#this isn't going to get a lot of notes but fuck it this is the best post I have ever made on this site

[bemusedlybespectacled]

I don't understand the chevron law thing, could you explain it like I'm five? Should we be working towards fixing whatever the courts just fucked up?

So, okay, I am condensing like a semester of a class I took in 2017 into a very short explanation, but:

It would be really annoying for Congress to individually pass laws approving every new medicine or listing out every single poison you can't have in tap water, so instead there are agencies created by Congress, via a law, to handle a specific thing. The agencies are created by Congress but overseen by the executive branch (so, the president), which is why we say things like "Reagan's EPA" or "Biden's DOJ" - even though Congress creates them, the president determines how they do the thing Congress wants them to do, by passing regulations like "you can't dump cyanide in the local swimming pool" and "no, you can't dump strychnine, either."

However, sometimes people will oppose these regulations by saying that the agency is going beyond the task they were given by Congress. "The Clean Air Act only bans 'pollutants,' and nowhere in the law does it say that 'pollutants' includes arsenic! You're going beyond your mandate!" To which the experts at the EPA would be like, "We, the experts at the EPA, have decided arsenic is a pollutant." On the flip side, the EPA could be like, "We, the experts at the EPA, have decided that arsenic isn't a pollutant," and people would oppose that regulation by being like, "But the Clean Air Act bans 'pollutants,' and it's insane to say that arsenic isn't a pollutant!" So whose interpretation is correct, the government's or the challengers'?

Chevron deference basically put heavy weight onto how the agency (i.e. the government) interpreted the law, with the assumption that the agency was in the right and needing pretty strong evidence that they were interpreting it wrong (like, blatantly doing the opposite of a clear part of the law or something). If there was any ambiguity in how the law was written, you'd defer to the agency's interpretation, even if that interpretation was different depending on who was president at the time.

(Note: there are other ways of challenging regulations other than this one, like saying that they were promulgated in a way that is "arbitrary and capricious" – basically, not backed by any evidence/reasoning other than "we want it." Lots of Trump-era regulations got smacked with this one, though I think they'd be better at it if Trump gets a second term, since they've now had practice.)

Chevron deference wasn't all good – remember that the sword cuts both ways, including when dickholes are in power – but it was a very standard part of the law. Like, any opposition to a regulation would have some citation to be like "Chevron doesn't apply here" and every defense would be like "Chevron absolutely applies here" and most of the time, the agency would win. Like, it was a fundamental aspect of law since the 80s.

The Supreme Court decision basically tosses that out, and says, "In a situation where the law is ambiguous, the court decides what it means." That's not completely insane – interpreting law is a thing judges normally do – but in a situation where the interpretation may hinge on something very complicated outside of the judge's wheelhouse, you now cannot be like, "Your Honor, I promise you that the experts at NOAA know a lot about the weather and made this decision for a good reason."

The main reason it's a problem is that it allows judges to override agencies' judgements about what you should do about a thing and what things you should be working on in the first place. However, I don't think there's really a way of enshrining that into law, outside of maybe adding something to the Administrative Procedure Act, and that would require a Congress that isn't majority Republican.

I will say that kind of I expected this to happen, just because IIRC Gorsuch in particular hates Chevron deference. IMO it's a classic case of "rules for me but not for thee" – Scalia and other conservatives used to rely on Chevron because they wanted their presidents to hold a ton of unchecked power (except for the EPA), but now that we've had Obama and Biden, now conservatives don't like Chevron because it gives the presidents they don't like unchecked power.

[lukesaprince]

Rich Part 23

Summary: Harry and y/n deal with the aftermath of y/n's panic attack and do some retail therapy to prepare for their trip.

Warning: Smut, public bj & masturbation, exhibitionism, daddy!kink. Mention of panic attacks, Ethan and illegal dealings.

Word count: 10k+

Author's note: This chapter isn't as long as I hoped it would be and I wasn't able to get a lot of the Pleasing scene complete. I haven't been in a good writing space recently and I really want to make sure it's all planned out properly but I wanted to post something in the mean time for you! Enjoyy

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- Find my General Masterlist here -

Harry’s stomach was in knots. It had been twisted since the moment he let you walk away from him at his office. His head was in a constant state of nausea and the very thought of you being so far from him had his body aching. Your trip was coming up so quickly, two weeks exactly now and things had taken such a sudden switch he was dizzy. 

He hadn’t seen you for a couple of days, or spoken to you properly either. For anyone else that would be normal. Seeing your partner every day wasn’t a prerequisite to having a happy relationship, but to Harry it was torture. Other than your text message when you got home Wednesday, you hadn’t spoken to him. He sent his usual good morning text Thursday morning and was only met with silence. He worked through his lunch that day so he couldn’t call you like usual, but if that ever happened he expected you to call him first. You never did. 

He tried to call you that night, then again Friday morning but you ignored him both times. He was starting to panic, starting to fear that you were seriously not okay or that he had done something to fuck everything up even if he didn’t realise it. He knew you two could communicate if that was the case, that your relationship was strong enough for you to speak to him if he did something wrong. After everything you two had been through, your foundation was strong. At least Harry believed so. 

But knowing it could be the former option and you could be at home in an unstable mental state was far worse than the possibility of him doing something that warranted you ignoring him. Harry didn’t want to push you, but he also couldn’t handle the unknown. 

He was meant to spend Saturday with you. You were going to meet him in the city to get as much shopping done for your trip as possible then he would spend the night. It was your last free day before locking down for studying and Harry wanted to make it something stress-free and enjoyable to give you a mental break. You only had a couple of free days after your exams before you both flew out so there wasn’t a lot of time to get the key essentials once your semester was over. Mostly you just wanted new clothes and wanted to pick things out for Harry as well. He was happy to oblige. 

But now… he didn’t even know if you two were okay. 

So he decided that he needed to see you. You could turn him away and tell him that you needed space or hated him or preferably that you loved him. Whatever you wanted. Harry didn’t care what you said, as long as he found you alive and okay. 

Early Saturday morning Harry was driving to your place with a bouquet of fresh lilies, a large oat latte and a croissant from your favourite local bakery. He didn’t have your keycard anymore so he couldn’t let himself in… but Harry was creative. It felt a bit reckless and immature actually, calling your best friend to let him in like it was some plot for forgiveness, especially when he was just checking up on you. But Harry didn’t want to risk you coming downstairs and turning away without seeing him or worse, just plain ignoring him.

“Hey, Harry.” Maeve greeted, smiling at the man as she held open the entrance door for him. It was especially cold outside now, so he was quick to rush inside and let the door close before he hugged her quickly as a hello. 

“Hey, Maeve. Thanks for doing this.” 

“It’s fine. You’re lucky I like you.” She teased, bumping his shoulder while they walked towards the elevator. 

Harry was fortunate enough to spend more time with your friends. As were you to spend more time with Niall and Jed. Since Harry was mostly spending time at your place, he had spent time with Maeve and Jay, even Dakari. Usually, it was just your neighbour and coworker, but there was a double date situation where Harry became aware of the ‘older guy’ Maeve was dating. 

Dakari and Harry knew each other through golf and Pleasing. They weren’t exceptionally close, but they got on well enough to treat their beautiful girlfriends to an expensive dinner in the city. Dakari was actually interested in investing in Pleasing, but Harry didn’t particularly like the way he conducted business and would’ve rather owned a third of the club than share a sixth with a man he didn’t want to associate with. Harry was glad for that decision now, since his once silent investment turned into him having a say in business decisions and provided perks that he loved to use. 

He hadn’t really used them since he met you but he hoped one day he would. With you. 

“Yeah, well, I appreciate it… Have you seen her? I haven’t spoken to her since Wednesday and I’m really fucking worried.” Harry admitted, holding the door of the elevator open for Maeve. 

“Yeah, I have.” She nodded, “she told me what happened... It’s pretty fucked up. I hope you’ve dealt with that asshole.”

Harry assumed that meant everything. 

“I have. I mean, I will.” That still didn’t mean he was going to elaborate. The plan he had set in place to deal with Ethan was one for the inner circle only. The original, small, tightly-knit circle. It was illegal after all. To frame a man for stealing $250,000. “Is she okay?”

“She’s okay… I think she just needed space, that’s all. I wouldn’t take it personally, Harry. She loves you.”

“I know and I don’t. Well, I’m trying not to, anyway.”

The rest of the ride was full of polite small talk. Maeve complimented the flowers and the croissant, but Harry didn’t need her approval to know you loved them. He knew you would because he knew everything about you. Everything except how you were feeling right now. 

Harry made sure Maeve went back to her apartment before he knocked on your door. He was nervous, he couldn’t lie, but he was hoping that you two could talk about your panic attack and hopefully end up having a nice day together. He just wanted to hold you and see you smile. 

The door swung open barely ten seconds after Harry knocked and there you were. And you looked… okay. Thank God, you looked okay. He could see the tiredness in your eyes and body by the droop of your shoulders and bags under your eyes. You hadn’t changed out of your plaid pyjamas yet but that was normal. Aside from your clear exhaustion, you looked well. 

“Hi…” Harry breathed, smiling softly. “I wanted to check up on you. You haven’t answered my calls or texts…”

Your eyes softened and it took a moment before you said or did anything. Without saying anything, you pulled him inside by his nice vest and wrapped your arms around his body, pressing yourself against him. He reciprocated the best he could with his hands full and loosely wrapped his arms around your shoulders, breathing out a huge sigh of relief.

There was a flood of instant relief through Harry just at your tight hug. Like a heavy weight dropped from his shoulders the moment you buried your face into the light blue checks of his vest. God was he fucking ecstatic. Just having your body in his arms was euphoric and there was no feeling quite like the comfortable intimacy of a hug. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry.” 

He could barely understand you with how your face was pressed against him, but he made out the words and was immediately taken aback. 

“What? Baby, why are you sorry?” He soothed, now desperate to free his hands so he could take care of you properly. 

“I didn’t mean to ignore you, I was just…” you sighed and pressed your cheek to him instead, sliding your hands beneath his vest and shirt to feel his warm skin. It was like a clutch for normalcy, a tie to feeling okay again. The last few days had been so murky and unsettling. All you wanted was to feel safe again. Harry never failed to make you feel safe and yet you pushed him away. It wasn’t fair to him and it went against everything you two tried so hard to build. “The panic attack freaked me out and I needed time to sort my feelings out… I shouldn’t have ignored you, H. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t spologise baby, please…” Harry paused, “just-let me put these down, okay? Then we can talk properly?” 

You pulled back and looked up at him, reluctantly releasing him from the hug. It was barely a minute before he was on you again. All he did was set the three items on your little table before he wrapped his arms around you properly and squeezed you tight against his body, rocking you slightly from side to side. You gladly inhaled his masculine scent, finding comfort in the rich, sexiness. It was unfair that he always smelt so good. Even after the gym he still smelt like a sexy, clean wealthy man. 

“You don’t need to apologise, y/n. I know it freaked you out.” Harry soothed, pressing his lips against the crown of your head, “I was just really fucking worried. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen at all and once it did I just kept thinking and thinking and I was just so angry and exhausted. It was a lot.”  

“I know. Trust me I get it. They can be the most debilitating thing in the entire world…” Harry soothed, pulling back from you. “Do you want to go sit down and talk about it?” 

With a nod, Harry guided you to sit down on your bed with him. It was still unmade, but Harry didn’t care. You took it a step further and crawled back towards your pillows to lie down on it instead before patting the spot beside you so Harry would join you. He shoved his shoes off then shuffled in beside you, adjusting himself so you were cuddled into his chest.

It was all done in comfortable silence and once you were settled in, Harry decided to speak first. 

“They can be traumatic.” Harry murmured, “I spent nearly five hours in the gym after one of my panic attacks.” At his words, you untucked your face from his chest and looked up at him to watch him speak. He smiled down at you, stroking his fingers across your cheek like his words weren’t deeply personal and from a dark period of his life. “I worked my body so hard and wrecked myself because I was trying to deal with my emotions. Or trying not to deal, more like it. I definitely paid for it afterwards but at the time it was the only thing I knew would get my mind off it.”

“I came home Wednesday and cried,” You whispered, watching his eyes sadden. It killed him that he wasn’t there to help you. “Then I went and bought Red Bulls and chips and pulled an all-nighter to finish off an assignment like it was nothing. I was so… I don’t even know how to describe it. I was angry, yeah, but I was also so far out of my head that I just wanted to distract myself.” 

“We all do unhealthy things to cope sometimes, y/n. There’s no one way to deal with things. Pulling an all nighter might not be the best way but you were doing the best you could to cope.”

“It didn’t help.” You frowned, tracing the checks on his vest with your nail.

“I can’t imagine it did.” He chuckled softly, sighing when you didn’t look up at him. “Don’t beat yourself up for it, baby... Maeve told me you spoke to her about it. Did that help?”

So that’s how he got in. You couldn’t really be upset by it. Maeve wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t want to see him. You were just… a bit nervous to make the first move. 

“It did. It was good to rant about it with someone who didn’t really know anyone involved.”

“Do you want to talk to me about it?” 

Harry hoped you would. After hearing nothing for days he just wanted an insight into your head. 

“You don’t have to.” He continued softly, prompting you to look up at him, “I’m happy to just be here with you if that’s what you need.” He cupped your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “I would’ve been here when it happened too. I hope you know that. You don’t have to go through these things alone if you don’t want to.”

“I know but I was just so overstimulated I think and… I didn’t want to say anything I regretted,” an unreadable look flashed through Harry’s eyes, like he wasn’t exactly sure how to take what you were saying. You sighed, looking back down at the same quad of checks you had been tracing with your finger during this entire conversation, “I don’t think I ever really processed what happened with Ethan and… your part in it, I guess. There’s been so much going on that I just kept ignoring it and ignoring his existence completely. Seeing him really triggered me and the more I thought about it…” you sighed again, “the more I was angry at you too, not just Ethan.” 

“You were?”

“I know you’ve only done what you thought the right thing to do was. But I just don’t get how you can work with him every day. He hurt me so fucking badly Harry…” you could feel your throat starting to get scratchy and your eyes prickling with tears. The stinging forced you to turn from him and close your eyes momentarily, but it did nothing to conceal how you were feeling. The sight practically broke Harry’s heart. “I don’t get how you can even be in the same building as him. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I feel sick every day I have to see him, y/n. I’ve done everything I can to make sure we never cross paths but sometimes it’s inevitable. He was never meant to be on my floor on Wednesday and I never would’ve let him come anywhere near you if I knew.”

“But you still work with him, Harry!” You sat up abruptly, looking down at him. “It doesn’t make sense. He’s getting no consequences for what he put us through. I get you couldn’t go to the police because there was no evidence, I get it. But I need to do something. I need you to do something.”

“I am.” He didn’t want to get frustrated at you, not when you were hurting but he was hurting too. This wasn’t fucking easy for him and if the law meant nothing he would’ve gone after Ethan himself and made sure he never bothered you or anyone else again. But he couldn’t exactly do that, could he? He sat up as well, nudging backwards until his back was against your headboard. “Y/n I’ve been dealing with him at work the last couple of months because I had to for my plan to work. I couldn’t do anything out of the ordinary because I didn’t want to bring any attention to myself, but I have a plan. It’s just one of those things you have to wait for.”

“What is it? This plan?” You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at him expectantly. 

“I can’t tell you.” Harry almost seemed reluctant to say the words, but it wasn’t because he was apprehensive about his decision to keep it a secret from you, it was because he wasn’t sure how you’d react. He didn’t want you to be mad at him, but at the same time he wasn’t going to compromise your safety and your future. 

Because that’s what it came down to. If everything went to shit and you knew even one single detail about it, you were done. 

He wasn’t going to let that happen but he also wasn’t going to sit here and lie and pretend that nothing was going on behind the scenes. That’s something he would’ve done at the beginning of your relationship, but he knew that this was just as much your fight as his and lying wasn’t the right thing to do. He could be honest and keep you safe at the same time. 

“What do you mean? Why?” 

You were immediately jumping to many conclusions, all Harry wanted to settle. He just wasn’t sure how. 

“Because it’s not exactly legal, y/n and while it’s pretty fucking foolproof I can’t risk anything. If the whole thing comes crashing down I don’t want you knowing a single bit of it.”

“But that’s-” 

“You will find out. I promise.” He interrupted, “just not until it’s over. I’m not budging on this.”

As much as you wanted Ethan to pay, you didn’t want it like this. You always knew he covered his tracks well but you hoped that by now there’d be some loose thread. Someone with hard evidence to be able to get him punished and that clearly wasn’t the case. But that didn’t mean you wanted Harry risking everything, either. It was exactly how you felt when you first met Niall and Jed and learnt about how they were blackmailing Ethan into handing over the photos. It was reckless and a huge fucking crime. You prayed that it wasn’t the same plan because nothing on this fucking planet was worth Harry going to jail and you losing him. You couldn’t even bare the thought.

“I don’t want you doing anything illegal Harry. It’s stupid!” Your voice broke in your distress, shooting Harry right in the heart like a goddamn bullet. “I’d rather him get away with everything than have you risk yourself. What if you go to jail or what if it doesn’t work? I can’t… I can’t lose you.” 

“You won’t lose me.” His eyes softened and he reached forward to cup your cheek, “You won’t.” his thumb traced over your cheek and he couldn’t help but kiss you gently before pressing his forehead against yours. “I understand you’re scared, y/n but I have to do this not only for you but for me too… I have no choice but to go down this route because he left nothing for me to work with. Fucking nothing. If there was another way, I would do it. But this is it.” 

“And you can’t tell me?” you whispered, wishing you could pry the whole truth from his mouth. 

“No.” He shook his head, leaning back just a tad so he could see your whole face at once. “But I’ve done all my due diligence, baby, I promise and I’m as far removed from it as I possibly can be. So please, just, let this one go. For now.”

“I’ll try…” you settled on, unable to promise anything more. “How long am I letting this go though? A couple of weeks? A month?” 

Harry sighed and leaned back against your headboard, “I don’t know. Could be while we’re on holiday, could be in a couple months. When I know, you know.”

“And in the meantime you’re just going to keep working with him? That doesn’t seem fair” You didn’t particularly like that idea. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t want him stepping foot into that office again while that asshole was walking around free and triggering panic attacks left right and centre. 

“Well…” His lip quirked up in a smile, “I was hoping we’d enjoy our holiday together and then who knows… maybe I won’t go back to work once we’re home. I haven’t decided yet but I’ve wanted to do something different for a while now. Just not sure what.” 

“I didn't know you were thinking of changing jobs.”

He shrugged, tracing random patterns on your back through your pyjama shirt. “I haven’t been planning anything per say, but I’m a bit bored. Seeing that asshole around doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t seem worth it anymore, not when I can do anything else and be happier for it.”

“A career change at your ripe age? That’s ballsy.” You mused, squealing and jumping slightly when he pinched your ass. 

“Well I haven’t decided anything yet, just considering my options. At my ripe age I’ve done quite well for myself so I wouldn’t mind a bit of time off. Maybe be a stay at home boyfriend while you study your pretty little ass off in your final semester.” He reached up to fiddle with the ends of your hair, twirling a strand around his finger.

“A stay at home boyfriend?” You scoffed, laughing loudly. “Stop.”

“What?” He laughed, amusement laced in his widened eyes, “we’ve got a son and two households to run, someone has to be around to cook and take care of the place.”

A son. There was something so heartwarming about Archie being referred to as your son, especially when Harry was being so casual about it. Like it was normal. Put the son reference and conjoining your two houses as one and well… that was about as committed as you could be without moving in together. Not that you were anywhere near that stage yet. 

“One of those households has a maid, a gardener and a dog walker, I’m sure it’s just fine.” You rolled your eyes, “But if you want to take care of this place and feed me I won’t complain.” 

“I’d be more than happy to feed you and fulfill any other needs you have.” He announced proudly, squeezing your hip before reaching in to peck you quickly. “Which reminds me-” he got out of bed, going to your table where your coffee and sweet treat were still waiting for you. “I got you these.” You shuffled up into a cross legged position, happily grabbing the two items when Harry sat back down on your bed. 

“Thank you.” You sipped your drink, loving the sweet taste of it. “And thank you for driving all the way down here. It means a lot.” You tore open the paper bag, ripping off a small piece of the croissant and offering it to Harry. 

“No no. It’s yours.” He declined, happy when you didn’t argue and at the piece. “And you don’t need to thank me. I love you, y/n and I wanted to see you. I always do” He smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“I love you too.” You pressed your hand on his knee and reached in to kiss him quickly, loving the way his hand returned to your back to trace random shapes over it. “I love this by the way. I never thought I’d find a vest sexy but you look really good.” You traced over the v-neck of his checkered vest with your clean hand, looking up at him. You really missed him. 

“Thanks darling. It’s vintage.” He smirked, wrapping his arm around your hip to drag you back to sit properly beside him. You felt a little dirty compared to him in his nice outfit, especially since you had been wearing the same clothes for days and desperately needed to wash your hair. Harry didn’t seem to care though and you really appreciated that. Washing your hair was a mission by itself. Add a panic attack and assignment stress and you couldn’t think of anything worse, even if the thought of a long hot shower did sound quite nice. 

“I like it.” You took a big bite of your croissant this time, moaning at the taste of the chocolate filling. You slumped against Harry, happily chewing it while he rubbed your hip and kissed your head. 

“Good?” He mused, sliding his hand just underneath your pyjama top to feel your soft skin. 

“So good.” You nodded enthusiastically. 

“I’m glad.” He laughed. A comfortable silence fell over you two, with small comments and conversation here and there. It was nice to just spend time with Harry, even if you weren’t doing much of anything. “Would you still be interested in going shopping?”

“Today?” You sat up properly and looked at him, both your coffee and croisssnt long gone and in your stomach. 

“If you’re up for it. We did plan for today but there’s no pressure. I’m more than happy to change into comfortable clothes and watch Netflix all day. Truly.” 

“No no. I could go shopping. We need to get ready for our trip, right?” You grinned, getting excited at the thought of a day walking around the shops and buying so many cute outfits for your trip. Secretly though, you liked the idea of Harry going with you more than the shopping itself. 

“We do. Yes.” He smiled, happy that you had a bit more energy. Harry hated seeing you down. Any emotion except pleasure and happiness had him determined to fix whatever the issue was. “Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

“Yep.” You climbed over him to get out of bed, stopping when you were straddling him. His hands found your hips immediately, unable to keep them off you. “I need to wash my hair though, so can you wait an hour? I’ll try and be quick.”

An hour. By that calculation you were doing your ‘everything shower’ and a full face of makeup. Harry now knew what that meant, but he was happy to sit around and keep himself occupied if that meant you were taking care of yourself. The concept wasn’t as relaxing as he thought it would be. It was more of a frustrating marathon of events where each one presented its own challenge. He made the mistake of wanting to join you for one of them, thinking it would be fun and you ended up kicking him out because you didn’t have enough space to shave the back of your leg. 

If there was one shower he let you have alone, it was that one. 

Harry chuckled and nodded, squeezing your hips then helping you climb the rest of the way off the bed. “Take your time, y/n. We’ve got all day.” 

You managed to get everything done in just over an hour and then you and Harry were on your way to the city. You grabbed another coffee as soon as you made it into the shopping centre, then the shop-to-shop walking began. There were a few items you had on your list that you were aiming to buy, but for the most part you just wanted to try a bunch of stuff on and see what you liked. Harry of course was happy to offer his suggestions and his wallet which only seemed to get him more excited to pick things out for you. 

“I was thinking…”

“Mh?” You hummed, buckling up the buckle on a pair of baby pink suede platform heels. They definitely weren’t Europe-appropriate, but you got a little sidetracked and with Harry encouraging you to try on everything you so much as looked at, it was easy to get distracted by anything that looked pretty.

“After your assignment is submitted Friday, why don’t we pack up your place and you can stay with me until we leave for our trip?”

“Harry I still have to study for two exams. As much as I love that idea, you don’t want me taking over your house.” You responded, standing up from the couch to test the comfort of the shoes. You stepped around them a little, walking to the closest mirror to have a look at them properly. “And I’m sure my parents would hate that I’m spending a week at yours instead of going home.”

“But you weren’t meant to go home at all, remember? Not until your exams were finished.” Harry coaxed, standing up from the couch to step behind you in the mirror and wrap his arms around your waist. You shivered slightly against him, still focusing on looking at the heels on your feet. “This time you’re close to home, close to Archie…” He hummed, sliding his nose up the side of your neck. This time you really shivered and your focus was taken completely away from your shoes. Not that you were thinking of buying them anyway. They were way too expensive but the allure of trying on Prada shoes alongside a man who already put aside a pair of sunglasses and a belt for himself was way too strong. “Close to me…” this time his lips brushed against your skin, leaving a trail right underneath your ear. 

Your breath hitched ever so slightly, making Harry smirk at you in the mirror. Oh he had you now. Your body was becoming more pliant in his arms and you were leaning against him more and more with every passing second. 

“You could study during the day and have Archie keep you company then at night I could feed you and help you… relax,” his hand flattened against your belly, causing the bold rings on his fingers to twinkle in the lighting. You had a sudden craving for those fingers to be in your mouth or further down south where he actually could make you relax. 

“I’ll be studying all the time, Harry.” You weren’t sure why you were protesting it so much, not when the thought of a quick orgasm as your 15-minute study break sounded so delicious. 

“And I’ll be right there beside you, working or reading or providing you with a quick… study break. Whatever you need, hm.” He drawled, kissing your cheek. All you could do was nod because you were so fucking dazed and way too horny in the middle of a store you couldn’t afford. “Do you like the shoes?”

“What?” 

You didn’t even hear what he said.

“The shoes.” He tapped your belly, looking down at your feet. “Are they comfortable?”

“Oh…” You tried to snap out of it and stepped a little in place, feeling the shoes mould perfectly to your feet. God, why did you have to love something so expensive? “Yeah, they’re comfy but I don’t need them.”

“Nonsense. They’re baby pink, your favourite colour.” Harry grinned, pulling back to step in front of you instead. The fact that he called it ‘baby pink’ and not ‘light pink’ had you screaming on the inside. He grabbed onto one of your hands, holding it out between you. “Do a spin.”

You did as told and did a 360 spin for him, liking how your heights were a bit more even with the tall heel. Without saying anything more to you, he turned to the sales associate who was waiting patiently beside the couch Harry was just sitting on. “Do you have a matching bag to these? In a baby pink?”

“Yes, sir. We have a cross body and a shoulder bag.”

“Perfect. Bring them both, please.” Harry turned back to you, then suddenly whipped his head around to the woman before she could step away, “Oh, and please bring some sunglasses too. Anything you think might suit her. Thanks, love.”

“Harry, what are you doing?” You hissed, “I’m not buying anything.”

“No, I am. I like you in pink. Besides, isn’t a shoulder bag and sunglasses a necessity for a holiday?” He mused, squeezing your hips. “Let me spoil you, darling. For doing so well on your exams.”

“I haven’t even done them yet.” You blushed, protesting slightly while threading your fingers behind his neck. “You don’t have to buy me such expensive things, H. You’ve already gotten me so much today.”

“And? You deserve it.” Harry assured you, reaching forward to kiss you gently. The lipstick you applied before you left was almost gone by now. Harry could barely keep his hands off you and you didn’t really want him to. These quick, casual pecks and signs of affection meant so much more to you than anything he could buy. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, threading your fingers softly into the hair at the nape of his neck to kiss him again. “Really. Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome, baby.” He kissed you again and then sealed it with another quick peck before using his grip on your hips to turn you back towards the mirror. “Now tell me you don’t love the shoes. I know you can’t.”

It was store after store of shopping. You tried to keep things concise to the list you brought of things you wanted to get, but just like the Prada shoes… and bag… and sunglasses, you were both easily distracted. You had more fun dressing Harry up more than anything. Seeing him try on complete outfits you picked out for him just hit the spot for you. You loved it.

And it had nothing to do with him looking absolutely delicious in every fucking thing. You picked out a bit of a joke outfit in one of the ‘younger’ stores as Harry liked to call it, styling him in something more skater boy than his usual refined, delicious European style and he still looked hot as anything. 

Harry hated it of course, but he did like the graphic t-shirt and managed to style it in his own way with the pair of dress pants he had on. God, he was just so fucking hot. By the third men's store you brought him into, you were sweating. You couldn’t explain why it was such a turn-on to watch him open and close a curtain and show off different outfits or why a linen button-up much like everything else he has riled you up until you were clenching your thighs, but it just did. 

You finally truly understood why he liked buying you things so much. 

“Alright, last one then I need food. It’s practically dinner time and there’s a sushi train near here. I could demolish like twenty of those little plates.” Harry chuckled to himself and opened the door of the fitting room he was in. Upon revealing himself, your mouth properly dropped. 

It was another button-up style top but this time it was entirely made out of white crochet squares. The design was fine and perfect beyond perfect and had so many little holes throughout the design, that you could see slivers of skin everywhere. Then there was the obvious sliver of skin. The top three undone buttons that Harry had purposefully left open to expose his cross necklace and littered chest hairs. The tails of his swallows were peaking past the edges and with particular movements, the moth became more visible.

Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Not sure about this one, love. ‘Dunno why.” Harry ran his hands down the fabric, looking at his shirt until he realised you hadn’t said anything. “Y/n?” 

Seeing the look at your face, Harry could see exactly what your opinion was on his shirt. 

“I love it.” You finally said, walking towards him so you could feel the soft lace across his chest. He smirked and placed his hands on your waist. “It’s soft.”

Just the feeling of the soft lace against his warm body was driving you crazy. His body heat was radiating against your hands and you suddenly craved it against your body. All this talk about ‘study breaks’ and being in the same house as him for an entire week had your head in a spin. You couldn’t stop thinking about having constant sex and how tempting it would be to have so much privacy for so long.

And this was before you two were going to have an entire month together. God, the thought of that… your vagina would never be the same, you knew that for sure.

“Mh. Comfy too.” He commented, shivering when you dug your nails through the lace holes to scratch at his chest. “So y’like it?” Harry’s head cocked a little as the attraction in your eyes quickly started to reflect in his own. 

“Uhuh.”

You peeked around quickly to make sure you were alone and when the coast was clear you made the quick decision to walk him backwards back into the fitting room. Harry was happy to follow along with you, barely being able to ask what you were doing before you locked the door behind you and grabbed onto his face to kiss him.

Harry squeezed your waist and chuckled into your mouth, sighing softly against your lips while he kissed back. His arms started to wrap tightly around you and he was trying so hard to not moan at how eager you were pressing yourself against him and nibbling on his lip and tugging on his hair and fucking hell he was going dizzy. 

You weren’t one to start things like this and Harry was enjoying every fucking moment.

“What are you doing, darling? Hm?” Harry mused, eyes fluttering shut as you tugged his head back by his hair to gain easier access to his neck. His fingers dug deeper into the small of your back in an attempt to ground himself. He had to be quiet.

“I need your cock in my mouth,” You whispered against his skin while sliding your hand down his chest towards his dress pants. Harry tensed immediately beneath you, nearly groaning loudly when your hand landed on his cock. “Please, Daddy.” 

You started to palm over his half-hard cock which was very quickly hardening properly beneath your hand. Harry’s head tipped back against the wall and his jaw went slack. He could barely fucking believe what was happening right now.

What you were doing was reckless. Inappropriate and very much illegal. Giving head on a yacht in the open ocean didn’t exactly compare to giving head in a small enclosed fitting room where there were many more people around and any small noise would give you away.

To be honest though, you didn’t really give a fuck. You could tell Harry liked that.

You pulled back from his skin and made eye contact with him while squeezing him through his pants hard enough to make his eyes flutter. Reaching forward, you kissed him softly and spoke through soft kisses until he verbally agreed to have you on your knees before him. “Let me say thank you… please… I need it so bad, Daddy.”

Harry breathed heavily against your mouth and threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck to tighten them in an almost warning way. “You’ve got to be quick, y/n. Unless you want to be caught.”

Something told you Harry wouldn’t have any issues being caught with his cock in your mouth. 

With a quick nod from Harry, you began the descent onto your knees. But before they even bent, he stopped you. “Wait.” He murmured, grabbing his expensive vest that was hanging on the back of the door and then folding it in half so it was thicker. “For your knees.” 

“I thought you liked it when they bruised.” You grinned, taking the vest nonetheless and putting it on the carpet in front of his feet. You slowly got down on your knees, looking back at the lock for a second just to double-check it was actually locked. It was thrilling to be in such a compromising position, but that didn’t mean you actually wanted someone to walk in on you two. 

“Only when I can take care of you after.” Harry sighed, the sight of you before him enough to make him breathless. He tried to relax against the wall separating your fitting room from the one next door. It thankfully went floor to ceiling, so you hoped that would muffle most of the noise. As much as you could try to keep quiet, Harry was quite terrible at it and it was hard to give a proper satisfying blowjob without making some sort of noise. 

Hopefully, the store’s music would cover it.

“You always take care of me. Now it’s my turn.” You looked up at him with a smile, sliding your hands over his thighs. He looked down at you, sliding his hand through your hair to push it back from your face so he could watch your facial expressions and every move you made. 

“You look so hot in this” You complimented, pushing his button-up top up his stomach to expose his belly button and below. “You better buy it.” you leaned forward and licked a stripe from the button of his pants to his belly button, making sure to do it once more while you undid his pants. 

“I will…” Harry assured, sighing out like a pretty angel just at the feeling of your mouth on his lower belly. “You like it so I have to buy it.”

“Mhmm. Y’gonna look so good, Daddy…” 

Harry’s pants easily fell to his ankles once the button came undone. They were straight-legged and with his tight briefs pressing his cock down, they slid right down. Of course, the briefs didn’t last very long either and they soon joined Harry’s pants at his ankles.

You had no time to tease or kiss every inch of exposed skin like you wanted to. This had to be quick which was a shame when he looked so fucking hot standing there naked aside from the pretty lace button-up you wanted to keep on him. It was like sexy lingerie and it messed with your head much more than you would’ve liked. 

“I only look good for you, darling. You’re the only one I want to… shit…” 

Harry couldn’t even finish his words, not when you spat on your hand, wrapped it around him and brought him to your mouth without any fucking warning. You jerked him slowly with your hand, focusing on the base while you slid his head against your tongue. His hips bucked against your mouth at the feeling, causing you to choke a little on his cock and force yourself to pull back from him. 

“You’ve got to relax.” You licked your tongue slowly against his slit, savouring the taste of his precum. You made a show of it too and closed your eyes to hum gently once it collected on your tongue. “As much as I love choking on your cock, it’s too loud.” 

You were almost scolding him, reprimanding him for not being good and staying pressed against the wall. It was reminiscent of the first time you figured out you loved him, not that Harry knew it like that. Harry remembered the first shower blowjob he got from you as a bold move, not the craving for control that you desperately wanted at the time.

Now… you’d give up any and all control to Harry, knowing that you were really the one in charge. That’s how you two worked. You both had your limits and while Harry hadn’t really pushed them to the limits very often, he had the power to do so because you gave it to him.

And how he was putty in your hands. 

“Don’t think I won’t get you back for this…” he shuddered, fisting your hair tighter when you brought him back into your mouth, wrapping your lips around him perfectly. All you did was smile around his cock while pressing the vein underneath his length back and forth on your tongue. 

You were looking forward to the payback. 

The longer you had him in your mouth, the less you started to care about how loud you were being. Harry was doing well to keep still, albeit practically trembling against you, but his hands were tugging on your hair roughly and he couldn’t stop the string of curses in place of loud moans he wanted make for you. 

There was just nothing like the sound of male pleasure. Deep, guttural groans and whimpers, hushed lines of praise and degradation and pleads of your name. A loud curse when you clenched around him or a whimpered one when you swallowed around him like you were doing now. 

Your hand was still wrapped around his base, fingers reached further back to press against his frenulum and apply pressure to his balls at the same time. You kept moving your mouth quickly and sloppily over his tip, swirling your tongue around his head where he was most sensitive.

“Jesus fucking Christ, y/n. God… your mouth.” 

It was borderline blasphemy the way he used God’s name. The way he cursed and moaned it out because you were giving him one of the most insane blowjobs of his entire life. There was pleasure in all types of blowjob, but there was nothing quite toe-curling like having his tip sucked and flicked at so fucking harshly. Harry almost felt like he needed to squeal like a little girl.

And you were eating it up. Literally. 

Sucking Harry off just turned you on to level 100. There was something about the shape of his cock… the weight of it on your tongue… his scent and soft skin, the way he was so incredibly hard for you and yet so sensitive and dainty at the same time. All of it. Add the dirty talk and the hair pulling and his nails scratching at your head like he wanted to force your head closer so you’d choke on him and you were practically a puddle in your jeans.

You wanted to touch yourself. To just dip your fingers in your underwear and touch the pain away. Just a little.

“Can I touch myself, Daddy? I’ll be quick, I promise.” You whispered, pulling off him to speak and catch your breath while you continued jerking him off. 

Even on your knees with all the power in this situation, you still asked permission to touch yourself. Harry had to force his mind elsewhere to not prematurely cum all over your nice outfit. 

“Do it. Make yourself cum f’me, baby. You’ve been sucking me so fucking good.” He praised, rubbing his thumb over your messy mouth. Your once perfect lipliner was all smudged now, leaving behind your pretty swollen lips for Harry to trace. He had a sudden craving to kiss you silly, but with your manicured fingers wrapped around him, his cock’s craving was stronger. Hungrier. 

You nodded, bringing his cock to your mouth and bopping against it while you undid your jeans so you could slide your hand into your underwear. It was like instant relief the moment your fingers met your clit. You were soaked and slippery and so fucking horny you knew it wouldn’t take long for you to finish yourself off. 

Harry was close too. You could tell by his heavier breathing and the slight twitching in his cock. You kept your lips wrapped around his tip and focused your attention there while you used one hand on his balls and the other to touch yourself. 

The closer both of you got to finishing, the louder your noises became. You tried so hard to hide it, to keep your noises reduced to a sigh especially when you could hear people talking all around you, but it was pretty damn hard. Your one saving grace was the music echoing through the speakers, but you were getting so lost in the pleasure you didn’t know or care whether it was loud enough to cover what you two were doing.

“Shit, y/n. ‘M close. ‘M getting so close…” 

Keeping your lips wrapped around him, you took his warning as a sign to jerk him faster and time your own circles on your clit with every movement you made on his cock. And it wasn’t long after his warning when you felt his whole body tremble against you. His thighs tensed and his abs clenched, his fingers stilled in your hair.

Harry had to bite down on his own fist to try and muffle the noise he let out when he finally came in your mouth, letting ribbons and ribbons of cum fill your throat until you had to swallow to make more room. He wanted to watch you take all of it and make yourself finish, but he could barely stand up straight let alone keep his eyes open to see the way you shook and squeezed your eyes shut when your own orgasm rushed over you. 

When he nudged your head away due to sensitivity, you both seemed to collapse in your own positions to try and calm down from your highs. Your head tilted against his thigh and you just sat there for a moment collecting yourself before deciding to redress Harry. You two had been in the dressing room for way too long now and the post-orgasm clarity was starting to make you freak out about what you had just done.

You only got his button done up before Harry was picking you up off the floor and drawing you in for a heated kiss.

“God I fucking love you.” He murmured, kissing you over and over again while you giggled into his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, poking his chest. “We should do that again sometime.” You breathed through a laugh while zipping up his pants for him. You were a little in disbelief at what just happened. 

“We should,” Harry smirked, reaching between you to zip up your jeans and do the button for you. “Though next time it’ll be you trying to keep quiet and we both know you have a harder time keeping your noises to yourself.”

“That’s so not true!” you scoffed, turning to the mirror so you could fix your hair. “I can keep completely silent thank you very much,” you couldn’t, not when you were with Harry anyway. 

“You’re such a liar.” He laughed, shaking his head while taking the lace shirt off so he could put his own clothes back on. You watched him through the mirror, still overly horny and unsatisfied. Seeing his bare chest just made you want his cock in your mouth again. Or better and far more satisfying, inside you. “I can very easily prove you wrong though, I hope you know that.” 

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes and then without any warning felt Harry press his chest into your back while he wrapped his hand around your neck. Your eyes widened and you felt your head go dizzy when he applied pressure just in the right spots. 

“I’ve been very generous to you today, baby, and while having my cock in y’mouth is a very nice thank you, I don’t think it warrants attitude, does it?” he murmured, making eye contact with you in the mirror while running his nose up the length of your neck. 

Fuck me. 

God, you wished he would. 

You swallowed thickly, a little overwhelmed at how dominant he became in a flash. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have him so in control and so powerful. Since you got together he had been so soft and loving. The parts of him that would correct you and reprimand you when you broke eye contact or showed a hint of attitude had significantly softened. They hadn’t disappeared altogether, your sex and your life together was still playful and Harry was most definitely in charge, but with your lives being so busy and having so many things to work through, it was clear to both of you that things had changed. 

You just hadn’t really spoken about it. 

But you didn’t want to forget. You didn’t want Harry to think that he couldn’t push boundaries anymore or be rough with you just because you two were in a relationship. In the beginning you knew he didn’t want to overstep because things were so emotionally raw still, but now that things were good between you two… 

You put it down to not having time, which was a big part of the problem. Still, you missed it.

“N-no…” You breathed, sliding your hand to cover the one he had around your neck, “No, it doesn’t.”

“Exactly. So?” He prompted with a raised brow, caressing his fingers up and down the sides of your neck with little pressure. 

“‘M sorry, Daddy.” 

The title slipped out easily, naturally. It was never going to be part of your lives 24/7 because that wasn’t your dynamic, but you two were clearly still playing and you were still in the high of sucking him off. It was just so easy to let go of all thoughts and issues when he took control like this. 

“Good girl, angel.” He smiled, manoeuvring your face to the side so he could kiss you and look at you directly. You savoured the kiss, craving that closeness even when he pulled away to run his thumb over your lips. “Are you still hungry?”

You nodded. “Very.”

“Good.” His eyes softened and he couldn’t resist kissing you again. “Wait outside then, okay? I’ll get dressed then we’ll drop our bags to the car and go get dinner.” 

“Okay.” You nodded again, wanting nothing more than to just cling to him and never let you go. Still, you did what he asked and cautiously slipped out of the room, thankful that the one person standing out there paid no attention to you or even Harry when he exited his fitting room a minute later.

It was decided during your dinner together that you’d go back with Harry to his house. After spending such a nice day together, you didn’t really want to go home. You knew you should’ve, especially since you still had one assignment to go before you could focus on studying for your exams, but you knew that you wouldn’t get anything done after the week you’ve had whether you were with Harry or without him.

And you’d much rather be with him. 

When you got to his home, you wanted to try everything on again just to make sure you liked what you got in case you changed your mind. Fitting room mirrors can give you the best or worst confidence in the world and you always need to see things in your own house (or Harry’s in this case) to make a final decision. While Harry didn’t quite understand your logic, he was happy to sit in his nice armchair and watch you try everything on for him. 

Harry found it quite adorable the way you analysed yourself. The look of concentration and slight furrow in your brow as you observed yourself from every angle. Harry liked everything on you of course, but he quickly learnt you still needed to hear it from him at least three times before you believed it. 

“Okay, last one.” You declared, emerging from his walk-in closet where you just looked at the dress for a solid three minutes before wanting Harry’s opinion. 

“It’s gorgeous. I love the colour on you.” Harry beamed, fingers laced together with his elbows resting on his parted knees. He scanned your body, thinking that this one was possibly his favourite dress of the day. “Makes your bum look great.”

“Stop.” You scoffed, laughing while looking back in the mirror. You were able to see it from the doorway of his walk-in robe, which was handy. “Seriously, though. You don’t think it washes me out?”

“No. I think it suits you perfectly. It’s different from other dresses you have too.” 

You didn’t quite understand how Harry had the patience to sit through a haul like this. Your dad never did, even when you forced him to at least pretend to be interested and yet Harry acted like every outfit was the newest, greatest thing he had ever seen. If it were even possible, you loved him more for it. 

“That’s what I was thinking. I wanted a few things that are a bit more unique, y’know? Even though I’ll probably end up wearing the same things all the time anyway.” You laughed to yourself, eyes focused on the dress. You tilted your body side to side, watching how the fabric flowed around you. “So you definitely like it?”

Barely a minute after his second assurance and you needed another. Harry would happily tell you how beautiful you are a million times if that made you happy. 

“Yes.” Harry nodded, “1000%”

“1000% huh?” You grinned at him. He nodded with an equally happy smile. “Okay then. I’m satisfied with my purchases now and I feel justified.” You announced it like you were proud of the outcome, even though you didn’t buy a single item of anything that you tried on for Harry. He fucking loved it though. If you ordered him to buy you a new car or a $20,000 bag he’d do so in a heartbeat then need to fuck you because of how much it turned him on.

“Good.” Harry laughed, sitting back in his chair. “C’mere, baby.” He motioned you over to him, letting you step between his parted before he wrapped his arms around your hips. You smiled down at him, slinging your arms around his neck.

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” He smiled, hugging you closer to him. “Are you feeling better after this morning?”

Your smile faltered and suddenly the happiness you got from your little shopping spree disappeared into thin air. It was nothing but a quick distraction, easily ruined by a reality check. You couldn’t blame Harry though. All he did was check in on you.

You nodded and started twirling the hair at the nape of his neck around your fingers. “Yeah… it was nice to have the distraction. There’s just been so much shit going on at the moment and I feel like I haven’t breathed properly for weeks. I just want to have a clear head for once, y’know? Just not think about anything.” you sighed, looking down for a moment.

“I can help with that,” Harry said softly, tilting your head up with his index finger so you were forced to look at him. “You know that right, y/n? I can give you anything you want…” his voice dropped an octave and you were instantly aware that he wasn’t offering a listening ear. Your breath hitched and your body completely tensed up in his arms, “...anything you need.” 

“I know…” you whispered, unable to look anywhere except right into his darkening gaze.

“So let me…” he urged, “Do you want me to clear your head for you?...” he scanned your face, sliding the tip of his index finger from your chin down to trace along your neck. It was a trail of fire. Just the path of his fingertip was making you need to claw out of your own skin and he had barely touched you. It felt like he hadn’t properly touched you for weeks. “To take away all your stress and your thoughts… let you be completely relaxed?”

You were practically trembling in his touch. One hand was squeezing your waist and the other was trailing patterns over your neck and your collarbones, down to the modest neckline of your dress. You were dying. 

“I can take full control if you want me to, y/n. You just have to say the word.” He flattened his palm against your neck, making you flutter your eyes closed as he enclosed his hand around it. He applied no pressure, just a loose hold to show you what he could do to you. For you. “I can be Harry or Daddy… whatever you need. Anything you need.”

The way his mouth moved at the two clear syllables of ‘Daddy’ had you sweating. He was giving you every choice, every option so that he knew exactly what you needed and wanted. So that he could take the reigns and let you sink into your submissive bliss. 

You needed that more than anything else in the entire world.

“I…” your words faltered, even as you forced yourself to look at him. “I need you, Daddy. Please.”

Harry nodded, scanning your face once more as the side of his mouth lifted ever so slightly in the softest smile he could muster. “I love you and I’m so proud of you for everything you’re achieving, y/n. It takes a lot of strength and endurance to be as strong as you have been.” Now it was your heart that was trembling. “Now let me do it for you. You’re gonna be a good girl for me, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes-yes, thank you.” You nodded eagerly, wanting to sink into his arms so he could take the weight off your feet for you. If he could walk for you, you would’ve let him. 

“Good. I want to take you back to Pleasing.”

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[yuquinzel]

atsumu who goes above and beyond to impress you, his crush and classmate of four years, in all definitions of “impress.”

honestly how the fuck isn't it obvious to you by now, he might as well be walking around with “i like y/n” tattooed on his forehead.

you mention you like guys that can cook once and holy fuck atsumu who still doesn't know how to use the microwave without quite literally burning the food, who's never chopped onions before without ending up with enough cuts to bandage his whole hand— that atsumu practices for weeks and stays up till 2 am to prepare for the lunch he'll make for himself, because osamu said said no and then because you bring homemade lunch to stay and eat in class with your friends— he'll casually just plop down on the seat next to you, his friends will then very obviously willingly talk loudly about his lunch and he'll just throw in a, “yeah, made it maself, 'm a solid chef, who do ya think taught 'samu?”

okay if that didn't get your attention, no worries, what are his friends there for?

if atsumu gets lucky in a day and catches you chatting away with your friends in the hallway, then he instructs his friends to walk past you, hover in the corner, just within your earshot— “'kay, so when we pass her by, ya gotta speak ma name real loud, loud enough so she can hear it, but don't annoy her”

and so for the time you stand there, trying to hold a conversation with your friends, all your mind can really focus on is the, “atsumu was so fucking good in practice today, if we're gonna win, then it'll be all him”

and then you hear the subject of the conversation speak, “nah, we're a team, every time we win, it's all thanks ta you guys,” because you also mentioned you like modest, humble guys.

god forbid the days you're absent in class.

atsumu who's sulking all day, doesn't know what the fuck is going on in classes, he's half in and half not in every conversation, even his passes are sloppy and weak. to the point osamu and suna are concerned, well, in their own ways, “are ya constipated or something, yer missin’ your spikes and yer passes as clumsy,” osamu says off-handedly.

“i heard y/n didn't come today, i think her friends said she's sick.” suna chips in, and atsumu shrinks in his spot like a grumpy cat.

“i already know that, wouldn't have come today if i knew she wasn't comin’.”

“you'd miss practice then.”

“don't care, don't talk to me, don't wanna do anything, what's the point.”

“down fucking bad,” suna muses, and atsumu glares at him.

atsumu's day is ruined and his disappointment is immeasurable. why did you get sick? how could you get sick? now he's worried and half of himself and his passes are shit and god, he wants to see you. he feels like he could die.

then when you finally show up the next day after what felt like eternity to atsumu, you find on your desk a pile of snacks with a little note— banana milk, everyone knows it's your favourite, the bar of chocolate they only sell down the convenience store near the school, the glazed donuts that you're always eating in class, and a lot of bubblegums that only one person in class knows you like— atsumu's handwriting is rushed and barely comprehensive but you know it by heart because he doesn't know you saw him slip the note you found in your locker this morning, and countless other mornings—

“i hope you smile because of this”

atsumu as a secret admirer is... not so secret because he's still unaware that you see him every morning, and let him giggle to himself as he slips the notes and the strips of bubblegums in your locker— you don't even like that flavor.

but he gave them, so you think they might just be your favourite.

then again, maybe atsumu doesn't want to be a secret admirer.

atsumu has a crush on you and you know that— he's very obvious. but he's also very dense and doesn't realise that everyone besides him can see you like him too. he doesn't know the only reason you bring homemade lunch is because he had started to eat lunch in class with his friends. you stand in the hallways with your friends pretending to talk so that when atsumu's walking past you, his friends will practically yell his name and you'll see him blushing shyly. he still doesn't know you come to his every match, cheering for him and scream with joy at every one of his scores.

atsumu makes it obvious he has a crush on you but is stupidly dense that you reciprocate all the same :'))))

© seimirins 2024 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

POSTING BECAUSE WHY TF NOT HUH HUHHHHHHHHH

@kyoghurts hi bbg

[sceletaflores]

isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x stanford!fem!reader

summary: and there it is. there’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. the heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what art’s wanted. what he’s wanted for months.

—or: art tries to get through to you about patrick, it doesn't go how he thought it would.

word count: 6.2k+ (i'm so sorry lmao pls still read it's good i promise)

warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it ya'll!), switch!art a little bit, creampies, kinda hate sex but not really, more like angry sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, art is lowkey a little gay for patrick (it's literally canon), tiny bit of manipulative!art, art is just kinda an asshole in disguise honestly, hints of mean!reader cause i live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties, art being a bad bro, porn with too much plot, no use of y/n.

authors note: so this is basically a re-worked version of art and tashi’s dining hall scene when he’s trying to convince her that patrick isn’t in love with her. it’s really similar just way more messy and angry and with sex. this is literally just a tiny thought i had that somehow spiraled just a little bit, but i needed some lowkey asshole!art in my life. i had so much fun writing this, like way too much fun lmao. title is a lyric from fall out boy’s "sugar, we're going down swinging" cause that song fucks so hard and it's soooo art coded. okay bye! mwah xoxo

Art Donaldson is a patient guy. He's nice, understanding, empathetic. It's something he prides himself on, lots of guys on campus are pricks, but not him. He's "the sweet blonde guy that plays tennis, like, really well!" according to most people who've met him.

That being said, he's not blind to the fact that you frustrate him to the point of wanting to shout himself hoarse and rip his hair out.

It's been a while since he and Patrick met you for the first time at the Open, and Art has been through hell and back about a million times over by now.

He still so vividly remembers watching you step onto the court, the almost visceral reaction he had. The crowd was cheering and clapping nearly as loud as they were for Tashi. There were even a few signs made in support of you scattered throughout the stands. Big poster boards plastered with your name and your winning streak and pictures of you playing, tennis balls and rackets drawn from markers decorating them.

It was obvious you were a favorite, and it was more than obvious how much you lived for it.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, fully basking in their respect and adoration. You were nearly glowing, Art couldn't take his eyes off you. He could tell that Patrick was thinking the same thing, if the way his thigh tensed up where it was plastered against Arts was any hint, his breath slightly catching as you started stretching.

"Goddamn..." Patrick had muttered under his breath. Art could distantly see his hand clench on top of his thigh when you bent over to tighten your laces. He always tries to be less shameless than Patrick but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by you, fighting the urge to shift in his seat.

After you and Tashi walked up to the net with matching smiles and shook hands for a little longer than usual, it was time to start. Art watched as both of you got in position on the opposite ends of the court. Both of your faces lost the easy-going, excited expressions you’d shared when you first walked out, hardening in concentration as Tashi got ready to serve.

Patrick and Art openly gawking at the two of you would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking justified.

You and Tashi made magic happen on that court. 

It was powerful hit after powerful hit. Tashi’s backhand was out of this world, your overhand was a monster. Every rally, every volley, every serve was pure perfection. Art had never seen tennis played like that before in his life, he couldn't help but get sucked into your world the longer he watched.

The match was close, completely neck-and-neck throughout each set, neither of you willing to give an inch to the other. Tashi won by a single point, hardly wasting any time before she vaulted over the net to come barreling into your open arms, crashing into you so hard it knocked the two of you to the ground. You both grasped at each other like lifelines on the hard concrete of the court as the announcer crowned Tashi the 2006 girl’s U.S Open champion.

Art let out a long breath and deflated a little deeper in his seat. His mind racing, he didn’t need to look at Patrick to know he felt the same. They sat in silence like that until the stands were practically empty. 

“What time did you say the party was again?”

Art pointedly ignored Patrick staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, stretching his arms out in feigned nonchalance. Patrick just snorted, shaking his head and squeezing Art’s thigh.

That was then, now Art sits across from you in the Stanford dining hall at the same table you two eat lunch at everyday, trying to stay cool as you complain about the latest biology lab you’re doing. 

He’s hardly listening to you, too busy trying his best to not glare too obviously at the hoodie you're wearing. One that he knows for a fact belongs to Patrick. You must have kept it the last time he was in town. The Nike swoosh embroidered to the front almost mocks him. Art puts his water down with a little more force than necessary.

Patrick and you being…whatever the two of you are now was something he tried his best to be okay with in the beginning. Patrick’s his best guy, Art should have been so stoked that you were into him as much as he was into you when the two of them walked up to congratulate you and Tashi at the Adidas party. Only being able to steal you away from the house after you said your goodbyes to Tashi and her parents, inviting you to join them down at the beach.

It was obvious you were playing into Patrick’s attempts to get in your pants. Not blushing or averting your eyes shyly when he blatantly checked you out, throwing out smart comebacks to his sleazy lines, looking up at him through your lashes and biting your lip. It would have been soul-crushing if Art wasn’t such a good friend. So, he stifled the rising feelings of jealousy and plastered a smile on his face as he watched Patrick shamelessly flirt with you.

It wasn’t like it was your fault. Art didn’t come on as strong as Patrick, he never did. Plus it wasn’t like he and Patrick had talked about who could try and score with you prior to the party, anything was fair game.

Besides, you were nice enough to Art that night. Chatting about college admissions and smiling at him over your coke bottle. Sure, it stung seeing you laugh at Patrick’s stupid jokes while the two of you smoked off the same cigarette, but there was nothing he could do about it. You choosing Patrick had nothing to do with him. Everyone always chose Patrick, he was used to it by now.

At least he thought he was, but the longer it was just you and him, the more angry he felt each time Patrick would visit and steal all your attention. It wasn’t just jealousy or frustration anymore; it was a gnawing, consuming rage that twisted his insides every time he saw you light up around Patrick.

Patrick didn't fucking deserve you. You were too good for him. Nothing like all the easy, ditsy girls he fucked his way through at the academy. You were special, unlike any girl Art’s ever met. Patrick would just take you for granted. He'd grow tired of you, completely dismissing you when he got bored enough. Any day now he'd call Art to spill on his latest hookup with some chick he met on tour. 

But Art didn’t want to sit around and wait for that day to come. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt by Patrick’s inevitable indifference. The idea of you, heartbroken and discarded, made his blood boil. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not just a trophy. 

Art knows he could be that person for you if you’d give him a chance, if for once you’d look at him instead of Patrick. He just has to find a way to get you to understand that.

“Pat texted me this morning,” you say from across the table, boredly poking at your pasta. “He’s gonna be here later this week, says he wants to go see 30 Days of Night. Tashi and you should come with us.”

Art hums noncommittally, not looking at you as he takes another bite of his salad. You do this a lot– extend invites to Art and Tashi when you and Patrick go out. Art knows you think you’re being nice by trying to make them feel included, but getting invited usually means having to watch Patrick touch you and kiss you and walk around with his hand in your back pocket.

Art’s fork stabs into his salad roughly. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to swirl inside him. “Yeah, sure,” he says eventually, forcing a smile. “Sounds fun.”

He sneaks a look at you from under his lashes. You’re already looking at him, brow raised at his clipped tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Art shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.”

Art lets out a small laugh, but it sounds more sour than sweet, and finally looks up at you. You look back expectantly, concern lingering in your eyes. “Nothing, it’s just…” he pauses, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, “the fact that you two are still going out surprises me. That’s all.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, words sounding way more patronizing than he wanted. His chest immediately tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t wince or shrink back like he normally would, just keeps his eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of your lips. “What?” you ask, fork stilling in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art just sighs, putting his fork down and leaning towards you. “I know Patrick better than you do,” he says with a tiny shrug, “he’s always had a hard time with…commitment.” He says slowly, searching for the right word.

You don’t say anything for a couple seconds, eyes scanning over his face slowly like you're examining him. Art forces himself to not start squirming under your intense, studying gaze. You don’t seem to like what you find, eyes narrowing as you push your tray away from you and lean back in your seat. “Are you seriously shit talking your own best friend right now?”

Art’s brow raises, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, at all. His jaw ticks in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop. “I’m not trying to shit talk him,” he says calmly, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve just seen how things go with him. I’m looking out for you.”

Your eyes harden, disbelief mingling with irritation. “So, what? You think you know what’s best for me or something? Are you my keeper now?”

That pisses Art off, now you’re just being an asshole. His brows furrow, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He says, tone harder than before.

You scoff, anger spilling over your face. “Well what the fuck do you mean then, Art? Because you dancing around whatever it is you obviously want to say is really starting to piss me off.”

Irritation flares in Art’s chest, piercing and sudden. He swallows it down, breathing out his nose slowly to try and calm himself. The air between the two of you is tense now. You’re loud enough that a few people sitting at tables nearby start to quiet down, discreetly trying to listen in.

“Patrick doesn’t love you.” Art says spitefully, his fingers grip the muscle of his arms tighter. It’s childish, but he doesn't care.

Your eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. You recover quickly, letting out a disbelieving laugh as you push away from the table with a harsh scrape of your chair. "Excuse me?" Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and incredulous.  

He stays silent, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air. Your eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of retreat, but Art meets your gaze head-on, jaw set stubbornly. You stand with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare down at him. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care if Patrick loves me or not?”

Why do you care? The question makes his heart drop down to his stomach. Dread mixes with the anger in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the dining hall. You’re just being so difficult. You’re jumping to defend Patrick, not even trying to hear him out, just like you always do. Still refusing to give Art the attention he deserves. It’s fucking infuriating.

“I’m just saying,” he says, voice distant and cold, “he hasn’t been in love with you for a while. He’s told me.” 

It’s a lie, he’s hardly spoken to Patrick recently, but he’s in this now. He may as well go for broke, he always plays to win after all. 

Your face contorts grimly, another disbelieving laugh punches it’s way out your chest. You don’t seem to notice the amount of heads turned in your direction, or maybe you just don’t care. “Oh, he’s told you that has he?” you parrot back mockingly, head cocked to the side as you stare daggers at him, “That’s fucking bullshit Art!”

Art clenches his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before, never expected to be the cause of it. But at the same time he’s fucking angry too. Angry at you. Angry at Patrick. Angry at himself. His eyes narrow, holding your own heated gaze without backing down because if there's one thing he hates most, it's losing. “You don’t get it do you?” He mutters quietly, shaking his head in dismay. 

Your jaw tightens, eyes blazing as you lean forward, bracing your hands on the table to get up in his face. He can smell the familiar fruity sweetness of your perfume.

“What’s there to get? The only thing I’m getting right now, is a front row seat to you being a vindictive little prick.” You bite out, breath fanning over Art’s face. “Who even said I wanted Patrick to be in love with me? Who said I gave a fuck about any of that?” You question sternly, brows furrowed as you scowl at him.

Art scoffs loudly, his face twisting in disgust as he rolls his eyes. His blood boils at having to sit here while you bitch him out. He wants to strangle you, to take you by your shoulders and shake you so that you’ll listen. To make you see what he sees. To make you love him. “Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shifting so he’s leaning across the table just as you are, his eyes dark. “Everyone wants Patrick to love them. Everyone wants his attention. You want it.”

You just blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. You stare at him, not budging as your eyes scan over his face for a second time. And there it is. There’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. The heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what Art’s wanted. What he’s wanted for months now.

After a few tense seconds you just laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You might be the worst fucking friend in the world.” You say simply, like you're reading off this week's forecast.

Maybe he is.

Art can feel the heat rising to his cheeks in anger, in embarrassment, in hatred, in lust. The way you’re looking at him makes something stir deep in his gut. His heartbeat echoes in his ears. You’re so mad, but in that you’re giving him a hint of your attention, giving him the time of day, and you’re still fucking defending Patrick. Rage seethes in him, hot like fire. Yet even in this moment, you’re the only person that really matters. The intensity of your gaze pulls at something raw inside him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice is lower, pinched with thinly veiled frustration threatening to boil over.

"And you think you're the expert on what I deserve, Art? Last time I checked, your own love life’s track record isn't exactly stellar." It’s a low blow, bringing up how Tashi rejected him a while back. He hadn’t told you about that, so Tashi must have. He laughs, but his lips are pulled up in a sneer.

"Don’t start deflecting,” Your name falls from his lips sharply, stabbing through the thick tension in the air. “This isn't about me, it's about you. You're setting yourself up to get hurt, and I'm just trying to warn you–"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your fucking opinion," you snap, "maybe you should focus on your own damn problems.”

Art’s jaw tightens further, his frustration finally getting the best of him. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. But don't come crying to me when Patrick does what he always does— leaves you for someone new."

You stare at him incredulously, shock and anger warring in your expression. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, well," Art mutters bitterly, looking away. "Believe whatever you want. Just know that he’s playing with your feelings.”

You huff, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration. “What fucking feelings Art!” you say loudly, not quite shouting but you’re getting there. “Sure, Patrick and I fuck but that doesn’t mean we’re playing husband and wife with each other!” 

You’re definitely way too loud, voice steadily rising in volume the more you talk. Seemingly not caring about who’s around to hear you yell about fucking Patrick. “In fact,” you continue, shaking an accusatory finger at Art, “you’re the one trying to get in my head and play with my feelings, you fucking hypocrite.”

His mind whites out, filled with blinding jealousy all over again. He wants you so fucking badly, he could be everything you needed. Why can’t you see that? How could you be so blind? How could you not see that Patrick was using you, just like he used everyone else?

Art leans further across the table as you speak, his hands coming up to grip the edges of it tightly. “You’re so fucking naive, you know that?” He snaps in a biting tone. It’s harsher than he’s spoken to you during this whole fight.

Your voice drips with sarcasm as you lean forward, eyes locked on his. "Oh, well forgive me for not seeing the truth according to Saint Art."

“So fucking naive.” He repeats, spitting the words across the table meanly.

“And you’re a fucking pussy.” You bite back, leaning in even closer so Art can see your lips form around the words maliciously. You sway close enough that the tip of your nose bumps against his. His breath catches, going ragged in his throat. You’re so close to him. He can smell you, can practically taste you on his tongue.

He wants to take you in his arms, to hold you and kiss the anger off your face. The only thing keeping him from lunging out is the way you look. Your whole body is rigid with anger, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful. He has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be pissed at you and fight the urge to pull you in and really taste you.

But then you're backing away completely, “I won’t waste my time on stupid shit like this,” you mutter, turning to pick your bag up off the floor. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” You say sarcastically, not even looking at him as you turn on your heel and walk towards the dining hall’s exit before he can respond.

Art’s heart lurches forward at your words, not with pain, but with want. He watches you leave, the regret quickly setting in once you’re not here to play into his resentment. It hits him like a cold shiver, he wants to feel good for speaking his mind, for telling you how it is. Maybe on some level he does, but it’s overshadowed by how awful he feels.

Art stares down at his unfinished salad, appetite gone. He sighs loudly, standing up to toss his own tray plus the one you left behind. He tries his best to ignore the stares he can feel following him as he walks out.

ᯤ

Art wallows in misery for the rest of the day, skipping the practice he had planned after lunch. He just locks himself in his dorm, laying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling as he replays the fight in his mind. Replaying every word you said to him, every word he said back to you, every angry look you gave him. 

He thinks about texting you a thousand times. Typing and deleting different messages until he eventually gave up. He knows you’re beyond pissed, that him reaching out will only piss you off more and he wants to try and salvage this before you completely shut him out. The thought of losing you is why he never wanted to bring it up in the first place, regret settles in his gut like a ball of lead.

And yet, there was a small part of him that hoped, despite the shit show in the dining hall, that you’d see the quiet care he showed, the way he was there for you, and choose him for once. But hope was a dangerous thing, and Art wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Hours go by with nothing from you, it’s the longest you’ve gone with talking since the semester started. He forced himself to study for his biology final in a lazy attempt at taking his mind off you. You’d usually be in his dorm room right now, all spread out on his bed like it’s your own as you talk his ear off about something like your asshole psychology professor. 

The longer he sits at his desk the longer the ache in his chest consumes him. Art would do anything to know what you were thinking right now. He’d grovel for your attention, he’d fall to his knees and beg and plead if that’s what it took for you to forgive him. 

He’s getting ready for bed when his Blackberry pings on his night stand, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he rushes over to it. His heart stutters in his chest when he sees it's a text from you. It’s only two words, a simple ‘come over’. 

Art’s never moved faster in his life, rushing out of his room with only his phone, wallet, and keys. 

He makes it to your dorm in record time, nearly sprinting across campus to hurry up and get there before you change your mind. All that needy rushing completely vanishes once he’s actually outside your door. 

Art hesitates, staring at the little door decals taped on with your name written on them in black sharpie. He rests his ear against the door, but he can’t hear anything. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched as he wrestles with himself.

“C’mon Donaldson, don’t be such a little bitch.” Patrick’s voice rings out in the back of his mind. He takes a breath and knocks on the door.

Barely a second passes before it’s swinging open and you're there, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him inside your room. Art's back hits the closing door with a thud, his breath catching in surprise. His hands shoot out to brace on either side of the door, knocking over a racket resting on the wall. Everything he brought with him falling to clatter onto the wood floor loudly.

You look rough, eyes slightly red and puffy like you may have been crying. Your breath comes out in short, quick bursts as you stare up at him. All the anger he swore would come rushing back when he saw you drains out of him in a second.

His face softens, a tiny frown on his lips. "Hey, what’s going on?" he asks, voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands come up to hover near your hips, hesitatating at the last second, not sure if he should touch you.

Without a word, you’re flying forward while yanking him down by his shirt. Closing the distance between the two of you with your lips crashing against Art’s. It’s so sudden, so completely out of left field, that Art stumbles forward a few steps, hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself.

It’s almost pathetic how easily he kisses back, not even hesitating. Flashes of Patrick’s face go through his mind as he eagerly reciprocates, not stopping him from pulling your hips flush against his. He definitely might be the worst friend in the world, all the loyalty he felt to Patrick tossed out of his mind the second your tongue slides past his lips.

It’s intense, there’s no romance or gentleness about it. Your lips move against his almost violently, all the aggression and anger from earlier still very much there. He’s never kissed a girl like this before, it’s not how he imagined his first kiss with you would go. He’s still getting hard in his sweats anyway.

Your tongue fucks into his mouth roughly, it reminds him of the time he and Patrick kissed when they were still at the academy for “practice”. He moans loudly into your mouth, letting you dominate the kiss and just trying his best to keep up. Your teeth clack against his roughly, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to have him whining embarrassingly high and needy.  

“It’s over with Patrick,” you breathe hotly, slick lips brushing his with every word. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Art’s dick feels hard enough to burst out of his sweats by sheer force, but he pauses, pulling away from you with a hesitant look. "I-" he tries, voice cracking slightly. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he clears his throat. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's so soon, and I mean you're obviously going through something and I don't want to take advantage of yo-"

An incredulous laugh bursting from your lips effectively cuts Art off, your eyes roll to the ceiling in dry amusement. “God, Art.” you scoff, both hands pushing off his chest to create space between the two of you. He keeps his hands on your hips, the thin material of your bottoms bunching in his grip. “You’re such a fucking little bitch, you can kiss me but you won’t fuck me? What is it? You scared of Patrick or something?”

The taunt hits Art like a slap across the face, he freezes for a second before disbelief gives way to white hot rage. You just stare up at him smugly, lips red and wet. Art bares his teeth, using his strong hold on your hips to force you backwards until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me,” he spits, glaring down at you as he speaks. “Acting like such a fucking brat. You want me to fuck you?” He pushes you back onto the bed roughly, covering your body with his, letting his weight sink you deeper into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll fuck you.”

Art sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind his shoulder. Your greedy eyes rake down the toned muscle of his torso, hands coming up to lightly scratch your nails over his abs. His breath hitches, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. He grabs your wrists, forcing them down and pinning them to the bed. “No touching.” he chastises, leaning down to bite the skin of your neck roughly. Sucking hard enough that he’ll definitely leave a mark. 

His dick twitches against the inside of his sweats at the thought of you walking around campus with his claim staked on you, at the thought of Patrick, if he was still coming down, seeing it and immediately knowing who left it there. He slides his knee between your legs, he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, can feel how you’re so wet it’s soaking through your bottoms and onto his thigh. 

You hiss at the sting of his teeth, trying to squeeze your wrists out of his strong grip. Your thighs tighten around his knee, hips bucking up against him. “Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon, Art? Or do I need to find someone else that’s not all talk?”

Art chuckles darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbones. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but I haven’t even touched you yet–” he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear, “–And you’re still fucking soaked for me anyway.” He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear in a dirty stripe. 

You let out a keen, pretty and high, grinding your hungry pussy against his knee faster. He lets go of your hands, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Tossing you around like it’s nothing, just manhandling you.

“God,” he groans, big hands coming up to knead the meat of your ass, spreading it lewdly making you moan softly. “You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, words falling from his lips like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Art keeps one hand tight on your hip, the other fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats so he can push them down to finally free his aching dick. Letting it spring out to slap up onto his bare stomach, trailing a thin line of pre-come across his abs. 

You squirm under him, feet kicking out as you struggle in his hold. Your head craning over your shoulder and zeroing in on his dick, hard and red and leaking. “You came over here with no panties on, Donaldson?” you taunt, pushing your ass back onto the sensitive length of his erection. “How slutty–” 

“Shut up,” he snaps harshly, but his dick twitches where it’s dragging over the seam of your ass. He’s leaking like a faucet, leaking like a girl, all over your light green plaid bottoms. It strikes him suddenly, how familiar they look. He stares at the worn down fabric covering your ass, at the way his pre-come stains the material darker, at the way they hang too low on your hips, too big for you. 

“Are these…are these Patrick's,” he asks slowly, voice low as his fingers skim over the soft material. You chuckle wickedly, wiggling your hips back teasingly. 

“Yeah, they are,” you say, sliding your ass back and forth over Art’s dick. “You’re leaking jizz all over your best friend's pants, Art.”

Art groans loudly, chin dropping to his chest as hips jerk against your ass involuntarily. A full body shiver wracks through him like lightning, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to come all over your ass. “Shit–” he bites out sharply, voice rough and scratchy. He can distantly hear you laughing at him through all the white noise buzzing in his ears.

He breathes out through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He needs to be in control for once, needs to teach you a lesson for ignoring him for so long.

Art’s hands come up to the waistband of your– Patrick's– pants, fingers digging underneath the loose material and forcefully yanking it down along with your panties, only pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You yelp in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tightly. 

“I need to get inside you, right fucking now.” he rumbles thickly, flipping you onto your back again. He needs to see your face when he fucks you for the first time, needs to burn it into his mind forever.

“Fuck yes,” you reply eagerly, arms coming up ro circle around his shoulders. “Finally.”

Art doesn't reply, eyes fixed on your bare pussy, so fucking wet and shining underneath the shitty ceiling light of your dorm. His mouth waters, he wants to drop to his stomach and eat you out until you're shaking and squirting all over his face. His dick drools at the thought, but he’ll have to wait. He needs to fuck you.

He takes his dick in his hand, dragging it through the silky skin of your soaked folds. He spreads your wetness around your clit, rubbing the leaking tip over you back and forth teasingly. You whine, thighs starting to shake on either side of him. He drags his dick back down to your clenching hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside the tight, wet heat.

Art doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the thick head of his dick breaching your tight hole, burying himself to the hilt inside of you with a sharp thrust. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs coming up to wrap tightly around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back. “Shit, fuck you’re– God, you're so fucking deep.”

“I’m going to use your fucking pussy however I want,” Your name falls from his lips, dirty and blistering. “because it’s the least I deserve for putting up with your bullshit for so fucking long, and you’re going to be good and lay there and take it.” He drives his point home with a mean thrust of his hips.

“Fuck you, Art.” you mutter back, trying to keep up the bratty act even though your voice is going breathless and needy.

Art doesn’t ease into it, pulling back only to start pounding into your pussy ruthlessly. Sharp slaps of his hips stinging your ass each time he drives back in, your eyes roll back in your head, slack lips parted in pleasure as he fucks you. 

Art can’t help but lean down to claim your mouth, kissing you a little too sweetly for the moment. He can’t help it, not when you’re under him making the sweetest noises, letting him fuck your perfect fucking pussy like he owns it. God.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Art growls, breaking the kiss to rest his sweaty forehead agasint yours. “You’re so fucking, tight. Feels so fucking– shit, so fucking good.” His hips speed up, desperately rutting into you.

“Art,” you whine, nails scratching down his back hard. “I’m so close, fuck I’m so close– keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, groaning at the way his name sounds getting fucked out of your mouth. The loud squelch your pussy makes each time he buries himself back inside has his ears burning, he can feel you soaking the skin of his thighs with every thrust.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy milk me dry,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I‘m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.” He ruts into you harder, splitting you open with every thrust. The skin of your ass turning red and raw from how hard he’s giving it to you. 

Your hands come up to bury themselves in his hair, tugging sharply to make him look at you. “Inside,” you pant, eyes glazed over and wild, “come inside me Art, please. I’m on the pill you can, you can come inside me.” Your legs tighten their hold on his hips, ankles locking snuggly over his lower back so he couldn’t even pull out if he wanted.

“Fuck!” Art shouts your name hoarsely, hips stuttering as he unloads in you. Hot come spraying the walls of your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your whole body shaking as you come with him. Your pussy chokes his dick so tightly, gripping him like a vice, milking him.

Art tilts his head up, catching your lips with his to greedily swallow down all your moans. He keeps going, shallow thrusts of his hips working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until you’re kicking at his back, whining at fhim to stop. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. 

It’s quiet for a while, the two of you silently trying to catch your breath. Your hands come up to his head, sliding into the messy strands of his hair. “It’s pretty late now,” you say slowly, nails scratching against his scalp softly. “You could…you could stay here if you want.”

Art hides the wide grin breaking out on his face in your chest, arms coming up to circle around your waist. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers back, squeezing the soft skin of your hips once.

It’s only later, when you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, that he stares up at the ceiling lost in thought. He’s too worked up to sleep, so fucking thrilled that it worked. His plan actually worked. You’re his now. He looks down at you, glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through your window, deep hickeys scattered across your neck. He drags his fingers along your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

This is what he’s wanted for so long, you.

You asleep in bed with him, you curled up in his arms, you with his come steadily dripping out of your swollen pussy.

Art can hear his Blackberry start buzzing on your nightstand, lighting up with an incoming call. Even from far away he can read the name displayed on the screen. Patrick. He lets it ring.

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes @motopoppp @nhlfs @elaci @myahswrld @angelheavensblog @arianaroman @mcugurl @igotmajordaddyissues @redmoonsofvenus @tomorrowillmissyou

if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[fourkisses]

i stare at the crash (it actually works) ✷

a cs55 written-smau where . . .

carlos signs with porsche after getting ditched by ferrari only to find himself in a heated rivalry with his new teammate. oh, and did i mention she's his ex-girlfriend?

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!porsche driver!reader

warnings: sexist comments from haters, swearing (a lot of swearing)

writer's note: psa i don't have that much knowledge regarding the technical aspect of races; i just watch cars go vroom vroom :⁠,) if there is something here that is not accurate then 1) i am truly sorry; and 2) for the sake of the fic let's just pretend it's true in this au 🤝🏻 (p.s. let me know if you want a part 2!)

also this is my first work so welcome to my blog ig ????

porsche.motorsport ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, and 283,932 others

porsche.motorsport All set for some high-speed action. #SpanishGP

👥: carlossainz55, yourusername

view comments

chiliracing we're almost halfway thru the 2025 calendar and i still can't process carlos in porsche

sainzsauce girl i can't even process porsche in f1

porschegirlie double podium plsplsplspls 🤞

ynlover let's get that bag @/yourusername !!!

user1 why is a girl even in f1

ynbabes why are ppl like u even on this planet

sharleclair i miss carlos in ferrari 🥲

4everpapaya are we just going to ignore the fact that these two are on each other's throat since the beginning of the season like they're not teammates

aninchident porsche is the new alpine 👍

lovinggasly @/aninchident girl 💀💀

mrshamilton44 fanfic worthy me thinks 🤭

smoothoperator @/mrshamilton44 so true 😵 i need an enemies to lovers trope, slowburn romance, she fell first he fell harder fanfic with a 24k wordcount

saint55 ✨ carlos home race win ✨

shesayshesays carlos is with porsche?!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Lap No. 56 • Place: 4th

“What the fuck?”

Sainz exclaimed to his race engineer in confusion as he exits the pit lane. He starts zooming into the track, now past the Mercedes who is—was—in third place.

A low static was heard before a voice from the other side of the line spoke. “Yeah, um, that was a five second penalty for crossing the white line when you entered the pit earlier.”

“And Y/N was the one to report?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yep, she said she thinks you went off limits so they reported it.”

“Fucking hell. What is she, the FIA rulebook or something?”

His race engineer can sense the frustration in his voice. “I agree that was not a move we appreciate especially coming from her but we gotta keep our head in the race. It's already said done so we just got to keep pushing, okay?”

Carlos can only sigh in defeat. “Yep, okay. Copy,” he responds. Then, he let go of the button.

He continues to get his wheels hot on the track. 263. 289. 310. Right now he really is just ramming the pedal with a force he don't know he physically could be capable of until this moment.

Well, one can suppose anger really works wonders, especially for a guy like him who was supposed to be leading the damn race right now.

To get things straight, he isn't mad because of the penalty per se. He knew it was his mistake. Carlos is mad because of the fact that his own teammate, you, would be the one to snitch on him.

But who is he kidding? This animosity between the two of you has only been growing since the day you locked eyes with one another in the Porsche executive room a few months ago. People think it's because of your competitive nature. The real reason behind it though, well, only the two of you knows.

He sharply steers his wheel to the right, attempting to overtake by going for the inside. Come turn 10 and he is now speeding past the papaya-colored car that was in front of him earlier, earning P2 along the way.

Finally. He can see the back of your car now. Ten more laps and it will all be over.

He momentarily lets go of the gas pedal.

A second.

Two.

Three.

Then, he slams his foot back onto it.

Lap No. 58 • Place: 2nd

Of course he catches up.

You looked at your side mirror and the image of his car only seem to get bigger and bigger as seconds pass by.

“How much is my gap from Sainz?” you asked. Static crackles in your ear before you got a response.

“One point five seconds,” your race engineer answered.

Close, but not quite. Only eight more laps.

“Okay, copy.”

“Y/N, Carlos is mad. Said he did not appreciate what you did with the report back there.”

“It's his own fault. He made the error, he should face the consequences.”

“Just warning you to be safe; he is hot on your tail as of the moment.”

“Sure, thanks.”

You release your hold of the radio button and once again looked at your side mirror. It doesn't look like one point five seconds if you're being fucking honest. In all actuality, it looks like he's about to slam his nose to your rear any time now.

Except you won't let him, no.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Lap No. 66 • Place: 2nd

You manage to hold him off for the past seven laps despite him closing in fast due to the soft tyres he got when he pitted earlier. It's the last lap and he's only half a second behind you. Wait, scratch that. He's still half a second behind you. You continue to defend the inside, knowing that it's what he always goes for when overtaking.

You enter the last sector with a newfound sense of pride. You can almost see the checkered flag now. Almost taste the sweet, sweet victory on your tongue. But then. But then shit happens.

You don't know how the fuck, but Carlos is now wheel to wheel with you after turn 13.

Fucking soft tyres. Can't compete with a soft tyre when I have a medium one which hasn't been replaced in the past 28 laps!

You turn your head to his direction only to see him already looking at you. Even with a helmet on, you can see, feel, his smirk. His very, very insultingly sexy smirk. You never got the urge to smash his pretty face more than right now. And then, just then and there, he does something very very unexpected: he waves at you.

The next thing you know, you're in the DRS zone, he overtakes you by going for the outside, and he's the new race leader. On the last turn. Of the last lap. And then and then and then, like a dream come true, except the dream is actually a nightmare: he gets to the checkered flag first.

He wins.

And you lose to him.

Again.

f1 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

liked by porsche.motorsport, saint55, and 3,283,828 others

f1 Smooth operator gets the trophy on his home race! 🏆

This marks Carlos Sainz's first win this season 💪

#F1 #Formula1 #SpanishGP

view comments

f1thusiast HOLY SHIT THAT LAST FEW SECONDS WAS WILD 🤯

saint55 i fucking manifested this !!!!!!

mysf LETS GOOO FORZA FERRARI SEMPRE 🗣️

leclercsgf girl???????

mysf porsche doesn't have a tagline so 😭

ssilverstonez tHAT WAS A CRAZY ASS RACE

taycieluvbot i js know admin had to edit this last second 😭

verstoppens THE BEST RACE ENDING I'VE WATCHED IN YEARS 🔥🔥🔥

ynismybae Y/N was robbed button >>>>>

user1 good thing he beat that girl 👍👍👍 she doesn't belong there 🤮

ynbabes hOW ABOUT I BEAT YOUR MISOGYNISTIC SEXIST ASS

fiftyfive his ciao to y/n before driving past her 💀

lilmissporsche porsche double podium yesss !!!

sincerelysainz FINAFUCKINGLYYYYYY

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It's been almost six hours after the race. The energy in the paddock has since died down. The fans and audience already went on with their lives and only a few engineers and mechanics are walking to and from their starting points and destinations.

You, however, are still here. You walk under the orange-colored sky, taking in the mesmerizing hue of the natural canvas above you. The warm, gentle breeze softly kisses your face. You think of the race. Then the previous race and the one before that. The season. Your future. Your past. You think of everything and anything and inevitably end up thinking about . . . Ugh.

And of course, as if he read your mind, his figure—one so familiar to you you even see it vividly in your dreams sometimes—catches your eye.

There he was on a secluded corner, standing tall and... not alone. Even with the veil of the dusk, you can still see some action going on, like: 1) how his hands are frantically moving; and 2) how his lips, the lips you used to call home, is on another woman's.

Classic Sainz Jr.

You are about to look away when, like a really really sick joke, his eyes meet yours.

Okay, time to go!

Except you can't. Because, because... you don't know. You just can't.

So instead you act unfazed. Unbothered. Moisturized. In your lane. You may have lost in the race but you will win this IDGAF war.

You raise a brow at him. What? Do I look like I care?

You see the corner of his lips rise to form a smirk. That very insultingly sexy smirk. Then, he continues to kiss the girl in front him, all while never breaking his eye contact with you.

Jesus. He is enjoying this shit.

You roll your eyes and turn your heels away from where he stands. You resume walking towards the hotel where you should've been minutes ago.

You start to think once more. The race, the previous one, and the one before that. Your future and your past. Anything and everything. Then you think of him again. The man who stole your win. The boy who broke your heart.

God, he's such a dick.

[gabessquishytum]

Hob and Dream are already together when Dream retires and becomes human. Hob is so so relieved because Dream is alive (he had been so scared at the end that he was going to lose Dream to his own depression) and now not only is Dream happy and free of his burdens, he and Hob can actually be together in a way they couldn’t before. So needless to say once Hob gets newly human Dream back home, they both are ready to fall into bed together to celebrate.

Their sex life has always been wild and passionate and thus a little on the rougher side, and so it starts out that way again just out of habit/routine. But then. Suddenly Dream is crying, yelping in pain, letting out soft little “ows” and Hob practically throws himself off the bed. Hob starts rambling off apologies because he is an idiot, Dream is human now!! They can’t just skip prep like they used to!! He is so so sorry and feels like the worst person in the world because Dream has been human for like an hour and Hob has already hurt him :( 

Meanwhile Dream is ready to walk into the ocean because obviously Hob will be disappointed in him for ruining the moment (he conveniently ignores that Hob is actively apologizing and trying to comfort him, obviously Dream has Failed At Being Human and Hob will hate him now. Clearly.)(Being human hasn’t made him less of an idiot.)

Eventually they both manage to pull themselves together- Hob calms down enough to comfort Dream that he didn’t do anything wrong, and Dream calms down enough to believe him. He still feels bad, but Hob manages to distract him with kisses and cuddles until they both feel ready to try again. And Hob suddenly realizes that they’ve actually both been missing out by skipping some of this stuff. 

They both find out that slow, soft, sensual sex is just as fulfilling as their previous hard/rough/fast sex. Later, they’ll also learn that taking the time for prep doesn’t take away from when they do want to have rougher sex, but for now, Hob is happy to take the time to be slow and gentle with Dream in his new human body. After all, they have all the time in the world.

-🦇

AHHHHH WE LOVE THE HURT/COMFORT POTENTIAL OF DREAM NOT UNDERSTANDING THAT HE DOESNT HAVE TO JUST PUT UP WITH STUFF IN ORDER TO BE A "GOOD BOYFRIEND".

Can you imagine the reset that Dream’s newly human brain has to go through when Hob meticulously and carefully explains that he Does Not Want Dream To Suffer. Ever. Its such a big thing for him to process! And he has to keep reminding himself every day: Hob wouldn't want him to be uncomfortable. Hob wouldn't want him to put up with things that he doesn't really like. Hell, maybe he writes it on notes to remind himself around the house: "you are not failing and ruining dinner just because you burnt yourself on the oven, Hob just wants you to be safe".

As for sex prep and foreplay, Dream discovers that he actually really likes it. A lot. Maybe even more than 'actual sex'. At first he's mortified to realise that he'd rather be fingered than properly fucked. But Hob doesn't actually seem upset when he makes Dream cum on his fingers. He seems perfectly happy to do that and then jerk off between Dream’s thighs. He never makes a fuss if Dream’s not in the mood for anything more than rubbing together hornily. He seems to like it, too.

It's a learning curve. Dream finds later down the line that he even enjoys a light spanking, or Hob’s teeth pulling on his nipple. Pain isn't scary when he knows that Hob will stop as soon as he asks. Sex isn't scary at all, actually, and it's not something that he has to pass or fail. It's just... lovely. Even when it's not spectacular. Because it's with Hob, and that's the best thing in the world.

[knifeforkspooncup]

Anyone who's freaking out right now: take a deep breath and count to 10 (like Crowley - er, maybe not.) It's going to be OK.

Now here's some (hopefully grounding) words from someone who is not freaking out, nor particularly surprised by the allegations against Neil, AND who has no plans on abandoning this fandom:

Celebrity Worship is not and never will be a necessary or healthy component of fandom, the creation of art, or life in general.

If you are feeling completely unmoored right now, I'm telling you with all the compassion and gentleness of someone who has been in your shoes: it's time to untangle yourself from worshipping celebrities or interacting with them at all beyond their art. It's time to consciously deplatform celebrities.

Because if this is your first rodeo, it sure as hell will not be your last. And if it isn't your first rodeo, I promise this won't even be the most painful one.

Celebrities are not your friends. Neil, Michael, David are not your friends, or your LGBTQIA+ heroes, or One of the Good Ones. They are all just people. Mediocre, privileged, wealthy people capable of horrific and terrific acts. Every single one of them will eventually fall from the pedestal (some more spectacularly than others.)

I'm not talking about "separate the art from the artist" once you've found out the artists sucks. I'm talking about not worshipping the artist to begin with. Ever. Even if the artist seems good.

I'm seeing so many people afraid this means they can't engage in this fandom, and to that I say: This fandom space is a living, breathing community, and therefore morally neutral. There is good here, there is bad here, just like the people within it, just like there is in each of us. No one can change that or take this space from you or change what it is. Neil doing something morally wrong does not make you engaging with Good Omens morally wrong (it may change how you spend your money though but that's a different post.)

So take a step back or bury yourself in fanfiction, be angry or sad, do whatever you have to do to get through the initial panic and take care of yourself, and then start prying your fingers off these people.

Anyone who's struggling and reliving their trauma right now because of this, I'm holding you so so close and I'm so fucking sorry if this is bringing things back.

The primary reason I divorced myself from celebrity culture was my own trauma and not wanting things I loved to be inevitably ripped away from me or tainted.

Anyone who's using victim blaming language to try to defend Neil: you are hurting your fellow fandom members. Neil does not need your help. He's a big boy with a lot of money and a lot of very powerful friends.

Finally: ask yourself how you're going to feel when you inevitably find out David and Michael aren't Good People. My answer is: exactly the same as I did yesterday. What's yours?

Also note: everything I've said here does not change no matter what the outcome of the allegations are, but in my house we believe victims.

[breezybeej]

The Verity by Colleen Hoover Post

I want to put some of my highlights and notes here so I can reference them without needing the images on my phone. Warning: this book sucks and you will see some really stupid and weird shit in here.

This is the description of blood splashing on Lowen (the main character) after she witnessed a man get run over. I've seen some car accidents. I don't think it's very common at all for someone's head to pop like a water balloon in these circumstances.

What is cryptic here? He (Jeremy, the romance option) has seen worse than a man getting run over. I think it's pretty straight forward, babe.

This is from Verity (jeremy's wife, a comatose woman). Most of her stuff should be taken with a grain of salt for plot reasons but some of these are so ridiculous on their face that you can't really save them

Unlikely.

Licking someone's thumb like a postage stamp is just so FUCKing SExy

I cared, I heard, and I minded. Please don't talk about getting fingered at steak 'n shake

Meeting Jeremy makes you want to jump off a cliff????? Well, to be fair, me too, girl

Why is this how you describe it, Lowen. You are reading her autobiography but you are thinking about her underwear.

Okay, I love this one because there's a lot happening. 1. He walks backwards A LOT in the first half of this book and I don't know why. 2. He was on his way to the kitchen to heat up leftovers but they were already done when they arrived? 3. He pulls out a plate of pizza. So in one very short paragraph we have pizza said three times. I think this book wasn't carefully edited.

So what does that mean. If someone has a plate of peas and they do this, I imagine them poking and prodding and scooping but pizza? Is he like... picking it up and putting it down? Sliding it around the plate?

It's just SO weird to go with your wife to her first pregnancy appointment for the baby you squirted into her, isn't it.

So this is again Verity writing from opposite land but like. They very much do have sex constantly so does she feel this way or not.

This one really bugs me just because she flubbed the parallel structure on "with a broken wrist" and "covered in blood" like the reason we have mechanics for parallel structure is that the sentences feel clunky without it.

I lost count, I didn't highlight every one, but I think this is in the book at least 10 times. Colleen does NOT trust you to remember this.

Lowen, why is this a dammit. Why is that messed up. What.

Just like Layla in the other book, Layla, Lowen is a girl who knows how to eat and she's quirky for eating tacos

So why didn't she just list the vegetables. It would be faster. "He grabbed cilantro and onions." or "He grabbed onions and peppers." Like... Colleen, you live in texas and you write about tacos in your books more than once.

People hate me for suggesting Lowen is bi but..... i mean.... she was diggin through Verity's drawers too, you remember.

Why did anyone let her say epic burn in a book. Why does she use epic again moments later.

Ope, I got this one though.

Thankfully Verity has two breasts.

That's how I felt reading this book. You DO get a feeling that Colleen partially wrote this to call out her haters.

Don't say that

Here's another line that gets repeated like 6 times. I don't even know why. It doesn't play into the plot or the themes really.

God isn't that insane. Who does that. Also this is Verity Opposite land so... does she wear lingerie often?

Babe. What.

Someone pointed out that license picture are usually the worst pictures of you possible. That makes this so much funnier imo

When you say "He groans" as a single clause, it makes it sound like he's disappointed. "Ugh, babe you forgot your bra AGAIN?"

[starlightswordfight]

"jeremy if this is another hc post I'm going to kill you" bad news

castaway nonsense PART TWO

– schnauz is deathly afraid of water. it unsettles him deeply, largely because of past experience. do you SEE his treasure catalogue entry for the blue paint?? who "swims out" for the "last time" in a swimming pool???? someone fucking DIED

– on a slightly similar note, he laughs when he's nervous!

– he is Perpetually Nervous

– I think molly would REALLY like the evil skeleton wizard memes that have taken over my brain for the past several years. "not me being evil shadow skull" and no one knows what the fuck she's talking about

– molly writes fanfiction

– will let people borrow her camera if you ask nicely

– speaking of molly. her and patch and dash should be best friends forever. same home planet and they all do stupid shit. jin is also involved and they're the voice of reason

– dash has a lot of fidget toys. on him at all times

– wears those jackets where it's just an anime character wrapped around them all the way all bizarre like. he doesn't think it's a good design by any means it's just really funny

– frisé's favorite instrument is the didgeridoo

– also she's intersex. I can do whatever I want

– hitting frisé with the singing/humming/tapping on stuff as stims beam

– construction work is super fucking loud so I think corgwin just would not be bothered by sudden/incredible noise anymore. it just reads as background stuff to him! that or he like genuinely isn't picking up on some of it at all, it doesn't register. frequent tinnitus haver. he might be going deaf

– corgwin is tumblr famous. the pikmin universe tumblr equivalent anyway. inspired by the headcanon generator that told us in the pikmin server I'm in that charlie lit a school on fire and got away with it and that the rescue corps killed princess diana

– think about it. he'd share fun building facts. niche internet micro celebrity and everybody loves him

– lapi is also tumblr famous

– he likes frolicking around outside For Enrichment but he also does it in the rain and sometimes comes home sick

– guilty of making sketchbooks into renderbooks and taking several years to complete them. "but it has to be perfect" That Is The Devil Talking

– horatio is not immune to the fog

– he has a VERY specific skillset. like. like stupid specific. the guy is the most proficient xylophonist you've ever met but he can't cook. knows how aeronautics works but his phone call game is BAD. give him an old movie from decades back and he can tell you what it is and who acted in it and exactly where he was when he first saw it, easily. if you ask him for directions anywhere he'll crumble and die

– he wrote his ID badge like that. it was fully and completely on purpose. horatio thinks it's funny as hell

– françois really likes bugs! sees them all the time in his work even if his studies are flora centric. while on pnf-404 he probably talks about it a LOT with dalmo. botany/environmental science major who minored in entomology

– I just do not think he'd be afraid of them and that is beautiful. he allows nothing to dissuade him. he has pet spiders it is wonderful

– OKAY YOU KNOW THOSE THINGS YOU CAN GET AT THE KENNEDY SPACE CENTER AND IN OTHER PLACES WHERE IT'S LIKE ROCK SAMPLES FROM FOREIGN SPACE BODIES?? AM I INSANE??? in the little capsules and shit ????? yeah kit has those

– astrophysics lover. adores space science. worked at a planetarium before meeting osa. I don't remember if this contradicts the established lore and I am too tired to go back and check so if im wrong you can pelt me with stones and tomato

– osa lets him ramble on about it but in all honesty he does not know what the fuck kit is talking about half the time ever. ever

– vice versa! osa also has a huge nerd thing and it's world history. which makes sense for an archaeologist. I don't mean modern history either I mean ANCIENT

– fawks would unironically endorse the idea of a cybertruck but it never comes to fruition because everyone says it's stupid and he feels insulted and he gives up and sulks about it

– but he'd specialize. I know he would. he gets specific with it. good for him! my money is on prehistoric archaeology, stuff back before written text, and language, and any history that could be recorded with the power of words. which is why travelling to pnf-404 was so fucking important to him, he's been trying to construct something that would fill in the gaps of that lost starfolk history and this WAS the exact sort of thing that he was looking for

– technically they're doing geoarchaeology together. yes that's a subfield

– he is a tech bro and everybody thinks this is stupid and dumb also

– chewy

[himiko-yumehellno]

Kodaka very obviously wants to make Danganronpa 4, but as many people have pointed out already, this would conflict with the ending of V3. I thought I would make things easier on our resident murder mystery writer who appears to really like making mascots that remind me of Whisper from Yo-Kai Watch, and come up with some solutions to this problem! Organized in approximate order of increasing silliness and grasping at straws, with some additional director's notes from ✨me✨!!

So, how can Kodaka make a new Danganronpa game that works with the ending of Danganronpa V3?:

Danganronpa isn't actually a killing game franchise loved around the world; Tsumugi either lied or was lied to herself (probably with the use of a Flashback Light to make her believe she was a willing ringleader). Allows for some interesting angst if it's the second option.

Despair made a sudden comeback and took over a good portion of the world. Tsumugi fudged some details, but it's true that a lot of the world now enjoys killing games, because normal life is just boring to them (a life without despair and death?! Ugh! Who'd want that, am I right?). We find out in a later installment that the survivors joined with other forces fighting against despair. Danganronpa 4 explores a separate killing game also put on in the name of this new global wave of despair.

Danganronpa 4 turns out to be a prequel (possibly featuring a killing game that the in-game franchise was inspired by, possibly just being one of the numerous previous installments Tsumugi threw out there in her exposition monologue, possibly some secret third option), and ends up with some ridiculous name so fans don't get confused on the sequence of events. Personally, I hope the name is Danganronpa Negative Four.

As so many postgame fics have taken to declaring, the entire game was a simulation. Except to make this work, it probably wouldn't be a simulation designed by Team Danganronpa – no, no, no! Perhaps this killing game was put on by Remnants of Despair or – *exaggerated gasp* – the Future Foundation themselves, hm?

Danganronpa V3 was a really fucked up social experiment and none of the "reality TV" backstory was real. No one knows how it got past the ethics committee, so don't ask.

It was all an alternate dimension/timeline. ... Look, if all it takes to brainwash someone into mass murder is forcing them to come to anime night, they can throw in a little time or dimension travel!

To piggyback on that last idea, the "reality TV" backstory was true; Danganronpa V3 and all the previous installments in this series were fiction... in the Rain Code universe. Or some other video game setting made by Kodaka. Nothing of the sort happened in the actual Danganronpa continuity, however.

Danganronpa V3 was Junko Enoshima's idea of heaven. Of course, it wouldn't have been complete without the despair of her ideal world being destroyed, hence the survivor trio shutting down her killing game show. Danganronpa 4, therefore, takes place in the living world, continuing off vaguely where the Danganronpa 3 anime left off. Notably, all questions about how Junko's heaven works and why she even got to go to heaven in the first place are not solved until a separate anime series, where we find out it was originally supposed to be her hell until she made the demon in charge of looking after her quit and give her full range of the place. It's never answered whether the participants of the killing game were other dead souls or just beings she created.

The entire thing was just the Monokuma Children playing with dolls. ... Or, knowing them, dead bodies.

Before V3 came out my brother had this whole theory that all of the characters were in a pseudo time loop where every time a killing game concluded, they'd just roll out a set of clones of everyone and start all over again, presumably killing off the survivors of the last game. I have no idea how this would solve Kodaka's issue but I want to see if they could find a way to make it work.

I'm excited to see what becomes of Kodaka's newest works, but apparently by his own admission he's interested in returning to Danganronpa at some point, so I thought I'd do the hard part for him. Feel free to take any of these ideas and run with them, Kodaka!

(feel free to add your own suggestions on how to make the ending of V3 work with a new Danganronpa game!)

[aluria-sevhex]

I CAN KILL SIFFRIN. WITH ANAPHYLAXIS. but... will have i have to do the second floor again...

Notes time~!

-please the child say it's yummy

-:D Mira can unfreeze people

-gonna stop for the night

-my break lasted all of yesterday but now i'm back baybeeeeeeee

-i still love the title screen music

-are the enemy names in French?

-yeah i think they are

-eh i feel like dying

-hm looping forwards costs memories... another incentive to fight! yippee i actually like fighting in this game

-i get the kid's drawing every loop :]

-asked Isa about "the hand thing"

-hmmmm methinks there may be... ☆gay☆ :3c

-:0 mysterious 4th hand shape?

-PHONE HAND

-time to loop forward. plantain peel time

-i feel so bad for the frozen people...

-i got a pair of garden scissors! <insert joke about how i've said that Siffrin reminds me of Basil here>

-aw... Mira's anecdotes about the frozen people...

-lol Mira's dying plant

-ooo the Head Housemaiden's office

-love how Vaugarde isn't a monarchy but they call the King that because it's the title he chose and calling him something else would be rude. Vaugarde unsurprisingly supports trans rights

-FUMKIGN ROCK

-FUCK. THE KEY IS IN THE OFFICE.

-oh nice a helpful icon to indicate you've fucked up

-i feel like Loop has some sort of weird thing for Sif...

-exploring elsewhere on the floor

-oh hey a classroom

-how many classes have you taken, Mira? >:)

-ONE HUNDRED FIFTY??? GIRL. DAMN.

-"Someone wrote on the board "Don't stay with your mistakes! Don't be afraid to start over!" You nod! What a true little fact!"

...cheeky

-"no eating snacks" live Bonnie reaction: chomp

-why yes i am writing commentary on a bunch of little bits of narration, it's my notes and i get to make the rules

-bonding earrings? hmmmmmmmm

-oh cool Vaugardians tend to give people multiple names

-fuck yeah trans rights

-oh? Odile has another name?

-Isa doesn't want to tell his because "if i do change again, i want it to be a surprise" again? 👀

-:O THE STYLISH LADY'S NOTEBOOK

-fuck. another weird Sadness

-aight looping time

-my favorite part of the game was when Siffrin said "it's looping time" and looped all over the place

-Mira and Isa: getting hopeful and romantic about how this couple's reunion might go.

Bonnie and Odile:

-hmmmm why u wanna know what a bonding earring is, Sif?

-:0 library? LIBRARY

-"people don't REALLY kiss in plays, do they?" Bonnie. actors do a lot of things.

-your honor they're friends

-the fuck happened to the island. does this have something to do with Loop and/or the King

-how fitting that a game centered on time shenanigans puts so much emphasis on change

-BONNIE CANONICALLY NARUTO RUNS???

-ah yes the Opposite Sides of the Age Spectrum Alliance vs. the Beauty Alliance

-bruh. i picked the wrong way

-"grape juice for adults"

-bonding earrings explanation!

-"I wanna know what happens when prople love each other very much, no one's ever told me!" XD oh, Bonnie

-"And if the bonding is between three or more people, you'd make as many earrings as there are people!" VAUGARDE SAYS POLYAMORY IS COOL

-kinda cool that they basically do wedding earrings instead of rings

-"Not my kind of thing" eh fair

-Isa, Mira, and Bonnie are now overthinking the normal earrings because Siffrin pointed it out

-Mira doesn't seem to want to get bonded... hmmmm... 🟩⬜️⬛️?

-:0 Mira has beef with the trap room guy? >:O he stole her shit!

-that was a tricky boss

-hehe Isa is hungry

-ISA WHAT KIND OF A QUESTION IS THAT... fair actually. what WOULD they do with any bodies?

-WAIT. THE PINEAPPLE THING IS COMING UP. I CAN DIE OF ANAPHYLAXIS?

[chrisrin]

so maybe this is a really stupid question, but what exactly is homestuck? i've no idea and i have asked multiple people and no one has given me an answer yet, but i hope you do answer.

Alright, I'll try to give the most comprehensive answer I can.

Homestuck is a semi-interactive webcomic that started back in 2009, written by Andrew Hussie. Completed in 2016, the webcomic as a whole sits at 8,123 pages (800k words). The format of the webcomic includes not only illustrated panels on each page, but hours of fully animated videos, multiple playable flash-games, a TON of amazing music (possibly composed by some familiar faces!), and interactive mechanics used within the browser itself to deliver some of the more "meta" elements of its plot.

Now, to give the most brief summary, the story of Homestuck is about a group of kids (John Egbert, Rose Lalonde, Jade Harley, and Dave Strider) who become friends over the internet and decide to play a game called SBURB, a reality-altering video game that brings about the end of the world. If SBURB is beaten, it would allow the players to become the creator/gods of a new world.

Along the way, the kids will interact with a slew of other characters, including a species of aliens called trolls. There's time travel, extensive and convoluted game mechanics, meta-narratives, alternate timelines, and all sorts of stuff that will make your brain hurt. It's complex and insane and wonderful, mind-bending and incredibly genre-defying. There's so much I'd want to say but you just can't summarize the immensity of Homestuck in a post like this.

If you are at all interested in reading Homestuck, the best way to do it is to use the Unofficial Homestuck Collection. With the death of Flash, the original website is mostly broken. This collection is the BEST way to experience it.

If you decide to take the dive, I wish you luck o7.

[izzy-b-hands]

I really wish blocking someone meant their stuff wouldn’t wind up on your dash at all. Like I understand why it doesn’t, but. still.

Actually, I just need to get better abt checking source urls before I reblog. I try to be mindful, but now and again I Forget and have only myself to blame lmao

[andreeds]

is anyone else experiencing smothering despair this evening or is it just me

[jackgoodfellow]

PLACE YOUR VOTES BC I CAN'T DECIDE.

Poofy hair for Jancy in this piece? Or smooth hair??

[loyalhorror]

tonight on "I feel like shit at 3am": I feel like shit and it's 3am