#it occupies space both physically and mentally in all of their minds. they allow it to make space in both places.

[red-moon-at-night]

You know all of those greek vase paintings that have a bunch of Helen's family (usually Leda, Tyndareus and the Dioscuri but occasionally Clytemnestra too) gathered around an unhatched or newly hatched Helen-egg on an altar?

If we follow along with the fact that this pottery almost always depicts the Dioscuri grown up, and Leda in myth has the Dioscuri, Clytemnestra and Helen at the same time, AND assume they all had separate eggs (or at least Helen had a separate egg). You could headcanon that Helen simply took a very, very long time to hatch.

Therefore, I think it's also fun to headcanon that members of her family visit this egg often prior to hatching. All at different intervals and frequencies, but maybe together too, on occasions where they don't want to leave their unhatched family member out.

Castor and Polydeuces visit frequently, eagerly telling the egg about all of their exploits and adventures, often as soon as they have happened. Both brothers bicker about the little details and try to one-up each other during the storytelling. Wishing that if the egg had hatched already, their sibling could've just joined them and been there to see it. They might occasionally entertain the possibility that they are not twins but in fact triplets because of this egg. They definitely talk as if the egg can hear them, too.

Leda also talks to the egg — it comes naturally to her. Zero hesitation, just full of love and warmth. Tyndareus tries to follow suit, but much like how some people are better at talking to their plants than others to help them grow, he is not very good at it. He's got the right spirit but is incredibly awkward and stilted in conversation. Not really talking to the egg so much as talking at it.

Clytemnestra talks at the egg too, out loud when she's with others, probably starting hopeful as a child and becoming more and more of a sceptic as she gets older. However, when she visits on her own she talks to the egg — in her head. All of the optimism still lingering in there, so much insatiable curiosity and so many unanswered questions. If the Dioscuri have each other, then surely she is missing someone, right? Or is it naive to assume such logic?

They all act differently around this egg, but collectively? They never let it get lonely for too long. (Okay: sappy headcanon over.)

[mrzeecon]

The Battle Between Purpose and Distraction: Overworking Myself to the Edge

There's a fine line between being driven by purpose and simply staying busy to avoid deeper thoughts. Lately, I've found myself grappling with this distinction, questioning whether my habit of overworking is a means to an end or just a way to fill the void. Am I pushing myself because I truly want to achieve something, or am I running from something more profound?

The Allure of Achievement

For as long as I can remember, success has been a powerful motivator. The need to create, build, and accomplish. There's a deep satisfaction that comes from seeing a project through to completion, crossing off the tasks on a list, and being able to look back at something tangible—proof of my efforts.

But even as I chase success, there’s a nagging feeling: what am I truly after? Is it the actual accomplishment, or is it the dopamine rush of productivity? Am I climbing a ladder to reach the top, or am I climbing because the act itself has become a distraction from introspection, from quiet moments where I have no choice but to confront deeper feelings?

The Distraction Dilemma

Work, in all its forms, is a fantastic distraction. In a world where we’re constantly bombarded by media, stimuli, and responsibilities, diving into work can feel like a refuge. It's easy to lose myself in the grind, focusing so intently that there’s no room for anything else—especially not uncomfortable emotions or existential questions.

I have to ask myself: when I overwork, am I driven by a genuine passion to achieve, or am I simply filling the hours to keep my mind too busy to face those questions? Sometimes, it's easier to work than it is to sit with discomfort, to wrestle with uncertainty or emotional turmoil. But avoiding these moments doesn't mean they disappear; they just lie dormant, waiting for the next moment of silence to resurface.

The Cost of Overworking

The physical and mental toll of constant overwork is undeniable. There's a point where the grind stops being productive and starts wearing me down—mentally, emotionally, and physically. My energy becomes depleted, and despite the appearance of productivity, my output begins to suffer. Burnout creeps in, often unnoticed until it's too late.

The irony is that, in my quest to avoid stagnation and stay "productive," I sometimes find myself trapped in a cycle of diminishing returns. I’m pushing so hard that I lose sight of the bigger picture, the real reasons I started working toward my goals in the first place.

Finding Balance: Purpose vs. Distraction

The answer to my question—whether I'm working to achieve or to distract—probably lies somewhere in the middle. There are moments when I'm deeply passionate about what I do, and my efforts are aligned with my goals. But there are also times when work becomes an escape, a way to avoid thinking about life’s bigger questions or uncomfortable feelings.

The key, I think, is recognizing when the balance tips too far. When I start working just for the sake of staying busy, I need to pause and reflect. Is this really moving me forward, or is it just keeping me occupied?

Moving Forward with Purpose

Overworking myself is a pattern, but it doesn’t have to define me. By taking time to reflect on my motivations—whether they're rooted in genuine ambition or a desire to distract—I can start to make more conscious choices. I can learn to work with intention, driven by purpose, and also learn to embrace moments of stillness without the need to fill every minute.

In the end, both achieving and pausing have their place. Overcoming the tendency to overwork means being honest with myself, understanding when I'm truly working toward something meaningful, and allowing space for moments of reflection. Finding that balance may be the greatest achievement of all.

[wintcrstcrfall]

He couldn't help but laugh at her mention of the genius in him and that sound - out of everything they had shared so far - was what startled him the most. Matthias was suddenly too aware of how his suggestion might've sounded to her ears and honestly, he wasn't so sure about it himself. Not because the man had anything against laying next to a very beautiful woman, but mainly because his own bed had been empty for so long now that it had started to feel natural. It was how it was supposed to be. But now was a different thing, the circumstances were totally different too and for that he could make an exception, right? They were still mostly strangers, bound by one very unfortunate event. It wasn't like they were going to be best friends afterwards... or at least, it was what his mind wanted to think, in an attempt to ease his consciousness while going towards his own room, since it was the closest. And the saying 'his room' was a bit of a stretch, considering that so far only his suitcase made it known that someone was occupying the room.

For what it was worth, Matthias allowed her to be the first to get in the bed, while he patiently waited. A part of him was feeling guilty for doing something that was clearly making her uncomfortable, but what other choice did they had? As much as her safety and well being - both physical and mental, were important, it was the easiest way they could survive the storm outside. And it was only when he himself went to the other side of the bed and slowly lay down, suppressing a tired grunt, did it came to him that having her shuffle nervously on the other end of the bed was doing very little to warm anything, including the bed. Still, he bit his own tongue and waited, eyes locked on the ceiling covered in darkness. When he could feel that Eris shuffled and turned, the man looked at her, finding the action surprising. "Eris...", he began, with the clear intention of saying that she didn't have to do it, didn't have to be this close to him even if both of them had a lot of clothes on them. But then she all but pushed her back towards his chest and Matthias' words halted. Maybe he had to suggest to put something between them, a pillow or whatever, to make this a little bit more safer and comfortable. In his mind, he'd thought that if they were to be close to each other, she would want to face him, maybe even place her head on his chest. This wasn't what he'd had in mind. Despite that, the man scolded himself a few times mentally. Even if it was a long while since a woman was in his bed, that didn't give him an excuse to think anything or to allow his body to take control.

Taking a deep breath in, it was then that her words landed the final punch. The astronaut froze, eyes staying at the back of her head. Once again he could sense her shampoo and knowing that she wouldn't see it, Matthias closed his eyes and inhaled greedily. "Thank you for that honor, in this case," he said and there was no trace of irony. His words were sincere. Very carefully he gave her body a reassuring squeeze, making it his point to try and move as little as possible. Only his chest moved with every breath, pressing against her back. "I know you know what happened, Eris," Matthias heard himself saying, even if the decision to do it evaded him. "With my friend. How he died in space. Everyone at NASA knows, everyone on the Internet could access a dozen articles with just a few types. And I hate that it's all people see when they look at me. That's why I understand when you say you hate most people. Because I think I do too."

"That sounds like a smart idea to me, heating is what we need the most." she agreed, though she.. kind of wanted to be the one warming him. Hell what was she thinking? Warming him up? Like anyone would pick her to warm them up and plus.. well why would he want her? She knew he was the most handsome one in their building and if he really wanted to he could have anyone that worked there. Hell, she listened frequently to two of the receptionist girls gush and flail over him. She'd roll her eyes every single time and maybe secretly there was more to it than that. "A little anything is better than nothing." at least in that sense Eris was hopeful. "Hey?" she spoke and when he looked to her again she gave a little, god even a tiny hint of a smirk to him. "Well done, there's a genius in there huh?"

The idea of sleeping next to someone, anyone... that was kind of daunting to her but they couldn't freeze and she had a very logical suggestion. "We could turn the other heaters off, redirect it to the one room.." it was a good suggestion right? She'd sat under his arm, sleeping near him couldn't be so bad. Eris went around, turned each heater and when they went into the one room she rubbed her hands together, they were getting that tingling sensation of feeling back. In swift movement she helped spread the duvet over the bed, the second layer to it and rather than hesitate she just tried to swallow her fear of being that close and shuffled into the window side of the bed. She lay with one hand over her chest for a little while, she was stiff and she knew it, her heart beating rapidly against her chest but.. he didn't seem bad, it was just all in her head that it'd go south, something would go bad, it wouldn't.. it was dark in here too since they turned the lights off and little by little it was getting warmer it'd just be.. warmer if she shuffled in. "Should I— you don't mind if I.." she whispered, turning her head towards him and really, it was more like she was asking for herself and whether it was okay. Eris slowly shuffled closer, turned on her side which maybe wasn't the ebst idea since she'd kind of pushed her back and rear up to him. "Here give me your arm I'll.." she whispered, this was better for her, it didn't feel as suffocating to face away, that touch didn't feel so bad and when she took his hand she guided it, made sure it avoided any area she couldn't handle touch, her sides.. she couldn't handle it on her sides so had his arm rest over her upper arm and across her that way. It was better, warmer, like this, for them both. Her breath was nervous at first, she kept wanting to hold it but eventually Eris started to breath normally. "Matthias, you know how you said it all seems a bit insignificant when you're up there looking down on the world?" she was whispering, ushering the words in their delicate space. "I meant it.. I don't think your problems are insignificant, or you." she paused. "I hate most people, I don't mind you so take that as you will but in my books, that means you're a pretty okay person."

[marcspectrr]

Something that's interesting about the way Steven keeps his space in comparison to Marc's...

Throughout the show we were given a lot of instances where Marc and Steven are extremely dichotomous. In the beginning, it felt like the purpose was to demonstrate juxtaposition between them, where they define each other by mutual exclusion. So why would it stop at levels of organization, right? I like to read it as going deeper than just 'one's more cleaner than the other'. Idk why but I do so here lol.

Your physcial environment subconsciously acts as a reflection of yourself.

Everything from the lighting, the colors, noises, the people occupying the space with you. Warmer lights induce relaxation, pleasant aromas promote peace of mind, good company encourages positive mindsets, etc.  Because of this, clutter is a strong source of anxiety for people; essentially, if there's a mess outside, than the inside can't be much better.

One of the first things we see in the show is Steven's flat, and it's...cluttered. But he doesn't seem bothered by it. He doesn't make his bed, his clothes are laying about, there are a million books stacked on pretty much every flat surface, a shameless hobby that indicates where he goes to seek comfort. There's a wall of maps and postcards that spread all the way to the fishtank, depicting an obvious adoration for the world and travel, little windows into places he feels intrigued by. Instead of the state of his flat inflicting unease, it seems to instead be a source of solace.

Then we look at Marc's space in the storage locker. It's nearly empty, which is him detaching himself from tangible things to add separation from the life he's convinced himself he doesn't deserve, a life he's disgusted with living in most of the time. (And even though it's safe to say most of his belongings are likely still with Layla, having his current space nearly empty hints at the amount of time he spends fronting, which is significantly less than Steven). It's organized, perhaps reflecting childhood discipline as well as habits picked up from his time as a Marine. And it's completely enclosed and reflective, no windows to let in the outside world and external stimuli, with walls that provide nothing but his reflection to look at. It's not only representative of the physical solitude that he forces himself in but the mental. He gives himself nothing to distract from his intrinsic guilt and shame, nothing else to look at besides, most torturously, himself.

But WAIT. Marc and Steven shared a space before...

And it was Steven who liked to keep a tidy room, with Marc who was on the messier side. When little!Steven fronts in ep 5, he immediately begins to clean up little!Marc's mess.

But as they get older, this obviously switches, and we even get ep 6, where Marc lightly jabs at Steven's flat ("I can't believe you live in this frickin' mess"). This is a full circle moment, imo. As if Marc loses the freedom that comes with simply making messes, whereas Steven gains enough autonomy that allows a more lived-in space, something that finally belongs to him.

Marc distances himself from the prospect of settling down and indulging in life while Steven attempts to immerse himself in it. Marc isolates himself from attachments and Steven surrounds himself with small pieces of the world. Both of them yearn for connection but show and mask it in different ways.

That's why I think the way their spaces were portrayed goes deeper than just illustrating their differences. It shows that even though they are separate, their lives were bleeding into each other long before Wendy's Shiva, (I adore the concept of Marc sharing his toys with Steven)

(But there's also parts of Marc overlapping into Steven's life within the flat, like the postcards, the sand around his bed, the shape of the roof reminiscing a pyramid, the platform above his bed reminiscing a tomb, the additional fish, etc). It's acknowledging that it's a journey of acceptance, that as their time together progresses, it turns more into a glimpse at potential harmony and embracing those distinctions. It's not just, 'they contrast so strongly, how will they ever even get along?', but also 'oh, this is how they learn to coexist despite their differences'. And if when we get s2, Jake will have to be apart of that journey as well, like adding little parts of himself throughout Steven's flat and allowing himself that physical space of a home.

I also can't help but think of the day that Marc or Steven go down to the storage locker to turn in the key. How strongly it translates to Marc that he no longer needs to hide anymore, that he's not alone in this and that maybe one day he can leave around a bit of a mess too.

[frogtanii]

a roar of competitive cheers burst from your hospital room, the boys all piled up on your bed playing in a smash tournament on bokuto’s switch. it was rather endearing to watch the good and grown men argue about which princess was a better competitor (rosalina, obviously, despite not being an actual princess) and, in sakusa’s case, pouting like a sore loser when his favorite — daisy — wasn’t even regarded as a real threat.

he absolutely dominated the next round in retaliation, to the group’s chagrin.

you eventually decided to take a break, the stuffiness and loudness of the room getting to you. the boys, while giving you a variety of concerned looks, respected your decision, leaving you to wander out of your space, clad in the semi revealing hospital gown and fuzzy yellow socks.

it was less than convenient to trudge around with your iv attached to your arm but you didn’t mind. the struggle kept your mind off of what you dubbed as The Incident™, weird as it sounded.

for some reason, the smallest things helped keep you occupied, thanks to your vigilance. your call with doctor yamada definitely helped, his sarcastic, biting nature criticizing some random kdrama had you cackling in your seat until your throat was (even more) sore.

at first, you felt a bit awkward calling him when you physically couldn’t speak but he took it in stride, filling up the silence with his commentary that was much, much appreciated.

actually, all the boys had been surprisingly good about your predicament. it took a moment for bokuto and suga to get used to your lack of responses but they eventually grew accustomed to it and even relished your minuscule reactions to one of their jokes or funny quips.

you were actually, finally, enjoying your time with your housemates and it felt good.

well, not all of your housemates. daichi was a given. you’d seen very little of him after the dinner, only laying eyes on him when he visited your hospital bed when he thought you were sleeping. the look of remorse and shame written all over his face was burned into your memory and you made a mental note to find a way to have a conversation with him in an attempt to clear the air.

while daichi’s situation at least made sense, kenma’s did not. you missed him deeply, and you had no idea what to do or say to fix what had been broken. apparently, both kuroo and sakusa had attempted to reach out, but they were quickly shut down. you could tell kuroo was more hurt than he let on, occasionally catching the tail-end of intense conversation between him and omi, but they were both quick to slap on a smile and change the subject as not to worry you when you made your presence known.

you appreciated their concern, you did, but kenma was your friend too and you desperately wanted to know what you could do to help.

a deep sigh left your lips, the action only causing a slight twinge in your throat as you meandered through the cold halls. your brain started to hurt as you thought more and more about it, stress climbing up your spine and burrowing at the base of your skull.

annoying, you thought, your eye twitching in irritation. headaches sucked mad ass and you were not looking forward to the hell of the one that was building up as you walked.

turning down another hallway, you abruptly stopped, your iv screeching to halt interrupting the hushed conversation that a certain someone was having at the far end of the corridor.

kenma!

kenma twisted towards you, his feline eyes widening in surprise as he whispered a hushed goodbye to whoever he was speaking to before shoving his phone into his pocket and staring at you in shock, pain, and most prominently,

guilt.

pure, unadulterated guilt permeated from all over him, the stench coming off of him in waves. you nearly flinched at the sight of him, the deep circles under his eyes practically broadcasting his struggle to the whole world.

your name dropped from his lips in a low whisper, his immediate reaction afterwards leading you to believe he hadn’t meant to say it aloud at all.

you chanced a step forward at his utterance, and then another and another until you were face to face with each other. you felt his eyes searching yours but you made sure to keep your face neutral if not for the blatant worry written all over it.

his plush bottom lip was pulled in between his teeth as his hands twitched by his sides as if he wasn’t exactly sure where to put them. you let out a soft breath at the sight, kind of hoping he would just give you a hug like it looked like he wanted to.

but, kenma held back, waiting for you to do something, to say something (not that you could) to absolve this horribly tense silence that the pair of you were now enshrouded in.

gently peeling your fingers from your iv stand, you lifted them to sign in the small space between your chests, in clear view of his observant gaze.

you recalled with fondness when a handful of the house members had decided to learn a bit of sign language, just in case someone was in a panic attack and became nonverbal. the impromptu learning session had been so much fun that the group had began regularly meeting to expand their sign language vocabulary and fluency until you all were at least semi fluent (in all the ways that mattered at least).

kenma was a member of that group and you’d throughly enjoyed his witty remarks throughout the lesson and his occasional cute little giggles that were liberally interspersed into conversation. that kenma was in such stark contrast to this kenma that it was almost jarring as he watched your hands with rapt attention, awaiting anything you had to say.

i missed you, you began slowly, not missing the way his eyes immediately became glassy and his hands tightened to fists by his sides.

“you shouldn’t,” he replied, his voice deep and gritty. “not after what i did.”

you cocked your head in confusion at his words. what he did? you had no idea what he was talking about but you were determined to get to the bottom of it if that was what was making him avoid you like this.

what did you do?

kenma’s jaw clenched, the guilt that had faded away for a moment, coming back full force. “i... i did this to you...” he motioned to the healing bruises on your neck and the iv stand still by your side.

now you were even more perplexed. he wasn’t the one who cornered you in the bathroom so what could he possibly be going on about? unprompted, your mind flashed back to that night, the moment where you were heading off to the bathroom, meeting kenma’s eyes for a second when you did.

oh.

was that what he was feeling so horribly about? that he saw you go into the bathroom? that was hardly news and nothing to be up in arms about unless he also saw meiko go in after you and...

double oh.

suddenly, all his behavior started making sense. kenma felt guilty because he believed he was somehow responsible for allowing this horrible thing to happen to you.

oh, honey, you signed quickly, driven to get your point across without him interrupting. you didn’t do this to me. meiko did.

kenma opened his mouth to protest but you didn’t let him, one of your hands coming up to cover his lips. he let out a muffled protest, his breath hot against your palm, eyes wide in bewilderment.

“listen to me kenma. you are not at fault here,” your voice screamed at you to stop speaking but not yet, not until you were done. “i know for a fact that if you knew what meiko was going to do, you wouldn’t have let me go.... you are good kenma, so good.”

his whole body shuddered at your words, all but collapsing into you, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you tightly.

if you faintly felt the shoulder of your hospital getting damp, you didn’t say anything, content to let him hold onto you and cry it out.

after a minute or two, he sniffled and pulled away from you, his face red and puffy but content. “you shouldn’t have talked idiot,” kenma chided gently, a soft smile on his face.

you just gave him an apologetic shrug and a hastily signed “sorry” before waving him off to your hospital room, sending him a smile as he meandered off in that direction. you didn’t follow, figuring he and the boys needed some time alone to reconnect without your presence there.

taking a hold of your iv pole again, you continued on your way while staring out the window, watching the tiny birds fly by. unfortunately, your little birdwatching stint sent you careening into a hard body, your feet losing their grip on the slippery ground as you stumbled to the floor.

a quick glance up at the perpetrator had your apology dying in your throat. it was osamu, looking every bit as bewildered as you expected him to, a small jello cup in one hand and a spork in the other.

you couldn’t keep your scowl from off your face as you waved away his helpful arm, completely missing the flash of hurt that appeared across his smooth skin. “please, let me help ya,” he tried again, this time earning a physical slap on the arm, visibly recoiling at the contact.

“leave me the fuck alone osamu,” you growled before picking yourself back up and starting to stroll away but you quickly stopped in your tracks, turning your head to give him a menacing grin. “if you fuck with atsumu again, i swear on bokuto jr, i will castrate you and feed you your sorry, wrinkly ballsack on a silver platter.”

with that you were gone, head held high and a wide grin on your face as osamu watched, his heart flipping annoyingly in endearment. he breathed a deep sigh and slid to the floor of the hall before popping open his jello and taking a bite.

your reaction was well deserved but he couldn’t help praying and hoping that things would change between the two of you.

change for the better. change for good.

℗ poker face

change for the better

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - GOLLY GEE THIS WAS A LONG ONE BHT KENMA!!!!!! and samu >:( anYWAYS SLEEP IS CALLING MY NAME, LEMME KNOW WHAT U THINK <3333 don’t forget to feed me :3 also pls kenma’s secret not so secret praise thing :00

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[neon-junkie]

in my hUmble opinion i think,, hear me out,, a sex pollen with the bad batch smut,,, amd ,,, reader is the only gal,,, thoughts? or maybe ur headcanons on how the bad batch react to being dommed

from ur fave mutual💗😁

I've started writing a fic for the Batch being sex pollen, so in the meantime, pls enjoy these headcanons on what the Batch is like when you're in charge.

Gender-neutral reader<3

Hunter

He's more than happy for you to take the lead. If anything, he encourages it.

Hunter is always in charge, seeing as he's the Sergeant and all. That mindset often follows through to the bedroom, but when you wag your finger and instruct him that you're in charge tonight, he instantly submits.

In some ways, this is Hunter's time off, a moment to breathe and relax, even if you're turning him into a whimpering mess.

He's a laid back guy who enjoys most sexual acts; guidelines and safe words are always spoken about before you two begin, and the second it begins, he instantly snaps into a submissive mindset.

Hunter feeds on praise, gentle touches, stimulation - anything giving. You can deprive and tease him every so often, but don't make a habit of it. The poor man needs somebody to care for him, not somebody to punish him.

Thanks to his heightened senses, he's incredibly sensitive, and it's going to take a while to find that perfect balance. You can always use this to your advantage though...

Hunter will lose his mind if you tie him up, sit opposite him, and get yourself off whilst declining his pleads to touch you. He can feel how fast your heart is beating in your chest, the lingering scent of your heat, even the faint taste of you dancing on his tongue. He needs you so badly, but you're in control, so it's up to you how long you drag this out for.

Orgasm denial is a 50/50 topic for him. You're allowed to deny him here and there, but don't go overboard. He needs his release; he's always pent-up, and this moments alone with you are rare. He wants to enjoy them!

Despite being submissive, Hunter still has a dominant glow to him. He'll go down on you, mouth occupied with the task at hand, but he has that look in his eyes as he locks his focus onto you. It's in his natural persona to at least have one hand on the reigns, even if it's subconscious and not intentional.

Please spoil him during after care. Give him a massage, clean him up, run your fingers through his hair as you praise him over and over. He needs it.

Wrecker

The goodest boy to ever grace this earth.

Despite his large and intimidating size, Wrecker is a switch, and he enjoys a 50/50 balance throughout his sex life.

He knows damn well how to play both parts, and always make a show of it.

Wrecker is far from bratty - he would never dream of being bratty! He wants to be your good boy, and he's going to be the most obedient, submissive, goodest boy to ever grace the galaxy.

Wrecker has few limits, but for the more extreme things, he needs a heads-up. This can be anything from casually letting him know what you'd like to do later, to making a game of it and riling him up throughout the day.

Pull him into a quiet corner, look him dead in the eyes as you place your hands on his chest, and maintain eye contact as you begin going into detail on what you want to do later.

The others know you two are discussing certain things, all thanks to Wrecker's gasps and whimpers. He attempts to keep the noise down, but you're making it so hard for him!

He's the king of praise, and needs to be gifted compliments every few minutes. Tell him over and over about how good his tongue feels, how much his cock stretches you, how perfect he's fucking you, and so forth.

Wrecker has no problem begging, he has no snooty attitude that gets in the way. If he's desperate for something, then he'll beg over and over, practically nagging your ear off!

It's impossible for Wrecker to be quiet, even if he's gagged, so most of your intense sexual acts take place in hotels. Even then, you've had noise complaints, but hotels were designed for this kinda stuff - right?

After care is one of his favourite moments, and he snaps out of his submissive stage the second the sex is over. He wants after care to be a mutual thing, even if you've really worn him out. He's going to clean you up, just as you're cleaning him up, and he won't take your protests for an answer!

Echo

Echo's always been a switch, both before and after Skako Minor.

Before, he was always extremely down to be submissive, sometimes more than he is dominant. But after Skako Minor, he almost always needs to be dominant.

He's lost a lot, both mentally and physically, and sex is one of the few times when he can truly be in control.

However, there are days when Echo is so exhausted, needy, overwhelmed, desperate, etc. Those are the days when he's more than happy to submit to you, because he needs someone to take the ropes, someone to remind him how fantastic and beautiful he is, someone to praise him over and over until he's practically in tears.

If you haven't already guessed it, Echo needs a gentle, kind, and considerate dom. He enjoys being 'whatever you need' when the roles are reversed, but when it's his time to be on his knees, he needs nothing but pure love and affection.

Edging is an act that Echo really enjoys; it's one of the few things that truly makes him feel alive, having his body feel oh-so-desperate for release. He doesn't care if he becomes a sobbing, whimpering mess - if anything, that's all the better!

But during his edging journey, you need to be reminding him often on what a good job he's doing, how he's your good boy, how strong and resilient he is, how he's perfect in every single way.

And the second you allow him to cum, he's thanking you, over and over until you silence him with a kiss. He's not just thanking you for allowing him to climax, but for everything - for being there for him, for making him feel alive, for your support, kindness, consideration. Literally everything.

After care is just as intense, and Echo is exhausted when the sex is over. He always softly protests, telling you that you don't need to clean him up, that he can do it himself, but he makes no physical effort to get away from your gentle touches.

Honestly, he loves having somebody caring for him, but the voice in the back of his head scolds him for it. Continue cleaning him up, pull him into your arms, let his head rest against your chest, and plant kisses on him as he drifts off to sleep.

That's all he needs. That's all Echo's ever needed - somebody to care for him.

Tech

Are you really surprised that Tech has a locked-away, deep and endless knowledge of sexual activities? He has minor experience with sex in general, but he's dived deep into the adult side of the holonet, both out of curiosity, and arousal.

So, when you inform Tech that you want to take the lead, he begins questioning everything that you have planned for him.

Tech needs an in-depth discussion before you two begin. He wants to know your limits, favourites, pros and cons. He wants to ensure that boundaries are set, and safe words are agreed on. Even if you're not doing anything too extreme, Tech wants to ensure that both of you are safe.

Don't be surprised if Tech pulls out a list of sexual activities that he'd like to try, marked from highest to lowest priority. His living space may be a mess, but his holopad is laid out flawlessly.

It takes a couple of sessions to 'break him in.' He often snaps out of character, wanting to ask questions, suggest future ideas, and so forth. He can't help it, his mind is always in overdrive!

At first, you need to follow his lead and reassure him when needed. But when he's still blabbering on after a few sessions, that's when you pull the ball gag out and inform him that he needs to keep his mouth under control, or else he won't be allowed to cum later.

Tech's submissive mindset finally sets in, and oh boy, he is the whiniest, loudest, most sensitive man you'll ever meet. The slightest touch has his mind spinning, and if you think that's bad, just you wait until you begin denying and edging him.

Tech will try almost anything once, and he'll know almost instantly if he's enjoying it or not. But out of everything, he adores being gagged and tied up, edged and denied over and over, all whilst you're telling him about what a good, smart boy he is.

Seriously, rile him up by going into depth about how much you adore his exceptional mind. He'll lose it. That's his weakness!

After care is a mutual activity. You'll be telling him about how good he was, and he'll be thanking you for treating him so well. Tech almost always ends up falling asleep in your arms after, and he'll fall asleep even quicker if you play with his hair.

Crosshair

Oh boy.

You're going to need to be extremely patient, firm, and dominant when it comes to having Crosshair submit to you. He's the brattiest brat you'll ever meet, but it's worth the time and effort when you finally 'break him in.'

He needs to be close to you in order to truly submit, really close. Crosshair's truly submissive side reveals that he's a whiny mess of a man, and he's not comfortable with just anybody seeing that side of him.

At first, Crosshair is full of back chat, petty comments, follows your orders wrong, or refuses to do them overall. He has made it his mission to rile you up, so you need to make it your mission to train him.

If you want him to stop being smug, then pull him over your knee, and give him a spanking. Seriously. He'll understand that you mean business after the first slap, and the more you spank him, the more his walls begin to break down.

You'll spend months getting through to him, but each session breaks his walls down ever so slightly, and you'll know when they're truly broken down.

Crosshair will never openly admit to this, or at least, not at first, but he loves being your personal fuck toy. He wants you to fuck him however you want whilst degrading him, maybe humiliating him every so often.

Mock him for how pathetic he looks as he's bound and gagged for you, desperate for his first release. It's been hours, and you're still riding him, chasing yet another orgasm, and you've lost count of how many you've already had. He's so desperate for one, just one, but you've trained him not to speak unless spoken to, so until you give him the all clear, he won't beg, he'll just take it.

There are few things that he's not okay with. Feel free to choke him, slap him about, use him however you want. However, you need to make up for everything when he is finally allowed to cum.

Crosshair is going to have tears pouring down his cheeks when he releases. Soothe him, praise him, remind him over and over about how wonderful and perfect he is, how proud you are of him, how much he means to you.

He's so exhausted that he allows you to clean him up and tuck him into bed. Seriously, you two have been going at it for hours, of course he's tired! Please pull him against your chest, run your fingers through his hair, and snuggle him tightly throughout the night.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Promptober Day 28

Forehead kiss

Silco x reader

Word Count: 446

Men like Silco didn’t sleep well; that wasn’t difficult to figure out for anyone with two braincells to smack together. You don’t become someone that commanding, that terrifying without a history that left marks both physical and mental.

The physical tolls were easy to see: the eye, his face, that horribly wide scar on his back from a wound that near ripped him in half--that one would always haunt you more than the eye ever would, for you had been the one that sewed him back together.

The mental tolls were a different beast. Those were the ones that only you could see--well, only you and Jinx could see--because of the pains he took to hide them from the world. Everyone else saw him as this untouchable monster. Jinx saw her troubled father-figure that loved her conditionally--there were never any conditions, but her own monsters wouldn’t let her accept that, besides, that’s another story. You saw him as the man you loved, scars and all.

It showed the most in his sleeping patterns (or lack thereof). Nights where he actually made it to bed, he’d thrash himself awake at the phantom memory of being held underwater. Nights he dozed off at his desk, worked until he simply couldn’t hold his head up anymore, he slept like the dead. The pits of exhaustion didn’t allow for dreams to dance through his mind, but that same exhaustion didn’t allow real rest. Nights he was tired enough not to come to bed, but awake enough that he slunk over to sleep on the couch stashed in the corner of his office were when he slept the most peacefully.

You guarded him most carefully on those nights. Everyone knew they’d have to go through you if they wanted to even think about talking to him, and long ago you’d broken Jinx of the habit where she liked to scare him awake.

Now, these nights were the most peaceful nights in the Last Drop. The music below drew quiet as the club closed. Jinx curled up in what little space Silco didn’t occupy on that couch since she realized this was the perfect chance to get some of the comfort she so craved. And you were left to tuck them both in before turning in yourself. 

Delicately, so you didn’t wake them, you covered them both with the soft blanket that had slipped onto the floor. Jinx’s forehead was warm when you kissed her between her brows; you’d have to keep an eye on that. Silco’s was cool. In his sleep, he turned into the embrace just slightly. You smiled. Then you slipped away so you, too, could get some rest.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven. 

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind. 

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there. 

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair. 

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story." 

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.” 

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh. 

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?” 

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web. 

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project. 

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile. 

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter. 

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise. 

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine. 

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes. 

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile. 

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior. 

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging. 

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers. 

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle. 

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee. 

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @lu-morningstar @ggaslyp1 @swiftyhowlz @xeniarocks @teenwaywardasgardian @saintandrea-droidsmuggler​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[kemakoshume]

h & h ✰ iwaizumi x gn!reader

☆ warnings (‼️) – negative body image talk, talks about mental health. not spicy at all but dom!iwa is there if you REALLY squint.

☆ summary – you’re having a bad self-image day triggered by some harsh words. iwa is there to make it better :')

☆ word count – 1.8k

☆ pairing: genderneutral!reader x personaltrainer!iwaizumi hajime

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* the tunes i listened to while writing this *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You hadn’t meant to let it get to you. Words were just that; words. They had no business sneaking their way into your mind and making you loathe the image looking back at you in the mirror the way they did. Yet here you were, staring at the silhouette of curves and lumps that made up your physical form, playing your mother’s words on a loop in your brain.

“I just don’t get it, honey. How are you still chubby dating such a fit guy? He needs to work you out a little harder,” she rambled, trampling over any attempt you made at interjecting, “Have you thought about changing up your schedule to make more time for the gym? I think that’d be good. You won’t lose him so easily if you do. Men are visual creatures you know! You have to give him something prettier to look at or those eyes will start wandering.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry. Yes, the weight had crept up on you. Depression, anxiety, and a plethora of other things had begun to occupy the space in your mind where self-care and exercise had once resided. Though you ate more, you hadn’t really been eating any worse. You just did physical activity less and the weight came on its own. Regardless, you were still relatively happy with your body. It had carried you through the hardest few months of your life, and you knew Iwaizumi loved it just as much as he did you. He just cared that you were here, and happy, and functioning well again.

You knew that. You wanted so badly to remember it even when her words stung like alcohol on a fresh wound.

“Hey baby, have you seen the fragrance plug-in refills? I know we bought more like… a few days ago.”

You could hear him calling out to you as he bound his way up the stairs. His footsteps were annoyingly light, which made sense for a guy with such a lean frame. Were your footsteps heavier now too? Had Iwa noticed and was just too polite to say anything?

“Babe?” he questioned, rounding the corner into your shared bedroom.

You stood there in front of your large floor-length mirror in your dark-gray cotton hipster panties and a black t-shirt bra. It took him less than a second to notice the trail of tears running down your face.

“Oh no,” he moaned, “What’s wrong?”

He crowded into your space easily, grabbing you into a hug. He’d turned you away from the mirror, putting your face flat against the firm plane of his chest. You melted into it, letting the tears flow even harder now that you could hear the concern in your partner’s voice, willing the knot forming in your throat to go away and allow you to speak.

“Here baby, sit down for me.”

He placed you on the bench situated at the end of your king bed, immediately sitting next to you to pull you into his arms again. You felt him pulling at your waist, beckoning you to settle into a straddling position in his lap, so he could hug you and hold you fully on the seat. The tears only flowed harder when you instinctively slapped away his hand, pushing yourself away from him to pace around in front of the mirror again.

You looked insane, you thought passively. Your hair was disheveled from running your hands through it, your face was red all over, and all the tears and snot made you look like a child that’d had their favorite toy taken away. You were better than this, at least.

You willed the tears to stop, putting a hand against Iwaizumi’s chest to signal “give me a moment” when he tried to come into your space again. You walked up close to the mirror, wiping the tears both shed and unshed away from your eyes. You smoothed a hand through your hair until it looked somewhat less unkempt, and blew your nose with the tissue Iwa had gotten you sometime during your cooldown period.

“So, can I ask what that was about now?” he asked, standing behind you where you sat in front of the mirror. That stupid fucking mirror.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, deadpan, your voice more hurricane than honey at that moment.

“Of course.”

“Are you ashamed to be with me?” you said, picking at the skin around your nails. You couldn’t will yourself to look up at him.

“Honey,” he said sternly, “Come sit with me. Please.”

He moved to sit on your bed, waiting for you to join him. You hesitated. Was this it? Was this the moment where the love of your life called you a disgusting pig and told you to move out? Was he so ashamed that he couldn’t wait for this moment to finally come?

“Baby. I’m not asking again. Sit, please.”

You sighed, pulling yourself off the floor. You absentmindedly grabbed a rouge t-shirt off the ground and pulled it over your body as you climbed onto the bed. Your eyes were still downcast.

“Now where the hell did you get that idea from?” he said, grabbing you by your ankles to pull you closer. You were criss-cross apple sauce in front of each other on the powder blue duvet.

“I just,” you stammered, trying to blink away the incoming flood of fresh tears, “my mom said some shit to me when we were on the phone earlier, while you were at the gym, and it just got in my head. I don’t know why I let her do this to me.”

“Oh god,” he said, not even attempting to hide his disdain and subsequent eye-roll, “Please baby, for your mental health, stop talking to her if it hurts you this badly. Almost every time she says something that makes things hard for you.”

“I know Iwa, I know. I just… she’s my mom. What she said hurt, it hurt like hell, but we don’t talk very much. She’s all I have too, you know? Besides you and our friends, of course, but still. I wouldn’t want her to not be in my life at all, even if she does make it harder sometimes.”

He huffed, dragging a veiny, large hard across his face in frustration.

“Okay, I get it. I don’t agree, not at all, but I do get it. So, what’d she say this time? If you even feel okay repeating it.”

You took a deep breath, letting the wave of sadness flow out with the air exiting your lungs. You told him what she’d said, making sure to emphasize that you knew it was just her opinion but still, Iwa wasn’t stupid.

“She doesn’t know shit, honey. She doesn’t know me, or our relationship, or what “keeps my eye.” You’re saying you know she’s wrong but what she said bothered you anyway. What’s going on?”

“I just… I’ve gained weight, Iwa. I’ve been so focused on transitioning onto better antidepressants and keeping up a good standing with work that I haven’t been taking care of myself as much.”

“Oh honey,” he groaned, sliding forward until his leg was wrapped around yours and he was cradling your head, “You have been taking care of yourself, and me, and this house. Weight loss maintenance is not the only measurement of self-care baby.”

You felt tears fall again, and you couldn’t help but curl into his embrace a little more.

“But, you love working out. Helping people get hot is your whole job!” you said matter of factly, “How are you happy coming home to someone who looks like your clients’ “before” photos?” you groaned, sounding every bit like the petulant child your mother always accused you of being.

He pulled away just enough to kiss your forehead, making eye contact with you that felt unwavering.

“Babe, I don’t see my clients as a before and after,” he sighed, “I see them as people just trying to take more control of their lives. The focus is never really about weight loss, it’s about getting them to a place where they feel happy and content in their bodies. The most successful clients I have are the ones that are already in love with themselves at their starting weight.”

“Really?” you ask, your face contorted in confusion.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, wiping away the stray tears left on your cheeks, “Despite popular belief, hating yourself is the absolute worst motivator for starting a fitness journey. Depriving yourself of the things and people you love because you feel unworthy is just cruel. Everyone deserves to love and be loved no matter where they are in their body image journey, and I need you to understand that includes you and me as well.”

He runs his hand across the top of your head, pushing back your hair to place even more delicate kisses onto your forehead.

“Honey, as long as you’re happy and healthy, then that’s all I care about. I love you and your body, and no poison your mom tries to smuggle into your brain is going to undo that.”

You sighed, tilting your head up to get a kiss or two from the man of your dreams.

“You know what’s crazy?” you said, feeling the hum in your partner’s chest, “I actually wanted to go back to the gym before I talked to her. Not even because of my weight, I just wanted to go to clear my head.”

He pondered over your words, playing with a stray piece of your hair.

“Well, if you want to start working out again, I’ll join you, but we’ll be doing it for our health. Not aesthetics. I love you exactly how you are baby, but if working out will help make you feel good mentally, I’m all for it.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” he said assuringly, smiling down at you before placing a firm kiss on your lips, “We can start doing yoga at home too, maybe? You’ve been talking about wanting to forever. It’s great for focus and balance, and flexibility.”

You didn’t miss the look of mischief creeping onto his face. You chuckled, kissing all over his face.

“You want me to be nice and nimble, huh?”

“Mhm,” he hummed into your mouth, “We should probably test out your flexibility now though before we start our new routine next week. I need an accurate idea of where we’re starting.”

“Well we wouldn’t want anything to be inaccurate, would we?” you said, falling into the sheets with Iwa, letting him remove the last bit of clothing on your body to show you exactly how much he loved your body the way it was.

Your heart felt a million times lighter somehow even though it was so full.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : theatre square

— word count : 2.2k words

— pairing : daigo dojima x reader

— summary : nothing but a nice day spent with Daigo in theatre square .. also Daigo still hates the fact he still sucks at the ufo catcher

— warnings : nothing but a few curses here and there

               ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

An unending chatter of noise that bleeds into each other from the various conversations of people going about their daily lives as they are captivated by their conversations through their mobile phones or the shopping trip they are using as a way to catch up with their friends to those just on their lunch breaks from their jobs — all do not take in that which surrounds them as you do, your eyes jumping from person to person. While you wait, you find yourself making a story up for each of them, using the game from your childhood to entertain yourself until your date arrives.

As the minutes pass your excitement by, the bright blue of Kamurocho dulls as does your enthusiasm. Time aches by every time you bring your wrist up to check the time on your watch, not a message to say they’d be late. Nothing. A heavy rush of air takes the plunge out of your lungs and into the air, with dejection and gloom the bricks that build its body. You wonder why a person would ask you out only to leave you without even a whisper to communicate their lack of interest despite being the one whose idea it was. People are confusing.

“ What are you doing here by yourself? “

Your view is interrupted as you turn to the recognisable voice behind your shoulder, a forced grin is plastered onto your features — hope courses through your veins that it’s not blindingly obvious that you’re drenched from the stormy clouds of misery above you.

“ Daigo? “ You ask as surprise lights up your eyes as you survey the man. “ It’s been a while. “

Your friendship with him had occurred by accident. There’s not a day that passes in the town where there’s not a poor soul being harassed on the street for some odd reason or another, it’s just you’d never thought that you would be in that very position. Often, you would walk the streets of the neon metropolis making yourself as small and as insignificant as possible.. However on that day your lone bubble had been burst completely. One moment you’d been blissfully content in your own comfort zone as you dipped and weaved in the crowded streets and the next you’d found yourself surrounded by a swarm of drunks.

Had the universe sensed your predicament, the unpleasant experience lasted no longer than a wore on fleetingly as your lips whispered its silent gratitude. They’d scattered once an order to cease had been uttered by Daigo, as if they’d never been there in the first place, not even a shadow in their place. Apologies had been issued and usually you’d not even stayed long enough to accept them but his words were as remorseful as his eyes were true.

“ Yeah, I had something to deal with. “ He responds, digging his hands into his pockets.

“ It didn’t happen to involve this town being under siege, did it? “ You question him, a brow lifts up knowingly as your expression shifts.

His past had been no secret, you made no move to judge — his actions spoke louder than any riotous melody should weave the ability to. As you stared down at the scene from your apartment high above the glowing lights of the town, all you could see was a maze of smoke littering various areas you know well, especially as you’d walked their path that very morning. Terror prevented you from leaving, the unknown of what could occur should you walk that path played into your fear with an unyielding grip on your body.

“ These past few weeks have been something. “ He swallows lightly, his circumstances have certainly altered in the passing days. “ You haven’t answered my question. “

“ I was waiting for someone.. “ You shrug with a mousy chuckle, preferring to not let on how disappointed you feel. “ I don’t think that’s happening now. “

“ Who would stand you up like that? “

It would be a falsehood to say that he’d never imagined a closer relationship between the two of you the more he laid eyes upon your form. Noting mentally how you would persistently shine brighter than venus yet everyone who interacts with you would gravitate towards you as if you took on the form of Jupiter and they became an additional moon to orbit your infectious laughter. No sooner than he’d met you, he fell under the spell that many who interacted with you had — becoming one.

“ Well, we’re not all too close. I’m not bothered about it really. “ You lie, your words to anyone else would have gone amiss, but he’d picked up the soft falter in your voice.

“ Let’s go. “

Your gaze follows his retreating form, your body still glued to the spot it has occupied on the bench. Had you anything to say your mouth would be opening and closing like a fish, it’s not long until you manage to snap yourself out of the stupor he’d led you into and you’re both now standing outside the Club Sega arcade. A mist of uncertainty begins to fog slowly as the wheels turn in your mind, you’d only ever seen him settled into establishments where alcohol was served. Just what has he been through recently?

Chords of a catalog of sources flow through your hearing as your sight scans the area, electronic notes from the games move in rhythm with the joy those emit from the entertainment they gain from the amusements to the despair others make vocal as they lose a battle or have run their turns out on the UFO catcher. Fingers slip into your as you feel yourself tugged into the direction of a game with large seats, already knowing the game you know you’re terrible.

“ Why not another game? I’m horrible at this. “ You complain as you stare at the intimidating structure of the game.

“ It makes it easier to beat you then. “ He chuckles, a spark softly swaying in his eyes as he turns his attention to you.

“ You’re not being fair, Daigo. “

“ The aim is to win, you’re just going to have to try harder to beat me. “

You do as he says. It takes a colossal effort to direct your mind to organise itself in order to give yourself a fighting chance at winning, and it does work — to an extent. A thread of tame curses tumble unceremoniously from your lips as your character is knocked out once more, and the distractions from the male finding humour in your disaster beside you does not help your cause. Your eyes roll as the game ends once more, with you failing to get a win over Daigo, there’s no need to turn to face him for the smugness radiates off of him in waves.

“ See? I’m awful! “ You whine as your shoulders slump in defeat.

“ Let me make it up to you.. “ Daigo speaks with a comforting tone, no longer relishing in his victory. “ I’ll get you one of those toys from the UFO catchers. What one do you want? “

Your lips twist and turn as your teeth sink into the flesh to bite on them in contemplation as you eye up the prizes from your position, the lengthy distance doing nothing to hinder you as the sight of a pillow pups toy stands out confined to its glass prison. The golden retriever is too irresistible to the childishness within you as your eyes narrow as you reluctantly share your desire for the toy with him.

“ Make sure it’s the golden retriever one. “

“ Yeah, I got it. “

“ I hope you do. “ You comment in a steady tone, a palm leaning on the pane.

The music begins and you scrutinise the scene before you with an eager eye as the metallic claw first moves left. Determination chisels itself into his features as his brows lower in a physical representation of his focus. To win the plush toy would be the most simplest effort in the world yet it would be the first step in treating you how he should have been treated at the start. Truthfully, he’d wanted nothing to do with forging bonds that could be so easily disintegrated, however he could never build up the strength to tear himself away from you. Instead of feeling drained from the human interaction, he’d leave your encounters revitalised.

A groan leaves the both of you as the first attempt leaves all of the toys still confined to their places, the one you specifically want at the back firmly in the middle. A tough spot, you remark.

“ Fuck. “

Giggling to yourself, your teeth shine brighter than any star as they are on full display from the action as the frustration of the man is surprisingly amusing to you. Again, the claw had found itself short of where it should be, and the last chance of retrieving the toy desired so much is shown clearly on the metallic panel.

“ Let me, Daigo. “ You comment, pushing him to the side with a weak force. Rolling your shoulders dramatically, you grab the controls of the game. A breath is held as the claw makes its way left, the toy stands out temptingly from its position. I have to get this, it’s so cute! You do not listen to the prompt to let it descend from Daigo just yet, allowing it to inch its way further back ever so lightly. Your eyes are transfixed as you watch the toy is clutched in a clumsy hold, your heart speeds up at the sight of the lessening grip with each jagged movement that leaves the toy released earlier than it should.

A relieved sigh is released as it falls through the empty space at the last minute, just managing to pass through with seconds to spare.

“ I’m still shit at this. “

“ So you know how it feels now? “ You ask him with a smirk, interlocking your arm with his as you reflect on the surprisingly good time you have had with him. “ Ooh, let’s go to Café Alps, I fancy something sweet. “

The proximity between you both is small, with both hands secured firmly in his pockets Daigo enjoys the basic experience. A buzz of energy bubbles between the two of you as you converse interactively, you can’t help but notice a level of tension has been removed from his shoulders, the man next to you appearing a little more relaxed. The walk is short to the café, you can’t help but continue to stare at the bright displays of the stores as you pass by as if you’re witnessing them for the first time. Life is certainly vivid and lively in Kamurocho.

You turn your attention away from Daigo ordering to the life outside from your spot on the cushioned wall couch. It doesn’t go unnoticed that darkness has overtaken the skyline completely, even with the glistening neon lights the stars fight to make themselves seen.

“ Thank you, Daigo. “ You begin, a leading inflection heavy on your words as you sip slowly on the hot liquid. “ I have to ask though, what’s this all for? “

“ Does there have to be a reason? “ He deflects as you cock your head to the side in response.

“ You’re you. There’s always a reason to everything you do, I know you that well at least. “ You respond, before placing a piece of the chocolate parfait. A short wiggle of your shoulders at the enjoyment of the sweet treat lends some amusement to Daigo before an air of sobriety returns to his outward expression.

“ I haven’t been the best to you. “

“ Dai — “

“ Please, let me finish. “ He interrupts suddenly, eye contact unwavering as he continues to study your form. “ I had you as a friend but even then I would hold you at arms length more often than not. I’m surprised you’ve put up with me. “

“ I’m not going to say you’ve not been difficult.. But you don’t see what I do. “ You comfort, there had been days where he’d been more insufferable than a child, but you know humans are more than one dimensional creatures.

A culture of existing in a positive bubble perpetually is no way to live, for it denies you the chance to feel the emotions that slash your soul deeply. Is it easier to think it would be easier to live if you only experience happiness? Perhaps. But never does the find feel clearer after releasing the negativity that darkens your walls.

“ Huh? “

“ You’ve been through a lot, it’s not excusable to be an ass but it’s understandable. “ You shrug with little effort, shaking your head nonchalantly. “ Besides, you haven’t been as bad as you think. You’re human, you have your off days. We all do. “

“ Still, I don’t want to be an ass to you. “ He confides, moving his hand to envelope yours. There’s a surging warmth that the pair of you notice simultaneously threads between fingertips more seamlessly than when ink glides onto paper with the grace of a bird that soars through the bright blue sky.

He’d lived long enough in a world built of paper, using it as a means to escape the reality the world so harshly has built into it.

“ Then don’t. “

[uwurakax]

another day ♡

pairing: oikawa x f!reader ♡

genre: angsty // exes // mutual pining ♡

summary: after the constant fighting and bubbling insecurities, you and oikawa both decide that breaking up is probably for the best. too bad that it wasn’t what either if you had wanted ♡

♡ read part one ‘save your tears’ here ♡

word count: 2k ♡

author’s note: super tired, i should be packing but im not lol, 4am gang ayyy. as always not proofread because i cannot stomach the idea of rereading what i wrote. this was what originally ‘save your tears’ was going to be, but part one got too long so haha. spoils of part one, so if you haven’t read it go ahead, or don’t lolol it could be read alone ig hurr hurr ♡

♡ (inspired by save your tears - the weeknd/ariana grande) ♡

At one point in time, you would’ve enjoyed an atmosphere like this; the blaring lights, pounding music, and even the heat radiating off warm bodies in a cramped space. It was much more enjoyable when you had the familiar, comforting presence of him.

Yes him: Oikawa Tōru. Also known as the the guy who broke your heart less than two months ago. You hadn’t seen him since the week after, finally being able to pick up everything and go. It was scary how silent it was between you two. The unit the both of you had made a home, your first home with him, just a little more barren. Just a little more bare.

Just a little more empty.

Once homely rooms were now plain. To anyone else, it could be called minimalistic or modern. Sleek if you were to exaggerate it. To the both of you however, it was just stone cold. A lifeless corpse. One poor imitation of what it once was.

And seeing it like this was almost enough to have your heart break for a second time. It was a physical representation of your relationship. The feelings of warmth, comfort, admiration, any and every word any literary body could ever akin to love was once found here. It was sad to see it gone, almost like it was never there. However if you looked past the surface you’d see all the small details of things that once occupied the room. The once full drawers now easily fitting clothes with plenty of room to spare. A countertop with products only to one half of the sink. The minuscule dust imprints left behind on the shelves that once housed your books.

The lingering smell of your perfume that was once so prominent.

You couldn’t tell, but Oikawa could. In the week you were gone, it slowly started to fade. The first night Oikawa was drowning in it. It clung to, what once was, your pillow and on the blanket. Choking and suffocating him with the sweet smell. He couldn’t bear to see the bed without you in it, and hated the God awful smell. Opening the window and facing away, he had a dreamless sleep that night.

And as the week passed, so did the scent of you.

He couldn’t explain why, but the moment he opened the door, his body felt at ease. His eyes blessed, even if you had those dark circles and slightly red eyes with unkempt hair. It was as if it was instinct to feel relief at being near you.

It was the longest few hours of Oikawa’s life that day, and somehow it was still just too short. Helping you gather your things, putting them into boxes and loading them into a tiny hired truck until eventually there was nothing left.

You were gone from the apartment, and now Oikawa’s life.

It was awkward the second time, saying goodbye. The finality of it all dawning on the both of you. You at least had this excuse to see each other once more. After this, there was nothing. No more reasons to come back, to call, message or even see each other again.

This was officially the last time you’d ever get to see Oikawa Tōru.

You’d both stood there for a few moments, only the wind against leaves and the occasional car offering any sort of background noise. Neither of you wanting or willing for this moment to end. Despite it all, it wasn’t hard to see that you both yearned for each other. Just how cruel it was that you couldn’t see it.

Oikawa kept your pillow close that night. The smell of you was so faint, he was sure that it wouldn’t be too long before it completely faded. As he held the plush item near his chest he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life he could’ve had with you if he wasn’t so prideful? All the fantasies and white picket fences surged in his mind, and so he finally drifted off to sleep, thinking of you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Here”

You turned to see your best friend handing you a glass of, well you weren’t sure exactly but anything to dull your senses at this point was okay in your book. Yes, almost two months since your breakup and you were still so torn. It was what he wanted right? Your lives are better this way. You’re sure his is. He wouldn’t have to hear you “nag” as he so put it, and you didn’t have to feel the exhaustion resulting because of it.

It was better this way. You knew it. Oikawa knew it. Your friends and family knew it. Heck even the old ladies down the damn street knew it.

So why did it feel so shitty.

You downed the drink quickly, not wanting to go through the spiral of emotions you were sure you were going to experience. You’d deal with the pain and hangover tomorrow like the adult you were. For now you just wanted to dance till your feet hurt, and then drink until they stopped hurting. A quick descent into self destruction that you’re sure you’d regret.

Or maybe you wouldn’t.

The moment you turned your head to get back to the dance floor you locked eyed with him.

For a moment you stopped breathing. The music faded out quickly and the patrons of the club disappeared. Suddenly it was just you and him.

He looked good this time around, nothing like the last time you saw him. His perfectly fluffed and styled hair that was just so effortlessly Oikawa had become messy bed head. His bright chocolate eyes that twinkled just a little with mischief when he smirked had become sunken. His whole demeanour had completely drooped into a depressive state. It hurt to see.

He wasn’t like that now. He looked like how he had been before. No longer were the remnants of a heartbroken man. Oikawa Tōru had gone back to his charming self once again.

A cute girl with silky, long black hair approached him and just as quick as they went, everything came flooding back; the music, people and you found yourself being able to breathe again.

She touched his arm and laughed. The look in her eyes filled with the glimmer coyness. Her body language oozed with flirty persona. It was all too familial.

You should’ve guessed that he’d date again. It wasn’t like he couldn’t. The moment you both severed the relationship he had every right to do what he wanted. You did too. Sure you were seeing someone, but it wasn’t like that.

All too, touchy-feely.

It hurt to see, you weren’t going to lie. Seeing the way he touched her, held her, danced with her. For a good portion of the night you saw it. Seeing him be with her, the way he used to with you. No longer being the main character in his story; you were in the audience, watching.

You didn’t want to stay until the ending.

Without a word, you briskly brushed passed sweaty bodies, being bumped a few times before you finally made it to the door and opened it.

You walked a couple paces to the middle of the footpath, deeply inhaling the fresh air. It wasn’t suffocating anymore. You fumbled with your purse, reaching inside to pull out your phone. With the glow of neon lights emanating behind you, you saw a stray tear on the blackness of your screen.

Fuck, when did that happen?

You wiped it with the palm of your hand, and went to unlock your phone. As you prepared to send a text you heard the call of your voice.

“Tōr-Oikawa?”

He mentally winced at this, the formal tone of using his surname struck something inside. He didn’t like it, not at all. It wasn’t right, it felt strange.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here? You followed me”

“Right... I guess I just wanted to see how you were, that’s all” he looked away, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. You softened at this. It just took you back to why you fell for him in the first place. The little things like this, that made you feel cared for and loved. Perhaps for a few minutes you could be delusional and pretend that Oikawa still cared for you.

“I’m fine, what about you? How is everything going?” Yikes. You cringed at how awkward you were being. You supposed that that’s how it was, not exactly friends and not complete strangers either.

“Yeah fine too...” he trailed off, and just like that you were brought back to that time before you left. Before the official goodbye. Not ready to end things just yet, but neither knowing what more to say.

Just for a little while, let me remember every trace, curve and detail.

You didn’t know what came over you, but soon enough you found yourself drawing closer to Oikawa. He looked at you with half lidded eyes, not daring to move a step, almost afraid if he did it would ruin this moment with you. Yes, it was selfish but...

You lifted your hand to cup his cheek, just like a memory from before. Using the pad of your thumb, you gently brushed over the soft skin. Ever so delicately, you traced down his jaw. The intimacy of your movements crossed a boundary between you. You knew it and he did too. You’d let yourselves be greedy though.

Oikawa raised his own hands to touch your face, perfectly ingraining it into his mind and body. His fingers slowly going over your features. He wouldn’t allow himself to forget any part of you.

It wasn’t long until you both wanted to overstep more.

The longing between you too great to try and stop. Eventually you both moved closer, faces and soul alike reaching for the other. Just a bit closer.

“Y/N?”

“Oikawa?”

You both frantically pulled away, heart racing now.

“Kageyama..”

“Tobio”

Oikawa tried to hide the venom in his voice, he really did, but when he saw Kageyama make his way beside you he couldn’t help but see red.

It didn’t seem like life was playing a very fair game.

“Oikawa are you alright?” He looked down at the petite girl beside him, now clinging to his arm. He threw on one of his brilliant smiles and told her it was okay.

“Are you cold? Here” Oikawa couldn’t keep up that smile for too long, not when he saw him putting his jacket around you. How you snuggled into the warmth. How it showed Oikawa that you were no longer his, and that you now found solace in another.

He couldn’t blame you, he knew that deep inside. He did the same, why shouldn’t you? It didn’t stop the burning hatred and envy he felt. The overwhelming sadness that enveloped him. All a heavy dump of emotions thrown on him within a few seconds.

You felt it too though. That girl hanging off his arm. Getting to parade around that Oikawa was hers. It was totally unreasonable to feel this way. You both ended things. It was mutual right? You would’ve told him and he would’ve told you if this breakup was a mistake right?

Right?

“Wanna go?” Kageyama whispered in your ear. You nodded.

“It was nice seeing you again T-Oikawa” you smiled sadly.

“You too Y/N...bye” you both turned away, walking in opposite directions. With every step, your heartache grew just a little more. Almost like your body needed to be near his, the memories it held being more truthful than your head could ever be.

Your heart, body and soul wanted Oikawa.

Your mind told you to let him go for his sake.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Hey Oikawa?”

“Yes Kageyama?”

“Hmm?”

“He was your ex right? Oikawa?”

“That girl back there, is she her? The ex?

“Yeah he was”

“Yeah, she was”

“Do you still love him?”

“Do you still love her?”

There was a pause and you both stopped, mulling the question over.

Did you still love each other? It wasn’t hard to tell, everyone knew the answer. Ask any stranger but...

“No”

..

...

..

You both lied.

[oftenderweapons]

Not sure if this counts as a Drabble I’m not really familiar with it sorry! So you can ignore if you want but maybe you can do a list of BTS and the OC’s favorite kinks

[A/N: this took a very long time coming, mostly because it was a lengthy job. Sorry for the wait nonnie, I hope it’s worth it 🥴😉]

Okay! I sort of assembled this as a mix of short headcanons (there are six to eight each — also I got carried away with Jk, he’s got eleven but some are like, are more lowkey). They’re divided couple by couple and I’ve tried to be as realistic as possible, which means that some couples have some kinks in common, especially since I stayed on more well-known kinks and fetishes that represent each couple’s go-to. I do think they explore less popular kinks other than the ones I listed, however they might not go there that often.

You’ll be seeing some of these soon ;) [ILLICIT AFFAIRS WON I AM CRYING]

Uhm. Obviously there’s a lot of stuff I have to include in the trigger warnings, so bear with me. 

This is obviously 18+

TRIGGER WARNINGS: discipline (brat taming, sub training), impact play (spankings, paddle, flogger, riding crop; both on ass and breasts), marking, dirty talking, choking, masturbation (male and female receiving; mututal), squirting, several fetishes (uniform, shoes, feet, voice), cock worship, breast worship, powerplay (DDLG, daddy kink; domination; mommy kink; Primal/predator-prey dynamics, pet play), orgasm control and deprivation, role play, food play, cum play/cum eating, pain kink, sensation play, temperature play, edging and overstimulation, phone sex, cyber sex, bondage, torture play/forced masturbation, tickling, anal play (buttplugs, strap on, rimming, penetration), degradation kink, corruption kink, voyeurism and exhibitionism, outdoor sex, cockwarming, oral sex (male and female receiving; facefucking male receiving; mutual), sex toys (nipple clamps, dildo, vibrator)

Not exactly kinks, more like attitudes: experimentalism, intimacy, sapiosexuality

Check out my masterlist here 

Enjoy 💜✨

Namjoon and Vixen

Daddy kink; brat taming

I think it’s sort of a given, but it also needs to be included. Vixen’s first relationship was when she had just turned nineteen, with a man quite older than her. They were together for a couple years and he significantly shaped her needs in terms of intimacy and sex. Her parenting figures were really weak and she grew up with a nanny who taught her her second language, French. Namjoon — being always a very responsible very nurturing figure within the group, and somehow having the role of a mediator — is used to stubborn, hot-headed people and would probably be a bit bored with someone incapable of giving him a bit of attitude. This said, it comes quite natural that Vixen (although she is a very smart, very elegant young lady) looks for guidance in her partner, and after the responsibilities that come with her career, she looks for someone who can take decisions for her and even control her private life a little, like check that she eats and what she eats, or pick what she’s going to wear for the day. On the other hand, Namjoon likes being taken care of in other ways, namely cuddles and homecooked meals, which Vixen offers profusely. Her childlike, unconditional affection is exactly what makes Namjoon baby her, and such behaviour on his behalf encourages her to rely on him even more, letting him pamper her and spoil her. And in terms of bratting... Well, Vixen likes seeing him lose his cool — because a sick part of her (she knows it’s sick) gets horny seeing Namjoon angry. And Namjoon in returns gets even more cool and composed the more she gets feisty. He calls the shot, may she like it or not. The point is that with some cuddles, soft words (and a few good spanks) he always manages to tame her.

Spanking

Vixen likes getting spanked. And Namjoon is obsessed with her ass. He is an ass and thighs man. Fight me on this one. Nothing turns him on more than seeing her flesh quiver after the impact of a good spank. Vixen likes it simply because it condenses three of her favourite things, discipline, punishments and pain kink. Spanks are delivered both as a reward and as a punishment, and Namjoon knows how to make a distinction between the two cases, although he much prefers delivering them as a reward, since he hasn’t got much of a pain kink, and painful activities are a soft limit for him, both in terms of giving and receiving. He approves that kind of pain that is simply aimed at enhancing pleasure. Vixen really likes spanks delivered with the bare palm of a hand, since those are the one that she perceives as the most “educational”; however she also likes the paddle, the hairbrush and other more tricky devices (that you will discover soon *wink*).

Marking

Namjoon is crazy for marking Vixen. He is very jealous of her and their relationship staying on the low means that he can’t actually claim her publicly. They both try to protect their relationship for as long as possible, and I can quite see him deciding to keep it private until he’s been married to her for a while. But he’s gonna mark his baby, especially in spots that are only his and hers to see. His absolutely favourite spot would be her hip tattoo, of course, where he always places the first hickey of the night; next her inner thighs, her crotch and her breasts (lovely tiny cherries, he loves them the most). When she allows him, he also leaves hickeys on her neck and chest. Obviously her butt too. He also likes biting, especially her ass (until he leaves bruises and/or actual indentations) and her inner thighs — the softer parts. Vixen also marks him when he’s not on a schedule, when they’re on vacation and they can let loose a little. He especially likes it when she leaves scratches on his back and shoulders, but he also enjoys hickeys on his chest and thighs when she’s on her way to giving him head.

Sapiosexualilty; dirty talking

We all know these two have filthy tongues. They’re sapiosexuals, so they’re turned on by mind games, smart use of language, verbal sparring etcetera. They’re both readers and intellectuals, which means they enjoy a polished, often obscure use of language. They’re the most likely to send each other texts (or even emails) where they simply wax poetic about fucking each other. They can literally send a text at nine am about some spicy play they intend to do later that night, let excitement build all day long and — as soon as they get home — they wait and see who’s the one that surrenders (spoiler: usually Joon because Vixen is a brat and brats are tough eggs to crack). In bed, Vixen loves listening to Namjoon’s voice, no matter if he’s talking about how good it feels to be inside her or if he makes romantic love declarations in midst of a rowdy fuck. Also they might argue while they have sex or pick stupid fights just to release some tension (totally the type to start a discussion as they choose the mirror for the bathroom, Vixen picking round while Namjoon picks rectangular, embarrassing the shopping assistant as they get into hard bickering heavy with sexual tension).

Choking

This is a new one, to both of them. Vixen had never toyed with it before, since she risked drowning when she was a child so she’s not a fan of anything that involves breath control. Still, she didn’t imagine she could be turned on by choking her partner. The first time Namjoon grabs her wrist and brings her hand to his neck she freaks out a little, but then she gets a grip (haha) and realises that seeing him that fucked out, and hearing him moan like that is something most definitely turning her on. Namjoon has a sensitive neck and chest, so having Vixen touching him there makes his soul leave his body; furthermore, the level of trust required leads us right onto the next kink.

Intimacy

I realise this is not exactly a kink, however it is a necessary condition for things to get sexy between these two. Namjoon and Vixen need special closeness for things to work out. Talking, flirting, but also sharing physical closeness and affection, occupying the same mental space. They don’t need to be making love for things to be very emotional. Even the angriest, rowdiest of fuckings to them is actually a very fond way of saying ‘I love you’. I think that out all the kinks this is the most difficult to explain. I suppose this is what makes them incredibly talented even at good ol’ plain vanilla.

Mutual Masturbation

I think these two just do that a lot. They’re extremely comfortable with having the other watch as they touches themselves. I think it started with Vixen being her shameless, teasing, kinky self and Namjoon being incapable of holding back, and then it naturally evolved into both him and her openly touching themselves for the other to see. I think they learn by watching so observing the other and seeing how they do it is how they master their technique.

Lingerie and shoe fetish

Namjoon is obsessed with Vixen’s sexiness, how she carries herself, how much charisma and self confidence she can muster when she is almost naked. I’ve always seen Namjoon extremely attracted to Vixen’s body and seeing it there, with the bare necessities covered by expensive and lush lace and silk, or even in funny cotton drawers with innocent prints is a ticket to Nirvana for Namjoon. I bet you can imagine Vixen lounging on the bed, provocatoriously clad in black lace as she reads a book, and Namjoon entering the room, ready to pounce on her with predatorial intents.

Jin and Angel

Cockworship

We all know that Jin comes from several vanilla experiences, during which he always kept his basest instincts at bay. Once Angel gives him the green light, he’s not letting go. Angel loves celebrating his virility in all ways possible, showing how much she appreciates a part of him that he has felt ashamed of, in some ways. And Jin gets extremely turned on by the simple view of Angel kneeling before him, looking at him as he touches himself, begging to touch and/or kiss his cock. He gets wild with it, especially if you sum that up with Jin being especially interested in discipline. Watching Angel worship his cock with her hands, mouth, tits gives him that sense of power and authority that enhances his dominance and turns him into a cocky, power-hungry beast, ready to do anything to quench his thirst, fulfill his desires and almost entirely ignore Angel’s needs — don’t worry, she actually gets off to Jin getting what he wants on whichever terms he deems necessary.

Power play

Jin likes having power. Being more powerful than Angel is one of the mental tricks he uses to keep himself from going vanilla. The powerful position is what allows him to call the shots, choose what to do and actually claim what he wants and needs. Watching Angel kneel in front of him, with her eyes low until he calls for her attention is one of his biggest turn-ons. And Angel is way more than okay with this: watching Jin take control and knowing that she is pleasing him, that any activity they’re getting into is bound to make Jin loud and messy and fucked out, is the strongest aphrodisiac. When in a vanilla mindset, Jin can’t quite understand (yet) what pushes Angel into pleasing him and how much his pleasure means to her, as they’re still at the beginning of their sexplorations. The more they get familiar with each other’s roles and needs, the more Jin finds pleasure in ruling over Angel and watch her stare at him with her big, beautiful, hungry eyes.

Orgasm control/deprivation

Jin’s need for power manifests in different ways. The fact that Jin comes from several years of vanilla and self control, and Angel has gotten used to their calmer approach to intimacy and sex, makes them both quite good at sexual deprivation. He can easily deprive her for weeks, or deprive himself: when he’s depriving her, his favourite activity is having her kneel on the floor, naked and touch himself until he cums on her breasts; when he’s depriving himself he likes eating her out for at least two or three rounds, until she’s begging for him to fuck her, completely desperate and on the verge of tears when he denies her. Regardless of who is being deprived, when she gets whiny and emotional, he always makes sure to reassure her and remind her when the period of deprivation is going to end, telling her what he plans to do to her as soon as he allows himself to. About orgasm control — Angel needs training. And a very stern one at that. She is not used at that level of control, mostly because she’s used to a very loving, very attentive Seokjin who wants her pleased and pampered all the time. Orgasm control is most definitely the thing she hates the most out of all her training; the only factor keeping her from truly hating it is how Jin turns soft once she manages to complete a task successfully, praising her and letting her have more control — either turning the scene into vanilla lovemaking or letting her turn the tables and ride him until she’s happy and sated.

Role play

Jin sometimes needs help getting into an aggressive, authoritative mood. Luckily, he is a great actor and he know exactly how to get into character. He would often assume a role out of the blue, letting Angel choose what position to occupy — although his all time favourite is teacher-student. It allows him to get into the strictest, harshest forms of impact play, having lots of fun watching sweat, drool and cum stain Angel's uniform, or watching her breasts burst out of her schoolgirl blouse. On a minor note he loves using a paddle or a riding crop on Angel, making her bend over the edge of the bed and flipping her skirt up, spanking her until she's begging, only to sit on the bed and put her head between his legs, tugging at her pigtails (but never letting himself go too deep — he has no interest in seeing Angel gag on him, it's his own hard limit before being hers). Other types of roleplay he likes are doctor-nurse or doctor-patient, landlord-maid, pilot-hostess and obviously chef and waitress, which leads us right to next prompt.

Food play

Angel loves Jin's cooking. She loves watching his wide shoulders in front of the stove, she loves hearing him hum when he tastes something good, she loves him leaning over the table and offering her some food from his fork. She especially likes seeing him so passionate and dedicated, and she loves showing enthusiasm for a hobby that is so dear to him and on which he puts so much effort. Food play is mostly a way to set the tone for passionate, steamy lovemaking, where he worships every inch of Angel's body with his lips. Angel has developed an involuntary reaction to seeing his special cookbook on the small prop by the stove. Wetness coats her thigh as soon as she sees his messy handwriting on the page, signaling that he is indeed preparing a sauce or cream for kinky play. He really likes playing with frozen fruit and ice cream or watching Angel squirm as chocolate sauce tickles her while dribbling down her breasts. He is wicked. And also awfully gluttonous. Angel spoils him and is spoiled with this specific kink of theirs. It was the first kink they explored even when their relationship was still vanilla.

Pain kink

Not much explaining to do. Jin goes absolutely wild with riding crops and paddles. There’s nothing more exciting than watching Angel push her chest towards him, trying to convince him to remove her nipple clamps as she writhing underneath him.

Cum play

There’s nothing more exciting for Jin than watching his cum stain Angel’s breasts, or pulling out at the very last second to cum on her belly. Another thing he loves is to jerk off and make Angel wait with her mouth open, ready to welcome the head of his cock as he finally reaches his climax and spills inside her, telling her not to swallow and open her mouth to show him how much she loves the result of his pleasure before closing her mouth and swallowing, and showing that she took every single droplet of it.

Yoongi and Kitten

Sensation play

Kitten is a bad bitch. She gets off at having Yoongi moaning, squirming, whimpering and groaning underneath her. And Yoongi is so sensitive. It would be a shame not to toy with that. She likes giving him head and edging him, putting him through the absolute worst. He gets weak whenever Kitten blindfolds him, pours warm massage oil on him and procedes with the most relaxing touches and caresses. He gets whiny and desperate whenever she chooses to bring ice cubes to the bedroom and he gets absolutely wild whenever her bullet vibrator is aimed at him instead of her. Kitten is a menace — and maybe a bit of a sadist — but it always feels so sweet once she finally offers him release. Yoongi might consider it torture, but in the end he really, really loves that.

Choking kink

There’s not much difference: choking... being choked... both are okay with giving and receiving. Kitten has a sensitive neck and chest, which means any action there is a huge turn on. Her sensitivity there means she usually covers her upper torso, since it being even slightly exposed makes her feel vulnerable; plus she often needs to hide hickeys and bruises anyway.

Oral fixation; face fucking

Kitten loves giving blowjob, Yoongi loves placing his mouth anywhere on Kitten, especially on her lips, her chest and between her legs. Yoongi has given hints about... Uhm... Oral skills. I think he'd be glad to spend hours between Kitten's legs, and since she wasn't entirely confident with receiving oral sex (her ex was a prick), he is more than happy to take things slow and help her rebuild enough confidence to literally have her climb him while he's laying on the bed, and unashamedly sit on his face and ride it.

Voice fetish

When Kitten and Yoongi met, both were attracted by each other’s voice and throughout courtship and dating they both loved listening to the other talk. Yoongi knows his voice is attractive, and he is incredibly attuned to Kitten’s slightly deep, very soft and quiet voice. She has a velvety timbre that is so relaxing and exciting at the same time. He could get wild at her whispering in his ear, feeling her lips graze against the shell of his ear. However, Kitten would be equally weak if he did that to her.

Phone sex

Since they both enjoy listening to each other’s voice, and since Yoongi travels a lot, they are really into phone sex when they’re too far apart, or when Yoongi needs to stay at the dorms or if they feel extremely needy in the middle of the day. Even when he’s on tour, they prefer phone sex to kinky video calls.

Breast worship

This kink, paired up with Yoongi’s oral fixation, Kitten’s sensitive chest, and cumplay just explains how much exploring there is toward this direction. There are no limits: sensation play with ice cubes or warm massage oil, wax play, food play, boob jobs, a lot of nipple teasing… Kitten is open to experimenting and Yoongi is more than aware of what could feel nice and what would be utter torture. And he wants to try it all.  

Cumplay and Cum eating

Yoongi is not afraid of things getting messy. He likes having Kitten’s juices all over his face, licking them off his lips and fingers: he doesn’t need her to taste like watermelon or smell like rainbows and unicorns. He wants a woman, real and messy. He loves the salty taste on his tongue, and he can tell when she’s close to her period for how the taste of her changes. Plus, he loves cumming on her breasts, especially if his semen accidentally marks her pretty, lacy bras. 

Hoseok and Giggles

Handjobs; squirting

Hoseok’s hands are a blessing. But his fingers are a gift of the devil. They were made to sin and torture. Giggles is very sensitive on her own account. That paired up with Hoseok’s skills makes for wild nights of soaked sheets — luckily enough they buy an impermeable blanket pretty much at the beginning of their relationship.

Impact play; flogger

Not only Hoseok’s hands are a blessing, but those wrists are stretchable. Fluent. They’re perfect for cracking a whip. Or a flogger — he is a bit afraid of using a whip, and it takes a lot of space… However, floggers? He smiles wickedly whenever Giggles gets close to him on Thursday or Friday and casually sits on his lap, hooks an arm behind his neck and leans in close. “I don’t have my Monday shift… Do you think we could… Play with the flogger?” She asks, a bit insecure. He usually plans scenes for Saturday night, so he can have all the aftercare equipment ready and he can spend all Sunday taking care of Giggles. If he can comply to her request, he hugs her close to him and reassures her as they start planning more details.

Bondage

By now it is canon that these two have taken lessons, that they have personalised ropes that Giggles had to prepare personally. Although she’s more precise and diligent in knots, Hoseok is also very attentive and prepared; they often discuss bondage scenes, even over dinner, talking about how the scene will play out, which types of knots to use, how to secure the rope, et cetera.

Experimenting

As I said, they are both absolutely okay discussing stuff they want to try. It isn’t uncommon for them to be watching a movie and suddenly something appears — even something as banal as a clothespin or a makeup brush —  and suddenly one of them is going: “We could use that in bed”. It isn’t uncommon for them to discuss kinky stuff during the week, planning scenes over dinner, or while they’re chilling, or whatever.

Torture play; Overstimulation; tickling

Hoseok likes seeing Giggles writhing and tossing underneath him. He likes torturing her with overstimulation, giving her orgasms back to back or making her squirt so many times that she passes out — it only happened twice and he made sure she drank almost two litres of water afterwards to make sure she didn’t get dehydrated. He also loves her laugh and her nickname comes from the lovely, happy sounds she makes when he coaxes a laugh from her. He loves tickling her to tears, her silvery voice erupting in chuckles that fill his heart with joy.

Shifting positions; multiple rounds

Hoseok has stamina and flexibility. He can go for three rounds without even blinking. He’d manoeuvre Giggles in and out of positions, directing her, helping her put her body in place, following her movements as she shifts. She’s not always happy with all the moving around, especially when she finds a good position and Hoseok decides he wants to change it; however, he can be extremely convincing and he happens to remember all her favourites, putting them in a smooth, easy sequence whenever he wants to reward her — which is at least twice a month because Giggles is the most perfect little bubble.

Jimin and Princess

Exhibitionism

Jimin lives to be watched. His mannerism and elegance make him a performer, even in the plainest tasks. When Princess is watching him, he only exists for her eyes and her eyes only. Nothing gratifies him more than the loving, passionate glances she throws at him when with their friends, or the obscured and raptured ones when she’s dominating him, or the desperate, imploring ones when it’s his turn to call the shots.

Pet play

Jimin is a huge switch. He likes following his whims and is overall a brat, who just does whatever he likes. So, when Princess comes out of the bathroom before bedtime and finds him lounging on the bed naked with a pair of cat ears, his collar and her riding crop waiting on her bedside table, she knows exactly the kind of treatment he’s trying to get. Nevertheless, when in that mood he turns into the most obedient little kitty, so vulnerable and frail that Princess knows she shall treat him with velvet gloves (haha). Literally.

Edging and overstimulation

Princess likes it when Jimin gets messy and whiny and loud. She likes listening to him whimpering and whining while she uses her vibrator on him and makes him cry. It makes her feel powerful. It also makes her ten times softer afterwards and she just loves it when he hits subspace so bad he starts calling her mommy and begging for her to make him cum.

Anal play

Both Princess and Jimin are okay with giving and receiving. Princess is especially in love with double penetration. Jimin is very okay with rimming and putt plugs.

Spanking

Jimin has never really had the courage to try getting spanked before. He had his first experience with Princess, directing her thought the scene. He had learnt basic directions in case he ever needed to teach his partner, but he never thought it would actually happen. From there he and Princess get more comfortable with spankings and get even more involved in impact play, still spankings stay Jimin’s favourite.

Degradation

When in dom mode, Jimin can be vitriolic in his remarks, praising Princess with the dirtiest taunts. Some name calling happens, but Jimin never lets that get too deep. He usually opts for a patronising behaviour that questions Princess’ ability to live without him, and usually avoids anything outright insulting.

Breast worship

Jimin loves Princess’ chest. He likes touching her breasts, more than anything else, but this doesn’t mean he won’t slap them, suck them and fuck them every now and then.

[Sorry if I didn’t write much, honestly I’m still figuring these two out. I think it has a lot to do with Jimin being just so... mercurial. I can’t find another word. He is the least “steady” character in my head. I don’t know. I’ve always had problems with understanding Libras. He’s just so moody and so... It’s frustrating. I just have so many vibes coming from him it’s too much.]

Taehyung and Lace

Voyeurism; exhibitionism

While Jimin lives to be watched, Taehyung is all about the art of watching. Taehyung needs to watch Lace. It doesn’t matter if she’s putting on her lipstick or washing the dishes or brushing her teeth or sucking his cock. He will study her like a painting hung in a museum until he can close his eyes and imagine her exist like a hologram in his head. He loves watching her during sex and he indirectly loves being watched by her too. Lace has never felt so beautiful. 

Outdoor sex

I think they wouldn’t mind trying outdoor sex: the lack of available locations in Seoul initially discourages them, but as they start going on holidays together, geographic remoteness and private outdoor spaces start becoming characteristics these two actually look for in their ideal resort. Yes, they’re the type to fuck against a tree in the woods — or maybe on the beach, under the stars (with Lace taking the utmost care in making sure nothing goes wrong in terms of safety both to their healths and Taehyung’s career).

Cyber sex

With Taehyung travelling because of his job, it isn’t uncommon for him and Lace to become cyber sex experts. Not only he has videos of her safely stored away in a memory card he has basically stitched to his skin — he is hyperaware of it and they are extremely careful of anything that could possibly link the video to the two of them — but he's more than willing to plan videocalls where they can get carried away in front of the camera for the other's viewing pleasure.

Cockwarming

There’s nothing more relaxing and intimate to Taehyung and Lace than being physically connected after sex. After being so close, so together even for a rough, brief quickie, it is traumatic for them to part too suddenly, so usually Taehyung stays inside her for at least a bunch of minutes.

Oral fixation

Both Taehyung and Lace like putting their mouth on the other. Lace could live with Taehyung’s cock in her mouth, while he especially loves to bite her flesh, pretty much anywhere, or stare at her face while he suckles her breasts like a little boy. He could literally fall asleep while they’re facing each other, on their sides, suckling at her nipple while she handcombs his hair, the pressure slowly decreasing until he lets go completely, sound asleep.

Foot fetish

Both Taehyung and Lace are new to this and they're more than willing to explore. Expect Taehyung to grow increasingly addicted to them playing footsie underneath the dinner table, but also to get exceedingly turned on by having Lace's feet laying on his lap or crotch.

Squirting

Taehyung knows exactly how to touch Lace, massaging her after a long day, relaxing her whole body before his fingers end up inside her. His strong, sinewy fingers seem to be programmed to please her. Nevertheless, he is not prone to use this as a form of torture; he'd much rather use it to amplify Lace's sensitivity and help her reach further states of pleasure.

Anal play

I think Taehyung aims at possessing every inch of Lace's body, and of course he wouldn't mind one bit to rim, finger or fuck her ass. He'd be absolutely fine with buttplugs and double penetration. And don't think he would mind wearing a butt plug himself — I think he's the most likely to wear a tail-buttplug, probably. I also think he is by far the most comfortable with the idea of getting pegged: he knows his power and he knows it could never be undermined by Lace fucking him with her strap on.

Jungkook and Candy

Predator play

May it be playful or absolutely ruthless, Jeongguk loves hunting Candy inside his apartment. He loves playing hide and seek, he loves the rush he feels when he spots a hint, and he loves even more the adrenaline coursing through his body when he chases her down the corridor and picks her up, throwing her body over his shoulder — oh, and most of all he loves ripping her clothes off and taking her whenever he manages to catch her.

Corruption kink

Jeongguk’s predatory instincts get even louder when Candy is acting innocent, being her happy, playful, bubbly self. Go figure when she’s sleeping and her face is so soft and young and she has a slight pout and squishable cheeks: Jeongguk can feel his blood flood to all the right places, arousal and adrenaline mixing up, while his brain tries to stay calm, wake her up gently and ask for her consent.

Marking

It’s not that big of a thing to him, he might leave hickeys down Candy’s chest, but that’s mostly it. He’s shy and he’s not all that comfortable with other people seeing them. However, I decided to place this kink right here because bunny wants to be marked. He loves indentations and scratches coming from Candy’s medium-short nails. His all time favourite are scratches down his back, and small crescents on his shoulders and ass. Also lowkey scratches down his abs and thighs. He might go crazy the moment he’s not promoting or shooting and he can finally let Candy cover his chest in hickeys.

Degradation

When absolutely fucked out, Jeongguk starts rambling the most saccharine, degrading sentences to Candy. He has a rich collection of dirty pet names, sometimes with a patronising or humiliating undertone. He doesn’t do it coherently, he’s just not thinking and it feels that good. Of course he always apologises afterwards, but Candy has no shame whatsoever. He might apologise for calling her his fuckdoll, but she’s not ashamed of it, that’s exactly what she is. Hearing him speak those nasty words always gets her going since it shows how fucked out she’s getting him.

Praise

Jeongguk wants to be praised. His ego bursts when Candy praises him, openly or not. Candy whining while he hits the spot is one of the strongest praises she can offer him. He direly needs to be praised when in sub mode, matching the encouraging words with soothing touches and loving glances.

Mommy kink

Yes. They’re exploring a few things after it turned out Joengguk wanted to try. Apparently he’s enjoying way more than he expected. Especially when he’s playing chase with Candy and she grows tired, stomps her foot to the floor and gets her harsh tone on. He starts obeying in seconds. Overall a well.behaved baby, if a little lively and energetic.

Breast worship

Another great fan of boobs. He really loves fucking Candy’s tits, especially while she’s laying down and he’s sitting on top of her, straddling her ribs. His obsession worsens once she gets a nipple piercing: it becomes his favourite place to put his hand on before sleep.

Oral sex

Candy is the absolute grandmaster of blowjobs. She’s the non plus ultra. Blowjobs become Jeongguk’s favourite reward, especially when paired up with her cunt grinding against his face. He could die a happy man like that. After helping Candy get rid of her insecurities about being eaten out, Jeongguk decides he’d do that at least three times a week, almost planning a schedule to make sure he didn’t skip a day. He lowkey asks Yoongi for tips, trying to find new positions to test Candy’s resistance.

Cockwarming

Jeongguk gets very emotionally vulnerable after sex. He needs to talk about his insecurities and doubts, since he always feels so connected to Candy right in the aftermath. At the beginning, cockwarming is actually a consequence of him not realising he hasn’t pulled out as he rambles about everything that is going on inside his mind; however, as he gets used to that, he begins to do it willingly, feeling too naked and cold without staying inside her.

Multiple rounds

Jeongguk has a very high stamina. He can last two to three rounds — four if he’s going wild —, then go for some food, some water and/or a nap and be ready for more in a few hours. Candy is absolutely okay with it: he’s usually the one moving her like a puppet, so even if she’s exhausted, she doesn’t need to worry, he’ll do all the work.

Rough/animalistic sex

Jeongguk is not exceedingly into powerplay: any kind of power imbalance comes naturally, without any kind of planning or negotiating and what the others express in more niche activities, they simply express in very rough, very intense fucking. Especially when Jeongguk has just come home from the gym. Rather than using fancy toys or sophisticated practices, they much rather jump each other bones and fuck like rabbits (haha).

[im-whatchamccallit]

When They’re Jealous//iKon

(A/N: the wording is a bit sloppy because I wrote this at work lmao)

Jinhwan

Jealousy level: 2/10

Jinhwan feels secure with both himself and your relationship, so he wouldn’t get too jealous. But he has his moments.

He’d begin to act coldly towards everyone if he starts to feel as if someone is getting between you two, trying to remain nonchalant while simultaneously hoping you hear his silent prays that you do something to remind both him and the potential homewrecker that you’re spoken for.

He can get a bit pouty even when things die down and it’s made clear you’re happily taken, still upset you weren’t all over him the way he wanted, but that’s another issue for another time.

Yunhyeong

Jealousy level: 0/10

Like Jinhwan, he’s secure with himself and your relationship, but he also trust that you can put an end to any flirting or advances made towards you.

But Yunhyeong is no idiot.

He would tell you with a bright smile to go out with them for dinner or to the movies, to enjoy your time with them as if the situation didn’t faze him, but he knew it’d bother you. You’d feel like he was pushing you away, probably upset you were talking about and hanging out with another man that wasn’t him, maybe even upset you haven’t given him the same attention recently.

And, like clockwork, you’ll cancel all your plans to spend your time with Yunhyeong, his demeanor still nonchalant and unbothered while you tried to prove to him you were 100% committed to your relationship. It wasn’t his plan per say, it was clearly your idea to stay with him, he just gave you a bit of a push to come to that decision.

Jiwon

Jealousy level: 2/10

Another member that has no doubt that your relationship is perfect and indestructible. He doesn’t mind people flirting with you or even offering to take you out, a running joke between you two that someone might take you away from him one day. But the thing Bobby didn’t find funny? When guys were a bit too bold with their affection towards you.

You weren’t one to tell people off, especially strangers, leading to some people taking your silent bashfulness as compliance. The way guys would wrap their arms around your shoulders and pull you close drove Bobby crazy but, the way you awkwardly smiled and grimaced at the closeness between you and said stranger, killed any jealousy he felt.

He’d go into a protective stance, being your voice against unwanted predators. He was fine with seeming like the jealous boyfriend, as long as you were safe and comfortable.

Hanbin

Jealousy level: 8/10

Hanbin is a great boyfriend, but his jealousy can make you question your relationship at times.

He could go from silently glaring at the man stealing your attention to wrapping himself around you like a snake, taking PDA to an all-time high to ensure they got the hint but, if they didn’t catch on or if you brushed him off to focus on the stranger, he’d get angry.

He’s a sweet guy, but if he’s angry enough he’ll verbally tell them off, gritting his teeth and giving a stern warning to leave and never come near you again. He’d try to scold you as well, wanting to chastise you for allowing their flirting to go on for so long, but just looking in your slightly angry eyes made him calm down. His mood would switch back to the loving boyfriend you always knew, his PDA still at its highest as he profusely apologized to you, but he knew he had to go through hell and back to gain your forgiveness like always.

Donghyuk

Jealousy level: 1/10

Donghyuk only feels jealous when he’s not your main focus, especially when it’s another guy occupying your time.

He’d become pouty and verbally needy, not ashamed to admit that he’s jealous. His jealousy won’t last long because you’d immediately talk it out, his playfulness keeping things lighthearted and his arms wrapped around you like you’re his greatest comfort.

He wouldn’t mind if you continued conversing with the stranger, especially if you found some way to include him. Possibly the easiest to deal with in terms of jealousy and relationship security.

Junhoe

Jealousy level: 10/10

He’s petty and he doesn’t care that he’s petty. Anyone looks at you? He glares at them. They smile at you? He scoffs. You smile or laugh back? He rolls his eyes. His jealousy knows no bounds.

You’d find it amusing if you weren’t also a target in his unhinged behavior. He’d ignore you and everyone nearby, arms crossed and lips in a permanent pout as he watched you ignore his upset demeanor, silently demanding you go over and comfort him. But, even if you do, he’ll keep up his bitter act, sarcastically asking why you weren’t talking with your other boyfriend.

He’d be the most difficult to make up with, his jealousy fueling your own anger until you found yourselves in a silent treatment match that’d last but so long once you both went to bed, his arm wrapping around you waist and holding you close, a simple “I’m still mad” leaving him as you drifted to sleep.

Chanwoo

Jealousy level: 5/10

Chanwoo would feel jealous but he wouldn’t know how to go about it. He’d be embarrassed if you knew he was jealous, but he also couldn’t stand seeing you laugh with and hug some guy he never met before. If you brought him along so they could meet, he’d space out, his mind going over everything you might have found perfect about the other guy and doubting if this was just step one of you replacing him and finding a new and better relationship.

He’d mentally detach from the situation before physically drifting away as well, eyes reluctantly glancing at you both to watch the potential demise of his relationship. Once you found yourself back at his side, you’d be able to tell right away he wasn’t himself and, after putting two and two together, determined he was just feeling insecure. He’d need a lot of reassurance, just a simple “I love you” not enough to remind him you weren’t going anywhere.

His jealousy would be more sadness than anger or possession, making it a strange and new experience as you won’t know how to handle it properly, but he’ll talk it out with you eventually and may need some space to realign himself and get back to normal.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

so i am back on the grima train and i was reading through your posts (absolutely quality, for which i can only thank you !! 💓) and you mentioned in one about his use of magic that you have a Lot of Feelings about grima in relation to gender and plz i need to hear them!! (if you want to share? 👀)

LOTR: Grima & Gender 

Oh man, so Grima and gender. My favourite topic. Other than Grima and magic - but they’re linked! So, that’s a bonus for us.

I want to thank you so much for asking this question. I have wanted to rant about this for Forever.

This became incredibly long, but the long and short of it is that Grima undermines social expectations of masculinity in Rohan through his disdain for martial achievements, his occupying a more private/passive role within the king’s household rather than the expected “masculine” public/active, his use of spells and potions being an “unmanly” and “cowardly” approach to problem solving, and his reliance on language and soft-power approaches to politics.

All of this works to position Grima within a more feminine role and character - at least within the context of Rohan’s hypermasculine performativity of manliness.

[It does allow us to read Grima as trans with greater ease in terms of fitting into the canon than the usual favourites, other than Eowyn. So, you know, do with that what you will. Eowyn and Grima both want to be queen. Let them be in charge! I’m going to get my ass bit for this.]

-

Grima’s gender performance needs to be quickly situated within the broader context of masculinity in Middle-Earth. Gondor’s ideal of masculinity is the gentler masculinity that everyone focuses on when they talk about men in middle earth being good models of what masculinity can look like. It’s a nurturing masculinity, it’s gentle, it’s healing-focused. Aragorn and others try and take the first off-ramp from violence or conflict whenever they can. There is no enjoyment in warfare or soldiering. It’s done because it’s necessary. Dick-swinging is limited to non-existent etc.

Rohan is different.

Faramir touches on this when he speaks to Frodo of how Boromir was more like the men of Rohan and how he thought that wasn’t a good thing as it meant he was seeking glory for glory’s sake, relishing war and soldiering as an occupation rather than an unfortunate necessity.

Of course, Faramir was also making (some very dubious) racial commentary, but race and gender are often bound up together (e.g. hyper-masculinization of black men and the feminization of East Asian men in the North America).

As R.W. Connell says, “masculinities are congurations of practice that are constructed, unfold, and change through time” — and, additionally, masculinity must be defined in opposition to femininity but, also, other masculinities.

For Rohan, there is a strong, militarized hyper-masculinity that threads through their culture. One of the reasons Theoden was seen as a failing king was his physical decline and inability to continue being a physically strong king. His aging emasculated him, more so when compared to Theodred and Eomer. (Something Theoden believed of himself and Grima capitalized on.)

For this, I’m going to speak of masculinity of the upper classes, since that’s what we see for Rohan. Masculinity, and how it’s to be performed, is contingent on social variables such as, but not limited to: age, appearance and size, bodily facility, care, economic class, ethnicity, fatherhood, relations to biological reproduction, leisure, martial and kinship status, occupation, sexuality etc. and as we never see lower class Rohirrim men it’s impossible to say what the “acceptable” and “expected” forms for a farmer or cooper would be.

Upper class men of Rohan are expected to be militarily capable - ready to ride and fight when called by their king or marshal. They are to be men of action over word, and when language is in play, it’s to be forthright and plain. No riddling. Marriage/Husband-ing is an expected part of manhood. Being strong minded, and capable of taking charge and making decisions is important. Fatherhood is also clearly prized, especially fatherhood that results in son(s).

(Theoden only having one child could be read as another “failure” in living up to Rohirrim ideals when compared to the older kings of his family who were far more prolific.)

The appearance of an “ideal” man is tall, fair, and handsome. Physically strong and capable in all ways (martially, sexually, fertile etc.).

Men should be able to demonstrate that they are capable of being in charge, taking control, defending and protecting families and homes. This slots in with more generalized expectations around bravery, honour and glory.

[Eomer: And that, in summation, is how you are to Be A Man.

Grima: Well that sounds utterly exhausting.]

-

So, with all of that in mind, let’s talk Grima.

First, let’s address the name and character construction as this is the least bound up in how he acts and its tension with Rohirrim ideals of Being a Man. It’s also interesting in that it can give a glimpse into Tolkien and the possible thoughts he had when constructing Grima.

Grima’s Name & Beowulf Stuff

Grima’s name is from old Icelandic Grimr, which is a name Odin takes during the Grimnismal saga.

Here are some lines from Odin in the saga:

I have called myself Grim,

I have called myself Wanderer,

Warrior and Helmet-Wearer,

[...]

Evildoer, Spellcaster,

Masked and Shadowed-Face,

Fool and Wise Man,

[...]

Rope-Rider and Hanged-God.

I have never been known

by just one name

since I first walked among men.

Not only is Grima’s name from Odin, more importantly, it’s the feminine version of that name. No man in the eddas or sagas goes by Grima. Only women. And most often they were seidr-workers or healers/magic practitioners of some kind.

"Other healers include Gríma from Fóstbræðra saga and Laxdæla saga and Heiðr from Biarmiland in Harald’s saga Hárfagra." 

- “Hostile Magic in the Icelandic Sagas,” Hilda Ellis-Davidson

And

"There was a man called Kotkel, who had only recently arrived in Iceland. His wife was called Grima. Their sons were Hallbjorn Sleekstone-Eye and Stigandi. These people had come from the Hebrides. They were all extremely skilled in witchcraft and were great sorcerers." 

- Laxdæla saga

This is most likely something Tolkien was aware of — I would be flabbergasted if he wasn’t. However, did he fully appreciate the implications in terms of gender and subversion of masculinity? Impossible to say, of course, but he certainly knew he was giving his male character a name that has only been used by women in historical texts.

It would be akin to naming your male character Henrietta instead of Henry. It’s a deliberate, explicit decision. And while I don’t think Tolkien expected most readers to track down the origin of Grima’s name, the --a ending, to most anglophone readers, signifies a feminine name, more often than not. At least, it rarely, if ever, signifies masculine.

So the name alone brings in, at a subconscious level to readers, feminine qualities.

Alongside this, Grima is loosely based on Unferth from Beowulf. The entrance of Gandalf et al into Meduseld directly mirrors Beowulf’s into Hrothgar’s hall (complete with Grima lounging at Theoden’s feet the same as Unferth at Hrothgar’s). Indeed, it was clearly Tolkien’s intention to make a call back to Beowulf with that scene. (He was being all “look how clever I am. Also these are Anglo-Saxons on horses. As a general fyi”).

Unferth is a fascinating character in his own right ,and there is much scholarly debate around his role within Hrothgar’s hall, as well as the text more broadly. While there isn’t enough time/space to get into Unferth, I will quickly note that he is another character who subverts his society’s ideas of manhood and masculinity — particularly with regards to expectations of heroism and bravery. Yet, at the same time, Unferth is noted for being very intelligent, cunning, good at riddling, and overall quick witted (also, a kin-slayer. Dude murdered his brothers for Reasons).

Unferth’s contrary behaviour that flies in the face of Anglo-Saxon norms and ideals of masculine bravery is clearly reflected in Grima. Particularly in Grima’s fear of battle and lack of interest in taking up his sword when called by his king.

This leaves us with a character who was given a woman’s name and who is loosely based on another character who is known for his inability to follow through on his society’s expectations for masculine behaviour. 

Grima, from the first moment we meet him, clearly reads more feminine than masculine - this is amplified when he’s contrasted with the likes of Theoden and Eomer. And, not only is his aligned with traditional femininity more than other male characters, he is specifically aligned with the more negative tropes of femininity (i.e. lack of bravery, unreliable, dubious morals etc.).

-

That is a brief overview of the bones of Grima’s construction: name and inspiration. Now for actions and characterization within the text. This will be subdivided into comments on his use of magic and how that interfaces with Rohirrim masculinity then we’ll get into power and language.

Grima’s key point of power is his ability to weave words in so powerful a way he could convince Theoden of his own infirmity and weakness thereby securing control over the king. Alongside this, we know that he was using certain “potions and poison” to further weaken Theoden. Most likely to amp up the king’s physical weakness so it coincided with Grima’s mental magic games.

Magic for Anglo-Saxon and early medieval Scandinavians was heavily rooted in the power of the spoken word. Runes were probably used but the historical support of this is vague. Which is to say, we know they were used, we’re just not certain how and to what extent.

We do know that rune staves were a thing. They were most often used to send your landwights after opponents or wreck havoc on enemies from afar. To make one, a magic-worker would carve the prescribed runes onto a large stave and position it in the ground facing the direction of their enemy. On top of the stave was added the head of a horse. (Lots of horse sacrifice happened for early medieval Scandinavians, alongside some human sacrifice.)

But, the brunt of magic for Anglo-Saxons and early medieval Scandinavians was spoken word. Which makes sense as their society was, like Rohan’s, predominantly illiterate or, at least, para-literate (though, there has been some recent archeological evidence that is starting to call that into question, for what that’s worth).

In particular, Grima’s spellwork aligns most closely with seidr, a fact I’ve gone about ad nausea. And, again, something we can assume Tolkien was aware of, which means he was also aware of the gendered implications of a man practicing the craft.

The mainstay of seidrcraft is, but not limited to, the following:

making illusions,

causing madness and/or forgetfulness,

brewing of potions and poisons,

prophesying,

channeling the dead,

channeling gods,

removal of elf-shot, and

recovering lost portions of someone’s soul.

The first three bullets are things Grima does to Theoden. That kind of magic — the kind that fucks with your mind and your sense of self, the kind that is subtle and quiet and lurks beneath the surface so you don’t know it’s happening, that’s cunning — that kind of magic is what women do.

It was considered unmanly/effeminate for a man to partake in it as it undermined the hypermasculine militarized culture of the time. Winning a battle or a fight through spells and poison was cowardly.

Therefore, in Rohan where we have this hypermasculine culture that so prizes military glory and grandeur and martial might, Grima pursuing his goals through spellcraft and potions/poisons is Grima pursuing distinctly unmasculine, effeminate modes of action.

Indeed, within Rohan it could call into question the entirety of his masculinity. It would make him ragr (adj. unmanly) because his actions are the epitome of ergi (noun. unmanliness).

"In the Viking Age, homosexual men were treated with extreme disdain and a complex kind of moral horror, especially those who allowed themselves to be penetrated. Such a man was ragr, not only homosexual by inclination and action, but also inhabiting a state of being that extended to ethical and social qualities. This complex of concepts has been extensively studied, and in the words of its leading scholar, "the unmanly man is everything that a man should not be with regard to morals and character. He is effeminate and he is a coward, and consequently devoid of honour". [...] What we would call sexual orientation was, in the viking age, completely bound up with much wider and deeper codes of behaviour and dignity, extending way beyond physical and emotional preference." -Neil Price, Children of Ash and Elm: A History of the Vikings

Though Price references specifically homosexuality in this passage, a man could be considered ragr for more than just that — and one of the other ways was through practicing seidr.

We see this with Odin, who learns how to do seidrcraft from Freyja, and is then mocked by Loki for how emasculating the practice is for Odin to undertake (as if Loki has any room to talk). Odin’s made himself effeminate, he’s made himself unmanly, he’s allowed himself to learn spells that could enable him to take a cowards way out of a situation, to be dishonourable etc.

Which is a neat tie-back to Grima’s name being one of Odin’s names, particularly when he is in disguise and using seidrcraft and wily ways to escape various unfortunate situations that he ends up in during the Grimnismal saga.

(As Odin says: I have been called Evildoer, Spellcaster, Masked and Shadowed-Face, Fool and Wise Man.)

It also mirrors him to Gandalf - another character who bears an Odinnic name. Gandalf very much represents the masculine, “acceptable” aspects of Odin. Grima embodies the darker, more dubious, and more effeminate, aspects of the god. As I’ve said in other posts, they are two sides of the Odin coin.

Though both are temperamental as fuck.

-

Alongside the spellcraft and potions, Grima’s performance of power does not align with Rohirrim traditions and ideals. He relies on his wits and his skill with language to navigate the world. Succinctly captured in the epithet bestowed upon him: Wormtongue. This is the modernization of Wyrmtunga, or, Dragon’s Tongue.

Wyrm can translate to worm, sure, and we see Saruman doing this on purpose when he refers to Grima as a worm, a creature that crawls in the dirt. But Wyrm, of course, is actually a form of dragon. And in Middle Earth, wyrm is used interchangeably with dragon (Smaug is called both wyrm and dragon), rather than denoting a specific species/categorization of dragon as it does in our world.

Grima’s approach to power is that of a gentle touch. He speaks softly, but doesn’t carry a large stick. He’s not Eomer or Theodred, who are much more traditionally martial, aggressive and forthright in their responses to a situation. Grima is clearly all about influencing those around him either through persuasion/use of words, or through spellcraft. He manipulates, he uses linguistic trickery.

-

Additionally, how he undertakes his role as advisor to the king places him more within the private world of Meduseld and the king’s household than the active, public world of marshals and thanes. And, of course, the private world of households was traditionally considered the woman’s domain while men were expected to occupy the public spaces of the world.

Of course, being involved in court politics is a public role as opposed to existing within a wholly private space (such as Eowyn. Who, in the books, takes a mostly private role until she is required to rule in her uncle’s stead while he and Eomer are off at war, and even then it is clearly considered a temporary situation and part of her duty as a woman). But the manner in which Grima occupies that public position is a more “feminine” one.

We can assume that if Eomer or Erkenbrand or Elfhelm occupied the role as advisor to Theoden, they would have a very different approach to the position. A much more aggressive, active and probably military-focused approach. Less carrot, more stick.

A quick note on his appearance in the film, aside from being entirely in black with black hair in a land full of blonds because he needed to be visually distinct as the Bad Guy. He is dressed in longer tunics and robes compared to Eomer and other Rohirrim men (aside from Theoden, but as soon as he is “healed” of his possession(?) he returns to the Proper Masculine shorter tunics than the Weak and Effeminate longer robes and tunics of before). Grima’s hair is longer than Eomer’s and Theoden’s, he wears only a dagger and not a sword, the furs and quilting of his clothes indicate wealth and status, of course, but also decadence and effeminacy.

-

All in all, Grima’s performance and actions undermine and subvert Rohirrim expectations of masculinity. If not outright transgressing gender norms. He uses spellcraft to achieve his ends which is cowardly and effeminate. When it’s not that, he relies on language and manipulation to ensure his position and rarely, if ever, willingly takes on an active, martial role that would be expected of a man who is in the king’s household and serves as an advisor and a quasi-second-in-command.

Here is a man, occupying a man’s role, but doing it like a woman. Subversive! Scandalous! Underappreciated by fandom!

Grima lives in a liminal, marginalized space that is at once gendered and ungendered but is absolutely Othered.

-

As for my note on Grima and being trans - absolutely a trans woman. Grima suffers from that thing of “I want to be you and sleep with you” re: Eowyn. That’s my hot take. (Similar to me and Alan Grant from Jurassic Park - I want to be him and sleep with him.)

But no, in all seriousness, a strong argument can absolutely be made for Grima being not-cis, however that might look for Grima. Grima and Eowyn are the two, within the trilogies, that have the strongest arguments to be made for not being cis.

(Grima is a bit of a foil for Eowyn, I think, while also being a foil for Gandalf.)

[something-tofightfor]

Magnetic; Din’s POV - Part 1 (Chapters 1-2)

Pairing: None.

Word Count: 4,400

Rating: None, really. This is pretty general. Din’s thinking about women, but it’s not graphic in any way. 

Summary: Din’s adjusting to life on Mandalore as the Mand’alor, but his mind is constantly elsewhere. After a year, he receives a transmission from Luke Skywalker that changes everything. 

Author’s note:

Hello friends! As I’ve been writing Magnetic, I’ve realized that I want to take a look at things from Din’s perspective. I’m not sure that I’ll cover everything in the story this way, but there are certain moments (especially ones coming up) that you’ll definitely benefit from being in the man’s head while reading.  These will always come after the corresponding parts of the story, because I want you, as a reader to experience things first ... but I promise, these will make things that happen in the main storyline make more sense.  IDK. Maybe this is dumb. Maybe no one cares ... but I do. And I think that since Din spends so much time in his own head, we should too. 

If you want to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know - it’s open.

His favorite part of the day was returning to his quarters and locking the door behind him. Even though his schedule wasn’t exactly full, the Mandalorian was usually exhausted by the end of the day - especially when those days extended well into the nighttime hours. And when she’s here? It’s worse. 

 He stood at the foot of his bed, carefully removing his armor piece by piece and stacking it on the shelving that was built into the wall behind him. Working his way down his body - beginning with the pauldrons on his shoulders, the man saved his helmet for last - as he always did - hesitating before removing it, but not because he didn’t want to. Did I forget anything? He sighed, pressing the button on the bottom edge and lifting the beskar from his head, taking two steps and setting it down on the the table next to his pillow without looking down. No. After the reluctant removal on Morak and the no-hesitation answer to Grogu’s silent request on the light cruiser, the man found that taking his helmet off came easier for him both in private and in front of those that had previously seen his face. Though that number was still small enough to count on two hands, it was more people than he’d ever thought would see him for who he was: not the stoic, beskar encased warrior he presented to the galaxy, but the emotional man that he’d pretended didn’t exist for the better part of his life. But it was for the kid. All of it. 

 Undoing the closures on his flight suit, he stepped out of it and tossed it into the bin full of clothing leaning against the wall and raised both arms, stretching. There was no reason for him to spend each day fully armored, but for him, it was as much a habit as reciting the four most important words of his creed had become. This is the Way. 

 The area of Mandalore they occupied wasn’t dangerous, at least in the sense that they had to worry about an attack from others. Despite the fact that there were Mandalorians and residents of the planet’s larger cities that were still sympathetic to the Imperial remnants, no one paid any mind to their small group taking over an outpost hours by ship or speeder from the capital city of Sundari. It was an arrangement that worked for him, but he knew that others in his group were growing tired of the waiting and planning, Bo-Katan included. Mandalorians were few in number, but he’d met many more of them than he ever thought could exist in the months spent on the planet’s surface. Some were like him, keeping their faces covered at all times; a few of them had even been members of the Nevarro covert. Others were like Bo-Katan and Koska and Axe; they’d sworn the Creed but still showed their faces. It was a lot for the man to come to terms with, but as he too had removed his helmet and exposed his face to other living things, he knew that it wasn’t his place to judge the way that they lived their lives. After all, under the beskar, we’re all just … 

 He sighed, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes and then dragging one hand down over his mouth and chin, stroking the short beard he’d allowed to grow. It was new for him, like most things on Mandalore were, but with no worry of unending fighting and constantly chasing bounties, there was no need for him to worry as much about the comfort level of spending long, difficult hours beneath the helmet. He’d let his hair grow, too, the ends curling down and around his ears and against his neck. Even Cara had commented on it the last time she’d visited the planet to update them on Nevarro’s progress, and he hadn’t been able to hold back the quiet laugh or keep the blush from rising to his cheeks at her words - the surprisingly positive reaction to his ‘new look’. Just a man. He sighed. Even though I hate it. 

 In the year since Grogu had left with the Jedi, the Mandalorian had learned many things about himself and about the galaxy, but he was still coming to terms with the way it felt for others to see his reactions to their words. Used to hiding behind the visor, each day was another learning experience for him - but they were also the reason he hadn’t committed to taking the helmet off for good. No one was pressuring him to, and it wasn’t even true that the other Mandalorians needed to see his face to trust him, to believe in him, but he knew that it would have helped. I’m not ready yet. Closing his eyes, he bit down on his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth. For the first few months, he’d dealt with the raging loneliness he felt by hunting more bounties, Karga hesitant but in the end willing to give him more pucks. He’d also found ways to keep busy that had nothing to do with bounties and everything to do with the most basic human needs and desires. 

 He’d spent countless hours in the company of women - other Mandalorians, a Twi’lek that had reminded him too much of Xi’an for him to go through with anything, Morganians, Kiffar, a few human women on Coruscant and Naboo … but none of them filled the empty spaces in his chest or his mind in quite the same way the Child had. They were distractions - nothing more - and even though they sought him out more frequently and warmed up to him more easily when they knew he was the Mand’alor, it still meant nothing to him. Mand’alor. He scoffed at the word, laying back on the bed and folding an arm beneath his head. The word still struck him each time he thought or heard it. It was his title - rightful because of the battle he’d fought and won with Gideon, but still not one that he wanted. But the galaxy - and the Way of the Mandalore didn’t care what a single man wanted. So he dutifully spent each day with the blade clipped to his belt, though he’d only ignited it a few times following the light cruiser and wasn’t comfortable using it. I will be. It will happen. He learned more about the planet and the people and their history, and he spent time with Bo-Katan and her crew, took an active part in the planning for their future. The ultimate goal was to retake Sundari, but that couldn’t happen until they were truly ready, and all corners of the galaxy had been searched for others to join their cause. It was a waiting game, and one thing that the Mandalorian was good at was waiting. 

 He’d waited for his parents to come back and rescue him from the bunker. He’d waited for bounties to show themselves. Waited for the repercussions of rescuing the kid from the Client and the doctor. Waited for the day when his quest came to an end and he reunited Grogu with his kind. 

 But the waiting on Mandalore - for whatever would come next - was truly wearing on Din. Maybe if it was my home, then I … But he sighed, turning his head to the side at the sight of a blinking red light reflecting off of the shining surface of his helmet. Who would leave a message? Din sat up again, reaching for the device on the tabletop and pulling it into his lap. Cara would have tried the ship. I just talked to Bo-Katan. Karga wouldn’t… Frowning into the darkness, he pressed play. There was silence for a few seconds, but then at the sound of the voice coming through the small speaker, the Mandalorian swore under his breath, fatigue all but gone. Skywalker. “”I’m hoping this message reaches you, Mandalorian. This isn’t an update like the others I’ve sent. This is …” There was a long pause and Din heard a slow exhale. “This is different.” Different? Is the kid… “Grogu’s been struggling. Not physically, but … mentally. We - the other Jedi Masters - have talked about it, and agree that he needs to see you again, to spend time with you. It’s been a year since you’ve seen each other, and we… I think that it’ll help him one way or another.” Luke paused again and Din lowered his face into his hands, the tips of his fingers gripping the ends of his hair tightly. This isn’t … he … the kid… I… “And I don’t mean a few days, either. I’m thinking long term. You know how to reach me, Mandalorian. I’ll be waiting.” The transmission cut off there, the light going dark. But Din saw none of it, his eyes closed and hands still in place. Seeing … seeing the kid again? Can I? Should I? He raised his head, looking up and into the darkness. He wanted to; there was no question about it. The seed had been planted - if Luke and the other Jedi thought that Grogu needed time away, time spent with him, who was he to say no? But … He looked around the room, sparsely furnished - barely more welcoming than the sleeping quarters on the Razor Crest or the Razor II - and groaned. Can’t bring the kid here right away, can I? There was too much to consider; Bo-Katan’s plans, Din’s responsibilities, the future of an entire race of people and their planet… but each of those things was no more important to him than the last, especially at the thought of Grogu’s wide eyes looking up at him and his weight settled against the crook of Din’s arm. It’s something to think about, Din admitted to himself as he put the device back onto the table and laid back, the arm back beneath his head. Just to think about it. Like always, it took him long minutes to fall asleep, and when he finally did, his dreams were filled with the sound of Grogu’s quiet coos. --- But upon waking up the following morning, Din realized that no matter how much he wanted to see Grogu in person again, he had to do what was right for the kid. Even if it means… He dressed slowly, pulling on his armor piece by piece, saving the helmet for last again. Once dressed, he sat back on the edge of the bed and picked up the device, turning it over in his hands. I need to do this. Switching it from recording audio to a video reply, the man set the device down, squaring his shoulders and spoke out loud, commanding it to begin recording. 

 “Master Skywalker. My quest was to bring Grogu to his kind, and that’s what I did.” He paused, thankful that his face was hidden, along with the trembling of his upper lip. “When you came and took him from Moff Gideon’s light cruiser, I completed that quest. He was … he is safe with you, with the Jedi. You’ve updated me on his progress, and I thank you for that, but …” His shoulders slumped, and even though he had to fight to get the next words out, he managed. “This is The Way. I don’t want to …dank farrik.” Lowering his helmet toward his chest, he finally continued. “I just want what’s best for the kid. That’s all I …” Say it. You have to say it. “You know how to reach me. I’ll be waiting.” 

 But he hadn’t said what he needed to. 

 It wasn’t an answer - Din knew that. It wasn’t an outright refusal - he knew that, too. But it was an out for Skywalker, proof that the Mandalorian wasn’t as selfish as he felt, as willing to drop everything and fly to wherever he needed to be to see the kid again. But I am. I just needed to… He didn’t give himself a chance to second guess the words he’d spoken, instead typing in the necessary information and sending the transmission. Before the device had beeped to confirm, Din was already heading for the door, needing to face the day and deal with whatever was expected of him, keeping his mind from the device … and any possible response. This is the Way. 

 ---  

 His resolve only lasted until the middle of the night, Din finally returning to his quarters and beginning the ritual of removing the armor from his body. He didn’t even look at the table until it was time to take the helmet off, and he froze at the sight of another blinking light. Skywalker sent a message back. He hesitated then, hand held above the device, and without speaking, Din turned to the shelving on the far wall, his hand digging into the pouch on his belt, fingers curling around the familiar spherical shape there. Did I ruin everything, kid? Is Skywalker going to tell me that the offer isn’t… The metal cool against his palm, Din once again walked the short distance to the bed, keeping the knob held tightly in one hand and grabbing for the comm device with the other. “Only one way to find out.” 

 The quiet of the room gave him the ability to hear each of the Jedi’s words clearly, the man not stumbling over them a single time. Mandalorian. If you’re willing to listen before you make your decision, there’s someone here much more convincing than me. It’ll only take a few minutes, but I know you’ll want to hear it. I don’t know you well, but I know what it sounds like when someone says things that they don’t really believe. It doesn’t even need to be a holo message, just … let me call you. It was simple; Din knew it, and yet he didn’t want to believe that there was still a chance that he’d be reunited with Grogu in the near future. He’d half expected the man’s response to be in agreement; yes, you did what you were supposed to. The kid might miss you, but he really is better here. You’re right. But instead, there’d been a slight note of surprise in the Jedi’s voice, especially as he’d mentioned the other person he wanted Din to talk to. But who could it be? I haven’t … haven’t talked to the kid this whole time. He wouldn’t… But Din didn’t know what the Jedi had planned, and that worried him more than he wanted to admit. But why? He squeezed the ball again and then set it down next to the beskar of his helmet, staring at the two pieces of metal. Before the Razor Crest had been blown up, he hadn’t known that Grogu’s favorite toy was made of the same metal that he wore for protection. He’d assumed it was durasteel, but when he’d unearthed it from the ashes, right alongside the new spear, he’d made the connection. He didn’t know if the kid had been drawn to it because he connected beskar with the man himself, but in the months since he’d last seen the child, the thought comforted Din. At least he has the pendant. Din’s eyes closed, remembering the final moments on the light cruiser’s bridge. Alright, pal. It's time to go. Don't be afraid.  He’d been trying to remain strong for the kid, but Din had also been speaking to himself - and the coercion hadn’t worked. He’d been afraid to lose the child - his child, for good. He’d been afraid of what came next for him and Mandalore. He’d been worried about what it meant to go back to his solo existence, even with the addition of people like Fennec and Cara and Boba Fett - even Peli had crossed his mind then. But mostly, he’d focused on the way it felt to see those huge eyes staring at him until the last possible second. I'll see you again. I promise. For a few seconds - time that stretched out into an eternity, Din had imagined that he could hear the kid speaking back to him. Don’t want to go. But have to. See you again.  They were short, broken sentences, similar to those that children used, but Din later realized that he’d imagined them, because it was what he’d wanted to hear. But if I call him back, I might … The man swallowed hard, reaching for the device before he allowed himself to think about it, and pressed the record button without switching the holo on. “Skywalker. I’ll listen. I don’t …. I don’t know what the time difference is between where I am and where you are, but if you call within the next eight hours, I’ll answer. Otherwise … we’ll need to figure something else out.” He sighed, running a hand over the back of his head. “I’ll … as long as it’s not the kid you want me to talk to, I’ll listen.” He repeated the direct connection procedure for the device and then sent the message, keeping it switched on while he picked up the ball and laid back, head against the pillow. Din was nervous, but with the message sent, he was calmer than he had been the entire day, and it gave him a chance to think back to the time he’d spent with Bo-Katan and Koska, the women talking excitedly about a small clan that had made contact, and what it meant. He agreed that the more Mandalorians they knew to exist, the better. 

 He hadn’t heard from all of the members of the Covert, but surprisingly, many of them had survived Gideon’s attack on Nevarro and the breach of their underground sanctuary. Paz was alive, as was the Armorer. Many of the foundlings were accounted for - and that was something that brought Din relief beyond words. This was true not only as the Mand’alor, but as someone that had lived and learned side by side with them. They’d lost a great deal of beskar in abandoning the tunnels, but Din had it on good authority that the pieces that had been recovered were slowly being removed from Nevarro a few at a time, transported to the Armorer’s new forge location in secret. She wasn’t the only one skilled with the metal, but she was the only one Din trusted, and as angry as that seemed to make Bo-Katan, he refused to budge on who he allowed to touch the precious metal. It’s the right call. I… know where it is, and I know that she can’t… use it against me. 

 The woman hadn’t given him any outright reason to mistrust her, but her attitude toward him since he’d shown up with the Moff and Darksaber in tow had made him pause. Din’s circle of trust was small, and though she’d proven helpful, she hadn’t quite worked her way into it in the months they’d known each other. It bothered her much more than it bothered him, but he tried not to think about it. Especially when I could be … thinking about the kid. Din’s thoughts went to Grogu and Skywalker, the child’s reaction to seeing the droid that the man had with him, the way the doors closing behind the two of them had felt like someone was squeezing his chest, while at the same time, there’d be a small kernel of hope buried there. He’d kept it buried but hadn’t let it die, and with each report from the Jedi, the pressure had decreased slightly. He’s doing well, or … he was. He’s learning, he’s with his own … But Din’s thoughts were interrupted with the insistent beeping of the device, and he shot up in the bed, fingers still closed around the beskar sphere. He hadn’t expected the reply to come so soon, but knowing that the Jedi was on the other end of the line, he was more excited than nervous. Just want to know what … what he has to say. Din took a deep breath, making sure that the video switch was still off and then answered the call, taking another long, slow breath to calm himself. They’re too many parsecs away, there’s nothing to be worried about. 

 “Hello? Are -” The Jedi replied, and Din continued, wanting to get the conversation going before he had time to overthink it. “I didn’t think you’d call. I wasn’t -” But Skywalker spoke quickly, too, no pretense before reminding him that he had someone for the Mandalorian to talk to. However, at the revelation that that someone was female, Din felt his eyes narrow, head cocking to one side. What? He was determined to begin the conversation in control, and so without hesitation, he focused his eyes on the comm device, slipping into the voice he used with the people he was trying to get information from. “Tell me your name.” The first time he heard your voice - even though it was through a tiny speaker - Din was surprised by confidence in it, the way you replied back to him immediately. You answered his questions with honesty, at least as far as he could tell, and the longer the conversation went on, the more certain Din was that Skywalker knew him better than he’d thought. The kid… the kid probably… they must talk too. He smiled at the thought, absently scratching the cheek that Grogu had laid his hand on, but when you revealed that the kid snuck into your room at night, the Mandalorian had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from reacting audibly. Dank farrik. “I thought he had to complete his training before he leaves the Academy, before he can become a Jedi, so why are you -” You didn’t get to answer that, Skywalker interjecting with similar words to the ones from his initial transmission, and Din began thinking. He wanted to agree to seeing the kid, but instead of saying that, he heard another denial leaving his lips, only cut off by your words. “If he stays here, his attachment to you might change his life, Mandalorian.” It was another simple, straightforward sentence, but hearing it, another joly passed through Din’s body. Skywalker said something about attachment on the light cruiser. So did Ahsoka on Corvus. Din knew that they were attached to each other, that was more about simply caring for the kid, but hearing someone else - someone that had spent just as much time with Grogu as Din had saying the same thing finally got through to him. That, compounded with the admission that Grogo reenacted bounty hunts with you and the others at the Academy often had Din’s lips pressed tightly together, almost to the point of pain. He misses me. He thinks of me. But what really impacted him was hearing the word aliit come through the speaker, reaching his ears in your voice. She shouldn’t know Mando’a. Hearing that, it… Instead of replying directly to that, Din voiced another denial, head shaking back and forth and eyes squeezing shut. Seeing him would be … But with the rounded sphere still in his hand, Din’s eyes opened, brow furrowed. No, you know what? I want this. Why shouldn’t I? 

 If he’d thought about it, there were multiple reasons why reconnecting with Grogu was a bad idea, but he could only turn the Jedi - and you - down so many times before it became impossible - or, even worse, the refusals were accepted. There’s no one chasing him right now. There’s no more danger than usual for me. There’s… 

 Din blinked again at the revelation that the reunion could last months, asking who’d be escorting Grogu back to the Mandalorian, and another surprised huff left his lips as you admitted that it would be you. But that means… “Are you a Jedi?” He asked the question before he could stop himself, listening intently for your answer, and the following explanation.

She’s not a Jedi, but she does care about the kid. I … I hear it. I believe it. That surprised him, but Din didn’t want to second guess you. You’d been persuasive throughout the conversation, even before the admissions you’d made, honest instead of trying to pretend that you were something that you weren’t. Complicated? I wonder what … Instead of continuing that thought, Din’s attention snapped back to you and Skywalker, the details falling into place as the discussion continued. He’d have a week to get things in order, to contact Cara and Karga, arranging the arrival on Nevarro. He’d need at least a few days to convince Bo-Katan that leaving Mandalore for months was the right call. It is. He was still speaking to you and the Jedi, but Din’s mind was on everything that he needed to do to get ready to leave. I’ll need to start in the morning. The conversation wound down, and as Din reminded you that you’d need to be ready to leave and meet him in a week, you sighed, the sound loud, even through the speaker. “That’s fine, Mandalorian. More than fine.” You were being short with him, but it didn’t seem to because you wanted to be; you were doing what was best for the situation. She’s leaving her life there to come … here with him. He blinked, telling you that he looked forward to Nevarro, and then the conversation ended, the room going quiet. 

 His thoughts were on Grogu - whether or not he’d grown out of his robe, if he was speaking yet, if he was more confident with his power - but they were also on the trip itself, and on the fact that once again, he’d be going from being alone to having others with him. And this time, it’s not … short term. 

 It was longer than he’d ever hoped for, he realized as he lifted to sphere up and over his face, the smooth surface gleaming as the filtered moonlight coming in through the window hit it. I’ll finally get to give this back. He smiled at the thought, and for the first time in the year that he’d been separated from Grogu, Din fell asleep quickly, no dreams of the kid peering over the Jedi’s shoulder keeping him awake. 

---

Magnetic/Din Djarin Tag List:

@the-blind-assassin-12 @pheedraws @alraedesigns @malionnes @deceiverofgodss @thisisparadisemylove @siegfriedkingsglaive @valkblue @hehe-oof @jynrumbly @psychedelic-star  @nuttyenthusiastdetective @gingib @bitchylittleredhead @littlemissoblivious @misguidedandbeguiled @cannedsoupsucks

[that-good-trash]

I’m Not Okay- Chapter one Midoriya x Reader/Bakugou x Reader

Izuku Midoriya x reader/ Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Summary: You have struggled with mental health your whole life so why can’t you seem to get it under control. Will you be able to keep the same mask even though two of your classmates have seen under it?

Warnings: Depression, Angst, Anxiety.

Words Count: 3,786

Comment: This isn’t my first time writing fanfic but it is my first time posting it. I hope you enjoy.

Had breathing always been this hard? Were you always this tired? When did your legs start refusing to move you any further? You knew the answers to these questions. Of course, you knew since you’d been dealing with these issues for so long. Your chest has been tight for years, the kind of suffocating one endures under immense pressure or while drowning; metaphorically and figuratively. Breathing shouldn’t be considered a chore and yet to you it was one of the hardest things to do, an inconvenience.  The exhaustion of your face didn’t even begin to show exactly how tired you were, physically and mentally. Did anyone notice the way your shoulders were no longer squared, like you had no fight left even though you were always ready to face any challenge before. Before what? What exactly had changed so much for you to feel this way.

You had always dealt with depression. The mental illness had been a part of your life since you were little. When you had first started to attend counseling, they tried to tell you that maybe you were stressed from school, maybe your parents didn’t love you enough, maybe you lacked friendship and isolation was causing this. No matter what the counselors said it never seemed to add up to you. Your family life wasn’t horrible, your schooling wasn’t so hard, and you had plenty of friends and yet you still felt like you shouldn’t exist. Your family had nothing to do with this but you could reference a few experiences where they proved that you meant little to them. The same could be said for your schooling. Now that you attended UA you weren’t bothered as much but prior to graduating middle school you had received your fair share of bullying.

Currently your friendships seemed strong. Your fellow classmates always invited you to join them for activities outside of school and during school you never lacked someone to talk to or hang out with. Yet, despite how included you were, there was a large gap between you and the rest of the class. You didn’t realize but you had separated yourself from them over the span of the last few months. They noticed your isolation but all took it in different ways. Some of your friends decided that you must need space and graciously gave it to you. Others were worried but didn’t know how to approach you. There was a sliver of people in class that hadn’t even noticed a change in your behavior since they were focused on their own issues and lives.

At the moment your legs had stopped moving. Your chest was tightening and you knew that you needed to grab onto something to prevent an episode. An unsteady shaking hand reaches frantically for anything to grab ahold of. Your luck would be grabbing onto the arm of the most difficult angry person you’d ever met. A gasp escapes your lips as your hand is viciously removed from none other than Katsuki Bakugou himself. His crimson eyes burn daggers into your sad and fearful (e/c) ones.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING TOUCHING ME, FUCKING EXTRA!”

His words have nothing but anger and hatred to them. The yelled question was laced with disgust as his eyes went from glaring to disgusted, Bakugou’s lip twitching into a snarl. Had this happened a few weeks ago you would have yelled back. You would have defended yourself because that’s the person you were. A girl who didn’t let the world treat her like shit since you did a good enough job doing that all on you own. That previous version of you is gone in this moment. You can’t fight back right now. A slight choked sob breaks the tense silence between the two of you as Bakugou waited for a response. He was expecting you to yell back, for you to defend yourself but instead he sees something he had never wanted to witness in his life. Your eyes were glossy from the tears that threatened to fall, the fabric of your shirt rose and fell frantically with your breathing. Shaking, your body was shaking and you had lost the ability to speak. However, you did not lose the ability to run despite your legs wanting to give up.

“Y/n.”

You didn’t stand around to see what he would say next. Your legs thrusted you forward pushing passed his shoulder and down the empty corridor. The two of you should have been in class right now but you were late. Bakugou stared at the spot you had just been occupying, his mind racing trying to figure out what the hell just happened. He hadn’t realized that his face had gone from angry to shocked. His eyebrows were knit together with concern instead of malice. Had he acted faster he would have reached out to stop you. Never had he ever witnessed you react like that to his threats. Not once had it seemed to bother you when he threatened or insulted you. You always had that same dumb smile on your face or even giggled at his shitty behavior.

“Tsk.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue before his hands dipped into his pockets. He wasn’t going to run after you. He may have decided to let you go but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried which pissed him off.

As Bakugou left to class you had kept running. Taking the stairs down two at a time you hoped to get away faster but instead tripped and fell. The pain of hitting the concrete steps jolted through your legs. The tears that had fallen before seemed to double as you were now in physical pain as well as mental. After positioning yourself into a sitting position on one of the steps you realize you’ve scrapped up your knee. Blood was already trickling down your reddened leg. The scrape stung and it was painful to walk when you finally attempted to leave again. Your hands had to hold into the railing in order to prevent more pressure on your injured appendage.

“Y/N!”

You had been trying to leave the building when your name was shouted from behind you. Someone clearly out of breath from the heavy sighs that came after your name was yelled. You had almost expected Bakugou and were slightly disappointed when it wasn’t. Instead Midoriya stood in front of you. His hands on his knees, leaned forward catching his breath. When he looks up, he sees the blood and instantly rushes forward again. His hands gently brush your knee as he squats down. A light blush crosses your cheek since he is at eye level with your skirt and his fingers are gently brushing the sides of the wound without touching it directly.

“What happened?! Kacchan came into class late, he didn’t do this to you did he!?”

Midoriya was frantically speaking, his words coming out slightly muttered. You understood what he had said and would have answered his question but you had a question of your own that needed to be answered. You rub your eyes looking down at the forest haired boy.

“What are you doing out of class?”

You knew it wasn’t right to answer his question with a question but his presence didn’t make any sense to you. Midoriya blinks up at you before he stands back up. He reaches his hand forward to brush a few stray tears. Your eyes closed on instinct when something came that close to your face. The touch was so light that you were convinced he hadn’t even touched you at all. Your eyes crack open when he speaks.

“I was concerned about you so I asked Mr. Aizawa if I could try to find you. He allowed me to check if you were still in the building. I’m glad I found you, though I wish it was under better circumstance. Now, Y/n are you going to answer my questions.”

You nod looking down at your feet out of embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to break down in front of Bakugou and now you had to figure out a way to explain your sorry state to the class baby. The nicest person in your class wanted to know what was bothering you and part of you wanted to break down and tell him about how you felt. To tell him how you lacked air and how the world was beginning to get heavier and you felt stuck under it. There was so much you wanted to tell him, yet nothing came up. Instead you let silent tears roll down your cheeks. Before you could reach your own hand up to wipe the tears Midoriya’s fingers brush them away. You look at him and expect judgment even though you know that’s not the kind of person he is. His eyes hold endearment and concern. He thinks of you as a close friend and cares so much about how you feel. Currently he is trying to figure how you have this much sadness in your expression and how he hadn’t realized it before. The both of you are stuck in this silence staring into the others eyes.

“Katsu- Bakugou didn’t do anything to me. Well, he did but it was my fault. I spaced out for a moment and touched him without permission. He, um got mad and started yelling at me but I deserved it.”

You had moved your hand up to your opposite arm and started nervously rubbing it, a slight chuckle breaks free from your quickly drying lips. You don’t want to cause drama with any of your classmates especially with all that they already had on their plates and you with your own crumbling mental state. You finally focus your attention from the ground to Midoriya who is biting his thumb nail and muttering to himself. His expression is serious but also holds the slightest bit of, anger? You must be reading to into his furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. Midoriya was always the one to find good in everything and find a way to be on both sides of an opposing conflict.

“Midoriya.”

You tried to get his attention since standing here was starting to get uncomfortable and class would end eventually.

“Let me take you to recovery girls office. You skinned your knee pretty bad. I’ll leave you alone after that if you want me too.”

As much as you wanted to go back to your dorm and curl into yourself you knew Midoriya wouldn’t let this go and would keep pushing till you agreed. Though a slight part of you wasn’t opposed to having company other than the intrusive thoughts screaming in the background of your mind. You couldn’t trust yourself to speak again without breaking down with the newest wave of anxiety crashing down. Instead you slowly lifted your hand toward your classmate offering it to him. The relief and kindness that flashed across his eyes made your chest tighten. It was so opposite of how Bakugou reacted to your earlier but you were already aware of the differences in the two boys’ personalities and knew you couldn’t take Bakugou’s reaction to heart.

“Y/n… Please try to pay attention. I’d feel bad if you got hurt under my watch.” A slight chuckle escaped the green haired boy as he held your hand and lead you away from the exit. The doors leading to your freedom faded from site as the hero in training brought you back down the empty hallways. Your chest was tightening again and despite your cracking lips you felt like water was filling your lungs. Despite your quiet and closed off demeanor Midoriya continued to try and smile for you. He spoke when you couldn’t and his legs moving in front of you reminded you to move yours along. It was like a baby deer watching its mother before shaking legs stand up and it takes its leap of faith. Expect you weren’t a baby deer; you are a teenager wanting to be a hero and how were you going to do that when you couldn’t even save yourself from… yourself.

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

        The nurse’s office was quiet which is usually a good sign but right now it was agonizing silence. You sat on the edge of an empty bed while two pairs of eyes stared at you assessing, analyzing, waiting for you to say something. Your knee was no longer the subject, now it was the dark circles under your eyes and the way you avoided eye contact. You could feel judgement even if it wasn’t there. Recovery girl fixed physical wounds and internal damage but you weren’t bleeding anymore and the internal damage wouldn’t show up on an x-ray.

“L/n.” You looked up at the soft yet stern voice of Recovery Girl. “Are you having trouble sleeping? Are you eating properly and keeping yourself hydrated? Your eyes are sunken in which tells me you aren’t sleeping and are lacking the right amount of water. A hero in training needs to take care of their bodies. You should be getting at least 8 hours of sleep and drinking around 3 liters of water a day. If you can’t stomach eating right now, I can pull you out of physical training to prevent any harm to you.”

“NO!” You could lie about promising to get sleep and drink more water but you couldn’t get around a referral dismissing you from physical training. You already felt like you were falling behind the rest of your classmates. If you had to take a break now then you truly would be left alone with your thoughts and that would be even worse for your health than lacking proper nutrition and hydration.

“Please don’t worry about me. I’m just having a bad day. Everyone has bad days once in a while, right? I’ve been studying late so I haven’t been sleeping and I sometimes forget to drink water cause I’m a little ditzy.” You felt like you weren’t even lying but you were and it was so much easier than telling the truth even though the words you wanted to say were on your tongue waiting for their chance to slip out. Your lies were so believable that even yourself fell into their calming deceit. A smile appeared as you wet your lips with the cup of water you had been handed when you had first arrived. Your eye lashes tickled your checks when you blinked away any tears that might have wanted to join the party. A deep breath and you felt normal. Recovery Girl and Midoriya still stared with skepticism but you wore a stunning mask that prevented them from getting to you. “I promise that I’ll try and study earlier so I can sleep. I’ll drink water every chance I get and eat every meal. Just don’t make me stop, Please.”

“Well… I would have had trouble benching one of Mr. Aizawa’s prized students anyway. You have promised me that you will do these three essential things and I expect you to follow up with that promise. Which is why I shall be appointing Midoriya here to watch you.”

“Wha-No. That isn’t fair to him. You can’t just make someone baby sit me.” You felt bad when you stood up and swung your hand in Midoriya’s direction. He flinched slightly but not because he was afraid, you would hit him. He was slightly off put by your shouting in protest.  

“I can and I will. I am also going to give you a log where you will write every time you drink and eat so I can look it over next week to make sure I don’t have to follow up on my threat. If you are having trouble studying may I suggest a tutor.” Wow a suggesting after all the coercion. You had to do everything she said or face repercussion. You could have easily said you had done these things but with Midoriya watching you it was going to be hard to not follow through. There was no argument left in you. Defeated you let your shoulders sag and a tiny nod is sent in Recovery Girls direction.

“Okay.” With that you had been given your logs, a bottle of water, and Midoriya’s support. A pat of your back was the last thing you received before leaving the office. You had been suffering earlier and now you wanted to destroy the walls in front of you and scream until your throat bled. As you walked down the slightly crowed halls Midoriya followed like your faithful guard dog, or more like a baby sitter trying to prevent a baby from opening pill bottles. You had stopped and grunted when he ran into your back, the grip you had on your bag strap tighter than the bandaging on your leg. You could hear the green hair boy, whom an hour ago was your savior and now was your worst enemy with no fault other than your own, apologizing for running into you.

“I-I’m so sorry Y/n.”

“Leave me alone.” The words came out between gritted teeth. You hated the taste anger left in your mouth; it was worse than vomit. You were going to say something you’d regret so you had to escape him now to prevent that from happening. He meant well when he took you to the nurse’s office. He meant well and yet you were angry because you just wanted to go to your dorm and drown in tears and scream into the empty building while you had the chance. Now that classes were over you couldn’t do that and now you had to follow some stupid regiment.  

“I said LEAVE ME ALONE!” The words hadn’t meant to be yelled but they came out loud. Some people turned and looked in time to see the shock and hurt wash over Midoriya’s face and to watch the anger on your own dissipate into pain and regret before you ran. Midoriya couldn’t reach you this time. You had run away with no intention to be caught again. You ran faster even though your knee throbbed begging you to stop. The metaphoric water in your lungs was also trying to restrain you, trying to keep you from escaping. Hallways flew by along with familiar and unfamiliar faces. You looked insane as your hair wildly danced behind you and your skirt tried to fly up when you leaped from the top of the stairs. This was your ‘leap of faith’ but really it was a rush of cowardice. You landed with a hiss and stumble before rushing past the people watching with fear and curiosity. When the midafternoon sun kissed your skin, you knew you were almost free to breakdown. The throbbing faded with the increased adrenaline as you finally made in to the dorm building. You made sure not to look at anyone as you rushed inside and straight to the elevator. You could feel the eyes and hear the unspoken questions but didn’t want to look or hear. You just wanted to go to your room and sleep for the next millennium. Life had other plans for you. When the elevator door opened Bakugou walked out. Your felt ice in your veins despite the heat that spread across the rest of your body since you were embarrassed, he had to watch your pathetic display earlier. Your body went stiff and you looked directly at the floor before swiftly rushing into the waiting elevator. You were almost free but that’s when a hand pushed against the door causing it to retract. Bakugou’s piercing red eyes stared into your broken ones before slowly moving down to the bandaging on your knee which was now slightly pink from blood resurfacing after your running and jumping. You waited for some harsh comment about how you were an idiot or pathetic but the words never came. Instead his voice came out low and non-threatening.

“If you need that rebandaged later come by my room. I have some experience with bandaging.” He didn’t see the confusion on your face when he pulled his hand away allowing the door to close and take you to your floor. You sighed falling against the wall with your hand pushing into your chest willing it to stop hurting. Bakugou wasn’t a nice guy but you knew he had soft moments but never had you personally experienced one. You could only assume it was his own way of trying to ease regret from yelling at you. You didn’t have the energy to think about what Bakugou’s new behavior could mean. You were tired and finally in your own room. A safe place that no one could force you to leave, well no one has tried. With a heavy sigh you fall backward onto your bed finally letting everything out as a sob pushes your lips apart followed by more and more till the only sound that could be heard was your pained whimpers and chocked out screams. Your brain throbs against your cranium and you wish you could puncture a hole to relieve the pressure like they did in asylums in the past. This was how you lived most of your days and nights when it became to much. Sobbing and breaking down while the world moved around you. The words spoken as whispers in your ears telling you how useless and pathetic you are. How the world spins and your classmates still laugh and play regardless of your absence.

However, no matter what your thoughts told you. No matter what you own personal demons whisper, someone cared. Someone noticed. Midoriya entered the dorm building wishing you were curled up against Mina on the couch like you did on good days. He wanted you to be fine but he knew you weren’t and even if Recovery Girl hadn’t asked him, he would have still tried to help you because he wanted you to be better. He was going to help you. He wasn’t the only one. Bakugou leaned against the counters not listening to the conversations around him. Instead he thought about the pain you were in. He wondered how much you suffered alone and he was determined, despite his pride, to destroy that suffering. He knew your battle was one that lacked villains and instead had to be fought slowly and methodically with patience and words. He would be there for you or at least promised himself that he would try which to Bakugou held a lot of meaning.

These boys want to save you, the only thing is they haven’t quite figured out you need to be saved from yourself.