#how far can you stretch a metaphor

[timblrdrake]

okay okay @officialbernarddowd we should talk about the restaurant

it’s a chain- it has locations all over the place with different names but it’s all the same family of restaurants

when you come over i can show you a more niche branch, its pretty underground so not many people have been there

[croquettish]

Sexuality, Acceptability, Risk, and Medieval Bohemia

Someone commented on my Hansry fic recently about how a good number of fics in this fandom apparently feature the sort of modern protestant homophobia emblematic of the United States. This was baffling to me.

More recently I've seen a bit of backlash against this rather normative, America-centric approach to the historical homophobia (deeply entrenched in Catholicism, mind you) that they would have been subject to back then. And, as is quite normal with the internet, naturally the pendulum has swung way too far in the other direction. Jokes were made and then taken seriously by others. I've now seen sentiments floating around like "oh they wouldn't have cared at all," (not on tumblr) which is wild to me.

My doctoral studies have to do with queerness in the High Middle Ages, so seeing as I've spent the last several years of my life living on archive.org, knee-deep in this research, I feel like it's my academic responsibility to correct the record some. As usual, the answer lies somewhere in the middle of the two extremes.

All my sources are listed in the text (in the case of art) or at the very end of the post. For those of you just interested in what all of this means for Hansry, feel free to jump down to the purple heading.

I will start by saying that the "queer medieval utopia" you're looking for didn't exist. The closest you're going to get to that is the late 11th century / early 12th century, and even then there were limits to this general social acceptability. Paris and Florence were commonly considered to be gay dens of iniquity by people outside of those places, but even that was a bit of an exaggeration.

So where does this misconception come from?

Within the Catholic landscape, the body was considered separate from the spirit. Only one's "mystic sensorium" was supposed to be involved in spiritual intercourse with Christ and each other, and the overlap of the real and the ideal was… problematic at times, a genuine threat to chastity. Physical affection was meant to not broach certain limits. Kissing was acceptable. Metaphors were acceptable. In ancient Christianity, it was normal for women to kiss other women and for men to kiss other men as part of mass in the name of exchanging the kiss of peace, the pax. The idea here was to meet with the Spirit of Christ. Ambrose likened it to "lovers who, unsatisfied with the mere enjoyment of the lips, kiss so deeply as to interchange their spirits with one another." Which is all well and good, but this leaves a lot of leeway. How much physical affection was considered acceptable?

Anselm, the closest thing we have to a gay man of this time, would write things like this, in this case a letter addressed to two biological brothers that he hoped to join him in the monastic life:

"My eyes long to see your faces most beloved; my arms stretch out to your embraces; my lips long for your kisses; whatever remains to me of life desires your company . . . . Oh, how my love burns in my marrow . . . . [In coming to Bec] you have fused my soul with yours. If you now leave me, our joint soul will be torn apart, it can never again become two."

He had never met them before, nor should this suggest that they were about to enter a sexual relationship. In fact, around this time we see quite a few such expressions of affection coming out of the monastic space. Alcuin, writing to Arno of Salzburg, felt entirely comfortable writing that his love could not be prevented, even in the face of death, from licking Arno's innermost parts, a reference here (most likely) to Christ's side wound. In another letter, Alcuin is even more overt:

"It is exquisitely sweet to remember your love and intimacy, holy father; I wish the dear moment would come when I might embrace the shoulders of your love with the arms of my longing for you. . . . with what speedy hands I would rush into your fatherly embrace, with what pressing lips I would kiss not only your eyes and ears and mouth, but each knuckle of each finger, of each toe, not once, but many, many times!"

It would be extremely easy to assume that these letters suggested more than meets the eye, but historically speaking, as far as we know, this was not the case. Because this level of affection was considered to be in line with the "Christian" thing to do between brothers (no, I'm not joking). And there were harsh punishments if you breached these limits. Bear in mind, these letters could easily be seen by others!

Moreover, it should be noted that we don't see this level of affection outside of the monastic space (though it does still come up, albeit to a much lesser extent). You can think of it as code switching, essentially. Verbiage that would be considered insanely sexual in one space would not be considered as such within a monastic context prior to the shift in the 12th century.

Some scholars suggested that the use of such language implies ignorance or naivety about how this physical affection could look to the outside world, but we do know that Anselm at one point became worried enough that he might be misunderstood that he censored himself after leaving Bec for Canterbury. Even if his inclinations were chaste, he knew they could be viewed through the lens of homosexuality.

The ideal sexual state for a person to be in at this time was rooted in asceticism: chastity in the face of desire. You'd think asexuality would be a quick workaround for that, but unfortunately the lack of desire would just mean a lack of necessary effort on that person's part. Bear in mind, suffering is what's rewarded here. A gay man plagued with homosexual desires is just being tested by God. By denying himself those desires, he's rising in the ranks of holiness. A great example of this is Brother Lucas from KCD1:

According to the Rule of Pachomius, kissing boys on the lips was forbidden and punished by whipping, imprisonment, fasting, shaving, and six months of humiliation. In Fructuosus of Braga's Rule, a monk kissing or even being "too attentive to young men or boys would result in a very similar six month sentence as well as six additional months of manual labor, separated from his brethren, always under watch of at least two spiritual brothers. Never again was he allowed to enjoy private conversation or companionship with those younger than him.

"But Tam!" you might say. "This is just about monks! What about real people?"

I'm so glad you asked! Because we know that as well!

Penitentials, which were quite in vogue until around the 11th century and then again after the passing of Lateran IV in the early 13th century, were very punishing of all manner of sexuality, but especially homosexual acts, and, among them, especially oral sex. (The mouth is considered, to a certain extent, sacred. Don't ask me why, that alone is like twenty pages in my dissertation, though I could be lowballing tbh.) The Penitential of Theodore punishes it with 7 years of harsh penance and 15 years if the practice is habitual. Sometimes, however, it was "until the end of life" and considered to be the "worst evil," worse than fornication with one's mother. Harsh!

Ye olde penitentials were used as guidelines for later confession as well as those from before the 12th century. Conveniently for us, the late, great James A. Brundage came up with a fantastic chart/guide on when and how it was acceptable to have sex at all:

Did people follow this? My god, absolutely not. We wouldn't have the confessional records if this wasn't a problem in the realm of ~sin. But the guidelines were there and expected to be adhered to.

Don't get me wrong, the late 11th / early 12th century was a watershed moment in history in terms of overall acceptability of queerness, a time when Ovid and other Ovidian literature flourished. Punishments were rarely enforced. But the come-down from that era led us to a very rough landing. Lateran III kicked off the official canon ratification of outlawing homosexuality explicitly, and this, together with the outlawing of clerical marriage and the sudden flourishing of courtly love as a genre, led to a very dramatic shift in society from homosocial to heterosexual (which is, incidentally, what my dissertation is about).

The long 12th century was a red letter event in terms of history, not least because some of history's most notorious homophobes spread their ideas like wildfire. I am, of course, talking about Alain de Lille, renowned author of De planctu Naturae ("The Complaint of Nature"), which reminded everyone that homosexuality was against nature, and Peter Damian, who doesn't even deserve being commented on. The idea of homosexuality being "against nature" was far from new. The early church fathers like Augustine and Jerome condemned it pretty outrightly, and in the 13th century St. Thomas Aquinas was more than happy to further entrench the idea. Here, sodomy disrupts nature so much as to dissolve the soul.

We saw this in literature as well. Dante's Divine Comedy (early 14th c) slapped sodomites into the 7th layer of hell, but a real standout here is the Debate Between Ganymede and Helen, where the two have a very lengthy argument wherein she convinces Ganymede (often associated with homosexuality) that heterosexuality is infinitely superior to the alternative. She throws in such lovely arguments as insisting that he at least respect Nature, that he's been deceived by well-disguised filth, that he's been squandering his love between the thighs of men, and that he's been treating himself like human garbage as a result. In the end, he suddenly sees his crime for what it is, and the gods agree with him, stating that they've now also come to their senses. Sodomy is thus left behind by the gods and the choir swells in cheer at this tremendous success.

Canon law more or less exclusively had its grubby little fingers in the pies of what was and wasn't deemed acceptable in terms of sex until about the early-14th c, while afterward the government was delighted to also get involved in your bedroom activities. Particularly in the late 14th century homosexuality was increasingly legislated against, and in increasingly brutal ways at that. This wonderful and not at all problematic marriage of church and state is how we ended up with the Trials of the Knights Templar.

Let's say you're King Philip IV. The people have been revolting, you're running low on funds, you owe the Templars as it is, and you have a penchant for pogroms. You want money and land. What do you do? Well, naturally you write a letter to the pope about how you have all these horrible suspicions about these people you employ and who have come to your aid quite often!

Boy, oh boy! Wasn't that a fun time for them. Before, they'd been well-respected and well-off, supported by the king, with zero doubt in their respectability. Naturally, it all came tumbling down with that letter. Because the investigation was ready to find them at fault for something no matter what, under pain of torture of course. There's a particularly striking letter from a father to his daughter, written during the Bamberg witch trials (much later), wherein he explained that, after a particularly rough torture session, the executioner pulled him aside and told him this: "Sir, I beg you, for God's sake confess something, whether it be true or not. Invent something, for you cannot endure the torture which you will be put to; and, even if you bear it all, yet you will not escape, not even if you were an earl, but one torture will follow after another until you say you are a witch. Not before that will they let you go, as you may see by all their trials, for one is just like another."

Were the Templars recreationally homosexual? Maybe. For their sake, I sure hope so, because then they might have at least had some fun before going out. But either way, they were arrested, their territory, funds, and belongings seized, were convicted of heresy, sodomy, and black magic, and eventually burned at the stake. Two men were later burned at the stake as relapsed heretics after saying that they'd only confessed under duress and were actually innocent.

It even led to fun art like this one in 1350:

De Longuyon, Jacques. Voeux du Paon Manuscript. 1350. Morgan Library and Museum, New York. G.24 fol. 70r.

It was also around this time also that homosexuality was increasingly associated not only with heresy, but also with bestiality, suggesting that this crime against nature was effectively also a crossing of special boundaries (species-based, not extraordinary). In line with this, while homage to one's liege used to be sworn with a kiss on the lips (!!), over the course of the 14th century that was summarily done away with as well in a change that quite frankly swept across Europe (and we all wept).

In 1327, Edward II, who had a few boyfriends, was supposedly murdered by having a red hot poker shoved up his rectum. Even if this didn't happen, the chroniclers wanted us to believe it, and knowing what we do about Edward's sexual proclivities, it seems like this was a Statement if nothing else.

Where Bologna used to punish homosexuality with a fine, after the late 13th century the punishment was death by burning. The Portuguese, meanwhile, castrated convicted homosexuals and then, three days later, had them hanged by the feet until dead. In Siena, death by hanging was also the answer, but in this case, it was hanging by the dick until dead (not kidding). A particularly horrifying case was this one, happening just six years after when KCD canon takes place:

Which reminds us that this was most likely an issue that very much associated the clergy (known to be corrupt, especially around this time!). You'll recall the little comments made about this in the game, like Godwin casually committing heresy in front of the whole crew. "Do you think you need a priest for God to hear you?" Well geez, Godwin, according to the Catholic Church, you sure as shit fucking do! What a fantastic and not at all risky thing to say!

(Sidenote, this one is particularly upsetting to me personally in a fandom context because, not only is Augsburg not far from Bohemia, it really reminds me of the many associations between Hans and a caged bird.)

All of which isn't to say that sodomy didn't take place. Boy did it fucking ever. A great example of this comes from out of Switzerland, where, in 1475, a priest reportedly told his lover that "if everybody who committed [the act of sodomy] was burnt at the stake, not even fifty men would survive in Basel." ("Vnd solt man alle die so das tuend verbrennen, es bliben nit funffzig mannen jn Basel.") So, 1% of Basel. This is almost certainly a massive fucking exaggeration that this man pulled out of his ass in order to convince his partner that sodomy is fine, actually, but it does tell us something about the perception, if not the actual prevalence of sodomy in urban centers. (So, you know, if anyone needs to justify that Jadder have fucked at least once, if not more… when in Kuttenberg...)

It should be noted that Basel was very lax in terms of punishing homosexuality, but that was by and large not the most common outcome, as homosexuality was generally associated with divine punishment (I'm sure you've heard that drivel yourself before even in the modern day). Hilariously, it was the generally held belief that if someone learned of "the vice against nature" they'd naturally want to do it, and so priests were advised never to talk about it, even to preach.

So then, what does this mean for Hansry and co?

It means that this was at worst very much a fucking crime that you could very much be convicted for, in brutal fucking fashion at times, and at best the quiet part that you don't say out loud. But even then, it was fucking risky. Riskier if you're a member of the clergy (do recall how worried Brother Lucas was about his secret getting out, despite having never committed the sin himself), but risky even if you're not. All you have to do to see this reflected in canon is to look at Barnaby, the herbalist/hermit. As he explained it, he turned down a girl, she complained to her brother, and "he put two and two together":

Remember how I said that homosexuality was increasingly associated with bestiality? I find Barnaby's word choice fascinating here. Animals like him.

Of course, he beat them up and thus... uh, was able to survive:

Not that it didn't massively affect his quality of life. There's a reason he's a hermit! After all, he was unwelcome no matter where he went, no doubt because the brother and his friends ensured that this knowledge spread:

You might say, oh, it's different among the nobility! And to a certain extent, you're correct. Talking to the scribe in Troskowitz, he at one point gets to a part in the story about George the Lion of Wartenberg where he says this:

And then later, at the banquet where Hans loses his mind from jealousy, it comes up quite a lot in the conversation with Black Bartosch. First, he brings up Florian of Lomnitz:

And then, of course, we get the legendary conversation that follows, where the comment about Florian's sexuality makes Henry question Bartosch about his own:

It's soooo subtle. So, so easy to turn to plausible deniability. If anyone questions it, you can easily argue that your intentions were entirely chaste. And Henry can ignore it or even outright respond with a claim of heterosexuality:

But he can't question it like he can with the scribe:

Where the scribe then brushes it off as nothing and refuses to elaborate:

Even here this is a case of IYKTYK, like homosexuality is a club and in order to enter you have to know what's up. Because if you don't know and have to be informed, that presents a risk, namely that of suspicion being cast on you. Why do you know this information? What were you doing at this sodomitical devil's sacrament?

Honestly, at least among the nobility I'd liken it a bit to prohibition, but on a much less... widespread level. Oh, and literally everyone and anyone could be a cop. You could get away with it until you were caught. The risk was just a lot more pronounced. Even with Edward II the consequence of the very accurate rumors surrounding his sex life was public denunciation and possibly a poker up his ass. And if you're a noble involved with a commoner, multiply the risk exponentially, which is unfortunately relevant for both Hansry and Jamuel. If it really was as casually acceptable as some people claim it to have been (again, not on tumblr, I'm not here to stir up drama), I think Henry wouldn't have necessarily pushed Hans away, nor do I think they would have been as careful in their end-game conversation about what they do and don't say.

If anyone has any questions on this, tangentially-related topics, my sources, or literally anything else, by all means feel free to ask. I have the resources at my fingertips and the research very much at the forefront of my mind and will for the foreseeable future. On request, I've also added a list of further reading after my list of sources if anyone is curious to learn more of this for themselves.

Sources used:

Abraham, Erin V. Anticipating Sin in Medieval Society: Childhood, Sexuality, and Violence in the Early Penitentials, Amsterdam University Press, 2021

Anselm. The Letters of Saint Anselm of Canterbury. Translated by Walter Fröhlich, Cistercian Publications, 1990.

Brundage, James A. Law, Sex, and Christian Society in Medieval Europe. University of Chicago Press, 1987.

Dronke, Peter. Medieval Latin and the Rise of the European Love-Lyric, Vol. 1, Oxford University Press, 1965.

Major, J. Russell. “‘Bastard Feudalism’ and the Kiss: Changing Social Mores in Late Medieval and Early Modern France.” The Journal of Interdisciplinary History, vol. 17, no. 3, 1987, pp. 509–35. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/204609. 

Mills, Robert. Seeing Sodomy in the Middle Ages. University of Chicago Press, 2015

Moore, R. I. The War on Heresy: Faith and Power in Medieval Europe. Profile Books, 2014.

Murray, Jacqueline, and Konrad Eisenbichler, editors. Desire and Discipline: Sex and Sexuality in the Premodern West. University of Toronto Press, 1996.

Perella, Nicolas J. The Kiss Sacred and Profane: An Interpretative History of Kiss Symbolism and Related Religio-Erotic Themes. University of California Press, 1969.

Puff, Helmut. “Localizing Sodomy: The ‘Priest and Sodomite’ in Pre-Reformation Germany and Switzerland.” Journal of the History of Sexuality, vol. 8, no. 2, 1997, pp. 165–95. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/3704215.

Puff, Helmut. Lust, Angst Und Provokation: Homosexualität in Der Gesellschaft. Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993.

Southern, R.W., Saint Anselm: A Portrait in a Landscape, Cambridge University Press, 1990.

Stehling, Thomas. Medieval Latin Poems of Male Love and Friendship. Garland Pub, 1984.

Recommended further reading:

Bailey, Derrick Sherwin. Homosexuality and the Western Christian Tradition. Archon Books, 1975. Originally published by Longmans, Green & Co., 1955.

Barbezat, Michael D. “Bodies of Spirit and Bodies of Flesh: The Significance of the Sexual Practices Attributed to Heretics from the Eleventh to the Fourteenth Century.” Journal of the History of Sexuality, vol. 25, no. 3, 2016, pp. 387–419. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/44862359. 

Brundage, James A. "Playing by the Rules: Sexual Behaviour and Legal Norms in Medieval Europe". Desire and Discipline: Sex and Sexuality in the Premodern West, edited by Konrad Eisenbichler and Jacqueline Murray, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996. https://doi.org/10.3138/9781442673854-004

Bullough, Vern L. “Heresy, Witchcraft, and Sexuality.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 1, no. 2, 3 Mar. 1976, pp. 183–199, https://doi.org/10.1300/j082v01n02_03.

---. “The Sin against Nature and Homosexuality.” Sexual Practices & the Medieval Church, edited by Vern L. Bullough and James A. Brundage, Prometheus Books, Buffalo, NY, 1994, pp. 55–71.

Bullough, Vern L., and James A. Brundage, editors. Handbook of Medieval Sexuality. Garland Publishing, 1996.

---, editors. Sexual Practices & the Medieval Church. Prometheus Books, 1994.

Burger, Glenn, and Steven F. Kruger, editors. Queering the Middle Ages. NED-New edition, vol. 27, University of Minnesota Press, 2001. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5749/j.ctttszw5.

Clark, David. Between Medieval Men: Male Friendship and Desire in Early Medieval English Literature . Oxford University Press, 2009.

Dinshaw, Carolyn. Getting Medieval: Sexualities and Communities, Pre- and Postmodern. Duke University Press, 1999.

Fradenburg Louise, et al., editors. Premodern Sexualities. Routledge, 1995.

Frassetto, Michael. Heresy and the Persecuting Society in the Middle Ages: Essays on the Work of R.I. Moore. Brill, 2006.

Gilbert, Arthur N. “Conceptions of Homosexuality and Sodomy in Western History.” The Gay Past: A Collection of Historical Essays, edited by Salvatore J. Licata and Robert P. Petersen, Harrington Press, New York, NY, 1985, pp. 57–68.

Goodich, Michael. “Sodomy in Ecclesiastical Law and Theory.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 1, no. 4, 20 June 1976, pp. 427–434, https://doi.org/10.1300/j082v01n04_06.

---. “Sodomy in Medieval Secular Law.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 1, no. 3, 20 June 1976, pp. 295–302, https://doi.org/10.1300/j082v01n03_04.

---. The Unmentionable Vice Homosexuality in the Later Medieval Period. Ross-Erikson, 1979.

Jordan, Mark D. The Invention of Sodomy in Christian Theology. University of Chicago Press, 1997.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. “Attitudes to Same-Sex Sexual Relations in the Latin World.” A Companion to Crime and Deviance in the Middle Ages, edited by Hannah Skoda, Arc Humanities Press, 2023, pp. 84–101. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/jj.3716022.9. 

---. From Boys to Men: Formations of Masculinity in Late Medieval Europe. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003.

---. “The Regulation of ‘Sodomy’ in the Latin East and West.” Speculum, vol. 95, no. 4, 1 Oct. 2020, pp. 969–986, https://doi.org/10.1086/710639.

---. Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing unto Others. Routledge, 2012.

Kruger, Steven F. “Queer Middle Ages.” The Ashgate Research Companion to Queer Theory, 1st ed., Routledge, New York, NY, 2009, pp. 413–434.

Kuefler, Mathew, editor. The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality. University of Chicago Press, 2006.

Lees, Clare A., et al. Medieval Masculinities: Regarding Men in the Middle Ages. University of Minnesota Press, 1994.

Pierce, Rosamond. “The ‘Frankish’ Penitentials.” Studies in Church History, vol. 11, 1975, pp. 31–39, https://doi.org/10.1017/s0424208400006276. 

***Please note: my omission of Boswell's CSTH here is entirely intentional. I know that if people here got a hold of him he'd be considered a tumblr darling, easy. If I could, I would wear merch with his name on it. And normally I would list him loudly and proudly. But I'm not, because the man loved reading into things that at times aren't there, and there are countless critiques that have been leveled against CSTH, many of which Boswell himself agreed with. So. If the general tumblr population wasn't constantly pissing on the poor I might trust it in their hands, but as it is, I know that nuance is lost on people!

(would you believe me if I said I tried to restrain myself in curating this list? no?? well I DID)

[screampied]

Hii baby veygusssss<33 hoping you a nice day / night🩷🩷, so um hear me out Choso x shy reader re-creating one of p-hub most liked nor watched vid? Just a silly thought of mine hehehei feel free to ignore this. Muaaaaa😚💗

- 🧃 ( new anon, I hope it's not taken yet😞 )

꒰১ cw. fem reader, doggystyle, hair pulling, choso tries dirty talk, premature ejaculatıon, mdni.

“baby, i— i wanna do this,” choso mumbles, showing you the video that displayed across the screen. oftentimes he’d show you some positions he’d wanna try, the only ones you’ve ever done with him so far was missionary or cowgirl. his ultimate favorite out of the two—just you straddling him, staring into his eyes always makes him shudder. “can we try it?”

peering at the screen, it was a woman and a guy performing a well known prominent position. with a shy expression, you speak in a soft tone. “doggystyle? you wanna try that?”

“yeah,” he pouts, closing out of the web page before turning back towards you. the both of you were on the bed, tangled limbs keeping each other warm before he pants. “i think you would look pretty like that,” and he gulps. “i mean, you’re always pretty— but like . . on your hands ‘n knees for me, you know?”

you giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “i know what you mean, baby, and okay. we can do doggy if you’d like.”

choso’s face lights up and he only grows more flustered once he sees you sit up. “okay, okay,” he tries to compose of himself, gawking openly as you lie flat on your stomach. then, you sit upright, placing the palms of your hands on the bed with your knees in place. his lips quiver, taking a three second glance at your ass. “a-and i’m gonna get behind like this, i think,” he cutely tries to remember the video. choso’s already starting to pant, shallow breaths of clouded puffs depart from his lips before he springs out his dick. he lets off a whine, staring at your pussy and how it was a bit moist from the outer entrance. “oh, it’s so wet from up close.”

“choso,” you tease, feeling yourself grow hot yourself. “any day now, baby.”

“s-sorry, sorry,” he snaps out of his erotic trance, reaching near the nightstand drawer to take out the lube bottle. he tried not to take too long, he wanted to be inside just as much as you wanted him inside also. quickly, he applies the lube in the right areas of you before focusing his attention back towards his throbbing cock. “give it a f-few pumps before going inside,” he speaks to himself underneath his breath, stroking his length once or twice. you wriggle your ass in anticipation and he only grows more abashed. you were shy just as him, although you were a bit more of an impish tease. “tell me if it’s too much, ‘kay?”

“okay, ‘cho.” you comply.

after a bit, he inches the head of his tip near your slit that’s starting to open. he’s mesmerized, his mouth slowly pries open at the sight before he’s gradually starting to sink his way in. as choso grows quiet, you let off a soft moan that makes him pause.

“baby? does it hurt? what ha—”

“choso, ‘m moanin’ because it feels good, ‘m okay i promise,” you simper in a shaky breath, leaning against your folded arms. not even facing him yet you could tell he was so big—standing tall proudly with inches underneath his metaphoric belt. “keep going.”

he gulps, nodding with a sweet, “okay,” before resuming where he left off. such thickness has your lips spreading apart,

he falls in love with the warmth that your gummy walls provides—sending him into straight nirvana.

it feels almost blissful, you squeeze against him before relaxing, he’s barely even halfway in and you already feel the elastic stretch. it’s too good, the moans that constantly let out from your mouth only makes his dick twitch more. once you let off a whine, he whines. “just a few m-more inches, princess,” he swallows—choso’s throat becomes suddenly dry and you bite your lip. so big, the way he’s so gentle to not break you was oh so cute nonetheless. “so warm.”

choso speaks in a low gruff voice, yet it’s still so whiny. your goopy walls forever cling onto him before within seconds later, you’re rightfully stuffed. he gasps, a sudden sweltering sensation waves over him once he realizes he’s buried balls deep. a few languid seconds inside your pussy and he was already losing it — the poor thing, you had him whipped.

“ugh,” he whimpers, preparing for an impactful thrust. choso’s a bit awkward, trying to remember what his eyes saw from the video as he holds your hips firmly. “gonna f-fuck you now, baby,” he mewls, and gives you a single thrust. he’s hesitant, wanting to make sure you’re okay before you’re babbling for him to not stop. a single thrust like that was purely addicting—you throb and he feels it, the way your walls constantly tease him by constricting around it.

so evil,

your ass is held up high against the bed before he starts to fuck you at a sloppy pace. sweaty thumbs of his brush against your hips as he’s holding you firmly in place, trying to maintain a decent enough rhythm. “ngh, so hot inside, feels so good,” he hiccups, feeling the very bottom of your hips tilt back. skin against skin — it feels like you’re melting against choso, it’s heavily intoxicating.

with the way your ass sticks up against him like glue, he goes crazy, feral. choso makes you spread a bit further before he’s really driving his cock into you. he makes sure his pace isn’t too fast before he lets off a melodically lewd moan. with his sculpted abs flexing, he lets off a soft whimper. “baby can- can i pull on your hair a little too?”

you giggle, nodding as you’re continuing to adapt to the feeling of being jostled against the silky bedsheets. “yes, choso. go ‘head.”

choso’s wheezy pants grow heavier and heavier, he leans up close to where he’s shoved right up close against you. with your knees widening, he grabs a good amount of your hair before giving it a soft kitten tug. “is that good?”

“baby, harder. ‘s okay, you can be a l-little rough.”

he pouts, giving you a more harder tug and you moan— leaning forward with your head lying back down between your arms. “just like that, doin’ so good baby, keep—keep going, fuuuck.”

your torso’s upright, he moans at how good you feel from the inside. choso can’t help but feel himself starting to drool a bit. your pussy was addicting in every way. you fuck back against him, rotating your hips a bit and he squeezes your right ass cheek. choso’s never really stared at your ass much, but now, that it was constantly bumping back against him—he just couldn’t look away. “m-my goddd, ‘s warm,” he pleads out, desperate for more of this feeling. you clamp down on him tightly, nerves all over his body send him shivers inside and out. choso can already feel himself start to sweat, his dick continuously reaches every orifice inside of your stuffed pussy. for a moment, he closes his eyes shut, getting hard at the rough recoil your ass smacks against his torso. it’s sexy, something within him was telling him to spank you but he wanted to ask first. “f-fuck, um . . princess? one more thing?”

“yes baby?”

“can—” he breathes through jagged breaths, slowing his pace down just a bit to rub a thumb against your hips. “can i spank you o-one time?”

“yes, ‘s okay, spank me, choso.” you moan, feeling his tip reach deeper throughout your tightening cunt.

he’s so sweet, he caresses the left cheek of your ass before giving it a spank. it jolts you forward and you let off a sweet gasp, though once he realizes you like it, he starts to spank you over, and over, and over, until you’re being more vocal than him. choso’s so in love with your voice that he could listen to it all day,

it was something about the smoothness in it. the way you whine for more in such a honeyed tone makes the tips of his ears burn. he still couldn’t fathom that he, choso kamo—was making you feel this good. but the more he starts to rut into you, the more he starts to feel something creep up. it’s sneaky—steadily arising before he feels a pool of warmth reside near his lower abdomen.

“i- i think ‘m gonna cum,” he whimpers, and he says it quickly, you feel the vein that runs down his shaft pulsate through you and your legs squeeze together for a moment. he pokes his bottom lip out, about to spank you against but he hesitates. he doesn’t wanna be too mean, so he caresses your bare cheek instead, brushing a thumb against your ass like a brush paints its canvas. “should i p-pull out?”

“i-inside, choso. inside.” you whine, and darkened brows of his raise. his mind’s racing and he’s taken aback, you want him to finish inside?

choso grips your hips with both hands, trying to remember the video before he cutely spews out a specific dialogue. “g-gonna flood your pretty vagina with my sticky cum, whore.”

and you giggle—you giggle and choso gasps.

“w-what’s funny?” he frowns, pausing his hips. “did you not like my dirty talk?”

he’s still buried deep into you from the hilt and you bite on your arm before replying. “heh, no it’s just .. nevermind,” and you have a soft smile, still not facing him. “but we gotta work on your dirty talk, baby. no one really says vagina or sticky cum.”

“…oh,” he says with his brows curling into a furrow. so cute, yet after a while, he finishes anyway.

his orgasm hits him like a truck — it’s so good that he whimpers, rocking his hips against you before feeling the drenched sloshes of oozing cum pouring into you. it’s thick, ropes and ropes of his velvety seed trickles into your sopping folds. he came a lot too, despite it being a bit early. whines welt from his mouth before he pulls out slowly, staring in revere at the way your pussy’s plugged all in. momentarily, his cum starts to dribble out and he runs a thumb down it to touch it. it’s warmth, he shudders before averting his attention back towards you, towering over you. he pants, “s-sorry, you didn’t get to finish.”

“we’re not done, silly,” you kiss the bridge of his nose where his scar lays. “and don’t be sorry. you did amazing with doggy, you’re a natural.”

choso pouts, yet grows flustered once your lips hit against the bump of his nose. “eh. but i could do better. i wanna learn how to talk dirty for you.”

“we have all the time to practice, baby,” you softly whisper, pulling him into a hug—wrapping your shaky legs around his slim waist. choso inhales, staring at you with rough pants leaving his lips every millisecond. “we’ll get better.”

he lets off a relieved sigh at how understanding you were, he lays his head against your chest, bristle hairs of his ponytails tickle against your skin before he speaks in a shy tone. “o-okay, okay but um .. can we maybe try another position i saw?”

“what is it baby?” you hum, stroking the edge of his temple in such a hypnotic way—the benign rhythm of your fingers was so soothing he found himself almost drifting off to sleep.

he had a cute smug grin. “f-full nelson.”

[mariasont]

if we flip, we flip

spencer misses you. you show up in a bikini, sit on him, and let him prove it with disastrous consequences for his composure and your tanline.

pairing: spencer reid x bimbo!reader warnings: suggestive content, skimpy af bikini, handprint tanline (yes, it's plot relevant ok), established relationship, fem!reader prompt: here! wc: 0.5k

Spencer isn't particularly known for physical grace (you once told him he had the coordination of a baby deer on ice skates, and you were right), but now, his clumsiness has transcended cute and settled into cataclysmic, because here you come, gliding toward him with a confidence that melts the remaining ice under his metaphorical skates.

Before he can even begin to worry about sunscreen reapplication or make some half-baked joke about melanoma awareness, you're suddenly there, bare skin smelling like a bakery's idea of summer, and his book is wobbling precariously in his grip.

“Hi baby,” you chirp, throwing yourself into the hammock with the casual recklessness of someone who's never once considered their own mass in relation to another's object's tensile limit.

His book is halfway to the grass by the time your knee collides with his thigh.

“You’re going to flip us,” he warns, though his voice wavers top-heavy, mostly because your chest is now hovering just inches from his mouth, slick and glittering with what he assumes is SPF in some form.

“It’s fine, you’re strong,” you say dismissively, one arm draping over his chest as the other tugs your sunglasses down just far enough to squint at his mouth like it’s something you plan to study, or worse, touch. “Besides, if we flip, we flip.”

His palm settles where your bikini dips, and suddenly it's like his pulse is being conducted through you, blooming heat directly into your skin.

He doesn't mean to touch you like this, not exactly, but it's inevitable in the way lightning is, sparked, then burning before it even registers. His eyes fall shut, and his fingers press in, barely.

“Don’t go so long next time. Missed you.”

“Sure,” you say, shifting in a way that reminds you both that your bikini is one rogue breeze away from retirement. “You missed me. And not the view you’ve got right now that’s, you know, extremely convenient.”

“It is a good view,” he says, palm lightly swatting your ass and staying there. “But that’s not the point. You weaponized absence. And also… clothing.”

You just giggle and lean in, pressing a kiss to the side of his jaw, then another just beneath his ear. “That’s what you get for giving me ammo.”

He hums in response, too content to do much else, nose brushing against your temple. “Having a good day?”

“Mhmm. Tired.”

“Perfect napping conditions,” he mumbles, trying not to sound completely deranged by how your body folds into his.

He tucks his chin above your head and lets his thumb move in slow, absent circles on your pliant skin, nothing particularly purposeful, just a quiet repetition of wanting.

You fall asleep before he finishes the second one. He’s not far behind.

—

“Spencer Reid, what the hell —”

Your voice hits him before consciousness does, and then he’s blinking awake, face smushed into your shoulder.

“What?” he croaks, still half-asleep, throat dry. “What happened?”

A full, open-palmed tan line. His hand. Stamped like a signature into your left cheek, a display of every inch he touched. Spencer makes a strangled noise and instinctively tries to cover it like a guilty dog hiding a chewed-up shoe. As if placing his hand back on it — yep, definitely the same size — is going to fix anything.

“You branded me.” You blink at him. “I’m going to have to explain this to people. To witnesses.”

“Or we could just reapply and do the other side, for symmetry.”

You stretch. “It’s fine, you already ruined one side. Might as well commit.”

“If we flip,” he says, lips brushing your shoulder now, “we flip.”

join me at the lake for my 5k event!

maria's red, white and bau masterlist

[saltcxrcle]

sweet smiles and sweaters ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: you want to be close to sam as possible, which means you might crawl into his old hoodie... with him in it

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x gn! reader warnings: no use of 'y/n', fluff, pure fluff, like tooth-rottingly sweet, word count: 1.3K a/n: this is just me being obsessed with sam bc who isn't?? but this was inspired by a video i saw on my feed lol hope you guys enjoy this fluffy fic with sam hehe <3 sam winchester masterlist

IT WAS SCARY how fast you fell for Sam. But how could you not? Sam’s smile never failed to make your stomach flutter whenever he aimed it your way. Oh, and how could you forget to mention the adorable dimples that appeared when he smiled brightly and never failed to make you melt in your seat. You could feel your heartbeat race at the sound of his loud and boisterous laugh when you said something funny and couldn’t help but laugh along with him; his laugh was the best type of pick-me-up you could ever ask for. 

Sam’s mind was one that you always admired; he was brilliant, and you always loved to hear what he had researched for the hunt you guys were on. You loved hearing him talk; the low timbre of his voice never failed to fill your veins with warmth as you stared at him as he spoke—no doubt with love in your eyes; you always smiled and nodded along as he spoke. 

Sam made you feel in a way that you never had experienced before—and it scared you. You never entertained the thought of the chance of him reciprocating your feelings because you thought he could never see you as more than as a friend, someone he hunts with, and someone to confide in—but not be in a relationship with.

The thought of confessing to him made your stomach churn and twist into knots (a rejection from Sam would probably hurt more than the time you were thrown down a flight of stairs by a vengeful spirit on a hunt). Besides, there was no way you were risking messing up the friendship you had established with him, nor with the dynamic you had with the brothers. 

So, your plan of shutting up about your feelings was your best bet to save you from messing everything up until Sam came in with a sledgehammer (a metaphorical one, of course) and shattered it completely. 

The two of you were chatting quietly through a movie (a terrible one at that) that was playing on the TV in the motel room the three of you were sharing. Dean was out at the nearest bar, and Sam was sitting next to you, his shoulder against yours. You chuckled at the joke he had made about the flimsy plot. You looked at Sam as your laughing subsided, seeing a soft smile on his face as he looked at you—fondness glinting in his hazel gaze. 

Sam unconsciously leaned toward you, his hand coming to rest against your face and his thumb swiping against your cheek softly. You couldn’t help but lean into the warmth of his hand, but you were slightly confused at the action. You didn’t verbalize it, not wanting to break the spell Sam had put you under. 

His eyes flicked from yours to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Can I kiss you?” Sam’s breath was fanning over yours, resting his forehead against your own. 

You didn’t realize how close he had gotten but gave him a soft smile. “Yeah.” You murmured. 

Sam mirrored your smile before placing his lips on yours, drawing you in for the sweetest kiss you had ever gotten in your life (until that moment, of course). Your eyes fluttered shut when Sam kissed you, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours.

You were convinced that you were dreaming, but the warmth of Sam’s palm against your cheek told you that this was very much real and Sam was kissing you. It seemed to have lasted forever, but Sam pulled away from you slowly like he was reluctant to part from your lips. But he didn’t stray far; his forehead was still resting against yours.

You could feel your lips stretch into a broad smile, feeling giddy at the fact that Sam just kissed you. You slowly peeled your eyes open to see your favorite sight, Sam beaming down at you—something akin to love coloring his gaze as the two of you locked eyes with one another. 

Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face when the two of you woke up the following day after you guys had shared your first kiss but congratulated the both of you for finally getting over your fears and getting together. 

Now, you were at the table in another motel room, on another hunt in a random town in the Midwest, researching and typing away at your laptop. You couldn’t help but cast glances at your boyfriend, who was lying on your shared bed, his back against the headboard, as he flipped through one of the lore books he was able to check out from the library in this town. Sam’s brows were slightly furrowed, and you wanted to smooth out the wrinkle between his brows with either your fingers or a kiss. 

You smiled at the thought as you continued to look at Sam. He was wearing an old, worn Stanford hoodie that rarely saw the light of day, having been at the bottom of his duffle bag since he left university. You looked back at your laptop; you hadn’t found anything useful before looking back at him. You smirked to yourself before closing your laptop and getting up from the table you were hunched over for the past hour. 

Your hands went above your head, stretching out the stiff muscles in your shoulders and back before you padded over to the end of the bed where Sam was reading. He hadn’t noticed that you were there until you started to crawl onto the bed and towards him. 

Sam glanced up from the book to see your smirking face as you climbed up his body. “What are you doing?” He asked with a confused smile on his face. 

You didn’t bother with answering him verbally; you just shot him a sly smile before lifting the hem of the red hoodie he was wearing and crawling into it head first. 

Sam let out a shocked laugh, and an exclamation of your name fell from his lips. The book he was reading fell from his grip as you shimmied your way up his sweater. Sam squirmed slightly as your body shifted up his, plastering yourself against his. You eventually got your head through the top of the sweater, now being nose to nose with your darling boyfriend. 

“Hi.” You greeted him with a wide grin. 

“Hi.” Sam chuckled at your antics. His hand came to rest on your back as you straddled his body. “Is there any reason why you’re in my sweater with me?” 

“Do I need a reason to be close to my boyfriend?” 

“I suppose not, but you could have done without almost suffocating yourself in my hoodie.” 

You shook your head. “Nope, this is way more comfortable.” 

Sam let out a chuckle at your words, shaking his head. “Okay then honey.” 

“To answer your question, I was bored and I felt like it.” You weren’t exactly lying. Doing research on your laptop had lost its charm when you kept hitting dead end after dead end. But you weren’t going to admit that you just wanted to be as close to him as possible (there were days that you wanted to crawl into his skin, but you weren’t going to address that thought any time soon). 

“You got bored doing research didn’t you?” 

“Yep.” You popped the ‘p’ as you answered Sam, and he shook his head at you. 

He kissed your forehead, and your eyes fluttered at the feeling of his lips on your skin. Sam pulled back slightly before kissing you. You sunk into the kiss before he pulled back, placing another peck on your lips. 

“Are you going to stay there the entire time?” Sam asked you as he picked up the book from the bed. 

You nodded. 

“Will that be comfortable for you?” Sam had a slight frown on his lips. Not that he didn’t love having you this close to him, but he didn’t think that his sweater was big enough for the both of you. 

“I’ll be fine.” You told him before shifting downwards slightly, resting your head on his collarbone, and closing your eyes. 

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you through the opening of his sweater. He kissed your forehead again before going back to reading. 

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[ryin-silverfish]

One nerd's musing about Chinese religion and "respect"

-I try to stay away from fandom discourse, but, much like how you can smell the stench from a dumpster fire without walking into said dumpster fire, I've noticed something that seemed to come up a lot in western JTTW + adjacent fandoms: "respect Chinese religion".

-Usually as a reason for why you shouldn't ship a character, because of fucking course it's shipping discourse too.

-And my first reaction is "Man, you are taking Chinese religion too darn seriously, more than people who are born and raised in China."

-My second reaction is "I mean, most of us are atheist/agnostic by default anyways, with a good number of what I'd call 'atheist/agnostics with superstitions': people who said they were not religious, yet believed in Fengshui or divinations and burnt incense at temples for good luck."

-My third reaction: "But why do I get the feeling that when you mention 'Respect', you are thinking about something completely different?"

-Then I reread an essay from Anthony C. Yu, "Religion and Literature in China: The "Obscure Way" of Journey to the West", and the metaphorical lightbulb just lit up over my head.

(Everything below applies more to Daoism + associated folk religions, but by the time most classic Chinese vernacular novels were written, the blending of the three religions had become well and truly mainstream.)

(The conception of gods differs from dynasty to dynasty. What I'm describing here is mostly based on Ming and Qing ones; if you went back to Han or pre-Qin times, most of these would not apply.)

(I am one of the "atheist/agnostic by default" people. I just have an interest in this kind of stuff. I am also just one Chinese person, and an actual Daoist/Buddhist/Religion Studies researcher would probably have a lot more valuable information and perspective to offer when it comes to contemporary practices and worship. Like any people on the internet: take my words with a grain of salt.)

-Even in the past, when society was far less secularized, Chinese gods are not omniscient, perfect beings whose worship is a solemn, humorless affair. Some's worship are Serious Business, but that has more to do with the sort of gods they are and the patronage they enjoy, not godhood in and of itself.

-And even the ones that you are supposed to "treat seriously" are still very human. To use an analogy I've used plenty of times before: you respect and fear them in the same way you'd respect and fear an emperor's official, or the emperor himself, because if you don't, you are not gonna like the consequences.

-However, unlike Jesus, the emperor & his officials were capable of being temperamental, flawed, or an outright asshole, divine or not. Ideally, they wouldn't be, and if you were one of the "serious" believers——people who actually got an official permit, became ordained clergy, and went to live in a temple, you were unlikely to think of your gods in that manner.

-But it wasn't a complete, utter impossibility. The lower you go in the pantheon, the closer you get to popular religion, the less "serious" the gods and their worship become. By that, I mean general attitude, not sincerity of faith. You still shouldn't be rude to them, but, well, they are more likely to take a joke in stride, or participate in the "vulgar" pleasures of commoners because they weren't as bound to Confucian moral standards or religious disciplines.

-To stretch the same analogy further: you should still respect your village head, they could still give your ass a good spanking for being a disrespectful brat, but you were not obligated to get on your knees and kowtow to them like you would do in front of a provincial magistrate, the emperor's minister, or the emperor himself, nor did they have the power to chop your head off just because you were rude.

-On the other hand, the emperor would never visit a random peasant just to help them fix their broken plow or treat them to a nice meal, but your village head could, and your relationship would probably be warmer and a lot more personal as a result.

-Your respect for them was more likely to stem from the things they actually did for you and the village as a whole, instead of something owed to this distant, powerful authority you might never get to see in your lifetime, but could change its course with a single stroke of a brush.

-Now exchange "village head" for your run-of-the-mill Tudis and Chenghuangs and friendly neighborhood spirits (because yes, people worshipped yaoguais for the exact same reasons), emperor + his officials for the Celestial Bureaucracy, and you'd have a basic idea of how Chinese religions worked on the ground level.

-This is far from absolute: maybe your village head was a spiteful old bastard who loved bullying his juniors, maybe your regional magistrate was an honest, upright man who could enjoy a good drink and a good laugh, maybe the emperor was a lenient one and wouldn't chop your head off for petty offenses. But their general degree of power over you and the closeness of your relationships still apply.

-Complicating the matter further, some folk gods (like Wutong) were worshipped not because they brought blessings, but because they were the divine equivalent of gangsters running a protection racket: you basically bribed them with offerings so they'd leave you alone and not wreck your shit. Famous people who died violently and were posthumously deified often fell into this category——shockingly enough, Guan Yu used to be one such god!

-Yeah, kinda like how your average guy could become an official through the imperial examinations, so could humans become gods through posthumous worship, or cultivate themselves into immortals and Enlightened beings.

-Some immortals aren't qualified for, or interested in a position in the Celestial Bureaucracy——they are the equivalent of your hermits, your cloistered Daoist priests, your common literati who kept trying and failing the exams. But some do get a job offer and gladly take it.

-Anyways, back to my original point: that's why it's so absurd when people pull the "Respect Chinese Religion1!!1!" card and immediately follow up with "Would you do X to Jesus?"

-Um, there are a lot of things you can do with Chinese gods that I'm pretty sure you can't do with Jesus. Like worshipping him side by side with Buddha and Confucius (Lao Tzu). Or inviting him to possess you and drink copious amount of alcohol (Tang-ki mediums in SEA). Or genderbend him into a woman over the course of several centuries because folks just like that version of Jesus better (Guan Yin/Avalokitesvara).

-But most importantly, Chinese religions are kinda a "free market" where you could pick and choose between gods, based on their vicinity to you and how efficient they were at answering prayers. You respect them because they'll help you out, you aren't an asshole and know your manners, and pissing them off is a bad idea in general, not because they are some omnipotent, perfect beings who demand exclusive and total reverence.

-A lot of the worship was also, well, very "practical" and almost transactional in nature: leave offerings to Great Immortal Hu, and he doesn't steal your imperial seal while you aren't looking. Perform the rites right and meditate on a Thunder General's visage, and you can temporarily channel said deity's power. Get this talisman for your kids at Bixia Yuanjun's temple, and they'll be protected from smallpox.

-"Faith alone" or "Scripture alone" is seldom the reason people worship popular deities. Even the obsession with afterlife wasn't about the eternal destination of your soul, and more about reducing the potential duration of the prison sentence for you and your loved ones so you can move on faster and reincarnate into a better life.

-Also, there isn't a single "canon" of scriptures. Many popular gods don't show up in Daoist literature until much later. Daoist scriptures often came up with their own gigantic pantheons, full of gods no one had heard of prior to said book, or enjoyed no worship in temples whatsoever.

-In the same way famous dead people could become gods via worship, famous fictional characters could, too, become gods of folk religion——FSYY's pantheon was very influential on popular worship, but that doesn't mean you should take the novels as actual scriptures.

-Like, God-Demon novels are to orthodox Daoism/Buddhism what the Divine Comedy is to medieval Christian doctrines, except no priests had actually built a Church of Saint Beatrice, while Daoists did put FSYY characters into their temples. By their very nature, the worship that stemmed from these books is not on the same level of "seriousness" as, say, the Tiantai school of Buddhism and their veneration of the Lotus Sutra.

-At the risk of being guilty of the same insertion of Christianity where it doesn't belong: You don't cite Dante's Inferno in a theological debate, nor would any self-respecting pastor preach it to churchgoers on a Sunday.

-Similarly, you don't use JTTW or FSYY as your sole evidence for why something is "disrespectful to Chinese religion/tradition" when many practitioners of said religions won't treat them as anything more than fantasy novels.

-In fact, let's use Tripitaka as an example. The historical Xuanzang was an extraordinarily talented, faithful, and determined monk. In JTTW, he was a caricature of a Confucian scholar in a Buddhist kasaya and served the same narrative function as Princess Peach in a Mario game.

-Does the presence of satire alone make JTTW anti-Buddhist, or its religious allegories less poignant? I'd say no. Should you take it as seriously as actual Buddhist sutras, when the book didn't even take itself 100% seriously? Also no.

-To expand further on the idea of "seriousness": even outside of vernacular novels, practitioners are not beholden to a universal set of strict religious laws and taboos.

-Both Daoism and Buddhism had what we called "cloistered" and "non-cloistered" adherents; only the former needed to follow their religious laws and (usually) took a vow of celibacy.

-Certain paths of Daoist cultivation allow for alcohol and sexual activities (thanks @ruibaozha for the info), and some immortals, like Lv Dongbin, had a well-established "playboy" reputation in folklore.

-Though it was rarer for Buddhism and very misunderstood, esoteric variants of it did utilize sexual imageries and sex. And, again, most of the above would not apply if you weren't among the cloistered and ordained clergy.

-Furthermore, not even the worship of gods is mandatory! You could just be a Daoist who was really into internal alchemy, cultivating your body and mind in order to prolong your lifespan and, ideally, attain immortality.

-This idea of "respect" as…for a lack of better words, No Fun & R18 Stuff Allowed, you must treat all divinity with fearful reverence and put yourself completely at their mercy, is NOT the norm in Chinese religious traditions.

-There are different degrees and types of respect, and not every god is supposed to be treated like the Supreme Heavenly Emperor himself during an imperial ceremony; the gods are capable of cracking a joke, and so are we!

TL;DR: Religions are complicated, and you aren't respecting Chinese religions by acting like a stereotypical Puritan over popular Chinese deities and their fictional portrayals.

[meganegatari]

UM HI SURPRISE. i promise im working on loreful things but this is bouncing around my brain atm i need it to leave so enjoy. fluffy? smutty brainrot meow yk the drill idk what this is. 18+ whiny & teasing subtop!ellie. "baby/babe" petnames, praise, fingering (r! receiving).

"mmmm i wanna feel you baby." laying on top of you in bed, ellie squeezes at your waist and pushes her head further into the crook of your neck. "you're so warm, so soft. need more." she mumbles, pecking at the delicate pulse point beneath her lips. she coaxes delighted giggles to burst from you, and you feel her face widen into a smile against you, her teeth grazing your neck. fast forward a few moments, and she's sitting by your knees, face flushed, rose petal mouth pursed into a needy pout, shaky hands pulling at your waistband, causing it to snap back against your skin. "lemme fuck you. just wanna make you feel good, m'kay?" the way she's asking—it's so earnest, so eager. "mhm." you nod in approval, heat already pooling in your lower abdomen.

she chuckles, then leans over you to capture your jaw with one hand, and kiss you deeply, her tongue teasing yours with a tentative flick. she knows all the tricks, every little maneuver to make you clench around nothing and crave her more. but, dear ellie being ellie, has as much fun with that as she can.

the moment she feels you buck your hips skyward to bump against her front, she pulls away. cheeky grin taunting you, although without malice behind it. "so cute when you're needy, hm?" "shut. up." you hiss, also in a lighthearted manner. another thing about her, is she never takes it too far. she doesn't irritate you genuinely, just enough to work you up perfectly. to mold you and melt you under her touch, like putty.

her elegantly tattooed hand slinks down your body, tweaking every peak and valley it passes by, finishing its journey between your legs. she palms your pussy gently over your clothes, biting her lower lip when she sees the micro expression on your face. in one swift motion she removes the fabric barrier, your legs instinctively fighting to close in order to combat the cold air. wordlessly she prevents that, greedily eyeing your already-sopping folds, like a lioness about to devour a kill.

"so fuckin' pretty, fuck babe." your heart flutters at the praise, and warmth floods your face. ellie takes her time, swiping one lazy finger through your pussy, collecting your slick to spread you open, unable to hold back a moan as she watches the sight before her. the light touch sends your spiraling. your eyes rolling, back arching, it was nearly embarrassing.

she can't help herself, and stuffs her middle two digits inside you, within no time at all locating your spongy g-spot, beginning to frantically prod at it. her other hand pushes your knee further to the side, and thumb of her working hand stretching up, circling your thumping clit with increasing urgency.

by how she was acting, you'd thing she was the one getting fucked. your breaths speed up, and fingers twisting the sheets underneath you to stay grounded, and you wish you could force your eyes open to watch intently, because the pathetic look on her face was utterly golden.

whines tumble from your lips, louder and louder, reacting to her actions. your brain getting screwed to mush, you will her to go harder, faster, deeper, and as if she's a mind reader—she does just that. "c'mon, yeah, look at thattttt. so beautiful. this all f'me baby?" her voice crackles and wavers, little whimpers cutting her off.

the metaphorical elastic band in your abdomen gets tighter, and you arch backward, and she feels the way you're sucking her in, the pulsing of your clit under her thumb getting more intense as the peak approaches. you cry out her name, and can almost hear her sound tearful as she eggs you on to cum, blinding pleasure overtaking your being, you make a mess all over her hand. she works you through it steadily until the overstimulation aches, until your body is wrung of every ecstatic shockwave. by the time it passes, you open your eyes, and it seems as if she's just as out of breath as you are. she wraps you in an embrace, murmuring praises into you, massaging your still-tense body.

insert your own ending im lazy. if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, click here! thank you for reading, asks, reblogs, and comments are appreciated more than you know. ♡

tags: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @ashaynep @mascdom @xysbree @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @bunnitewsilly @mimasroom2 @deliriousrn @infiniteinquiries @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut

[xanneeeyyyy]

Pt. 2 Is It Too Late For Us?

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugou x Female Reader

Synopsis: Katsuki Bakugou was the one who let you go—only to realize too late that some mistakes can’t be undone.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Alternate Ending

Pro-Hero Dynamight was never the type to get distracted.

Patrolling the city was routine by now—watch, observe, handle trouble when needed. It was supposed to be just another night, another shift alongside Kirishima, walking the familiar streets as civilians passed them by.

And then he saw you.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

You were walking just a few feet away, head tilted back in laughter, eyes sparkling under the glow of the city lights. But it wasn’t just you. Some extra was beside you—close, too close.

Katsuki’s steps faltered for half a second. His breath hitched.

No way.

He should’ve looked away. He should’ve kept walking, should’ve ignored the sharp pang in his chest. But his gaze stayed locked on you, taking in every little detail—your smile, the way your hand lightly brushed against the guy’s arm, the effortless way you leaned into him.

Like you trusted him. Like you cared for him.

His jaw clenched.

That smile used to be his.

“Oi, Bakugou,” Kirishima’s voice broke through his thoughts. A nudge to his side, concerned. “You good, man? You kinda spaced out there.”

Katsuki snapped out of it, inhaling sharply. His grip tightened around the gloves of his hero costume.

“Tch. Don’t mind me,” he muttered, voice gruff. “I’m fine.”

Liar

But even as he forced himself to keep walking, his head turned involuntarily, eyes trailing after you. Watching as you disappeared down the street with that guy. His stomach twisted, something heavy pressing against his ribs.

You looked happy. Really happy.

And it wasn’t because of him.

A fish out of water, huh?

What a fitting metaphor.

The days blurred into weeks, and somehow, fate kept throwing them into each other’s orbit.

You never spoke, never even got close enough to, but Katsuki always saw you—across the street, in passing crowds, at a distance that felt both too far and painfully close.

But today was different.

You were alone.

Sitting on a park bench, staring off into the distance. No fucking extra by your side. No easy laughter or soft smiles. Just you, lost in thought.

He hesitated.

He should walk away. Pretend he hadn’t seen you. But his feet moved before his brain could stop them. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of you.

"Can I?" His voice wasn’t as firm as he wanted it to be.

You blinked up at him, startled. And for a moment, their eyes met. Then you looked away.

"...Sure."

He sat down, leaving just enough space between them. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant laughter of children and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that before he spoke.

"How are you?,” His voice was quieter than he intended.

You gave him a small, almost absentminded smile. "I’m good."

He knew that smile. It was the same one you used when you were hurting but didn’t want anyone to worry.

He swallowed. "How 'bout you?"

Her gaze flickered to him, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Same as you too,"

Liar.

A heavy exhale left him before he admitted, "I'm glad you're talking to me again."

You hesitated, then let out a soft chuckle. "There was never a reason for me not to,"

But before he could fully take in your words, his chest tightened, and the question he’d been trying to ignore for months slipped past his lips.

His voice dropped lower, rawer. "Y’know, about what happened four mon—"

"Bakugou," she cut him off gently. Her voice wasn’t cold, wasn’t angry—just calm. Resigned. "It’s okay,"

He stared at you, feeling something in him sink.

"It’s all in the past now."

"I mean it," you continued, voice soft but steady. "I’m not mad. I don’t hate you. You don’t have to explain anything."

Katsuki stared at you, something heavy settling in his chest.  "But—"

"I’ve moved on," you cut him off gently. "You should too"

His fingers curled into fists. "You’re just gonna act like it didn’t matter? Like—"

"Of course it mattered," you interrupted again, your voice barely above a whisper. "But what good does talking about it do now?"

He swallowed hard, looking away.

You stood up, brushing off your clothes like this was just another ordinary conversation. Like this didn’t feel like a knife twisting deeper into his chest.

"I should get going," you said, offering him one last sweet smile. "Take care, Bakugou"

And then you walked away.

His body felt cemented to the bench.

It’s okay.

It’s all in the past now.

Then why the hell did it still feel like he was the only one who couldn't move on?

Why can't he still accept the fact that they're gone?

"I CAN'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND!"

The sharp crack of glass meeting wood echoed through the dimly lit bar as Katsuki slammed his beer bottle down. His grip was tight, knuckles white with frustration. Across from him, Kirishima watched, exhaling heavily as he debated between knocking some sense into his best friend or just letting him self-destruct.

In the end, his patience won.

"Bakugou," Kirishima started, voice firm but calm. "Weren't you the one who broke up with her? The one who cut off all contact? The one who turned cold? Who backed away first? Hell, you even changed your damn number."

He met Bakugou’s glare head-on. "Now, tell me—are you even asking the right question?"

Katsuki's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "What the fuck are you trying to say?" He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck in irritation. "I’m sick of your damn mind games, shitty hair."

Kirishima scoffed, shaking his head. "You." He pointed at him. "Why are you so affected? What do you want? For her to be miserable? For her to crawl back to you, crying over something you ended?" His voice was steady but edged with frustration.

"She loved you. You loved her. You fell out of love—or at least that’s what you told yourself. You left. She moved on. That’s it, Bakubro. That’s the story."

But the weight of those words felt unbearable. Katsuki swallowed, his throat dry, the ache in his chest growing heavier. His voice wavered, quieter this time.

"Then why… does our ending look like this?"

His fingers twitched as he stared down at the table, his pride and pain warring inside him.

"Wouldn't there be… a part two?"

Silence stretched between them. Kirishima’s expression softened, his frustration fading into something more understanding.

"Bakugou..." Kirishima calmly said. "I'm not the one that you should ask."

Katsuki stared blankly at the condensation dripping from his beer bottle, his grip loosening as Kirishima’s words sank in.

"That’s not a question I can answer for you."

Then who the hell could?

His chest felt too tight, like he couldn’t breathe.

“Tch.” He scoffed, pushing the bottle aside. “Fuck this.”

Kirishima sighed, leaning forward. “Bakugou—”

“Shut up.” Katsuki stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. His movements were stiff, tense, like he was barely holding himself together. “I need some fucking air.”

Kirishima didn’t stop him. He just watched as his best friend stormed out of the bar, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, and heart heavier than he’d ever admit.

The night air was cold against his flushed skin, but Katsuki barely felt it. His mind was spinning, replaying everything over and over again.

Your smile.

The way you laughed with that extra.

That guy—whoever the fuck he was—walking beside you like he belonged there.

He ran a hand through his hair, gripping it tight, frustration bubbling up inside him like an explosion waiting to happen.

"Why does it fucking hurt?" He muttered to himself, voice hoarse.

He was the one who let her go.

He was the one who walked away.

So why did it feel like she was the one who left him behind?

Before he even realized it, his feet were already moving, his body acting on instinct. He wasn’t thinking—he just needed to do something.

He needed to see her.

Even if it was a mistake.

Even if it was already too late.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this new update! Let me know your thoughts in the comments. Also, thank you for all the love and support—it truly warms my heart to see you reading my work.

© 2025 CODE:BKRX — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

prompt. loquacious devil gets his cake and eats it: telepathy during cunnilingus.

When he offered you a reward and you told him what you wanted, you didn't expect him to agree. So when he did, since you've been such a good little mouse after all, you couldn't contain your excitment, giddily scrambling onto the bed. The devil laughed at you, a little mean, observing you languidly.

"My, my. How eager you are to see me on my knees - metaphorically or not. Perhaps I should be concerned..."

"No," you said, aware of the line to tread around Raphael. He liked it when you begged, when you simpered, when you wanted him. He liked it when you were bold. He didn't like when you were audacious. When you dared to push above your station. "I just - your mouth on me...it's..."

"Oh?" An eyebrow raised on Raphael's handsome face, a sly smile spreading his pretty, thin lips. "Is it a fantasy of yours, pet? A naughty thought that has kept you warm at night when you're lonely in your bed?"

"Yes," you murmured. Fought not to combust with embarassment at the salacious way the devil smirked at you. He was delighted by this information, you knew. His tail swayed to and fro.

"Well," he purred, "far be it from me to deny you something you've longed for."

Like a huge red panther, Raphael crawled onto the bed after you. His feline smile never faded. His big wings flexed. His size dwarfed you. You watched him, your heart pounding with anticipation. Blood roared in your ears. You let your thighs fall open for the devil's broad frame, gasping in surprise when he clicked his fingers and your trousers and small-clothes disappeared. You stuffed your knuckles in your mouth and bit them. To have Raphael between your legs like this was as electric and arousing as you imagined, but in hindsight, potentially dangerous; a predatory gleam in his eye, sharp teeth so close to your softest, most vulnerable parts...he had less penchant for biting than his incubus, but you knew from experience the possibility definitely wasn't off the table. A testament to how doomed you were that the threat didn't frighten you.

(You had no idea.)

"What's this?" Raphael crooned. Tilted his head. Dragged one claw through the softness of your pubic curls to brush over your clit and between your mons. You took in a sharp breath, but Raphael simply pulled his finger away to show you it was coated in slick. He was deeply amused. "Wet already and I haven't even started yet...how utterly pathetic your desperation for me is. But fret not, my sweet, wanton little mouse. I can keep a secret."

Before you could say anything, he sucked his claw clean, humming as he did so. "Not bad. This won't be as much of a chore as I thought."

Raphael, squatting in the space between your knees, grabbed the meat of your thighs and widened their spread, stretching almost to the point of pain. You liked the discomfort. The threat of ten sharp points, ten cambion claws piercing your skin and drawing blood. The devil stared at your sex, so close each hot puff of his breath tingled, raising all the baby hairs on your arms and the back of your neck. He stared until you began to squirm.

"Raphael," you whispered.

The devil chuckled, a deep and throaty sound that, quite literally, went to your cunt. Without fanfare, his rough warm tongue lolled out and licked you from the base of your sex to the top of your clit in a single, harsh swipe. You whined, biting deep into your own knuckles. Your other hand longed to grip one of Raphael's mighty horns, but you knew that you weren't to touch him until he allowed it, so instead you twisted your fingers into the sheets beneath you. He squeezed your flesh in his big red hands tighter, claws scratching light welts. Again he licked, and again, and again, and again; hard, harder, sloppy, effortlessly rolling the meat of his tongue against your entrance, teased it with its separate forked tips, spreading your gooey slick around as he pleased. Your back arched, pushing your aching sex into his face. Encouraging him to enter you. Lick you inside and out.

"Yes, please please please..."

So greedy. I'm already rewarding you with my generous service, and yet you're still asking for more. Perhaps I've spoiled you too much.

You twitched. You heard the devil's voice clear as day, but his mouth was occupied. You opened your eyes (you didn't know when you had closed them) and glanced down. Though he was buried in your snatch, Raphael’s reptilian eyes, onyx and fire, were fixed on you. His gaze was searing. What a fucking sight. Your stomach dropped, and then it roiled with shock and desire. He was in your head, you realised. Sifting through your thoughts like sheets of paper, projecting his words directly into your consciousness. Of course he would find a way to keep talking despite having his mouth full of pussy.

Crass.

"It's...mmm, ahh, my mind..."

Wrong. You belong to me, don't forget. What's yours is mine.

That shouldn't have thrilled you as much as it did. You felt Raphael's amusement and satisfaction about that as though it were your own. Your body trembled, guts taut. He was sucking on your labia, flattening his tongue to rub on your slick flesh everywhere except where you wanted.

Suck my clit, you thought, please, I need you to suck my clit.

You couldn't control your thoughts, though, mind racing about how gorgeous, how handsome, how beautiful he looked all the time as though he'd been carved to life by hellish angels, how fucking incredible he was between your legs, how you could come just by watching him down there because he painted such an erotic portrait lapping at your pussy that you'd be masturbating to the memory for the rest of your life but it would never feel as good as it did now, oh please suck my clit...

Hells. It was a groan, gruff, a tad irritated, but you sensed the desire in him, the fire you were igniting in his blood as you stroked his ego. Your thoughts are so chaotic, so loud. I'm tempted to lobotomise you, my needy little pet, but then whose desperate, carnal fantasies about myself would I indulge in, if not yours?

Finally, at last, he took pity on you. Enveloped your swollen clit in the moist cavern of his mouth. Sucked hard. So hard his fangs scraped you. You squealed, you couldn't help it, your legs clamping around his head. He seemed to like that. His arousal, his true fiendish nature, began leaking into his projected thoughts.

So warm. So pliant. How good your sopping quim tastes. I can smell your sweet mortal blood pumping through your veins, you know. You would let me tear you open and drink straight from the still-beating source, wouldn't you? Yesss...such a good little creature you are...

You'd let him take you to pieces. You'd do it yourself if he asked. You rutted against his face, rolling your hips in desperate pursuit of the violent orgasm you could feel pulling at all the strings that made you a person. Strings held by this devil, the puppeteer of your ruin, and your salvation. You loved him. You adored him.

And now he knew. Shit.

This time you physically felt his dark, smug, infernal satisfaction like the scuttling legs of spiders across your brain. The cruel smile pulling his lips around your fat clit. How utterly you had ruined yourself. He had ruined you.

Oh, you poor thing. You can't keep a secret at all. He cooed to your very quivering soul. Slid his serpentine tongue up your entrance suddenly, a selfish invasion, groaning in dark delight when your insides clamped around it and you shrieked. Grabbed his horns reflexively. He let you, fragmented thoughts drifting by of you split on his cock and screaming as he writhed and rutted and emptied his balls, filled you and fucked you and bred you over and over and over. You were taking his tongue so well. You'd take everything else, too. So, so greedy. But that's alright. We're going to have such fun together...aren't we?

[magic-shop-stories]

Hi, C! You write the most amazing headcanons! They're so detailed and beautiful. Would you be willing to make headcanons for OT7 with a plus-sized girlfriend? I'm trying to start loving my body more rather than conform to any beauty standards. Thank you 💜💜💜

💌 Reply:

Hey there... first of all THANK YOU SO SO MUCH for this beautiful request, I am absolutely with you and that might be one of the reasons it took me so long to write this (I'm sorry) , because I really tried not to make it too much about myself and had to take a break while writing. (not that this is an entirely bad thing but it felt pretty personal at some point and I was scared it would be weird)... anyway - I really hope this is what you wanted and what you were looking for 💜 feel hugged and free to ask for more -c -

BTS OT7 x Plus-Size Partner 

NAMJOON

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Intellectual Worship

Namjoon doesn’t just see your body

he studies it

not with clinical detachment

with the awe of a man who believes every curve is a stanza in an epic poem

Late-Night Conversations

catch him staring at your stretch marks in bed

fingertips hovering like he’s afraid to smudge a masterpiece

“These, are like the rings of a sequoia. Proof of growth. Survival.”

you laugh nervously

“And far more interesting than my tree metaphors.”

Artistic Parallels

takes you to the Leeum Museum

stands you in front of a Yayoi Kusama infinity mirror

“You’re like this... endless, luminous. Too vast for any frame.”

Protective Advocacy

at a cafe, a stranger mutters:

“She’s lucky to land him.” 

Namjoon turns slowly

voice calm but eyes blazing

“Luck implies randomness. What we have is physics... inevitable as gravity.”

pays for their coffee

“Enjoy the latte. And the introspection.”

after a bad dysmorphia day, he draws a bath scattered with lavender and his own favorite books

“Join me. The water displacement theory is more fun with two.”

HOW HE CELEBRATES YOU

Words as Armor

Love Notes

slips a handwritten quote into your lunchbox

“You are the universe, expressing itself as human for a little while.” — N.T.

adds a PS

“P.S. Your kimchi pancakes are better than the cosmos.”

Lyrical Tributes

writes a verse about your hips for his solo album

“A cradle for the moon / my hands too small to hold such grace.” 

lets you hear it first

“Too cheesy? I can… edit.”

you cry?

he panics

“Good tears? Please say good tears.”

Acts of Service

Food = Love

learns to bake your childhood dessert

despite burning/ruining it three times

presents the fourth with singed eyebrows

“Uhhh... I am a quick study. Eat.”

Nature Therapy

plans hikes to hidden temples

insists on carrying the picnic basket

“Your strength isn’t measured by a backpack. Let me… contribute to the ecosystem.”

HOW HE GROWS WITH YOU

Learning Curve

Mistakes

accidentally buys you a “fitness tracker” as a gift

realizes his error when you freeze

spends the night researching intuitive eating

leaves a tear-stained apology note

“I’m sorry. I’ll be better.”

Education

bookmarks essays on fat liberation

debates toxic diet culture with Jungkook

“Hyung, it’s just a salad...” “It’s never just a salad.”

Shared Vulnerability

Confessions

admits he used to equate “health” with thinness

“I was wrong. Health is… waking up excited to live. You taught me that.”

Mutual Healing

lets you see his own insecurities

= stretch marks from rapid muscle gain, scars from idol pressures

“We’re both… works in progress. Beautifully unfinished.”

HOW HE DEFIES THE WORLD FOR YOU

Public Statements

UN Speech

diverts from his climate script

“Sustainability isn’t just for the planet; it’s for our souls. We must sustain joy, self-love, the radical act of existing unapologetically.”

camera pans to you in the front row

he doesn’t look

he doesn’t need to

Fashion Rebellion

wears a custom suit jacket lined with fabric matching your favorite dress

“So you’re always with me. Even when they crop you out of photos.”

Private Revolutions

Home Sanctuary

turns your shared bedroom into a tech-free zone

“Here, you’re not a ‘body’, you’re my home.”

Legacy Building

plants a gingko tree in your name

“In 100 years, this will remind someone that love outlives labels.”

JIN

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Playful Devotion

Jin’s love is loud, bright, and relentlessly affectionate

doesn’t whisper metapho

declares your beauty like it’s a universal law

Food = Flirtation

drags you into the kitchen for “mandu-making lessons”

they devolve into flour fights

him smearing filling on your nose

“Yah! You’re supposed to eat the mandu, not wear it!”

pauses, tilts his head

“Though you do look delicious.”

Confidence Contagion

when you shyly adjust your dress, he swoops in, spins you

“STUNNING! ABSOLUTELY STUNNING!”

shouts so loud the neighbors text to ask if he’s okay

“Tell them I’m enlightened.”

he smirk

Public Pride

Red Carpet Flex

chooses matching outfits for events

your billowing silk gown to his sharp tux

whispers

“They’ll say I’m your arm candy. Joke’s on them... I’M THE SNACK.”

Social Media King

posts unedited candids of you mid-laugh

sauce on your chin

captioned “Masterpiece (and also bibimbap).” 

blocks trolls with a flair

“Bye, haters! My GF’s thighs could end you.”

HOW HE CELEBRATES YOU

Dad Jokes as Armor

Affirmation Warfare

you groan about jeans?

he gasps

“You hate pants? Same. Let’s burn them!”

tosses yours into a bonfire (they’re actually his)

presents you with a satin robe

“Now this is fashion. And by fashion, I mean me staring at your legs.”

Silly Serenades

writes a troti song about your curves to the tune of “Super Tuna.” 

“My baby’s soft, my baby’s round, my baby’s the best snack in town!” 

performs it ONLY for you

Acts of Service (Chaotic Edition)

Spa Sabotage

books a couple’s massage

then bribes the staff to let him DIY it

ends up kneading your shoulders like bread dough

“I am a natural. You’re welcome.”

Fitness? FUN-ness

drags you to a trampoline park

“We’re not here to ‘exercise’... we’re here to bounce haters out of our brains.”

flips mid-air

breaks a spring

blames Jungkook

HOW HE PROTECTS YOUR PEACE

Shutting Down Critics

Clapbacks with Class

at a fanmeet, someone asks:

“How do you stay fit dating… her?”

Jin freezes

laughs

“How do you stay rude dating… your personality?”

crowd roars

later, he buys you ice cream

“They’re just jealous I’m taken. Understandable.”

Family Defense

an aunt side-eyes your third serving at Chuseok?

Jin piles more kimchi on your plate

“She’s cultivating mass. For… science. Right, jagiya?”

winks

“Eat up, my little researcher.”

Private Sanctuary

No Mirrors, No Problems

covers the bedroom mirrors with K-drama posters

“Now we can focus on what really matters... my face.”

lets you peel them off one by one when you’re ready

Bad Day Protocol

brings you his childhood teddy bear, and a bucket of fried chicken

“Fluffy’s on hug duty. I’m on wing duty. Cry if you need to... I got napkins.”

HOW HE GROWS WITH YOU

Learning (the Jin Way)

buys you a “diet” cookbook as a joke

realizes it’s not funny when you flinch

burns the book in the backyard while roasting marshmallows

“New rule: no diets, just s’mores.”

binge-watches My ID is Gangnam Beauty with you

“See? Even the ‘perfect’ girl’s miserable. Let’s stick to our drama, it’s way funnier.”

Shared Vulnerability

admits he used to worry about “matching” society’s couple standards

“But then I realized... why be a ‘power couple’ when we can be a comedy duo? Way more Oscars.”

joins you in a plus-size yoga class

“Hyung’s flexible... prepare to be amazed!”

sprains his ankle

you half-carry him home

“See? You’re the strong one. I’m the damsel.”

HOW HE DEFINES FOREVER

Proposals & Pancakes

hides a ring in a pancake stack

“Eat up! There’s a surprise…”

panics when you almost swallow it

“WAIT! SPIT IT OUT!”

you cough up a diamond

he kneels, syrup in his hair

“Marry me? Hyung’s a mess without you.”

Wedding Vows

“I vow to always steal your fries, defend your honor, and remind you that you’re the original visual.”

Legacy of Laughter

teaches your future kids to roast diet culture

turns your love story into a webtoon:

“Worldwide Handsome & the Goddess of Chaos.” 

you’re the protagonist

he’s the “plucky sidekick”

YOONGI

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Unspoken Reverence

doesn’t wax poetic

he observes

his love language is in the pauses between words

= the way his calloused fingertips linger on the softness of your hips when you pass him in the kitchen

as if memorizing the topography of a place he calls home

Studio Sanctuary

builds you a corner in his studio with a velvet couch he salvaged from a flea market

“You’ll distract me"

grumbles, but leaves the door cracked when he works.

later, you find a demo track titled “Adagio for Softness”

melody mirrors the rhythm of your breathing

Practical Praise

notices you avoiding mirrors

replaces the bathroom one with a vintage oval frame etched with “Proof of Life” in Hangul

“Now it’s art. Stop glaring at it.”

Defiant Intimacy

Private Rituals

traces the stretch marks on your thighs during thunderstorms

“These look like soundwaves. Let’s sample them.”

records the static of his fingertips against your skin

loops it into a beat

“Hm. Better than most synth pads.”

Nighttime Honesty

wakes you at 3 a.m.

voice rough with sleep

“You’re warm. Like… stupid warm. C’mere.”

pulls you into his chest

nose buried in your hair

“S’nice.”

HOW HE PROTECTS YOUR PEACE

Silent Advocacy

Industry Shade

overhears a producer joke about “idols dating outside their league.”

Yoongi cancels their collab

replaces it with a track featuring your laughter

lets the diss track speak for him

“Your ego’s a skip button / I’m the whole damn album.”

Public Moments

at a fansign, someone asks if he “prefers petite girls.”

he deadpans

“I prefer people who don’t ask dumb questions.” 

later, buys you tteokbokki

“Eat. You’re my human shield against idiots.”

Safe Spaces

Fashion Rebellion

sneaks you into his closet

lets you borrow his oversized hoodies

“They’re warmer on you.”

doesn’t admit he loves how you drown in them

Tech Guardian

sets up a spam filter on your phone after hate comments

“Keyboard warriors are amateurs. I’ve fought bigger demons.”

he means sleep deprivation

HOW HE CELEBRATES YOU

Subtle Grandeur

Mixtape Love Letters

creates a playlist called “For When the World Sucks” 

filled with Nina Simone, your shower singing, and ambient rain

leaves it on your phone with no explanation

Food = Affection

masters your grandma’s kimchi recipe

“It’s not for you. Just… the fridge was empty.”

lets you catch him smiling when you moan over the first bite

Growth & Grit

Learning Curve

googles “how to support body positivity” at 4 a.m.

accidentally lectures Jungkook about diet culture

“Hyung, I just wanted ramyeon...” “Read the room.”

Shared Scars

shows you his shoulder surgery scars

“Used to hate these. Now they’re just… proof I survived.”

kisses the stretch marks on your stomach

“Same energy.”

HOW HE DEFIES EXPECTATIONS

Creative Rebellion

Lyricism

writes a verse for Agust D

“They say love’s a narrow lane / fuck that, mine’s a wildfire.” 

lets ARMY assume it’s metaphorical

you know better

Photography Passion

sneaks candid shots of you:

mid-laugh, flour in your hair, napping with Holly

exhibits them anonymously at a indie gallery titled “The Muse They Can’t Crop”

Quiet Revolution

Home Rituals

bans scales from the house

“We’re not scientists.”

replaces them with a vintage radio that only plays calm songs

“Better for the soul.”

Legacy Building

funds a scholarship for plus-sized dancers

“Talent’s not a size. And I’m rich.”

J-HOPE

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Unshakable Hype Man Energy:

he doesn’t just accept your bod 

celebrates it like it’s his life’s mission

love language = amplification

turning your insecurities into anthems

Morning Rituals

whistles dramatically when you walk into the kitchen

“Wow. Who gave you the right to wake up looking like a whole sunrise?”

dances around you while you make coffee

hip-checking the counter

“Move over, world! The main character’s here.”

Dance Floor Devotion

creates a TikTok series called “Choreo for Every Body” 

he designs moves highlighting your curves

like the “Soft Shimmy” (a shoulder roll that melts into a hip sway)

“Joyful Jiggle” (a bouncy step that makes your laughter the beat)

fans lose their minds

you blush?

he reposts your duet with 🌟#REALMUSE

Fashion as Rebellion

Custom Designs

collaborates with a size-inclusive brand to launch a line named “Hope’s Horizon.” 

signature piece?

= sequined bomber jacket with “Art Never Fits in a Box” embroidered inside the collar

his only request: you model it first

“You’re the blueprint, baby.”

Everyday Glam

sneaks into your closet and replaces old hoodies with cropped cardigans in bold patterns

“Trust me... your waist deserves frame status.”

when you fret, he strikes a pose in the mirror beside you

“Look at us. Visual violence.”

HOW HE PROTECTS YOUR PEACE

Shutting Down Noise

Live Stream Justice

during a VLIVE, a comment pops up

“Is your girlfriend on a diet for the tour?” 

Hobi’s smile doesn’t drop, but his eyes turn glacial

“Diet? Nah, we’re on a joy diet. Today’s menu: self-love tacos and zero fucks.”

blocks/reports the user mid-laugh

“Next question!”

Behind-the-Scenes Boss

catches a stylist muttering about “limited options” for your red-carpet debut

next day, he arranges a meeting with the design team

“I need five looks. Her size is ‘iconic’... make it work.”

leaves humming “Cypher Pt. 4” louder than necessary

Safe Space Curator

Mirror Magic

covers your bathroom mirror with sticky notes

“J-Hope’s #1 Crush Lives Here”* / “Warning: Hot Person Zone” / “You’re 100% My Type (All Types Are My Type).”

Guilty Pleasure Defense

catches you side-eyeing a dessert menu

slides it toward you

“Hobi's paying. Hyung’s also judging you if you don’t order two.”

HOW HE GROWS WITH YOU

Learning Through Love

Mishaps to Moments

buys you gym gear as a “fun surprise!”

realizing too late it echoes toxic diet ads

you freeze?

he backtracks

“Wait, no... I’m the gym! Dance with me!”

cue an impromptu living-room workout to “Chicken Noodle Soup.” 

ends with you both breathless

“See? Fitness is… whatever makes you feel alive.”

Education with Flair

drags you to a body-positive dance workshop

volunteers you both for the front row

“If I can’t nail the waacking, no one can!”

spoiler: he nails it

you both leave sweaty

Vulnerability in Verse

Lyric Diary

writes a song called “Army of One” about your journey

chorus: “You fought a war I never saw / Let me be your ceasefire.” 

plays it on loop in the car until you memorize the words

Confessional Nights

admits he used to think love was fixing people

“But you’re not broken. You’re… masterpiece.”

pokes your dimple

“And I’m the lucky bastard who gets to frame you.”

HOW HE REDEFINES “PERFECTION”

Stage Revolution

Concert Spotlight

surprises you during his “= (Equal Sign)” solo by pulling you onstage

screens zoom in as he whispers:

“They need to see what real magic looks like.”

you freestyle

he matches your rhythm

all sharp grins and softer edges

ARMYs trend “Hobi’s Muse” for weeks

Choreo Easter Eggs

hides a move in “Dynamite” where he pats his belly and blows a kiss to your seat

fans decode it as “Love Yourself” in sign language.

it’s not

he’ll never tell

Private Celebrations

Anniversary Extravaganza

rents a carnival for the night

wins you a giant plushie,

drags you on the Ferris wheel

“Look...the stars are clapping for you.”

gets sick when you ride it together

Scrapbook of Smiles

fills a photo album with candids of you mid-laugh

double-chin and all

captions: “Proof the world bends toward joy.”

JIMIN

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Tactile Affirmation

his hands are never still

they trace the swell of your hips during movie nights

knead the softness of your thighs after long days

cradle your face like you’re made of stardust

“You’re so warm."

murmurs, pressing his cheek to your belly

“This is where the sun lives, isn’t it?” 

you tense?

he nuzzles closer

“Let me stay here. I’ve been cold for so long.”

Mirror Rituals

after his own brutal history of body scrutiny, he hates mirrors

until he stands behind you in one

fingers laced over your stomach

“Look. See how we fit? Like we were sculpted for this.”

kisses the pulse point below your ear

“Every part of you… it’s where I belong.”

HOW HE PROTECTS YOUR PEACE

Food as Rebellio

reminded oh his own diets, he now cooks with reckless abandon

masters your favourite family recipe

feeds you bites off his fork with a defiant grin

“They told me food was the enemy. But look... this is love.”

you hesitate?

he licks sauce from your chin

“You’re not ‘cheating.’ You’re living.”

Safe Spaces

scouts restaurants beforehand to ensure comfy seating

“No, hyung... the booth, not the chair. She deserves to relax.” 

carries a sweater in his bag to drape over your lap if a dress rides up

“Not because you need to hide. Because the world doesn’t deserve you yet.”

HOW HE CELEBRATES YOU

Dance of Devotion

in the privacy of your living room, he choreographs a duet just for you

“Follow my lead."

lets you steer, his hands firm on your waist as you sway

“You move like the ocean. Powerful. Unstoppable.” 

records it on his phone

watches it when he’s away

“My favorite performance.”

Affirmation Arsenal

leaves sticky notes in your makeup bag

“Your laugh is my favorite sound.” “Your stretch marks glow like moonlight. Let them shine.” “You’re the reason I believe in softness.”

HOW HE CONFRONTS HIS PAST TO CHERISH YOUR PRESENT

Shared Scars

one night, he shows you a photo from his trainee days

gaunt cheeks, hollow eyes

“I used to think this was strength”

voice cracking

“But you… you’re the strongest person I know. You carry your heart and mine.” 

wipes your tears with his sleeve

“Don’t cry. We’re free now.”

Defiance in Detail

buys you lingerie in his favorite color

“Wear it for you, not me. But if you want me to beg, I will.” 

when you model it, he doesn’t look at your body

he stares into your eyes

“You’re so… bright. How do I deserve this?”

HOW HE SILENCES THE NOISE

Public Shield

at a fan event, someone shouts:

“How do you stay fit dating her?” 

Jimin’s smile drops

“How do you stay rude dating your personality?” 

crowd gasps

later, he tweets: “Love isn’t a weight class. Blocked.”

Private Vows

throws out his old scale

replaces it with a Polaroid camera

“Every time you feel ‘too much,’ take a photo. I’ll write why it’s not enough… because you’re infinite.”

HOW HE LOVES HIMSELF THROUGH LOVING YOU

Healing Loop

watches you apply lotion, mesmerized

“Can I…?”

kneels, massages it into your calves

“You’re so gentle with yourself.”

whispers

“Teach me.” 

lets you rub arnica into his dancer’s bruises 

“See? We’re both learning.”

Legacy of Light

tattoos a tiny sun behind his ear

“So I never forget where my warmth comes from.”

TAEHYUNG

ARTISTIC ADMIRATION: YOU ARE HIS MUSE

Portraits of Devotion

his camera roll is 90% you

not posed or filtered

but candid

= you laughing mid-bite of tteokbokki, sunlight catching the curve of your hip as you stretch, your reflection in a rainy bus window

he prints them as polaroids and tacks them to a corkboard titled “My Living Louvre.”

Exhibition of Love

rents a tiny gallery space for your birthday

the exhibit? 

“Unedited: A Celebration of Human Light.” 

each photo is paired with a handwritten note

“This is the moment I realized joy has no size.”

Body as Art

sketches you during lazy Sundays

charcoal smudged on his cheek

“Stop moving; your collarbone looks like a bird mid-flight.”

frames the drawing beside his bed

“So I remember to dream in your shape.”

WHIMSICAL AFFECTION: LOVE AS PLAY

Fashion Alchemy

Taehyung raids thrift stores to craft outfits that scream you

velvet corset over a flowing skirt? 

“You’re a Baroque painting come to life.” 

baggy overalls with sequined boots? 

“My disco-era goddess.” 

he’ll argue with stylists who suggest “slimming” cuts

“Why hide a masterpiece?”

Matching Magic

designs couple outfits where his look is simple

letting yours shine

neon tracksuit for him

billowing silk gown with your favorite flowers embroidered for you

posts it

“She’s the main character. I’m just the hype man.”

Spontaneous Joy

Midnight Adventures

drags you to a 24-hour arcade

wins a giant plushie

declares, “This is your body double. Flawless.” 

lets you name it something ridiculous

Foodie Love

feeds you hotteok at 3 a.m.

wiping syrup off your chin with his thumb 

“You eat like… a happy bear. It’s my favorite thing.”

PROTECTIVE FEROCITY: YOUR KNIGHT IN BERET ARMOR

Shutting Down Noise

at a party, a model mutters:

“How’d she bag V?” 

Taehyung loops an arm around your waist

grinning dangerously

“Funny, I was just wondering how you bagged audacity.” 

later, he slow-dances with you alone on the balcony

“Let’s never come back here. Unless you want to.”

Digital Defend

a troll comments “Lose weight” on your joint selfie

he replies with a close-up of his middle finger

“Artistic interpretation of my feelings.”

floods your posts with heart emojis

“Now the algorithm knows what’s important.”

SHARED CREATIVITY: BUILDING WORLDS TOGETHER

Collaborative Projects

turns your stretch marks into a mural

mixes gold paint to trace them on a canvas

whispering

“Kintsugi for the soul.” 

hangs it in the living room

guests ask: “What’s it mean?” 

he winks

“That brokenness is just light waiting to shine.”

writes a song called “Velvet Thunder” 

it's about your laughter

records your voice saying “I love you” as the outro

ARMYs sob

you sob harder

Vintage Love Letters

finds a 1950s typewriter to write you love notes

“Dearest, your beauty is timeless. Unlike this machine... it keeps jamming. Just like my heart when you walk in.”

GROWTH & VULNERABILITY: LEARNING TO HOLD SPACE

His Confessions

after a photoshoot

“I used to think love was about fixing people. But you… you’re not broken. You’re a whole damn symphony.”

lets you see his own insecurities

“We’re both… art in progress. Messy. Human.”

Rituals of Reassurance

starts “Gratitude Sundays”

listing things he loves about your body

“Your arms... they feel like coming home. Your thighs; my favorite pillows.”

when you have a bad day, he wraps you in his oversized denim jacket

“This is my armor. Now it’s yours.”

JUNGKOOK

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Unfiltered Adoration

Jungkook’s love is loud, tactile, and unapologetically sincere

doesn’t intellectualize your curves

celebrates them with the enthusiasm of someone who’s found his favorite playground

Playful Worship

pokes your stomach during movie nights just to hear you laugh

“It’s so soft. Like a marshmallow. Can I nap here?”

falls asleep with his head on your lap

arms wrapped around your waist like a koala

Gym Buddy Redefined

drags you to the gym

but it’s all about fun

challenges you to weightlifting contests

cheering when you out-lift him

“You’re a beast! Let’s get matching ‘World’s Strongest’ shirts!”

posts a boomerang of you togehter

Protective Instincts

Public Defense

at a fan meet, someone whispers:

“How’d she getJungkook?” 

he overhears, slings an arm around your shoulders

grins

“Nah, I got her. Took six months of begging. Right, jagiya?”

crowd erupts

your face burns

he kisses your temple

“Worth it.”

Private Reassurance

after a bad day, he notices you avoiding mirrors

silently lifts you onto the bathroom counter

stares into your eyes

“You’re perfect. Let me list why.”

proceeds to ramble about your laugh, your thighs, the way you “look like a goddess”...

HOW HE CELEBRATES YOU

Adventures in Joy

Jungkook turns self-love into a thrill

Spontaneous Photo Shoots

drags you to a photobooth

squishing both of you into the frame

“Smile! We’re gonna be legendary.”

keeps the strip in his wallet

shows it to everyone

“See? We’re, like, visual icons.”

Food = Love Language

masters your favorite desser

feeds you bites mid-VLive

fans freak out

“What? She’s my taste-tester. And my muse.”

licks frosting off your thumb

“Accident.”

Secret Romantic

Custom Gifts

learns embroidery to stitch “Jungkook’s Favorite Masterpiece” on a hoodie

"forces" you to wear it on dates

“Proof you’re mine. And also… comfy.”

Late-Night Serenades

sings “My Time” with rewritten lyrics

“Your time, your curves, your fire—I’m just lucky to be here.” 

records it as your alarm tone

“Now you’ll wake up to art.”

HOW HE GROWS WITH YOU

Learning Curve

accidentally buys you a crop top

thinking it’s “cute."

reads your hesitation

immediately donates it and replaces it with a cozy sweater

“I am an idiot. But I’ll learn.”

watches documentaries on body positivity

texts you clips at 3 a.m.

“THIS IS WHY SOCIETY SUCKS. YOU’RE A GODDESS.” 

debates haters on social media

gets blocked

“No regrets.”

Shared Vulnerability

admits he used to equate “fitness” with being thin

“But you’re the strongest person I know. Changed my whole… brain.”

flexes your bicep (let's you)

“See? This is goals.”

Mutual Healing

lets you see his own insecurities

“We’re both… human. But humans are kinda magic, right?”

HOW HE DEFIES THE WORLD FOR YOU

Public Rebellion

Stage Shoutouts

dedicates “Euphoria” to you during a concert

“This song’s about feeling alive. She taught me what that really means.”

ARMYs sob

you melt

Fashion Flex

wears a “Love Has No Size” shirt under his stage outfit

flashes it during encore

trends for days

manager sighs

“Worth it”

he smirks

Private Oaths

Home Sanctuary

turns your shared space into a no-criticism zone

“Here, you’re everything. Outside noise stays outside.”

plays WWE wrestler to “defend” you from imaginary haters

you laugh until you cry

Legacy Building

tattoos a tiny heart on his ribcage

your initials inside

“So even when I’m old and saggy, I’ll remember who loved me first.”

[thestarsaboveme]

Lads men x Reader who's really into horror movies

masterlist

this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: reader who really likes horror movies.

rafayel | zayne | sylus | caleb

xavier x reader | fluff

The screen flickers in the darkened living room, casting long shadows over the blanket you've wrapped yourself in. The volume is low, hut how you like it when rewatching a horror movie for the sixth time. No, seventh? So you can better hear the scrawl of your pen in your notebook.

Well ''notebook'' might be generous. It's a Frankenstein monster of paper and tape, post-its and torn film pamphlets, a few dried flower petals. From Midsommar night, you tell people. Xavier had looked…concerned. And at least one coffee stain shaped suspiciously like that one slashers mask you had seen a couple nights ago.

Xavier lounges on the far end of the couch, legs stretched out, one arm draped along the back. He's watching you, not the screen.

''Alright,'' he murmurs, voice deep and velvety in the low light, ''what's the kill count now?''

You glance up with a distracted smile, flipping a page filled with messy annotations and a crude sketch of the film's main set. ''Four so far, but technically it's five if you count the dog. And I do. You have to count the dog.''

He chuckles under his breath. ''Of course.''

''Also, okay, listen,'' you shift to face him fully, your chunky book resting open on your lap, ''the director, knew what he was doing with that mirror shot. It's not just for cheap tension. It's a metaphor.''

''For…?''

''For the fractured self! The protagonist is literally split between who they think they are and the monster they might become. It's so good. You can see it in the way the lighting shifts every time they walk past a reflective surface. It's subtle, but intentional. I have notes on the cinematographer's techniques somewhere in…wait…'' You begin flipping pages rapidly.

Xavier leans over slightly, eyes scanning the mass of scribbled ink, ticket stubs, and what might be a grocery list that says ''garlic (not vampire-related, real-life needs) in bold letters.

''You know,'' he says softly, with the kind of fond amusement that makes your heart thump, ''you ramble about murder and psychological horror with the same tone most people use to talk about puppies.''

You freeze. ''Is that…weird?''

''No.'' His answer was instant, gentle. ''It's you.''

You blink.

''Besides,'' he adds, reaching to tug a yellowed corner of a loose page back into the notebook, ''I think it's kind of adorable, how much you care about the craft. The way your eyes light up when you explain things. It's…warm.''

You look at him, and for a moment the only sound is the TV. ''Even when I talk about dismemberment theory in Hereditary?''

He smiles. ''Especially then.''

A beat.

''I can keep going?'' you ask, hopeful.

He tilts his head back against the couch and closes his eyes like he's listening to a lullaby. ''I'm all ears.''

And so, you do. You ramble about camera angles symbolism, quote obscure interviews, compare thematic motifs across horror eras. All while your chunky little notebook rests between you like a bridge, pages fluttering like wings. Xavier doesn't interrupt. He just listens, smiles, and once in a while, adds a quiet, ''Tell me more.''

In that quiet room, between shadows on screen and the soft hum of your voice, Xavier finds something scarier than any movie.

He's falling. And he doesn't want to stop.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hiiii I love your blog and I check it super often! Could you write like an imagine of the reader x the commander squad (+ domino twins if you cannnn) where they have been flirting for a while and the reader just grabs them by the plaster armor and kisses them and the clones are just 👁️👄👁️ i love you ? Thank you! Have a great dayyyy

“You Could’ve Warned Me…”

Reader x Commander Squad (+ Domino Twins)

⸻

It’s late.

The barracks are quiet except for the hum of overhead lights and the low sound of music from one of Fives’s old datapads—some upbeat, off-world thing he swore he didn’t like but always played when everyone was gathered. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the corner of the common room, one leg draped over the armrest, a bowl of snacks on your stomach and a familiar ache in your chest from laughing too hard.

You’re surrounded—and not metaphorically.

Cody’s sitting in one of the beat-up chairs, shoulders back, trying not to look like he’s listening to every word you say. Rex is next to you on the couch, suspiciously quiet, resting his arm behind you like he’s “stretching.” Wolffe’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, occasionally smirking when you catch him watching you. Fox, still in most of his armor is on the far end of the room, pretending to be on his datapad but absolutely not reading a thing.

And the Domino twins? Lying on the floor like they own the place.

Fives is shirtless, of course, one arm behind his head as he tells some stupid story about a bar on Zeltros. Echo keeps interrupting to correct the details, earning dramatic groans and a popcorn-to-the-face moment.

You should feel relaxed. It’s comfortable. Warm. Familiar.

But it’s so kriffing tense.

Because none of them are saying anything. Not really. Not about the long looks, the flirtatious comments, the hand brushes that linger longer than they should. Not about the way Cody always seems to sit beside you. Or how Rex always insists on walking you back to your quarters. Or how Wolffe—who never lets people in his space—leans into yours. Or the way Fox never lets his eyes rest anywhere else for more than a second when you’re in the room.

Or how Fives called you “sweetheart” once and Echo didn’t correct him.

You’ve had enough.

You’ve waited long enough.

You shift suddenly, setting the snack bowl aside. “Alright.”

Six heads turn.

You stand.

Six bodies tense.

“You all have been skirting around this for weeks,” you say, calmly, walking over to the middle of the room. “Looking at me like I’m the last drink of water on Tatooine and saying nothing. Just standing there. Breathing loud. Pining.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

“…Pining?” Fives asks, blinking.

You turn to him first. “Don’t act like you’re not. You flirt like you’re trying to get paid for it.”

Fives grins. “Would if I could.”

You grin back, then pivot—your eyes settle on Rex, who’s sitting there trying desperately not to look flustered.

He fails.

You step up to him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. His mouth parts slightly as your hand lifts—fingers closing on the front of his plastoid chestplate—and you give a gentle but undeniable tug.

He leans into it like a man falling into gravity.

You kiss him. Soft but certain. Like punctuation to a sentence that’s been hanging too long.

When you pull away, Rex looks absolutely wrecked. His cheeks are pink, his eyes wide.

You lean in a little, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“I like you. A lot. In case that wasn’t clear.”

And then you turn.

Cody is watching you like you just crossed a battlefield to kiss him. He doesn’t even try to hide it—his gaze is sharp, jaw clenched. You stop in front of him, looking up.

“Same goes for you, clone-boy.”

Before he can answer, you grab his chestplate and pull him down, and he goes.

Cody kisses you back like he’s been waiting for orders. And when you break it, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath since Geonosis.

You wink. “You’re not half as subtle as you think.”

Fox makes a strangled sound from the corner.

You don’t even look—you stride over.

Fox tenses the moment you get near. He straightens up, every inch the Commander of the Guard, eyes unreadable behind the red markings on his face. But when you stop in front of him, he falters just slightly.

“You gonna let me do this, or are you gonna arrest me for harassment?” you murmur.

That earns a chuckle. “That depends how far you’re planning to go.”

You grin—and grab the front of his armor, yanking him forward.

You kiss him, and he barely manages to kiss back before he blurts—against your mouth—“I love you.”

He immediately freezes. You blink.

Fox’s eyes are comically wide, lips still inches from yours. “…Kriff, I didn’t mean to say that.”

You’re laughing as you back away, his expression frozen in horrified awe.

You’re three for three.

You turn on Wolffe, who mutters, “Don’t you dare—”

You’re already grabbing him by the collar, and he groans—low and ragged—before you pull him in and press your lips to his.

Wolffe kisses like he means it. One hand fists in your shirt, just once, before you break apart.

He leans his forehead against yours, eyes shut. “You are going to kill me one day.”

You smile, breathless. “You’ll die happy.”

Fives has been gaping the whole time. Echo, red in the ears, is sitting up now, watching you with a look you can’t quite read.

You step between them.

Fives recovers first. “Wait—are we next? Is this like a queue, or—?”

“Shut up,” Echo mutters.

You grab Fives by the front of his blacks—he doesn’t wear full armor in the barracks—and tug him in. He laughs, caught off guard, but the moment your lips meet his, he makes this soft sound you don’t expect, like he’s surprised you really meant it.

You pull back slowly. He grins, dazed. “I was kidding about being in love with you before. But I think I might mean it now.”

“Noted.”

Finally, you turn to Echo.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just watches you, eyes wide, breath tight.

“You okay?” you ask, softly.

He nods.

“Want me to kiss you too?”

He hesitates. Then—“Yeah.”

You grab the front of his blacks and kiss him slow. His lips are warm, familiar, trembling just a little.

When you draw back, he exhales shakily. “You could’ve warned me first.”

You grin and press your forehead to his. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You step back and survey your work.

Six clones.

Flushed. Stunned. Breathless.

Most of them very much in love with you.

Cody broke the silence first “…So. What does this mean?”

“It means I volunteer to be kissed again. Vigorously.” Gives replied.

Rex, quietly, still in shock “Was gonna kiss you first. I swear I was.”

Wolffe liked his brother in the eye and deadpanned “You didn’t stand a chance, Captain.”

Fox quietly whispered “I said I loved you. Did no one hear that?”

Echo chirped up “We all heard it, vod. That’s why we’re ignoring it.”

You flop back down onto the couch, grinning like the chaos deity you are.

“If any of you want a second kiss…you’re gonna have to earn it.”

They all move at once.

[girliism]

the girls (me) yearn for more priest in training!art 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

(i hope the girls (you) like this)

patrick was quick to blab to art about the things you said in your confessional.

“dude, she wants you bad.” patrick throws his arm around art’s shoulder as they walk side by side talking in hushed whispers. art shakes his head. “i already took your advice and talk to her. she was terrified of me she’s even moved seats.” patrick stops him in his tracks looking him in the eye. “if you could have heard the things she confessed you’d be all over that. just talk to her again.”

so art did. he tried to talk to you again so many times, but the second you saw him you’d flee. until he caught you in the library.

“can i sit?” you looked up hearing a voice when you saw art. gasping you quickly start gathering your things. “wait, please don’t run away.” art placed his hand on your shoulder stopping you. you wanted to run away again, but you thought back to your confessional. if you kept running from him the move he would chase after you so sat back down.

the two of you sat next to each. you focused on your work and art focused on how he could smell your body wash and the way your breast stretched against the fabric of your white button up with every breath.

art cleared his throat. “i apologize for the things i said to you that day.” he wasn’t really sorry, but when dealing with a sweet girl like you he had to pretend to be a gentleman not the perverse man who’s been staring at your tits imagining cumming on them.

you looked at him. his eyes were soft like he truly ment it. “really?” art grabbed your hand. “really. i have no idea what came over me that day.” art let his head hang. “he must be testing me, and i failed by giving in to such a lustful way of thinking. maybe i should give up my training.” was art going through the same things you were? maybe the two of you could help each other.

you pouted no wanting art to give up. you looked around the library, there wasn’t really anyone there just three other people, but you still leaned in close to him whispering. “i think we can help each other.” art looked up in your kind eyes so desperate to help.

art told you to meet him behind the school so you did. he was leaned up against the wall smoking when you walked up to him.

“art?” art’s head snapped up to see you standing far off very clearly nervous. he stomped out his cigarette walking towards you. “you actually came?” you nodded your head. “and your sure this is gonna work? these thoughts they’ll leave me after only one session.” “oh yes, i’ve already started to sleep better at night.” and it’s true, you have, every night after your roommates have fallen asleep you sneak your fingers down into you pants and rub at your tiny bundle of nerves whispering a certain blondes name into your pillow before drifting into a peaceful sleep. “the phoenix can not raise if there is no ashes right?” you smile repeating what patrick had told you. art has to hold in his laughter hearing the stupid metaphor patrick constantly used.

art’s hands twitched at his side as he watched your trembling fingers work open the button of your shirt like he asked you too. “fuck.” art said under his breath when he catches sight of your boobs covered by your white bralette and the gold cross that hung in between them.

art has seen a lot a porn but none of that compared to seeing your nipples harden up from the cold air in real time.

“do you want me close my eyes?” art immediately shakes his head fumbling with his belt and zipper. “no -fuck- no i want you to watch me need you to watch me.” art pulls out his half hard cock. you’re gasping at the sight of it. the only time you’ve seen a penis was on the pages of your anatomy book and thought they were quite ugly. buts art’s was different, it was blushing red and slightly wet at the tip.

you had to bite your lip to hold back the needy sounds that threatened to come through as you watched art spit on his hand and jerk himself off.

art’s moans and curses along with the squelching sounds can be heard. art wants to roll his eyes back but he keeps his view on your pebbled nipples and how you try to discreetly squeeze your thighs together. “holy shit, you’re probably so wet right now watching me.” he grunts other hand coming down to squeeze to his balls. “wish i was fucking your pussy instead of my hand.” you blushed at his words. maybe saying it out loud helps him not think it anymore. he stops moving for a second to tease at his slit, spreading his precum around his cock head before stroking himself up and down faster moaning louder.

you eyes never moved from watching him pleasure himself. it was so different than want you did, and your hands balled at your side to stop yourself from reaching out and grabbing him. it looked heavy and big you wonder how the weight would feel in your hands.

“so close.” art whined. his couldn’t really stop himself from reaching cupping in one of your tits and squeezing. your mouth instantly fell open and a moan came out. art came on the spot from hearing that sound alone. “s-shit.” hot ropes of cum shot out of him landing on the ground and little on your skirt. your eyes widen and the pooling wetness in your panties starts spilling down your thigh.

you were gone before art could fully come down. he lifted his head to see your figure rounding the corner.

you made your way to the bathroom locking yourself in the last stall replying in your head what had just happened while you got yourself off. lingering in the back of you mind how much pray you’ll have to do for forgiveness.

[chericherilvr]

I'm supposed to be sleeping right now, but I can't stop thinking about jungsu😞

he's just so cute and I wanna cuddle him so bad. I also keep thinking about when he said that he cannot sleep without hugging something (which I can very much relate to)

i wanted to ask if you could maybe write something fluffy about cuddling him or falling asleep with him? 🫶

Lucky to be loved - Jungsu x reader

summary: Jungsu can't sleep without hugging something—or that one time he found someone to sleep with. w/c: 626 warnings: fluffy, I go on my existential cute rants, reader likes to think (used I and you pronouns for that part to symbolize you and Jungsu, but overall it's in second POV) I don't think I cursed… but there's the usage of death as a metaphor of the love experience (it's cute I promise) overall FLUFF a/n: took me a while to be able to write but hope you enjoy it!!

The night shall come once the sun is down. It's the only way we even have the concept of time. The pattern realisation that, things change, the sky doesn't stay the same way. I wonder who first looked at the sky and saw the sun fade away. I wonder if the first time, the moon was full—or if the emptiness of it left them surrounded by darkness, scared of it. Who first realised that it happened each day? Who choose the word to talk about it with their peers? Who was the first person to have a night routine and, how did it look?

I sometimes get scared of the concept of day and night. Now that I talk with people around the world, it amazes me how they can still see the sun—while the moon looks scared to be seen in my sky.

All the stars that we see are dead. Did you know that? The light reflecting from the beautiful masses of light can be so far away that, by the time we get to see them, they don't exist any more. Time in the universe works so funnily; if seen from far enough, you could still see dinosaurs walking on earth.

So when I stare up at the sky, in search of connection, hoping someone is looking back at it—day or night—wishing for the same: I stare at all the dead stars and bask in their corpse; I bask in their light. I've never felt as comforted by something like by the stars. They still shine even when they are gone. They are still present even though far. Like a good memory from long ago—it might not exist any more, but it still lingers and warps its arms around me.

In all honesty, the comfort the universe gives me could never be matched. We're truly just in a floating dead rock following mass, that is following mass, that is following mass. It's so dead it's alive. It's so meaningless, all of it, that moments like this gain meaning. Without you, there's still life. But I am so lucky to be loved by you, I am so lucky we decided to give meaning to each other.

"You're being all philosophical again," Jungsu groans rolling in your arms to face you.

"How did you even know? I thought you were asleep by now."

He keeps quiet closing his eyes and stretching his arms out behind you with a sigh.

"Never let me be small spoon again," he says shaking his head.

Jungsu's arms fold carefully around your body, tension melting away. His lips curl into a smile—the kind you can't force yourself to do. He rubs your back for a while and, when he is satisfied, he straddles his leg over your waist and hugs you closer.

"So no to small spoon, but yes to choking me to death?" Your voice gets lost in between Jungsu's hair, who moved his face to be buried on your neck.

"You love it," he kisses your skin softly.

"You know, the first time you asked me to sleep with you, I thought you meant something completely different…"

Jungsu let's out some incoherent complaints. And by the time you try to ask him what he said, he was already out.

The day shall come once the moon is down. But lord was it the worst time of the day. Morning meant movement, and the only movement I want is to be here. Oh, to be drowned by your touch, by your comfort. I sometimes wish for death; to lay in your arms forever, like this, may we be so close we melt into one being. Thus, this world might hold no meaning, but here, I am a worthy being.

[wispitty]

mihawk x reader | “venus & mars” {ch.2}

summary: you're a member of the cross guild. one night, in search of a quiet place to fall apart, you slip into the garden—only to end up in the arms of a certain swordsman... however, despite the way your heart aches for him, you refuse to fall in love with dracule mihawk. you know it could never work. you're venus, and he's mars. you were never meant to be what the other needs.

...right? tag list: mihawk/you, slow burn, mutual pining, soft angst, made from mihawk brainrot, cosmic metaphors, enemies to lovers (kinda) chapter list:

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

Chapter 2: Too Cold. No Fire.

The main hall of the Cross Guild was alive with noise again—mercenaries clanking weapons, Buggy yelling about something inconsequential, and papers fluttering like feathers in the aftermath of chaos. And you—dressed, poised, and in control—moved through it all like the eye of the storm.

On the outside, you looked fine.

Hair brushed (mostly). Voice clear. Shoulders back.

But Mihawk noticed things others didn’t.

The faint tension in your fingers when you flipped through a report. The way your smile lingered half a second too long when addressing a subordinate. How your laugh didn’t quite reach your eyes when Buggy made some absurd declaration of dominance.

He said nothing.

He stood off to the side, reading a bounty sheet with one hand, a half-filled goblet in the other. Calm. Observant.

But he never took his eyes off you.

Not since you walked into the room.

Not since you looked right past him with that carefully rebuilt mask stretched over your face.

Eventually, he spoke—without looking up.

“You missed a signature.”

He didn’t say where. He didn’t need to.

His voice wasn’t condescending. Just… still. A ripple across glass.

And beneath it—a weight only you would feel.

“Did I? My apologies, sir. I’ll have it fixed right away.”

At that, Mihawk finally looked up.

Not sharply. Not smugly. Just… fully.

Eyes catching yours like a blade catches light—without force, but impossible to ignore.

“‘Sir,’ now?”

A brow lifted, faintly amused. Faintly disapproving. Not at your work—but at the distance you’d just put between you.

He let the word hang there, testing the weight of it in the space between you.

Sir.

You’d never called him that before. Not like that. Not with that glassy, brittle politeness that tasted like poison in his mouth.

He took a slow sip from his glass, then set it down with precision. Still watching you.

“You’re efficient today.”

Another pause. Intentional.

“Too efficient.”

And though he didn’t say it aloud, the unspoken part of that sentence lingered like incense in the air.

You're hiding again.

His tone remained perfectly even. But his gaze didn’t waver for a second.

“I’m... doing my best to be.”

He tilted his head slightly at your slight frown—like he could see the threads holding it together. Not in judgment. Just... in quiet knowing.

“Yes. I can see that.”

He stepped forward—not far, just enough to close the kind of space people didn’t usually notice. But you did.

You always noticed him.

He folded his arms, posture relaxed, voice low enough that no one else in the room could hear—just you.

“You held the line last night. Then picked up the pieces before morning.”

A beat.

“But you forgot one.”

He reached into his coat, pulled something small from his inner pocket, and held it out to you: a neatly folded handkerchief, faintly wrinkled.

Yours.

Left behind.

Tearstained.

“Next time,” His voice softened ever so slightly. “Don’t forget what you’re not allowed to leave with me.”

“Hmph! Stealing a lady’s handkerchiefs now, are we? How crude.”

He didn’t so much as blink at your accusation—or even the way you pouted and snatched your handkerchief back, stuffing it into your pocket.

Though the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, like a man secretly pleased to be scolded.

“I was under the impression I was returning missing property.” Deadpan.

A glance toward your pocket. Then to your face.

“But I suppose if it flusters you this much, I should’ve kept it.”

There it was again—that infuriating calm, laced now with the faintest undercurrent of something playful. Barely there. But there.

He let his arms rest loosely at his sides, gaze never straying.

“You’re pouting again.”

Beat.

“…I see the pieces are still there.”

His voice dipped lower—quieter, warmer. Enough to reach only you.

“But so is the woman strong enough to carry them.”

“Yes, which reminds me.”

You turn over to your bag and pull out a bottle of wine wrapped in a delicate bow.

“I asked Mr. 1 and Crocodile for some advice, and they recommended this brand. Frankly, I don't drink, so I haven't the faintest idea what it tastes like."

A pause, followed by a sharp inhale.

“If it doesn't suit you, feel free to spit it out and dump it in the sea. Regardless, it's a gift. For you. For… yesterday.”

A soft sigh.

“...For a debt I wanted to repay.”

He watched you in silence as you presented the bottle—wrapped, bowed, deliberate. And though Mihawk was many things—refined, unshakable, precise—he was not immune to grace. Especially not when it was offered like this: awkward, honest, earnest.

He accepted the gift with the same careful hands he’d hold a sword with—never casual, never careless. His fingers brushed yours only for a breath, but it lingered all the same.

He looked down at the bottle in his grasp, then back at you. Something unreadable passed through his eyes—like he'd just been handed a piece of something fragile. Something rare.

“A debt.” He repeated, quietly.

He turned the bottle in his hand once, then lowered it, holding it respectfully at his side.

“There was no debt.”

And yet, he didn’t refuse it. Didn’t diminish the gesture.

He simply met your eyes with that same, maddening steadiness. Like he saw something in you now that he hadn’t quite allowed himself to admit before.

Then—almost imperceptibly—his expression softened.

“...Thank you.”

Two words, simple and unadorned.

But from him? They carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

He paused, as if debating something further, then finally added:

“Next time you fall to pieces, I’ll bring the wine.”

A beat.

“…You bring yourself.”

A scoff leaves you at that.

“I'll be fine on my own, thank you very much! My pieces will not be falling for anyone's eyes to see anymore."

A beat. A narrowed sneer.

"In fact, if I recall, you just happened to take a midnight stroll through the garden with… very unfortunate timing. But rest assured, it won't happen again."

His brow arched, just barely—but the silence that followed wasn’t surprise.

It was amusement. The kind he never let fully reach his lips. The kind that lived behind his eyes like a storm held at bay.

“Unfortunate timing, was it?” he repeats, coolly.

He stepped just close enough to remind you he was taller. Calmer. Unfazed by your little declarations of independence.

“Then I suppose I should be more considerate with my midnight strolls.”

A pause. His voice dipped.

“Though if I recall correctly... it wasn’t the timing that made you fall into my arms.”

He watched the heat creep up your cheeks, slowly, deliberately—as though he’d already predicted it down to the second.

“But don’t worry.”

A slight tilt of the head.

“If you truly never intend to fall again…”

He stepped back, the faintest smirk ghosting his lips now, elegant and infuriating.

“I’ll simply be there to catch someone else.”

A sharp glare follows, only offset by another scoff from you. Louder, more offended.

However, the red in your cheeks and the annoyance in your eyes betray you. As does the slight crack in your voice.

“F-Fine then! Be my guest!” you flail dramatically.

“Go find yourself a Mercury or a Jupiter. Maybe even a Neptune, I'm sure a fastidious planet like you could use some cooling!”

Another sneer. Followed by a turn and a brisk walk past him.

“Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get back to work.”

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t block your path. Didn’t reach for your wrist or call your name.

But oh—he smirked.

Just faintly.

Just enough.

“I never liked Neptune.” Low, near your ear as you pass.

A pause.

“Too cold. No fire.”

He let you walk off with that. With the weight of that quiet jab tucked into your already-flustered chest, where your heartbeat was already misbehaving. He didn’t follow.

But his gaze?

Still on you.

Tracking every flounce. Every stubborn step.

And if you’d turned back, you’d swear for just a moment—you saw it.

That rarest flicker of something not composed.

Something wild. Unspoken.

And it was all for you.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Hoarding Dragons

To have your hair cut is the ultimate insult. Not just a spitting in the face of one's parents; but a defacement of their gift. One they worked so hard, for so long, to give you. Yet... so MUCH can be done. With just a single strand of hair.

Power. The likes of which? Most could not imagine. This is because, it is the sacrifice of "Body". A part of your metaphorical, if not technical, "flesh" as it were. Counted just as valid as any finger or toe. Yes, perhaps, not as POWERFUL as blood and bone, but... then again...

It is only a single hair.

So, what, one must ask? Would happen... Could happen... could one be GIFTED? From... MORE?

Not just one hair. But hand fulls. Chunks. A whole head of long thick locks? Hundreds and hundreds, thousands of strands? So very, very much of your "Body"? What power could you call upon? What sort of gods? Heavenly beasts and world shaking powers? Dragons, perhaps?

Shixiong bent the world to it's knees. Gods bowing, mountains shaking, as heavenly dragons came upon his command. Power so great it burst the spiritual veins of lesser cultivars. Qi thick as molten earth, golden as sunlight through honey. It was... transcendent.

The strands twisted into great and heavenly forms. Night turning to day. His array, a thing of intricate, thousand folding beauty! As a craftsman? A maker of mere talismans and toys? How could I not be... be... breathless? Bewitched? Entranced. Even there, in the midst of battle? It... gods... it was so BEAUTIFUL.

How can I ever hope to match it? Will I ever match it? I was certainly inspired. My mind, filled with visions of white and gold. Dances of fury and light, trapped within me.

I honestly haven't been able to stop.

That... that deadly dance. Righteous gold and light, heavenly dragons and flashing blades... Against the rolling, calamitous, storm of the heavenly demons. Darkly beautiful and delighting in their slaughter. Bloodlust singing as fatal claws clash against righteous blade. Rougish, flamboyant. Cracking along the edges of their masks to reveal the monsters just inside.

Our sect did not fall. But we were lucky... weren't we? And so many were not. Lesser Sects and mortal villages. Traveling cultivators, caught unaware. Temples and holy places. Defended, valiant, but overwhelmed in the end. None were strong enough. None came close.

And so I work.

Work and work and WORK.

I can fix this. I... I know I can! Surely. Maybe. H-hopefully? Or else what is it all FOR? This second chance? This knowledge I got to keep? If I wasn't meant to use it. Take bits and pieces, of stories I had read and watched, and make them real? Rain made of swords and blossoms, vast arrays bend space and time, the blending of science and fiction!

What, is my peak? If not the home of the Artificer? The Crafter? Maker of things? Talismans, yes. But we do so much MORE. I...I can do so much more.

I just need TIME.

Lifting my tool, I let the frustration wash over me. Careful. So very, very careful. Not to let my emotions ruin my work. One moment's tantrum, after all, can lead to months wasted. And... and I can't afford that. Not if I'm to help.

Because, ultimately? I will never be a martial cultivator. My sword is all be decorative. More a focal for meditation then a weapon. I use it more in class then... well... Too be honest? I have only used it in class. At best? I can defend myself. Hopefully.

(It is not something I ever wish to test. That theory.)

My reaction times are too slow. I hesitate. Am far too absorbed in crafting and meditation, then I am training and the physical world. Shizun half expects me to move to a hidden world, once my training is complete. And... well... I am considering it.

Perhaps I am a coward.

Another pinprick letter carved. One more in the endless stream, stretching in a flowing wave around the wooden sword. The REAL pain? Is going to be carving the spiritually rich stones, precious and otherwise, as well as shaping the metals, that will fit in each of these thousand of tiny indents. Making it smooth. Again, not hard, just... tedious.

I imagine that's why no one does it. Dispite the strength it results in. Each letter lending its power. Doing something. It will age well, I think. Grow powerful. Might even become a Treasure. Something worth some famous naming, in a century or so.

They never do see to appreciate that. How long it takes. To make the wonders and treasures they throw around like trash. Keep like trophies. If it does not shine and spit rainbows, with tassels and fire to impress? Can it really be called a sword? Forget what it DOES! How HARD it was to MAKE! The love and skill that went into it!! Is it SHINY? A thousand years and covered in jewels?

I pull my tool back again to sigh, aggravated. I have got to stop doing that. Being slower then my peers is not a failing, I remind myself. My strength is not in waving a sword. It is MAKING them. Treasures and wonders. Creation takes TIME to be done well. Cheap and fast costs lives. Remember your training.

A quite creak of floor boards and the knocking of knuckles against a door frame. Soft but deliberate, to announce a presence. When no one responds to the noise, I glance up in confusion. Huh. The workshop is empty. Going by the light outside? Unsurprising. It's... later then I thought it was. Guess they let me work.

"Shemei? May this one intrude?"

Ah. Shit, right!

Carefully putting my tools to the side, I bid... whomever, enter. I can't see them yet. They have a nice voice though. Low and smooth. I rattle off the standard "don't touch this or that, you'll loose fingers. If you break anything, this peak, collectively, will break you." Shpeal. (Shizun makes us memorize it.)

Glancing up as I put my project back on it's stand, I choke on my tounge. Wut. How?! HI?!!? Shixiong!!!! WHAT!?

"This one hopes he is not intruding upon your valuable working time." He mummers, fan coming up to cover the lower half of his face.

He looks... amused? Charmed? No there's something different there. Fuck, I'm out of practice with the Non-crafters crowd. Brain says "like he saw a cute squeaky animal he wants to bite(maybe suggestive?)" but that's not right. Thanks brain! Very USEFUL! Glad I can count on you, in these trying times! Shit. Uuuuuuuhh.....

"I hope you will forgive this Shixiong, but I asked around to find you." What. "You are that make of this fan, yes?"

From his sleeve, he pulls out a very familiar work. Battered to absolute hell, but unmistakable. Defiance!? My BABY! What have you DONE to them!? The battle fan, MEANT to be a magnificent white and gold, is blood stained and bent. Burned! Nicked! ARE THOSE ACID HOLES!?

The sound I make is unholy. My boy fan! Look at what they've done to my boy fan!

YOU BASTARD!

Thats it! Crush over! Dead man walking! I snatch the fan back so hard I'm surprised I don't snap fingers. Granted, I get the impression he let's me take it from him. But that's probably because he sees the MURDER in my eyes! FUCKER! What did you even DO to this poor fan!? Beat it against ROCK!? Acid, knive covered ROCKS!?

"Ah. No." His voice comes out shaking, just ever so slightly. His shoulders match. From the curve of his eyes? It can only be restrained laughter. "This one is afraid that it was the demons who so disrespect your masterful work."

Oh? OH?! This is FUNNY to you? Is it?! My baby! My beloved, Defiance! Mangled! MAIMED! And you LAUGH!? Bastard! Scoundrel! Fuck you!! How DARE-!!!

He can no longer contain it. Doubling over in a roar of laughter as I curse him out. My hands never leaving the fan I am carefully repairing. Yanking open drawers and slamming them. Stomping past him to get what I need. I should keep it! Never give it back! If you can't take care of-!

"Oh but Shemei, I take excellent can of all my things."

Clearly NOT! Defiance is a MESS and-! I pause. My brain catching up with my ears. Alarm bells ringing in my head as red flags flap. The workroom feels... off, suddenly. What was that tone? Excuse me? What, exactly, was that tone? Glancing down, I see one of Shizun's projects. Freshly completed. The glue is dry under my fingers as I, oh so casually, brush over it.

The little knife fits neatly in my palm. I turn. Not fully, but enough. Do not move back to my workstation. Because you know what? Suddenly I feel a bit more comfortable over here... by the project drying racks. Where all the weapons are. I'm sure you don't minds, do you? Shixiong?

"Oh dear, I've made you nervous." He says, handsome face charming, eye alight with laughter. But that tone. I don't like that tone. "Surely Shemei doesn't think this Shixiong would do anything suspicious or untoward? This one is an honorable man."

It's said so mockingly. Through gently smiling teeth. As though the very concept of an honorable man is absurd. And the shift? From polite to informal language? Cracks in a mask? Or a deliberate peek? The way he pulls himself up from his doubled over state, leaning braced as he had laughed himself sick...

Slow and deliberate. Nearly lazy. As though trying to say "there, there, see? No threat here~! Calm, calm." Yet... all I truely see? Is the spectacular control of his own body. An awareness of how he appears. And the unmistakable grace of a predator pretending they're NOT. He fools no one.

He seems delighted.

"You make such beautiful things, Shemei. Such clever hands. Such a clever mind." His voice is soft, almost obscene in the near silence of the workroom. I don't like how he's looking at me. "I had wondered. Surely not, right? Dreams can only ever disappoint. And yet..."

His eyes flit over me. Like the brush of covetous hands, drinking in something they could not yet have. Hungry. Dangerous. I drew closer to the shelves. Edged towards the door. Those were not the eyes of a righteous cultivator. Demonic influence? Qi deviation? Poisoning? I couldn't tell. Didn't CARE. Something wasn't right and I wanted nothing to do with it.

"Poor Shemei~. Stuck with this big, scary Shixiong. So nervous~ your poor maidens heart!" He laughed, like a cat with a cornered mouse. Half delighted. Half hungry for something I wasn't certain I wanted to name. "Going to run from me? Ah, but what if I chase you, Shemei? What will you do then?"

I was close enough, I decided. Fuck this! Keeping him in sight, I gave up all pretense. And stiffly walked for the door. Prepared to bolt.

"You are!" He didn't move to chase me. Just looked delighted. Grin showing more and more teeth the closer I got to the door. "Good, good~ that's right, Shemei. You're a special girl. Shixiong needs to earn your love. But don't worry~"

Driving for the door, I run. The last thing I hear chilling down my spine.

"I will~♡"