#this a bizarrely intimate post

[fagmolloy]

i'm NOT putting this on my astro substack that i have irl people following. so it's going here. yeehaw

i've been reading more evolutionary astrology books lately and the timing is......................... interesting wrt experiencing black moon lilith transits -> uranus/asc transits. it was triggered in july (lilith's ingress into my libra 8th house: a queer healing gathering) then became fully operational following the august aquarius full moon (conjunct my natal uranus in 12th: seeing my abuser again).

black moon lilith in my chart is clearly a trauma signature. considering the mythological/cultural context of lilith being a figure outcasted, demonized for being sexually liberated (and other goddesses that demetra george associates bml with like persephone), the fact that she's in my 8th house, and that the last lilith eclipse activated her again—it becomes fairly obvious, to me anyway, what she is. lilith in my chart represents the shadow of shame. and other astrologers would likely be kinder about how she operates in my chart, but when i see where she's placed and how she's placed it's clear to me that sexuality = taboo = shame = secrets = trauma = death/rebirth. a libra 8th house ruled by venus in my 3rd, co-present with saturn. the foundations of these secrets inform the structure of my consciousness, my values, my relational dynamics. (how terribly profound. how terribly awful).

the other day when the sun was conjunct my natal lilith, i ended up spending the day with a friend and we had a huge debrief/vent session about the ways that scars from CSA—particularly incest CSA—completely warp, damage, eviscerate your fucking world sometimes. it takes a really, really fucking long time to come to terms with things. and just when you think you're over it—you've processed it—you'll uncover something new. you discover a new way that it affects you. and it feels like the wound opens up all over again.

never mind how your family may react. never mind the ways in which they may fail you, before and now.

there are not enough "helpers" in this world equipped to deal with our stories, because our experiences are apparently so god-awful that they have to dismiss us to protect themselves. the shame is not only within us for being victimized, but it's embedded within the systems that are supposed to help us: mental health services, inadequate. social services, inadequate. medical services, inadequate. and being forced to carry those systemic failures as a child?

even as an adult, who is that child—unfathomable. to imagine it happening to anyone else. i once went to counselling and she avoided discussing post-traumatic stress at all costs, despite the fact that i was suffering from dissociation at the time. there was a complete failure to engage with the totality of my life because it was "too much". anyone who should have seen what was happening, excluding my family—educators who are meant to detect these things, physicians who should be able to detect these things—not a single fuckin one could hold space or say a thing. that's insane.

as a helper confined within the parameters of these systems, trying to help other survivors—it gets triggering. it gets frustrating. to want to be able to use our experiences to help others process their own shit, but we can't even do that because we're bound by the colonial structures of systems we fuckin work within, too. by the time people get to us they've already experienced harm by these systems. by the time people get to us they don't want to re-engage with these systems because they're exhausted. disenchanted. profoundly hurt.

(it can be helpful to experience triggers in this sense, because it activates a kind of primal rage against institutional failures. and these are at the very least things that i can share with people who are trying to affect change, and it can be implemented within my own code of conduct as a helper. but still. holy fuck).

_______

the ingress of planets into libra this year, as well as lilith's ingress into libra, corresponds in terms of timing and the initiation of hypersexuality. the difference between this phase and other phases i've been in lies in the fact that it's

1. been an opportunity to explore reclamation of sexual desire, which is something i couldn't do previously out of shame/fear/repression/repulsion and

2. the shame/repulsion/compulsive part of the hypersexuality is less operational (meaning i haven't been quiet about what i'm experiencing: i'm not downplaying the ways in which my history have involvement with current exploration and processing, but i'm also accepting that i am allowed to express facets of my sexuality, given that it's a safe space for everyone involved).

there's still elements of this where i'm like... embarrassed, i think. i'm saying, feeling, portraying some really sexual things online. which is normalized, i think, especially in fandom spaces (and obviously encouraged in the current fandom space i'm occupying), but it isn't always something i've been comfortable to do.

i joke about the ways that i cope through a certain character—a persephone-like archetype himself—but when it really comes down to it, i suppose it isn't that funny how much i relate to him. it's too meaningful to be a joke. i love him, unfortunately, because i see myself in him, and it's easier to love a character than love myself. you already know what it is.

there's also the fact that i'm being open with my friends about the ways that this phase is affecting and changing me (because thank god, i have friends who are trauma-informed/can hold space for me even when i'm stuttering and struggling to convey some of the worse things). there's still a part of me suspended in disbelief that i am letting anyone see this unfold as it's happening, because it feels as though the worst parts of me are spilling out.

it's still a relief, though. to spill out. rejection sensitivity is a nightmare always, but to have the "worst" parts of myself seen and tolerated... that is a win, for me.

i think the spilling out is where uranus comes in. mark jones writes about the role that archetypal uranus plays in trauma—something i would have *never* clocked on my own, as so much of modern astrology is inundated with uranus as a revolutionary, a change-maker, a disruptor. he points out that uranus corresponds with subtle mental/memory body, and the deeper state of unconscious that can be "brought towards conscious awareness through the attention and focus of the individual as part of the process of individuation". uranus hit my natal jupiter/asc in july, which is when i was at a healing gathering where i unintentionally released a LOT of shame around things like Having a body. Being seen. (it's funny what being in safe spaces/community can like, do for you). Attraction to other people. The potential of being desired and feeling safe about being desired. he writes, "we are not alone, and although that idea may be quite hard to connect with under duress, we are all held by this larger field...this insight forms the basis of the recovery from trauma through a holding environment." and that's what that gathering facilitated, i think. a holding environment for some of my worst fears to be gently held.

and uranus is transiting my 3rd house of cognition, communication. close friends, extended relatives. my neighbourhood. social media. so these are the people and places and spaces where the holding environment to process the shame within the body (ASC) exists.

not all of the shame can be released obviously, because that would be miraculous. as part of the retrograde uranus will be transiting jupiter/asc between oct 27th -> nov 6th, and then once again next april (which, btw, so many meaningful transits, especially final hitting retrograde transits, are happening in my chart in april 2025. cannot fathom what this could possibly mean).

so clearly there are going to be other facets/dimensions to self that will be realized, especially when i experience the exact lilith return around late december.

anyway. i'm also thinking about how the plutonic symbolism in my chart references a need to talk, profess, in public spaces. like a sagittarian archetype. it's actually embarrassing how the true compulsive part of this process is the need to tell anyone. i suppose that's what happens when you spend a better part of your life holding onto pain.

[ratsoupee]

Accepting isolation, craving belonging

[a-most-beloved-fool]

another wildly unimportant star trek pet peeve of mine is that i kinda hate it when people persistently call kirk "james", either in fic or in posts. like, yes, he's james t kirk. that's his name. but. he's jim. he asks people to call him jim. every time, it's jim. idk, maybe I'm too trans, but I figure that when someone tells you their preferred name, you use it.

I know a guy named bill. his name's william, sure, but he's bill. he specifically said so. I know an alexandria, who is always ally, and I know an aleksandra who is never ever a nickname. I know a thomas who flat out refuses to be tom. y'know? hell, I know a john who goes exclusively by jack, and a sarah who's riley. and it's rude as hell to ignore that.

I do understand that it's. a bit Silly to have that strong of an opinion on whether or not to call a fictional character by a nickname, but. oh well. i'm a bit silly i guess. like, yeah. it doesn't matter. he's not real. he doesn't care.

but he's jim to me.

[nostalgia-tblr]

What do English people call a close? You know, the stairwell bit where all the flats are in a tenement? If you go to visit someone at their flat, what do you call the bit where you wait for them to answer their door? That communal stairs… area?

("Modern AUs don't require research" MAYBE IF YOU'RE ENGLISH THEY DON'T 😭)

[todayisafridaynight]

I wanted to write in about my thoughts on Jo as a CSA survivor separately for a couple of reasons:

I already more or less have what I have to say on the topic in order thanks to talks with @starssystem and another friend [<3]

This is a massive tonal shift from anything else I could be discussing

This Is Massive In General For The Love Of God PLEASE Help Me

Obvious CSA CW for anyone else reading; I only discuss statistics, psychology, and the aftereffects seen in survivors here, but it's worth a warning.

With the disclaimers out of the way… I'd mentioned before I've only ever added one thing to Jo's background, and you were right: this is it! To me, there's so much thematic overlap in Jo's narrative with the experience of surviving CSA it's worth it to examine his character through the lens of that being the case. Of course, there are clearly-stated reasons for it all that Aren't That, but…

It's the pervasive guilt and shame, the lifelong secret that becomes too unbearable not to tell, the faulty coping mechanisms aimed at burying the trauma without having to face it, the reluctance to be sincere [vulnerable] and the lies and half-truths used to maintain the facade of invulnerability, the pursuit of power and control and the knee-jerk anger response when it's threatened, the pursuit of mastery over his body and the indifference to what happens to it. And the way a lot of it really does stem from a deeply traumatic childhood sexual experience from before either he or Ikumi understood what they were getting into, from before they could give informed consent.

Statistically, the further below the average age someone is for their first time, the likelihood of [at best] having been introduced to sex inappropriately and [at worst] having been abused at the time or earlier rises exponentially. Jo was 15 when Masato was conceived--possibly 14, since he was saying he "met" Arakawa at 15, and by then Masato was already born. To put this into perspective, since what ages register as concerning is largely cultural, the average age in the US and UK is 16-18. But in Japan, it's over 19.

To a Westerner [or even a heavily Westernized non-Westerner], having a kid at 15 is unfortunate, but not untenable; you've seen it on TV, you might know people like that, you might even be that kid or that parent. But in Jo's case, with him being 4 or 5 years younger than average, it's like if someone told you they had their first time--had a /kid/--at 13 or under. That's the equivalent discrepancy. That /is/ concerning, to me.

It's also something that's linked to negative outcomes in adulthood, partly because of the likelihood of forming bonds with poorly-adjusted peers. Jo specifically states he and Ikumi were only together because others who came from backgrounds like his own were all he had back then. [As an aside, it's interesting to see him instinctively seek out a relationship where his pain would be understood without having to say anything--or one where he could assume it would, at any rate.]

When it comes to his relationship with Ikumi, I've always felt there was this "adult dynamic" between them--in the sense it feels like one that'd be more fitting for adults to get into than a couple of teens. It was, based on his wording, a primarily physical relationship neither of them expected to last even if they were living together. To me, it's one thing if you're fully convinced you're in love or you're experimenting or whatever and that results in an unplanned pregnancy, but it's another thing entirely to have such a bleak yet objective outlook on your relationship so young.

And it didn't have to be that way. He could've been just like Arakawa, head-over-heels in love with this girl who was The Only Good Thing He Had Going, or something like that. But the sheer contrast between how Arakawa was crazy about Akane and never forgot about her for the rest of his life, while Jo more-or-less-clearly didn't have feelings for Ikumi and can't bring himself to remember her name after living with her for at least a year and experiencing life-changing events with her…

It's notable to me that Arakawa maintains an interest in women while nearly every in-character interpretation I've seen makes Jo averse to women. Obviously, we don't really know that; it's probably just based on his general attitudes, his contrast with Arakawa, and maybe his immunity to Charm. But I think there's a reason a lot of people pick up on it and tie it to trauma rather than/in addition to a lack of interest in women.

I've talked about this through the lens of comphet already [and Jo being gay or ace or both would present other difficulties], but I can't overstate how notable it is on its own. We see Jo's response to traumatic events, and it's to become preoccupied with them, to investigate further if he has any leads. That's why he remembers every minute detail of the night Masato was born and the time he saw Arakawa attempt to comfort Masato when he was crying and hitting himself. I think it's also why he gets as far as he does when looking into Arakawa's death, and why he entrusts the search to Ichi. He never seems to manage to block them out, even if that's what he'd rather do--even if that's what he thinks he's doing.

So if he "[doesn't] even remember" the name of the mother of his child, I get the feeling there's something more going on. Like I've [probably] said in the past, Jo genuinely sounds traumatized by the relationship as a whole. More than anything else he's been through, and he's been through a lot. It's often the case that CSA survivors who are also survivors of other trauma view it as worse than anything else that happened to them.

And that's not to implicate Ikumi at all, I don't think it's a case of COCSA--everything I've said holds just as true for her, and she had to suffer the additional trauma of an unwanted pregnancy and childbirth, at that. Rather, I think it would make sense for something like CSA, which often incontrovertibly reconfigures one's relationship with sex and love, to be a factor in why they rushed into a something physical before they were mature enough to handle it.

Some victims end up having perfectly healthy experiences, some victims end up avoiding them, some victims end up re-victimized, and some victims end up with a mixed bag--there's a lot of variation. But some victims do end up having relationships like this and making mistakes like this, because that's all they know, or because they want to heal but don't [or don't know how to] go about it in a healthy way, at a healthy pace. And I definitely think if you recognize that's what the basis of your relationship was, that it all comes back to something you'd rather forget, it'd make sense to want to forget the relationship as a whole.

To that end, it's possible to come away from a relationship traumatized even if no one did anything wrong. I've [probably] talked about how the way Jo comforts her at the station feels like he's doing it for her sake and pushing his own feelings down, but neither of them is really buying it. If that's a pattern in their relationship, perhaps he wouldn't have been able to communicate if maybe what they were doing was dredging up bad memories, if he wanted to stop but didn't think she did. So to go through with it, then get the news months later…

Either way, the fact Ikumi couldn't bring herself to tell him she was pregnant until nothing could be done would, for Jo, invariably cement the feeling he has no control over what happens around him. I think the sense of powerlessness he felt is why he blew up at her when she told him, because it's really the only time we see him lash out like that at her. At the park, he objects to going back for Masato, sure, but he's passive. And I think that unbroken pattern of powerlessness in his life [which CSA would only compound on] is why he's so reactionary, why he's so emotionally dysregulated, why he expresses his rage through what basically amounts to power-tripping.

But I do think Jo does have a great deal of awareness. A lot of his wording when he's telling Ichi about it borders on poetic, or at the very least candid and effective. That requires both prior reflection and a command of language. I think there's a lot he understands deep down, at least after sitting with it for long enough, but he isn't capable of voicing--or doesn't know how to voice--what's on his mind, most of the time.

So when he joins the Arakawa Family, when he rises the ranks and has that control back, his control has to be near-absolute. If it's undermined in any way--such as, for example, a certain someone failing to answer a call within two rings--he loses it. On the other side of the coin, I do feel a lot of why his devotion and gratitude towards Arakawa goes to the extent it does, why he's so comfortable with him, is because Arakawa gave him the safety of the Arakawa Family, gave him back his autonomy, gave him the environment--and treated him with enough humanity to give him the reason--to learn to regulate himself, to better himself.

And Arakawa /gets/ trauma. He really does. Aside from his own abusive background, literally the only time the word trauma comes out of any character's mouth in this series, it's Arakawa's. It comes back to Jo saying others who came from backgrounds like his own were all he had; that never changed, did it?

Lastly, For Funsies [<- LIE. COMPLETE LIE. TURN BACK NOW] I wanted to go through the items on this [CSA] Survivors' Aftereffects Checklist I could check off with near-certainty. 19/34, by the way, give or take. Now, as I said at the beginning, there are existing concrete reasons for why he has many of these experiences… but it's like the trans allegory with Masato, To Me… If I can check off over half the list based on a very limited backstory and an hour of screen time total, that's indicative of a notable overlap… TO ME…

Note that the book this list is from was published in 1990 and focuses on women's experiences. It was a huge step forward in giving survivors a voice back when a lot of existing research indicated CSA had neutral or even positive effects on children, but it's definitely a product of its time. With that out of the way…

Wearing a lot of clothing, even in summer […]

To be fair, most male characters in RGG are fully-covered and have near-unchanging designs, and it's winter in both 2000/2001 and presumably 2019, but… when it comes to Jo, it feels a little different.

He does have Some Heavage in his twenties [although the necklace takes the attention off of his actual chest], but as time goes on, he shows less and less skin and adds more and more layers. When he has the gloves on, it leaves no skin exposed at all, and there's this direct symbolic correlation with secrecy that isn't there for other characters. And if you're wearing three layers of leather [or even one], you can neither feel what you're touching nor feel anything touch you.

Pure Speculation, but I just can't really see him underdressed for any occasion… That's why his fit in Day with the Sun is funny as hell but also… yeah…

As a behavior, if it's rooted in anything, it's probably rooted in having to hide signs of physical abuse, of course--but then he kind of already had an excuse, with how he was constantly getting into fights. I guess it depends on the specifics, but I think it's interesting to consider this as one way CSA victims attempt to regain control of their bodies, avoiding emotional discomfort at the cost of physical discomfort.

Self-destructiveness

It's nothing super overt, but I see this most clearly represented in his second boss fight in particular; his willingness to wield a blade bare-handed while using enough force he could very well render his hand useless. I think it's potentially also evident in how he has severe cataracts he chooses to ignore and allow to worsen, despite having the reasons and resources to undergo surgery to restore his vision. In doing so, he literally and figuratively blinds himself to so much.

I also kind of think the assassination of Hoshino/the anonymous call and The Eye Scene are examples of self-sabotage. I mean, he literally was sabotaging himself in the former, but it's also the specific way he feels the need to be physically taken down in order to be stopped--possibly a holdover from RGGJo, who's only too happy to be beaten into a coma.

I don't know… It's hard to pinpoint, but I feel like he would be averse to most of the more "obvious" self-destructive behaviors--especially when he has people in his life who might notice and worry, like Ikumi and Arakawa. That and because many of them are addictive. He's seen what that's done to his father, and he's also developed this incredibly rigid sense of discipline he can't maintain if he doesn't have a clear head.

From how he talks about himself [as having lost his humanity and lived a half-assed life], I definitely think he's at the very least unkind to himself, but I also think he does externalize it by provoking others to harm him [in the case of physical fights] and reject him. Like he needs some kind of proxy perpetrator. For some abuse victims, this specific manifestation of self-destructive behavior is a way to regain control--whether or not you "deserved it" back then, you do now, as a direct, logical result of your actions.

Need to be invisible, perfect, or perfectly bad

I think each of these needs manifests in different ways for Jo. The need to be invisible can be seen with authority figures (mainly Aoki, but also Arakawa in The Yubitsume Scene, a little; how drastically he pulls back and tries to act "normal")--this relates to what you were talking about with being reluctant to intrude or take up space. If you fall under the radar, maybe you won't get hurt.

The need to be perfect can be seen in his seemingly "impossible" standards, I would say. Of course, because we see things from Ichiban's perspective, we tend to see them as unfair and often arbitrary demands. But they aren't arbitrary to Jo, are they? They're standards he holds himself to through and through. If you're good, maybe you won't get hurt.

The need to be perfectly bad can be seen in and relates to much of what I discussed under self-destructiveness [The Eye Scene and the way he antagonizes Ichiban specifically by making himself out to be worse than he is]. If you must get hurt, it can at least "make sense"--be "deserved."

Suicidal thoughts, attempts, obsession (including "passive suicide")

Obviously he's not like… Mine Levels Of Overtly And Consistently Suicidal, and he doesn't attempt suicide himself, but at the same time, I have to note his total ambivalence towards Aoki seeing him as a "bullet" (a kind of hitman sent on suicide missions). He agreed to what he himself viewed as a suicide mission and he didn't care what would happen to him afterward, as he says to Joon-gi, Zhao, and Adachi.

Aside from that, I certainly feel he's at least had passive thoughts like wanting to disappear or wishing he'd never been born. Y'know. Nothing concrete, but reflective of his mental state, and just as detrimental to dwell on long-term.

I think there's a sort of childishness [for lack of a better word] to thoughts like these [in that they're impossible], but also a level of maturity in that it probably doesn't escalate to something more actionable because he understands he has responsibilities he can't abandon. I think if he was ever seriously suicidal, it would be at the points of his life where he really didn't have any responsibility to anyone, like between Ikumi leaving and him joining the family, or after he was arrested.

Depression (sometimes paralyzing) […]

I'm trying not to over explain going forward because I Have BEEN Overexplaining It Is SUCH A Disaster… he's depressed If You Have Eyes And/Or Ears… I'll leave it at that…

Anger issues; inability to recognize, own, or express anger; constant anger […]

Lol

Rigid control of one's thought process; humorlessness or extreme solemnity

Relates back to what I was saying about how disciplined he is [and expects everyone else to be], but in general, he's incredibly, incredibly serious and focused. I don't think he's /entirely/ humorless [but then again, very few people are]; I just think his specific sense of humor is. Like. What Is Your Problem [I Know What Your Problem Is I Have Been Discussing It In EXCRUCIATING Detail But What The Fuck Is Your Problem]

Trust issues; inability to trust (trust is not safe); total trust; trusting indiscriminately

That's why he was planning on taking his secret to the grave, isn't it? It was only when faced with the realization it would soon be too late to say anything that he was able to tell Ichiban. He could've trusted Arakawa, should've been able to, but… in his mind he never could.

This book [and this checklist] is about "incest" actually, but it redefines "incest" to mean any instance of CSA perpetrated by any individual the victim trusts or has an expectation of being able to implicitly trust. Which… is most CSA as we understand it today, so I've edited some parts to just say that.

Anyway, I've never given much thought to the specifics of what Jo might've experienced--who did it, what happened, how long it went on, etc.--so there's no conclusion I can draw here [and elsewhere, I'm sure]… but even without that, to grow up unable to trust the one person who should be in his corner, his father, and to have his trust betrayed by Ikumi, it's no surprise Jo ended up like this either way. So… I'm happy he had the courage to tell Ichi, in the end.

High risk taking ("daring the fates"); inability to take risks

I think these are supposed to be mutually exclusive, but to me, Hoshino's assassination and Arakawa's assassination represent both sides of the coin, although they're not the only examples. There are risks Jo won't think twice about taking and risks that paralyze him.

Boundary issues; control, power, territoriality issues; fear of losing control; obsessive/compulsive behaviors (attempts to control things that don't matter, just to control something)

Lol…

Guilt, shame; low self-esteem, feeling worthless; high appreciation of small favors by others

Lmao Even…

Feeling demand to "produce and be loved"; instinctively knowing and doing what the other person needs or wants; relationships mean big tradeoffs (love was taken, not given)

I actually think this encapsulates a lot of what I've been saying about his work ethic, his ideas of discipline, and his relationship with Ikumi, but I also think it's why Masato took a liking to him. His attentiveness. It ties back into wanting to be perfect; when you're abused--especially long-term--you become attuned to observing and responding to any shifts in mood or tone. This is another area where I can't draw any conclusions relevant to my point, but it does certainly relate to his father's abuse, at any rate.

Abandonment issues

Kind of contentious… The anticipation of being abandoned by or losing someone he cares about appears to be worse than the actual experience. He's fine with Ikumi leaving him, and he's… not Fine With, but able to come to terms with Arakawa's death and Aoki's abandonment of him. At the same time, he really does try to make Ikumi's stay in his life comfortable, and he spends almost forty years doing his damnedest to keep his family together, whatever the cost. If I were to extrapolate from RGGJo, though, /he/ does have an obsessive, unhealthy attachment to Arakawa.

Blocking out some period of early years (especially 1–12); or a specific person or place

Ikumiiiiii that's what I'm SAYINGGGG

Feeling of carrying an awful secret; urge to tell, fear of its being revealed; certainty no one will listen; being generally secretive […]

Rofl Perhaps…

Denial; […] repression of memories; pretending; minimizing ("it wasn't that bad") […]

He admits to it himself. Not much else to say. Though I don't think he necessarily minimizes what he's been through by dismissing how bad it was; rather, he tends to overestimate his ability to move past it.

Pattern of ambivalent or intensely conflictive relationships (intimacy is a problem; also focus shifted from [CSA] issues)

Also kind of contentious… we don't see a pattern of romantic relationships, as I assume the author meant here, but at the same time, the romantic relationship and non-romantic relationships we do see fit this pattern. I guess I'd say I definitely think intimacy /would/ be a problem, and he /wouldn't/ be ready to address his issues.

Limited tolerance for happiness; active withdrawal from happiness, reluctance to trust happiness ("ice=thin")

The quote that prompted this ask in the first place. It's sort of connected to the point about humorlessness and extreme solemnity; if that was the "what," this is the "why." He doesn't know how to relax ["holidays don't exist" and all], he doesn't have much to be happy about, but even rarer is the occasion where he doesn't feel too conflicted in the moment to be able to enjoy himself. That's just how I see him.

[…] verbal hypervigilance (careful monitoring of one's words); quiet-voiced, especially when needing to be heard

EXACTLY what I was talking about in this ask, so I'm leaving that one up to past me…

......

... That's It That's The Essay I'm going to hibernate until Infinite Wealth comes out and somehow refutes my points but UNTIL THEN. Farewell, take care, and once more, don't worry too much about matching my energy… Like I Said if I were the one receiving this ask I'd just delete my blog, so… I'll just be happy to know you read it :] If That lmao

ok i read it :) 👁️👁️ READMYTAGSTHERESMORETHEREIPROMISE

[niuxita21]

If these two aren't meant to be in love with each other, someone on the directing team fucked up REAL bad lmao

[honey-flustered]

Kinktober Day 1: Xenophilia/Oviposition

Warnings: 18+ smut, dry humping, dirty talk about alien sex

Boyfriend!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie tells you why alien sex is so much better. Maybe he can even show you.

A/N: Decided to join kinktober fun because why not so I’ll be posting to catch up . Posting something risky and weird on the main so lemme know what yall think

You’ve known Eddie to be quite stranger ever since the day you met. It was evident considering the differences in your friend circles. He is a pop culture nerd and you’re the popular cheerleader. Somehow, his weird vibes were able to pull you in, unafraid of the odd rumors associated with him. Hell, you took it as a challenge then. But you’d soon come to fall in love with one another, appreciating the differences as it made teaching each other all the more exciting.

But you’d say the best part of being with Eddie is that neither of you had to hide any of your most intimate and sometimes down-right bizarre secrets from one another.

Like when Eddie learned of your secretly nerdy enjoyment of stargazing and tracking celestial events, he’d purchased a telescope for you where he’d spent the night listening to you explain away the galaxy. And like as of now, when you learned of your boyfriend’s alien sex fantasies while watching the new Alien movie.

You’d noticed the way he shifted in his seat during the movie, adjusting himself in his jeans. You playfully questioned him and he was a mess of stutters and stammers.

“It’s fucked, I know,” He says, avoiding your eyes and twisting a lone ring around his thick finger. “Bet you think I’m a real fucking freak.”

“I mean, I do think you’re a freak,” You say, bringing his face back up to yours. “But that’s exactly what I like. So…if you could have alien sex…how exactly does that work?”

“W-well, there are like some sex toys to make it happen.”

“And the whole egg implanting thing? Is that like when you creampie?” You ask excitedly.

His cheeks grow redder, coughing in embarrassment. “No—So like there are these gelatin egg kits that you can purchase at a sex shop. And they’d get deposited inside through sex and would eventually melt inside you—o-or any person for that matter not just you, of course. I’ll just use us as an example for clarification. But it’s only a fake scenario. Totally not real. For shit and giggles. Hypothe—

“I get it, babe,” You impatiently interrupt. “Get on with it.”

“Right,” He swallows. “So, imagine me wearing this cock sleeve thing that’ll look pretty gnarly because it’ll look kind of like a blue tentacle with all these ridges and bumps—

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “Oddly specific.”

“Y-Yeah but it’s only to help with the visuals. Not because I have one. Psssh, what?” He says with a anxious high-pitched tone, eyes shifting side to side.

“Mhm,” You say, moving from your spot on the couch to sit in his lap. “Anyway, so back to you naked and wearing that little toy. Will the gelatin eggs be in it already?”

“They would. Then, I’d have to lube up the toy so you can take it. I’d get real nice and slick to the point where it’s dripping like slime just so we’re on the safe side.” He says, letting his hands glide up your thigh, lifting your skirt a little higher.

“Ooo, it’s that big?” You gasp, rocking back and forth against his growing erection. Every now and then, the tip would slip either between your clothed wet core or your soft thighs.

“Uh-huh,” His face in your neck, planting light kisses. “Or maybe you’re just that tight.” He emphasizes the last word while gripping and kneading the inner fat of your thighs.

“Then, what happens?” You mewl.

“Then, I’d stick it deep, deep, deep inside you.” He groans into your ear.

“Would you still be able to feel my warm walls around you? Feel clenching around you so you’d stay inside me?”

“That toy is specifically meant to give you pleasure,” He breathes hotly. “No, I won’t get to feel your tight, wet pussy directly around me. But I’d get pleasure enough seeing your face when I plant my seeds in you. You’re gonna take it all, aren’t you, babygirl?”

“Yes, fuck, why do I want that so badly?” You take his hand to place over one breast. Through the thin fabric of your shirt and bra, he quickly locates your pebbled nipple and plucks at it repeatedly.

“Because I just taught you how great monster sex can be.” His teeth sinks into your earlobe.

“You mean there’s more than just alien sex?”

“Mhm, I can show you.” He says, loving that he’s corrupting a girl like yourself.

“Yes, please, master. Show me more.”

[wesstars]

heaven on earth (ii)

wednesday addams x fem!reader (mostly gn, only term used is “girl friend”)

summary: your friends-with-benefits situation with wednesday isn’t so friendly anymore, but if you could only uncover your own eyes, you might’ve noticed. wc: 5.5k tags: explicit, MINORS DNI! all characters involved are 18+. kinda ooc wednesday, painfully oblivious reader, bad fluff, fluff to smut, top!reader and bottom!wednesday, semi-public (car) sex, mild blood, biting, mild overstimulation. a/n: not sure how I feel about this lol. special thank you to 🕷️ anon for her ideas and workshopping <3 comments/asks welcome, as always!

read part one here! this can be read standalone, but is intended to be a continuation.

masterlist

For the fifth time, Wednesday slapped your thigh to get your attention. “Turn it down.”

You huffed a laugh, and figured it was time. You were playing your ‘obnoxious’ pop playlist, full of mostly Taylor Swift and random Korean bands. It was collaborative with Enid, and likely one of Wednesday’s least favorites. Lowering the volume, you tossed Wednesday your phone.

“Alright, it’s your turn.”

The two of you were driving back from a day trip to a nearby town—actually, you were supposed to be driving back the rest of Enid and Co, also, but while Wednesday was beyond ready to leave, they all wanted to stay and do something called a “holy trinity.” How someone could have so much alcohol in so little time was so bizarre to you, but then Wednesday, of all people, rolled her eyes and downed three shots in just as many minutes, and seemed no worse for wear. 

Seemed was the key word there—not a quarter of an hour later, she’d grabbed onto your arm, grip slack, and her eyes were becoming unfocused, roving all over your face only to miss your eyes and tack onto somewhere lower.

You’d coaxed her to eat something after that. Post French fries and buttered bread (she’d kill you after she knew you’d made her eat such unrefined food,) as well as a bottle and a half of water in, she’d mostly walked it off. You figured it was time to get Wednesday home. As far as you knew, the rest of your friends were still out, though you’d made Yoko promise to text you when they were leaving and when they got back. The windows were open in the car; the wind lifted Wednesday’s fringe off her forehead. You glanced over to where she was gingerly operating your phone, punching in letters on Spotify. Your heart twisted.

You didn’t really want to admit that weird feeling you had the first time, and all the rest of the times, you saw Wednesday. It was a sort of jittery one, with a swoop in your stomach, that made you want to prod her into a conversation. You’d gotten quite a bit more than you’d bargained for, from that first fateful kiss in the classroom, to every secret, heady rendezvous after. The last time you two had been intimate—fucked, in your bed—had left an indelible mark, natural as a shadow settled neatly in your chest. The bickering and play fights had only made things worse, and you knew you had to ignore it all, for Wednesday. To keep things the same, because… something’s better than nothing, right?

You supposed that “something” was where you were right now. Being her ‘girl friend,’ with a space in between, sex and unrequited feelings included, was the best place that you could ever be with her. You had those close moments with her that you could cherish, but also that emotional distance that Wednesday undoubtedly wanted. Perfect. Your childlike sentiments were ones that you were likely to carry in your heart, deep down, for fucking forever. They were never going to see the light of day.

Lilting piano filled the car, shoving images of you and Wednesday seated together before the keys into your mind. Your phone dropped back into your lap.

“Nocturne? In E minor.” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“I’m surprised you know.”

“Hey!” Indignant, you nearly shot something back that was sure to start one of your bickering matches again, when an unfamiliar sound rang through the car, lovely as the music, but something you’d never heard before.

“Did you just laugh?”

Wednesday’s mumbled denial was covered up by your own laugh, bordering on hysterical as your heart picked itself up and started racing. 

“Do not insult me like that,” Wednesday grumbled, rubbing the hem of her sweater between her fingers. “Focus on the road. Dying with you in a car crash is too pathetic to even consider.” Though her words were sharp as always, her even tone had something in it that, if one wasn’t careful, could be mistaken as gentle.

You snorted again, unable to stop laughing. “And if a double decker bus…” you sang, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. Wednesday’s glare nearly sliced you clean in half, and you were smart for once, shutting up immediately. She wasn’t laughing anymore, and some part of you mourned that.

After Chopin played Liszt, Liebestraum no. 3, and you wondered if Wednesday knew how to queue on Spotify. You followed the winding road up the mountain. You’d be back at Nevermore soon, but selfishly, you didn’t want this to be over. It was an odd time, with no bickering, no siege, no sex, and who could blame you if you were feeling particularly, disgustingly, sentimental? Blame the Liszt.

Turning the car off the road, you pulled into a deserted vista point. Carpe diem, you thought, throwing caution to the wind and the car in park. 

“Why have you stopped?”

“Weds, we’re looking at the sunset.”

“I do not need to see it, it happens every day—”

“Oh, come on,” you laughed, unlocking the car doors and stepping out. With the wind whipping around you, blowing your hair every which way, you ducked to peek into the car. “Humor me, I guess. Don’t you feel sorry for me, or something?”

She gave you a pointed look. “I do not.” But she followed you out the car anyway.

Leaning on the hood, you looked out at the scene as she joined you. Spiky evergreens stretched out across the stony slopes, with the last vestiges of snow clinging to the tops. The sun stretched its longing light into the rapidly darkening east behind you, pulling taut the shadows and blanketing everything in an aureate shine.

You glanced over at Wednesday—despite her earlier protest, it seemed as if she was tolerating this. The tension around her brow was gone, and her arms hung relaxed by her sides. The silence wasn’t rare, but it felt reverent anyway. Your heart adored her in her outfit; it was something your mind refused to register. She was in black knee high boots, made of some leather you couldn’t pronounce, an inky dress, flowing in the wind, down to her thighs, and a soft deep gray sweater. There was a sort of bleeding sentiment, beginning to seep into your everyday life, into wondering what Wednesday would think of the book you were reading, imagining her reaction to Bianca’s quip, overthinking her hand clutching your sleeve in the courtyard.

You deliberated, vaguely, what it would be like if you tumbled down the mountainside, into those trees—would the wood be cushioning or bruising? It was a serious consideration, with all that you were feeling. Those damned feelings, ones that Wednesday would undoubtedly scorn, made you kick up the gravel underfoot in frustration.

Beside you, Wednesday cast an uninterested look over you at the noise, silently judging. A beat passed. She grabbed the collar of your shirt, wrinkling it, and pulled you into a bruising kiss. 

“I am going in the car. The back seat. Be not afraid.” She retreated, and gave a little smirk, one reserved for the golden light and dark trees.

It was purely unfair, as the blood rushed from your head to pool in your stomach, making your heart work overtime. Stumbling to the back seat, you’d barely sat down before Wednesday reached over to the console and locked the doors. She’d taken off her boots, leaving her legs clad in white socks scrunched around her calves.

She climbed into your lap without preamble, squeezing your hips with her thighs. The car roof meant she had to duck her head just a bit, giving you the perfect opportunity to press your lips to hers. Having Wednesday on top of you was the kind of thing that made your head spin. And spinning you were, down into that deep unending abyss where there was only the smell of hot sugar, pine, and iron. 

The Midas touch of the setting sun made Wednesday seem even paler, from her exposed knees to her small hands, glowing like some ethereal being. She kissed you as if she could wrap her teeth around you, like searching for sweetness in the corners of your mouth. Sure enough, there was something about her, a sense of urgency, that threatened to take in all of you. 

“This dress is nice,” you murmured, pushing it up her pale thighs, rubbing away the red marks her boots left on her calves. Your hands continued upward, to the light dampness of her inner thighs.

“You said you liked it last time.” Wednesday immediately glanced away, as if she hadn’t meant to say those words. There was a faint flush to her cheeks again, but the two of you were fogging up the car windows.

You ignored the pulsing in your stomach that traitorously screamed she wore this for me? “It’s enchanting,” you said. “Like a witch of the wood.”

You nosed your way into the nape of her neck again, a favorite spot of yours, unable to stop your stupid mouth from running. “I adore it…” You pulled her tighter to your lap, skimming the seam of her underwear at the juncture of her thigh. “Can I touch you, Wednesday?”

“Get on with it,” she said, breathlessly, indulging you with a quick quirk of her lips. 

Skimming the back of your hand up between her thighs, you sent your other hand to palm her chest through her dress. You felt her through her panties, the fabric soft and smooth from her slick. Dipping your hand below the waistband, you wasted no time finding her clit. Her breath came down hard—it was her tell, you knew, even when her face remained mostly impassive.

She was sensitive today, back arching with a small gasp as soon as you touched her. Hand shooting past your head, Wednesday grabbed onto the headrest, hard enough for the leather to creak. Her outstretched arm was right next to your head, and you couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss the inside of her elbow. 

She sighed, unfurling tendrils of a storm in smooth skies. “You have all of me,” Wednesday said, something soft.

You press a kiss to Wednesday's forehead, equally soft, as you curl your fingers again. “If only, Wednesday,” you said, unthinking.

Wednesday froze, squeezing her other hand on your shoulder hard enough to leave pretty bruises under your collared shirt.

You pulled back, cocking your head. “What is it?”

She furrowed her brow at you, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, then glanced away quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Your fingers traced another circle around her clit.

“Stop asking.” Her voice was firm, but it had a waver in the middle, like she’d almost changed her mind. 

“I’ll stop asking,” you whispered, “if you tell me what’s up.” Her eyes were glazed over with a sheen not unlike her slick that coated your fingers, something shiny and sweet. 

“You’re hopeless,” she said, not even a second before she clapped her hand over your mouth.

What an Addams wants, an Addams gets, you surmised, blinking quickly. You rubbed your free hand up and down her thigh, trying to soothe her, but she only moved her hand to grip your jaw, her intent the sear of fire through the underbrush.

“I do not like repeating myself,” she said quietly, “so listen closely.” She shifted closer to you on your lap, car leather squeaking, settling on her knees so your nose was in her collar. She reached down and gave you a handkerchief from her pocket. Knowing what she meant, you pulled your fingers from her warmth, feeling a hard lump in your throat. “And make no noise.”

You nodded. She looked wild on top of you, hair mussed from your make out session, the apples of her cheeks a dusty rose.

“Honesty colors me,” she said by way of explanation. “And you talk too much, so this is how it will have to be.” She seemed to think for a moment, biting her lip. Her burgundy lipstick contrasted so starkly with her gray sweater, as if she was the only screaming color in a black and white world. She might hate that, you mused absently. Maybe she was more a whirlpool of the blackest black, sucking in all of the color and light around it so that you had no choice but to be drawn in, to the only real thing you’d ever known.

“You’re stupid,” Wednesday started, matter-of-factly. “Just like everyone else.” You nodded, used to this sort of thing by now. “But your particular brand of stupidity is showing its truth.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, arms automatically going around her waist while you leaned back to look at her. Where she was going with this, you had no idea. You only knew that that whirlpool was making its way closer and closer to you.

“At first, our… arrangement was indeed purely physical.” She paused. “But things have changed, quite drastically. I do believe I’ve reached a… point of no return, but I have since found a balance.”

Wednesday locked her eyes on yours, unflinching. “I give myself to you time and time again-” the words were unfamiliar from her mouth- “yet, you seem to give no indication that you know. ‘If only?’ It’s nearly laughable.” She gave a huff, though her gaze was contemplative. You cocked your head, mind uncomprehending, mouth dry.

“You have my heart, beating or still.” Her words rang quiet in the car. Your own heart started up again, with all the betrayal of a thrumming bass. You tried to push it down, but it didn’t erase the reality of what Wednesday had just said—did Wednesday ever lie? She was good at it, sure, but you’d long learned that Wednesday’s word was her end. “And it appears as though you are completely unaware.”

“Unaware?” You broke her rule, and you could see the tick of annoyance in her eyes. But you plowed on anyway. “Are you saying that you have my—that I don’t know that I have your—that you like me?”

“My devotion is more than that,” Wednesday said casually, “but it may be that you’re unable to handle that at this time.”

Sure enough, you could feel your body informing your mind that you were hyperventilating, Wednesday’s weight on your lap the only thing keeping you from shooting off to Saturn.

“I don’t—” you struggled for your words, the usual wit you showed while bickering with Wednesday, the strategy you’d used to defend Jericho, absolutely nowhere to be seen.

“Need I pull stars from the sky to prove myself to you?” she said, raising an eyebrow in amusement, as if she wasn’t blowing through every poorly stacked defense of yours. It would be just like Wednesday, for every word of hers to be devastating and world shifting. No one knew Wednesday Addams and remained unchanged—that was just the kind of person she was, romantic as murder via blade. Perhaps to her, your wide eyed reaction was enough of a damning confession. “You’ll be the end of me, but what bliss that would be.” 

“Um,” you started, eloquently. “You’re… you’re not thinking straight,” you rasped out, mind freezing. You could feel your back stuck to the seat, unyielding. “You’re—”

“If I didn’t know you and your oblivious tendencies, I would think that it is almost insulting of you to doubt me.” She gave a small sniff, chin held high. “You think that just because you do not recognize my words, means that I am not in a right state of mind?”

In one fluid motion, she pressed her forehead to yours, and cradled your face between her two cold hands. Your name felt like salvation from her lips; “believe me, I’m wide awake.”

Your jaw went slack, and you were sure you looked as much a dumbass as you felt.

“I intended for my… vulnerability,” Wednesday’s voice wavers on the word, “to be a sign for you, but either you are just that unobservant, or you are unwilling to admit to what is right before your eyes.”

“I’d never not pick up on something on purpose, Weds.” Your brain was wading through a thick mud, unable to turn at the speed that Wednesday wanted.

“Does that mean that you are willfully disregarding the way I show myself to you?” Finally, in her words, you were able to see the exact vulnerability that she had alluded to.

“No, I’d never, I just… didn’t want to hope,” you said, embarrassed. “Romance isn’t your thing.”

“It’s not,” she replied simply, quietly. “I understand your reservations.” Wednesday’s hands held an imperceptible tremble, but her gaze was strong.

“No—of course I—” your throat tightened, but you felt the weight falling from your shoulders anyway. That was something you recognized. “Of course I like you.”

The silence rang yet again, and Wednesday’s eyes widened, the onyx of them turning warm as molten metal. The exact expression in them was hard to place, but it calmed you, in the wake of speaking aloud something you’d been afraid to admit to yourself.

A thought occurred to you, more clear than any you’d had since Wednesday had opened her mouth. “Even if we’d never—if we never have sex again, I’d still l—like you.”

Despite the way you stumbled into and over your words, Wednesday’s dark eyes on yours grew warm, pupil blurring into iris; the corner of her mouth gave an upwards tick.

“In the cracks of light,” Wednesday whispered, reverent as prayer as her fingertips traced your cheekbone, “I see the heaven on earth I’ve won with you.”

She kissed you then, and you couldn’t hold back any more. It was something like pure relief—though your mind still didn’t quite comprehend Wednesday’s confession (confession!), your heart broke the dam, pulling you down past inhibition. Spiraling to Wednesday’s gravity, it was as natural as breathing to give in.

Wednesday, all knowing as always, must’ve seen the way your resolve broke. She slid her mouth against yours, open and hot, unhurried but eager. The car leather under your thighs was as warm as Wednesday on top of you—not even she was immune to the rays of waning sunlight, it seemed.

“You know,” you muttered, between capturing her lips, “it’s just like you to say all that about moving heaven and earth. Most people just say ‘I like you.’” It wasn’t a complaint by any means; with your hands on her waist, you’d have it no other way.

“As I said, it is more than that.” She took a breath, completely steady and confident, now. “You consume me, completely.”

“And you, I,” you said softly, as if you could do anything but agree to her heady desire. “I’ve got you, Wednesday.”

Her forehead dropped to your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around you. It took a moment for you to realize that in her silence after your words, she was grinding down, near imperceptibly, into your lap.

“Mmm, my love,” you murmured, the significance of the endearment not lost on you, “look at you.” Sliding a hand up her back to her hair, you felt her braids through your fingers. You ran your hands down once more, under her sweater to feel the muscles around her shoulder blades. The heat you felt through her dress from where she was pressed to you, through your trousers, was something out of a darkest dream, unable to be forgotten.

Wednesday leaned up again, eyes sharp as a lance, to brand you with a kiss. She bit your lip, breaking through skin, and you grinned at the pain. It was hard and harsh, comforting like the thin edge of a knife. You felt the blood seeping into the seams of your teeth, rain in scorched earth. Intoxicated, you seemed to float closer into that sweet and dark whirlpool.

“That hurt, Wednesday…” you leaned in, voice dropping. “I wanna…” There was a beat of silence where you could only taste the copper in your mouth, sweet as you knew the slick between her thighs to be. You shifted your grip to her hips, bruising, and the soft little moan Wednesday gave in response spurred you on. “I wanna hurt you.”

You did, helplessly. Of course, you would rain hell on anyone that so much as lifted a finger against Wednesday, but to hold her trust that came with pain—you wanted that from her, to know when she hurt, when she wanted to hurt. Whether it was holding her back from the edge, or flying and dropping together to the bottom, bodies crashing against one another, you wanted it. Like something out of a classical myth, with wings of wax or blood, you would burn and be burned to feel the weightless warmth of that golden light.

There was no hesitation for Wednesday, just a look in her eyes that you’d come to know intimately as hunger. “Hurt me.” Her voice was low, nearly fond, in your ear as her eyes tracked the blood collecting on your lips. She leaned towards you and licked, tongue to your teeth, translucent saliva mixing with the burgundy. “I want it to hurt—I want you to hurt me.”

When she leaned back, her lipstick was stained with your blood, and it made you want to bleed if only she was the one taking it. You leaned your temple to her jawline, eyes burning at the sun through the windshield. Your hands continued once again up her thighs, just as reverent as before. The two of you never could do anything by half—you were always Wednesday’s. Realizing it, speaking it aloud, confessing or not, couldn’t have changed that. Despite that, as you rocked back and kissed the blood off Wednesday, you felt as though you were on your knees, professing everything you were. Giving one last cheeky swipe of your tongue on her lips, you went to tug Wednesday’s panties down. She followed your lead easily, tossing the expensive garment somewhere to the side. 

“My sweet girl,” you sighed, something possessive curling in your words. “What would you like?”

“Everything.” There was a devout way about her utterance that had your hands shaking with the desire to fulfill her. “Touch me.”

Crossing one arm around her to clasp the back of her neck, you brought her face close to yours, the tips of your noses brushing.

“Everything? How much can we do with ‘everything’ when you’re so sensitive, angel?” On cue, Wednesday’s eyes slipped shut as you drew a finger along her pussy to find her wet and wanting.

“Don’t you think you should be the one to answer that?” Her voice, bold and challenging, shook up your stomach like champagne. You were completely, utterly ruined before Wednesday Addams, and it was a nearly celestial ruin, so bright and beloved it nearly hurt.

You didn’t hesitate, slipping your finger in and grinding your palm on her clit. You didn’t miss her knees sliding further apart, that elusive grin gracing her face as she tipped her head back. Only her tight hold on your shoulders kept her from falling into your lap. Your mouth tasted of iron, such a contrast to Wednesday’s burnt sugar sweat on your tongue as you licked a stripe up her jaw to bite her earlobe. Drawing every small sigh out, you took your time, curling your fingers the way you knew she liked. You squeezed your hand, heavy where her shoulders met her neck. The jagged breaths she took in response made you crave more, and your stomach burned with contentment when she let you press another finger inside of her.

Wednesday’s half lidded eyes tracked down your neck, hunter to the scent of fear, leaving a shiver in her wake. It was inexplicably easy to discern what she wanted, even as she threaded her hands in your hair, something tingling and distracting.

“Go ahead, I know you want to.” Like blood rushing back into white fingertips, her soft lips were on your neck, undoubtedly leaving a smear of lip stain that you’d have to be chastised to wipe off. Almost as if she’d read your mind, she was sucking at your skin, impatient. Already you could feel the raised welt, and the way her tongue soothed the strain.

“You’re mine,” she breathed out, harsh despite the way she was panting with every twist of your fingers.

“Yeah,” you whispered, the haze of being Wednesday’s blurring your every action. “I’m yours.”

You curled your fingers, and had to bite down a moan as her teeth sank deeper into your neck, a cause and effect that you’d kill for. You swore as she set sight on your jawline, the sweet shock of her hot tongue making you shiver. 

“Took you long enough,” she muttered darkly—it seemed she was satisfied with the state of your neck, since you could feel the skin throbbing pleasantly. She leaned back, proffering her own throat.

“I was always yours,” you said easily. “I can just…” you trailed off as your sharp teeth met her skin in the spot you knew she liked, making her cry out, “show you better now.”

Wednesday’s hands tightened in your hair, pulling a broken gasp from your throat. Her smirk, challenging as she took in your reaction, only spurred you on. It was pure selfishness, when you grinned lazily as she tugged. You gave as good as you got, though, each curl of your fingers and shift of your hand had her trembling.

She was close; you could feel it in the uneven cadence of her breath, almost as erratic as yours. Pulling the collar of her sweater aside, you worked your tongue against her jugular, her pulse tempting and honey sweet in your mouth. It was nearly tangible between your teeth, soft and solid, the pounding of her pulse, just milliseconds away from your own.

“C’mon, Wednesday,” you whispered in her ear, “just like that.”

Her breath stuttered, climbing up higher to the returning lump in your throat. It was always a marvel, the way that Wednesday was so incredibly responsive to you, your touch or your words. The hard catch of her lip between her teeth made you grin, and you reached out, tugging it free. You leaned in to kiss her forehead as you slipped your thumb in her mouth instead, your fingers never stopping. 

“Wednesday.” She turned her glossy eyes towards you, and it was the closest you’d ever seen her to coming without really falling. “Let go.”

At your words, she gasped, and you could feel her cunt pulse around your fingers as she came. Her teeth bit into your skin and her eyebrows knitted together ever so gently—you loved to watch her come undone. She was all soft moans and flushed cheeks, open in a way that she hardly ever was otherwise. It unfurled something bright and warm in your chest, spreading out into your fingertips. You felt as hazy as she looked, the smell of her spilling into the air and undoubtedly lingering in your chest.

“That’s perfect, love, you’re so good for me.” You shushed her as she panted, eyes unfocused beneath her mussed fringe, but searing into yours. You continued your palm on her clit, holding her tight as her body stuttered. You moved your hand to cup her face, smoothing over unshed tears along her waterline.

“You’re…” Wednesday gave a low groan as you hit that sensitive spot inside of her again, none too gently.

“Yes,” you answered gently. “You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, won’t you?” She nodded, eager, as she pushed her hips into your hand, even though it made her whole body shiver. 

“Fuck—”

You hummed in response, feeling her cunt open even easier now that she was impossibly wetter. As you worked a third finger into her, Wednesday’s spine went rigid, a whining, desperate sound you’d never thought you’d hear breaking from her throat. She grabbed your hand, and her palms were damp. Her grip on your wrist was tight, just as much keeping you from progressing as it was keeping you from pulling away. You leaned in by her ear. “Does it hurt?”

She gave a jerky nod, jaw clenched and lips parted. You would turn a storm on its head for those ways that Wednesday strayed from her control, especially when you were the one guiding that meandering path. Pressing the heel of your hand into her clit, you laughed, small and indulgent, as she clung tighter to you, a strained little cry escaping. 

“Good girl, Wednesday… you’re taking it so well, aren’t you? You’re taking me so well, darling…” Fisting the front of her sweater in your hand, you pulled her off balance, tugging her close so her lips fell to yours, easy as breathing. Swallowing every single prized whimper that fell from her, you kissed her slow. Wednesday was already sensitive, but this was intense for even her, you could tell. Her breath came shakily against you as you pulled away, having smeared her lipstick to your content. Fingers sliding punishingly against her clit, your laugh rumbled low in your chest as she keened, soft and just a bit pleading.

“Very good, Wednesday, my love,” you coaxed. Her gasp, more like a sob, washed over you in a satisfaction that made you shudder. The slick from her previous orgasm clung to your hand, making it easy to keep up your punishing pace. Her tears shined like sea glass in her lashes, as devout to the cause of ruining her cheeks as the dusk outside was to darkness. You had no idea how much time had passed, only that if she asked, you’d stay right here with her until daylight again.

“I’m—” A whine rose from her throat, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You can do it, baby-” your thumb circled her clit as your fingers found their way impossibly deeper into Wednesday- “just for me, okay?”

“Okay,” she repeated, mindlessly. This world where Wednesday let herself trust you to take care of her was one you could live in, drown in, make your home in. You raised your hand to the juncture of her neck and jaw, heavy and comforting. Reminded of every time Wednesday had put her hand in that same place on you when you were on your knees in front of her, more intimate than anything, you tugged on her wrist, instantly missing her hold in your hair. Intertwining your fingers together, you held your hands together in between you and Wednesday. 

Without a warning, her fingers tightened around yours, so hard that her knuckles turned white. You could see that how hard she came took her by surprise, too—eyes wide open and pupils blown. It was breathtaking, you thought, just how much tension was in her, all tense shoulders and choked cry. Her nails dug into your skin, her grip tethering you from dropping off with her. It stung, and you loved it, the maroon of your blood welling up just enough to smear her fingertips. 

Wednesday’s head fell into the nape of your neck, nuzzling like she could find the world’s secrets in your skin. Hand still in hers, you wiped away the smeared burgundy around the corners of her mouth with your thumb pad, fingers lingering.

“That was devious,” she murmured, words blurring around each other.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckled. She nodded, somewhat resolutely. You eased your fingers out, tucking them surreptitiously into your mouth. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Wednesday, but she only narrowed her eyes.

Even in her post-orgasm daze, Wednesday looked dangerous. Her fringe was all over the place, getting caught in her eyelashes, and you could finally attribute the pink in her cheeks to something a little more than the fogged up windows. Surely, this was heaven on earth, having Wednesday with you, steady as planetal orbit. You shifted her to sit sideways in your lap, making sure her knees didn’t burn from the leather. She was watching you, carefully. It was almost as if she was trying to memorize you, the studious way she looked at you, like she was the sole messenger for a world that wasn’t allowed to take you in. It made your heart pound, finally in accordance with your head. You let her take her time in your arms, rubbing her shoulders. The little press of her lips was back, something you had adored for something dangerously similar to ‘forever.’ She seemed content in a way she hardly ever was, the haze in her eyes clearing as she studied you. 

“You’ve changed a lot since I met you,” she commented, not unkindly.

You looked down into Wednesday’s face, at the night air drifting through her hair again. You could feel the sting from the little crescent shaped marks that her nails left. It was a warm contrast to her cold hand in yours, clasped between you. “You changed me, Wednesday.”

--

wednesday: you have bewitched me, mind, body, and soul… i love, i love, i love you. 

reader: huh?

a/n cont’d for those brave souls that made it this far: yes, wednesday’s dress has pockets. isn’t that wonderful?

I’m SO BAD at writing fluff. plus, reader is the most unreliable narrator to unreliably narrate. should’ve put “painfully oblivious” as a warning for part one too.

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[girlgerard]

sometimes i’ll see a pic of gerard way onstage in 2023 and i’ll suddenly recognize them from specifically 2014-2015.

it’s such a bizarre feeling because gerard was not like. beloved by all in the mcr community during those years, and their social media impact was much smaller, so gway content was mostly just them chatting on twitter 24/7 and the various fuzzy pictures one could find posted after a solo show. it was a weirdly intimate time to be a fan, especially with gerard nonstop rambling about how much they loved trans people.

it’s such a bizarre feeling because imo this tour has been just as vulnerable as when gerard was spilling their guts onstage night after night in 2014-2015, and yet the tone and context is so much different. hesitant alien to me was an album about gerard reforming their view of themself as an artist, as a coincidental leader, and as a person; to see a tour eight years later where it seems like their main thesis is being as true to themself as possible is really important and generous, i think.

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 琅琊榜/Nirvana in Fire.

Nirvana in Fire is a 2015 historical series best described as either a complicated succession drama set in the premodern Chinese imperial palace, or the story of a man who didn't die a decade ago and has decided to make it everyone else's problem.

And really, I almost feel silly giving my glib little summary, because Nirvana in Fire is so well-known of a property. It's a classic for a reason, and that reason is that it's legitimately very good. This show is what happens when you adapt a solid story, get a bunch of very talented actors, and throw a huge amount of money at it. It's incredibly popular and highly acclaimed, and it earned all of the hype.

Still, while I bet there are few people adjacent to c-drama stuff who've never heard of Nirvana in Fire, I'm sure there are plenty who haven't watched it. After all, it looks like one of those slow, serious shows with a lot of ponderous talking and no joy. If that's the impression you've been given, I could imagine looking at the 54-episode commitment and saying, I don't need that in my life.

I am here to tell you you're wrong. It is a banger of a show. It's tense. It's funny. It's heartbreaking. It’s exceptionally clever. It’s jaw-droppingly stupid. It’s romantic. It’s tragic. It has smart plots and bizarre subplots. And that's not even touching the thing with the yeti.

So in case you're one of those people who's heard of Nirvana in Fire, but has put off watching it for one reason or another, I'm here with five reasons I think you should try it.

1. Epic Shit

Did you like the Lord of the Rings? More specifically, did you really like the second Peter Jackson film? Great, then you're all set for this.

I guess I could have called this Game of Thrones without the dragons, but that's not actually the vibe at all. Game of Thrones is much more sensational and salacious, with all the blood and butts and what-not. The Tolkien comparison is more apt, I think, because Nirvana in Fire is equally about as wholesome as you can get in a property where dudes are still getting stabbed all the time.

This is a show about vengeance. And yeah, justice for the fallen, sure, that's fine too. But mostly it's about a bunch of good people joining forces to make sure the bastards who did wrong pay, with their lives as necesary.

The problem, though, is that these bastards are incredibly powerful, which means that a pure brute-force approach isn't going to work. Accordingly, this quickly becomes a story about the power of smart teamwork to exact retribution on some people who can (and did!) legally get away with murder -- and our heroes are some of the people with their necks most on the line if anything goes wrong.

Don't let the Middle Earth comparison fool you into thinking this is all epic swordfights. It's not. (I mean, for one thing, as well-funded as this project is, it doesn't have Peter Jackson Money.) The vast majority of the tension in the show comes from dialogue and slow, terrible realizations. The fight scenes are almost a relief from the nail-biting intensity of intimate conversations about getting a letter from somebody's ex-wife or returning a book.

All told, the show has that incredible almost-RPG vibe of going through all the little subquests and cutscenes you find along the way to defeat the final boss. The plot carefully unravels a multi-tendriled mystery told to you by people in incredible costumes. It doesn't get much more epic than that.

(Nirvana in Fire is also a cautionary tale about how you should be very careful with who gets invited to your birthday party.)

2. A chronically ill protagonist

Okay, right in the first episode, it is established that the main character has three whole completely different names and an old nickname. I'm going to call him Mei Changsu for the duration of this rec post, but let the record show that I could just have easily gone with one of the other three.

What you learn in that same first episode is that Mei Changsu used to be a palace insider, the cocky son of a noble family, only now nearly everyone he used to know thinks he's dead. Also, he's not far off from being actually dead -- he has an unspecified terminal condition that's mostly managed, provided he stays in his little mountain hideaway with his handsome doctor bestie and doesn't return to his old stomping ground and start kicking over hornets' nests.

So guess what he's about to do.

I have to make a note of how brilliant the casting is here: Hu Ge is an action actor! He is a kickpuncher of a man! And I think it's great that you can sort of see his frustration, as well as Mei Changsu's, at having to spend the whole series wrapped in countless layers of fabric and/or lying in bed while everyone around him gets to be the badass action heroes.

Mei Changsu's not faking it, either -- he's actually dying. He expends his energy where he thinks it's necessary, and sometimes that means he has to spend the following week in bed. He's constantly frustrated with himself for what he can't do anymore. He's racing a clock, and that clock is his own failing body. If he dies, the only hope anyone here has for justice dies with him.

He gets two love interests that the show treats pretty much equally. One's a lady general who wasn't even a love interest in the book. The other's the handsome prince who was initially going to be his textual romantic partner in same book, until the author hopped genres from danmei to general historical drama. I can't even call this a love triangle, because there's no competition. He just gets a wife and a husband -- in that he gets neither, because circumstances and his own illness keep him distant from them. He lies to both of then about his condition (among other things). He wants to be with them both and knows he can't be with either. And they in turn have to learn to accept what of him they can and can't have.

(Also, Nihuang (her) and Jingyan (him) are both incredibly gorgeous, which is exactly what bisexual genius Mei Changsu deserves.)

Obviously this isn't a perfect representation of life with chronic illness, largely because Mei Changsu is an incredily wealthy man who lives in a universe with what's basically magic medicine. However, I've seen the story's treatment of him and his condition resonate with a lot of chronically ill viewers, so even with the fantasy layer on it, there's definitely something there.

3. Dave

I have already told the story of how Meng Zhi became "Dave," but long story short, he's such a Dave that I legitimately forget his character's real name. He embodies Daveness. He's The Ultimate Dave.

Dave is an excellent fighter, a loyal friend -- and a terrible liar. He's possbly the only straightforward character in the entire show. When he's asked to be duplicitous, he's comically bad at it. Dave will never do a heel turn. I was misled at first by his semi-evil facial hair, but I have seen the error of my ways. Dave is pure lawful good.

And the reason I list Dave as such a selling point is that having a Dave means you always know what's going on. This is because Dave never knows what's going on, and he has no ego about that, so he asks questions, and other characters have to explain to him what just happened, and that is how you figure out what's going on.

It's an incredibly smart move on the drama's part, because some of the (very fun) schemes are so complicated that there's no way for you, the viewer, to understand them just by watching. Without the internal monologues and omniscent narration of a book, the machinations are opaque. You need things explained -- but why would the schemers explain their schemes? Well, Dave needs some exposition, so here you go.

So if you're worried that you might be left feeling stupid by a show where so many sneaky people are hatching so many complex plans, worry not! Like the good man he is, Dave has your back.

4. A Million Amazing Antagonists

If you like bad guys, this is a show for you. This show has brilliant bad guys all the way down. It has bad guys at every turn. It has bad guys for every taste. Welcome to Big Liang's Big Bad Guy Emporium, where we guarantee you'll walk out of here with a bad guy you like, or your money back!

(And yes, this set of pictures is also to say that their costume budget was entirely well-spent.)

Without getting too far into spoilers, I will say that the basic situation underlying the whole series is this: The emperor has done a lot of bad things, and he has enlisted a bunch of people's help in hiding those bad things, so much so that many of those other people have done even more bad things the emperor didn't even know about -- and then everyone has gone to great lengths to cover those up as well. Our protagonists spend the whole series unraveling this colossal shitshow and bringing people to task for their crimes.

So really, if you're going to spend 54 episodes taking down the baddies, they've got to be baddies you love to see taken down. And these are -- in part because all of them have crystal-clear, rock-solid motivations for their actions. Nobody here is a moustache-twirling comic-book-villain baddie. They're all bad for reasons that are very understandable in their individual contexts. And not a single one of them is going to go down without a fight.

5. World's Best Mom

(Sidebar: The fact that four out of five of my reasons to watch the show are individual or groups of characters should be your strongest indicator that this is an intensely character-driven story.)

This is not a Dead Mom Show. Okay, some moms are dead, but mostly this is a Moms Are Alive And Often Cause Problems Show, which is a lot of what makes the palace drama so delicious. But there is one Good Mom who stands out above all the rest: Consort Jing.

Played with perfect grace and devastating politeness by the stunning Liu Mintao, Consort Jing is a skilled doctor and excellent baker who starts the show with a low-level status among the women of the palace. She swallows down all kinds of mistreatment because she's not in a place to oppose it -- and when she can retaliate, it must only be through soft power. She loves her jock son with all her heart, but because of both their relatively poor positions in the hierarchy, she doesn't get to see him all that much. She wants to be an asset to him, while all the time she has to fear becoming a liability.

She is also the smartest person in any room that she's in, unless she's in a room with Mei Changsu, and even then it may be a tie.

There are lots of great characters in the show that I could have highlighted here, and plenty of them are women, but Consort Jing in particular never ceases to impress me. She is trapped in a gilded cage, married to a man who [lengthy list of spoilers that are traumatic to her in particular], and held hostage by how every time she even looks like she's out of line, it puts both her and her boy in danger. She's the most vulnerable of any of our good guys. Kind of like Wang Zhi, she's got to be clever or she's dead.

Consort Jing is not part of Mei Changsu's original plan. She figures out his plan and makes herself part of it -- and entirely remotely, as she and he aren't even in the same room until episode 40 or so. She puts herself in great danger to make sure he succeeds, not because it will necessarily do her any good, but because Jingyan needs him. This woman has been captain of the Mei Changsu/Jingyan ship for like twenty years already.

Oh, and did I mention her outfits?

I love you, Consort Mom.

Are you ready to watch it yet?

Get it on Viki! Get it on YouTube! Get it on YouTube but in a different playlist! (And also maybe get it on Amazon? Not in my region, but maybe in yours.)

I will warn you that it does take off running -- I think I saw someone say it introduces nineteen characters in the first episode? I was worried that I'd be too innundated by situations and flashbacks and names to be able to follow. By the second or third episode, though, I was rolling with it. So if you feel like you're struggling at the beginning, stick with it a bit. See if you don't feel it start to click.

...Man, reading over this post has left me going, oh, but I missed that! and that! and that guy! And yeah, the truth is that there are just so many great things about the show that limiting myself to only five (and being limited to only thirty images) was tough. I'm sure that people reblogging will add their own must-see elements.

Truly, this is a show that deserves its reputation. It may not be for everyone, but if this is the kind of thing that you like, it is a shining example of that thing.

Besides, you have to love a production where everyone was clearly having just a whole lot of fun being big ol' costumed dorks.

[kaybreezy3000]

You never know what kind of trouble you might find if you put yourself out there and speak your mind, and tonight, that kind of trouble is Five Hargreeves.

~Set post season three. (the 6-ish years later thing) Five is older, but still struggling with life and you happen to find yourself at a party with him.

~Title note: The saying 'keeping it under your hat' simply means, think it but don’t say it.

(9827 words)

~Rated Mature for sexual themes, but it's still full of other fun too so you can skip that part and pop back in at the end if you aren't into it.~ Warning for the full rated E/dirty stuff is marked with a ⚠️ then you can come back in after the next ⚠️

Warnings: explicit sexual content, rough sex, spanking, daddy kink, super mild humiliation play, and Five pretty much being the quirky, sweet, and sexy guy I like to think he is under that hat.

Under Your Hat

The living room of the apartment was packed with people, and you didn’t know most of them. If not for Lila and Diego insisting that you had to attend their baby reveal party, you would have been at home with your nose in a book.

You had become good friends with the couple since you had first met them, and it wasn’t that you didn’t want to be there. The problem was you had always been more of a wall-flower type and not one who thrived in loud crowds.

Feeling out of place and seeing your chance, you politely excused yourself from conversation you were pulled into about eyelash perms. You had nothing to add to that topic and looking around you as you escaped the group of Barbie look-alikes that enjoyed talking about all things them, you noticed that you weren’t the only one there who seemed to feel the way you did.

Diego’s brother appeared as unenthused as a person could be. He was standing there with one hand jammed in his front pant pocket as he stared at the drink in his hand with all the enthusiasm of a sloth taking a nap.

You had to smile at that.

Five Hargreeves clearly wasn’t having the time of his life, but when he unexpectedly looked up and busted you looking at him, you swore his lips tuned up just a little.

Damn.

You’d seen a few pictures of Five in the press but he was never happy in them. Now you could see that he could break hearts by deploying even the smallest smile, which apparently wasn’t something he did often because that small crack in his otherwise somber demeanor was the first you’d seen all night, and you’d know because since he arrived your eyes had felt magnetically drawn to him.

You couldn’t help it, and you could only blame that partly on all the things Diego and Lila had told you about him. Because of them, you knew all about the infamous Number Five and not just the things the public had been told. Five may have looked young again, but he was anything but a naïve college boy who was just starting out in life, and you found his story tragic but also fascinating.

You couldn’t help but admire him and how he looked in his perfectly tailored three-piece suit. All guys tended to look good when dressed to impress like he was, but somehow, he was making the look so innocently charming that it was making you feel inappropriately warm.

Shaking off the jittery feeling just his quick glance had given you, you moved over to the kitchen. The counter had two punch bowls sitting on it for guests to choose from. Selecting a scoop of the one you hadn’t tried yet; you filled your cup with the pink colored poison then continued maneuvering your way through the swarm of people.

Just as you were meandering over to a corner to hide in, Lila spotted you and called out, waving you over.

Here we go…

You had every intention of talking with them again before you left, but right then, almost their entire family were over there and…

Yeah.

You had heard about the Umbrella Academy and the Hargreeves since you were just a kid, and you loved Diego and Lila and their little boy, but that didn’t make it any less bizarre or intimidating being at such an intimate gathering with all of them. None of them looked like they did back in their glory days. Those famous kids wearing their fancy blue academy blazers and goofy shorts paired with their superhero masks were no more but to say you were still slightly awestruck was a gross understatement.

As you shyly approached, you heard Five snappily asking, “Do you have too many tabs open in your brain again, Lila?”

Lila snorted as she took you by the hand, pulling you into their fold.

“Sure, says the so-called genius who talks to himself and who's romantically involved with his hand,” she shot back, then took a second to introduce you to her verbal sparring partner since you’d already met the rest of the family when you got there.

Five’s eyes narrowed a tad as he took you in, then his expression warmed with his dimpled smile as he extended his hand and casually introduced himself.

When your skin touched his, you felt a strange spark-like sensation that left you with quick quivering aftershocks as if you’d just picked up too much static. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stifle the small squeak that came out of you from the sensation of it, and there was no mistaking the devious look in Five’s eyes over your reaction.

Then, as if he hadn’t just intentionally done something to you, with his soft looking lips still quirked up, Five looked back at Lila and coolly said, “To get back to addressing your needless concerns about what I do with my free time, of course, I am good with my hands and talking to myself. That is not news. I am a survivor and I take care of my business and always have. And further, sometimes I need an export opinion and I sure as hell won’t be getting it from any of you idiots, so just back off.”

“Urgh,” Lila protested. “There he goes again saying we are all idiots. Diego, my idiot, my love, Why did we invite him again? Oh yeah, because Five has no social life, which is exactly my point.”

Diego obviously heard her, but he continued messing around on his phone, rearranging the songs on his playlist rather than joining their argument.

Towering over everyone but looking meek as a kitten, Luther awkwardly cleared his throat. “She’s not wrong, Five. Perhaps it is time to spread your wings and fly.”

“And when did you do that again?” Five hissed. “Not until you were twenty-nine!”

Clearly you had stumbled into a conversation that wasn’t meant for your ears, but you had a pretty good idea of what they were talking about because Diego had told you that Five was very reclusive. You couldn’t really blame him for that, not with him being in an extremely complicated situation that would make starting any kind of new relationship very hard. Telling people the truth about his life would never be easy and from what you could see, most people didn’t seem interested in breaking the ice with the standoffish ex-temporal assassin anyway.

As you were mentally questioning if it was just because Five gave off the don’t fuck with me vibe, or if it was just the very little people did know of him that kept them away, Klaus reached over and squeezed Five on the arm as he said, “Don’t worry, man. I get it. We all do, it’s just-"

Five looked like he might bite his brother’s hand off if he didn’t remove it. “No, you don’t get it," he interrupted, "and I said drop it with your hippy guru therapy shit.”

Lila tisked and Five looked at her then rolled his eyes so far back that you thought they might get lost inside his head. She smacked Diego. “Hey! Back us up. Your brother is being a bore as usual and as much as much as I hate the pervy little muppet, I have had enough of his brooding.”

Totally distracted or maybe just still pretending to be, Diego slammed the rest of his drink, then went back to mouthing lyrics as he bobbed his head to the bass thumping rap music he’d just put on.

Taking a long drink of your own beverage, you mulled over what you were seeing and hearing.

Lila often spoke of Five with a distaste, but you could tell that under all her condemnation there was a fondness there built on things only they could understand. She cared about him, and the feeling had to be mutual otherwise she wouldn’t be bothering with him and Five wouldn’t have come in the door an hour ago with a huge stuffed animal for their son and an equally big gift covered in yellow and green wrapping paper for their unborn child that you were all there to honor.

Seeing as Diego was still ignoring her, and Five shut down his other two brothers, Lila tried again, which again proved that her meddling wasn’t just for the fun of fucking with him, though it seemed she was enjoying that too, especially since you’d come over.

“Five, all I am saying is, sometimes you’re the bird and sometimes you’re the statue. Stop being the statue that all the happy carefree free birds crap on,” she metaphorically explained. “You’d look better without all their shit mucking up that sour face of yours. Lighten up and maybe try hitting on someone not made of plastic.”

Your eyes popped as she looked over and grinned.

What?

Plastic? Did she mean like the Babies girls over there and their fake tits and lip fillers?

Shaking his head as he pulled a hand back through his hair, Five huffily sighed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Dolores and I have moved on. And as much as your hairbrained logic proves my point about your questionable brain function, I’m sorry, I have to go. You’re boring me to death and my survival instincts are kicking in.”

Just like that, to your dismay, the most interesting person there started to walk away, but then Diego jumped in, holding up a finger for him to wait. He sprinted off to a closet by their front hall. When he came back a few seconds later, he dumped a fedora on his younger looking brother’s head.

“There, buddy,” Diego happily exclaimed as Five apprehensively glanced up at the brim of the gray hat. “We have been meaning to give this to you. The old guy who used to live here left a bunch of weird shit behind. It fits your grumpy grandpa style and Lila said you used to wear one just like it.”

Five took off the hat, blankly looking at it.

Verbally jabbing him even more, Lila said, “This really does complete your stick up your arse look and I am sure it will be a big hit with the ladies.”

Not sure what got into you as you watched Five’s face becoming more and more troubled, you rapidly blurted, “It’s true. I think it makes you look very sexy.”

Looking about as surprised as you over that coming out of your mouth, Five slowly placed the hat back on his head, then he proceeded to slam the rest of his drink and go back to staring at the empty cup rather than acknowledge your compliment or his family who were now conspiratorially looking between the two of you as they sniggered like a bunch of shithead schoolgirls.

Seeing as Five was choosing to withdraw even after you’d acted totally out of character and hit on him in front of everyone, Diego gently elbowed him in the side and said, “Earth to Five. Maybe you’d have better luck picking up a date if you pulled your head out of your ass and tried to be nice for once.”

Jaw working as if he was thinking very hard about something, Five’s deeply expressive eyes suddenly flipped up, meeting yours for just a moment before he looked back at Diego, and scowled. “First, it was a stick up there, and now you say it’s my head. “What’s with you weridos and things in my ass?”

They had ganged up on him, but there he was, defiantly standing there with that silly hat perched on his chocolate-colored mane while he was being all grumbly but somehow doing it while sounding more adorable and looking more handsome than anyone you had ever seen.

To add to your night of doing embarrassing things, glancing down at Five’s rather nice butt, he busted you again and so did Lila. Her snort of a laugh over your indiscretion was the moment you couldn’t hold it in anymore and you started cracking up too, almost choking on your drink when Klaus declared, “Looks like we aren’t the only ones obsessing over your cute ass, Fivey. It’s a force to be reckoned with.”

For some reason the predatory look Five was offering you only made your fit of giggles worse. His ass was very cute and he was owning that ridiculous hat and then some, and damn did he look good when he was mad.

He slowly licked his lips. That openly hungry look in his pale green eyes aimed directly at you and it made you shiver even though the temperature in the room felt like it had suddenly become volcanically warm.

Did the air just get sucked out of the room?

Your skin prickled. 

You stopped laughing and your mouth snapped shut.

Of course, this is when Lila and Diego had suddenly become engaged with a few of their guests that had just come in, and Luther was also talking with someone else, and Klaus had gotten pulled away. You were quickly feeling very out of place again. Not sure what to say, you tried to move away, but Five snatched you by the wrist as you tried to pass.

“Do you think I’m going to let you laugh at me and get away with it?” His words came out with a razor sharp edge to them, and at first you didn’t know what to say and he clearly knew he had you totally flustered based on his haughty smirk.

“I wasn’t laughing at you because of what your family was saying. I think they were being a bit harsh but it’s only because they care,” you nervously explained.

“Oh, really? Why were you laughing then?”

You swore your cheeks must have been glowing they were so hot as you answered with your partial lie. “I laughed because I think the things you say are hilarious. I love a man with a dry sense of humor.”

Five’s fingers tickled the underside of your wrist. His smile grew bigger as he flashed his perfect white teeth. “I am gathering that you’ve heard all sorts of things about me and yet you still think I am sexy? You think I am funny when I am being a dick and you evidently like looking at my ass… Is that right or did I miss something?”

He raised a brow at you.

“Er...”

After giving that very articulate answer, you figured you might as well die right then and there and Five looked no less amused by that.

The fact that he was trapping you and he was a very dangerous man hadn’t escaped your attention. The way he was looking at you and the way he was blocking your path were making that even more evident, but then he brought your hand to his mouth and threw you for a loop when he gently kissed the top of it.

You didn’t know what to say but Five didn’t seem to mind as he confidently added, “Despite the things they say about me, being good friends with your hand simply makes me aware of how to use it, and believe me, I know how to use them both and not just on myself.”

Five pulled you closer, his lips moving to your ear as he set his cup down on the small end table next to you.

“Since you seem so interested, I love to show you what I can do.” His hand tightened around yours. “To start, I could be a gentleman and save you from this party you seem to be enjoying so much. I could gallantly escort you out of here and we could get to know each other a little better, somewhere a little quieter…”

Gulp.

Did he really just say that?

Five’s smile turned sweetly innocent again and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “By that, of course I mean, I could buy you a coffee and we could take a nice friendly hand-in-hand stroll through the park, or we could do something equally as enjoyable. My attitude doesn’t have to be the only reason I yell and roll my eyes in the back of my head.”

He winked and your heart skipped a beat.

You couldn’t believe your ears. Five started to pull away.

“So? What do you think? Are you game?” he questioned.

Just then, Klaus came running through, flipping over the back of the couch before tackling Five.

“You can’t leave yet!” he yelled as Five went flying into the back of the chair behind him.

The crowd moved back but it was too late for you and the bowl of chips that went airborne.

Though smaller than his brother, Five was visibly not out matched and he could give two shits about going off on Klaus in front of everyone. Five surged at Klaus, shoving him back but Klaus leaped back up almost as fast as he took a nosedive. He launched himself again, this time frazzling Five’s hair into a fuzzy looking tangled nest but Five disappeared in a flash of blue then reappeared and nailed him in the gut with his knee. 

Klaus curled in on himself but not before snatching the gray fedora off Five’s head. Then wheezing with laughter, he smacked Five in the butt then ran away yelling something extremely mature that sounded a lot like, ‘Na-na na-na boo-boo, can’t catch me I’m the ghost whispering gingerbread man!’

You wiped a hand down your wet face and looked down at your shirt that just got splashed with the high-octane blue beverage Klaus had been holding and accidentally tossed during his ambush.

With his back to you still as he looked in the direction Klaus had run off in, Five angrily breathlessly panted, “Sometimes I really hate that asshole.”

His hands came up, threading through his messy hair, then they ran down his rumpled vest before he straightened his silk tie. He started to turn back your way saying, “The jellyfish has existed as a species for 500 million years, surviving just fine without a brain, so that gives me…” Five’s mouth stopped moving when he saw you, “-that gives me hope for- Him. Shit…” He started yanking his hair again. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Gone was that foxy smile and the smooth talker that seemed to know just how to push all your buttons. Five was fiddling with his hands at his sides like he didn’t know what to do or say now that the moment between you had been interrupted.

Just as you were about to assure him that it was nothing and you were fine, Luther and Diego came over yelling something about them acting like children. Seeing that Five was engaged with yelling back at them, you quickly hurried off to the bathroom.

As you entered Lila and Diego’s bedroom and beelined it for their private bathroom, you couldn’t believe that had just happened or how much Five had gotten to you.

Looking down at your nearly empty drink sitting on the counter, then at your sticky face in the mirror, you laughed at yourself.

In your head, you had already convinced yourself that you were reading it all wrong. There was no way Five was hitting on you, not when there were about a million other better options of people to flirt with out there in this world, not to mention in that apartment.

You were super buzzed enough to let your eyes wander places they shouldn’t and your alcohol loosened lips said some very forward things and he was just messing with you because of it, or maybe even trying to be nice since his family had been drilling him so hard about it.

Sure… Nice wouldn’t be alluding to the things he was, but still. There was no way someone like Five Hargreeves was trying to get with someone like you.

Was there?

Out in the living room, unbeknownst to you, Five had finished telling Luther and Diego to fuck off then he broke away from the crowd.

When he reached his brother’s bedroom door and found Klaus was lying across their bed, he glared bitterly. “Someday I am going to blink you to Antarctica and leave you there.”

Klaus just laughed. “Awww, sorry about that, Lil’ brosnap. I didn’t see who you were talking to. I just thought you were bailing, and I didn’t want you to go yet.” He lazily tossed the stolen gray hat up in the air and purposely nodded towards the door next to the bed.

Glancing that way, Five could see the light pouring out from under the door.

Hearing you talking on your phone inside, he looked at Klaus, shaking an admonishing finger at him. “Thanks to you, she is probably in there calling a cab. She probably wants to get away from me and this moronic family as fast as possible!”

Just as Klaus was about to open his mouth, Five brought a finger up to his lips, wordlessly shushing him. Klaus grinned wider as he twirled the old hat on his finger.

Five came in further, and Klaus loudly whispered, “That’s it. You got this, buddy. She is so wet over your cute little old man ways. Go get her!”

Five stomped over, stealing his new hat from him, then smashed it down on his head.

“She’s wet because you spilled on her!” he snarled, while ignoring whatever else Klaus was suggesting with his dirty hand gestures.

Five silently made his way over to the bathroom door again, raising his hand to knock but paused midair and turned. “Get the fuck out!” he angrily whispered.

Looking thrilled as ever, Klaus jumped up and skipped back out to rejoin the party.

Five took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing, old man.” He quickly readjusted his hat and softly knocked on the yellowed paint covering the wooden barrier in front of him.

He’d hardly pushed on the door, but to both your surprise, the old latch gave and the next thing you knew, you were standing there, with your shirt unbuttoned halfway down and Five staring at you with wide eyes and a rapidly gaping jaw.

“Fuck,” he cursed as you clung to the washcloth you were using to clean yourself while you also clumsily tried to close your shirt, but it was too late, he’d seen your goods and his face looked absolutely stunned from the sight.

“Oh my God this is embarrassing,” you moaned as you turned around, still trying to right yourself.

You were sure Five was going to turn around and walk away and you’d never see his captivating features looking so adorably flustered ever again, but then he stepped inside.

You looked up at his reflection staring back at you through the mirror and that look of shock was replaced by something else entirely menacing.

Five appeared right behind you a second later in a flash of bluish light and you jolted in astonishment over it. You knew about his powers. He’d even given you a tiny taste of what he had inside him when you shook his hand, but you’d never seen it or felt what it was like to have a teleporter’s electrified touch tease your skin by merely flexing his strength that close to you.

Your heart raced.

“Holy shit, you scared me,” you gasped.

Five smiled.

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” His answer came out so close, his breath tingling the fine hairs on the back of your neck as it cascaded down, making your thighs tense with aching want.

You swallowed thickly, then said, “I thought the door was locked. I- I-ah…”

“I am glad it wasn’t.”

Through the mirror his gaze shamelessly moved down your body before meeting your questioning eyes again.

“I was going to come in here and apologize for what happened out there,” he said, his words quiet and steady, a stark contrast from the torrents of butterflies that were making it feel like you might start quivering all over from him simply being so close. “That was no way for me to treat a lady I was trying to seduce.”

So much for those butterflies staying in their net.

“Wha-what?” you stammered.

“I may look like I am doing nothing while I am awkwardly trying to navigate social situations like this, but in my head, I have been quite busy. The last hour I have been trying to figure out how to approach you. I came to drop off my gifts, but you are the reason I stayed this long.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he laughed, and you felt the back of his wool pants brush against your leg. “And it turns out Lila wasn’t wrong this time,” he furthered. “I heard so many things about you, but nothing could prepare me for your timeless beauty, or how your mouth moves without your consent because then I get to hear your unfiltered thoughts while your cheeks become as pink as your kissable looking lips.” His eyes lowered to those lips. “In my last relationship one could say I got lost inside my own head, so I am not good at this kind of thing, and I appreciate your candor. If you hadn’t said what you did, I would have never had the balls to speak to you.”

The points of his shoes moved into view next to yours.

“You made it easy for me and the math is really simple. First, add the bed, then subtract the clothes, and hope we don’t multiply. That’s how this is supposed to go, right?”

You rapidly blinked.

“I am just kidding…well, sort of,” he teased. “I know this is fast but speaking of honesty and saying what’s on your mind. I am dying to kiss you. Can I?” he softly questioned.

Without even thinking you whispered back a yes.

Five’s arm began to slip around you and his warm lips hit your shoulder. This was not the kiss you were expecting, but then again, you weren’t facing him and nothing about Five was what you were expecting.

“Do you like this?” he asked against your neck while you fell back into him.

“I do,” you quietly replied as Five applied a barrage of super soft kisses from behind and he tightened his hold.

Not letting up on his affections, he continued tickling you with his lips as the thrum of the song that had just come on rattled the walls in the tiny bathroom.

Was this happening?

Thinking nothing other than you didn’t want this to stop, your hands came up, reaching behind you as your fingertips slid along the crown of Five’s hat, lightly holding him to you.

For someone that supposedly didn’t get out much or date, you were thinking that Five was very good at this seduction thing. Then his hands at your waist loosened and your eyes flit back open the moment his magical lips detached from your skin.

He was watching you with a peculiar sort of expression. You were not sure what you were seeing. You could almost imagine his clever green eyes, slightly more crinkled in the corners, and his sharp jaw, all still the same but different as he aged and someday again became the person he was on the inside.

He was a contradiction of outward behavior and his young face under that old man’s hat had you wanting him in ways that were all sorts of wrong.

“You really do like this hat, don’t you?” he teased as your fingers latched onto the brim again then moved down to the silky ends of his hair that was flipped out boyishly behind his ears.

“I do,” you admitted as you ran your fingernails into his scalp.

⚠️(naughty part starting)

Five let out the sweetest sound of joy over the feel of you touching him, then his body pressed up behind you and you immediately felt the heat of his arousal pressed between your butt cheeks.

Your brain did a somersault, and your mouth went off again. “I mean, I was going to say that- Ah… That you look very nice one way or another, hat or no hat. I should have clarified out there but then I felt stupid for saying anything and then I got all wet and…”

Totally losing your mind and your confidence, you dropped your hands in front of you again, twisting them anxiously.

Five’s smile deepened. “For starters, I had been thinking of grabbing coffee and taking you on a get to know you better date, but now with you writhing your beautiful body all over me, you’ve got me thinking I need to get you even more wet before we can get out of here and do that. Will you let me touch you a little more?” he calmly replied, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly slid his hands over the planes of your stomach, then down over the curves of your waist where he took your hands under his and brought them between your legs.

It felt like you were having an outer body experience.

When you didn’t answer, Five started to pull away and you reactively laced your fingers between his, keeping him attached to you as your body melted back into his like you were two puzzle pieces always meant to be put together.

As you slowly moved your hand in his over your need, there was no denying that you wanted him or that he wanted you, not with how his eyes blithely closed and reopened just as hypnotically as his uttered wishes rolled off his tongue. “Will you let me pleasure you, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart?

You whimpered and closed your own eyes to another one of his feather light kisses moving along your throat.

Five nuzzled his face against your skin, humming in appreciation as he brushed your hair aside and ran his lips over every inch of you that he could get at. The shell of your ear was captured between his lips, his teeth running along the length.

Unwilling and unable to stop this anymore than Five was, you snuck a hand behind you, giving his belt a tug so he poked you from behind hard enough to make your smile brighten with renewed confidence.

Thinking of his impressive erection and the scandal over the fact that the bathroom door was still cracked open, you started to rub your ass back into him very deliberately.

“Oh, fuck, the things I want to do to your sweet ass,” he huskily breathed as his fingers dug into your hips almost painfully.

“Do it then,” you challenged.

“I am going to make it impossible for you to forget me. You’ll be ruined for anyone else when I’m done with you,” Five darkly warned.

“I am not scared,” you purred back, and to that, Five gave a quick huff of a laugh and a not so soft nip on your shoulder in reprimand for your white lie. “It’s okay if you are scared. You’d be foolish not to be.”

After that matter of fact comment, Five contentedly sucked on your earlobe as his hands slid down your thighs, kneading them as he worked your skirt up.

Your barely contained sighs as you repeatedly drove your bottom back against his dick were letting him know you weren’t deterred by his warning, but to your dismay, Five abruptly pulled away again.

Almost right away your mouth opened with a flood of complaints.

“No, Five! Come back!” You had just whined so pathetically that you instantly wanted to hide your face but Five wouldn’t let you. His hand came up, forcing your chin back up so you had to look at him.

Looking happy as ever, Five then nudged his new hat up just a little, making him look even more unbelievably attractive now that it was sitting crooked. "Damn. You’re already a fluttering mess for me,” he said followed by a quick laugh. “You want daddy to do very bad things to you, don’t you, naughty girl.”

“No, I don’t!” you shot back and Five smirked even more at your fake look of indignation.

“Beg for it,” he commanded.

Of course, to that, you said nothing and tried to lay it on thicker, sulking even more as you carefully worked your ass back along his shaft despite his lame attempt to hold you off.

“Admit that you have been undressing me with your eyes ever since I walked in the door,” he taunted.

“I was not.”

“You are begging to be punished for these blatant lies,” he coarsely breathed against the back of your neck as he aggressively kneaded his palm over your bottom.

Undeterred by your refusal to give in, Five began urging you to lean over with one of his hands pushing down on your upper back. When you obediently did as he wished, he pulled his hand off you, bringing it back only a second later with a burning slap delivered to your left ass cheek.

Eyes peeled wide, you looked back at him through the mirror, pretending to be appalled, but you cracked quickly enough, smiling back cheekily as you said, “Uh-oh, looks like daddy is mad at me."

At first Five looked surprised by what you'd said but then just as quickly, he pursed his lips and shrugged. “I’m not mad, sweetheart, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences for you not confessing how much you want me to fuck you. Almost from the start I knew there was a very bad girl hiding underneath that coy smile of yours.”

Five gave your ass cheek another swift spank. This time it was harder, the blooming sting hitting you both where his hand had just been and between your legs where the fresh flood of your desire leaked hotly onto your panties.

“You’re a dirty girl who wants daddy to fuck you hard. Say it.”

You didn’t, so he did it again. As Five’s hand made contact your body reactively dropped lower and your head thunked against the countertop as a soft moan of desperation crawled out of your mouth.

“You can hardly contain yourself,” Five mocked as he fingers lightly traveled from behind then down over your underwear. As he felt the moist heat he’d caused, Five let out the most filthy sound of approval.

He had called it. You may be a closeted naughty girl but Five Hargreeves was evidently not all he appeared to be either and not in the way you thought.

Flipping your hair and angling your head up, you breathlessly licked the drool from your lips then said, “I can take whatever you’ve got. Give me more if you think you’ve got it in you.” To add to that, one of your high heels lifted and rubbed against Five’s ankle.

Seeming to mentally pause over your comment that was meant to provoke him, Five massaged his hand over the spot he’d just slapped. With the blood raised to the surface of your skin, it almost felt like too much with him just doing that but somehow, compared to you, he still looked mostly unmoved.

You were quickly realizing that Five could be unbelievably tender, but something in him craved submission, which was fine by you but you knew there was only so long before someone came in there and this titillating game of foreplay couldn’t last forever.

Probably realizing the same thing, pulling you back upright, Five leaned into your ear again. “Don’t worry, I got it in me, honey. I am just waiting to hear the right words,” he assured, as he gave your side a fresh tickle while also letting his fingers on his other hand mosey inside your slightly open blouse.

Five’s fingers grazed your round mounds of flesh that were already moving up and down heavily thanks to the coil of need inside you that was building to a point it felt like it could burst at any moment. As his fingers threaded along your nipples another kittenish sigh filled the small room.

“Ah, fuck, I wanted you from the moment I saw you,” you frantically moaned. “Please fuck me, Five.”

Just as something slammed into the wall from the other side, you noticed that for the first time Five looked hesitant, but then his breath tensely pulled in and he said, “Fuck it.” He cocked his head at you and grinned. “Hold on tight. I’m not stopping until you’re crying out my name.”

Right then, the 80’s pop song playing ended and a more club type of music started to play, thumping bass through the speakers in the living room loud enough to shake the floor under your feet.

All at once, you lifted your body and grasped the back of Five’s neck as you pulled his face against yours. Trying your best to kiss him, you rolled your body against his to the beat.

He smelled so good, something between fresh air and a spicy rich scent you couldn’t name. His body molded to yours as you moved together in a way you knew someone as reserved as him wouldn’t be doing if you were doing this dance in front of everyone else.

Five rapidly rewarded your efforts to get more of him with his own frantic kisses moving along your jaw as you began massaging your fingers through his soft hair. With his chin, Five worked your collar down while he pushed his hips into you, undulating them to the music.

While he had you occupied with his gyrating dance moves, he shoved his foot back, kicking the bathroom door closed. No sooner was that done, than he had one hand lifting the hem of your skirt again so he could slide it inside the front of your underwear.

Your breath hitched as your body twisted from the abrupt contact of his diligently circling fingers.

His words buzzed in between kisses and him humping your ass.“Do you want to dance with me, or fuck me, sweetheart?” 

You gave him the only answer you could because it was true. “Both”

Pushing him along, you leaned over and gripped the counter in a way that you knew would look very encouraging.

Five kept close, moving right along with you, fingering you with his arm around your front, but he also started tearing at his belt with his other hand, opening it and his pants as fast as he possibly could. Once freed, his pants fell to the floor, the metal of his belt hitting the tiles with a sharp clank.

With that done, Five yanked your underwear down and out of the way. Though you were being dominated by his brilliant finger fucking, you managed to shimmy the lace down the rest of the way, kicking out of the tiny garment once it hit your heels.

No sooner had you done that than Five brought his slicked fingers around your backside, and with no word of warning, he moved two fingers inside you from the back. Just as fast, you were making the most scandalous sounds of consent over the forceful act and how perfectly he was hooking his fingers.

To make it all the better, you could hear Five angrily fisting his erection as he grated out his next words. “I need to be inside you, right now. Just like this. Is that okay?”

To answer his question, you bent just a bit more, inviting him to take what he wanted. Five dipped forward rubbing the tip of dick between your cheeks. The precum seeping out of him brushed down your entire crack as if to scramble your brain even more with the question of which hole he had meant when he said, 'just like this' and 'is this okay.'

The angle was perfect for both one way or another, the counter height just right, and you could even see his beautiful face in the mirror in front of you. Now all he needed to do was take what was already his no matter how he decided to take it. You didn’t care anymore, that was how much this man had broken you.

Only letting out a small noise of complaint when he removed his fingers from inside you, Five was quick to replace them. Shuffling closer with his pants around his polished shoes, and one hand on your hip, Five slid the heavy tip of his cock across your swollen folds.

You tensed slightly when he began pushing inside.

Feeling that, Five’s throat hummed with something pained sounding and he slowed himself.

Your body fought against his as he gradually sunk deeper, everything feeling more intense with him taking you from behind. Your soft sighs as he continued penetrating you were each met with his own hissing curses.

“This feels… Fffff- Oh fuck you feel so good,” he spat.

His praise wasn’t coming out very eloquent compared to his normally more well thought out orations, but considering it felt like he just drove his dick all the way through to your belly button, that was apparently all he had, and you could hardly speak a single syllable or a vowel any better to explain what you were feeling.

Once fully encircled by your heat, while you were lost in how deep he was, Five wasted no time jerking your hips back to him so he could bury himself all over again.

That time he bottomed out on one shove.

“Aaahh-ffffmmm!” you loudly moaned as your hands searched for purchase on the smooth countertop and several bottles of toiletries tipped and rolled into the sink.

“Fuck me. I think my dick just entered the gates of Heaven on Earth,” Five groaned, and you couldn’t help but shakily laugh at that and the completely wrecked face he was making.

Also feeling lightheaded with lust, peering up at him through the mirror, you gave him something else to think about. “I knew my tight pussy would ruin you for anyone else…honey.”

Looking all at once shaken by your garish comment that mimicked his, Five then shocked you when his grip loosened on your waist and his hand reconnected with your ass so hard your legs nearly gave out.

“Such a bad girl,” he growled back with his nostrils flaring but he looked so fucking hot in his near manic state that it and his debasing treatment only made you even more lost in the insanity of the moment and painfully delicious pleasure he was giving you.

“Oh, yes, da-ddy…please, just like that, doh-don’t st-op,” you loudly pleaded with him to keep fucking you just like he was, all the while hoping the music was enough to prevent anyone hearing your sputtered cries.

And just like he’d said, Five didn’t stop.

He slapped and groped, again and again as his cock moved in and out with a carefully calculated cadence. You buried your head against your arm to stifle your moans. Just the sound of his hips thwacking against your butt each time he threw his cock into you was enough to make it feel like you’d lost touch with reality.

Your eyes crashed closed as everything around you disappeared but you and him.

Five reached around your waist so he could play with your clit again and almost instantly, your legs started trembling and that only made him work his hand harder.

“Ffffffff-iiiive!”

His breath hitched with each determined thrust as he disjointedly said, “That’s- Right. Say. My. Name!”

"Oh, fuck yes, Five! Ffffuucc-" Your words were cut off by another obscene sounding whimper.

You were about to double over. The blessing of warmth crashed down around you, your entire body feeling like it could burst as you fell over the edge with pulsing waves of pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you breathed in-between Five’s cock sliding in and out of you as your ass continued to get wildly bounced off his powerful hips.

Having taken care of you, Five withdrew his fingers from between your legs, then he gripped you by the hair tugging you up.

Even though you could hardly stand, let alone think straight as your body continued to spasm around his cock, you swiftly complied, angling your head back, as you arched your body against his punishing hold.

This new angle changed things up dramatically and not in a bad way. Five’s cock was filling you, the rounded tip sliding in and out and catching just right. You held your breath as you savored the feeling of him taking complete control of your body.

Your droopy eyes could hardly stay open but every time you tried to close them, Five would tug your hair. “Look at me,” he demanded.

He all but lifted your weight off the floor so he could angle his hips up and down even more, which quickly had you shuddering all over again and showering him with dizzying rambles of praise.

“You are so- So…fuck-ing amazing, Ffff-ivvve. Fu-ah-ah-kkkkk!”

He grunted his agreement, then let go of your waist as he started feverishly trying to get his hands on your breasts. Frustrated that your shirt was preventing him from getting at all of you, he suddenly ripped it the rest of the way open. The buttons flew everywhere, but neither of you so much as flinched as they scattered around your feet.

Having got what he wanted, Five kept at it, fervently grinding myself up against your ass as he massaged and pinched your nipples with his hands shoved under the cups of your bra.

Watching your reflections in the mirror, his darkened eyes felt like they could see right through to your soul. Speaking softly next to your ear, he spoke his next words between low bitten off groans. “I’m not- Stopping. Until you- Ca-um again.”

Even though you had not objected, that didn't prevent Five from digging in the sharp points of his teeth into your shoulder until you breathed the word please, over and over.

Even having just climaxed twice already, and without his hand stimulating your clit, you were close again. You started to shake, your legs turning to jelly with each violent jolt of his hips.

Not sure if you could stay on your feet, you tried to reach for the counter, but Five wouldn’t let you go. He kept at it, tightly detaining you so he could keep plowing into you from behind.

The second you were lost in orgasmic bliss again, he gave in, finally seeking his own release, and it only took a moment more for him to find it.

Five let out a vibration of hummed contentment that danced softly along your neck. He sounded as beautiful as he looked as his cock throbbed and his hot seed filled you, then started to drip down your legs and onto the floor. His thighs kept flexing as he shoved his entire length in and out but his hips gradually lost rhythm.

⚠️(naughty part end)

In between labored breaths Five was doing his best to pepper your shoulders with kisses, though it was sweetly sloppy compared to the way he’d been making a study of treasuring you before.

Despite Five’s seemingly heartless and self-absorbed ways, you were totally falling for this and that was because he was anything but that person he tried to make others see. Five was extremely attentive and loving and you were thinking about that truth when you realized the bass thumping music had been turned way down.

Footsteps were loudly clomping down the hallway leading to the master bedroom.

Your eyes darted towards the door.

Luther called out, “They aren’t in here!”

Not even a half a second later, while a very dazed Five was still slowly undulating his hips and lethargically clinging to you, the door burst open.

“AHHH!” Luther loudly cried.

Both his hands flew up covering his eyes like it would somehow change what he’d just seen.

“So not cool! I- I just saw your bare ass, Five!" he rambled, his jaw opening and closing, the noises coming out, but he couldn’t come up with anything else coherent until he stammered, “We didn’t know where you guys went. We thought maybe something was wrong.”

“Klaus knew where the hell we were,” Five quickly shot back, then languidly kissed your neck where he’d bitten it numerous times, then he looked at his brother in the mirror and much more calmly added, “Luther…shut-the-door.”

Trying to listen to his older but younger looking brother, Luther dropped one hand and blindly started searching for the door. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to open the door,” he repeated as he failed to find the knob because he wasn’t letting himself see more than the floor right at his feet.

He appeared to be too scared to step inside to reach for it.

Carefully slipping his length out of you, Five flipped your skirt down, then he reached for his own pants and underwear, pulling them both back up. He didn’t waste time zipping up or fastening his belt because he’d suddenly found it more important to find something to cover your destroyed shirt; the one you were now forced to hold shut manually.

You didn’t even have your underwear. They were over just in front of the door by Luther’s feet, which was probably also why he was too stunned to move. At least you were mostly covered; your bra hid most everything explicit from his eyes, and Five’s body collapsing into yours had covered the rest. Now everything was mostly put away, so you weren’t sure what Luther was freaking out about or hiding from.

Five took a towel from the shelf next to the shower and handed it to you. At that point, you could have cared less one way or another if you had it, but you took it and beamed back at Five, wiping up the mess he’d made of you while also trying not to crack up at the stern look he was giving you for not covering your boobs.

He mouthed for you to cover yourself and you tried not to laugh at how serious he was trying to sound while saying it but it was a total failure and you laughed anyway.

While unfolding the towel in front of your tattered shirt you said, “Well, now I am both wet and super sticky and my chances of finding anyone as amazing as you are destroyed. I guess you accomplished all your goals, Five. I am absolutely ruined.”

Luther glanced out from under his hand for about half a second and Five raised one of his dark brows and the smile he was trying to hold back came out in full.

“Is- Is everything okay?” his brother questioned. Luther looked thoroughly appalled. The poor guy didn’t seem to know how to process this.

When he didn’t leave, and seemed to be waiting for confirmation that everything was fine, Five sighed and smacked his hand away from his eyes, offering him a cavalier looking grin as he said, “Luther, the lock is broken so it wasn’t your fault the door opened when you touched it, and I am a grown-up just like you, and as such, I have needs, which is why I just got my fuck on in Diego and Lila’s shitty bathroom. I would have thought what you saw cleared up any questions you had about what is going on in here, but just in case it didn’t, take a good look at the hard-on I’m still sporting. Turns out, I finally met a real, non-plastic girl that already knows what kind of man I am, and for some reason she likes me anyway. I am smitten with her, and I don’t care who knows it. Now get the fuck out!”

After Five read Luther the riot act, Klaus sauntered in, joining the party. He whistled loudly as he strolled around the doorframe, grinning at you both like an idiot.

“Ye-ah buddy, way to go, Fivey!” he cheered. “You know what they say, carpe diem and all that shit!”

Seeing as Five was not willing to hit up his high five, Klaus waved at you as if you weren’t already aware he was there.

You waved back, feeling your face getting hotter.

“Did Fivey thoroughly plunder you or do you guys need a few more minutes to finish?” he questioned with his eyes moving from yours, down to the front of Five’s pants. “I see Five is still a go in that department, so I suppose we can put off the party games a bit longer if need be.”

Five still hadn't covered himself and the prominent boner he’d already mentioned was still making its glorious presence known. Like out in the living room, realizing he wasn’t going to back down, you said, “No worries. I think I’m thoroughly plundered for the time being, and I’m pretty sure your brother is just still riled up. We will be right out.”

Klaus bit his bottom lip as he nudged Luther. “Our little psycho is finally growing up. Can you believe it?” Klaus’s voice cracked as he pretended to choke up. He even added some fake sniffles and wiped his eyes. There were tears in them, but that was only because he was trying so hard to hold back his laughter.

To take your bathroom post sex chit chat even further down the pisser, you were then graced with both Diego and Lila coming in.

Seemingly unfazed by the bizarre scene before him, Diego took one look at you and then at Five’s open pants and barked, “Come on assholes, put some clothes on. The party isn’t over yet!"

Lila’s grin grew bigger by the second as her eyes flitted from Five’s crotch to you standing behind him. Feeling the need to step in again, you startled Five when your hands slide around his waist.

“Woah! Hi, there,” he cutely gasped, which made both Lila and Klaus laugh. Poor Luther still looked mortified and wasn't at the laughing part yet.

“Just hold still,” you warned as Five got all squirmy when you blew air across the light sheen of sweat heating his neck. “I think you’re scaring the big guy, with your big scary trouser snake.”

Giving Five a pat on his butt for good measure, you pressed yourself tighter to his back side while putting him back to rights, zipping him up, fixing his belt, and then tucking his shirt back in.

“There, all set.” You gave him a peck just below his ear, then smoothed your hands over the fronts of his tensed thighs as you peeked over his shoulder at your audience.

Diego’s smirk had you thinking it was just a matter of seconds before he battered Five with something that would no doubt set him off again, but then he merely chuckled and said, “You really do make that hat look good, man.”

Lila tossed you one of her old band t-shirts and gave you a wicked looking grin of approval that proved she was up to something all along, then she said, “We haven’t done the baby reveal yet but you two already know what we’re having, so if you want to get out of here, have at it.” When neither of you said anything, she added, “I still think you are prat, Five, but you deserve something good like this. Just wipe up that jizz off my floor before you go.”

Diego turned, putting an arm around her while he also tugged Klaus and Luther along with them.

Once they were out of sight, you threw the soft cotton over yourself just as Diego started yelling, and you heard their confetti cannon filled with pink glitter going off. “Now it’s really time to celebrate, people! We’re having a girl and her crazy ass Godfather just got laid for the first time!”

Totally Gobsmacked, your mouth dropped open and you stepped in front of Five. “The first time?”

“Not exactly,” Five replied, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I mentioned a woman named Dolores before… So there was that.”

Thinking of the sad look in his eyes when he had mentioned her, you hesitantly said, “Is she still…here?” You couldn't’ bring yourself to ask if she’d died but you could tell that something bad had happened.

“She’ll always be here,” Five whispered, followed by a tiny laugh and a curiously timed scratch at his temple. He looked down at the floor. “I guess my wonderful family didn’t tell you about that part.”

“No, they didn’t, but will you?”

“I will,” he replied, looking up at you with a soft smile that almost reached his eyes but not quite.

“Hey. They asked you to be the Godfather?” you questioned, trying to change the subject as you came forward and threw your arms around Five while breathing in the minty scent of his hair as he lowered his head against yours.

“They did,” he replied. “I am already their other little rugrats back up parent and I guess I didn’t screw that up yet, so they figured why not keep things simple.”

“That’s funny. They asked me to be the Godmother.”

Five let out a tired sounding sighed but you could still hear the smile on his lips. “And the plot thickens…”

A moment of silence passed, and you weren’t sure what he was waiting for. 

The door was open. 

“Is it true that you would have been willing to go out there with me?” he softly questioned. Breaking away just a little so he could look at you, Five’s smile looked so hopeful as he added, “I mean, a teleporting, cold blooded killer, with control issues, random bouts of blatant psychosis, big time issues with body dysmorphia, and a ridiculously inflated ego aren’t usually what most people look for in a boyfriend, so I get it if all you wanted from me was a few laughs and my amazing dick.”

You burst out laughing as you tilted your head up and kissed him, your lips finally coming together for the first time, face to face.

Now there was nothing between you and there was no question what your answer was.

Though Five was obviously a very complicated man, and all the freaky daddy sex god stuff aside, you felt like you were starting to understand him and that was because inside where it mattered, he was all heart.

With his hands coming to your back to keep you locked to him, Five slowly kneaded your tongue with his and it felt like you were falling into a trance from the feel of it and the sound of his peaceful breathing. That was until the world around you fell away, the floor ripping out from under your feet as your stomach free fell.

All at once, you were standing outside. The air crackled around you with the remanence of radiating blue light. Your feet were on the sidewalk, and you could make out that your back was pressed up against the dark blue 1970 corvette stingray you had seen parked outside below Diego and Lila’s living room windows.

Reluctantly breaking your kiss that Five seemed not at all in a hurry to do himself, you looked at the sweet man staring back at you with so much passion in his eyes. His smooth skin was flushed ever so slightly, and his dark hair was sticking out from under that hat in ruffled twists along his long neck.

“Are you ready for that walk in the park now?” he questioned.

You were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading and if you've read my first series posted over on A03 and this one seemed a little familiar, it's because this one was inspired by a scene in part two of that story. It was just too fun not to turn it into a reader insert one-shot for those who aren't interested in reading 800,000 word, 3 part stories about our awesome guy. 😂👌

Link to my Five Art/Fanfic master post

Link to all my Tumblr posts

Link to visit me on A03

[ghcstao3]

more mi6 ghost and sas soap i beg!!! it itches something in my brain so hard!!!! i love ur writing sm ur sosososo talented <333

(original post since it’s been so long i am so so sorry. also apologies if it's paced weirdly i never had much of an idea where to take the original prompt. thank you though, for supporting my writing :) <3)

-

Soap would never be so naive as to expect a warm welcome from a team of elite agents, but the cold shoulder he's thus far received from one of said agents hardly seems necessary in its place.

He's barely even said a word.

The haughty bastard keeps staring at Soap, too, like Soap can't tell there are eyes on him behind sunglasses, and a frown behind a medical mask. He refused to shake Soap's hand, hadn't even been introduced by name like the others—Ghost, is all that was offered—and now he was scrutinizing Soap in some indecipherable way that Soap would put up to a cause of him being military, if it weren't for the fact that no one else of similar status was getting the same treatment.

It's bizarre. It couldn't even be the mohawk, for once, because he'd actually grown that out in anticipation of this high-honour, high-stakes mission.

Of course, the treatment doesn't ebb as days, weeks stretch on. But Soap learns to live with it, throws himself into the mission like he has something to prove, acquaints himself with everyone else.

Ghost becomes a background nuisance. He and his perfectly tailored suits hardly hold any weight to Soap by the time they're forced together and everything becomes a whole lot clearer.

Two months into the operation is when the team finally encounters the kind of action Soap is used to; bouts of gunfire, ducking for cover, barking out commands, incapacitating enemies with force before stealth. Begrudgingly, Soap and Ghost are left to cover one another's sixes.

Admittedly, Ghost is a damn good shot and has a rather keen eye for enemies. Soap would never utter this statement aloud, but they work terribly well as a team.

When everything goes silent for several minutes and they've received confirmation that the area's been cleared, that they're free to proceed with the mission, Ghost and Soap cautiously move from where they'd been taking cover.

Then Ghost is shot in the chest.

Another few gunshots ring out following, as Soap drags the agent back into their hiding place. Thankfully his bulletproof vest had taken the brunt of the blow, but it's obvious the wind had been knocked out of Ghost, evidenced by the sharp, wheezing gasps that try to pull air into his lungs.

Soap offers nothing more than a clipped sorry before ripping off the mask that's clearly hindering Ghost's ability to draw a proper breath.

His heart drops. Soap knows that face.

For good measure, he removes Ghost's sunglasses as well, and—fuck. Yes, Soap knows that face. Intimately.

"Simon? You bastard, what the hell?"

Simon winces. He's still breathless when he replies, "Johnny, don't—later. Fuck."

Later. Soap huffs. He only agrees because there are more pressing things, of course, but also because he's not happy to imagine the nasty bruise that was surely going to blossom across his partner's chest in the coming days.

They're not as useful the second time around, but they get what they need done. Soap operates purely on confusion and a mild frustration until later finally arrives, because he'd just like to know... anything, really.

Unfortunately, later doesn't even come when the mission is completed. Later doesn't even come until about a month following Soap's discovery. Suspense nearly kills him.

They're both home again. The operation had been of enough importance that it had, thankfully, warranted everyone at least a short break. Simon is only home because of the bruise that has yet to fade.

Things are tense, initially. Words are terse yet not unkind; they give each other space yet they go to sleep in the same bed each night. Their mutual stubbornness keeps them both from acknowledging the elephant in the room.

Until Soap grows too impatient, nearing the end of his own leave.

Over an otherwise silent dinner, Soap finally asks, "Will I ever get to know what was going on during that mission, then? Why you were being such a prick?"

Simon pauses, setting his fork down with a sigh. His shoulders slump as he sits back in his chair and drags a tired hand over his face, and Soap almost scoffs. Like the issue hasn't been bothering Soap as well.

"I didn't want you to worry about me over the course of everything. In case something happened," Simon confesses.

Soap snorts. "What, like you wouldn't be worried about me? Like you aren't worried about me, already knowing what I do for work?"

"No, Johnny, that's not what—" Simon sighs again. Soap catches the way he almost moves his hand to rub his chest in habit, before rethinking the choice in remembering the bruise. "Of course I worry about you. I just... didn't want to create any unnecessary risks. I trust you, more than anyone, but I've also been in this line of work for a while. I know my own limits."

Soap hangs his head. He... understands. He does. His own career requires the same kinds of limitations, but he's still upset that Simon felt he couldn't manage.

"I'm sorry," Simon eventually murmurs. He reaches a hand across the table and covers Soap's balled fist with a warm, callused hand. "I was wrong. You're a good soldier. Should've known that seein' you were chosen for the task force."

A blush burns at the tips of Soap's ears, and gradually he unclenches his hand. "I forgive you," he says. Soap doesn't think he could fault Simon forever, anyway. "But you'd better make it up to me."

"Of course." A smile tugs at Simon's lips, something almost mischievous. "Anything you like."

(This, of course, meant that Soap would be taking great pleasure in beating Simon's records at the gun range. And perhaps a few other things as well.)

[esteljune]

Post-game P headcanons [P x reader]

P will still be rather taciturn, but you can expect a fair amount of smiles. Especially now that he has realized that they are a rather powerful vehicle for his emotions and has experienced the effect they have on others.

In particular, the effect they have on you, who blush like crazy every time those perfect lips open in a sweet and vague smile.

Despite being much closer to a human being than he has ever been, he still struggles to fully understand the reactions and relationships between people. So his displays of affection may still be quite sporadic and sometimes quite clumsy or out of context.

Although his expressiveness has improved significantly in terms of language, Pinocchio will continue to be very physical, especially towards you, when he wants to communicate something. However, there is no need to fear, many of his emotions will be very clear in his big blue eyes.

He still doesn't have any real filters on what is appropriate to say and when depending on a given context. So he might also communicate something quite intimate and deep out of the blue, catching you off guard. Or he might exaggerate a reaction, like laughter, in a bizarre way.

You will have to guide him. In everything that is purely mundane and trivial, P will definitely need guidance to navigate the subtle nuances of life and everyday relationships. Expect to answer A LOT of questions.

Despite everything, you will have his complete devotion. To such an extent that, whenever you are around, he will follow you everywhere just to enjoy your company, to observe you and to protect you from any possible danger.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

listen I'm not normally this mean but I have to say it

because this has been stewing hatefully inside me for months

if I could explode two leaker translations out of existence one of them would be this

it literally ignores a whole verb and bizarrely misinterprets a few other words, which totally diminishes the importance of what Katsuki is saying

in what universe does THIS WORD

Wiktionary

mean "for a while"?

especially combined with THIS??

Jisho

Katsuki uses a combination of verbs to describe how things are: "competing with each other" and "chasing." the leaker totally disregarded the second one for some reason.

because of how the leakers spread misinformation and how a chunk of the fandom holds a grudge against the official translation, tons of people just straight-up don't even know that this is neither official nor accurate. and it kills me.

IT KILLS ME TO SEE THE VERB FOR CHASING—a word of huge importance for bkdk specifically—ERASED WITH "AND STUFF"!!!!

IT KILLS ME TO SEE KATSUKI'S "ZUTTO KONO MAMA" MISTRANSLATED INTO "FOR A WHILE"!!!!

god I can't believe anybody in the fandom accepts this. I’ve seen people accuse the official translator of “hating bkdk” and “erasing bkdk,” but apparently the leaker can just ruin Katsuki’s most tender, intimate confession and it's all good? people are just gonna keep using this in their meta posts and fanworks?? we’re not gonna collectively acknowledge this fucking sucks!?

cool

the official translation is a work of art and everyone should fucking appreciate it.

I don't ask for much guys but I'm begging you to stop making me see that miserable butchering of my boys all over again

[anxietyrobot]

i love it when my friends tag bizarre tumblr posts with their ocs, it helps me know them in ways more intimate than a character sheet ever could

[ddgraywrites]

WIP: Fictional Flame

You've Got Mail meets Beauty Shop when Paige Dela Cruz, a hairstylist aspiring to open the first Filipino-owned hair salon in the heart of little Winnipeg, falls head over heels for Christian Sato, or so she thought.

Paige Dela Cruz is a hairstylist who falls head over heels for the charming and sexy Christian Sato, or so she thought. She's actually talking to Eddy Silva, Christian's cousin.

While Paige and Eddy's messages become more intimate with each passing text, Eddy finds himself wanting to let go of his facade and show Paige the person he truly is.

As if her love life wasn't complicated enough, Paige faces another threat to her well-being. Her boss, Michael Coward. He takes everything from her - her clients, her tips, and her time. As Paige endures the constant nonsensical wrath of her boss, she begins to doubt if she'll ever be able to open the salon of her dreams.

_______________

I've contemplated whether or not I should post this because the more I think about my WIP, the more embarrassed I get which is so bizarre cause I'm over here trying to make it as a romance author. The self-sabotage and imposter syndrome are really sinking in right now which is exactly why I decided to finally share the details of my WIP.

Why did I write this book?

I was a hairstylist for 5 years and met the most amazing (and awful) people in the industry and I wanted to tell a more dramatized version of what happens in this cut-throat world that is hairstyling.

As a Filipino-Canadian living in little Winnipeg, I also wanted to share glimpses of what it's like being raised by immigrants, the food, and the covert racism I've encountered throughout the years.

Lastly, I just wanted to write my own romance because I love love. I love reading and watching love stories. I've always been a hopeless romantic. After my dad died in 2021, I needed some sort of outlet. I started writing a fantasy about a young girl who also lost her dad but then I reached a point where I couldn’t move on cause fantasy was too big for my brain to fathom lol. So I decided to stick to a genre I knew I could do well, and that was romance.

_______________

I feel incredibly vulnerable right now while I type this because I'm BRACING for the criticism and the eye rolls. Not that anyone has ever done that, it's just the aNxIeTy talking. But again, thank you for following me on this journey to become a traditionally published author (crossing my fingers SO hard) and if you're also a romance author and need a critique partner/beta reader, please DM me so we can do a little swap-aroo (I just lost you there, didn't I?)

Here's the sign-up form if you're interested in beta-reading Fictional Flame: https://docs.google.com/

I'm not sure how to end this so in true Canadian fashion, thank you again and sorry for saying thank you so many times. ❤️