#or to just be quiet and complacent and convenient

[torchickentacos]

[qqueenofhades]

Maybe this is a controversial opinion, but its one that I've been reminded of in the few weeks since things have escalated so severely in Israel and Palestine-- I feel like the pressure for random, average individuals online to be vocally political is not only entitled and uncomfortable, but also just an example of misplaced priority.

Like, I have people on twitter right now that are flat out saying if you don't talk extensively about I/P you're truly, irredeemably evil. I've had mutuals say that silence means you're complacent in genocide, that you have blood on your hands (exact words). But it just doesn't make sense? Most of the people who I've seen being flat out harassed for being silent are teenagers who don't have money to donate, working class folks who don't have time to spare, and normal people who just don't have enough of a following online to even spread any word effectively. Of course, the ones doing the harassing are also poor/busy/not-popular, but they don't see the irony. (I've also seen them say that talking about war constantly is taking a toll on their mental health, saying they've cried, had nightmares, panic attacks, etc...but they also say that taking a mental health break from social media is "selfish" and genocidal, so.)

The whole interaction leaves me with so many questions. If stepping away from social media because politics are stressing you out (which they are known to do), are you obligated to use social media? Do you have to use twitter to be a good person? What does that say about people who can't afford a phone, or live in a country where it isn't quite possible? (Are homeless folks inherently genocidal, or is that an "obvious" exception that was never clarified because no one uses nuance anymore?) If you have to talk about world events, lest you side with the oppressor, at what point is something so catastrophic you *must* talk about it? Is there a number of lives lost that is low enough you can get away with being quiet, and a certain amount too high that you're obligated to talk about it? Is it your duty to have the news on 24/7 to make sure you don't miss anything and catch all the global disasters as they happen? How much do you have to talk about something for it to be considered "enough"? Is there a quota??

It just feels like a lot of people are acting as if people who aren't chronically online aren't 1. doing any activism, because the only important activism is social media networking (sarcasm), or 2. are inherently bad people for *not* spending 6 hours a day on their phones. Like, I had someone I thought was a friend say I was a bad person because I was trying to cut down my social media usage, because the timing was "too convenient"... as if that's a normal thing to say to someone, ever. Sorry if I went on a little bit of a rant, it wasn't my intention. I dunno, maybe it's just me; I've seen a lot of people saying this sort of stuff so maybe they are the majority. It just feels really weird to let people that are addicted to social media take charge of who online is "good" or "bad" based off their internet usage. As if we were all catholics or something. If I were to say that current takes on morality were very catholic-seeming, would you know what I mean?

As recently noted, I am myself on an embargo from answering asks related to this topic. I will make one exception because this is important. Please note that any wank in replies or reblogs will be instantly blocked (and I won't hesitate to disable reblogs if necessary). I will not be answering follow-up asks or getting drawn into Discourse. I do not want to do it and it will not be happening.

I have said it before, but it bears saying again: thinking that the only way to Do Activism is to be constantly on social media and immersing yourself in terrible things nonstop and then posting the Most Correct Opinions (and then viciously attacking anyone who is even slightly Not As Correct as you) is absolutely bullshit. If you're engaging with this content so much that it's giving you a mental breakdown or otherwise plunging you into a spiral of anxiety that you take out on other people who are just as far removed from actually doing anything about it as you: why? Do you really think that you and you alone, one random person on the Internet, are the only way anyone else is going to find out about these things? Or do you think you have to perform the Most Correct Opinions nonstop, viciously harass anyone who isn't responding in exactly the same way, and this is the sum total of what your response should be? Especially in a situation as bloody and complicated as this, dealing with reams of religious, social, cultural, and political history where the average commentator on this conflict knows only what's been fed to them by propaganda on TikTok? How the fuck is that useful or constructive for anyone, aside from perpetuating the idea that you have to be angry all the time on social media about things you essentially know nothing about? I can't see that it does.

What's happening to the Gazans right now is no qualification or equivocation, a genocide. It should rightfully be opposed and called what it is. But unfortunately, I have spent too much time around Western Online Leftists to believe they actually care a whit about stopping genocide as a fundamental principle, and only want to be seen to loudly care about what their Ideology has told them to care about. If it means hand-waving aside genocide and atrocities when committed by their preferred polities, so be it. Why haven't these same people been wall-to-wall up in arms about what Russia has been doing in Ukraine, or for God's sake Syria for the past ten years, if they're really concerned about the rights of innocent Muslim civilians attacked by a far-right imperialist power? Why not the Uighurs in China? Why not [insert the blank] of all the terrible things happening in the world as a result of far-right fascist genocidal imperialism? Why only this conflict? Why now? Why does it involve so much excusing of terrorism as long as it's committed for the Right Ideology? Why are some of the most loudly pro-Palestinian accounts on here also the most rabidly pro-Russian? How does that make sense? To put it bluntly, those genocides are being committed by nation-states that Online Leftists like for being "anti-Western," and therefore their activities are actually fine and should even need to be defended.

My point is not to say that what's happening to the Palestinians is not bad. It is. It is awful and inexcusable. However, I seriously doubt the motives and morality of those who are being the loudest about screaming on social media and attacking everyone else for not instantly repeating their views. I seriously doubt that the Online Left actually opposes genocide and accelerationism as fundamental principles, because they proudly demonstrate every day that they don't. Until those vast factors can be dismantled and shown for what they are, and this can be placed into its larger context, I don't buy it and I don't believe this wall-to-wall social media outrage factory is actually aimed at helping the Gazans or anyone else suffering the most as a result of this. It is just to show that they can be counted on to Perform Outrage and harass anyone else who doesn't do the same, and that does nothing for anyone whatsoever.

[fictionalsownme]

More Than A Woman | wilford warfstache x gn!viewer / reader |

chapter one - "I've known you very well"

A/N: hi everyone!! I'm so excited to post this! Usually I spend a long time on the stuff I write but I wrote a good chunk of this in a feverish burst haha, I've been wanting to write for Wil and had such a clear idea of how I see him in my head for so long :)) This fic will probably be around 10 chapters~ish and progress will probably be a little slow but I'm also trying to get faster at my writing so I guess we'll see! Getting it down is always the hardest, then you spend a bit of time hating it, then the fixing can start! Anyway, I hope you guys like this, I love this dorky weirdo a lot for whatever reason, and I'd love to write for other egos too :) ((there might be a guest appearance or two in here in the last few chapters if plans don't change 👀)) hope you guys enjoy the first chapter at least! lmk 🥰! word count: 2.9k notes: reader is gender-neutral, similar to all of mark's stuff :) -- the title is just after the song! no pronouns or descriptors are used other than the occasional they/them. reader is the viewer (& district attorney) from wkm, adwm, ahwm, iswm, etc, but that won't come up until later. wmlw wilford. story will be mostly fluff, some hurt/comfort & angst, lots of romance and flirting! story is adapted from an idea I had for my self insert. we will get into some lore stuff (or at least my understanding of the lore 👀) and filling in gaps with headcannons, but it's mostly about wilford & reader and I'll try to explain as we go so don't worry about it too much if you don't know all of it. especially since I don't know if my understanding is always 100% accurate 👉👈 let's have fun yall! 💞

masterlist | AO3

The music playing softly over the convenience store speakers was pleasant, if slightly boring. Like elevator music— there only to help ease the passing of time. Your night shift would end soon, and the sky could be seen as it lightened more every minute through the windowed front of the building.

Other than that, the old store was quiet. Dusty. Pink and orange neon strips lined the walls near the ceiling. They overpowered the dated fluorescent lights, casting everything in a slightly peach haze. Like a dream. 

Different sections of the store were marked with neon too, the letters glowed against the wall denoting the drinks, the snacks, the hot food… You liked your little store. Even if the unyielding isolation of your work made you a bit… complacent. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d truly talked with someone.

The ice creams chilled your fingers through the wrappers as you pulled them from their box and slotted them into place. Even with the cold air of the freezer wafting over you, you could smell the cool summer air coming in the sliding front doors.

You liked to prop them open on dawns like these. The convenience store lights did draw in the occasional pestering bug, but they usually found their way out again before long. You did get a bat once. Albeit a little crazed and frantic, you were surprised to find it harmless. Maybe a little lost. Now that thing seemed like it would never leave. 

Refocusing on your task, you brushed your condensation-soaked fingers on your work apron, tied tight behind your neck and around your back, and shut the freezer door. 

The motion alert chimed a pleasant tune through the staticky old speakers as a customer entered the open doors from the street.

You called an automatic, “Welcome in~,” and went about straightening a shelf of snack bars and chocolate. You didn’t bother to look in their direction as you heard them make their way through the aisles.

“Pardon me,” said their strange, nearly British accent from beside you now. You turned to the source of the voice, the man who’d just walked in, and your eyes went to his outfit first. 

A silky-- almost sparkly in how it caught the light-- lavender shirt with mismatched buttons revealed expanses of his bare chest. It was paired with white bell-bottoms and a fake pink afro hanging half-off his head, about to fall off. He had olive skin and dark hair-- nearly black--, fluffy and sticking up every which way like hands had been running through it. Scruffy facial hair framed a thick mustache that tinted slightly pink where it turned up at the ends.

He looked… honestly, he looked ridiculous. But the 70s getup was fun, you supposed. And his eyes-- dark brown and monolid-- were handsome. Underneath all the… extra mess. You blinked, slowly, in a way that felt like waking up.

“Uh, hi. Are you coming from a costume party or something?” It was August, but you supposed it was never too early to start the spooky season. 

“Oh! Do you know of one? I do love a good costume. But no. Just the regular-sort. Just woke up from one.” He scanned the products near his head, grabbed a protein bar, sniffed the wrapper, guffawed, and put it back.

“You just woke up? Are you alright?”

“Oh, worry not, friend, this is normal for my level of reverie! I’m not even hungover!” He laughed, his hands going to his hips.

You stared at him.

“I was just looking for something to gnaw on! To nourish myself before I’m on my way.” His eyes were still traveling all over, not really seeing you.

Now in theory, a strange man coming in at this hour, acting even stranger, with his clothes disheveled? You knew you should be on your way to your safe space behind the counter to get him checked out and exiting the store as fast as possible. But there was something about him… 

Something you couldn’t place…

Instead you raised your eyebrows and relaxed against the cooler door. “Uh, I guess that depends on what kind of food you like,” You offered. After a moment, his gaze landed on you and he seemed to finally take you in. Your uniform, your crossed arms, your patient expression, your features. His face scrunched into confusion.

A moment passed, staring at each other like that. “Your shirt’s looking a little rough, you know.”

“Have we met, friend?” He asked as he began to fix his buttons. 

You watched passively as more of his chest came into view. He either didn’t notice or didn’t mind your blatant staring. You weren’t sure why you were staring, or what you were feeling as you did so. 

You weren’t gawking at his abs or anything-- well,-- not that he didn’t have abs. He did, sort of. The expanse of his chest and abdomen were tight with toned muscle. He definitely wasn’t lacking abs, anyway. Either way… this was about something different. 

You wondered for a moment if a vague familiarity was what you were picking up on, but quickly dismissed it.

“I feel like I’d remember meeting you.” 

You realized with a start that your comment could be seen as flirtatious, and added quickly, “Just, you know-- generally.”

But he just hummed and spun on his heels, turning away. You sighed and found yourself in-step behind him, hands in your uniform pockets. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Well, either way!” He started, his energy returning tenfold. “Let's see what this cute little shop has to eat!” 

For some reason, you asked, “Do you have money?” 

He froze. “Er, no~. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?”

“Well, spotting me of course! Let’s just say I owe you one, eh friend?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Thought so.” 

Thought so? Maybe you did know him… 

It was your turn to squint in displaced confusion. “What’s your name?”

His voice came from behind you and you spun around, your shoes squeaking on the tile floor. When did he sneak around you? 

He bent over and twirled his hand, a flamboyant bow finally knocking the afro off his head. “Wilford Warfstache, at your service.”

“That’s your name?” 

He righted himself. “For now.” It suited him well enough, but for some reason it sounded misplaced.

… But no, either way, you definitely hadn’t met him before. You didn’t know many people in the first place, let alone someone so eccentric.

Still, you were curious about him. Curious about his personality and who he was. He felt sort of like a puzzle waiting to be solved. And so far, despite his quirks, despite how admittedly weird you’d also been acting, he’d been friendly. You couldn’t say the staring and prodding questions were too in-character for you. At least not when it came to customers. 

His hair looked softer without the wig to weigh it down-- parted at his brow and long enough to fluff over the tips of his ears and end where his neck met his spine. You reached down to scoop the curly mop of synthetic hair up off the floor.

“Where did you get this thing?”

He hummed something like ‘I don’t know’, his eyes sort of wide like a clueless puppy’s. 

“What, you just kind of have it?”

“Yea’p.”

You squinted at him, a smirk forming on your lips. “How about I do you a favor and throw this away?”

He shrugged, hummed an ‘alright’ sound, and turned away. 

“Oh no, I was kidding! God, here--!” You had to grab his wrist to stop him from wandering off further and placed the pink afro in his hand.

You had just been trying to tease him, but now you just felt bad. “Look, Wilford, you want something to eat? We have to throw the hot food out every night. You can have a taquito or a slice of pizza or something if you want.”

Then he was frozen again-- staring down at where your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Your eyes followed his gaze down and then you were staring too.

A moment passed. Then two. Finally, you let go and crossed your arms again, tucking your hands away where they couldn’t embarrass you again.

“... Fuck, I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I did that.” You did your best to clear your throat.

But he was still stuck there. He blinked a few times and his gaze met your eyes, his brows gathering together. 

“Wh-What did you say your name was, friend?” He seemed so… serious all of sudden. So dire.

You hadn’t mentioned it yet, but told him with a hesitant voice. 

His expression blanked, eyes widening. He brought his arm, the offending afro in tow, to his chest, touching his wrist where you’d held it.

“Oh…” 

You raised your brows and asked softly, “Sorry, do you know me, then?”

“Hm?” And he blinked like his mind was clearing, like he’d forgotten you were there. 

He cleared his throat, smiled-- ear to ear-- his mustache lopsided like a cartoon. “Oh-- nevermind about that! Some food would be lovely, if you don’t mind.”

His eyes were sparkling. 

“Sure. I mean, it’s nothing fancy. Here,” And you walked over towards the front counter. Wilford trailed close behind you-- holding onto the wig in his hands like a school kid holding a lunch box-- his gaze wandering over the store again like he hadn’t seen it the first time.

You arrived at the hot foods section, a glassed-off section of day-old food over heated rods. You shrugged. “If you have a sensitive stomach, maybe don’t,” you started, “but it’s mostly fine to be honest. I eat it if I’m in a pinch, you know.”

You hopped up to sit on the counter, your legs facing Wilford, and leaned back to reach around and grab the tongs waiting there. You straightened and clapped them together twice. You offered him a smile. “What’ll it be, Mr. Warfstache?” Then a quieter, “--that was your last name right?”

“Do you gravitate towards anything yourself?”

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of pizza, I guess. Even here.”

His smile grew sort of soft. “Then that. If you please.”

“You got it.”

You leaned over again and served up the slice of moderately warm and slightly greasy pizza on a brown napkin and passed it off to him. 

“Much obliged.”

You got one for yourself too, and when you righted and your eyes found Wilford again, he was sitting in a retro-style diner chair you’d never seen before-- his feet against the edge of the counter beside you.

You couldn’t help the surprised laughter that choked out of you. “Wha-- where did you even find that?”

The chair teetered on its two legs as he leaned precariously back, tilting his head at your question. The pink wig sat in his lap and you couldn’t help thinking it looked like some weird dog.

“Well, there’s no need to worry! I’m only borrowing it, I’m not a barbarian.”

And you just knew you weren’t getting more of an answer than that.

“So who even are you?” You asked as he took a bite of the pizza, somehow pulling all the cheese right off the top in one piece. He pouted down at the offending mozzarella, slurping it into his mouth and swallowing it. “Do you live around here?”

“Mm. I don’t really live anywhere. Much more the exploring-- ever on the move-- type.”

He was so expressive. It really felt like talking to an old cartoon come-to-life or something. You turned to lean against the side of the glass cover, swinging your legs so your feet rested on the counter, not far from his still against the edge. You weren’t touching at all, but you were surprised at how quickly the two of you fell into a casual-- albeit timidly curious-- rhythm. 

“So what do you do?” And you began to eat too.

He beamed, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes. “I’m an interviewer! Warfstache Tonight, that’s what my show is called! It’s quite a professional endeavor!”

You smiled and hummed around your bite of pizza, impressed. That actually explained a lot. And it suited him nicely enough. “Sounds pretty glamorous.”

“And what about you? You can’t just be a convenience store clerk!” He seemed so affronted by the idea. Crinkling his nose, dropping his voice an octave. “How dreadfully boring.”

You winced. “‘Just a convenience store clerk?’ Ouch, Wilford…” You couldn’t help frowning down at your slice. 

 “Oh! No no, pardon me!” He let the chair fall back to four legs, waving the idea way with a panicked hand. “I only meant that… this isn't what truly stirs your passions, is it? Do you do anything at your leisure? For work or just… something you enjoy?”

You squinted at him. But you didn’t really think he was trying to insult you. And he wasn’t wrong. It just… wasn’t always the most fun when someone pointed it out. Especially like that. 

You sighed, fidgeting as you considered his question. “Not right now… This job keeps me pretty occupied. But you know, it’s not too bad. It keeps me, I don’t know, grounded I guess.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded, taking another bite. “I do hope you get more opportunities soon, then.” He said, surprisingly grounded.

You looked at him. “... Thanks.” And you meant it.

“And… my apologies for the earlier, uh, miswording.”

 “That’s fine… I’d be curious to hear more about your show, though! Have you interviewed anyone interesting or anything?”

A beat. A sort of tiredness settled into his shoulders and he peered up at you. “The odd gold-star guest did wander in from time to time. I’m not sure if my skills were quite deserving of them at the time.”

Was that… shame?

“The truth is, I couldn’t quite live up to the role. I--” He laughed, pained. He cleared his throat. “I’m taking a bit of a break from show business for the moment.”

Ah. So that’s what happened. You offered him a sympathetic smile. “To party? That’s probably why you don’t have any money, Wilford. And why you have to rely on shitty convenience store food?” You held up your greasy napkin like it was evidence.

“Now don’t underestimate the power of a good party! And this food is fine, I’m grateful for it,” He crumpled the now empty napkin and gestured wildly with it. “The truth is I get by just fine. I’m just not sure what else I should be doing.”

You looked out the front windows. The sky was getting lighter. The timer marking the end of your shift would go off any minute.

So maybe that’s why he’d been asking you about your passions. You felt bad for him. He was strange, to be sure. And a little hard to follow. But he was also… sweet. He had a softness about him.

And still… there was that feeling that hadn’t disappeared since meeting him. Like… like your soul recognized him. Maybe not deeply. But distantly. Like you’d met him in a dream. It was a ridiculous notion. Ridiculous didn’t seem beyond his territory.

You turned, legs coming down from the counter once again. You leaned forward, your hand landing at the junction of his shoulder and neck. His silk shirt was soft under your fingers. His eyes jumped up to yours and you looked down at him with a smile. 

“You liked doing your show right? You want to be an interviewer?”

He nodded slowly. His lashes fluttered. 

“Then that’s what you should be doing! You just have to try again!” You shrugged with one shoulder. “It might suck a lot. And you might fail again. But pick yourself back up. Keep going. I’m sure you can do it if you keep at it and think outside the box, you know. Failing only means failing if you stop.”

You leaned back, your hand sliding away. He stared at you.

“That’s what the rest of us do, anyway. Honestly, maybe you should do your show online! You know, livestream it or something. I’m sure you’d find your own way to it.”

Slowly, a smile crept back in, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“What a wonderful idea…” 

God, his eyes… 

You looked down at your own napkin, laughing a little at yourself. “Wilford, I promise, the advice I just gave you was nothing crazy.”

“Well, perhaps it’s just a little too rare that I get a pick-me-up.”

You hopped down from the counter. “Swing by whenever, I’ll hand them out for free. Though, if you’re always on the move, I guess you’re probably not in town for long, huh?”

He quickly followed your lead and stood, his chair nearly falling in his haste. “Uh— w-well I, I don’t know, I could always… linger for a day or two. Hard to say really.” 

“Uh huh.” You smirked at him, raising your brows. “Well, if that constant partying you have going on brings you back here, feel free stop in, okay? … It’d be nice to have someone in here every once in a while. Well, someone friendly, anyway.” 

“Right. Will do. Of course.”

You gave him two solid pats on the chest and turned to throw the napkins away behind the counter. When you turned to face him again, he was gone.  Only slightly confused, you quickly recovered and yelled a quick, “bye~!” to the now empty store.

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever~

Hi Friends <3

I will be switching to simply posting a WIP on Wednesday. If you see this and would like to play along, please always feel free to tag me.

That said, here! Have a small piece of World, Chapter 31. 663 words!

CW: Death, below the cut!

Just before dawn — not quite able to sleep, even if he’d wanted to — Athis shook Avulstein awake for his watch, and that was when all of their hope shattered. Athis watched with bile rising in his throat as Avulstein shook Thorald’s shoulder. His brother had gone still at some point in the night, the shivering stopped, the wheezing silenced, his face pale as the snow that had settled around their campsite. Athis hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t. How? Avulstein began to yell, shaking Thorald harder, but the Nord’s eyes were wide open, collecting ice crystals, and his muscles were locked, frozen in —

Death.

Athis turned his head, unable to shake the image from his mind. Avulstein’s voice faded into the background of his awareness. His stomach churned. Thorald hadn’t made it through the night. It wasn’t unexpected, but seeing someone in such a state was different story. He hadn’t been able to keep moving, and in the end, it didn’t matter. Whether or not they’d have gotten to Northwatch Keep sooner, the Thalmor had already planned on this — the Nord’s death — once they got everything they needed out of him. He was nothing to them, except something from which to extract information, to be tossed away at the earliest convenience.

A new rage burned in Athis, though it was nothing compared to what Avulstein was going through — the sound of his shouting seemed to echo back twofold. Athis’s ears were ringing. Farkas was trying to comfort Avulstein, but his voice came out in fragmented sentences — he was still too shaken from the events of the last day to be coherent. The world seemed to be shifting sideways, and Athis felt dizzy and angry and like he might collapse as he stood on and watched, almost as if he was outside his own body. He wanted to tear his gaze away from the horror of the scene before him, worse almost than the carnage of the keep, but found he couldn’t. Or, maybe, that he shouldn’t, especially as Avulstein’s fury crescendoed and quieted into sobs that wracked the man’s entire body as he knelt there in the snow at his brother’s side. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. This shouldn’t have had to happen. Athis’s fists clenched, torn, jagged nails digging into the skin of his palms, and as he stared up at the waning image of the moons, he wondered if this was the kind of anger that drove werewolves to change.

Later, when the pyre burnt hot enough that only bits of bone might make it through the blaze, Athis stood shoulder to shoulder with Avulstein and Farkas, noon sun rising high above them. They could not offer their weapons to Thorald, or they would join in him Sovngarde too soon. He would have to go unarmed, relying on the strength of his hands on the other side when he met with Tsun and crossed the bridge. Light bounced off the endless hills of snow, the world silent but for the crackle of flame before them. Athis had gone numb to the smell of burning flesh and hair, instead breathing deep of the still, cold air. Grief wouldn’t strike him now — not while he had to be the one to hold the entire mission together. He had not known Thorald well, but the Gray-Mane clan had been adjacent to the Companions for as long as he’d been in Whiterun, and likely before.

The Nord’s absence had been stark already — a constant worry in the back of Eorlund’s mind that he muttered about while repairing shields and swords for the rest of them. It wasn’t ever just ‘the War’ — never just an abstract thing, as Athis had believed. This was personal, and part of him felt he’d been far too complacent. His place, however, was with the Companions, and that was not about to change, no matter the call to arms Thorald’s death signified, and the kind of chaos that would bring back to Whiterun.

[old-man-hell]

your soapverse AUposting has unfortunately enthralled me. genuinely can't unsee griffen as lucas' annoying ex now. #freefrankie (again). is there anything else you can share about it??

i have tales to tell you which you will wish you were untold.

i choose to completely ignore whatever Another World has going on as is convenient, so i apologize to any potential soap purists out there. also, sorry, this might end up very griffen lore focused.

besides thinking griffen and jester are brothers (griffen eldest, obviously, with jester as the younger aspiring brother) i also think griffen was the one to escape their small-town American upbringing by putting his physical talents to use as a dancer. but when it's just griffen and lucas, sometimes it slips out... (reference: Another World December 1989 ~ Accidentally On Purpose Pt.3 13:13)

griffen, despite his pretentious nature, has unyielding affection for his younger misfit brother. they both think Italian cuisine is the height of Taste and Refinement. (griffen mistakenly thinks that tagines are Mediterranean in origin)

but this is only the backdrop to the real meat: lucas and griffen's history. griffen insists that they've known each other forever---lucas balks that they've only started formally working together [x amount of years] or so ago. i like to imagine an in-between where both were aware of each other much earlier but introduced through criminal debts. it started as a high-emotional-stakes relationship tied to the success of their various criminal ventures but led to a casual complacency between these events. lucas is WELL aware of the kind of person griffen is.

bad knees: griffen definitely, absolutely, was a world-famous dancer and performed across europe but suffered a borderline career-ending injury to his knees, which forced a quiet retirement and his return to the US. he has not told anyone formally about it, but it explains the final performance. yet.....the injury has nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with an art heist gone wrong that lucas was involved in--- resulting in lucas feeling indebted to griffen. and BOOKING IT back to Bay City, USA.

so, griffen being present in Bay City is a play of the greater crime organization (not the cartel in my AU because lmao art crime is just...out there -touches nose-) but only becomes complicated because of Lucas' dual feelings between wanting to get out and to do right by Griffen.

that becomes all the most difficult as griffen insists on targeting people he thinks are a threat to the deal---but really, he's just jealous of the various pretty faces lucas has hired in the break between them working together. (credit: @demon4dilfs )

griffen is bisexual but he only dates women that remind him of himself. e.g. griffen watching frankie trapped in an on-again-off-again relationship with a dark-haired criminal player who doesn't respect her: i can't believe she's falling for this....

griffen: [on his best behaviour] this is a totally viable relationship. griffen reading (1) diary entry: terrible. but maybe……she understands….. griffen reading the map: She Knows Too Much. She Knows Every City I [REDACTED] Lucas In. we have to eliminate her

"but when you touch me like that...." (re my terrible playlist) griffen loves being throttled by lucas. it's enrichment.

the final dance scene is the result of the knee injury but also a cry for help and attention. (no parties involved realize this part)

AU is torn between frankie rightfully shooting him / lucas shooting him non-fatally. 2023 challenge tmann survive being shot by a potential love interest.

[saberamane]

Just finished AC Odyssey Legacy of the First Blade. It was...ok. For as long as was it was it also seemed kind of rushed. There were several things I thought they shouldn't have done.

Spoilers Ahead

The love story between Natakas and the playable character seemed really fast and out of nowhere. I understand it was kind of necessary to be short for the game, but...eh.

My biggest aggravation was that Darius and Natakas stayed with Kassandra and just completely grew complacent, knowing the order was looking for them. They could have had a 'quiet' life, a house and baby and everything, and still been on the look out for the order looking for them. The fact that they were 'surprised' by the attack that led to Natakas dying and Elpidios being stolen was kind of dumb to me.

Especially the fact that Darius, who up till now has been nothing but a badass, suddenly needs rescuing. And the fact that Kassandra left her baby and husband to go save him, not knowing he actually needed help.

But also, where TF is Kassandra's family? No matter the ending you get, you should at least have Myrinne on your side. Why was none of Kassandra's family involved? In my playthrough she should have had the entire family, all of whom are good fighters, helping to protect her baby and husband. Are you seriously telling me that between Darius, Kassandra, and Alexios the Persian's would have been able to kill Natakas and steal Elpidios? There was literally hardly anyone there! I've singlehandedly taken down forts with more people in them!

I know this is all for the purpose of the story, but if you want to make it believable, there should have been a shit ton more Persians, a more dire situation leading to Natakas dying, a reason Kassandra's family wasn't anywhere nearby, and not make Darius suddenly a noob for no reason.

Or make Kassandra a more 'human' character so that you don't go through the whole game playing like the demi-god you are until it's plot-convenient for Kassandra to suddenly be a sub-par fighter.

Overall, the plot was fine, but I probably wouldn't ever play it again. The ending, showing how Darius takes Elpidios to Egypt and he ages and then transforms into his descendants leading to Aya was honestly cool. A+ on that part.

Holy shit, the Fate of Atlantis DLC is ANOTHER 15 hours? It's going to be July before I can play Mirage at this rate, jfc. I still need to get through Valhall and it's DLC's too. And that's not taking into account I skipped AC3 DLC because of bugs, AC 4, Rogue, and Unity to try and play Mirage on release.

[lexpressobean]

I think Shino is cool, but I don't think I can deny that he is exactly the type of person who'd be especially humbled when he finally got a job in customer service in Modern Settings.

Not because he acts like a complete jerk. He's not gonna yell at a cashier who made an honest mistake or waitstaff that were a bit too slow (gags aside of course but Id just have walked out tbh). But he will probably be very annoyed and do some disgruntled rambling unecessarily, simply because the employees aren't performing (what he perceives in his mind is) their job at 100%.

I wanna say it's because he's canonly from a Noble Clan, and he's had to learn special skills from a young age, and a lot was expected of him, and he was also probably spoon fed a certain mentality and view on things, being from said family. That pretty much translates to Modern AU as Shino becoming disciplined and conditioned to act and speak in the ways his family expects him to act and speak and stuff like that. Like yes, making friends (hopefully?) would help tone that down some but you can't help but retain some conditioning, unfortunately haha.

And one of those things he does keep is an idea along the lines that most customer service jobs are actually very simple and most anyone can do them. Which is why he wonders why some people seem to fuck up so bad every once in a while whenever he decides to order food or is shopping for something or other, maybe even on the phone.

So maybe in a Modern Setting type AU he'd be reluctant to apply to any customer service job, especially at a fast food chain or a smaller convenient store, but he would if he really needed the money. It's not that it's "hard", it's just that he's Shino Aburame, but this will just "have to do for now".

But after a week or maybe just a few days, Shino would regret any tone he took with any person who's ever worked a job like that and more. Maybe he wasn't the worst customer ever, but he makes it a point to not be a bad customer from then on because wow this really fucking sucks some days, doesn't it??? And in retrospect, he is just disgusted by the way some of his family members have acted, especially his grandparents but that's being old and bitter for ya. The super cool thing is that he will now call them and the rest of his family on their bullshit when they act terrible. He's never caused a scene as a customer himself, but can and will absolutely cause a total scene in defense of staff to shame and embarrass the crap out of his unbearable family members when they act like assholes. Shibi, while he doesn't act like an asshole, was always more complacent and quiet. But the second someone talks ill of Shino, he gets fiercely protective of his son. Shino's had the experience, he knows what he's talking about, no one better even think of disrespecting his son.

So to me, Shino is a snooty little goodie two shoes rich kid who genuinely repents for his snootiness when he gets older and realizes he grew up with a certain amount of privilege but also gets angrier and angrier that he was raised to be so snooty in the first place and has the spite and the attitude to start shit with the family members that stay snooty because come the fuck on!!!

[sagiri-shitposting]

for the sib q&a thingy...... what are marie and tohru's parents like? i've been wondering that ever since it was revealed that marie tried to stab a classmate for insulting her friend, but did they shove her off to tohru because he's been conveniently demoted to the boonies and just sent marie there? lol x)

Much like suggested by Adachi's sparse comments about his parents across the p4 universe - they're quite uninvolved in the lives of their kids, really not caring so long as they get good grades.

That said, in the sparse moments their parents aren't working, they're quick to scold and punish, even for small things like being too loud after 8PM.

Adachi getting demoted around the same time that Marie got in trouble definitely provided them a simple out. As they no longer need to parent Tohru but likely wanted him to realize what it means to take responsibility, and for Marie to recognize that her behaviour could lead to similar outcomes (as Tohru) in the long term. All while ignoring their own complacency with how they've raised their children might contributed to the outcome at hand.

I often think of Tohru's mother as someone who is very stubborn and loud (similar to Tohru and Marie when agitated), while the father is more quiet and apologetic (the facade Tohru often leads with).

Both parents find dealing with their children to be tiresome and troublesome and will avoid it in favor of career work. Personal headcanon is that their father was unemployed and household funds were relatively low when Tohru was born so Tohru likely has some turmoil over the fact Marie is allowed to buy nicer clothing and such whereas he had to deal with more second hand goods.

[mygend101notes]

Thoughts on The Patriarchy

Allan G. Johnson’s “Patriarchy: The System: An It, Not A He, A Them, Or An Us” (Gender Matters: Truths and Consequences, p. 25-32) breaks down the vague understanding of what “the patriarchy” and “the system” are and how they affect us in our everyday life. This deconstruction first begins with the emotions these words evoke in society; ex. some men becoming very angry or defensive when hearing discussion of a patriarchal system as they feel targeted and blamed or do not want to lose the privileges afforded to them through said system. Johnson also brings up the point that while many people refer to the upholders of a patriarchal society as “the system”, inducing mass agreement, this is a vague statement that not only undermines how deep the validation of the patriarchy in society really goes but also keeps the public undereducated and misinformed. “What is ‘the system’, who is upholding it, and how?”: this is the general prompt that Johnson prepares us with. 

Comparing “the system” that upholds patriarchy in society to a corporation, Johnson explains that both are essentially a 4th dimensional space where our perceptions and ideals and expectations of behavior in this space exist among each other and mingle to influence everyone that exists in the 3rd dimension beneath it (or at least this is how I had imagined it). That society and its ever-changing norms are a quiet agreement between the people participating in it. Even if you are not in agreement, the foundation that your family and society built in you from birth heavily influences your perception of things and therefore your response to them, including how you view yourself and your place in society. Referring to the constant force-feeding of misogynistic material in media and daily life, Johnson explains “This finds its way into everyone who grows up breathing and swimming in it, and once inside us it remains, however unaware of it we may be.” (p. 29 of Gender Matters: Truths and Consequences).  

My personality as a child can be explained by the title of a book my mother once purchased when I was 8: The Defiant Child: A Parent's Guide to Oppositional Defiant Disorder (hang in there, I promise this is relevant). Funnily enough, I ended up not having ODD at all, it was just a convenient explanation for my refusal to participate in the complacency and conformity I so often saw in society, I have always been opposed to doing things just because I was told to. However, this opposition from childhood has resulted in a sort of “rebranding” in misogyny: my subconscious bias and internal misogyny due to my frustration with social grooming practices and the inaction I saw from the adults who were supposed to be better than me. I see it most often when I think of men in a negative light, my anger and negative experiences accumulating to form a general disgust for men the way a misogynistic man or a TERF (transgender-exclusive-radical-feminist) might feel disgust for me. I often have a hard time viewing men as more than a creature or an alien species, despite being mainly attracted to them and being (sort of) a man myself. I see my disgust as a reflection of man’s indignance towards women, which may be why I feel I am more sensitive to the way specific men feel about women; often halting conversations with men when I can feel that their mind recognizes me/women as an object instead of another person.  

It is my firm belief that if I were of any other social standing, I would view this topic in the same way I do now. Whether born a man, intersex, black, rich, poor, it doesn’t matter to me because since I could speak, I expressed my displeasure with current social beliefs and expectations. I did not understand why gender was binary and why the answers I was given were always so dissatisfactory to me, and why nothing ever settled with me unless I deconstructed it myself from its foundations and rebuilt it in my perfect image. There was and is nothing I accept quietly, I have always and will always question everything whether it be to myself or aloud to others. The only way I can express my insistence that I would be the same in any standing in society is that I am chronically unsatisfied with the answers given to me regarding anything that affects people, and that this feeling is innate and instinctual. I would call it a primal hunger for justice and equality, which I satiate with the cannibalization of my peers’ thoughts and feelings. 

[cosmosoracle]

Everything stays still around the Fountain once Roktor leaves the place. Hoyt floats above the rocks, still staring in the distance, contemplating what just happened and enjoying the feeling of defiance against fate. Sheathing his dented swords back and looking down at his metal hand, he savors victory for a few more quiet moments, before Opak approaches.

The General apologizes for not having been able to support the group through the clash. "I am not a fighter, and I would have had no means to effectively support you. All I could do was to contact as many people as I could. They should be here in few moments."

Hoyt dismisses him quickly. "It was a reckless act, and if it was for me, it wouldn't have happened at all; it wouldn't have turned for the worst. I'll admit, however, I didn't believe him to be that strong. I can see why no one approaches Outsea now."

"But onto more pressing matters..." He turns to the direction where Zinnya brought the corpse and Opak follows his gaze as well.

Once Zinnya is done casting her spell to preserve the body intact for the ritual, she sighs, numerous bubbles floating up from the device which allows her to breathe underwater. She pats the head of a very sad Svalek, while Lumen stays extremely agitated, swimming around its master's body powerlessly. The idea of contacting Echo using the stone that Lia usually carries with her crosses her mind; but before she can even reach out for her backpack, a shadow looms over her, catching her eye.

"Finally, here you are! It was a long, long search until I found you and your group. You must be Zinnya, the description fits perfectly. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, and in such a convenient situation. My name is Egon."

A slim, tall devil stands in front of the witch, observing the scene with a complacent smile. His features are sharp and disquieting, as it suits a creature of his kind; his bald head is adorned with multiple small horns, in line with the bigger pair of curved ones which come out from the side of his skull. His skin is of a very pale pink; black tears stain his cheekbones, almost reaching the jawline, falling abundantly from pitch black eyes. A long black coat envelopes his figure elegantly. His presence cannot clash any more with the surrounding environment.

The ashen young one gets little time to interact with the individual alone; Hoyt calls her back to the fountain, and Egon gladly takes the invitation as well. She swims warily while Svalek and Lumen also side her, and when she looks back to the visitor, she sees him walking in a straight line as if the environment had no influence over him whatsoever. She brings the lifeless body with her; when she reaches Opak and Hoyt, she leaves Evangelia in front of the priest, who quietly watches over the scene, confounded. Lumen reaches the two aquatics, while Zinnya and Svalek side with Hoyt, floating in front of their dead ally as if they were shielding her. The devil smirked to the sight. "Ah, yes. Hoyt, the Red Mantis assassin. It's so nice to meet you as well - here we all are."

"I'll go straight to the point, because time isn't on our side and my Masters had enough of waiting. I come here with a message, a peace offering. I believe you have something that is ours, and I really want it back. The book, the one you stole, doesn't belong with you; accepting my condition will give you the chance to have your friend back."

Tension rises immediately on the side of the team, perfectly balanced by Egon's confidence and manners. Hoyt widens his sharp eyes, and catches the attention of his interlocutor with a glare. "Oh, but the book isn't yours, we got it fair and square; besides, we don't know where it is. The only one who knows is right behind us; she held it dearly for weeks, and we haven't seen it in so long. It could be anywhere."

The devilish man narrows his eyes, and a golden glint lights them up for a split second. Everyone present realizes how much of a feeble attempt that is. "You, don't, know. I wonder about that." A detached yet triumphant grin blooms once more. "Don't you feel a little bit of guilt? A little bit of remorse, about your blades. I can feel you care very much about them, the Sawtooth Sabres sacred to your God..."

Hoyt grits his teeth. That is enough of a reaction for the devil to stop. Egon takes a deeper breath. Zinnya looks over at the assassin, but Hoyt's attention is all for the devil in front of him; so she turns towards him once more, and shows the palms of her hands as she takes the word again. "What do you even need the book for?"

"That is something that my Masters did not want me to know, nor I am here to explain it to you. All I know is that one of them, the one you met, has been looking for it for so long, and I was left on the lookout for you people for quite some time. He's not a patient one, and you must know that this is not the first time that he meets her in the afterlife; I'm sure he'll be eager to speed up the process of her judgement to obtain what he wants."

"You mean the Man in Red."

The fiend nods. "Of course."

"But now, the time has come, and this is your only chance to see your friend open her eyes again. It is your choice."

The witch drops all intentions of keeping the talk going, and once more, her attention goes to the goblin. Anger pervades Hoyt like few other times happened since the team was united during that fateful night. His hands tremble, eager to grab onto anything, to find some way around the situation. But he cannot think of anything. Egon holds out his hand.

"Do we have a deal?"

[obriengf]

55 with royal Thomas seems like a must

send me a character and a prompt for a scene blurb ~ (6/10)

ARRANGED : for both muses to date or marry out of convenience.

this isnt the best but take it please x

You revelled in the serenity of the Royal gardens; an abundance of botanical species of every possible shade was surrounding you with joy, the gentle springtime air making your skin settle with comfortable warmth. It was a welcomed change to feel such peace after times of uncertainty - a game of ambiguousness when it came to matters of the heart, and the ownership of one’s hand. To love but not have was the source of your endless nights of aching, alas it all changed when realisation struck, and you were finally betrothed to the boy that once promised to hold your heart forever. Harmonies of singing birds echoed through the grand space, and it was easy to become mesmerised by how entrancing their song played - so much that you nearly missed the quiet coo of your name and the additional body standing close behind your frame.

Tender yet calloused hands were careful as they grasped your biceps, fingers squeezing with such delicacy above your elbows as a chin perched upon your right shoulder. Your eyes remained forward to overlook the beauty in front of you, but a smile still curled at your lips when loving lips pressed just under your ear. You hoped your future would be like this - so gentle, so devoted, affectionate, constituted - and it would be, for as long as Thomas remained by your side.

“Your highness.” You managed to say, your voice wavering as his lips trailed down the shape of your jaw. He grinned against you as a smile stretched over your skin, and you couldn’t stop the breathless sigh of contentedness that escaped you.

Thomas chuckled lightly, “M’lady. I still find myself even now, puzzled, over the luck that’d come my way and how I can professedly call you mine from this day onward.” 

Thomas’ ardor covered your back, a feeling of homeliness overcoming you as you slowly sunk into his hold and savoured the sensation of his body sheltering your own. He made you calm and comfortable, finally complacent in a world where you once thought would never turn in your favour. But now you at long last have the boy that gave you butterflies since your eyes first met, the boy that kept your secrets safe and offered a shoulder to cry on. He always was yours, only now the blessing has officially been granted, and you don’t need to shy away anymore from wanting to hold him forever within your arms.

“We’ve yet to be wed, Tommy.” You replied to him, a hand reaching behind you to thread fingers through his brunette locks. 

A gentle giggle caught your attention, drawing your sight across the garden to your handmaiden as she stared at you both joy, knowing just how fulfilled this betrothal had left you feeling. Your cheeks became dusted with pinkness, sudden bashfulness before a playful glare was directed toward her and she turned around to reinforce your privacy.

Thomas hummed against your neck, uncaring of who could see before he carefully spun you until your chests were flushed and your beating hearts thumped in coordinated rhythms. Calloused fingers were delicate as they pushed stray hairs behind your ears, and you could’ve sworn that the light was hitting him just perfectly - an angelic glow creating a euphoric image before you - prompting your eyes to shape like hearts and shine with every ounce of love you could muster.

He chuckled, once more, “It is true, our espousal is still unaccustomed, but it only makes it easier when I know that the love I feel is already very much present. I will have no predicaments, no hesitations when it comes to being with you, my sweet. It’s all I have wanted for as long as time can count, and now it’s been granted...” His voice trailed, face etching with such blissful disbelief as his lips tugged even further upward until his smile was near as bright as his golden hues, “Only good can come from this. From you. And I know that this sovereign will flourish under the reign of myself as King if it meant that I had you as my Queen.” 

Your chest fluttered under his words, his promise to keep you with him. It seemed as good as a dream, too good to be of truth; but the way his fingertips left fiery trails over your skin, as well as chilled goosebumps in their wake, it couldn’t make you feel anymore alive if it tried. 

“I’m sure that my words are ones of nothing new to your ears, but I do care for you incredibly much, Thomas. I love you with all that my heart can give, and I forever will.” You slid your hand over his chest, allowing yourself to feel the oddly steady yet hard thumping song of his heart. He copied your movements before fingers enclosed between your own, the pressure provoking your hand to now pulse with how melodic and passionate he was truly feeling.

Thomas’ eyes managed a softened glaze, his happiness tenfold, “And I you, my love. Forever.” 

Your hand grasped the material of his shirt, fingers scrunching at the cotton as your weight shifted to the toes of your shoes. You stood taller, only slightly, but enough to bump the tip of your nose carefully against his and feel the slight warmth of his breath as he sighed in contentedness. Lashes tickled over your skin as they fluttered, slow to close as you wanted to savour the beauty that he wore so well. Not that you could ever forget.

Pillowed lips brushed; they grazed and they teased like footwork to a dance. They didn’t quite join but it was the chase that built the funny sensation in your stomach and you didn’t dare want it to end. It wasn’t until the boy took the step and pressed his lips to tenderly against yours that you felt your shoulders sink and knees grow weak. 

Thomas allowed his spare arm to circle behind your back and pull you against him, his kiss sliding between your own as he cherished such moments of solitude and serenity. It was desperate, holding so much awaited emotion that it needed to spill out before the future king simply exploded. It was deepened by the prodding of your tongue and the welcomed gasp that lit Thomas’ veins on fire. 

If time could stand still, if this picture was frozen in place, then Thomas could swear that he wouldn’t want anything else from this world. You were more than perfect enough. 

[phoebe-delia]

Phoebe!!! I'm rudely asking for another prompt! Can I please, please, pretty please get a no. 27 of the song list? (if it's been taken then I'll take any other!) Your writing brightens my days so much and your ask box being empty is an unnatural state

@rockingrobin69 , your presence in my ask box is always a lovely surprise, whether for an ask or a prompt. And as for writing, I could say the same about you, my dear. I love seeing your work, and I'm particularly excited about this mystery fic you've got going.

Your song, 27, is "Daylight," by Taylor Swift, of course! This is a lovely little song, and it definitely has Drarry vibes. I hope you enjoy! <3

It wasn’t like a flower sprouting through the earth, or the sun peering through the clouds; it couldn’t be compared to a bullet piercing the air and rupturing its target, or jumping from a waterfall into a crystal blue lake.

No, for Draco, falling in love was like boiling a pot of water; no matter how many times he impulsively lifted the lid to check for bubbles, it appeared undisturbed until his back was turned, and then it was nearly overflowing.

He wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe it began when Harry extended his hand in friendship at the opening banquet in Eighth Year. Or perhaps it was when they were in potions and Harry asked him to pass the moondew and their fingers brushed. It could have been when Harry’s approached him at a Muggle bar with a determined gleam in his eye and a quiet, “May I sit here?” and they’d left two hours later, cheeks flushed with laughter and firewhiskey.

Love was slow, subtle and inconspicuous—and then it was all-consuming. And frighteningly easy.

Of course, that didn’t mean he and Harry had a smooth relationship; but if Draco wanted it to be easy he’d have signed his love on a dotted line next to Astoria Greengrass’s name, sired an heir, and let himself fall into complacency. If there was anything his father had taught him about relationships, it was the luxury and convenience of apathy.

Harry had always brought out Draco’s emotions in their strongest, most concentrated form. In his youth, the jealousy, resentment, and anger were acidic on his tongue; he’d spit them into the force of his words, hoping Harry could feel it, too. Now, the love and exasperated fondness he held for Harry melted in his mouth like his favorite decadent dark chocolate: rich and satisfyingly bittersweet; he wondered if Harry could taste it on his tongue.

They still bickered, occasionally fought. The sight of them having boisterous arguments over trivialities might raise a few eyebrows­­, but one downward glance at their tightly clasped hands swinging casually between them would dispel those rumors.

There were moments when panic held Draco’s mind, his heart, in its icy grip, making him shake at the thought of losing Harry, of not being enough for him—of all of it being a dream from which he’d surely wake up to find himself in a dark, damp cell in Azkaban.

But then Harry was at his side, rubbing comforting circles into Draco’s back and pulling him into strong, firm arms. I’m here. I’m here, and I love you, Harry would whisper into his ear until Draco stopped trembling and relaxed into the embrace.

Draco once thought he would forever be defined by his name, or the mark on his arm, or the wealth in his family’s vaults. He thought that his value came from power, influence, and self-determination.

But with Harry, he could be his truest self, letting his love and happiness bubble up within him, reckless and free.

Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).

Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!

[couchpotatoaniki]

Idol!ATEEZ: Their s/o secretly writes fanfics pt.2

A/N: This was a request from someone who wanted to read their reactions to dirty fanfics *wiggles brows* but cba coming up with more backstories, so this’ll be a continuation of the first reaction

Tag list: @lovelyrose014-blog�� sorry this took so long :((

WARNINGS: swearing, mature content, heavily suggestive

Part One

Kim Hongjoong:

Hongjoong made no effort to hide that he read your stories. It was as he promised; the first time he read them was not the last.

He’d been filling up his rare breaks with your works, powerful words contrasting your timid nature and no matter how many times he indulged himself in your crazy mind, Hongjoong never ceased to be amazed.

You had more sides to you than he ever could imagined.

Although, there was one thing he put off for quite some time now, and that would be reading your more popular fanfics. The fan favourites. After all, being the leader, he should know what his fans like, and as your boyfriend he should know what you crave.

Hongjoong was a smart guy despite the goofy act he put on--very similar to your intelligence and geeky-yet-quiet nature. He knew that you wanted to keep him away from the dark side of your account, not wanting to scare him away (which he would never let happen). Hence why he hadn’t gone on it since he wanted to respect your wishes to some extent.

Until now.

Hongjoong swears it was curiosity, nothing more, but deep down he knew. He still needed to see that side of you, the side you deem acceptable for a whole world of strangers to see but not him.

Drove him mad.

But he was still in denial as he chanted in his head that this was only for research purposes. Bullshit.

Late at night, when pretty much everyone had gone home and he still had some work left to do, Hongjoong decided to take a well-deserved break, lying on his sofa as he scrolled through his phone.

He was doing what he had planned--he was finally doing it and nothing made the adrenaline rush faster through his veins. He clicked on the one which had the most reads, the one that was the most popular among anything you wrote, and from the title, it appeared innocent enough.

Maybe this wasn’t the one...

Then again, you were adamant that he never read it.

“Never hurt to try...” Hongjoong mumbled, despite being the only one in the sound-proof room. He clicked on it, anticipation making him restless.

Long chapter, as usual, and everything started out fine enough. No sign of anything, nothing suggestive at all.

What was the big deal about?

The next few chapters were of a similar feel. Sweet, gentle, fluffy. But he couldn’t put his phone down, something about this story had him...unsettled. It was nothing like your usually ones--with sadistic characters and an intricate plotline.

No. This had him slightly confused. It felt too kind.

Then he carried on. And then he realised.

That was exactly your intention.

The filter you had put over the first few chapters was slowly startling to peel away, into something more twisted.

Hongjoong buzzed off this, knowing exactly that the earlier chapters were a trap, a false sense of security. How you managed to poison every reader slowly, like your words were mercury.

By the time he got to the first smut chapter in the series, he was already consumed, work forgotten . Every word felt like it sucked out a part of his soul, and the heavy themes in the scenes had him in an uncomfortable situation of rather tight jeans.

Right now, all Hongjoong wanted was you. He needed you. To do all those things you wrote, to be there with him and feel the things he was feeling.

Luckily, you were always awake at this time of night.

Just a phone call away.

Park Seonghwa:

Although he loved your shower time, there was one habit that Seonghwa didn’t like and that was you leaving your notebooks everywhere. It made his daily cleaning harder than it should’ve been.

Never did he look through them, caring too much about not invading your privacy (save for a few months ago where he accidently found out about your fanfic account on AO3). But today was a stressful day already.

All he wanted right now was to lie down with you and watch some cheesy romcoms, accompanied by some snacks. Hongjoong, ever the perfectionist, was under more stress than usual and that meant all the other members were too.

Seonghwa was the nurturing mother, and even he felt like he lacked the energy to be as such with the way things were going right now--a comeback just around the corner.

So, yes, the tall boy was quite peeved today. He needed his charger. He needed you. But you were taking your damn time in the shower and he had to pick up all your damn notebooks from the most random places.

What even was it about these notebooks that you had to buy--or try to buy--a new one every time you entered a shop? Seonghwa never understood your love for them as he had only linked the devilish little thing to his work, where Hongjoong would be composing or writing lyrics.

The last thing he needed right now was something to remind him of his job.

The stress continued to build as this argumentative thoughts accumulated in his head, causing him to drop the hardback in his hands. “Fuck’s sake,” he growled, too pissed off at the moment to notice that your book had oh-so-conveniently opened up.

When he did, however, his fiery anger cooled down at the page, which had a few words on it. Luckily for him, your handwriting was fairly neat (unlike your normal habits) so he could read your little notes.

Phrases, sentences, ideas, the plot line in general, that’s what he got from a first glance. Maybe he could have a peek, seeing as though he was exerting a lot of energy recently.

The words, the plot, everything on that page was something he did not expect. It was smut.

Surely his innocent sweetheart wouldn’t be writing those, right? He gave you the benefit of the doubt when he found out about your fanfics. But you were a sweet girl, and he had always thought you mind was as pure as your heart was.

Then again, no one’s heart is truly pure, and it wasn’t the first time you had been tainted by him.

His eyes scanned your words, finding that it was somewhat vanilla and gentle.

A sigh escaped past his lips when he found that you were still his soft-hearted princess.

Then he noticed it was an old entry. Flicked through the pages and saw that the smut scenes progressively got more frequent and dabbled a little more in the dark side of things. 

His heart plummeted. Not just because your innocence was slowly peeling away, but because he too found himself getting a little interested by it. Especially one of the last entries of that notebook, where he found himself blushing hard enough to turn his normal skin to resemble that of rubies.

Yet, he couldn’t stop.

That was until he heard your voice yelling, "Seonghwa!"

Eyes like those caught in headlights, his large hands shut the book with lightning speed. But you had already caught him snooping.

"What are you doing with my notebooks?" You cheeks a dusty rouge from both the hot water and embarrassment, you snatched away the book from his hands.

"N-Nothing! It fell and opened up and I just..." He sighed, afraid that he'd already broken your trust. "I'm really sorry..."

Exhaling softly when you saw Seonghwa looking like some sort of scolded puppy, you reached on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair. Calms him down a little.

“What,” you cleared your throat to rid your voice of fear, “what did you read?”

Now how was he going to play this? Was he going to lie and say it was only one page, or would he say that he had a peruse through the whole thing? As you had caught him already, it would not be a bad idea to tell the truth. “Um...bits and bobs. Just skipped through, really. I’m sorry.”

Smiling softly, albeit a little awkwardly, you patted his shoulder comfortingly. “It’s fine, I just... didn’t... expect you to... find out this way.”

He chuckled nervously. “Well, I’ve know for about two weeks now, about your... writing.”

“What?!”

Jeong Yunho:

One problem that you have, is that now Yunho knew you wrote fanfics, you became sloppy with hiding it. Not like there was a real need to because--as mentioned--he knew about it. How you loved to write thrillers and suspense and all there strange wacky things you’d find on a documentary about dangerous people.

Though that didn’t mean you never wrote other things as well.

Your works were obviously for a certain age and above (not like the warnings you put matter because the underage ones read it anyway), so writing the occasional smut was normal for you.

In fact, you were comfortable with it. Your personal experience with Yunho, combined with the ones you read online, all fuelled your creativity. Unfortunately, now that you became more open, Yunho had more opportunities to read what you wrote.

Not like it mattered much, you thought, because the words in your google docs were pretty much ineligible from the phrases only you could decode.

Sadly, when it came to smuts (what you wanted in them and what you didn’t), there wasn’t really a way to hide what you were talking about.

So when your tall and rather innocent boyfriend took a sneak peak at your latest entry, he was smacked in the face with the bullet points on there:

Fake dating AU

Cunnilingus

Blindfolds

Size kink

Hand kink

Sir kink

Power play

Complacent sub

(Because for some goddamn reason, every Yunho smut I’ve seen had either a hand kink or size kink...not that I’m complaining tho--)

Was this the stuff you were into? Because he certainly never never knew it. Your sex life with him had been somewhat vanilla due to the fact it only recently started and both of you were still a little too shy to branch out and dabble in other things yet.

His only thoughts until he next saw you were about this. If you were channelling your frustrations into your writing, then he could help you, right? After all, he wasn’t against trying this stuff out. It was a learning experience he was willing to go through. For you.

So when you came back from work, he sat you down on the bed, very nervous with his large hands engulfing your own. Concern would be a drastic understatement.

“Y/N?” You hummed in reply, now thoroughly scared. “I just wanted to let you know... that I’m not afraid of...expanding our experiences and neither should you be.”

Your heart dropped into the abyss of your stomach. “Y-Yunho, are you breaking up with me?”

“Wait, what?” The confusion of this situation seemed rather familiar. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just...” he bit his lip, still quite shy. He really didn’t know how to say this outright.

So he showed you instead.

As your eyes fell on the document of your plan for the next smut scene you had to write, your face dropped. Horror was evident in every part of your expression and he could see that.

“Yunho, I--”

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with you wanting to try some of this,” he said, before bashfully looking out the same window you had when you had been discovered. “Besides... I wouldn’t object.”

Now that the both of your faces were redder than roses, the air had become slightly more...still and heavy.

“Listen, Yunho, just so you know, I don’t often write my own preferences. But I suppose trying new things is a bad idea...”

Kang Yeosang:

Almost a year had passed since your boyfriend had found out about your writing (through your clumsy cousin, no less) and you were careful as to what you showed him.

He often helped you through tough times like writer’s block, and understood your strange little habits. Even threw you an idea once in while whenever you were struggling to think of something or even took you out--restaurants, landmarks, whatever would help.

Yeosang was looking after you.

But now? Now, he pampered you.

That had you lowering your guard. He was being so kind, so why not let him read more?

Here’s ‘why not’:

Because he kept pushing his limits. Yeosang and you never had done anything, despite the fact that both of you were living together--by your request, since you had been in quite a few bad relationships where sex was a major factor. So, for the past two years, Yeosang had been alone in his endeavours.

All his intention was to find out what you were into. That was it, he swears. Thought it might at least curb the growing need to have you begging under him--or above him--just have a small glimpse as to what was in store. Maybe even have them as company when he really needed you.

Mission Impossible, is what this felt like, buttering you up, making you feel safe and comfortable (this came naturally since he always wanted you to feel this way with him, horny or not). You were like a fortress, always giving him more but not the stuff that he needed.

So he tried the same tactic he used to get you confess.

Truth or Dare (alone, obviously).

“Seriously? Last time we did it like this, you found out my rather embarrassing secret.”

“Just answer,” he pushed, watching you carefully as you climbed into bed next to him.

“Okay... truth,” you mumbled as you buried your body between his arm and chest.

“How about ‘dare’ this time?”

Your lips released a tired chuckled. “That’s not how this works, Yeosang...” But after a long few minutes of silence, you caved into his request. “Okay, fine. Dare,” you grumbled after saying something along the lines of, “if you wanted me to do something, then just ask.”

His lips brushed against the lobe of your ear, sending electric shocks down your spine. “I dare you to send me one of your smut fics.”

‘Surprised’ wasn’t really the word you would use to describe the immense shock that hit you like a train. “No.”

“Can’t go back on a dare.”

“But that’s even more embarrassing than having you read my normal fanfics...”

“No, it isn’t. Not to me, at least.”

“Yeosang,” you whined but as it became more and more clear that he would not give up as time passed on, you caved once more. Hesitant, you pulled out your phone to scroll through your works. What was the best one to send to him, you had no idea. “Can I at least ask why?”

“Because I want to get to know you more. All of you...” That one sentence had you more excited than you’d be willing to admit.

After all, it wasn’t just Yeosang who felt alone at nights (and sometimes days) for the past two years. Arguably, it was harder for you since you used to be very...active. Hence why you had such a selection to choose from right now--it was your outlet.

Perhaps it would be best to let him see the one that had you more bothered than anything after writing it--since he wanted to get to know that side of you as well.

Finally making a decision, you handed over your phone with bated breath. What would he think? Would he be weirded out? Would he not be into any of it?

For the boy, however, it was a completely different story; he was too into it. The more he read on, the worse his boner got until he looked physically uncomfortable.

Immediately seeing the discomfort on his face, it was as if your worries became reality. Hand reached out to snatch the phone from his hand but his reflexes were much quicker than yours, pulling the slab away as he kept on reading.

By the time he finished, his breathing was heavy and ragged.

This, sadly, had only made his situation worse. Only purpose this served was to make him crave you even more. Certainly didn’t help to have you leaning over him, soft, bra-less chest beneath thin, stretchy cotton of your shirt against his bare arm, trying to see if he was alright. Definitely had you concerned seeing his pained self.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” he humourlessly chuckled, “didn’t know it would affect me as much as it had...”

For some reason, you leaned further down and kissed him. Whether it was because of seeing his hooded eyes or feeling the tension in his muscles as he restrained himself against your body, you didn’t care. Relief was the first thing you felt, knowing that he was just as frustrated as you when you wrote it.

No, he was worse. You could tell by the feverish movement of his mouth against yours. You could tell by the harsh grip he had on your waist. You could tell by the stiffness poking your thigh.

Yeosang pulled away with as much willpower as he could muster, while your lips chased after his. “N-No, we can’t, remember?”

Huffing, you were thoroughly pissed off at the promise you made two years ago with him when you first started out dating. “Yeosang, look at me.”

His gaze was even more reluctant, knowing very well that it would be much more difficult to have the eyes he loved so much staring back at him with as much lust as he had clouding them. But he listened.

“That promise was there so I could get to know you and see if I want to commit to this relationship, long-term, and we’ve had two years to think it--which is long enough for me.” Each hand cupped his cheeks, pulling him closer for a peck since you couldn’t handle being that touch starved anymore. “So, screw me.”

Yeosang didn’t need to be told twice.

Choi San:

It had been a little over a month and San had still not dropped his admiration. Didn’t look as if that was going to change anytime soon either, especially with one of your recent updates.

Your current story had a lot of pent up sexual tension and all your readers (your boyfriend being no exception) were at the point of begging in the notes of each update.

Finally, you decided to take mercy on all the poor folks and finally write that one scene which had them crying with gratefulness at the end.

As it was a long-awaited scene, it had to live up to high expectations. While you could do the most tooth-rotting fluff ever, that wasn’t your style. This scene needed to fit the vibe of your series so the whole bit flowed nicely.

The problem was, everything you wrote was ‘too much’. Too much fluff. Too much kink. Too much basicness. Too much weirdness. Too much awkwardness. Too much cringiness.

Unfortunately, this put you in a bit of a pickle and you were close to losing your damn mind. On the other hand, San--the caring lover he was--had noticed. Wanted to do something nice for you, not just because he could clearly tell it was a bad case of writer’s block and he wanted to you to write more things he could read, but because it hurt him a little inside to see you this frustrated.

Requested a day of, which he got considering how hard he had been working, an spent that day as your personal servant. First up was breakfast in bed--fried egg (sunny side up), beans, buttered toast, hash browns and a tall glass of cold, hand-squeezed orange juice. Not to mention a shirtless San in plaid cotton pants, the only coverage his torso receiving was the pink apron he had on.

Kissed you on the forehead and told you to take your time, then get ready or a day out while he made lunch.

The next two meals went by in a similar fashion, where he had put so much love and care for everything to be perfect for you. Your favourite sandwich and a fruit salad, water and a chocolate chip cookie before a walk in the park where you both fed the ducks in one of the nearby lakes.

Later was dinner--arguably the best one out of them all. Steak with roast potatoes, and steamed vegetables (much to San’s dislike, but he withstood it for you). The day’s activity had you more than tired, cheeks aching slightly from smiling too much. Then again, you didn’t even notice because all you could think about was how lucky you were to land yourself such an amazing boyfriend.

Even after dinner, he continued to treat you like the royalty you were in his eyes. Offered a nice massage to relieve the past week’s tension all pent up in your poor muscles. It was innocent enough...

Until it wasn’t any more.

Despite the cloths thrown about everywhere on the bed, neither of you had motioned to clean up and San had instead opted to run you a bubble bath. Scented candles and all. It was more relaxing than you had imagined it to be, and by the time your face rested on San’s now-clothed torso--both of you wrapped snuggly up--you fell asleep.

The man loved the sight, and for once, he actually enjoyed running after you, making sure your every need was fulfilled whether you expressed it or not.

Because throughout the day, you were the happiest he had seen in a while, and all his efforts let up to this sight: you cuddled up close with that beautiful, enchanting smile faintly on your plush lips that he had so gently attacked not two hours ago.

He found himself loving you even more; a pleasant surprise as he had thought his cup was close to overflowing.

Two days later, he found himself falling even deeper when you had finally posted your latest chapter. San found himself grinning by the end of it--a little turned on, but more happy than anything.

Because San’s magic had worked. Cured your painful writer’s block since the words simply flowed as you typed the scene that had been causing you hell.

And whole chapter was awfully similar to that special day when San decided to take care of you.

Just tweaked a little so it would be more smut than it was fluff, adding just the right amount of sweetness that allowed your story to continue to flow perfectly.

Which was why San had been more joyous than usual the past week.

You were a perceptive person so you caught the change in his usual demeanour rather quickly. The source of it, however, was beyond you (he was good at hiding his knowledge of your secret). Any reason you tried to pin down on him was a little off.

Stress? No, he was too happy for that. Upcoming event? None that you knew of, and he shared everything of importance with you. Feeling happy just because? San was the more emotional out of the two of you and none of his moods lasted this long.

So what was it?

It was frustrating to say the least, but your boyfriend wasn’t letting it out. And you don’t think he ever will.

“Oh well,” you mumble, “can’t be that bad if he’s so happy...”

Song Mingi:

The boys had made a pact when they began to read your stories: no reading smuts with the group. This was fairly easy since they would normally be oneshots and you generally weren’t one to write them often into your series. On the odd occasion you did, you often put up a warning and explained straight after if there were any important bits.

All in all, very easy to avoid.

Mingi was a gigantic baby, and with babies, comes curiosity. A sense of need to know what’s happening. An insatiable thirst for knowledge and experience. Suppose what is trying to be said here is, is that Mingi wanted to read the explicit stuff you wrote.

What went on inside that wonderous brain of yours, he wanted to find out. But he couldn’t do that with the boys, nor did he want to. No chance in hell he was gonna be caught with an awkward boner.

Never would he live that one down.

So his plan commenced at night, when everyone in the dorms were fast asleep, he opened up his phone.

Now would normally come the dilemma of what to read, but Mingi is not that patient; as mentioned before, he is a giant baby. The first post he found that fit his criteria was the one that he read. Coincidently, that was result of your ‘experimental’ ones.

Using metallic things wasn’t something you had tried yet with Mingi, but you though you’d take it for a test run through your work to at least see it clearly how it would run if something like that was to happen. Sometimes, you found, it’s makes more sense to write it out rather to keep in your head.

On the other hand, Mingi didn’t really know that your writings stemmed from mild curiosity rather than what your really into (not that you would particularly mind trying some of it out). In his head, this was what you wanted to do.

He’d be lying if he said that the idea wasn’t much of a turn on, and the time he  spent trying not to make a sound loud enough to wake up the other members would prove that. To him, this is was your wish and he would gladly comply to it.

The next day, he decided to run along with the theme, but to also add in a few twists of his own. You often liked that, both in and out of the bedroom.

Went out to buy some new rings for you, larger ones decorated with pretty gems for his pretty baby (even though he was one himself). Handcuffs, too, were ordered online, and a silver-chain choker--he made sure to double check it was safe to use. Next up was a little metal ball--he got this idea from the pokey challenge and something called the ‘passion fruit kiss’ on snapchat. Either way, he was excited to try it.

Babies like Mingi, as mentioned, have little patience and so he wanted to try it out as soon as possible, so the moment everything came, he quickly sterilised everything and waited for you to come home.

Made sure each metal piece was cold to the touch by keeping it in the fridge, and had a rolled up black silk tie stuffed in his pocket to act as a makeshift blindfold.

Sensory deprivation was the ‘twist’ he wanted to put on, since you both had tried something similar before with ice cubes and that went quite well...until it became too cold for Mingi’s mouth and that plan had to be scrapped sooner--hence fridge, for a little bit of coldness.

When you finally arrived, he looked like an excited puppy, and you had no idea why. Until he spun you around and tied a soft cloth over your eyes. “Mingi, I’m really tired and I just--”

“Shhhhh,” Mingi lulled right next to your ear, warm breath fanning over the nape of your neck which felt more sensitive than usual, “trust me?”

Sigh escaping past your lips, because yes, of course you trusted him. And now that you felt slightly more awake from his action, maybe you were willing to hear him out. ”Baby, what are you doing?”

Chuckling that followed your question was deeper than normal. Had it always been like that or was it your mind playing tricks on you? Either way, he didn’t answer and all you had heard was the fridge opening.

“Seriously, baby, what are you doing?” Now you were just nervous, all intentions of a lazy evening down the drain as your heart sped up.

It closed, and shortly after your lips were met with his, a faint taste of strawberry attached to them. Then something smooth and cold slipped past from him to you.

The metal ball was passed between the two of you in a playful game of which only your boyfriend knew the rules of.

When he could tell your guard was down and now you became a little more comfortable, Mingi slowly took your hands behind your back.

You had not paid attention, but you should have. Cold, tight restraints pressed against your skin, shockwaves making you gasp from the low temperature. But Mingi kept on going, kissing you to ease your tension.

Two metal things, so there must be a third, right? You knew about people’s strange obsession with threes so you completely expected another cold metal object to come into play. But the question was, what?

You soon found out when a thick chain choker brushed against your neck, clasping around it snuggly. This was it. This was the third and final one. And your suspicions seemed correct when you had not felt another chilly accessory grace your skin.

You wouldn’t have, not when the coldest of all the items--the rings--were being slipped onto your boyfriend’s fingers. You were in for a surprise in just a few moment.

Needless to say, there was only one thought swirling around in your head.

Maybe he isn’t that much of a baby.

Jung Wooyoung:

Ever since Wooyoung found out your fanfics were not about him, but his favourite K-Pop band, BTS, he had been...difficult. Moping around, trying to play for your attention a lot more than normal, not letting you have some peace of quiet with your computer.

It was almost as if he was jealous. You knew how needy the boy could be, wanting skinship with you more than he did with San. Knowing that you were fawning over men that weren’t him had certainly done something to him.

But Wooyoung knew you were no-nonsense. The complete opposite of him. It was exactly why he fell for you, and it was exactly why he wasn’t being as petty as he wanted at the moment.

He knew deep down you were his and he was yours.

Then again, that still didn’t stop him from feeling jealous, and had even gone so far as to decrease the amount he listened to BTS’ songs--especially around you.

At first, you didn’t notice the change since Wooyoung was often spontaneous so his behavioural pattern was difficult to decipher. Eventually there came a point where the clinginess increased so much, you couldn’t feign ignorance anymore.

Looking back, maybe you should not have burst his bubble and let him think that your fanfics were about him... Actually, no; either way, the moment he found out about your hobby, it was going to be hell. But now you just feel bad.

Yet, you don’t feel bad enough to stop. You never actually fantasised about being with them--it was just fun to write about. Clearly, he didn’t understand.

Your boyfriend seemed to be at his tipping point when he came back to you after a long day of dance practices that went sideways, typing away intently on your computer.

This was his time. You usually spend time with Wooyoung when he came back, but you were too busy to comfort him in his desperate time of need. Too busy with fantasising about Taehyung’s large hands or Namjoon’s dimpled smile.

Wooyoung was as cute as Hoseok and Jungkook. He had a unique laugh like Seokjin and was as flirty as Jimin.

He had all your favourite qualities in a partner so why spend time thinking about other men? He was literally right there, begging for your attention and yet, now it seemed as if you gave him none (which wasn’t true since the only thing you’ve done is become less secretive about writing).

When his attempts at distracting you from writing had fail, he tried to see what exactly it was you were writing about. Unfortunately, you had tried to hid it from his sight; the only thing that helped in doing was pissing him off even further.

Only after a tough struggle did he finally see what you had been so focused on that you had neglected him.

It was more BTS fanfic, but this one was worse. This one had him fuming--skin hot red and ears pooling out steam. This one was smut.

It was about no other than Yoongi, and by God, was it a rough.

That was how you liked it, and so did Wooyoung. Probably why he was so angry while reading about mirror sex with one of his fellow idols; you were just twiddling your thumbs in the corner, not sure about how badly your boyfriend was going to burst.

Wooyoung, no matter how mad he was, he had to admit... it did turn him on. Although, he was a prideful boy--not liking how you thought about others and more importantly, how threatened he felt while reading it.

Suddenly realising that it wasn’t enough just being all the perfect parts you liked (even if it came naturally to him).

He had a point to prove; Wooyoung could go beyond your wildest fantasies--and boy was it a wild fantasy.

Throwing your phone haphazardly somewhere (making you wince in prayer that it was not broken), your boyfriend gripped you by the wrist and dragged you across the room. You had barely enough time to realise what he was doing, only feeling a cold surface against your back as his lips ravished yours.

At some point, he broke away--lips swollen and slightly more red than normal. To say the sight had not affected you more than you already were would be a lie.

Still not giving you enough time to speak, Wooyoung turned you around so you could finally see what he had you pressed against.

A mirror.

If an idea of what he was planning hadn’t dawned on you, having his fingers tug at your clothes certainly gave you one now. His free hand had clasped around your jaw, making you look right into your reflection, seeing how your boyfriend’s lips were dangerously close to your ears as he looked at you dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Let me show you that I can be better than your imagination. Let me show you that you need to think about no one but me. Let me show you how good you’ll feel and who is the sole reason behind it.”

Yes, Wooyoung has all your favourite qualities in a partner while exceeding all expectations. That’s why you’re dating him.

Choi Jongho:

Ever since the release of your first movie and publication of the book it was based on, your career had blossomed. Finally, you quit the job that had been draining the life out of you to work full time at the publishing company.

Everyone around you could tell you were much happier, and the one who noticed it the most was Jongho.

Sure, your eyes were less sunken in, your cheeks more red, your step more bouncy. But he could feel that you changed on the inside too.

Your smile didn’t feel so forced after you came back from work and he had asked you how the day was. Now, your boyfriend found himself talking less and listening more to what you had to say.

If there was an expression more powerful to describe how he loved this happier version of you, he would use it in a heartbeat.

Sure, there were still times when the both of you couldn’t hang out as much as you would like to, but that was always in the job description, and the both of you were more than happy with it as long as the bed had both of you in it at the end of the day, both metaphorically and literally.

Then came along your second movie deal of a completely different story. In fact, it was based upon a movie you had watched at the time, and you hated it so much that you simply redid the entire thing.

In fact, it had irked you to the point no one could even tell it was based off of something since you had changed so much of it. However, there were still concepts you kept in the story--intimate scenes, for example (even if they too were completely changed).

You wrote such concepts before, and you would continue to do so since it was just interesting to write. Jongho, however, did not know about it.

At all.

So once your second movie was released, he was in for a surprise.

It was miraculous how terrible your memory was, since you had forgotten that you had not told him about the scene that would come up as you both watched it at home just before it’s release in the cinemas.

‘Surprise’ wasn’t really the word Jongho would use when it did come up, nor would it be ‘shock’. He was... mildly curious? Not that either... Well, all he knew that whatever he was feeling was not overwhelming.

“Did you know they changed this scene?” you spoke up.

“Really?”

Humming, you nodded your head. “They said the original scene was... Let’s just say they thought it was ‘too much’.” Then you scoffed under your breath. “Don’t know why they thought that though. It was fairly vanilla. Just some wall sex is all,” you confessed.

Now he felt a little overwhelmed. But he was mainly amused. “I don’t remember doing that with you.”

“Hmm? Oh... that’s because we didn’t.”

Chuckling under his breath, he cocked his head to the side, the paused scene in the background long forgotten. “Have you ever wanted to try it?”

“Once upon a time. Suggested it to my ex once before but he couldn’t lift me up since I was ‘way too heavy’,” you recalled with air quotations. “Didn’t bother trying after that.” You laughed at the memory, finding it to be hilarious back then and even now.

But your boyfriend on the other hand had not. In fact, he was no longer amused.

He was pissed.

It wasn’t about the fact that you had mentioned your ex--he never felt even remotely threatened by him. It was because he had called you heavy. He called his precious darling ‘heavy’. And you just laughed.

That was who you were--no matter how mean another person was being to you, you took it as a joke and moved on. You saw no point in dwelling over the bad, and that was one of the many genuine things he had fallen for. This time was different; it annoyed him.

Sure it might have been a dumb little memory for you, yet simply hearing about it had his blood boiling.

“Get up.”

“Wha--why?” The dark look in his eye had your lips sealing within the second. As if on autopilot, your body stood from the sofa you two were so comfortably perched on.

He followed you up, wrapping his hands around the back of your thighs, which only meant one thing. “Jongho--no. You won’t be able to.”

“Am I or am I not the strongest man you’ve ever met?”

“You are, but--”

“‘But’ I don’t care.” Forcefully, he lifted you up as you yelped, legs wrapping around his waist. “See? I can pick you up completely fine.”

Scanning his face, you saw that what he said was true. He picked you up as if you were as light as a feather, no tension in his neck, face, or arms to suggest he was having a hard time either.

It had you leaning against him, forehead touching forehead, laughing even more than you did before. Smile once again etched on his face, Jongho pecked your lips, walking slowly with you in his arms.

“Now shush and let me fuck you against the wall.”

[fullmetalscullyy]

royai week day 4 - communiqué

summary: roy has an announcement to make to everyone

rated: g | words: 2084 | tags: royai, post-canon, romance, marriage, marriage announcement, marriage of convenience, kinda? bc they just have~ to do it but it works out for them, basically royai using royai to further their agenda

read on ao3 | read on ffnet

“Good afternoon,” Roy greeted with confidence into the microphone atop the podium in front of him. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared back expectantly, and while that should have been unnerving, his excitement at the upcoming announcement kept the feeling at bay. This communiqué had been a long time coming, crafted from years of subtle diversion, and playing a tactical game. Now, it was coming to fruition. It was all still part of their game, but Roy had a personal stake in this part of it too. It was still a win for both parties involved.

A huge personal win.

Up there, on the podium, he was completely exposed. While that was dangerous for someone like him with such high political standing, Roy trusted the eyes that were watching his back implicitly. He does not turn complacent, but is more than confident in their abilities. He trusts each and every one of his subordinates to ensure the day goes well and without incident.

“Today’s announcement,” Roy continued, “will hopefully put to rest any fears you may have had regarding me assuming the role of your leader. Fuhrer Grumman has led this country exceptionally well over the last five years but feels ready to step down. As you all know, I have been named his successor and will make a promise to you all now, this country’s citizens, that I will do my utmost to ensure I do my best by you.”

There was a pleased applause after he finished, accompanied by a quiet murmur.

He meant every word, but that was not the reason Roy had taken the stage that day.

“I would also like you to know that I’ve heard the rumours surrounding me,” he smirked, letting his gaze sweep across the crowd before him. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed how this had piqued the interest of those in the audience with the various media outlets. Their ears perked up at the mention of rumours, understandably. “I am aware of the public’s opinion on a bachelor like myself being given the title of Fuhrer. However, I have come here today to offer my reassurances.”

Some people in the crowd turn to one another, momentarily confused by what he’s saying. Roy smirked to himself, thinking of his own private joke before he opened his mouth to finally reveal to the world something he has wanted to for over two decades.

“As you can imagine, this will be a busy transition period for us, so I hope you will extend your respect, as well as privacy, to both myself and my new fiancé as we navigate this new chapter in our lives. I can assure you though, an official date for my upcoming wedding will be announced soon.”

It was like the crowd had frozen. A few jaws went slack, and mouths parted in shock as they processed the news faster than others.

“More news will come in due time. Thank you.”

With a simple bow of his head, Roy stepped back from the microphone and turned to look at the stunned officials up there with him. Breda and Havoc approached, nonplussed by the news, and started to escort him off the stage.

There was a split second where the world was completely still, as everyone was still processing what he’d just announced. Then, everything felt like it exploded. The crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Cameras flashed in desperation to capture the moment that Roy Mustang, the most eligible bachelor in Amestris and a well-known womaniser in his younger years, announced he was engaged, and his wedding would be announced soon.

Roy can hear some of the questions being yelled by the reporters.

“Who are you due to marry?”

“What’s her name?”

“General Mustang! When did this happen?”

He ignored them all, for all would be revealed in due time. It was enough for now that it had been announced. Roy never planned on revealing anything else other than that today anyway. He would have loved to. He can’t wait for the day he can finally give the order to give the announcement, but he must hold off. The mystery will drum up interest in their favour. It will draw eyes to them and get people talking. No other Fuhrer had caused quite as much a stir as he had, and Roy wasn’t even officially in office yet. He was popular and well liked among the masses. Not as much as the Fullmetal Alchemist, the alchemist of the people, but Roy’s work over the years had built up a perfectly crafted reputation for him. It played well into his plans.

A womaniser who announces he’s settling down with someone who is a complete mystery. It was interesting news. Especially for the imminent ruler of the country.

The public ate it up, desperate to know. Out the corner of his eye he could already see heads bowed together in excitement as they gossiped about the news while Roy walked off the stage.

He was led by his security team into a private room within the building behind them. Havoc gave him a quick nod in response to his order, reaching for the door handle and pulling it closed behind him. Breda was down the hall, already speaking into microphone after microphone in order to soothe public relations about the surprise announcement. Poor guy, but he did volunteer. Having Breda assure them, but give nothing away, would only cause more intrigue. If Roy went out there and spoke to them all, they’d never let him leave.

His shoulder slumped now he was away from prying eyes. Not with fatigue, but just to relax. The initial phase had finally started, and his plans were set in motion. While he did have a personal stake in this and was more than happy to go along with it, it could certainly be draining. But then again, nothing had ever been simple between them.

The door opened as he was pouring himself a glass of water. He reached for a second glass and smirked, not turning around because he knew who it was who’d entered. His order to Havoc was to permit only one person entrance to the room.

“Did you really have to do it so dramatically?”

There was a grin on his face as he turned on the spot, coming face to face with his fiancé. Well, according to the country, she was still his fiancé. Nobody, except from them and his team, was aware that they were already married, and had been so for a while. While touring Aerugo last month they’d taken a clandestine trip to one of the islands off the coast to the south. It was just the two of them, the team, and his mother in attendance. Gracia had made the trip, and so had Edward and Alphonse, along with their respective families. Everyone who mattered most to Roy was there to witness them come together as a couple.

Marriage was not the be all and end all for him and Riza. They already knew where they stood with each other and what their relationship was. They had done so for years, and the ring that nestled comfortably on the end of his dog tags proved that. The legal document was just a formality at this point and given his current position as leader of the country, it would be necessary. So, they’d compromised. A private, personal ceremony for them to do things their way, exchanging the rings they’d already given each other years ago. The grand wedding that was yet to come was for the masses, not for them. Once the official ceremony happened, he would move the ring onto his ring finger where it had always belonged and where he’d always wanted to wear it.

Riza’s lifted one eyebrow expectantly, awaiting his answer.

“They expect a show,” he shrugged, “so I’m going to give it to them.”

“So, our official wedding is just a show,” she deadpanned.

His expression softened at her light teasing. “Our official wedding has already happened,” he reminded her. “In case you had forgotten, we are already legally married.”

“I hadn’t,” she placated as she approached him, “but you need to stop talking about it so openly. You were the one who suggested keeping it a secret, and the walls have ears,” she replied cryptically. Once close enough, she brushed a piece of invisible lint off his immaculate uniform and his shoulder tingled where she’d ran her hand over it.

“Let them listen,” he shrugged again. Roy lifted a hand to rest upon her hip as he grasped one of hers, lifting them both to rest between their bodies. He bent his head forward and kissed the backs of her knuckles, a small, fond smile playing on his lips. “It doesn’t matter now that our news is out.”

“Part of the news is out,” she reminded him. “You were quite adamant about only revealing some of the truth so early on,” Riza smirked. “It will be a busy transition period for us, after all,” she quoted back to him with mock sympathy.

His eyes rolled fondly.

“So,” she continued, extracting her hand from his and taking a step backward to put some distance between them. Roy felt like a petulant child, pouting at her actions. “We must keep up pretences and give ourselves the time and space we need to adapt to our new circumstances and navigate through it.”

“You’re no fun,” he complained, his tone nearly a playful whine.

“I know, dear,” she replied, sounding like she didn’t particularly care he felt that way. Roy was only joking though, of course.

“How did it look from up there?”

Riza’s perch had been on the roof of the building behind him, on the lookout for anyone who may wish harm upon him, along with her own elite security team.

She snorted lightly. “I will admit, it was entertaining to see the looks on their faces.”

“They were very surprised,” he chuckled, pleased with himself.

“It’s never a dull moment with you.”

“I would hope not because you’re stuck with me now, fiancé,” he grinned.

“Unfortunately,” she deadpanned quietly. When he scowled at her, she laughed loudly, her smile reaching her eyes.

For a moment, Roy is enraptured by her beauty. Her grin lit up his whole world and the sound of her laughter pulled at the stings of his heart pleasantly.

He is married to this woman, he thought to himself, and still couldn’t quite believe it.

After so long… After so many years of ignoring feelings and holding back – or trying to – now he didn’t have to.

Although it was his plan to delay the information given, he really wished it wasn’t. He wanted to go back out there and tell everyone how much he loved and cherished this woman before him.

All in due time. And the pay off when that day finally comes will be so worth it.

They’ve both waited for so long. Roy could stick it out for a few more days. What was more important was holding this woman close and loving her so freely like he has always wanted, and Roy planned to do just that.

Riza smirked and didn’t shrug him off as Roy wrapped his arms tightly around her frame. He pulled her close and kissed her, trying to convey just how much he loved her with one kiss alone. She hummed against his lips pleasantly as her arms lifted to loop around his neck. One hand slowly, tantalisingly, trailed up the back of his neck, making him shudder. She noticed and grinned against him. When her nails scratched lightly against his scalp and Roy groaned, Riza’s smile widened. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. She could play him like a fiddle, but Roy didn’t mind at all. There’s no way he was going to stop her ministrations when they felt so good.

“I love you,” he breathed. His chest heaved with his breath and the words almost got stuck in his throat, both from the emotions overwhelming him and their passionate kiss.

“Love you too, Roy.” When she pulled away to look at him, Roy didn’t let her move far. Their noses were almost touching but he could see her expression soften. She looked so happy and content. So in love. Which was exactly how he felt too.

They both couldn’t wait to start this new chapter in their lives together.

[hearteyes-candyskies]

Houseplant

yandere enji x reader

summary; since enji took you, you’ve only really missed one thing; your houseplants. no, wait, not the houseplants themselves. you miss the control you had over them.

a/n; for @neroesecuzioni. thank you for supporting the blm global network! read the sequel here

tw; kidnapping, dub-con, nsfw

word count; 3.4k

🌱

Before Enji took you, all you had for company were your houseplants. Some hanging from the ceiling, spilling over the terracotta pots, other taller than you were with broad, glossy leaves. Some of them were tiny little succulents, pointy and dainty and smaller than the palm of your hand. All of them healthy and fresh and most importantly, alive. Alive by your hand and love. You miss them, the products of your hard work and love.

“Enji?” He grunts out a sound of acknowledgement, though his eyes don’t leave the laptop screen in front of him. 

“What happened to my houseplants?” At your question he finally looks up, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“What?” You fidget with the phone in your hand, debating whether or not to drop the subject and go back to pinning ideas for house decor. Something masochistic in you urges you on.

“My houseplants. You know the ones I used to have all over my apartment? Are they still there or?” You let your question trail off, tone light and neutral, but you can see a muscle in Enji’s jaw twitch. He doesn’t like talking about your life before him. Sometimes you forget you had a life before him.

“The movers probably threw them out. Just put it on the card if you want to buy more.” His gaze is already back on the laptop screen, and while you wish he would’ve said more you can’t expect the number one pro hero to pull himself away from his work to answer your silly questions about some plants. 

You busy yourself with picking out the perfect plants to keep in a bathroom, imagining how cute they’ll look hanging from the ceiling and juxtaposed against the white tile of the shower wall. Leaves falling on the bathroom floor shouldn’t be a problem, but even if they do? Well, you do have to leave your mark in this house somehow. How else would you let Enji know that you’re living here?

🌱

You can’t stop thinking about your old houseplants. You know it’s stupid, especially when you have access to a virtually unlimited credit card and so much more space to fill in the new home, but still. As stupid as it sounds, you formed a connection with the plants you brought home. Home. This house is your home, not the cramped, slightly outdated apartment you used to live in.

You remember what it was like before Enji took you in and decided that you were going to be his wife. You lived lonely and unseen, just like your quirk, blending into corners and shadows. It was certainly convenient for your job and superiors, who were thrilled to have someone who could slip into just about anywhere. Needless to say, it didn’t work out great for your social life. 

You’re surprised that Enji even noticed you in the first place, a wallflower of a person. Maybe he has just been the first person bright enough to illuminate the depths of your personality that no one else saw. 

It’s strange. In a way, you feel more seen when you’re with him, like the light that he emits both figuratively and literally has finally allowed you to bloom. God, your life fucking sucked if you think being kidnapped did wonders for your mental health. Not to say that it hasn’t but still, it’s the thought that counts.

Enji loves you. That’s the only thought that counts.

🌱

“What made you notice me first?” You play idly with straw in your drink, trying to contain your anticipation at hearing something wonderful about yourself that you never noticed. He gives the slightest shrug of his shoulders. 

“I don’t know. You were pretty enough. Lonely. Quiet. You seemed nurturing enough to be a good mother.” Your fingers still.

“Oh.” You’re embarrassed that you can’t hide the disappointment in your voice, but even worse, you’re embarrassed that you even asked. What romantic response were you expecting from a man who kidnapped you? Enji gives no sign of noticing your crestfallen face, and you quietly excuse yourself to go and shower. 

It’s when the warm spray of the shower head hits you that you finally start to cry. What a naive foolishness to think that Enji had been the first to notice how remarkably lovely you were, to appreciate all of your hidden little quirks and oddities that made you indescribably beautiful. 

You’re a lonely, quiet, forgettable wallflower whose only gift for mothering is to do any job and be too timid to complain about it. Enji chose you because you were convenient and because he was lonely. That makes it two of you, you suppose. You clasp a hand over your mouth to try and stifle your sobs, but deep in the back of your mind you know that the sound of your cries wouldn’t be enough to draw Enji from his work. Not that he would know how to comfort you. You get the feeling he’s never had any positive interactions with his family before.

You can imagine exactly how it would go down if you confronted him right now, hair dripping wet and eyes puffy and red. He wouldn’t open his arms to embrace and soothe you, no, he would stand awkwardly with an almost comical look of alarm on his face before you approached him and only then would he gently pat your back until your crying subsided. Then he would avoid you for the next couple days. 

Enji doesn’t notice how quiet and withdrawn you are later that night, snuggled up to his side as the two of you watch the news. To be fair, even if he did notice he would still say nothing. It’s with that thought that you realize you’ve just traded one miserable, deeply lonely existence for another. Only now you have the privilege of being ignored by the one person who’s supposed to love you more than anything else. The one person that you thought you might have loved.

Except, you know that he’s never truly loved anyone before, never experienced any sort of love that would allow him to recognize the sensation and verbalize it. You don’t think that he felt anything more than neutrality towards Rei, who he put in a fucking mental hospital after she cracked under his abuse, and he sure as hell didn’t love his children, least of all Shouto, who you’ve seen interact willing with him a grand total of three times. 

When he first kidnapped you he promised never to hit you, never to raise his voice or threaten you. He just wouldn’t let you go. He told you he was trying to be a better man, a better husband, a better father. The last part had scared you in the beginning, back when you still believed you would be able to leave one day and continue your career. Hero-work has no place for kids. 

But now? That fear has grown into complacency, your original wariness of Enji into something similar to affection. You never fought him, ever, because, duh. You’re not stupid, you know exactly how it would end. This strange sort of begrudging attraction though? It’s a new annoyance, something that has you dying for his approval and only kept in check by your remaining pride. After the disastrous attempt to find out what he ‘loves’ about you though, your pride is pretty much gone. 

You...don’t know how to retrieve it, and the thought scares you. If you can’t have Enji’s love and affection, or your pride intact, what do you have? You know the answer, even if you won’t admit it.

You have nothing.

🌱

The copious amount of clothes you have astounds you; you knew that Enji had picked out quite a few basics before he took you but you forgot to factor in just how many things you had ordered since coming here. As you paw through your bin of socks and underwear you feel soft lace brush against your fingertips and out of curiosity you yank the piece of clothing from the bin. As soon as you realize what you’re holding you feel your cheeks flood with warmth and embarrassment. 

Cherry red lace and mesh stare at you, wrapped around a tangle of satin and lace in the same shade. You vividly remember buying this, a robe and underwear set that you had drooled over for months while living alone in your sad, cramped apartment. It had remained in your shopping cart for weeks; you just couldn’t justify dropping a little less than a grand on some scraps of fabric that no one would ever see. Once you remembered it and had access to Enji’s credit card, however… 

You don’t hesitate to try the set on, something you were too scared to do when you first got it. As you tie the robe closed with a pretty bow and do a little twirl you feel a girlish sense of enjoyment like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You run your hands up your thighs, finger lifting the hem of the robe seductively before you cup your breasts, cradled in concoction of satin and lace. You look good. 

Then you remember why you bought it and immediately want to rip the whole ensemble to shreds. You had bought it back when you were still under the delusion that Enji was wildly and fantastically in love with you and despite the fact that he kidnapped you with no regard for your say in the matter you were convinced that you were going to surprise and seduce him in the outfit. 

That being said… A half-baked idea forms in your head as you gently take the set off, folding it carefully before placing it in the top drawer of your dresser, easily accessible should you need it. You know Enji likes it when you sleep in the same bed as him at night, so what if you...surprised him? He would love it. He has to love it, he chose you for a reason so for him to reject you- 

You can’t even think about it, the distress in your chest building as you try and push the thought out of your mind. Yes, Enji may have ripped you from your life before him but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a life here. You know Enji likes to read to wind down before bed, so you’ll just catch him then. Yeah. You still have it in you. You can still make him love you.

🌱

Enji barely looks up from his book as you approach, head peeking around the doorframe like a child asking for a bedtime story. You suddenly feel extremely self conscious in your skimpy lingerie, seized by a desire to run back to your room and change and admit that you were wrong, you don’t have it in you to seduce him and even if you do he’ll never love you for it. 

But this is the only thing you can hold onto, the only part of yourself that you can regain control of. You steel yourself as you take slow, measured steps to the bed, heart pounding as Enji sets aside the book and takes in what you’re wearing.

“What are you doing?” His voice cuts through the air, sharp but not unappreciative, and rather than answer you crawl as seductively as possible on top of the bed.

You clamber on top of his broad chest, legs on either side of his waist. He’s paying attention now, eyes trained sharply on your face as large hands wrap around your waist, whether to hold you in place or move you off you can’t tell yet. You don't think that Enji even knows what he wants to do. Enji doesn’t know what he wants.

The silk of his boxers are thin enough that you can feel his growing arousal against your ass as you grind down, hands spread prettily across his chest. His hands tighten around you, and you take it as your cue to let out a breathy sigh. 

“Fuck me, Enji. I want you to fuck me so hard that I can feel it for days afterwards; I want you to cum inside of me so much that I can feel it dripping out of me afterwards.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palms as you gaze at Enji through half lidded eyes. More out of nervousness than an attempt to be sexy, you drag your teeth across your bottom lip, watching as his gaze darts straight to your mouth.

“What are you doing? Where is this coming from?” He sounds wary, guarded even, and you can’t blame him. In however long you’ve been here you’ve never tried to initiate any sort of sexual encounter, merely going along kind of lifelessly every time Enji wanted sex. It’s ironic that the very man who kidnapped you to be his wife is now being cautious about fucking you.

“I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck my pussy with your cock until I can’t take it anymore and then I want you to keep going until I can’t tell you to stop.” One hand travels downwards, toying with the waistband of his shorts. He looks unconvinced, almost like he knows that it’s not normal for a captive to want to have rough sex with their captor.

“Please, daddy.” You bend forward and whine into his ear, bucking your hips against his as you nip at his earlobe. It’s your last resort, and it works. Enji growls, honest-to-god growls against your neck before flipping you onto your back in an impressive show of power.

“You’re a fucking whore, coming onto me like that.” You’re already shrugging off your robe, flinging it across the room in an effort to salvage it. Enji burns the straps off your bra before yanking the panties so hard that they rip right off of you. Damn. There goes five hundred dollars. 

His lips are on yours before you can think of anything else, harsh and demanding as he cups the back of your head with a large, warm hand. For someone as aggressive as he is you’re surprised he doesn’t use teeth. Enji’s other hand reaches between your thighs, finding you almost embarrassingly dry. He doesn’t seem to mind, shoving two thick fingers in your mouth and groaning softly at the way your tongue swirls eagerly round them. He presses deeper, taking pleasure in the way your throat spasms around them as you gag.

“You’re so beautiful. I knew from the second that I saw you that you would be mine.” That’s the first time he’s ever called you beautiful, or even complimented anything about your physical appearance. The praise goes straight to your head in the form of blood rushing to your cheeks, and Enji laughs at the way you squirm against him, pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“You can ask me to fuck you but you can’t take a compliment?” He doesn’t let you respond, instead brushing over your clit with his thumb before working his fingers inside of you, curling and seeking out the rough little patch on your walls. You’re glad for the way Enji captures your mouth again, relieving you of the need to decide between fake moaning and laying in uncomfortable silence.

He goes until the sound of his fingers squelching in your slick is all you can hear, and your stomach starts to clench every time his hand moves. Enji hasn’t deliberately touched your clit throughout the whole process, but the pressure of the heel of his palm is enough to work you quickly to orgasm. Much like the overachiever he is in his job, Enji doesn’t stop playing with your sloppily wet pussy until your thighs are tensing around his wrist, one of your own hands reaching down to stop his. 

“Enji- Enji, oh, oh, Enji, stop-” Your moan is practically pornographic, the pleasure quickly becoming unbearable. His fingers finally stop, and he raises them to your mouth.

“Suck.” You comply without hesitation, reveling in the way that Enji can’t seem to tear his gaze from your mouth. You let go with a ‘pop’ before pressing a small, soft kiss to the calloused pads of his fingers. 

Strangely enough it’s this relatively meaningless action that brings the most emotion to Enji’s face; desire, guilt, and regret all flash across his face before he attacks your neck, sucking what you know will be dark bruises into your flesh. 

You can feel him grabbing his dick and positioning it so that the head is right above your twitching hole and-

“Enji!” You practically shriek as his hips surge forward, burying himself deep within you in one go. Your legs wrap tight around his waist and squeeze, arms coming up around his neck as you let out pathetic little gasps and moans. The sensation of what can only be his cock nudging against the opening of your cervix has your legs squeezing tighter until Enji growls and grabs both your calves in his hands before hiking them over his shoulder and pressing forward.

The new position has your legs twitching as Enji knocks against your cervix with every thrust, and you draw his head in closer as he churns up your insides. The sound is obscene; you’re the one producing it and you’re still embarrassed. 

Enji finally has the sense to reach between the two of you and rub at your clit, peeling back the hood with a surprising dexterousness before flicking gently upwards with his thumb. You feel yourself clenching down harder and harder each time he does it, until you’re finally spiraling into your second orgasm of the night. 

The feeling of your cunt clenching down on his has Enji murmuring sweet nothings in your ear as his thrusts speed up and the force behind them becomes almost punishing.

“Mine, you’re mine, mine, mine-”

“Tell me that you love me.” Your voice is breathy and whiny and you sound so desperate but Enji takes no heed, chasing his own orgasm.

“I love you, god you’re going to make a beautiful mother, you’re mine, I love you,” the rest of his words trail off into incoherent babbling as his body stiffens and you feel hot cum flood your insides. Despite your less than positive stance on having kids right now, you can’t bring yourself to care, replaying Enji’s words in your head. He loves you. He wants you. He loves you. He needs you.

He collapses on top of you, rolling onto his side to avoid crushing you but still gathering you up in his arms. You bury your face in his chest, hands trapped between your bodies, and sigh. Enji’s silent, blue eyes watch your face with something akin to warmth before reaching a hand out to brush hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“I can uh, I can get a birth control pill for you tomorrow if you want.” Part of you screams to take him up on an offer that you’ll likely never see again, but the other part of you can’t help but think how much a child would tie him to you. If you gave him a dual-quirked son? Enji would have no choice but to love and cherish you. You’d be giving him what he’s always wanted.

“Mm.” You make a non-committal noise, snuggling further into his body heat and leaving him to awkwardly tighten his embrace.

“Is that a yes?” This is the most uncertain you’ve ever heard Enji in your life, and knowing that you’re the cause for it sends an immeasurable amount of satisfaction coursing through your veins. You make him so weak. 

“Can we talk about this tomorrow? I want to cuddle.” Your voice is soft and sweet, and you glance at him through your lashes. His face is uncharacteristically open, allowing you to read every bit of uncertainty that flies across his face.

“Ok. Let me get a towel first.” You say nothing, just scooting back so that he can get off the bed. He returns with a warm, wet towel, wiping down your inner thighs with a tenderness you’ve never seen before throwing it in the laundry hamper, turning off the lights, and settling in beside you.

As you drift off to sleep, Enji holding you like you’re made of glass, you feel him press a light kiss to your forehead.

“I…” he seems to be searching for a way to express his affection, something he’s almost certainly never had to do before, “I enjoyed tonight.” You crack an eye open, observing how the iciness of his gaze has melted somewhat. A small smile creeps across your face.

“I enjoyed it too. Goodnight, Enji.” He runs a warm hand up and down your bare back.

“Goodnight.” A pause. “I love you, y/n.” You feel drunk on power at the sound of your name from his lips. 

“Love you too, Enji.” 

[sunvoids]

Interesting to hear about The White Room and Void/Fronting Space, because the space where our parts like interact is just a white void. or it's black, depends which side is most prominent and what parts are around :p

and it's funny hearing about the name origin because our True Gatekeeper didn't name herself either, the name is mostly for convenience sake - and being mainly associated with rain, it ended up being Rei. It's an easy identifier, but generally he's around without anyone noticing because his effects on other parts is like weather. maybe things seem foggy, there's a drizzle of rain or there's thunder in the distance or a cool breeze - and then those states can be more intense at times OR be suspiciously quiet, which makes it more obvious and irritating at times when he's not bothered to react if parts want him present

also, I can elaborate some more about our inner gatekeeper because he wasn't intended to be around front in any degree at any point, but stuff happens when a certain part finds a way out from the depths he was kept in and left the door open. this part from my one comic things a while back just for clarity

The details are fuzzy, but our inner gatekeeper is also responsible for keeping our "Gateway to Fragments" Part safe (basically the part that holds the most EPs), and with an unstable, intangible mess of a part who had yet to properly form their own appearance on the loose, pretty much all available parts at the time where stretched thin and things just kept hitting hard and hurting parts that were exposed.

So inner gatekeeper got provoked and followed out the door, which made things MORE messy because literally no other part knew what anger felt like, and all out life we've just been like "yeah i don't why some people can get so angry, I don't remember ever really getting so upset about anything, I don't know that feeling" <- clueless about the emotional amnesia

so basically our inner gatekeeper was like:

which, very understandable.

It did just kinda like Unlock Anger as an unknown territory for all parts since he wasn't meant to be Out And About, but it's also been healing to just be angry without feeling guilty about it. like aight I'll indulge with The Beast a bit, it's cathartic :p

so yeah like again, he's more a gatekeeper in role when not actively present where he sorts of "herds" or otherwise just keeps certain parts safe and unaware deeper down, and then be Big and Scary should there be a threat. So in that sense he's a guard dog.

also, the "threat" can also be other parts, should someone upset one of the parts he is responsible for a bit too much because our inner gatekeeper is more inclined to express anger without a filter of "oh but this part is trying their best to do better" because sometimes parts just become complacent without realizing, which just hurts other parts in the long run. sometimes you need someone to call out on your bullshit and actually Do Things than just saying a lot of things that prove to hold little weight

Curious to spur some discussion, how do gatekeepers in other systems look?

Some general prompt questions that you can answer or ignore.

What do you / they do? Are they able to do something other parts cant? How much of it is a job (as in a task / thing that needs to be done and someone has to do it) versus how much of it is a role (as in a more innate thing that the part is uniquely made for)? How communicative and cooperative are they with the system as a whole? Where do they fall into the structure? Do they front often? How aware of the inner world and real world are they? Do you have multiple gatekeepers or just one? If you have multiple how do they coordinate (if they do)?

These days gatekeeper shit is a large part of my life as a part so I enjoy talking about it and since I've been front more because of gatekeeper shit, I might as well generate some interesting conversation. We need to sleep but either in replies to others or just our own I might answer for me since we have a lot of gatekeepers.