#he absolutely went OFF on this role

[fadedkat]

SLAYYY JEFF BLIM

[possamble]

realizing im kind of a weirdo about laios and marcille

[abyssalpriest]

I think whatever I end up doing the lesson is at its core "you need to stop seeing all attempts at saying you experience something as you taking up too much space and being dangerous, and you also need to understand everyone always makes mistakes sometimes (nothing anyone thinks is fully right) and you're not lesser and amateur at channelling because you aren't fully right, and also some third thing he says there is but idk what it is"

[aleksatia]

10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her��he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

[vogelmeister]

will never forget when my ex director screamed at me for not moving downstage to become the river and i went “you told me i was the fisherman” and he then proceeded like nothing happened.

[littlegrapejuice]

Out Of Your League | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: The whole world knows that you're dating Max, but a majority of people don't understand why. So when you're finally back in the paddock, you have to remind the grid that he's the only one you want.

Author's Note: okayyy so this was my first request ever like that's absolutely insane😭 whoever's the anon who asked for this a few weeks ago, i hope you enjoy it!! I tried to stay faithful to the request but i kinda went off script at some point idk i did my best lol<3

F1 MASTERLIST🏎

“What does she see in him?”

“Why are they even together?”

“How did he end up with her?”

Those were questions you often heard whenever you and your boyfriend were out in public. The same questions were always present in your comments every time you posted a picture of you together.

And every time, you never understood why people wondered.

First of all, it was none of their business – his words.

Second of all, it should be the other way around – your words.

Being part of the entertainment world, you were always under the spotlight as an actress. You had been part of this work area for a while already, starting with small roles as background characters in some films before finally being a main character in a TV show years later. This had led to the fans gradually getting to know more about your acting range, and everyone eventually just came to love the actress who played all those different characters.

You knew that the recognition you were getting over the years was nothing to be shy of. You were extremely proud of yourself and you understood your worth, but you were just an actress.

So why did people think that you were out of Max Verstappen’s league? He was a Formula One driver, and a four-times – in a row! – world champion. He had broken so many records, won so many races, had twice that number of podiums, and was probably the greatest of his generation.

But it seemed that next to you, everything Max had accomplished didn’t matter anymore.

He had seen it the first time he brought you to the paddock. Everyone had been gushing about Hollywood’s rising star and suddenly, F1’s own star wasn’t so relevant anymore. No one had expected you to date Max Verstappen, and the perfect weekend he had was quickly overshadowed by your presence. Max had been cropped out of pictures, only you remaining in them; people had asked for your autograph more than Max’s; and every interview Max had done during the weekend had mentioned you at least once.

Safe to say, Max was considered a loser by the world whenever he was next to you. Which is why a very small part of him was kind of glad when you were unable to attend most races due to shooting. People would still find a way to talk about you, asking Max about your current film, but the focus was mostly back on him.

…..

Eventually, you were free to come see Max race when you were done with the press tour for the next film you starred in. Max knew what to expect once again, when you’d be entering the paddock together, but there was one thing he hadn’t thought of.

Compared to the last time you had come to a race, the grid had changed a lot. Neither Daniel nor Checo were here anymore, there had been quite a lot of drivers changing teams, and most important: a quarter of the drivers were rookies whom you had never met.

So when Max casually told his team that you would be coming to the next race, word had travelled fast around the paddock. Soon enough, all the drivers knew that you would be there next weekend.

Although the media left you alone for the time being, the grid had gradually swarmed you when you entered the paddock on Friday. Max hadn’t been with you, having arrived earlier to meet with his team, so you were alone against the drivers.

It had started with Lando and Charles.

“Haven't seen you in a while”, Lando pointed out as he began to walk beside you.

“I have to agree. Last time I was here, you had never won a race.”

“And now look at me!” Lando put his arm around your shoulders. “I’m leading the championship, and soon enough I’ll take the title from your boyfriend.”

“If you do win this year, Max still has three more titles than you.” You gently removed Lando’s arm and patted his back. “And I do love a multiple times world champion”, you added with a proud smile.

“Is that your criteria in a man?” Charles eventually asked.

“Maybe… that’s why I’d be more interested in your teammate than you, Charles.” You gave a wink to the Monegasque before swiftly leaving the two drivers to make your way to the Red Bull hospitality.

“Damn… she got you good, man.”

“Lando, she rejected you too.” Charles sighed. “Still don’t know what she sees in him.”

“I swear,” Lando agreed. “What’s a few titles when she could have a charming driver like me, who’s currently in the fastest car!”

“And if it’s Max living in Monaco that interests her, then why not go for the actual Monegasque of the grid?”

You had known that those two would’ve been the first drivers to approach you. Now, the question was: who would be the next ones?

Fortunately, you had been able to peacefully watch FP1 in Max’s garage. But as soon as the session ended, you were once again finding yourself with a duo of drivers next to you. The former AlphaTauri pairing had come up to you, and you kind of knew already what arguments to expect from them.

“So, you’re back in the paddock. Did you notice I was in the garage right next to you?” Yuki asked.

“I did, indeed. Congrats on finally getting that seat, Yuki.” You were being genuine, having always known that the Japanese driver deserved to be in a top team.

“Is Red Bull one of your criterias, then?” Pierre wondered. “Because I could remind you that I also drove for them.”

“Yeah, but who’s still in that team?” You countered. Before Yuki could add something in his favour, you shut down any hope he could have. “And thank you for any restaurant recommendations you can give me, but I’ll go try them out with Max only – I don’t think he’ll enjoy you trying to make him third wheel, again.”

That be told, you then bid the two drivers goodbye as you felt your phone vibrating. This was the sign that Max was looking for you, as you two had planned to grab lunch before FP2. Yuki and Pierre watched from afar as you hugged your boyfriend, before you both left their sight.

“Still don’t understand how he ended up with her…” Yuki complained. “Getting the Red Bull seat was actually worthless.”

“Also she could do way better than a guy from the Netherlands!” Pierre exclaimed. “I’m French, I could bring her to the city of love.”

“And I could cook for her,” Yuki added. “I don’t think I ever saw Max eat anything that he made himself.”

…..

“So, how many of them have come up to you for now?” Max asked before taking a bite of his food.

“I’ll let you guess”, you replied as a challenge.

“Maybe three?” Max wondered. “I saw Pierre and Yuki earlier, so that’s at least two. And I wanna bet on Lando having been the first.”

“You’re almost right; it was actually four. Charles was with Lando,” you explained.

“Not surprising.”

“Well, I’m apparently really charming according to your work friends.”

“You’re breaking hearts left and right, should I be worried?” Max teasingly asked.

“If anyone’s getting their heart broken, it’d be you breaking mine. I’m way too in love with you to break yours.”

“Not what the media nor your fans expect”, Max countered.

“Fuck the media,” you immediately said. “Not my fans, though. But fuck the media.”

“Fuck the media”, Max repeated with a chuckle as he raised his glass for you to clink yours with.

…..

While waiting for FP2 to start, you observed the cars lined in the pit lane from Max’s garage. Your boyfriend was one of the closest to the pit exit, which meant that he would be one of the first on track. Looking at whose car was currently parked in front of Red Bull, you recognised George’s Mercedes.

As if sensing your gaze on him, his head turned to the right and you knew he saw you as well. The Brit waved at you, and your only reaction was to shake your head. Sorry George, you thought before you saw him drive towards the pit exit. You wouldn’t entertain him, even if he came up to you during the weekend. That was an agreement with Max: anyone else was game, except Toto Wolff’s drivers. So that’s you knew that now that Lewis had moved to Ferrari, you could expect to see him this weekend.

For now though, you were simply enjoying watching your boyfriend top the practice session while catching up with some Red Bull employees – even Christian Horner came to talk with you for a bit. And although you tried to cut the conversation short, it was still pleasantly surprising to know that he liked having you here – as it helped boost Max’s morale.

…..

Time passed by quicker than you expected. Talking with Max’s team had distracted you a bit; and next thing you knew, you were leaving the track with your boyfriend to go back to your hotel. Due to the fact that it was still early, Max had organised a padel match with other drivers so you were only going back to your shared room for a short time. You had wanted to refuse the invitation at first – padel wasn’t really your thing as you preferred actual tennis, but Max had somehow guilt-tripped you into coming to support him after having skipped so many races.

So here you were now, sitting on a bench on the side of the court. Max had teamed up with Alex; Carlos and Lando against them. Lando knew not to flirt with you while Max was literally five feet away, but it seemed that the Williams drivers didn’t really care.

Everytime Carlos would score a point, he would immediately look at you before sending you a wink. You honestly missed half of them, as your eyes were either focused on your phone or your boyfriend. Alex, however, was more subtle. His flirting happened more in the way that he kept walking back to where you were during games, pretending to need a drink. Deciding to play into it a little bit, you would always have his water bottle ready and give it to him wherever he approached you. Also, you had to admit that his smile was absolutely charming, always bright and welcoming.

But even after all that, it was with Max that you left the court. Hand in hand, you were both slowly getting out of the other drivers’ sight while Lando patted Alex and Carlos on the back.

“You ain’t her first victims today, don’t worry.” Despite wanting to reassure his friends, Lando’s words wouldn’t change anything. “It’s a universal experience that we all have to go through.”

“Didn’t even give us one chance”, Alex sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“We should just run Max off track”, Carlos suggested.

“I wouldn’t go as far as that, but you could still try. I’m sure she’d love to date whoever sends her boyfriend to the hospital,” Lando sarcastically said.

“Yeah… don’t wanna risk putting our chances to zero”, Alex warned.

“Kinda think they’re already below zero, though…” Carlos sighed.

At least, they weren’t delusional. That’s what you always appreciated about the grid: their flirting was fun and innocent. At the end of the day, they truly did wish they could be in Max’s place. But Max was still a friend – to most of the drivers – and they knew that you loved him too much to even dare think about dating any other driver than him.

So for now: it was six down – seven with George, and two days left to reject the rest of the grid.

…..

As you had expected, Lewis eventually came up to you on Saturday. FP3 has just ended, and you’d had the unfortunate idea of walking around the paddock to stretch your legs. So when you passed by Ferrari, you knew exactly whose footsteps were quickly approaching you before you heard their owner’s voice.

“Hi, lovely to see you.”

“Hello to you too, Lewis. Ferrari’s treating you well?” You asked him.

“Could be better, but I won’t complain with the car being in the top three of every practice session this weekend.”

“Good for you.”

“By the way, a little birdie told me that you were interested in drivers with multiple world championships.” His voice was filled with a teasing tone as he innocently brought up what you knew Charles had let slip yesterday. “Any of that true?”

“Perhaps…” Nothing would come out of it, but it was still amusing to you to finally be able to entertain Mercedes’s former star. “I have someone on my radar, you might know him.”

“Really? Care to describe him to me?”

Like the other drivers, Lewis knew deep down that you weren’t giving him a real chance. But still, he could dream about it and have hopes for a couple minutes.

“He’s extremely handsome, very loyal…” You pictured Max in your mind, and tried to stay vague so that the compliments could also apply to Lewis. “Broke tons of records, has several world championships as we said… hmm, what else?” You pretended to think, until it was time to shatter Lewis’s half delusion. “He won Abu Dhabi in 2021, is currently in Red Bull, has the cutest cats ever… should I keep going?”

“Abu Dhabi is a low blow, you know that?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You weren’t entirely sorry. But as you both chuckled about it, you knew that Lewis wouldn’t hold it against you. “Unless you’d like to hang out with my dream man, I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Sure”, Lewis agreed with a shrug. “But don’t forget me if you ever need a seven-times world champion.”

“You’ll be on speed dial, don’t worry about it. Good luck for qualifying, Lewis.” You waved at him after parting ways, giving him a bright smile.

“Still can’t believe why she chose him, but who am I to judge…” Lewis mumbled to himself before walking back to Ferrari.

…..

After qualifying – Max had gotten pole, you were making a mental list of who were the drivers that you hadn’t seen yet.

You had talked to Lando, Charles, Pierre, Yuki, and both Williams drivers yesterday. George was out of the equation as well; and Lewis had been cleared earlier. Fernando and Nico were both ruled out from the beginning, which probably left Esteban and Lance. Max had told you that Oscar would probably be too shy or too lazy – or both – to come talk to you, so he was also crossed off the list.

But it wasn’t Esteban nor Lance that you saw while waiting for Max to come back from the media pen. No. While you were peacefully sipping on your drink in front of Red Bull, you were suddenly shadowed from the sun by way more than two people.

Six drivers, now standing in front of you with bright smiles. Six drivers you hadn’t even considered, and would quickly be dismissing after a quick chat.

“Hi,” you simply said while putting your sunglasses on top of your head.

“Hi,” they all replied.

Some of them shyly waved, and you couldn’t help thinking that they were adorable. For a couple minutes, they just stood there while a smile made its way onto your face. They were all visibly nervous to talk to you, and you imagined that they felt braver coming as a group.

“We’re just big fans,” Liam eventually explained. “Thought we could still try and shoot our shot like everyone else.”

The other rookies all nodded, to emphasise Liam’s words.

“I’m really flattered”, you genuinely told them as you straightened your back.

“There’s a but coming, though. Is there?” Ollie sarcastically predicted.

“Yep”, you confirmed. “I’m really flattered, but…” And one by one, you pointed to them with a reason as to why they didn’t have much chance with you - in addition to them also being too young for you. “Charles’s spawn, Alpine, Sauber, French, former second Red Bull seat, and Toto’s offspring.”

“Wow, okay…” Jack eventually said. “Fair enough, honestly.”

“Thank God we have some ego left”, Isack added with a chuckle.

“But hypothetically, would those be actual valid reasons if Max wasn’t in the picture?” Ollie wondered as he leaned down with his hands on the table.

“I don’t do hypotheticals, sorry.” You started gathering your belongings, and stood up to signify to the rookies that you would be leaving them soon. “But that was a nice try, Oliver.”

The fact that you knew his name shouldn’t have surprised him, but the way you had said it so softly was enough for a blush to make its way onto the Brit’s cheeks.

“Have a nice race, okay? Maybe if you all make this one interesting, I’ll come back more often.” And with that, you grabbed your drink then sent a wink to the rookies before you were about to leave.

“But you know,” Kimi called for your attention as your back was about to face him, “they do say I’m the future Max Verstappen. That must still count for something, right?”

“Kimi, sweetheart.” You walked up to him and ruffled his hair, with a soft smile. “Emphasis on the future. I’m in love with current Max, sorry. But I’ll call you if there’s a future me entering the film industry one day!” After those last words, you definitely left the drivers and went back inside Red Bull to go look for Max.

Kimi couldn’t even be mad at you. If anything, that was more interaction than he had wished to get with you and he knew that he had won the unsaid competition against the other rookies.

…..

But honestly, none of the drivers had ever been competition to Max. You both knew that, even though the rest of the grid had liked to run a bit on delusion and false hopes during the weekend.

Hopes that you had completely crushed when Max won the race on Sunday, as you were the first person he ran up to after getting out of his car. Pictures of you kissing had been taken from every angle, and later posted everywhere for the whole world to see during the following days.

The whole world that also witnessed Max Verstappen being the one to leave the track hand in hand with you, bright and cheerful smiles adorning both your faces.

Maybe people were slowly understanding why you were with him, as it was easy to witness the love between Max and you whenever you were together in public. But there would always be this part of the world that would keep wondering why the two of you were together, although you simply didn’t care about it.

Max Verstappen might be the lucky one according to the general audience, but if someone were to ask you: you were the lucky one and he was out of your league.

..........

Still can't believe i wrote my 1st request omgg

This was honestly a challenge to write bc i didn't wanna be too repetitive like ik this might have slayed as a smau but I'd rather do narrative and descriptive shit so i don't think I'll ever do smaus - also big flemme mdr

But yeah i hope y'all liked this - esp the anon who requested it - so don't hesitate to like, reblog, or comment your thoughts🤍

See you soon, take care of yourselves, i love y'all xx

[sadagios]

Icarus, and the Sunflower

PART TWO: UNFIXABLE ERROR

PROLOGUE: PART ONE

3.4k words below the cut

SOME BEGINNING NOTES: - This AU is only character shipping, and references a lot outside the life series events (evo, hermitcraft, empires, etc). This is not meant to ship the CC’s themselves and if anything alludes to it, it is purely unintentional. - This is not canon-compliant ermmmm i do what i want and i will put every idea i have into this - No more bullet points this time... taking off the baby wheels - This is to add more to the first part! Please read that one before this if you haven't - Tags for this part? Game dev AU, Past BigB/Grian, a lot of BigGri flirting, some characters are real and some are fictional, this is only the prologue (part 2!), Grian is still down bad for Scar, absolutely not beta'd i only have one impulsive braincell, contains some fake chats

I. HALLOWEEN

The game awards have been announced, and it was the talk of the company. Evolutionists’ Portal has been online for 4 months now, and it built itself a dedicated fan base with a peak of about 80k players a month. Updates were still on the way, scheduled for Halloween and Christmas Day.

The team working on Evolutionists’ Portal hoped for a nomination, and maybe even an award. Gria hoped for this, as well, but he was too tired to even think with everything on his plate. Their art director quit suddenly, so he was carrying out two big roles, but even when the past art director was there, he was basically doing most of his work.

The team took notice of his exhaustion and invited him to the company Halloween party. Gria didn’t want to, but Martyn had a brilliant idea for making a bet: Gria believed they would get one nomination, and Martyn believed it would be two. If Gria wins, Martyn will get him breakfast every day until Christmas. If Martyn wins, Gria has to wear an outfit to the party of his choosing. Gria thought it was a harmless bet, and he’d actually benefit from it, so he agreed.

Jimmy is his closest friend in the company, but Jimmy was also busy with his work in Empires. There are talks of a big collaboration and he knows he can’t get ahold of Jimmy until it is settled. One morning, a cup of coffee appeared on his desk with a note attached to it that said,

“You might need a little boost in your morning.”

Gria had no idea who it could be from until he noticed a wrapped piece of warm, chocolate cookie beside the cup. He looked up from his desk and met eyes with Big B, who smiled and gave him a little wave before resuming his work.

His crush on Big B was no secret. The man is funny and handsome, and he and Gria started in the company together. Martyn was the first one to catch it, the way he gets giggly and embarrassed around Big B, and he’s been on Gria’s case since. Pearl found out about it through Martyn’s teasing, but she had the grace not to poke fun at Gria (only sometimes.) Jimmy still hasn’t caught on, and Martyn bursts out laughing every time Jimmy unintentionally third wheels or cockblocks Gria. Gria has an inkling that Big B might’ve noticed it, but he acts the same way around him, which Gria is thankful for.

The nominations were out the morning of the party, and they were nominated for “Best Multiplayer” and “Best Audio Design.” As soon as the news broke out, Martyn walked in stride to the art department and pulled Gria to the parking lot where Martyn’s car was parked. He opened the trunk, pulled something out, and gave it to Gria with a devilish grin.

Martyn: I’m so excited to meet such a popular singer tonight.

Gria peeked inside the dress cover, he wanted to die.

One night, the team went out drinking. Gria had a few more drinks than he should’ve. He doesn’t remember what happened, but Pearl recorded the whole thing; basically, he got so drunk that he started singing nothing but Ariana Grande songs. To put the final nail in the coffin, he might’ve sat on Big B’s lap as he sang one song.

Gria wore the outfit after being manhandled by everyone into wearing it. Big B wasn’t going to the party as he’d said days before, and while Gria was relieved not to embarrass himself, he also wished for Big B to be there.

Gria wore a ridiculously pink two-piece top and skirt, with a white furry shoal attached to gloves. Pearl also lent him her white boots, which surprisingly fit him well (and gave him a few inches.) The room cheered when he walked in, and he was too embarrassed to walk that Jimmy had to drag him around the room.

Pearl wore a cute green dress, which looked a lot like a character from Empires. Jimmy wore a Captain America costume, but instead of a star had a huge letter S at the middle of his chest. Martyn wore a pirate costume. 

Martyn: What a shame Big B isn’t here to see this.

Martyn teased, and Gria wanted to strangle him right there. Then, without warning, a finger poked his cheek. Gria turned and there Big B was, holding a bloody axe in a bloody costume. Gria remembered the game Big B told him about, a zombie game called “The Creaking Dead.” It was one of the things that led them to become friends, their love for zombie games.

The night went by, celebrating both Halloween and their nominations. Empires also had their own share of nominations, and Jimmy was so giddy that night.

Pearl pulled them four to the photo booth before they could get more wasted. Jimmy grabbed a weird-looking fish beanie and Martyn put on a Mickey Mouse headband. Pearl put on a sunflower crown that fit the gold accents in her dress. They made sure to put Gria and Big B at the center of the photo, and Gria tried not to explode with how close they were. Big B suggested they take a Polaroid photo after for keepsake, and before Gria could head out of the room and go home, Big B gave him a Polaroid photo with a message written in Sharpie.

"Glad I came by today, G. Happy Halloween. ♡"

II. VALENTINE’S DAY

Gria and Big B have been talking and texting each other non-stop for months now. People assume they’re dating, but when Jimmy asked, he clarified that they had no label. It’s true; they haven’t done much. They hung around a lot, and they might’ve fooled around during cold December nights, but it was an unspoken, casual thing. At least, that’s what it was for Gria.

On Valentine’s day, Big B invited him for dinner, and everyone teased them about being lovebirds. That night, Big B finally asked Gria to be his boyfriend.

Gria was happy. Overjoyed. Someone as kind and thoughtful as Big B, who treats him so well, wanted them to be exclusive. He wanted Gria. But the smile on Gria’s face slowly faded as his happiness turned into dread. Big B is too nice for him. Too perfect for him. Too much for someone like him.

Gria turned him down without explaining further. He saw the hurt in Big B’s eyes, but the man still treated him the same: with adoration and care.

Big B drove him home, and that was the last time they talked outside of work.

III. MARCH

Gria finally took some time off. Aside from the upcoming April Fools update, there wasn’t much to be done. The tension between him and Big B has been too much to bear, and he can’t shake the guilt he feels each time Big B leaves a warm cup of coffee with a cute note on his desk.

He lurks on the internet, bored out of his mind. He met this person, PotatoNutshell, and became friends over Hermitopia 6.

IV. APRIL FOOLS

< Let's play like cats, let's count to three. >

The gang liked the Alpha version of “The Life Game.” The map is good (which makes Gria proud as he designed it,) and the mechanics are simple enough to get used to.

There are several problems, though. The motion blur is making everyone sick, and the one who had it the roughest was Joel. The UI is also unintuitive, as you have to look at your wrist to see the messages and your health status, which you can easily lose track of. Then, the computer AI characters are indistinguishable from each other. It was supposed to be a battle royal game, but with only the players having unique skins, it feels a bit more like player versus enemy than a competition.

It was understandable, though, that it didn't have much character customization. The remaining two working on the game are a writer and a programmer, and they have no 3D modeling experience at all. Gria figured he could help out and tinker with it when he had time, especially with how the gang loved the game despite all its flaws.

V. SUMMER, a year later

Gria’s old friends finally messaged him that they added more things to the game, and it might be enough for a beta test. The only thing they haven’t figured out is the character models. Gria confirmed if they were planning to release this game, and the two said “no, not yet. Not anytime soon.” That gave Gria all the liberty to simply tinker with the game just for their own enjoyment.

He asked the team if they had any characters they’d like to mod into the game, preferably with 3D models so they wouldn’t have to worry about rigging and animation too much. Skizzleman suggested Hermitopia characters, which Gria wouldn’t contest because this gives him a great excuse to add Scar into the game.

They needed one more character, and Gria remembered the Empires plush on Jimmy’s desk. The team gave him a free plushie of the “Starboy, The Rivendell King” because all plushies of the “Codfather” were sold out, the one Jimmy usually played as. Still, Jimmy keeps the Starboy plushie on his desk and sometimes carries it with him to the breakroom when he takes a short nap. Gria found the image of Jimmy carrying this plush to be adorable, although he will never say it aloud, so he decided to add Starboy as their final character. He also had Gemini and Shadow Lady (as per Joel’s request) 3D models ready, but he’ll probably add them next time. Pearl also isn’t joining their session for now, so it would be good to save her favorite character for another time.

On one Friday night in April, they all logged on and waited to connect to The Life Game’s private server. Gria was excited to play until he received a message from one of his old friends.

A slight chill crawls up Grian’s arm. He gripped his VR headset, a bit hesitant after his conversation with his old friends. After a moment, he shook off his nerves and wore his headset. He looked at the server status reading “5/6 Players” and hovered his controller over the button that would let him play with his friends. Grian ignored the warning bells and hit “Join World.”

VI. HELLO, WORLD

Gria spawned into the world, a bit dizzy from the sunlight blasting into his eyes. He got off on the ground and surveyed his surroundings, and it seemed like the map was different from the last time. In front of him looked like a ruined portal, which he doesn’t remember adding to the map years ago. Could this be something his old friends added to the map for the Evolutionists’ Portal developers to see? Gria smiled at the sentiment. He looted the chest near it, and it felt a bit like cheating. He joined the game late, but he already had golden gear in his first minutes of playing.

He did some resource gathering, something which they learned was crucial from their alpha test. He travelled and spotted a village, and saw Martyn’s character completely raiding it. Out of all of them, Martyn might have been the one who became so immersed in the gameplay. Even before playing, he was discussing tactics and plans in their call. If it ever came down to it, he knows Martyn would be a formidable opponent with how into it he is. 

Gria traversed the map more until he hit the border. There’s no way to get through it, even if you force it. It also seemed like the friendly creatures weren't able to get past it. It’s a bit scary to think about how they’re stuck in this little box until only one of them remains. It’s a good thing all of this is just a game.

Being the creator of the maps for this game, Gria remembers where most of the biomes are on the map. He goes back to the village and spots Big B.

Excited and without thinking, he jumped in front of Big B and surprised him, which made Big B’s character jump back. But, when Big B met his eyes, he immediately laughed and smiled. 

Before Big B could strike up a conversation, Joel’s voice could be heard from a distance, he looked just like himself in real life, but he wore a costume that reminded Gria of Shrek. He shot Big B a quick look and saw he was wearing something similar to his costume during one of their old Halloween parties. Martyn’s character seemed different, too.

Gria noticed the little shop icon on his screen. When he clicked on it, it opened a shop of a multitude of items that can be bought with experience points. He checked out the costume section and saw that costume accessories were fairly cheap. He bought himself a red sweater, and now his character feels more like him.

He noticed someone trailing behind Joel, a blazing head of fire and red eyes. It took him a while to realize that this was Tango Tek from Hermitopia. When he spoke, both Gria and Joel cranked their neck at him, surprised he could speak. Hermitopia had no voice lines. Despite this fact, Joel excitedly conversed with Tango, prompting him to speak more. Gria excused himself, confused at how this was possible.

He went off to gather more resources before he headed to the village. He saw Big B yet again, and his cheeks flushed at how many times he had seen him by himself. Gria’s a bit awkward around him, but Big B greets him with a smile each time. 

Big B: Are you sneaking up on me, G? Gria, giggling: Hello there, B. Whatcha up to? Big B: Trying to survive the first night, and maybe even you? Gria: Well, I don’t think a danger. Not to you. Big B: A danger to my heart, maybe?

Gria bit his lip and walked away. Big B laughed behind him, and he couldn’t fight back his smile. He looked at the ground and saw Martyn’s faint green name tag. He grinned and turned to Big B, “Wanna scare Martyn?”

They made their way down Martyn’s mining hole, carefully, and they tried not to giggle like a bunch of kids sneaking out in the middle of the night. Gria heard Martyn, talking to himself, and he approached him behind before shouting, “Hey Martyn!”

The three hang around together in the mining hole, chatting and bickering while hoping to find diamonds. Martyn succeeds and even gives them two diamonds each for a sword. The two were dumbfounded at this generosity, and Gria gave Martyn his golden apple in return.

Martyn: I just gave you guys diamonds because we’re buddies, c’mon. Gria: You know what, you can have my most prized golden apple. Martyn: Ooh, what’s this do? Gria: It gives you extra hearts when you eat it. Martyn: You’re giving me hearts? Way to make Big B a third wheel. Big B: Oh my god.

Gria exploded into laughter at this, and Big B shook his head but smiled at the situation.

After the sun had risen, he parted ways with the two and spent his time around the village and looking for a place to stay. He came across another nametag below the ground, and he thought it might’ve been Jimmy. He went down and surprised the man, only to find that it wasn’t Jimmy. 

When he heard Tango speak a while ago, he couldn’t figure out how it was possible. However, he did know of a game around an AI girlfriend who wouldn’t let you leave the house unless you said the right words. To think █████ could add such a feature, for AI to understand and speak back to you, all in a year is quite impressive and he would like to ask him more as soon as they finish playing. He didn’t listen carefully when Tango spoke earlier, and it might’ve been more robotic than he remembered. But now, as Ren screamed in surprise and spoke how Gria spooked the hell out of him, it sounded too much like a real person’s voice.

After mining a bit, Gria went out to the world and built a base at a lovely ravine area. Unfortunately, his resources weren’t enough to make it look pretty, and he suddenly missed the creative freedom he had while playing Hermitopia.

After being alone for so long. He made his way back to the village. Much to his surprise, so many people were there. At the side of the village, a group of characters in iron gear approached him. They excitedly called out his nametag, Grian, to greet him. Just like Ren and Tango’s voices, they all sounded so real. Too real. 

Martyn, Big B, Jimmy, Skizz, and Joel were nowhere to be seen. He was surrounded by characters from a game he spent countless hours playing. They talk and bicker like they are real people, and they sound like real people would. Gria would never be able to think of better voices for them. 

Among the four of them, one stood out the most. He had disheveled hair and a huge scar on his face that went down his neck. Despite having a cape and scarf covering most of his torso, Gria can’t pry his eyes off his huge, exposed right tit.

Completely distracted, something suddenly fell into his hands. It took him a while to process that this man held his hands and gave him flint and steel. Gria looked up, meeting the man’s eyes, and he had this devilish grin that made Gria’s knees weak. He turned his head higher and looked at the man’s nametag, “Scar Goodtimes”

Scar put his arm around Gria and made him face the village, and one of the houses were burning.

Scar: It was Grian! It was him who did it! 

Gria couldn’t move. He couldn’t process what was happening, and he couldn’t care less about how Tango and Etho were trying their best to put out the fire. The man beside him, probably more than 6 feet tall, is Scar Goodtimes. He’s way different from what he remembered, he had shorter hair and markings instead of actual scars, but when he spoke, Gria might’ve melted into the ground if the man didn’t have his arm around him.

Scar: Geez, Grian, what a rapscallion burning down villages.

Scar grinned at him and gave him a wink. It was as if Gria’s hardware crashed. Cleo, BDubs, and Impulse were all talking to him, even playing their jukebox for him, but his mind was filled with one thing and one thing only.

“His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so—”

Something nudged Gria, and Scar was so close to his face that Gria thought he could be hallucinating. Scar whispered into his ear, asking for the flint and steel back, and he complied without a second thought. He gave him a grin before he ran off to the village. Etho and Tango followed suit in panic.

Gria finally breathed. He doesn’t know how this could be possible. He had organized an unofficial voice cast for Hermitopia before, but the chosen voice actor was so off the mark, and everyone else liked it but Gria. But now, Scar’s whisper loops in his head, and he would go to war just to argue that no actor can replicate the sound his ears had been blessed with.

While talking to Etho and Impulse, he saw the historical tree burn. Scar walked in stride and stood beside Gria, waiting for Etho to take notice. Gria and Scar share a mischievous smile as Etho runs to the burning tree. Scar watched the tree burn down, and Gria watched the fire illuminate his face.

Scar: Grian, want to take over the desert with me? Gria: Me? Scar: Yeah, you. Let’s make all the sand ours.

This marks the End of Prologue

Next > ACT ONE: STUCK IN THE DESERT

ENDING NOTES: Took a while to finish this one! supposedly there's more, but it was getting too long so I had to cut it here. The next update will be a bigger one, so it might take months before that is posted. I also plan to do more character design before moving forward with the actual life series events. If you've read this far, thank you for reading!

[icecream4starscream]

Spoiler Warning for Transformers One. Please go see the film, it's great.

Something occurred to me when rewatching Elita-1's firing scene:

Right off the bat, she's presented as an absolute unit in the mines. We see her being a very by-the-book character. She's incredibly competent, strong, serious, focused, and an effective leader.

Maybe a little too effective.

We learn that Sentinel goes out of his way to personally take care of any "anomalies" in his system and does so in a way where the blame always gets shifted away from him.

It's why he personally went to see Pax and D-16 after the Iacon 5000 race. He makes himself out to be the open-minded, compassionate leader he's been parading as.

When Darkwing throws Orion and D-16 into sub-level 50, neither bot suspects Sentinel for their demotion. In fact, they beg Darkwing to talk to Sentinel so he can sort out the "misunderstanding".

It's later confirmed that Sentinel never had any intention of talking with Orion or D-16 after their first meeting. When Orion reunites with his fellow miners later in the film, they mention that Sentinel put out a statement saying that they both died from "racing injuries".

Sentinel might've not even openly ordered Darkwing to dispose of them. Darkwing might've been manipulated into thinking everyone was mocking him for losing the race (thanks to lowly miners) making him want to get rid of them.

Subconsciously manipulating someone like Darkwing would've been easy for Sentinel.

Sentinel clearly does not tolerate anyone rising above the station he imposes on them.

So what does this have to do with Elita-1 being fired?

We see her rigidly following the rules, meeting all quotas, running a tight and efficient crew. She's doing her job as a miner, a role unknowingly forced upon her by Sentinel, perfectly.

Shouldn't Sentinel be happy about that?

Well sure...

If Elita wasn't actively trying to get promoted.

We don't get a lot of information about how promotion works in TFOne's mining system, but we do know that in other iterations of pre-war Cybertron, one of the only ways miners could rise out of the mines was by participating in ridiculously difficult gladiatorial fights in Kaon's pits.

In other iterations, this was how D-16/Megatron was able to escape his station and how he grew to be so strong.

So basically, whatever version you look at, the miners are told "if you work really, reeeeally hard, and do your job perfectly, and don't die in the process (which, odds are, you will) you might, MIGHT get a chance to get out of the caste you were born into."

It's BS.

It's an impossible feat. No one is actually supposed to be able to achieve that goal, but it's the metaphorical carrot dangling in front of the work mules so they don't notice the ever-tightening rope around their necks.

But every so often there's someone extraordinary, like Elita, who actually manages to meet this impossible standard and with whom it becomes increasingly difficult to deny this coveted promotion.

So what can Sentinel do about bots like Elita-1?

Simple.

Wait for a screw-up.

It must happen eventually.

A member of Elita's team, Orion Pax, in clear violation of evacuation protocol, goes back into the mines to save Jazz from getting crushed to death.

Despite managing to escape, the closing mine causes a tunnel support to be flung into nearby machinery (which doesn't look critical and could probably be easily fixed).

Then, right the heck outta nowhere, Darkwing drops in, SECONDS AFTER THE INCIDENT JUST HAPPENED, and immediately fires Elita.

No "What happened?" or "Who's responsible?" or "The supervisor wants to see you", he just pops into the scene and demotes Elita, arguably one of the best workers in the mine, to a bottom-tier waste management position.

As if he'd been on standby, actively waiting for a reason to fire her.

"But Elita herself wasn't the one who screwed up!"

Doesn't matter.

"But she told them to follow protocol!"

Doesn't matter.

"But Orion admitted he was the one at fault!"

Doesn't matter.

"But a bot was saved! Jazz would've died!"

Does. Not. MATTER.

Her firing is presented as the typical "one character says thing won't happen then thing immediately happens" joke, but given how so much thought went into so much of TFOne's background details, I can't help but wonder if this was a hint to how broken the system was and how it was always rigged in a way that ensures the miners will never get out.

Not to mention, once Orion, D-16, and Jazz safely escape, she chews Orion out by saying, "If I get fired for this..." meaning this abrupt, out-of-nowhere, baseless firing is absolutely typical.

That's what makes Elita's "I'm better than you" speech to Orion that much more meaningful, because in many ways, she is better than him.

She's a better worker, better fighter, better at completing the task at hand, better at making sure things run smoothly. She is, ironically enough, an efficient and perfectly-running machine.

But had Orion not dragged Elita to the surface, she probably would've spent her whole life obediently following the rules, never questioning why things were the way they were. She was so focused on rising up within the system that she could never look beyond it.

Elita might be the cog by which other cogs turn.

But Orion is the spark that shows them a better way.

That's why he was given the Matrix.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[cheriladycl01]

Kinktober 19/10/2024 Franco Colapinto - Panty Kink

Plot: Franco is absolutely obsessed with any and all of your underwear…

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, panty sniffing, panty licking, panty stealing, anything and all things panties, eating out, dry hump etc

Since you and Franco started dating it was a sweet and unproblematic relationship. But you couldn’t help but notice some … stranger things the longer you guys were together.

The first time he’d ever stayed over, he just slept in the bed with you after you guys ate loads of junk food and snacks.

A week after he left when you were doing a load of washing you noticed that some of your underwear, specifically your panties and lace ones at that had gone missing.

“Franco baby?” You asked over the phone when you decided to call him to see if he’d accidentally added them to the rucksack he’d brought his clothes in.

“Hi baby, argh god I miss you” you groans happily into the phone and you can’t help the butterflies that rise in your stomach.

“I miss you too. I was just wondering if you accidentally took any of my underwear with you when you left. I know I stripped off and left some at the edge of my wash basket because it was kind of full, but I can’t find them” you say and you hear a little shuffling as if he had gone to his bag to double check.

Little did you know, he had in fact taken them. Right out your dirty laundry basket before using them as he gave himself a hand job using the lace material against his dick for that added sensation.

But of course he wouldn’t admit that.

“Erm let me check the wash coz they aren’t in my bag” he says and he was just making up time to make it all seem more plausible. He had in fact chucked them in the wash after he’d come all over them and wanted them clean for his next time. However now that you were on to them he’d have to give them back.

“Thank you. They’re the only pair that go with the dress I’m supposed to wear this weekend” you tell him.

“Oh yeah they’re here in the washing machine with my stuff from that night” he says and they were mixed in with his washing, now your panties smell like him.

He couldn’t tell what he preferred, your sent on them from wearing them all day and being a little musky from your natural aroma that was driving him crazy and he couldn’t wait to get his first taste. Or his sent on them, making an item of yours smell so much like him which also made his brain a little haywire.

“Thanks baby, you wanna come over tonight?” You ask hoping that he would considering you felt like you hadn’t seen him in ages.

After that, it was a while before anything else bizarre happened. Until you guys were first having sex, he was obsessed with your panties, he’d dragged them down your legs with his teeth and pocketed them in his jeans before he went down on you like a starved man.

You didn’t think anything off it, if anything you found it kind of hot.

And after that, whenever you guys when to races together he’d always dip his hands into your jeans or skirt, whatever you were wearing and running his fingers up and down the hand of the thongs you were wearing that rested nicely on your curved hips.

It wasn’t until you caught him in the act. It was a race weekend and he’d just been promoted from F2 to F1 in a Williams seat. You were insanely proud of him and took the last few days of your working week to travel to Italy with him when you heard.

You’d gone out for dinner with the other wags, Lily becoming your older sister role model in the paddock. Of course neither you nor Franco were media trained so you had been caught on camera being rather chaotic together, and everyone already seemed to adore you.

However when you come back to the hotel room, earlier than the others who were going out clubbing instead and you didn’t really feel like going you decided to go back.

What you didn’t expect was as you got to the hotel room door to open it to here a sort of whimper. You went in as to you from the outside it sounded like he could have been in pain.

As you walked in you saw a sight you never expected.

It was your boyfriend with your sexy pink underwear wrapped in his hand around his dick that was rubbing up and down his shaft releasing moans from deep in the back of his throat.

“Franco?” You asked shocked he hasn’t heard you open the door. His hand dropped and he looked at you in shock before grabbing a pillow to cover himself up.

“Baby! What are you doing back your early” he gulps out looking at you with wide eyes. Full of lust and need.

“All the girls were going clubbing, I didn’t want to go- are you using my underwear?” You ask looking at him shocked and confused. In seconds he’s up and coming up to you, tears building in his eyes as he puts both his hands on your cheeks.

Worry was all that you could see in his eyes now.

“I-I’m so sorry I should have told you but” and ends up rambling about your panties and his kink for anything to do with the provocative underwear, even if it wasn’t provocative he still loved it.

“Baby baby baby, shush it’s okay” you chuckle not bothered about the fact he was using your stuff to help him get off.

“W-what? You just came back to find me using your stuff to get off. Aren’t you mad?” He asks, sniffing a little bit.

“No, you’re my boyfriend. I think it’s sweet you like my panties. But you really couldn’t wait for me to come back? Or were you too embarrassed to ask for my panties” you ask, and he looks down.

“I-“ he starts but you pull him into a kiss, shushing him immediately.

“How about this. I’m here to help now, and you can do whatever you want with the panties I’m in now?” You grin, hoping he wouldn’t feel as embarrassed and open up to you.

“Thank you mi amor” he says before lifting you up and putting you on the bed. He doesn’t waste anytime hitching your dress up. His head immediately dived in between your legs, his nose hitting your clothed clit as he inhales a breath of you.

“Franco” you moan looking down in confusion to see what he’s doing.

“Smell so good. Could just stay here forever” he groans as he kicked a strip up your panties nudging his nose in a little more making a moan come from you.

“Baby…” you moan, your hand coming down into his hair gripping him in closer. He pulls the panties just to the side. Wanting to keep them there as his tongue dove into your deep and wet cavern. His groan vibrated around you making you gasp and your eyes squint shut at the feeling.

Franco had a thing for eating you out. All of your previous relationships, didn’t really do that but my god Franco wasn’t scared to have his chin dripping with your juices by then end.

His nose hit the perfect spot making your hips buck up as that feeling inside you released right into his awaiting mouth.

“Oh my god, so fucking good” you moan as he pulls your panties back across. They were gray and him seeing that little wet spot now building on them made him sit at the edge of the bed. He kept his boxers on and pulled you off the bed so you were stood in front of me.

“Want you on me” he points to his dick making a tent in his boxers and you immediately know he wants you to ride him with your panties on. Both you being clothed and just having that friction.

You turn yourself around so your facing away from him before you balance against his lowered lap, perfect height for your to run your clothed pussy against his restrained dick.

“Fuck baby, that’s it” he says, his hands on your hips snapping the edging of your panties against your hips making you moan out. You swivel your hips a little quicker making him thrust up into you trying to get as much out of it as he can.

“Oh fuck baby I’m gonna cum, gonna cum” he moans his thrusts becoming wild as his dick as the roughness of both sets of underwear rubbing against him. Before he knows it, his white strings of cum are being forced out of his own gray boxers and staining the back of your own panties as you keep moving to reach your own high, which isn’t too much longer after him.

“Fuck that was so good” you say gripping his thighs as you slow down. You turn round to see him, a fucked out expression on his face.

“This… this is why you tell me your kinks” you laugh at him, before getting up to get cleaning supplies from the bathroom. The last thing he sees is the wet spots on your panties from his own cum and your own sweet release.

While your in the bathroom he hears some movement and russling and before he knows it a gray fabric is launched at him.

In his hands was your damp underwear.

And at the moment seeing you grinning, watching him to see his reaction and he knew at that moment you were the one for him.

Taglist:

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[jesuistrestriste]

♡ Cooking & Cleaning; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: service sub!art donaldson, dom!reader, afab/fem reader, use of ma'am as an honorific, brief food play, oral sex (reader receiving), begging, handjob, brief edging, praise, degradation, multiple orgasms (character receiving), dry orgasm

wc: 6.3 k (whoops)

note: this was pulled from the most depraved parts of my brain. i refuse to be held accountable for the absolute filth this contains ! :)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

The very second that your key is in the apartment door and you're finally home, you find your legs nearly collapsing underneath you as you step inside and kick off your black kitten heels.

"God," you groan, shutting the door behind you before you move to peel your chic new blazer off of your shoulders. You toss it onto the coatrack nearby and bring a handful of your fingers up to your forehead to rub at it tensely, sighing deeply.

It had been a long day at the USTA (United States Tennis Association) office, and all you wanted to do was come home and see your husband.

-

After Art had lost several important and consecutive tennis matches, as well as his confidence on the court (despite his actual tennis skills still being phenomenal -- he just psyched himself out too much), he had decided to give up his life as a professional athlete.

At first, this devastated you. Not only did you love your partner and believe in him throughout his career, as well as believing in his very real ability to eventually win the US Open, but this decision of his also meant that your position as his coach would become obsolete..

You actually became quite anxious about you and Art's future at the time.. you had needed a purpose, and so did he. You both were just those kinds of people; you and him both wanted to feel that you were contributing to something bigger than just yourselves, and that you were being useful to someone or something.

Luckily, his many previous years of successful tennis playing had scored you and him a shit ton of wealth. Like, genuinely a lot. You were beyond grateful, but you still wanted a life of your own. You didn't dare to think about the idea of becoming a stay-at-home wife while he went out and did whatever he wanted. Yuck. It just wasn't for you.

Your fears and inner turmoil about this change in your lives were quickly eased once Art had sat you down about two weeks after he had left his tennis career behind. He had taken your hands in his, smiled softly like he always did, and told you that he wanted to stay at home and take care of everything in it while you went out and continued your career in the field of professional athletics.

Of course, you immediately and excitedly agreed with the idea of this new plan, and then that was that!

You two developed new lives and new roles as people over a short period of time, but it didn't take away from the love you two shared. That always stayed consistent and at the center of everything.

Eventually, after a month or so of coming home from your new job to Art doing things like vacuuming the wooden floors of your guys' expensive New York apartment, or making elaborate protein-packed smoothies for the gym sessions that you two still did together, you came to realize that the whole "house husband" persona was actually kinda hot.

He had realized it too. Quicker than you had, actually. In fact, he can distinctly remember the overwhelming feeling of heat that had pooled deep in his gut the first time he had ever served you a home-cooked meal after you came home from a long day at your new job. He had gently rubbed your sore feet that night while you ate, and then suddenly couldn't find a way to deny how this new practice of.. servicing you.. made him feel.

I mean, God, he loved doing that stuff for you.. cooking.. tidying.. pampering.. washing.. he would do it all. You knew that he worshipped the ground that you walked on—reminding yourself constantly of the time he had admitted to you during sex that he believed he would be "nowhere without you"—and you devoured the increased sense of power that came with it every. single. time. It eventually became very easy and comfortable for you to let him take care of you. You grew hungry for it.

And then this persona of his, over time, dissolved into something much more intimate..

-

After tossing your blazer on the rack and rubbing at your temples, you drag your pantyhose-covered feet across the floor and into the kitchen.

Your nose is instantly filled with the aroma of fluffy, vanilla sweetness and a bit of nutmeg. you sigh happily as you turn the corner and see Art standing over a mess of what appears to be flour and sugar in a large bowl on the kitchen counter. He looks over his shoulder briefly with a smile as he mixes the dry ingredients together with a whisk.

“Hey, hon,” he grins, before turning back to look down at his current baking project.

you shuffle up behind him and hug him, your cheek pressing against his warm upper back as your arms reach to wrap gently around his abdomen. You sigh deeply.

“Hey, babe.. ‘m so tired. It was such a long day.”

He laughs softly, which shakes you a bit as you hold him.

“What’d your colleagues do now?”

You shake your head against him, groaning dramatically.

“I don’t want to talk about it.. what are you baking? It smells good in here.”

“Nothing crazy, it’s just some holiday cookies. I found the recipe online this morning after you left.”

“How many are you planning to make? There’s already some in the oven,” you ask, peeking around his frame from behind to see him set the bowl aside and wipe his hands on the apron he’s wearing. (It was white with small pink hearts by the pockets. You got it for him when he started cooking for you everyday, and he used to feel weird about it. He said it made him feel “slightly emasculated”, but he quickly grew to absolutely adore it. It was just another way for you to claim him as your personal chef. One night before you got home, he jerked off while wearing it, but he would never tell you that.)

“I don’t really know,” he shrugs and chuckles sheepishly, “there are twelve baking right now, but I thought that maybe I could make some for our neighbors.”

You chuckle softly, your hands disconnecting from their place on his stomach to reach down and give his ass a small squeeze. He jumps a little at the feeling, embarrassed laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“Where’d all this holiday cheer come from?” you smirk, pulling back from your position against his back to lean your hip against the counter. You just wanted to look at his pretty face. Your eyes quickly fixate on the fact that he’s got a bit of flour on his flushed cheek.. It’s only a small puff and smear of the white substance near his jaw, but for some reason it starts a flame in your lower stomach. There was just something about the way he got a little messy when he cooked or baked for you.

His cheeks plump up in shape ever-so-slightly as he grins at you.

“I don’t know.. I had time before you got home- I mean, well, before i thought you’d get home, and so i thought I’d just-”

You take a step forward, nodding at his words while your body is now only inches from his. You look up into his glassy blue eyes.

“You thought you’d just.. what?” you purr, your hand coming up to caress his lower back.

He swallows thickly, briefly looking down at the mess on the counter before he looks back to you. His body temperature is steadily rising as he feels your fingertips caress him over his loose t-shirt.

“I just thought I’d make some more,” he whispers.

You lean in, reaching your other hand up to gingerly hold the side of his neck while you press a kiss to it.

“You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

He nods, slowly, his eyelids fluttering slightly at the feeling of your mouth on him.

“I..I mean, yeah, I guess.”

You lean in a bit more, sucking softly at his neck. His head lolls a bit forward, and you nip at him when the sound of his shaky breathing reaches your ears.

You pull back, a small smirk covering your face as you look up at him.

His focus darts from your eyes to your lips as he reaches both of his hands out for your waist, but he’s rudely interrupted when the timer for the oven goes off— cookies are done.

You both nearly jump out of your skin at the sound; the incessant beeping pulling you both out of the thick fog of tension between your bodies and minds.

“Shit,” he mumbles, flushing pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he turns off the timer at the top of the oven and moves to hastily grab an oven mitt from the lower drawer.

He pulls open the oven door, and you step back to watch him pull the tray out and set it on top of the stove area.

He sighs, pulling off the mitt and setting it aside as he leans over the cookies. His eyes are inspecting each one, and he has a very focused expression plastered on his face. He was as much of a perfectionist in the kitchen as he used to be on the court, that was for sure.

Your body moves in to stand beside him, also peering down at the tray of gorgeous golden-brown cookies. You place a hand on his upper back, rubbing it encouragingly.

“These look incredible,” you say, smiling at him.

He nods, still inspecting them, “They look better than I thought they would.. I actually messed up earlier and accidentally added three-fourths of a cup of sugar instead of two-thirds..”

“They look perfect, don’t stress.”

He looks to you, his gaze meeting yours and then suddenly everything was back to how it was before the timer went off. His hands reach for your waist, squeezing at your hips as he looks lovingly down at you.

“Be proud of yourself, Art.. you did a good job,” you laugh softly, your hands reaching up to cup his face. He pulls you closer.

“I am.”

“Are you?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

You suddenly get a very filthy idea.

“Can.. can you tell me what the recipe called for?”

His brows furrow slightly as he seems taken aback by your request, his cock already starting to stir to life in his sweatpants just from holding your body. He didn’t want to talk about the damn cookies anymore.

“What?”

You roll your eyes, one of your hands dropping from his face to reach around the fabric of the front of his apron and grope him over his sweats. Your other hand moves down too, but just to gently hold the side of his torso. His whole body jolts forward and his lips part instantly.

“You’ll like where this is headed, trust me. Just talk to me.. tell me what you did to make the cookies look so perfect..”

He breathes unsteadily, his fingers digging into your waist as he feels your hand start to work his cock up to a full-blown, hot, twitchy erection.

“I.. uhm.. I just..” he breathes out, his eyes growing lidded as he absentmindedly bucks up against your touch, still trying to maintain eye contact as pleasure starts to flood his senses, “one cup of b-butter.. ngh-!.. two cups.. two cups of flour… and then- ugh!- two.. two-thir-r-ds.. of..”

His voice trails off, shaky and low and broken as he hangs his head a bit, leaking incessantly into his boxers. It was that easy for you to work him up.

You frown, “Uh oh.. come on, baby, don’t go nonverbal on me that quick.. we’ve just barely gotten started…”

A small whimper leaves his chest as he tries to finish his words, “Two-thirds, I m-mean- three-f-fourths of a c-cup of.. s-su.. sugar… one teasp’of vanilla.. and.. o-one.. teaspoon of nutm-eg.”

You smile, stroking his cock over the fabric of his pants, “Good boy.. God, you’re so pretty when you’re slurring for me..”

He moans obscenely, melting at the praise while he feels his length grow suddenly intensely hot. A certain kind of numbness starts to creep over his crotch before his hands are flying from your hips to your wrist.

“Wait! W-Wait!” he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he blows a concentrated shaky breath from his lips, his fingertips digging into your arm.

Your eyebrow lifts and you smile as you take in the way his body shakes and shudders as he holds it in for you. He knows how to behave.. what would make you happy.. what would make you disappointed.. After all, he’s been trained by you in more than just tennis.

“Close?” you whisper.

His body starts to slowly relax again as he regains some of his composure. He blinks his eyes back open slowly, looking into yours.

“Very,” he groans.

You pull your hands from his body, and he whines softly.

“Take off the apron. Put it on the floor.”

You’re sure you’ve never seen him move so fast— his hands reaching behind his back and undoing the tied string. Then, he pulls the apron off over his head, tossing it off to the side. He watches you study him with parted lips, and he bites onto his own.

“Now take your sweats off for me.”

He does as he’s told; his shaky fingers reaching down to slip his pants down to his lower thighs, and then down to his knees and ankles, and then he steps out of them. He kicks them gently next to where the apron was thrown, now making a mess of grey and white fabric where both items pooled on the kitchen floor.

You step close to his body, cupping his face before running a hand through his messy strawberry-blonde locks. But it doesn’t take long for your eyes to travel solely down to the bulge prominently pressing against the inside of his navy boxer briefs. You run a fingertip up and over the outline of his dick, relishing in the way it makes him shake. He was now just in his tee shirt, boxers, and white socks, while you stayed fully clothed. But not for too much longer.

"My pretty husband.." you coo to him, making his lips part to let out a few uneven breaths. You glance around his frame and notice a bowl off to the side that had remnants of the soft cookie dough from the first batch of the cookies. You smirk.

You lean forward and swipe your thumb along the inside of the bowl, gathering some of the sugary, buttery mixture on your digit. His gaze remains lidded and locked onto your face, not finding any importance in your hand's movements at the kitchen counter. You bring your thumb back in, showing him what you did.

He spares your thumb a quick glance, but then his eyes are back on yours, and then your lips, and then the way that your breasts are peeking out from the low-cut collar of your work top. You bring your thumb up to his mouth.

"Open," you whisper.

He does as he's told, parting his lips further and leaning in to encourage your finger to slip past them.

You push your cookie dough-covered thumb into his mouth, feeling him immediately begin to suckle on it; his tongue swirled over it, and his eyes fluttered shut right after they began to roll back. His brows furrow, and a couple of faint whines bubble up out of him as the taste of his homemade sweetness melts seamlessly on his palate.

While your thumb is in his mouth, you push it down softly on his tongue.

"Knees, baby," you say breathlessly.

Art knew this command like the back of his hand.

Effortlessly and steadily, he dropped down to his knees one after the other, keeping your digit in his mouth the entire time. He didn't dare let it go. He moved to sit on his calves.

"Good job.. good boy..."

He whimpered, the vibrations of his pathetic sounds causing your hand to buzz slightly.

"I want your mouth on my cunt.. can you do that for me, darling?" you purr, running your hand through his hair for a moment. He nods around you.

"Y'sh, m'm.." he mumbled, trying his best to speak while still relishing your touch with enough attention.

You pull your thumb from the heat of his wet mouth, and smirk as you watch his lips chase after it.

"What was that?"

You already had a good idea about what he had murmured, but it was just.. best to be sure.

"Yes, ma'am," he gasps out softly, his eyes glazed over.

He reaches up and pulls at your skirt, shimmying it down and over your ass and thighs, letting it fall to your ankles. You kick it aside, and lean your back against the countertop. Art positions himself on his knees so that he's on the floor in front of you, looking up at you. His hands shakily reach up to the sides of your pantyhose, his tongue licking out over his bottom lip. He digs his fingers into the taut fabric and looks up at you once more, beginning to pull them down.

Immediately you grab his wrists, halting his movements. His eyes look up into yours, worried that he had made a wrong move, but you shake your head with a soft smile.

"You can rip them."

He doesn't even mean to, but he moans when you give him permission to be a little desperate right now.

In an instant, his strong hands are pulling needily at your tights, causing them to rip from your crotch to your lower thighs. He hooks one of his index fingers into the inside of your panties, his thighs tensing up at the feeling of your wetness, and then he's pushing them to the side. His tongue rests out over his bottom lip as he leans in, holding the back of your leg with his free hand as his eyes flutter shut and he engulfs your heat with his mouth.

"Oh, fuck-!" you yelp, reaching down to tangle your hands in his soft curls, "fuck, fuck, that feels good, Art, don't stop.."

He moans, his eyes squeezed shut as he lathes his tongue up and down and over your wet hole. He lewdly sucks and swallows your slick that's quickly spilling over his tongue, trying to focus harder on your pleasure (and less on the feeling of his cock throbbing rapidly in his boxers.. he can feel himself leaking).

You remove your hands from his hair and move to unsteadily grip the countertop, your back pressing hard against it. Art hums around you in his mouth, moving his tongue up to lick sloppily at your clit. He opens his eyes, his brows furrowed, and looks up at you.

"God, you're so good at this.. you're doing so well.. i'm getting.. close.." you breathe out, studying the upper half of his face while the lower half remains buried in your pussy.

He doubles his efforts, smushing his face deeper against you, his lips pursing to suckle against your sensitive nub as his grip on your leg tightens. Art has half a mind at that moment to just scoot forward a bit and slot your ankle between his thighs, but he won't. You came first, in his mind. Literally, and figuratively.

You sling the leg that he's holding over his shoulder, giving him more access, and then you begin to feel an overwhelming, hot numbness creep over your lower half..

"ANGH!" you moan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut as your body begins to shake. Your fingers grip the kitchen counter so hard that you're afraid you'll break a nail.

"I'm going to cum, Art..!"

"Mm! Mm-mm!"

"I'm.. oh my god.... I'm... I'm-! Cumming-!" you whine, feeling your orgasm crash over you.

"MM-!" he laps at your pulsing cunt, squeezing his eyes shut before forcing them open so that he can watch the way your beautiful face moves to contort in ecstasy.

You groan and whine as your orgasm's aftershocks are uncomfortably prolonged by Art's relentless tongue, and your hands release the marble countertop to reach down and grab two soft fistfuls of his hair. You try to tug his head back from your cunt, but he just closes his eyes and presses his nose and mouth further against your core. The repetitive movements of his tongue over your folds cause lewd, wet noises to fill the kitchen.

"Art... A-Art..! Enough!" you slur out as the pleasure from before starts to melt into a prickly sting of oversensitivity.

His eyes flutter open and you shoot him a warning glance as he peers up at you.

"I said enough, yeah?" you snap, "stand up."

He immediately pulls his mouth away from your sticky body and stands up on shaky legs. His eyes look downward, guiltily avoiding your gaze, as he wipes at the clear slick covering his chin with the back of his hand.

You try to catch your breath for a moment, studying his chest as it heaves up and down -- him trying to catch his breath all the same. You reach out and take his lower jaw softly in one hand, forcing him to look at you properly.

"You got a little fucking greedy there for a minute.. didn't you?"

He bites his bottom lip for a second, nervously chewing on the inside of it as he debates what answer he could give that would result in the least amount of punishment from you.

"Did you hear what I said?" you whisper coldly, taking a step closer to him as your hand grazes against the erection standing proudly in his underwear.

His body automatically jolts forward, and he lets out a shaky breath as his brow twitches. "Yeah.. I did.." he huffs out.

You smirk, wrapping your hand around him over the dark blue fabric, "And what do you think, hm? Were you being greedy?"

He looks deep into your eyes, his lips parting as he feels you start to stroke him. He tries to stop it, but his hips start to shallowly buck against your grasp, and now he can't get any words out. He wants to, but he just.. he really can't.

You roll your eyes.

"You know what I want you to say, honey. Use that big brain of yours."

He moans softly, his hands coming up to hold the sides of your upper arms as his eyes grow lidded.

"I'm.. I was being greedy.. I'm greedy," he moans lowly, thrusting into your hand a bit quicker and with a tad bit more abandon.

"Yeah, yeah you are. You're a greedy little whore for this, aren't you?"

He nods slowly but repeatedly as his brows pinch together and his breathing picks up.

"Yesss," he says brokenly, his voice straining a little as his moans start to become whimpers and whines, "I'm.. s' greedy for you.. jus' for you.. mm..!"

You nod and smirk up at him as his face becomes pinker and pinker, "That's it, pretty boy.. good job. You like when I stroke your pretty cock?"

He lets out an obscenely loud moan as his abdomen curls in over itself a bit, his hands gripping the sleeves of your work top and pulling helplessly at the fabric as he feels a spurt of precome burst into the inside of his boxers.

You chuckle a little as you watch him visibly get closer to his climax, but then he suddenly releases the hold on one of your sleeves and urgently grabs the hand that's moving over his clothed length.

You look down to where his hand holds yours, and he lets out a filthy whimper as he pulls your touch off of him and then urgently pushes your hand past his waistband and down into the front of his boxers. You gasp at his seemingly impulsive actions, feeling your fingers finally come into contact with his slicked-up cockhead. Your fingertips just barely brush over his hot, leaking slit.. sliding over a thick glob of pre.. and then he's being sent over the edge. To the average person, the touch would be essentially imperceptible, but not to him.. not to Art. He was just far too sensitive.

Your husband lets out a startled cry as he doubles over your frame in front of him and frantically moans, his whole body trembling and tensing as his balls draw up, "I'm cumming!"

You don't even have time to really process what's happening until you feel your hand being covered in warm fluid, the substance dripping down your fingertips as Art basically comes untouched. You look up at him, dumbfounded, before you feel your abdomen grow warm and tingly. That was kinda.. hot?

"Jesus, baby," you whisper breathlessly as his hips jolt a few more times before stilling as he gulps air down into his lungs, "didn't realize you were that worked up.. that was a little quick, no?"

He moans softly, still feeling your fingers graze him inside of his boxers.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.." he says, his breathing hitching in his throat as he tries to get the words out in spite of the pleasure still thrumming through his veins. He was still rock hard.

You smile, quickly using your clean, opposite hand to pull his boxers down to his lower thighs. His length slaps up lightly against his stomach before bobbing out in front of him, a tiny pearl-like bead of cum still leaking from his tip. He sighs shakily as he looks down at himself, and then up at you. You wrap your cum-covered hand around the base of his shaft, causing Art to jerk forward from sensitivity. He pulls a sharp breath in, his face scrunching up a little as he tries to control his body.

"I'll let you cum again," you start, watching his eyes light up, "but! you need to give me a warning this next time, okay? I want a clear warning, love."

He nods at your words, a more serious expression plastering over his face, "I will, I promise.. I.. I can give you a proper warning, ma'am.." he whispers.

And with that, you slide your hand from his base to his tip in one smooth motion, your thumb gliding over the head.

"GAH-!" he shudders forward, hissing in pain for a moment before he starts to moan again.

"You okay? Can you handle this?" you ask, your tone soft but seductive as you try to tease him but also legitimately check in. You two were always good at looking out for the other's wellbeing during your sessions together; the exchange of love and tender-care came easily to you both-- it was never something either of you had to question.

He nods, "Yeah, yes-ss, I can t-take it.." he slurs a little, watching your hand move up and down over his throbbing length.

"Look up into my eyes, darling," you purr, your hand starting to pick up speed, "does it feel good?"

He meets your eyes, his blue ones swimming with lust and desperation as he felt the beginnings of his second orgasm start to creep in, "Yes, fuck-! Yes! It feels so fucking good--!" he whines.

"Remember what we just talked about?"

He nods fervently, sucking his plump bottom lip in between his teeth as his focus darts from one of your eyes to the other. You speed up your hand, squeezing his shaft a little more to give him some pressure that you assume he needs.

He keens instantly, a loud moan rumbling from his chest as his thighs start to shake and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Art," you murmur in a seductive but warning tone.

He shakes all over, nodding his head, before his back stiffens up and he becomes incredibly tense. You keep your hand moving at the same fast pace, hoping his memory today is as good as his stamina.

"I'm going to cum," he whispers quickly, bringing his hands up to hold onto your shoulders as he pulls you closer.

You smile in approval, leaning in close to his ear and breathing warmly against his skin as you speak softly, "thank you for telling me, angel. do you want to cum for me?"

He nods, whining out a hasty "mhm". He lets out a breathy moan as he feels your hot words against his upper neck.

You press a chaste kiss there, and then you slide your hand up to gently grip his shaft while your thumb moves to rapidly swipe over his frenulum.

"Come."

And he does just that.

Art's back arches as soon as your one commanding word reaches his ears, cumming uncontrollably with an abrupt cry of pleasure. At first, his body is incredibly rigid as he lets go, his brows pinched up together as he feels the first, pulsing waves of his orgasm hit him, but then the full sensation of his release hits him and his whole body shudders deeply. He lets out little breathy moans and gasps as he relishes in the bursts of pleasure rolling over his cock. You slow your thumb down a bit as you watch him spurt rope after rope over your hand and onto the kitchen floor as he comes undone for you a second time.

"Fucking hell," you moan, now going back to stroking him fully instead of just rubbing a digit against his tip.

He grits his teeth in an instant, being pulled from his afterglow by the feeling of your hand forcing him back into a feeling of overstimulation. "Ah-! Ah!.. T-Too much, too much," he whimpers, his hands instinctively reaching down from your shoulders to push at your hand that's currently working him towards a third, uncomfortable orgasm that he's not even sure he wants anymore.

You use the hand that's not stroking him to move his hands away from your occupied one, giving him a small shake of your head.

"Hands behind your back, please. We're not done yet, okay?" you coo.

He quickly follows orders, moving both of his hands behind his back and away from his aching length, although not without letting out a sniffly whine of protest first.

"Please, ma'am.. I'm.. I can't do it I can't do it-- I'm-- AH!"

You cut off his soft moans of agony with a brief squeeze to the base of his dick, looking intently up into his eyes through your lashes.

"If you really want to stop, baby," you tilt your head teasingly, "you can always use the safeword, yeah?"

He bites his lip before he lets out a warped cry, his head lolling backwards in the same instant. You stop moving your hand.

"Art, darling," you whisper to him comfortingly.

He brings his head back upright to look down into your eyes, his face blank with pleasure; he almost looked drunk. His eyes were glazed over, his cheeks were pink, his hair was a mess, and his lips were parted to let out harsh little breaths of air as he tried to regain some semblance of being grounded in his own, ruined body.

You reach your free hand up to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb over the side of his face.

"Does it really hurt that bad? You know that you can be honest," you whisper, now a little concerned that maybe you pushed him too far.

He thinks for a moment before shaking his head slowly and swallowing a bit of drool that he realized has been collecting in his mouth for the past minute or so, "N-Just a little.." he breathes out.

You nod, giving him one soft stroke of his come-covered cock. He gasps and his torso jolts at the sensation, faint tears springing to his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," you hum, "should we stop here then? I think maybe that would be best for you.. you've already done so well for me.."

The latter half of your sentence, that subtle bit of praise, gives him all the motivation he needs to want to unravel again.

He looks down at his still-hard cock, and then back up at you, and shakes his head. His tongue pokes out over his bottom lip and wets it as he tries to collect his thoughts.

"No.. no, I can do- I can go again, ma'am.. I pro-promise.." he slurs out, thrusting up into your hand.

You raise a skeptical brow at him and his movements, keeping your hand still.

"Are you sure? You know that I won't be upset with you if you want to stop, Art."

He shakes his head again, his lip trembling, "Please."

You smile softly and start to move your hand up and down over his cock again. Despite his previous indications that it was painful, the feeling has now seemed to morph back into unfiltered pleasure as he lets out a high-pitched moan of your name. He babbles endlessly, a mixture of pleas for more, letting out repetitive mumblings of "feels good", and "yes", and an assortment of stuttered expletives.

It doesn't take long for Art to get close again.

"I think 'm gonna come again," he mumbles, letting his eyes fall shut as his head slumps forward against your shoulder. You stroke him quicker, focusing on his hypersensitive tip as you feel a drip of precome come out.

"Oh? You want to come again?" you tease coyly.

You could be cruel sometimes. He had known that this part was coming eventually.

He shakes his head against the crook of your neck with a whine, "don't do this, please.."

You stop your hand at the base of his cock, halting his orgasm just as his load started to rise up his length. Art bites back an obscenely loud moan of protest that is dying to be let out..

"No, no no noo," he squirms against you, repetitively shaking his head as his face remains buried in your neck.

"You know what you need to do, darling."

"Please," he moans, "let me come.."

"You want to come?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"YES..!"

"How should I make you come?"

"Can y- keep stroking my- I want my cock to be- I-" he mumbles incoherently.

You place your free hand on the back of his head, pushing your fingers pleasurably into his hair as he trembles against you.

"You want me to keep jerking you off? Hm?"

"Y-Yes-ss!" he moans out brokenly, using every bit of restraint within himself to resist the urge to move his hands from behind his back and relieve his aching parts.

He would never do that, though.. no matter how much he wanted to. He would always follow your wants and needs first. Those were most important to him.

"Ask me for what you need again. Nicely; just the way I like it."

"Please, can I come?"

"Again."

He whines, his hips involuntarily bucking up against your stilled hand wrapped around him.

"Please," he sobs, "can I please come for you?"

"Yes, honey, you can come."

You start to stroke his cock once again, and within just a few pumps Art is releasing again. Even though you can't see them because his face is still in your shoulder, his eyes roll all the way to the back of his head as he lets out a couple pitiful squirts of white, sticky liquid over your hand. "Ooh, that's it.. good boy.. are you my pretty little slut?"

When Art hears this, he isn't exactly sure what happens, but it's like the orgasm that's already halfway finished just completely starts over.

"Ohh my fucking- oh my god-dd-! Ugh! HNGH-!"

It's like every single nerve ending in his body is lighting up at once, and he can't do a damn thing about it.. he can't stop it...

His legs nearly go limp underneath him, and he has to lean further into you to prevent himself from collapsing.

Art then releases the most pornographic moans you've ever heard and tenses up in your hold all over again. You're not really sure what's happening until he--

"I'm cumming again! I'm cumm-m-ing-! Again! Ohmyfucking--! GOD!"

He whines and sobs against your body, his arms still held behind his back as you feel his cock jump and pulse in your hand again. This time, nothing comes out. It's odd because it's clear that he's cumming for a fourth time, but there's nothing to show for it.

You slow your hand but continue to stroke his length which is now covered in the creamy-white filth of his previous loads. His cock softens a little, but you're unsure when his orgasm ends because, again, nothing is coming out.

Art's frame suddenly begins to jerk around every time your hand brushes over his tip, and he lets out a hiss of discomfort through his gritted teeth and a sniffle afterwards. As soon as you hear that, you know he's done and you quickly remove your hand. Any extra stimulation and he'd genuinely start to cry. You could save that for another time.. if he wanted you to.

You move your other hand from his hair to his clothed upper back and rub small, comforting circles over it.

"I've got you," you whisper, "you did such a good job, baby. You just came dry for me."

He nods, sniffling wetly and exhaustedly.

You continue to rub his back for a minute or so in silence as he comes back down to earth; the pleasurable waves of his release's aftershocks allowing him to bask in the ebb and flow of it all as he tries to calm his ragged breathing.

"I feel weak," he groans softly.

You nod, "I'm right here, you're okay.. take some deep breaths for me, honey."

He nuzzles deeper against your neck and sighs contentedly, the fuzziness in his head starting to dissipate with your caring words and gentle touch.

"You're my good boy," you whisper, pressing your cheek against the side of his head.

"Mhmm," he hums, "always for you."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

notes; WOAH. ok. so this has been like months in the making by now i think..? but i finally finished it :D thank u so much to everyone who has been patiently/loyally waiting for this one after i teased it for over a month on this blog 😭 + thank u to anyone who gave me some kind words of encouragement when i had to put this aside for a while. i luv u guys !! <3

reblogs are always allowed + appreciated!

[sugurusyndrome]

cw/tags: househusband!nanami, fluff, smut, fem!reader

— oh househusband!nanami my love…

househusband!nanami initially resisted the idea of being a stay at home husband when you first proposed it. aghast, he might even say. he couldn’t fathom the possibility of being dependent upon your income. not that his masculinity was threatened or anything of the sort. you were the one supposed to be spoiled while he does the hard work.

your husband was traditional in a quite endearing sense. bless his giant heart and his even bigger cock.

“darling, i want to do this. for us,” you had gently insisted. reaching forward, you took off his spectacles and brushed a hand around his cheek. “you deserve to be pampered, too.”

househusband!nanami was exhausted from the long hours over many years and he knew his wife was sorely aware of that fact. he leaned into your touch, hazel eyes slipping shut.

“alright, my love.”

it took some adjusting to his new role during the first few days. when your alarm rang, you swiftly silenced it so he wouldn’t wake up. looking over your shoulder, you find his side of the bed empty.

househusband!nanami had gotten dressed as usual before remembering he didn’t need to work anymore. instead of going back to bed, he whipped up a breakfast feast fit for a queen. he also sent you off to your big-shot job with a kiss and your lunch.

soon enough, this became a routine. a hearty breakfast followed by a “see you later” kiss—kento didn’t like saying goodbye, it’s always “see you later.” househusband!nanami wanted to bring a smile to your hectic days so he stuck an adorable note in his neat handwriting squarely on your lunchbox. he never ran out of words to express his love for you.

househusband!nanami was finally able to tackle the books that had accumulated on his side of the bedroom but never had the chance to read. you could only imagine how he looked like, all cozy. in the nook of the living room where the sun shone best, he had one leg tucked under his body with his glasses perched on his sharp nose.

when he was not devouring words, househusband!nanami was taking himself on a stroll in the neighbourhood with a cup of a pick-me-up coffee. once, he passed a park and sat at a bench watching the mothers playing with their children with a soft smile. however, he quickly walked away because he realized his presence as a sole man just lingering at the edge of the park might be a cause of concern for the mothers. you giggled later over dinner when he recounted his thoughts to you. what a thoughtful man you married.

you wanted to give him 10 children.

if not books or a stroll in the neighbourhood, househusband!nanami was doing his duty ever so happily between your legs.

"k-ken..." you whimpered, back arching gracefully while your nails scraped his undercut in a way that made him growl into your pussy. he knew how much you loved the vibrations as much as he went crazy for your nails on his scalp. "missed this pussy today....mmm...” he captured your clit in a wet, hungry kiss. “take tomorrow off for me, sweetheart.”

this part of the night quickly cemented its spot as his favourite. to absolutely neither of your surprises.

househusband!nanami became fast friends with the owners of your favourite bakery. they already knew him from his frequent visits after his long shifts to pick up something sweet for his wife but the more he hung out there, the closer he got with the bakers. you were particularly fond of the strawberry shortcake from there and what did he do? oh yes, he learned how to make it. everything was from scratch down to the syrup. by the end of it he was sticky but super excited to surprise you with it for your birthday.

"honey, those better be happy tears," he chuckled, drawing you into a tender hug. either that, or the cake turned out to be a disaster.

"of course they are, kento!" you blubbered in his chest. strawberry syrup and whipped cream was smeared around your mouth, mixing with your tears.

oh, how you adored this man to his bare bones. and he devotedly breathed in the very air you exhaled.

[whirlybirbs]

— BRUISED EGO ; PART TWO ; TOSHINORI YAGI ; 俊典

summary: he should have waited for you. but no, toshinori felt like he had something to prove. now, roles are reversed and he needs your help. pairing: younger!toshinori yagi / f!reader ; hero name: derecho word count: 5k tags: afab!reader, fingering, oral (male receiving), piv, sex pollen trope but make it canon specific, dirty talk, praise kink, denied feelings, deeply needy fucking, size difference, toshinori being a good old fashioned lover-boy (again), enemies-to-coworkers-to-lovers hits hard a/n: oh wow a part two,,, i'm sick in the head ← previous | the tag

This ain't great.

This is, uh, bad actually.

Like, Toshinori has absolutely no idea what to do, bad. 

For Christ's sake, he's All Might. He should have known better. He should have known to wait for you — but no, he just had to calm his nerves by beginning your usual shared patrol an hour early. 

It's been one week, two days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes since he last saw you. Not that he's counting. It's not like he's suddenly acutely aware of the time he's spent apart from you, or anything. 

Japan is locked in a heatwave. 

(Or, maybe it's just the fever in his bones.)

Large, calloused palms dig into his eyes as he leans back against the rooftop's barrier and groans. Toshinori drops his head against the iron railing in defeat, sending a twang through the hot air. Sweat is running down his back beneath his suit, tracing the curve of his spine.

Oh, and he's hard.

Painfully hard.

Like he said, this ain't great.

The call went out that they spotted the same love quirk user from last week holding some sex workers at gunpoint. He should have waited. The two of you could have handled him easily. 

But, no. Toshi had to go and think he had something to prove. 

He groans again, pounding his knuckles to the gravel.

It's going to be all over the evening news. That clip of him, panicking, and absolutely decking the very-much-not-a-real-violent-threat-of-a-man in the face on reflex after being hit with his quirk. He couldn't help it. It was like... a knee-jerk. It's like suddenly you're being touched everywhere and nowhere. It's strange. Sort of violating. It... I-It was just all he could do, okay? 

And he apologized! Plenty! A-And Officer Tsukauchi said it was fine, that he had it handled, as a bunch of officers began to help the now-unconscious offender out of the storefront's debris.

...Toshinori's phone is ringing.

He has half the mind to ignore it.

But it's the guitar riff from 'Bad to the Bone'. 

It's you.

He barks out a huffed 'shit' before digging his phone from the pocket in his belt. Even your picture glowing alongside the phone call notification is enough to make his cock throb. 

It's not even racy. It's blurry. It's in the All Might Agency's lobby. You're smiling. It's such a rare sight. You're holding up your official hero license and a big thumbs up.

He took the picture a few years ago. It was a big deal, a huge win. Your hair was a little shorter, and your hands weren't as scarred from Pro-Hero work as they are now. And god, that smile. 

...Jesus, you're just happy and he's this horny? 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Toshinori picks up on the last ring.

"Where the hell are you?" comes your voice, cutting through the sound of wind — he can hear the thrum of your bike's engine in the background, "I've been looking all over for you, and I just got a call from Tsukauchi — are you alright?"

The sound of your voice is making his mouth dry.

"I'm fine."

He's not fine.

He's sitting here, aroused out of his mind and in pain, trying to battle through the mind-numbing, knuckle-breaking heat of desire. He can't even come close to the word 'fine'. He's a mess. All he can do is sit here and sweat because he knows no amount of trying to jerk off is going to solve this problem.

He's so not fine.

You can tell.

Tsukauchi gave few details — just that whatever the hell happened sent All Might hightailing it outta there. And, after getting a brief description of the prep, you had a pretty good idea why. 

Your fingers twitch against the throttle.

"Send me your location," you say sternly; the glint of your helmet's visor catches the passing lights of traffic as you talk into the built-in comms system, "I'm coming to get you."

"No," he grits out, tugging on a piece of his blonde fringe, "N-No. I'll be fine. I-I am fine. Just need some time—"

"Toshinori," you bark back as you check for an opening between cars; your whole body is hot and it's not just from the summer heat, "I'm not asking. Let me help." 

...Oh.

Help. Right.

It's ambiguous and sort of ominous but, if he squints, it's the first time either of you has even come close to talking about what happened last week. Y'know. When he kissed you in your entryway, the way he ate you out on your couch, or the way he absolutely fucked your brains out in your bed. All because you had been hit with the same quirk influence he's riding out now.

His location pings up on your visor's HUD. 

"Be there in five."

And you hang up.

Because — I mean, what else is there to say? You are going to do what you have to to help him. Just like he did for you. Then, maybe it will be even! And then, maybe, this feeling that has been eating your heart away for the last week will disappear. Right? And things will go back to normal!

...Right?

Ha! B-Because, yea, that feeling is definitely guilt, right? Like... You... uh. You feel bad. Because... he had to... help. And you haven't helped him. Right. Yes. 

Yep.

Not because you can't stop thinking about his hands on your face, cradling you tenderly as he drove himself deep into you. Not because you can't stop thinking about the way he looked up at you with his tongue flat on your clit. Not because you can't stop thinking about his voice, or his smile, or his laugh, or his—

The telltale roar of a motorcycle sets Toshinori Yagi's stomach ablaze. 

Immediately, the air gets thicker like the feeling before a summer thunderstorm. He knows you're here. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and before he can rub the feeling away, you're there. 

On the roof.

"You look..." you breathe out as your feet touch down with a crackle of lightning crescendoing around you, "Like shit." 

(Truly he looks divine. Rosey cheeks, his chest heaving. His eyes are half-lidded. There's a bead of sweat that runs down his jaw, down down down, down his neck, then disappears beneath the collar of his suit.)

Toshi sighs. It's a ragged sound. He pulls his knees up, trying his best to hide the apparent tenting across the front of his hero costume. He scrapes his rough palm down his face.

"Don't start—"

"Did I look this bad?" you ask, voice hiking an octave as you move towards him. You keep an even distance. Your face is morphed into a look of pity, but there's something in your voice that makes the knot in Toshinori's gut wind tighter, "He got you good, huh, Tosh'?"

He can't do nicknames right now.

"Ha, ha," he grits out, the trademarked All Might boisterousness dying in favor of the lackluster, dry humor he was born with, "You're real funny, zippy."

It's your favorite flavor of him. The man is out of the limelight. Though he may still be bigger than life biceps and thick steel-corded quads, the facade has fallen. 

"And you're a mess," you sigh as you squat down, rummaging in your pack for something. It's a water bottle. You offer it as you watch him. 

The condensation kisses his fingertips as he takes it and pops it open. 

He takes a long drink, caps it off, then presses the cold bottle to the back of his neck. It does little to dissipate the tension in his broad shoulders. The sensation arguably makes it worse. Another bead of sweat runs down his back.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

We're never gonna talk about this again echoes somewhere in the back of his mind. At this rate, they're gonna have to talk about this. Because once is just a fluke. Twice is a problem. A real problem. 

He places the bottle back on the ground after another long sip.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Despite your desperate attempt to remain levelheaded, you know exactly how he's feeling at this moment. You gotta admit, his self-control dwarfs your own though. You could hardly keep your hands off him the second he walked in your door. 

You wrestle your bike helmet off, and Toshinori has to quell the wave of longing that rises in his chest. Your hair is sticking to your forehead and neck. He suddenly wishes he made you look this way — windswept and sweating. 

The jet-black helmet lands on the rooftop with a thwat. He can see his ragged, flushed reflection in the black visor. 

Your voice is soft. "Hey."

It brings his focus back to you. His mouth is dry. Big blue eyes swivel as they rake across your face — and he hates how his cock jumps at how softly you speak next.

"What do you need right now, Toshinori?"

His chest is rising and falling a little faster. The usual steadfast expression on his face has melted into something doe-eyed and boyish. It makes your heart clench. 

"Are you sure about this?" his voice cracks as he swallows roughly. It's a non-answer. It's a metaphorical boot-kicking-in-the-door, though. Toshinori rakes his hands through his hair, "I-I... I can wait it out—"

You exhale tightly; your rationale is clear. Totally unbiased and very much not rooted in an unabashed obsession with the way he touches you. 

"Tosh', you helped me. I won't sit around and let you suffer when the same hand is dealt your way."

He drops his head back again. Another twang echoes through the night air. 

"Plus," you offer with a slow, crooning smile, "I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress."

It takes a second.

Then, one blue eye cracks open. Long, dark blonde lashes flutter a bit — and then, he's smirking. 

Ha. 

Right.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his head still dropped back and shoulders slumped. 

"Sure as I'll ever be, big man."

That's the only permission he needs.

Toshinori Yagi is fast. He has to be. He's the Number One Hero in all of Japan. Top of the popularity ranks, fan-favorite, best stats in history. Being fast is part of the gig. 

He's fast to sit up and catch you in a kiss that feels like a bruise — tender and aching and miscalculated. It's teeth and tongue and then a deliciously low noise that rumbles up from his chest and sets your whole body on fire. 

His grip is rough — his fingers fist your hair as he drags you closer, his mouth presses firmly to yours as you scramble against the rough rooftop. It's... 

Needy.

You're crawling towards him.

"That's my line," he breathes out, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth and pressing back in to steal your breath. His grip tightens in your hair. His voice is so low that it feels like someone lights a fire under your skin. It's rough and breathless and so not All Might.  

"It's a good line," you mutter back as your brain stutter-steps. You pull away to crawl closer and straddle his hips. Your knees pin his cape to the gravel. You're kissing him again, letting his feverish need set the pace, "Worked on me."

You can feel him through your hero suit. 

His suit's pants are thick, made of some patented material you can never remember the name of — but his arousal is more than apparent as you settle your weight down against him. The added pressure earns a throaty hum of approval. 

You always forget just how big he is in this form — his hands dwarf your hips as he drags his grip down, allowing himself a little bit of an edge when he unceremoniously bucks up against you. 

"Sorry," he slurs out, his boots scraping against the roof; it's utterly pathetic, "Sorry—"

"Stop apologizing," you breathe out as you follow his lead and continue the movement, grinding your hips down, "I asked what you needed—"

"Anything," Toshinori's words rush out with his blue eyes screwed closed tightly as he grips your hips and slots his mouth back against yours, "Anything you'll give me."

...How is he so romantic? Even in a moment like this? Even when he's blindly seeking friction through his pants, bucking his hips against your own, as he moans into your mouth. 

"Hands? Mouth?" you parrot his line of questioning from your previous encounter; it seems to knock some sense into him.

His breath catches. Blue eyes widen minutely. You feel him twitch beneath you.

"God, mouth, please—"

Who would have ever anticipated you'd be here? 

Who would have ever anticipated you'd be helping him work off his belt, work off his tactical pants? Who knew you'd be watching his taut stomach flex as you push his costume's top higher up his torso, who knew you'd be dragging his stupid All Might-themed boxers down his narrow hips to spring him free? 

Who thought you'd ever see him like this, so desperate and winded and needy? 

Not you, that's for sure. You never thought, in all those years you sat in prison, this would be your life shortly after: giving head — happily — to the man who put you there in the first place. 

And here you are, slipping him a tentative look as you wrap a gloved hand around his hardness and smirk. 

"Is this okay?" you murmur up at him, on your hands and knees. You're teasing him. He knows this. 

Toshinori laughs — an incredulous bark. It's all you need to hear as confirmation. 

The sound splinters into a choked moan when you bend down and take him into your mouth.

He sees stars.

This is going to be a problem.

All he can do is lean back and grip the guard rail over his head for dear life because ho-oly shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. His biceps go taut, his knuckles white, and he tries so hard to keep his hips still as you hum around him. His whole body shudders — his thighs tensing under your other hand as you balance above him. 

This is — son of a bitch. Your grip around the base of his cock tightens incrementally, and as you lap at the head of his cock, his thoughts die in a strangled burst of pleasure. 

Then, his hand lands on your cheek.

The touch is reverent. Holy. Tender and adoring.

"Jesus, Der'," he slurs out, his chest heaving up and down as he tries to keep his eyes on you; he can't stare too long. The sight is too much. Too pretty. Mouth full of him, "You're such a good girl." 

There it is. 

The little bit of praise he slipped you before. 

If the iron rail creeks beneath his tightening grip, neither of you pays it any mind. 

You're on your knees, gloved hand around his shaft, watching his face contort into something so wonderfully steeped in bliss. You've got more important things to mind rather than the structural integrity of some stupid rooftop rail. 

Like the way his stomach clenches — the way his abs tighten. Like the way he says your name or the way he chokes out a nervous laugh when you take him just a litttttle deeper. 

"Fucking shit," he hisses; you make a mental note to rib him for his language some other time. Hearing him curse like this is a hell of an indicator for your ego that you're doing a good job, "Der', if you keep that up—"

"What?" you rasp, spit connecting your mouth to his cock, "You'll cum?"

Something snaps. 

It's a flash of red and blue and silver and blonde, his cape tearing through the air. 

Suddenly, you're pinned to the rooftop — gravel scrapes as your boots kick and grapple for purchase. Your elbows scuff against the ground. The wind is swept out of your body and he's kissing you so roughly you swear you taste blood. One of his hands is locked around your jaw. You're effectively trapped. 

All you can do is let out a shaky, startled, yet painfully aroused laugh. 

His other hand isn't gentle — it's tearing at the bottom half of your suit, unceremoniously snapping the button of your tactical pants open and shoving his hand down the front of them. You can feel a slight shake in his fingers as they delve past your underwear and slip into your folds.

"I need you," he hisses; his eyes are dark, and you can see the edge of frustration building. You know the feeling. 

Another kiss.

Suddenly, there are two fingers in you. 

You whine against his mouth.

He doesn't waste any time. He can't. Not when all he can think about is splitting you open on his cock. You're right here and you're soft and beautiful and fuck, he can't even think straight when you clamp down on his middle and ring finger. 

"Be nice," you warn between pants and whines and whimpers. It's an empty threat.

"Or what?" he chirps back, working his fingers in and out; his voice hitches along the syllables, trying his best to sound unaffected by the little breathy sound you let out when he kisses your jaw, "You'll cum?"

It's your turn to laugh. Your hands grapple with his cape, trying to anchor yourself in any way possible. You fist it as his fingers continue the task at hand: opening you up enough to take him. His knees nudge your legs open a little bit farther. Toshinori's body feels like it's on fire. 

His heavy, hot cock drags up the inside of your thigh and he shudders. 

His face is pressed to your shoulder in a flash; it's good because he doesn't see the blissful smile working its way across your face as our own arousal builds. 

"You're soaking wet," he strangles out; his pride is overshadowed by the embarrassing need to have you. He feels like if he doesn't, this raging fever will just get worse and worse and worse. 

"Par for the course," your words hitch on a hot wave of arousal as his palm grinds down against your clit. You grip his wrist, trying to ignore the tell-tale shake in your legs. His hand is holding your face.

"At least I'm doin' something right," he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek as he relinquishes his fingers from your heat and drags your mouth across your jaw, "Y'think... Think you can...?"

Take him? Yea.

You're a brave girl. 

Yea, that shouldn't be a problem. 

What is a problem is your riding gear and hero suit — but Toshinori can't be bothered. He's grappling with them for you, hauling you into his arms as he drags them down enough. They get caught on the tops of your boots, but he doesn't give a shit. Not when you're here, spread, and glistening before him. Not when you're in his lap, half-dressed, and trying to maneuver yourself down onto him with some semblance of grace. 

Everything is bigger when it comes to Mr. Double Detriot Smash.

Again, you're a brave girl. You're not going to shy away from the upgraded dicking down you got last week. Hell, that was great. Filled you up perfectly, and hit all the right spots... and now, you're realizing that the already tight fit is going tobe a littttle tighter. 

Your knees are like jello as your fingertips dig into his shoulders. Your hair is wild — and you're sweating. He's no better off; there's a crease of worry in his brow, even amidst the blinding heat of desire that's eating him up inside. 

He knows he's big. He's huge. He's... 

This is the first time he's ever had sex in this empowered form. 

Not like he advertises this as a service.

He'd be lying through his trademarked smile if he said he wasn't nervous — but there you go, giving him just another reason why he should buy a ring tomorrow and give you everything you've ever wanted because fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you're so tight and hot and wet and the sound you make the second you sink down on him—

"God, yes, Tosh'."

The gasp that wrings itself from his mouth is utterly pathetic. He doesn't care. He truly can't even think straight — all he can do is dig his fingertips into your hips and slam his mouth against yours to muffle the whines crawling up his throat. 

"Stay right there," you whisper; there's an edge to your voice of warning. He's trying to listen. He's trying to be a—

"Good boy."

You're holding his face and he can't seem to catch his breath. His boots scuff in the dirt, his brows knit, and he inhales sharply when you clamp down on him for good measure. Fuck. Shit. God, nonono. He needs to move. He needs — c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, please.

"Der'—"

You're kissing him again — and then you move. Slow at first, a little hiccup of your hips. Then, more assured, more confident. An easy up, then down. Then again, and again, and again. And again. 

"God, yes," he nearly cries; he smothers his desperate moan into a kiss that melts away time. Toshinori's hands are trying to find purchase, trying to help guide you up and down his cock as best he can. He doesn't want you to do all the work — he wants to help, "You're so fucking good, Der'."

"Y-Yea?" you breathe out, your entire body shuddering at the praise. Your hip tightens, and you don't even have the wherewithal to consider the cramp. You're not stopping for anything.

Not when this is, like, the hottest thing you've ever done. 

"You have no idea," he melts into another kiss that's all tongue and adoration, his bare thread composure snapping up like his hips in a testing manner, "Lemme fuck you, please, Der', please, please, I promise I'll be good—"

It certainly felt good.

All you can do is hold onto his shoulders. 

If you've learned one thing in the time you've known Toshinori Yagi, it's that he's a man of his word. He holds promises in the deepest homes of his heart, ensuring that nothing prevents him from honoring them. He's dedicated entirely to those around him and to seeing them prevail. Toshinori, even on his worst days, never makes a promise he can't keep. 

So, promising he'll be good?

I mean — it depends on the definition, doesn't it?

If 'good' is desperate, pathetic, fast drillings of his hips as you cling to him and gasp? If 'good' is filthy, muttered praise into your collarbone as he slams into you again, and again, and again?

If 'good' is scrambling in the gravel, being pressed flat as he takes you from behind?

Then, yea.

He's really good.

He's incredibly good — especially as he presses his chest to your back, and wraps his arm around your front. His fingers are greedily pushing through your folds as he keeps up his thoroughly rough pace. The thick, calloused pads of his ring and middle finger grace your clit and you nearly scream. 

The gravel is biting into your knees and palms but you don't care. Not when his mouth is on your neck and he keeps saying your name over and over and over and over again as he drives you into the ground. Not Derecho. Not some tender version of a nickname.

Your name. 

The hot fire of your arousal is building steadily — the wet, explicit sounds of him pushing his cock into you over and over again as he pins you are doing plenty, but it's the way he says your name that really seals your fate. 

Toshinori isn't here right now. Come back in two business days. He's lost in the bone-deep influence of this quirk, hellbent on filling you up and proving he's a good boy. He can give you everything. A ring, a house, a life — three more motorbikes and whatever you want on top of that. 

Fuck, he loves you.

Your fingers dig into the rooftop. 

"Oh, fuck, Toshi — yes," you cry; there's a crack in your voice, "Right there. K-Keep... Keep doing that—"

"C'mon, I wanna f-feel you cum," he babbles as you bury your face into his elbow bracing his weight, "Come on, Der', you're such a good girl, you're taking me so well, I know you c-can—"

Everything is Toshinori. His breath is hot against your neck as he pants, and his voice — so low and honeyed — is right in your ear as he moans.

Even now, he's ever so selfless.

"I need you to cum first," he grits as his fingers work your clit just a little faster, "C'mon, Der', you're doing so good — you deserve it, you deserve to cum so hard—"

Your knees jerk — and the world's best orgasm rushes up to meet you headfirst. A snap of lightning ignites your skin as you lose all control, and so suddenly Toshinori is right behind you, tumbling down the white-hot bliss of the best sex he's ever had in his life. 

He made you snap, he made you lose control, h-he made you cum—

His composure shatters. There's a guttural sound wrenched from deep in his chest and it's delicious. He finishes with a series of frantic thrusts that make you whine. His mouth is on your neck, your cheek, then your mouth. 

You crane yourself back, humming delightfully into the kiss that quells the rolling tide of desire into something softer. 

His whole body shudders as the after-quakes of your orgasm ripple along him. All Toshi can do is smother his sounds into another kiss. This one is slower. It's needy in a different way. 

When the kiss finally slows, it takes a second for him to peel his eyes open.

You look thoroughly wrecked. 

Your expression is that of a woman exhausted. 

Toshinori is suddenly aware of his own bulk, his own weight. Gently, he presses a hand to your cheek as he pushes himself up and off of you. His muscles burn — and pulling out of you makes his entire chest ache. 

The feeling wrings a gasp out of you. 

You exhale slowly, through pursed lips. Then, you brace yourself up on your elbows and hang your head. Toshinori flops gracelessly onto his back, his arms and legs spread with his half-hard cock sloped against his stomach. Your slick is coating him. His pants are half down around his ankles, and his usual up-right bangs have sagged. From heat or exhaustion, you're not sure. 

It sure as hell is cute. 

"You okay?" you ask after a second, taking him in as he begins to catch his breath. 

"Oh, yea, just peachy," he rumbles. The thousand-yard stare into the evening air is a hell of a thing on him. 

It makes you bark out a laugh.

Toshinori lolls his head to the side lazily, taking you in.

Your knees and elbows are bleeding. You're picking out the gravel stuck to your palms. You're in no better of a state — your pants are half on, wrenched down over your riding boots, and your uniform's top is pushed up over your breasts. His orgasm is leaking out of you, and the insides of your thighs are coated with your own arousal. Your hair is a mess. 

You're both messes.

You laugh again — and his own laugh starts shortly thereafter. Before you two know it, you're both locked in a laughing match that only ends when you try to reach to shove his shoulder. Your abs burn. Toshinori tries to muscle the grin off his face but fails.

Fuck. 

Fuck, that feeling hasn't gone away. 

It wasn't guilt.

Mayday, mayday, abort, abort, it wasn't guilt. He's smiling at you in the moonlight, looking so utterly wrecked and handsome and gentle—

His hand moves, a single crux finger gracing the curve of your arm soothingly. It's slow. Tentative. Hesitant. Not too much, not too little. 

Toshinori's voice is rough with sheepishness.

"Are we, uh, are we never gonna talk about this, too?" he asks. 

The touch and the question make your heart kick into a stutter. 

You swallow roughly.

"I..." you drop your head, as you wet your lips; play it cool, "Is it something you... want to talk about?"

"...Do you?"

A non-answer.

Your lashes flutter as your stare widens. You open your mouth, about to say something, but suddenly both of your phones are blaring with a city-wide alert. 

It takes a second for it to register — and as suddenly as the moment came, it went. 

ALERT, ALERT, ALL PROS REPORT TO CITY HALL, MULTIPLE HOSTAGES, ARMED GUNMAN, ALL PROS REPORT TO CITY HALL, ALERT, ALERT!  

You're struggling to haul your pants up as All Might fumbles with his belt. You hop on one foot, cursing as he scrambles for his phone in the gravel.

"You gotta be kidding me," he grits quietly, thumbing through the notification as you struggle in the middle distance behind him, tripping into your pack as you try and button your pants. 

"Time to go?" you ask pathetically as you try to ignore the feel of after-sex between your legs. 

"I guess that conversation is going to have to wait until later," he says apologetically, bending to grab your helmet. He offers it as you shrug on your pack; there's a sudden cocky confidence seeping back into his posture, "So let's make this quick, shall we?"

You swallow down a rush of worship. 

"I guess so," you remark easily, again trying your best to seem cool. That's your whole persona after all. Little miss spiteful, cold, rough-around-the-edges...

Beautiful, perfect, lovely, Toshi muses as you shove your helmet on and jut your chin his way. You flick your eyes toward the edge of the building.

He's already got a running start. 

"After you, All Might."

"Race you there, Derecho." 

[eunoiathewriter]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 — Choi Su-bong (Thanos)

Sypnosis: Su-bong had always known who she was. For years they had been in the same class. Yet, it's not until now that he has started feeling like this. Like he's being pulled towards her. (Or, part 1 of headcanons about classmate Thanos falling for a girl in his class over the summer).

Warnings: Parental neglect, strict parents, mentions of abuse, smoking. Reader is referred to as a girl. Probably OOC, but this is about a part of his life we don't know anything about, so i can make stuff up either way.

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: Since i promised to tag you @ivonhart

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had been in the same class as you since elementary school. Through all the years, he had the same role as class clown and often threw out jokes in the middle of class. Often getting reprimanded by teachers. Yet he was a favourite among his classmates and fellow younger students, though not really by the older ones.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who found school often to be something he disliked due to never really understanding the way teachers explained things. But he would look at students like you and your two friends who could understand everything and get in a sour mood.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who only had brief interactions with you throughout all your years in the same class but still knew you were the smartest in class.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who absolutely loathed whenever they did peer reviews in class. Usually he never wrote down any comments on his classmates works, knowing they always did a lot better than him anyway. So when he was handed a paper, he sighed heavily.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who overheard that you got his essay to review, and internally he cringed at this. Knowing what he had written and that it probably was not up to par with what such an academic student as you could write. Had anyone else gotten his essay, there would not be many notes, as most of them only verbally said if something was good or okay or even bad. But not you.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who forgot all about the essay he should be reading and the whole time kept his eyes trained on you. Watching your eyes move across his paper with a form of calmness, occasionally jotting down small comments on his paper that he wished to see immediately. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who averted his eyes from you when the teacher said to give the essay back to whoever you were reviewing. He grumbled a small "It was fine" to his friend Min-ki while handing his essay back. Just as he handed it over, though, he heard his name get called and turned only to be faced with you.

"Hey, here you go." You held out his essay for him to take, a small smile on your lips. 

"Oh, thanks..." Su-Bong took the paper from your hand with a tight smile, expecting you to walk off. But you didn't.

"I liked your essay, by the way, Su-Bong. I never really knew all of that about rap. There's just a few notes, but overall, it was great." 

"Thank you." He thanked not being able to withstand sitting up a little bit more from his slumped-over position. You gave a little nod and another smile before turning. Ha-eun, who stood behind you, handed yours back.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who frowned and looked through his three-page essay and the few notes you had jotted down for him. They were simple ones, only asking to explain a little further on one thing and a few small grammatical errors. Who knew getting to write an essay about something he liked would make him write a good one?

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who went home that day to his mess of a family and for once did not feel stupid after a long school day. Fixing the parts in his essay recommended by you so he could turn it in the next day to the teacher. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who was surprised when the teacher handed back the essays and patted him on the back for "stepping up". Seeing him get a score higher than he had gotten in a long time, especially in a subject that was not music.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who got stopped in the hallway by you after school as you asked him how it went with the essay. When he told how well he'd done and thanked you for the advice you'd given him, all you could do was shrug and say it was nothing. But it was something to Su-Bong.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who asked you then and there if you'd be open to helping him with schoolwork, to tutor him as his friends had said you were good at such things. And because his current one was shit. Getting a bright smile and nod as an answer made him raise his brows.

"You can?" He asked, a bit stunned.

"Of course," you nodded. "I'm more than happy to help."

"Are you free on Thursdays after school?" When he asked that, the way you smiled and your brows furrowed a little almost told him it was a stupid question. You were known to stay late and study.

"Mhm, just meet me in the classroom after school. I stay late often anyway."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who unconsciously then began to watch you more, not in a creepy way, but when he saw you, his eyes would linger on you for a moment. If you were in the classroom with friends and he walked past, his eyes would stay on you till he could no longer see you. When he heard your voice, his head would turn in the direction it came from, trying to locate where you were.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who enjoyed being tutored by you more than his old one. Unlike them, you adjusted the way you explained subjects to him. At first he had not understood a word you said, but after a bit of readjusting in your way of explaining, he slowly got the hang of it.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, whose eyes would flicker from the paper or book you were pointing to while explaining and back to you. His eyes would stay focused on you every time you checked his progress, the way you would mouth things that he could not hear and the way you would furrow your brows in concentration.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, despite getting to spend an hour or two extra with you every Thursday afternoon, could not find it in himself to strike up conversation outside of tutoring. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who would come to the classroom after school, having said his goodbyes to Min-ki and Dong-hyun as they left to get home, only to find you already in the classroom with your books out and earbuds in that connected to your MP3. He had no idea how you could do such long days in school.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who found himself actually improving after only three weeks of help from you, even earning himself more claps on the back from teachers. Even his parents took notice, getting to hear directly from his homeroom teacher of the change in his grades and quality of work as of late. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who never claimed to Min-ki and Dong-hyun that he had suddenly become an academic weapon when they pointed out their grades on the exam were still better than his. He had only said that "Shit’s easier to understand. It's weird." Which made his friends only shrug their shoulders because grades never really mattered anyway for Su-bong. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had been bored out of his mind while wandering the school halls, waiting for you to come to tutor him, had become a drag after ten minutes passed. But the sound that came from the gymnasium quickly caught his attention as he moved closer and creaked the door open slightly before sneaking in behind the equipment to investigate the sound. Much to his surprise, it had been you. Playing your violin. All alone in the gymnasium. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who accidentally made some gym equipment fall as he tried to get a better look, which caused him to curse a bit loudly. Looking up from his fallen-over position with a sheepish smile as you had whipped around and faced him, letting out a sigh at the realisation it was just him. 

"What the— Su-bong?" Your voice came out confused when you saw him.

He sat up and rubbed his neck. "Uhm... surprise?" 

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Didn't know you were a musician. Are you hiding a band in here too?" He dodged the question while standing himself up, watching as you put the violin down.

"That doesn't exactly answer my question."

"Well, I was waiting for you to tutor me, but you ditched me. So, technically, this is all your fault."

"I didn't ditch you," you shook your head. "I told you yesterday that I would be fifteen minutes late."

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me why." He watched as you snapped the buckles to your case shut. "Had I known, I'd have been here much sooner."

"Why?" You could not help but ask with a slight laugh. When your eyes met his with an expectant look, he averted them and tried acting nonchalant.

"Obviously to listen." He shrugged, turning away slightly before speaking again. "You're really good, by the way."

"Oh, I—thank you. But you can't just come spying on me."

"I wasn't spying. I was... appreciating. There's a difference. You're smart, so you should know that."

You chuckled at him, also not missing the flattery that he surely thought would get him out of tutoring. "You're not getting out of tutoring, you know."

"Man, seriously?”

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who was relieved that summer had come and that he would finally get a well-deserved break from school. While walking out of school with his friends, spotting you with your friends. Nodding his head at you when you shot him a smile, a way to tell you to have a good summer.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had in the beginning hoped that his summer break would at least not include sitting at home. Yet, it did. Neither of his mother or father being able to stay home or take him anywhere during the long break. He could not even hang out with Min-ki and Dong-hyun, who were out of Seoul for the entire summer.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who spent the first week of summer break lounging on his couch, watching TV, and eating whatever junk he wanted. Only getting minimal texts from the guys who were busy spending time with their families.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, after spending a whole week inside, decided he would go out and see if anything would inspire him. But it ended up only being him walking outside in the summer heat with earbuds in as they blasted his newly downloaded music. Rap, to be specific.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who weaved his way between people in the market, giving nasty glares towards guys younger than him who bumped his shoulder. Trying to find where that place that sold his favourite food was now again turned out to be a bigger hassle with so many people lingering around the marketplace.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who stopped in his tracks and had to backtrack a few steps with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows at spotting your familiar face among the crowd. Standing by your bicycle while paying for some groceries. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who could not help but make his way over, hands in his pockets, as he called your name and got your attention. Your face displayed surprise upon seeing him, having thought he would have been with Min-ki and Dong-hyun all summer.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who were surprised, although he did not let it show, to find out your friends Soo-min and Ha-eun were also gone for the whole summer. This has left both of you all alone and without friends to hang out with.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who asks to join in on your shopping round, claiming he has nothing better to do. Which he really didn't. Occasionally, he would poke fun at your seriousness when it came to choosing the right fruits. His joking around would only bring a small smile onto your lips as the two of you walked through the market stand by stand. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who insisted on walking with you to your neighbourhood, stealing glances at you every now and then. For some strange reason, he also felt strangely at ease with you, enjoying that you were so easy to crack a joke to. Every time, he earned either a small laugh or a small smile pulling at your lips.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who only reached the edge of your neighbourhood before you stopped him, saying that you could take it all from here. He watched you almost get onto the bike to cycle the last bit but was able to stop you before you were off.

"You know, we should hang out sometime." He said it as casually as he could, hands in his pockets while shrugging.

"Hang out?" You echoed, brows raised a bit. 

"Yeah. I mean, we get along, right? And besides, neither of us really has anything to do either way. So why not keep each other company?"

"I—uh. Hmm." You did not really know what to say.

"Beats sitting inside, bored, all summer." 

"I don't know, Su-bong. My parents are sort of strict about who I meet outside of school. Soo-min and Ha-eun are really the only ones they agree to."

Su-bong clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Come on, (Name). You're smart—I'm sure you can come up with a simple lie."

"If my parents find out, I will be grounded till I'm married." 

"I'm sure you can bat your lashes and come up with something to cover our asses. Or what, do you want to spend all summer alone and doing nothing?"

You sighed and thought about it before answering. "Fine. But my parents really cannot know about this."

"That's the spirit!" Su-bong nudged your arm slightly. "You got my number?"

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who walked home that day with your number in his mobile phone. Part of him began to wonder what lies you would tell your parents to be allowed to leave the house without having them hunting you down.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who later that night messaged you and asked if you would be free the next day. Only minutes later did he get an answer that you had nothing planned and a question of where to meet. Quickly, he sent back a place, a bit further from your home as he now understood you not wanting him in your neighbourhood, and a time that would at least let him sleep in.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who met up with you the next day five minutes late and could not help but poke fun at your obvious nervousness. Commenting on how you really had to relax a little, also pointing out that the only reason your parents would ever find out about this all was if you ever slipped up with whatever lies you made up. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who got surprised an hour or so into the two of you going around town, seeing how you began to loosen up. You were no longer looking around like a child hiding while eating sweets they weren't allowed. The tension in your shoulders left, and instead of just rolling your eyes at his remarks, you shot some back.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who went home after hanging out that first day, found himself having enjoyed it a lot more than he originally thought. It was different from when he hung out with Min-ki and Dong-hyun. Sure, they knew him well and had been friends with him since kindergarten, but still.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, after three days of hanging out, asked you if the two of you could please take your bike instead of walking. Because of his insistence, you said yes, much to his delight, but that also meant he had to sit on your bike carrier. This led to some arguing as you wobbled a little in the beginning, but when you sternly told him to just sit still and shut up, Su-bong was in no way about to test you and only answered with a slight smirk, "Yes, ma'am."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who would fill the silence between the two of you with anything rap-related. You had always known he liked rap and did it himself; he was not shy to ever announce it to the whole class. Surprisingly enough, you ended up learning a lot about the genre you had never indulged in.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who gets pulled along to your favourite bookshop one day and just trails behind you as you point out ones that you desperately wanted to read. He did not understand your love for words on pages, but he did not exactly complain because at least he had someone to spend the summer with. But he would furrow his brows questioningly when you left the bookshop without even buying a single one of the twenty-something books you had pointed out.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who realised you were not just an incredibly study-focused person, but actually someone who had never really gotten to do just whatever.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, after a whole week of hanging out, found himself enjoying your company more than he thought he would.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who dragged you along to the best arcade in town where he spent the majority of his money insisting he could win a prize from the claw machine. Finally, you stepped in and won the prize on your first try, leaving the boy to gape at you before jokingly calling you a "witch."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who focused on beating his own record at his favourite game while you stand off to the side, almost yelling at him to listen to your advice. When he does as you suggest and he wins, both of you high-five at the win.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you pulled along to a part of the city where there was a whole neighbourhood with abandoned buildings filled with graffiti. The two of you find one that gives the best view of the city skyline, and from then on, when neither of you knew what to do, that was your place to go. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who did not call or message with Min-ki and Dong-hyun as much only three and a half weeks into summer break. The majority of his calls were instead to you, sometimes even calling when your parents were home. 

"Come on, ditch violin practice and come keep me company. I'm dying over here." His comment made you roll your eyes, as if he could see from the other side of the phone.

"Hm, no thank you. I don't feel like being strung up by my toes today!" You shot back at him, causing him to groan.

"And here I was thinking we were making progress." 

"Who is it you're talking to, (Name)?" Your mother suddenly glanced into your room as you sat on the bed.

"Just Ha-eun." You answered smoothly. The choked sounds on the other side of the phone and snickering made you want to smack him in the head.

"Oh, well, tell her I said hi!" Your mother smiled a little before retracting down the hallway.

"Dude," Su-bong lost it, laughter a bit muffled. "You didn't even hesitate. That was so smooth—look at you becoming a pro at lying!" 

You sighed and rubbed your face, but the smile still pulled at your lips. "Shut up." 

"No, I'm like actually impressed. Should I be worried?"

"For me to hang up? Yes."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who found himself thinking about you more often than he liked. His mind often went to think about what he had said, your reaction to it, what you would be doing the next day, and anything that had to do with you.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, after almost four weeks of hanging out, slung an arm over your shoulder to prepare for his proposition. Dragging out a "So..." while you gave him a side glance, awaiting whatever dumb idea he had now gotten to come out. When you told him to just tell you, he did as he was told.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who awaited your big blow-up, as you for the moment just stood and stared at him, blinking occasionally, as if he had just suggested the two of you go and steal from the local bank. Especially when all he had suggested was for you to sneak out one night. "Everything's more fun at night," he had claimed.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, instead of getting a full-on lecture, got a question of what the two of you would even do. This made a sly grin spread on his face as it sounded like you were not completely opposed to the whole idea. Was he a bad influence on you?

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who made out an intricate plan on how you were to sneak out. Both of you came to the conclusion that the upcoming Friday night would be perfect because your parents went to bed slightly earlier. Hours before your parents would come home, you for once showed Su-bong exactly where your apartment was and painted out your window (that was on the first floor, only two meters above the ground). 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who that Friday, at your decided time, waited on the grass below your window as you opened your window and tossed down your jacket for him to catch. Once you had jumped down and stood up, he could not help but make a single comment.

"Not bad for a first escape." Su-bong said with a smirk while handing you your jacket.

"Yeah, you're such a bad influence." You shot back sarcastically, already moving towards your bike by the bike stand and unlocking it. 

"I'm honoured you think so!" 

You shook your head, pulling out your bike and getting ready to go. But you could not help the growing smile, having grown quite fond of the boy's antics. "Just get on, idiot." 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had directed you to a 24-hour convenience store. He jumped off before you parked your bike off to the side and locked it. When you gave him a raised brow, he told you that he was "paying back" for all the free rides you had given him.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who followed you inside and had a hard time keeping up with your speed as you went from shelf to shelf and grabbed your favourite things. It ended up being more than he thought, but at the same time, you had been pedalling around with him on the back of your bike for four weeks, so it was really nothing.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who sat on the curb of the convenience store with you, looking at all the people going in and out and watching the star-filled sky. When a group of drunk university students walked past and two ended up toppling over each other, you and Su-bong could not keep from laughing.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who later that night, when the two of you were quietly sitting on the roof of the abandoned building, pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Taking one and placing it between his lips, out the corner of his eye he could see you looking at him. Without saying a word, he held out the pack to you, not expecting you to take one, but you did.

"Something wrong?" You asked while taking the lighter from Su-bong's hand, fingers brushing against his as he took an inhale.

"Since when do you smoke?" Smoke left his mouth as he asked that question.

"I don't do it often if that's what you think." You let out a breathy laugh, lighting the cigarette.

All you got was a dumbfounded face in response, like this was the biggest revelation in his whole life. So you explained further. "My dad smokes; I've taken some of his every now and then. He doesn't notice."

"For real?" Su-bong asked and earned a nod in response. Then it was as if he deflated a bit. "Damn. And I thought I would be a bad influence."

"Sorry to burst your bubble. My dad has a bit more influence than you."

"Wait a moment..." He sat up, exhaling the smoke in his mouth while looking at you with narrowed eyes. "Do Soo-min and Ha-eun know their angel of a friend smokes?"

"First of all, no, they don't. And second of all, angel?"

"What? It fits you, angel."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who that night helped you back up into your room through the window, having to give you a little extra push. Once you were inside and leaned out the window to wave bye to him, he could not help but notice the rather large smile on your face.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who learnt that you were not just smiles, politeness, and intelligence in the form of a human, but you had attitude and humour. It was a huge contrast to the polite and respectful girl who would sit in class and do her work. You did not shy away from a witty comment.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who later the next week after spending the day at the arcade, casually mentioned doing something later that same night. He had fully been expecting you to say it had been a one-time thing, but instead, as you grabbed your bike, he got an "I'm in" from you.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had not in the beginning of the summer expected to hang out with you every day, and now, also, some nights. It was almost as if he had forgotten about Dong-hyun and Min-ki.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you would run around town with any time of the day, as long as your parents had no idea what you were doing. The adventures consisted of frequent visits to the 24-hour convenience store, urban exploration, bike rides around the closer neighbourhoods, sharing a cigarette or two, or even going around stores in town along with everyone else participating in Seoul's nightlife.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who would sit outside your violin lessons in the summer and listen to you replaying the same passage over and over till it would be perfect. He had no idea why the old woman who was your teacher had to be so loud about your mistakes, like screaming about it would help you in any way. It made him pull a face of disdain for the woman he had never met.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who would sometimes sneak inside the big theatre when you had lessons just to hide behind the chairs to listen to you better. The few times you had caught him out of the corner of your eye, he would give you a thumbs up as a silent way to say you were doing great. His goofy face and thumbs up would make you have to hold back a laugh while playing, causing your teacher to stop to ask what was so funny.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you would laugh with after your lesson about the old woman's overdramatic reaction to a single smile. This would then lead to you complaining about the woman as Su-bong sat at the back of your bike and made comments that furthered your laughter.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who for some reason, after that first successful sneak out, began calling you angel. It would often leave you rolling your eyes at him, telling him to quit it, but the heat rising to your cheeks said otherwise. Su-bong could not understand the issue, just shrugging and enjoying the reactions out of you while continuing to call you angel. Instead of your name, angel was what he called you.

"Oi, angel! Over here!" 

"Yo, slow down! The hell? Are you trying to ditch me, angel?"

"Where you at? You're still at home? Hurry up, angel, I'm bored as hell out here!"

"What? You want me to start calling you '(Name)' like some stranger? No way, angel."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who found your reactions priceless, either the roll of your eyes with a small smile or a swift smack to the back of his head. No matter what, he loved them all. Because at least you were paying attention to him in some way. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you noticed had almost no sense of personal space. It was nothing weird; it was just as though you, after only a few weeks, had reached the same level of friendship he had with Dong-hyun and Min-ki. There would be an arm around your shoulder at random times when walking, when you played an arcade game he would be looming right by your shoulder while poking you whenever you were close to winning, his hands would land on your shoulders whenever you agreed to yet another late-night hangout, and he would find himself grabbing the back of your shirt when the two of you navigated through crowds.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who sometimes in crowds just had his brain go blank, which made you tell him to just hold onto your bag's shoulder strap. It had once or twice happened that he just walked into a pole in the middle of the street, so you were just being cautious.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who still watched you closely, whenever he said something, was awaiting a reaction from you.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who one day suggested you both spend the day at his house. When you walked inside, you could not help but let your eyes go wide at the scale of everything; it was so much bigger than your family's apartment. They even had those fancy fridges with ice and water dispensers. The Choi family was truly rich.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who shrugged about his home, because for him it was a cold and boring one. There was no life, no baby photos of him or old photos of his parents, just two pictures of him and his parents. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who let you roam about his room and find whatever you wanted to entertain yourself, and in your case that had been his Nintendo. He was seated by his computer, downloading music onto his newest MP3. You had found yourself comfy at the foot of his bed while you played the game that had been in his Nintendo.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who immediately sat up from his relaxed position at the slam of the front door. You jumped at the loud sound, not used to such things. Glancing over at the boy, he was already on his feet, cursing under his breath.

"Fuck," Su-bong muttered as he heard the clattering of keys against wood. "My dad's home. Fuck. Come on, angel." 

He ushered you to get up, and you did so, not even arguing about the nickname. "What? What's going on?"

At first he did not answer and only grabbed your wrist lightly, cursing under his breath while trying to gently guide you towards his closet. When you put a hand on top of his on your wrist was when he turned to you, meeting your eyes. "Su-bong."

He stared at you for a second, hearing the steps that seemed to move towards the stairs. Su-bong then sighed. 

"My dad is not like your parents. He doesn't give a single shit about boundaries. If he sees you here, even if he doesn’t know you, he'll start talking shit to you and about you—" He cut himself off with a sigh, hearing the footsteps moving up the stairs. "Look, you don't need to experience him. Just hide—please."

Without another word, you just nodded. Su-bong quickly opened his closet for you to get inside before closing it. With ease he moved and dropped down onto his bed, just as the footsteps up the stairs moved towards his room. He grabbed the Nintendo on his bed and began fiddling with it.

No knock or form of signal that his father was going to come inside was given, the door only opening and revealing him. Su-bong glanced up at him before speaking. "You're home early,"

"And you're still wasting your time here." His father spoke with a grunt. “Did you do anything besides sit here like a bum all day?”

Su-bong stared at his dad for a minute before looking down at the Nintendo in his hands, shaking his head. “Nope. Pretty much perfected the art of breathing, though.”

“You know what, forget it.” His dad let out a sharp breath, waving his hand while pushing the door to Su-bong's room closed again. 

The boy sat for a moment, listening intently to the sound of footsteps descending downstairs once again. Letting out a sigh, he turned towards the closet. “Coast's clear, angel.”

Cracking the closet door open and easily slipping out, your eyes flickered towards the door before moving back to Su-bong on the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, eyes moving all over the place until he looked at her and stood up. “Come on, let's go out instead.”

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had expected you to ask so many more questions after that day, but instead it was as though you had a silent understanding for his situation.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who one late night suddenly placed his hands on your waist while you were pedalling towards the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of Seoul. The sudden feeling made only your eyes glance down, as to not alert the boy behind you in any way. After a moment, you looked up as you shrugged it all off and let his hands stay there. It is a better way to keep himself stable and make your work easier either way.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had only felt how you tensed up a bit at the sudden contact, but as quickly as it had happened, you relaxed and focused back on the directions. He could not help the growing smirk on his face. If you had seen it, you would have asked what was funny or even smacked the back of his head for being "weird." But you could not see it.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who always knew you had a small digital camera with you wherever you went. Upon seeing something you deemed beautiful, you would click a photo of it. As of late, you had taken quite a few photos with your camera and sometimes made Su-bong wonder if there was something you did not label as beautiful.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who once stole your camera from where it was lying on the ground and turned it so the lens was turned towards him and snapped about seven or eight photos of himself. Swiftly, he then put the camera down as if it had always lain there untouched. You did not end up finding out until three days later when you went to print out some photos for your wall. You had to cover your mouth to not attract attention in the small store as you looked at the photos, also a bit surprised he got himself somewhat in frame. Su-bong did hear from you later that day about it, but he did not know you had actually not been able to resist printing three of them.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had never been in your family's apartment during the whole summer. As you put it, your neighbours, an elderly couple who had known you and your parents for many years, would more than likely tell your parents that a boy had been with you. But he did not blame you; this whole hanging-out idea was his to begin with.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who one night found himself wandering around your neighbourhood alone, escaping the hellhole of home his parents made it when they both were home at once. Glancing down the familiar road, he pulled out his phone, starting to type a quick message while walking down it. Once he spotted the window he was looking for, he saw a lamp had to be on even if the light curtains were drawn. With that, he sent the message. "Look outside."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who only seconds later watched as the curtains were opened and you looked out your window. A minute later your window was open, and you looked down at him.

"What the hell are you doing here? It's past midnight!" You whispered harshly down to the boy. He could not keep from smirking.

"I missed you, angel. Can I come up?" 

You shook your head but leaned out a little further in the window, gently clapping your hands as a signal for him to throw up his backpack. Su-bong did so, and you caught it with ease, pulling it through the window and placing it on your floor. "You're insane." 

When you pulled back into your room, swiftly moving to lock your door, it did not take more than two minutes before Su-bong's head peeked inside your window. You walked over, holding out a hand to help him inside with as little noise as possible. 

Climbing in through your window, he took a quick glance around your room. It was small but in a cosy way. Quietly he stepped down into your room, stumbling a little, from the window, and felt you loosen your grip on his hand, so he let go.

"You're lucky my parents are sleeping. They will kill me if they hear you." You said in a low voice while closing the window and drawing your curtains again. 

"Relax. I'm like a ninja." Su-bong joked, but the usual edge to it was missing. 

"You're a walking disaster." You turned around and faced him. "Seriously though, Su-bong, what are you doing here?"

There was nothing accusatory in your tone, so he shrugged while looking around, eyeing the music sheet on your desk. He then shrugged before answering. "Just didn't feel like being home. Can I stay?"

"I—..." You cut yourself off, your face turning with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'll just hang out here; you can do whatever you were doing." 

You just stared at him. 

"I'll be quiet. Promise."

A small smile pulled on your lips as you watched him look over the books on your bookshelf. "Sure. But if my parents hear you, I'll tell them you broke in.”

"Fair game, angel." Su-bong nodded and gave a light chuckle at your comment; his teasing smirk then returned. "So, this is where the magic happens.

"Oh, shut up!"

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who made himself comfortable on your bed with his Nintendo and MP3 player as you continued to look over some things for your next violin lesson. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who in a quiet voice made a comment about Soo-min and Ha-eun really having a whole wall that was almost explicitly containing photos of them and you. For the fun of it, he teasingly asked what he needed to do to end up on that wall. In response, all he got from you was "To stop annoying me." That would be impossible.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you sternly told he should not sleep on the floor, but that he also had to keep to his own side of the bed if he did not want to get kicked out. Little did either of you know that both of you experienced an increase in heartbeats.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who a few days later repaid you for risking getting caught and allowing him to stay over with the typical convenience store snacks you liked. But you seemingly made no big deal out of it all.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who noticed you no longer just took photos of the landscape but had caught you snapping a few of him too. At times he would grab it from you and insist on taking one together, to which you did not say no. While these photos could not make their way on your wall without your parents questioning it, you still printed them and kept them in your desk. They laid with your favourite photos of you, Soo-min, and Ha-eun. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who noticed that you no longer would have a reaction whenever he called you angel. You went from telling him to stop it to not even blinking at the use of the nickname. At times, though, you would smile a little at the use of it, which Su-bong could not help but notice.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who was completely and utterly baffled to learn that you had never really listened to rap before, even if you would let him ramble on about it as if you understood. When you admitted this to him, he went wide-eyed, yelling out a loud "What?" while staring at you. This led to a long interrogation by Su-bong to figure out how you had never listened to the genre.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who made it his own mission to indoctrinate you into rap. It began with playing music from his MP3 player, watching you like a hawk for any sign that you liked the songs. When he would see your head moving the slightest to the beats, slowly bobbing your head along, he would nudge your shoulder while saying that you were finally listening to "real" music. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who started to, without your knowledge, download rap on a new MP3 player he'd bought. It was songs he considered the standard, basic but still good songs. All so you could somehow get into the genre even more on your own. When he was done for the night, he sat back and answered a message from Min-ki, only to then completely question his actions.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who felt like he was going through an existential crisis when it finally hit him that all he had been doing as of late was not something he'd even do for Min-ki or Dong-hyun. It all hit him like bricks being thrown in his face.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who now could explain why he felt like he gained something from hearing you laugh at his jokes. He now has his explanation as to why he wants you to listen to this music so much. He had to sit down on his bed and put his head in his hands, saying a single thing to himself, "Oh, fuck me." 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who went to sleep that night still in complete shock at this new revelation. How did he, of all people, find himself having feelings for a girl who less than a year ago he would not even know a single thing about?

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who the next day had the MP3 player in his back pocket the whole time you and he hung out. He was acting the same as always, jokes flying out left and right and endless teasing that made you simply shake your head. Whenever there was a silence that stretched for longer than a minute, he contemplated just handing you the MP3 player. He could just say it was one of his old ones and claim it was since you seemingly liked rap so much. But he put it off.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had just jumped off your bike as you slowed down to get off when you said you and your parents were going away the last five days of summer break, which was next week.

"Angel... no." He spoke as if you had just betrayed him in the worst way possible. You could not help but crack a sheepish smile at his antics.

"It's just for five days—" You went to explain, but his mouth went wider and immediately interrupted you.

"Five days? First Min-ki, then Dong-hyun, and now you? You're all ditching me. Do you want me to go crazy and start talking to myself?" He walked closer to you, trying to stay serious, but when you began laughing lightly, he could not help but crack a smile. 

He was playing around; of course he would not die without you for five days. But he had taken notice that you, unlike many others, did not find his overdramatic joking annoying but endearing. 

"You already talk to yourself." You pointed out to him with a small smile.

"That's besides the point,"

"I will have my phone. We'll still be able to talk."

"Hm," Su-bong hummed, agreeing that did work. His hands slipped inside his pockets, his right hand gracing the MP3 player still in his pockets. 

You shook your head, grabbing the handles of your bikes and beginning to walk the short way to your home. He quickly caught up, an arm finding its way over your shoulder. He could not help but like that you did not pull away from him, letting him hook his arm around you.

"Alright, angel. Since you're ditching me, you owe me—we hang out every day until you leave. No excuses."

"Sure." You shook your head at him. "Damn drama queen."

"Hey!"

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who later the next week, after having hung out every day without any excuses like you agreed to, still had the MP3 player in his back pocket. He found himself taking it out of his pocket when getting home every day and fiddling with it, like trying to think of when the perfect time to give it to you would be.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who the night before you were going away insisted the two of you go to the abandoned rooftop. Once there, he lit himself a cigarette as the two of you talked and joked about anything you could think about.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who raised his brows when you got a call from Soo-min as the two of you were talking. You answered without hesitation, and from how you were talking, he could tell you had not told her either about the two of you hanging out. A mischievous expression took over his face as he stepped on the cigarette.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who out of nowhere grabbed your wrist and yanked the phone towards himself so he could yell out a hello to Soo-min on the other line. You swiftly smacked him in the head with your hand as he laughed when hearing Soo-min's confused voice. You had rushed out a goodbye before turning and, while laughing, telling him it was not funny. But still, the thought of how Soo-min's face must have looked kept you both laughing for longer than it should have.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who later, when you were both walking back home, pulled out the MP3 player and handed it to you. At your confused face, he explained it had some good songs on it, just to get you started on rap. Jokingly he said you would now have something good to listen to during your almost three-hour car ride the next day.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who made up the excuse that the MP3 player was one of his old ones that he no longer used when you thanked him but said you could not take it. He turned away, hands in his pockets after so you could not see his face, all while shrugging his shoulders as if it was nothing special. You did not say that you knew he was lying; the MP3 player looked way too new. But it made your heart swell.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who the next day, for once during the whole summer, could not simply shoot you a text or even call to ask what you were up to because he already knew. You were in a car on your way to your grandparents. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who spent that first day more bored than he remembered himself being that first week of summer break. The majority of the time he spent in his room, playing games and only walking downstairs once that night when his parents were home to take up some food for himself.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who the next day went out on his own, having talked to Dong-hyun, who were going to come back the next day, late, when it was only two days until school started again. He found himself visiting all the places that you and he would go to.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who headed for the convenience store around 11 pm, the same one you and he visited, picking out some snacks and a drink for himself. When paying, the same guy that usually worked was there. The worker glanced around the aisles while scanning everything Su-bong had picked up. 

"Where's that girlfriend of yours?" The worker, a twenty-something old guy, spoke suddenly and with a hint of curiosity. 

Su-bong, who had his earbuds in and music from his MP3 player loudly playing in his ears, did not fully hear what the guy had said. He pulled the earbuds from his ears by the cable and furrowed his brows in confusion. "Huh?"

"The girl you're always here with." The worker cleared up, then let out a slight laugh before speaking again. "What, she finally ditched you?"

"She didn't ditch me, man. She's out of town." Su-bong spoke with a hint of annoyance, having hoped it would've been a quick in-and-out of the store.

"So, she is your girlfriend."

"Mind your own business."

"Damn, touchy." The worker smirked. "Thought you'd just say no."

Su-bong grabbed the cash from his pocket and unceremoniously slammed it onto the counter, startling the guy a little. He then snatched back his soda and snacks.

"Maybe I just don't like nosy cashiers who talk too much."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, once he was outside, sat himself down on the curb and popped open the bag of snacks just as his phone began buzzing. While chewing on a chip, he picked it up with furrowed brows, but when seeing your name on the small screen, he did not hesitate to answer it. 

"Well, well, would you look at that—one might actually think you are missing me, angel."

There was a pause before you scoffed lightly on the other side of the phone. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Too late," he answered. "You've been gone less than two days, and now you are calling me first? I'm basically a priority at this point."

"You are so full of yourself."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who talked with you for almost an hour that night, getting to know all you'd done while away. He liked it, sitting and listening to you explain the things you had done with your family ever since getting to your grandparents. While talking to you, he slowly began making his way home, occasionally taking a sip or two of his soda. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who spent the whole day after all on his own. But he at least figured out what to do besides being outside. The majority of it consisted of him playing games and listening to music, going out to have a cigarette once. But later that night, he not only got a call from you but also a message from Dong-hyun that he was back and wanted to meet up the next day.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who even if Dong-hyun came back and they hung out the last two days of summer break, got a few texts here and there from you, as if updating him on the strangest things you could think of. But he still appreciated that you still wanted to talk, seemingly having not grown tired of him yet.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who only shrugged and told Dong-hyun that his summer had been pretty uneventful. Su-bong vaguely told him that he kept himself busy while he and Min-ki were away. When Dong-hyun questioned this, saying that many of his calls had not been answered until late and that Min-ki had told him the same, as many of their mails had gone unannounced, all Su-bong did was shrug and repeat he had kept himself busy.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had to withstand Dong-hyun asking him repeatedly to actually tell him what he had been up to all summer. It was like he had become a walking headache to Su-bong; whenever he thought his friend was done asking, a new try at getting information from him was tried. Of course, Su-bong would not tell Dong-hyun and Min-ki—he respected you and did not want to have them running off and telling everyone in school on the first day, especially if you didn't want that.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who actually felt a bit bothered thinking about what would happen when school started again. He heavily disliked the thought of having to act like the two of you were not friends in school, too. With your parents, he understood, and he respected it heavily. Maybe if he did not feel the way he did for you, maybe if you were only a friend to him, it would not be such a bother. But you were not just a friend. No matter how he wanted to feel.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who were hanging out with Dong-hyun and Min-ki, who had just returned, the day before school started, felt his phone vibrate a little. When he picked it up and saw you had written that you were on your way home, he could not help but smile at knowing you would be back. It did not go unnoticed by his two friends; Dong-hyun immediately accused him of having a secret girlfriend, which made Min-ki raise his eyebrows in confusion.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who went to school the next day, was immediately swept up by Dong-hyun and Min-ki, along with some of the other guys in the same class. All of them were catching up outside before even walking inside school, seeing as there was a long time till they had to actually be in class.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who was deep in conversation with four other guys from your class when he spotted your familiar face. You were smiling as you slowed down your bike to park it, along with Soo-min and Ha-eun, who went to do the same. His eyes followed you as you hooked arms with Soo-min as Ha-eun was clearly telling the two of you something.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who got nudged by one of your classmates, Woo-jin, asking if he was even listening. He turned his eyes to the group of boys staring back at him, saying he zoned out, and they all shrugged, but the conversation continued nonetheless.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who caught your eye as you walked past the group of boys. Upon seeing him again, you shot him a smile and a small wave with your free hand that had not been hooked with Soo-min. When Su-bong noticed, he gave a slight smile and nod of acknowledgement. A part of him warmed upon seeing you again.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had to hear Dong-hyun, Min-ki, Woo-jin, and Ji-ho ask who that nod was for, as neither of them had seen your smile. Woo-jin and Ji-ho, both confused, got caught up by Min-ki and Dong-hyun about their speculation that Su-bong had spent the summer with someone.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, once they reached their classroom, felt like he had hit the jackpot. This year he sat one row behind you, diagonally to your right, from what he saw on the seating chart drawn upon the board. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who sat down at his desk quietly at first, decided to sit and not speak with you if that was what you wanted, but his spirits were lifted when you spoke to him first. You had turned to him, mid-conversation with Hye-ran, smiling and saying hey.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you struck up a conversation with immediately, ignoring the confused looks on Soo-min's and Ha-eun's faces. You and Su-bong had never spoken like this before the summer. Sure, they knew you had tutored him last semester, but the two of you did not talk like this. This was new. The way you leaned closer and told about what you did those five days away.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had his conversation with you interrupted by Ha-eun, who finally asked since when you two were friends. Su-bong, who revelled in your slightly flustered expression, asked you to explain to your friends. He found it funny how when away from prying eyes, you were extremely calm, yet under the eyes of your best friends, you got flustered.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who sat back and listened as you, without much detail, explained how the two of you bumped into each other during the summer and hung out a few times. He wanted to laugh out loud—a few times was an understatement. It also amused him how you left out certain details, as if Soo-min and Ha-eun would lecture you about it. Dong-hyun and Min-ki both sat beside him and whispered about how this explained everything. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who got asked by Ha-eun and Soo-min if your parents knew the two of you had hung out, to which silence followed. The two girls had turned to you as if you had committed a crime for not telling them this. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who out of what had now become a habit, called you "angel" in front of both your and his friends. Your eyes had widened slightly while staring straight at Su-bong, who realised, but he could not help but pull an amused smile at your flustered face. The wide eyes from your friends that followed were as far as their shock could get, however, because just as they went to loudly ask their questions, the teacher entered the classroom.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who shrugged his shoulders at you when Ha-eun and Soo-min went to sit down, your eyes still on him. For the fun of it, before the teacher could speak, he whispered a quiet "Sorry, angel" to you. The people in front and behind the two of you heard, and your face heated up even more. Before turning to focus on the teacher, you shot Su-bong a pointed look, which earned a quiet laugh.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who prepared himself for you to lecture him after school, but did not expect what you did during lunch instead.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who barely had stood up to join Min-ki and Dong-hyun before you had stood up and grabbed his arm, effectively pulling him out of the classroom before your friends could get their hands on you. Dong-hyun and Min-ki whistled at the two of you before laughing along with some other boy in the class who had overheard. Soo-min and Ha-eun tried to catch up to the two of you but failed.

"Where are we—" He had barely any chance to process where you had dragged him off to before a hand hit him over the head. "Ow!"

"What the hell were you thinking calling me that in front of everyone? The whole class, at that!" You asked as Su-bong rubbed the back of his head. He took a glance at you before giving a slight grin to you.

"What? It's not like I said anything bad. Didn't you say you didn't care about that anymore?" 

You stared at him for a moment, your face still hot from the embarrassment that had hit you when some of the boys whistled as you dragged Su-bong off. His grin made you narrow your eyes before swiftly giving him another whack.

"Ow! Calm down, woman!"

"I don't care. But you could have just let me tell Soo-min and Ha-eun properly before." You ignored his dramatics and crossed your arms. Still, your eyes softened when looking at him, but it went unnoticed by Su-bong, who started to speak.

"Well, you can’t blame me for being honest. It's not my fault you're—" Before he could get any further, he felt you gently wrap your arms over his shoulders in a quick but tight hug. 

"It's good to see you again." You said softly to him, causing his heart to beat a little faster. Then, as quickly as you had hugged him, you pulled away. The boy quickly recovered.

"Five days and you miss me that much, huh?" He speaks with a teasing tone, nudging you lightly.

You rolled your eyes. "Don't push your luck."

"You know, you could have just said you missed me without hitting me first."

"Hm, that's boring, and you deserved it."

His grin softened into something more genuine. "It's good seeing you too, angel.”

— If you guys want a part 2, please tell me; I have even more ideas for this. Also, if you have an idea that I could add in that part, I'm always open to suggestions!

[misstycloud]

Queen of hearts reader x yan card knights

As the next in line for the throne its most important you raise yourself with dignity, elegance and wit. You could not afford to fail or show any weakness. If you did, it could mean your downfall.

So you grew up with this heavy burden; classes in dozens of subject going from dawn to dusk, fearing you might get assassinated, polishing your appearance to absolute perfection.

When it was finally your turn to take over the crown, you were nervous. Despite having trained hard for this moment ever since you were born, you still feared for the future. Would you really be able to lead with the same strength as those before you? Or would you do a terrible job and doom the kingdom? Those were both equally possible options.

Luckily, you did have trustworthy friends by your side who’d lay down their lives in order to protect you.

Lucius Stormheart was your childhood friend. He’d been with you for as long as you could remember. He was the son of the captain of the royal guard, whom have been a friend of your father for a very long time. Perhaps that is one of the reasons the two of you were introduced. You were around seven and nine at the time. You still remember how he refused to meet your gaze and bowed deeply whilst telling you what an honour it was to meet you.

He was a bit stiff for his age, you believed it was because of the legacy and role he’d have to eventually take over; although you were hardly one to talk. If you had any other friends they’d probably also think you’re strange and not at all fun.

Lucius and you never really played traditional children’s games. It was already decided he would become a knight, so he became your guard. Of course, there was no real danger since you stayed within the palace but he took his duty seriously; constantly following you in silence and staying vigilant of anything that moved. Usually, you would have tea in the garden and he would just stand watch. You beckoned him to sit down and enjoy himself, offering him sweets and other delicacies, but he only shook his head. It went on like that for years. You grew tired of him hardly uttering a single word to you. He was supposed to be your friend but wouldn’t even engage in simple conversation. He truly was too stiff for his young age.

You recalled one day, you were almost an adult then, when you wanted to tease him a bit. You pretended to have lost your gold bracelet somewhere in the grass and cried for him to find it. The moment he bent down in the grass to scour for he (not) lost jewelry, you took off as quick as your legs were able. Lucius immediately reacted and shouted for you to come back, but you had gotten a head start.

You laughed as you felt the freedom you’d never had. It wasn’t long until you ditched your fine shoes and ran barefoot. The wind in your hair and ground under your feet felt great. Lucius’ voice wasn’t far behind you. Tiredness overcame you and you threw yourself down among the green and the flowers. You closed your eyes.

Not soon after you heard heavy footsteps and deep breaths. You looked up to see your childhood friend-made-guard loom over you with a furious expression. How could you just run off like that? Do you understand how dangerous it is for someone in your position? You could be attacked!

You ignored his scolding and rolled around, inspecting the flowers instead.

“Are you even listening to a word I say? Of course not.” He huffed. “You can’t run away from me. Ever. If you do, I might not be able to protect you. Imagine that someone had managed to sneak into the palace ground and was waiting for an opportunity to assassinate you, this would be the perfect moment to do so. Honestly, have you no sense of danger? I’d think someone with your background would posses more caution-“

You drowned out his speech. You were staring blankly at him, an idea came to you, you wanted to tease him further. Besides, this was something you’ve wanted yourself for some time. You rolled your eyes with a smile and sat up.

“- and then it would not only affect you but also-“

“Lucius.” You said gently.

He quieted down. It was evident he was not yet done and seethed in silence, after all, you were a princess whilst he was nothing but a commoner. A commoner inheriting an important role and being more privileged than other commoners was still a commoner nonetheless.

“Can you come closer?”

The young guard frowned but did as told. He knelt beside you and awaited your next words. What he did not expect was for you to caress his cheeks and quickly pull him in for a kiss. Lucius’ mind went completely blank. At first, there was nothing, no air, no light, no sound. Then after a couple second came everything, the warmth of the sunny afternoon, the sound of birds twittering on branches and the feeling of your lips against his. They moved with a gentle passion, your tongue licking his lips, asking permission to enter. He complied. It was sweet and warm, completely different from the early mornings and harsh trainings he goes through everyday.

It wasn’t until after you pulled away and smiled at him that Lucius remembered how to breathe. He stood up like someone had burned him- which someone had to a certain degree- and backed away.

Stuttering, he gasped, “P-Princess? What..w-why would you?-“

You laughed at his embarrassment, feeling a bit sorry for him. He was completely red in the face, matching the uniform he wore.

“My apologies, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to tease you one last time.”

Oh. So that was it? Yes, of course you only wanted to have some fun. It’s not like you get to do anything else out of pleasure in your life. You used him for amusement.

“…..Yes, Princess. It’s alright, but you should not do something like this again. You need to refrain from having relations with men that are not your husband- especially not commoners.”

That was the end of it, you thought. You apologised a couple more times before forgetting about the experience. Lucius said it was fine so there was nothing more to it, right? Unfortunately you had no idea of the massive crisis you’d started within Lucius.

You kissed him. Him of all people. Lucius would not believe it if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. He wondered if all those years of him loving you in secret had been in vain. Did you know? No, obviously you didn’t. It’s just like you said, it was for amusement. You wanted to tease him like when you suddenly took off. It was only fun.

Nothing more like that happened afterwards. The kiss was long since buried along with other memories. That was the case for you. But not for Lucius. He didn’t forget.

About a year before you were crowned queen, Lucius took over his fathers position and became the new captain of the royal guard. You both had become so busy-him with his new job and you with preparing for your coronation- that you hardly saw each other. If you were lucky, you saw him training outside with the new recruits or wandering the hallways. You sent a mere nod of acknowledgement to the other person, no words were exchanged. If you had the time you would’ve mourned the death of the little friendship you had.

You believed you would be no more than strangers with no past and no future. However, you were surprised when your father had called you into his office and there, in all his glory, stood your childhood friend Lucius. His hair reached just above his ears and he wore the same stern expression he always had. The red in his armour seemed glowing, it reminded you of blood.

Your father then revealed the news of Lucius officially becoming your personal knight. When the two of you were young he constantly guarded you but it was more of an assumed responsibility. He was not actually in charge of your protection.

Lucius had done well in his new position and your father wanted to grant him a wish in return. The young man had proceeded to tell him there was nothing more he wanted than to serve his kingdom by protecting its future monarch. This wish was so noble it was granted without further questions, so long he could manage his other duties as well. It made sense, as the captain of the royal guard, whom else was more qualified to protect you?

You first met Sebastian Spade when you were visiting another kingdom as a preteen. The adults had their meetings and swatted you away. They ushered you to go explore the castle whilst they took care of the things that mattered. You decided to go outside since you weren’t too sure about snooping around in all the rooms, there was always a chance you’d find something you shouldn’t and your parents had previously urged you not to run into trouble.

The outside was also beautiful with colourful flowers and carefully trimmed bushes. You wandered, taking in the wonderful scenery. Along the way, the flowers disappeared and you found yourself at the training grounds. At the centre stood a boy your age holding a sword. He lunged at the training dummy positioned in front of him. Unfortunately, he lost his footing and flew forward. The sword landed on the ground with a loud clatter and the boy let out an ‘omfph!’.

You rushed to side and asked him if he was alright, which he was; just embarrassed. He told you his name was Sebastian and that he was aiming to be a knight. He managed to become an apprentice of a knight at the castle. It was one of his training sessions that you stumbled upon. Being a knight had always been his dream. Apparently his father and grandfather had been one, so it was in the blood. Or, it would have been if Sebastian hadn’t been so bad at everything. Truth was he wasn’t actually allowed to use a real sword, only wooden once. But he took one anyway. He thought that maybe he could improve faster if he got used to wielding one out of metal. Well, you got a first row view of how that went.

He felt so worthless. Why couldn’t he ever do something right? Why was he such a failure? No matter how hard he trained, he was barely able to hold the sword straight. Maybe he should give up being a knight altogether, it was hopeless after all. No one said anything, but he noticed the way everyone looked at him. They all thought the same thing, ‘why is he even here?’. How could he blame them? Even his own mentor didn’t believe in him.

You frowned, feeling terrible in how this boy had lost faith in all his dreams. Now you knew nothing of knighthood but you had a friend who did. You wished he could’ve come with but he needed to keep up with his training and besides, you were in yer another royal castle so the chances of anything happening to you was very low. So you decided to give Sebastian some tips; simple things you’ve picked up when watching your friend home his skills. Sebastian listened eagerly, desperate to improve. If there was any way he could become better than he wanted to hear it. That boy hung off every word that came out of your mouth. You did however assert that you were not an expert by any means and these where just things others have told you or what you’ve learned from observation. That didn’t matter though. Thanks to you he understood how to correct his stance and made it possible to hold up the sword- the issue he was struggling with earlier was solved!

During the entirety of the week you and your family were staying, you hung out with Sebastian every day. Every moment you didn’t have to be present out of curtsy you spent with him instead, which was much more pleasurable.

Sebastian was more than happy to have your company. Truth be told, he didn’t have any friends, good acquaintances maybe, but no one he’d be able to call a friend. He was also quite shy. It was to nice to finally have someone who believed in him, who encouraged and was patient with him.

At the end of the week, he had improved so much. It was hard to think he’s the same boy who could hardly even lift a sword. Sebastian was no master, far from it, but it was undeniable that he had become a lot better. Now he only had to hone his skills and he could fulfill his dreams when he became an adult.

The attitude against him changed as well. Before, the other students refused to interact with him unless they were forced to and they along with the knights made fun of him when they thought he couldn’t hear. Now, however, they approached him and wondered how he’d managed to improve so quickly and if he could lend some tips. Obviously he didn’t. They don’t deserve his kindness. Not after how they treated him. Sure, they never outright bullied him by shoving him around or anything but they might’ve as well.

Sebastian ran through the garden. He shouldn’t have since there’s definitely be a scolding coming his way if an adult saw, but he didn’t care. He needed to find you. He had to tell you about the praise he received form his teaching-knight after the day’s training. Before you met he never would have reached a compliment, it was a sign of the good fortune you brought.

His cheeks glowed red at the thought. You were so kind to him. He thought all royals were snobbish assholes who only cares about themself and their looks, now he knew he was wrong. You weren’t like that at all. You smiled, played with him and didn’t care if your dress got dirty. Of course, you preferred if it didn’t but you wouldn’t mind a scolding from your parents for once.

You were beautiful too. Almost too beautiful in his opinion. You were sure to attract a lot of suitors when you grew up. Sebastian’s heart stung. It was a strongly unpleasant feeling; imagining you beside someone else. Sebastian was young but not stupid, he understood what he was feeling. He shouldn’t be jealous, he knew that at the end of the day you were a princess and he was not even close to being a prince, and only a prince could marry you. Realistically he didn’t stand a chance. Unfortunately, his heart didn’t listen to his brain and he couldn’t stop the blossoming affection he felt for you.

“(Y/n)” he yelled when he saw you coming his way. You wore a nice dress that complimented your appearance. His heart thumped uncomfortably within his chest.

“Sebastian, I was just coming to see you.”

The boy scratched his neck. “Well, here I am!”

You laughed at his positive nature. Then your smile fell once you remembered the intent of your visit. “I actually came to see you..for a last time.”

“What?” Sebastian froze. Did he mishear you? No, your words were loud and clear so that meant… “You’re leaving?”

You sighed and nodded, “yes, my family has done the business they came for and we are to return home.”

“When?”

“This evening.”

You hated seeing him hurt. You wished you didn’t have to leave but you had no choice. This was always going to happen, this was not your home. You just weren’t prepared to make a great friend whom you could miss dearly back home.

“Oh. Okay...” Sebastian said in a low voice. His chipper mood was entirely destroyed in a minute.

That evening your belongings were loaded into a grand carriage. You took a seat on the soft cushions inside and scanned the outside form the window. Your parents were in a different carriage so you didn’t have to explain to them why you were staring outside so intensely.

You felt the carriage begin to move. You were really going home. Well, it’s not like you weren’t going to go home in the first place. This was always the plan. No matter how thoroughly you searched there was no sign of your friend. You sighed with a heavy heart. Not being able to see him hurt you too but you at least wanted to say goodbye.

And so you were moving in the direction known as home. Whilst you were thinking about the young knight-in-training, you saw a shadow at the edge of the forest. You leaned towards the window to get a better look and there he was, your friend! So he did want to say goodbye after all, although not in the most conventional way.

Sebastian’s breath was heavy and tired. He’d ran along the toad through the forest. He could feel the smal scrapes he’d gotten from branches(and the one time he fell over a root). It stung a little, however it was no comparison to how he felt inside. He gained and lost his best-and first- friend in the span of a week. And to be honest, you were a bit more than that to him.

He stared longingly at the carriage you were sitting in. He found himself hoping it would break down and you’d have to turn back around, which did not happen since the royal family’s belongings were only of the finest materials and craftsmen ship. Sebastian could only watch as you went further and further away, until you were nothing more than a dor in the horizon. Finally, he waved weakly. Though he was too late for you to be able to see it.

That evening he made a promise. Sebastian vowed to become stronger- better than any knight in the kingdom. Then and only then would he be honourable enough to flee to your kingdom and serve you there. It might take a very long time. But it was completely worth it if it was you.

You’ll see, he will be your knight one day.

[mistymisfit]

Can you please make an AK jason a-z nsfw alphabet please. The jason one was so good ❤️🎀

Sorry this took so long 😭😭😭and tysm, i actually didn't think about writing an ak!jason version of this but really enjoyed it (once i got over my writer's block) I think all of them are GN, if not lmk and I'll edit it. Mentions of size difference in point X (i think). original version Minors and blank blogs DNI!!

Dirty A-Z headcanon game  

Btw these are all personal headcanons !!! And AK!Jason is waaaay more traumatized than comic Jason. Keep in mind that these are written thinking that reader's a civilian and there's a previous relationship to him being kidnapped as I don't see him trusting anyone new, or if he does, it takes him quite a long time to get to the point of sleeping with them.

A - Alone time (how do they get off when they’re all by themselves? do they watch porn, is it all in their imagination, do they jerk off, do they use toys?)

Let's start by saying this man has a lot of issues with intimacy and sexuality. He thinks those parts of himself are rotten, until he reunites with you. So if he does it's mostly to relieve stress or to chase the dopamine the brain releases, to feel good for at least a moment.

B - Bondage (do they like it? do they not? do they prefer to be the one being tied or the one doing the tying?)

Not to repeat myself, but there's absolutely no way in a million years he's letting himself be tied up. I don't hc him as being a "I suffered so you have to suffer too" with a romantic partner (Batman can go to hell idc) so his feelings on tying you up are pretty much the same, he went through a lot with joker so the sight would only bring back bad memories. After all, he still loves you, even if his way of showing it changed drastically when he came back.

C - Crying (is it a turn on? a turn off? do they cry during sex? have they cried during sex? what was the reason?)

There's no way he isn't crying-- and trying to hide it too. There's a lot of tears involved the first time you do it, what gets him to cry is how soft and gentle you are with him. You reassure him that you love him, you missed him, and that none of that should've happened to him. Your kindness is so foreign to him that he doesn't know what to do with himself, and when you kiss his tears away with your soft lips going over his marked cheek, he shortcuts. He equally wants you to stop and to keep being this gentle, he feels so conflicted that his quiet tears turn into full on sobbing on your shoulder. You were not surprised, in fact, you actually expected him to break down the first few times you got intimate.

D - Dominance (do they prefer to dominate, or be dominated? do they have experience as a Dom? Do they have a Dom that they trust already? What kind of things do they enjoy as/with their Dominant partner?)

He's had no control of his life for years, first following around Batman's orders, trying to be the perfect Robin. Then under Joker's torture. He's lost enough agency and control over his own body that I don't see him giving up any more of it. The most he can do is let you go on top, and even then, he's got a bruising hold on your hips.

E - Extra info (any other fetishes? feet? leather? role playing? blood? fantasies that they might want to experience not on this list?)

He gets a little jealous sometimes, not of other people looking or wanting your attention but of you. Jealous that you got to live a normal life, that your world kept spinning after he was gone. He gets rougher with you on those nights, trying to take out some of his anger.

Manhandling! He gets extra turned on to see how easily he can throw you around, and how much you trust him to not hurt you while doing it.

F - Food play (do they like using food in the bedroom? are there any foods they prefer to use during sex or foreplay? any they’d like to try?)

He's got a lot of hard nos, but I think this one is more of a soft no to him. You could ease him into it if you tried, but after being fed rotten and poisoned food, his relationship with food was severely scared as well. Mixing two things that stress him out (food and sex) is not a good combination. HOWEVER, as he gradually heals, he could let you convince him. In his mind the equation would be something like this: reader= safe so food+ reader= must be safe.

G - Group sex (would they have a threeway? four? an orgy? do they put on a show for spectators? or do they like to keep it just between them and their partner?)

Bro can't even look at himself in the mirror, and barely ever lets you look at his body (see point L). There's no way he's getting more people in the mix, he's got enough worrying about handling his intimacy issues with you. Besides, he said in the Arkham Knight genesis comic he does not share.

H - Humiliation (does degradation and insults get them hot? do they get off on humiliating someone else? what kind of humiliation is good for them?)

Insults do not get him off, for obvious reasons. He's had enough humiliation under Joker's hands to last for five lifetimes. And like I mentioned before, he's not "I suffered so you have too". Yes, you do yell at each other and argue quite often, which ends with name calling from both ends. But that's different, sex is an entirely different thing for him. It's a demonstration of his trust in you, that he loves you even if he can't say it.

I - Impact play (here’s where talking about things like spanking, paddles, canes, floggers and the like.)

I don't think he'd be into it. His relationship with you is something sacred to him, it's perhaps the only thing he got back from his old life, and that's why I think he's so against hurting you. He wants to keep you as separated from the violent aspects of his life as he can so he can at least try to hold onto some sense of normalcy.

J - Jelly (what kind of lube are they using? is it flavored? have they tasted it? do they prefer to use something other than real lube during sex?)

K - Kissing (what parts of their body do they like having kissed? what parts of their partner do they enjoy kissing? do they like leaving marks / having marks left on them?)

Likes forehead kisses, and also likes when you kiss his marked cheek, it proves him you're not scared of him or that you don't think he's a failure. Looooves kissing over your pulse points, staying a little longer to feel your heartbeat under him.

L - Lighting (are the lights on? off? do they have some kind of mood lighting set up?)

Off, he doesn't want to see his scars, doesn't want you to see them either. If the lights are on, then he's keeping most of his clothes on.

M - Masochism (do they like pain? scratching? biting? being bossed around? spoken down to? choked?)

No to all of the above, for reasons previously mentioned. But he's into putting a hand around your neck, doesn't choke you but you definitely feel the heavy weight of his hand. Does not complain if you end up scratching his back tho, I think his pain tolerance got so high that he probably wouldn't even feel it.

N - Not yet (orgasm delay? orgasm denial? do they tell their partner not to touch themselves for a certain amount of time or under certain circumstances? do they delay or deny other things like bathroom usage or food? do they need to beg first? do they like being denied / delayed?)

Would deny himself without even realizing what he's doing. I think it'd be a kind of subconscious self punishment. He'd put off his orgasm in favor of you feeling good until you're overstimulated.

O - Outdoor sex (have they ever done it in public? would they? where?)

Sorry, he's too traumatized to expose himself to situations like this, next.

P - Photography (are cameras allowed in the bedroom? do they send nudes? do they ask for nudes? would they ever record themselves having sex / being caught up in a sexual act?)

Not even with 20 years of healing would he allow this. HOWEVER, I'm a sucker for the "his helmet has a recording option" hc. I think that would be the only way of allowing himself to record these moments since it's from his pov and only gets to see you and not himself.

Q - Quiet please (what’s the volume like in the bedroom? are they quiet? do they scream? do they like a loud partner? do they prefer if their partner is more soft spoken?)

Extremely quiet, like you wouldn't know he's feeling anything if it wasn't for his occasional grunt or shaky breath. He endured torture and was forced to keep quiet in fear of it getting worse if he screamed, so it doesn't come naturally to him.

R - Routine (do they have a routine when it comes to picking up one night stands? do they have scheduled sex with their partner? are things spontaneous or planned ahead of time?)

I think it all depends on how low his self esteem is that day, and how intense his need for closeness and love is. At first, you never initiated it, too afraid to trigger him or make him uncomfortable, but he does not know how to say that he likes it when you seek him out first. He feels wanted, loved, and eventually you pick up on it.

S - Sleepy sex (do they give oral to wake their partner up? do they like receiving oral to wake up? do they like fucking their partner awake? being fucked awake? how about being fucked to sleep at night? do they have lazy morning sex?)

You know what... hell yeah...

He was already awake when you turned around in bed, he sighed a low "morning" with a raspy voice, and you responded by pressing a kiss to his lips. Neither of you knew how it turned into having a hand under each other's pants and then you giggling as he lazily thrusts into you. There's a lot of skin to skin contact, and the room is dark enough for him to feel comfortable taking all of his clothes off. He's still sleepy enough to let a little "i love you" out while you hold him in your arms.

T - Top or bottom (self explanatory…)

U - Underwear (what kind of underwear do they put on in the morning, if any at all… do they own any sexy underwear or lingerie?)

Jason truly does not care, he's got bigger problems and things to carry about lol. But you did jokingly ask him to buy you a cute set in his favorite color so you'd wear it for him, and while you didn't expect him to follow through, he did. You did hold up your part of the deal.

V - Voyeurism (do they like to watch, or are they more hands on? are they more of an exhibitionist?)

Has stalked you before reuniting with you, so he's definitely seen you take care of yourself, he probably feels ashamed of watching you like that, or watching you get dressed, but he'd never tell you about that. In terms of exhibitionism, the most he'd do is fuck you while the men he assigned to watch over you are outside the apartment you were in.

W - Water (pool sex? bath / shower sex? are they into watersports at all?)

I do think in my heart this man would benefit so much from some soft bath sex. Dim lights and a few candles lit nearby. He feels the ache in muscles fade a little, and he lets himself enjoy the intimacy of it. He'd melt at your hands washing his hair and the grime from his body, and then ofc you riding him lol.

X - X-dressing (do they crossdress as a part of teasing / foreplay? does crossdressing turn them on? turn their partner on? do they prefer to do it or watch their partner crossdress instead? do they use other costumes? cat ears, tails, etc?)

His helmet lowkey has cat ears... which could mean nothing...

Not crossdressing again but, the first few nights he took you with him and didn't give you time to bring much of your things so you had to sleep with one of his undershirts. You decided to ditch the pants since they were too big and uncomfortable. He stopped by to see you, and you stood rubbing your eyes on the door frame of your bedroom. A soft "Jay? is that you?" left your lips, and his eyes wandered over your figure. You were rubbing your eyes with one hand while the other pulled down the hem of the shirt for more coverage.

He was oddly relieved to find out he could still get hard that easily.

Y - Yes, Master (what kinds of names are used during sex? do they like being called master / mistress, daddy, etc…? what names do they call their partner?)

If you had any nicknames at all before he was kidnapped, you'd strictly call each other that during these moments. He's doing everything he can to grab onto that nostalgia from a time when it was simpler, when your relationship was simple. You didn't need to jump through hoops to understand him, and he could tell you what he felt and wanted. The familiarity helps the gears on his brain turn slower, he even feels time moves slower with you sometimes.

Z - Zones (what are their erogenous zones? what spots on their body should be touched, bitten, kissed, when someone wants to get them in the mood?)

Most of his body is covered almost all the time, so if you took one of his gloves off, or pulled his clothes to uncover some skin so you could kiss it, he'd die on the spot. What do you mean you want to see him? That you only want to kiss his skin, no matter how scarred or broken? You think he's worth kissing no matter what, and you mean that.