like flowers

pairing: steven grant x reader

rating: explicit (18+)

warnings: there is some suggestive content at the bottom so -- edit: nvm it's straight smut down there mb -- est. relationship

a/n: -> this started as a 200 word idea then i couldn't stop whoops [1.4k]

-----

steven smells cute -- pretty, even.

he's always had a gentle sweet scent that further softens everything delicate about himself.

at first you thought he was rummaging in your perfume collection, spritzing some Daisy on his neck before cuddling up to you, but even after a week long mission, he still smells like that mellow mix of tender flower petals and syrupy nectar. ambrosia that glides thick on your tongue and begs you to swallow him down.

if you didn't know any better, you'd think he has a special sex pheromone or something.

it's a scent unique to him, one that you'll never find in any bath and body works or even a high-end designer store -- you've tried and they don't even come close. you swear if you could bottle it up, it would be sold out in a matter of seconds.

he used to get insecure about his naturally 'feminine' aroma because his brothers [alters] have more intensely masculine scents of spice and salt. the type of musk that's conventionally attractive to the opposite sex [or other men].

but you love it. in fact you crave it.

you often find yourself nuzzling into his chest and breathing him in, randomly climbing onto his lap or draping yourself over his shrouded figure just to get him to hold you close. he doesn't mind it, enjoying your closeness and gentle touch, almost proud of how your body yearns for him.

since steven, marc, and jake all share the same body, you assumed they'd be alike in terms of how they look, feel, and smell. it didn't take long for you to figure out that they're actually very different in various ways.

steven is soft, always standing in a way that makes him smaller than he actually is, like he's trying to take up as little space as possible. his eyebrows are either constantly high up on his forehead in wonderment and excitement or low in worry or confusion, brushing along the long lashes of his tired round eyes.

you smooth over the tense lines of his brows as he shifts in a fitful sleep. even when he's unconscious, he's worried, always on his toes, ready to strike at any moment. his expression softens after a while and he instinctively leans into your touch.

he always has tired eyes bags under his deep brown gaze, even when he gets in 12 hours of sleep. and it's just him. when marc and jake front, they look awake and ready to fight, but steven always looks like he could use a nap or a hug.

he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he's nervous, excited, or generally overstimulated, sucking it raw until you tug it out from under his teeth and help him lick the wounds.

sometimes you think he does it on purpose -- wanting to feeling you grace his lips with yours -- other times you worry that if you weren't there he'd do some real damage to himself without even knowing it.

he wears loose clothes, preferring fabric to drape over him rather than cling to his strong build and often stocks his wardrobe with outfits that are one or two sizes too large [marc and jake complain about it, but they still wear the clothes].

the sleeves of his clothes are tugged and stretched out because he likes the feeling of having something to hold on to, it grounds him. it comforts him when you aren't around.

it's adorable to see his large hands engulfed in soft sweaters as he sips on his tea and flips through a book, glasses resting precariously on the bridge of his nose. he sits next to you on his worn couch holding your hand in his lap as he reads, always needing to feel a part of you whenever you're near. you lean against his arm, content to just breathe in the moment of being with him.

his hair fluffs up more than you thought was possible, sticking every which way when he wakes up or lets it naturally dry after a shower. he never puts any gels or creams to help tame his curls unlike his brothers who religiously use mousse or a hat to keep it down.

he loves it when you play with his hair, threading your fingers through the soft fluff before tugging delicately on the ends to keep him awake as he strat to drift from your touch. shivers run up his spine as you softly scratch his scalp and he can't help but snuggle further into your lap.

steven is the epitome of tender comfort, soft and sweet. but he's also addictively delicious in other ways. [cw: suggestive scene]

if you thought steven smells good, he tastes even better. his lips are plump and glossy with the flavor of ripe red cherries. his tongue drips with succulent honey that spreads and soaks feverishly into yours. you drink it in eagerly, tongues mingling and teeth gnashing as his body shutters and bucks under you.

it's even on his skin...

he whimpers when you lave your tongue against a soft spot of his neck, hungrily trying to get a taste of the sweet man under you. his hands that grip at your waist pull you in closer as he lets you nip love bites along his skin, loving how you mark him as yours.

you groan against his slick heated skin -- he tastes like a box of heart shaped chocolates: saccharine, rich, and indulgent. you've never had a sweet-tooth, but steven is a dessert you could eat any day.

it could be argued that the sounds he makes are just as alluring as his taste.

steven is quite predictable: he whines when he wants more, unable to properly voice his desires with how heavily he's saturated with need and lust. it's quite high pitched and desperate, a sound you love to draw out as you tease him with soft kisses and faint touches.

he whimpers when he's getting close or is struggling to comprehend the intense sensations his body is experiencing. this sound is usually accompanied with a tremble body and sparkling lust-blurred eyes. a state in which you could do anything you want to him.

he groans when he finally reaches the end. it deep and guttural, something you never expected from the gentle lightness of steven. this sound could push you off the edge without him even touching you. it's like the euphoric explosion inside of him can translate through the air into you, filling your body with second-hand ecstasy and liquified hunger.

[NSFW]

your sweet steven shudders as you dip down in front of him, hand in your hair to keep it out of your face. dark eyes watch as you clean him up, soft tongue flicking against the mess he made on his stomach.

he hopes you don't notice how he twitches in response to your kitten licks as you shift closer to his center, it's embarrassing how desperate he is, even when it's barely been five minutes after his orgasm.

you hum as you swallow down his essence, licking your lips in satisfaction before you sit back up. steven lovingly swipes a thumb over your moist mouth, cleaning you up a bit, but before he could pull away you capture his thumb in your mouth, suckling gently over him.

his eyes darken ever so slightly as he presses against your tongue, pushing against the silky muscle. he catches himself, shaking out of the trance you put him under and pulls away. you can't help but frown when he does.

your voice is a mere whisper, "you're so tasty, steven."

he looks puzzled and slightly bashful, "i am...?"

"mhm...here taste."

you lean in and press your lips over his before easily slipping your tongue into his mouth. he pours himself into the kiss, moaning lightly as his tastes himself mingled with your own flavor. he licks boldly into your mouth, basking in the consuming hunger that radiates off of you as you zealously pull him closer.

he leans back for a breath though he's still close enough that his lips brush against yours. steven is flushed and in a daze. his voice so quiet that he essentially sighs it against you, "i-i'm pretty sure that taste is all you, sweetheart."

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - implied kidnapping, possessive behavior, slight stalking, delusional thoughts.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

Like most tailors, Chiori often finds herself preoccupied with the concept of preservation.

It’s as inevitable as it is unreasonable, for those who work through mediums as impermanent as fabric and textile. To make a piece of clothing is to make something that, by its very definition, cannot last. No matter how fine the silk, no matter how strong the thread, no matter how sturdy her design – colors will fade and stitches will run and eventually, the only thing left of her masterpiece will be a pile of scraps left to rot underneath a bed or among the cobwebs in a forgotten attic corner. Fashion is an even more unforgiving mistress. What does it mean to try and capture the beauty of a single moment in a world that stood for a thousand years before she ever thought to pick up a needle and will stand for a thousand more, when she’s no longer able to? What does it mean that she keeps trying, regardless?

Inevitably, when Chriori thinks about herself and her craft, she thinks about preservation. And, when she thinks about preservation, she thinks about you.

You, in the most generous of sentiments, are the enemy of permanence. Her designs may eventually fall apart, but you seem to tear and shatter all that you touch, to rend the very fabric of reality without ever dropping that achingly oblivious smile. Your first visit to her shop ended with a shattered teacup, your second with a chip to the blade of her favorite pair of sheers, your tenth with a pot of her darkest, blackest dye splattered across an otherwise untouched skein of dove-white silk. Calling you clumsy would be an understatement – you’re a vehicle of pure destruction, an entity of the type of chaos that so often reduces her finest creations to rags. If it wasn’t for the way you apologize so wholeheartedly after each and every offense, the bright optimism written across your expression each time you step through the door of her boutique, she might mistake your drastic lack of coordination for a deliberate act of sabotage. At least, if that were the case, she may be able to find the strength to banish you entirely from her domain.

Her frequent gifts to you – unpaid orders, she assures, items that would just go to waste if left to gather dust on her shelves – are demolished with a similar haste. That, you can blame on the needs of your trade, claim that the clothes of the noble class don’t mix with the work of laborers, but as often as she tries, she fails to see what’s so dangerous about hauling spools of ribbon and crates of lace from one boutique to another. You do your best to mend torn sleeves, to find replacements for missing buttons, but she almost wishes you wouldn’t – that you’d let her claims to you die a swift death rather than defacing them so humiliatingly. In her weakest moments, she considers that being more blatant with her intentions, speaking to you in something other than cutting innuendo and being more transparent in her attempts to carve her name into you, but it wouldn’t make a difference. Your nature, so quick and brash and thoughtless, is contradictory to hers. No number of signatures stitched into the hems of undercollars and lipstick stains pressed into the lining between layers of material can change that.

Certainly, none of it can change the trait Chiori finds most troubling in you – your willing inability to preserve even the most precious of things, yourself. Fontaine is a much more gentle land than Inazuma, but no part of Teyvat is completely free from risk. You brag worryingly often about your run-ins with local monsters, go on at length about having to guard the embroideries she had commissioned from the finest thread-painters in Liyue from fabric-eating slimes and especially fashionable thieves, but all your levity can’t seem to draw your attention from the bruises blossoming upward from your shirt collar, the bandages so often wrapped around knuckles and plastered over your cheeks. Mortality is a concept you seemed to have considered briefly and ultimately discarded, leaving Chiori to try to make something redeemable out of the scraps. It’d be enough to drive anyone mad. It’d be enough to drive any good tailor to extremes.

You are not a delicate fabric. Satin can be properly hemmed and handled with gloves, embroidery glazed over with perfumes and resins, lace held to a candle and burnt into a more sustainable form, but you are not so easily changed. Gowns have no regard for safety or the lack thereof, but you – frustrating, impossible you – seem to actively detest the very idea of it.

You are the enemy of permeance. It’s a thought Chiori often considers, lingers on, obsess over, as she would the safe keeping of any of her proudest works.

But, she finds herself thinking, as she feels the reassuring chill of iron chains again her palm and weighs it against two matching twin cuffs, there’s a chance she may just be pairing you with the wrong materials.

[airandyeah]

Sins (Alpha Geto X Omega Gojo X Omega Reader) Part.8

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, fated mates, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ This one has some blood, violence, and stuff. yknow. They are mafia bosses.

The dimly lit warehouse reeked of blood and fear. The man tied to the chair was barely conscious, his face swollen and bloodied, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Suguru stood in front of him, rolling up the sleeves of his dark dress shirt, the material already speckled with red. Across the room, Satoru leaned casually against a metal table, twirling a knife between his fingers, the cold amusement in his crystalline eyes a stark contrast to the brutal efficiency with which he had handled their captive earlier.

“So,” Suguru’s voice was calm, collected—dangerous. “I’ll ask one more time. Who sent you?”

The man groaned, lifting his head slightly before spitting blood onto the concrete floor. “Go to hell.”

Satoru sighed dramatically. “Wrong answer.” In an instant, he moved, the knife slicing through fabric and flesh as a sharp scream echoed off the metal walls. He crouched next to the chair, gripping the man’s jaw with an iron-clad grip, forcing him to look into his unseeing, covered eyes. “You see, I’ve been in a bad mood lately. Getting shot does that to a person. And someone tried to take what’s ours.” His voice darkened, that last word dripping with venom.

Suguru pulled a chair closer, sitting down as if they were discussing nothing more than business. In a way, they were. “You can end this quickly. Who. Sent. You?”

The man whimpered, body shaking, and finally, he cracked. He stammered out a name—one that made Suguru’s expression shift, something dark and furious settling in his sharp gaze. Satoru hummed in amusement, standing up as he wiped the blood off his blade with a handkerchief.

“Well, well,” he mused. “Guess we’ve got more work to do.”

Suguru stood, straightening his cuffs. “Kill him.”

Satoru grinned. “With pleasure.”

By the time they left the warehouse, stepping into the cool night air, Satoru rolled his shoulders as if shaking off the tension. Suguru lit a cigarette, exhaling a slow breath.

“She’s probably still home,” Suguru muttered. “Think she’s missing us?”

Satoru smirked. “Tch. She can try to deny it all she wants, but we both know the truth.”

They got into their car, heading home, completely unbothered by the blood on their hands.

Little did they know, they were about to walk in on their little omega snooping where she shouldn’t be. ~~~ They didn’t look angry. No, that would’ve been easier to deal with. Instead, twin expressions of amusement and smug understanding graced their faces as they took in the sight of you, caught red-handed.

Satoru was the first to speak, his grin wide, eyes gleaming. “Now, sweetheart, if you wanted to be in our bed so badly, you could’ve just asked.”

Your face burned instantly. “I—! That’s not—”

Suguru hummed, stepping closer, towering over you with an easy confidence that made your stomach twist. “Snooping, little one?” His voice was almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Not quite disappointment, but something close. “What exactly were you looking for?”

You crossed your arms defensively, feeling ridiculously small under their gazes. “I wasn’t snooping.”

Satoru snorted. “You’re standing in the middle of our room, alone, looking like you just got caught stealing from the cookie jar. Try again.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, refusing to admit anything. Suguru exhaled, shaking his head as he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was too soft for a man like him.

“You won’t find anything, you know,” he said, low and smooth. “Not here.”

Satoru leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Not that we don’t have things to hide,” he added casually, “but we’d never leave anything out where you’d find it.”

That sent a chill down your spine.

Suguru’s fingers grazed your jaw, making you look at him. His eyes weren’t cold, but they were firm. “We don’t want to scare you.”

That statement alone caught you off guard. Your lips parted, words escaping you.

Satoru chimed in, “Seriously, kitten. If you really found some of our… work, you wouldn’t like it.” For a brief second, there was something sharp in his voice, a reminder of who they were. But it faded just as quickly as he grinned again. “But hey, now that you’ve gotten comfortable in here, should we start discussing bed arrangements?”

You stiffened. “Excuse me?”

When can I share the bed with you?

And now they were both watching you, waiting for an answer. ~~~ Over the next few nights, the conversation lingered in your mind. You didn’t bring it up again, but it stayed there—an unspoken invitation, a temptation you weren’t sure you were ready for.

And yet…

One evening, after dinner, you found yourself standing in the doorway of their bedroom, clutching your pillows in your arms.

Satoru was the first to notice. His face lit up with a grin, as if he had been expecting this. “Finally caving, huh?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “I just figured it’s about time.”

Suguru, already sitting against the headboard, watched you carefully but with clear satisfaction. “Come here, then.”

You stepped inside, feeling oddly self-conscious as you placed your pillows on the bed. Before you could do anything else, Satoru was already adjusting things, shifting their pillows around to make space for you.

“Obviously, you go in the middle,” he declared as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You gave him a skeptical look. “Obviously?”

Suguru hummed, reaching out to tug you forward, effortlessly pulling you onto the bed. “Of course. You’re our little Omega, aren’t you?”

Your heart stuttered at the way he said it.

Satoru wasted no time flopping onto the bed beside you, while Suguru slid in on your other side, both of them naturally fitting around you like they were always meant to be there. They adjusted the blankets, arranging everything with ease, making sure you were comfortably nestled between them.

And then, as if it were second nature, Satoru threw an arm over your waist while Suguru's hand found your back, warm and grounding.

You swallowed, feeling the heat of them on either side. “This is… nice.”

Suguru chuckled, his voice deep and soothing. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

Satoru hummed, already half-asleep as he nuzzled into your shoulder. “Told you, kitten. You belong here.”

And for the first time, you didn’t feel like fighting it. ~~~ You stirred, shifting slightly as the warmth beside you moved. Your half-asleep mind barely registered it until you heard the rustling of fabric, the soft clinking of belts being fastened.

Your brows furrowed as you peeked open your eyes. It was still dark—far too early for either of them to be up.

Blinking through your drowsiness, you turned your head and caught the faint outline of Suguru adjusting his tie in the dim light of the bedside lamp. Satoru was beside him, pulling on a black dress shirt, leaving the top few buttons undone as usual.

Your voice was groggy as you murmured, “Where are you two going?”

Both of them glanced toward you, Satoru flashing you a lopsided grin. “Go back to sleep, kitten.”

Suguru, always the more composed one, sighed. “It’s business. Nothing for you to worry about.”

That only made you more awake. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, trying to blink away the sleepiness clouding your mind. “Business? It’s the middle of the night.”

Satoru shrugged. “Not everyone keeps regular hours.”

Suguru gave him a sharp look before turning back to you, his tone softer. “We won’t be gone long. Get some rest.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. They were trying to be reassuring, but it only made you feel like they were walking into something dangerous.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. “You’re being vague.”

Satoru leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Because you don’t need to know.”

That irritated you, but before you could snap at him, Suguru’s hand cupped your cheek gently. “Trust us.”

You searched his dark eyes, still groggy but unable to shake the unease creeping in. But there was no use arguing when they were already dressed and clearly prepared to leave.

Satoru ruffled your hair playfully before straightening up. “We’ll be back before sunrise.”

And just like that, they were gone, the soft click of the door leaving you alone in the heavy silence.

You stared at the ceiling for a long moment before sighing and turning onto your side.

Something about this didn’t sit right with you. ~~~ When you woke up, the sun was already creeping through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. You stretched lazily, expecting to find Satoru and Suguru lounging in the living room, waiting for you with their usual smug expressions.

But when you stepped out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, the sight that greeted you made you pause.

Nanami Kento stood in the living room instead.

He was perfectly put together as always, dressed in a crisp suit with his usual calm but intimidating presence. His sharp eyes flickered to you the moment you entered, assessing you quickly before he gave a curt nod.

“They’re not back yet.”

You frowned, fully waking up now. “What do you mean, they’re not back yet?”

Nanami exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. “They called me before dawn. Said I was to stay here and watch over you until they returned.”

That wasn’t right. They said they’d be back before sunrise. The unease you felt last night came rushing back, curling deep in your stomach.

“They didn’t tell you anything else?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Nanami shook his head. “Only that they had unfinished business.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt. Unfinished business. That could mean anything. But knowing them, it meant something dangerous.

Moose hopped onto the couch, oblivious to your growing worry, kneading the cushions before curling up comfortably. You envied his ignorance.

Nanami studied you for a moment before speaking again, his voice steady but firm. “They’ll be fine. They wouldn’t want you to worry.”

You scoffed, turning away. “They should’ve thought about that before sneaking out in the middle of the night.”

Nanami didn’t respond, simply watching as you paced the room. You weren’t sure if he was genuinely unbothered or just good at hiding his concern.

Either way, it didn’t change the fact that Satoru and Suguru were still gone.

A few hours later, just as you were starting to think about storming out to find them yourself, the door finally swung open.

Satoru strolled in first, his usual cocky grin in place—but it was slightly offset by the deep, bruising black eye blooming across his cheekbone. Suguru followed close behind, moving with a little less grace than usual, his gait uneven as if he were favoring one leg.

They looked like they had been through hell.

But more than that, they looked smug. Satisfied.

You shot up from the couch instantly, ignoring Nanami’s steady presence beside you. “What the hell happened to you two?”

Satoru, ever the dramatist, made a dismissive motion with his hand. “You should see the other guys.”

Suguru chuckled under his breath, rolling his shoulders as he shut the door behind them. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s all handled.”

That wasn’t an answer.

You stormed toward them, eyes narrowing as you reached up to grip Satoru’s chin, tilting his face so you could examine the nasty bruise up close. He let you, clearly amused.

“And this? This looks ‘handled’ to you?” you snapped before turning your glare to Suguru. “And why are you limping?”

Suguru smirked. “Nothing I can’t walk off.”

You could scream.

They disappeared in the middle of the night, came back hours later battered but victorious, and expected you to just accept it without question?

Your omega instincts flared, frustration mixing with the deep, gnawing worry that had been clawing at you since you woke up to find them gone.

Nanami cleared his throat. “They’ll live. But I’d advise you two to stop making reckless decisions.”

Suguru only grinned, dropping onto the couch with a heavy sigh. “It wasn’t reckless, Nanami. It was strategic.”

Satoru plopped down beside him, stretching out lazily. “Yeah, and successful.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath before turning back to them. “So, are you actually going to tell me what happened? Or do I have to find out some other way?”

Satoru and Suguru exchanged a glance—one of those silent conversations they always seemed to have. Then, finally, Suguru patted the space next to him.

“Come sit, sweetheart. We’ll tell you everything.” ~~~ You sat stiffly between them, heart pounding as Suguru began explaining everything.

“The alphas that tried to take you,” he started, his voice lower than usual, “and the people who shot Satoru—they weren’t just some low-level thugs.”

“They belonged to an old mafia group,” Satoru added, his usual teasing lilt absent. “One that should’ve been wiped out years ago.”

Your breath hitched. “Should’ve?”

Suguru nodded, fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow circles against your knee. “They went radio silent after Higuruma Hiromi—our ally, and a damn good lawyer—put most of them behind bars. They were as good as dead after that.”

“But someone took over,” Satoru finished grimly. “Picked up the pieces. And now they want revenge.”

Your stomach twisted. “Revenge for what?”

“For losing everything,” Suguru said simply. “For being crushed under our weight and left to rot.”

Satoru scoffed, crossing his arms. “We were willing to let them stay buried. But no, they had to be dramatic about it.”

You barely heard him, mind racing. You had known, logically, that they were dangerous men. That their world wasn’t built on clean deals and whispered negotiations alone. But this—this was different. This wasn’t just business.

This was war.

“And they’re coming after you,” you murmured.

Silence.

Suguru’s hand squeezed yours. “They won’t get the chance.”

Satoru leaned into your side, his voice softer but no less firm. “Not while we’re here.”

Their certainty should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t. Because deep down, you knew that with the way things were escalating, there was only one way this ended.

With blood. ~~~ Despite their grumbling, you managed to convince them to sit down and let you tend to their wounds. Satoru pouted dramatically as you pressed a damp cloth against his swollen eye, though he didn't pull away. Suguru, on the other hand, sat still, watching you carefully as you crouched in front of him, dabbing disinfectant over a deep scrape on his knuckles.

"You know, I can do this myself," he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words.

You rolled your eyes. "And yet, here you are, letting me."

Satoru chuckled, shifting so he could drape himself lazily against your back. "She’s got you there, Sugu."

Suguru huffed but said nothing, letting you continue.

Nanami, who had been watching from the side with his usual impassive expression, exhaled sharply and adjusted his tie. "If you two are done whining, I’ll take my leave."

Satoru smirked, his good eye glinting with amusement. "Aww, Kento, you don't wanna stay for the heartfelt moment?"

Nanami ignored him, nodding once at you. "Make sure they rest. They won’t listen to me."

You gave a small smile, still carefully wrapping Suguru’s hand. "I’ll try my best."

"Good luck with that," Nanami muttered before turning on his heel and leaving.

As soon as the door shut, you felt the tension in the room ease. You sat back, eyeing the two men still lounging like overgrown cats. "You should both get some sleep."

Suguru hummed, pulling you into his lap effortlessly. "Only if you stay with us."

Satoru grinned, looping his arms around your waist. "Yeah, you wouldn’t want us to be in pain alone, would you?"

You sighed, knowing full well this was their way of keeping you close after what had happened. And as much as you wanted to argue, you knew you didn’t want to be alone tonight either.

"Fine," you murmured, letting yourself relax against them. "But if either of you complains about being sore tomorrow, I get to say ‘I told you so.’"

Satoru laughed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple. "Deal." As soon as you settled into the bed, Satoru and Suguru wasted no time pulling you close. Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a content sigh. His breath was warm against your skin, his hold just firm enough to keep you pressed against him without being overbearing.

Suguru, on the other hand, pulled your legs over his own, draping an arm lazily over your stomach while his other hand reached up to brush a few strands of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, his thumb ghosting over your cheek before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You’re stuck with us now, you know,” he murmured, voice deep and soothing.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. “I think I figured that out already.”

Satoru chuckled, shifting slightly to nuzzle further into your neck. “Good. Means less convincing on our part.”

You huffed, but the warmth of them—their steady breathing, their comforting scents surrounding you—made it impossible to be annoyed. They were being unbearably clingy, but after everything that had happened, you couldn’t bring yourself to mind.

You let out a slow breath, your body relaxing into theirs, and soon enough, sleep pulled you under, safe and sound between them.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @purpleicing , mini-kunoichi , @gravity-valley , @jinjen , @c0quin , @thenightperson I think that's everyone who asked to be tagged, I apologize if I missed anyone!!!

[icedout-pacemaker]

Catching the eye of the pastor's wife. She pulls me to the side. [In some black churches, the pastor's wife is called the "first lady." It's as pretentious and haughty as it sounds.]

You need to start wearing longer dresses and longer skirts. You have a sinful body. The kind that makes people want to do things that don't align with the right path.

She takes my chin, lifting my gaze up to hers. I think she's scoldingly appraising me. But I swear she's looking down my dress.

The next time I come to church, I'm wearing a dress that completely covers me, including a cardigan. She calls me to her office. She tells me to take my cardigan off. I hand it to her, revealing the black a-line am dress that stops at my shins. She walks around me, checking before telling me it's not enough.

I don't understand. I bought this just for church.

It doesn't matter. I can still see your shape. Look here.

She's behind me, taking me by the arms. I gasp as she pulls my arms back, pushing my chest out. My breasts push against the fabric, perfectly outlined. She leans in, her cheek to mine, voice repulsed.

Look at your breasts. You can't see it but your ass is right up against the fabric as well. You look like a coy little slut. If you saw the way the deacons look at you when you sit up front, you'd have some decency and cover up.

In one movement, she releases my arms and unzips the back of my dress, jerking the fabric down. My arms are restrained downward by the folded down sleeves. My breasts sit in my black bra, slightly spilling over as she grabs the fabric, pulling me closer into her.

She cups my breasts, holding them up higher before letting them drop. She scoffs, jerking the front until it unclips, popping my breasts out in the open. I can feel her nails in my skin as she grips them, pulling me back and roughly kneading.

Isn't this what you wanted? To be used? Do you think it makes you special? You think you're the first doe eyed slut to come in here trying to flaunt her body?

I'm sorry, first lady.

I gasp as she spends me over her desk in one push, my tits cold against the polished oak. I shudder as the ends of my skirts, exposing my ass.

Little sluts like you walking in and trying to tempt people. You think you'll stray me? You're not the first and you won't be the last. Spread your fucking legs.

I obey without thinking, my cheek to the desk. Ahead of me is the wall where a portrait of the first lady and the pastor is, their smiles plastered and heavily airbrushed. I stare into the eyes of her half of the portrait as she rips my stockings, striking my ass with a remorseless slap

I hear her heels, clicking as she seems to be pulling something from the wall. Something hard slides up my slit, a soft wet sound omitting as she pushes it in a little, scoffing. I bite my lip, embarrassed.

Of course. You're all the same. And you'll get punished all the same.

This item is irregularly ridged, its end square rather than rounded. I wince, feeling her slide it, looking for the best angle. In the same instance I find the nerve to look back, my lips part in a shuddering cry of pain and pleasure as I watch her slowly push in the bottom end of a crucifix. Once she manages the insertion, she no longer hesitates. I feel the endlessly ridged piece of wood and gold pump in and out of my pussy. She looms over my body, chest to my back as her hand moves with purpose.

She's in my ear again, teeth gritted. She's one part satisfied and one part irritated with me. I cannot stop myself, only a muddled collection of whimpers and moans, dribbling out of my mouth like saliva.

I broke the other ones and I'll break you. I always do. You may even enjoy it. But you'll break. I can promise you that.

[belit0]

How would the Senju and Uchiha brothers react to their little daughter being courted by the enemy's son? I mean, if Tobirama's son asked Izuna's daughter out, I feel like they'd freak out. If you don't understand me, ignore me. I'm still not very good at English :/

JASHDKAHSDKJ CHAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOS

Tobirama and Izuna

The air in the room is thick, like the tension before a storm. Tobirama stands rigid, arms crossed over his chest, eyes locked on his son as if he could disintegrate him with a look alone. Across the room, Izuna is seated, but his posture is anything but relaxed—his fingers drum impatiently against his knee, eyes sharp and unreadable as he glares at the boy who had the audacity to court his daughter.

Madara, standing beside his brother, is less restrained. His presence is volcanic, his expression a mask of disdain as he tilts his head ever so slightly, voice slow and laced with danger.

-Say that again.

Tobirama’s son swallows but stands his ground. He bows respectfully, though his spine is tense. -I wish to court your daughter.-

Izuna leans forward, lips twitching into something that is neither a smile nor a frown. -Do you?- He hums, shifting his gaze to Tobirama. -What is it with your clan and wanting things they shouldn’t have?-

Tobirama exhales through his nose, his expression unreadable, but the flicker of his fingers betrays his irritation.

-This isn’t about the clan.- His voice is clipped, controlled. -This is about them.-

Madara lets out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. -You expect us to accept this?-

Izuna’s gaze is no longer amused. It is dark, calculating. -I don’t recall saying I would.-

His daughter fidgets slightly but doesn’t cower, her hand curling into a loose fist over the fabric of her sleeve. -Father, I—

Izuna raises a hand, silencing her. His gaze is still on Tobirama’s son, assessing. -If you truly want this, then prove it. We don’t offer trust freely, and I will not hand my daughter over to a Senju boy without seeing what you’re made of.-

Madara scoffs. -He won’t last a week.-

Tobirama’s son straightens his shoulders. -Then test me.-

For the first time since entering the room, Tobirama’s lips press into something resembling a smirk. Just a flicker. His son is a fool, perhaps, but at least he is his fool.

Izuna leans back into his seat, eyes glinting. -Very well. Let’s see if you’re worth even a second of her time.-

His daughter sighs. It was going to be a long battle.

Hashirama and Madara

Unlike the suffocating silence in Tobirama and Izuna’s confrontation, this room is chaos.

-What a wonderful day! This is exactly what I dreamed of!- Hashirama booms, clapping his son on the back so hard the boy nearly stumbles forward. -Uchiha and Senju, together at last! Ah, young love is truly a beautiful thing!-

Madara looks like he might strangle him. His eyes, dark and unreadable, burn with restrained fury, a muscle in his jaw ticking violently. His daughter, standing beside him, is composed—perhaps too composed—as if she knows this situation is seconds away from erupting.

-You’re telling me— Madara’s voice is slow, like the draw of a blade before the kill -that your spawn wants to court my daughter?-

Hashirama beams. -Yes!-

Tobirama groans, rubbing his temples. -For the love of—brother, think before you speak.-

Madara’s gaze swings to his daughter, sharp and piercing. -You allowed this?-

She meets his eyes evenly. -It was not without consideration.-

That does not help.

Madara exhales, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second before turning to Hashirama’s son. His voice is deceptively calm. -Do you value your life?-

Hashirama’s son, to his credit, doesn’t falter. -I do.-

Madara leans forward. -Then take this as your only warning—step out of line once, and I will personally end you.-

-Madara! No killing the suitor!- Hashirama whines.

Madara shoots him a deadly glare. -Say one more word, and I will personally end you.-

His daughter, standing beside him, sighs. She had a feeling this was only the beginning.

[sunghoonsslut]

Knock Down P.SH

18+ Content MDNI SMUT NSFW

Genre: PWP SMUT 18+, Boxing AU, Gym trainer AU, College setting

Pairing: (Dom)Boxer Sunghoon X (Sub)Afab Reader

 Warnings: Smut (Minor Do Not Interact), MC is Right handed, She/Her pronouns used in reference to MC, teasing, Handsy/touchy Hoon, strength kink, size kink, fingering, edging, mean hoon, public sex, unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it), handjob, Cumming inside, ridding, orgasm denial/control, Mc knows nothing about boxing (and neither does the writer), somewhat manhandling, unspecified but MC is smaller than Sunghoon, name calling (Baby, Slut, Loser), 2 thigh slaps, big dick hoon :) I THINK that’s everything?? Please lmk if you think I missed anything

WC: 10.6k (This was supposed to be a short blurb like 3k max just to slowly introduce myself cnjsdvnwvn but here we are)

Song rec: Sweat by Anthony Watts

Preview : His amused chuckle hits your ear chest vibrating against your back moving any stray flyaway hairs away from your neck “What’s got you so distracted?” He whispers into your ear breath hot against your skin, catching the way you relax into his touch, stepping back slightly, getting closer to him.

LAST WARNING PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS LIST THOROUGHLY THIS IS 18+ CONTENT

“Come on, please I don’t want to do this alone,” Your friend is begging, pulling at your sleeve and distracting you with drawn-out pleads pressing her weight on your shoulder bringing you off center and away from the pile of work in front of you.

“Since when did you want to join a gym? When I suggested it last summer you said- and I quote, ‘I get plenty of dick so there isn’t a use, when I already get my cardio in’ End quote,” You pull free of her grip, smoothing out the fabric she had bunched up with an annoyed huff turning back towards the practically blank document on your laptop.

“I know but now it’s different, we could go together! And look,” She’s shoving her phone in your face so you have no choice but to watch her screen “They're offering two free boxing lessons for new joiners, the student discount is also a blessing,” She rants off the list of appealing offers listed on the gym’s website, swiping through photos to show off the luxury areas they have and how big of a place it is with a number of tennis courts, an indoor and outdoor swimming area, boxing ring, and generalized work out sections depending on what you want to do.

You groan shoving her hand away “If I say yes will you stop bugging me so I can finish this assignment,” You cave, knowing she’d continue on like this if you didn’t agree because if there is one thing your friend is, it’s persistent as she sits back in her seat grinning from ear to ear typing away on her form, filling out her information, quiet, finally settling back into your work groove. Typing away on the computer a tedious list of unanswered questions sits on the screen dual tabs opened on the laptop with the curriculum's textbook on the other side of the questions. Scrolling through skimming the lines that blur in front of you until the oncoming headache is too much and the number of questions has at least dwindled down to a mere fourteen instead of the thirty-seven you began with.

Stretching out you close the laptop only somewhat satisfied by the dent you managed to make in your work “Finally,” She swivels her chair next to you bringing out her phone, a lengthy form staring back at you.

“Can this wait till my brain isn’t fried?” You massage at your temples blinking at her phone, too mentally drained to even begin thinking about another screen to answer questions on.

nudging you in the side hard enough to leave a bruise she stays stern “You said you’d do it, no backing out now,” You mumble out a few choice words begrudgingly taking her phone to fill out the form with your information, selecting various options with your friend propped on your shoulder watching you carefully, too tired to swat her away.

It’s going smoothly getting through about half the questions, mostly basic questions about yourself when she interrupts you with an exasperated gasp causing you to pause “What are you doing? Say yes!” Your finger hovers over the No option under the question ‘Are you interested in our boxing program (The first two lessons are free for beginners)’.

“Boxing?” You turn your head to look at her eyes narrowing on her, having never mentioned anything about wanting to try boxing in the past ten years you've known her.

“Why not, it’s free,” she clicks on the yes button for you, freshly manicured nails sounding out against the screen, selecting the Beginners option from the drop-down menu when it asks for your experience level.

You let her do it not wanting to break into another argument, slumping forward slightly “You're not going to flake on me like you did when you said we should sign up for tennis are you?” She scrolls to the next section ignoring the question you asked “See this wasn’t so bad now you just gotta put in your student information for the discount and your card information,” 

You don’t miss her attempt at deflecting, taking the phone back to fill in the remaining spots. Trying to believe she’d commit to this since it was her idea “It’s gonna be great!” She pats you on the back, ‘a fun activity for the two of you' At least that’s how you reasoned it to be only semi-hopeful with her long list of previous commitments that lasted a week tops.

——

After only three days you’re waking up to messages with excuses of why she can’t join your gym sessions with a suddenly packed schedule; study sessions, dates, sorority events, Frat parties, a lab, you name it she’s suddenly there, there being: anywhere but the gym; making it clear she has no intention to continue using her membership, leaving you to go alone. Having already paid for the first month you might as well get some use out of it. Mentally noting you’d just cancel the subscription before it charges you for the upcoming month.

Today wasn’t any different, phone vibrating in your pocket the second you entered the gym with her ‘So, SO sorry, I really can’t today, woke up sore :(’ text message making you groan clicking your phone off without bothering to reply. It didn’t necessarily come as a surprise her ditching you as she has been the last few weeks but the least she could have done was show up for the boxing lesson she essentially forced on you, especially with a confirmation email a week in advance from the instructor, Sunghoon, and her assuring you that she ‘wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ over the phone the day before.

Setting your bag down by the boxing area of the gym contemplating if you should just leave, you didn’t even want to box in the first place. Weighing your options you scroll through your feed, images of your friend at a party the night before popping up after a few random sponsored posts building up annoyance clenching your jaw swiping through a thread to see the progression of just how drunk she had gotten. The photos get progressively blurry and unfocused with each swipe, the last photo being so fuzzy it’s hard to even recognize her sitting on the lap of some frat guy making out. 

You reach for your bag deciding to leave before the instructor shows up, maybe eat a pint of ice cream and watch some dated movie that aged badly to drown out your annoyance instead of subjecting yourself to an hour of bag punching “Hey,” a voice speaks out drawing you away from your phone to glimpse up at the new voice before you can back out dropping your hand and taking in the man standing in front of you his breathtaking appearance, freshly bleached hair, pointed jawline, and beautiful beauty marks dot his face like a constellation, a constellation you could easily get lost in forever looking at.

“I think one other person is joining us so we can wait a bit to see if they’ll come,” he sets his water bottle next to your things stretching his built arms across his body as if he couldn't get more attractive. You set your head back slightly conflicted, no way you could walk out now, not without a reasonable excuse at least, and it’s not like you could say he had the wrong person with the area being completely empty aside from the two of you.

You look back at him as he’s setting things up before you find your voice “She’s not,” it comes out sounding more bitter than you intended watching the way he raises an eyebrow silently questioning how you could know that.

“I mean,” You take in a deep breath poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue trying to bite back the things you really want to say, “she’s my friend, and sent me a message saying she couldn’t make it.. sick” you backtrack explaining your reaction which softens his features.

“I see, I prefer one on one anyways, easier to focus, you’ve got my undivided attention,” he assures you, pushing his hair out of his face, eyes looking over you, in the matching workout attire you choose to wear, making sure to wear your hair out of your face as he suggested in the email silently glad that your friend canceled so he could get someone as stunning as you alone to himself.

Stretching his arms high above his head, your eyes skim over the definition of his muscles seeing how strong he is watching the faint flex of his arm eyes trailing down to where skin peeks out from where his shirt rises showing off a bit of his toned abdomen shorts hanging low enough on his hips to show the V line, making you sweat without having even started yet “Go easy on me?” voice shifting tone with nerves slightly cracking, you look back over his face, soft smile an antithesis to the rest of his body language.

“Don’t worry I’m not going to throw you around just yet,” he assures you with a wink hearing the infliction in your voice, finding it cute how nervous he makes you.

“We’ll start easy, you want to show me how you think you’re supposed to stand?” Sunghoon motions for you to take the floor and demonstrate, eyes widening at the request, suddenly even standing was a doubtful action.

Raising from where you were sitting you scratch over your neck avoiding looking at your instructor, “So, I’ve never actually boxed before…” you shuffle your weight from foot to foot trying to focus on anything else “I’ve never even watched a boxing match,” You admit, slightly embarrassed having not even looked up a youtube video for the basics in preparation.

He lets out a laugh that echoes off the empty walls of the usual lively gym deserted with classes in full swing across campus, taking a step closer to you, but keeping just enough space so you aren’t uncomfortable, “that’s okay, I don’t expect you to be able to knock me out, I’m just curious I’ll fix your stance,” uncertain you stand with your legs slightly apart and bring your fists up in front of your chest.

Encircling around you his eyes take in the way you’ve stood it feels wrong, especially under his sharp eyes analyzing you making you subconsciously straighten up as Sunghoon goes into instructor mode, “Can I touch you?” His eyes meet yours as soon as he’s done looking over you, waiting for a response before he does anything, your throat feeling hoarse “Y-yeah,” you mentally slap yourself for tripping over your words clearing your throat. Stopping behind you, you can hear his soft chuckle hit your ears, finding the little hiccup “cute,” sending a shudder through your body.

Sunghoon’s hands make contact with your waist fingers pressing in just enough to slightly indent “Okay, now are you right or left-handed?” his hands are warmer than you thought they’d be noting how they sat against your skin bigger than yours as he holds you perfectly.

“Right,” you answer still focused on the mere size difference between you both “We’re gonna bring your right leg back, a little bit wider than shoulder width,” he’s explaining breath fanning over your neck as he starts his demonstration, his left hand continues to rest on your waist, right hand trailing down and cupping your hip applying slight pressure to let you know to step back and angle yourself following his lead. Sunghoon lets you adjust to the new stance habitually rubbing your hip with his thumb as you try and focus on what he’s saying.

“That’s good, This base stance makes you appear smaller so you’re not as big of a target as for your hands you just gotta bring them up by your head and raise your shoulders…” you can’t help the way your mind drifts fixated on his hand rubbing your hip, subtly pressing harder and wondering how they’d feel elsewhere with how easily you fit in his grip hands against your body expertly, eyes falling closed, losing yourself in the feeling momentarily you breathe out a small “yeah,” mindlessly replying mid-explanation without realizing it.

Pausing his instructions the side of his lips raises “You got that then?” He stills his hands waiting for a response knowing fully well he didn’t even finish his entire explanation and you return back to what’s going on “Hm?” You let out confused blinking to yourself realizing you zoned out halfway through his directions.

His amused chuckle hits your ear chest vibrating against your back moving any stray flyaway hairs away from your neck “What’s got you so distracted?” He whispers into your ear breath hot against your skin, catching the way you relax into his touch, stepping back slightly, getting closer to him.

“Nothing, I just..” you try to think up excuses, but the only thing that comes to mind is the way Sunghoon’s muscular body feels pressed against yours, licking over your lip feeling dryer than usual now as you try and figure out what to say.

“Don’t worry it’s just the two of us, tell me what you were thinking about?” He reminds you of the empty area fingers ghosting over your side with feathering touches that feel like electricity driving you crazy.

“It’s just your hand..” You lose your train of thought momentarily when he resumes his ministrations massaging your side as if asking you to continue reminding you exactly why you interrupted him.

Nose presses up against your neck inhaling against your skin “What about my hands?” The proximity makes it difficult to focus, almost dizzying, letting your shoulders drop and relaxing into his body further feeling closer than before, head lolling to the side giving him more access, tempting to kiss over the expanse of your neck that he can reach.

You’re resisting the urge to mewl out with every move of his hands pressing into you deeper with a bruising grip while inching inwards dangerously close to your center “They-” You don’t finish your thought when the sound of someone clearing their throat sounds out against the room “Damn, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Leaning against the entrance to the boxing area Jay watches the two of you with arms crossed gym bag hanging low off his shoulder, and a raised eyebrow, amused. Sunghoon unimpressed meets his friend's eyes from where he stands behind you looking over you once more trying to memorize the way you look under his temptation in this moment before creating some distance between you regrettably, giving his friend the side eye you’re jolted out of the almost hypnotic trance Sunghoon had on you.

“Just doing a lesson,” Sunghoon grits out annoyed with the sudden intrusion on his instruction cracking his knuckles.

“I can see that,” Jay chuckles looking over you for a second before stepping further into the gym “Hee and I are just gonna spar for a bit so don’t mind us,” He explains heading over to the practice ring in the middle of the room, hiking his gym bag up his arm.

Embarrassment rushes through your face feeling hot with emotion just with how you were acting you bury your head into a nearby punching bag “Get it together…” you mumble to yourself trying to reassure yourself it’s just a boxing lesson and shouldn’t be getting hot and bothered like this from feeling up your instructor.

“Hey it’s okay,” Sunghoon tries to reassure you, pulling you away and off the bag wanting to get back to teaching now that Jay decided to insert himself into things and make things difficult. 

Bouncing in through the door, Heeseung glances around for Jay sight landing on you and Sunghoon, eyes double taking on you. straightening up and walking towards the two of you, not even bothering to look at Jay who’s in the complete opposite direction.

You look over at the familiar figure making his way over to you as if you couldn’t get more embarrassed, Sunghoon sees the way you shy away from his friend and turns to talk to him.

“Didn’t see you guys on the schedule for using the ring,” Sunghoon explains to Heeseung who just gives him a hum more interested in talking to you.

“So, you’re taking boxing lessons?” Hee asks starting to wrap his hands almost expertly only looking down to confirm it’s in the right places but his attention seems fixated on you.

“Oh yeah, my friend signed us up for them,” You explain looking down at Heeseung’s hands with interest unsure how he was able to do that so quickly.

Sunghoon clears his throat slightly, bringing your attention back to him, eyes finding his “So you know Heeseung?” Sunghoon asks, wondering exactly how much you knew about his friend.

“Yeah, he helped me out with figuring out some of the equipment a few days ago,” you explain the memories and feelings of embarrassment flooding through you as if just a few seconds ago wasn’t bad enough.

Cursing out as you try and figure out how exactly this machine worked having just seen some guy using it not too long ago you sit in a similar position attempting to use it but nothing budging, about to give up and move on to something else, something you know, a treadmill is easy enough to navigate.

“Hey, you need to change the weight on it,” a voice explains, smiling softly and pointing to the weights on the side catching you off guard unaware someone was watching you struggle as you make eye contact with the guy to your side who must’ve been working out close by with the way his hair drips with sweat sides of his face lined with droplets water bottle in his hand.

Burying your face in your hands you shake your head “Sorry… I don’t do this a lot…” you mumble as the guy fixes up the amount of weight looking you over to try and gauge how much you could handle while also getting a better look at how pretty you are.

“Give that a try, let me know if it’s too much or if you need more,” he waits for you to use it, nodding you pull and it moves with a bit of pressure as opposed to before.

You let out a relieved sigh giving the stranger a small nod “Works great… thanks…” you pause having not caught his name as he shoots you a wink “Heeseung, anything at all don’t hesitate to ask,” he offers before running off to finish his own workout.

The brief interaction left you embarrassed hoping to never meet him again purely in the fact to not relive those memories, but as your luck happens to be it was not in your favor.

“You know me always wanting to help out the newbies,” Heeseung nudges his friend but his eyes stay transfixed on you which Sunghoon notices with a clenched jaw he rolls his eyes, “Yeah always so generous,”  he grits out unimpressed

“I’m actually really good, some would even say better than Hoon,” Heeseung gets back on the topic of boxing again making you eye between the two friends Sunghoon’s eyes roll and arms stretching out to show off his arms.

Sunghoon lets out a brief laugh shaking his head letting his hair fall in his face “Is that why I knocked you out last week?” he questions with a head tilt leaving the older to poke the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“What if we-” Heeseung is about to challenge his friend but doesn’t finish as Jay nudges his friend harshly in his side making a face you're unable to see but it’s enough of a signal to let the taller one know to knock it off Heeseung mouthing what looks like a ‘why?’  towards his friend.

“Okay, you think you can show me the stance?” Sunghoon steps in front of you arms crossed showing off his strong build clearly annoyed by the interruption while blocking your view of his friends forcing you to focus back on him.

It takes you a few seconds to process the question but answer with a “Sure,” trying to sound confident attempting to remember all the things he just told you, you move in slow motion bringing your right foot back and raising your shoulders upwards followed by your fists on both sides of your head looking upwards at your instructor as if asking if it was correct.

Stepping closer to you his eyes bounce from your lips to your eyes and before you can ask if it’s correct his thumb lightly grazes over your bottom lip tugging it down slightly with the motion falling to trap your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “Don’t forget to tuck that chin, don’t want to hurt that pretty face,” he applies enough pressure with his thumb to have you tuck downwards to your chest, eyes never leaving yours.

“Perfect,” He approves removing his hand, making you ease up a bit letting out a breath only for him to take a step closer making you freeze up faces inches apart, “Don’t let your guard down, and always focus on your opponent,” he reminds you, laughing at the way you silently blink at him words caught in your throat.

“I’m really close aren’t I?” He points out watching the way you hum and nod “Probably shouldn’t let your opponent this close, right?” He cocks his head to the side waiting for a reply other than silence moving a section of hair away from your face to demonstrate just how close he is.

“Probably,” you try and focus on what he’s saying other than the dizzying closeness your eyes lingering on his lips and how if you leaned forward even a little yours would press against his.

“So, let me show you how to get away,” he explains moving away to better demonstrate and you can’t help but miss the close proximity swallowing your nerves and trying to remind yourself this is a boxing lesson he was just doing his job.

“You don’t want to trip so, shuffle backward, never let your legs cross, move the leg furthest back and then follow it with the other leg,” Sunghoon demonstrates shuffling back away from you a few feet then forward and back again signaling for you to demonstrate it as well. You do as he explains moving back by shuffling back foot then front foot until you’re far enough away and then switching to move back towards him easily finding the movement and reaching him.

You do the same exercise but side to side and when you’re back in front of him you stop taking a moment to look up at him and how he’s taller than you making you look up at him “That was easy,” You shrug making him tilt his head and hum.

“Oh? How about this then,” He pauses taking a few steps back before continuing “you get a head start but you have to shuffle away from me and try to not let me corner you,” He challenges “If it’s so easy,” he adds you let out a breath not meaning to challenge his instruction but you accept it waiting for his signal to start unsure how sure you are that you can evade him, your eyes meet his and he gives you a nod giving you to go ahead and just like a game of hide and seek he’s counting down.

From ten you start shuffling away from him backward trying to create enough distance it wouldn’t be too hard to get away and after what feels like less than a few seconds “Zero,” leaves his lips making you look up to see him moving forward almost too quickly shuffling your direction with ease eyes focused completely on you like his next meal.

You freeze with the progress he’s managed to make in just a few seconds causing you to fall behind as you compose yourself starting to shuffle away from him again backing up while you look at him and you go as far as you could until you’re met with cold.

Back hitting the concrete wall behind you, you panic tearing your eyes away to see your options boxing bags on both sides of you before your vision fixes back over to Sunghoon who is significantly closer with his long legs giving him an advantage with how much further he can move, reaching you a few seconds later and caging you between his arms body pressing against you as he lets out a disappointed tsk “Caught you,” he shakes his head as you let out a shocked squeal noise caught off guard.

He glances at the watch on his wrist that has a stopwatch going to see how long it would take “Fifteen seconds? Not so easy then was it?” He sounds disappointed shaking his head, you give him a half smile almost embarrassed you couldn’t last a little longer.

He stays unmoving just looking at you waiting for you to tell him to move “Probably shouldn’t let my opponents this close,” you point out nervously unsure where to rest your hands that were previously at your side.

His face is right next to yours looking at you catching the way you avoid looking directly at him as a hand comes up helping to cup your jaw turning your face to look at him cocking his head waiting on your reply, dry swallowing your anxieties now forced to give him your full attention “Probably,” his lower half is pressed into you one leg slotted between your two making the room spin as if it were still just the two of you pressed against each other pressure on your lower halves clearly affecting both of you wanting to move against his leg for anything more.

“Ah, Fuck,” A thud follows the curse making you look away and just past Sunghoon to see what the commotion was, Sunghoon peering back over his shoulder as well to see Heeseung in a headlock, courtesy of Jay. Sunghoon lets out a sigh backing away to release you.

“Let me go you asshole,” Heeseung tries to peel his friend away, Sunghoon stands with his arms crossed watching the two shaking his head at the bickering pair 

Turning towards you Sunghoon doesn’t let his voice carry leaning downwards to whisper against your ear sending chills up your spine “Things can get worse if you get cornered so just be aware of your surroundings, let's work on some basic jabs and blocks for now,” you silently agree following him over to a punching bag embarrassingly wet with arousal sticking to your underwear from him barely doing anything.

——-

God, of course, he was using the gym at the same time as you, he seemed like the only person you were running into recently. Sitting on a bench with your small weights placed in front of you, getting lost in the way his sweat-soaked shirt sticks to his skin, remembering the way he felt pressed up behind you his silk-like voice whispering against your ear. How he had you caged against him and the wall driving you insane. Now watching the way his muscles flexed with each curl of the weight in his grip wondering how easy it would be for him to just grab you and pin you up against-

“Are you just gonna keep eye fucking him?” Your friend’s voice asks in a sneer making you jump caught off guard and tearing your eyes away from Sunghoon to see her dressed in workout attire hair up and arms crossed in judgment.

Her eyes are jumping between you and Sunghoon across the gym “What the fuck?” You ask, hand over your chest at the sudden intrusion both confused and caught off guard unsure how long she’s been standing there or even how long you were watching him.

“What? Didn’t we sign up for the gym together?” She points out with an almost “Duh” sound following her statement making you scoff at the way she tried to shield blame from herself knowing fully well the shock it is to see her here.

“You haven’t been here in weeks,”  you point out crossing your arms to match her energy, still bitter, having gotten to the point you don’t even bother asking if she’ll go.

She waves her hand off playing it off as the past is the past “And I thought you were actually using the gym not just using your membership to stare at Sunghoon,” she turns the conversation to you, something she was very good at doing recently and especially to get details.

“I am using it, he was my boxing instructor,” you pick up one of your weights to demonstrate you using the gym ‘technically’.

“I know, I signed us up for him specifically,” she reminds you that she made the point of vying for boxing lessons, not that you could forget, still mad at her for ditching you, “You’re welcome,” she adds with a smile and subtle wink you don’t miss.

She proceeds to join you on the bench uncaring that you might actually want to work out and not gossip “So have you guys fucked yet? Or are you playing the long game,” she unabashed asks as if he isn’t a few feet away eyes going wide.

“He’s just my instructor,” you hiss out shushing her looking back over to Sunghoon to make sure he hasn’t suddenly appeared next to you like she summoned him or something.

“So not yet then,” she frowns adding in a “boo,” out of disappointment, she looks over at him eyes scanning over him making you more annoyed as you adjust your seat so you’re in the way of her seeing him uncaring as she catches on to your maneuver.

“If you must be so invasive, no we haven’t,”

“Well you should soon, he’s looking right at you,” She brags making you still unsure if she was trying to get a reaction out of you, giving her arm a very light punch and a nervous laugh not daring to look over too nervous she was lying like she usually does.

“Now tell me about this guy you abandoned me to go fuck,” You turn it back on her tiered of her always questioning you wanting to know the details of what her recent reason has been for avoiding the gym.

Letting out an annoyed groan she rubs over her face, “Don’t get me started on him, he’s a great kisser but he was shit at everything else, I mean how is he gonna pass out after only one round, and didn’t even make me cum?” she lets out an exacerbated sigh as she continues on about her failed attempts to find good dick, and a part of you can’t help but consider this her karma.

-------------------

“I’m sorry for crashing your plans to nail that girl,” Jay apologizes to his friend who is mid-set curling a weight, strong biceps on full display with rolled-up sleeves a group of girls by the water fountain conveniently all using it watching the two Jay taking note of a particularly cute girl but Sunghoon keeps working uncaring of his entourage.

“Yeah, you and Heeseung are like permanent cockblocks,”  Sunghoon grunts out as he completes a rep working out his frustration from the other day unable to get you in particular off his mind and the way you melted into him.

“You aren’t any better, and you didn’t exactly send a ‘hey guys I’m gonna go ahead and fuck the girl I’m supposed to be instructing,’ text,” Jay tries to argue not that it would have stopped the pair from showing up most likely feigning ignorance.

Leaning down next to his friend Jay decides to explain his reasons for bothering Sunghoon mid-set “But I just happen to have a foolproof plan,” Jay boasts eyes making their way over to a particular duo of giggling girls one happening to be you.

“This isn’t going to be like that new year's party again, is it?” Sunghoon questions skeptical of his friend remembering Jay’s last idea and just how horrible that night ended. Placing the pair of weights on the ground by his feet and letting himself have a small rest period to talk to Jay.

“That… look do you want my help or not?”

Bringing his towel up towards his face to dab the sweat that's built up on his face away “What’s this genius idea of yours?” Sunghoon muses taking in his friend’s annoyance, tipping his water bottle back to let the cool liquid fall down his throat eyes falling over to where you’re sitting across the gym, talking with another girl, laughing.

“I’ll need something from you after but…” He follows his friend’s line of sight over to you, amused. “That can come after,” Jay brings his attention back over to get into the discussion.

“Let’s do it,” Sunghoon can't stand not having you a second longer already intrigued and frustrated, eyes working their way over you not caring that your friend is watching him check you out as he listens to Jay’s plan on how exactly they would get you alone.

——-

Finishing up your set and wiping down your area with sanitary wipes you spot a figure walking towards you out of the corner of your eye moving out of the way so that they could use the equipment walking over to where you set your bag down. Squatting down to find the headphone case you had thrown in haphazardly.

Walking past the cleaned station without a pause making their way over to you. Looking up at the fast-approaching guy you recognize him in an instant in his black muscle tee that shows off his figure arms looking bigger than the last time you saw him, blond hair sticking to his forehead from his own workout, the inescapable Park Sunghoon.

Dabbing away droplets of sweat from your warmup you silently admire the way he manages to look so good even covered in a layer of sweat “What’s up?” You take out your headphones to hear him dropping the case back into your bag.

Looking down at you where you’re squatting down already has his mind turning “I need a practice buddy,” he points over his shoulder towards the practice ring where you’ve watched him and Heeseung go at it a couple of times, always so intimidated by the way they fought always worried one of them could actually get injured.

Going over the request in your head you can’t help the bubbling anxious feeling in your chest “Then go use Jay,” You nod your head over to the mop of Brown hair sitting and gulping down his water on a nearby bench with his head thrown back having just finished his own workout by the way his hair drips in sweat.

“I fight him all the time. I need someone different,” You give him a skeptical look, Sunghoon is a great boxer, and with only one lesson you definitely lacked skill especially to go against someone clearly as seasoned as him, this isn’t like when he was teaching you exactly.

“Don’t you need a challenge? I hardly think beating up a newbie is going to help you get better,” you shove up against the ground to your feet trying to stay resilient and not give in to him.

“Maybe I can teach you a thing or two,” he offers throwing in a “free of charge,” to entice you while dragging you by your wrists closer to the practice ring where you miss the wink Jay sends his friend followed by a thumbs up.  “Besides, there's only so much you can do with a bag, the real thing is much harder,” he persuades as if it made sense to just jump right in his thumbs rubbing against your wrist trying to soothe any nerves with a smile.

“I’ll go easy on you, don’t worry,” he assures you, seeing the hesitation drawn across your face with knit eyebrows and an apparent internal battle with yourself as you stare down at his hands holding yours doing more to send goosebumps through your whole body with memories of the last time it was just the two of you in such close proximity.

You know deep down it’s not a good idea that he probably has some ulterior motive but the way he smiles at you makes it so tempting “Look it’s just us here anyways so no one will even see when you lose,” you look over to where Jay was sitting noting his spot now empty looking up at Sunghoon giving a slight nod of affirmation sealing your fate as he perks up practically dragging you over to where they keep some of the spare boxing equipment.

“You better go easy on me,” you warn, grabbing at the pair of gloves that fit you, Sunghoon’s hand on the small of your back drags your mind away from boxing momentarily almost dropping the gloves.

His laugh fills your senses looking up to watch his smile overtake his face “I just want to help you out,” he walks over to his own bag to pick out his personal gloves. Sliding on the gloves you nervously glance over to where Sunghoon is setting up watching when he lifts his shirt up slightly to wipe off some of the sweat that had stuck to his forehead giving you a better look at his toned muscular stomach hard abs shining in sweat caught up in a daze before he drops his shirt watching the way you stare at him flexing his arms to show off how hard he’d been working. When you’re finally done thirsting over your opponent you close your eyes tight trying to picture anything other than Sunghoon’s gorgeous body, thighs rubbing together out of habit.

“You ready?” He’s in front of you when you open your eyes, stretching an arm across his body, muscles flexing with the move as you stumble over your words.

When you do manage to get out an actual answer he’s helping you into the ring plastic mat cool under your bare feet.

As soon as you step into the box his entire demeanor changes he’s watching you like a tiger prepared for your moves like you’re the latest prey. Yeah, you fucked up, You gulp down the nerves stepping closer which he doesn’t show concern from as you bring your fists up, chin tucked just like he taught you.

“Bring your leg back, remember?” Sunghoon points out so you can adjust before you start, your foot goes back angling yourself just like Sunghoon had taught you nerves already getting to you.

“Ready?” He asks tilting his head before taking a similar stance, you gulp down giving the tiniest “yeah,” and just like that it starts, you stay unmoving waiting to see what his first move will be not wanting to be the catalyst that starts it too nervous to throw the first punch, he starts by moving around the outer part of the ring, you following his lead stepping, in turn, shorter legs moving around closer to the center to keep your distance almost too focused on your legs and not tripping and just moving that when he’s moved forward and is now in front of you it catches you off guard.

Sending one of your firsts forward he expertly blocks it, returning it with his own unexpected punch that lands as you wince at the action rubbing at the spot on your arm where he hit. “Don’t let up now,” he reminds you right when he sends another punch your way, and before you can react he’s hitting you in the chest gearing up for another punch that you’re luckily able to block, letting out an annoyed huff taking a shuffle back “Good block,” he’s quick to praise before shuffling forward, longer strides making him closer than previously as you land a punch on his arm that has no effect on him and makes you stumble more than anything. 

Recentering yourself and getting your footing he takes the opportunity to punch your side lightly, never fully using his strength, still letting out a groan instinctively going to rub it but before you know it he’s shuffling forward, so close that out of shock, you step back, feet colliding together tripping yourself and sending you backward hitting the mat you can feel the air leave your lungs trying to gasp a breath down at the impact.

Sunghoon wastes no time in shedding his gloves throwing them to the side before he’s on top of you pinning you down on the ground too easily only using one of his hands to hold the two of yours down at the wrists above your head while you just attempt to regain your breath from the hit chest moving up and down with each struggling breath gasping for air with his weight on top of you, not completely but enough to restrict the airflow.

“Get off… of me,” you’re finally able to huff out between heavy inhales his body which is slotted in between your legs and on top of you is restricting your already struggling airflow, attempting to pull your hands downwards and free only for his grip to tighten keeping you still, a satisfied smile covering his face enjoying the way you struggle against his strength.

“Are you okay?” It’s an odd question considering that he’s the reason for your struggling on and off the mat, and in any other circumstance it would be a sweet gesture but not right in this moment “I’ll be better once you let me go,” 

You let out a high-pitched frustrated whine struggling to get free, a sound, Sunghoon enjoys a little too much with an increasingly hard situation forming in his shorts you attempt to pull your arms down once again before trying to push up off the mat which is impossible, as your hips meet his keeping you down, Sunghoon has to hold back from moaning at the movement. “What happened to going easy on me?” You pout still trying to get your hands free bulky gloves not helping unable to grip anything so with no luck you lay there under him limply.

“I was,” he wipes the loose strands of hair out of your face with his free hand subtly tracing over your features with every brush showing no signs that he’s tired. You scoff at the claim hints of the strawberry smoothie you had earlier still on your breath which hits Sunghoon’s nose. 

“Since when did this turn into wrestling?” You attempt to push up but his body keeps you in place pressing against his “Since you lasted a minute at most,” he estimates letting you struggle against him rutting up to try and push him off only doing more to make him hard every push forward as he keeps you grounded under him.

You resort to wrapping your legs around his waist for any kind of leverage trying to move him by shifting all your weight side to side without any luck the only thing you’re doing is grinding against Sunghoon’s lower half forcing him to release a low grunt with the stimulation you’re providing, “What do I have to do for you to get off of me,” you give in, laying your head back against the mat in defeat, tired of fighting, wasting the little strength you do have, it’s clearly having no effect on him as he’s not even breathing heavily.

“I have a couple of ideas,” his free hand moves to play with the band of your shorts making you gulp down your throat going dry “If you’re up to it, of course,” he presses down on you further with his hips boner evident as soon as he rolls his hips against yours making you realize exactly what you did in your struggle to get free.

A choked gasp leaves your lips eyes widened looking down between the two of you noticing the evident hard-on he’s developed straining against the front of his gym shorts slowly raising your eyes and meeting his playful gaze “What do you say?” Face leaning in closer to yours, noses now brushing against each other.

A ping of worry hugs your chest “What if someone walks in?” You can’t help but be anxious letting your head fall to the side attempting to glance over at the double doors, vision obscured by a pillar.

Sunghoon cups your jaw bringing your face forward towards him so you have to look at him “Don’t worry, Jay’s making sure no one comes in,” he assures you a droplet of sweat landing on your forehead as he holds your face straight.

“He’s in on this?” If you could hit him in the chest, you would but with your hands tied up at the moment all you’re able to do is look at him dumbfounded, mouth slightly agape blinking up at him.

“Yeah, told him I’d let him beat me to impress this cam girl he’s been obsessing over, so what do you say?” his mouth hovers above yours, lips tempting you.

You can’t deny the way he makes your hormones go haywire with even the slightest proximity and how often he’s been circling around your brain recently especially late at night in your room with nothing but your fingers to satisfy you “Aren’t you curious?” he shoves into you again, any apprehensive thoughts leaving your mind hot breath over your lips.

“Fuck it,” you concede leaning upwards to press your lips to his, difficult with your hands above your head but he presses back forcing you back sandwiched between himself and the mat, lips crashing into yours with haste, working his hands to get the boxing gloves off your hands as you feel lost in his lips working expertly against yours, tongue pressing into your mouth for more, it’s intoxicating letting him take control his lips working with desperation over yours.

Shoving the gloves off you roll your wrists adjusting to the new freedom, Sunghoon’s hands instantly start traveling down your body squeezing occasionally over your curves hands pressing your hips down with a bruising grip keeping you in place and letting you know he’s still running the show.

With free hands you sneak them under his shirt curious touch moving over his abdomen, tracing over every dip and defined line of his abdominal muscles counting as his shirt raises the higher your touch goes forcing him to break the kiss and throw it off for you to admire the body you’ve only gotten teasing peeks at up until now, he’s towering over you straddling your lap “Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you’ve been staring at me, begging like a slut for me to fuck you,” You mindlessly nod biting your lower lip to hide the embarrassing whine you want to let out, reaching out to feel him again, before you can he’s fast to capture your wrists pinning them next to your body making you struggle again wiggling to try and get free and feel him again.

“Wait your turn,” he reminds you that he’s still got the upper hand kissing over your neck painfully agonizing taking his time.

Making his way downwards peppering kisses along your collarbone until he meets the top of your bra eyes fixated on yours maintaining eye contact “Keep your hands off,” he pauses kissing over the top of the bra you’re wearing “Until I get this off,” You let out a frustrated whine but obliged his request nodding, not trusting your voice, letting up his grip on your wrists you resist the temptation to cling to him taking in a deep inhale chest rising looking all the more enticing kissing over the fabric and around, driving you crazy with each avoiding move you distract yourself by tugging your shorts down partially, trying to give your hands something to do until he gives you what you want.

Finally, his hand is pulling at the zipper in front, grateful you chose to wear a sports bra with easy access. It feels like forever as he unveils more of your chest until you feel the fabric separate, cold air from the air conditioner blasting hitting your chest making you shudder. a low groan from Sunghoon “fuck you’re perfect,” follows as he’s quick to make contact with your chest lips wrapping around one breast making you mewl out eyes shutting struggling to shrug off the fabric arching upwards towards him assisting only by lifting your back upwards closer to him and his mouth making you whimper.

As soon as your bra is shoved off your needy touch clings to him, like honey you’re a fly trapped in his presence grabbing onto his broad shoulders his tongue swirling over the hard bud making you moan out loudly, bouncing off the walls of the empty area. Core dripping with arousal rutting against his thigh subtly to try and get more relief, impatient, not going unnoticed by him.

Releasing your breast with a pop he shoves the shorts you got half off all the way down with one strong yank “What were you saying about my hands the other day?” He asks, kissing up your jaw to your ear fingers ghosting over your clothed core in a teasing manner making you shudder with anticipation.

“Mmmm, they feel so nice,” you recall the moments before you got interrupted, overwhelming thoughts now coming true better than you imagined.

“They do?” He presses down against the fabric of your underwear, feeling how wet you’ve already got them, hips bucking up for more pressure making you whimper “You’re soaked,” he remarks letting your head nod yes “for you,” you desperately breathe out needing more pushing your underwear deeper seeping in your desire.

You’re groaning out at the teasing wanting him to do something about to whine out for more before you feel him pulling your underwear to the side he can feel exactly how slicked up you’ve gotten two fingers teasing your folds purposefully ghosting over your clit until you let out a loud complaint “Please Hoon!” You beg, trying to buck your hips for just a little more, Sunghoon’s low laugh hitting your ears, “Please what? Sluts know what they want.” He stills his movements completely making you cry out, pathetic over Sunghoon.

“Your fingers, Please, Please, need them in- '' You moan out when you feel him press two digits in, arching upwards sound of your skin lifting up off the mat previously stuck to it from the mixture of heat and sweat. Starting at an agonizingly slow pace working his fingers in and out of you listening to the way you let out pathetic noises pulling his fingers almost fully out before sinking back into your heat occasionally spreading his fingers out for more of an impact “More, please, Hoon, I need more,” giving into your begs he changes up to a brutal pace, fingers moving in and out quicker than you can register thumb moving over your clit making you let out incoherent babbles he knows exactly what he’s doing watching the way you turn into a puddle under him letting out pretty high pitched noises.

Curling his fingers to hit different areas you’re a mess, wet noises sounding out with every press inward trying to contain your high mouth biting down on his shoulder, you practically yell out when he finds your sweet spot, “Right there,” he angles his fingers to hit that spot repeatedly you’re squeezing down on his fingers with a vice “Gonna cum-” you mumble out against his neck your mind going fuzzy begging to reach that familiar high which is so close a series of whimpers leaving your mouth until the minute he retracts his fingers making you curse out “no, no, no Stop playing with me,” You’re pathetic begging dripping in sweat desperate for him to let you win arousal leaking out onto the mat under you, lips grazing over yours looking into his eyes with the most pleading look you can muster your nails dig into his back.

He presses his lips to yours for a brief kiss before he’s speaking against your mouth “Losers don’t get to cum before me,” He points out taking no pity on you with a jutted-out lip gripping onto his back, nails probably leaving marks as you nod “Take your prize then” your hand wanderers downwards between you both pausing over the evident bulge straining against the fabric of his shorts your finger trails over it teasing him as he did you while sizing up just how big he is gulping down. “Open,” Sunghoon tells you watching the way you almost instantly open your mouth, the fingers he had just taken out of you pushing into your mouth for you to lick clean of your own arousal. Starting to palm over the fabric making him curse out lowly when you squeeze over the base unsteady breaths leaving his lips as he watches the way you move your hand over his underwear working up a pace, strokes getting progressively quicker while sucking on his fingers at the same time, it feels sinful. 

“Keep going,” he encourages hissing out when you slip your cold hand into the material wanting to feel him completely, heavy in your hand and warm you work over him. He’s bigger than you thought as you tease his tip where precum is leaking out making him throw his head back a low groan leaves his mouth, muscles tensing, and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth dripping in saliva.

Hand wrapping around your wrist to still your movements looking up at Sunghoon, raising an eyebrow at him “Why do you want me to stop?” You question, face coming closer to yours  “Because I want to see you ride me,” he pulls your hand out of his pants wanting to avoid cumming in his pants before he even gets to feel you.

Pushing his shorts and boxers down in one movement, letting his dick hard and aching for release rest against your stomach making you gulp down seeing the mere size you let out a whimper satisfying him as he lets out a soft chuckle, “Not even in you yet and you’re making all these noises.” he taunts pulling your underwear that wasn’t even coving your core off to join his.

“You can take it, be my good little slut,” he kisses the tip of your nose dick pressing against your stomach showing you just how deep he’s going to be in you making you clench around nothing but needing him “You’re so big,”.

Maneuvering the two of you so that you’re on his lap straddling him “Show me you can take it,”. You grind down on him which elicits a moan as you smile to yourself before positioning his dick at your entrance slowly taking your time to sink down on him as you moan directly into his ear while he starts to suck on your neck. He bucks his hips up ever so slightly on purpose making you let out another surprise moan.

“Fuck Sunghoon, you’re huge” you pant out holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself and prepare yourself already squeezing down on him barely halfway in. Hands gripping your hips he uses his thumbs to rub soothingly against your skin trying his best not to fuck you from below.

He watched the way your face contorts gasping out with every inch eyes squeezing shut in preparation “Pussy keeps sucking me in asking for more,” He eyes stay trained on where the two of you meet watching the way he’s almost fully inside feeling the way you squeeze down on him, it’s addictive.

“Almost there,” he’s impatient wanting to let you adjust but his hips jump up and he’s fully sheathed inside of you making you gasp out at the deepness hugging onto his shoulders to steady yourself resting your forehead against his.

He’s rubbing at your side smiling “wanna see you bounce,” he says after giving you a few seconds to adjust still squeezing him tightly still shocked at the way you managed to take him all.

He’s assisting you with small movements starting with rocking up and down “Just like that baby,” he lets you take over the movement feeling the way you wrap around him when he fills you up, you’re moving up and down more still trying to work up a quicker pace.

It’s not like you’ve never ridden anyone before but it’s been a while and never anyone nearly as big as Sunghoon who seems to be reaching new places inside of you.

You keep your small bounces Sunghoon’s hips moving up to meet yours making you clench down hard letting out a noise that’s somewhere between shock and pleasure, a sound Sunghoon only wishes he could record and replay over and over.

“Making me do all the work? Come on baby show me how much you want it,” you don’t fight him as you just continue to bounce on his cock working yourself up higher before coming down you can feel yourself starting to sweat, legs wobbly as you continue your movements rising and falling working you both up.

Sunghoon whispers words of approval reveling in the feeling of you and how deep he presses into you tightness engulfing him in pleasure. You’re caught off guard when you feel his lips wrap around one of your buds making you stall your hips stilling momentarily trying to focus on Sunghoon. A sharp sting on your thigh follows making you hiss out at the pain, a part of you loves it though squeezing down on him with the sensation.

He lets out a curse at the feeling head falling back slightly “Keep going,” he soothes over the spot he slapped as lightly as he can frustration building as you start to bounce struggling to build up a rhythm again.

“You can do better than that,” he encourages hands resting on your waist assisting you to ride him, taking him deeper and faster as you shake your head no with a choked-out sound with your hands on his shoulders trying to use him as leverage to bounce.

Hips jumping up to meet yours he impatiently fucks up into you, your legs shaking with every bounce “Going to have to work those legs out more,” he makes note eyes watching the way your bodies connect taking him, getting sloppy with louder whines “Please Hoon, I can’t” you’re begging for mercy  head shaking that you can’t keep up.

“You’re not going to like it very much when I’m pinning you down again making sure you can’t touch me,” he grunts out with a particularly rough up movement making you release a choked-out noise legs on the verge of giving up on you hips stalling once again.

Slowing down you shake your head “Sure Sung-“You’re caught off guard when he follows through with the threat hands previously on your waist sliding down looping under your thighs swiftly changing up the position so you’re roughly knocked back onto your back with your legs pressed up against your chest Sunghoon still inside you maybe even deeper with the change-up.

“-Hoon!“ you gasp out a breath, air knocked out from the sudden impact saying he took your breath away, literally, was an understatement. Struggling to catch your breath his hips start to move again not leaving you any time to adjust as he’s almost pulling out completely before plunging back in making you feel the full effect of him gasping out. Catching your breath his pace is faster with one leg over his shoulder you try and find something to grip onto, but nothing is available pushing you deeper into the mat with every stroke.

“Don’t test me, this is what you wanted,” he grits out continuing to fuck you out of breath heavy breathing filling the air your hands finding purchase on his back arching up with a cry “Feel so good, so full, Please Hoon-” your eyes try and focus on his face and the intensity of his eyes drinking you up as he fucks into you eyebrows knit and a vein along his neck protruding.

Sunghoon’s fingers find their way to your clit applying barely any pressure having you react  hips jumping forward and clenching around him harder with a loud gasp “fuck just like that, begging for me,” He moans lips attaching to your neck sucking over the skin adding to the sensitivity you’re feeling only adding to the build-up feeling yourself coming closer hands falling down to his arms holding onto him.

“Please, Hoon!” Your nails dig into his bicep surely leaving a mark for him to see later as you’re inching closer to your release applying more pressure every bit more making your mind fuzzy with pleads and begs.

“I-Mmmm,” you feel the words get lost in your throat but he can tell what you want to say with the way you’re squeezing down on him impossibly hard making him work extra to fuck you through it droplets of sweat building across his brow.

“Wait,” he warns voice deep you are practically in tears trying to hold off your release shaking your head no mumbling out incoherent words begging for him to let you cum knowing that the tears would start if you attempt to hold off any longer.

You’re shaking your head with rough breaths “Please please please, it’s too good, can't hold it,” and you can't as you snap before he allows you to letting your release wash over you as Sunghoon is fucking you through your orgasm hips crashing into yours thrusts getting sloppy before he presses fully flush against your hips emptying his balls and cumming with shallow breaths.

Neither of you speaks for a moment too intense, trying to catch your breath and come down from both your highs staying as you both ended the only sounds are from both of you breathing and hearts pumping and pounding in your ear slowly subsiding, “Fuck,” is the first thing you say earning a small laugh from your instructor who pushes his hair out of his face to look at you better before he lightly slaps your thigh making you jump still sensitive, “That’s for cumming before me, loser,” He slowly slides out of you hissing out at the feeling.

Legs still shaky after your previous orgasm Sunghoon watches the way his cum spills out of you down your thigh onto the mat below as he takes a finger pressing some of his releases back into you making you whine out still sensitive. “Couldn’t help it, you’re too good,” You try and sit up groaning at the soreness you can already feel laying back down.

“Fuck Hoon,” You’re able to get out head falling to the side to look at him.

“So you want a round two then?” he cocks his head to the side smiling so you can see both his canines' lines of sweat framing the side of his face

——-

This was my first time kinda publishing smut so go easy on me thx XOXO -SunghoonsSlut

Also have never boxed before in my life 💀 and have had this in the drafts since like September so if it flops pretend you never saw this because I’ve just been up and down with my motivation with writing this one 😬

[sevenop]

may you feed the angst monster? it yearns the pain and ache of a childhood friends to lovers but they never actually get to be lovers? perhaps one's moves away or billie thinks she's too busy and won't be enough? (happy ending though cuz angst monster is a little sensitive baby)

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Parallel lines

A/n: Broken knees, unspoken words at one time, and a bunch of motley band-aids . As a child, you carefully tend to Billie's every bruise and wound, hiding them behind the surface of funny band-aids, while she herself hides from you like seven seals, covering herself with a half-hearted smile. A few years later, having suddenly cut off all ties with each other, you meet again - she is a world-famous star, still breaking her knees, you are a paramedic assigned to her in a hurry, who has a set of absurd band-aids in your pocket.

"Billie!" The child's voice trembles fearfully, picked up by the sultry wind of early morning, which is already spilling across the sky with the barely rolled orange disk of the sun, so seductively reminiscent of a juicy orange. The wind blasts you with a new wave of heat, and you shaking as if you'd been thrown out the door into a crackling, freeze-stinging winter in just a t-shirt - fear creeps to the very bottom of your soul, clinging to the strings of your nerves along the way. You clutch the half-full water bottle restlessly in your palms a few times, making the plastic crunch loudly. "Billie! Please get off!"

"There's more!" Eilish chuckles sonorously, gleefully, like a bird, and climbs up the tree farther and higher, as if he wants to touch the lush green leaves of the spreading crown with his fingers. "I'll prove to you that it's not the least bit scary, Y/n!"

You bite your lower lip in excitement, and it's as if it's the only thing that helps you hold back the hailstones of tears coming insistently to your eyes: such an interesting and bizarre contrast, with you on the ground almost sobbing and her laughing aloft.

"Please, Billie..." You sniffle your nose, wiping the very tip with the stretched sleeve of your red sweatshirt, making the fabric immediately get a little wet. Your voice is about to break in its pitifulness and break.

Billie turns around, looking over her shoulder at you from above, and for a few moments her confident, clear-blue river softens in her gaze, causing her eyebrows to arch and arch, and her small lips to stretch at the very corners in an awkward but understanding smile.

"Okay, I'll-" her phrase-agreement is immediately drowned out in her own shriek as Billie puts her foot lower on the tree trunk without looking, too hastily, and as a result: slips sharply on the sandpaper-like bark, clinging with palms in fear. She snaps off, and with indescribable frustration flopping backwards on the ground, right up to the roots of the young oak tree, onto the grass spread out around you like a green carpet.

"Eilish!" You immediately run up to her, snapping in an asynchronous ricochet like a frightened gopher gerbil. You plop down on the ground in front of her, palms on her shoulders, squeezing them a little, either for support or for your own reassurance.

Billie whimpers softly, dropping her gaze into the green of the park lawn as mournfully as if she'd lost the war: more, clear beads of tears rolling down her face, her cheeks starting to turn pink. Confusion mixed with the blush of weeping.

"Does it hurt much...?" You ask quietly, stroking her head soothingly with your small palm. She sniffs her nose loudly, shows you her bloodied palms and nods silently, stoically swallowing a loud, tearful howl. You release your gaze a little lower and stare at her bloody mottled knees, only now the mottling, unlike her hands, is covered with black smears of dirt and green grass sap. Actively appearing scarlet beads of blood on her skin make you cringe and fumble with trembling fingers in your shorts pocket for a crumpled pack of band-aids, a small permanent "amulet" handed to you every day. handed to you repeatedly by your mom. "I'll help..."

You hurriedly unscrew the bright yellow cap from the bottle, and a dozen images flash before your eyes: how did your mom do it? What did she say? It seems like you should always wash the wound first, right? You nod confidently to your thoughts, and then you tilt the bottle gently, lifting the neck to her skinned knees: a clean, cool trickle of water pulls all the dirt right down with it, dripping onto the ground as you help with your palm, barely touching the tortured skin, and Billie only hisses painfully, but doesn't move away from you, only her legs twitching faintly in pain. You rustle a few strips of Band-Aids out of the box, frowning seriously like a doctor, and pick up the paper protecting the soft pad of the Band-Aid and its sticky layer with your fingertips. When the bloody meshes and peeled skin fall under the undeniable protection of your pink Hello Kitty patches, glued on a little crookedly but firmly, Eilish holds out her palms to you, looking straight at you, trust, gratitude, and a silent plea for forgiveness in her weeping blue eyes. You silently rinse her hands, too, cover the wounds with rectangles of girl's band-aids, and hold her close in a comforting embrace. Billie sniffs, but clings to you in response, her hands buzzing and burning with pain tightly clasped behind your back. Unconditional mutual reassurance and trust.

"Aren't you going to tell mom...?" Her hot, low whisper tickles your ear pleasantly.

And you answer, snuggling only closer to her, "I won't."

And you two don't care that everything will be absurdly obvious to Maggie when you get back home.

×××

"Eilish, you're going to kill yourself someday!" You frown, grasping the weighty cotton roll with your fingers and pulling hard, sharply: the little fluffy lump is on your clinging fingertips in no time. You immediately deftly pick up the bottle with a sharp-smelling antiseptic, blotting the absorbent cotton and pre-treating your palms. The open wounds on your fingers (stupid habit of tearing cuticles) are instantly stung by the alcohol, but you don't even twitch: it's a matter of habit. "Do you want to be without knees at all by the time you're old?"

Eilish hums, shaking her head to brush ash-gray strands of hair out of her eyes. She bites her lip and staring childishly into the bedroom floor, never admitting that her bloody knees stung, never making a sound, proudly swallowing every it, even the ones that came up in the back of her throat.

"I had to put my best foot forward today." Her detached voice draws your tenacious, frowning gaze to the top of her head in an instant.

"That doesn't mean you have to paint the dance studio floors maroon!" You hissing at her in a parental manner, fumbling with your hands in your small makeshift med-bag for cooling ointment for bruises.

You mutter to yourself, and Eilish smiles dully, impenetrable and silent, no longer answering. She twitches slightly a couple times, the first from the sharp contrast of the cold ointment against her skin temperature as you gently rub the ointment into her knees, and the second from a mild fit of tics, her head jerking toward the ceiling. You can tell now that she's definitely nervous about something. You gently touch her face with your chiseled palms only when you finish gluing stupid plasters with painted spiders on her wounds, and wiping your hands with a damp cloth. The sterility habit attaches itself to you so imperceptibly that you don't even realize it.

"Hey," you whisper softly, and Billie immediately flatters her cheek against your palm. "I'm sorry if I grumbled like a grandmother again."

The blue oceans in her eyes murmur, foaming with something incomprehensible, but clearly not malicious. A soft smile crossed by a glance back to the pile of the carpet as her head jerks sharply again in a Tourette's tic. "It's nothing." Her quiet whisper.

You only put your arms around her, gently wrapping your long arms around her in the manner of a life preserver, the only thing that will keep Eilish from drowning in the murk of her own thoughts right now. Her shoulders and back are tense like a tight string, but her hands, sliding down somewhat lazily over your shoulder blades through the cotton of your voluminous black t-shirt, are gentle, careful.

"Will you tell me?" You whisper softly, trying not to sneeze as her ash-gray strands climb up your nose: soft, pear-scented. "And hey, how many times have I told you tics are normal."

And her shoulders relax in an instant, and she seems to become boneless almost entirely, spreading out in our arms, nestling close to you like a warm, California sea wave. Nestled, but also immediately "caught": you feel the warmth of her slightly trembling palms on your shoulder blades again, but now it is static, immovable.

And she tells you. Tells you about every thought languishing under her skull, every worry about the upcoming tryouts for the dance production. She tells you, exactly one week before the upcoming incident that will turn her life upside down a hundred and eighty degrees, while you whisper words of encouragement to her, and she gulps inquisitively into your eyes, saying nothing and at the same time saying everything in the world.

×××

Her sobs shake her body silently, and she clutches at you with trembling fingers, nearly pulling your t-shirt off your shoulders through a collar that has been stretched by time and many washings. No longer screaming, no longer howling loudly, bringing even her favorite old bulldog Pepper to her ears, but trembling like the flame of a nearly extinguished candle that reaches the hot, melted wax with a hiss. She's been crying for the beat three hours, the sun having long since rolled indifferently away over the horizon, straining the string of stars and the darkness of the sky with its hot, round side as if they were caught on it. And you keep stroking her just as gently, not even changing the diligent, soft amplitude, you crumble in a huge number of quiet words of support, modestly reaching almost the second million. She's trembling, and there's nothing you can do - such an injury can't be sealed with any of your even stupidest band-aids.

"I won't be able to dance anymore..." Her sob-weary voice is hoarse, and you're in so much pain it feels like someone is mercilessly tearing expensive velvet with their bare hands. "I'm nothing now..."

You can only choke mournfully on your unspoken words and thoughts as you continue to pet her-you'd rather die right now under her tired body than tell her that you have to move to another state this morning. She crumbles in thoughts of her own insignificance, you in the realization that there's nothing you can do to help now.

"Please leave me..." She also wheezes hotly. "I'm nothing now, I'm nobody, I can't do anything..."

And you cry for the first time in three hours, burying your wet nose against the top of her head. Hot tears flow down your cheeks, dripping onto her gray hair like mournful rain on ashes after a fire. Your two million words about her importance don't work.

"Are you sure...?" You ask her softly-quietly, and she only nods, lying lifelessly on top of you as she does.

You take a dozen promises from her that she won't do anything stupid, and then leave as she wishes. After five hours you roll the wheels of your yellow suitcase down the lane in the early morning, shuffling your feet languidly while the whole neighborhood of Highland Park is asleep (you'd be happier going to the scaffold of the French Revolution), and Billie lies sleepless in her bed, shrunken into a life-beaten lump. Her heart aches for the closed road of the future, but even more for the loss of you. She's well aware of your move, heard snippets of it from her mother's conversations. The thought that it will be better acts like a dulling but not curing painkiller - she's broken now anyway, she has no future with you. She is nothing, and she now nothing can give anything to the person for whom she was willing to sell the whole world to the devil.

"I take no offense." Said in a whisper in the emptiness of her own room, as if you'd hear it, it masks something else. "I love you so damn much." Screams her thoughts. As if you'll actually hear it.

"I love you." You think and slam the door of your mom's old sedan. Your thoughts scream parallel to each other, wanting to break all the laws of geometry and converge into one smooth, clear line. Screaming, but they can't hear.

×××

You meet exactly seven years later: she is not a broken girl, but a singer, with her voice and even a single gesture able to control almost the entire auditorium of millions of people on every continent; you are a paramedic, a little tired of life, but faithful to your chosen profession, who no longer holds a stupid homemade first aid kit, but a weighty, professional first aid bag behind your back. You meet, knowing perfectly well who's in front of you, and she even now recognizes you in seconds - no badges, no introductions. You sit down gently on your knees in front of her, spreading the ight worn medic bag out on the floor, and she can't tear her gaze away from you, raging oceans of irises in recognition. Your face is hidden behind the pale blue fabric of a medical mask, you haven't uttered a word since entering her dressing room after the show, and she doesn't care at all - she recognizes you by your grown-up, tired eyes, as if she's found a warm glow of caring in them, familiar from childhood. From your past lives.

"You..." Eilish's voice is a little husky from the concert, but it still feels pleasant, velvety. Expensive.

"Hello, Ms. O'Connell." You smile with the very corners of your lips, which is made vaguely clear by the slight squint. Billie squirms a little on the huge black couch, as if the detailed address from your lips scratches her heart like a rusty nail.

She looks at you throughout the whole process: hungrily, almost prayerfully, catching your movements, which have become a little sharper, more refined, more mechanical over the years. She tries to catch your gaze, but it's as if you are deliberately avoiding the murmuring, restless oceans. Your fingertips twitch so treacherously, though almost imperceptibly. As when you were a child, you carefully treat her wounds on your knees with antiseptic and ointment (Billie shudders at the touch of the cool, thin latex of your gloves and the even colder ointment), and then lean over to the medicine cabinet to find band-aids. Billie has words stuck deep in her song-weary windpipe, you have stuck thoughts in your head that resemble bubblegum. You lean over her lap, pulling a piece of paper off a couple of Band-Aids at once, and suddenly you're hovering.

"Y/n, I..." Billie's voice is drowned out by rustling and light thudding. You tuck the pack of Band-Aids back into the medicine cabinet and reach into the pockets of your medically bright red jacket with your hand.

"You... Do you need a 'fuck,' 'crap' or 'shit' patch?" Your voice quivers in laughter as you unfurl strips of band-aids fan-like in front of her and see the dazed, confused look in her eyes. You remember.

"There's with "I love you?" She whispers softly, and looks into your eyes ever so gently and a little fearfully, as if wanting to wrap herself in your gaze like a warm plaid.

"No, but..." You stumble quietly over the words, unzipping three ridiculous patches and gluing them from gently onto her right knee. "I can say it out loud, if that's possible." Your hands shake more visibly as you also cover her now left knee behind the strips of silly words.

Barely do the sticky strips lock onto her skin as she suddenly jumps up like a wound up spring, plopping onto the newly healed lap bravely and eagerly clinging to your lips with hers, shifting the mask so deftly that you don't even realize it before you do, only lips obediently opening for her. It feels right. You involuntarily exhale hotly into the kiss, as if you'd forgotten how to breathe at all.

"I love you." You say it almost simultaneously as she pulls away and presses gently against your forehead with hers.

Two parallel lines of thought come together against all odds. And it's the right thing to do. With her, it's definitely right.

[stitchposts]

Heyo! Had two questions - one a little less relevant to your blog but I thought I'd shoot my shot :D

First off, do you have any experience with visible mending using embroidery techniques? Both my denim jacket and favorite sweater are getting worn out after years of constant wear, and I'm unsure how do deal with some of the holes. My main issue is that the very ends of the sleeves are simply... splitting open? Like the fabric got so thin from whatever stress I apparently put it under, it fecking disintegrated. It seems simple enough, straight line on an edge, but I'm worried about messing it up anyway.

And, speaking of my jacket, with it falling apart a little and me seeing more about battle vests and the like, I've been wondering about trying to embroider it, maybe make some patches... I have a bunch of cotton embroidery floss that was gifted to me years ago, but not only have I not embroidered much since learning it in school more than 15 years ago, this is also literally my only (wearable) jacket. The other two are a 10 year old fake leather coat that is peeling itself and also doesn't fit right, and a windbreaker in terrible colors that, if I remember correctly, is too badly damaged for me to know how to easily fix it. Meaning just going ham on it is a big risk. Do I try to find my first new jacket since 2019 and hope to stumble upon one satisfactory in both price and fit? Do I just pray and start fixing up my denim jacket? What else do I need anyway? I got thread and sewing needles big enough to fit it, but nothing else.

Help.

Thanks! <3

This post got kinda long even for me, sorry. First off, this is all embroidery related imo, this is still about stitching on fabric. A square is always a rectangle but a rectangle is not always a square. There's nuance under the umbrella of 'embroidery' here and this counts.

There does reach a point when clothing can't really be repaired anymore, and after that point, historically became rags, or the patches used to repair other clothing. You'll eventually need a new jacket, but if your choice is to immediately find one now or to repair your jacket and buy time to be able to locate one, it seems a bit obvious to me what the option to follow here is, especially if you like the look of visible mending.

This is the part where I wanted to add a cut, but tumblr is glitching out and refusing to add one. So I guess everyone is just subjected to this now. Sorry, and I'll try to have an actual pretty embroidery picture up for everyone to see this week since my furnace is no longer trying to blow up. So: visible mending is at the core applying mending techniques to clothing, and instead of trying to make them invisible repairs, using the stitches or extra material that reinforces the repair to creative visual interest and turn it into a design feature. The stitching itself is done to reinforce the fragile parts of your garment. Sometimes it can be darning, other times it's adhering new fabric to back/cover the fragile parts. It depends on the repair which to use, or even which method the mender prefers. It's not always clearcut and even then, sometimes we prefer doing the thing we know better more than a brand new technique and we bruteforce it to work. So, dealer's choice on darning or patching here, but I'll get to both of them. My opinion of your situation is that you have nothing to lose with trying to repair your jacket that fits you. It's already falling apart, and it's better to stabilize it before it gets worse before there are giant gaps in the fabric. Clean it gently by hand by letting it soak in a bucket or a tub with some ph neutral detergent - do a couple rinses of letting it soak, until the water runs clear and stops smelling foul. Then lay it flat to try on a towel, don't hang it up to dry as that will put more stress on the fabric, I find the shoulders are usually one of the first places to give out on my stuff but I am very broad shouldered. In my opinion, gaps in the fabric at high stress spots like the cuffs should have new backing fabric added to the weak spots, and then the visible mending can adhere that in place. If you were to make new embroidered cuffs you could just sew them on, and protect the integrity of the base fabric, the same way patches do. But you may prefer other options. For darning there's a few ways to go about it. Darning itself is using new threads to weave through the holes in fabric, and stabilizing it past the delicate thin edges of the base fabric. A dear friend of mine lives and dies by her Speedweve loom these days, and I've seen her work with it. She is one of the top 5 trusted fiber artists in my life so I vouch for these looms being cool as fuck and very functional without having used it myself. I also got her this particular book called Darned Easy, by Sally Simon, that I find interesting that has a lot of patterns in it for darning - I grabbed it at a used book store at some point. I messaged her before I made this point because she follows this blog and would know this part is about her. Hi bud. She's the only one who gets to see the rest of the interior of the book, because it was published in 1981 and I'd rather not use this blog to host scans of books that are that recently published.

You don't need a loom for darning if you know what patterns to follow to darn using your needle, and there are a lot of ways to make darning decorative in the manner you want for visible mending, just use your contrasting threads to stand out on the ground fabric. There's also other books available, a HUGE amount of them because darning's existed for millenia, but this is the resource I physically had on hand that I wanted to use as my example so it's the one you get pics of.

On the other end of repairs, you can applique on patches or reinforcing material, then quilt the material into place, with the quilting being the surface embroidery you are pushing through the layers of fabric in order to adhere them into place. Before anyone replies to this op telling them to fucking look up sashiko, please get off my post. I take umbrage with a lot of embroidery designs being referred to as 'sashiko.' This type of repair on existing clothing genuinely is one of the origins of sashiko as a necessity of life - it was that a pattern was laid down on the clothing or items that needed to be repaired or pieced together, and then quilted into place with running stitches that formed the design, which reinforced the clothing and allowed the fibers to be usable for longer. I really despise the words 'sashiko' 'wabisabi' and 'kintsugi' tossed around casually out of historical context by every fucking art blogger under the sun. Fabric was fucking expensive pre industrial revolution, so preserving clothing mattered a lot. Many different cultures have preferred methods (very often extremely regional even within a country) for mending in a manner that is similar to what we know of as quilting or applique today, but there's a certain obsession with anything Japanese in particular that bloggers love to describe as mysterious and wholesome when it's just a visually distinctive fucking way to repair a hole in a garment and quilt things together to make it warm and functional.

Anyway. My first vest I made, it did eventually disintegrate. I knew it would happen because fucking entropy of the universe and so I managed to find a new vest I could afford at the time when I happened across it, and kept it in a back closet till I was ready to transform it into my dragon vest. I repaired that first vest until almost every seam was paper thin and shredding. I loved it a lot. I wore it daily for years and years. I'm still sad I can't wear it anymore, even though I kept my back patch from it, and I still don't know what the fuck I am going to do with that patch. Eventually fabric is destroyed, after many many years of service and wear. Things die. You can't put resin on your embroidery and make it live forever. But when things finally do perish, you can use the base fabric that is still good to make new patches. You get to design and plan a new battle vest or projects you want to start. If you're not sure yet about how badly you'll be hit emotionally by seeing something you put hundreds of hours into disintegrate into nothingness, then hold off on making this particular jacket your battle jacket holding a lot of purchased patches and such, instead of as a test springboard for learning repairs. This is not me being facetious or jokey. It hits people pretty hard to lose, especially the first time this happens. We're humans that hold bonds with things we like, especially things with that much personal hand investment on it. It won't be a failure on your part if you decide to learn repair and extend the life of this jacket, when this jacket does finally bite the dust. It will happen. The accomplishment here is how much service and use you get out of the jacket past when you thought you'd have to throw it away far earlier than if you had learned to repair it.