#one literally breaching my boundaries

[dalvs-wife]

u ever just despise the way a certain artist/artists draw ur f/o. like. can u just stop and never draw them again it makes me so upset thank you

[snixkers]

Hot to Go

Pairing: Emily Prentiss × Fem!Reader

For: Anonymous Request, filling the slot of praise kink for @cmkinkbingo2024

EXPLICIT CONTENT, SMUT

Content Warnings: Strapon (reader receiving), introducing new things in bedroom, soft!Dom Emily, description of sex toys, squirting, inexperienced reader, use of baby as a pet name

Summary: You find Emily's suggestion to spice things up very appealing.

Author's Note: Holy shit when I tell you I have never been sicker. I literally was typing gibberish thinking it made sense. Anyways, dw, this is hot, I promise.

Feedback is always welcome!

Requests are OPEN!

You stared at Emily as she came home, scraping your food around on your plate haphazardly until she was finished unpacking. Her trained eyes immediately read your body language, setting off red flags in her brain.

"Hey, is something wrong?"

You tensed up at the sound of her sultry voice. After she came back from a case, you typically gave her a massage before letting your hands wander. And sometimes, the roles were reversed.

Her smooth, soft hands caressed your muscles, relieving every ache while simultaneously growing the one in your core.

You snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of her voice, setting your plate in the sink. "I, um, I saw your package."

Her face fell slightly, although you could see a burning curiosity beginning to kindle. She knew, of course, exactly what you had found. She had purchased a strap on, nothing unimaginable, about five inches. Emily took a small step towards you before reaching her hands out.

You took them gratefully, a little bit nervous about where this was going but ready to explore.

"Last week, I was thinking. I'm usually on top in the bedroom, and I know we've already used toys, but you've never tried this."

Your face flushed, already aware of your inexperience when it came to your relationships with women. But Emily was always patient, asking questions and putting boundaries in place. She truly was the perfect partner.

So that's why with a shaky breath, you nodded, giving her a kiss. "I'd like to try that."

So that's how you found yourself on the bed five minutes later, your legs spread and knees pressed to your chest. She had been properly prepping you for a while, but you were desperate.

"Em, please, I want you."

She turned away, grabbing the harness and fastening it carefully.

"Just relax, baby. I'll take care of you."

Emily positioned herself at your entrance, rubbing the spongy tip up and down your dripping slit. The teasing was making you even more hot and bothered, which she could easily tell. "Ready for me?" She waiting for your nod of affirmation before slowly pressing inside.

You gasped involuntarily, feeling the head of the cock begin to breach you. She drove it in carefully, like she was trying not to break you. As hesitant as you were before, you wanted to feel the full spectrum of what she had to offer. "The whole thing." You said, not even realizing it was out loud.

She nodded, concentration beading on her brow. "Is this what you want?" She asked as the leather harness hit your thighs.

You shook your head, savoring the feeling of her sheathed deep inside you. "I need you to be rough, like you usually are."

She bit her lip, looking the opposite of the dominating figure she usually was in the bedroom.

"Are you sure? This is something new and I don't-"

Her voice trailed off as you began rocking against her, grinding yourself up and down the rubber. She looked down for a second before deciding to begin a steady pace.

Both of your moans filled the room, echoing off the walls and going back into your cores. She moved inside you with a purpose, hitting that button with every stroke. Your face was contorted in pleasure, and she committed it to memory.

Emily watched you writhe and moan beneath her with a sly smile, unable to help fondling your bouncing tits. "Oh baby, you're taking my cock so well."

You nodded at her words, eager to please as you rutted against her to assist in your pleasure. When she began to circle your clit with a single finger, the sensation made you shudder, your whole body quaking as it surrendered to her touch. She saw this and knew it, urging you closer to that orgasm you knew you were about to hit. "Come on baby, let me see you coat my cock. Just like that."

She didn't speed up, or go harder, just kept doing the same thing she had been to get the best reaction. And you knew you were a goner the second you heard a sloshing noise from between your legs. Almost immediately, a gush of liquid emanated from between your thighs.

She fucked you through your orgasm, making sure to slowly bring you down with words of encouragement before sliding the cock out from between your legs.

"How was it?"

You just nodded, too dazed to truly respond. She laughed at that, cleaning you up and leaving the toy on the corner of the bed, ready for your inevitable request of a second round

[not-so-rosyyy]

Journalism. Love your work Rosssy

this was sent after my bodyguardtom quick analysis last night and i giggled a bit, anon. thanks.

here's more journalism for you: after seeing other angles of what transpired, i have become more convinced rather than put off that how he reacted was justified.

Tom (which is funny because dude, you're also the client? lol) and Jack went ahead trying to clear the way for Z, thinking she was literally just behind. but the moment they were one step out of the way, the crowd immediately closed in on her.

which should not have happened because the right fan etiquette is that you line up on the sides and give the celebrity THEIR WAY so they could keep moving when they choose to. (even one of the paps was yelling, "give her space! guys, guys, give her space!") but that didn't happen. Z was literally BLOCKED from moving; she was not given that choice.

people were shoving things millimeters into her face. there was also some pushing going on, as evidenced by how this one pap's video got out of focus and panned from the subject to kingdom come at one point.

Jack had to duck down in order to get close to her again. Darnell was getting stressed trying to barricade her with his one arm.

the security assigned to her (i assume, because Jack was Tom's) was NOT on her. that guy also went ahead with Tom and Jack. you can see him protecting Tom instead when Jack went back for Z.

i'm assuming Tom turned around, did not see Z behind, panicked, and got pissed the moment he realized nobody was with her aside from Darnell. you can see he initially let Jack sort it out, but when the latter couldn't get Z out of it, that's when he really stepped in.

somebody started yelling, "pull back! pull back!" when Tom started bulldozing his way to her. they didn't. Tom had enough, told someone to "get out the f*cking way!" Z tried to tell him it's okay just to calm him down.

but let's be honest, that crowd would NOT have let up had he not pulled her out of there. they would've insisted on being accommodated till every last one was satisfied with a photo and an autograph. which, as she'd said time and time again, she has a hard time saying no to even with her boundaries and safety breached.

the way he reacted was how anyone who cares so fucking much for someone would've reacted in that kind of situation. it's just how, when you love someone, you become anxious about their well-being much more than yours. your mind races to all possible worst-case scenarios you could think of and try to prevent any of that from happening. we can joke it's like the spidey sense, but it's true: his body was on auto-pilot the moment he sensed a possible danger for her. he didn't think about himself or what it would look like for him, he just reacted—and acted—as fast as he could to get her out of that perceived danger.

and that, my friends, is just what love looks like sometimes.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yay I was the anon who asked if you watch the new John Wick film, I hoped you enjoyed the movie!

Can I request some yandere marquis de gramont headcanons? (it can be romantic or platonic)

man was the biggest prick that i had seen in a while from a movie lol

Yandere Vincent de Gramont Headcanons

A/N:You read my mind Anon lmaoo - I was literally planning on writing some HCs for the Marquis <3

Despite the initial conception one may have about Vincent's dedication to a lover – that being none – he's actually surprisingly...loyal.

While he has the playboy exterior, enough money to soak up the oceans of the Earth and all the allure that comes with his occupation, he secretly feels as if he has nothing at all.

What he wants, what he really, truly wants, is to feel something new. Something he’s never experienced before.

Love.

Not just for himself - for someone else.

His brush with John Wick made him realise how empty his life was by comparison to the Boogeyman, who lived and almost died for the memory of love.

And that stuck with Vincent. Affected him more than he’d like to admit.

But, his heightened status above most others has left him isolated with few who wish to know him in a capacity beyond acquaintances for fear of incurring his wrath with a misplaced word or an overstepped boundary.

Thus, love is almost an impossibility for the Marquis.

And then he met you.

And grew obsessed intrigued. Fast.

He likely met you in passing completely separate from his usual crowd – which is to say hunters and murderers.

And he's taken aback by you; your beauty, your charm, your personality. In a way that, while many others have tried, have never breached Vincent’s superficial interest.

Or perhaps you nurse that same melancholy void he harbours; the desire for something more. Which, divulging it to him, a complete stranger, the Marquis finds oddly endearing. Vulnerable.

He’s enchanted. The void in his chest seems to tighten somewhat. Heal.

You’ve given him what no other has before. Genuine, friendly, interested conversation. All without even knowing who he is.

Now, having to rush off, apologising with a smile for taking up his time with “Trivial banter,” Vincent watches your retreating form.

He has his sights set on you.

Over the next few days, while conducting business and going about his everyday life, Vincent’s mind keeps crawling back to you, those fateful minutes wherein he felt he knew everything about you and nothing at all.

Though, he doesn't actually want to admit it at first.

While, yes, he does want to experience true love, he is entirely unwilling to acknowledge the disgustingly human need to feel something.

So, he tries to hide it. Bury it beneath his work, French desserts and luxuries you've never even heard of.

But, over time, you spring back up in the forefront of his mind when you are no longer content with being a voice in the background. A memory of a time where Vincent felt as if he’d truly been seen.

And Vincent, passing off his secret enthusiasm as boredom, a mere meandering of memories, ‘allows’ the odd thought of you to trickle in here and there.

You are a form of medicine. Whenever Vincent feels something undesirable brewing in his chest, he finds himself back with you on that bench in the park, your warmth and presence sun rays against his face as he’s transported from one of his many mansions to beside you once more.

And, even if he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, you scratch the right spot in his psyche that material gain just can’t. Not in comparison to the human touch you have.

Gramont’s so used to people regarding him with favour or fear that it still takes him aback now how kindly you treated him, not knowing who he is or what he does.

You had nothing to gain from your kindness. And yet you still gave it to him.

Healed him with it.

Vincent’s daydreams start to grow more intense the longer he thinks about you.

An emulated conversation. Additions and projections of the recollections of your encounter, no matter how brief. Anything to let Vincent feed off the feeling you gave him when he’s exhausted the phantom of your first encounter.

There comes a point, weeks after you first met, where Vincent spends more time in these memories, both real and fabricated, than in the conscious world. And they strengthen, pulling his focus from his work, from his duties.

At first, this manifests as a glazed look in his eyes, one which, to all those who knew of him, could pen as the typical, uninterested Marquis stare.

He wears the same one in the comfort of his private rooms, one where nobody can see what he’s thinking. But now, people can see Vincent couldn’t care less about the projected bounty of this one killer from Wales; he just wants to be left alone with his thoughts.

His men have started to notice, too.

And, one evening, Vincent decides to lay upon them a task.

“I need you to find someone for me,” he says, his chin resting atop clasped hands. There is no jest, nor leniency, in his stare.

The task itself sounded easy enough. But with only a physical description to go on, not even having gotten your name, Vincent, for the first time in his life, is anxious.

Anxious his men won’t find you, no matter how deep his connections run.

Anxious that, while he’s lived in his dream world for the last month, you’ve since disappeared. Been killed, perhaps, or exposed to some freak accident.

Vincent pains at the feeling in his centre whenever he considers this a possibility. It tears the scabbing void in his chest wide open again.

Sometimes, while he lies in bed, the thought that might have perished somehow, that his men will have misinterpreted his specific instructions not to interact with you, only report on what you’re doing, plagues him.

He knows his men are loyal – that they’ve never failed a task before now. And he clings to the hope that their winning streak won’t run dry one of these nights.

One day, sat in his office, glancing over a document he’d tried reading for the last half hour yet couldn’t because, surprise, you were distracting him, one of his men came into the room.

“We have them, Sir,” he said, the image of victory. Vincent couldn’t help but scan his suit for any sign of blood. Your blood.

To say Vincent was excited is an understatement of epic proportions.

At first, he’s just numb.

Then, a few minutes later, his chest burns and sparks with an electric passion one acquires when meeting an idol.

Vincent wishes to deploy himself immediately. But he knows this is a waiting game.

So, he remains far enough away from your life that you do not suspect a single thing is wrong.

You don’t even glance over at the guy who’s been tailing you for the last few hours.

You don’t think twice about the stranger who’s been sat in perfect view of you in the cafe for the last two weeks.

You don’t even consider that the guy you bumped into earlier is responsible for your house key going missing.

Now, with access to your inner sanctum and your daily routine burned into his mind like a holy scripture, Vincent makes his move.

He stages meetings between the two of you.

Starts ‘bumping into you’.

At first, you simply recognise him, ask him how he’s doing and what he’s doing in the area.

And, Vincent, the man with an answer for everything, finds himself doing something he never has before.

He fumbles.

Even when he imagined you in a most vivid detail, nothing compares to this moment, where what he says has consequences, where he has one shot at getting this right. Or risk your uncertain stare.

He can feel fear rising in his chest as he stutters. Only once, but enough to knock him down a few pegs in your mind’s eye. At least, that’s what he thinks.

But, he completes his task, albeit not as pristinely as he wished.

He asked you out to coffee.

And you, with a signature smile, accepted.

And now, your fate is sealed.

Vincent beats himself up over his ineptitude of speaking to you like he did in his head: suave, cool, collected.

And, given the fact that he’s never had to take accountability for anything he’s ever done, he tries to blame it on someone else.

Not you, though.

Never you.

Regardless of this minor hurdle, as Vincent sees it, he purses this…friendship with you.

He isn’t used to the concept. Not in a visceral sense, anyway.

The saying ‘It’s lonely at the top’ comes to mind when describing Vincent’s relationships.

There is always a power imbalance, no matter who he’s speaking with.

He is always above them, and they are always below him.

But that’s when they know him. Know his dynamic.

You, you have absolutely no idea who he is, or what he’s capable of.

To you, he’s just Vincent, the owner of a successful manufacturing business.

No, Vincent couldn’t quite ditch the theatrics. He still needed an out to impress you – to have a valid excuse as to how he owns so many nice cars, how he never wears the same designer suit twice.

He doesn’t tone it down with the suits, by the way.

He’s too enthralled by the fascinated look you wear when you’re taking in the patterns, the chains, the craftsmanship.

Which, to his surprise, makes his face warm.

People have only ever looked at the label of his outfit, never the ensemble itself.

That’s just another of the ways you make him feel seen.

You tell him so much of yourself, yet not enough to break your mystique.

Vincent knows more about you than you think, and he uses this to create another version of himself – one which likes the same records as you (though, he unironically does enjoy them. But, he knows he likely wouldn’t unless you listened to them, too), has the same preferences for how you fold your clothes, whether you should brush your teeth before or after breakfast.

And Vincent devours every detail you grant him like a meal, saving them, storing them, testing them out in his newest daydreams when he gets home, his heart thrumming and his breathing short as an unfamiliar feeling of wholeness and anxiety overtakes him.

And yet, there is little he can offer in return.

Nothing that isn’t a lie, anyway.

He keeps you as far away from his work as possible, hence he meets you in such public spaces.

His men are always stationed nearby, disguised as civilians. Should the need for bloodshed ever arise.

Eventually, your weekly coffee meet-ups evolve into something else.

Vincent, after asking one of his men (under strict confidentiality) ”What do you do when you…like-like someone…?” starts taking you to restaurants.

He tries not to scare you off with anything too fancy, but he can’t help but feel part of himself die whenever he thinks about how dull the food here in this 5-star restaurant is compared to his usual dining preferences.

But you’re happy, thanking him for the meal with a gratitude that isn’t borne from a life-or-death scenario.

You’re not paying for these dates, by the way. Vincent won’t let you.

“I brought you here; I’m paying.”

He also has a tendency to go overboard with the gifts.

You tell him your watch is broken ? Here are five designer timepieces imported from a selective brand whose clientele is vetted and chosen by the CEO himself.

Of course, you can try to refuse these gifts – tell Vincent that you “Can’t possibly take them from you; it’s too much !”

But he plays the guilt card well.

“No, I insist,” he says, pushing them into your hands. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

If you actively wear or use anything he buys you, he’ll be overjoyed. Prideful.

You’re wearing something he got for you. That basically means you’re saying you belong to him.

Of course, he does get a little carried away with his…delusions. But he means well !

He’s just territorial.

Vincent can be a gentleman when he wants to be.

And can also be a vicious creature when he doesn’t.

He only presents one of these sides to you.

The other is reserved for his more…private affairs.

When he started feeling more intensely about you, his mind wandered to some rather unsavoury places – places that, usually, VIncent would walk through without batting an eye.

But now that he, dare he say...liked you…he felt as if he’d been drenched in cold water whenever he imagined you doing anything risqué.

So, with the steadily growing number of these thoughts, these images of you, piercing his mind, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

He beds people who look like you. 

The two of you aren’t dating yet; haven’t even held hands (though Vincent agonises over finding the right opportunity to do so).

But he still feels wrong. Like he’s cheating on you.

His sanity tries to prevent him from thinking like this, tries to keep itself intact by urging Vincent to pursue another mindless conquest.

Your name does slip out between his panting, though.

Much to the chagrin of whoever’s beneath him right now.

He wonders what you’d look like, what you’d feel like in this same position. What your preferences are.

There’s only one way to find out.

He tries turning up the boyfriend factor after he decides now’s the time to pursue you. Properly.

He sits a little closer to you whenever you invite him over for movie nights, holds you for just a little longer whenever you engage in your traditional parting hug.

And he can’t help but think about how much he wants to stay with you like this forever.

And permanence is a rare commodity for people in his line of work. No matter how many bodyguards he has, or how skilled he is.

Nothing is certain.

Which is why, one evening, lying awake in bed, he decides to act.

He knows it’s a risky manoeuvre, but he can’t deny how careless he’s been with you these last few months.

Not that you’d know, but his men have intercepted five people who’ve tried to kill you, take you – or worse.

All just to get to him.

He can’t leave you in the wide open world like this. He can’t let you be at risk. Not because of him.

So, that night, his heart in his mouth as he commands his men to “Find (Y/N). Bring them to me.” Vincent awaits your arrival.

And, eventually, he hears you. Clamouring in the halls outside his office, screaming and fighting. Resisting.

Vincent can’t help but crack a smile, knowing how defiant you are – how stubborn you can be in your method.

As the heavy footsteps of his men come to a stop outside his door, your screeching is blunted only by the thick wood.

And, doors open, here you are, shoved into the room.

Your captor revealed.

You look at him with what you could construed as almost-neutrality, your bewilderment a damper to your anger, your fear.

“Vincent,” you say, breathless. You take a staggering step towards him. His men take a step towards you, reaching for weapons concealed by their coats.

Vincent raises a hand, and they retract.

He looks at you.

His eyes are filled with nothing less than adulation, misplaced happiness in a situation you view as dire.

“Sit,” he tells you, casting a glance to the seat before his desk.

With little else you can do, you obey.

And your world begins to unravel.

Vincent, in the lamest, most gentle of terms, explains that he is “Not who you thought I was,” – that he does “More for a living than make vases and luxury dishware.”

“I,” he says, watching your eyes carefully, glassy and holding no less potential for terror. “Am the Marquis.”

Vincent stands, and when he sees you flinch, something in him withers. Hurts.

He shoves it aside.

“I am responsible for making sure that the right outcome is brought to the right people.”

His hands behind his back, pacing the length of your field of sight, he swallows. 

You’re judging him now. In a way you never had, you’re judging him.

His desire to display how grandiose his lifestyle is doesn’t seem so forthcoming anymore, hiding, shy.

This is more difficult than he anticipated.

“What does that mean ?” you say, voice tight and quiet.

Vincent’s fist clenches. He doesn’t want you like this. You should be happy he’s rescued you ! Albeit from threats you didn’t know pertained to you, but still !

“I’m…” he starts. His gaze wanders to his men, who, with perfect understanding, leave.

You almost don’t want them to go.

“I’m a reaper, of sorts,” he says. He draws closer, taking a step in your direction. You bite back the urge to flee.

“A face to a cause.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, instead watching you with what you think is scrutiny (but couldn’t be further from it), you ask, throat dry, hoarse from your screaming. Crying.

“What cause ?”

Vincent bites the inside of his lip. And, for the first time, he can feel himself cracking under your gaze.

You’re scared. He knows you are. He just wished he didn’t have to see it painted so blatantly on your features, downturned with grief should everything end on this night.

Where was your smile ? Your crinkled eyes, your sonorous laugh, your upturned lips ?

“I fix problems,” he says. There’s no way he can put his occupation lightly. “I used to do it with knives. Guns, a pencil, perhaps – whatever was at my disposal.”

He’s closer now, approaching. His arms are at his sides. And he stands before you.

You don’t want to look up. You want to look – be – anywhere but here.

But Vincent doesn’t let you.

“But now,” he says, and he gets to one knee. His hands trap you, on either of the arm rests of the chair. Yet he does not possess the face of one who is a captor, instead a mask of total capitulation to a feeling he couldn’t even begin to understand before you showed him.

“I do it with diplomacy. With people who are much better suited to that life than I.”

His voice is soft, quieter than before. There is a hint of a smile at his lips, pulling the corners, beginning the total eclipse of his eyes from full to crescent. An offset to the anxiety bubbling in his centre.

Your hands in your lap, he takes them in his, slowly, gently, fingers resting atop yours.

And he squeezes them.

Holds them. Just as he’d always wanted to.

“Why–” you swallow a sob, turn your head so you don’t let him see your face scrunch into the epitome of fright. “Why am I here…?”

Vincent’s lips part. His hand slips up to your jaw, urges you to look at him.

He’s forbearing. A butterfly.

Nothing like how his men handled you.

That in itself could almost convince you that he’s not such a bad guy. Even after all he’s told you.

“Because–” your face in his hand, he looks up into your eyes. Barely contained tears fill them.

“Because you’ll be safe with me,” he promises. There’s an unencumbered optimism in his eyes. A dangerous one at that.

“Because I can’t trust that my men can protect you when you’re so far away – alone – in the city.”

“What do you mean, Vincent ?!”

You don’t mean to snap. But since you’d just been kidnapped and the truth behind the matter is no clearer to you, you can’t help it.

Vincent almost seems to flinch, his eyes narrowing just for a second. He returns to you with his puppy stare.

“There are people out there who know who I am. What I do.”

He squeezes your hand again, his other still wrapped about your jaw.

“The problem now is that they know you, too.”

He swallows thickly, looking down for a split of a second. Guilt.

“And it’s my fault. I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve just left you alone, let you live your life…but I can’t undo that now.”

He laces his fingers between yours. And you’re too frazzled to refuse.

“What I can do, what I will do–” his hand comes to the point of your chin, holds it gently between his fingers like glass.

His gaze falls to your lips, and you try to ignore it.

“Is keep you safe. Here. With me.”

You’d have laughed if you didn’t believe everything he’d just said.

It all just made sense to you.

The lavish gifts, the people watching you that you hadn’t dared notice before because you’re just being paranoid. The hard glares Vincent would grant to all that passed you by in the rooms of higher society.

And now, everything shatters. You cry.

“Oh, non, mon Cher, don’t cry–” Vincent moves to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but you pull away. Retract from his kindness.

"You're insane–" you’re breathless, gasping between sobs

"Not insane.” VIncent tells you. He stands so he’s perfectly level with you, his eyes piercing yours. And, just as he had many times before in your presence, he smiles. Genuine and heartfelt. Then, a statement. A declaration.

“Just… in love.”

[tojislibrvry]

★ ︵ @ toji / reader , missionary , unprotected, religious imagery , manipulation , religious indoctrination , biblical themes but no allusions to any certain religion

you don’t believe in God. God is not a word that is familiar with your tongue nor is it a concept familiar with your soul. even when your mind had been destroyed, life in shambles had you turned to religion to bring you to normalcy. faith was never salvation to you.

you were simply an atheist — a fool they would call you, who proudly believes there is no God. they tell you, you lack spiritual discernment, that the holy words of God are lost to your ears. your rooted anti-belief in the existence of any God runs deep, so why are you listening to the stranger outside your home promising you heaven ?

your values don’t waver, your beliefs don’t change yet you are hooked onto every word that spills from the strange man’s lips hooked like a subdued snake dancing along to the snake charmer’s tunes.

you take notice of how he looks, unbelievable both literally and figuratively in the sense he looks beautiful enough to rival eros but deceit threaded through his black suit making him as unreliable as the serpent in paradise. he flashes a smile at your disorientation holding his hand out for you to trust him.

you try to remember how you got yourself into this, previous encounters with those wanting to talk about religion of any kind met with your defiant roll of eyes and the door slammed on their face. this man, toji, he introduced himself as, was quick to place his feet between your doorframe ( not that you noticed ).

“you don’t believe in heaven do you ?”

huh, breaking out of your reverie, you realise that he had stopped talking a good two minutes ago. smiling nervously, you shake your head.

“even if heaven was real, wouldn’t everyone alive be in hell ? aren’t we all sinners ?” you step forward a little braver, “can you look me in the eye and tell me God would let you step into heaven?”

he laughs boisterously at your line of questioning. “my God would.”

“he has witnessed my very descent into hell, watched the way my hands shook the devil’s and yet used his holy palms to pull out my blasphemous ones out of the netherworld. if my treacherous soul could be welcomed to heaven, he would wait with open arms to invite you in when you pass.”

you take a good look at his face, one look and you knew this man was not a child of God. his hair pushed back neatly, his face clean shaven like he had eliminated any hint of shabbiness right before he stepped foot into your world, a smile plastered on his face but none of it truly reflected in his piercing green eyes. despite the very prominent signs of danger like the scar on his lips that ran vertically across or the way his arms bulged under his suit like it was built to be a weapon, no, it was the way mirth danced in his eyes that wouldn’t let you believe him.

if eyes were a window to your soul, toji was a man with sacrilege running through his veins.

“sure buddy. i think it’s time you leave—” “there is none who does good. all of us fall short of the standard God has set, do you think he expects perfection from us? does a mother not know the follies of her children ?”

you tilt your head, trying to come up with an answer that you know you wouldn’t be able to come up with. “uh— i’m not sure what you are talking about.” you are beyond nervous now, anxiety creeping into your blood, heart beating faster than it should.

“am i scaring you sweetheart, fear not.” he steps into your house, your final boundary between him and your own personal haven breached. “all i'm saying is think of all those times you’ve felt alone, felt wrong in your skin. i come here as a sign for you, to show you you are never truly alone. our God does not see sinners, he does not see sin, he sees you and he sees love.”

he grabs your soft, much smaller hands and places it on his broad chest while placing his palm right on top of your beating heart. “feel that? listen to the way your heart calms down, notice the way it syncs with mine. embrace the way that our God is showing you.”

you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, pupils blown black with how utterly enamoured by his words you are. you can hear the slowing of your heart, the thump-thump softer than ever, the stress you constantly feel in your shoulder leaving you.

you try to break yourself out of the daze you are in, “i don’t think this is right, i think you should leave, you are messing with my… head.” you weakly and begrudgingly try to push him out the door, trying to erase the mark he has left on your soul.

“i'm not messing with your head darling, i'm trying to enlighten you. do you want me to show you a taste of heaven ? to feel the eternal bliss that is guaranteed if you listen to me ?”

“what are you talking about—” “let me guide you through what is heaven on earth, to let you experience a little death in this very mortal realm.” he closes the door behind him as he steps closer, his tall stature casting a shadow upon you barring the sunlight from hitting your skin.

“let me show you what our God put us on earth for, why he made you and me. allow me to show you the virtues of the flesh, the way God intended for us to fit perfectly together.” he bends down to match your height, revelling in the way your breath hitches when you feel his apple scented breath on your face.

“do you want to see how God forgives our sins— for we are never pure before our maker ?”

you nod.

toji leads you to your own bedroom with practiced ease like he had been there before. he guides you with a palm splayed against your lower back, with the kind of insistence that blurs the lines between gentle and rough. he lets you watch him undress in the dim lit room, the way a stray sun ray falls on his tan skin as he unbuttons the white shirt.

you cannot take your eyes of the display of skin and flesh, feeling like an animal that wants to sink its canines to its poor prey. he has the slightest smirk painted on his lips when he's done stripping himself naked, his body in the nude as he presents himself unabashedly.

he does not chide your wandering eyes. he does not question the way your eyes travel down to his cock, fixated on the heavy muscle bobbing between his thighs. he rather encourages it, walking closer so he can strip you now.

hands gentle, as gentle as scarred and calloused palms can be, when he pulls down the straps of your slip dress. the lace showing very less resistant as it pools around your feet on the carpeted ground. he watches you grow shy under his unwavering gaze.

he calls you beautiful, your mind registers late. he admires the gooseflesh that has erupted on your skin, the way you resemble a sweet fruit ebbing with the weight of blood. he looks at you, like you are the apple and he is eve. he looks ready to defy his very God for the taste of knowledge, oh rather the knowledge of your taste.

you pull him to your bed, the soft sheets with white lace trim like you were God's true virgin. he does not judge you when you pull out the condoms from your bedside drawer, no he does not care if you joined and became one with countless others before. he only reserves the right to be the first to desecrate you with his cum. he wishes to be the first that gets to feel your tight walls close on his cock, to feel you warm him from the deepest crevices of your body.

he crawls on to the bed, pushing aside the contraceptive you hold in your hands to cage you underneath him so he can kiss you with ferver and passion, he licks your mouth open and tastes the rich wine that coats your mouth. the taste of your pliant mouth and the way it glides against his teeth and lips is enough to let him moan.

he focuses on kissing you while a single hand travels from your navel to your chest, so he could play with the soft skin around your sensitive nipples. he does not shame you for crying out loud when he pinches you, the way your body arches of the bed when his mouth replaces his hand. he is meticulous in the way he is precise in bringing you satisfaction, but he is messy in the way spit trails and dries in streaks on your skin.

he takes his time worshiping your body, though idolation is a sin. he treats you like fragile glass as he leaves open mouthed kisses from your mouth to the wetness pooling between your thighs. he grins with pride when he takes sight of the mess that greets him, dripping with need at simply a few kisses.

"you worry too much, God will not punish you for feeling this way about his messenger." he says before kissing you in places that you are sure God would never approve of despite his saccharine words.

he pulls you closer to his mouth, licking and worshiping you with his tongue in a way that makes your eyes roll back. he lets his finger ghost around the edge of your awaiting hole, letting you suck in a harsh breath before pushing it in. the resistance around his finger does not stop him, he continues his assault with both his mouth and finger, loosening you up for the devil in between his thighs. he goes on with his ministrations but stopping every time he gauges you are close, constantly edging you like he is gatekeeping your orgasm.

his finger is coated with the myrrh like essence of your arousal but he does not seem to mind it. after what he thinks is the appropriate amount of preparation your hole needs to accomodate his throbbing cock, he spreads you upen both your legs spread apart on the either side of his corded thighs. he places a gentle kiss to your forehead and mutters an apology against your lips, when he pushes himself in.

simply taking just his tip in, the mushroomy cockhead, spurting pre nudged inside your feverish hole is enough for the both of you to let noises of pleasure echo through the room. he wishes he could refuse the way you feel, but he cannot deny you are the best he has felt around him in the longest time.

"toji, you— you can move!" you give the man permission, your hand traveliing down to his arm that holds your legs apart so you can tug on him to consume you closer. he grunts past the resistance of your walls, your feet pressed against the small of his back trapping him in the blessing of your sultry hole.

all toji needs is your honeyed voice to consent to his debauchery so he begins to punish you with harsh thrusts that make you see stars. he is an experienced man that takes thirty seconds to find that gooey spot in you, abusing his knowledge to make you loose lipped and empty brained. he devours the spit that drools from your mouth, cherishing the way you began to pray to him.

incessant "please toji! please, please, please!" ringing in his ears as sweat from his forehead threatens to hide the image of you getting unravelled in front of him.

despite the pleasure you feel, you arent convinced there is a God that would forgive you for the way toji bites into your shoulder drawing blood, using the very bloodied mouth to kiss your mouth to preach what he believes is true. you can't find any rational thought as to why you are letting a near stranger make his imprint guts deep, ready to paint your insides white. you want to argue against it, but you can't.

toji for the first time encourages your arriving orgasm, he does not pull out nor does he stop. instead he focuses on all your weak spots and gives them special attention so he can encourage you.

"come on sweetheart, make a mess on my cock. let me deliver you from your sins."

he holds you down, slamming against you loud and proud, the sounds of skin slapping the only noise left in your near static brain. you let him violate you but you also let him cleanse you. he holds your throat down as he spits in your mouth. you take it because you a good little thing in need of absolvement. toji likes to pretend that the way he is penetrating you is his way of showing you the way to salvation, you are not sure that it is just pretend.

he looks at you with near black eyes as he fucks you hard with a single thrust, burying himself so deep he covers your guts in his sacriligeous release. you reach your peak the same time he does but you realise he wasn't lying when he said he'd show you heaven.

you try to stay firm with your beliefs but the way your eyes see white like you can feel the winds from the pearly gates beconing to enter almost almost makes you change your mind. you've had sex before, you've made yourself cum before, you've thought for the longest time that you had achieved every kind of hedonistic depravity that is there on the planet.

yet, toji's cock nestled deep inside you while you mewled holding on to him, about how he was too big while in missionary stood taller than any sort of experience you thought you had. he kisses your tears away, gently pulling out as you begin to settle into peaceful slumber, mind void of any worries.

you no longer care that you left your home vulnerable to a religious stranger as you fall asleep, last thing you remember is a soft towel cleaning up the remnants of toji's spit and cum.

you wake up early in the morning as sunshine streams in through your blinds, leaving you alone in your empty bed. you get up on wobbly feet to find any sign that the man was ever in your home except for the bruises that covered your skin.

your eyes fall on your wallet thrown across your floor, and you drag your sorry self to pick it up. in place of the money that you had hard earned, you find a single white card with the words — for Our God will not judge the sexually immoral and adulterous and an address on the back.

[decadanceitout]

I'm replaying DA: I and caught myself thinking about stuff.

During "In Hushed Whispers" there is a moment when the Inquisitor realises that the Breach "is everywhere". If you take Solas along, he explains that this is the result of the Veil being shattered, so "there are no boundaries between the worlds".

So this brave new world where the Veil is no more is most likely what we would get in DA: TV had Solas succeeded. I say "most likely" because we don't know how Corypheus did it and how Solas' ritual was supposed to be different, but I gather the outcome would be more or less the same. And of course, Solas knows that tearing the Veil down will lead to global catastrophe, but

he sees this world as a mistake - his mistake - that needs to be undone

Corypheus Fucked Up I Can Do It Better Because I Am The Only One Capable Here. So again, Pride.

I love "Champions of the Just"; it's just as creepy (plus, we have Cole here), but it has more to do with the Inquisitor's inner world (literally). "In Hushed Whispers," on the other hand, is heavily tied to Solas; it's such a great opportunity to put in Solas' shoes (not that he had any back in the Inquisition), to get his perspective, and experience what he's experienced in terms of "what has been done to my world".

I was going to say that Solas' and the Inquisitor's experiences were not entirely similar, because while Solas was in the Uthenera, the world had been changing and adjusting and healing, whereas the Inquisitor was faced with an instant outcome, a fresh wound of a world, but then I realised that it wasn't the case because no matter what Solas had missed, this new world was still a fresh wound for him.

I know it would have been hardcore, but I really would like to see the Big Disaster Ending in DA: TV with Solas tearing the Veil down. What would it look like? A massive demon invasion? People getting possessed all over Thedas? The world shattering ones again because you failed?

What will you do when you realise that you didn't save the old world, but destroyed a new one with everything you've grown to cherish? Who will save you now, Solas?

[mayashesfly]

I know touched on this before in this post and a few others

But it's truly fascinating to me how Alastor and Vox are visualizes as being beside each other instead of being against each other.

In my previous post I already pointed out that these two scenes portray the two as being beside each other but with a definite line between the two of them

And near the end of the song, this pattern still keeps itself until Alastor ended it (we'll touch on that)

An interesting thing at the start of Stayed Gone when Alastor entered the picture is that Alastor, oddly enough, kept his eyes closed at first.

Before he opened them to quite literally, poke fun at Vox

And even "pushed" his boundaries quite literally as Alastor moved the distinct line between them that keeps them separated.

This caused the line between them to quite literally be pushed around

And, while it can't be seen in this screenshot because it's been cropped down below, Alastor's cane has now quite literally crossed that line.

In both of these cases, they haven't actually physically looked at each other in the eyes since this was done through broadcasting instead of an actual physical confrontation together.

It's been merely visualized that way for us the audience.

Also, the distinct line between them is still in place.

However, this pushing around between them have caused that line to be breached as in the next scene briefly

And we see Alastor's eyes dilate.

The scene ends with Vox only being able to successfully reenter the picture/push Alastor away when he's shown to be below him before he surrounded Alastor.

This is interesting since it took Vox two tries of trying to cover up Alastor to successfully take his place.

While Alastor was easily able to reenter the picture all by himself without a struggle and Vox didn't even attempt to push him away anymore.

Note how yet again, Alastor has his eyes closed for the most part while Vox is the only one keeping his eyes open.

Interestingly enough, the line between them is back yet again, even if it moves slightly from the sound of Alastor's voice.

Moreover, the line itself is red now instead of it being a merely separation between red and blue. Showing that, alongside it responding to Alastor's voice, it seems like this line is under Alastor's control.

(I made a previous post before where I think some of the sequence of events that happened in Stayed Gone showcase that Alastor has somehow hijacked the speaker towers and got into Vox's office which is why he knows of Vox's unbroadcasted lines. I didn't notice this red line before but it seems to be a tie in/another possible evidence to that post. However, I won't elaborate on that even more in this post since it's getting quite long.)

All of these things and the way things were visualized makes the audience think that Alastor is more in control. After all, he rather effortlessly moved the line between them around and easily reenters the picture when Vox pushes him away. However, on Vox's side of things he only successfully reenters the picture when he's below Alastor and had to make two attempts so he could successfully cover up Alastor. And even then, Alastor reenters the scene yet again, now with the line between them being in his control.

I can't say for certain what all of this means (Sorry guys, the autism decided to overanalyze that entire scene)

However we'll finally get to the point that made me do write this post in the first place.

The idea that they're visualized as being beside each other even when there's a line between them instead of being visualized as against each other similarly to Alastor and Lucifer.

I already shown the other examples of this from Stayed Gone, so we'll move onto the other examples of this idea.

Canonically, this is the other instance of the two of them being visualized as being beside each other. In the actual photo, they're physically beside each other.

However, just like in Stayed Gone, there is now a line between them since the picture has been quite literally torn apart.

There has also been some speculation that the vacant seat on Rosie's left in the Overlord Meeting is Vox's.

Once again, while Vox and Alastor are beside each other, or well in this case on the same side instead of the opposite, there's a line between them with Rosie.

What exactly is the significance of Alastor and Vox being visualized on the same side instead of opposition? Well, I think this shows how the two of them had previously worked together and maybe even well together since they slotted perfectly together.

Obviously, this doesn't seem to be the case anymore but the visuals of them being beside each other is still there even when there is now a definite line that divides them.

The only times we see Alastor and Vox looking at each other at the opposite side instead of the same side is when there's a screen between them.

But even then it's not shown in the same way as Lucifer and Alastor's as we can only see their faces separately instead of being directly shown at the same time on screen.

This decision of not visualizing the two of them directly being on the opposite side compared to how we physically saw Alastor and Lucifer directly being in opposition is an interesting decision on the team's part.

Only time and Season 2 will tell if this decision to visualize Alastor and Vox as being beside each other with a definite line between them instead of in direct opposition will change or not alongside their current dynamic.

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Where's my unhinged Sun?

And not in a murder, manipulation yandere way.

I mean in a constantly screaming, foot in mouth, horribly passive aggressive, can't hide his emotions crying if a music shaker knocks over kinda way.

This man couldn't manipulate his way out of a paper bag.

His daycare only has ONE rule because he has no boundaries with anything and is just desperate for attention to be on him.

Where's my unhinged Sun?

The Sun that screams at you.

The Sun who, is very forward in his actions about what he wants even if he doesn't explicitly explain himself. (Constantly grabbing Gregory if he moves one foot away from him cus he doesn't want him to find the security desk or turn the lights off or leave his sight)

The Sun that throws children out of the Daycare if they piss him off to literally die.

He has the mental stability of a fainting goat.

I do think these traits are just a result of being abandoned for so long....

But I just think that he's always had these issues. So even if the story takes place before or after the events of Security Breach, I do think he should still exhibit some of those behaviors. Even if to a lesser extent.

I think the idea steamed from, "oh he works with children so he's good at manipulating kids to do what he needs them to do" hahahaha... No he's not. He can't hold Gregory in place for five seconds before he gets ignored and Gregory goes awall. And the messages in the dufflebags claim kids are scared of Sun as well as Moon. It's both of them.

Everytime I see Sun act with some level of level of passive agressive master manipulation like he's Kira or something....

Cool characterization. Appreciate it. Like to see a new side of him cus there's not much to work from in the games.

Not my Daycare Attendent tho.

[tameodesza]

All Good Things Come in Threes

❥ ・ Summary:  Shawn, Hunter, and Bret’s first time as a throuple

❥ ・ a/n: this got long....bleaching my brain after writing this, lol. Smut ahead! AO3. Part of this au

They headed upstairs in a rush, feet landing on carpeted steps in soft thuds. Shawn led the way, each of his hands clasped in Hunter’s and Bret’s as they neared the bedroom. There was an air of excitement, a giddiness that bubbled over into nervous smiles and timid curiosity over the night they would share.  

Hunter was, admittedly, more nervous than the other two. Though they’d been together for months at this point, it’d taken just as long for them to reach a level of intimacy they were all comfortable with – mainly Hunter. Hand holding, cuddling, and sweet kisses had become their happy medium. But Hunter had his reservations when it came to sex.  

It was a conversation they should've had long before tonight. One where they could be completely open about their desires, their needs, and their boundaries. But Hunter had always been the one to put it off, either promising to talk about it later or using the excuse of being too tired from work to talk about it, leading Shawn and Bret to have their own discussions without him. 

In reality, Hunter was buying more time, hoping the idea of a threesome would be put on the backburner. But in the passing months, Bret and Shawn’s attraction grew stronger, touches lingered, and kisses became so passionate they’d have to force themselves apart. When Hunter returned home from work to find the two nearly dry humping each other in the living room, he knew they could no longer ignore the sexual tension that had built. 

Hunter closed the door behind them, unsure on where to begin. The same couldn’t be said for Bret. He was on Shawn as soon as he heard the door click shut, tugging the blond over into a fiery kiss. His tongue breached Shawn’s lips almost too eagerly as their hands impatiently roamed each other's body. 

Bret had teetered on the edge of restraint for far too long. He’d respected the couple’s wishes, agreeing to not have sex until Hunter was ready. But that was no easy feat when Shawn constantly threw himself at him, flirting and teasing Bret until the older man would kiss the breath out of him.  

It became even harder for Bret every time he woke up in the middle of the night, overhearing Shawn and Hunter having sex. He would listen in, Shawn’s moans and Hunter's grunts filling his ears like a soft melody. Judging by Shawn's muffled cries, Hunter must’ve been packing. Bret spent many nights masturbating to the sound of their love making, fantasizing about the day he’d finally have the two of them to himself. 

Hunter stood aside watching their kiss deepen into a sloppy exchange of wet tongues and clashing teeth. Bret’s shameless dominance left him feeling lost and unsure on how the three of them would make this work. Though he and Bret had developed a connection, it was apparent that Shawn was the main prize. And Hunter wasn't interested in having a dick measuring contest. Literally. 

Hunter approached Shawn from behind, placing a possessive hand on his hips. Shawn tore away from Bret with a smile, angling his neck to find Hunter’s lips. They met in a tender kiss, slower and gentler than what he and Bret shared. But Shawn knew it was what Hunter needed – a soft reminder that he wanted this with the both of them. 

Bret kissed Shawn's neck, sucking hard enough to leave his mark. He rolled his hips forward, pressing against the tent in Shawn's. A light moan rumbled in Shawn’s throat at the pressure. He broke away from Hunter with a quiet gasp as he grinded against Bret. Hunter dipped his head into the blond’s shoulder as Shawn’s ass simultaneously pressed on his dick.  

The three of them moaned in unison, their bodies writhing in sync. Shawn gave a slack smile, relishing in being sandwiched between his beefy men. He’d had far too many wet dreams thinking of this moment. Now that it’s here, he was going to savor every bit of it.  

Bret nipped at Shawn’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. The blond pressed harder against him, earning a low grunt from Bret. “You’re a needy little thing, aren't you?” 

Shawn smirked. “You're catching on.”  

Bret glanced over Shawn’s shoulder, meeting Hunter’s eyes. He gave a lopsided smile before placing a light hand on the back of Hunter’s neck. Hunter’s shoulders relaxed at the touch and Bret tugged him forward into a light kiss. The invisible barrier between them fell as they melted into a kiss that held so much meaning. It was a silent truce, a mutual understanding that they weren’t enemies fighting over territory. They were allies, united in their love for Shawn.  

The soft kiss soon turned heated when Bret’s tongue slipped past Hunter’s lips, mouths mashing together and pulling apart just to meet again. Shawn’s dick twitched as the sound of their wet smooches hit his ears. There was nothing hotter than seeing his burly men tonguing each other down, and Shawn craved to be a part of it.  

He drew himself closer until he made his way in, lips merging to form a three-way kiss. It was a hot and heavy blend of clashing tongues, groping hands, and warm mouths greedily latching onto each other. Things quickly escalated as they tugged at loose fabric, shedding their clothes layer by layer. Hunter was down to his boxer briefs when he felt a firm hand press against the outline of his cock. He was sure the bold move came from Shawn, but was surprised when he looked up to see Bret. 

“Knew you were a big boy.” Bret's lustful eyes traveled to Hunter’s bare chest. “Nice pair of tits, too.” 

Hunter went red as Bret shamelessly ogled over his body. Now, Hunter wasn’t a modest man. But when it came to sex, he was a man of few words. He and Shawn let their bodies do the talking, dirty talk spewed sparingly in the throes of passion. But Bret was vocal, unafraid to spill the filthy thoughts on his mind. 

Bret’s vulgarity seemed to encourage Shawn to voice his own dirty thoughts. He said with a hint of pride, “Just wait until you see what that big dick can do.” 

Hunter felt like an item on display, flattered yet flustered at their attention. Even more so when he dropped his boxers and their eyes went straight between his legs.  

Bret gave a nod of approval, turning to Shawn with a knowing look. “Ready?” Shawn nodded, and Bret gave him a sweet peck, whispering, “Good. Let me know if it’s too much. Just like we talked about.” 

At that, Bret’s soft demeanor hardened as he backed away with a darkening expression. “On your knees.” 

Hunter was taken aback by the change in tone. Shawn nodded obediently before lowering himself to the ground. Hunter watched in awe, surprised yet somewhat fascinated at seeing the roles reversed. He usually followed Shawn’s lead, allowing the blond to call the shots in the bedroom. But with the addition of Bret, there seemed to be a clear shift in power dynamics.  

Bret loomed over Shawn, fingers treading through soft blond hair. “Good boy.” 

A smile reached Shawn as he perked up at the praise. His eyes flitted between Bret and Hunter’s cocks, eager to please. Bret caressed Shawn’s cheek before rubbing a thumb against Shawn’s lips.  

“Nice and plump,” he noted. He pushed against Shawn’s mouth and the blond opened, giving Bret’s thumb an experimental lick before sucking on it. Bret let out a shaky breath. “Hunter, you’re one lucky man.” 

Hunter barely heard his name, too enthralled in what was happening. “We both are.” 

Shawn bobbed his head on Bret’s thumb, deepthroating it to give Bret a show. Bret exhaled, “Such a tease.” He removed his thumb, placing his hand at the base of his cock to slowly stroking himself. “How about you show us how good that mouth is.” 

Shawn inched towards Bret, eyeing the bead of pre come shining at the tip of his cock. “Ah, ah,” Bret stopped him. “Where are your manners? Hubby first.” 

Shawn looked up at Hunter with a seductive grin, low-lidded eyes locked on his husband as he grabbed ahold of his cock. Shawn licked the tip, lapping his tongue at the head before taking Hunter into his mouth. He moaned along the shaft, feeling Hunter fully harden against his tongue. He took in as much as he could, only stopping when he felt Hunter hit the back of his throat. 

Hunter shut his eyes, dipping his head back in a low groan. “Oh, Shawn. Yes, baby. Oh, yeah.” 

Bret flashed an impressed grin. “Good job. But you barely fit. Seems like you could use some help.” 

Bret suddenly gripped at Shawn’s scalp, forcing the blond sink lower than he’d ever been. Hunter’s eyes shot open at the wave of pleasure that rushed through his body. He looked at Shawn, concern slowly rising at seeing the tears collecting in Shawn’s eyes as he gagged on his cock.  

Bret held Shawn’s head down for a few seconds before yanking him off. Shawn coughed uncontrollably, struggling to catch his breath as spit dripped from his lips. Before Hunter could check on him, Shawn was on him again, vigorously sucking his dick while stroking the rest of the way with his hands. 

“Oh, god,” Hunter strained, his expression contorted in unbelievable pleasure.  

Shawn had always been great at sucking dick, but Hunter had never experienced it this intensely. Shawn moved like he had a purpose, like he had something to prove. And maybe he did with Bret being his audience. 

“That a boy,” Bret encouraged. “Such a good little cock whore.” 

Bret tapped his dick against Shawn’s cheek, signaling the blond to give Hunter a break. Shawn slid off Hunter, eyes locked on Bret’s as he took in the man’s girthy dick. He expertly hallowed his cheeks, brows furrowed as he moved down Bret’s shaft until he was nose-deep in thick pubic hair. 

Bret groaned deeply, toes curling into the carpet. His hand flew to the back of Shawn’s head, tugging on the blond’s hair to guide him up and down his shaft. “Fuck yeah. Keep that up. Suck it just like that. Fuck.” 

Hunter swallowed thickly, aroused at the lewd display. It should have felt shameful, degrading even, to watch his husband suck off another man. But there was no denying how erotic it was. How perfect Shawn looked on his knees. How Bret’s veiny cock fit perfectly in his mouth. How Shawn took him with ease. How Bret’s abs tightened with every tug of Shawn’s lips. How tantalizing it looked as sweat dangled at Bret's man’s chin before dropping and trickling down his tan chest. 

Hunter was starting to see Bret in a different light. It was no secret by now that he was attracted to the man. But the insatiable hunger that stirred inside of him far surpassed attraction – he lusted for him. 

Hunter cupped Bret's face, smashing their lips together into a rough kiss. Bret moaned against his lips as he thrusted his dick into Shawn's mouth. Shawn gave a long hard suck before pulling off and going back to Hunter’s cock. He kept this up, taking turns sucking off Bret and Hunter until he got the bright idea to put both of their cocks in his mouth. Their sensitive tips bumped against the other trying to fit in Shawn’s wet cavern, sending a shiver down both of their spines. 

Bret instinctively bucked into the blond’s mouth, causing Hunter to groan at the friction. “We’re gonna have our way with you tonight.” Bret grunted. “That’s what you want, huh? You want us to fill you up?”  

Shawn nodded urgently, pulling off their cocks to answer, “Yes. Please.” 

“Good. Because we’re gonna fuck you so hard, so won’t be able to walk in the morning.” 

Shawn wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a promise, but either option excited him. 

They moved to the bed, Bret lying flat on his back as he guided Shawn to squat over his face. “Bring your sexy ass here.” 

Shawn placed his feet on either side of Bret’s head, setting his hands on the headboard to help support his weight. Bret raised his hands to rub at Shawn’s soft mounds, spreading his cheeks. A tremble rippled through Shawn as Bret’s tongue swiped along his ass. Bret got his entrance nice and wet before inserting a finger to stretch him open.  

Hunter sat at the other end of the bed, curiosity in his eyes as he looked at Bret’s fully erect cock. He gripped the base, giving it a few slow strokes before wrapping his mouth around him. 

Bret groaned deeply, his mouth vibrating against Shawn’s ass. “Shit, Hunter. Holy fuck.”  

Shawn looked over his shoulder, watching Hunter bob his head on Bret’s cock. He suddenly threw his head back, gasping when Bret inserted another finger. He gripped the headboard tighter, grinding his hips down onto Bret’s face. 

Their foreplay seemed to stretch on in agony, Shawn becoming more desperate with each passing second. He’d basically been fucking himself, riding Bret’s tongue to hit a certain spot Bret knew he was searching for. Bret felt the tension rising in Shawn’s body, and tapped his leg, signaling him to get up.  

“Hands and knees.” Bret slid off the bed, a smug look in his eye as Shawn raced to get on all fours. He stood in front of Shawn, telling Hunter, “He’s all yours.” 

Hunter lubed up his fingers, a bit more cautious than Bret when it came to prep. Shawn shivered, nerves high in anticipation. Bret lowered himself, kissing the blond as Hunter further stretched him open. Shawn broke from the kiss with a sharp intake when Hunter’s cock pricked his entrance.  

Bret softly shushed him. “Shh, you can take it. You know you can. Let your hubby fill that tiny hole. There you go. Such a good boy. You’re taking his dick so well, baby.” 

Shawn whimpered in return, Bret’s filthy praises riling him up. Hunter kept his pace slow and even to loosen up Shawn. When Shawn became more comfortable, he clenched around Hunter’s cock, tugging the skin in a way that tested Hunter’s restraint.  

Hunter tightened his grip on Shawn’s waist. “Fuck, Shawn. Ah, yeah. Baby, that feels good.” 

Bret watched from the sidelines, lazily pumping his dick as Hunter’s thrusts quickened. “Fuck him just like that, Hunter. Make him forget his own name.”  

That’s exactly what Hunter had done, his pace building until he was pounding into the blond. His balls slapped rapidly against Shawn’s skin, reddening his ass on each stroke. Shawn was nearly in tears, moans pouring from his mouth as heat pooled in his stomach. He lowered himself, pressing his chest flat against the sheets, arching his ass high as Hunter continued to fuck him.  

A cry broke from Shawn when Bret reached between his legs to stroke his flopping cock. His breathing quickened, incoherent noises pouring from his mouth at the overstimulation.  

“There you go, baby. Take that fucking dick,” Bret egged him on. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?” 

Shawn gave a pathetic nod, not able to form a sentence. Bret held his gaze until he saw that starry look in his eyes. The blond was right on the edge of where he wanted him.  

Bret suddenly pulled his hand away from Shawn. “Stop,” he told Hunter. 

Hunter’s hip stuttered, his pace slowing to weak thrusts that had Shawn whining for more. He breathed heavily, his face twisted in confusion and a hint of frustration. “What the hell, man?”  

Bret held his hands out defensively, sensing Hunter’s annoyance. “Trust me.” 

Hunter gave an exasperated sigh before pulling out. Shawn shuddered at the loss, whimpering lightly as Bret brushed his hair away from his sweaty face. “You wanna come?” 

Shawn perked, his eyes slightly glazed over. “Yes...please. I-I need it.” 

Bret kissed his temple, whispering. “You’ve gotta earn it. Be a good boy, and don’t come until I say so. Understood?” 

Bret waited until Shawn nodded before standing. He met Hunter’s questioning eyes with a coy smile, motioning for him to continue.  

Hunter had so many questions, but now wasn’t the time to ask. He entered Shawn again, picking up where they left off. Bret sighed contently, stroking himself as he watched Shawn’s arousal build up again. He tapped his dick on Shawn’s lips.  

“Open up.” 

Shawn leveled himself on his elbows before opening his mouth. At the sight of his pink tongue, Bret drove his dick inside. A deep groan left his lips, Hunter’s powerful thrusts pushing Shawn deeper onto his cock. Bret combed his fingers through Shawn’s hair, pulling it back into a ponytail before holding his head in place and skull-fucking him. Shawn's jaw went slack, bringing Bret deeper into his mouth. 

Shawn was trapped. There was nowhere to escape as his body was used like a sex doll. It felt almost demeaning, like he was a piece of property, a mere toy meant to be shared between Bret and Hunter. Yet, he loved every second of it. 

Shawn’s squelching filled the air as Bret rammed into his mouth. Spit dribbled from his lips, coating Bret’s dick in a thick layer before leaking down his chin, darkening the sheets below him. Bret suddenly shoved Shawn’s head all the way down, not letting up until he felt Shawn tap his leg. He pulled the blond off, a string of saliva connecting his dick to Shawn’s lips. 

Bret gave Shawn a ferocious kiss, tasting his dick on the blond’s tongue. “Ready to tap?” 

The simple question was Bret’s way of checking in, giving Shawn an opportunity to back out while they were ahead. It was hard to think clearly with Hunter still fucking him, but Shawn knew he didn’t want this feeling to stop.  

Instead of responding, he reached for Bret’s dick, opening his mouth in a silent plea for more. Bret flashed a wicked grin before plunging his dick into Shawn’s mouth, fucking his face mercilessly. After gagging Shawn once more, Bret pulled back, lightly slapping the blond’s cheek. “Ah, that’s so fucking good. You like sucking dick, don’t you?Huh, slut?” 

Hunter’s slowed his hips, worry etched onto his face. Though he’d been drowning in his own pleasure, he’d kept a watchful eye on the two, noticing Bret get increasingly rough with Shawn. His mind screamed at him to intervene, to stop it from escalating. He needed to tell Bret to dial it back, to inform him and he and Shawn didn’t operate that way. But he was held back by Shawn’s reaction, the blond seeming unphased, even begging for it like this was exactly what he wanted. 

Hunter tucked it away for a later conversation, his thoughts getting foggy the moment Shawn threw his ass back.  Bret pulled from Shawn’s mouth, watching closely as the blond neared his end before ripping it away again. Shawn had been on the brink of climaxing multiple times that night, just to be denied the luxury of coming. Hunter didn’t understand it initially. But it began to make sense as Shawn grew needier after each denial, more desperate to please his men until they found him worthy enough to come.  

Hunter’s back arched against the sheets as Shawn bounced on his cock, riding him so hard he thought he saw stars. Hunter had half the mind to tell Shawn to ease up, but Shawn showed no signs of stopping as Bret’s words echoed in his mind: ‘Don’t stop until he comes.’ 

That wouldn’t be long for Hunter, climax rising as Bret’s sucked on his balls. “Ah, shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, Shawn. Baby, I’m-”  

As Hunter neared his climax, he brought a hand to Shawn’s dick, pumping it rapidly until Shawn came harder than he had in quite some time, sheets of white landing on Hunter’s chest in quick spurts. Hunter spilled a heavy load in Shawn, balls twitching against Bret’s tongue as he came. Shawn flopped onto Hunter’s chest, their heartbeats beating in tandem as they came down from their high. 

Bret rose up, kneeling behind Shawn as he tutted, “Oh, Shawn. You naughty boy. I told you not to come. Looks like I’ll have to teach you a lesson.” 

Shawn was out of it, barely registering Bret’s voice. Bret roughly lifted Shawn’s hips, the blond hissing as Bret slid him off of Hunter’s cock. Suddenly, Bret plunged into the blond’s ass that was slick with Hunter’s come. High pitched moans left Shawn as Bret slammed directly on his abused prostate, fucking him through his aftershock.  

Shawn looked to Hunter in a silent cry, brows drawn as waves of intense pleasure crashed on him over and over again. Hunter brought Shawn’s forehead to his. “I’ve got you, baby,” Hunter reassured. "I’ve got you.” 

Shawn was abruptly pulled away when Bret lifted him up by the hair, arching the blond’s back as he continued to drill into him. He raised a hand to grip Shawn’s face, forcing him to look at Hunter.  

Bret growled, “Look at him. Tell him how good I’m fucking you.” 

Shawn breathed quick short breaths, body shaking in sensory overload. “Hunter, it...it feels so good, baby...He’s fucking me so good. Oh, Bret, fuck me. Fuck! Bret! AH!”  

Hunter watched from below conflicted, insecurities creeping up as lust no longer clouded his mind. It was weird. He was fine watching Shawn kiss Bret. Even fine seeing him give Bret a blowjob. But watching him get fucked by Bret, watching him call out another man’s name, felt...odd. As for why his mind seemed to draw the line at fucking, Hunter had no idea. But he pushed the feeling aside, not wanting to ruin their moment.  

Bret wrapped a tight hand around Shawn’s neck, lightly choking him until strained breaths barely escaped. Shawn’s eyes rolled up in pleasure, eyes watering at how good he felt. Bret then loosened his grip, breath returning to the blond right before he came. His loud cries carried through their home as streaks of white decorated Hunter’s chest yet again. Bret came not too long after, filling Shawn’s ass until it overflowed with his and Hunter’s come. 

Bret slowly pulled out and rolled onto his side with deep breaths, barely able to function. Shawn dropped down onto Hunter’s chest, completely spent. Hunter held Shawn’s trembling body close, whispering sweet nothings in his ear to help him calm down. Bret joined him, throwing a supportive arm around Shawn’s waist. 

Bret whispered, “We’re done, Shawn. It’s ok. It’s over. You were so good, baby.” He placed a delicate kiss on Shawn’s temple, watching his eyes flutter at the touch. 

Hunter scratched gently as Shawn’s scalp. “We’re here for you, baby. Not going anywhere.”  

Shawn snuggled into Hunter’s chest before reaching to bring Bret closer. Bret scooted over, and Shawn sighed at the warmth of his body. Bret and Hunter glanced at each other, their expressions timid until Bret gave a small smile. 

Hunter’s lips slowly curved, beckoning Bret closer for a quick peck. The kiss was reassuring, their respect for each other still standing. Despite Hunter’s conflicting emotions, there was no one else he’d rather share Shawn with than Bret. They shifted so that Shawn was in between them, smothered in their arms. 

Aftercare had been long and tedious, Bret and Hunter taking the time to dote on Shawn hand and foot. They were a team, their soft touches and hushed voices meeting every need to remind Shawn that he was cared for.  

After a nice warm shower, they crawled into bed, Bret being the first to tap out for the night. ‘Guess my ass put him to sleep,’ had been Shawn’s conclusion. He was joking, but Hunter wouldn’t have been surprised if that were the case. 

Hunter stroked a thumb along Shawn’s cheek, a fond look in their eyes as they basked in the quiet moment. Shawn’s eyes fluttered with every stroke, sleep soon calling his name. As he began to drift, he softly whispered, “Thank you, Hunter.” 

A faint smile tugged at Hunter’s lips. “Hmm? For what?” 

“Everything. For tonight. I know we’re still new at this and haven't figured everything out yet. But thank you...for trying.” 

Hunter exhaled as he brushed light fingers over the bruises Bret left on Shawn’s neck. He contemplated voicing his concerns, the thoughts he’d shoved away all night slowly coming to surface. He wanted to know why Shawn let Bret manhandle him the way he did. To point out that Shawn had never been that way when it was just the two of them. To question if there were any other hidden desires Shawn craved that he didn’t know about. 

But the serenity on Shawn’s expression, the peace and contentment that radiated off of the blond stopped him. Now wasn’t the time for hard-hitting questions. That would come another day. 

“Anything for you, babe.” Hunter leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Shawn’s lips. “Get some rest, ok?’ 

“Ok,” Shawn yawned, closing his eyes. But he opened them again at a passing thought. “Oh, one more thing.” 

"What is it, sweetheart?” 

“Bret wants to fuck you. Well, actually, he wants you to fuck him.”  

Hunter’s eyes went as wide as flying saucers, stammering his words in fluster. “I- wha- what?” 

Shawn shushed him, looking back to see that Bret was still asleep. He quietly snickered, “Why are you so surprised?” 

“I-I just, I didn't know he felt that way.” 

“He was too shy to tell you. I believe his words were,” he cleared his throat to give his best Bret impression. “‘I want to see what that big dick can do to me, next.’” 

“...and you’re ok with this?” 

“Of course. It’d be selfish of me to keep your dick all to myself.” Hunter blinked as if he were having a computer error, earning another giggle from Shawn. “Just think about it. No pressure.” 

“Ok. Ok, yeah. We’ll see.” 

Little did Hunter know, Shawn was already imagining how hot it’d be seeing his beast of a husband fucking his hunky boyfriend. And Shawn intended on having a front row seat.

[jeanbie]

WORDLESS #5 ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

genre: sugar daddy & contract killer au | warnings: implied violence, establishing feelings, mentions/references to john wick & the continental | wc: 6.8k

note: who expected me to actually finish this? (answer: no one) i'm so glad that i got to finish "wordless" and put these two losers in a place they deserve to be in! this chapter is the finale and also almost entirely from levi's pov, and this one flows in a chronological order :)

★ ch1. ch2. ch3. ch4. ch5

⏤ Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Levi over the edge if he hears them again. But maybe he's ready now.

(41) Giving them space when they express wanting to have some time alone.

It’s been a hot second since Levi saw you — and it’s killing him more than he’d care to admit.

Since the blow up in the shower over girls he wasn’t fucking in the first place, Levi hasn’t heard from you, and he hasn’t made much of an effort to reach out either.

Why did he even lie? There was no benefit from telling you he was seeing other girls; the only reason he said that so often was to manage the healthy boundaries between you, to remind you not to get too close, to remind himself that being with you is a risk.

Not that pushing you away has made his life any easier. On the contrary, he thinks it’s made everything worse.

It is almost dehumanising to admit it to himself, but he misses you. Since your rather unconventional first meet — which was a far cry from any ‘meet cute’ that normal situationships had — Levi has been telling himself that the circumstances surrounding you being in his life were unique at best, and that you weren’t permanent.

But now, he lives his life around a ghost of your body, making room for you in his home, making time out of his schedule, making arrangements to keep you happy. 

Okay. Maybe it’s a little bit too late to acknowledge the feelings he has for you. Levi knows they’re there — he’s not an idiot. But making those feelings real is something he just can’t afford to do. Not yet. Not while there’s too much going on in his life.

Still, he stares longingly at the door every night when he staggers back home, as if hoping you might take him by surprise and crawl back into his arms. Not that you do, at least not for a while; not until Levi grows fed up of waiting and finds you first.

But for now, he’ll grant you he space that you need, the space you deserve. And in the meantime, he’ll try and make peace with the waging war in his head.

(42) Holding their hand while walking, even if there isn’t a crowd.

“This is nice.”

The neighbourhood Levi now lives in is much smaller than the last one. It pales in comparison to the condo it took forever to finally move out of, but having consistent security breaches just for a tiring view of the river didn’t feel worth it for Levi anymore. It made no difference to him if the apartment he all but owns for you is much farther away — you’re barely ever there, anyway.

Since putting his angst to rest, and since making it known to you that you’re quite literally the only woman he likes enough to keep buying houses for and invite over, things have been calm between you.

There’s still a strange unspoken thing, the remains of an agreement made out of convenience so long ago, to feed both the lust and pride Levi wanted and the safety you craved; but in general, Levi acknowledges that what he has with you right now feels like the closest thing he’s had to a partner in a long, long time.

Levi looks over at you, feeling your hand tighten in his as you cross a cute little park covered in flowery bushes and beds of tulips. 

“I’m glad my neighbourhood has your stamp of approval,” he replies, tightening his fingers around yours before pulling up slightly to stuff your joined hands into his pocket. Though it’s spring now, there’s still a bite in the air, a chill that Levi is determined to shelter you from.

“Technically,” you start, and Levi can predict, like a robot, what you’ll say next, and mouths the words as they fall from your lips, “it’s mine, too.” Your eyes turn piercing as you scowl at him, “Hey! Don’t…predictive text me.”

“Then stop being so predictable.”

“I think we spend too much time together,” you mutter, looking back at the flowerbed you’re currently passing by.

Levi scoffs to himself and playfully scratches a nail against the hand lodged in his pocket.

“Then go away,” he says. No chance, is what runs through his head, and the coy smile you flash him is as equally predictable as the word he knows you’ll say next, starting with n and ending in o.

(43) Holding shopping bags that are too heavy for them.

Ever since Levi figured out how to share locations, he’s become obsessed with watching you move around on the map on his phone. Numerous times, he’s slipped up on spending hours watching your little circle move, sometimes not even moving at all.

If you had any complaints, he hasn’t heard them, though he very much doubts that you’ll complain in the future now that his stalking has worked out in your favour.

You might have initially thought that bumping into Levi outside the supermarket was a rather delightful coincidence — that was until he moved across the city, and has no real business in your area unless it concerns you.

“Perfect timing,” you say once you see him crossing the small car park in your direction. He has half a mind to pretend he hasn’t seen you and keep walking, but watching you struggle with your shopping is painful enough.

He grunts, reaching for the bag that is squeezing the blood from your fingers. “Don’t get proud about it.”

Sniggering, you happily let Levi grab the overweight bags and fall into an even step beside him. 

“Why do you have so much stuff?” Levi huffs. To be fair, the bags aren’t that heavy, but he can’t see any reason for you to have bought so much considering you live at his house more often than you do your own. “You gonna share this shit?”

“If you want,” you reply. “You paid for it.”

His tongue clicks. Levi hasn’t paid you a penny since he last felt guilty about the fact he rarely paid you, despite that being the very foundation of your relationship in the first place, but even with what he paid you and hasn’t since that point, he knows your bank account is more than comfortable. Paying for all of this has barely made a dent, but that’s what the money’s there for.

He makes his way to his car pulled up outside the car park turning in a layby and struggles in his pocket for his keys.

“I live five minutes away,” you remind him, steps slowing. 

“No, you just said you’d share it, so we're going to mine.”

With a sigh, you’re left with no other choice but to follow him to his car. “You know, the romance of you carrying my bags is lost now you’ve only walked it to the car.”

Before he pops open the boot of the car, he turns to you and sneers, “You want me to walk back and let you do it yourself?”

There’s no argument to be had. You get into the car.

(44) Standing between them and a busy road.

Habits. Levi hates to keep track of how many he’s developed since you entered his life almost two years ago. Time has gone by so quickly since the day he first met you, in the worst way possible, but since then, he’s transformed into a whole new person, a whole new paranoid man who overthinks everything because there’s no other option.

His habits as of late include worrying about you whenever you’re not around — whenever he’s at work, he’ll think of you. Whenever he’s in a different city or country, Levi will obsessively worry over what you might be doing, who might be on your trail, scenting your every move while you’re vulnerable. Another habit includes feeling like an overbearing parent even when he’s in the same five mile radius, but at least he’s self aware of it.

If you’ve noticed Levi becoming more clingy, less like who he swore he’d never change from, you haven’t mentioned it yet. Perhaps a small mercy to save him the mortifying task of admitting that he has feelings stored away for you. 

Today, Levi has fallen victim to his habits of worry and has walked himself all the way to your university just to walk you all the way back home. His home, not yours. In a sense, your home, too. In an unspoken way.

Levi stands waiting for you in the overhang, gaze trained on the thick grey sky until he hears your class file out of the building in a chatter. Sasha is who he sees first, followed by another one of your friends he’s never met but has seen on Instagram once or twice, and then he sees you, looking thankfully in good spirits, and all too beautiful for your own good.

When you see him standing with his hands in his pockets, he allows himself the pleasure of pride when you break away from your friends just to join him, the smile on your face so genuine and radiant that he has to scoff in amusement.

“Hey, you,” you call, falling into his arms. 

“Hey, yourself.”

“I didn’t know you were coming today,” you confess, pulling away to stare curiously at his withdrawn expression. Levi is already twisting an arm around your waist to walk you down the step and across the lawn. “I told Sasha I’d go to her café and wait for her shift to end. Didn’t you have that thing today?”

“What thing?” he mutters.

“The thing with Erwin. And some deadbeat called George, or something.”

“How many Korean men do you know named George?” Levi deadpans, though his arm does tighten around you in caution. “You shouldn’t even know about that. How do you even know?”

The busy road widens into view as you leave the closed campus. Levi’s pretty much counting the days before you graduate and never have to come here again, and the time is passing strangely slow in that department. It feels like it’s been ages since you enrolled, and he wants nothing more than for you to leave and become the greatest journalist in the world — or whatever it is you even want to do when you’re done. 

As you walk, you lean into Levi’s side, furthering the distance between yourself and the road bustling with cars and buses. He frowns.

One of your habits since the accident on the bridge with your family had been to avoid busy roads, as if convinced something might happen again. You’ve told him numerous times that it’s irrational, but Levi doesn’t think so. It’s a very normal thing to feel afraid of everything, even when those things are a little on the unrealistic side.

Naturally, it results in Levi sliding his arm from around your waist and replacing it with his other one, positioning himself between you and the chaotic lines of commuting cars going home.

His heart flips when you smile at him for it, linking your arm around his while moving your waist out of his grip. Levi tries not to let it get to his head how much you trust him, how much he cares for you. But by the minute, he’s losing the will to keep it hidden.

(45) Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb.

Back to habits, there are some that Levi has that he’s not particularly as proud of. But, as expected, you’re as good as it gets, and any habit he thinks he might have gotten away with hiding, somehow you pick up on it.

Levi flicks through a blueprint laying flat over his kitchen table, his hands nervously drumming the edge of the tabletop as he tries to memorise the elaborate labyrinth of a building he’ll be breaking into later to find his next hit. Usually, Levi has you at his home before and just after taking a job, just to eliminate the threat of you being hurt as a punishment. 

He wishes that the company gave you unrestricted entry and protection without him being there to clear it, but in order for that privilege, Levi needed to address you as his partner, which just felt like an even larger target on your head. So, he settles for his home, though the worry does not cease.

This building is riddled with passageways and vaults, basement levels with so many access points that studying them feels intense. One wrong recollection could come at the cost of his life, and at the minute, his life has increased in value. Things are finally going right for him, it would be a shame to have it all taken away from him again.

A text from Erwin sounds next to him, and Levi all but glances at the screen to see what’s happening. All assistance available should he need it — he almost sighs with relief at the words.

In the past, Levi had thought he could never work in cohorts with other hitmen, but becoming partners with Erwin and his henchmen has been working in his favour. 

Still, it doesn’t hurt to learn the layout off by heart. So, Levi pours himself over the blueprints and maps, memorising every detail, becoming so engrossed in it that he barely even hears you letting yourself inside of his apartment.

Your shoes hit the wall with a noise that makes him suddenly aware of your arrival, and he glances up to see you peeking into the kitchen, eyes scanning the room for any unfortunate signs of Elio before you approach him.

He notices the street market bag and inhales the smell of spice before looking back at the maps. “Hope you’re gonna share that.”

“Of course,” you reply, offended he even thought you might not. You place the container of tteokbokki on the table before sliding around to his side, eyes glued to the rolls of paper. “Where’s this?”

“Less you know, the better,” he mutters, leaning his head into your mouth as you kiss his jaw. 

For a while, you say nothing, letting Levi memorise what he needs to while you assess the prints for yourself. Eventually, you shift your hand over his and squeeze, making him glance at you sideways. 

You’re looking at him already, though you can’t see his eyes from the way he’s hunched over. Spotting Levi’s signs of anxiety must be incredibly easy, because somehow you’ve caught on, and begin to rub the back of his hand with your thumb, nose pressed into his bicep. 

“Come eat,” you suggest quietly, after a while of basking in the silence with him.

He grunts, a typical Levi sound, and nudges you away. Though, you only shuffle to the drawer to fetch two forks — forks! He scoffs, rolling his shoulders as he rounds the table to take one from your fingers. 

“Easier to stab with a fork,” you offer as an explanation.

“If my mother was here to see me eating tteokbokki with a fork, she’d lose her goddamn mind.”

“Well…” You start, trailing off after a moment. You’ve got nothing to say; he’s won the argument just by bringing Kuchel up, and both of you know it.

Scowling, you stab another wedge of tteok and chew it furiously, meanwhile Levi smirks to himself, victorious.

(46) Giving them a back massage when they flop on the couch or bed.

“I need to retire. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“No way. How old are you now, like, twenty eight?”

“…I’m thirty.”

“Best looking thirty year old I’ve ever seen. Roll over, I’ll massage your back, if you want?”

If he ever refuses a massage from you, he’s an idiot.

Levi rolls over ungraciously, hitting the mattress on his stomach with a low groan. He rolls his shoulders, the bones cracking comically loud, and as you shuffle up to straddle his back, he groans again.

“Oh fuck off, I’m not heavy.”

Levi sniggers into the pillow, though as soon as your hands start to work their magic, he moans, the pleasure instantaneous. 

“Make a house back there, if you want. Just don’t stop.”

(47) Staying up half the night to finish a game with them.

“I can’t do it if you’re not here, Levi. You need to get over here.”

“Do you not see that I’m trying?”

“You’re terrible at this game.”

Levi scoffs. He wouldn’t be so terrible if he actually knew how to play properly. His character begins to run in circles without him even asking him to, and Levi growls angrily.

“Fucks sake, this bitch is pissing me off.” Then, he wrangles the controller from your hands as you protest and says, “You be him instead.”

“But I don’t want to be Cody.”

“Me neither.”

As soon as you start moving little Cody around, Levi peers in scrutiny at the controller in your hand and how it so suddenly has stopped drifting on its own. There’s a circular dent in your inner cheek where your tongue is, and Levi scowls in your direction.

“You were sabotaging me,” he accuses, eyes focused back on May as she stumbles around uncoordinatedly.

“I think you’re just really bad,” you reply. Cody is moving fine, and finally, the mechanism moves and the story can progress. Hm.

Levi’s eyes bore into yours as you shift to face him, elbows snug in the blanket bundled around you both. Levi has been laying low for around two weeks now — he’s surprised with just how much he likes not having to work. Though, there have been a few times whilst playing this infuriating game where Levi has wished to be anywhere else. 

“You’re good at a lot of things,” you tell him sincerely, “but just not games. And that’s okay. You tried.”

“I’m good at games,” he replies, offended.

You raise your eyebrows, “Like what?”

“Your animal living game.”

“Animal Crossing?”

“Sure, that too.”

All Levi has ever done on Animal Crossing is make a character and proceed to hit everybody with his fishing net, not to mention dig holes around your front door so you can’t get out. Still, you say nothing — the look of disbelief speaks volumes to Levi and he rolls his eyes, turning back to May as she wanders off to the side of the screen and falls off.

Okay. He’s bad at games. That he’ll admit. But you like it, and by the time he’s gotten the hang of the controls, it’s already four in the morning.

(48) Getting them a coffee just the way they like it.

Remember those habits?

“You remembered!”

If not just to see your smile, Levi likes to bring you one of the expensive bags of coffee from Erwin’s studio. You could quite easily buy the bags yourself, but there’s no thrill in ordering something and having it arrive in due time, not like there is in making Levi steal three at a time as he leaves a meeting or training session.

Levi sets the bags with a loud thud by the coffee machine and hums. 

“And you got me a drink!”

Yes. He has also become a barista and familiarised himself with the exact way you like to drink your coffee. The takeout cup he also borrowed from Erwin is placed down by your laptop as you relentlessly type away at an assignment at Levi’s kitchen table, and he presses a kiss to your temple and mutters under his breath.

“Thanks, babe,” you say, already sipping at the steamy contents.

“It’s hot,” he points out. “You’ll only cry when you singe all your taste-buds off.”

“I will not—” You slurp, then hiss, “Ow!”

“I warned you.”

(49) Buying them a special treat when you go out shopping.

You know what? No. Levi has given up on pretending like he doesn’t enjoy you being in his grill all day, every day, which is the reasoning for why he ends up in an expensive jewellery store with Erwin one day after a long haul of inspecting an upcoming raid location.

In all honesty, Levi wants to put his work to rest once the raid is all over. It will be their riskiest ploy to date, and quite frankly, Levi’s tired. He’s been killing people for years, cutting at the humanity he has left, and back in the day he would have been very comfortable with being a monster, killing until he was killed.

But now he had you. Now, Levi had someone to care about, so deeply and so passionately that it often left him feeling sick.

“That’s called love, Levi,” is what Erwin had said when Levi chose the rare option of opening up when he tried to explain why he wanted to retire early. 

“Love,” he scoffed. But then Erwin had said something profoundly wholesome, leaving Levi with a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You’re not unloveable just because you loved nothing for so long. I know it took you awhile to get back to where you are now, but just because love went wrong once before doesn’t mean it has to again. Besides, almost two years of your bullshit and that woman is still there — I don’t think you need to be worried about her pulling away from you once you tell her how you feel.”

Which roughly translated to: Buy her something nice and quash until you can’t any longer.

Once Levi gets home, he hears you giggling at something and finds you with a book over your face, your legs kicking as you squeal like a goblin. His face twists and he asks, “That book got jokes in it, or something?”

You peer around the spine and look at him. “They kissed. They. Kissed!”

“Who kissed?” Levi makes his way to the couch and takes a seat where you were just lying down. The cushions are warm — you’ve been here a while, and the thought makes him smile. 

“Evangeline and Jacks. It’s all so perfect. I didn't like most of the book, but what matters is that they kissed,” you tell him, a little too excited. You plant your feet in Levi’s lap. “I love love, Levi. It is the greatest. I love books. Men written by women!”

“Why are you giggling over other men in my own house?” 

“I giggle over you when you’re not around, too.”

He hums once from the back of his throat, watching as you mark the page with your bookmark and close the book before crawling into his lap and curling into his arms. He welcomes you instinctively, the blocky shape of the ring he bought in his pocket.

After smooching your lips for a long fifteen minutes, Levi pulls away and reaches for the box. “Got something for you.”

“Ooh, show me!”

He produces the little box and hands it to you, but when your eyes round and you hesitate in taking it, he worries.

“I’m not proposing,” he says quickly.

“Thank god. I was about to be very upset,” you sigh dramatically, finally taking the ring box. “Most unromantic proposal ever.”

“The fact you think I’d be that lousy with a proposal is actually really offensive.”

The genuine grumble in his voice puts a flutter in your stomach, though soon after, it simmers into a cool pit of shock when you flip open the box and see the most delicate, gorgeous ring that you’ve ever seen in your life, not counting ones you ogle in shopfronts.

Cautiously, you lift your head to peer at Levi’s expression. It’s not a proposal — he’s just told you so, and considering you’re not even his girlfriend in official terms yet, it seems unlikely that anything like that will be happening soon. But it has to be more than just an offhanded purchase, and you’re determined to figure out.

Levi’s eyes tremble as he looks between you and the ring. “Is it ugly?”

You immediately shake your head, “Of course not!”

“Put it on, then,” he urges. The steady beat of his heart stutters out of tempo. Suddenly, he feels quite nervous as he watches you take out the ring and study its appearance up close. “Need help?”

“Yeah, it’s so hard, I can’t figure out how to put it on. Needs instructions.”

Levi tuts and gently takes the ring from between your fingers, grabbing your ring finger whilst trying to look as casual as possible. Somehow, he manages to slide the ring on without making a fool of himself, but when he looks back at your face and sees gemstones of your own lining your waterline, he frowns.

“I’m not gonna sit here and give a speech,” he starts. By now, you know him better than that. He’s never opened up about his feelings to you, at least not without feeling regretful of it the morning after, and you nod simply, eyes catching the glint of the diamond. “But you know why I’ve bought it. I don’t need to tell you what you already know.”

And he doesn’t. Somehow, despite Levi being tremendously unromantic, having no manners, and in general being a terrible companion, you at least know that he cares. And with his upcoming job creeping up on you both, it doesn’t require an above-average intelligence to work out why this ring came when it did, what it means if things go south, what it means regardless.

“I know,” you tell him. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Instead of saying anything, Levi curls you tighter in his arms and presses a kiss to your forehead, closing his eyes when you snuggle your face into his collar and relax. 

His mind has been made, his plans set. As soon as the job is over, he doesn’t want to look back. Only forward, with the woman who has made him feel alive again.

(50) Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath.

Something is wrong. Something is horribly wrong, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

It has been days since Levi told you he’d touched down in New York, working out some stuff in the very famous Continental until he was set to join Erwin on whatever mission they had planned and prepared for. Levi hadn’t told you the details this time because the risks were too high, and now, it feels like a major setback. 

New York is on fire, and Levi barely kept his life getting out of the Silver Sword compound. An entire mob wiped out by two guys with no backup — it was practically unprecedented, unseen or unheard of since John Wick was knocking around. 

The Continental had done everything right in the aftermath, including keeping Levi in their small infirmary for days whilst tending to his excessive wounds. Fuck, he had been so reckless, so vengeful, so stupid. It had almost cost him his life ensuring that no leads followed him and Erwin back to Seoul, and although he had succeeded in destroying every last bit of incriminating evidence, the risks had been too great. 

When Levi finally gets discharged from the infirmary, it is almost eleven in the evening, and New York has finally calmed down and settled in for the night. Erwin greets Levi in the lobby, a frown on his face, holding a destroyed black bundle of phone parts that bear a striking resemblance to Levi’s missing device. He swears.

Levi hasn’t heard from you since he got here. Since the last risky job he took in Gwangju last year, you’ve never been lax while he’s been away; he can almost imagine your fear, your paranoia, and before he can even hear Erwin’s well wishes, Levi’s crossing the lobby for the customer payphone and dialing in your number.

The line rings twice before someone picks up.

“Baby?” Levi asks, after three attempts of saying your name and no coherent response. He cranes his head around the curly wire and glares at the clerk, though she looks less than pleased being interrupted by Levi, “Is this a global line?”

“Obviously, sir. It’s a telephone.”

“I fucking know it’s a telephone, but if it’s global, then why the hell isn’t it working?”

The girl gives him grief about his manners and Levi is forced to give up on calling you, slamming down the phone angrily and feeling his body growing hotter and hotter with worry.

He knows you're fine, in his house with the big cat you hate to love, but he knows you. He knows how you operate, how you worry, how you love him too much.

“Look, we’ll catch the first flight we can,” Erwin assures him as soon as Levi has caught his breath and taken a seat on one of the black leather sofas. His hands are shaking violently. “She’s fine. I promise.”

“I know she’s fine,” Levi grumbles.

“Then get a hold of yourself,” sighs Erwin, his frown low and face tired. “There’s nothing you can do but wait. I’ve got people waiting on me, as well, you know.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Dogs miss their owners just as much as girlfriends miss their boyfriends,” Erwin protests, because that’s all he has back home these days.

There had been a time where you had offered to set him up with your friend, Sasha, who deserved to be with a man who could handle her energy but also make her feel safe after her last terrible relationship, but Erwin is basically married to his work, and had got a dog despite Sasha being deathly allergic.

Still, Levi’s not heartless enough to know that Erwin isn’t missed by his dog, and probably other people in his life. And he’s right, there’s nothing he can do about the connection problems. All he can do is reign in his worries and wait.

The earliest flight they can find is the next morning, and Levi spends every second up to that point and up until he pulls up outside of his house in a complete state of panic. Would you be there? Did you leave, thinking he’d never come back? 

Levi abandons his bag and leaves it in the backseat as he sprints from the car up the stairs, past his front door, and into his house. He kicks off his shoes once he’s in, the door hitting the wall with a booming slam.

He hears what he thinks might be scuffles, potentially even Elio’s claws, and right as Levi calls out your name, he sees you round the corner with a blotchy red face and feels his arms stretching out for you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” You slam into his chest, almost taking him to the floor, and encircle your arms around his neck so hard that the breath knocks out of his lungs. Still, he isn’t even annoyed; he squeezes you so tightly, tighter than he’s ever hugged anyone before, and shoves his face into your neck, inhaling the smell, feeling the way your body felt in memories while he was away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says in a whisper, his features tugged in displeasure as you whimper into him, no doubt crying over his shirt. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“I thought you were dead!” you blurt, “I even cried on Elio’s back because I thought you had died! What’s the point in having a phone if you never pick it up or charge it?” You snatch yourself from his arms and gently beat against his chest with your fist. “I’m so pissed off at you!”

“I’m sorry that my phone got crushed,” he says, affronted that you would even think he’d ignore your calls on purpose. “I was in a hospital bed for three days! And then the bitchy receptionist got smart with me about their shitty phone, and I called but the line cut out. Sounded like a goddamn robot, I couldn’t hear a word you were saying.”

Your jaw drops, “That was you? I thought you’d died and some enemy gang guy was trying to call me to kill me!” Levi has to laugh at the look of worry on your face. He hasn’t been cared for in this way in a long time. Never been loved to this volume. “I unplugged the landline, I was so scared! Jesus Christ, Levi!” Then, like you never left, you rush back into his arms and let out a shaky cry. 

“You did the right thing,” he tells you. Unplugging the landline was the silliest thing he could have ever thought of, but then he realises that you’re still here, and that you made peace with Elio just because you thought he had died.

Levi strokes the back of your head and shushes you, feeling your heartbeat hammering furiously against his chest. His is most likely the same, though he’s not so eager to acknowledge his own feelings.

After a while of standing there, and after Levi’s stroked behind Elio’s ears when he prowls towards them and rubs his head on Levi’s trousers, Levi looks back at you softly and takes everything in.

He has missed you more than anything, grieved the missing piece of his soul that is shaped like you. And, while he’s at it, yes! Fucking hell! He loves you!

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you tell him, and Levi kisses you, his hands cradling your face. The kiss is firm, desperate, though he has no intention of walking you backwards towards the bedroom like he normally does after a job.

Instead, he pulls you in for a hug again. 

“I missed you,” he mutters. “So fucking much.”

“Me too.”

He says with his mouth pressed into your head, “I’m done with this shit. I’m not taking any more jobs.”

You twist out of his arms, eyebrows raised. “Really? Why? You love your job.”

“I hate my job,” Levi confesses. “I have too much to lose. I just wanna live my life. And make it all count for something.”

For a moment, you stand there, looking at his face so intently that he almost feels uncomfortable. But then, as a smile spreads over your face, Levi feels like he can finally breathe again, finally feel like himself.

“Alright. If that’s what you want, babe, then let’s do that.”

And we can do it together.

(51) Getting adjusted.

Levi forgot what it was like to be normal.

He now wakes up at whatever time he wants to, feeling next to him for the lump in the bed where you sleep. Once he knows you’re still there (because despite being retired, he doesn’t think the habit of making sure you’re safe will ever go away), Levi wakes up and starts his day. 

Coffee for one becomes coffee for two. Levi never has to eat breakfast on his own, never sits alone on the sofa or sits in silence at the kitchen table. Levi has lost half of his sink counter space to your belongings, lost half of his wardrobe to your own clothes. There are so many shoes by his front door that it looks like a storefront. 

Elio has a mother, in a strange, estranged, visitation-hours-only kind of way. Levi has made room for you in his life and you fit perfectly, so perfectly that he barely remembers what it ever felt like to live alone.

The shower is always filled with two people. Levi finds your things all over the house in the most bizarre places. He has candles on every coffee table, pictures in frames, finds your cardigans hanging over every chair. But he loves it. He loves it so much. He can’t imagine ever not having it, having you, having this life.

(52) Finally saying the words.

“This is my first time using this thing.”

“What?” you gasp as Levi comes to sit next to you on the balcony.

Elio yawns inside, sleeping on the couch. It is partly his fault that Levi’s out here in the first place, though the thought of being tucked beside you on the outdoor couch in a blanket, watching the sun sink behind the skyline, is thankfully rather appealing, and he voices no complaints.

Levi takes a swig of his whiskey and abandons the cup on the table, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. It’s not exactly cold tonight, but he knows you too well, and knows that within an hour, you’ll be dithering next to him.

“Imagine having a balcony and never using it.”

“I’m using it now,” Levi huffs, pinching your neck. You squeal, “Fuck off, it didn’t hurt.”

You’ve been officially living in Levi’s home for two months now, although sometimes it feels like you’ve always been here. Still, despite you making yourself very much at home on the inside, neither of you have once come out to sit on the balcony, to bask in the lovely sun as it settles for the night, not until today. 

“When’s Erwin coming?”

“Bout an hour or so,” Levi says in a low drawl, his head tilted back and hand massaging the side of your head. It had been your idea to invite a bunch of people over to your house — the house you now shared — and frightfully, Levi hadn’t opposed. It would be nice to share the wealth of simply being alive with people he now had the patience to care about. 

You shuffle to look at him, and Levi picks up his head at the sound of you moving. Like always, Levi thinks you look beautiful, but since he’s made you his girlfriend, it has felt like every time he looks at you, he can’t breathe properly.

“I’m excited. This is our first time hosting a party together,” you grin, while Levi thumbs your ear and smiles. “Do you think Elio will eat Erwin’s dog?”

“No. Elio’s moved back onto a pescatarian diet, so I think Erwin’s mutt will be safe.”

“Good. I bought him a bone, do you think he’ll like it?”

“He’s a dog. Yes, I expect, why are you asking me this?” Levi asks, eyebrows scrunched, though he pulls you close to where his mouth is and kisses you straight on the lips. “Stop stressing.”

“I can’t help it. I’m nervous! It’s all so serious! What if nobody likes our house?”

He shrugs. “I don’t give a shit who does or doesn’t like our house. It’s ours.”

“Hnnngh. And I want you to have a good time!” you whine. “You deserve a bit of fun in your life.”

“My life is always fun now that you’re my girlfriend.”

He’s instantly won himself brownie points by saying that.

“Just tell me if it gets too much,” you mutter, lips on his, mouths together. “Okay?”

Levi hums. “Yeah.” Then, after he’s kissed you three more times and felt his heart shake, he nudges his nose against yours and says, “I love you, y’know that, right?”

You pause, eyes rounding wide as you take in the sight of him. Levi has never said those words before, not explicitly. But now is as good a time as any, right?

Levi has spent far too much of his life withdrawing from his emotions, hiding away from what matters most out of a fear of caring too much. In the past, he had cared too much and lost it all. You were never supposed to be something he cared about, but when it had happened, it happened so fast he hadn’t had the time to make sense of it all.

But now, now that he’s been through it all with you, ticked every box imaginable, become comfortable being vulnerable again, Levi thinks he’s finally ready to accept the love he deserves and dole it out to those who mean the most to him.

Your mouth moves against his, though he can’t understand the words coming out. He laughs, confused, and somehow manages to pull away and ask, “What’re you even saying?”

All for you to blubber out in a laugh, “I’ve been waiting for ages for you to say that!”

His heart bursts, chest soars. “You could have said it first.”

“I’ve said it before,” you protest, “in actions.”

He scoffs, “So have I.”

And he has, you really can’t deny it.

“Say it again, won’t you?” you ask sweetly, kissing the corner of his mouth, and Levi sighs, like asking that of him is simply too much.

“I love you. You make me very happy.” Levi groans when you cackle and squish the breath out of him with a hug, but this time, he sniggers too. Why waste the moment on pretending to be indifferent when he’s actually the happiest he’s ever been?

Levi Ackerman can finally say that he feels good. He feels safe, he feels content, he feels comfortable — and most of all, he feels loved. And in love. And totally at peace in the world with the person who makes him the happiest.

[kakerutori]

I think my mind is stuck on the Rink O Mania fight right now and I can’t get it to stop so-

A deep dive on the line: “We’re friends. We’re friends.”

Said by none other than Mike “In the closet” Wheeler.

And in order to do this, let’s talk about:

The context

Mike’s tone

The urgency of the reply

The backing track

What could have been Mike’s reply

So first, context.

The moment that Will regrabs Mike’s attention with his “well, what about us?” Mike is hit with more and more thoughts of exactly that: “us.” Him and Will. And Will doesn’t stop. He accuses Mike of being mad, dismissive, uncaring, lacking, all towards Will.

The pressure is on. And look at Mike. He’s upset about it.

But then comes-

The last straw. And what is the last straw? Well, this brings me to my next and most crucial points…

Notice Mike’s tone. You can even see it in the gif alone.

Will just posed the tiniest question “and us?” with the biggest implication: what are we to you? And Mike immediately feels the need to repeat his friendship assertion twice. “We’re friends. We’re friends.”

Mike tends to repeat himself when he’s upset. He’s affected by this. Which, duh, right? But think about it.

Why might Mike be upset by this? Is it just because Will is upset and they’re feeding off of each other? Is it because Mike is annoyed that Will brought up El and compared himself to her? Or could it be something more?

Is Mike perhaps threatened by the fear of the idea of actually being something else to Will? Perhaps he’s worried that Will got the wrong idea? Perhaps it’s something internal to Mike himself that he doesn’t want to breach?

Mike is the one who set that boundary, after all, in making such a strong reply.

So once again, Mike is upset here. That’s pretty clear to see. And throughout the entire time Will brings up their relationship outside of El, he also looks so uncomfortable, if you ask me. Like he doesn’t want to talk about it. Like he doesn’t want to fight with Will lest things hit a little too close to home. Mike seems defensive.

Like his upset repetition, he does back out of the conversation twice, after all.

I think that he’s hiding his true heart. Running away from something. Running away from something because of Will.

Hm.

Next, let’s talk about the urgency. This is not a slow fight. There is barely a moment of pause from the entire fight, start to finish. In fact! It’s after this line that we get a pause to breathe. It’s only after Will retorts, “well, we used to be best friends!” that Mike stops.

As of “We’re friends. We’re friends.” Mike is steamrolling through this without need to stop. Mike doesn’t even need to think of his reply to Will’s, “and us?”

Does Mike just always and readily consider the distinction of Will as a friend as opposed to… something else?

Hm.

And now, briefly, because goddamn this should tell all, I want to bring up the backing track!

The fact is that “In the closet (at Rink O Mania)” starts playing right before Mike successfully backs out of the conversation!! And this needs to be talked about more!

Yeah. That song didn’t start playing while Will was speaking. It started playing while Mike was speaking.

And as the song plays, coupled with his upsetness, Mike deflects blame (“why is this on me?”), something that shows that he… doesn’t want to accept the blame nor the truth.

Once again: hm.

Now, lastly, I wouldn’t be me without at least one good ol’ counter argument, what could have been. I mean, this isn’t really a proper counterpoint as I still am believing that Mike is so gay to try and declare his friendship to his fellow male bestie with urgent and defensive fervency backed by a literal “In the closet” soundtrack but.

Maybe I should just call this an imaginative perspective.

Because seriously, Mike could have reacted in so many other ways than how he did.

Where’s the “what do you mean, ‘us?’” Where’s the simple “what?” for that matter? What about a “you know that’s not the same thing.”

Mike could have defended himself. Backed up. Questioned Will and gotten to the bottom of the emotion right then and there. But he didn’t.

Y’know why?

Because despite the variety of choices, if Mike didn’t spell clearly that they were just “friends,” he’d be so much more vulnerable to getting outed. Will could have easily parried by repeating himself and flustering Mike. Or Mike could have risked the potential continued questions from Will about what if they could be more? So logically, Mike took the safest route he could.

Angrily. And defensively. Not confusedly. He knew what he was saying and not saying.

Yeah, I just can’t not see Mike as someone trying to hide himself, here.

I find it so upsettingly fascinating overall how neither of the two seem to stop and question what each other actually means. They never ask for certain clarification or hesitate. Well, Mike does, once -

- but then things keep spiraling and they don’t get to stop and think twice again. Everything else seemingly comes out in quick anger and frustration. And it’s so easy for them to miss things when they’re also so rushed by the need to find El. Truly, did you leave this Rink O Mania fight feeling like it was satisfying and that Mike and Will said all that they wanted to towards each other? I know that I didn’t.

The only way I can see people thinking that Mike is genuinely and completely and utterly straight is if they think he’s arguing at face value and plainly had nothing else to say to Will. So really, it’s up to how you as a viewer see him.

But if Mike is actually just friends with Will, why do these same types of intimate one-on-one fights often happen between established couples? Why is Mike’s story interwoven with Will’s so deeply like this, enough to hit on the tension of romance versus friendship? Why is Mike even a main character if he’s supposed to only be taken at face value? How come Mike is able to smile again the moment that Will brings up them and only them two again a day later - even though this all happens before Mike apologizes for the Rink O Mania fight and their relationship hasn’t been fully mended yet??

“We’re friends. We’re friends.” is a cry to me across the screen that Mike is trying to state the facts and keep his head on straight (haha) despite everything that Will meant and continued to mean to him. It’s been half a year since Mike and Will spoke, and so they’d also had plenty of time to internalize their ideas of each other and ignore a number of thoughts without the other around. We know that Will kept his feelings at bay by painting them.

What do we certainly and canonically know about Mike and what he personally did away from Will specifically? That’s right!

Nothing.

But I choose to believe that he surely thought about Will while he was gone, right? And missed him during at least one Hellfire game? And potentially considered who Will was to him? And maybe told himself to stop if he imagined anything too deep because they were just friends? Or is that too much to assume?

[that-random-outsider]

Bridget and Self-awareness

I know I posted my thoughts on this before but I'm doing it again because I have more thoughts on it, and I want to go more in depth on the idea. I think one of the most important things to remember before I get into this is that Bridget is objectively a good person. Through out all of the screen time we get of her (no matter how little that is) we never see Bridget do anything out of malice. Although it is important to note she is a self-indulgent(?) one. Though I'm not completely sure that's the right term for it but it's the best we got so let's continue.

Bridget is consistently going to extreme lengths to make friends, but even more so is constantly clinging on to the only one she has, that being Ella. I think the importance of having a character like Ella in the cast is her ability to so often call it as it is. Her bluntness, and sincerity is what makes her and you can see how that's muted in every scene she shares with Bridget. While we know for a fact Bridget's intentions are always pure, intention doesn't out way consequence. Because of this there's this void of communication between the two of them.

Bridget could do something harmful and Ella would easily wave it off as one of Bridget's quirks dooming her to repeat the same act. Because Ella doesn't advocate, or teach Bridget when she does something wrong she has no one else to. An example of this would be Bridget not allowing Ella the space she'd hoped for after a bad day. While Bridget would back off if asked to Ella doesn't tell her, because she has a soft spot for her and she doesn't want to let her down. There’s this obvious issue of Ella putting aside her comfort for Bridget, leading to Bridget not understanding when she is breaching the boundaries of someone else. When approaching social relationships you are meant to learn from experience and in Bridget’s experience so long as she's being nice, she's doing the right thing and that's not always right.

We see this lack of boundaries within their friendship most clearly at castle coming. Bridget feels entitled to Ella’s attention not only because she was the one who asked her, but also because that was what she had gotten used to. She had been conditioned to believe that Ella would always be by her side, that she would always be the one to protect her, that she never needed to learn how to operate on her own because Ella was there now and she'd never have to experience that. Introducing Charming to that equation was a variable she hadn’t accounted for because she was used to it just being the two of them.

It's why she's so vulnerable on her own, and why Ella is so adamant about being by her side to begin with. She'd become codependent on Ella to the point that she couldn't possibly fathom the idea of ever having to worry about something going wrong because she had gotten so used to being saved. Ella became skeptical so that she could stay nieve. And that's not to say either of them are bad people because of it, nor is it to say that one of them were more so in then wrong then the other. That's what I love of Bridget's character, she’s a good person but she's complex just like everyone else. She's not always the best friend, even if she tries so incredibly hard. And in Ella’s attempts to keep her as the happy smiling girl she's used to she often sacrifices bits of her own comfort for her sake. I mean girl literally waged war on all of Auradon simply because Ella walked away for two minutes/j That's something to take note of in regards to their friendship up until that point. I just don't feel as though they were the best communicators and I feel like that could have made all the difference in how their relationship ended.

[mossy123302]

I am not exactly entirely good with character or relationship analysis (A reason why my dumb fox head is aroace because I am not good w/ navigating romantic relationships)

So this is just my best effort writing the dynamic Q! Philza and Q! Missa have.

I do like to headcanon, like others, that Philza is indeed aroace, but not in a way, that like he doesn't understand what platonic or romantic means. Sure, it's funny to tease Philza about it, but it's also true that close friends could very much do so. I think Philza is quite aware of what is romantic and platonic, he knows the boundaries of it. I mean Philza is literally married to the Goddess of Death (implied) Kristin. It's more or less that Philza doesn't simply care for such labels. (I very much hc that Philza could probably be genderfluid, like me- Peeposmile)

It's something Philza even mentioned in the live stream when talking about the deities in hardcore world. It's something they don't care about and just vibe with whatever they're vibing with. They don't care and I think Philza is the same in that mindset. He just doesn't care, and will be blunt about it, if he needs to actually talk about it.

Philza seems to deeply cherish those that are ... similar to himself from what I can tell. I don't fully watch Fit or other POV to get a clear understanding of Phil's relationship w/ others so I'm sorry if I don't include them, same with Technoblade. I've recently started watching mcyt again and I don't want to talk about something I don't have a full understanding of.

Anyways, Phil deeply connects with those that share similar traits to him in some regard. Techno whose the Blood God, who clearly has an understanding of death, war and loyalty and this clearly shows via Missa too. Missa, while not a fighter, does understand death and how important it is... He literally is a gentle grim reaper. He understands death much clearly, because his mother is also a Goddess tied to Death as well. Missa is also fiercely loyal to Phil and his children, because honestly, he was so busy! He didn't have to return to Quesadilla Island but he did because he cares about Phil and his children, quickly adopted Tallulah and he hadn't even seen her yet.

Whoever Phil trusted and guards with his life, Missa will guard that person with his life as well. Of course, unless, we talk about BadboyHalo then that's another discussion LOL. Such a mess between the demon (?) and grim reaper.

Anyways, we know how much Phil values such loyalty that, I cannot remember what Tubbo said, but he immediately locked Tubbo out of his own home because of what he said about someone and while despite implied flings with others. Philza never spoke about others the way he speaks about Missa.

Their relationship definitely...crosses the line of platonic and romantic. I can see why it would be considered queer platonic relationship, but also at the same time, it's like there is some line being breached which makes everyone raise an eyebrow cause sir, what do you mean platonic-

Philza is clearly...possessive over Missa, because the way he got so defensive when Bagi mentions Antoine (right?) and Missa should date. Philza didn't have to get so defensive, because Missa already immediately denied. Philza could have kissed anyone else, like Fit, but chose Missa instead. He even demanded Tall Missa to the admins, got jealous over any shipping fanart and acts like he's fine and doesn't miss Missa at all. *Coughs in* "I'm going to f*cking off myself. Did Missa log on again?!" (Side eye Philza)

Like he's done lots of things that makes everyone just raise an eyebrow- Philza is fooling no one but himself (& Missa)

I also enjoy the lore Missa has going on with accepting that he is indeed a part of the family and isn't alone. Missa had just lost Spreen, and suddenly, he had no one but the Angel of Death as his assigned partner. Missa must have felt so unmatched compared to Philza because what could he even offer to the family? He had nothing but his music and kind words, which is everyone that Death Family wanted. Missa brought a different change to the family that makes them be vulnerable, to not be so serious all the time and to actually just relax and be like a family that's just on vacation.

I mean, and just talking about loyalty and kindness. Missa never gave up... He fought his way back, despite getting taken away by wolves and suddenly Badboyhalo being so cruel. He always made sure his family was safe and always brought something for them.

Didn't Missa say he got lost because he tried to find a gift for Philza?! Like...the commitment to find a perfect gift for Philza, and still returning (sure, without the gift). While it's hilarious, Missa doesn't run away because of his wet cat behavior. He runs away because he doesn't want to put his family in danger, he cannot fight as well as others can. He relies on others to fight for him and then he jumps in to help, but because the time zone doesn't allow such things. Missa is forced to run.

And Missa is good at it. He will run as far as he can, if it means his family will be safe. He isn't running away from his family, but the danger because at the end of it all, he will return back to his family, no matter how long it takes.

And Missa casually admitted to Chayanne that he needs Philza more than he realized, the same way Philza realizes he needed Missa but didn't dare admit, whether it is out of fear or something else that he couldn't voice it. But Philza clearly showed it through his actions, that he brought/dragged Missa to Rose's Sanctuary before they went to sleep forever. He didn't have to do so, but he did... indicating their bond is much deeper because Rose's Sanctuary is literally a pocket dimension that no one cannot access.

Missa has access. Now he sleeps eternally with his family...

Also their whole dynamic just being Sun/Moon. Fated to never see each other at times, until an eclipse and yet...they still leave signs to let the other know that they're still remembered. This also brought to my attention how Missa is afraid of the sky, while Philza yearns for the sky/to fly.

You think The Sun (Philza) misses the Moon (Missa) so much, because of how far they are, instead of just not seeing each other. The Moon clings to Earth, because they're afraid to go beyond...to something unknown while the Sun cannot stay still, and yearns to burn and be free.

Deathduo/Pissa has me on chokehold.

I do hope this was an interesting analysis, I'm not very good at this..honestly it's probably just me rambling if anything.

[queen0fm0nsterz]

Hey. I knew you're mad at Otto for hurting Noone and Noone deciding to join Nowhere, but have you ever considered hating the Ferryman for being the main reason why all of this started?

Like this man took away Otto's sister, Cici (Sisi? Cece?? or whatever the hell you spell her name as) away from him and making him obsess for answers, then later in Otto's life he met Noone and realize she is going through the same thing his sister did and became insane and thanks to that, Noone distrusts him and became an easy target for the Ferryman to take her away too and making Otto the bait to catch more children.

Blame can be on both sides. In this case, blame definitely is on both sides.

I understand your point of view, and you are right to say that the Ferryman was the one who started all this. But was it right of Otto to push Noone so far into the Nowhere that she "decided" that it'd be better to leave with the Ferryman than to stay with Otto? Who, mind you, deceived her multiple times, repeatedly breached her boundaries over and over again, used her and admitted that he was using her (when he said "I still need her" to the Ferryman taking Noone away) AND who did not show a single ounce of remorse for what he had done?

No. Of course it was not.

The Ferryman is the cause of the trauma. Otto's obsession with him is understandable, frighteningly human. So much so that I find myself disliking him because I have met people like Otto in my life. People who are nice on a surface level only to reveal later on that they capable of being manipulative and cruel, all under the pretense of past trauma causing them to act the way that they do. Trauma is not a justification for one to act like a piece of shit - an explanation, yes, but never a justifier. Which is exactly what Otto does.

You know who else in TSON has trauma and doesn't act like a dickhead? Noone. Noone, the victim in all of this, stuck between a kidnapper who will bring her to her doom and a man who is pushing her into the kidnapper's arms only to cry wolf when she calls him out on it.

I also find myself more upset with Otto rather than the Ferryman for another variety of reasons.

Firstly, I was not expecting anything from the Ferryman. We know how he operates, we know he's not a force of good; he's a liar and a kidnapper, literally a monster, taking children to their doom when they are at their most vulnerable. He was a bad omen from the very beginning and I never expected him to be anything more. Of course I hate him as a person and what he stands for, but considering where he started, I was not surprised to see him do what he did.

But Otto was different. Otto could have been different. He could have been an example of someone who manages to, if not overcoming, at least face their trauma with a positive outcome for both his own sake and Noone's. But no. He let himself go down a road so atrocious that he is now no different from the monsters we see in the Nowhere while not even being there.

Otto is a regular guy. He's not insane and he did not become insane. He, like everyone, has his own set of bad traits. He can be impatient, harsh, dismissive, insistent and immature. At the same time, he also has his good traits: he used to have a morale, kind, understanding, intelligent and friendly. All these things make up him as a person. As he said to Noone: once you are with someone long enough, you let out who you really are. And he did just that. He let his bad traits get the best of him. And as sorry as I feel for his circumstances, I really cannot bring myself to forgive him.

I suppose Otto let us down, like he let down Noone. And the Ferryman is the guy in the white van with its doors open, but Otto is the guy who threw Noone inside and watched it drive away.

He's a wonderfully written villain. My disliking of him as a person does not stop me from really enjoying his character! I do think he's the second best written LN antagonist.

[kittykatkatelol]

★Welcome to my Hell lovelies<3

(accessible, plain text, no flashing intro here: link)

You can call me Daimon/Daímonas, Val/Valentino, Micah, Faraday, Maxwell, John, Dixie, Barty, Makarov, or Jack

My pronouns include (but are not limited to): it/itself, loverboy/loverboyself, moth/mothself, ne/nem, he/him, ve/vem, luv/luvself

I'm genderfluid + xenogenders + mspec biromantic lesboy ~ oriented aroace - asexual + ACRflux + greyromantic ~ physical nonhuman + fictionkin + demonkin + ockin + therian ~ cripplepunk ~ adhd + autism(?) ~ hellenic polytheist & satanist ~ multishipper

My links: A03 ~ Pronouns Page ~ StrawPage ~ Roblox and Discord for moots (ask over dms) ~ my memories of hell+my demon appearance ~ filter tag list ~ my rdr2 side blog @shhhhtotallynotmicahbell ~ DecoTree

This blog is 13+, I curse like a sailor and reblog/post suggestive shit. I try to tag things appropriately, but I am not responsible for whatever you may find here - I suggest you leave if you are under 13

The main content is shitposts + reblogs + occassional art and/or oneshot/fic update

thomas jefferson's (from hamilton the muscial) biggest fan - the number one hermes defender - biggest hater of the brotherhood of steel

My highest kin(s) is currently John Hancock from Fallout 4 + Faraday from Fallout 4: Far Harbor + Dixie from Fallout 4: Nuka-World

My full kin list:

Valentino from Hazbin Hotel

Barty Crouch Jr from Harry Potter

Roxanne Afton a FNaF OC of mine

Micah Bell from Red Dead Redemption 2

Demonkin

Vladimir Makarov from the OG COD MW trilogy (specifically mw3)

Maxwell Roth from Assassin's Creed Syndicate

John Hancock from Fallout 4

Dixie from Fallout 4: Nuka-World

Funtime Foxy from FNaF

Faraday from Fallout 4: Far Harbor (slightly AU'd version of him)

Kellogg from Fallout 4

Jack Kennedy from DSaF

White Persian Cat therain

Roxanne Wolf from FNaF Security Breach

(otherlink) Sylveon from Pokémon

(questioning) Vulpes Inculta from Fallout New Vegas

(this is subject to change at any time)

My current fixations are currently:

Red Dead Redemption 2

Fallout

COD (just all of it it's a big special interest)

-

My favorite music artists are:

Scene Queen

Yungblud

Falling in Reverse

Palaye Royale

Marina

Melanie Martinez

Baby Bugs

Olivia Rodrigo

Måneskin

Mitski

-

My fandoms/interests:

Hamilton (musical and historical)

EPIC the musical

Death Note

Heathers (both musicals and movie)

Little Nightmares 1 & 2

Fallout

FNaF

Cooking Companions

Percy Jackson (I have only finished the first series, and I do not want spoilers, hence why I don't interact with the fandom but i really like it lol)

Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss (literally no clue what the creator did but I don't support her since I watch it all pirated and don't have the money lmao)

Call of Duty (I love all the early stuff (haven't played any black ops though) but especially the original modern warfare)

SIX The Musical

DSAF (specifically the 1st and 2nd ones, I don't particularly enjoy the final one)

Red Dead Redemption 2

Heartstopper

My Little Pony

Legend of Korra

-

Current favorite songs:

(all of theses lists are subject to change at any time)

I tend to use typing quirks (example: Hello ! / what ? / Hmm , / Huh .) or cursive fonts ~ please tell me if you need me to not use said quirk(s) when replying :)

I use tone tags quite often since I myself have a hard time figuring out other entities tones - you do not have to do the same for me though it would be highly appreciated

DNI: anti-xenogenders/neopronouns ~ TERF ~ homo/transphobic ~ anti-fictionkin ~ anorexia/ED blogs ~ christian centered blogs ~ Valentino hate blogs ~ just assholes in general

My boundaries are:

no sexual stuff ~ I might be Val but that doesn't mean I like sex

no mouth gore/puke ~ i genuinely hate it and it makes me ill (I'm cool with most gore but mouth stuff just grosses me out)

no weight comments like ever, please

no sending things of dead moths

no sending me stuff specifically about Val getting tortured

no asking me to donate to stuff through asks, especially if I don't know you ~ I'm not financially independent and just don't have the cash even if I wanted to donate ~ any asks asking that will be deleted

I love being tagged in stuff, but if it is a picrew, I request you don't tag me in it IF it the whole game is "make irl you" or something along those lines

do not involve me in shipping wars

I am okay with Angel Dust kins interacting, but please do not try and befriend me

I request no fellow Valentinos try and befriend me (aka please no doubles)

Also, I do not support JKR (the creator of Harry Potter) though I am still in the HP and Marauders fandoms - I dislike Harry Potter itself and only engage in the fandom side of things that is also highly against JKR

User tags:

val's little hellhole (for all general posts/shit posts, never reblogs)

heaven doesn't want me and hell fears me (vent posts)

the summoning circle (asks & strawpage asks+drawings)

valentino writes (for my writing)

charles tag !! (for my bestie @/bxtteryacid !! (you = bestie sorry not sorry >:3))

CJ tag :3 (for la bestie @/p4rty-rockaa :3)

hoarding moth (for identity reblogs 4 my hoard + posts about my genders)

moth val's art (for my art)

fictionkin asks/answers (for any/all asks/questions I get related to fictionkin)

the moth attempts to learn french (shit posting about me trying to learn french)

banner and pfp are both from Fallout 4, in-game screenshots (banner is Nisha's area in the Disciples territory in Fizztop Mountain - pfp is a screenshot of Dixie)

I'm open to questions about my identity(s) ~ intro may update in the future ~ Other than that, have fun :)

✨️ to be cringe is to be free ✨️

. .

. .

In all of my lives, I regret nothing.

I'd do it all again.

No hesitation.

Last up dated: 1/22/25

[beemovieerotica]

Yoo, your post about the whole controversy around jk Rowling being something not that wide spread outside internet really reasonated with me. I'm openly trans at work + Jewish (and I assume you might know about the Harry Potter game controversy), and one colleague (who I get along well with enough to call my friend) really really loves Harry Potter and keep trying to excitedly talk about it with me... Despite me telling her I am not comfortable about that media. She keep insisting on removing the work from its author because it was her childhood and so important to her.

I just... How do you navigate it when it happens to you? I could really use some reference or perspective overall!

No pressure to answer, I realize it might be controversial subject that may bait I'll faith engagement so I totally understand if you don't respond

oh I'm happy to respond, no yeah when I posted about me blocking anons baiting for discourse I mean I frequently get single sentence asks like "do you support ______" and that's...someone not interested in actually talking to me, but instead doing a witchhunt "are you a Good Person or a Bad Person" to a stranger on the internet. like if someone asked "do you support jk rowling" no context no other discussion, it's weird, it's impersonal, it's not how I want to talk to people (and anyone who has followed me for any length of time would know the answer anyway?)

but yeah sorry getting to your question, that's really difficult to reverse out of that situation if you've already expressed past interest in it...with my coworkers who like hp I'll do a very obviously polite-but-not-part-of-the-group "oh that's fun!" when they talk about it e.g. dressing up as hp for halloween, and I guess I consistently give off enough of an impression of never having cared about it, which is WILD because yeah it used to be my life. so they don't try to get any deeper into it than surface level mentions with me.

but if you've already breached the whole topic of jkr herself...AND they're not responding to explicit requests to steer away the topic...? they fundamentally don't respect your boundaries regardless of the subject matter. like remove hp from the equation and if my coworker said they don't like talking about pirates of the caribbean for even the vaguest reason on earth and I continued to try to engage with them about it, through their discomfort, then it's not really about whether something can ever be redeemed as media or not, they just don't respect boundaries.

at that point that's really shitty if she's in your workspace but she's a kind enough person about everything else to be considered a friend...but if she IS a friend, then you should be able to literally say "sorry I need to step away, this isn't a topic I want to get into" when she brings it up and then. physically step away. like make the boundary an actual physical thing that gets enforced if she doesn't respect your wishes. it SHOULD start to click for her then, because maybe at this point she's learned subconsciously "oh, my friend will talk about my favorite thing with me if I ease them into it, and I can make them get over their discomfort, because they're still here talking to me, aren't they?"

be polite, verbalize the boundary, and physically walk away to enforce the boundary and do something else. you don't have to burn bridges that you don't want to burn, AND you don't have to put up with behavior you don't like!