#god forbid a black man is ever soft.

[kidrunaway]

I don't understand how people think Markus wouldn't develop some sort of ptsd or atleast a few symptoms of it after the war happened. I hate it when people say he lived a good life in a mansion when he did NOT have a good life at all. He just had a "good owner." (I have a google document of me and @hamartia-grander talking about how Markus had suffered with Carl)

People overlook Markus' story way too much and make such stupid assumptions that make me want to rip my eyes out. But I won't be talking about this for now. I want to talk about how much of an emotional character Markus is, and how he would be like after war and how it could have potential fanfic writing.

Markus has gone through nothing but hell. We all know this. His story includes some lingering loneliness to it because it seems that everything he touches turns into poison or is dead. He clearly carries the guilt of his people/friends dying. The second after he deviates, it doesn't matter what choice you pick, he still ends up carrying the guilt of hurting someone. Having to be responsible of God knows how many people can be exhausting, and the rooftop scene with North clarifies how absolutely lost and helpless he feels. He was quick to accept Norths' love during that scene. it's unsurprising that he got with the first person to give him any kind of romantic attention because he's lost almost every positive relationship he's made (I'm not a norkus shipper and won't be one, I just want to give insight to people of how much he's hurting and how it's having an effect on himself.)

People still have the audacity to say he didn't suffer enough to justify being Jerichos leader. After he first was traumatized the second he hurt leo/Carl, had to go through the junkyard and was pretty much hyperventilating during that scene (Just a lovely reminder that his diagnostics program wasn’t working either so he knew it was bad but didn’t know what‘s wrong or how long he had left), and he kept getting more and more traumatized throughout his story. You can see how numb he becomes. Compared to when he first deviates where he's crying and is stressed, to seeing his friends die, he does nothing but sigh because at this point, he's had enough. Now that's just upsetting. He's grown so used to seeing people die around him. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt him. It still absolutely does. He just shoves it down.

What happens to him after everything is over is now just a bunch of headcanons, but I like to think he still has this instinct of always wanting to protect his friends. He can't let his guard down. The second he hears a loud noise, he goes to investigate it. He doesn't sleep anymore, and even if he does, he twitches in his sleep and sometimes even wakes himself up (I like to think they're small internal electrocutions). He cannot open up properly. He randomly gets flashbacks about everything that has happened to him and pauses with whatever task he's currently doing. It passes by like a short film and disappears just like that, leaving Markus upset. It's like a reminder of what happened to him.

I've been thinking about writing a simarkus fic about Markus opening up and breaking down. I've seen endless fanart and stories of Simon doing that, but never Markus. So I want to turn that around. I want Markus to be a little more soft. I want to write about how he should know that he's allowed to let his guard down and can be soft.

#A problem with simarkus and rylan for example is that the fandom wont let the black guy be soft. #god forbid a black man is ever soft. #its infuriating #dbh #dbh markus #Markus seriously cant catch a break. Hes black AND an android?? double homicide 😭

[mystsee]

DRIFTED ✦ SIMON GHOST RILEY

PART 1 ✦ NEXT

✦ about: you and simon were lovers, but simon´s duty drifted apart your relationship. 2 years later simon comes back after a long mission and reunites with his friends again, what he didn´t expect was seeing you again.

✦ content: afab reader, anxiety, blood mentions, graphic descriptions of violence, stalker ex, protective simon, pining, reunited love, civilian life, no mask, panick attack, eventual smut, psycho, no mentions of y/n

✦ a.n: an idea of the outfit i had in mind :]

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

STANDING before your mirror, cold winter air strokes your hair, you keep trying your best to conceal your puffy eyes with all the possible makeup you have. you couldn’t keep your thoughts in control, spiraling to the worst case scenario.

ever since you broke up with the crazy man, paranoia is all over you, triple checking your locks, telling your best friend where you’re going, until today.

-

lily bursts inside your flat “what the actual fuck is wrong with him?” you thought the same, not believing what you heard on the call “i don’t know if i should call the police, will they believe me? i have no actual proof of him calling me, the number was blocked” you said frowning, surprised how the situation escalated so quickly.

when you broke up with him it was crazy to say the least, he was becoming this crazy jealous boyfriend every time you travelled because of work. working for the government as a translator caused you to travel a lot. but every time you came back, he started making arguments out of nowhere, making you confused as into why he was so mad everytime you came back, slowly realizing he didn’t trust you.

he was following you everywhere on his phone, always texting you, practically exploding with anger if you didn’t answer in less than 5 minutes. god forbid if you were at a meeting with your phone on silence, hell would come when you came back to your flat.

when the breakup came, he started throwing all these false accusations of you, cheater, you don’t care about me, blah blah blah and threats, it took you a call to the police to get the bastard out of your flat. but that didn’t calm your nerves. his words on the phone call today resonating on your head:

“don’t think i forgot about you, ill get you back again” his sick voice making you feel ill, but you won’t let a man control you.

-

you agreed coming to the pub because if he dares to come close to you and do something, you would be in public, and there would be proof. what you never expected was seeing him again.

as soon as you walked inside, the cozy ambient put you at ease, it was a small pub, lightly decorated of christmas. it was saturday, so of course it would be full today. you saw lily approaching you, with a big mischevious smile on his face, finding it odd

"hey you!" you said to lily hugging her close "you won’t believe it! chris brought someone new today! said he’s an old friend from the military” said lily raising her eyebrows at you, making you laugh, you weren’t really interested to seeing someone new right now.

simon saw the interaction at far, wondering who was behind lily, she was covering her entire frame “got eyes on someone?” chris asked suddenly “what? no, just curious who’s behind her” the moment he said that, lily moved, making simon’s heart freeze.

he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. you. all dolled up, beautiful as ever, a long black coat not hiding your curves under the skin tight black dress at all, the all black outfit complementing your absolutely beautiful face, those black tights making your legs look lovely in those high knee boots, to say he was in a trance was the least, he didn’t even realize you were in front on him, a very deep blush covering your cheeks, your scarf not helping you at all.

“simon?” he missed your voice, your soft angelic voice that brought him comfort after the hell he endured in a long mission, your voice that assured him everyday that he was loved.

you heard him say your name, making your heart stop for a second, it’s been a while 2 years since you heard his deep voice. you just kept staring at him, a bit wide eyed.

he felt his voice thick with emotion, aching to touch you again and feel your soft hands on him “so you are the old friend huh” you said after simon didn’t moved at all he was shocked

what a small world you thought “you know him?” asked lily to you in a small voice “uhm, yeah! long time ago though”

-

you just parted ways and never contacted each other again you were scared you would bother him if you called to see how he was simon went to a long mission, kept small contact with you, but he could see the distance that was growing between you both. he understood the breakup, quite healthy actually, but that didn’t mean you didn’t love each other anymore, it was hard dealing with the distance.

2 years passed, simon thinking of you practically 24/7, wondering where you were, thinking if he should call you to see how you were, and 2 years of you trying to move on, never forgetting him, matter of fact, you kept thinking of the breakup over and over again, thinking maybe you made a wrong choice.

after a while you thought maybe dating again would help, but you accidentally picked a very wrong guy a psycho to catch feelings for.

-

you could feel his stare on you as you moved to sit next to him, the only seat left, even though the table was big, simon chose to sit on the side where he had no chairs beside him on both sides, so he could spread comfortably.

but now he had your knees on his left side, you bumped into them a little, muttering a small sorry, simon feeling warm inside after finally feeling you again

he was checking you out, similar to what you were doing, you noticed his arms got bigger, bulging from his hoodie, making your mind go to another complete direction, you hoped your scarf covered your cheeks.

as the night passed, simon saw the way you slowly passed from tipsy, to funny drunk, your scarf long forgotten, making simon eyes wander to your chest, he remembered that of you, everytime you drank, you literally became the embodiment of a comedian.

right now you were way too deep in a debate about cats, the wine making your head go back to what you usually debate when your drunk, cats plotting against humanity.

“i swear everytime those fur balls purr they get inside our minds” you slurred, confidently laying back on the chair nodding your head, “as soon as suzy makes that cute as hell sound, i’m on my knees for her, which is weird you guys! they are contrlling us!" grabbing your glass of vodka again, until you felt a hand on top of you

"okay okay! you know what?" chris's laugh was way too contagious, making you laugh with him as well "i think its enough for today, why don't we move this to your flat?"

after many failed attempts of trying to open your door, and laughing manically, you finally made it, inviting all in, you knew this was a good idea, chris and lily helped you plan all this, the closer they are with you, the less he could come close to you.

as simon passed in front of you, you made eye contact with him, all the memories came flooding back to you. you felt simon touch briefly your hand, making you feel warm inside.

everyone accommodated to your 2 big sofas in your living room, you had your small desk behind the sofas where you worked, and the kitchen on the right side, it was an open kitchen.

you, not wanting the party over, went directly to the kitchen to grab some wine “anyone wants a glass of wine?” they all said yes. the only ones missing were 2 of chris’ friends, they went to buy some beer.

after serving the glasses of wine, you remembered a talk you had with simon a while ago

-

“doll, you really need to make this posters, i bet people would buy them, they are way too original” said simon looking to you, locking his arms around you, you were on his lap finishing a design, and simon kept distracting you with his small kisses here and there, on your neck mostly

“maybe in the future i will print them” you said with a small smile, nervous to show your works.

-

you nudged simon on his arms with a small smile and moved your head to your left side, where your room was “i want to show you something” simon was up in an instant.

as you opened the door to your room, you heard simon inhale deeply behind you, the alcohol making you forget what you two did inside this room simon literally rearranging your guts every night, you grabbed his big hand and moved him to sit on the bed, simon was very confused, because why on earth is he in your room.

you went behind your bookcase, and grabbed a big poster on your hand “look, i finally did it” simon was at loss of words, it was a design you both made one night, it had a special meaning for you both.

you went to sit next to him “i print it to remember us” you said slurring a little, the alcohol was sure as hell making you very open to him. as you slowly put your head on his shoulder, simon freezed to the spot.

“i remember when we made it” his gruff voice said, giving you shivers down your spine, you were so close to him, feeling his heartbeat on you, wondering if he felt how fast was yours beating.

you moved your head up to look at him, and he could feel your eyes on him, not daring to move his eyes because he would definitely kiss you right there. you just looked so beautiful tonight. “i still do them on my free time, but this is the one i love the most”

your hand moved to his thigh unconsciously, you used to put your hand on his thigh anytime, you liked it. but you forgot you are in the present right now, and simon with his thigh tense “oh! sorry sorry! i think i drank a bit too much” you said laughing, standing up with the poster on his hand. “i-i need to go to the bath-bathroom, wanna join?” you said laughing and slurring way too much. when you moved to the door, your eyes widened, slapping your hand on your forehead “wait n-no, that’s when i shower, hah, for-forget my invitashion” you said nervously speed walking to your bathroom, leaving simon alone in your room, he laughed, he really missed you.

you grabbed your glass of wine after going to the bathroom, sitting next to simon on the sofa, he was really close to you, you could move just an inch and be on his lap, you really miss sitting there, your favorite spot, but your mind still has a bit of self control, so you just kept nudging him with your knee laughing, making simon feel warm inside for the 500th time tonight.

chris was telling a joke when you heard the doorbell ring, remembering the friends of chris went to buy beer, so, you stood up to go to the door alone, big mistake, you opened the door with a big smile on your face, until you saw him, on your door, with a deathly smile to you. any trace of alcohol in your body vanished, as well as your smile. you felt your heart stop for a second, fear coming all the way up to your throat.

your door had a small hallway, so your friends couldn’t see who was on your door, you just closed the door with any force you could “go away!” you muttered with a small voice, anxiety was making you not breathe well constricting your voice. simon heard that, making his breath stop for a moment.

you tried closing the door on him but he opened with a lot of force, almost breaking it. he started walking towards you.

“go away!” you screamed, trying to push him out of your apartment, but he had way too much strength. simon heard the scream and immediately stood up. in less than a second he saw your small frame pushed to the plant behind you making you hit your head. he saw this psycho push you even harder to the wall, making you whimper, and he went mad.

chris got there faster than simon, the sofa he was in was closer to the hallway, and tried pushing him out of you, but the psycho had more force than him, he just pushed him away to the floor.

you were on the floor, your nose bleeding, making you worried, even though your eyes were spiraling all over the room. you had your back to him making it hard to see his next move, a big punch on your left hip, making you scream.

the bastard stomped on your hip, a small crack was heard. your screams made simon see red. the man almost got on top on you, until simon grabbed him with all his force and moved him away from you, chris grabbed him and punched him in the face repeatedly, dragging him out of the apartment.

by then, you were crying hard, you couldn’t feel your leg anymore, there was blood on the floor, when did this happen? you felt the panick attack creeping up on you “simon?” you said in between breaths, lily was calling 911 near you. “i’m here doll, hey look at me, i’m right here” you tried finding him but you were seeing small spots on your eyes making you dizzy “fucking hell, lily we need to take her to the hospital” simon was panicked, you were about to go unconscious. who the hell was that guy?

“hey, doll, come on, look at me, yes just like that” you tried your hardest looking at him, but your leg hurted too much “my leg hurts! i can’t move it” you said between whimpers. simon tried to stand you up, but you just couldn’t “baby, you’ll be okay, try not to think of your leg okay?” you felt simon arms slowly carry you to the door, you were staining his shirt with your nose bleed, but he didn’t care, he just needed to get you to the hospital.

he managed to get you out of the door, until you started to see black all around you, the last thing you heard was your name from simon’s panicked voice.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

hiiii, so! how was part 1? i just finished writing this, but i’ll start tomorrow writing part 2, there’ll be little to no angst in this story i get way too anxious with that xd im a sucker for fluff so there will be quite a lot of fluff in here hehe

as you can see, i like adding a pic of the outfit jiji, but! feel free to imagine it as your own! :P

i had this story in my mind for like 3 months i kept daydreaming about it and thought huh 🤔 why don’t i make it a story , i finally wrote it down! yay #proud! anyways idk how many parts this will be, i’ll write the plot as it goes, but it will be most likely centered between reader x simon so! hope you liked it!!!

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley fic #simon riley fluff #simon riley #simon riley x oc #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley civilian life #protective simon ghost riley #simon still loves you #reunited love #angst

[northlt]

Too Sweet

Regulus Black is not an early bird.

That much is evident from the dark eyebags, the exhaustion that slumps his frame and the cup of coffee always glued to his hand.

He remembers being a child, developing the habit of staying up late. The hours of the night, when everyone else was asleep, their soft snores the only noise in the house was the the only time he truly felt alive. Something more than a moving corpse.

There was no one to nag at him after midnight, no one tiring him with small talk, no one he had to put up a facade for. It was just him. No Sirius, no mother, no father.

He used the time to breathe, as idiotic as it sounds. He just breathed and breathed and tried not to think about everything happening in his life. He wrote in his journal as well, stupid poems he swore would never be seen by anyone but him. He did everything he wished he could do that day but didn't because he had too many eyes on him.

Those days are well behind him now, he doesn't live in constant fear of his parents, no longer in the grips of that awful house. And still, some habits stay with him.

It's later than 10 in the morning when he says a word. James doesn't mind. Sometimes Regulus doesn't say anything the whole day, but James is happy enough to carry the weight of socializing for both of them.

He is blissfully free of the hold of trauma unlike Regulus and his brother. Regulus hopes he always stays that way, far from anything that could ever change him or cause him harm.

Because god forbid something something or someone so much as touched James Potter. Regulus would have to go to war.

In any case, James doesn't mind Regulus sleeping late. He's more of an early bird. A quidditch habit he never quite let go of. In the mornings they often wave silently to each other, James having just woken up and Regulus heading to bed.

"Baby" Regulus muses to himself as he plays with James' hair. He could never fathom how James slept so well. Honestly, an earthquake wouldn't be able to wake the man up.

"Try to sleep early, darling" James always says. "Go to bed before the sun's already rising"

But the sunrise is Regulus' favorite part of the night. He wants to show James the peacefulness of the night once. He wants to give James the experience, lost in a haze, smelling like a bonfire when he wakes up.

But until then, he just kisses James' hair, "You're too sweet for me"

They're different. Very different. Regulus knows. He has known since Hogwarts.

Regulus takes his whiskey neat, enjoying the way it burns. James usually orders a fruity drink with half the alcohol amount and teases Regulus for being a lightweight when they've had the same number of drinks.

Regulus takes his coffee black, no sugar, no milk. It helps him, even if it makes the beating of his heart a little too fast and loud, and makes his fingers shake because of overconsumption.

James takes his coffee with an ungodly amount of sweetener that makes Regulus gag everytime he sees his boyfriend preparing the drink. James always complains more coffee makes him sleepy, which never made much sense to Regulus. Neither did the fact that more sugar usually helped James balance out his frantic energy.

Regulus goes to bed well after three, mostly when the sun is already painting the sky lighter. He enjoys the burn of his eyes, the hurt in his temples from reading too much, he enjoys the hurt, something to remind him of home.

James goes to bed earlier than a child with a strict mother and a bed time. He wakes just as early, before the sky lightens up. He likes the cool wind on his cheeks as he goes for a run, always trying to convince Regulus to join him. He's convinced Regulus will give in one day. (He won't)

James is too sweet for Regulus, too sweet for him to believe he deserves it.

James is as bright as the morning. He burns so bright he consumes every part of Regulus' mind. There's no hope trying to outrun his magnetic field. Regulus would know, he's tried it.

Even on his bad days, he could outshine Apollo.

He's soft as the rain, soothing after a hot day, a constant weather in their country.

And he's pretty. Regulus would be a fool to forget that.

It all makes Regulus feel inferior sometimes. He just wishes he could wait until the day he no longer felt that way. Like James deserves better than him. Like one day James will get up and decide he doesn't love Regulus any more.

They're all ugly thoughts, Regulus knows that. And James has his fair share of ugly habit and thoughts. He's not perfect by any means.

Still, sometimes Regulus thinks James is too sweet for him.

"You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate" Regulus scrawls in his journal one night, watching the steady rise and fall of James' chest.

#marauders #regulus black #marauders era #james potter #hogwarts #sirius black #dead gay wizards #jegulus #the marauders #starchaser #hozier #unheard #too sweet

[yeeterthek33per]

Love it, Love you (Caitlin Foord x Reader)

A/n requested

Summary: You and Caitlin are filming for the disney matildas series.

---------

Slow motion scene of Caitlin bounding over to you on the sideline, hands grabbing your face, pressing your lips together after scoring against Spain. There's a soft flow of piano music over the top.

"Ya know, I don't think we ever really explained that one to the girl's either."

Caitlin chuckles softly and shakes her head in agreeing negativity. Both of you are sitting on the white couch in your house in London. You're tucked under her arm.

"Yeah, no, I don't think we'd told them at that point. So I think they kind of freaked out on us after the game."

You lean off the couch with a soft laugh, head in your hands, ruffling your hair slightly.

Caitlin shakes her head with a sigh.

"That's an understatement. Poor Steph, girl was getting bombarded as well. Not that she knew either. Cait and I were just sitting there while they all kind of just lost their minds. Steph looked utterly disappointed that we hadn't told her sooner."

"Your sister.. well."

You give Caitlin a look.

"My sister looked ready to deck you. Macca looked like she would probably have to hold her back and Sam just facepalmed and told the girls to cool it so we could actually answer. Tony didn't even bother sticking around for the whole debacle."

"Yeah, that was a tough one. I don't think Lans has been able to trust me properly since. I love the girl, but man does she hold a grudge."

You slap her on the shoulder with an eye roll.

"Excuse me, you forget you're engaged to her sister here. I imagine any protective older sister would be peaved about one of their best mates suddenly sidling up with their sibling. Also I'd like to point out you could very well still call that woman to help you bury a dead body and she would do so no questions asked. So I'd like to think she still trusts you very much thanks."

Cut to a video of Caitlin celebrating with Alanna after a brilliant header from the defender against Jamaica.

"Don't know if that makes it better, honestly. I'm afraid she'll stick me in my sleep one day."

Cut back to the couch, You give her a playful glare.

"Just because you copped the shovel talk from one of the tallest girls on the team, does not mean she'd actually murder you. At least not without prompting. I can't imagine she would kill you without you doing something first."

Caitlin just turns her head back to the camera with an incredulous look.

"Anyway, that was four days before our third anniversary. Literally two days before I proposed. I think Alanna might have been too late to stop it or you know, try to break us up. Ya know?"

You fake a cough into your balled hand, turning away slightly.

"What? Did she actually try? Oh my god, I swear I will kick her butt if she actually tried."

You whip your head around at her, a disbelieving laugh leaving your lips.

"Oh you'll kick her but will you? What happened to being terrified of her?"

Caitlin keeps her mouth shut and you tut softly, hand resting on her knee.

"That's what I thought. Yes she did try to forbid me from dating you, cinderella style and all. But after some convincing, she switched it up to reminding me that I could still dump you if I changed my mind and she wouldn't totally gut you afterwards."

Caitlin looks dead on into the lense, an unimpressed look of told-you-so playing on her expression. You burst out laughing at that.

"See what I have to deal with? Why did I agree to marry you again?"

You smack her on the chest, backhanded.

"You're the one that proposed doofus."

She just grins cheekily.

"Oh yeah, I did too. is it too late for a refund?"

You roll your eyes, and scoff.

"Give you 'refund'."

She rubs your shoulder, pecking you on the cheek.

"You love me."

"Debatable."

You receive puppy dog eyes in return and poke her nose, a resounding groan as you push her slightly, turning back to the camera again.

The video fades to black and shifts to a new scene between you.

---------

You're standing in your backyard watching Caitlin run around and play tug of war with Peach.

"I'm so proud of her, everything she does is just phenominal and I'm glad I got to be part of her journey. The moment I got the call from her saying she'd been considered for an Arsenal transfer, it was then I knew I would follow her anywhere."

Cut to footage of Caitlin scoring against Aston Villa.

Cut back to you looking at the brunette, with major heart eyes.

"We were only together for about a few weeks at that point, but having been close friends before then made it feel like longer. She wasn't one hundred percent in it, especially since she thought she'd be leaving me in Australia on my own since Alanna was about to transfer to tottenham too."

Footage switches to Alanna, in a Manchester City hoodie, sitting in her own living room.

"I felt weird, leaving my sister, we'd always been one for one, and this was the first time we'd properly been separated by ocean. She came with me to Orlando and before that, had stayed with our parents. We both got contracted for Sydney and just hadn't really separated after that. Though I was pretty chuffed to find out she was moving closer again, with my best friend at that."

Back to you in the backyard, Caitlin now sat beside you on an outdoor recliner.

"Surprised the hell out of me, getting that call from my manager, he was like, Y/n, I've got big news, Arsenal want you. I think I was so shocked I just laughed. I thought he was one crazy a****** for joking about that. What are the chances I get contracted by the exact same club as her within just weeks of each other. Surprised her too."

Caitlin puffs out a laugh.

"You didn't mention why though. Surprised because I just mopily walk into training, thinking about how to deal with the distance anxiety and just, in you walk, day thirteen of me being in London. 'Hey, sweetheart, how's your day been? Oh yeah by the way, I'm playing here now'."

"To be fair, It was meant to be a surprisez considering I basically had to schedule everything perfectly. Without Steph's help, because ya know, that would've been suspicious."

You lean your head on her shoulder, her hsnd comes up to run through your hair.

"Stephs face was pretty funny though, what are the chances three Aussies all get contracted within just weeks of each other. The older girls were all like 'what is jonas thinking?'. It's definitely been remarkable though, both of them are phenominal and they deserve every bit of everything we achieve with the gunners."

She looks down at you with a loving smile and you grin widely back up at her.

Footage of Steph and Caitlin's starting for Arsenal, standing in the lineup, your face new amongst the starters further down the line, right beside Leah Williamson.

"It was certainly something else. Being able to play with such big names at the time. Kim Little was one in particular that I'd been terrified of in that moment. How many times I'd seen Caitlin go head to head with her. Now I know her better though, she's just a big softy and she's got a soft spot for me, too."

Caitlin shakes her head.

"I think she means spoilt, this one can do no harm in the captains eyes. The baby of the team she likes to claim. Even though she's only like two years younger than me."

You protest.

"Twenty-three was pretty young, obviously not the youngest on the team, but it's not like I was pushing thirty already, jesus."

Caitlin gets an offended look on her face.

"Excuse you, thirty is not even that old. 'Pushing thirty already' you're twenty-six, thats not far from thirty thank you, also don't let Kimmy hear you say that."

You chuckle.

"Eh, she loves me. But you're closer to thirty than me so."

And you poke out your tongue at her. Your girlfriend just looks at the camera again.

"Bloody childish, what do I tell ya?"

You kiss her cheek, a small smirk on your lips.

"You love me."

---------

Video footage of the two of you making a huge passing play up the left side of the field, playing against England. The ball gets switched in a fast tikki taka motion as you both move up the line. You make a run for the box and it's like Caitlin doesn't even have to look for you as she sends the ball right to your head for you to sneak past Earps, who despite her best efforts, can't make contact with the ball.

Cut to you both walking through a forested walkway outside of the city. A long shot from the back, and then flicks to a full shot at the front as you both slowly walk down the concrete pathway.

"When she received her first call up to the team, she called me frantically, practically balling her eyes out."

"Balling my eyes out, I could hardly talk into the phone to get it out. Coach had called me when I was at home on my own, and Caitlin was in at the office."

"I stand by this, but you'd actually called me at the worst time too. I was sitting beside my coworkers on a mini break, one of them is a physio on the Arsenal team as well as one for where I work. All they hear coming from my phone is just incoherent blubbering, followed by "Babe! I GOT IN!" Of course, I wasn't following exactly what she meant and my dumb brain just went, in like, the ice bath?"

Your laughter rings out at that.

"That's what you thought I meant?"

Caitlin nods slowly, a small blush developing on her cheeks.

"That's just what we'd been talking about at the time, including how you in particular refused to touch the ice baths for the first six months, someone basically had to carry you in with them. So like, I was excited for you to finally have gotten over that fear on your own."

You push her slightly, a loving smile making it's way onto your lips.

"That's really sweet, but no I did that three months after that, when I finally decided to stop being a wuss, now that I was actually playing in the big big big league, I had to. But that's beside the point."

"Uhuh, sure sweets, anyway, when she finally started going into the phone call itself, it did finally click in my head because I never actually explicitly mentioned the ice bath either so we were both still pretty excited, but for different reasons."

"Yeah, I did not like her initial reaction at the time."

"I was still super confused why you were like full sobbing about it though. I was like 'okay, congrats baby, you did it, no big deal'. I think she was ready to hit me after that one."

"Mild understatement."

Caitlin chuckles, bringing your knuckles up to her lips.

"so when she brought up how amazing it felt to finally break onto the national team, I just was like 'Ohhhhh... oh.... OH, Congrats baby!'."

The footage cuts to your hands linked in the between you, her thumb gently caressing the skin there before cutting back to a mid shot of you both from the front as you giggle softly.

"I just kept thinking, what did she think I meant, what does she mean no big deal. Cocky woman. To think I wanted to marry her too. She did get super excited for me, though, after that. She's a little slow, but I love her."

You give her a shit eating grin as she glares at you.

"She's honestly such a little brat sometimes, can you believe this?"

You giggle softly, bumping hips with her.

"You love it."

---------

Footage of some of the afterparty in the locker room plays, Caitlin clearly in view sculling champagne out of the trophy.

"Back at the Cup of Nations. We were out celebrating in a VIP bar, and they'd given us free entry, the whole team, I mean. There were drinks being passed around every two minutes. I think we were just so ridiculously drunk after that. Steph was the only one not really drunk. "

"Well yeah, to be fair she was kind of... well."

You roll your eyes at the striker.

"She was injured, so she had to kind of not drink. Caitlin, the dumby, dropped her kitbag in the doorway, so when we drunkenly stumbled in, we kicked it out of the way. Out popped the engagement ring. Luckily, I didn't notice. But neither did Caitlin. Steph did though, pretty sure it was the first thing to catch her eye as she dropped us both off in the hotel room. She just picked it up, threw it back in the bag, and when we were both on the beds."

"Relatively."

"Somewhat. She took a photo of us, sent it to Caitlin, and said, "Congrats, don't let Lans see you propose." Not the message I was expecting to see that morning. I'd accidentally picked her phone up.-"

Cut to you sitting at the kitchen island in your house, Caitlin standing at the stove.

"You claim it was accidental, but we both know the truth, babe."

"It was! You left your phone right next to where I charge mine instead of on your own bloody bed side. Anyway! That was how I found out she wanted to propose. Because my lovely fiancee here couldn't put her stuff away. As always."

You give her a mildly playful, unimpressed look.

"Pfft, that was all drunk caitlin, I don't associate with that chick. She's an idiot."

You purse your lips.

"Clearly."

Caitlin stays stirring the pan for a second before turning around suddenly to your suppressed laughter.

"Hey!"

You let it out at that point, shoulders wracked with laughter, head on the bench. When you finally catch your breath, you look at her again, but she's turned back to the stove. What you can't see is the small smile on her lips, which the camera does.

"Love you."

She turns her head slightly to say something back.

"You better. Ya dork."

It's your turn to pout again.

"Hey!"

You gesture to your girlfriend in front of you, eyes in contact with the camera.

"See what I have to deal with? Won't even say it back, so mean."

She turns back to you with a small wink, smirk playing at her mouth.

"You love it."

---------

The image switches to you both sitting laying back on a lounge chair set up outside the back door, watching the summer sun go down in London.

"I'm so grateful we get to be together throughout this whole experience. She's the love of my life and she's an amazing football player too."

You smile up at her from your place leant against her chest. The camera pans around as you both share a quick kiss.

"I don't know, feels like you've got me beat. I feel like I don't tell you I love you enough."

Caitlin gives a quick glance to the camera lens.

"She does it every two hours and still says that."

You pout up at her. She pinches your cheek softly, kissing you on the forehead.

"You're lucky I love you."

Caitlin looks fully up at the camera this time.

"See?"

"Oh my god. Hush up"

"You love it."

"I love you."

She chuckles and you just shake your head and bring her in for a full kiss. Fade to black.

---------

#woso #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #caitlin foord imagine #caitlin foord imagines #caitlin foord x reader #caitlin foord #alanna kennedy

[passengerseatsam]

bar fight

pairing: eddie munson x female reader

word count: 2.7k

summary: you're a bartender at the hideout. when a fight breaks out, and the band's guitarist gets thrown out, you follow him outside to make sure he's okay. what you discover might surprise you.

warnings: mentions of alcohol use; mentions of blood; sexual harassment; swearing; fist fight; mutual pining; fluff and hurt/comfort

notes: this is the first thing that I've written and finished in, like, four years.

After Eddie gets thrown out of the bar, you wait a few minutes to go find him. It takes a while for the commotion to die down. The patron with the black eye is talking gruffly to the manager, holding a cold bottle to his face, but at least he isn’t calling the cops. The barback, Gary, sends you pointed dirty looks as he mops blood off the floor. You stay planted safely behind the bar, waiting for the storm to pass.

It is partially your fault. This probably wouldn’t have happened, except you, despite knowing that Eddie’s ID was absolutely fake, let him do a few shots of tequila before his set. You didn’t think it was a big deal. He’s twenty years old, and that’s close enough to legal— not like you were feeding alcohol to a high school freshman. Besides, he had been playing here with his band every Tuesday for months, and he’d never caused any trouble. A little bit of booze to loosen up before a show couldn’t hurt, right? 

Wrong. 

The man was older, forties or fifties, with thin hair and breath that smelled like rum. He was laying it on thick— leaning way over the bar, into your face, telling you that certain parts of you were very pretty. Corroded Coffin had just finished their set, and Eddie, lugging an amp off the stage, had caught sight of the guy trying to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. He came in hot, all bravado and no technique. It was downhill from there.

In the end, they toss Eddie out the back door, with his bandmates on his heels. You’re left watching the chaos settle, meeting Gary’s death glare, and keeping your hands busy until the adrenaline fades.

Within a few minutes, the tension evens out. Once the creep is gone, and the manager storms back into his office, it’s easy enough to find a moment to slip out the back door. There were only five customers there, to begin with— four, now that Eddie decked one in the face. They’re good and soused; won’t need you for a while. It’s the time of night where you start watering down their drinks, anyway. You grab a bottle of bottom-shelf vodka on your way out.  

Sure enough, the van is still parked at the back of the building where it usually is. Gareth and Jeff are pacing back and forth, loading drums and equipment into the back. When you step outside, Jeff pokes his head out from the van, looks you over, and sighs. “Hope you’re here to give us a hand with all this shit.”

“You wish. Where is he?”

He jerks his head to the side, directing your attention toward the front of the van. Eddie is sitting sideways in the passenger seat, holding a black bandana over his left eye. The only streetlight is flickering, so it’s hard to get a good view of the harm done. Already, you can tell that a bruise is blooming across his left cheek, a fat trickle of blood streaming from his nose and over his split lip. He took a few hits, but he seems well enough. His legs are swinging guilelessly where they hang off the edge of the van, Reeboks untied and barely on his feet. God forbid he ever sit still.

“Hey, Rambo.” You call, appraising him with a lifted brow. His head lifts. “Haven’t you ever heard you shouldn’t start a fight you can’t finish?” 

“I did finish it,” Eddie grumbles. “I finished it on the floor, but I finished it.”

You snicker.  “I’d ask how the other guy looks, but I saw him already. I think you look worse.”

“He looks like an asshole,” he gripes. He has the soft, unfocused air of drunkenness still lingering over him. Apparently, the beating didn’t quite sober him up. At least, you’re hoping that it’s lingering drunkenness, and not a concussion. “He is an asshole.”

“Well, the manager promised that asshole free drinks next time as a thank-you for not calling the cops.” 

“So he gets free drinks and I get banished?” Eddie scowls. You shrug. Life is unfair that way. 

“You threw the first punch,” you remind him. In all honesty, you do feel kind of bad. He’s drunk, but he thought he was doing the right thing. You’ve seen plenty of bar fights break out over less. He scoffs, head shaking. 

After a beat of silence, his good eye glances back at you. “How about — are you okay?” His words are soft around the edges too, blending together in the way only tequila can do. “Me? I’m fine. That guy’s been here once or twice.” Or three, or four, or five times. But you had been working at the Hideout for about a year now, and getting hit on was kind of par for the course. The guy was a little rude and a little forward, but up until today, he’d been generally harmless. At least he tipped well. You had it under control. 

So you didn’t need Eddie to come tumbling to your rescue, guns blazing. Maybe you should tell him as much— and you will, eventually— but that isn’t the point. You didn’t come out here to lecture him. You didn’t come out to flatter his ego, either. You didn’t ask for this, so you don’t really owe him your thanks. You just came to… check on him, you suppose. Make sure he’s all in one piece. After all, he meant well. You hate to be the reason he’s out here, bleeding in the cold.

Instead, you hold up the bottle of vodka in your hand. “Well, we don’t have a first aid kit.” Don’t tell the health inspector. “But I grabbed what I could.”

Eddie groans. “No more. My head is already spinning.” 

“It’s not to drink, dumbass,” you interject with a soft laugh. “You’ve had enough.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

You stretch your hand out, and Eddie proffers the black bandana he’s been holding. It’s crumpled, damp with sweat; the corner he’s been holding to his face is saturated with blood. With it gone, you can see the extent of the damage. There’s a gash slicing through his eyebrow, dripping thickly toward the hollow above his lid. The red mark under his eye is most definitely going to be purple by tomorrow. You open the bottle, and soak a clean corner of the bandana in the alcohol. Eddie’s nose wrinkles at the smell of it. For a second, you’re worried that this was a bad idea, that the smell might be the thing that pushes him over the edge. You’re not quite sure how drunk he is, and the last thing you need now is for him to be puking out the side of his van. But he swallows, and his face evens out, in control. “You don’t have to do all this,” he says, contrite.

“I know, but it’s the least I can do. This is the most action I’ve seen on a Tuesday shift in ages.” He snorts a laugh at that, his fat lip in the way of his halfhearted grin. You’re passively thankful that the brawl left him with all his teeth. 

You decide to start with the eyebrow. Eddie hisses when you touch the wet bandana to the spot, grin curling into a snarl. “Sorry,” you rush. You dab at the crusted blood that’s matted into the hair, as gently and as precisely as you can manage in the dim light. It’s quiet for a moment, you working and him trying his best to sit still, for once.

You’ve never looked at Eddie closely like this. Of course, you knew his face— you saw him every Tuesday when he played, and sometimes on weekends when he came to see another band. He was basically a coworker. You’d never taken the time to notice the details. His eyebrows are thick and symmetrical, with a slow and steady curve. His jaw is square, overtly masculine, but his cheekbones are high and defined in a way that softens the rest of his structure, boyish. He has a smattering of freckles near his temple, mostly hidden underneath the unruly bangs. Although the fight had been over for thirty minutes now, and despite the September air, there’s still a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. His chest is still rising and falling distinctly, as if he can’t quite catch his breath. If it weren’t so dark, he might be able to see the blush creeping up your throat. You swallow.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a murmur. 

He shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”

“I meant your pride,” you tease with a smirk. “That old guy kicked your ass.”

“Oh.” He scoffs. His tone is casual, but his voice is thin. With your eyes focused on his brow, you don’t notice him sneaking a glance at your lips, parted in concentration. “Please. He’s lucky I left my rings at home. He’d be in the hospital right now.”

“And you might be in the back of a cop car.” You don’t mean to be sour, just realistic. This isn’t a high school hallway, after all, and it isn’t one of his fantasy games. Actions have consequences here. He can’t just go diving into bar fights totally unprompted.

He frowns. “I wasn’t trying to kill the guy. I was just trying to make a point.”

“And what point is that?”

“That drunk old creeps should know that you’re way out of their league and leave you alone.”

You sigh heavy, lips pursed. “Look… thanks for what you did, but I don’t need you to defend my honor, okay? I’m a big girl.” 

And that’s true, but if you’re being honest with yourself, it’s also the first time anyone has stepped in to defend your honor. It was stupid and dangerous, but it was also… kind of sweet. Gentlemanly, in a fucked up, small-town kind of way. Maybe you’re just used to fighting your battles on your own.

Somehow, he looks even more deflated than he did before. Maybe he was hoping for a different reaction, a little more enthusiasm. You’re grateful, sure— but you were never a damsel in distress. A damsel in moderate discomfort, maybe. You’re not falling into his arms because he punched a guy in the face.

The thought makes you hesitate, fingers hovering over his skin. Is that what you think he wants? 

Shaking your head, you decide to move on; lighten the mood. “Besides, I get hit on by drunk old creeps all the time. That’s kind of part of the job description, actually.” It doesn’t work; he doesn’t answer. His lips pucker, sucking the split flesh into his mouth, apparently deep in thought. You take this as a cue to work a little more quickly. You’d been taking your time, without realizing, focused more on the conversation, on him. Despite the chilly night, Eddie is warm, alcohol and adrenaline making him run hot. It radiates off of him, draws you in. He smells like lime and salt and motor oil. 

You move on to the blood that has dried under his nose, dabbing halfheartedly. Without realizing, you lean in closer to get a better look, squinting in the dim light. Without realizing, Eddie spreads his legs further apart, making space for you to move in closer. 

“...Yeah, well,” he says eventually, as if he were already in the middle of a sentence, and not ending a long pause. His eyes are on you. You realize it suddenly— then feel foolish, of course they are, you’re right in front of his face— but you can’t help that your ears suddenly feel hot. His fingers are drumming on his knee, restless. “My mom always said you should stand up for the little guy.” 

“Your mom sounds wise,” you say thoughtlessly. “She was.” Oh. Shit. You press your lips together, trying to keep your face even while you swallow the awkwardness rising in your throat. “Sorry.” “No biggie. It was a long time ago.” He shrugs, but doesn’t elaborate any further. It’s the sort of thing you couldn’t have known, wasn’t like you were supposed to know, but you feel bad all the same. And now that you know, it opens the door for a dozen other questions you have. He’s strange, this metalhead that you’d only known from a distance on Tuesday nights. Intense but unreserved; forthcoming but pensive. He shares his most sensitive thoughts freely, but keeps the superficial stuff hidden. You don’t know what to make of it.

Another moment of silence follows. You’re not sure if the lull is comfortable or not. Before today, every conversation you’ve had with Eddie was surface level. Although you’re still only making small talk, it plays at something a little deeper— something you’re not ready to think about too closely. It’s safer to focus on cleaning him up quickly. You’ve been at this for several minutes now, after all, and the vodka must be stinging in his open wounds. You’re not trying to torture him. 

“So,” he says eventually, once again nonchalant. “Are we fired?” “Huh?” “The band. Are we allowed to come back?” “Oh—no, I don’t think you’re fired.” His shoulders slump, apparently relieved. That must be what Gareth and Jeff were so cross about. “Trust me, it’d be too much work to fire you. The manager won't go to the trouble to look for a new Tuesday night act. You should be good.” 

“Good.” He grins lopsidedly. “This is kind of our only real gig, so. I’d go beg on my knees if I had to.” 

You chuckle. “I’m surprised. You guys are good. I thought for sure you must have a weekend gig— somewhere cooler than the Hideout.”

He dismisses this, snickering impassively. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.” 

“Am not!” you promise, “I’m here, like, every night. I see the other bands they hire. You’re good.” He glows. You add, “But you know, you’d probably get a little more traction if you quit assaulting the audience.” 

He laughs again, more genuinely now. “Yeah, probably.” 

This time, you’re certain that the silence is comfortable. He seems less tense than before, but still thrumming with energy— not adrenaline, just his typical vim and vigor. You’re thrumming too, you realize. Fingers and toes tingling with something you can’t quite name. You didn’t have a crush on Eddie Munson when you came out here, but you might be leaving with one.

The time comes to call it; you’ve done all you can do. “There,” you say, leaning back to check your work. His skin is still stained red, but the clotted blood is gone. “That’s about as good as it’s gonna get.”

“Good enough for me.” He reaches up, gingerly touching his eyebrow before brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it. Like I said… this is the most excitement I’ve had on a Tuesday in forever.” Although, the meaning has slightly changed since the first time you said it. You wring out the bandana, clearing it of excess vodka. He takes it and shoves it somewhere in the recesses of the van— likely never to be seen again, if the state of the interior is any indication.

His eyes flicker from you to his feet, then back. “I know you can handle yourself. But, uh. If you ever need back up, let me know.” Halfheartedly, he smirks. “I might lose, but it’ll make a point.”

The kiss you plant on his cheek is soft. It’s a product of impulse, of lingering guilt and that tingle clawing its way into your chest. You were never a damsel in distress. And you don’t owe him anything. But he cared enough, despite barely knowing you, to step in where he thought someone should. That counts for something. “Thank you,” you murmur— then, poke a finger into the center of his chest. “But don’t do it again.”

And if he’s left there, grinning like an idiot until Gareth shoves him, you don’t need to know.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #written by me #my posts

[vonev]

Slasher Ghost strikes again!

—Is what you’ve been seeing circling around the cusp of internet and real life gossips; a killer named Ghost (silly fucking name) that’s been going around putting targets on random people’s heads and stacking kill counts up like a video game.

You won’t outright admit it, but you find the way he seeks out his victims fascinating; the way he hunts in the dead of the night, stalking their shadows, striking at their weakest moments—he’s got it all figured out. Hence why the price to claim his head is so high up in the numbers you can’t even comprehend it in your mind. You knew from people’s words that he’s got blond hair, freakishly tall, and has the voice that of a grim reaper’s.

All the great qualities in one man.

You need him.

Your obsession only grows with every reported murders of his doing; you don’t tell anyone that you’ve got stacks upon stacks of files and papers in your spare bedroom dedicated to findings of him. You’ve got all the juicy details in there, not even your best friend knows about it. Why would you ever publicly announce that you’re basically a freak? You don’t think there’s anyone else out there doing the same thing as you with the same purpose.

You wanna find him: Ghost. And there’s only one reason to it—to die by his hands.

Nights spent with you tracing your hand down under the hem of your shorts, biting into the back of your hand so hard it’d always leave a bruised mark, moaning his name to yourself as you come undone for the third time in a row. All while thinking about the sickened way he’d take you: maybe he’d be rough—you always like it rough. Or maybe he would be soft, gentle, lets you down easy with a quick slit of your throat.

You’re a sick freak, and no one else knows about it—you plan on keeping it that way.

That is until you bumped into some random guy rushing to work one day—you had been late for your morning shift after oversleeping the night before. Reasons? You had stayed up watching new interviews with victims’ associates regarding the most recent murder. Ghost’s doing once again, because of course.

You didn’t even have the time to mutter an apology, only pushing past the man in seemingly inauspicious black hoodie and a skull mask. You don’t notice that he barely stumbles, stoic like a rock as he trailed your back when you practically sprinted away from the scene. You don’t make it to work that day: the coffee shop closed down for some unspeakable reason—fuck, you forgot the recent murder took place at the flat above the shopfront.

As if the Gods above despised your being; it starts to rain. Heavy.

Great, now you’ll have to perform the walk of shame back to your flat—you’d conveniently forgotten about bringing an umbrella with you that day.

God forbid something outrageous happens to you again—you don’t think you’d be able to take it.

Fate plays a cruel joke on you, unfortunately, as you begrudgingly reach for your keys to unlock your flat’s door while being completely drenched with sweat and rain, you feel the harsh edge of a bat knock you breathless.

No one suspects a thing when he drags you away from your building, no passerby stops to question the oddity when he casually threw you into the passenger seat of his car—he shoves your phone into the back of his pocket, shutting it off when it wouldn’t stop buzzing endlessly.

Ghost eyes you from his peripheral, the carefreeness of your expression while your head knocks the side window with every road bumps. His gaze travels down to the exposed nook of your collar, the hint of your cleavage peeking through your sheer shirt—not to mention he could clearly tell the color of your bra with how soaked you’d been from the rain. He grits his teeth and drives on.

Months went by planning all of this—all just to have you in his grasp. The killings were only a means to an end; none of it mattered to him, honestly, he’s not even surprised with how easily his plan worked—people are corrupted, all he had to do was plant a few seeds of distractions and he’d have you just as easy as he wanted.

He knew he needed to have you when you appeared in his life almost a year ago—when he had possibly one of the worst day of his life as he strolled around the grocery store shopping for bare minimum—he had debated on living off of eating only dead roaches considering how hard he had to calculate every cent spent on his card. He was discharged,dishonorably, from the military too soon; and out of sheer fucking luck he had everything stolen from him once he stepped foot into the civilian world.

He’s not even surprised when his card had declined at the register, a dead look in his eyes as he stared down at the machine with a hopelessness in his eyes.

But then you waltzed in. A credit card in your hand as you whispered to the cashier you’d pay for his groceries—it was a simple act of kindness on your part, but to him, you were a savior—an angel—sent from above by God himself to help him in his worst times. He never forgot that sweet face of yours, how you looked up at him with an understanding tint behind your eyes.

That’s when he knew—he wanted—no, needed you in his life.

He knows you’ll love it here in his flat: he even got you your own room, all emptied out awaiting your arrival for when you finally get here. He laid you down on the soft mattress, a plush pillow under your head—just the way you liked it. He knows, of course, he’d gone ahead and invited himself into your house when you had been sound asleep. Silly girl, did no one taught you to lock your doors at night? What if it hadn’t been him but someone else who broke in? Some sick fuck who wanted nothing good to do with you—you can’t have that, can you?

He had your flat all to himself for the night; sometime, he wonders if you ever noticed that a few pairs of your underwear went missing as he’d palm his hard cock to the thought of your naked body. He thinks about the little offering you made him sitting in your spare bedroom often too.

You snore softly, drifted away into another realm without a care in the world; you sound so pretty.

With your limbs chained to the cuffs he bought you (in your favorite color, too.) and tied toward every corner of the bed. He strokes your supple cheek with his hand, slowly tracing downward to the crook of your neck: he’d mark you—right there. But he’ll only do so when you’re awake—consent is important, right?

Leaning in, he takes a deep, long breath of your hair; it smelled exactly like it did before—so sweet, so tender, and all for him.

He’s finally got you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #it’s 5 am i should be asleep #mutual pining #with a HUGE twist #i do not regret losing sleep over this #yandere!simon riley

[shadow4-1]

Sweet n' Silly Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Headcanons (SFW & NSFW)

Ghost is a character who has so many different facets of his personality that he represses for one reason or another. Sometimes, though, he can't hide things well enough. Here are a few headcanons (NSFW Under The Cut):

Ghost is very picky about the masks he wears. If he buys them pre-made (which is rare - he likes to make his own, he can sew), they have to be a very specific type of fabric. Of course, it has to have all the tactical advantages, but it has to be SOFT most of all. All of his clothing is soft for that matter. This man will NEVER, I repeat NEVER, be caught dead in anything starchy or itchy or scratchy. Even his bed sheets are that crazy 1000 thread count cotton. He likes soft things.

Speaking of soft things, Simon carries around a very small square of quilted fabric in whatever extra pocket he might have. It's actually a piece of a handkerchief his mother sewed for him as a child to keep him from taking his baby blanket with him to school. It's old and tattered and stained, but he carries it with him anyway. It's been with him through thick and thin (and the grave). He doesn't need to sleep with it, but if he's severely stressed, he'll hold onto it and examine it for a little bit. Sometimes, that fabric feels like it's the only thing tethering him to earth.

Would absolutely love to get his nails professionally done, but because of his appearance, he doesn't want to intimidate some poor nail lady. Instead, he opts to give himself mani-pedis. Sometimes, if he's feeling rebellious, he'll bust out his trusty bottle of black nail polish and go for it. It's not like anyone'll see it under his gloves. And God forbid if you walk in on him painting his toenails. He WILL kill you.

Ghost has some interesting food habits. He'll honestly eat whatever if he has to, but he would much prefer to eat simple, almost childish foods. He likes things like pasta, sandwiches, juice, and pudding. God, he loves pudding. A giant bowl of hot mac n' cheese and an entire 6-pack of prepackaged pudding is his favorite meal. He KNOWS its bad for him and it totally fucks up his very specific diet he uses to upkeep his frame, but he can't help it.

Has an intense skin care and oral care regimen despite the fact that almost no one will ever see it. His smile would make you go blind because he practically bleaches his fucking teeth - and also because he chose to smile with teeth.

He's quiet for a multitude of reasons. Yes, it's because he's observant and wants to be in control of his surroundings. But it's also because deep down he's still a shy boy. He can stand up for himself and others if he has to, he's grown into that part of himself. But as for meeting new people, he's shy. He doesn't know you, and he doesn't know if he WANTS to know you. He'd rather just eye you up and let your actions speak for themselves. And that's why Johnny is one of his favorites. Something about a person who can outwardly show their genuineness is his kryptonite (although of course they don't have to be as much of a puppy as Johnny - take for instance Price or Gaz)

Absolutely detests physical touch unless he initiates it or it's fleeting. Handsy people piss him off. But a light punch to the shoulder, a tap or two? It makes him feel normal. Normal people aren't afraid to touch each other in that casual sort of way. Ghost is kind of normal. At least he tries to be.

Fucking sucks at flirting. He comes across as dry and uninterested even if it's the opposite. He just hopes the person he's interested in can pick that up so they don't run off thinking he's a prick. If they do then fuck 'em. Ghost is happy being by himself. He's been alone for so long, what's another few years.

Has a very silent praise kink. If his lover tells him anything good about him, goes straight to his ego. He won't show it, but that "I like being with you" went straight to his cock and made him puff out his chest. Of course you do. He's great. He's always been great. Now he's really going to show you how great he is.

Ghost is a huge scent guy. He's very picky about what scents he enjoys, and if he has a lover, he can and will throw out all of their expensive fragrances (and soaps and lotions, etc). His lover HAS to smell a certain way to him, and he'll supply them with whatever he deems appropriate. By the time he's done, his lover will have to adopt a whole new skincare routine. Smelling like sex is obviously one of his top picks, although once again, he'd never say that aloud.

He's a very, VERY visual creature. He knows it makes him come across as a creep, but he loves just watching his lover. He loves picking up on their mannerisms and their quirks. He loves watching their body move when walking or showering. He loves seeing wet stains in his lover's underwear and indentations of his teeth in their skin. He truly devours EVERYTHING with his eyes.

Gets aroused by the weirdest of things. Bare hands on metal, that section of skin in between the collar of a shirt and a throat mic, blowing bubbles in gum. Sometimes, he's hard for nearly an entire mission because someone's voice is too raspy in the comms. (And yes, he's an avid ASMR lover. Those tingles he gets goes straight to his dick and he's ashamed about it. He would absolutely die if his lover sees his search history. They can't know he wants their tongue in his eardrums - no one can.)

Rarely jerks off. He represses all of his sexual energy until he physically can't anymore. He knows it's because deep down he's traumatized. Pleasure is something he doesn't feel like he's allowed to have. His lover should be allowed to have it. But him? No. Jerking off feels like such hedonistic behavior. He feels like a degenerate after. No jerking off. Besides, the more pent-up he is, the sexier his dreams get.

He's always been afflicted by crazy dreams - mainly nightmares. Sometimes, though, especially if he's pent up his dreams get sexual. For the most part they're pretty tame, par for the course sex dreams but when he really gets pent up? When he feels like he's going to burst? His dreams get so realistic they might as be reality. He gets rough and possesive and fucks his lover into his mattress only wo wake up and have to come to grips with the things he's WILLING to do to them. He's so used to being disciplined that the moment that mask drops he can't look at himself in the mirror.

#simon ghost riley #ghost headcanons #simon riley x reader #mw2 headcanons #mw3 headcanons

[xmortuarykittyx]

Ever Unlocked

Part 3: Coffee & Mints

part 1: Grey Skies and Blue Eyes

part 2: Caution to the Wind

pairing: Officer!Leon Kennedy x Coroner’s Assistant!Reader

warnings: none so far! darker themes to come in time, be patient my children.

The next morning, rain still beat against the windows of Leon's apartment, the taps interrupted by his alarm, a blaring, teeth grinding sound as his face buries against his pillow. His forehead digging into the soft pillowcase. "shit-", the word is pushed through his teeth, muffled by the padding of his pillow. His hands slamming down onto the device, subsequently shutting it up. A defeated sigh left his lips, his body ached, his mind still fuzzed with the effects of last night. He could still feel what it was like to be in her home, still smell the sickly sweet scent of the peppermint tea, how after she returned from her room, clad only in some old RPD shirt and a pair of sleep pants. She looked even more stunning to him, so domesticated. He could almost imagine coming home to see her like that every night. 

  He wondered what she'd be like in that kind of dynamic. She was so careless, he'd have to fix that. She was too pure to have the decrepit hands of the impure world clawing at her, to have the same kind of people he put behind bars in her presence. He'd save her, she was too weak to be on her own. She needed a strong man like him to help her, to keep her nice and pristine, locked away for only his pleasure. His lips curled back, showing off his very white teeth, Leon was particular about his hygiene. He was a stickler, he wanted to make sure he looked good in front of his fellow officers. He needed this look about him, a gentleman, a good clean cut all around American man. He used his good looks, passed down from his mother and her Italian heritage. He kept a clean shaven look and made sure his uniform was always without wrinkle or spot. He was perfect, that's what he strived for. For this look of success and his boyish charm helped him get there, despite his love hate relationship with his youthful appearance. 

   As his thoughts streamed together, the blaring alarm popped the invisible bubble over his head. The words pouring over his face that now curled deeply into a frown. 7:15 am. He needed to get ready, he had to drive across town and pick up said, purity, as well as stop by the local coffee shop, Honey Hollow Coffee House, better known by locals as Honey Hollow. A sweet elderly woman owned the corner shop, always working hard behind the counter. Her sea green eyes always softened at the uniformed man, repeating phrases of "What a fine young boy." or "such a handsome man." as he checked over the glass casing of sweet treats.

   Usually deciding on a chocolate glazed donut, but today, he'd eagerly order two, along side a mocha frappe and a single black coffee.  Mocha frappe, he'd caught sight of the cup in her trash last night as he threw away the tea bag, opting to help her out in a small way to thank her for her welcome invite into her home, one that still irked him with her trusting nature. He had read the label, her name, followed by the Honey Hollow logo, a bear with his hand in a bee hive, honey running down the side and a double 'H'. Then, he saw it, m. frappe, he was not a coffee person, but everyone had heard of a Mocha Frappe before. He wondered if that's what she'd taste like, those pretty lips, just behind them tasting the bitter coffee and sweet chocolate. He'd bite back his distaste for the drink, if it was her lips he could taste it on.

 His packet of mints secured in his side pocket, he hated the thought of talking with someone, maybe a retail worker, the same brunette woman he saw near daily at the gas station near his apartment, another officer and, god forbid, Chief Irons with the dreaded coffee breath. He wasn't even a fan of coffee, he kept the paper cup on his desk, the contents cooling with every passing tick of the clock. It made him fit in with his older colleagues. It gave a sense of normality to his desk, a sense of common ground. The older men had him feeling a bit insecure, he knew he was pretty, boyish and a newcomer, but the word "rookie" always left a bad taste in his mouth, worst than any mean coffee bean could.

  The frozen coffee, slightly melted as he pulled up to the same dilapidated building, two tones and now familiar to his blue orbs. He scanned his eyes over the bottom floor, looking for the familiar number of 13. His fingers reaching for his phone, an older model, 'i'm here. got you a little surprise :).' a grin pulled at his lips, watching the message slide up, sliding across into her screen. A small ding caught her attention, eyes catching the message bubble that appeared at the top of her screen. 'for me? you didn't have to, Leon. :0', her fingers did a little dance before typing the message, her heart beat a little quicker, he was here. He went out of his way to get her something, no matter what it was, she was more than excited. The screen flashed once more as she places the small socks over her feet, a small image of a flower embedded into the cotton. 'i'm on my way out.', her fingers moved over the smooth screen with ease as she slipped on a pair of kitten heels. 

   He spotted her quickly, her door opening as he watched her quickly shut and step away from it. He noticed her lack of key, the lack of locking said door. He was going to fix that, one of the first things he'd warn her about once she was in a place where he could give her such talks. For now, he was simply trying to weasel his way into her life, into her heart. legs moving quickly as she tried to get to his vehicle and get out of the assaulting rain, she had just done her makeup and hair, now the cursed little droplets gave risk to her put together look.  Her fingers slid under his door handle of his forest green jeep, popping the door open only to be met with a brown paper bag in the seat. "Oh, yeah.", Leon's fingers worked under the paper, careful not to jostle the two donuts inside or to press down on the glaze. "Got us a little breakfast.', as his sentence fell from his lips, the seat was filled with her thighs. Her face so close to his as he looked back up, he wanted to reach out and brush away the slightly dampened strands. He wanted a better look at the woman who, slowly, little by little ate away at his sanity. Her safety always now bearing weight at the forefront of his mind. 

  "You really didn't need to do that, Leon.", her voice was full of gratitude and a slight embarrassment. "You're right, wanted to.", he gave her a shy smile, his mind may have been made up that she was his and that she was a bigger part of his life, but she didn't know that, yet. She would, however, find that one of the coffees sitting in his cupholders bore some resemblance to her dearly beloved favorite. "That too-", he smirked, his fingers wrapping around the sweating, slightly melted drink. "I had to guess which you would like, i could've called and asked but i didn't want to ruin the surprise and we didn't really get to this topic in our, oh so daring, conversation, last night.", his smirk had melted down into a smile, watcher her eyes grow in excitement. "A mocha frap?!", she took the plastic cup from his hands, "That must've been a hell of a guess. These are my favorite-", the way her eyes squinted as she took her first sip has his stomach in butterflies, the soft painting of rose colored blush fanning her cheeks, he felt it rise to his as well. "There's no way, you must've known somehow.", despite the innocence that came from her comment, it had Leon's butterflies turning into flesh gnawing moths, his expression souring as he threw the gear shifter into reverse. "You're pretty basic, figured a girly drink would be something you like.", he hadn't meant for it to come out so bitter, but he didn't like the idea she assumed he was a creep, even though she hadn't so much as thought it so far... today.

  The ride to the station was silent, Leon holding his donut in hand, resting his wrist on the top of the steering wheel. His jaw working on a piece he bit a little too big in a moment of annoyance. "Sorry, I didnt mean it.", his voice was softer than when the venom of guilt wrapped around them. "I've been a little stressed out, shouldn't have taken it out on you.", she didn't know it was her that made his stress level rise. Her careless actions and sweet character, it made Leon's blood pressure rise as he thought about something happening to her, a masked burglar slipping through that open window in her room. That same burglar seeing such a beauty wrapped in purple sheets, asleep and vulnerable to his dark thoughts- "- really, I get it. The increase in bodies has Rebecca and I near hair pulling.", she spoke softly, biting into her own donut, chocolate glaze left on the corner of her lips. Leon's tongue poked out of his own, licking any crumbs left, he thought about how hers would taste, about how he could easily reach his hand under her chin, lick away the sweet glaze that marred her perfect lips. "How is she, by the way?", he nearly had to manually force his eyes to fall away from that small speck of glaze. "She's good, she should be here today. Hopefully, we should get to that McGrath case you were needing. I can text you when the file is ready?', she glanced over, eyes taking in his uniform, the way it was slightly ill-fitted in some places, but was more filled out then when he first came to Raccoon City. 

  "I'd appreciate it.", he moved the steering wheel with his free hand, pulling into the large parking lot. Her car sat in the same spot as yesterday, his jeep taking up the spot next to hers. The station was nearly alive and bustling. A pair of officers stood outside under the awning, feet kicked back onto the brick wall, cigarettes hanging from their fingers as they mindlessly chatter. Thier uniforms darkening with stray droplets. "Would you like me to take you back home after your shift tonight?", his tongue brushed against his now empty fingers, cleaning away that sweet glaze. "I think I can manage as long as the rain lets up between now and then.", her eyes stared through the slightly tinted window, grey clouds swirling over the city. "Well, just message me. I wouldn't mind taking you back home.", had she looked away from the white and grey swirls she would've seen the puppyish longing that he watched her with. The glint of desperation and desire behind the boyish orbs. He was silently thanking himself for giving up his number last night. Using her lack of car as a reasoning.

   "I should probably offer you my number.", his hands slipped into his uniform pocket, pulling out the older phone. "You don't have your car and I dropped you off so it's only right that I take you back to the station.", his eyes reflected her led lights, the blue lights bouncing off his orbs to give them a mesmerizing look. Not that she needed any more reason to get lost in his boyish charm. His charm was only broken by the odd behaviors he exhibited at a minuscule rate.

  Yeah, he was glad, he felt like he was always arms length away, two buttons away. He assured that her message would never be a bother, that he was actually happy to have someone to talk to since he hadn't had the best luck meeting others in the area. The analog clock on his dash read 7:55am. "shit- we need to head inside.", he hissed, the moment gone now, sooner than he hoped it would be. His fingers quickly turned the key, turning off the Jeep's ignition. "Don't forget to message me once you're done with McGrath.", his hand wrapped around her wrist as she slid her legs to step out. His eyes resting on her profile, the curve of her nose the pout of her lips. Leon couldn't get enough of it. "I wont, I'll even have Rebecca pull her first.", she blushed, his rough finger pads unconsciously digging deeper into her supple flesh. "Okay...", his smile grew larger, he knew she was falling, all be it, slowly. He was patient, he could be patient...

#leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil 2 #yandere leon #yandere leon kennedy #albert wesker x you #dbd albert wesker x reader #puppy leon #puppy!leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #vendetta leon x #re2 remake #re2 x reader #re2 leon #re2 smut #re2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil 6 #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #re2 leon kennedy #officer leon kennedy #rookie leon kennedy #re4 leon #resident evil leon #leon kennedy #fanfiction #fanfic

[enm-enthusiast]

The Exhibitionists' Club Ch. 7 - Sebastian Part 1

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Last chapter followed Sebastian's boyfriend Thomas entering a male arousal study for extra credit, and ended up being milked by his insanely hot anatomy professor, and now he confronts his lover with the possible desire to have sex with the older man...

Sebastian

"Wait...you mean professor, ass of a Greek God, Ethan?" I said in response to Thomas bursting into the dorm room and shouting about how much he wanted to fuck a professor on campus.

"...yes" he said, meekly.

His eyes looked downcast, like he was ashamed. My heart sunk in my own chest and beckoned him over to me. He closed the door behind him and practically jumped into my arms on his bed. As I caressed his soft, wavy black hair I worked out the words I wanted to say:

"Babe, your going to run into certain guys that you are extremely attracted to, its natural. Like, there's a few bros in my Frat I'd love to bend over but I know I can't not just because they're straight, but also because it'd complicate things too much" I said.

He looked up at me, those sweet and sad puppy dog eyes never failed to make my heart melt.

"I won't forbid it, but I do want you to be careful, okay? don't do anything to get yourself hurt or in trouble, you got it?" I said.

"Don't worry Seb, I have it all handled" he said, smiling so warmly I couldn't resist kissing him, his warm velvety lips inviting further exploration which caused a stir in my groin.

But....I had somewhere to be, I had to get back to the Frat house and clean up my room and study for the rest of the night before bed. So I reluctantly pulled away before I found myself pounding away inside him once again.

He had a slightly pouty look on his face as I got up, but I merely smiled in return and said "Don't give me that look mister, you were supposed to strip down as soon as you got home, remember? be glad I didn't spank you again as punishment" I finished and a deep blush flooded his cheeks.

"I'll let it slide this time, but next time that ass is getting both a pounding AND a spanking, and I don't think you want both in a row" I said, giving him a mischievous wink as I closed the door behind me and started down the stairs of Thomas' dorm building.

I didn't tell Thomas this, but I was having some problems with the Frat lately ever since I bested the president, a real prick named Eric at a strip wrestling match in the Rainbow Room. The whole thing happened because of pledge week where we had to do one dare no matter how bad it was, and the vide president had dared me to wrestle Eric but I got to choose the time, place, and rules.

Eric lost. Badly. He ended up naked before his entire frat, who made sure to take plenty of photos of their senior's humiliation. He had been so angry lately, he was pissing off everybody and by extension some people were avoiding me because I was the source of his ire.

I got the impression that many of the seniors and other officers had grown increasingly tired of Eric's antics, I felt they were waiting for the proverbial straw. Until then I did my best to avoid Eric when I could, even try to apologize for things going so far but to no avail and I got the distinct feeling that he was planning some sort of payback.

Thomas already had enough to worry about with all this medical study business (which I found kinda hot, in a way) that I didn't want him to worry about me, besides I could take care of myself.

I was completely lost in my own thoughts as I walked across campus towards the frat houses I passed by a few security patrols. I recognized a few since I had recently landed a position as a student assistant to help pay my college expenses. This time it was that cute, blonde twink named....Daniel? and a bigger, beefy muscle dad named Jack who filled out every inch of his uniform which never failed to make me drool.

I waved at them politely but moved on without speaking a word, I had precious little time left in the day. I began walking up the steps to my two-story frat house and to my surprise there was a lot of noise going on inside. I heard loud, angry shouts coming a male voice from the main living room and a few others shouted back in response.

I opened the door and walked in and suddenly I heard the words much more clearly:

"-should be here to defend himself, you have no right to just go through a brother's room without him present or reasonable suspicion of banned items" I heard the vice president James say, who was unusually a nerdy tall kid with glasses and short brown hair. He was the smartest guy here and everyone knew it, and if Eric wasn't your atypical "popular jock" he'd be president instead.

"I have every right if I have personally witnessed him smuggling banned items into said room, and because those items were indeed found in his room, he needs to be punished accordingly" Eric, I now realized, said.

I felt a slight sense of dread as I suspected who he was talking about and slowly entered the living room and all eyes turned to me, some in sympathy, others in indifference to Eric's latest bullshit. James was up in Eric's face, and the latter had a sinister smirk that grew wide upon seeing me enter.

"Ah, the guest of honor has arrived, tell us brother Sebastian, why did I find *these* in your room today?" Eric said and held up a bag of weed in his hand.

My blood boiled as I realized what he was doing, I was being set up! but I wasn't going down without a fight.

"What?! But I've never seen that before, did you find a lighter, a bong or anything I could use to smoke all that with?" I said, as a point of fact. Some of the guys turned to whisper with each other, they seemed split on the issue.

"It's not just me, I have witnesses who say they saw you bring this bag into your room, besides myself" Eric said, and smugly gestured towards another frat brother, a junior named Casey who was reputed to be one of Eric's rivals. He also pointed to another guy next to him, Henry who was another freshman, rather fresh-faced and right now he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else right now. I was starting to feel the same.

"Hold on Eric, first let's hear it from them personally before dealing out any punishments" James said, and gestured to the two guys to come forward. Eric seemed a little annoyed at James's interference but said nothing in response, letting the boys speak for him.

"Now, did you or did you not witness Sebastian smuggle this into his room?" James asked them both.

"We both did, he came home late one night after seeing that boytoy of his, me and Henry here saw him slip the bag inside his room, isn't that right, Henry?" Casey said.

I clenched my fist at the way he talked about Thomas, but instead I bore my eyes right into Henry's who could barely look back at me and flinched every time. He knew full well what he was supposed to say was a lie, I only hoped that his conscience was stronger than his fear of angering the frat president.

"y-....y-yes, we both saw him" Henry said, his eyes glued to the floor like he was a child being scolded by his parents.

"But...that's a lie! can't you see James? they're both up to something!" I yelled in my defense, my face red.

James looked at both of them for a few long moments, scrutinizing them and asked one final time if that was indeed what they saw and they both repeated their stories, word for word.

The vice president finally turned to me with a look of pity and sympathy, one that wished he could stop this but his hands were tied, and said "I'm sorry Sebastian, but in light of this...you need to be punished" he said and folded his arms in disgust.

"That's right James, and as Frat president it is up to me to determine what befits our brother's crimes" he said.

"Don't forget Eric, first punishments should be handed out lightly, don't do a repeat of last year or I swear I'll..."

"You'll what? Report me? I will count that as interference in the performance of my duties as president, and I'll be extending Sebastian's punishment to you if you do" He said, viciously.

"Fine Eric, have it your way, freshman clear out this is not something you'll want to see" James said, giving me one last look of sympathy and escorted the Freshman out. Some of the sophomores and juniors left too leaving just me, Eric, and a majority of the seniors.

"Alright Sebastian, as punishment for smuggling of banned substances your clothing privileges have been revoked for two weeks. Strip." Eric said.

My eyes widened and I couldn't help but laugh a little despite my rising anxiety.

"Excuse me? What the fuck do you mean 'clothing privileges'?" I said.

"You heard me Sebastian, when freshman are punished we take all of their clothes and force them to walk around the house naked except for when they leave, I won't say it again. Strip." he said, this time more forcefully.

I looked around the room and noticed that some of the seniors were circling me like vultures, Eric's little sycophants no doubt, ready to jump at his command if I disobeyed.

Realizing I was trapped, I reluctantly, and very slowly I grabbed the hem of my shirt and lifted it up over my head, exposing my bare torso to everyone. A few of the seniors grabbed my nipples and twisted them, I slapped their hands away and felt heat flush in my face.

"I didn't say stop, drop your pants. Now. Or we do it for you." Eric said, stepping closer to me threateningly, along with his cronies.

I held my hands up before lowering them down to the hem of my pants and started unzipping them and to my embarrassment and shock...I realized my cock was beginning to stir within my boxer briefs!

I didn't stop but I felt a sudden feeling of humiliation as these guys might just be about to see my fully erect penis...I tried to ignore it but as I lowered my pants down my legs and stepping out of them I was sporting a very prominent bulge which I was quick to cover up.

Unfortunately, Eric noticed.

"What you hiding there Seb? or what are you...*not* hiding?" He said, chuckling derisively, his cronies mimicking him. He stepped closer to me, and we were face to face, my own expression was defiant despite the redness and when he said:

"Drop the undies." He said.

"Come on Eric, please don't make me do this" I said and Eric was about to call his brothers into action when I stepped in and slowly, every so slowly I slid my last garment down my legs. I felt my cock springing to life and my fully erect cock slapped against my stomach and was already leaking!

I stood back up, fully naked as the seniors gathered up my clothes and I attempted to cover myself but Eric was having none of it. "No no, keep your arms at your sides" he said but this time I wasn't having it.

"What the hell Eric? I'm not showing you guys my dick" I said.

"Awww, he's shy, let's help him come out of his shell you guys, grab him!" he said and on command I had two guys pounce on me, grabbing my arms and forcing them away from my crotch, exposing my erect penis as each of them held my arms behind my back. My dick was 7.5 inches long fully hard, cut, and was a caramel shade of tan that matched the rest of my body.

"Wow, he's not so little after all, we might need to change that" Eric said and I whipped my head towards him on confusion.

Suddenly he slapped my hard dick, and I groaned as he did it again, and again, and again. Tears stung the back of my eyes as my dick throbbed with pain and yet somehow was still leaking precum.

"Ha, not so mighty now, are you?" Eric said.

"He's crying like a little baby!" One of the seniors said.

"We should shave him smooth, make him into a little bitch boi" another said.

"Quiet you two, no, I got a better idea in mind for him" he said and nodded to one of the other seniors nearby who ran off to get something.

"What are you going to do?" I whimpered and my face was flooded with embarrassment and humiliation as I stood there naked and exposed in front of practically half of the entire frat! and if they kept to these rules I'd be showing myself off naked to them for two weeks...

"Just completing your punishment dear Sebastian, don't worry your pretty boy head about it" Eric said, ruffling my hair.

The other senior came back with a small bag and and reached inside, my eyes widened in horror as I saw him produce a cock cage from it and hand it to Eric and renewed struggling against the guys holding me, my cock deflating to the point it swung between my legs as I did so.

"Eric, come on this is going too far now, stop this" I said.

"No dear Seb, I decide when we stop, now then, Taylor!, Pierce!, shave his crotch so the cage will fit better" he said.

I felt my anxiety increase a hundredfold, my heart beat thunderously in my chest as the two guys on either side of me let go and walked to the front of me and each of them took out small electric razors from their pockets and didn't waste any time in shaving my crotch, already I could feel my man hair being forcefully taken from me.

I started to realize just how much this was planned in advance, I hadn't stood a chance the minute I walked in here tonight. Now here I was, stripped of all my clothes, and was being shaved of all my pubes.

Their razors cut through my bush like a hot knife through butter, I looked down in abject horror as they kept moving my dick to reach around my crotch, the stimulation was getting me hard again.

I wasn't especially hairy, but it still took them a minute to shave my bare crotch completely smooth, all the guys proceeded to practically point and laugh which just made my balls shrivel up and my face flooded with shame and embarrassment.

"Where's your man-hair? wow, what a loser!"

"His cock looks like a kid's cock, not like a real man's"

"If he didn't have such a big dick, it WOULD be a kids cock!"

I heard guys shout from all over, and Eric picked up on that last one and said "Don't worry guys, time to shrink him down to size, this cock cage here is specially designed to absolutely restrict blood flow to your dick while allowing you to piss freely without getting it dirty."

"And just how long are you making me wear this thing?" I asked.

A bunch of the guys started shouting off random different lengths of time. Eric ignored them all until they quieted down and said "I think....a month ought to teach you to learn your lesson" he said.

"Eric...you can't do this!" I said in protest but no matter how much I struggled I couldn't stop him as I felt Eric grab my dick and begin to wrap the cage around my cock. I had gone soft again and before it had a chance to get hard, he fit the cage right onto my manhood and proceeded to lock it with a key that he wrapped around his neck.

I looked down and saw the cage was small, round and made of metal and like Eric said put pressure on the base of my shaft which prevented any sort of blood flow. My face flooded with red once more, as well as anger, but the guys finally let me go and I fell on the floor in surprise.

The guys all began filing out, some of them muttering 'loser' and 'bitch' under their breaths, and maybe they were right, Eric had won. Here I lay, my clothes and dignity stripped away from me, Eric gave me one last look of triumph before leaving me there, completely humiliated, and I was left to stew in my shame.

I slowly got up and tried to make it up to my room, as soon as I reached the 2nd floor I heard a voice behind me say "Seb, over here" and I turned to see James come out from behind a corner at the top of the stairs.

"Please James, I just want to go to bed before anyone else sees" I said and James gave me a flat look in response.

"Show me" he said.

I guess there was no point in trying to hide it, soon enough I would be the laughingstock of the entire frat, so I moved my hands away from my crotch.

"Wow, that son of a bitch really did it again" he said, chuckling angrily.

"Wait, what do you mean *again*?" I said.

"Eric did almost the same thing last year to a sophomore who embarrassed him, no one dared contradict his blatant manipulation of the house rules, but I couldn't do anything about it then, I thought as vice president I could...but its still the same now" James said, sadly.

"He is *not* getting away with this" I said, baring my teeth.

"I never said he would, but I realize I can't do it alone now, I'm going to need your help" he said, smiling slightly.

"Help with what?" I asked.

"I'm not sure yet, but somehow Eric needs to be dealt with, play along for now until I can come up with something more, stay low if you can, but...I'm sorry I couldn't do more" he said, before finally walking away.

I walked the rest of the way to my room in silence, I decided I needed to trust James, he seemed decent enough and right now anything seemed better than Eric. I opened the door and my faint glimmer of hope was gone as I found my room stripped bare of any clothing, my cock cage clinked as I took the first step inside and just sat on my bed.

I looked down and the humiliation returned as I felt my smooth crotch and poked at the cage, I only hoped Eric would be satisfied by this, I just had to make it through the next two weeks and I'd get my clothes back at least.

I opened my phone, which Eric's cronies had left behind along with my wallet, and saw my text chat bubble with Thomas and thought about calling him, telling him what happened but right now I just needed to sleep. But as fitful sleep came, finally, I swore to myself that Eric would regret the day he messed with me, and by the time I was done with him he'll be remembered as the president who lost his frat.

End of Chapter Six.

Author's Note: Uh oh! the tables have turned on Seb at last as he finds himself at the mercy of Eric and his cronies, find out what else is in store for poor Sebastian as he faces the two most humiliating weeks of his life.

Keep an eye on the current timeline I have setup which you can see on my recent Tumblr posts, and in the meantime please enjoy this latest installment, and have a great week!

#enm #cmnm #enm stripped humiliation #stripped #enm story

[toxiccluvvv]

Your scars;

Pairing: Kyojuro Rengoku, Haturo Haganezuka, and Genya Shinazugawa x reader

Content warning: degrading and mentions of razor blades

Word count: 865 words

Readers sex: Female

Summary: how the men of demon slayer react to scars on your face.

This is an anonymous request!

Masterlist

Kyojuro

Would comfort you

Would reassure you; he still loves you

You have recently went head to head with an upper demon; he was sure to leave his mark on you. You have a deep scratch running across your face, it made you feel shame, so you constantly kept your face wrapped.

Kyojuro never seemed to mind this, but he also wanted you to accept what happened for what it was. He thinks you look beautiful regardless, it saddens him to know you feel that way about yourself.

The bright man, was thinking of ways to help you overcome your fear, he wasn’t sure how, but he was determined for you to see your beauty.

-

Kyojuro took you on a beautiful date; filled with laughing, love, fun, and overall just things that made you realize how much this man loved you regardless of how you looked.

He smiled at you caressing your cheek, “I hope one day I can see your beautiful face once again.” You frowned, not wanting to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry.. I just don’t want you to see what I look like.. it’s hideous..”

“You’re far from hideous beautiful, nothing will ever change how I feel about you.” He spoke placing a soft kiss on your bandaged forehead.

You sighed before unwrapping the wrap that covered your head slowly; you didn’t want to take it off, but you knew you could trust Kyojuro.

When the wrap was off your face, you felt ashamed.. he quickly leaned your head up to press his lips against yours softly, “you’re so beautiful and you always will be, don’t ever feel ashamed around me.” He whispered inches away from your lips before placing another soft kiss on your lips.

Haturo

Would send death glares at anyone who made any faces

Would love and support you regardless

Haturo knows about how you feel about the scars you have on your face, so living in the hidden swords village is very ideal for you.

You wear a mask everywhere, and on the off chance you are seen without one you are quick to cover it.

God forbid someone say something or stares though; Haturo will never let them live it down till you make him stop.

-

One day when the two of you were walking down the street, a little kid runs to bump into you at a quick speed, knocking you on the ground.

Your mask flew off; showing your face to anyone near. There were auditable gasps from the people around you as you crawled to retrieve your mask.

Once the mask was on you, you looked up to find a furious Haturo. He had the kid lifted up off his feet, scolding him furiously.

You were quick to run to the man, placing your hands on his toned arm. “Turo.. please..” you whispered, voice breaking in the middle.

He was quick to put the kid down, and pull you into his chest. PDA was rare for the man, but for you, he’d do anything regardless of the looks.

“If all you rats don’t stop looking, I will hurt all of you.” He growled as he began walking the two of you home.

Genya

Would still love your kisses

Would literally fuck anyone who had anything to say up.

Much like Iguro you had a snake like scar on your mouth, but it was made by people from your village. They had no valid reason to do this; you were accused of things with no proof.

They didn’t care; you had to be punished. They brought a razor blade across your delicate skin, forever scarring your face

-

When Genya met you; he was instantly curious. He wanted to get to know you more, which was very unusual for the man.

When the two of you got together; he was always jokingly asking for the mask to come off. He never pressured you, nor did he upset you, he just wanted you to know he wanted to see you subtly.

One day, you were wrapping your face when the black haired walked into the room you were sitting in. You looked back at the man, wide eyed, “I’m sorry dear!” He spoke, quickly closing the door.

“It’s okay.. come in..” you whispered defeated. “Im sorry dear..” he spoke walking into the room slowly. Once he saw your face, he came to a halt.

You wanted to cry at his reaction; looking down at the ground. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered as he sped up to stand face to face with you.

“Ca..Can I kiss you..” he whispered as he lifted your chin so he could look you in the eye, “please.” You whimpered already leaning toward the raven haired man.

When the two of your lips met; the raven haired man knew he was willing to do anything for you. He gave you so much confidence; so much that you were willing to go out without a bandage on. If anyone dared to look your way with any judgement; he would be quick to try to fuck them up. You didn’t allow it much, but if you did, the person isn’t often recognized.

#kyojuro x y/n #kyojuro headcanons #demon slayer kyojuro #kny kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #genya x y/n #shinaguzawa genya #genya fluff #genya shinazugawa #kny genya #hotaru x you #kny hotaru #demon slayer hotaru #hotaru haganezuka #hotaru x reader

[viatagrinner]

Gilbert von Obsidian. The Prince is a bodyguard. Sweet End.

Chapter 3.

Part 3/1

MC: Please don't kill them!

I scream, and blood colored eyes stare at me.

Gilbert: If I don't kill them, they'll kill you. Or are you willing to risk your life to save those who sold you out?

Gilbert: Ahaha, you have a big heart, like a god. I can't compare to you.

(Maybe I was betrayed.)

(Maybe what I thought was friendship was actually very calculating.)

(But that doesn't mean I want them to get hurt.)

(It's true that I enjoyed the time I spent with Lady Louise, and it's also true that I consider her a friend.)

I put my head down and looked back at the Earl who couldn't focus.

MC: ...I'm begging you. Please let them go. Prince Gilbert is not a man who can take hostages like that.

MC: If you let them go, I won't let them kill me. So...

Earl: Oh... Shut up!

The blade of the knife scratched my throat.

(No... I think he lost his cool.)

Gilbert: Miss Bunny, are you all right?

MC: Not good!

Gilbert: Yeah, but time's up.

Gilbert: My only prey is mine. ...Hmm, who's the real villain for you?

The cheerful smile that had even given me a sense of calm was gone.

(..... No.)

Part 3/2

White smoke billowed from the cylindrical object that Prince Gilbert took out of his pocket. The little room was filled with smoke, as if it were covered with dew.

(I couldn't see anything!).

As soon as I got to my feet, my body fell on its side/my body was pushed to the side.

Luckily, I was picked up by something soft wrapped in linen cloth on the floor, but my arms and legs were still tied up and it was hard to even get up.

(........Disgusting.)

(I hate......)

MC: Prince Gilbert!

My screams were drowned out by the sound of something crumbling to the floor. My heart was pounding with a sickening feeling.

MC: ....Prince Gilbert.

As I crawled across the floor and moved forward a little, the smoke that was robbing me of my sight dissipated.

The first thing I saw was a charcoal-black cloak that didn't even show blood.

At Gilbert's feet lay the Earl with a knife in his hand, and behind him was Lady Louise, lying down on the floor, tears in her eyes.

Gilbert: .....Miss Bunny, what's wrong?

Prince Gilbert looked around; he seemed to hear a voice calling his name.

But his eyes didn't see me, and he was holding the sword he'd picked up from the floor.

MC: Stop it. ....Please.

Gilbert: I did terrible things to you, but I still had your back/protecting you.

MC: .....There are laws in Rhodolite that forbid murder.

Gilbert: If I invade this country, there will be no laws, no nothing, right?

Prince Gilbert raised his sword and knelt beside me, clumsily lying on the floor.

He took me by the chin and turned my face upward.

Gilbert: Ah, you seem to be misunderstanding something.

Part 3/3

Gilbert: Why should I listen to you?

MC: ...!

Gilbert: It's up to me whether I listen or not. Your "don't" isn't even begging for your life.

(I've been caught off guard lately.)

(I look at Prince Gilbert's kind face so often that my mind is stunned...)

(I may have almost forgotten that he's a "beast.")

Prince Gilbert let me go and tried to go to Lady Louise with sword in hand.

(But that doesn't mean I can give up..!)

Before the black figure could move away, I grabbed his cloak with all my might, continuing to curl up on the floor. Prince Gilbert didn't shake it off, but stopped again.

MC: ...... Friendship are difficult.

Gilbert: Friends? The one who sold you out?

Gilbert: Ahaha, interesting definition of a friend Miss Bunny has, isn't it?

MC: I can't speak for others, since you, Prince Gilbert, don't listen to the words of your... "friends"! / Prince Gilbert... You don't listen to what 'friends' say, so you can't talk about other people.

Gilbert: Isn't that a wilder/crazy definition than mine?

( "Wilder/crazy"...)

MC: ...You know, no one goes near a young lady who is favored by an Obsidian prince.

MC: I get cold stares, but no one ever really talks to me.

Gilbert: Yes, you poor thing!

Prince Gilbert smiles, as if it were someone else's problem.

MC: But Lady Louise treated me okay!

MC: I don't know what her intentions were behind it, but she was one of the few people who looked at "me".

(Obsidian's prince's favorite, or whatever...)

(She was the only one who shared hobbies with me and could talk without embarrassment.)

MC: I don't think all our time together was a lie.

MC: I want to believe her, even if she betrayed me, and I don't want her to be hurt...

MC: And like I said, I believe that friends start by believing in each other.

Louise: .....Ah.

MC: Please don't take any more away from me.

Part 3/4

The more I spoke, the colder the blood-colored eyes that stared at me grew. A chill crawled up my spine and my breathing was almost labored, but I had no intention of backing down.

MC: To put it crudely... Why should I listen to Prince Gilbert?

(If Prince Gilbert won't listen to me, I won't either.)

I clutched his cloak so tightly that it bit into my hand, unwilling to let go.

Gilbert: ....Well, you look more like an idiot than a naive one.

Gilbert: That's right, though... I can't help it if you're begging me so clumsily.

Gilbert: If you're willing to take responsibility for those two, I might not kill them.

MC: I'll take.

There was no hesitation at all.

(Even if the request was accompanied by hysteria, it was better than having a friend die in front of me.)

Prince Gilbert just laughed.

Gilbert: I will teach/show you that I am on a different level than a third-rate villain.

━━━━━━━༻❀✿❀༺━━━━━━━

Prince Gilbert carried me, with my hands and feet still bound, to an empty guest room.

With such speed that I suspect he's been to the mansion, he finds the first aid kit and silently treats my neck wound.

He was as adept as a doctor at applying medicine, bandaging, and performing the entire process.

MC: ....Thank you very much.

Gilbert: You're welcome.

(Gentle but cold, cold but gentle....)

I still don't know the true face of Prince Gilbert.

MC: By the way, these clamps/handcuffs.

Gilbert: I don't have a key.

MC: ....It looks like I'm in trouble.

Gilbert: Well, you don't need one to remove it.

You "can" take it off, but he "won't" do it, which means I'll have to stay with it for a while.

When I gave in, Prince Gilbert took me in his arms and sat me down in a chair.

He placed me in his lap, and his red eyes came close to mine.

MC: Prince Gilbert!?

The cold fingertips caress my cheeks with a terrible gentleness.

Gilbert: Well, miss Bunny....  How will you beg for your life?

Part 3/5

(I feel like this is a test...)

Prince Gilbert keeps his eyes on me.

(If I answer wrong, I'm immediately back to what I was before.)

(I need to think....)

MC: Prince Gilbert, you were going to hurt Lady Louise, weren't you?

Gilbert: To hurt her is very "nice" of me.

MC: ...I will accept the violence that was to be done to Lady Louise.

Gilbert: .... Huh?

MC: I say I will take her place.

Gilbert: The substitute...

MC: Boil me, burn me, do whatever you want to me!

(I don't know what he'll do to me, but that's all I can think of right now.)

"Do whatever you want" may not be enough for Prince Gilbert.

I am a Belle, and I may be offered terms that could be ruinous to my country.

However, since I didn't know exactly what Prince Gilbert wanted, I had no choice but to offer an equivalent exchange: corporal punishment.

Gilbert: ...Horrible.

MC: ...Horrible?

Gilbert: I can't believe you think I'm a maniac who takes pleasure in hurting people, whoever they are.

MC: I never said that!

MC: I just can't think of any other way to take responsibility.

Gilbert: Absolute obedience.

(I knew you were going to say that.)

I wanted to avoid that, but Prince Gilbert was relentless.

Gilbert: It's the price of life, isn't it obvious?

Gilbert: My orders are absolute. You must do what I say, even if it means betraying Rhodolite.

MC: ....Cannot be betrayed.

Gilbert: Then let's go and kill the lady who was just here.

MC: No way!

Gilbert: You're selfish.

He stroked my cheeks, tickled them, and pinched them lightly.

Gilbert: In Obsidian, we've made some concessions.

Gilbert: Whether or not you do or don't do what I ask, I'm listening to what you have to say.

MC: .......

Gilbert: You see, you have to think beyond absolute obedience.

(I'm in the position of "asking," so I can't expect equal negotiation.)

It seems difficult to ask for a third party's help in this house.

In other words...there is only one path to choose from the beginning.

MC: ...I can only appeal to Prince Gilbert's conscience.

Gilbert: There's no such thing.

MC: Yes, there is.

(If he really didn't have a conscience, Prince Gilbert wouldn't have helped me in the first place...)

(He would have killed everyone there.)

The mercenaries and the Earl were bleeding, but they all seemed to be alive.

Sure, there's a ruthless side to it, but there's also a gentle side.

(I don't believe in the enemy prince, but if you start by believing in my "friend"...)

(Prince Gilbert is no exception.)

MC: So.... How about this?

I pushed aside my shame and embraced the cold body with the handcuffs on my arms.

I hugged him without hesitation, hoping that I could feel some of his warmth.

MC: Are you always cold, Prince Gilbert?

Gilbert: Are you serious?

MC: I'm serious.

Gilbert: If so, I'm in trouble.

Sigh, his breath touching my skin.

Gilbert: .... Not bad.

My heart was beating loudly in spite of the situation.

Gilbert: But a hug is not enough. You have too little to lose.

(...... If you ask me, it's true.)

Gilbert: Well, how about this ...... addition?

I pull my body away slightly, Prince Gilbert kissing me on the lips.

(No way...)

Gilbert: Whether in front of a prince or a servant, you will always kiss me if I ask you to....

Gilbert: That's a good enough balance, if you ask me.

MC: ......

Gilbert: What do you do?

(Well, from the looks of it, a kiss on the cheek isn't all that charming, is it?)

Every time he gently presses his lips to my lips, I get more and more nervous...

(What should I do? ......)

(He's not my lover... I'm not even sure if he's my friend...)

But it's an equivalent exchange because I already have something.

I don't think there's any other trade-off.

(...If it's not too bloody...)

Gilbert points a finger at his lips.

Gilbert: Then hurry up/ Then, let's get on with it.

(First of all, why is compensation a kiss?)

(I know it's strange, but I do it to protect the people I care about.)

I slowly brought my face closer to his face....

???: Lady MC!

(...... Huh.)

All rights reserved by Cybird. Translation is not 100% accurate.

Gilbert's Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

#ikemen prince #ikemen ouji #ikepri #ikepri translation #gilbert von obsidian masterlist #ikemen prince gilbert von obsidian #gilbert von obsidian #gilbert von obsidian events #ikepri gilbert #ikemen gilbert #ikemen prince gilbert

[oceanlipgloss]

HADES

LUCIFER.

+ warnings: angst.

+ my mc is the heroine, so the pronouns are feminine.

It was heartbreaking, her beauty on that bittersweet noon.

Bliss had held her to its chest, but wishes of pining souls hung in the air, blue incense. So, in the midst of roses and gardenias, fractured hearts spilled black pearls—but he could have sworn that his heart was bleeding out his soul.

Her palms had always reached towards the inky tears in times of old, yet they now lay content on broad shoulders. Of course, her heart may not have been able to hold any more of those, for it was overflowing with pearls of its own, to which none could ever compare.

Because in her ivory wedding dress—with its sheer lace, soft velvet and timeless ruffles—she stood next to the man whose noble blood sung for her, he who was neither him nor any one of them all, but he whom she loved.

The ring on her finger was such a dainty thing, so how come looking at it made him want to plunge his hands into his chest—killed him?

And her beauty...she truly knew no mercy; for if it were simply tipsy before, the universe in that moment was utterly dazed with her form, so much so that it had invited the sun to lure out every sparkle of her sweet enchantment. 

Why else would sunshine have glimmered on her lips? And how else would it have swirled down her curls?

Hers was a face that angels would never have managed to forbid even their disciplined hearts from fluttering for, so what could he—a fallen angel enamoured, a devil bewitched—have possibly done other than look up at the sun?

What could the creatures of God and the dark have done but lament and muse?

As in, had the Lord ever contemplated how he had given the fairest angel of all a human body and its delicate soul ever so mistakenly?

She was lovely. So lovely. He was Hades and she was not Persephone, but Aphrodite. A goddess in love—the true Aphrodite.

A damn heartbreaker, cruel and pretty.

And in the arms of her one and only, her whole being was bright with ecstasy. When she looked up at him, one could—no matter how far away they stood—glimpse the golden suns and silver stars in her eyes. Which is why, in a moment ephemeral as the intake of breath, dear ones and strange guests alike saw what she had seen since the very beginning: how she was made for him.

What a hard thing that was to accept, to admit, to deal with. It let revulsion play across lips. False smiles, molded from anguish. Flutes of alcohol on cold mouths, morbid. Shadows of weeping garlands.

A massacre of hearts!

Yet, the bride and her love seemed to be in a world entirely different—bodies graceful in waltz, hearts dizzy with emotion; it was a chance for gazes to stray wherever they may—on her face, her waist, her dress; on his smile, his blush, his hands.

Pride's blood-red gaze, though, never left her rosy face. Not once. He could see that the noble's fingers were laced with hers. He knew that, even through the leather of his gloves, she could feel her skin getting drunk on the warmth of the demon's body.

And she...well, it was in moments like these that she liked to imagine her heart having its very own two feet. Tiny as they were, it was tedious, carrying the weight of all her love and breaking into a run.

That's why, whenever he was nearby—whenever someone so much as said his name—her heart always tripped over the little feet. There was no such thing as growing used to such a feeling; and truth be told, she never wanted to—not when it left her happy and dreaming.

She loved the way her heart raced for him. She loved how her body grew warm under his influence. She loved every reaction, from the light tremble in her hands to the soft rush of her breaths.

Her love was eternal and pure, yet there was a time when those who loved her led rebellions against the truth.

There was a time when Lucifer himself revolted once more, too; but then, as he watched the lovers sway, the wavering torch of hope he had held turned into a dying match, pathetic with decay.

Everything seemed so long ago, as how strange it was, believing that once upon a time, they had all tried—in their own ways and in the secret confines of their minds—to believe that whatever she felt towards the childish demon with the violet hair was fleeting.

They had each wondered: was she sweet for not his self, but the handsome face of dignity? Or was it, perchance, none other than fascination with the great heritage of his family?

And so, they had all let their eyes flutter closed; but little did they know, her heart was set in stone—she was in love, deeply and hopelessly so.

She loved him.

“Truly and deeply,” she had echoed the words—words he himself had once told her—when she sang about her love for the accursed man.

He was despaired. Despair lashed at rage and threatened to tear itself out of his body and coagulate into yet another life, but still he remained; he couldn't bear to hurt her as some of his brothers had—envy, sloth and wrath—and leave her on this day. Perhaps he only wanted to see her face.

Their hearts were still forcing them to remain blind, if only for the meantime, but the seven of them thought about the same things—things better kept hidden and untold, because the mere thought of them was so much like picking a raw wound. But really now, was there any point in silencing a familiar melody?

So, he had let his mind wander.

The silly clay teacup she had modelled for her lover, its nose long, its eyes big, vivid with color. The way he claimed his aversion to it, yet it was always the only china touching his lips.

Midnights when she came back with the barest hint of lipstick.

Burgundy teeth and rhinestones on her skin. 

Stepping out the door.

Buried hands and passionate mirages.

Her perfect curls turned into clouds of orange smoke.

Gloved fingers brushing against hers in the halls.

She had broken the hearts she had once nearly mended. She had cut the stitches that kept the flesh together and the darkness at bay.

For the first time, he longed to be someone else. How he yearned to be the noble himself. How he wished he were the one holding her to his chest.

But for one heart, she was ready to destroy all of theirs; and for that heart, she had ravaged his.

What did he ever expect, when he was Hades and she was not Persephone?

+note: this is the longest piece I've written. I like my writings to be short, so the fact that I've stuffed 1,163 words in here makes me weirdly uncomfortable lol

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

#shall we date lucifer #swd lucifer #lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer #om lucifer #obey me #obey me swd #shall we date? obey me! #om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me nightbringer #obmswd #obey me fanfic #obey me shall we date #obmnb #the story factory

[s-talking]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ;;

what does your muse smell like?  the  wild  poppies.  a  bitter-sweet   &   almond-like  scent. 

what do your muse’s hands feel like? soft   &   elegant  yet  also  very  cold  to  the  touch.  whenever  he  caresses,  the  long  fingers  feel  almost  like  wintry  petals  though  should  he  grab  you  instead,  such  gentleness  can  quickly  turn  into  sharp  ice;     the  black  nails  tearing  into  soft  flesh  with  relative  ease.

what does your muse usually eat in a day? ( main verse )  envy  is  pretty  fond  of  kimchi  soups,  mainly  for  breakfast.  should  the  entity  not  push  him  towards  human  flesh,  expect  the  kitchen  to  smell  like   brewing  veggies   &   seafood  in  the  morning.

does your muse have a good singing voice? envy  doesn’t  sing.  he  only  hums  on  occasion,  but  it’s  a  nice  voice  nonetheless.  a  rather  low,  soft,   &   sultry  tone.

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks? whenever  emotions  happen  to  kick  in   &   envy  harbors  any  ill-intent,  ( mainly  in  regards  to  sadism  or  violence )  his  fingers  will  involuntarily  convulse,  often  going  as  far  as  injuring  own  palms  with  nails  or  leaving  heavy  marks  ‘pon  surfaces  they  just  so  happen  to  be  resting  on.

what does your muse usually look like / wear? ( main verse )  envy  prefers  the  overall  dark   &   obscuring  clothing,  but  also  the  kind  that  won’t  restrict  movement  too  much.  as  such,  he  is  currently  sporting  a  black  turtleneck,  black  jeans,  an  over-sized  black  jacket,  suspenders  ( for  the  weapon, )   &   biker  boots  that  look  like  they’ve  seen  much  better  days. 

is your muse affectionate? how much? how so? affection,  above  all,  is   difficult   to  describe.  having  been  born  with  an  eldritch  curse  that  latches  not  only  to  your  body   &   mind,  but  also  the  soul,  envy  hardly  experiences  any  forms  of  genuine  emotion  unless  it  is  something  truly  brief   &   fleeting,  but,  on  the  flip-side,  that  doesn’t  mean  he  is  completely  blind  to  it  either.  for  example,  min-jun  ──   before  forsaking  his  name  ──  was  once  upon  a  time  a  very  loved  person,   &   such  kind  words   &   gestures,  have  indeed  integrated  themselves  deep  into  his  mind.  so  much  so,  he  can  often  remember  them  with  surgical-sharpness,  ( along  with  the  date,  hour,   place  &  any  other  ridiculous  detail )  because  even  without  stable  feelings,  he  always  places  mental  value  onto  each  &  every  person  met,  especially  their  actions.  now,  should  he  actually   feel   something...   that’s  a  whole  another  story.  after  all,  getting  to  finally  experience  any  form  of  raw  emotion  is  basically  like  settling  a  gas-station  on  fire;     he   will   erupt.   he  will  blow  things  out  of  proportion  &  depending  on  your  relationship  with  him,  such  may  either  sweep  you  completely  off  your  feet....  or  you’ll  be  begging  for  him  stop.  most  particularly  in  matters  of  affection.  you  see,  envy  isn’t  the  type  of  man  to  plead  for  love  so  if  you  somehow  manage  to  survive  his  twisted  ways,  &  better  yet,  become  the  little  apple  of  his  eye,  he  will  chase  after  you  like  no  other  human  ever  will.  this  can  be  most  endearing,  romantic,  even,  but  also  downright  haunting.

what position does your muse sleep in? typically  on  his  back,  with  an  arm  beneath  the  pillow.  that  is  the  way  he’d  sleep  in  new  eden...   until  they’ve  moved  him  to  a  coffin-sized  chamber.

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room? depends.  envy  is  a  semi-mute   &   terribly  cryptic  by  nature,  more  often  than  not  wishing  to  remain  silent  since  physical  actions  are  preferred,  though,  if  he  does  eventually  speak,  it’s  quite  difficult  to  catch  his  words  in  most  conversations  due  to  being  so  soft-spoken  or  just  outright  mumbling  words  beneath  his  breath.  god  forbid  if  there’s  any  loud  background  noise  while  at  it,  as  you’re  bound  to  lean  closer  or  ask  to  speak  up...  neither  of  which  are  good  for  you. 

tagging:  @spectralhunter  | @b-erserk | @chronicparagon | @umbralrosa | @v-iciious  &  @b-elmount | @yuichiroswife  &  @chronosbled | @belia-l | @falseamore | @awesomeuchuu | @qucintly | @tigermcth | @carnivorarium  &  @phantasmaw | @dangaer  &  @truethes | @dancinghearts | @shorestar | @lured-into-wonderland | @hellhunted | @whispers-in-daydreams | @yesfxckyxu | @pvremichigan | @hhemeraa | @kemikorosu |  @clarafell | @bymorpheus | @s-erpentes | @fallesto | @xxyumeno | @kllsworn  |  @s-partan​  &  literally  anyone  else  reading  this  because  i  have   no clue   who  else  is  active  lmao 

#// akljalkgj it's been in my drafts for so long i can't remember who tagged me #i'm so sorry lmao #🔪 ❝ ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶠᵒᶫᶫᵒʷˢ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵒᵐᵉ⋅⋅ ❞ {{ ;; ‘𝓱𝒆𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷’ }} #headcanon ( envy )

[theharrowing]

Lips Like Honey

Chef Min is easily the prettiest man Namjoon has ever seen, and now Namjoon is questioning everything—including his sexuality.

🍯  Namjoon x Yoongi 

🍯  word count: 13.9k

🍯  strangers to lovers, smut, fluff, light angst, slash, nsfw, 18+

🍯  warnings: top namjoon, bottom yoongi, light angst (namjoon has an identity crisis), fluff (flirting, mutual pining, self discovery, falling in love), smut (phone sex, blow job, frotting, ass to mouth, anal fingering & anal sex. first time with same-sex partner.)

🍯  note: namjoon is older than yoongi. also, uhhh.....holy shit, did i.....did i write fluff???? like tooth-rotting fluff?????????? what is happeing?!?!?!?! ahhhh i love this one! enjoy!!!!

🍯  written for the BTS One Line Wonders Fest!

🍯  beta read by @neoneunnajimin​ 🍯  posted june 2022 | read on ao3

"Alright, everyone, we'll be going on air in 3...2..." the producer holds up a single finger, mouths the word "one," then points to Namjoon, who flashes a practiced winning smile into the camera.

"Welcome back!" Namjoon beams, doing his best to ignore the excited audience behind the cameraman to speak directly into the camera. "Today, we have a very special guest who will be showing us how to create his spin on several popular street food dishes from the ease and comfort of your home. Please give a warm welcome to the hottest new chef on the block, Chef Min."

As soon as the camera pans over to the guest chef, Namjoon's heart begins to pound heavily in his chest. All morning he has been struggling to so much as make eye contact with the guy, and now, in front of hot stage lights and a live audience, he has to actually speak to him.

Chef Min smiles shyly into the camera, showing off his gums as a faint blush paints his cheeks. He looks incredibly soft despite his sharp features, with bleached blond hair falling just below his dark eyebrows and silver earrings dangling from his ears, accentuating the pale and rosy shades of his skin and the deep browns of his eyes.

Under Chef Min’s dark denim apron is a fuzzy white sweater and skinny black jeans, and Namjoon cannot pinpoint why, but the combination makes his heart go do-geun, do-geun. Even glancing over at him for a moment feels like an impossible feat.

And god forbid Namjoon looks at his hands. Chef Min's hands are large and veiny with sakura-hued accents around his knobby knuckles, and although they appear soft and warm, with perfectly manicured nails, when the chef turns them over, they are marked with rough calluses.

Many things swim through Namjoon's mind at the sight of such deft, hard working hands, and luckily they swim at breakneck speeds, never allowing Namjoon to dwell on any one thought at a time because it would surely be the death of him, he thinks. And in front of a live audience, no less.

Although Namjoon knows he looks nice today with his sandy brown hair coiffed off his forehead, wearing his trusty soft brown cardigan over a white tee with golden brown slacks, he still feels inadequate near someone so strikingly pretty. Chef Min is the kind of pretty that could easily get away with being mean, but he seems quite the opposite; daresay, he is very polite and warm as he walks through his recipes with ease, talking straight into the camera and addressing the audience as if he has done this a hundred times before, carrying a confidence that makes Namjoon sweat.

And Namjoon is no stranger to pretty people; he interviews celebrities and high-status folks all the time and rubs shoulders with some of the most well-paid news anchors and morning talk show hosts in the country. For many, it is their job to be pretty. But there is something about Chef Min that Namjoon just cannot shake—that he finds himself almost fixated on.

Namjoon manages to ask every teleprompted question and even makes light conversation throughout the segment, but he still struggles to look the young chef in the eye, and once the interview is over and the cameras are off, Namjoon feels exhausted.

During the last segment of the show, Namjoon's voice continues to shake at times, despite Chef Min no longer being in the vicinity to distract him. Still, Namjoon hopes to get backstage in time for a chance to see the chef one last time, despite worrying he might not be able to talk to the man without making a fool of himself.

Because, the thing is: Namjoon has never been attracted to a man before—not like this, anyway. He has never had a problem admitting that men are attractive, but he has never met a man that has made his heart race before. Chef Min makes Namjoon's heart race so fast, he is worried he might actually pass out. Or throw up. Or both.

Once backstage, Namjoon plays it cool, peeking into the various greenrooms to greet his coworkers and the other guests they had on the morning show as if it is standard practice and will therefore totally not be weird to peek into the last room. The room Chef Min occupies is at the far end of the hall, and from inside, he should be able to see—or at least hear—Namjoon make his way closer, so Namjoon thinks he definitely has an in, at least to say hello.

When Namjoon approaches the last room slowly, he knocks on the open door before peeking his head around the corner to the left. Chef Min is sitting at a vanity table, gently wiping the makeup off of his eyes with a cleansing pad. When he notices Namjoon, he smiles widely.

"Namjoon-ssi! Come on in."

Namjoon hesitates; he wasn't expecting such a warm welcome. As he enters the room, Chef Min finishes what he is doing and turns, leaning against the table with his hands on the edge. He has taken his apron off but still wears the fuzzy sweater, and he looks devastatingly pretty.

"Chef Min, I just wanted to—"

"Yoongi."

"W-what?"

"Call me Yoongi. The cameras are off; you don't have to call me Chef. Although I don't mind powerplay, we should probably get to know each other a little better first, yeah?"

Namjoon's head spins, and in an attempt to not stand in front of Yoongi like an absolute idiot, he says, "Yoongi, right. I don't actually think I got your name before, apologies. Y-you can just call me Namjoon, no need for formalities."

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow and drags his bottom lip through his teeth. "Sounds good, Namjoon. And, no need to apologize."

There is something so absolutely disarming about Yoongi's gaze that makes Namjoon question his entire existence. The crew whispered about Yoongi seeming cold and reserved, but he is anything but cold, to Namjoon.

"Uh, anyway, I just wanted to thank you for coming onto the show. It's nice to have fresh young faces, and I think the housewives who tune in will really like you."

"Ah, so you're using my pretty face for ratings?" Yoongi teases, once again playing with his bottom lip between his teeth.

Namjoon attempts to let out a chuckle, but it sounds awkward and forced. "Whatever works, am I right?"

"So, are you really as useless at cooking as you say?" Yoongi asks with a smirk.

Before Namjoon can answer, Yoongi begins to roll up his sleeves. Under the soft, fuzzy sweater, from his wrist up, Yoongi is covered in elaborate, colorful tattoos. Namjoon wants to step closer and inspect the designs—wants to trace his fingers along them.

"Ah—I—yes," Namjoon manages to mutter, pulling his eyes from Yoongi's arms, forcing himself to make eye contact with Yoongi instead. Not that his eyes are any less intimidating and alluring, but staring someone in the eye when you speak to them is more socially acceptable than staring at their appendages, Namjoon figures.

Yoongi grins. "And what does your partner think of that?"

"My partner? Uh, no. I don't—um—I don't have a partner." Namjoon cringes inwardly at his sudden, complete inability to form a simple fucking sentence and tries again. "My ex-wife hated it, though. It was definitely a point of contention between us."

Yoongi's expression is suddenly unreadable, and he turns back toward the makeup mirror, leaning in and checking his face once more. Then, he turns, reaches into his pocket, produces his wallet, and pulls out a card. Much to Namjoon's delight and horror, Yoongi approaches, holding out the card between two long fingers.

"Well, if you'd ever like a private lesson, here's my number," Yoongi offers.

Yoongi smells like a forest on an autumn morning from this distance, and Namjoon takes the card and turns it over in his fingers, doing his best not to inhale the scent too deeply. The background looks like a wooden cutting board, which Namjoon thinks is clever.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm so lousy, even private lessons would probably go to waste. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than try to teach this old dog new tricks."

Yoongi hums in understanding and lets out a soft chuckle. "Alright, well, I also do personal chef calls. So if you're ever craving something in particular but don't feel like ordering takeout or burning your house down, you should shoot me a text."

Namjoon knows he is not going to take Yoongi up on such a generous offer because it already feels like he would be asking way too much of someone he has barely just met, but he smiles and thanks Yoongi, telling him that he will be in touch.

Namjoon does not get in touch with Yoongi. For three weeks, Namjoon pulls Yoongi's card out of his wallet every so often, turns it around in his fingers, and thinks about all the things he would like to say to Yoongi over the phone. Then he puts the card away, promptly abandoning those thoughts.

Sure, some of the things Namjoon thinks to discuss with Yoongi are related to his work as a chef. Such as asking how he got into that line of work, or what kinds of foods Yoongi enjoys making the most, and other inquiries of that nature. But he also wants to know things unrelated to food, like what—if anything—his tattoos stand for, what kind of music Yoongi listens to, what would Yoongi surmise it is about him that makes Namjoon's heart go wild in his chest, and so on. Namjoon is not sure he has any business asking Yoongi any of these things, so he does not bother reaching out at all. He thinks about these things, though; he thinks about them a lot.

"Wait, so you, like, have a crush on a man?" Namjoon's best friend Hoseok blurts out loudly over a chorus of shouting and some new hip hop track. They are at a local dive bar where drinks are nice and cheap, and it is within walking distance of their apartments, which are close to one another.

Namjoon shakes his head, but he does not necessarily deny it. He is not sure. "How do I know if I have a crush on a man?"

Hoseok scoffs, turning his heart-shaped lips into a smile. His shaggy dark brown hair falls over his eyes, and he tilts his head to the side as if to get a better look at Namjoon.

"How do you know when you have a crush on anyone?"

Namjoon shrugs. "I get all nervous and nauseated, and I can't stop thinking about them, I guess."

"Okay, well, does the thought of the hot chef make you want to throw up right now?"

Yes, it does. It absolutely does. Namjoon smiles awkwardly and nods.

"Sounds to me like you're down bad, my guy."

Namjoon scoffs. "But I don't—I'm not into men. Am I?"

Hoseok stares at his friend incredulously and shrugs. "I guess there's a first time for everything, I don't know?"

Namjoon takes a gulp of his beer. He feels stressed out and confused. "Like, I'm not opposed to the idea, or like...grossed out or anything. I'm not homophobic."

Hoseok gestures to himself, being Namjoon's very gay best friend, and says, "Obviously."

"Right."

"But you're unsettled."

"Yeah," Namjoon admits. He cringes, squeezing his eyes shut; he feels like an asshole. Why should he be unsettled about finding someone attractive? What kind of person does that make him?

"Look, it's okay to be uncomfortable with new feelings. Discomfort does not make you a bad person; it just means your brain is struggling to process the information. You just need time."

"I don't even know where to begin unpacking this," Namjoon mutters, picking up his beer and emptying the rest of the bottle into his mouth.

Hoseok leans forward on his elbows, twirling his mostly empty bottle around. "Do you want to kiss him?"

Namjoon's eyes dart up; he feels scandalized. "I met the guy once!"

"So? You've seen his lips. Are they kissable?"

Namjoon stares ahead, eyes unfocused. Yeah, he thinks. "Extremely."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"Wait, you said he was offering to give you cooking lessons, and when you turned those down, he offered to be a private chef. Are you sure he wasn't coming onto you?"

Namjoon's brain seems to rid itself of all thought or feeling, and he stares once more at the table between him and Hoseok, absolutely failing to come up with a response, so he just shrugs.

"Did he seem gay?" Hoseok asks.

"I don't know. He was smirking a lot."

"Ah yes, smirking," Hoseok chuckles, intoning sarcastically. "The telltale sign of gayness. I should have known."

Namjoon feels dumbfounded. Silence befalls them until Hoseok chugs back the rest of his beer and announces he is going to get them another round, leaving Namjoon alone. Namjoon mulls it over again—he should, at the very least, try to strike up an innocent conversation with Yoongi. The guy seemed interested enough in being friends with Namjoon to give him his card...he thinks. It didn't feel like just another formality or vapid attempt at networking. So why is it so difficult?

It is after three more beers while on his way back home that Namjoon decides that, once he gets home, he is going to text Yoongi, at least to say hi and apologize for not getting in touch for several weeks; he thinks he owes the guy that much. Hoseok sings Namjoon's praises, telling him that he is kind and thoughtful and handsome and deserving of good things and that he should not be worried about reaching out to a pretty boy just because the thought of him makes Namjoon wanna throw up whole swarms of butterflies. Namjoon supposes he is right.

Once safe in the confines of his somewhat swanky bachelor apartment full of hand-carved driftwood furniture and lots of cute little plants, Namjoon stumbles out of his shoes, nearly toppling himself and his coat rack over, then makes his way into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Namjoon is so distracted by the thought of Yoongi and his dangly silver earrings and colorful tattoos and bleached white hair and huge, veiny hands that he over fills the glass, spilling water all over his hand and into the sink. He mutters profanities to himself as he shuts the sink off, then flicks his hand in the air to dispel the water, which hardly actually works as intended, before making his way to his brown faux leather sofa and sinking down into it.

With a nervous, damp hand, Namjoon pulls out his wallet, fishes out Yoongi's card, and takes out his phone, punching in Yoongi's number before staring at a blank messenger screen. Suddenly he cannot parse words, and nothing of any substance comes to mind, and he begins to spiral.

It is not like he can open with, "Hey Yoongi, it's Namjoon. Sorry for being MIA, but I want to kiss you so bad it makes me wanna vomit a swarm of bugs and anxiety, and I have no idea what the fuck to say to you." That probably would not go over too well. Instead, he settles for something a little more run-of-the-mill.

Namjoon: Hey Yoongi, it's Namjoon. Sorry for not texting sooner; work has been busy. Just wanted to reach out in case you wanted my number. Maybe I can take you up on the private chef offer some time.

It is not too cringe, though Namjoon feels a little trepidation sending it; at least it is already past 1:00 AM, so Namjoon does not expect a response to come in any time soon. So when his phone lights up with a call from Yoongi's number, he panics, and the anxious swarm of nauseating insects takes flight in his tummy once more.

"H-hello?" Namjoon mutters into the phone, embarrassed by how weak and overused his voice sounds from shouting at the bar.

"Namjoon," Yoongi rasps through the line. "Here, I was starting to think you'd never call."

"Yeah, s-sorry about that.”

Yoongi hums and says, "Shit happens."

Silence hangs between them, with Namjoon absolutely clamming up, and Yoongi speaks again. 

"So, what were you up to tonight?"

"Uh, I was out with my best friend at one of the local dives having some beers and catching up."

Yoongi hums again, and Namjoon thinks he really likes the way it sounds. 

"Local dive, huh? You don't strike me as a local dive kind of guy."

"What do you mean?" Namjoon asks, sitting up and readjusting his legs onto the couch as if he feels the need to get comfortable before being perceived.

Yoongi chuckles—another sound Namjoon likes. 

"I mean, you're somewhat famous as far as news anchor talk show host...whatevers go."

"Uh-huh," Namjoon responds, amused.

"I would expect you to go somewhere fancy, like a whiskey den or one of those hip little spots with thirty-dollar craft cocktails."

"Ah, you didn't think the somewhat famous news anchor talk show host whatever guy likes low tier beers? I see."

Namjoon is surprised by how comfortable it is to talk to Yoongi despite not really knowing him at all. He feels himself smiling, waiting for what Yoongi might say next.

"Nah," Yoongi mutters. "Guess I didn't get a very good read on you."

"Yeah?" Namjoon challenges, raising his eyebrows as if anyone might see him. "How did you read me?"

Yoongi exhales, but it is not exasperated, and Namjoon plays with his lip between his teeth as he waits.

"Stuck up DILF who likes thirty-dollar craft cocktails. Though, divorcee isn't too far off from a DILF, so maybe I didn't do too bad."

"Stuck up!" Namjoon parrots, sitting up even more.

Yoongi laughs, wheezes some, and Namjoon wishes he could see the look on his face. He wonders if Yoongi's eyes scrunch up when he laughs.

"Look, you redeemed yourself when you came to the greenroom to say hi. In fact, you seemed afraid of me. It was cute."

"Wow, so first you thought I was stuck up, and then you thought I was scared-slash-cute. What a whirlwind, Yoongi."

"You're telling me!"

The word "cute" ricochets around Namjoon's brain, and he tries not to think about it too hard, but it is difficult not to when Yoongi, of all fucking people, rasps it over the phone like it's nothing.

"Wait," Yoongi says, "so you've been drinking? Are you drunk?"

Namjoon scoffs. He is not not drunk, but he is not drunk. 

"No."

"Ah huh, sure."

"Why, should I be?" Namjoon asks—unsure why he asks that.

"I dunno, drunk people are fun. You can get them to confess to things."

Something in Yoongi's tone deepens, and it makes Namjoon nervous. He shifts around on his couch, pulling his legs tighter under him and leaning into the armrest.

 "Like what?"

"I dunno," Yoongi teases. "What's a guy like you got to confess to?"

Namjoon hums as if he is mulling it over. "Not much, I'm afraid."

"What was your first impression of me?" Yoongi asks, catching Namjoon off guard.

"Intimidating," Namjoon responds without thinking.

"Wow, that's it?"

Namjoon chuckles, but it's more of a nervous laugh. 

"I mean, I don't know. You seemed nice, and talented. Interesting."

Yoongi lets out a breath, like a laugh, but it sounds humorless, and it makes Namjoon nervous—he worries he might have said something wrong. Then, Yoongi clears his throat.

"Well, it's late, so I should probably—"

Namjoon panics, "Wait, Yoongi. We should—I mean—if you'd like to get a drink sometime. Or something."

"Nah, you don't mean that," Yoongi grumbles, and Namjoon cannot help but wonder how the tone of the conversation seemed to shift so abruptly.

"Of course I do. I messaged you, remember?"

Silence hangs between them, and Yoongi says, "Sure, alright. Text me when you're free sometime, and maybe I'll be free too."

"Okay, sounds good," Namjoon mutters before Yoongi says, "Bye," and ends the call.

Another week passes before Namjoon reaches out to Yoongi, in part because he is busy, but mostly he just feels uncertain. Maybe even a little stupid. Try as he might, he cannot figure out what made the last conversation turn sour, and he is worried that he might say something again to bother Yoongi. 

Tonight, he figures he can strike up a conversation; he happens to find himself in a fancy craft cocktail spot with some coworkers and feels the overwhelming urge to talk shit about it to a certain someone. It gives him a nice excuse to reach out.

Namjoon: I'm actually offended that you thought I would be into $30 craft cocktails. They're so fucking sweet; I can already feel the headache coming.

Yoongi: And I'm actually impressed that you use semi-colons in text messages. Namjoon, darling, to what do I owe the pleasure on this fine Friday night?

Namjoon: Sorry again for the radio silence. My life is actually pretty dull outside of work, so I never know what to say to people over the phone if it's on me to strike up a conversation.

Yoongi: Well, no pressure to talk to me if there's nothing that comes to mind.

Namjoon: Ah, but therein lies the problem: I want to talk to you. So what's a guy to do?

Yoongi: Oh?

Namjoon: Tonight, however, I have an excuse. I'm out with some execs drinking the most disgusting concoctions I think I have ever tried and was reminded of your first impression of me. I don't know how the youths these days do it. I can't believe you thought this was something I could be into.

Yoongi: You know you could just order anything you'd like there, right?

Namjoon: Yeah, but it has all the pomp and status regardless. I shouldn't have to shell out $12 for a two-finger pour of some mid-tier whiskey just because this bar is covered in fake greenery and has a pretentious fucking name written in fuchsia neon lights.

Yoongi: Tell me how you really feel.

Namjoon: This is why I go to dives.

Yoongi: Yeah? I'm at one now, come join me? Or do you have to rub shoulders with the execs a while longer? I can be out later, too.

Namjoon: Nah, I can leave soon. Send me the address?

Namjoon thanks the shitty overpriced cocktails for giving him the courage to walk the six blocks to where Yoongi is—which is pretty impressive, considering how close they are in a city so big. When Namjoon arrives at the bar, somewhat loud, aggressive music wafts out from inside, and he immediately feels overdressed, undoing his tie and rolling it into a ball to shove into his pocket before unbuttoning the first few buttons on his black dress shirt.

The inside of the bar is pretty nice, with retro fixtures casting red and yellow light about, and the seats and booths are all dark red leather; it looks pretty clean for a dive. Namjoon looks around before spotting bright white hair at the far end of the bar, and he nervously makes his way over.

Yoongi is sitting in a black leather jacket and black jeans, and when he looks in Namjoon's direction, he has hints of black eyeliner and shadow around his eyes, which makes Namjoon's anxiety bug swarm open a fucking mosh pit in his guts.

"Hey, handsome," Yoongi winks, eyeing him up and down. "What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

Namjoon feels warmth flood his cheeks as he takes a seat beside Yoongi, and he tries not to stare at him, but Yoongi is so fucking pretty there is literally nowhere else Namjoon wants to look, and it makes his head spin. And, being that Yoongi called Namjoon handsome, he figures he can return the compliment. He tells himself it is acceptable and gives it a shot.

"Just here to meet up with this pretty chef I know," Namjoon responds, praying that he sounded cool.

Yoongi stares at Namjoon, lips parted as if there is something he might say, but then he closes his mouth, tugs it into a lopsided smile, and turns to his drink. Thankfully the bartender comes by to distract them by taking Namjoon's order, and Namjoon glances at the glass in Yoongi's hand containing caramel color liquor before saying, "Whatever he has."

"This is straight bourbon," Yoongi mutters.

"Alright."

"So you think I'm pretty," Yoongi says the moment the bartender turns around, and Namjoon turns his gaze back to him, studying the blank expression on Yoongi's face. Namjoon wishes he knew what Yoongi was thinking about.

"Of course," Namjoon mutters. "I mean...look at you."

"I don't remember pretty being one of the adjectives you gave me, though. Just intimidating, nice, talented, and..."

"Interesting."

"Ah, right."

There is a hint of something sour in Yoongi's tone, and Namjoon wonders if that was what upset him that night. After Yoongi had called Namjoon cute, he couldn't return the compliment in kind. He does his best to make up for it.

"Yeah, I must have left it out, on account of finding you so intimidating and all."

Yoongi watches Namjoon with a squint in his eyes and a glimmer of something indiscernible, then he turns away and stares ahead.

"If you think I'm just here because you're pretty, though, you're wrong," Namjoon continues.

Yoongi scoffs. "Is that right?"

Namjoon hums in agreement. "I'm here tonight because the place I was before was terrible and boring and annoying, and you seem to be the opposite of those things. Actually, by contrast, I worry that I'm the terrible, boring, annoying factor here; I really stand out in a place like this."

"You do look a bit like a dad," Yoongi teases.

Namjoon hums. "I guess it's a good thing you're into DILFs."

Yoongi laughs, and it is a lighthearted laugh that someone makes when they are caught off-guard, and Namjoon enjoys watching Yoongi in a moment like this—noting that Yoongi's eyes do, in fact, scrunch up, and he looks absolutely breathtaking.

"Yeah, true," Yoongi says, pulling his glass to his lips.

Namjoon learns a lot about Yoongi over a couple glasses of bourbon, such as that Yoongi is from Daegu, and he got into cooking rather easily because it is a skill that has always come naturally to him. Yoongi likes most music but favors rap and hip hop, especially from the 90s. Yoongi doesn't really have a favorite dish that he prefers to prepare but enjoys making soups and stews because they are hearty and versatile, and you can easily store the leftovers. Yoongi moved to Seoul to open his own business and became a commercial chef. Namjoon also learns that Yoongi is in his mid-20s, which takes him by surprise; not only is Yoongi quite successful for being so young, but he is several years younger than Namjoon.

"Maybe that's why you intimidate me," Namjoon confesses as they walk along the river in a randomly chosen direction that happens to be toward where Namjoon lives.

"Why?"

"You're quite a bit younger than me. I don't think I look very old, but I feel old, especially now that I have a divorce finalized. I feel very disconnected from people your age half of the time."

"Age isn't everything," Yoongi rebukes. "Experience counts for something. I'm sure there are plenty of things that I have way more experience in than you do."

Namjoon doesn't doubt that. 

"Ah, speaking of, you were talking about stews earlier, and I thought it's been a long time since I've had a really good home cooked meal. Maybe if you wanted to come by some time and show me a favorite recipe of yours or something."

Yoongi stops in his tracks, eyes on the ground. 

"I was just trying to hit on you."

"Oh."

"I mean, I would still come to cook for you, but all of that was just an excuse to give you my number. I couldn't tell if you were into me or not, so I was trying to play it cool, but since you think I'm pretty, maybe you are into me after all."

Namjoon feels a mix of emotions, and he struggles to identify any of them. Hoseok was right; Yoongi was just coming onto him. And with all the lip bites and hard-to-read expressions, it should have been obvious.

"Oh," is all Namjoon can say once again, which clearly is not enough for Yoongi, who turns away and looks out over the river, avoiding eye contact. His shoulders are up around his neck.

"Ah—I mean, I was—I am. It's just—ah." Words, Namjoon. Think whole, actual words, preferably in a complete fucking sentence. "I like you, Yoongi. I liked you then too, which is why I came to say hi to you in the greenroom despite finding you intimidating. And despite being too shy to talk to you."

"You have a strange way of flirting," Yoongi mumbles, staring ahead, still. The wind from the river pushes Yoongi's hair around, dangling his earrings, and there is a chill that turns Yoongi's cheeks pink. He frowns, and he kind of looks like he is ready to jet.

"Well, it would help if I could think in cohesive sentences around you," Namjoon admits.

Yoongi turns his face to Namjoon with wide eyes, and a smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. "You were able to over the phone."

"Hard to be distracted by how disarming you are over the phone. Actually, that's a lie; your voice was much more..." Namjoon is staring at Yoongi, openly gawking at his sharp cat-like eyes dusted in black. He is so pretty, Namjoon fnds it difficult think.

"Much more...?" 

Yoongi’s smirks grows.

Despite being away from the loud music of the dive bar, all of Namjoon's thoughts still push and pull around his mind, making it hard for him to sort them out.

"Alright, I guess, I've had some drinks, and they've loosened me enough that I can spare a single confession."

Yoongi brightens up and turns to face Namjoon, who turns to fully face Yoongi. Beneath Yoongi's leather jacket is what appears to be a black band tee with some chaotic design in white ink, and Namjoon cannot even begin to parse what it is, but what he can identify are horizontal rips in the fabric and pretty skin peeking through, and he forces his eyes up to Yoongi's pretty face, instead.

Namjoon swallows a lump in his throat. 

"I think I have...god, I don't know why I feel so embarrassed to talk about my feelings." He looks over to the river to think, and the cool air stings his eyes, forcing him to look back at Yoongi, instead.

"You have feelings for me, hmm?" Yoongi teases with an eyebrow raised. Namjoon thinks Yoongi may have stepped closer in that split second he looked away, and he nods in response. "What color are they?"

"Blue," Namjoon blurts out without giving it any thought. "And warm orange."

"Interesting," Yoongi says, stepping even closer.

Yoongi's proximity terrifies Namjoon because he does not know what to do with it. It shouldn't be any different from when anyone else has flirted with him, but he still feels panicked. Maybe it is the crisp night air wafting off the river that is putting him on edge.

"It's cold," Namjoon mutters, and Yoongi eyes up Namjoon as if just realizing he is not dressed for the weather, only wearing a dress shirt and slacks.

"Right, sorry, I got distracted," Yoongi says and chuckles, then he turns and begins walking the way they were going. Namjoon follows and falls into step next to him.

"I live nearby," Namjoon blurts, and Yoongi's head cocks quickly in his direction, though he continues to look ahead. "Unless you had another bar or something in mind, but we should probably put something else in our stomachs."

"We should eat," Yoongi says. "I can't imagine what a man who doesn't cook would keep in his kitchen, but I guess I can work with just about anything."

"There's a convenience store by my place."

Yoongi scoffs and shakes his head. "If we're going to fill up on sodium, I'll just take you to a nearby noodle bar. It's open late."

Namjoon follows Yoongi several more blocks, and they do not say much. Now that there is a promise of food, both men have a pep in their step. The noodle bar is in an alley, and there aren't very many people inside, so they get served rather quickly. While bowls of udon topped with vegetables are served, Yoongi cracks open a bottle of soju, and Namjoon finds himself staring once again at Yoongi's face.

Yoongi glances up, notices Namjoon's eyes, and smirks. "Yes?"

Namjoon mutters half profanities under his breath. "I'm terrible at this."

"So you're divorced," Yoongi says, and Namjoon nods, humming quietly. "From a woman. Ex-wife." Namjoon nods and hums some more. "And before her?"

"I dated around a little, but not a lot."

Yoongi nods and passes a small cup of soju over. "Men and women?"

There it is. Namjoon can no longer skirt around it. He chews on his bottom lip staring at his steaming bowl of food, wishing the noodles would magically materialize into words to help guide him through his myriad thoughts and insecurities. He swallows another lump in his throat.

"I've never—" Namjoon's voice is shaky. "No. Only women."

Namjoon cannot bring himself to look at Yoongi, but he can feel his eyes on him, and he shifts in his seat. Yoongi hums in acknowledgment then picks up his glass of soju and holds it out, causing Namjoon to tear his eyes from his bowl to find Yoongi smiling softly. Namjoon grabs his own little glass and holds it up, touching it to Yoongi's.

"To figuring it out," Yoongi says.

"Cheers," Namjoon responds with a smile.

After the noodle bar, Namjoon and Yoongi part ways. Apparently, Yoongi lives nearby, which is information Namjoon's mind seems to have on repeat, playing it over and over because Namjoon lives nearby too. He hopes to see Yoongi again, and soon.

During their meal, Yoongi changed the subject rather quickly, after having slurped some of his broth, to talk about all the nuanced flavors used in the dishes, and Namjoon just listened with bated breath despite having no idea what he was talking about half of the time. He was relieved, in a way, that Yoongi didn't seem to mind that Namjoon liked him despite having no experience dating men. Then, as the night ended, Yoongi promised to cook for Namjoon, to make an attempt to teach him something, and Namjoon happily accepted.

Now Namjoon sits in his bed, in a t-shirt and flannel pants, staring at his phone. He wants to text Yoongi, to keep talking to him, but he has no idea what to say. He is no longer intoxicated, but he is feeling a little lighter after spending some time with Yoongi, so he does his best.

Namjoon: Thanks for the drinks and the food. And the walk along the river. It was really fun.

Yoongi: You're sending fragment sentences rather than complex ones. Are you anxious, Namjoon?

Namjoon: For the record, I'm always anxious.

Yoongi: Do I make you anxious?

Namjoon bites on his bottom lip and stares at his phone, catching his breath. He wonders how honest he should be and reminds himself that Yoongi fully admitted to coming onto him and liking him, so he should just be honest and stop second-guessing himself.

Namjoon: Extremely.

Yoongi: Can I call?

Namjoon: Yes.

The phone rings exactly once before Namjoon answers it, bringing it to his ear almost frantically.

"Hey," Namjoon all but pants into the phone.

"Hey gorgeous," Yoongi rasps. He sounds out of breath. "So I make you anxious?"

"Yoongi, you make me a lot of things," Namjoon confesses, closing his eyes. "Anxious is just at the top of the list."

"What else?"

"Nervous. Confused. Dumb."

"I make you dumb?" Yoongi chuckles.

"Yes. Brain empty, can't speak, what even are words, mouth doesn't work right."

"Damn."

Namjoon chuckles. "Yeah."

"Sounds like you have a huge fucking crush on me, Namjoon."

"Yeah," Namjoon mutters. "It does sound like that, huh?"

"And confused?"

Namjoon sighs. "I've never had feelings for a man before." Silence hangs for a fraction of a second, and it is just enough time to make Namjoon panic. "I'm not opposed to the idea or anything, though. Not at all. It's just...it's all so new, and I don't really know how to navigate it, and I'm overthinking it in a big way. And now I'm rambling; geez, this is embarrassing."

"You are spiraling, sweetheart."

"I am absolutely spiraling. But I like that, just now, when you called me sweetheart."

"Well, what do you want? You know I also like you, but there's absolutely no pressure. If you just want to be friends too, I could live with that."

"No," Namjoon blurts, "no, I don't want to just be friends. I can't look at you without getting so wrapped up in my feelings; I don't think I could handle it if we tried to just be friends."

Yoongi hums. "Talk to me, then. What do you want?"

"I want to kiss you," Namjoon confesses, so soft he wonders if Yoongi even heard him. A small gasp on the other end of the line suggests he did.

"Well, you're in luck, Joonie, because I want to kiss you too."

The nicknames and confessions make Namjoon's head spin and blood rush to his cock, and he rests back against his headboard, doing his best to ignore the swell of arousal pooling in his guts.

"Anything else you want to do?" Yoongi's deep voice taunts him, and Namjoon lets out a shattered breath.

"Yes. I think so, but I don't know...I don't know how."

"I could teach you."

"Fuck," Namjoon whimpers softly to himself.

"We'll start slow, though. I'll come over with food, and we can hang out, and if you have the urge to kiss me, we'll kiss."

"You make it sound so easy," Namjoon chuckles.

"How does tomorrow sound?"

Fast. Terrifying. Overwhelming. "Perfect."

"Perfect," Yoongi parrots, and Namjoon can hear his smile. "I'm falling asleep, but I'll call in the morning, and we can iron out the details, alright, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," Namjoon mutters, nodding his head to nobody but himself. "Sounds great, Yoongi."

As soon as the call ends, Namjoon drops his phone and grabs his cock over his pants, gasping from the pressure and slight friction. He cannot shake Yoongi's deep, raspy voice and enticing promises of kisses and lessons on more than just cooking. Soft, pretty lips and hints of pale skin play over and over in Namjoon's mind as he frantically pushes his pants down to his thighs and jerks himself off. When Namjoon comes in his fist, coating his fingers in viscous release, he is whimpering Yoongi's name.

Namjoon: I think I might be losing my fucking mind.

Hoseok: Go on...

Namjoon: I saw Yoongi last night, and I confessed to liking him and I told him that he's the first man I've ever had feelings for.

Hoseok: Big steps! How did he take it?

Namjoon: He took it well. He asked whether I just wanted to be friends or if I wanted to try to be more.

Hoseok: Okay, that's good. He seems confident despite your inexperience. Points for him. What did you say?

Namjoon: I said I want to kiss him.

Hoseok: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Namjoon: He's going to come over tonight and cook for me.

Hoseok: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Namjoon: Same.

Hoseok: Shaking, crying, throwing up, Joonie Bear!!! This is huge!!! How do you feel?

Namjoon: Excited. And terrified. Mostly excited. It's been ages since I've wanted to kiss someone, and I am trying not to panic.

Hoseok: Well, I'm rooting for you! I hope all your dreams come true. Remember to take it slow and don't get too wrapped up in your head, alright? Just communicate how you're feeling. It sounds like you really like him and that he'll take good care of you.

"You already look lost," Yoongi teases.

Namjoon feels overdressed in his pale blue dress shirt tucked into charcoal grey slacks next to Yoongi in his denim apron, with a short white band tee tucked into tight black jeans beneath. Yoongi has a studded belt around his hips, and Namjoon wonders what Yoongi would look like with the belt wrapped around his wrists.

"Y-yeah," Namjoon mutters. "I'm terrible at cutting things."

"You own expensive knives and don't know how to use them?" More mocking tone with raised eyebrows, and Namjoon feels delightfully dizzy.

"Well, I figure, if I lose an appendage, I may as well do it in style," Namjoon shrugs. 

Yoongi shakes his head.

Watching Yoongi move around the kitchen with poise and grace, humming to himself all the while, fills Namjoon's chest with warm affection. Although Yoongi is smaller than Namjoon in nearly every sense, his presence is huge, almost overwhelming, though never stifling.

"I just have to cut the rest of the spring onions for garnish, and then we're all set," Yoongi says, and although Namjoon hums in response and nods, he cannot help but stare at the way Yoongi's large, delicate hands hold onto his knife, nor how patterns and colors twist the length of Yoongi's otherwise pretty pale arms. Yoongi clears his throat, and Namjoon's eyes shoot up to meet his, watching as he smirks.

“You’re drooling Namjoon,” Yoongi says as he deftly chops an onion while staring into his eyes. “Be a good boy and set the table for me.”

At the words be a good boy, a shiver runs through Namjoon, starting at the base of his skull and shooting straight down into his cock. He knows he must look bewildered because Yoongi lets out a soft chuckle as he uses the blade of the knife and the edge of his hand to scoop the spring onions from the cutting board into a small dish.

Namjoon bows his head and mutters, "Yes, sir," before turning to his cabinet to grab his dishware, and when he peeks from behind the open door to find Yoongi blushing and nibbling on his bottom lip, Namjoon smiles, forcing himself to focus once more on the task at hand.

With the table set and bottle of wine open, Namjoon sits across from Yoongi, who has removed his apron. The food smells incredible, and Namjoon waits for Yoongi's signal before digging in. Everything from the flavors to the aromatics fills Namjoon's senses, and he closes his eyes and groans into the first spoonful; he is not sure he has ever tasted anything so good before. It is rich yet delicate and hearty, and Namjoon fears that this will only serve to make him fall even more head over heels for the pretty chef. When Namjoon opens his eyes, he finds Yoongi chuckling with blushed cheeks while filling their glasses with red wine.

"It's just a stew," Yoongi mutters, though his smile has reached his eyes.

"You're amazing," Namjoon blurts, and he does not miss the way Yoongi's eyes shine wide with surprise. "Seriously, this is spectacular. And you make it look so easy. I'm impressed, Chef Min."

"Impressed enough to kiss me later?" Yoongi asks as he pulls his wine glass up to his lips.

"Absolutely," Namjoon mutters while taking his own wine into his hands. The first sip warms Namjoon even more than the stew managed to, making him a bit more dizzy. Though, he knows that it is Yoongi intoxicating him more than anything else.

They eat primarily in silence, save for slurping sounds, the occasional scrape of a spoon against a bowl, and Namjoon groaning repeated praises over the food. Yoongi smiles contentedly, though he seems to become shy the more Namjoon swoons over his skills. He looks so cute when he blushes that it only makes Namjoon praise him more.

Once they have killed the bottle of wine, Namjoon finally gets up and collects their dishes, taking them to the sink. He stacks everything neatly, intending to clean them later, then turns to find Yoongi leaning into the kitchen island behind him. At the sight of Yoongi watching Namjoon, his heart pounds, and his breath comes out ragged. Slowly, Namjoon approaches, and when he gets close enough, Yoongi reaches his arms up, resting his hands around Namjoon's shoulders.

"Thanks for cooking for me," Namjoon mutters softly.

Yoongi nods and smiles, "It was my pleasure, sweetheart."

Yoongi's fingers play gently at the nape of Namjoon's neck, and Namjoon leans in slowly, eyes locked on Yoongi's lips. He tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and Yoongi's tongue does the same, then Namjoon wraps his arms around Yoongi's thin waist as he pulls him close enough to slot their lips together. Yoongi gasps and smiles against Namjoon's mouth, and Namjoon darts his tongue out, testing the kiss, already eager for more.

When Yoongi parts his lips, Namjoon licks inside and moans softly, finding the warmth of Yoongi's mouth so inviting. Yoongi slowly chases Namjoon's tongue in a dance of back-and-forth, and their hands begin to grip tighter until Yoongi is tugging at Namjoon's shoulders to be closer.

Namjoon breaks the kiss, practically gasping for breath, and rests his forehead against Yoongi's, opening his eyes to smile at him. Yoongi's lips are pink and slick and slightly swollen, and Namjoon wants to nip at them until Yoongi falls apart in his arms.

"I didn't prepare a dessert for tonight because I just had a feeling your lips would be this sweet," Yoongi says softly. “Lips like honey.”

"Fuck," Namjoon whimpers, gripping onto Yoongi tighter.

"How do you feel?” Yoongi asks sweetly. “Do you need to slow down?"

Namjoon shakes his head. Although he is treading somewhat new territory with Yoongi, and his heart is racing against his ribs, the last thing he wants is to slow down. 

"I feel great."

"You like kissing me?"

"Yeah," Namjoon says through a shattered breath. "I like kissing you very much, Yoongi."

Yoongi grins and bites his lip. "Kiss me some more, then."

Namjoon grips onto Yoongi's waist and lifts him, setting Yoongi onto the marble countertop. Yoongi gasps and immediately wraps his legs around Namjoon's hips, pulling him closer, and Namjoon is acutely aware of just how close their cocks are to touching. 

He thinks he would very much like it if his and Yoongi's cocks were to touch, and he moans into Yoongi's mouth as he is drawn into a kiss that is more heated than the last. Namjoon's hands rove up Yoongi's back, one holding him tightly around the middle while the other gently engulfs the back of his head. As Yoongi sucks on Namjoon's bottom lip, Namjoon's hips rut, and Yoongi moans into his mouth.

"How are you?" Yoongi asks against Namjoon's lips.

"Amazing," Namjoon says as he gently sucks Yoongi's bottom lip between his teeth. 

Yoongi whines and Namjoon is certain he wants to hear that sound from Yoongi's mouth a lot more.

"Want to keep making out, or do you want more?"

Namjoon wants more, but he cannot wrap his mind around what more might mean exactly, so he catches his breath and attempts to gather his thoughts.

"We don't have to dive into anything too intense," Yoongi clarifies. "I know this is your first time with a man, and I want you to be comfortable. But I also really want to suck your dick if you'd let me."

Namjoon slides his hands under Yoongi's ass and lifts him, then turns to exit the kitchen, and Yoongi rests his head on Namjoon's shoulder, holding him tight. The walk from the kitchen to Namjoon's bedroom is not very far, but it is a bit dark, and that, mixed with Namjoon's innate clumsiness, has him fearing for not only his life but for Yoongi's life, too.

Thankfully, Namjoon makes the trip unscathed and walks through his dark bedroom, sets Yoongi down on the edge of the bed, and leans to his bedside lamp to flick it on. Warm, yellow light fills the space, and Yoongi rests back on his hands and stares up at Namjoon as if in awe.

"Do you think you'd be more of a top or a bottom?" Yoongi asks.

Namjoon has thought this over extensively since the day his crush began, and he sits on the bed beside Yoongi, leaning over to gently tug Yoongi's lips back to his.

"Both," Namjoon mutters. "I think I would want to do both."

This seems to please Yoongi, who moans into Namjoon's kiss, then parts quickly to shift onto the bed more, crawling into the center, facing the headboard. "I want you over there," Yoongi says as he nods, and Namjoon does as he is told, getting onto his knees and crawling to sit in front of Yoongi with his back resting against the board and his legs spread around Yoongi.

Yoongi runs his hands up Namjoon's legs, leaning into his thighs, then stops with his fingers tapping Namjoon's belt. 

"May I?" he asks with a grin.

"Please," Namjoon whimpers.

Yoongi's long, beautiful fingers move to Namjoon's buckle and begin to unfasten it, and already Namjoon's entire body begins to swim with so much lust and desire, it is overwhelming. He is noticing things he never did before, such as the delicate curve of Yoongi's eyelashes and the placement of several moles and freckles that grace Yoongi's cheeks and nose.

"You're so pretty," Namjoon mutters, and Yoongi's hands pause as he looks up at Namjoon. "So fucking pretty."

"Is that why you like me so much? You like pretty things?"

Namjoon chuckles. "There are so many reasons to like you, but that is certainly one."

Yoongi stops mid-mission to undo Namjoon's pants and crawls up to him, straddling his waist, wrapping his arms around Namjoon's neck. The weight of Yoongi's ass and crotch against Namjoon's dick makes him whine under his breath.

"What else?" Yoongi asks.

"You're incredibly talented,” Namjoon begins as if praising Yoongi is the easiest thing in the world. “You're fucking sexy. You didn't balk at the knowledge that I had never been with a man before; you just rolled with it like it was no big deal, which is a huge relief. I feel really comfortable with you."

Yoongi fidgets with his lips between his teeth, smiling nervously. "I mean, going into something new with someone is always scary, regardless of orientation and all of that. There's always a cloud of what-ifs that hovers over our heads, you know? You seem genuine and not like someone who is willing to waste my time, so I feel comfortable at least trying."

Namjoon feels himself blush. "I can't believe you like me."

"Don't say shit like that, Namjoon," Yoongi says softly but firmly. "You're so smart, kind, and fun. You're handsome, and you're fucking sexy as hell. And you're so eager to try new things. You are fucking perfect."

"I'm far from perfect."

Yoongi's fingers slide to Namjoon's shirt and slowly begin to undo the buttons, and Namjoon rests his head back against the headboard.

"I doubt that," Yoongi mutters as he leans forward, pressing soft, warm kisses to Namjoon's neck, roving over his throat and down each inch of slowly exposed skin. Namjoon places his hands on Yoongi's thighs and whines into Yoongi's touch as his lips find more and more sensitive patches of skin.

"Gonna make you feel so good, Joonie," Yoongi mutters as his ass slides down Namjoon's legs and his lips get lower.

"I know you will, baby," Namjoon says softly, feeling Yoongi gasp against his tummy.

With Namjoon's shirt undone, Namjoon tugs on it to untuck it from his slacks and jerks it off his shoulders, doing his best to wiggle out of it rather than sit forward too far because Yoongi's lips are on his hip, and he does not want Yoongi's lips to leave his skin for even a moment. Yoongi's lips do, however, leave his skin as Yoongi begins to check newly shirtless Namjoon out.

"My god," Yoongi mutters, running his hands up Namjoon's tummy, over his pecs, and back down again. "You're so fucking hot, Namjoon. God damn, I knew you would be, but...wow."

"Yeah?" 

Namjoon suddenly feels shy and unsure of himself despite Yoongi's praise.

"Yeah. Wow, yeah, sweetheart, you're a work of art. Sun-kissed to perfection."

Namjoon can feel his cheeks turn red hot, which is not helped by Yoongi's fingers undoing his pants. At a glance, he can see a pretty sizable bulge hiding below Yoongi, which will not be hidden for long, and he rests his head back once more. Then it occurs to Namjoon that Yoongi is still wearing a shirt and that he would very much like to see what his torso has to offer, so he reaches forward and takes a handful of the back of Yoongi's shirt, tugging it until Yoongi sits up and helps Namjoon pull it off.

Intricate tattoos swirl to just below Yoongi's clavicles, adorning his shoulders and pecs with beautiful designs. Despite his smaller build, Yoongi's chest is broad and toned, and his tummy is a perfect mix of cut muscle and soft curves.

"Wow, Yoongi," Namjoon mutters, running his fingertips up from the middle of Yoongi's arms, to his shoulders and back down. "You are the work of art, baby. Just look at you."

Yoongi blushes a pretty rosy shade as he grabs at Namjoon's slacks and begins to pull them down, and suddenly Namjoon is back to feeling incredibly nervous. He has never had complaints about his dick before, but what if Yoongi doesn't like it? Namjoon really wants Yoongi to like his dick.

"Are you spiraling again, Joonie?" Yoongi asks gently, and Namjoon realizes Yoongi is looking up at him.

Namjoon nods. 

"I am, yes. But I don't want to stop. I'm just nervous."

"I'm nervous too, sweetheart; it's okay."

"Yeah?"

Yoongi chuckles softly. 

"Yeah, of course. I want to impress you, after all; there's a lot to be nervous about."

"I'm already impressed, baby," Namjoon says.

"And I'm already so into you it makes me dizzy, but that doesn't mean you'll stop feeling shy about letting me undress you." Yoongi smiles sweetly and Namjoon nods and breathes a shattered sigh of relief. He is in good hands; he just needs to relax and trust Yoongi to take good care of him.

And Yoongi does take good care of him. As soon as Yoongi pulls Namjoon's slacks and briefs down, his eyes widen, and he groans. Yoongi fumbles backward, somewhat frantically pulling the clothing the rest of the way off, then eagerly gets between Namjoon's legs once more, looking between Namjoon's face and his cock as if he's just made the most breathtaking discovery known to man.

"Please tell me this isn't what you were so nervous to show me," Yoongi beams, rubbing Namjoon's thighs with his open palms. "That is a beautiful cock, Joonie. I can't wait to taste it."

Namjoon sits dumbfounded with his hands to his sides and stares down at Yoongi. He cannot believe the words that come from Yoongi's pretty mouth, and he has no idea how to respond. 

Yoongi smirks, leans forward, and asks, "May I, Joonie," so softly, it is almost a whisper.

"Yes," Namjoon nods emphatically, "please, Yoongi."

Yoongi takes Namjoon's cock gently in one hand, and sparks shoot out from Namjoon's groin to the ends of his limbs, causing his breath to hitch. Then Yoongi wraps his lips around the head, and Namjoon moans a deep, broken sound as Yoongi slowly works Namjoon's length in and out of his mouth, taking more and more each time. Yoongi groans as he swirls his tongue along Namjoon's shaft, and Namjoon whines, gently taking Yoongi by the hair in one hand, surprised by how soft it is.

"That feels so good, baby," Namjoon gasps, doing his best to keep from letting his head roll back, determined to watch his length disappear between those pretty sakura petal lips.

Yoongi sucks his cheeks in, slurps Namjoon hungrily, and laps his tongue around, and Namjoon completely falls apart, slowly but gradually turning into a needy, eager mess. He wonders if he could do the same to Yoongi—if his lips and tongue and sucked-in cheeks could make Yoongi unravel like this. He thinks he wants to try. He thinks he wants to try a lot of things and wonders what Yoongi's cock must look like and if it is as pretty as the rest of him.

"Fuck, Yoongi, you're gonna make me come," Namjoon whines before long.

Yoongi moans and continues to suck and lick Namjoon, pulling him over the edge, and Namjoon does his best not to let his hips buck, but they tremble beneath Yoongi's large hands as his pleasure builds.

"Ah—I'm coming," Namjoon warns just before he does, and Yoongi sucks Namjoon down eagerly, groaning as Namjoon's release sprays his tongue and throat. The feeling is so intense and so fucking good; Namjoon pants and moans, squeezing Yoongi's hair as his hips shudder.

When Yoongi finally releases Namjoon's cock, grinning ear to ear like a fool, Namjoon takes Yoongi by the head gently in both hands and pulls him into a sloppy kiss. Yoongi's lips are swollen and slick as he falls against Namjoon's chest and engulfs him with his arms, and Namjoon licks into Yoongi's mouth, tasting hints of his own heady release.

"Good?" Yoongi asks against Namjoon's lips.

"Amazing," Namjoon responds, pulling Yoongi close. “Everything you do is amazing.”

Namjoon feels breathless and euphoric. They sit quietly for a moment, and he wonders if he has the energy to keep going or if they should call it a night; if Yoongi wants to get off, too, Namjoon is more than happy to try. Yoongi is the first to break the silence.

"I hate to go, but it's getting late, Joonie. I have an early morning."

Namjoon nods and hugs Yoongi close, breathing in his musky, earthy scents. After much reluctance, he manages to bumble his shaky legs back into his briefs and kiss Yoongi all the way to the door. Namjoon begs for whatever this is to continue and promises to get Yoongi off next time, feeling a swell of happiness when Yoongi agrees to do this again soon.

Namjoon: I think I'm in love

Hoseok: Did you kiss!

Namjoon: We did.

Hoseok: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Namjoon: Also...

Hoseok: ...??????????

Namjoon: For the purpose of decency, I shall bleep out some of the words in my next message.

Hoseok: Uh oh!

Namjoon: He s***ed my soul straight out of my d***.

Hoseok: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! omg, no wonder you're already catching feelings.

Namjoon: Everything about him is perfect. I'm in awe. He's so pretty and funny and a fantastic cook, and he's sweet, and he made me c** in like 3 minutes.

Hoseok: I'm glad you had a good time. Congrats on being gay! I love this for you!

Namjoon: Thanks for believing in me!

Hoseok: I never doubted you for a minute!

Falling into a routine with Yoongi is easy, and slowly, over the course of a month, Namjoon is opened up to a world of firsts, from sampling delicious foods that Yoongi cooks on the weekends to learning to suck Yoongi's cock and discovering what frotting is. Though coming in tandem while Yoongi's large hand holds both his and Namjoon's thrusting dicks and feeling the slide of their shafts together is something that Namjoon thinks about often when he is fisting his cock alone, taking Yoongi into his mouth is his favorite.

Namjoon cannot get enough of the way Yoongi whimpers and moans each time he discovers a new rhythm to flick his tongue and suck in his cheeks. And although it made him gag the first time, Namjoon loves it when Yoongi comes in his mouth, feeling a sense of pride wash over him whenever Yoongi grips tightly to his hair and whimpers through his release. Namjoon swallows his load eagerly as if it is another delicious meal Yoongi has prepared just for him.

During the week, when Namjoon and Yoongi are busy with workloads and early mornings, they talk on the phone before bed, sometimes ending the call while moaning and whining about everything they want to do when they see each other next. Namjoon often thinks about Yoongi's pretty thick cock and how easy it was for him to take a strong liking to it, wishing it was in his hands and mouth whenever Yoongi lets out raspy breaths through the phone.

It is a Thursday when Yoongi whimpers, "I want you so bad, Joonie. I want you to fuck me so bad," and Namjoon worries he might blackout. His hand grips his cock tightly, and he lets out a strangled groan.

"Only when you're ready," Yoongi throws in quickly, though Namjoon can hear how worked up the thought makes him—can hear the quick passes of lubed-up fingers sliding over his cock through the phone.

"I wanna fuck you, baby," Namjoon moans. "I think I'm ready."

Namjoon pictures Yoongi's fucked out, euphoric expression and imagines him bent over with his pretty little ass in the air, and he comes in his hand, moaning loudly for Yoongi to hear. Yoongi sounds just as gone when he reaches his orgasm, and when they finally end the call, Namjoon immediately falls asleep with a smile.

Tonight at Namjoon's place, there is a bit of tension hanging in the air that Namjoon can feel but does not want to address just yet. He thinks it may be related to their last conversation when they discussed the idea of Namjoon fucking Yoongi, but he feels like discussing it further can wait.

For now, Namjoon takes to getting dishes and utensils set up, and rinsing vegetables for Yoongi to chop. Although Namjoon still cannot be trusted to do the actual preparation of meals, he has found ways to be helpful, sharing some of the workload.

Namjoon has begun to dress down in a simple tee and slacks for Yoongi's visits, and Yoongi continues to wear the same random graphic tee tucked into jeans with his trusty apron on top, and Namjoon enjoys how relaxed and domestic their nights feel. Whenever Yoongi's hands are free of something sharp or hot, Namjoon likes to place his hands on Yoongi's hips and kiss him on the neck, smiling against his skin when Yoongi lets out a satisfied hum. Everything feels so natural and easy; Namjoon has difficulty believing not much time has passed since all of this began.

"You never told me how the ratings were for my appearance," Yoongi says as he tosses tonight's stir fried meat and vegetables in a wok.

"Oh, you killed in the ratings, both on-air and online," Namjoon beams. "I was right, the housewives loved you."

Yoongi chuckles. "Good, good. I rewatched the segment the other night and it was so painfully obvious how nervous I made you. You were so cute Joonie."

Namjoon cringes; he has not rewatched the segment, remembering clearly how awkward he seemed to be interviewing Yoongi. 

"Yeah, no need to remind me," Namjoon he.

"What was going through your mind that morning?" Yoongi teases.

Namjoon carries a bottle of wine to the table, cradling two glasses in his other hand, humming loudly, in thought. 

"It was a lot of alarm bells and internal shrieking. Panicking because I couldn't look at your pretty face without getting nervous, then realizing I also couldn't look at your hands without picturing how badly I needed them all over me."

"My hands?" Yoongi chuckles, gathering two plates to fill with food.

"Your hands," Namjoon repeats sheepishly.

"And just what did you imagine I was doing with my hands, hmm?"

Namjoon can feel his cheeks flush with warmth, and he takes a seat, watching as Yoongi unties his apron to hang over a cabinet handle before bringing their plates over.

"It was like a quick montage of all the things I imagined you could do with them, like sticking your fingers in my mouth, wrapping your fingers around my throat or around my dick. Gripping onto my hips and my ass. You know...hand things."

Yoongi raises his eyebrows, fighting the urge to laugh as he sets Namjoon's plate in front of him.

"Hand things," Yoongi parrots with a smirk.

"I may have thought about how long your fingers are, and how thick they are at the knuckles, and how they might feel stretching me open."

Yoongi gasps, hovering over Namjoon with his own plate in his hand. 

"You mean to tell me you had never had feelings for a man before, but you imagined me fingering your tight little asshole at seven o'clock on that bright Tuesday morning."

"S-something like that," Namjoon mutters, grinning awkwardly as blood rushes to his cock in response to Yoongi's teasing.

"Well," Yoongi says, turning away to round the table and stand in front of his seat. Yoongi sets his plate down and leans on his fists against the table, towering over Namjoon for a moment longer. "If you want me to finger you that badly, all you have to do is ask."

Namjoon stares up at Yoongi and waits for him to sit, but Yoongi continues to stand. He is wearing the black band tee with the rips from the night they walked along the river, and Namjoon finds himself looking between those peeks of skin and Yoongi's face. Tonight Yoongi wears a thin line of black makeup under his eyes, and Namjoon wonders if he will get to make him cry it off later.

"Of course I want you to, baby. Let's talk about it after we eat, though; I'm so hungry, and this smells so good."

"Fine, fine, you're right," Yoongi concedes and reaches for the wine to fill their glasses.

The food is fantastic as always, and Namjoon sits back in his chair, wondering if it is too early to ask Yoongi to just move in with him and cook every night. Of course, he knows it is way too early, but that does not stop him from imagining how nice it would be to wake up to Yoongi every morning, come home to Yoongi and his delicious cooking every evening, and fall asleep to Yoongi every night.

Although they broke the tension to discuss Yoongi's hands earlier, something tense still seems to be hanging in the air between them, making Namjoon nervous—making it hard to hold eye contact with Yoongi for too long. Once they finish their meals and the bottle of wine, Namjoon collects the dishes as he always does and takes them over to the sink to rinse and stack them to be cleaned in the morning.

Typically, when Namjoon turns from the sink, Yoongi is nearby with lust in his eyes, waiting to be carried off to the bedroom, but tonight Yoongi still sits at the table, with his back to the kitchen, separated by the island. Namjoon feels his heart pound heavily in his chest, worried about what may have gone wrong, and he rounds the counter and approaches Yoongi. Yoongi's chin is resting against his hands with one pointer finger tapping along his lower lip, and Namjoon squats beside Yoongi, looking up at him.

"Everything alright, baby?" Namjoon asks gently.

Yoongi breaks from his thoughts and slowly lowers his hands, turning his body to face Namjoon, and smiles softly. 

"Just have a lot on my mind."

"I can tell. There seems to be a tension hanging over us tonight."

Yoongi chews on his bottom lip and lets out a quiet laugh. 

"It's my hovering cloud of what-ifs. It followed me all the way here."

Namjoon stands and holds his hand out to Yoongi, and Yoongi accepts. He leads Yoongi to his brown faux leather couch and sits facing him, still holding his hand.

"Talk to me," he says.

"This has been an amazing month," Yoongi begins, speaking in a tone that borders somber and puts Namjoon on high alert; suddenly, all he can think is that Yoongi is trying to break up with him, even though it wouldn't make sense for Yoongi to bother making him dinner first; who does something like that?

"It really has been," Namjoon manages to respond, doing his best to keep his voice even, though he can hear it shake.

"Shit," Yoongi mutters, "this isn't how I wanted this to go. It must sound like I'm trying to end things because I've gone all fucking emo for no reason."

Yoongi shifts his body more, pulling his legs onto the couch and underneath him. "I can tell by your eyes that you began to spiral. Sweetheart, I'm so sorry; I promise I'm not trying to break things off."

Namjoon lets out a big, deep sigh of relief and smiles, feeling his eyes threaten to well with tears. 

"Yeah, you actually worried me for a second there."

Yoongi chuckles. 

"It's the opposite, actually. I know we haven't discussed all of this and us and everything, but I've been exclusively seeing you, and I want us to actually, like, date. Or whatever. I want you to be my boyfriend."

Pink flushes over Yoongi's cheeks, and Namjoon melts. 

"In my head you were my boyfriend the first night you sucked my cock, if I'm being honest."

"Good," Yoongi grins, then his expression falls back to a look of vulnerable uncertainty. "So then it won't be too weird to tell you that I love you already...will it?"

Namjoon gasps, and he can tell that the expression on his face is one of surprise, which Yoongi clearly cannot accurately translate, because his eyes seem to be frantically searching Namjoon's for any hint of a response. Namjoon clears his throat, and this time his eyes do well with tears, and he does his best to blink them out of existence.

"S-sorry, was that too soon?" Yoongi asks, and Namjoon snaps himself out of his thoughts and wraps his arms around Yoongi's shoulders, pulling him into Namjoon's chest.

"No, oh my god, I'm sorry—I just—you said you love me, and everything went blank and," Namjoon takes a deep breath to stop himself from rambling. "I love you too, Yoongi. I began to fall for you the moment we first kissed. Maybe even sooner."

Yoongi hugs Namjoon tight and buries his face into his neck. 

"Sorry, I was weird all night, I just wanted to tell you, but I didn't want to scare you away. Or make the mood weird since you were probably expecting to fuck me tonight, not get all fluffy and gross."

Namjoon chews on his bottom lip and smiles sheepishly.

"Baby, knowing you love me just makes me want to fuck you more."

Yoongi pulls back from the hug and takes Namjoon's face and neck in his hands, pulling him into a deep, needy kiss full of tongue and teeth and moans. Namjoon grabs Yoongi's hips and pulls him onto his lap, then stands and carries Yoongi into his room, slamming his elbow into a corner on the way and trying, once more, not to cry.

Namjoon has begun to leave his lamp on when he expects Yoongi to come over, so there is no more walking through a dark bedroom, and he makes his way to the bed and lightly tosses Yoongi into the center, watching with bated breath as Yoongi scrambles onto his elbows to stare back at Namjoon, who pulls his shirt over his head, then undoes his belt and pulls his pants down.

Yoongi gawks through lust-filled eyes, then pulls his own shirt off, tossing it to the floor. Namjoon approaches the bed and makes quick work of Yoongi's belt, pulling his pants and briefs down in a rush, and Yoongi lifts his hips to assist, but the swift movements make him crash onto the bed with a giggle. Namjoon hovers over Yoongi, bending to pull Yoongi into a kiss, gently nibbling on Yoongi's lip until he whines.

"On your knees, baby," Namjoon commands softly, and Yoongi's breath hitches. "I read about performing anal sex extensively online in the last two days, but if there's anything you need me to do, just tell me, okay? I'll go slow."

Yoongi chuckles softly, though he still looks dazed, and he stares at Namjoon and nods, blinking out of whatever mental fog he has been caught in before rolling onto his tummy and crawling to the center of the bed. Namjoon grabs a bottle of lube that he has left on his bedside table and gets onto the bed behind Yoongi, admiring the soft curves of his tattoo-covered back and the swell of his perfectly round ass. He puts the lube on the bed beside him and gently places his hands over Yoongi's ass, admiring him from this angle for the first time as he draws circles with his thumbs over the soft flesh.

"Of course your ass is perfect, like the rest of you," Namjoon groans, digging his fingers into Yoongi's cheeks.

"Shut up—hhh, ah fuck," Yoongi whines as Namjoon licks over Yoongi's rim.

Yoongi tastes tangy and sweet, and Namjoon circles and flicks his tongue over his hole, moaning and spreading him in his hands. Yoongi whimpers and moans, and already his voice is broken and raspy in a way that causes Namjoon to become lightheaded, making all the sweet sounds that urge Namjoon to explore more. He presses his tongue into Yoongi's hole slowly, and Yoongi sobs with pleasure, so Namjoon pulls out and pushes it in once more, a little deeper this time, pulling more euphonic sounds from Yoongi's lips.

"You taste so good, baby," Namjoon groans before lapping over Yoongi in slow, hungry motions.

"Fuck, Joonie," Yoongi whines. His legs are trembling, and Namjoon can hear his fingers gripping onto the blanket below him.

"You like the way I eat your ass, baby?"

Yoongi whimpers a sound that resembles "uh-huh," and Namjoon grins and dives back in, savoring Yoongi a little more.

By the time Namjoon reaches for the bottle of lube, Yoongi is already panting and drooling into a pillow that he has wrapped his arms around tightly, and Namjoon smiles to himself at the sight of him already fucked out before they have hardly gotten started.

Namjoon opens the bottle and squirts some liquid onto his fingertips and rubs it to warm it, making sure to coat his middle finger. Then, he sets the bottle down and rubs the pad of his finger gently over Yoongi's rim, and Yoongi gasps before letting out a deep whine.

"Ready for my finger, baby?"

"Yes," Yoongi whimpers. "Please.”

Slowly, Namjoon slides the tip of his finger into Yoongi's ass, trying not to completely unravel from the choked sobs that already escape Yoongi's lips. Gently, Namjoon pulls his finger out, then presses it back in, this time a little further, again and again until he is in past his knuckle and Yoongi is begging for him to let him catch his breath.

"Let me know when you're ready for more," Namjoon mutters, leaving lazy, wet kisses over Yoongi's ass cheek.

"Okay," Yoongi pants after a moment, "I'm ready."

With a generous amount of lube and steady, patient hands, Namjoon stretches Yoongi on one finger, then two, and then three, scissoring his fingers open and slowly fucking Yoongi with his hand until Yoongi is no longer begging to slow down, and instead begging for Namjoon's cock. Namjoon stands to remove his briefs, which are wet with precum, and Yoongi sits back on his shaky knees and pats the bed for Namjoon to sit in front of him.

"Wanna ride you," Yoongi says, and Namjoon nods, eagerly stepping from his briefs and getting onto the bed, right where Yoongi wants him.

Yoongi pulls Namjoon's cock into his mouth and swallows it back into his throat, and Namjoon moans loudly as a wave of pleasure rocks through his body. He had been so focused on Yoongi's pleasure that feeling his own is suddenly overwhelming. Yoongi slurps and sucks eagerly and makes a fucking mess drooling all over Namjoon's cock before pulling it from his mouth with a grin, and Namjoon watches lines of spit pull between his cock and Yoongi's lips before bursting.

"Holy shit, baby," Namjoon mutters as Yoongi reaches back for the bottle of lube while he straddles Namjoon's thighs, and squirts a generous amount into his hand.

"I've dreamt about this moment," Yoongi whines, engulfing Namjoon's cock in his fist, coating it with the slick liquid and making Namjoon shudder with bliss. "Since the moment you came into the greenroom looking like a scared little puppy, I wanted to get on my knees and make you mine."

Namjoon holds Yoongi's thighs, helping Yoongi sit forward and line Namjoon's cock up with his hole. "I'm yours, baby," Namjoon groans as Yoongi sits just enough to make their bodies touch—just enough to remind him that this is really, truly, actually fucking happening and not just a dream. Namjoon's eyes are glued to Yoongi's cock and his tummy, and he worries that, at any moment, he might blackout.

"You're spiraling, Joonie," Yoongi mutters. "Look at me."

Namjoon quickly looks up at Yoongi, meeting his sweet, lustful gaze, and Yoongi smiles softly, pulling Namjoon from wherever he was mentally and helping him focus. His eyeliner is smudged around his eyes, and his cheeks, neck, and chest are flushed, and Namjoon thinks he must be the prettiest man alive.

Slowly, Yoongi lowers his ass over Namjoon's cock, and he is so tight that Namjoon sucks in a deep puff of air, suddenly forgetting how to breathe. Yoongi grips onto Namjoon's chest and digs his fingers in as he lifts his hips and slowly lowers them more, moaning and sobbing from the stretch of his cock, and Namjoon does his best to hold onto Yoongi's thighs and help him ease up and down and up again until he is fully engulfed in warmth and Yoongi is leaning into his chest, gasping for air. Yoongi chokes out a croaked sob as he lifts his hips, and Namjoon can feel his legs tremble against him. 

"Too fucking big," Yoongi whines, dropping his ass back down and filling the room with his and Namjoon's moans. 

The more Yoongi lifts and drops his hips, the more Namjoon's body burns red hot. Yoongi feels incredible beyond anything he could have imagined, and he doesn't want this moment to ever stop, though he is certain that if it does not stop eventually, his brain will actually break.

Once Yoongi is adjusted enough to fuck himself on Namjoon's cock, all sight and sound that isn't Yoongi is completely wiped out; all that exists are their two bodies in this moment, fucking. Yoongi digs his fingers into Namjoon and cries out with his head lolled back while Namjoon holds onto Yoongi's waist and watches his cock bob.

A lewd chorus of bodies slapping and squelching, and voices moaning and sobbing fills the room. Yoongi's ass swallows Namjoon so tightly that it is not long before Namjoon fears he is going to come.

"I'm not gonna last, baby," Namjoon groans, doing his best to think about things that definitely would not make him come, like the time Hoseok got so drunk, he threw up in several pairs of Namjoon’s shoes.

"Grab my cock," Yoongi whines, ripping that unattractive thought out of Namjoon's head. "Please, Joonie, make me come!"

Namjoon takes Yoongi's cockhead in his hand and rubs the precum over his palm before stroking Yoongi's length to the rhythm of his hips, making Yoongi cry out and tremble.

"Please," Yoongi mutters as he rides Namjoon. "Please, please, make me come."

As soon as Yoongi reaches orgasm, spraying his release onto Namjoon's fingers and tummy, the squeeze from his ass is so intense that it pushes Namjoon over the edge, sending him hurtling towards completion. Namjoon lets out a string of profanities as his head slams back against the headboard of his bed, and Namjoon comes hard, filling Yoongi with his release.

Yoongi's hips slow to a stop, and he slumps forward onto Namjoon's chest, both bodies trembling into one another. Namjoon drops his come-covered hand to the side while his other snakes around Yoongi's back and hugs him tight. Both men pant loudly, and the sheen of sweat that covers them quickly turns cold.

"Is fucking you always going to feel like a near-death experience, because if so, I don't know how I'll handle it," Namjoon mutters groggily.

Yoongi attempts to chuckle, but the sound comes out weak and shaky.

"Let's take a hot shower and tuck you into bed, baby," Namjoon suggests, kissing Yoongi on the forehead. Yoongi cuddles into the feeling and lets out a satisfied sigh, and Namjoon nudges him some more. "Come on, Yoongi. Let's clean off."

"Don't want to be done 'cause I don't wanna have to go home," Yoongi pouts into Namjoon's chest.

"You don't have to go home, baby; I want you to stay."

Yoongi sits up with wide eyes, and his makeup is even more smudged and runny than before. 

"But you never ask me to stay."

Namjoon chuckles and shakes his head. 

"You always say you have to go, so I let you. But I don't ever want you to go."

"Watch it, Joonie; you're treading dangerous territory by telling me you always want me to stay."

"Oh, please," Namjoon chuckles, "while you were having an existential crisis over whether to tell me you love me, I was thinking about how much I wish you lived here."

Yoongi's breath hitches, and a playful grin tugs at his lips. 

"I could cook for you every day."

Namjoon's heart pounds heavily in his chest. 

"It's true."

Yoongi pulls Namjoon into a tight hug, and although they do not continue the conversation from there, there is a spark of hope in Namjoon that Yoongi might consider his offer at some point. 

But, for tonight, Namjoon carries Yoongi into the bathroom for a nice warm shower before finding some oversized pajamas and tucking him into bed. Yoongi mutters while mostly asleep about how Namjoon's dick is made of magic, and he cannot believe he fell in love with a former straight boy who had to read online about how to fuck him, and how he did such a good job fucking him—even though Namjoon thinks Yoongi did all the work—and Namjoon falls asleep twirling fingers in Yoongi's soft blond hair with a smile on his face.

In love. Yoongi says he is in love with Namjoon, and right here, cradling him in his arms, there is nowhere else he would rather be.

i love this story with all my heart & i hope you love it too! ❤ tag list: @dasexydevitt13​ & @giriiboyy​ 

Lips Like Honey is copyright 2022 theharrowing, all rights reserved. Don’t be a silent reader, I love to hear from you! 

#namjoon x yoongi #namgi #namgi smut #btswritersclub #btshoneyhive #tattoed yoongi #fic: lips like honey

[beargyuuzz]

NETWORKS: @sandsofire @cultofdionysusnet

Summary: your boyfriend looks pretty in his new letterman jacket. You hope you don’t make him ruin it too soon.

Pairings: switch! Renjun x switch! Reader, Volleyball player Renjun x Reader, sub Renjun dynamics

WC: 3987

WARNINGS: Mature Content, Reader is persistent, switch dynamics

GENRES: Established Relationship, Smut, Fluff, College AU

MINORS DNI

Being with Renjun was in every way like winning the lottery. An amazing athlete, an even better singer, respectful, and don't forget….

He's fucking beautiful.

Thin frame, perfect curves, and long, dark black and silver hair down to his sharp jaw. His lips were plush and the perfect shade of pink to stand against his dark eyes and fair skin. He was perfect through and through.

Even now, sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, you can't help but stare at him when his arm flexes on the steering wheel. The lean muscle was taut against his milky skin and a bruise on his wrists from volleyball. His hair was in his eyes, but not enough to create a problem.

The white band tee that adorned his body was perfectly showing his figure, tucked into a pair of black ripped jeans that showed his slender thighs and draped over the combat boots he had picked out this morning.

Part of your mind wondered how exactly you bagged the man. Part of you knew it was fate.

"You're staring, Y/N. Want to tell me why?" His smooth, cocky voice rings through the cool autumn air, causing a slight tint of red to appear on the supple flesh of your cheeks. His eyes shift to you quickly, a near-invisible smirk crossing his lips before he looks back to the road ahead.

You glare at him playfully, slouching in the passenger seat. “Just admiring my pretty boyfriend. Got a problem with that, baby?” You respond to his teasing with an even tone, watching his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He was already slipping up.

This was the game you both played when you were alone. Seeing who would crack first under the flirtation and playfulness. Ever since you both met, you always messed around. Spraying water, hiding shoes, verbal teasing, and more. You always won, but that was because you overpowered him with every given opportunity.

You would have never guessed that's what he liked in bed too.

The first clue was the way he acted when he wanted utterly anything. The shy smile and puppy eyes came out for something as simple as a sip of water. That look intensified if it was a physical need. The whines that would push from his lips were enough to make you want to strip him down all at once.

The second clue was how shy he got when you teased him in public places. Renjun would freeze up at even the smallest touch against his crotch, and god forbid you to make a lewd comment. His pretty face would turn blood red while the rest of him wriggled in his seat to calm down.

The last sign was his reaction to stern words, the boy melting into a puddle the moment you began getting on his case for absolutely anything. The number of times you had nagged him only to watch him rush to a bathroom or cross his legs was obscene.

You loved every bit of it, yet he still refused admission. Any time you brought it up, he shut it down with a nervous glint in his eyes. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea of letting you put him in such a vulnerable position.

“N-No, I don't have an issue with it,” Renjun speaks up after a moment, pulling into the sports building of your college and into his usual parking space. The confusion seems to be clear on your face, brows scrunched up when he giggles and flicks your nose. The action makes you whine, your hand going up to rub at your nose in protest.

“The varsity jackets took longer than expected to come in. The small sizes just got here, AKA mine is waiting for me. Coach called.” The explanation makes you smile a bit, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his lips that’s returned with relative speed before he takes his keys and gets out.

You watch as he runs inside, eyes fixed on his pretty hips up until the door closes behind his figure. A tiny whine leaves you, mind drifting to think about the whiny moans he must let out. The feeling of his nipples pressed to yours, his lips swollen and parted as you bite and nibble the delicate skin of his neck, his skin raising in goosebumps every time you graze his cock.

Your eyes glaze over, breathing picking up as your thoughts drift further to hell. Images of your boyfriend blindfolded while you have your way with him, the both of you dripping sweat with every slight movement. The pleading moans that would leave his lips tell you he just wants to touch you.

A familiar heat pools in your core, throbbing when the thought of those pretty lips crying for you to allow him to cum crosses your mind. Every nerve in your body was reacting to the lustful air that had fallen over you. So much so that you hadn’t heard the door to the truck open.

“Y/N? Why are you so red?” Renjun’s voice cuts through the haze, eyes fixed on the tight grip you had on the hem of your skirt. A small hum is your only response, mind still drunk off the heat that had grown into an ache between your thighs. The mix of these things clues him in, body leaning close to yours as he whispers, “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours that has you so quiet, baby.”

Your eyes focus on him now, widening at the sight of the green leather that now covers his upper body. His name was written across the breast of the material, a volleyball patch to the left of it along with bones down the sleeves. The color of it made his eyes pop, the cut of it perfectly tailored to his frame. He looked irresistible to you right now, from the excitement in his eyes to the sly smirk splitting across his face.

“It looks so fucking good on you, baby.” You speak in a low tone, hands running up and down his abdomen with a small smirk of your own. His reaction is exactly what you expect, muscles tightening where you touch, face turning a deep red, and eyes looking anywhere but at you. That reaction makes you want to wreck that cute little face of his.

“Thank you, babe.” His words are hardly more than a whisper. Your hand goes to his chin, coaxing his eyes to you as you lean in for a kiss. Renjun’s eyes glue themselves to your plump lips, watching you lick and bite at them with hunger swirling his irises.

When your lips meet, he inhales sharply, his body lurching towards you a bit as he leans into you. You lean back a bit, his arms moving to grasp the headrest and the other gripping the seat between your parted thighs.

Making out with Renjun was messy. Tongues clashing and teeth biting at one another as you fought to win dominance. Your hands move to his hair, messing it up as you desperately tug at the soft tendrils in your grasp. You move your knee between his thighs, pressing it against the growing bulge that was poorly concealed by the dark denim he had on. A low moan passes into your mouth, prompting you to bite down on his lower lip and tug.

With a hiss, he moves his hand to your hip, clutching you as though his life depended on it. This makes you whimper and release your hold on his lip in an instant. The lust filling the car was evident, having fogged the windows with little to no real effort.

Renjun pulls away now, sitting back in his seat with a chuckle before buckling up with you following suit, a pout evident on your expression. You, being the woman you are, saw this as foul play. A challenge. Your eyes look over to his crotch, landing on the strain of his jeans against the girth of his hardened cock.

He starts the car soon after, not noticing your eyes on his body nor you subtly unbuckling as he pulls onto the road. Your next movements are slow to not catch his attention, your body easing closer and your hand resting on his thigh. A small smile spreads his lips at the gentle touch, not suspecting you in the slightest.

Once you stop at a red light, your hands make quick work of his belt and zipper, meeting skin immediately. A small yelp leaves the man at your actions, eyes widened as you render him speechless. You take his cock out, spitting into your palm hastily before teasing his tip lightly.

A small whimper leaves Renjun at the contact, his eyes focusing on the road despite your hands on him. With a giggle, you slowly pump your fist around his girth, feeling him twitch when you tighten your grip.

“Y/N, shit-” He curses breathily, hips twitching as he presses a bit harder on the gas. You had never gone for him in such a dangerous place, especially not his truck. You had usually let him focus on his perfect driving record. Not today. His eyes steal a glance at your face, eyes hooded as he tries to keep himself quiet. The tip of his member had turned an angry shade of red by now, practically begging for more attention despite the initial panic your boyfriend had expressed.

You move your hand a bit faster, watching as he bites down on his lip. You didn’t like that. You wanted to hear him this time. You were used to him keeping quiet in bed, and you were done with that.

With a tighter grip, you lean yourself down and lick the tip of his cock, watching as precum beads from him. A sharp gasp leaves him, eyes widened as you had yet to suck him off. His hips buck up when you spit on his length, pumping your hand to coat him properly. The sound of this action has him spiraling, breathing staggered, face red as he gulps for air.

“You’re insane,” Renjun speaks in a blunt tone, watching you intently. His words, however, are ignored as you take his shaft into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. This rips a loud moan from the male, body jerking at the feeling of your mouth around his cock. You feel yourself clench at the sound, your body melting as you begin to bob your head.

His moans don’t stop, drowning out the music playing on the radio as one hand moves to grip your hair. With a tiny hum, you hollow your cheeks on him, drawing a frustrated growl from his lips at the fact that he couldn’t do anything. He can feel himself teetering on the edge already, eyes fighting to focus on the road despite the oncoming orgasm.

“You couldn’t… fucking wait five minutes?” The words are no less than a growl, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he turns into his driveway and parks with haste. You pull away then, smirking evilly as you take his keys out of the ignition and walk to the door. A frustrated growl slips into the air behind you, the man now annoyed by being edged so suddenly.

You can feel his eyes on you, and you know he's about to snap. It was too bad, really. Too bad he wouldn't be the one winning this time.

When the two of you get inside, you walk straight to the kitchen for water. Your hips sway as you walk, further frustrating the man who was hot on your heels.

You reach up, open the clear door to the cupboard, and take out a glass with a sly smirk that the other couldn't see. He watches you from the dining table, eyes like daggers and arms crossed as he watches you fill the cup and face him.

You gulp down the water, making sure you hold eye contact with Renjun as he begins to get antsy. He shifts in discomfort, adjusting his hardened cock as best he can under your assertive gaze.

"I know damn well you're not playing this game tonight." Renjun breaks the silence as you fill your glass again, brows knit as he tries to gauge your actions. He could tell what you were up to already.

A tiny smirk spreads over your forced blank expression, eyes alight with mischief. This tips him off to your mindset, his face turning a deep red at the ideas you may be having. With that, you set your glass down, walk to the dining table, and pin him to it with a little coo.

"And if I am, baby? Won't you finally let me have some fun? Hm?" A groan passes his lips, eyes fixed on yours like a deer in headlights. You push your hips into him, feeling his hardened length press into your pelvis with a tiny hiss of delight.

Using your knee, you begin to press closer to him, watching Renjun’s eyes slip shut. His body begins to melt against your own, hands wrapping around your waist as his resolve slowly vanishes.

Renjun was trembling now, his mind running in circles as the trance your perfume was putting him in took over. He had never reacted to your touches this way. He had never felt tingly just from your hands shrugging off his coat. When your hands travel under his shirt, this intensifies enough to rip a pitiful whimper from his throat.

Your lips land on his soon after, a little moan filling the air around you both as his cock twitches against you. Renjun deepens the kiss now, nails digging into you at the same time that your slender fingers brush against his erect nipple. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity straight to his girth, his body trembling as he desperately attempts to bring you closer to himself.

“What is it, baby? Wanna go to the room?” you whisper the question against his neck, massaging his sides with a playful grin as he nods. Renjun couldn’t wrap his head around why he suddenly gave in after months of stubbornness.

Maybe it was stress? Or maybe it was the way you touched him this time? He couldn’t tell for sure, but he wasn’t about to complain about it. You pull away with a dark look in your eyes, taking his hand to lead him to the bedroom without saying a single word.

Renjun could feel his nerves build as you opened the door for you both. Your lips catch his then, his form walking backwards as you corner him on the bed.

His hands were all over you, eyes blown out and brain fuzzy from the pleasure slamming through him like a tidal wave.

Your knee presses between his own, adding much-needed pressure to the place he needs you most. A little whimper leaves him as his head rolls back, arms supporting him.

“What is it, baby? Use your words.” You break the kiss as you speak, hands pushing off the varsity jacket when he looks at you.

You swear you had never seen him this desperate. You had never seen his lips in a swollen pout; his hair tousled or his shaking breaths.

Renjun says nothing, taking off his shirt in the same breath as the jacket he had just thrown to the floor. Your eyes meet his milky skin then, reaching out to tease his nipple without a second thought.

The moan that reaches your ears is heavenly, his body spasming at such a simple touch. You feel yourself become soaked now, eyes heavy with the thoughts of what you want to do to him.

Having him like this felt surreal to you. Everything you had dreamt of in the dark of night coming to you at once. His hands reach out to you, only for you to slap them away and tut.

“Not a chance, pretty boy. I’m in charge tonight. Use those pretty lips and tell me what you’re wanting.” Renjun whines in a flustered fit, unsure of how to properly ask you for something he had never had to before.

You watch as the wheels turn in his head, smiling as you begin to move away. You get what you want seconds later, his body lurching forward as he finally speaks.

“Please, baby. I want you to touch me. Do whatever you want with me.” The words come out small, his face a rosy shade of pink from openly admitting to needing you. You move back to your place, hands trailing his body before traveling up and stopping at his lips.

“Hm. Here?” Another whine and a shake of his head. You move to his thigh, hand squeezing firmly. “Here?” Renjun huffs in frustration now, fighting the urge to simply place your hand on his cock. You glare at him now, wanting him to obey your previous words. You lean to his ear, taking a fistful of hair and yanking his head back, reveling in the loud gasp and twitch of his cock.

“Baby, use your fucking words before I take that option from you. Where do you want me to touch you?” The words come out a low growl that vibrates against the man’s skin, his body quivering in response to your harsh treatment of him.

“I want- need you to touch my cock,” Renjun’s voice shakes with every syllable while his eyes meet your own. You spring into action, hands making quick work of his pants as you strip him completely bare.

His hands move to cover him on instinct only to be stopped by your own reaching to slowly stroke his length. A choked moan fills the spacious bedroom, his eyes screwing shut. You spit on his tip, using your hand to spread it around.

The sound alone is enough to make him burst. Renjun could hardly think anymore, the sounds and sensations all but driving him mental. He had never thought about how good it may feel to let you take over, and god, he wished he had let you before now.

He’s awoken from his thoughts when you pull back again, his body shooting up to look at you in protest. Renjun is about to speak when you smirk, eyes aflame with desire.

“Strip me.” The command is a simple one. One that Renjun is sure he can do with ease. His hands move to the hem of your shirt, carefully lifting it up as your hand sneaks back down to his core. A gasp echoes in the room when you touch him again, his hands stopping for a second as he basks in the pleasure.

“Keep going, Junn.” The words come out in a rasp, your eyes hooded as he slowly rolls his hips into your palm. Seeing him this desperate was wrecking you, your body scalding hot from the amount of desire coursing through it. Something about having him bend for you was making you want to skip the fun and fuck him right there.

But that wasn’t what you were after. You wanted to melt him into nothing and mold him like putty. And that was what you were going to do.

Renjun's hands shake when you tighten your grip, removing your skirt as you move your hand faster. A tiny grunt slips from his lips at the wet patch on your mint green panties.

Your hand moves away for a moment, the male whining before you strip off the light pink sweater and mint bra with haste before he hooks his fingers in your panties to pull them off.

The second Renjun sees the way the fabric sticks to your molten core, his entire body trembles. He wants you so badly that he would take anything you gave without complaint.

He would beg if he had to.

His mind felt hazy as you moved onto the bed, dragging his form along with you. A dry feeling builds in his throat, eyes fixed on the gorgeous skin of your thighs. Renjun feels his cock twitch as you tower over him, his breathing ragged when you slowly ghost your fingers from under his ear down his neck, resting it on the man’s breast as you move your hips over his own.

The pathetic whimper that leaves his lips when you roll your pelvis was enough to make you feral. You giggle at him condescendingly, eyeing him like a predator. He was shaking under you, eyes hooded as he licks his lips. The fucked-out expression on his face mixed with the desperation he was exhibiting was delicious.

“Can’t handle it? I only just started and you’re a wreck, pretty baby.” Renjun bucks his hips at that, eyes screwing shut with embarrassment. He was far too needy for this type of teasing and you knew it. You raise a brow at him, making a small sound of disappointment as you slightly pinch the tender bud beneath your hand.

A sharp gasp flies into the air, his body jolting as the words slip from him. “Please don’t tease me anymore- Do something! Please?”

With that, you spur into action, your hand moving to his cock as you grasp him firmly. Renjun moans, eyes widening to look at you when you begin to pump your fist once more. A loud moan passes his lips, eyes rolling back at the ruthless pace you almost automatically set. You move down, spitting on the tip of his girth without a single halt in your movements. The sensations were overwhelming for Renjun, his climax building back with a vengeance unknown to him.

When his moaning becomes short, you pull away and leave him on the edge for the second time today. A loud whine of protest is his response to this, brows knit together as you wrap a hand around his throat. Renjun stops his fit immediately, pupils blowing up as he lets out a startled gasp.

“Keep fucking whining and I won’t let you cum at all, baby. Do you understand?” Renjun nods in response, your hand tightening and your eyes narrowing. He knew in an instant what you wanted, legs trembling as he moves to remedy his mistake.

“Yes, I understand.” The words are meek, a coo leaving you before you grab a condom from the drawer of your nightstand. Renjun can feel his heart rate pick up at the idea of finally getting to feel you. He had wanted you this morning, but the text about that stupid varsity jacket changed those plans and any he had for today. He wasn't complaining, though.

He watches you open the packet with his teeth, eyes focused on his length while you roll the thin latex onto him. A small hiss leaves the man, eyes losing focus.

When you squeeze him for the umpteenth time tonight, he seemingly reaches his breaking point. With a strangled groan, he moves up to grab your face in desperation.

“Baby, please do something! I can’t handle the teasing-“ he’s shocked when you shove him down, eyes ablaze as you move on top of him. In one swift movement, you sink yourself fully onto him. A long groan leaves you both, bodies feeling strained by the sudden pleasure. All renjun could think about was how badly he’s needed you today. All he could do was pray you would be merciful and give him what he needs.

You, on the other hand, were inches from losing control. Every time he so much as let out a breath, you felt as though you were being tazed. Your patience earlier was no more. You roll your hips experimentally, eyes screwing shut as the stretch dulls down.

And just from that, Renjun was in for a long night.

Tags: will be repaired when possible

#cultofdionysusnet #renjun #nct renjun #huang renjun #nct dream #renjun nct #huang renjun fic #nct fic #nct dream fic #renjun fic #renjun smut #huang renjun smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #renjun fluff #huang renjun fluff #nct dream fluff #nct fluff

[mrsmarlasinger]

I posted 9,071 times in 2022

That's 1,181 more posts than 2021!

164 posts created (2%)

8,907 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@powerbottombrucespringsteen

@that-twink-over-there

@rainbow-arrow

@rabbitindisguise

@elytrians

I tagged 3,231 of my posts in 2022

#tlt - 326 posts

#personal - 138 posts

#drug mention - 123 posts

#tumblrstake - 108 posts

#september 2022 - 105 posts

#drugs tw - 103 posts

#goncharov - 96 posts

#ldsconf - 91 posts

#general conference - 91 posts

#coronavirus - 86 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#(btw universe i am knocking on wood and i'm nawt trying to extort *extra* luck by reblogging this a second time okay love u 🤜🪵🤜🪵🤜🪵)

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

My Favorite TLT Fanart Things

Ianthe

festeringly hawt, not TOO pretty

pale sallow skin. maybe a liiiiittle touch of jaundice, who can say

blood blood blood

small titty committee, but goddamn does she work that cleavage 😳

flat, colorless sheet of long hair (type 1a. texture what texture) that appears vaguely damp at all times

looks like she barely sleeps more than harrow

VISIBLY sickly, washed out, and fucking unhinged

weird vintage-y clothes that she somehow manages to slay OR slinky Barbiecore party girl dress in an obnoxious and unflattering shade of lavender

tall and svelte like a silver screen actress

men's clothes because i pick and choose what's canon here <33

slightly annoying face. punchable woman.

purple is HER color even though it looks terrible on her

evil freak with fucked-up insane eyes

looks at everyone like she's gonna fuck and/or cannibalize them. just radiating the most horrifying sexual energy you've ever seen

slut

cool gross mess of muscle and gristle connecting her bone arm to her shoulder

lean, kind of hollow face with high cheekbones (but still punchable-looking)

eyes either half-lidded and come-hither or just way way too scarily wide

possibly doesn't shower

ianthe can have piercings too. if she wants :)

Gideon | Harrow | Coronabeth

114 notes - Posted November 10, 2022

#4

Dallin H. Oaks is the reason I could not remain in the Church.

Dallin H. Oaks is the reason I can't tell my parents that I've been dating a girl for eight months and I'm in love with her and I gave my virginity to her and the other night I dreamed that I proposed to her.

Dallin H. Oaks is the reason my father delights in saying the f-slur and making fun of his trans coworker, but god forbid the gays should marry, god forbid someone should reject the pronouns they were assigned from their very first breath.

Dallin H. fucking Oaks is the reason my parents and grandparents may never show up to my wedding, should I marry my girl, or meet my children, should I choose to have any.

And of course, it's not just Oaks, and if he weren't the emblem of homophobia in the Church, it would be someone else.

But I resent him so much.

I'm sorry—if nothing else, I believe in love. But I cannot love the man who so intensely embodies and perpetuates the pain I've endured for 21 years.

How dare he.

137 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

#3

My Favorite TLT Fanart Things

Harrow*

androgynously hawt, not TOO pretty

little curved fangs as gauges

lotssss of piercings

BONE INDUSTRIAL PIERCING

emo 14-year-old grunge blogger attire or ornate lacy goth princess attire, no in-between

insane bags under her eyes

NO bone tiddies on the rib corset (why)

mean scary little gremlin and/or pathetic wet scrunkly rat

at least vaguely pissed-looking at (almost) all times

black nail polish

flat af but not emaciated because :(

choker/collar thing made of vertically arranged bones (you know the one)

blood blood blood

doesn't look 25! she's only three years old!!

insane unhinged energy always

soft dark eyes. tender eyes. angry, powerful eyes. haunted eyes.

looks about as put-together as a goth freak on the wrong end of a bender

smeared face paint cuz she's fucked up

CATHOLIC SAINT IMAGERY!!!!

mean, pointy, vaguely sickly little ferret face with small angular features (ideal for conveying A. feral rage, B. tortured sorrow, or C. thinly veiled open exasperation)

hair juuust long enough to curl around her ears and get in her eyes, like an anime boy

neither butch nor femme but a secret third thing

*my special little guy 🖤

Gideon | Ianthe | Coronabeth

153 notes - Posted November 10, 2022

#2

Mormons RECOVER from limp cabbage EMBARRASSMENT

156 notes - Posted April 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

22 ½ hours of Canadian Redditors attempting to draw their own flag on r/place:

Please note that this is juxtaposed with intricate pixel art of the Eiffel Tower, featuring The Little Prince...

See the full post

16,897 notes - Posted April 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review