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himluv · 2 months ago

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DA Review Series: Absolution

<<< Previous Review: Dark Fortress

This is the part of the list that gets a little... loosey goosey. Basically everything after Blue Wraith but before The Missing takes place in this weird, nebulous, in-between time. We know it's after Trespasser, after the Inquisition disbanded (per my and Bioware's canons) and before Veilguard, but we don't know when specifically. So, since we can't really say when these stories take place in relation to one another I'm just going to review them as I consume them :).

Title: Absolution Writers: Mairghread Scott, Mae Catt, and Tim Sheridan Release Year: 2022 In-World Year: ~9:45+ Verdict: Look. I love this fucking show. I'd watched it at least three times before I decided to do this big tie-in media marathon. And, I just rewatched it three times while convalescing with the flu this past week – turns out it's a very good comfort/sickie show. It does a wonderful job of orienting new viewers while not alienating old timers like myself, is fast-paced and fun, while also establishing a very interesting plot that could be vital to Veilguard. Basically, I highly recommend you commit to the three hours required to watch it.

Absolution introduces us to Miriam, a runaway slave from Tevinter, and her bff Roland (who may or may not be a chevalier?). The two are hired by Fairbanks to join his team for one last job for the Inquisition – steal a magic artifact from the Archon's Summer Palace. That's right, babes, Absolution is a heist story!

So, they team up with Fairbanks (Orlesian human rogue from Inquisition), Qwydion (lady Qunari mage!), Lacklon (dwarf warrior Lord of Fortune), and Hira (Tevinter human mage with whom Miriam has a romantic history), and head off for the city of Nessum. Of course, this is Dragon Age and nothing is ever as simple as it seems.

Miriam's former master, Magister Rezaren Ammosine, is in Nessum. In fact, he's the reason the artifact they're after (the Circulum Infinitus) is even in the city. He's studying it in the hopes of finding a non-blood magic means of activating it. Supposedly, the Circulum can restore life to the dead, resurrecting them to be the same as they were before. And he has a very certain someone he wants to bring back to life – Miriam's twin brother.

Without getting too deep in the details, Miriam and her brother were slaves raised alongside Rezaren, intended to become his bodyguards in adulthood. He claims to see them as his brother and sister, that they all were helpless in the face of his mother's abuse. And for a while the show does a good job of making us wonder if that's true. Certainly, Rezaren seems to believe it. At least until Miriam refuses to play along.

The heist does not go well. Fairbanks seemingly turns traitor, tries to kill Hira, and dies in the process. Hira is trapped in the vault, and Miriam is mortally wounded on the team's frantic way out. In a blood magic-fueled dream, Rezaren lays out his plans to Miriam, in the hopes it will convince her to rejoin him and the reanimated corpse of her brother. And, of course, it all boils down to the Magister's ambitions – he wants to become the next Divine of the Imperial Chantry, where he swears he will work to make Tevinter a better place. And yet, in his power fantasy, Miriam and her brother are still his bodyguards, just as they were trained to be. Even Rezaren doesn't seem to notice how deeply ingrained his view of them as "things" truly is.

So, obviously, Miriam and company aren't going to play nice with that guy. They hatch a plan to get Hira out of the palace, and things seem to be going their way for once. There's a lot of epic fight sequences, Qwydion is hilarious, and the romantic tension between Roland and Lacklon keeps ratcheting up. But when Hira makes a break for the safe house, the team follow her and start to get a whiff of the true betrayal.

The traitor was never Fairbanks (whose loyalty I never doubted!). He caught wind of Hira's true plan – to steal the Circulum from the Inquisition and deliver it to the Crimson Knight in Kirkwall – and was trying to put her down. I will never forgive this show for killing him, btw. I loved him so much! But Hira's real plan is even worse. All this time she'd struck a deal with Rezaren – return Miriam to him, and he'd let her have the Circulum once his ritual to restore her brother was complete.

Side note: Hira is stupid. There's no world where Rezaren actually lets her take the Circulum. None. So, she was willing to sell her (ex?)girlfriend into slavery for something that would never happen. And yeah, she makes a lot of promises about how she would have got Miriam back, how Miriam would have escaped, but we know Hira is a liar and a cheat and just as ambitious and driven as every other "Tevinter snake," as Miriam would say.

Anyway, there's a bunch more badass action involving blood magic, spirits, grenades, and a High Dragon (which again shows that dragon blood is extremely potent in magic rituals!). Roland and Lacklon finally kiss, and Miriam stabs Rezaren in the throat mid-meltdown. It's a beautiful end sequence. And even though the show is over, the team knows their work is just beginning.

Because Hira snuck off with the Circulum in all the chaos, and they know where she's headed. To Kirkwall. To the Crimson Knight... which appears to be a colony of sentient Red Lyrium, formerly known as Knight Commander Meredith Stannard. And she/they/it(?) is intent on seeing all of Tevinter burn. (insert my theories here about how the Blight causes feelings of intense hatred over time, as established in the book The Calling and further exemplified by the tainted Griffons in Last Flight.)

Obviously, I love this series and really wish we'd gotten a second season. There's just so much this show set up, surely we'll see more of team Absolution, whether in another season/show, in a comic or book, or... in Veilguard? Fingers crossed, y'all.

#himluv reviews dragon age #da: absolution #dragon age #miriam dragon age #lacklon x roland #qwydion #fairbanks my beloved rip

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unohanabbygirl · 1 year ago

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Hi!! Thank you for answering my ask about a crossover between FMN and HIPS. I am fully obsessed with this idea so could you expand more on your thoughts..because I have MANY questions. What’s Aemond’s relationship like with the rest of his family in modern times once they all remember? Alicent stayed by his side in HIPS but I would imagine that modern Alicent is no longer a r*pe apologist. Does Daeron just leave immediately and emancipates himself once he remembers? What about the others? Also I have to ask about how differently you characterize Viserys, Aemma, and Laenor after learning what happened (esp Viserys)?

Does Aemond avoid history, art, and even religion because he would be demonized 10x worse by all those fields? You had that recent ask about art depicting Luke’s death and mythologizing/romanticizing it, and how Aemond wants to look away but is unable to. In this scenario where’s he actually did r*pe Luke does he just break down seeing what he did depicted and then analyzed by people and knowing it doesn’t come close to how horrible it was? This crossover is such a puzzle because in the original story of FMN Aemond at least can somehow believe that under his murderous rage Luke’s death was his fault, but also in part an accident which makes it easier for the family to reconcile. In this scenario where Aemond didn’t kill Luke but assaulted him, I feel like it’s much more difficult to deal with. Most of your characters in FMN seem to have fully embraced their old selves and don’t see it as much a set of extra memories but a second chance at life. I guess what I’m trying to ascertain is whether his family thinks he’s innocent since he hasn’t done anything in modern times, or if they still view him to be a r*pist because they are all living as their old selves rather than new people (like Luke is). Does this Q make sense? It’s some weird timey whimey stuff ik. It’s sort of like the time travel question of whether someone is guilty of a crime they will commit in the future—but flipped. Is Aemond guilty of a crime he committed in a past life and which is very present in their memories and new lives (made even more evident by Osferth still existing?) even if present times Aemond hasn’t technically done anything?

If abo dynamics do exist in modern times how does the whole prime alpha thing affect Aemond then? It might have been a blessing in medieval times but not modern day. It would def affect who he is allowed to be around or what jobs he can have if he can suddenly experience rut madness. Is he kept away from Helaena’s children and are they scared of him because of what he did to Luke? Is it more difficult to sit through those gender studies classes he took to make up for the fact he was a raging misogynist in canon? Also…How different is Luke’s life in now that he’s an omega and has a different relationship to sex now that he can get pregnant? A large portion of the main story is Luke’s trial so how would that go with Luke being an omega? I’d think it would make him more sympathetic but who knows with misogyny. Sorry for this massive list of questions!! It just makes FMN so much more tragic if we use HIPS as the original story

Hey babes, I’ve been meaning to answer this but I needed time to sit back and think. This crossover has become a favorite of mine so I took some notes!

Aemond’s relationship with most of the others in modern day is very shitty. Now that’s not to say that he isn’t trying to grow and become a better man because he is, but many of Aemond’s negative traits are so much more deeply ingrained and made worse/are enabled by this society that making a genuine change is almost impossible for a man like him without giving it his all. Not to mention that most of the family besides his mother and Helaena basically hate him and straight up ignore his existence most of the time. (Aegon doesn’t fuck with him but it has nothing to do with him violating Luke because he honestly couldn’t care less about his none-Jace nephews)

Alicent being a r*pe apologist in modern day all depends on the family she’s born into. Are her parents the liberal, equality for all type or white picket fence conservatives? She’s the sort of woman whose so tied down by the patriarchy that in order for her to learn from her ways and grow she’d have to be given that guiding hand from a very young age, so it all depends on her upbringing. But regardless of this she’ll always love her son, its simply the way she interacts with him and comforts him that depends on if she tries to help him become better or coddle him and act as if he was the victim at Storm’s End.

Helaena is a different story because while she finds Aemond’s actions abhorrent, he’s still her brother and one of few people she’s ever had that don’t turn their nose up at her. However, she very much loves Luke in her own unique way despite not having the closest relationship. So while she spends time with Aemond, she’d make it a point to encourage change within him. Poor thing always sees the better in people even when she probably shouldn’t.

Daeron still holds onto the faith big time and their reincarnation just solidifies that his gods ( and therefore their preachings) are true. He’d absolutely find a way out of the family as soon as he could because such sins don’t simply wash away with time. I imagine Daeron would either become very close to one of his newer more distant relatives like a cousin or aunt, and spend as much time as he could with them before being able to move out on his own. While emancipation would be an option he desires, there simply isn’t much evidence for any court to decide he’s better off on his own than in his mother’s care.

I love answering questions about Vizzy, Aemma and Laenor because I don’t get them quite often so here we go.

We all know that the Velaryon boys aren’t biologically Laenor’s, but he loves them all the same. His space of mind depends on whether he actually died in the past or if he agreed to fake his death and escape to the free cities. This has the ability to change his character as a whole because he could either feel hate and resentment towards Daemon and Rhaenyra for setting up his death or fall into a nasty cycle of self hatred for leaving his family. I imagine that in both scenarios he feels immense guilt for what happened to Luke and even go as far as to blame himself to a degree. Nowadays there’s a large pool of studies and findings on how stress in the home can affect a child’s presentation making them a late bloomer. For example, children that are trapped in abusive house holds, teetering on the poverty line, or have lost an important person/people in their lives recently, sometimes don’t present until their mid teens and even up until their late twenties in rare cases. Major stress halts proper development and poor Luke was constantly stressed for a variety of reasons.

Because of such immense stress on Luke’s shoulders due to just about everything, he presented late, leading to his chase and eventual assault. Laenor seees his death or “death” as the reason. Thinks that if he remained with his family then Luke would’ve presented on time and remained on dragonstone rather than taking the trip as an envoy because lets face it, most of the Targs/Velaryons would see an omega as inherently weaker and try to keep Luke as close to their sides as possible.

Aemma is an interesting case because she died well before any of this. She holds much more resentment towards Viserys in his AU than the original FMN verse and more than likely would refuse to rekindle their relationship at all. Especially after learning about what his and Alicent’s son did to her grandson. She may have died long before he was born, but she’s always had a soft spot for Omega’s seeing as her mother was one.

This Aemma would refuse to even shake hands with any of the Targtowers and stands on that ten toes down. Sees them as nothing more than a physical manifestation of Viserys selfish nature while also being the best great-grandmother she could to Osferth since he’s just as much a victim in all this. No one chooses to be born, ya know?

And finally we have Vizzy T…the best way to describe him is defensive. Growing up hearing the history of the dance and how his own failures as king led to a multitude of problems leaves him feeling as though he needs to defend his case. His entire defense is basically him saying ‘how was I supposed to know my horrible children whom I neglected would grow up to do terrible things??? There’s no handbook on how to parent 😤”

As he grows and learns Viserys would for sure see just how much his neglect molded his children with Alicent into the people that history remembers. And just Like Laenor he’d grow to blame himself for what happened to Luke because it was his shitty decisions (butchering his wife, marrying Alicent, and not abdicating when he still had the chance) that led to the dance in the first place.

Aemond is the type of man to punish himself for his sins, so leaning into a position at a fine arts museum where he’s surrounded by reminders of such sins would be his first choice. These extremely graphic depictions leave him with a feeling of immense guilt while also satisfying a sick part of himself that craves to he seen and recognized by all. Being carved in history as such a prominent figure gives him a sense of accomplishment. He’s demonized and hated by most, seen as the prime example of an omega brutalizer by various omega rights organizations as well as anyone who isn’t a piece of shit, but Aemond couldn’t care less about how the modern world views him because all that matters is that he’s been frozen in history.

Thats not to say he’s proud of what did or thinks his actions are in anyway okay because he does regret them, even goes as far as to constantly reach out to Rhaenyra in hopes of forming a proper bond with his son since the least he could do is be there for him. But even with all of that he’s unable to help the happiness that comes with knowing history never forgot him. Its sick and downright disgusting, but it just shows us how deep his inability to hold himself to the fire is. Makes us wonder if these things are the problem of nature or nurture.

Again, this Aemond is based off of F&B so he truly sucks big time. Even when he claims he’s trying to change.

I like your question because its perfect grounds for a deep discussion. Are people still guilty of acts they committed lifetime’s ago? Or are they suddenly absolved because they’ve been reborn centuries later? Its like that popular scenario; “if you could go back in time and kill ___ as a baby to prevent a horrible event”

A lot of people say no and others say yes, while some just ask if they could set them in a different household and hope they don’t grow up to be a pos. You could blame Aemond for what happened because he’s still himself at heart despite being reborn or you could decide that since he hasn’t hurt anyone in this lifetime that technically he’s innocent. It all depends on how you view reincarnation. Of course the blacks see Aemond as guilty because deep down this is still Aemond we’re talking about, but Alicent thinks her son as well as herself are innocent because this is an entirely new life.

However, the blacks see Osferth being reborn as soild evidence that Aemond will always be guilty of hurting Luke. Living, breathing proof of their son/brother’s assault till this day.

I love this question because world building makes me so happy!

Yes, a/b/o dynamics do exist however as time goes on beta’s begin to be the majority while alpha and omega are the minority. I feel this only makes sense because humanity no longer has to abide by that “survival of the fittest” mentality as well as the decreasing priority of being ‘pureblood’ within nobility. Therefore the whole “we must wed strong alphas to other strong alphas and preserve the holy fertility of the omega.” Is no longer a popular mindset. People simply love and create families regardless of second gender which overtime has caused the beta gene to dominate. Think of it like blondes and brunette. The brunette gene will more likely than not dominate though there are instances where the blonde phenotype wins the race.

Because of this Prime alphas are basically nonexistent therefore society isn’t very equipped to handle their nature in any way other than pills and the like. I’d describe it as a form of chemical castration, a way to prevent harm to the vulnerable.

Of course primes can refuse but it does make living in society hard because both public and most private schools require any primes past the age of 10 to be on such medications should their parents want to sign them up. Jobs will also refuse primes if they aren’t being treated. It’s simply too much of a risk. Not to mention that while there are few, prime alphas who commit an act of sexual assault do in fact use rut madness as their defense which leads down a very slippery slope in court. All in all, going down the route of chemical castration once a prime reaches somewhere around 15 or 16 makes everything easier for everyone.

While it hurts his pride, Aemond is more than willing to go through with this because he wants to have a relationship with his son AND Luke once he’s found. It also makes Helaena more comfortable with him being around her children, none of which are alphas. However the Maelor plus the twins are fearful to a certain degree because while they love their uncle, they’re always a bit weary.

Luke’s relationship with sex and his secondary gender is a worlds different. He presented around 10, and while he was under stress due to his unstable environment its not as much compared to the constant standards being a royal who’s also an alleged bastard put on his shoulders.

Luke takes to his dynamic easier then before due to the various omega public figures as well as a few older omegas to act as guidance throughout his life. He doesn’t see himself as lower for his status nor does he find it to be shameful. If anything he’s still as wild and free as we know him to be in FMN. Luke sees himself as equal regardless of the fact that he has breasts and can carry a couple of brats if he wanted to. The complete opposite of his past self. While he has a very critical low self esteem his confidence in his gender identity never wavers, proudly wearing more feminine things while also being quick to remind others that he’s just as much a man as any old Alpha or beta.

His attitude comes as a helping hand to a slightly insecure Osferth when the time for them to reunite comes around. Rekindling their mother-son relationship despite not being aware of it on the surface.

#asks #I’m going to write more in a separate post because these questions are ace!

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pre1ude · 2 years ago

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@s4ints , sent 👫 for four headcanons about our muses' relationship

Listen, I don't know when Death turns human and I suspect it happens centuries before Danny is even born, but let me be indulgent for a second. It becomes clear that Daniel can hear them rather early in life. He's seen death (not literally) on a consistent level since he was 5, from the men whose life he didn't mean to end to small critters whose ends he happens to witness. Apparently, one upside to enhanced hearing is he can sense things beyond his understanding or even his physical plane, because there's the ever-present sound of a soft tread and the nagging feeling that he is never alone during those moments. He first tries to talk to the unseen entity at 9 when Ms Spot dies of old age in his arms and he asks them to keep her good company, she's a special dog after all. The last time he does is at 27, standing over the body of his mother. He doesn't mourn her, there is no need, but he ventures to make a small, humble request, that if they can hear him, could they tell her he's sorry?

They probably just meet at random otherwise. Through Eshaq maybe, who has a very Dionysian/Aphroditian interest in Danny's music and an egotistical predilection for playing muse to some simple, if supernaturally-gifted human man? Turns out they've got a buddy who needs to couch-crash or alternatively a fun new friend for Danny and would he like to see a fallen god?? Hilariously enough Dan takes to Death like a puppy. He's got a deeply ingrained respect slash fear of authority, no matter if it's still functioning as authority or not. Death? THE Death? Well goodness.. He has a billion questions for them, of course, and far too much decorum to ask them all at once, so he just patiently listens to them talk and tries to glean the primordial secrets of human creation and destruction from two ex-deities shooting the shit within his earshot. He still asks after Spot and his actual, biological mama, and if they're doing alright in the afterlife or whatever place awaits the mortally uncoiled (he asks about heaven and hell too, catholic upbringing), before likely being promptly informed Todd hasn't been Death for a long while now, so they wouldn't know.

On their general interactions. Listen.. Danny's ridiculously glad to meet someone even more badly adjusted to human and social life than him. It puts him in a first-time position of competence by comparison and so he takes the liberty of teaching them a few things. At the very least they're well taken care of, well-informed about human circadian rhythms and health diets, and strictly instructed to do as Danny says, not as he does. The socials come less naturally to either of them and can only be described as bad attempts at human mimicry on both their parts. It involves a lot of huddled strategizing and hatching increasingly ridiculous backstories for how Todd came about. Most times, he introduces them as his distant german cousin that's staying with him for the time being. Occasionally they're his sibling when he can't remember the previous surname he gave them. Introducing, Todd Perkins!

(consider also: Dan and Todd's DMV Adventures. Featuring: the hassle of getting a primordial deity their very first ID, explaining why at 25 (26?) they still have so little legal documentation and knowledge of the world at large that it more suggests alien ship crash landing rather than birth, a very tired and suspicious employee who nevertheless turns a blind eye and Dan teaching Todd how to read. Guest appearance from: Danny's new yorker 'uncle' Hal who procured fake birth certificates for him and Patricia some 13 years ago and who blissfully doesn't ask too many questions this time either.)

On a more serious note: For all their differences in birth, duty, experience and power, I think Daniel and Todd can fundamentally agree on and bond over one glaring similarity: they are both outsiders. It goes beyond social outcasting, mentally they do not associate themselves with the human race whatsoever and never have. They've only passively watched life happen and people trudge along from afar, Danny from his deep isolation and Todd from the impassive throne as king-sentinel, until both are thrust into a position where assimilation is inevitable, even if neither has been provided the tools to make that change smoothly. They don't experience the world as most people do, they don't hit the regular benchmarks, they have to mind their step so as not to tread on delicate sensibilities and beliefs and the fragile lives around them, Dan with his destructive abilities and Todd, still in possession of ancient eldritch knowledge of the world that could break a human mind. And yet they have to follow the rules, they have to live as expected or elsewise suffer some loneliness for it. And I think they can soothe that in each other. Or at least go the road together. Of course Daniel would initially be of the mindset that anything less than perfect assimilation is a failure, he hates feeling wrong, Other or fundamentally different and does his best not to estrange or disappoint people, and I think Todd, who's anthitetically disenchanted and yet fond of humanity, can be immense help in that. It is rather silly to aim for boringly normal, after all. What a low bar to set oneself.

+ 1

Todd's birthday is a two-day affair as far as he's concerned - oct 31st and nov 1st, and he always insists they pregame during halloween. Partly for the irony alone, mostly because it's just the best holiday. Dan's a decent gift-giver, by all means, but not very creative. What can you give to a millenia old entity who's seen it all, really? He's keen on taking them places and gifting them experiences (seen everything doesn't mean done everything, that much becomes clear when he sees them eat Food for the first time), but if they don't visit for a celebration, he defaults to buying a present anyway and keeping it handy for the next meeting. It's mostly dumb little trinkets that remind him of Todd, hopefully enough for a laugh. There's a period of four years they don't see each other, during which, yes, he amasses a hoard of little skull-shaped things and giddily waits for their next meeting to present them. Trolling gods is actually very funny. and it's mostly fine if he does it with love.

#➻ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 —《answered.》#s4ints . death #at this point it's just 5 headcanons #anyway i knoW THIS IS SO OLD BUT HAVE IT #i love them v much #danny and his funky auntcle cousin sibling #who sounds like they're millenia old #he can't take them anywhere smh 😔

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iobnewsnetwork · 1 year ago

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A Desperate Act Reveals the Dwindling Room for Dissent in India

Their protest dispersed, female wrestlers who have accused a powerful official of sexual harassment went to the Ganges intending to throw away their Olympic medals. The Olympic wrestlers arrived on the banks of the sacred river Ganges late on Tuesday for what they had announced as a final act of desperation. Two days before, the police had violently dismantled their protest camp in New Delhi and dragged them off to detention, striking a blow against their protracted effort to bring to account a politically powerful sports official they accuse of serial sexual harassment of female wrestlers. Now, the athletes would throw their hard-earned medals, including two Olympic bronzes for a large nation curiously bereft of global sporting laurels, into the river and then begin a hunger strike. “These medals decorating our necks no longer mean anything,” they said in a statement, adding that the authorities were “going after the victims” to force them to end their protest. “What is the point of life when you compromise on dignity?” the statement read. The wrestlers, sobbing on the crowded riverbank, stopped short of discarding their medals at the end of two hours of high drama, as community leaders stepped in to ask them to give their pleas five more days. But their desperate act, after they were forced out of New Delhi’s main protest site, laid bare the shrinking space for protest in India’s capital nearly a decade into Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s rule. Activists, analysts and opposition politicians describe a pattern as Mr. Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party, or B.J.P., has grown increasingly allergic to dissent. The party uses its majority in Parliament to disrupt any debate over uncomfortable issues. It deploys the police in New Delhi, which is under the control of India’s powerful home minister, to derail or prevent protests over those issues. And, as equally powerful leverage, it unleashes a national broadcast media cowed to its interests, as well as an army of trolls and social media influencers, to demonize anyone who questions it. In such an environment, the female wrestlers have learned how lonely and draining the process of justice remains for women when they face the wall of political power. Laws have been amended and reforms promised in recent years after brutal cases of violence and abuse against women, yet cases like the wrestlers’ demonstrate how misogyny remains deeply ingrained in the structures of power, advocates say. Their plight could have wider demoralizing ramifications as India faces a dire need to tap into its widely underutilized female work force in its quest to become a major power. Mr. Modi once celebrated these wrestlers, who rose to celebrity by beating the odds in a particularly male-dominated part of the country. But now that they have accused the chief of the country’s wrestling federation, a six-term lawmaker of the B.J.P., of sexual harassment and abuse, they have been met by what they call a political cover-up. The protesting wrestlers — Sakshi Malik and Vinesh Phogat, along with a male wrestler, Bajrang Punia — say that the wrestling chief, Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh, 66, sexually harassed at least seven young women, one of whom was a minor, over the course of a decade, starting in 2012. Mr. Singh has rejected the claims. “If a single allegation against me is proven, I will hang myself,” he said on Wednesday. Officials in Mr. Modi’s party have tried to frame the accusations as a conspiracy cooked up by the political opposition less than a year before a national election, while saying the wrestlers should trust the sports authorities and the police to carry out an investigation. The wrestlers say they have reasons not to trust the police. It took pressure from India’s Supreme Court to get the Delhi police to finally register a case against Mr. Singh. And while the Delhi police in other cases have been quick to arrest people on far less serious charges, Mr. Singh remains a free man, despite a strict law for the protection of minors that requires an arrest as proceedings continue. As further cause for their distrust, the wrestlers cite the events of Sunday, when Mr. Singh attended the grand inauguration of a new Parliament building by Mr. Modi and posted pictures of him inside. That same day, the police tore down the wrestlers’ protest encampment, detained them and charged them with disrupting public order. It was this final act — which United World Wrestling, the sport’s governing body, condemned in a statement that also expressed “disappointment over the lack of results of the investigations” — that led them to the river. Image

Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh, chief of the country’s wrestling federation and a six-term B.J.P. lawmaker, in New Delhi in February.Credit...Sanjeev Verma/Hindustan Times, via Getty Images Protests in the capital have increasingly been relegated to a small designated site called Jantar Mantar. There, too, permission is required from a police force that has been accused by lawyers and activists of abusing “prohibitory orders” to prevent assemblies of dissenting groups while looking away when government supporters rally, at times even without permission. Kavita Krishnan, a feminist activist, said she had seen a drastic shrinking of physical space for protest in the capital in recent years. The previous coalition government headed by the Indian National Congress Party also tried to disrupt protests, particularly after a horrific gang rape case that shook India in 2012. But she and other activists were still able to hold regular protests, large and small, she said. “We were not just picked up and carried off wholesale and prevented from having a demonstration at all,” she said. “Jantar Mantar is the designated spot for protest, and the wrestlers are not allowed to continue their protest even there,” she said. “Even if at the designated places you can’t protest over a sustained length of time, where do you go?” Suman Nalwa, a spokeswoman for the Delhi police, rejected suggestions that the police abuse laws to prevent assembly. She said Delhi continues to host frequent protests, particularly in Jantar Mantar. “There are certain areas in New Delhi district because of security and law-and-order issues as well as traffic issues — they are out of bound for any kind of protest by anybody, irrespective of their political or ideological affiliations” she said. Image

From left, Bajrang Punia, Vinesh Phogat and Sakshi Malik leading a protest in New Delhi last week. Credit...Altaf Qadri/Associated Press When villagers and farmer groups announced that they would join the wrestlers at the protest site, more barricades were installed — some even welded to the road — while many of the groups were stopped at the city’s gates. After the camp was dismantled, the police put up large posters declaring that any assembly in the area was unlawful without prior permission. On the banks of the Ganges in Haridwar late Tuesday, the wrestlers sat in a huddle as a large crowd of supporters and cameras surrounded them. Thousands were gathered for the evening sunset prayer. Ms. Malik, the winner of an Olympic bronze and several other international medals, tightly hugged what her fellow protesters said was a box of her accolades and citations. Around 7:30 p.m., a group of elderly farmer leaders arrived and pushed their way into the huddle for a meeting. When it became clear that they had persuaded the wrestlers not to throw their medals into the river, and to give the government five more days, a nearly comic quest ensued among protesters: Where were the medals? (The farmer leaders said they had taken the medals to protect them.) “Who will send their daughters to play the sport when these kind of jackals are roaming around?” said Suhdir Kumar, a father of three, including one daughter, who was supporting the wrestlers’ protest. “They are doing the right thing,” he said of the wrestlers. “At least they are opening the eyes of others.” Read the full article

#National #News&Updates

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helluvahusker · 7 months ago

Text

Okay yeah so uh. Here you go. Read it on ao3 or under the cut.

Blitzø had been capitalizing on an adrenaline rush since coming out of his drug-induced trippy nightmare haze. It carried him through the final battle, Stolas’s timely rescue, and even into rewarding Stolas with a very satisfying thank satan we’re not all dead fuck. It had come on so suddenly and lasted so long that Blitzø wasn’t even aware of it- at least not until he orgasmed, and crashed. Hard.

An adrenaline high wasn’t pleasant to come down from suddenly on the best of days, and on this day Blitzø suddenly all at once became blindingly nauseatingly aware of… nausea. And exhaustion. And- had his hands been shaking this whole time?

“Blitzy?” All four of Stolas’s eyes were wide as he leaned over to peer into Blitzø’s face with concern. “Darling, are you alright?” He was somewhat hindered by the restraints- restraints Blitzø had put him in. He should undo them now probably, kink safety and all that. Except he couldn’t seem to move.

Aw fuck, he was a terrible Dom, wasn’t he?

“Blitz.”

Satan damn it, he must really be fucking up if Stolas was using his actual name with no cutesy embellishment on the end.

“S- sorry,” Blitzø managed to get out, and then to his horror, tears began collecting in his eyes.

Stolas snapped his fingers and the restraints disappeared. In an instant he was hovering over Blitzø again uncertainly. “Oh dear,” he said, “I’m- I’ve been doing some reading. Is this Dom drop?”

Was this Dom drop? Blitzø was pretty sure it hadn’t started out that way but maybe it was becoming that. He was supposed to be in control and responsible and here he was, mostly unmoving except now his whole body was trembling and tears were beginning to leak embarrassingly down his cheeks.

At least Stolas seemed to pick up on the fact that Blitzø was having some trouble forming words. Apparently deciding to go with the Dom drop theory, he wiped Blitzø’s tears away with his thumb and gathered him up into his arms so that they were both laying on their sides, Blitzø’s face buried in Stolas’s chest fluff.

A deeply ingrained part of him wanted to protest, push Stolas away, refuse the comfort.

Another part of him found sudden strength to cling to the tall bird tightly, his breaths starting to come out in ragged gasps. What was happening to him?

“You did wonderfully tonight, Blitzy,” Stolas cooed, stroking the skin between Blitzø's horns. “You always know just what I need. I’m always so satisfied by the time you’re finished with me.”

Blitzø supposed if there was any bright spot to this it would be that their scenes almost always ended with Blitzø’s orgasm- and he liked to save that for after Stolas had come at least half a dozen times. At least he hadn’t left Stolas writhing and wanting on top of being tied up.

Thankfully, Stolas didn’t seem to be holding his irresponsibility against him, in regard to both the day’s mishaps and the one that was occurring right now. Blitzø did his best to scrutinize the owl’s tone the best he could to see if it really was okay. It seemed to be. Stolas simply continued saying nice gentle things and petting him. His hand was all over now, tracing down the curve of Blitzø’s horn, pressing in between those sensitive and hard to reach places in between his spines, twining his fingers around Blitzø’s tail. Blitzø decided to just close his eyes and sink into it. There wasn’t much else he could do.

Stolas’s litany of praises was interrupted by a knock at the door. The owl-demon paused. Blitzø chanced a glance up at him and saw that he was frowning- but only slightly, and it wasn’t directed at him.

“One moment Blitzy, I’ll be right back, I promise,” Stolas said. He gave one last pat between Blitzø’s horns and slid out of the bed to crack his door open. “Via? What is it, darling?”

“Loona messaged me on Sinstagram,” Blitzø heard Octavia say, “Those other imps that came to Loo Loo land with us have been trying to reach Blitzø. I think they’re really worried about him.”

Stolas did one of those freaky 180 degree head turns to glance at the half catatonic figure in his bed for a moment before turning back to his daughter. “Thank you starfire,” he said, “I’ll make sure he gets in touch with them. We didn’t disturb you, did we?”

“Nah,” Octavia said. “Night, dad.”

“Good night my sweet owlet.” Stolas shut the door and true to his word, crossed the expanse of his room to rejoin Blitzø as quickly as he could. “It sounds like your friends are concerned about you, my dear. Would it be alright if I called them for you? I can do all the talking.”

He didn’t have friends, Blitzø wanted to protest. Sure, he and Moxxie had talked some shit out today and now had some tentative sort of understanding and maybe(?) mutual respect. But Mox and Mills weren’t his friends, they were his subordinates. He was their asshole boundary-crossing boss.

“Okay,” he heard himself say.

Stolas gave a sigh that sounded a lot like relief. “Thank you. Is your phone where it usually is?”

Blitzø thought about it, and nodded. Yeah. it had been digging into him the whole time he’d been tied up. Fucking rectangle.

A moment later Stolas had the phone in hand and it was ringing. Millie picked up.

“Boss! Are you alright? Mox has been having some really awful side effects from whatever those agent assholes drugged y’all with and we realized you’re probably dealing with the same thing.”

Stolas’s head tilted quizzically to the side. “Ah, my apologies, this is Stolas, actually. Blitzø is right here next to me but he’s quite…” the owl hesitated, “...out of it. Sorry, did you say he’d been drugged?”

Well shit. If this conversation had been happening in person Blitzø would have been making frantic cut it motions at her. Or he'd be physically covering her mouth with his hand and if she tried to lick or bite it, he’d turn it into something dirty and flirtatious. At the very least he would interrupt loudly with something rude and crass, maybe a joke about intox play before sending an insult flying towards someone who’d take the bait (Moxxie) and the issue would be lost in the ensuing argument.

Unfortunately in his current state he couldn’t do any of that, and Millie wasn’t actually in the room with them anyways. So there was nothing to keep her from answering Stolas’s concerned query.

“Yeah, he didn’t tell you? He and Moxx got gassed with some kinda truth serum while the agents had them. Hear it was quite a trip. Mox said there was singin’ and everything.”

Stolas was very still, his eyes darting down to Blitzø, to the phone, back to Blitzø again.

“Yer Highness,” Millie added, as if she thought that not using the proper term of address was why he wasn’t responding.

“Um, no. No, he didn’t mention it,” Stolas said finally. “I suppose that explains his current state. I can look after him for you, if that’s alright. He should be quite safe here.”

“Are you sure, yer highness? Moxxie has been puking real bad and he has the shakes and the sweats too. It won’t be pretty.”

Blitzø had to bite back a whimper. The puking, yeah that was gonna come soon, he could feel it. He was already shaking. Excessive sweating didn’t sound too fun either, at least not when it wasn’t coming from far more enjoyable activities that he’d highly prefer to be doing. Moving was not going to be fun. He waited for Stolas to acquiesce, tell Millie to come pick him up so he wouldn’t have to deal with a sickly pathetic imp.

He was instead very surprised when Stolas replied firmly, “Yes, I’m sure. Thank you for going to such lengths to reach him and make sure he was okay. Thank Loona for me as well, please.”

“You got it! Hope the rest of yer night is as good as it can be. G’bye yer highness, night Blitzø.”

The screen went dark, indicating that she’d hung up.

Stolas let the phone drop onto his night table and looked at Blitzø.

“R’ you mad?” Blitzø managed. Shit, maybe he was still being a little too honest.

Stolas sighed. “That’s not important right now, Blitzy. I-”

Blitzø dragged himself up onto his elbows shakily, trying to crawl his way up Stolas’s chest, like he would before pinning the kinky prince down and having his way with him. The nickname was back, which was a good sign, but it wasn’t good enough. “Tell me,” he insisted, but before he could demand anything else or even let Stolas answer, he felt bile rising in his throat and made an awful retching gagging noise.

Calmly but very quickly, Stolas scooped him up and bam, he was in front of a toilet bowl just in time to spew his guts out.

Stolas stooped over to rub comfortingly at his back, though he wrinkled his beak and pointedly looked away from the contents of the toilet while did so. “I’m not angry,” he said, when there was a lull in the heaving, “at least I don’t think I am. I just wish you’d told me.”

“In my defense-” Blitzø gasped, interrupted by another round of puking. When this one was done he spat into the bowl a few times before continuing, “-how was I supposed to know there’d be side effects like this?”

The noise Stolas made was impatient and wordless. “It’s not about the side effects, Blitzø, it’s that you didn’t bother to mention that more happened to you today than just being surrounded at gunpoint by demon-hunting agents.”

“That was already too much for you to know,” Blitzø mumbled, half to himself. He gripped the sides of the toilet as he let out what seemed to be the last bit of contents in his stomach. At least, the nausea was finally lessening. With that out of the way, he could feel the heavy sweat that had broken out across his body, and shivered some more. “Listen Stolas, I obviously appreciate the save today but what I do for work,” he sighed, “I never wanted you all involved in that. I think I’m all done puking, by the way.” He groped for the flusher and pushed it down. He watched the nasty mix of stomach acid and half-digested food swirl away.

“Oh, good.” Stolas let out a breath of relief. “Let me get you something to rinse your mouth out with.”

Blitzø wiped a shaking hand across his clammy forehead as he waited for Stolas to find him a cup to put mouthwash in. Mouthwash. Who the fuck had mouthwash in Hell? Prissy bird. But he was in no position to complain, especially when Stolas returned bearing not only the stuff to rinse his mouth out with, but a cool damp cloth too, which he applied unasked to Blitzø’s overheated skin.

“I am involved,” Stolas said gently, kneeling behind Blitzø to wipe sweat off the imp’s back as he swished minty liquid around his mouth, erasing all traces of sourness. “It is my grimoire you're using. As I said earlier, if you get in trouble, so do I.” He clicked his beak in a frustrated manner. “But more importantly, I don’t want you to feel that you have to hide things from me. I lo- that is to say, you mean a lot to me, Blitzy.”

Ugh. Sure, it was totally Blitzø that meant a lot to him, not just his huge dick and the admittedly incredible sex they had. The words from their first sexual encounter played in his head. “I've ever had anyone want me this way!” Stolas didn’t care about him at all, he just liked the way he perceived that Blitzø wanted him. Which he didn’t, obviously. Even if yeah, the sex was really good.

Guilt twisted in Blitzø’s gut but he ignored it. “Yeah, whatever,” he said finally, “I can tell you more things if it’ll make you happy, featherbrain.” Never mind that Blitzø would never actually make Stolas happy. Not even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. He twisted around, slumping his forehead back into Stolas’s chest feathers, so the owl wouldn't be able to see his face. “Can we go back to bed? I think I really need to lay down.”

“Of course, Blitzy.”

To the imp’s disappointment Stolas didn’t try to pick him up again. Instead he stood and helped Blitzø to his feet as well, seeming unbothered by his sweaty grasp. To be fair they’d been covered in each other’s bodily fluids countless times before. Sweat was pretty tame, really.

Stolas held his hand as Blitzø took shaky steps back towards the bedroom. If he was holding on a little tighter than he had to, it was just because he felt unsteady. No other reason, no sirree.

When they finally made it back to the bed, another surge of guilt, bordering on panic, hit Blitzø like a truck- but this was one he couldn’t ignore. “Shit, I really fucked up on aftercare,” he whispered. Then louder, “check in with me birdy, you okay?”

Stolas smiled at him softly, and Blitzø’s traitorous heart gave a twinge. “I’m perfectly alright, my dear. Even with-” he waved a hand indicatively, “-I had a wonderful time, as always.”

“If I’d known this was gonna happen I never would have offered to do a scene,” Blitzø said insistently, because it was important to him that Stolas knew that. “It wasn’t right of me to leave you hanging like that.”

“It’s really alright,” Stolas assured him. “I promise I can take far more than you might think. Goetias are quite tough you know.”

Blitzø flashed back to the true demon form Stolas had taken earlier when saving I.M.P’s sorry asses, the havoc and destruction he had wreaked. He believed it, but- “Still,” he said, “it was irresponsible. Sex hurts can be uh, trickier than fight hurts.” He pressed on, clearing his throat before Stolas could answer or reassure him again, because that was supposed to be his job, dammit. “You did really good though, when you thought it was Dom drop.” His throat closed around the next words and they came out a little hoarse, “You were perfect.”

Stolas let out a pleased little hoot, and the knot in Blitzø’s chest lessened. Finally, he was saying the right things.

“I’m glad.” Stolas smiled, a bit bashfully. “Truthfully, it’s rather nice to be the one taking care of you for once. Can I get you anything while you rest? Water, or perhaps an anti-nausea potion? I have a few on hand already so I wouldn't even need to go whip one up.”

Silly beautiful bird and his potions. “Yeah,” Blitzø said, “yeah that would be great. Thanks.”

Stolas trilled, seeming pleased to be of use. The solemn heaviness that had been surrounding him since the call with Millie seemed to have disappeared. “Coming right up!

Blitzø watched him go, and felt a strange hollowness spread throughout his body. He tried ignoring it, like he did most bodily sensation, curling up under the ridiculously fluffy covers, doing his best not to succumb to the thoughts whispering that this was temporary, he’d have to leave and someday Stolas wouldn’t want him to come back.

I already know, he told the thoughts, but it didn’t help.

When Stolas returned he pretended he’d fallen asleep already, hoping the tremors that were still rocking his frame wouldn’t give him away. People could shake in their sleep, right?

Whether he was fooled or not, Stolas said nothing. Blitzø heard him placing a glass of water and the potion on the nightstand. The bed dipped as Stolas rejoined him.

“Sweet dreams, Blitzy,” the prince whispered, “I do hope you feel better in the morning.”

Blitzø hoped so too. But the strange ache growing in his chest, well. He was pretty sure that was only going to get worse.

Oh no no no I want to write a missing scene between Stolitz after Stolas rescues I.M.P from the living realm where Blitzø is still having after effects from being drugged and it hits him after they finish fucking (or maybe during?) I just think it could be cool.

#helluva boss #stolitz #stolitz fanfic #helluva boss fanfiction #blitzo #blitzø #stolas #stolas goetia #Huves Writes

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arr-jim-lad · 3 years ago

Note

If you don't mind me asking, could you tell me about DIO and how he became your favourite? I'm curious!

you know what that's a really good question and i wish i had a clear answer but it kinda just happened lmfao. there was some process to it that i can easily narrow down though and i will gladly dive into it and try to explain it because you KNOW i'll take any chance to talk about god damned DIO lmao

im gonna try to make this as coherent as possible but please bear with me, i'm pulling an allnighter and am currently in the 24th hour of awakedness so lmao

ok first; initially kakyoin was actually my favourite for a while, and after a while i'd say i like them the same, but we all knew. we all knew i was a dirty little liar. i have 4 kakyoin figures. i have a DIO shrine. i wrote several analyses of DIO. my god damned phone background is DIO. idk who i was trying to fool lmao

the funny thing is that before i watched jojo i actually fucking hated DIO lmfao, there was a blog here that posted undertale quotes and i really enjoyed it, but then one day the blog decided to just start posting 'you expected x but it was me, dio' memes and it was extremely unfunny and annoying and i hated it and i hated him lmfao

then i watched jojo with my friend and i just thought DIO was funny in like a fucked up way, mind you i watched the dub which made him extra funny with the british accent

i "liked" him but more like as a joke. i did really enjoy just the sheer extent of how vile he was though, making a mom eat her own baby is still one of my favourite fucked up things i've ever seen a villain do. it's the way he had fun with being absolutely reprehensible that made him so much fun to watch. i love when villains are fun.

having seen him in parts 1 and 3 i still kinda liked him as a meme and eventually as like, "i hate that i like him lol"

but like, then i've seen the OVA, and DIO spoke with andrew chaikin's voice in the dub and i was just kinda uh 😳

because like andew chaikin's freaking DIO voice???? hi hello??

also just in general how DIO is in the ova... his design and animation are fucking stellar and he was just a freaking delight to watch, but his voice made him particularly comforting to me.

so yeah it was the ova. the ova is to blame for all of this.

i do feel a need to mention because this is something that would make me super uncomfortable if people misunderstood it, but as i am aro/ace, my love for DIO is not of a romantic or sexual nature at all. i'd describe it more as like.. adoration? i see him as a muse and a comfort character.

the reason i actually really started liking DIO so much and why i consider him a comfort character is because he turned out to be just.. amazingly, delightfully comfortable to draw. i enjoy drawing him so much. i've drawn him 128 times and plan to draw him many more times. i think my art has improved immensely just from how much i've drawn him, especially when it comes to more muscular bodies, which i really didn't enjoy drawing before.

he's so incredibly fun to draw because he combines this macho huge body with fashion and elegance and beauty, and drama and evil and danger and egypt and vampires. there's always something about him that's gonna inspire me to draw another piece of him. i haven't had an art block since i started drawing him (though worth noting is that my mascot Luv has also been a top notch fighter against art block; him and DIO are my main muses to always keep me drawing and experimenting and creating new approaches)

I also think DIO is a hugely interesting character, as it's apparent by how much i've written about him in the past. i think his motivation is so messed up and convoluted and interesting because yeah a fucked up vampire who's been isolated underwater for 100 years would probably not exactly be a stable and rational person lmao

to me as someone with social anxiety, the fact that his main goal is to achieve peace of mind is also really interesting. uh, spoiler for stone ocean here so im gonna cross it through so people won't accidentally catch a glimpse of it but, ok firstly i think DIO's plan was absolutely batshit and definitely not the right thing to do LMAO, but i love that he literally wants to change reality to know what's gonna happen next, because not knowing things in advance is preventing him from achieving his peace. like im not saying i relate to DIO because i really don't, but as someone who's been very familiar with anxiety, it's really interesting to see that as a villain's motivation (also might as well mention i don't think DIO has anxiety, i think it's more like frustration over lack of control with him, also he's a huge paranoic)

i want to also talk about his philosophy that i genuinely love so much, and that is the concept of gravity as he means it on that famous panel. DIO's idea of gravity is a very zen concept, it's the idea that fate will bring you where you need to be, fate will make you meet the people you need to meet, etc. as someone who struggles with anxiety, that is a really compelling idea to me, which helped me overcome stressful situations long before i got into jojo. of course i do understand that to some people the idea of a predetermined fate can be terrifying and tbh i totally get it, but for me, when it comes to anxiety-inducing situations, the idea of "gravity" has helped me be less stressed. it's a very interesting concept and i love that it's something that's so deeply ingrained in DIO's philosophy. (PS just so you know whenever i say DIO's plan was a good idea i am joking 100% of the time, i would not want to live in the world he wanted to create. however, it's funny to say DIO was thinking of us socially anxious folks so im gonna keep saying it lmao)

you know, it's also really funny that like.. DIO ended up being such a massive beloved comfort character of mine, because like up until him, i generally got attached to characters who were very Good and Wholesome lmao. tfw the two characters that served as the most important comfort characters for me in my life were DIO and......... Papyrus from Undertale LMAO

they are almost polar opposites, but what they both have in common is that they are both very confident, and i'd say that while characters who doubt themselves are generally those i personally relate to, characters who are confident are the ones i gravitate towards for "support". Papyrus has been a character who i honestly hold single-handedly responsible for helping me turn my life around and just.. had an amazing impact on my mental health. i dont want to know who i'd be today if i never got into undertale.

with DIO, i feel like part of the reason why im so joyous and loud about how much i love him and why im so open about how much fun im having enjoying his character so much is because if i were to meet this character back then, when i was in college or in high school, i would never allow myself to enjoy this. i think that to me, DIO being such a huge comfort character represents like... something? i can't quite put my finger on it, but i feel a certain kind of pride and freedom about it because i know i overcame something in these past few years, and that i am much better and happier for it in every aspect.

i am very much a person who gets deeply attached to things or characters that i associate with positive changes in my life. because i've been at such a low point once in my life, i cling to things that remind me of how far i've come.

im just like.. really happy to be here as i am and DIO somehow became a deeply ingrained part of that.

#or at least he will become a deeply ingrained part of it once i get that tattoo i scheduled to get in june next year lmao #jamble ramble #dio brando #about me

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chubbology · 4 years ago

Text

Inertia

prompt: a man gains weight trying to get his ex-girlfriend back, but goes way too far and gets addicted to gaining

He hadn’t gone to the gym even once in ages.

After a year of singlehood, he wasn’t ashamed to admit anymore that he’d only really gone in the first place to impress women. Ironic, of course, since his ex had never been more than vaguely dissatisfied about his gym habit.

When they first started dating, he had love handles he hated and his thighs had been too thick. He assumed she dated him despite these flaws. Only after he lost weight to please her did he find out that it was his chub that caught her eye. It was bigger guys she was into. It was a lot of miscommunication. A lot of insecurity on his part, since what her preferences meant was that she wanted him to be a little heavy, and he couldn’t possibly accept that with his society-ingrained doctrines about attractiveness.

But those doctrines meant fuck-all now; he was eating a double cheeseburger in his car, helping it down with an orange soda, thinking about dessert. He was wondering if she’d be proud of him now that he’d gained thirty pounds. He wondered if she’d look at him with half-lidded eyes like she used to, if he put on another thirty. Fifty. Whatever.

His phone buzzes. He sits up straighter, belly swelling a little into his lap. It’s her.

Hey. My friend needs to sell her two tickets. I know it’s your favorite band. Interested?

The next text was a link to an information page about an upcoming concert. He’d been so disconnected lately, he hadn’t even heard about it.

Even though he wasn’t actually all that interested, he replied that he was, and they set a date to meet up the next week. Shit. He looked down at himself. If she were someone else, she might be repelled. But she wasn’t someone else…

He was hit with a brilliant, maybe brilliantly stupid, idea. It’s execution began with going right back through the drive thru.

In the days leading up to seeing his ex again, he ate almost constantly. Since he was only doing freelance online at the moment, his work didn’t get in the way of this. He let himself eat whatever he wanted, in amounts three times what his body craved. He pushed himself to a state of being constantly past full. She liked fat guys? Fine. Even if she still didn’t want anything to do with him, he wanted her to see what he could have been, if he hadn’t been such a gym-rat douchebag. If he’d let himself become a lazy, docile boyfriend like she wanted instead, weak and overweight.

It was hard, gaining a lot of weight in a week. The number on the scale didn’t go up as much as he expected, even though he’d eaten enough calories to gain twenty pounds at least. He compensated by showing up to their meeting spot wearing clothes that tightly hugged his body, which now had a good forty-ish pounds of fat clinging to it. Looking in the mirror before he left, he’d almost seen what she was into. His ass had gotten kind of wide and dumpy, but in a sexy way?

He was all nerves when she showed up looking healthy and cute and indifferent about him, holding the tickets in her hands. Almost indifferent. She definitely gave him a once-over, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He could tell she bit the inside of her lip.

“Well,” she said, meeting his eyes fearlessly. Were her cheeks a little red, or was that wishful thinking? “I’ll see you.”

“Really?” he blurted. “Kinda miss hanging out.”

She smiled and turned to leave. “Maybe.”

He went home and binged hard.

In contrast to how he grew too slowly in the week before meeting up with her, in the weeks afterward, he gained weight doubletime. Fat rounded him out as easy as if he were a swiftly filling water balloon, engorging his thighs and belly and ass and hips wide and heavy. He ate compulsively as his appetite skyrocketed, as cravings crushed his will to restrain himself. His budget was thrown out of whack as he spent his savings on pantry loads of unhealthy food. His clothes stretched and seams snapped as he struggled to fit in his largest clothes. He shopped in the plus sized section first for comfort, then by necessity.

All the while he could only think: I wished she was watching.

He started imagining her with him. In the car as he ate fast food. At the store as he bought new clothes. Walking beside him as he forced himself to get exercise.

“Slow down, big guy.” “No, I think you need one size bigger.” “Sweating already? You’re so out of shape.”

Why did he like it? Imagining her mocking him? Teasing him? Eyeing his body, fleshy and overfed.

The next time she texted, it was late at night, and his eyes were glazed watching television, eating huge spoonfuls of that miracle drug called Nutella. His belly swelled out of his shirt. His breasts and face were puffy. According to the numbers he punched into Google, he had long crossed the threshold of obesity.

How was the concert?

He stared at the words. This was it. Maybe his only chance. He replied: Didn’t go after all. Been feeling off lately.

To his (very manly) delight, this prompted more questions, and it became clear she wanted a real conversation. Was she thinking of him? Missing him like he missed her? He thought out every response with the careful focus of a rocket scientist. He wasn’t going to mess this up.

He didn’t seem to, and they texted into the early hours of the morning, catching up. Finally, finally she asked to meet up with him again, and - feeling more eager, a little reckless - he tapped out a disclaimer. Or to her, hopefully: motivation.

Just so you aren’t shocked when you see me, I’ve put on weight since I bought those tickets from you. I’m not sensitive about it or anything, but it’s a lot. So here’s a fair warning.

He held his breath as he waited for her reply. Held his breath. Held it…

Oh. Really?

Like before, they set a time the following week. This time, to get coffee. No big deal.

He knew he had more than fulfilled his little scheme of putting on weight to catch her attention, and he could push the breaks now, but he felt helpless against his inertia. At this point, he’d cultivated half a dozen habits that had his weight steadily rising, and he couldn’t just turn them off. If he so much as thought of eating less, his whole body seized up in fearful anticipation and unhappiness, and he found himself cramming a couple moonpies into his mouth just to calm down.

He gained another six pounds between their text conversation and their coffee date. He felt so out of control, so out of shape, so out of line with the standards of popular society that he felt oddly…free. In a way, he felt free of anxious self-consciousness as he heaved himself out of his car and waved at her through the coffee shop window. She was sitting in a corner at a table for two. Despite his warning, she looked a little shocked.

When he sat down across from her, his huge ass hanging off the ends of the seat, she appeared to inhale deeply. Her expression was inscrutable.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said.

Blushing, he supposed he deserved a bit of tactlessness, for the tactless way he broke up with her. “What? Oh. Yeah, no. I wasn’t.”

She sipped her coffee, eyes flicking between his flabby chest and his flabby face. In a low tone that no one else would hear, she said, “What happened? For you to get fat as fuck.”

He opened his mouth and closed it. This wasn’t how he was expecting this to go. “Well. I’ve been working from home, stressed out. I let myself go and…” He trailed off when he realized her eyes were cold. No - so hot they seemed cold, like his shower water when turned to the highest setting.

“Is this because of me?” she asked, cutting to the chase. She crossed her legs, now openly surveying him. “Did you decide it was okay to gain a hundred pounds because you thought I’d be into it?”

He was speechless. He swallowed.

“Well? Do you want me back that badly? Ever since I saw you last time, all chubbed out, I’ve been thinking maybe I should give you a second chance.”

“Um.”

“But I don’t know…” She shrugged, but a smirk was hiding just behind that indifferent frown, and he wanted. He wanted her forgiveness, whatever that meant. “How about you gain a hundred more and we’ll go on a real date? Sound good? You’re not the only fat guy out there.”

She was full-on grinning now, and he missed her little games like this. He could play them, too.

“Maybe, but I bet I’m the only guy who’s gotten this fat for you,” he said. She was immediately affected by this, and he licked his lips. “You really want to wait to see me a hundred pounds bigger than this, or do you want to stick around to watch?”

Even quieter, she said, “You saying you like gaining weight? How convenient.”

So she still doubted him. He put out his hands for her to see. “Just look. Look at how fat my hands are. I can’t…” And finally his composure cracked a little. “I can’t stop. I couldn’t stop if I wanted. Even if you never talk to me again, I’m gonna gain weight.”

Any playfulness was gone now from her. She looked like she wanted him, too. “Hmm. Maybe we should go before you break that poor chair, huh?”

He blushed again. God, he was getting docile. “I’m not that bad,” he muttered. But she gave him a cruel grin. She hadn’t entirely forgiven him. “You will be.”

And he knew then: he was doomed. He was already a little bit into his own heaviness, and she was going to take that feeling and amplify it tenfold. She was going to enable every bad habit he had, watch him flounder under his increasing size and become weaker under layers and layers of fat until he could barely lift a two pound dumbbell.

He knew she wanted this to happen, and maybe he’d broken up with her before because he’d been afraid.

But he wasn’t anymore.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

#weight gain #fic #male gainer

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semischarmed · 4 years ago

Text

Mine

Many coaches have come and taught the many iterations of our university team. Over the years, these coaches, like players, come and go. Good ones are hard to come by. Great ones are once in a lifetime. That was our Coach James.

He had a fatherly quality to him. There was a warmth in his training, a brightness when he would teach us. When we succeeded, he helped bring us up further and when we failed he softened the blow with his wisdom. Coach was great like that. Strictly professional, of course, but with a layer of genuine friendliness and a desire to watch us all succeed. He really was the perfect coach and we were blessed to have him. Still, in my lust, in my pure selfishness, I knew I had to have him- all of him to me and me alone. One long summer day, I ask for some one-on-one training. Never one to turn down a teaching opportunity, he complies. Like I said, he was a great coach.

I decide this would be the day. I run, but not too well. I throw, but haphazardly. That’s all it took for him to lean in. That’s all it took to get him close. Of course, he came with pure intentions- I did not.

When he is right above me, when I feel the vibration in the air from his chest, when I feel his raw power and vitality. That is when I strike. I fuck up my throwing position a little more, and he guides it proper. Fuck yeah. Jesus, I could stay like this forever. I feel the resonance of his deep voice within my very soul. Beckoning to me. “Become me. You want this. You deserve this,” it taunts. He was still coaching me, sure, but my mind is preoccupied with dark intent.

These gentle breaths as he speaks- these steady hands guiding mine to a better position. These would be my truths now. A most intimate of trainings. Coach James would be training me-sure- he would be training me to use that bod. I stare at him with longing. He would never look at me that way. God, I wanted him so bad. We glisten with the sweat of the midday sun. I could melt just like this. And in fact, I do.

In that grasp, in that teaching moment, I decide to teach coach a couple tricks myself. I look up at his face. Earnest. Strong. Patient. I watch his lips- they’re still moving- he’s still guiding me. Good. He hasn’t noticed my body begin liquifying. He continues on, unfazed. Unconcerned. He always did have that humble strength about him.

I am drawn to those plump lips, to his perfect smile and the void behind them, to the force of his breath over me, and to the very vibration that created them. I am drawn to that body which I would make mine. I wrap his thick arms around me. Those goddamn arms. They pulse and tense in surprise. He finally catches on. “- Hey. What are you doing? What.. What is this?” I pay no mind. A breeze picks up and his scent fills me. I wrap myself in it. Old spice deodorant layered over the pungent, musk of a man. My man. My scent, soon enough. The air was ripe in pheromones. Testosterone. James. I inhale deeply, trying to catch as much of him as I could. His skin is nice, too. It’s a bit damp, a bit hot from the heat, but nice. I feel them stretch taught, struggling to contain the mass of muscle beneath. I draw his shocked embrace even closer, uncomfortably close. I feel him between concern over my melting form and a need to push me away. Works for me. I continue to liquify further. Faster. You will be mine, Coach.

The world stops for a moment- at least for me. Maybe adrenaline, maybe my imagination. I commit this scene to memory, the scene where I become something greater. The scene where the real Coach James is born.

I shoot up his nose and flood his mouth. His body is forced to gorge itself with my mass. With every breath he attempts to draw, he pulls the liquid me instead. He retches, attempting to vomit me out, but I just draw myself further in. Flooding and flooding, I saturate coach with myself. When all but the last of me is a dribbling of slime upon his cheek, I disperse inside him. I drill into his every crevice, swim through his bloodstream, bond with his ever piece. I settle deeper and deeper inside my coach. Until his body no longer recognizes my presence as foreign. Until I am coach. I incubate into him, my pieces dormant.

Coach James awakes in the grass to the odd sight of a star-filled sky and a cold night breeze. “What the fuck...” he ponders, rubbing his head in confusion. He aches all over, yet he isn’t hungry. He digs into his memory, attempting to piece together the past few hours. I just spent them digesting this afternoon so he would have no success.

Unclear on the past events, yet unfazed, he walks back to his car and heads home.

———

That first night was magical-for me. As for coach, I’m not quite sure. I am ever present in his dreams. Pleasure, I think, is how I’d describe what being inside James was like. In his dreams, in his deepest thoughts, I lay there to witness them. These were thoughts, these were ideas, these were emotions that only I would be sole witness to, along coach. Ecstasy. This was a piece of him we would share alone. I was like a part of him, and only I would know him fully to this extent.

In the next few days after the events of that afternoon, Coach appeared a little more vain, a little more irritable. To my teammates he just seemed off. They catch glimpses of him checking himself out. They hear the barely audible moans from his office as he delicately feels his every part.

“What the fuck was up with coach” They say. Little did they know the real question to ask was ‘what was up’ IN their coach. Little did they know it was the influence of their missing teammate, ingraining himself deeper and deeper into his beloved James.

Despite the changes, my coach resists me. The further I try to bond, the more his body rejects me. It is a 3 day affair. A push and pull. With every push, I gain momentary connection to that bod, only to have that fulfillment ripped from my now non-existent hands. He was a coach, after all. I should have known it would be a battle of wills. Still, there was someone I had that coach didn’t have-yet. My mind. I had a cleverness match-made for that hot bod. A cleverness he deserved. A cleverness that I would utilize to the fullest to make that match a reality. Coach was a happy, content man. I was not. He needed my ambition, my cleverness, my lust. That body deserved better.

I let up the assault on his mind. He feels himself winning, backing my parts into a corner. It’s here where I apologize profusely inside him. He accepts because, James was the kind of guy to pick someone up when they’re down. He accepts my apology foolishly as we decide upon the best way I may leave him. A chance. We decide to do so in the privacy of his home- for my sake, of course. Little did he know, I felt his resistance weakest there. He readies himself for my exit, relaxing so I may flow out of him. I ready myself for one final push. It was in that moment that I surround coach with my psyche, encapsulate his very soul.

Coach James wakes up making an odd face his body has never made. It was a lustful, sinful grin. It was my grin. I start chuckling. My voice is deep, booming. We moan together as my dormant parts stir. We moan as it starts convulsing. The shaking was harsh. I puppet this body still and eager to accept more of me. It takes some resistance but it finally yields. Nothing good comes easy, after all. I stick my parts take their rightful places. Those bulging, slick arms? Mine. Powerful, vascular legs? Also mine. That thick, veiny cock? Fucking. Mine. I feel them inside me- I alight as his energy becomes mine. We tickle. We feel great. At long last, this body was mine.

No. Further. I want everything he ever is, ever was. James was gonna give me that. I wanted permanence. No one would ever tear us apart. I decide on his soul. I decide on becoming that as well. I string his soul up, prisoner in its own body, unable to do much of anything until transformed by the poison of my very being. In the meantime, I pleasure my new self to grant him a taste of what we could have, what we could be, once he yielded. I use those thick python arms as my own. I gingerly trace my a newly muscular inner thigh. I shiver in delight. Fuck. We were sensitive. Who knew?

I stare at myself in the mirror. Oh god, oh god this was real, he was truly mine. “Here’s how to use this bod correctly” I mock in that gentle, instructive tone he had. I rush up to the mirror and start making out with myself. It’s cold. It warms up as I continue to lap at it with my tongue, as I continue to smear with these new plump lips of mine. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff, coach” I moan as him. The room is humid, dripping with pheromone, hot from the heat I am emanating in wearing my beloved coach. I touch my new dick for the first time, feeling his soul rile up. I feel his teaching sensibilities corrupt with my desire. As any good coach knows, never let them have a chance to fight back. Before he has a chance to react to my newfound control or my actions, I pump quickly, determinedly. Yeah. Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. Coach’s body was fucking hot. This was a fucking dream- Oh My god. “Oh. Oh. oh” Our moans ring like music to my new ears. And in that final resonance, I release with only one thought: “I’m Coach James”. His hand shakes in resistance. This was it. I force the hand still. Command it. It was my hand after-all. I scoop our cum in my hand. I give my hot new reflection a playful wink. “Bottoms up” I say to us both. Sweet Nectar. My Nectar. With every taste and of his own milk, he perverts own senses, dilutes his very self. He has obviously never tasted himself to this capacity- because I finally feel his soul reflexively bond to mine. He tries to pull back. Like I’d let him. I greedily keep us tethered together. Then, he relents. There’s my James.

When he finally yields I feel his memories, his feelings, hopes open up. I take them all. Distort them. I take all of him into me, meld them with myself until we were but one soul. They were me, now. My memories, sure. My senses. My feelings- fuck yeah, but inundated, saturated with my lust. Hopes- not a fucking chance. My hopes and dreams for this body are far greater. Coach James was greater that that. I was greater than that. I am the James the world deserves.

I am left panting by the end of it. Ecstasy reverberates. It’s all me in here, baby. My coach- I was reborn. Tears stream down my cheeks. “Call me James” I say with newfound truth and intent. That name came naturally to me. I was fully him, after all.

———

‘New James’ is fucking kinky. Dirty. Narcissistic. As much as I love bossing around the kids, I love playing with myself even more. I got some great parts. Look at this fucking bicep. Teaching? Fuck that. Fuck the team. New James is ripe with ambition and power. “James Harrison got better fucking things to do that teach some stupid fucking kids,” I spit in the mirror as caress myself. Yeah. This bod’s a fucking power trip. So much more New James can do with his time.

“New” might be a bit of a misnomer. I am James, in body mind and soul. I am James, in past-present and future. All he ever was? All he ever will be? Me. I am James, forever. And I aint no fucking coach.

-End-

Just a quick one.

#male possession

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vendettavalor · 1 year ago

Text

Is he always here this early?

VOLITION: So he has noticed your initiative.

"Yeah, I try to be anyway." Harry tilts his head. One hand rises up to scratch at the back of his neck. It's lost on him now- sunken into the bottomless depths of encephalopathic amnesia and the ever-stretching span of years between the moment it was made and now. But there was a vow once made to the man himself that Harry would wake up before dawn every single day for the rest of his life. Without fail and without exception. And apparently, even in the haze of his worst blackout or stuporous high, the habit had ingrained itself deeply enough to wake him up at that exact same time every single morning, with or without an alarm. (That was one thing his co-workers could never complain about. Complain about everything else, from his hygiene to his substance issues - but Harry was never late.)

"Before I think I used to come in and pass out, but now I'm actually staying awake. I try to spend the extra time looking over the case briefings or organizing. Sometimes, I even shower!" Sometimes? Well... it was a start. No one jumped from nearly drinking themself to death to becoming a fully functional human being. Especially not this quickly. There was an attempt being made at the very least.

VOLITION: You could've left the part about showering out...

"Speaking of- whenever you're ready, I took the time to make a copy of the report we'll be working on and highlighted the main details that I think stand out." He's all too excited - too proud - to show off his preparation skills. A thin packet of pages stapled together and with several lines in bright, neon colors lightly smearing blue and black into flutter as Harry offers a light shake of them in his grip.

LOGIC: With this simple act, you have saved the Lieutenant countless time sifting through a 195 page report. What it took four people and who knows how many trees to explain, you summarized in just 3 pages. CONCEPTUALIZATION: Your handwriting could use some work but it's... legible. PERCEPTION (SIGHT): ...Mostly. VOLITION: Regardless of the quality of your penmanship, the report itself is thoughtful, direct, and well-written. You picked out the necessary details and highlighted them while cutting out the fat that gets added on through police protocol. You should be proud. More importantly, you want Kim to be proud of you too. INLAND EMPIRE: However long this partnership lasts, you will never not crave his approval.

He offers the documents, eager to see Lieutenant Kitsuragi's response. He's really trying. And Kim is a major motivating factor in all this improvement Harry is fighting to have and maintain for himself.

@vendettavalor

initially, Kim paid no mind to the opening of the main entrance. People came and went in the repurposed mill, two chimneys like stalks from the perceived head of the oversized animal made of concrete and metal as, within, a few rubber mats desperately tried to keep the rainwater at bay, doors left relatively open in the rampant shuffling of morning and the influx-outflux of officers coming for work or leaving for home after nightshift, chatter filling like white noise. it's when Harry makes his approach that Kim notices.

I told you comes the part of his mind that proposed the idea of him waiting ever so patiently in the first place, midway through him re-establishing an old organizing system in the drawers and little places in his desk, as it hollers in its newfound victory ━ I told you he'd be here, he'd be waiting, hours for the best detective on the force? you're off your game, Kitsuragi!

the Lieutenant subtly shakes it off, twirling one of his pens in his hand as he looks towards Harry's approach properly. The grin upon worn skin slowly relearning itself as the onslaught of years of damage has at last called a ceasefire & beneath the bristles of facial hair it seems almost almost out of place, mismatched. It reminds Kim of a large dog, forgetting itself as an elder and remembering only its youth, in the way Kim finds himself thinking it apt for him, suitable; he liked it when he truly smiled. ━━ His own face refuses to betray him, but there in the margins of his cheeks, the skin around his eyes, a ghost of a smile lingers. ( he was wrong. a pleasant surprise, regardless of how major of a miscalculation. later, he'd blame it on the early morning instead, or perhaps his own out-of-touchness with Harrier's timing, given how fleeting their engagements... )

" Bonjour, Detective. " he answers, resuming his motions as he squirrels little things away ( stationary, paperwork, the ledger, his notebooks, sticky-notes, umbrella leaned and carefully hooked against his desk ; ever the practical man he'd like most to seem, aren't you, Kitsuragi? )

" Wet, but it's too early to say. " is the sentence he settles upon for the inquiry, it's hard to tell if he's joking. " I have been here about eight minutes, not counting the commute, so you haven't missed very much. Ask me again in an hour or two, if you really want to know. Though, are you always here this early? " ━ an eyebrow raises as he casts him a brief glance, a momentary pause before returning to the task; attention nonetheless focused upon the yefreitor.

#quillheel #( cm : harrier du bois )#( v : disco elysium )#thread : tell me how did we get here

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uwurakax · 4 years ago

Text

another day ♡

pairing: oikawa x f!reader ♡

genre: angsty // exes // mutual pining ♡

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

♡ read part one ‘save your tears’ here ♡

word count: 2k ♡

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

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

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

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

Just a little more empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Here”

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

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

So why did it feel so shitty.

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

Or maybe you wouldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All too, touchy-feely.

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

You didn’t want to stay until the ending.

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

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

Fuck, when did that happen?

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

“Tōr-Oikawa?”

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

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here? You followed me”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

“Oikawa?”

You both frantically pulled away, heart racing now.

“Kageyama..”

“Tobio”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

Your heart, body and soul wanted Oikawa.

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

“Hey Y/N?”

“Hey Oikawa?”

“Yes Kageyama?”

“Hmm?”

“He was your ex right? Oikawa?”

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

“Yeah he was”

“Yeah, she was”

“Do you still love him?”

“Do you still love her?”

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

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

“No”

...

You both lied.

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu angst #hq angst #oikawa angst

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years ago

Note

hey so i'm hoping to get some writing advice about creative burnout? like i seem to write in fits and spurts. some months i can churn out a oneshot or chapter everyday and some months i can do one (1) creative thing only. so i'm wondering how to prevent creative burnout and how to just create more smoothly <3 thank you!

Creative Burnout & How To Ward Against It

First, I’d like to preface this all by saying you’re definitely not alone. You probably already know this, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded.

I know from personal experience that creative burnout can leave you feeling hopeless, detached from yourself—the kind of identity crisis no one needs in 2020.

So buckle in, folks. It’s a dosy.

I. The Symptoms

Not to be the local WebMD page here, but signs of burnout can include:

Procrastination (more than usual)

Dreading writing and feeling stuck or overly perfectionistic when you try

Physical tiredness and/or irritability

Feeling like everything is monotonous

It’s more than just writer’s block. It’s a physical and emotional exhaustion response to something that goes deeper than a simple lack of inspiration. In my experience, and from a bit of research, I’ve found that what your brain is really looking for is dopamine.

Dopamine is essentially your brain’s chemical reward system for doing something interesting or exciting to you. As someone who is diagnosed with ADHD, I have chronically low levels of dopamine, so this is a constant struggle for me—but it is absolutely made worse by creative burnout.

II. The Problem

Studies have shown that the more we do A Thing the less that thing will give us dopamine (unless a component of the activity changes regularly). This is because eventually our brains desensitise to the stimuli provided by the activity, and subsequently, we become disengaged.

But it’s not necessarily The Thing (i.e. writing) that becomes boring. Actually, more than a few factors could be at play here, and the first step to finding a solution is to identify the problem.

1. ENVIRONMENT LACKS EXCITEMENT/CHANGE—

Sometimes, the monotony of everyday life can feed creative burnout. This becomes especially applicable in quarantine when you’re not leaving your house.

What we don’t realise is that even something as small as the variables of driving to and from work, or interacting with passing coworkers, gives us dopamine. So if you have the same routine every day that does not involve any added variables, your brain will begin staunching that dopamine supply.

2. EITHER TOO EASY OR TOO CHALLENGING—

In 1975, Hungarian-American psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, coined the term “flow”, which refers to a heightened state of creativity and concentration on an activity. Csikszentmihalyi posited that if your skill level is equal to the level of challenge in any given activity, you will experience this state of flow.

The chart below is taken from Csikszentmihalyi’s own study on the subject of flow and motivation. It examines “your skill level” on the x axis in relation to the “challenge level” on the y axis.

Essentially:

Too much challenge + not enough skill = anxiety, worry (which might lead to procrastination and perfectionism)

Too much skill + not enough challenge = boredom, apathy (which might lead to monotony, irritability, and other depression-like symptoms)

Skill level = Challenge level = Flow

3. NOT ENOUGH “ACTIVE” STIMULATION—

When it comes to dopamine seeking, there is a distinct difference between active and passive stimulation in the brain.

Active stimulation is any form of activity that you have to actively engage in. For instance; exercising, doing a crossword puzzle, or reading a book. These kinds of activities not only give you dopamine, they also facilitate critical thinking and problem solving thought processes, which act as catalysts for creativity.

Passive stimulation, on the other hand, comes in the form of television, social media, and YouTube. It’s anything you can consume without having to actively engage. Passive stimulation will indeed give your brain dopamine, however, it won’t activate your creativity.

The problem also lies in the speed at which you receive the dopamine from passive activities. Passive stimulation is so easy to access that the more you consume, the harder it becomes to pick up active stimulation. Your brain expects a hit of dopamine just by picking up a phone or turning on the TV—it becomes addicted to the quick fix of a Netflix binge.

III. The Solutions

Based on the problems mentioned above, I am going to list a few solutions. Keeping in mind that not every solution will work for everyone, these can act as both preventative measures and remedies for someone who is currently burned out.

1. CHANGE UP YOUR ENVIRONMENT/ROUTINE—

Aim to do at least one thing per day that will add “variables” to the monotony. This can be as simple as going on a long walk, dressing up in that bold outfit you always wanted to wear to the office but never did, or sitting at a different workspace in your home.

Anything you can do that’s simple, but might provide an extra variable to your day to spice things up. Note: this shouldn’t be the same thing every day.

2. CHALLENGE YOURSELF MORE—

If you find yourself bored by your work, try challenging yourself more. This could mean setting goals for yourself that go a bit beyond what you’ve been doing.

For example, if you’ve been writing 500 words per day, see if you can beat your own word count every day for the next week. If you’ve been writing mainly fluff pieces, switch it up and do an angst piece. See if you can write a book in a month, or start a blog where you don’t write fiction at all!

Anything you can do to add a little kick to your workload. Note: Beware of challenging yourself too much! This can lead straight back into burnout.

3. CHALLENGE YOURSELF LESS—

If you’re on the flip side of that coin, and find that you are anxious, procrastinating, and perfectionistic when it comes to writing, fret not. Just because you’re experiencing any of these things, doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing the job with your skillset.

It just means your perception of the job needs to be shifted.

Procrastination, at its heart, is a fear of failure, which results in actively avoiding the negative emotions associated with the task that causes this fear. Perfectionism is a type of procrastination that is a combination of a fear of failure and a fear of success (or, more accurately, other’s critiques of your success) all at once.

Neither have anything to do with your actual skillset, but they have everything to do with your perception of your skillset. Obviously, this is a harder thing to fix, as it has to do with deeply ingrained levels of self-esteem.

What I can offer you is a tactic to trick your mind into thinking you’re capable.

If you have a task, big or small, and you are feeling overwhelmed by it (like you might go curl up in bed and scroll Tumblr), immediately break that task up into smaller tasks. Keep breaking up the smaller tasks until you have the smallest possible part of the bigger task without doing nothing.

Then do that smallest possible thing.

If your goal is to write a 2000 word one shot, a small part of that task is writing half of it. An even smaller part of that task is breaking the one shot up into “scenes” and writing one scene. For instance:

Jude wakes up to a sore throat, a runny nose, and a fever.

She tries to go to work, but Cardan, being the mother hen that he is, threatens to never make her another grilled cheese sandwich (her favourite food) ever again if she doesn’t stay home.

Jude agrees begrudgingly, and Cardan sits her down in front of the TV with a bottle of Gatorade. He leaves to go get medicine from the store.

When Cardan comes back, Jude is worse than before. He makes her soup and saltine crackers and spoon feeds her.

She complains the whole time and, in her feverish state, threatens to never buy him another bottle of wine (his favourite food) ever again if he doesn’t let her feed herself.

Each bullet point represents one “scene” of about 200-400 words each. Obviously, there will be more details that you work out as you write. But with these five smaller scenes, your goal is no longer writing the 2000 word one shot. Your goal is writing the first of the five scenes.

If you complete the smallest possible task, you can stop, and you’ll still feel like you’ve accomplished something because you can cross off that task from your list. But chances are, by the time you cross off one task, you may have inspiration enough to keep going.

4. ENGAGE IN ACTIVE STIMULATION—

Since active stimulation has been proven to turn on the creative “tap”, try incorporating more of these activities into your daily routine:

Exercise: As the resident couch potato, I hate to say that exercising is good for creativity, but it is. Even if it’s just going on a short walk, so long as you’re moving.

Reading: Sometimes you have plenty of ideas, but no words to fit those ideas. Fill your well of words by carving out an hour or two each day for reading a good book.

The Creative Process: In the writing world, the creative process is a process of about 20-30 minutes that the writer partakes in every day before they start writing. This process should be creative, but also have nothing to do with writing. You can try colouring in a colouring book, painting, organising a page in your bullet journal. Anything that is creative but does not make you think about everything you have to do that day. Think of it as creative meditation.

Listen to music: Having APD, I personally can’t listen to music while I write. However, studies have shown that if you listen to at least ten songs per day, it will significantly benefit your dopamine levels and overall mood. If you’re like me and prefer to work in silence, maybe stick on a couple songs during your creative process. If you can manage music and writing together, get out those headphones!

5. KEEP A REGULAR SCHEDULE—

I know this is the most cliche point in the book, but it’s valid. This doesn’t mean do the same thing at the same time every day over and over, because ultimately we’re looking to avoid monotony.

But having pillars of structure to bolster the excitement can definitely work to keep you from slipping into burnout. Going to sleep, waking up, and having your meals at relatively the same time every day are good examples of this.

Feel free to change up the things you do between breakfast and lunch, but make sure you have those pillars of consistency so your brain knows that a break is on the horizon and doesn’t get tired.

6. PACE YOURSELF—

This is particularly difficult for those of us who are coming out of a creative burnout, but I urge you to pay special attention to this one. If we are suddenly hit by inspiration and the writing is flowing and flowing and flowing, eventually we will hit the point of highest dopamine capacity for writing.

Not putting a check on the flood of inspiration coming out of a creative burnout, I’d argue, is actually a guarantee that many of us will experience burnout all over again. It becomes this vicious cycle in which we are trapped.

While it feels great to write non-stop and receive immediate validation for that work, try to limit yourself to how much you’re writing and how immediately you post your writing (if you plan on posting it).

Whenever I finish a one shot or a chapter of something, I like to allow at least one day for editing before I post. This timeframe is important, because it acts as a buffer of rest between writing marathons.

You can take however long you need for the editing process, but definitely make sure you have a set amount of time in place. Otherwise, your brain might not have enough time to come down from what is essentially a writing high, and you will always need to reach greater heights in order to achieve that same level of dopamine.

~~~~

Overall, the most important things to take away from all of this are:

Change up your environment

Keep your brain actively stimulated

Have pillars of structure between which you can run about chaotically to your heart’s content

PACE YOURSELF!

Hope this helped. Happy writing!

-Em 🖤🗡

Writing Tip Masterlist

Fic Masterlist

Celebrate 2K with me!

#this one was a spiritual one y'all #thanks for the ask babes!#writing #writing tips #writing advice #writeblr #writing tip masterlist #writer #writer's desk #writer's life #writer's problems #writer's block #ao3 #fanfiction #creative burnout #asked and answered #em answers #danaanruhn #thank you for 2k!! 🥳💜

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

head+heart, m | jjk, myg

pairing(s): jungkook x reader x yoongi

summary: It's been a lot lately. You'll be all right, but there's no denying the effect on you, mentally. You want a blissful moment of escapism to whisk away your worries. That's why they come to you. Jeon Jungkook. Min Yoongi. To take over the head and heart.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, nipple play, dry humping, scratching / marking, f and m-receiving oral, hair-pulling, penetrative sex against a counter); PWP; softdom!Jungkook and softdom!Yoongi

indeed, it's headspace!JK and heartspace!Yoongi

So tired.

You bit into the powdered donut, closing your eyes as the strawberry jam flooded your mouth. Far too sweet, almost achingly so. You didn't generally like sweet things, but this taste was nostalgic one, reminding you of a time when your greatest worries were external and not internal terrors that threatened to eat you up. You thought the pressures of others was the worst, but, no, the worst was when their words became your words, the constant barrage of those expectations festering in your day-to-day thoughts, becoming so ingrained that you couldn’t separate them from you.

It drained you, the people’s poison.

Such is growing up.

Warm breath drifted against your ear.

"Give me a taste of that sweetness," murmured a silky, silvery voice.

You didn't open your eyes. You simply removed the powdered donut from your mouth and tipped it towards the direction of the voice, sugary residue and strawberry jam still clinging to your lips. In an instant, his mouth fitted over yours, the tip of his tongue licking it all up, your name a soft groan emitting from his throat.

You opened your eyes.

Jeon Jungkook's persuasive dark brown orbs were watching you intently, framed by long black hair. He kissed you again, teasingly, letting his lips linger on yours with the pastry's aftertaste.

"What are you doing here?" you murmured.

His eyebrow raised, smirking. "To grant all your wishes," he purred, leaning his shoulder against you, his elbow touching yours on the kitchen counter. Navy flannel pajamas with a white t-shirt. Acting as if he lived here. He did, at least to the degree of you never kicking him out, letting him walk in and out of your space without a care. You let him do whatever he wanted and he knew it.

You noticed the red jam dripping from your donut and leaned forward, tongue sliding out to lick it off. Jungkook's larger body pressed against yours, letting you feel his shiver, not bothering to hide his lust. He said your name again, slowly, forming it delicately with his perfect lips, savoring it like it was his own sweet treat.

"You've been working hard lately, haven't you?" he whispered against your ear. You felt one of his arms wrap around your waist. "Overworking yourself and that pretty head of yours. You need a break."

"I need a break from you," you mumbled, placing your donut on the small white plate you had set up for yourself.

He chuckled. "You wanted me this morning. Moaned my name when you came with my cock and asked me to fuck you harder. Begged for it… and me."

Jungkook dug his fingers into your side, reminding you of his grip on your hips when you woke up, coaxing you first thing in the morning to get on your knees for him.

"Such a bad liar," he teased. His free hand tucked a few spare stands of your hair behind your ear before leaning in, inhaling deeply. "Even wore that perfume I love so much. Warm, sweet, sexy, just like you."

His lips traveled on your skin, down your ear to your silver earrings, lightly flicking them with his tongue before nibbling the sensitive flesh underneath. You shivered slightly, not saying anything.

You always let him have whatever he wanted.

"You gonna tell me to leave?" he whispered, nipping at the space under your ear.

You bit back your moan. "What's the point? You always come back."

"You want me to always come back."

You didn't reply. He knew already. You felt his hands travel up and down your sides, kneading your softness through your tight clothes.

"Jungkook..."

"You always want me to come back and touch you," he purred, kissing your neck all over. "Always looking so pretty so I can make you my mess." Skin on fire under his hot mouth, feeling his hard body press against yours. "Is that why you're wearing this red dress? Want me to take it off you?"

The whimper left your mouth before you could stop it, caused by his hands sliding up and pressing against your breasts. He moaned in your ear, squeezing firmly and running his fingertips over your hard nipples. No bra. You contemplated wearing one, but you weren't going to leave your safe space anytime soon.

Jungkook would make sure of that.

"So fucking sexy." Voice deep, enticing, shameless. "So big. Fuck."

He pinched your prominent nipples through the fabric and you inhaled sharply, pressing your ass into his rapidly hardening crotch. He rolled his hips into you, groaning at the friction.

"I love how big your nipples are," he breathed, craning his head past your shoulder to look at them straining the red silk. You felt his fingertips graze them, tweaking the hard nubs gently and making you moan in his arms. "Look at them. Fuck, they want me so bad, don't they? Want my hands and mouth all over your delicious nipples, don't you?"

You pressed your head back against his collarbone, staring up at him, lips parted. You could see the little mole under his lip from this position. The sharp curve of his chin. The hunger in his eyes.

"Do you ever stop?" you asked, somewhere between a whine and an accusation. Breathing already shallow, raising your chest into his touch.

Jungkook smiled, devious. "No." Let your name fall from his lips once more, not bothering to hide his possessiveness. "Not when it comes to you. I want you to want me forever."

You placed your hands over his, your silver rings against his knuckles.

"Started the festivities before me, hm?"

You shivered in Jungkook’s hands, hearing that familiar raspy voice. Tucked your head back, arousal spidering through your veins, seeing him. Your shadow.

Min Yoongi.

He gave you his familiar, pensive smile, hands loosely in the pockets of his black slacks, white shirt neatly buttoned up. Jungkook always acted as if he owned this space. But Yoongi was the space. He was home, just his presence alone.

You heard Jungkook click his tongue, pinching your nipples roughly, instantly making your breath hitch.

“It’s not a competition,” Yoongi chuckled dryly. “You always try to make it one.”

Jungkook didn’t reply, holding you close, sandwiching you between the counter and himself, hands all over. Yoongi closed the distance, dark eyes sparkling with mirth under waves of black hair. He spied the donut, half-eaten, red jam spilling out of the white-dusted pastry. His gaze shifted back to you.

“What do you want? I can give you anything.”

“Don’t…” You bit your lip, feeling Jungkook grind his crotch into your ass. “Don’t need anything.”

“Need and want are two different things,” Yoongi mused, pulling his hands out of his pockets. One of them held a small silver tin. He placed it on the counter. Eyes on you. “You need a break. You don’t want one.”

Your eyebrow twitched, focused stare on Yoongi as you pushed back against Jungkook’s hips, not letting him have his way so easily. He sucked in a breath and responded in kind, hot breath against your skin, teeth catching the top of your ear and biting down, hot sparks flying through you.

“They’re taking so much from you,” Yoongi continued, his fingers on your chin now, caressing your cheek gently as Jungkook violently humped you from behind. You kept your stance, not budging despite the harshness of his movements, intently listening to Yoongi’s words.

He was your mirror.

“You keep giving. That’s dangerous. Their selfishness will hurt you. They’re think of you less and less as a person and more and more like a factory. They’ll treat you like a thing they’re entitled to and not like a human being with feelings.”

You saw your reflection in his dark eyes.

Yoongi pressed his middle finger into your lower lip, exhaling deeply at the way it sank into the plushness. “I know you and your exquisite mind think you can take it,” he whispered. “But you don’t have to. I can catch you before you fall.”

“We,” Jungkook cut in sharply, finally speaking up with a growl in his chest.

Yoongi leaned in, casting shadows over your face with his, that slight, barely-there smile teasing you.

“Don’t let them dictate you. It can be made right,” he purred, lips brushing against yours. “Wecan make it right.”

Kiss deep and intense, hand sliding down to hold yours and squeeze it, pressing your silver rings into his palms, murmuring your name, savored by the depth in his voice, inhaled by your desperate breath and shaking your heart, pushing back into Jungkook greedily, leaning forward to kiss Yoongi more, more kisses that made him smile, amused at your eagerness.

“These hands are too talented to be slaving away on that keyboard,” Yoongi muttered. “Shouldn’t they service the ones you love most?”

You gasped into his mouth as Jungkook’s hands slid down your belly, closer and closer to the overwhelming heat below. Yoongi bit your lower lip delicately, smirking at your whine.

“The two you love most.”

Jungkook wandering fingers found the slit of the dress, tracing the exposed triangle of thigh.

Yoongi pulled back, releasing you slowly, gasps and shivers mixing into your voice.

“Who are they?” Yoongi nudged, using his free hand to tangle the tip of his finger with the silver necklace on your neck, the one at the top, above all others. He yanked at it lightly, the silver chain cutting into your skin, the double pendant swinging on the delicate chain.

“Min Yoongi,” you gasped.

Unforgiving fingers pressed into your flesh, leaving his marks on you.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook slid his hand into your inner thigh, digging his nails in and scratching your skin. You closed your thighs around his touch and he chuckled, kissing your ear.

“You want me?” he murmured. “Want me and hyung to dominate your thoughts?”

You couldn’t lie.

“The two of you already do.”

Yoongi smiled knowingly, letting go of your hand. He popped off the lid to the small silver tin.

“You need to rest, you know.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

He plucked a small circular hard candy from the tin. Held it out.

“Mmm, until then, we’ll take care of you.”

You opened your mouth, tongue extended, breath hot on his fingertips as he pressed it onto the wet muscle, the citric acid burning, a sharp sour that gradually turned into sweet. Your eyes widened, bringing it into your mouth, sucking on it.

“You remembered.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Of course, I remembered.” He placed the lid back on. “I remember all your favorite things.”

The hem of your dress was going up, pushed aside by Jungkook’s exploring fingers, a sharp click of his tongue as he realized you were wearing panties. You spun the sour candy with your tongue, Yoongi watching with interest, the tart lime cutting through the syrupy strawberry jam from the donut.

“I’m going to win one day, hyung,” Jungkook muttered childishly, one arm around your body, underneath your breasts, pushing them up, the other against your stomach, fingers trailing over the smooth fabric of your underwear, coaxing you to soak them, whimpers quivering in your throat.

Yoongi smirked. “I’ll enjoy watching you try, Jungkookie.”

“You have more rings.”

“I brought them,” you murmured, sucking in a breath.

“Mmm. Seven now. A magic number.”

You bit your lip, gasping softly, the pleasure crawling through you slowly, sourness on your tongue fading into sweet.

“You should have let me buy you at least one.”

You watched Yoongi pick up the plate with the donut on it and set it aside, away from the path of certain destruction.

“If I want it, I buy it,” you gritted out, fingers spreading out on the counter, silver rings glinting in the light. “I’m not waiting for anyone, not even you.”

Yoongi stopped right in front of you, tilting his head, the side of his lips quirking upwards.

“So stubborn.”

Your head was slightly tipped back, your usual silver necklaces hot against your skin, hotter than usual with your chest rapidly rising and falling, jaw tense, the on-edge feeling spreading through your nerves, staring into Min Yoongi’s eyes, the eyes of your shadow, your always and forever, as you sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, legs spread wide open, red dress popped up over your ass, and Jeon Jungkook’s tongue on the sensitive bud above your slit, occasionally dipping down and drinking in your nectar, your own version of sharp sour-sweet.

“You look good like this, as you always do,” Yoongi purred.

Your neck heated from the praise and you tried to respond, but Jungkook’s fingernails dig into your thighs, forcing you to look down at him and his marks that he was leaving on your skin, sucking hard and sending shocks up your spine, tugging you closer to his face and forcing your legs wider, burying his hands in your softness. His dark brown eyes flashed in warning.

Do not ignore me.

You snapped the candy in between your teeth, glaring down at him.

He flicked his tongue against your clit and made you flinch, hips rising and pressing into his hungry mouth, the pleased glint in his eyes as he worked you, sucking faster and licking harder, pulling you deeper and deeper into his pace, into his eyes, that perfect shape that was determined to make you his, determined to make you fall for every curve and angle of that beautiful face, determined to be your every thought and every dream, coaxing you with his soft, deft tongue that made you involuntarily whimper, inciting you to roll your hips into his face as your head fell back, hair tumbling in between your shoulder blades, neck completely exposed as you moaned his name, spilling onto his lips and chin, drenching him with your orgasm.

Jungkook groaned under you, tongue sliding out and into your pulsing walls, intoxicated by the way your muscles shivered around him, latching his lips to your pussy and lapping it all up.

“Fuck, look at that body line.”

The sugar in your mouth was gone.

Your head lowered, breathing hard, gazing at Yoongi with half-lidded eyes. His own were roaming all over you, from your neck to your chest, nipples now firmly stretching out the red silk, to the way your dress collected around your waist, flaring out to your bare hips and thighs, softness spread wide and tipped up towards Jungkook’s mouth, his dark head bobbing with his strong hands holding you still.

Jungkook was kneeling, with you sitting on the counter. Yoongi was standing right behind him.

Yoongi took a step forward, stance spread to accommodate Jungkook’s legs in between them.

You drew your fingers into your palms, pressing your nails into them, knuckles taut.

A slow, open-mouthed smirk.

His hand outstretched, pushing Jungkook’s head deeper between your legs.

Jungkook growled, ready to push back, but he stopped the second he heard your needy gasp, breathless and wanton, sliding back to give him more access, arching your back even more, his voracious eyes locked on the way your nipples strained against the slippery fabric, the curve of your breasts prominent, and the line that went from your ribs to your core defined and flexed, rocking your hips into his face and chasing the pleasure as his tongue licked you hard and fast, Yoongi’s fingers tangled in his long hair commanding the pace, pushing you to the edge and using Jungkook to do it, completely aware of the effect the younger man had on you and not worried about it, encouraging it, letting Jungkook have the headspace because he knew.

Yoongi knew what space he owned.

Your hand lifted shakily from the counter, twisting your body slightly to place it on Jungkook’s forehead, pushing back his black hair to look into his chocolate eyes, your fingertips touching Yoongi’s fingertips, enamored by his intense gaze, falling into it, gasps and whines escaping your lips, giving in to Jungkook like you always did, because you couldn’t avoid it, you couldn’t help but feel everything he did to you, feel the delicious pricks of pain as his nails and fingers dug into you, feel the way his tongue conducted the symphony of pleasure and let it sing through your nerves, feel the slight hopelessness knowing that you couldn’t get away and that he would keep trying no matter what.

And knowing, deep down, that you really didn’t want to get away.

Your breathing stuttered, low moan falling from your gasping mouth.

“You’re so troublesome, Jungkook.”

He grinned under you as you came on his face again, this time quickly sliding down to suck it out of you, you crying out as your pussy shuddered, throbbing around his exploring tongue, Yoongi tipping his head back so his nose rubbed against your engorged clit, making you hiss and your core clench powerfully on Jungkook’s tongue, his erotic groan vibrating your entire body, the pleasure soaring to an all-time high.

“J… Jungkook, fuck…” you moaned, fingers tangling in his long black hair.

“Ah, can’t stand this.”

Yoongi let go of Jungkook’s head and reached over him, yanking the straps down your dress, exposing your bare breasts, and Jungkook moaned again, adding his hot breath into your scorching heat. You gasped as the edge of the fabric skimmed your hard nipples, the barely-there friction stroking the waves of blazing arousal, chest heaving as the aftershocks rippled through you.

You pressed your thumb against Jungkook’s forehead, caressing it softly, closing your eyes and exhaling his name, lost in his silver tongue and inviting lips, knowing you were fruitlessly fighting a war that you were never going to win because, in the end, you always wanted him and the intrusive way he invaded your thoughts.

“You have bad habits.”

“You’re one of them.”

His shiny lips curved into a smirk, mole winking at you. You sucked in a breath, tremors quivering in your chest. Jungkook licked his lips, wiping his chin with one of your kitchen towels. You narrowed your eyes.

“You enable me.”

You did.

Your grip tightened on the white shirt, a lazy tongue flicking your nipple, large hands fanning across the small of your back and in between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer, your dress bunched around your waist, completely useless in covering you now. Jungkook was watching with earnest, leaning against the other side of the counter as Yoongi sucked hard, earning a yelp as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. He rolled his hips into yours, pressing your ass against the cabinets.

You sharply looked away from Jungkook and his amused grin, instead looking down at the black head of hair occupied with your breasts.

“Y-Yoongi… please…”

He kissed up your chest, taking his time, nails digging into your back, scratching you up with his red lines of lust, now face-to-face, dark eyes darker, burning with fire and torrential waters, capturing your lips as he completed his thrust into you, one of your legs coming up to wrap around his waist, moaning into his mouth as Yoongi filled you, taking over everything, locked in his embrace, his kiss, his hands, his cock, fucking you with ease because you made it easy, always giving him everything because he was everything.

“Yoongi, fuck, yes, Yoongi…”

Adjusting your tightness to suit his needs so he filled you in all the right ways, pushing your hips back to match his pace and deepen his strokes, feeling pleasure rise through you like smoke, trickling through your veins and nerves, his satisfied smirk against your lips, one hand on your back and the other on the counter, fucking you and you fucking him, roughly smacking your hips together, your own kitchen counter digging into your back, but nothing else mattered, only Yoongi’s cock and the way it swelled and stretched your soaking walls, you biting your lip and moaning in your mouth as you came, wave after wave of ecstasy making your pussy throb and clench around him, your viscous juices gushing down and coating his length, squelching loudly as he fucked you through it, chuckling.

“You always know how to bring the best out of me,” Yoongi purred. “My perfect plaything.”

You felt your silver rings dig into your fingers as you clutched his shirt, right above his heart.

He slowed a little, prolonging his orgasm, and you whined, squeezing him tighter, not wanting him to change the pace, but Yoongi, as he always did, did as he liked, teasing you, building up your desire until it was unbearable, desperately holding him to you. Yoongi inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

“Burning wood, sweet chestnut,” he murmured, commenting on the layered notes of your perfume.

His eyes opened, open-mouthed smirk suddenly on his lips.

“And sex.”

Yoongi thrust into you, hard, and you moaned, suddenly feeling a hand in your hair, fingers gripping your head and pulling back, bending you backwards over the counter to see long black hair and mischievous chocolate eyes, Jungkook’s pink lips lowering, tongue sliding between your lips in an erotic, messy kiss as Yoongi relentlessly fucked you from below, both hands on your hips to lift you to your tiptoes so you had to take it, take him and his punishing cock burying into the deepest parts of you as Jungkook’s mouth traveled over your skin, nipping down your neck, sucking on your collarbones, barely able to gasp, pitch hitching when that hungry mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard and pinching the other, making you cum instantly, soaking Yoongi’s cock with sweet stickiness, one of your hands still clutching his shirt, the other snaking around Jungkook and grabbing the crown of hair at the top of his head, your nails digging into his scalp, palm on his forehead, raising your body into his mouth and Yoongi’s cock, your head nearly touching the counter with how arched your back was, your eyes closing, your wanton moans resonating against the walls, pleasure overtaking all your senses.

Taste.

Your own sour-sweet that lingered on your lips, given to you by Jungkook’s tongue, and the faint hint of the sour-sweet of the candy Yoongi gave you at the back of your throat.

Sound.

The slap of firm hardness into drenched tightness, flesh on flesh, tongue on swollen nipples, mixing with grunts and cries of pleasure.

Smell.

Your own smokey, sugary perfume, mixed with the whispers of musky woods and fresh fruitiness of the cologne of the two men blending together, now rubbed into your skin from them having their way with you.

Sight.

Darkness, amplifying the final sense.

Touch.

Sensation everywhere, ice cold from the counter, scalding hot with arousal, long fingers digging into your flesh, nails leaving crescents of lust behind, wet warmth of Jungkook’s nimble tongue on your sensitive nipples sending sparks all over, core pulsing with fervor with every violent thrust of Yoongi’s cock filling you completely, your pussy shivering and tightening around it to feel the contours, the veins, the head twitching deep inside, so close, so close, begging for it, pleading for it, wishing for the moment of ice and fire, tension inside so tight that it seemed almost unreal, almost as if you stopped breathing, floating in free-fall.

That moment.

Pure bliss.

“A-ah, Yoongi…”

The tension snapped, wail consuming your lungs and throwing your head back, brutal, pulsating throbs overwhelming, wave after wave of pleasure shaking you, burning your veins, muscles clutching Yoongi’s cock and massaging it roughly, splattering his crotch once again with your sour-sweet nectar, knuckles white in his white shirt, silver rings standing out on your skin. Yoongi sharp hiss vibrated in his chest and traveled through your fist, rattling you, his cock jerking and filling the condom in jolting spurts, Jungkook’s mouth suddenly leaving your chest, the sound of clothing being removed, but there was nothing else, nothing but riding the high of your orgasm, flinching and rolling your hips into Yoongi’s to elongate it, relishing in the intensity, the power, his racing heartbeat under your clenched fist, his growl of your name so delicious and perfect to your ears that you would always want it, always yearn for it, and him.

Always and forever.

You opened your eyes.

Looked up.

Jungkook was on the counter, furiously pumping his rock-hard cock, purple-red tip right next to your lips, long black hair hanging down, impatience twisted in his handsome features, jaw clenched tight, still wearing his navy plaid flannel and white shirt, not caring, not caring if your were ready or not, shoving the head between your lips and you opening your mouth obediently, watching his face as hot strings of saltiness poured onto your tongue, his eyes screwing shut and low moan emitting from his lips, shuddering and shaking from his own forced pleasure.

You swallowed it all in large, calm gulps, Yoongi’s cock still inside you.

Your tongue circled the throbbing tip, licking it off, sucking softly. Jungkook sighed, satisfied, lightly thrusting the head in and out between your lips. He opened his eyes and looked down at you.

You gazed back at him, not fighting it.

Wanting it, and him.

“I’m going to win someday, hyung.”

“Sure you will, Jungkook.”

“Can I have the rest of this?”

“Should you be having sweets?”

Jungkook cocked an eyebrow, defiant smirk on his lips before firmly biting into your half-eaten powdered donut.

“But I like my donuts with jam in middle.”

You felt Yoongi lean in, his body pressed against you. His teasing lips brushed against your earlobe, promising you that this was how it was going to be, all day, all night.

“Ah, you overwork yourself so much that you need the two of us to force you to rest.”

“I’m ambitious, just like you.”

You felt Yoongi's fingers tangle in your hair, chuckling deep in his throat.

Jungkook stuck his tongue into the powdered donut, coating it with red strawberry jam, naughty chocolate orbs fixated on yours, framed by messy black waves.

“I’ve always liked that about you.”

drabble | for you, 20210612

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #bts smut #yoonkook x you #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #yoongi smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook smut

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colorfullcast · 8 months ago

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Part 4!

The problem isnt the whole "oh she doesn't want to be put on stage!" and more: If she makes a production for, say, the national theater stage and it becomes a sensation, that may even cause other countries to make articles about it, she will have a gigantic chance of being outed. It its a small production that's local? Yeah, no issue. If it's even one thats known in the region? That's fine! But anything that might get OUTSIDE of the country? Difficult, at least up until AFTER her arc. Tho in gerneral she likes to stay behind the stage as in she doesn't like interviews or holding speeches or god forbid acting in a production. In a small group she does almost everything from organizing costumes and backdrops to making the script and directing the play itself. Once she forms an ensemble and gets a small theater she gets more additional help and can delegate these chores to people more suited for that. She does stay the primary director however and USUALLY also handles the script, as in rewrites or shortens it. Original plays are usually group projects with a LOT of the members improvising and coming together to conduct scenes that she then streamlines and scripts for.

I streamlined her families story a bit and I didn't want to outright say it, buuut YES it's the russian mafia. Russia has... a BIT of an issue with fascism? To say it mildly. I am no expert, but I can already tell from the propaganda reaching my mother that it's... not good... her fathers opinion is that "well yeah nothing you can do about it lol" as in he doesn't go against it, but he also doesn't actively ENCOURAGE it. He kind of tries to stay in the middle and it is SO frustrating to her, because she WISHED he wouldn't just give up the idea of there being a chance of changing at least their territory. It's why he wants her to take over, to prove him wrong and show that there IS a way to fight this deeply ingrained issue of far right politics. Now a Disclaimer: I do not want to imply that Russia is an irredeemable country only full of fascists and nazis. It's a place with deep seated issues and a lot of far right ideology, but it also has people who actively work against that and try to make things better. It's just hard when your country is ruled by a majourity of assholes and the big man in charge is a fascistic egomaniac, who believes he should conquer whatever place he wants and make himself the big boss. I don't want to get too much into this tho, it is not easy to talk about it and boil it down to a one paragraph explanation. I chose the russian mafia, because I believe they have been mentioned in the manga during the inheritance/shimon arc. (I checked, yeah one family was invited and then its members got taken out by the shimon), and because it's a form of coping on my part. Back to the topic: her father basically says "fine, then do it better." while Rena KNOWS she can't. Even if she can lead an ensemble it is VASTLY different from leading a mafia family. She knows she isn't cut out for it and it frustrates her, because she hates the situation and her own uselessness. Some people can not do certain things no matter how hard they try. And that's okay, but she is still upset.

So as said I streamlined the story a bit and removed the whole sucessful coup. While there was one, it didn't succeed. Her father could prove that he is NOT to be dethroned so easily and it caused a lot of bad blood in the region. However he rules with an iron fist in the "we look out for ourselves and our people and annihilate our enemies" kind of way. In a way him trying to push Rena into her heritage is him being a coward. He is so pessimistic about chances of things turning for the better that he himself won't even try. But if his daughter tries to make the world a better place, even if its in small steps, he will do anything to support her. It's a big conflict in the arc as she calls him out on it and he has to grapple with the possibility of her not becoming his heir and either doing something for improvement himself or finding someone else.

While Rena doesn't actively try to reach back home, Dimitri at least updates her father on her. Her mother TRIES to kind of force her back, but her father alway shuts that down. Renas mother is difficult and while she still loves her parents any way of trying to reach back home would expose her. And that turns to be a legitimate concern as the MOMENT someone by CHANCE connects her to being the russian families heir, someone is sent after her. It doesn't matter if she ran away or not, in the eyes of many, her heritage means that she is a problem and needs to be eradicated. And that's why in the end her father orders Dimitri to bring her back. He doesn't trust these kids to keep Rena save (let's ignore that Dimitri is just 2 years older) and as much as he wants to allow her her freedom, he sees his own pessimism once more confirmed. There is no way for her to get out of this, he can't leave her alone, she HAS to be back home and follow her heritage. And Rena-- while it's harsh and she misses her parents she also has to remind herself, that at some point her mother would've arranged her to get married, have kids and her father would expect her to inherit the family. And even as a child she had realized that it's NOT something she is cut out for. She doesn't want to follow the path set out for her and the only way she knew how to get out of there was to literally flee the country and start a new life. If she had kept her name people would've found her and her father has a LIST of enemies that would see her as an easy target even WITH Dimas help. Not to mention the hostility from outside influences.

*takes a deep breath*

I usually do not talk about my khr selfinsert/oc but honestly i AM very interested about your thoughts if i just let you lose, so.

"Rena Paolina" (birthname: Alyona Ivanovna Tsareyev), about the age of Tsuna and his guardians is a young woman with a hand for childcare and a trained theater teacher. She was partially scouted by the Vongola to be part of a mafia centric daycare, for the offspring of the Vongola families memebers (There is also another reason why they keep a close eye on her). She has a knack foe identifying what kids need and how to get them to behave, which was especially helpful with the still young Lambo. She is not a fighter (or so she claims) and she completely focuses on her work at the daycare and her small theater group.

Her origin are only known to CEDEF, Reborn and Dino as Dino was the first person she met when she came to italy. She gets along well with Tsunayoshi and his guardians tho she only really seems to bicker and butt heads with Gokudera. With everyone else she seems to find ways to be on good terms with them.

She is a very righteous person and can be hotheaded when it concerns topics that hit close to home. Then she usually becomes short sighted and so heated she ends up running herself into a corner. Even tho she repeatedly says that children scare her and that she isnt very good at caring for them there have not been many kids who ever disliked her. She openly speaks her mind and opinion even to people that have a standing above her, tho she does adjust her way of speaking to not be too disrespectful. She has a passion for theater and really blooms in theater related projects, happily teaching others about it and helping them discover themselves through the magic of theater. However she does shy away from ever getting too much into public spaces for some reason.

This reason being that she is terrified of someone possibly figuring out where she comes from.

"Rena" is actually the only child of the Leonov families boss Ivan Anatolyevich Tsareyev, a mafia family that is notorious for their incredibly conservative ways. Originally her family was banished, as her father was usurped by his own right hand man and had to flee the country. However as Rena became a teenager her father traveled alone back to his home and through gruesome circumstances he managed to take back leadership, making sure to rule through fear. He wanted ro take his wife and daughter back home, however Rena was very against this new life and she ran away from home finding her way to italy where she begged to be taken in. Reborn decided that considering her age and inexperience with anything related ro the underworld she could be allowed to work for the vongoa tho under strict supervision. Should her family ever become an issue in politics she would make a fine hostage.

But even in her youth as her family was banished she had a boy by her side, about the same age as her by the name of Dimitri. While everyone went against her father, only his bodyguard stood with him and followed her family. It was his son that was early on tasked with protecting Rena even as a civilian and when she decided to run away he saw it as his duty to protect her by allowing her to escape. With the years passing she managed to truly prove herself in her craft and became a valued and beloved caretaker even if there are always the entitled parents that try to make her life a living hell.

Bulletpoint trivia

* Lambo adores her as she manages to thread the needle between pulling him back in reins and engaging in his antics.

* in her fifth year at the vongola she had proven herself enough to turn her small theater group into an actual ensemble, even being provided a small theater where they can properly perform even if only for a small audience.

* Reborn always kept one step in the suspicion territory but after seeing how skilled she is at actually taking care of mafia children he realized that she was a valuable asset to the family.

* While on official documents she is listed as having a storm flame she actually posesses a sky flame.

* she is not a fighter. She can protect herself when it comes down to it but she is definitely more a civi than a fleshed out mafiosi.

* Dima keeps an eye on her from afar. He never dared to actually meet her, but ever so often he makes a trip to italy to watch over her for a day before he returns to other duties. Rena has never noticed this.

* The reason Rena is quite close with the tenth family (or the neo vongola family) is not just their similar age, but also that she was one of the first introduced into the circle as soon as the mafia business really started. She took care of a lot of mundane tasks and took care of Lambo first and foremost.

* She actually kind of enjoys her back and forth with Gokudera tho she isnt sure if he sees it the same way.

* On the outside Rena seems to most like she has everything figured out and knows what she is doing. However in that case she is the true embodiment of "fake it till you make it". She is WAY more anxious than people believe her to be.

So I guess i am not asking for anything specific, i mean you know i ship with dera, but I wanted to just give you an opportunity to give me your opinion? Ideas? Critique??? I dont really know myself.

It is up to you. I just value your opinion in general.

(Also wanted to ask: even if the event ends, can i send you my varia boys profiles once they are done?)

@eternitas I dug this up in the queue before work today, just as I know you've been waiting for it ans it keeps getting sent down in wach new reshuffle! First off, let me just say that I am deeply honored that you feel comfortable sharing your self-insert/OC with me. I know that takes a lot of bravery to do, as these sorts of characters become very meaningful and dear to our hearts. I’m not entirely sure what to really give you back though! Because this reply is published publicly on the blog, I am going to ask if you’re okay with other readers commenting on the beautiful Rena and, if you are, I ask my gorgeous constant readers – do any of you lovelies want to comment or ask questions about the character, other than the ones I will be asking? (Though a reminder that all comments and questions must be respectful, anything that I feel is mean-spirited will not be shared and might earn you a block from the blog because again – sharing these types of characters takes a lot of courage). What I ended up giving you was just my thoughts, sometimes an occasional comment that I had while reading through the description of Rena, but mostly questions on her though because I am always very curious about characters! Oh, so many questions! I hope the questions will make sense and that none of it will come off as rude or nosey!! Even the critiques are more meant as…okay, that’s an interesting writing choice. This is how I always thought about the character/process, so I’m just really interested in why you think this thing instead – because, as a reminder, mine is not the only right way to see things and by asking questions and hearing other people’s views, I get to learn new things and see characters and situations in lights that I might never have considered! (Also, please, please, even if there is no event going on, please feel free to send me profiles for the Varia boys, and please know, to my lovely other readers, that I am always interested in hearing about people’s self-inserts or original characters 😊)

How is Rena pronounced? Like Ray-nah or like Ree-na?

Where Rena has a birthname and a new chosen name, how did she settle on the name Rena Paolina? What drew her to that first and last name? Is there any significance behind it?

Where she does have the birthname and then her new identity, did she legally change her name? Most Mafia families would work with forged documents and would be able to spot fake documents, even well-made ones if the family is experienced enough, so I feel she’d be living dangerously relying on just forged documents. Did she go through something like what Reborn went through after becoming cursed, where he went to some sort of specialist, referred to him through Shamal (or maybe even Shamal himself, who knows) and got her old identity completely erased and a new one constructed for her by the best of the best to avoid any danger?

If Rena is around Tsuna’s age, did she temporarily go on the leave from the Vongola after high school to get her theatre degree? If so, who took over childcare while she was gone? Was her absence really noticed? How much contact did she keep in with her friends, if the theatre school she went to wasn’t in Japan? Did they come to visit her often and if so, who showed the most interest in what she was learning about? (Do you see any of the Guardians or Tsuna’s other family members as being really interested in the theatre and acting?)

Why was she scouted for the Vongola? I can see them keeping an eye on her for potential threats and having the attitude of keeping your enemies closer, but why in particular was she scouted for the position she was scouted for? Why would they entrust her with the next generation of the Vongola if there was that fear about her family? Had she proven herself to them in some way? Was she supervised while in the daycare for the first several years until she had shown her loyalty? Or was it that Tsuna and Timoteo's hyper intuition saw through all and knew Rena had a heart of gold and would never hurt any of them or the Vongola itself?

Lambo would obviously give Rena a run for her money and probably tire her out but what about the other children? How does she get along with I-Pin, who is just as energetic but less rambunctious and trouble-making? What about slightly older children like Fuuta? Especially Fuuta, actually, whose ranking abilities could prove dangerous if they were to reveal something she didn’t want to come out, like who she was in the past?

I actually really, really enjoy the fact that Rena isn’t much of a physical fighter and does such a niche job. It makes her much more relatable, in my opinion, without the worry of her being overpowered or anything along those lines. I also love that she has clear passions and interests of her own, things that she enjoys doing that are completely separate from Mafia life because it makes her feel more realistic as a person and more fleshed out and dimensional as a character.

This is the only critique I have and it’s more a question. If she is indeed part of the Vongola, why are her origins only known to Reborn, Dino, and CEDEF. Reborn and CEDEF have no say as to who becomes Vongola, though Reborn recruits for Tsuna’s family specifically and even then, they kind of need to be invited in by Tsuna or at least accepted by Tsuna as part of his family. So, am I confused, and she’s scouted as part of specifically Tsuna’s generation? Because otherwise Timoteo and his Guardians would know about her, and I could honestly see Timoteo being the most sympathetic to her plight and the one most likely to take her in, while I could see Iemitsu and CEDEF and especially Reborn being the more extremely wary of Rena, because they would view her more of a threat, where Timoteo, especially with the help of Vongola’s Hyper-Intuition, would view Rena more as a child in a bad spot who needs a safe place to be and as a human being who means them no harm, something his Hyper-Intuition tells him in his heart and I could actually see him doing everything in his power to bring her into the fold and provide a stable 'father-like' figure to her.

Or am I confused and this takes place when Tsuna is an adult, though that would make no sense as Lambo would be much too old to need childcare at that point, though some of the family members would have children of their own that might need childcare during that time?

How did she meet Dino, where he’s the first person she met upon arriving in Italy? Why did she choose Italy to flee to? Was it a conscious choice or was it more that that was the first flight she could grab?

What are the topics that hit close to home for her? What are the causes and topics she’s passionate about and that get her heated?

If Rena is someone unafraid to speak her mind to anyone and everyone, how is it that she hasn’t gotten herself ‘bitten to death’ by people like Hibari? Or Xanxus, Bel, and Squalo, should she have ever met them? Are there times when she knows how to keep her opinions to herself, because doing otherwise would lead to danger or possible fights, or is she the impulsive type whose mouth sometimes gets the better of her (which I would sympathize with her on if that's the case because sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my head)?

If Rena doesn’t want to perform in public spaces due to a fear of being found out, does that mean the theatre group only performs for the Vongola? Just wondering as I’m just a little confused as to that, because here at least, even the backstage crew gets pulled onto the stage at the end of the show to get their round of applause. Is it different in other countries and I'm just being ignorant? I can't remember if I asked above, but what role does she play in the theatre troop? Does she direct, act, write original plays, anything? I am so, so, so intensely curious and intrigued by this aspect of her and it's one of my favourite things about her, no lie!!

Is her family Russian Mafia? And what do you mean by conservative ways, precisely? Are we talking stereotypical brutal Russian mob, who terrorizes, extorts, blackmails, and murders those inside their own territory? If so, how was the family not taken apart by the townspeople they subjugated during the internal chaos of the coup d’etat where his right hand man took the Boss’ seat? How did his right-hand man take over a family like that while still leaving the former Boss alive, especially as it would be a huge threat to the right-hand man since the former boss could gather anyone even the least bit loyal to him back to his side and could come gunning for the person who took over his role by force. A point blank killing of Ivan would make more sense to me, so I’m just trying to dig into the world here and figure out if there were reasons he was left behind and how all this turmoil in her family happened.

Where did her family resettle, if they were forced out of the country? Did she like that country? Would she return there? Would she ever return to Russia, if the danger of being found out for who she was was taken away? Like, was her childhood there one that she would have loved if born from a different family?

Since she ran way, does she ever contact her parents from a secure line to let them know she is safe? It seems unreasonably cruel, since there’s no hints that her father or mother were abusive to her, for her to leave them there for years upon years wondering if she was safe, if their child had been killed, and all that. Is there more to this family’s story than what’s being told at first glance? Again, this is such an intriguing, interesting backstory that I want to deep dive into it and learn every little bit of information I can about it, like I would want to deep dive into any characters from published anime/manga!

Why did Dmitri not go with her when she ran away, if his purpose and life’s work was really to be her bodyguard? Why did he not follow her after ensuring she got safely out, meeting her at somewhere they would have agreed upon? There’s no way she could have guaranteed safety as a runaway living on the streets, hoping someone would take her in, so I would think he’d be even more insistent on being able to stay with her and protect her. Was it under her orders, to keep him potentially safe, since I know for sure she does genuinely have a good heart and would deeply care about someone who'd been so close to her?

How does she fake having a Storm Flame to seal these official documents? I don’t think Flame types are officially listed on most paperwork, since the only valid way to prove it for it to be recorded would be to light the flame on a Ring? I have nothing against her being a Sky flame, just wondering how she fakes the Storm Flame or if she just has a weak secondary Storm Flame, which would also make complete sense with her personality!

If Dmitri knows where she is and watches her from afar, why has he just not approached her? If it’s because he could be caught doing so, he’d be caught doing observation and surveillance on her, wouldn’t he? Is he nervous she'd be upset or is he worried he might not fit into her new life??

Now just some random questions because I genuinely do think Rena is adorable, I like the bit of shipping headcanons you’ve shared with her and Gokudera, and I’m interested in learning more about just who she is as a person!!

What are some of Rena’s other hobbies other than theatre? Is there any particular genres she’s really pulled towards for all the media and stage shows she prefers?

What’s one stage production that she has always wanted to be a part of but hasn’t gotten to be a part of yet?

Is she right or left handed? Is she at all superstitious and does she believe in things like astrology, crystals, and psychics?

Would she go ghost-hunting/Bigfoot-spotting, etc. with Gokudera? Does she genuinely believe in all that stuff or is she doing it to humour him and because she knows how much he loves that kind of stuff?

What’s her style? How does she dress? How much care does she take with her appearance? Is she a no makeup kind of person or someone who likes to play around with their makeup?

Who’s her favourite kid out of the main kid trio of Lambo, I-Pin, and Fuuta? What about the Arcobaleno, where they look like babies? Who would she think is the cutest baby?

Does she attend Yamamoto’s baseball games and if so, is she one of the super-loud spectators, cheering him on so everyone can hear or is she more quietly supportive?

Does she have a parent she preferred growing up? (Was she a Daddy’s girl or a Mommy’s girl?) If she didn’t really ever get along with her parents, was there another relative that she really loved and that was her safe space, like an aunt or cousin?

What does Rena look like! I don’t remember it in the description or anything, so I’d love to hear about that aspect of her too!

Does she ever have any relationships prior to getting together with Gokudera or is he her first and only relationship throughout her life? How do they end up getting together? Does someone officially confess or does it just kind of happen naturally?

What is her daily life with Gokudera like? Do they move in together and if so, how soon? What’s her favourite thing about him and what drew her to him and vice versa?

When’s their anniversary? How do they typically celebrate?

How do her and Gokudera resolve fights and arguments they have?

Honestly, just tell me anything and everything about her because I’m really interested in getting to know her!

#characters: Rena

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imagining-in-the-margins · 5 years ago

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 1 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer meets a girl he can't get enough of at the nightclub, then quickly realizes she is not supposed to be there.

A/N: This work deals with a lot of dark themes. There will be imperfect characters, and they will make mistakes. If you are sensitive, please read each chapter's content warnings carefully and alert me if I am missing any.

This work is undergoing heavy edits. Thank you for your patience!

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: NSFW, 18+ Series Content Warnings: Adults w/ Age Difference (10yr), heavy petting, drinking Word Count: 4.4k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

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There are many reasons to come to a nightclub. For some, it's an excuse to find someone to kill their loneliness. For others, it's a chance to escape themselves. I wasn't sure which I was more of that night. All I knew was that I was ready for something, anything to break the monotony.

The pulsing bass reverberated through the floor, and I let it take me somewhere else for a while. I let myself get lost in the crowd of other regrettable people, and I allowed my body to move on instinct, to move to the music without much thought.

It was my birthday, as evidenced by the giant sash my friends insisted on me wearing. If anyone were to ask, I had just turned 21. But, truthfully, I still had another year to go before then.

The strangest part about it was that I wasn't usually the kind of person to make a habit out of breaking the rules. At least, not anymore. But something about the last year had made me stir crazy in a way I couldn't explain.

I could've thought harder about it; I could've found a reason. But I didn't want to.

So, I said, fuck it! Everything happens for a reason, right?

The thought perfectly coincided with a pair of pensive eyes that caught my attention through the sea of people I was surrounded by. A man somehow unlike the others was leaning against the bar, seemingly alone. I thought that it was strange, considering how out of place he seemed. Surely, I thought, he must have come with someone else.

But the way he was looking at me told me that, in the very least, he probably wasn't there with a woman. At least, I'd hoped not.

I almost went to him, but I was stopped by a familiar tapping on my shoulder. My friend was calling my attention to the suddenly relatively empty stage, and not before long she was begging me to join her on it.

I'd never been the best dancer, but I figured it was as good a way as any other to try to get a cute guy's attention. After all, that's what you do in a club, right? As I climbed up with her, I tried to spot him once more. Unfortunately, by the time I gracelessly clambered onto the stage, he'd already moved from his previous position.

'Oh well,' I thought, 'Maybe he hadn't really been looking at me after all.'

Rather than sulking over the loss, I focused on the music again. I swayed my hips to the beat and closed my eyes. I let my hands run up and down my body the way I wished someone else's would. Not just anyone, though. Someone... different. Someone who might almost make me feel like they'd earned it.

I wondered if that strange man could still see me. I wondered if he was still looking.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when I glanced back to the bar for the fifth time in a relatively short period of time, I finally spotted him again. Once he noticed me noticing him, he quickly turned around, and I knew it was my chance.

I scrambled down off the stage, leaving my friends to enjoy themselves among the writhing bodies and blistering heat. I wanted to enjoy a different primal experience.

Strutting right up to the bar next to him, I leaned over the counter and gave a brief, respectful wave to the bartender. Despite not breaking my gaze, I felt the hairs rose on the back of my neck.

I'd caught someone's attention. I didn't look, though. Not yet.

"Gin and tonic, please," I called when the bartender finally made his way over to me. Once he turned back around to make the drink, I knew it was a good time to look over at the stranger beside me.

Unsurprisingly, he immediately pretended he wasn't looking at me.

"Are you checking me out?" I asked just loudly enough that he would undoubtedly be able to hear me over the music.

His embarrassed reaction answered the question in the affirmative, although he unconvincingly insisted, "U-uh, no. No, I'm not."

"Oh," I responded, moving closer to him to prevent someone from separating us. "That's too bad."

He furrowed his eyebrows, and a small smile broke across his face as he asked, "Is it?"

"Well... Yeah," I laughed.

The way we locked eyes was a challenge, and one he seemed to only half accept. When he looked away from my eyes, it felt less like admitting defeat and more like taking me up on the offer to check me out.

He glanced down at my chest, and I moved from my position leaning against the counter to open my chest up for a better view.

"Can you see it well enough?" I teased with a slow gesture down the sash. I couldn't tell if his face was as red as it looked or if it was just the flashing lights playing tricks on me.

The bartender returned before he answered, and I handed him my change as a tip before holding the drink with my hand over the top. I might have been young, but I wasn't trying to get drugged in a club. I tried not to read into him noticing that habit.

"Happy birthday."

His offering seemed genuine, and this time, it was my face that turned burned. I hoped he didn't notice how flustered such an innocent thing made me, but I had a feeling he did.

"How old are you now?" he followed up, and I realized that I didn't really want him to know. Not the truth, anyway. Still, something about the way his eyes scanned every motion I made just made me feel like he could tell if I was lying.

"A year older than the last."

It wasn't a lie, after all, and he seemed to think it was funny. Behind me, a person was struggling to fit into the crowd at the bar. The somewhat unwelcome result was pushing me closer to the stranger I was quickly becoming acquainted with. But thankfully, when he reached out, he did so respectfully. His grip on my arm was gentle, but enough to stabilize my obviously struggling self.

"Thanks," I said with a bit of a laugh, trying not to seem dramatically inexperienced at this scene. "I'm not used to wearing heels."

He seemed so comfortable despite the chaos. So paradoxically confident yet timid.

"What's your name?" I asked, and he was more than happy to respond.

"Dr. Spencer Reid."

Something was so charming about the way he kept his honorific, which would usually have been irritating. He didn't seem to want to brag about it. He'd just announced it like it was a deeply ingrained aspect of his identity.

"Doctor? You seem pretty young for that," I playfully noted. Not that I was bothered by the prospect of an older man. I sipped on my drink as I waited for a bit of clarification, and his eyes continued to flit back to my lips every couple of syllables.

"Well, if you're talking about a Doctor of Medicine, I'm 30, which is actually the average age a person would be when they complete their residency. But most people with MDs will call themselves doctors after they graduate, so really, I wouldn't be too young at all."

I nodded along as he spoke, wondering if this kind of information dump was common for him. It was... kind of endearing.

Before I could get a word in edgewise, he continued to clarify, "But I'm not that kind of doctor. I have three PhDs; mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. I also have a BA in psychology as well as sociology."

I waited another second to make sure he was finished, and also because I was suddenly feeling quite intimidated. His strange socialization method made sense with his PhD subjects, and the bachelor's explained why he was so observant.

Something told me he didn't need to be told he was impressive.

"What about you? What's your name?" he finally asked, and I realized I never told him my name.

"(Y/n). No honorifics, unfortunately. Not yet."

"(Y/n)," he smiled, repeating it back to me and adding, "It's a nice name."

Uncomfortable talking about myself in light of the foregoing, I opted for a different topic.

"You don't seem like this is your first time in a club."

"Yeah, it's not. I have to go to them occasionally for work. I also grew up in Vegas, so they were kind of... everywhere," he chuckled.

When he raised his glass to his lips, I noticed that the distinct lack of color to his. I didn't mention it. There were so many reasons someone would prefer water, assuming that's what it was, including the basic desire to not be hung over the next day.

"What kind of work regularly takes you to a nightclub?"

I was genuinely curious, but I wouldn't get the answer. At the same time I asked the question, I felt a very strong pressure digging into my arm and yanking me away from the bar.

"Hey there beautiful, why'd you leave the dance floor?"

I didn't even recognize the very drunk man slurring the question to me. He looked like every other generic, idiotic brute that I had encountered through the night.

"Because I don't want to fucking dance with you," I answered as matter-of-factly as I could while seeing nothing but white-hot rage.

I could see Spencer's demeanor change, like he was about to do something. I shot him a warning glance that this was not his fight, and was pleasantly surprised that he'd respected it. I had gotten quite comfortable with this part of being out on the town.

"Come on, don't be like that," the man barked.

I pulled my arm away. Half of my drink sloshed onto the sticky floor below, but I didn't care. I wasn't going to be drinking it now, anyway.

"I said no," I said in a much louder voice, lifting my foot high enough for it to hurt when I drove the pointed heel directly into his foot. "And don't fucking touch me!"

Before I could throw what was left of my drink onto the asshole, I felt Spencer's much gentler touch. His arm wrapped around my waist as he stepped between me and the man and hurriedly guided me away from the guy and to a nearby table. As soon as I could reach it, I climbed onto a chair at the high top, rubbing my arm where it had begun to raise in welts from his nails.

"What a fucking dick!" I yelled, still fuming from the unwelcome contact.

In stark contrast, Spencer's very warm hand cupped my face, tilting it to look up at him.

"Are you alright?"

It felt like time stopped when he looked at me. Like the earth had halted in its tracks. My perception of the otherwise energetic music seemed to slow down, and the sounds of the crowd drowned away. I wasn't able to focus on anything other than the pounding of my heart and that tried to break through bone cages to find him.

'God, I must be drunk.'

"Hey, are you okay?" he repeated, and I finally snapped back to reality.

With a simple nod, I was suddenly no longer angry at the asshole who had caused the moment to happen.

"Yeah," I mumbled, "Thanks."

"Does that happen to you often?" he asked with a strange mixture of concerned and angry that honestly looked pretty damn attractive on him.

"Unfortunately. Most guys don't like being told they aren't your type. Especially if they aren't used to it."

"I wouldn't know," Spencer shrugged with a gentle laugh, "I'm pretty used to it."

A welcome bit of self-deprecating humor. He moved his hand, and I hated to admit that I'd already missed the warmth of it.

"Well, I don't know why you're used to it. I think you're pretty cute."

The statement was fueled by the alcohol, but it was still true. He wasn't joking about being used to a lack of desire. Seconds after I'd complimented him, he shifted uncomfortably. I tried not to read too far into it. I hoped it was how he would've responded to anyone.

"Thanks..." he started, shoving his hands in his pockets as he struggled to find something to do with them now that they weren't touching me. "But I feel like an asshole now."

I raised my eyebrows and chuckled at the strange response to a compliment.

"Why?"

"I uh, I lied to you earlier."

My attention piqued, I turned my body towards him and leaned forward to hear him better.

"Oh? To which question?"

He released a hand from his pocket, running it through his hair as he worked up the courage to look at me while he spoke.

"The... first one you asked."

I couldn't help but laugh. All of the air in my lungs was quickly drained by his absolutely endearing honesty. The way he just had to admit that he had been checking me out, as if I didn't already know.

"You are absolutely adorable, Spencer Reid."

He reacted much better to that compliment, although he seemed confused when I held my hand out for his.

"Come here," I instructed.

When he didn't listen, I reached my fingers out to grab his forearm and proceeded to tug him towards me. He took the few steps forward, and I took a moment to appreciate that his height granted me perfect access to his face from the high top.

I bit down on my lip as I glanced between beautiful eyes and his lips that parted softly. I heard his breath come faster the closer I came.

Without moving away, he asked, "What are you doing?"

While wondering if it was possible for him to do anything without being charming, I tightened my grip on his arm and looked up at him with the most lustful look I could muster.

"Well, I guess I'm going to kiss you. I hope that's alright."

"Why?" he asked.

An equally charming and maddening response, to which I just gave a small shrug. His eyes glanced back and forth, clearing trying to read between the lines of my own gaze. I let him. He didn't seem to have any follow up questions or reservations, so I used my free hand to pull his face to mine.

When our lips met, I was transported back to the dance floor in my mind. I could feel the vibrations shaking every inch of the club, but it was nothing compared to the butterflies erupting in my stomach. His hands returned to my face shortly after, and when his tongue slipped into my mouth it was the only confirmation that I got that he had also been drinking.

The taste of vodka and gin mixed, creating a cocktail of alcohol and hormones between us. A small moan escaped my lips at the thought, and part of me hoped he could feel it distinct from the bass. I wanted him to know the effect he had on me. Because, as it turned out, he wasn't just cute and smart, he was an incredibly talented kisser.

Not wanting to stop yet, I hooked a leg around the back of his knee and increased my hold on him. He lowered a hand to grab onto my thigh, and I gasped at the contact. I wondered if this was his first time making out in a club, because it was certainly mine.

Selfishly, I hoped I could be a first of something for him. Realistically, I knew it was unlikely. He was just too damn good at this.

Spencer began to retreat from the kiss, and before he could leave entirely, I bit down on his lower lip. The last, lingering contact seemed to have its desired effect, as he looked down at me like there was nothing else that he wanted more in this world than to keep kissing me.

"Was that a good enough reason?" I asked.

Instead of using words, he just kissed me again in response, with more pressure and less reserved. It was an answer I was more than happy to accept. His grip on my leg tightened, and it was nothing like the way other men grabbed me. When we broke apart this time, I knew it was time. I had to make my move.

"Come outside with me," I begged.

He seemed not to have expected any invitation, especially such a vague one. Nonetheless, he nodded and stepped back enough to let me hop out of the chair. His hand in mine, I led him through the crowd. He never let go. Not even when we got outside.

The air felt cool and crisp in comparison to the stuffy club. My ears were still ringing, and I wondered if we would sound the same to each other now that we weren't practically screaming. I let out a laugh from pure nerves, excited to be alone with him, but also not really ready to have this conversation.

Of course, he thought I was cute, but I was still a stranger. What if he wasn't actually all that interested and decided to ditch me? That would be embarrassing.

"Heeeeyyy! (Y/n)! How's it going?!" A familiar voice sounded from over by the smokers.

It wasn't one of my friends, per se. More like a friend of a friend. A very drunk and very excited acquaintance. I finally let go of Spencer's hand but glanced back to let him know to follow me over.

I stayed at a modest distance as I called back, "Hey, how's it going, John?"

"Goin' pretty fucking great," he slurred, and I laughed at how hammered he had managed to get in a couple of hours.

"Sounds like it."

"So, how's 20 treating you so far?"

Now, this is the point where I have to admit to myself and everyone else, that I am not the cleverest person. Because the question seemed so normal, and I was expecting it so much, that I seemed to have forgotten that I was not, in fact, old enough to be at this club.

So, without thinking, I responded, "Pretty fucking great."

To Spencer's credit, he didn't say anything, but I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull. It took me another second to realize what I had just admitted.

Fuck.

I was too scared to turn around. He seemed to know that I wasn't going to address it, and he wasn't the kind of person to make a scene. So when his hand grabbed mine again, and I felt the insistence in his grasp, I knew that I was utterly and completely fucked.

I grimaced to John, who just burst out laughing before yelling, "Oooh, jailbait got busted!"

My head fell backwards as I groaned, letting Spencer begin to drag me away from the crowd as I shouted back, "I'm not jailbait, you dick!"

Following the boy I actually wanted to be with, I tried not to give up hope yet. In a twisted sort of way, I was actually somehow looking forward to the lecture I was definitely about to receive. Seconds after we'd turned the corner into the small alley, he had me backed against a wall.

"What the fuck was that?!" his voice was hushed, although he was clearly still yelling.

I bit down on my lip to stop myself from laughing at his attempts to be scary when his voice was still cracking. I raised my shoulders to shrug, but he continued his ranting.

"You're only twenty?! You can't be here!"

"Well, actually, we're in an alley, which I'm totally allowed to be in."

He did not appreciate my humor.

"You know exactly what I mean. You're not old enough to be at a club, and especially not drinking! What were you thinking?"

He looked so delectable when he was angry, I wasn't sure how he'd expected me to take him seriously. Resting my head against the brick wall behind me, I looked up at him with a bored expression.

"What are you, a cop?"

I honestly wasn't anticipating a genuine response, so when he responded, "An FBI special agent, actually," all I could think was, "Oh shit, really?"

"Yeah, really, (y/n)!" he yelled back, taking a step back when my arms immediately fell from their defensive position.

"That's so cool!" I answered with equal enthusiasm, which he still, clearly, did not like.

"What are you saying? That is not cool! None of this is cool!"

"I mean, I think it's pretty cool."

"I could have you arrested! I should have you arrested!"

The way I raised my eyebrows and smiled was clearly not the reaction he wanted, but I could tell he was intrigued by it. He paused, and I licked my lips with a wicked grin.

"You gonna cuff me, Special Agent?"

I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and he continued to distance himself from me. I took a step forward to maintain the gap.

"Wait, is it Special Agent or Doctor? I need to know now."

Before I could get too close to him, he had pressed his hand against my shoulder, pushing me back against the wall.

"Cut it out! Stop trying to distract me," his voice was stern, but his breath was ragged. One of my hands devilishly snuck up, wrapping around his arm that was holding me against the wall. "It's not going to work," he warned.

I didn't believe him. I could also tell that, despite the words, he did not want me to stop.

"How am I distracting you, Special Agent Dr. Reid?"

He could tell what I was doing, but he couldn't stop himself from falling for it.

"Is my proximity distracting you?"

I was pushing his buttons, very purposefully and with a very specific goal. I wanted to see what happened when he broke.

"N-No, that's not—"

I cut him off once more, leaning forward against his hand, dragging my nails against the skin of his arm.

"Do you want to kiss me again?" I asked.

He had to think about the answer, and that angry, tempted face left me burning. I rubbed my legs together in anticipation, and he seemed to notice the subtle movement. With the strength I could muster, I inched his hand against my shoulder lower, letting him feel my heart racing above my breast.

"You do," I responded to my own question, recognizing his silence as assent.

I met his eyes in another challenge, knowing this time would be much easier than the last. He was already hooked.

"Well then, Dr. Reid. You have at least two options. You can either dig out your work issued handcuffs, haul me downtown and explain what exactly happened between you and a drunk twenty year old girl at the club..." the pressure on my chest lessened as he obviously considered what it would require of him. "You can help them with all of the paperwork, prematurely ending the night, leaving me in a jail, and go home alone... "

The compassion in his eyes was clear, and I knew it was a bit unfair of me to go for such low hanging fruit. He was a good man. He was just trying to follow the rules. He didn't want to hurt me. Unless I asked for it, perhaps.

"Or you can get into an Uber with me to go somewhere else, and I'll let you do whatever you want with mine. Or yours. I'm fine with either."

"My pair, or my place?" he asked, much to my surprise and excitement. I could feel the rush of blood in my ears, but I begged it to be quiet. I hadn't closed the deal yet.

"So you're considering it?"

He finally released his hold on me, but he didn't move away. In fact, he moved closer. Close enough to me that I could almost feel the body warmth radiating from him. I couldn't look down yet, but I was pretty sure what I'd find bulging between his legs.

"I-I... I don't know."

An honest answer, albeit disappointing. My puppy eyes demanded a clearer one. He obeyed their call.

"I'm a law enforcement agent that just caught you in a crime, since I'm assuming you got into that club with a relatively convincing fake ID that I'm certain you still have on you."

I nodded, still unsure where he was going with this monologue.

"I should be arresting you, or at least taking you somewhere safe, not... coming back with you for..."

He trailed off, and I smirked a bit at his inability to finish that thought.

"And yeah, I figured you were young but... I'm ten years older than you."

"And?" I finally asked, wanting him to get to the point that I had figured out, just so I could turn it down.

Spencer took a deep breath before admitting, "I don't want to take advantage of you. I get that there is no sudden change in your brain when you turn twenty one, but the younger you are, the less developed your prefrontal cortex is. Your judgment, your impulse control, the ability to truly anticipate the consequences of your actions, that won't be fully developed for at least another five years!"

He would have kept going, but I had already planned for this response. My hand on his arm jerked him forward, pulling his crotch directly into my other waiting hand. Completely on brand for him, a small yelp sounded as I gently palmed his erection.

With an innocent smile, I whispered, "Dr. Reid, I don't think you're the one taking advantage here."

His features were contorted into an infuriated, yet pleased mess. After another very brief moment of contemplation, he gave into the temptation I was dangling in front of him, laying a deep, frustrated kiss on my waiting mouth.

When we separated, he practically panted into my mouth, "Do you have a hotel room?"

Giggling, I nodded.

"I guess I'll call that Uber now."

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| Part 2 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #request #smut

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bratdjarin · 4 years ago

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For if I am not yours, what am I?

Summary: Family has always been important to The Mandalorian, he needed to have something to cling to and call his own after everything he once possessed had been taken away. Watching him grow increasingly tender with his little stolen green asset had only left you with thoughts on what it would be like if you were to give him a child of his own, little did you know how unlikely that was to ever happen.

Warnings: Discussion of infertility and sex.

A/N: After reading so much smut involving Mando with a breeding kink, the only reasonable place my brain could go afterwards was straight to wondering what would happen if you were, in fact, unable to bare his child like you both wished? If you’re brave enough, I highly suggest going and listening to Mitski’s song “Wife” as that is where I got the inspiration for this fic.

Din stood outside the lavatory with his hands balled up into tight fists, a tenseness had settled in his shoulders from the second he had watched you enter and they had shown no sign of easing since. Across from him, Grogu sat within his makeshift bed, chubby green hands entertaining themselves with a small bundle of charms you had picked up at a market on the last planet you’d stopped off at.

It hadn’t been long at all since he had returned with something small and green bundled up in his arms and yet Din couldn’t imagine the ship without the sound of babbling and cooing. It would be as hard to imagine it without you, the smallest things seemed so necessary, like you leaving the shower setting on hot when he preferred them as cold as possible, or finding crumbs in bed from late night snacks when you thought he was asleep. They had become so ingrained with his image of the Razor Crest that if you were to leave it would be like tearing out circuits or dismantling the wings.

He knew it had been only mere minutes since you had entered the lavatory with the test in hand but each second felt like an eternity, it felt like a knife to the gut to simply know there was something you knew that he didn’t. It sounded possessive but when he had showed you everything there was to him, every part he’d sworn to keep secret or at least die trying, he couldn’t stomach the thought of there being something you didn’t share together.

Maybe it was possessive, would that be so wrong?

Grogu cooed absentmindedly and Din tilted his helmet towards him, watching as the kid brought one of the charms up to his mouth to chew on. The noise would have bothered him once upon a time, the ship had never been silent per say but it was quiet enough to have any new sound feel intrusive.

When he’d first offered you a ride after being caught in the crossfire of a bounty collection gone wrong, he was almost certain he would kick you off in a matter of hours as a result of the increase of noise you brought along. Eventually though, after being thrown off course and into a detour of massive proportion, he got used to the noise of having you around, even grew to miss it when he did finally get you to where you were initially going. Sure, the separation only lasted a few hours before he was storming off to insist you come back, offering good pay to look after the ship while he went out on his collections but even with that clunky helmet covering what you felt in your gut to be a pretty face, you knew his true intentions.

That was many cycles ago, so much had happened since then that there simply wasn’t time to stand and ponder over it all. However, Din always allowed for a moment in every day to think back to the time he first had you in his bed, more specifically the morning after when he’d awoken to the sight of you curled up beside him, hand warm on his belly and your head tucked neatly beneath the sharp edge of his helmet. Months of tension had finally been cut and instead of the shame and regret which he thought for certain you’d feel after bedding a man you knew so little about, he found you by his side looking more peaceful than ever witnessed before.

The lock on the lavatory door turned and Din’s head whipped around to face it. He didn’t know what to expect upon your exit, he had been hoping for at least a smile, but he recognized melancholy faster than anything else. A sickness twisted in his stomach and if it were not for the heavy helmet keeping him covered, you would have witnessed how his eyes softened with woe.

He watched as you extended the pregnancy test out which he took slowly, the tips of his orange gloves brushing against your skin and he noted the slight tremble in your hand. Maybe this was all a mistake, it wasn’t right that you once again be placed into a position of failure because of something he craved so deeply.

It was not the first time that you had found yourselves together in this predicament. It had been your idea originally, a wish you’d kept a secret from the moment Din softened himself around you. It sometimes still amazed you how that Beskar hid a man capable of such warm laughter and gentle touches. Falling for him wasn’t an immediate thing, truthfully you found the man a pretentious bother to begin with but somewhere along the way, maybe when you first heard him speak to the kid with such tenderness, you found an affection for him that hadn’t faltered since.

You could recall with complete ease the first night he fucked you. He wasn’t gentle per say but there had been a hesitation in his hands, as though he had never had the chance to touch someone without the intent to harm. The weight of his body on top of you was welcomed with no qualms, there was little he could do which would have made you want him to leave, especially when slid that beautiful cock inside of you as though he had been made to fit there.

With your naked skin pressed to the cold metal of his amour and his spunk warm between your legs, never had you felt so content before, so incredibly safe. As you had drifted off to sleep that night, your mind wandered to how Din’s hand had settled down on your stomach as he fucked you, those thick fingers kneading at your soft belly in admiration and you wondered how tenderly he’d touch you there if it there was his child there inside.

Din ran his thumb over the test, rubbing across the negative sign flashing with an obnoxious red light. Despite having shared his face with you before, while on the ship he still wore his helmet the majority of the time, you knew it to be a thing of comfort for him and while perfectly content to see him whenever he gave you the chance, all you wanted right then was to know how he was feeling. His gaze remained pointed down at the test when you spoke up, your voice raspy yet quiet in fear of breaking.

“We can try again.” Since the third time hadn’t been any luckier than before, you concluded that some of that luck must be carried onto the next attempts. That had to be the case, the alternative would be to admit that it was unlikely that you were to ever get a positive and that was a defeat you could not handle.

Silence, that was all Din gave you in return. He continued to stare down at the test, caressing it with a gentle touch which couldn’t have been any further than what you wanted to do to it; throw it out into the dark realms of space, stomp on it till the floor was littered with crushed plastic and a smashed light, flush it down the toilet and pretend like none of it ever happened? All were good options and way better than Din’s decision to stroke the thing like it was something precious.

Grogu babbled something behind you and the sound made your eyes begin to water. It was your fault, you had let yourself think about having a little one around alongside him, convinced yourself that this would be the time you’d witness your kids taking naps together and waddling after their father, pulling at his cape when they wanted attention. You’d promised together that the time you got pregnant would be the time Din found you somewhere to settle down together, a planet warm and green, with pretty scenery and lots of space for the children to play.

That was what you needed, somewhere far away, somewhere Din could take off his helmet in the privacy of his home and not fear there was someone lurking outside waiting to strike.

“I don’t think it’s meant to be.” Din said after a long moment of consideration. His voice was soft, more so than you think you’d ever heard it before. For a second you thought he was going to hand the test back over to you but then he thought better of it, instead slipping it into one of the many pockets on his amour.

It was not a game of fault or blame but Din couldn’t help but think if this was in fact a problem of his own creating, maybe he was the one who was unable to provide you with a child. Although he stood tall, thinking he had been the cause of more than even a second of pain for you, let alone months of hope being crushed, it made his knees feel weak. He watched with a tremble in his lip as the tears that had threatened to spill from your eyes finally flooded over, clinging to your lashes as you tried to blink them away.

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing you could think to say. After everything he had been through, all you had wanted was to give Din something good. You knew if you were to tell him that he’d brush it aside, tell you that he had everything he wanted right in front of him but you’d seen it before, you’d learned to follow his gaze as you walked past families filled with smiles and laughter.

It only took you to blink once before you found yourself being wrapped up tight in Din’s arms, pressed up tight against his Beskar. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions, not with your cheek squished up against his chest and your arms flush to your side with the suddenness of it all but it was him, being in the same room was comfort enough so a hug was Maker-sent.

“It’s not your fault.” Din’s voice, despite being warped slightly through the modulator of his helmet, was a comfort; it was slightly croaky, however, as though he too was on the verge of crying. Those big hands slid across your back comfortingly, tucking his fingers around your sides and squeezing you tight whenever he felt you let out a shuddered breath. “You did everything right; this isn’t your fault.”

“I wanted to give you a son.” The words escaped your mouth before you could stop them. Most days, it was all you could think about. A little boy, big brown eyes and dark hair, maybe even a dimple like his father had. You’d lay in bed waiting for Din to return home from a collection and pass the time thinking about the two of them playing together, Din’s patient and calm demeanor contrasted by the fiery giggles of your child, of course not helped with Grogu’s mischievous nature.

There was no reply after that, not for a long while and for a moment, you swore you could hear sniffling from above you. Before you could say anything more, Din’s hands slowly retreated from your back and went up towards his helmet. Despite hearing the noise many times before, the clicking of his helmet being released made your stomach clench and you clung tighter to him, to be one of the few to have seen his face was still a thrill you could not get over.

You knew if you wanted, you could look up and see Din’s face, he’d made that perfectly clear by now but not wanting to cause him anymore discomfort, you instead decided to keep your eyes closed. His helmet fell to the floor with a loud clatter that made both you and Grogu jump in surprise. Then, ever so softly, you felt his lips press to the top of your head. It was gentle, might not have even been processed if you weren’t so on edge from the sudden noise.

For all you knew, you stood there together for days straight, Din holding you as you rode the waves of tears that came and went. His hands had returned to the soft expanse of your back, even sliding up your shirt at one point so you could be reminded of his warmth― Din was still there, despite everything, he was still there.

“We can’t do this again.” Din said after a long silence. It was a surprisingly easy decision to come to, he would always prefer you safe and content, having you alone was more than enough and certainly more than he thought he ever deserved. There was no denying that letting go of the promise of watching you swell with something so beautiful would be hard, he too had let himself ponder on all the warmth and happiness to come but it was for the best. Much like how he didn’t want to see you in pain again, Din could not handle another defeat so heavy.

You knew he was right, there were few times he wasn’t, but it didn’t make it any less painful to hear. Rather than reply, you simply held him even tighter, unable to let another thing go. Perhaps you could still go to that planet, find that pretty home in the solitude and allow that love to go fully to each other. You still needed to look after Grogu anyways, poor little green thing was still a child in his own right and needed the both of you around.

It was possible that this wasn’t the loss of something but the start of something new, something better. It didn’t feel like it right then but maybe one day it would. Until then, you knew you had Din and Grogu to make things feel complete.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #din djarin x female reader

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