#OR suck it up and wear the most boring piece of clothing on earth that will also cook you like an oven

[sing-you-fools]

hope I fucking die before my cousin's wedding this summer so I don't have to wear any of this bullshit

#wedding attire options seem to be: #suck it up and wear an extremely obviously Women's Jumpsuit that would make me suicidally dysphoric #OR suck it up and wear the most boring piece of clothing on earth that will also cook you like an oven #there is fashionable masc clothing out there! #but as soon as you ALSO need it to be formal they're just like. no fuck you #trans #transmasc #queer fashion #lgbtq+ #sing-you-fools

[muffindaddystyles]

Summary: Y/N's feeling icky about her body, but Harry loves her to bits and pieces, through thick and thin, in health and sick — and he always waits for her to come back to him.

TW: Body dysmorphia.

Y/N's healthy.

All she sucks in is having a sane sleeping schedule due to her UNI otherwise she eats natural goodies, cook and bake home because it comforts her more that way and she works out every evening to stay fit.

Sometimes though, she’s lazy and lacks behind which’s proper humane but deep down it effects her and her mental health more than she admits and she isn’t able to start over again – it mostly happens after her periods.

Harry loves her the way she’s.

Even if she’s clumsy, bumbling, procrastinating, overly enthusiastic to mend her life at 3 am, snotty and sloth-y in her periods, confident and positive around people, kind and loving whenever she comes to meet him, whiny and cuddly when she’s sick, jealous and grumpy with his attention not on her —- he loves her in every way possible, to rivers and to sea his love could never stutter for her ever.

He loves how she’s not overly toned, having soft squishy spots which Harry undeniably wants to admire and kiss shamelessly amount of times -- like -- her plummy pretty thighs that Harry likes to nestle his head in-between making her wriggle and squirm under his grasp, her overly cute tummy that Harry dies to pepper sweet adoring kisses and petal his lips round her belly button, everytime they’re cuddled up his bicep’s always looped her around her tummy to feel it rising up and down in calm rhythm, and oh! her tender titties, they’re actually his favourite babies and he loves to fondle them in his big calloused palms brushing his thumb over the sensitive perky nub and basks in the glittery whimpery mewls of hers.

He loves that she’s curvy and gives zero fucks if she’s skinny or not.

He thinks his baby’s perfect.

So perfect he actually feels the bubbling of devotion and affection filling to the brim of his heart’s chambers and leaking out and upon his ribs tickling him.

Y/N's his person and he worships her with his whole heart.

From some days though, she’s feeling devastatingly insecure about all her things Harry’s in love with and she has no-control over it how much she tries.

Harry’s observing that all with optimism (one of his great quality's that like a lion sly about his prey, he keeps an eye on everything but pretends otherwise). He has his intense gaze fixed on her when she’s taking a look of herself in the mirror for rather too long, running her hands down her body and practically shuddering.

He glances from over his laptop and drops everything he's doing watching her go monkies, sweating buckets and over exercising than her usual time.

He brings her closer and infront of him, pressing her to his chest and coiling his forearm around her shoulders whining a, “Baby..!” when they were brushing their teeth and despite of standing beside him and teasing him occasionally like she usually does she stuffs her face into the crest of his back and hides herself there to have minimal contact with her reflection in the mirror.

Her body dysmorphia spiking dangerously high.

“Deprived me of your cuddles. woke me up so early, granny.” She huffs lying through her teeth and how much his embrace was strong enough to keep her in place she still managed to wiggle out taking her previous cosy position, but he could feel her muscles tensing and an awkward silence falling over them.

He didn’t pry much. He wants to give her as much space as she requires to come back to him hale and hearty, as she always does and whatever happens he never forgets to remind her how much he loves her every night.

..

They were watching rom-coms on Netflix back to back with her curled up into his side with a spongy white wool knitted blanket thrown over them and his cheek was smashed atop her head popping in peanuts every now and then when out of certain she spoke pointing at the actress, “You know she got her ribs removed to get that shrinky waist.” Harry frowned at that. His face itching into disbelief and concern under the bouncing glow of telly.

He affixes his gaze down at her trying to read what’s cooking up in that genius brain of her's which isn’t being very rational and genius right now, they immediately turns soft and caring when she blinks up at him purely.

She squeaks, nose crashing against his collarbones when he scooches her up in his lap grabbing onto her knees to make her straddle his torso and he grumbles cutely when she tries not put all of her weight on him and doesn’t melts into him as his sweet lovie would used to do receiving a smack on her bum on his end.

He’s afraid that an evil version of her chomped onto his dear baby alive.

“Nothing else matters if all ye’ organs are packed safely and healthily inside you,” He tells her brushing loose frays of her hair behind her earlobe and rubs his thumb in gentle strokes over her treacly pulsing point, “Was just telling you ...” She mumbles, dotting touches on his knuckles and playing with his bare cold fingers.

It’s true, she was rambling out facts about the movie and cast out of habit because no-way she’d ever go through any surgeries to change herself to become someone she isn’t.

“Swear!” She yawps out in convincing high pitch when Harry squints down at her with his lips scrunched, one eye twitching in doing so.

“Alrighty. I believe you.” He cradles her cheeks in his palms and brings her mighty close to him to peck her cupid bow, then her bottom lip and the corners of her smiling mouth to suckle generous amount of whines from her and then kisses her lovingly – hands streaming down her spine and then resting atop her dip.

He thought she was ready to come back to him, to share her problem with him and Harry really wanted to bug in, to not let her fight her battle alone and take half of her hardships from her fretting self but guess not.

They were about to have sex when panic seeped in Y/N's eyes and her cheeks blazed up in that of embarrassment as she rushed to switch off the lamps that were the only source of light in their room.

“Moppet.” Harry sighed, knowing exactly what’s happening and she isn’t as foxy in covering it up as she’s thinking herself to be.

“Why wouldn’t y'want me t'see gorgeous self of yours?” His tone punctured and hurt, feeling useless for not knowing how to cheer her up and break her worries down. He smoothens his hands behind her to lock his arm around her waist, fingertips making grape sized indents into the flesh of her hip-bone as she streaks the tip of her nose up and down the crook of his neck, murmuring meekly against his salty skin while he hugs her warmly.

“’M just feelin’ shy.” He giggles at her response puckering his lips against her hairline to pet tiny, tiny kisses there as she fists her hands against his taught chest.

“Not somethin’ I haven’t seen before, love bug.” He blows raspberries against the underside of her jaw and their mouths meet into a messy, giggling, teeth clanking kiss when she sinks into pillows allowing him to cocoon her in his heat.

“I love you, Y/N. No matter what.”

.

The last dam breaker for them was this little get together at Sarah and Mitch's baby shower.

She matched her outfit with Harry. Cute lavender coloured little sweater blouse that was familiar to the baggy baby yarn cardigan Harry was wearing, it accentuated her curves and her bosom so prettily -- her midriff peeking from where the buttons weren’t closed and their jeans were painted (they did it themselves one Sunday when it was extra boring and inactive).

Y/N felt uncomfortable in her own clothes. A bitterness spreading inside her for herself and all she wanted was to escape away from her own skin.

She knows she’s loved and welcomed and cherished by her friends and family and the love of her life, most importantly. Then why was she feeling so icky about herself? Why everything's draining her and exhausting her?

Harry obviously could see through the gloomy tenebrous energy overshadowing her as he stood in the corner of the room grabbing the sorbet he poured in two glasses for them.

A sour guzzle of tears choking his throat and his limbs weakening letting the painful heartbreak seep into him when he watches her being fidgety and fiddling with the loops of her jeans, tugging her blouse every passing second and he’s sniffling a hiccup deep in his lungs when she shrinks into herself in dejection staring out of the window without any purpose.

Harry feels awful to startle her when he plops down beside her, coodling her closer to himself and tucks her head beneath his chin subtly and cups his palm under her jaw to make her look in eyes his eyes.

“Hi beautiful,” His tone had a saddening waver in it and his irises mossed bleak when Y/N remains unresponsive, zoning in and out of her own head feeling herself prisoned into her own invasive thoughts.

“You w'na go home darling?” He gives her a wet smile clearing his throat and blinking the stubborn moisture in his eyes away when Y/N nodded without any vivid expression.

All the way back home he denounced himself of not making her feel loved enough, to not to pest her soon about what she’s feeling and letting her slide deeper into the dark hole.

He thinks he’s a piece of shit.

.

Y/N wanted to dig the earth with her own nails and hide into it and never show her face again, she was overly ashamed of herself.

His hand was holding onto hers tightly, never letting it go as he led them through the hallway and his head perked up in confusion when she stopped them abruptly and lunged to wrap herself around him like he’s the last silver of her hope and the reason to live.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” There comes the first sob after ages of suffering and bottling it all in, not shocked at all he was expecting it to happen. Gently he picks her up and wraps her legs around him, keeping his support firm under her bum as she cried into his soft white t-shirt.

Carefully he sits them on the edge of the bed and tries to pry her soaky flushed face in his cradle but she refuses to show him, clutching onto his cardigan and whimpering brokenly.

“I just feel so disgusting,” Her sob scratches out of her throat and for a second he thought he heard her wrong, that her feeble crying’s playing some kind of a sick game with his heart.

“Harry do something I don’t want to feel disgusting.” But, when she pleaded helplessly a cold shiver settled in his bone marrow spreading an agonising burn in his stomach.

Gently he stirs her away from his chest to look at her, meeting their foreheads together while his thumb wiped her tears away and smoothed over her wabbly lips in profound tenderness.

“My beloved,” He whispers fondling his nose against hers and her eyes flutters into realm of calms, shaky breath falling over his lips as he brings her trembling fingertips towards them and pecks them feverishly.

“The love of me life, me heart.” He continues, “Shhh. Shh baby ‘s okay to cry but don’t tire y'self.” He hushes her when she whimpers loudly at his coy affirmation.

“I’m here with you, waiting f'you, watching y’goin’ through a stony path so I could be there to hold you whenever you trip –-,” He pets her hair, cupping the back of her neck to plant his lips bitten red from worry to her puffy damp eyelids and Y/N becomes a gooey lax of candle that’s been burning for tiring amount and finally her lover came to blew the agonising flame away putting her to peace as he coos snuggling her in his cordial embrace, “You’ve been so strong to yourself and ‘m so proud of me baby.”

“I’m always here. Never away from you, always right by y'side.” His palms bending around her ribs to smush her as intimately close as possible.

“How d'ya want your huggies babylove?” He simpers down at her darlingly, huffing out in relief seeing her relaxing -- her shoulders sinking from him massaging the knots in them.

“Tight.” She mumbles timidly. The gleam in her glossy eyes returning when Harry hugs her as she wished, squishing her in right places and not suffocating her at all – their breaths in sync chests flushed against eachother.

“I love you cuddly, and care f’you.” He kisses her on lips then goes to hug her right back.

“I love you too, Har. Thank you.” She sniffs in his woodsy scent grazing her touch up and down his back, smooching a soft kiss at his cheek.

#ME WRITING AN OVERLY EMOTIONAL AND SELF DESTRUCTING PIECE #yahoooooooo yipeee #soft tender harry lives in my heart rent free #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles dirty one shotsssss #harry styles one direction #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry angst #harry styles #cute harry #dirty harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff imagine #harry smut #fluff #hsh #dom harry

[misschifuyu]

Can I get boyfriend headcanons (with nsfw) of Sanzu and Kokonoi? Also, I wanted to say I’m loving your blog and your writing! Thank you!

- hi there babe !! tysm im so so glad to hear that you like my blog omg ;; here are the hcs you asked for of the best boys ♡ 

Sanzu and Koko boyfriend headcanons + n/sfw

characters: sanzu haruchiyo + kokonoi hajime

genre: fluff + n/sfw

warnings: explicit content, orgasm denial, oral (both)

Sanzu

so ive already done some relationship hcs for him, but there can never be too much sanzu content so we will continue from those already written

going on a date with sanzu won't be something particularly regular, however when circumstances come together to allow you to spend time with your boyfriend, he will definitely try and make up for the lack of outings

he's not someone who would enjoy a simple date in a café. sure, if you wanted to sit for a while in Starbucks, he will reluctantly tag along behind you

though he hasn't a clue what any of the ridiculous names on the menu mean

but you will find him growing bored quite quickly. so make sure to get him out of the coffee shop and find something else to do. shopping is a prime example, but other times sanzu likes to actually do something fun

that is, if you happen to pass by an arcade, prepare to be dragged into it

doesn't matter if you didn't have any change on you, this was a date after all, so sanzu will be more than happy to pay for the games

he's surprisingly - and, honestly, concerningly - good at those shooting games where you have a prop of a gun

you don't know where he got those skills from, but you figured it was probably best not to ask

he's shit at racing games though. he won't admit to a loss against you, ever

instead, it would always be because of a distraction or because the game itself was rigged

he can be quite the stubborn one at times

but if you took him out to get a snack, he'll completely forget about getting overlapped by you, several times, in the race.

he's got a sweet tooth, so anything of the sugary sort will bring his mood up

when you brought him a bundle of sweets for his birthday he practically proposed to you on the spot he was so happy

and he pays extra attention to whatever you show a liking towards. he stores away these pieces of information and will make use of them in moments you would least expect it

now...onto the spicy content

okay so I don't see sanzu being vanilla

he probably isn't as freaky as some would presume, but he definitely isn't just going to make love to you and call it a day

the thing about him is that he's impatient

if you start to tease him, be it with subtle kisses on his neck or passing your hand over a certain spot of his trousers, he won't only get riled up in a matter of seconds

he'll also just straight up pounce on you or drag you off to somewhere a little more secluded if you were in public

it drives him absolutely crazy if you happen to have long nails and leave scratches on his back

it lets him know that he is, indeed, making you feel like a million dollars just by using his body

and it just...he loves it

foreplay will very rarely involved receiving oral on his behalf; he likes to leave that for later

when your hair is a mess and you've got a fucked-out expression before even going down on him

it would be like a half-time, though you didn't really get to rest much during said time

he won't hold back by that point, so you'd always have to stabilise yourself with your hands on his thighs unless you wanted to choke on him

he will, however, go down on you before getting into the main act, as he liked to call it. he'd always praise you on how good you taste

looking down to see his piercing eyes staring back up at you, the scars beside his mouth showing ever so slightly..

it was a sight you couldn't keep up for very long as your strength would falter at movements of his tongue

when it comes to positions, sanzu usually likes to be in one that will allow you to hang onto him for dear life as he pounds into you

he also loves taking you from behind, but only because it allows him to pull you back by your hair and whisper the filthiest words you have ever heard his mouth speak

"you like that? huh?...I figured as much from a slut such as yourself, now keep those noises coming before I make you scream even louder, babe"

bruises on your knees would always show up if he decided to keep you on all fours for the whole time

and he wouldn't always let you have the privilege of being on the softness of a bed

no, he'd do you anywhere

so be sure your wearing some easy fitting clothes

just so you don't have to struggle whilst putting them back on after making his car windows steam up in the middle of a parking lot

just before a meeting with bonten, no less

Koko

same as sanzu, ive written a few hcs for him too, but we shall do a few more bc koko supremacy

right so...hair

so we all know that koko styles his hair and it looks quite pleasing to the eye, what with the half of his hair flowing down at the side of his face

now, what you didn't know is that koko gets up pretty early to be able to sport this look for the whole day. we're not talking 8am, no. 5:30am, the reason completely unknown to even you, his partner

he would wake you up once, having slept over at his place, as much as he tried to slip his arm from under you as carefully as he could

wondering what on earth he was doing, you would get up at trace his footsteps to his bathroom, seeing him with a comb in his hand at an abnormally large pot of hair cream on the sink

he hadn't expected you to wake up, but he would quickly invite you to sit on the toilet seat upon hearing you ask what he was doing

from that moment on, you would always ask to try and style his hair whenever you stayed over, or even just play with it

admittedly, he loves the feeling of your fingers run through his hair as you'd try your best to make it look just as perfect as it always did

it would fail, the first few times, which would result in you just putting it up into a side ponytail cue jojo siwa reference

all in all, though, he quite enjoyed it whenever you'd play with his hair, so you were more than welcome to do so

as a result, he would ask about your hair routine or, if you didn't really have one, your skincare routine

he'd always be amazed at your smooth skin whenever he held your face to give you a kiss

so you'd best drop him the tips and tricks

some weekends, the two of you would do a sort of spa day, where you'd both shower - or bathe, depending on how motivated you felt - and run through haircare and skincare together

koko really liked the facemasks you'd bring over whenever you did this, especially when you would struggle to put in on your face because they could sometimes be a little tricky

think of it as a cute, couple's day off, which he would always look forward to at the end of the week

but he'd never admit this to anyone, not a chance

onto the n/sfw side of this man...

much like sanzu, he's not a vanilla person. but he does have his fair share of kinks

orgasm play is right at the top of said list. he absolutely loves to be fully in control, and watching you writhe around each time he'd bring you close to your high, he'd take his hand, or anything else, away from where you'd most need him

his stare would always turn slightly darker when he'd see you before him, at his mercy and covered in sweat, and he wished he could capture the moment forever

he's give you a good three to four failed orgasms until he would let up his teasing act, but not before he'd get you to beg for him

it would always send shivers down his spine when he'd watch your almost tear ridden eyes look up at him, pleading for him to just give in already

"I don't know...you just look so pathetic each time I do it, I almost want to just leave you here and let you get off by yourself"

his sly smile would always stick with you as he'd utter out any words to you, right before giving you one last swipe of his hand between your legs and bringing you towards him

as much as he would usually be the one in charge, loving how you'd feel around him and making the bed creak with every thrust, if you tried hard enough you could turn the tables

he'd be a bratty sub, mind you, but watching him come undone beneath you will be worth the struggling to actually get him in that position

whenever you'd ride him, his hands would always be roaming the curves of your body, trying to get ahold of as much of you as he could

it would be a way to try and get back into control, but as soon as you'd squeeze around him, he'd fall back into his almost helpless state

but, back to him being the one pounding into you, expect him to bring you as close to him as possible

one of his favourites is bringing you up from being on all fours up to his chest, watching you struggle as you try to stay upright as he'd suck the skin on the back of your neck

"so much for being in control, you pathetic whore"

you never got out of there with functioning legs, that much was true

#tokyo revengers #tokyo manji revengers #tokyo revengers sanzu #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x reader #tokyo revengers koko #hajime kokonoi #koko x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #n/sfw

[five-rivers]

Pennywort and Swallowtails

For @phantomphangphucker :)

Prompt:  Flynn, due to being Phantom’s aka the Ghost King’s family and part of the Zone’s society, receives a Prince title and is now getting crowned.

.

Flynn couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but the Ghost Zone seemed different lately.  There was something in the atmosphere, almost.  It felt… lighter, maybe?  

He didn’t like it.  

After all these years in the Ghost Zone, he’d come to regard any change from the norm with suspicion.  The tendency had saved his life multiple times.  Usually, such changes were caused by a nearby and powerful ghost.  Or, on rare and terrifying occasions, a not so nearby and obscenely powerful ghost.

For example, that Pariah Dark guy he’d heard about from some of the ghosts he traded with.  Flynn sure was glad someone else had taken care of him.  Not that Flynn was much good in a fight against any ghost more powerful than that annoying one in overalls that showed up whenever Flynn so much as thought of making anything even vaguely box-shaped.

Which wasn’t that often.  Flynn had never really nailed the whole carpentry thing. Ha.  He’d never been super great at the whole square thing either. Because he wasn’t one.  Skipped school and everything.  The whole high school experience.  Ha.  

Sometimes he really cracked himself up, but only in the most depressing of ways.  

He sighed, heavily.  Maybe he should think about spending more time in his hideaway cave, under his cottage (aka his shack, it was a shack, who was he kidding).  Stock up on supplies.  Get ready to weather a storm.  Literal or metaphorical.  

But hiding out in the cave was so boring.  There wasn’t anything to do down there. Except try to design better grass shoes and to patch his increasingly ragged clothing with limited amounts of thread. He preferred being outside greatly. Even if it was just on his little floating island, messing around in his little garden, growing potatoes and blood blossoms, digging for those crystals ghosts seemed to fear and desire in equal measure.

Flynn was peripherally aware that he was supplying the ghosts he traded with the equivalent of ghost uranium (one of the few human-world things he’d picked up was a middle school science textbook), but…

Yeah.  Guy had to eat, and the Ghost Zone didn’t exactly have cops running all over the place, or the United Nations, or… yeah.  Honestly, the Ghost Zone didn’t have much of anything, at least not in these parts.  It was pretty empty around here.  

Just like Flynn’s heart.  

Ha.  

Yeah.  That was a good one.  

Eh.  Life wasn’t so bad.  He was sort-of-kind-of friends with half a dozen undead monsters of questionable morality, had his own house, most of his teeth, and copious free time.  Plus, it had been a while since the ‘rocks from nowhere’ decided to trash his roof.  Which was bad for the sport he had invented (Chucking Rocks into the Misty Void), but good for roof integrity.  And not having a concussion.  Or losing any more teeth.  

But, back to his original topic.  

Flynn glared absently at the Zone at large. Okay, yeah, something was going on. Was it Flynn’s problem? Maybe.  Was it directly Flynn’s problem?  No.  The day was otherwise clear and ‘normal’ (the term being used loosely in the Ghost Zone), so he might as well go about his day—

The sky tore open in front of him.  

Flynn recognized that.  Before he knew what he was doing, he threw himself away from the portal. The last time he’d stepped through one of those—

The thought crossed his mind that this portal might lead back to Earth, back home, back to Mom.  But he knew from his ghostly friends how unlikely it was that the portal would put him anywhere near his home physically, not to mention temporally. It might not even lead back to Earth for that matter.  

He took cover behind a boulder, cursing his blasé dismissal of potential danger.  Who knew what could come out of a portal?  At least according to the ghosts he talked to.  Hopefully, nothing came out that he couldn’t beat into submission with his ectoranium staff.  

This was going to suck so much.  

The portal disgorged three floating eyeball ghosts in voluminous robes.

(One of the other books Flynn had gotten his hands on was a dictionary.  Which he had read.  Twice. Living on a tiny floating island was boring when it wasn’t terrifying.)

Ah, heck.  He could take one ghost.  Three? Yeah.  Not a chance.  

Maybe they’d leave?  They couldn’t know for sure he was here.  With how unpredictable portals were, and all.

“Flynn Walker,” intoned the central eyeball ghost with a great deal of gravitas.  

Flynn’s body did something between a cringe and a blanch.  

He was never trusting Globithar the Lapidarist’s tall tales ever again.  He wasn’t going to give him any more discounts for them, either.  No way to control a portal his scarred left butt cheek.  

“Flynn Walker,” repeated the eyeball ghost, now with a touch of annoyance.  

“In accordance with the laws of the Infinite Realms,” said the leftmost ghost, in a higher-pitched voice, “we call you to take up your position in the Court of the King of All Ghosts as a member of his family.”

Ah, that ectocontamination Aunt Maddie had sometimes talked about had finally caught up with him, and he was hallucinating something fierce. Either that, or these ghosts thought unbelievable jokes were good bait.  They weren’t.  Flynn would know.  He’d made many unbelievable jokes.  They’d never attracted anything but groans.  

Ha.  

“This is ridiculous,” hissed the third ghost.  “He isn’t even a real ghost.”

“He’s more ghostly than Phantom’s sister,” said the second.  

“We don’t have any choice about her, though.  Can’t we simply… not tell Phantom about this Flynn? Especially if this cousin of his is so craven as to hide at a moment like this.”

Rude, but accurate.  

“He’ll find out,” said the first eyeball, tiredly. “He always finds out.  Damn Clockwork.”

This was officially too weird for Flynn.  Why were they cursing out clocks?

“Because they’re petty and don’t have anything better to do.”

Flynn may or may not have shrieked like a little girl at the voice behind him.  The uncertainty was mostly because Flynn hadn’t seen or heard a little girl since he was in the vicinity of his cousin, Jazz, which was years ago.  At least a decade.  

But he did scream.  Loudly.  Which he really should know better than to do, living in the Ghost Zone and all.  He brought his staff up defensively, too, though, so his self-preservation skills hadn’t completely shorted out.

“Clockwork!” chorused the eyeball ghosts.  

“Yes, yes,” said the ghost who’d snuck up on Flynn, flicking imaginary dust off his robe as he smoothly, and dizzyingly, shifted between ages.  “I’m sure you’re all very shocked that I’m here, after you just finished complaining about how much I know.”  He examined his fingernails.  “Now, Mr. Walker—”

“Walker?” shrieked one of the eyeballs.  

“Yes, he is related to our illustrious sheriff. As I was saying, I am here to bring you to your cousins, who have risen quite a bit in this world.”

“What.”

“It is, indeed, rather surprising,” said Clockwork. “To those who cannot see the twists and turns of fate.  Or those who are willfully blind to those twists and turns.”  He eyed the eyeballs.  

“What,” repeated Flynn, more forcefully.  

“Clockwork,” growled the lead eyeball.  

“Allow me to explain,” said Clockwork.  “Do you recall your youngest cousin, Daniel?”

“Uh,” said Flynn.  He adjusted his grip on his staff.  “Vaguely?”

“He was crowned King of All Ghosts a few weeks ago. As a member of his family and an active participant in ghost society, you are automatically a member of the court. Assuming you wish to be, of course.”

“You- You’re saying I have family here.”

“Indeed.”

“Like, Aunt Maddie?”

Something odd passed over Clockwork’s face.  “No.  Your cousins. Daniel, specifically.”

“Wait, wait, he was a baby.  Wouldn’t he only be, like, ten or something?”

“Fifteen,” corrected Clockwork.  

“How did he die?”

“You will have to ask him that,” said Clockwork.  He raised an eyebrow.  “If you would like, you can sleep on this and I will return tomorrow.”

Flynn bit his lip.  Hard.  Okay. He wasn’t dreaming.  And- And this ghost didn’t seem to be lying. What would the point of that even be, anyway?  Flynn was nothing.  He didn’t have anything they could possibly gain by lying like this.  

“I’ll go with you,” said Flynn.  

“Excellent,” said Clockwork, clapping his hands.  “Then let us away to the castle.”

.

Well.  That was certainly a castle.  Or a palace? Flynn wasn’t sure of the difference. The ghosts hadn’t lied about that, at least.  

It was a big step up from Flynn’s house.  Which, honestly, more deserved the title of hovel. Or perhaps shack.  

Or even hole, when compared to all this.  Dear god, this place was fancy.  

Flynn hunched his shoulders, feeling out of place even as Clockwork led him deeper into the massive edifice.  

Come on, Flynn, he thought furiously at himself. Some of these people aren’t even wearing skin.  You are not underdressed.  

Clockwork brought him to a normally sized (which was, incidentally, not a given in this place, which contained both huge and tiny doors) door with understated but elegant carvings.  “Here are your rooms,” said the ghost.  “You will find a selection of clothing in your size in the wardrobe, and the bathroom is fully stocked and human safe.”

“Human safe?”

“Human safe.”

That was ominous.  

“There is a bell in the room that will summon a servant should you need one.  I will collect you for dinner in three hours.  Long enough for you to relax, I should hope.”

Or long enough for him to worry himself into pieces and chew on their curtains.  

… There would be curtains, right?  This place had to be fancy enough to rate curtains.  

He opened the door.  

Lots of curtains.  Lovely.

No, really.  It had been so, so long since he’d seen curtains.  He might be crying.  

Oh, gosh, that bed looked so nice and soft.  He wanted to—

Wait, no, he was filthy.  Filthy.  Covered in years’ worth of grime.  He hadn’t had a proper bath since he’d still been living with his mom.  

Pathetic, right?

There was a human-safe bathroom in here somewhere. Beyond the snark, he was looking forward to having a human-safe bath.  He was craving a human-safe bath.  With clean water and soap.  

Could the bathroom also have toothbrushes?  Toothpaste?  Unrestrained luxury.  

The bathroom door was in the same style as the outer door, but the handle was different, lighter.  The inside was tiled and surprisingly modern.  

There was a sink.  

He played with the sink faucet for several long minutes before remembering that he’d come in to take a bath.  

He spent several minutes playing with the bathtub faucet.  

Then he got into the bathtub and experienced a half hour of combined panic (he didn’t really know how baths worked anymore, and the sensations were weird) and nirvana (the sensations were also good).

He had to keep cycling the water.  Because he made it so, so dirty.  He sank into the water, up to his chin.  

When he got out of the water, he decided his hair was a lost cause.  Because it was always a lost cause.  Only, it was even more of a lost cause now, because it was also wet and had been stripped of its usual protective layer of oils.  

There was a variety of toothbrushes and toothpastes available.  He tested them out and discovered that he would probably need the services of a dentist. A good one.  Were there ghost dentists?  There had to be ghost dentists.  They had a lot of teeth.  A lot of teeth.  Sharp, scary, teeth.  

Ugh.  His baby cousin was a ghost.  He’d probably have teeth like a shark.  When he’d last seen him, he’d hardly even had any teeth at all.  Because.  Baby. Little, tiny, baby.  

Who Flynn barely knew.  

Why did he even want Flynn?  Or was it just some weird ghost tradition thing?  

Ghosts were weird.  Anything could be possible.  

He flopped face-first onto the bed.  His bed?  His temporary and maybe permanent bed.  If he was allowed to stay here.  

Oh, gosh.  Clockwork and the eyeballs seemed to know how to make portals.  Could they make a portal back to the human world? To Earth?  

To Flynn’s proper time?

To Mom?  

He missed Mom so much, even after all this time.  

(Dad?  Not so much. He hardly remembered the man.)

He wouldn’t know until he asked, he supposed.  But asking maybe-royalty would be scary. Talking to all these powerful ghosts was scary enough by itself.  

Ehhhh, he thought he’d gotten rid of his more cowardly side by now.  He was living in the scariest place out of the world.  

Ha.  

Yeah.  

He crawled out of the bed, dragging his nice, clean self to the wardrobe.  Oh, boy. Many clothes.  He hadn’t even seen so many clothes since the last time he’d been in department store.  Incredible.  

They were so fancy, too.  He didn’t know how to choose.  

He didn’t even know how to wear half of these things. At least half of them.  

He began to tease lengths of fabric from the wardrobe and lay them on his bed.  Some of them looked cool.  And also the kind of thing that he’d destroy just by touching it.  

Except he had already touched them, and they hadn’t been destroyed yet.  Yet.

Oh, cool, there was underwear.  Wow.  It had been a while.  

.

Okay.  The bed was incredibly nice, but somehow too nice.  Like, no nap nice.  

He wanted to take a nap.  

But no nap was occurring.  

The bed was too soft.  Ugh.  This was like the thing in that one war novel he’d read when he was probably way too young to read it.  

He groaned.  He hadn’t thought that was real.  He’d thought it was an exaggeration, or just drama.  Or something.  

He crawled off onto the floor and the wonderfully plush carpet.  

Maybe he could sleep here.  

.

He woke up to a faint knocking sound and rolled sideways under cover.  What cover? Oh.  Bed.  That was the bed.  He was in the room.  In the castle.  The ghost king’s castle.  

His baby cousin’s castle.  

He was going to cry.  This was so weird.  

Embarrassed, he rolled back out from under the bed and threw on the first clothes that came to hand.  Which.  Might not have been the best of ideas.  But, hey, he was dressed now.  

He stumbled over to the door and spent several long, embarrassing seconds sleepily remembering how to open doors with this type of handle.  Eventually, though, he managed it.

Clockwork was standing there.  One of his eyebrows went up.  “Interesting choice.”

Flynn looked down.  Orange and green went fine together.  What was he talking about?  

Forget it, he wasn’t about to develop a sense of social shame after living in a hut for a decade or so.  

“Come, now.  Your cousins are expecting you.”

Flynn briefly considered ducking out, phasing through the floor and out of the castle using a tangibility trick he’d picked up a couple of years back.  At least, that would spare him from this ‘diner’ he was rapidly approaching.  

He decided not to do that.  Running away wasn’t his style.  

(Who was he kidding?  That was definitely his style.  He would have run away so, so much if he had anywhere to run to.)

(It wasn’t like he could exactly fight ghosts on even footing.  Each and every one of them had Martian Manhunter’s powerset.)

“Don’t be afraid, Flynn,” said Clockwork, looking back over his shoulder.  

“Do you, like, read minds?”

Clockwork chuckled.  “Only the future.”  He swung the large, gilded door open.  

Inside, there was a long table, set with silvery plates.  There were a small group of children beyond it.  One of them waved at him.  Was that Danny?

Flynn took a deep breath and walked forward, back to his family.  

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021 #flynn walker #clockwork

[bubsdolan]

80 and 127 with gray please <3

“The things that I want to do to you, baby.”, “Are you wearing my shirt?”.

smut masterlist.

kappa sigma was the biggest and most notorious fraternity on campus. it was home to the entire football team, the most popular and sort after boys at your college- and these boys knew how to throw a party.

every friday night, after a clear win and success on the pitch, kappa sigma throw their annal celebratory party. an open invitation to everyone at the college, some even outside of campus but no one ever kept track on who was in attendance. the mastermind behind it all- grayson dolan.

grayson dolan was captain, star of the team and the one everyone idolised. he was the typical all the boys wanted to be him and all the girls wanted him. he slept around- a lot- never one to be tied down or give into commitment no matter how many people tried. that was until he met you.

you were never one to attend the parties that occurred in kappa sigma, they quite frankly bored you. you enjoyed drinking yes, but the idea of being surrounded and trapped in a sweaty environment with people you had no interested in, didnt appeal to you. however, when your bestfriend, your sister, your twin flame begged and pledged with you to attend the party, so she could sleep with her dream man, her biggest crush and conquest- ethan dolan- you ran out of excuses to give her.

after a night of heavy drinking and flirting, your friend managed to snag ethan dolan. ending the night in his bed after the party drew to a close and in turn leaving you to fend for yourself and sleep on the sofa of a fraternity house that smelt of strong substances and sex. ethan kindly offered you a shirt, an oversized jersey that came down to your knees, in order for you to get a comfortable night sleep and not worry about your bestfriend getting absolutely railed a few doors down.

of course you could have gone back to your dorm, it was across campus. but you were alone. dressed in tight revealing clothing and it was baring on 3am. ethan cared for your bestfriend, more then you had originally anticipated when promising to be her wing man, and therefore he cared for you. persisting you spent the night than you could leave bright and early in the morning when it felt safer to do so.

and that’s exactly how you ended up in the company of grayson dolan. shirtless and smirking down at you after you had misjudged your steps and slammed right into his toned physique. grayson was an early riser at the best times, but in this instant he had woken up a few extar hours early to sneak out a girl he had already forgotten the name off. not wanting to deal with the questions and attack from his fellow fraternity.

grayson was surprised, yet somewhat exhilarated to see you. in his home, and wearing his jersey? at first he got jealous in thinking you had slept with one of his brothers, all of them knowing deep down his evergrowing crush on you. but after he saw his number adorning your beautiful body, he felt smug. 

“are you wearing my shirt?” were the first words grayson spoke after your little run in. you watched him usher the blonde girl out the door without such a goodbye, before inturn collideding his body with yours. your felt small by the way his eyes raked up and down your frame, admiring the way you looked in his jersey with nothing underneath.

“oh-“ you avoid his intense gaze. feeling slightly intimidated by his sudden appearanceand the way he was staring at you with hunger. “so-sorry, ethan let me borrow it after last night.”

this made grayson seethe with anger, his mind automatically thinking the worst in his brother breaking bro code and sleeping with the only girl who had his younger twins heart. but when he heard giggles coming from ethans room, a squeal and the banging of the headboard, his anger was replaced.

“keep it, looks good on you,” grayson reached forward to brush a few stray hairs away from your face, slowly backing you into a wall as he trapped your body between his. his hand slowly lowerd down to your hip when he sees you bite on your bottom lip and continue to hold his gaze. he waited for you to shy away, to push him away and reject all his advances, but when you don't - he takes this as his sign. 

grayson then proceeds to dip his lips down to the skin of your neck and suck on it. earning a hearty moan from you that went straight to his pants, making him copy the same moan, one he needed to hear again for the rest of the life his.

“the things i want to do to you, baby.” grayson whispers in the crook of you neck. not quite believing the position he’s in, with his dream girl and living out his fantasies he slept away with other woman. hoping one day it would be you. 

“p-please, grayson,” you plead, hands coming down to squeeze and dig your nails into his delicious biceps, as he teasingly pushes his jersey up to expose your already dripping core. god, the sight of you was picturesque. he couldn’t thank god enough for his luck, for allowing him to have you.

“are you sure about this, y/n. s’want this to be different, yaknow,” the sincerity in his words confused you. how different could a quick one night stand be to a promiscuous grayson dolan. the man who fucked anything with a pulse and didnt give a second thought about the consequences of his actions. however, right now you didn't dear delve deeper, so desperate to experience the one thing all the girls on campus bragged about. 

“yes-yes, please. need you,” your body is overcome with confidence. pulling at grayson’s body to lean in closer and feel his surprisely soft lips agasint your own. both fighting for dominance before grayson wins and slips his tonuge in and takes control. sparks flying is the only way to describe it, you had never felt more of a connection in such a hungry and lusful makeout. it felt different, raw and real. a feeling totally unexpected and taking you off guard.

“tell me you’ll be mine and ill give you everything you want.”

“gray-“ you pull away from him. trying to piece together everything he’s was saying in his moment of desperation. did he say this to all his conquests?

“baby, ive been in love with you since forever-“ grayson was ready to go into a deeper confession, one he had been holding back ever since he first laid eyes on you- but was suddenly cut off by your lips on his. bringing him back down to earth and having him right where you wanted.

“show me. show me how much you love me.”

slowly inserting his penis into you tight hole, grayson holds you close. guiding your body back and fourth on his member as he fucked you out in the open space of a frat home, housed to multiple college students that could easily walk out at any moment and catch you in the act.

his thrusts deepened the more he felt your walls stretch around him and become accustomed to his size. he couldn’t help but let out a whimper at the feeling of your walls clenching and unclenching around him. you felt heavenly, making him feel like a virgin all over again as he tried to fight through the tightness of your folds.

“ahh, fuck! feels s-so good,” your head falls onto grayson’s shoulder. his body being the only source of support as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and hit all the spots inside you no one else had yet to uncover. grayson knew what he was doing.

“so pretty for me, look at you. so desperate and needy, such a good girl.”

“shit shit shit, im close!”

“cum for me, baby. wanna feel you release all over my dick, hmmm,” grayson’s hips pick up their pace. his hands tightening on your skin as he growls lowly in your ear. breathing in the intoxicating scent of you that kept him addicted. your body, your pussy, your love, everything he hoped it would be and more.

grayson felt his whole world officially start the minute he feels you cream around his dick. he held you, kissed you and fucked you through your intense orgasm. praising you for being such a good little cum slut and taking his dick so well.

you were more than a fuck to him. the second you gave your body to grayson, in a way he was used to having girls offer on a plate at the blink of a eye, grayson vowed to never disrespect you the way he done previously. he promised to treat you with the upmost love and appreciation, care and tenderness you deserved. you, y/n, tamed grayson dolan.

#bubsdolan #grayson #grayson dolan #grayson dolan smut #grayson smut #grayson dolan oneshot #grayson oneshot #grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan concept #grayson concept #grayson imagine #grayson blurb #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fic #grayson fluff #grayson dolan fluff #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson fic #grayson dolan x reader #grayson x reader #dolan twins #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins concept #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins smut #dolan twins oneshot #dolan twins x reader #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins fic #dolan twins fluff

[skiller0dani]

For You | Monty De La Cruz

M A S T E R L I S T Timothy Granaderos Masterlist

smut requested requests info missed Part 1? read it here

important notice:  13 reasons why covers some really heavy stuff and their material can be extremely triggering. seeing as my writing is supposed to be for fun only I won’t be including many of the topics seen in the show. in fact, unless I say otherwise most of all my writings for this show will take place before Hannah Bakers suicide. if you or a loved one ever needs to seek professional help please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.

*

YAY. I changed the computer browser theme. took me fucking ages to get it all set up so those of you that are using a computer I hope you enjoy the knew layout! xx

...I will forever be angry for how badly the writers of that show treated Monty...

Catch up! Read Part 1 here! 

Your eyes fluttered open upon hearing the sound of a car door closing next to you. It took you a second to remember where you were, and seeing Monty to your left only confused you further. You blinked the sleep out of your eye, “bout time sleeping beauty.” Monty teased as he pulled onto your street. You blushed as you shifted in your seat, a sharp pain shooting between your legs. Oh yeah. “Sore?” He sounds guilty, which catches you by surprise along with the concerned look in his eyes. You muster a smile and try not to grimace too much as you sit up. “A little.” You admit as Monty’s hand turns the wheel as he pulls into your driveway. Your palms are sweating a bit as you reach down to take off your seat belt. You reach for the door and when you stand, you collapse back against the car when your legs tremble underneath you. Monty is out of the car in a second. 

“Parents home?” Before you know what’s happening Monty has swept you in his arms once again, beginning to head for your front door. 

“No.” You say simply, reaching down to unlock the front door as Monty gently kicks it open. You hold onto his shirt as he traverses up the stairs, “you gonna be alright for school tomorrow? I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He sounds genuine, and the admission from Monty has your head spinning. You direct him to your room, which you weren’t expecting him to see today. Embarrassment swells in your chest when the door opens, your bed unmade and clothes scattered along the floor. “Yeah I’ll just get a hot water bottle tonight.” You tell him as he gently lowers you to the bed. Monty’s eyes take a moment to scan over your room and even though you had him balls deep in your pussy not even an hour ago, you still feel incredibly embarrassed. 

“Who’s this?” He asks, his finger landing on a photo of your Mom. Your chest squeezes shut at the sight of her, you blink away oncoming tears before he can notice. 

“My Mom, she died last year.” Monty hums, his eyes lingering on her before moving to the next thing on your desk. You’re appreciative he didn’t make a big deal about your Mom and start awkwardly apologizing. With a cocky smile Monty lifts a white paint marker from your desk, the marker you used to write on your bra. You raise your own eyebrow in response, challenging his cockiness with your own. “You know, feel free to make any more custom bras just for me.” Monty teases, turning with a wink before you can even respond. Your pulse is hammering in your chest when Monty’s fingers trail over the handle of your desk drawer. 

“Hiding a giant 2 headed dildo in here?” There’s a teasing smile on his face and even though your cheeks are cherry red you maintain eye contact with a fierce look on your face. 

Monty yanks open the drawer to reveal your small purple vibrator. “Cute.” He comments, hitting the button and listening to the device buzz in his hand. Your blush is so deep a pulse has started to beat in your cheeks. Seeing your flushed cheeks and mussed hair has Monty fighting another hard on as he turns to face you again. Kneeling at the end of your bed Monty grasps your ankles and yanks you towards him. Your hands land on his shoulders with a gasp, “m-my Dad could be home soon.” You breathe through a shaky voice as you feel Monty’s hand ghosting up your thigh. A half cocked smile plays at Monty’s face, “guess I better make you cum quick then. I wonder if this could help?” There’s a feigned look of innocence on his face as he pulls the vibrator out. You smile as you press forward to lock your lips with his, “hurry up then lover boy.” You mumble against his lips as his fingers reach for the button of your shorts. 

Monty bites gently at the skin of your inner thighs, leaving little love bites scattered across your skin after he yanks your shorts off. You lean back on your elbows, biting your lip when Monty drags your panties down with his teeth. “You’re hot.” You blurt out as he kisses up your thighs and a smile is pressed against your legs. “I’m glad you think so. You’re hot.” Monty says with an amused chuckle. Why on Earth are you so cute? 

Your head falls back when you feel his tongue lick a long line through your folds. “Fuck Monty,” You hiss as his lips wrap around your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Monty feels pride swell in his chest as your cries and moans of pleasure echo through the room. He’s the one making you feel like this. That thought alone is intoxicating to him. Monty clicks the vibrator on and slides it inside you as he continues to lick and suck at your clit. Your hips arch off the bed as you release a strangled cry of euphoria. Monty’s free hand plants firmly on your stomach, holding your wriggling hips to the bed as you grind against his face. “Please don’t stop Monty.” You plead, your voice a needy whine as his teeth nip at your clit. Hearing you beg and plead for him has his cock hard as steel. Monty thrusts the vibrator quickly as he continues to suck at your clit and soon you feel that coil burst and you cum all over his face. 

“Fuck.” You’re breathless as Monty pulls away from you, returning the now wet vibrator back to the drawer in your desk. “I should go, but I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” Monty says and you nod weakly as he presses a long kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Wait,” you mumble, reaching for the flannel shirt he’s got on. You begin to tug at it and Monty rolls his eyes with a smile as he shrugs it off and tosses it to you. His heart grows 5 sizes bigger when he sees you throw your jacket off and replace it with his shirt, pulling it around you. You’re so tiny in it. 

It’s only 10 minutes later that your Dad gets home with your little sister. The rest of the evening is ordinary and boring. Just as it usually is. You keep Monty’s flannel on, it smells just like him. It’s surprisingly comfortable, you never want to take it off. In fact you love it so much that you sleep in it and then decide to wear it the next day. You tie the front of the shirt making it a crop top as you squeeze on a pair of skinny jeans. Your navel is revealed by the way you tied it, and your belly button piercing is on full display. Hearing 3 honks you look out your window to see Zach parked out front. Seeing as he lives down the street from you it made the most sense for him to take you to and from school. 

“Nice shirt. Isn’t that Monty’s?” Zach asks with a playful look on his face as he raises a brow. You flip him off as you adjust Monty’s red flannel so it loosely falls from your shoulders. Zach would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned of whatever is happening with you and Monty. Monty isn’t known to have long relationships, he’s certainly investing more time into you then anyone else he’d been with in the past. “So do you know what you’re doing with Monty?” Zach asks as he begins to drive towards the school. You roll your eyes, “yeah I’m screwing him.” You say simply as you roll on some red lipstick, your eye makeup simple. Your breasts fill the shirt perfectly with the way you tied it in the front, Monty won’t be able to keep his eyes or hands off you. 

Monty: My clothes definitely look better on you. 

You bite your lip to try and hide your smile as you enter the school and simultaneously receive a text from Monty. You look up and see him standing with the rest of the baseball boys, his eyes burning right through you. You giggle to yourself when you see his hand curled tightly around the strap of his backpack. His eyes rake down your body, but they stop right at your breasts so perfectly presented for him in his shirt. “Damn Monty can I get a piece of that ass after you’re finished with her?” The same damn baseball player from yesterday says and Monty nostrils flare as frustration bubbles in his chest. “You touch her and I’ll break your fucking hand.” His voice is calm but the tone is tense. The guy freezes, swallowing thickly as Monty pushes from the wall to head in your direction. 

Feeling a hand slide into your ass pocket you smile to yourself knowing who it is without having to look. “Montgomery.” You feel his chest press to your back as he presses a kiss to your neck. He pulls away to lean against the locker, his eyes fixed on the guy from earlier. You see the tension in his shoulders when you finally look up at Monty. “What’s up with you?” You ask, watching the predatory glare in his eyes that he shoots at any guy that walks past you. “Monty stop you’re freaking people out.” You laugh nervously, watching as his arms cross. Monty’s jaw clenches and he stands up straighter, “remember how I said I’ll beat any guy that comes at you? I think I’m about to.” He says, and you turn to see the ‘meathead’ from yesterday approaching you and Monty. “Oh hey Paul.” You greet politely, subtly reaching over to grab Monty’s hand. Paul doesn’t give Monty a second glance as he turns to you, “hey Y/N, I just wanted to ask you something because seeing as you and Monty aren’t dating you’re free to do whatever you want with whomever you want.” He snaps, his eyes boring into Monty’s. 

A taunting smile spreads across Monty’s face as he stands straighter, and you can feel the tension building between the two men. “I wanted to know if you were free tonight.” Paul asked, but you figured at this point he was asking only to piss Monty off. It's working. You open your mouth to politely decline when Paul’s hands cup your cheeks and before you know it your lips are pressed firmly to his. In an instant Paul is ripped off you and thrown to the ground, “Don’t fucking touch her.” Monty spits, his fists curling as he puts himself between you and Paul. Your mouth is agape as you press your back to the lockers watching as Paul pulls himself to his feet. “She doesn’t belong to you Montgomery.” He snaps and Monty laughs sarcastically. 

“Baby who do you belong to?” Monty asks, his eyes firmly on Paul. You swallow a thick lump down your throat as you stay stood closest to Monty, “y-you Monty.” You stammer and you mean that, really you do. It’s just that this entire situation is freaking you out. Are Paul and Monty about to get in a fist fight, over you? Monty’s face is hard as he eyes Paul, who rolls his eyes with a bark of a sarcastic laugh. “Sounds like she really has a choice.” Paul snaps, and by now there is a crowd gathered around the two men. Monty licks his lips, his fists curling tighter as he releases a breath. Soon Monty swings his fist into Paul’s cheek, sending Paul to the floor. “Fuck you! She has a choice.” He snaps and when Paul straightens up and smashes his fist into Monty’s left cheek you’re scrambling between them. 

“Monty stop, please.” You plead, your hands on his stomach as you try to push him away from Paul. “It doesn’t matter what he says, I’m yours.” You promise before you press a kiss to his jaw. The simple action seems to release some tension from his shoulders. Monty throws an arm over your shoulders while flipping Paul off. When the two of you turn away from him you feel a harsh slap on your ass and just like that Monty is pushing away from you. “That’s it-” Monty’s voice is tight as he turns and throws a punch into Paul’s stomach. You gasp when Paul shoves Monty into the lockers, causing his right cheek to split open. “Stop!” You cry out, and before you can get in between them you see Zach push between Monty and Paul. 

He harshly pushes both Monty and Paul away from each other. “Monty you need to calm down, Paul you’re a fucking dick. Now knock it off you’re freaking Y/N out.” Zach snaps and Monty’s eyes lock with yours, guilt flashing in his eyes when he sees you trembling. Monty shoves through the crowd and you’re following closely behind him. “Monty.” You say weakly but he doesn’t say anything as he shoves the doors of the school open. “Please,” You beg, voice swelling with tears. When he hears the emotion in your voice Monty stops immediately, turning to pull you against his chest. You hear his heart hammering against his chest. 

“He hurt you.” You say weakly, tears falling down your cheeks as you see the trickle of blood dripping down his left cheek. “He fucking slapped your damn ass-” Monty seethes, his eyes fixed on the school but your tiny hands on his chest stops him from going back inside. “He did that to piss you off.” You say, wiping at your cheeks as you grab Monty’s hand to pull him towards his car. You push him to sit down in the driver seat, you standing between his legs with the door open. You reach for a rag in his backseat before dabbing at the blood trailing down his cheek. “Sorry.” Monty mumbles, the tension finally easing from his shoulders when he realizes you could be in there with Paul. But you followed him outside. You chose Monty. You shake your head with a smile as you lean forward to gently press your lips against his for a sweet kiss. 

“Paul’s right though, we’re not dating so I can do whatever I want.” You start, biting back your teasing smile when you see a tense expression cross onto his face. “But I won’t. I just want you.” You finish and Monty releases a breath, a small smile on his face. He leans back as you continue to clean his cut, “poor girl.” He says and you frown deeply. “Don’t say that.” You argue as you finish cleaning his cut. You and Monty sit in silence for a second before he’s reaching into his pocket, “get in.” He orders and the tone in his voice has your knees weak. You immediately move to slide into the passenger seat, buckling your seat belt with shaky hands. “W-what are we doing?” You ask as Monty takes off away from the school. His hands curl around the steering wheel tightly and his jaw is clenched shut, “I need to fuck you. Right now.” Monty snaps, sending heat to simmer in your lower belly. 

Monty slams the car in park when you arrive at what you assume is his house. Before you can even exit the car Monty’s mouth is on yours, hot and wet and so desperate. His hand tangles in your hair as his tongue slides across your bottom lip, and you moan against his mouth. His hands grasp at your hips to drag you across the middle console to settle in his lap. His lips move desperately against yours, the wet sounds of your lips sliding together sending arousal straight to your core. “Monty,” You mumble against his lips, your fingers pulling at the short hairs at the base of his neck. Monty’s hands begin to move your hips against his, grinding you down on his hardening cock. 

“Be mine.” Monty says sharply, his lips trailing down to your neck. Goosebumps spread all over your skin as soon as the words leave his lips, “like, I’d be your girlfriend?” You mumble, your fingernails digging into Monty’s shoulder as he sucks at a sweet spot under your ear. “Mhm,” Monty merely hums in response, groaning as you grind down against his cock harder. He can feel the heat from between your perfect, inviting thighs and it’s driving him crazy. “I can’t handle shit like that, especially when I know you’re not mine so you can go fuck Paul whenever the hell you want.” Monty snaps, pushing your legs around his waist as he hauls you out of the car. 

“Don’t want Paul, want you. I doubt his cock is even half as big as yours is. Fuckin fills me up so perfectly Monty,” You moan against his skin, beginning to suckle on his neck as he kicks his front door open. “So be mine baby, then you’ll get my cock whenever you want.” Monty says breathlessly as he navigates his house with you in his arms. You laugh, “don’t I already?” You tease, pressing your lips to his once more. Monty presses you against the wall, pulling his lips away from yours as he intently looks at you. “Answer.” He says, his eyes searching yours and deep down he’s afraid you’ll say no. You cup his cheeks and press one short kiss to his lips, “the answer is yes dummy.” You tease and a relieved smile overtakes his face before he’s winding his arms tightly around your waist. 

Eventually Monty kicks open his bedroom door, his lips pressed against yours. God he’ll never get used to having you pressed against him like this. Monty carefully drops you onto his grey bed sheets, his hands pressed on the bed on either side of your head. His lips move with yours as his hands move down to remove those tight little jeans of yours. He groans when he sees your bare thighs and wet little pussy covered by your pink silk panties. You slide your hands up his stomach and he swiftly yanks his shirt over his head. “Am I seriously dating you? You’re like a living sex God.” You muse aloud, causing a cocky smile to spread across your now boyfriends face. Monty pulls your shirt- or his shirt- up and over your head and he groans once he sees your bare breasts. 

“No bra today?” He asks, quirking his eyebrow up. You smile sheepishly, moaning softly when you feel his hands grasp your breasts in his large hands. 

“Was kinda hoping this would happen.” You mumble as Monty leans forward to take a nipple in his mouth. He gently bites down at your nipple causing your back to arch and for you to cry out his name. What on Earth did you do to deserve someone as perfect as Montgomery De La Cruz? “Fuck, I really like you Monty.” You breathe, combing your fingers through his hair. Monty releases your nipple with a pop, his fingers still pinching at the other. “I would hope so, you’re my girlfriend now after all.” He begins to kiss down and around your navel, your breathing and heartbeat ragged as he approaches where you need him the absolute most. “Did you ask me only so I wouldn’t fuck anyone else? I really do care about you Monty.” You say genuinely and Monty stops what he’s doing to look up at you. 

“Baby I wouldn’t care so much about you fucking other guys if I didn’t have fucking feelings for you. I care about you,” He says with a smile, before biting down on your hip causing you to whine while bucking your hips towards his face. “Do you promise?” You moan, feeling Monty press a kiss to your lips through the fabric of your panties. Monty rolls his eyes with a smile as he hooks his thumbs into your panties, “I fucking promise. Believe me yet?” He asks as he pushes 2 fingers inside you, causing you to cry out in pleasure. You nod frantically as Monty tongues your clit, his fingers pumping into you quickly. You feel that familiar coil winding quickly as you clutch the bed sheets so hard you’re afraid you’ll rip them. You feel yourself teetering on the edge and just as you’re about to cum Monty pulls away. You groan in frustration. 

“Patience babe.” Monty smiles, reaching for the buckle of his belt. You lean up on your elbows to watch Monty finish undressing and you nearly cum just from his body alone, “I have the sexiest boyfriend in existence.” You say in amazement, causing Monty to laugh. Monty reaches over into his nightstand to pull out a condom wrapper, “that has to be the 3rd time in the last 10 minutes you’ve referred to me as your boyfriend.” Monty chuckles and you shrug, subconsciously spreading your thighs wider for him when he steps between them. “I’m excited. And happy.” You say with a smile, causing Monty to blush slightly. How cute. Monty leans down over you once he’s rolled the condom on, “me too.” He whispers against your lips before sliding into you with one languid thrust. 

You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the stretch it takes to accommodate Monty’s delicious cock. Not that you’re complaining, he hits deep inside you. Once Monty has slid all the way inside you, he groans as he just sits there and basks in the feeling. “Fuck, my girlfriend has the best, tightest pussy in existence.” Monty moans, using your words from earlier. You smile as you wind your arms around his back, your heart pounding against his chest. “Fuck baby, I need to pound you. Need to forget everything Paul did to you.” Monty grits through clenched teeth and you hold him tighter with a quick nod. 

Monty pulls his hips back before driving them hard against yours over and over again, slamming his cock into you. Monty leans up, his hands grasping your hips as he fucks into you, “fuck baby that feels so good.” You cry out, your left hand reaching out to hold Monty’s. Your breasts bounce with each smack against your hips, and Monty keeps hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. Monty holds your hips so tightly you know there will be bruises he’ll probably feel bad about later. Sweat trickles down the side of his face as he slams into you over, smacking your ass hard when he remembers how Paul slapped your ass. Your fists curl around the sheets as you cry out loudly, nearly sobbing in pleasure. Monty reaches down to thumb your clit which sends you headfirst into your orgasm. 

You expect Monty to stop or at least slow down when you cum. He doesn’t. 

He continues to slam into you at an ungodly pace, the frustration being released with each smack of his hips against yours. With each thrust Monty was pulling you back against him, making the impact of his cock hitting your sweet spot that much more intense. Your body shakes with overstimulation as you approach your second orgasm, almost screaming as Monty slams into you. As you cum for the second time on his cock Monty turns you so that you’re laying on your side. “M-Monty fuck!” You cry out, your face pressing into the sheets as you’re rocked against the bed. “One more time baby, cum around my cock one more time.” Monty nearly begs, almost as though he needs you to cum again. Tears of raw pleasure spring in your eyes and cascade down your cheeks as the pleasure is almost too much, “God Monty please make me cum again, please baby-” You begin to plead but you’re cut off when Monty reaches down to pinch your clit and as soon as he does you’re exploding all over his cock and sheets. 

The both of you stay there connecting and panting for a few minutes before Monty slides out of you and collapses onto the bed next to you after discarding the condom. Monty props his arm under his head as you crawl up the bed to nuzzle your head into his chest. Monty’s arm curls around you to pull you against him tighter, “you okay? I wasn’t too rough was I?” Monty asks, worry in his voice as he looks you over. You smile as you press a kiss to his chest, “I’m in heaven Monty.” You sigh and he relaxes again, holding you to him tighter. You lean up to grab his phone from his jeans before you’re relaxing into his arms again. You open the camera and snap a photo of you laying naked on Monty’s naked chest making sure you’re breasts are concealed by smashing them against Monty. “What’re you doing?” Monty asks, his voice thick with drowsiness. You simply press a kiss to his peck as you open Paul’s contact in Monty’s phone. 

Monty: hey Paul it’s Y/N. just wanted to say I just had the best sex I’ve ever had. oh and I saw your dick in the locker room & yours isn’t even half the size Monty's is. ;) 

You attach the photo before pressing send and Monty laughs lightly. “That’s my girl.” 

#13 reasons why #monty de la cruz #monty de la cruz smut #monty deserved better #13 reasons why smut #Smut #timothy granaderos #timothy granaderos smut

[sery-chan-13]

Next Time, No Death, Yeah?

Chapter 10 of '100 Promises'

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Warnings: Swearing, weapons, violence, blood

You were somewhere in Tokyo. Where? You'd find out sooner or later.

Currently however, you were walking through an abandoned mall. Everything was abandoned, so it didn't make this one anymore special than the millions of buildings in Tokyo. There was broken glass under your shoes that crunched when you stepped on it. "That's fucking satisfying," you whispered. "You're weird," Last Boss said from besides you. "Ok, if anytime you talk it's an insult to me imma hit you," you said, glaring playfully at him. It was an empty threat, he noticed, seeing as your tone of voice was too light and playful to be a real threat. "I wouldn't test her patience. She can be a real bitch when she wants to," Niragi stated, walking in front if both of you. Last Boss saw your eyes narrow, like a cat about to pounce on its prey. You reached your hand out, and tugged on his hair. "I just said if you insult me I'll hit you," you laughed. "Ow. Fuck you," he cursed, rubbing his scalp as you laughed. You shrugged your shoulders walking faster, ready for anything to happen. 'What could go wrong?' You thought. 'All the militants must be pretty trust worthy if the have weapons.'

Well, that's what you thought when you first got there. Now, not so much. One of the militants had tried to escape, seeing as they got all they needed from the Beach. Hiding behind objects when the man had a gun seemed like the best idea. "Alright, so what do we do?" You questioned Niragi, who kept looking from the side of the cement wall you two were hiding behind. "Stop the guy, and try not to get shot," Niragi responded, a tone of sarcasm in his voice. You noticed, but really it was a solid plan. Not getting shot was the best outcome for both of you. "Sounds like a good plan to me, let's go!" You shouted. He found it amusing how only a few days into the borderlands, you had already adapted. There was so much change, and usually you didn't do well with change. But yet here you were. "He's going to run out of bullets. And he can't change them that fast. So, let's wait till he runs out, then we grab him and take the gun away," you suggested, pointing at a mirror that showed the reflection of the man. "His bullet case is strapped onto his belt... You damn genius," he said, petting the top of your head. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the feeling. You smiled, shrugging your shoulders. "You the left, I'll take the right," he instructed. "Oki doki, let's goooo I'm bored!" You exclaimed, loading up your pistol. He kneeled down, peeking out the side of where you were hiding. "On the count of three?"

"Yeah."

"One."

"Two."

"Three!"

You both ran at him, being concentrated on the gun. He tried to shoot, but he had already ran out. He reached to grab bullets, but you aimed your gun, shooting it at his arm. He dropped his gun, yelping in pain. Niragi kicked the gun away from him. "Nice shot (N/N)," he complimented, high fiving you. He turned his attention back to the man on the floor. Blood was passing through the hand that covered his wound, staining it crimson. "Damn, any last words? Regrets? You know, death to the traitors and all," Niragi asked, crouching down besides the man, pointing his gun at the man's chest. He gulped, and took a shaky sigh. ''Yeah. I only regret that a girl took me down," he said. Your eyes widened, and you grabbed the knife from its sheath on your waist. You bent down to his level, stabbing the knife into his stomach, and twisting it. He screamed in pain. "This girl knows how to murder and get away with it," you said. You let go of the knife stepping back. He immediately pulled the knife out, making both you and Niragi laugh. "Hey, dumbass. That makes more blood come out," Niragi snickered. The man tried making pressure on his stomach his shirt staining dark red. "Alright, I'm bored. Someone else can do that. I got his blood on me, I feel nasty," You said, grabbing Niragi's hand and pulling him along with you.

Once you entered a random store, you looked down. There was blood covering your hands, and your swimsuit. You cringed in disgust. "That was pretty fucking badass," Niragi said, walking around the store. You sighed, "I guess." It dawned on you that since you were a militant, you could wear actual clothes. "Wait, so on supply runs what do guys collect?" You asked. Niragi turned to face you. "Anything and everything that could be useful. And of course, we are allowed to bring back personal items if wanted," he answered. You smirked, grabbing some backpacks off of one of the shelves, giving one to Niragi. "These would be easier to carry things around in," you suggested. "Ok, well then you take the pink strawberry one," he said. You rolled your eyes, trading backpacks with him. "Suck up your fragile masculinity you stupid fuck~," you sang before laughing. He shook his head, following you around. It really was like you two never skipped a beat. Sure, your whole lives had gotten derailed, but being back together made most things ok. The longest you two had been without each other had been the two months you stayed with your grandmother. After that first summer without him, you always asked if he could go with you. Even though you had called each other every night, you couldn't go to sleep. It wasn't like he was with you every night, but knowing you'd see him the next day would always comfort you. You didn't know why, it just did. So every summer both of you would have two months of peace at your grandmother's house.

"Alright, that's two bags full for each of us. Let's see if we can fill a third?" He asked. You both put the bags in the car. The person who was guarding the cars thanked you both. She looked down at your hands, and back up at you. You gave her a friendly smile seeing her stare. You sort of forgot about your blood stained hands. She smiled nervously, waving you both away.

"What was her problem?" You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you both walked back. "Blood," he answered, pointing at your hands. "Oh... well, sounds like a her problem," you said nonchalantly. It was quiet. Something you hadn't taken the time to appreciate before. Living in the city, there was always something making noise, it was never quiet. But now, looking at the desolate city of Tokyo, you sighed happily. It reminded you of the quiet up at your grandmother's house when you were little.

"Hello? Earth to (Y/N), Earth to (Y/N)," Niragi teased, waving his hand in front of your face.  You shook your head snapping out of your daydream. "Sorry... spaced out. What else do we need to do?"

On the way back, people were more talkative and cheerful. They had done a lot, running through the empty streets to find things. You were quite excited to return back, as Chishiya had mentioned talking again when you got back.

"(Y/N), piece of advice. Don't go to the parties at the Beach... everyone's to drunk to notice anything, and no one stops anyone from doing anything. So be careful," Kuina said. You two had been talking for a while besides the pool, watching others splash each other with water. You nodded, looking around. "It also seems you've caught the attention of Chishiya. He seems to think you're quite smart. That's near impossible, good job girl," she complimented. You laughed, shaking your head. "This is the first time in months I've been... truly happy, I guess you could say," you said, looking down at blue water in the pool. "What do you mean by that?" She questioned. "Well, back in our world, I thought my best friend was dead, so... I wasn't in the best mental state," you answered. "Ew, sorry, I just made this conversation about me. Ick, I hate it," you shuddered, shaking your hands. "Please tell me something about you Kuina?"

"They seem to get along well. She keeps him in line, she could be very useful," Ann observed after hearing what happened at the supply run. "She's also quite the wildcard, if you ask me. Dangerous, but calculated. Seems like she'd be a methodical killer in a show or something," Last Boss commented. This drew some attention, as he never spoke about others that often. It was often short answers, but it seemed you'd peaked his interest.  "Well, it's no use just talking about their skills. Put them to the test!" Hatter suggested, a bit too cheerfully for everyone in the room. "Haven't they proven themselves already? She's pretty high up for a newcomer, and Niragi has been here for a while, he's a high rank as well," Ann questioned, turning to face Hatter. "They've proven themselves as individuals. But if we have a pair that is on the same level physically and mentally, who seem to find fun in the games, that trust each other..." Hatter started, trailing off. Ann caught on to what he was saying. "It's an advantage for us in the end... in using their connection, it makes them stronger players?" Ann said, suggesting her thoughts. Hatter smiled widely, "Bingo! The easier the games are to clear, the faster we can all leave!" Of course, Ann was a bit uneasy at the idea. You had both proven yourselves to be useful, even in the short time you'd been there. Niragi, while annoying to deal with at times, did have amazing abilities with guns. He was able to complete games without hesitation to hurt others to get his goal, and that's what made him such an asset to the Beach. People feared him. The more you fear a person or punishment, you are more likely to not do what lead to dealing with that person or consequence. You were already building quite the reputation. Although coming into the Beach with Niragi, you would expect people to avoid you. People backed away from you even more now, seeing as you were a militant, and a dangerous one at that. You two were equally as intelligent and dangerous, the only difference being you thought things out before rushing in. He was more impulsive. A do now, think later kind of person. You, however, you thought first, thinking of outcomes, and followed through.  It would be interesting to see how you two worked together.

Wow that took a while to write for no reason at all.

#alice in borderland #niragi #×reader #Niragi Suguru #aib #Niragi × Reader

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Heartbreaker- Part 3

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 6332. Yikes.

Warnings: Sexual content, language, angst

Moodboard@peterquillzsblog

AN: The third part of this thing I did for @youbloodymadgenius 400 Followers Writing Challenge. I’m a bit insecure about this part, and it was hard to write but I hope ya’ll like it. Shout out to my girl @shannygoatgruff for helping me and encouraging me with the writing process. You da best.

Part 1, Part 2

...

The stars were mocking her, she was sure of it.

Her eyes were glued to her ceiling, the stupid LED’s sparkling brighter now that the sun had completely set and the moon had taken its place. She started learning her constellations when she was 10, the age when shit at home started to hit the fan. It was her attempt at an escape to avoid her parents fighting in the other room. She ignored the yelling and banging against the walls by running to her tiny window and staring out into the sky in the hopes of catching sight of Orion’s Belt or any of the dippers. The stars were nicer then, comforting her as she did her best to drown out her mother’s screaming. They weren’t so visible now that she lived in Oslo, the city lights blocking everything that glowed in the sky. She had to settle for the cheap projector she purchased off amazon when she first called the city home, and it had been enough for her to get by until now. It ridiculed her, the fake stars shimmering together as if to form a smirk.

Fuck that.

She reaches behind her nightstand, yanking the cord from the wall with force, cutting off the starlight and leaving her ceiling pitch black. The candles were still flickering as the only light source, the scent of roses still strong. At least it smelled nice. Flopping back against her pillows, she runs her hands down her damp face from her salty tears, dropping her arms to her sides and dragging the sheets over her still naked body. She hadn’t moved since he left. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Her body felt rooted to the mattress, her skin glued to the sheets. She gives the dark ceiling one last glare before rolling to her side, burying her face into the pillow where Ivar’s luxurious hair had left the fragrance of his coconut shampoo and his Armani cologne. She was fucking pathetic.

Sending him away felt like a mistake.

She wanted to feel powerful kicking his ass out. She wanted to feel in control and confident watching him leave, but she didn’t. He wasn’t even angry. As soon as she told him to leave, he silently gathered his wrinkled clothes thrown about in their haste. In rigid movements he dressed himself, grabbed his crutch, and turned to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the shape of her body under the thin sheets. He said nothing, just stared at her with this look of longing, like they were the most unfortunate pair to grace the earth. It certainly felt that way. Then he reached over, holding her head gently to place a kiss on her temple before leaving her bed. All she wanted to do was to cry and call him back as soon as she heard her front door close with a soft click.

The facade immediately collapsed and the smirk slipped from her lips, settling into a deep frown. Her eyes welled up with tears and cascaded down her cheeks without so much as a fight. She had felt a heaviness in her chest, a burning that ached over her as if Ivar himself had reached inside her and ripped out her heart. He had broken it, so why did it hurt just as much when she tried to hurt him?  

Because she loved him. She loved Ivar.

She was in love with him. Completely and hopelessly and stupidly in love. Like a fucking idiot. She loved him when he visited her at the museum. She loved him when he took her home. She loved him when he took her to bed. And she loved him more when she watched him leave, his expression forever implanted in her mind like a photograph. She’d never seen such a look on him before.

When the hell did it start to get to that point? She wasn’t too sure. It started simple enough, boundaries were set, and they were both happy with what they had. The sex was great, and even greater still when she realized her feelings were getting involved. She found love in the simplest things. She felt it in their little touches whenever she handed him something, in the smile that lit up his face when she made his favorite meal of steak and potatoes, or the way he looked at her when he knew she was wearing something particularly naughty under her clothes. Or maybe she loved him from the moment they met at that fucking party. Apparently it only takes the brain 2 seconds to fall in love with someone. She couldn’t even remember where she’d read that. Probably from that corny lifestyle magazine she picked up while waiting her turn at the dental office. Whatever. The damage was already done.

She fights to ignore the delicious throbbing between her legs, her body craving more of him and his touch. It bothered her, how her body was betraying her. With a sigh, she shifts away from Ivar’s scent, curling into herself and making a mental note to wash the bed sheets as soon as possible. A bath would be nice, preferably with lots of bubbles, but she was too lazy. She’d just have to wake up earlier.

She takes even breaths to calm her heart rate as she watches the candle on her nightstand flicker, hoping she’d find sleep soon.

.

Morning came a lot quicker than she hoped.

She was the epitome of a zombie, which meant she’d need her morning coffee. Her eyes were sensitive against the morning light and her body ached from more than just a sleepless night. She took a quick shower, fed Benji, and made her caffeinated drink. She was in complete autopilot, that is, until there was a knock on her door. Irritated at the early disturbance, she goes to the door with half a mind of what was on the other side of it.

Pink daisies. Twice as many as before. This time, they were arranged in a stained glass vase, much like the windows of a cathedral, with vivid colors of green, blue, and red, depicting a simplistic design. It must have cost him a pretty penny no doubt, but money was never a problem for him. It was lighter than the porcelain vase, but still heavy in her hands. She places it on the counter, her fingertips skimming over the silky petals as gently as she could without damaging them. They were beautiful, but she found herself unable to admire them. She had a melancholic view of them now. They couldn’t be her favorites anymore.

There was that white card again, hiding within the stems of the bouquet. She hesitates, her fingers grasping the rough textured paper, reluctant to peer inside in fear of another hurtful message. With a shaky breath she flips it open.

I’m sorry.

Love, Ivar.

The words were written messily, unusual for him as he had perfect penmanship learned from his years in boarding school. Again, the water from the vase dotted the card, causing the black ink to bleed a bit. Her fingers follow the streaks down to the edge, picking up some of the faded pigment. It was as if he were the one crying this time, asking for forgiveness with fucking flowers. Either this solution worked for him in the past or he was just really fucking stupid.

She bites her lip, fiddling with the card before opening her junk drawer and tossing it inside. She didn’t have the strength to get rid of it. She carefully takes the vase in both hands, setting them down on her coffee table and arranging her candles and other knick knacks around it until it pleased her. She sits on her sofa, watching Benji put both his paws on the surface of the coffee table, curious of the new scent in the flat. Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she searches her contact list, going to her blocked numbers. Ivar’s name was the only one on that list.

Unblock?

She pauses, her finger hovering over the button. One tap, and she would be signing up for more heartbreak. Then the image of the blonde appeared in her mind, her in bed with Ivar, smirking and devious. Mocking.

It wasn’t worth it.

With a sigh she tosses her phone onto the table with a loud clack, the corner smacking against the edge of the vase and spooking Benji. She sucks her teeth.

Forget it.

…

Ivar runs his large thumb over the smooth cream colored domino piece, watching Hvitserk deal the pieces out to him and Sigurd. He’s been in a foul mood since the night he left her flat and he’s been hugging alcohol and cigarettes to his side like long lost friends, specifically Patrón and Marlboro. They dulled whatever strange feeling he felt that fluttered in his chest whenever he thought of her.

Normally, women were never a problem for him. It was always the same routine. He’d find himself a pretty girl, date her for a bit, and find another one when he got bored. He’d tell them that love was out of the equation and that was it. There were a few that grew attached, but he’d nip it in the bud before it could escalate. Others were understanding. They’d have their fun and go on their merry way to do it over again with some other asshole. It was supposed to be simple. So why was she making things so fucking difficult?

Well, he wasn’t being entirely fair, he had to admit. They were both difficult. She had fallen in love with him after he warned her not to, and he couldn’t bring himself to keep away from her after he’d sent her away. He had a routine, dammit, but now all he finds himself wanting is a fucking routine with her. Like maybe a normal one. He had gotten use to her, her smile, her touches, her scent, fuck. How long had it been? A year? The longest he’d ever been with a girl. Seriously. And now Freydis was up his ass for attention. He knew the bimbo didn’t feel anything past physical attraction for him. It was just for his time and money, which he didn’t mind at first, but the bitch was terrible in bed and an unpleasant person to be around.

And so he hoped she’d appreciate the flowers. Women loved flowers, right?

Ivar gives the longest sigh he could muster in order to keep his thoughts at bay, deciding to stare at the domino in his hand. It had 2 giant black dots, and the longer he stared at it, the more they appeared like scrutinizing eyes, judging him and his decisions. He slams the piece face down on the table with a glare. Fuck, he was going crazy.

"Where'd you even get these?" He grunts, snatching up his forgotten beer and taking a sip. It wasn’t tequila but it’d have to do for now.

"Bjorn bought them for me from Cuba." Hvitserk says pointing at the little wooden box they came in with the Cuban flag expertly painted on the surface.

"He brings domino's but no cigars?" Sigurd grumbles, arranging his pieces away from the prying eyes of his brothers, “I’d rather cigars.”

"Domino's are way cooler than cigars, Sig," Hvitserk argues, "And maybe Bjorn doesn’t like you enough to bring you fucking cigars, but forget that. What I really want to know is why our baby brother here looks like fucking shit." Both the older brothers turn to look at Ivar with knowing looks, ready to tease if need be.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ivar argues, slamming his first piece down to commence the game. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping much these last few days. And maybe he had bags forming under his eyes and wasn’t eating much, preferring his alcohol and chimney sticks, but he wouldn’t go as far as to say he looks like shit. Then again, he wasn’t looking into his bathroom mirror much either.

“Hvits is right. You look like a kicked puppy, and not even a cute one.” Sigurd snickers, placing his own piece down with that stupid little smirk on his face.

“There is no such thing as ugly puppies.” Was the grunted reply.

“Point is, you look like shit. Have you been sleeping? We know how much you love your beauty sleep.”

“And fucking,” Hvitserk chimes in, placing down his domino, “I think Ivar has us beat. He’s competing with Bjorn at this point.”

“Or maybe it’s that little vixen of his causing trouble. How is she doing by the way? We haven’t seen her in a while.” Ivar flares his nose at the nickname that Sigurd had given her. He fucking hated it now more than ever.

“Shut. Up.” He snarls, sliding his domino piece hard enough to push the rest off the table.

“What the fuck, Ivar! If you break my shit, I’ll-”

“So this is what you guys do when I’m not at the office?” Ubbe bursts in through the door of their little lounging area, a frown forming on his lips as he eyes them in pure displeasure before they settled on the game pieces, “Who’s idea was it to play dominoes when we have clients blowing up our fucking phone’s? And drinking beer? That’s just brilliant. Assholes.”

“That’s why your girl is the secretary, Ubbe, she can handle it.” Sigurd waves his hand around, glad that Ubbe’s outburst overshadowed Ivar’s. When the youngest got mad, it wasn’t pretty, but it was fucking entertaining.

“It was my idea, by the way,” Hvitserk chuckles, placing all the pieces that fell back on the table top, “Wanna play? There’s more beer in the mini fridge.”

“You’re all fucking garbage.” Ubbe mutters, but heads over to the fridge to pull out a beer before plopping down on the empty chair beside Ivar with a sigh, “Before I forget, Ivar, Torvi says some guy just came by to drop something off for you.”

“I’m not expecting a package.”

“You sure? I’ll tell her to bring it in.” After a few minutes, Torvi peeks her head in through the crack of the door before fully opening it, a bouquet of wilted pink daisies in her hands. The color drains from Ivar’s face as the blonde approaches, handing him the flowers with this odd look on her face. Who would send Ivar fucking flowers anyway? And dying ones at that. His brothers immediately start to laugh at Ivar’s stunned look, another session of teasing on the way.

“You have another admirer, little bro?” Hvitserk chortles, mixing the domino pieces for a quick shuffle before dealing them.

“The flowers look like shit.” Comments Sigurd, leaning back against his chair. Ivar, still bewildered into silence, blinks stupidly. He stares at the wilted daisies, the petals easily falling off when he brings his fingers to touch them. They really did look like complete shit. Just like how he felt.

“There’s a card clipped in there. You gonna read it or what?” Ubbe taps his youngest brother's shoulder to elicit some kind of reaction from him. Ivar composes himself before quickly snatching the white card. It was one he had already written a message in by the looks of it. The card was bent at the edges, and he recognized the black ink from his favorite fountain pen.

Finally summing up the courage to read the message, he flips the card open, his previous simple apologetic words were crossed out. A new message was written below it that had his little cold heart hammering in his chest. He bites his lip, his blue eyes scanning the 4 words over and over again.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

…

The Tune ship is a fast sailing vessel able to transport passengers quickly across 100 meters. It is speculated that the vessel was a warship, able to carry its passenger and light cargo farther distances at a much faster-

“Ahh, there you are. In the library just as I assumed.” She quickly removes her eyes from her laptop screen in favor of the intruder that addressed her. She immediately stands, pushing it aside and placing her hands behind her back. The museum director, Mr. Kent, chuckles at her nervousness, smoothing a hand down his pale beard. He must have been a blonde in his youth as his hair had a faint yellow glow when under sunlight. He was a decent man of English origin, specifically from Winchester, who had taken over as the museum director about a year ago. He was a man who loved to dress well, fancy suits and shoes to demonstrate his abundance of money, but it wasn't haughty, not like the Ragnarsson’s. Mr. Kent came from even older money, and apparently from a line of kings that ruled England centuries ago. He had a massive reputation, to say the least. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m actually in need of a favor. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. Kent, what can I do for you?”

“Please,” He chuckles, “Ecbert is fine. As for the favor, my grandson will be moving from Winchester in a few short weeks, right before the gala for the Tune ship exhibit. I’d like for him to shadow you during your tours, if that is alright with you?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. It would be an honor.” Fuck no, it wouldn’t. The last person that shadowed her was super fucking annoying and ended up getting fired anyway, but since this was Ecbert’s grandson, it would be different, he’d have privilege. Hopefully he wasn’t douche.

And shit. The fucking gala. She’d almost forgotten about it. It was the only event that the museum held in which she could attend, dress up, and feel pretty, but it was the one event that made her more nervous than anything else. She’d be surrounded by the richest people in the country, patrons of the Viking Ship Museum and other prestigious institutions and universities.  And champagne, lot’s of champagne. Rich people knew how to party.

“Excellent,” He smiles, clapping his hands together as if to solidify their agreement, “Don’t let me take up more of your time, I know you're doing your research for the new exhibit. I’ll be happy to give you access to the archives if you’d like? You might find something of interest that isn’t in the scholarly journals online.”

“That would be fantastic, Sir, thank you.”

“Have a great day.” She watches the older man leave, before plopping back down onto the cushioned seat with a sigh. He wasn’t as intimidating as their last asshole director, but she still treads softly around him. You can never get too comfy with those above you.

She did some more research for another half hour before checking her watch. Another tour of the Oseberg ship was scheduled in a few minutes and she would be free to go home and feel sorry for herself and her love life. She puts away her laptop in her purse, quickly rushing over to her office to freshen up before the tour. It was a busy day at the museum as they were now at the start of tourist season, which meant the museum allowed for bigger groups to be guided, and more people meant more noise and more irritation. Walking toward the entrance of the museum, she scans her eyes over the group of the afternoon, suddenly hoping to find a pair of blue eyes looking back at her. But that wasn’t the case. She frowns. He wouldn’t come looking for her after that fucking stunt she pulled. She shouldn’t want him to look for her anyway.

She sighs, plastering the fakest smile on her face before greeting the group.

.

Her phone was truly the devil. Honestly, did it intend to constantly notify her on Ivar’s posts and images? And since when did he post so damn much? She’d have to turn off her notifications, or block him off of Snapchat. Actually, why not just throw the whole fucking phone away? Ridiculous. She grumbles to herself, wondering why she hadn’t deleted him off of any social media apps yet. There was an answer to that, she just didn’t care to admit it. She was never into that stuff anyway, just keeping her accounts for communication purposes for her friends and family back home. It was getting rather lonely. Her time was mostly spent with Ivar, and now that they’re having their little rift, she realized her lack of friends. Had she really revolved her life around him? Shit.

Stretching her legs down the length of the sofa, she makes herself comfortable for the stupid shit she was about to do. She grabs her phone, scrolling through her apps and goes on Instagram. Ivar had posted 3 new photos. He was out at some bar in the city having a good ass time it seemed. His best friend, Heahmund, was in all of them, probably as a chaperone since Ivar couldn’t handle his liquor much. Heahmund was a good friend for that and Ivar was lucky to have the British fuck look out for him.

Ivar’s story was filled with clips of him goofing off. He was totally drunk, she could tell by how lidded and unfocused his eyes were, and how pink his lips were from constantly pursing them over a glass. His hair was all fucked up and out of its usual bun, as if he were fucking someone right before the video was recorded. Almost immediately after the thought, a drunk Freydis comes into the shot. That explained it. She should really throw her phone away.

Freydis giggles at the camera before placing her lips to his cheek, trailing them down his neck in sloppy kisses.

A rage boiled within her and she felt her fingers tighten around her phone. She needed to calm down. He was doing his own thing and she might as well do hers, though it was much easier said than done. The other videos he posted were of him taking shots of whatever it was, most likely tequila, and grinning into the camera like an idiot. Or maybe she was the idiot. Why should she mope around while he was having the time of his life? She knew how to have fun!...Right? Well, sometimes. Okay, maybe not. That party she met Ivar in? It was an invitation she had refused countless times. She couldn’t be bothered with the guy who begged her to go, but she went anyway due to her lack of socialization at the time.

Going out and partying was never fun when she was always the sober one. She did drink of course, but her tolerance was a lot better than most, say, like Ivar. She couldn’t count with her fingers the amount of times she had to call an Uber to get his ass home. The very few times she’d gone out with his brothers, it always ended with the same outcome, except Ubbe would end up saving their sorry asses.

Ubbe was the sweetheart, why couldn’t she have felt this way about him instead? Right, he had a girlfriend. She grumbles to herself, thinking she's better off alone.

…

“Where are you going?” The scent of alcohol had rooted itself deep within Freydis’s pores, her breath tickling his ear in an unpleasant manner. She stops him when he slips off the bar stool, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like how her hands felt on him or the look she wore. He didn’t like any of it. The loud trap music that blared from the speakers had activated him earlier that night, but now it made his head ache something terrible. The bass seemed to be vibrating right through him and he rubbed the side of his temple to subdue the growing headache. He reached out to stabilize himself on the bar counter. He was so fucking drunk.

“I gotta pee. Get off me.” Ivar grumbles, pushing her away with little grace. Clingy bitch.

“What?” The blonde scowls, her eyebrows arching and her lips set in a tight line. Shit. He said that out loud?

“Nothing.”

“I think he called you a clingy bitch, actually.” Heahmund repeats Ivar’s demeaning words, a chuckle escaping his red stained lips from the wine he was drinking. This was the fun part of the night for the older man. Ivar had no filter when he was drunk. Well, he never really did have a filter, sober or not, but it was a lot funnier when he had alcohol in his system. He could be ruthless.

“I fucking heard him, asshole.” Freydis snaps, seemingly sobering up now that she was angry. Heahmund breaks out in a smile to which she glares in return.

“I gotta pee.” Ivar announces again, not bothering to look at Freydis before stumbling towards the restrooms. He belches after letting out a series of hiccups, pausing to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was so fucking drunk. How many shots of Patrón had he taken? 3..4..? He started counting out loud, bringing his unoccupied hand to his face in order to use his fingers. Wait, there weren’t enough fingers on that hand. He stumbles again when he lets go of the wall, using the other hand to make his calculations. 5...8? Shit, he lost track. Forget it. It was a lot of Patrón.

Using his shoulder, he bursts in through the restroom door, mumbling an apology when he runs into someone. Ignoring the blurry image of the guy scowling at him, he makes his way into a stall and pisses his life away, his head resting against the cold tiled wall as he scrambles to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t happy. The alcohol wasn’t making him happy. Freydis wasn’t making him happy. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was a simple man with simple pleasures yet for some reason, a basic routine and a basic girl weren’t enough anymore. This was all her fault. Why was she torturing him without even trying? In his intoxicated state he could still remember how her voice trembled when she cried and how her eyes looked when they glossed over with tears. How drunk did he need to be to admit that he had hurt her? Really fucking drunk. Like now.

He slams the red door of the stall open, not even flinching when it banged against the stall beside it, maneuvering himself clumsily over to the sink. Gripping the porcelain, he leans forward to get a good look at himself through the streaky mirror. His eyes were so low he could barely see himself, cheeks flushed bright pink and lips matching in color. When did his bun get loose? He looks at his wrist hoping to find a hair tie but scowls when he finds none. He grunts in annoyance, turning on the tap to wash his hands before dragging his wet fingers through his hair. The cold water felt good on his heated face and he closed his eyes for a moment. He gazes at himself one last time before coming to a decision. He needed to talk to her. Right now.

Digging in the pocket of his simple denim jeans, he whips out his phone, struggling to find her contact name before pressing the call button and bringing the device to his ear.

You have reached the voice mailbox of 45-

Fuck. He forgot. She blocked him.

He wanted to throw his phone in frustration. Why did she block him? Did she not understand that he needed to talk to her right now?

Oh wait. Snapchat. Snapchat has video calls. That’s it. Ivar immediately takes a fat finger to scroll to the app, forcefully pressing down on the little ghost in haste. Finding her name in his contacts list, he presses the little video icon, hoping she’d answer. After a few seconds he almost gives up, but then his screen lights up, and he is rewarded with her tired eyes.

“Hey,” He breathes, noting the dim light in her room, “Were you sleeping?” He slurs, and immediately curses himself for sounding so stupid. He clears his throat in the hopes of gaining his language skills back.

“Ivar?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. It was exactly how she sounded when he used to wake her up in the morning with soft, lazy kisses to her shoulder. He missed that. “It’s like 2am. What are you calling me for?”

“I...I don’t know. Missed...your voice.” The words poured out his mouth like vomit. Actually, he was shocked he hadn’t gotten to that point. He threw up at least once after a hard night of drinking. His eyes fell shut as he leaned his head back against the wall beside the sink. God, this speech impediment was bad. He hears her snort tiredly on the other end.

“You’re drunk.”

“Mm...noooo, no. Mm not.”

“I can smell the tequila from here.”

“Wait, really?” His eyes pop open as he brings his phone closer to his face. He couldn’t focus all that well, but he could make out her sleepy features. Those pretty lashes of hers brushed over her cheeks with every lazy blink, and her messy hair was placed in a high ponytail at the top of her head.

“No.” Was her flat reply, pure irritation seeping through the word. Ivar stares at her displeased look for a moment longer, sighing in an almost dream like manner.

“You look beautiful.” He answers back, sliding down the wall to sit in a much more comfortable position. He didn’t care if the floor was dirty, he was drunk, and he didn’t want his legs to start hurting like a bitch.

“Shut the fuck up,” She says, “Words of a drunk.”

“I’m being serrrrious,” Ivar whines, “You always look amazing, you know that?”

“Right. Is Heahmund still there?”

“Yeah,” He pouts, “Why? You’d rather talk to him? You like him or something?” Ivar had never been the jealous type, but he was whenever it involved his brothers or Heahmund. When he had started seeing her, their interest zeroed in on her like fucking hawks, and so he made it abundantly clear to them that she was off limits. She was his conquest, no one else’s. So no, he wouldn’t consider himself the jealous type, but everyone else needed to stay the fuck away from her, even if she wasn’t his to play with anymore.

“No, Ivar, to make sure you’re gonna get home okay.” She sighs, shifting in her sheets and rubbing her face in frustration, “And it seems you will.”

“Aw, you worry about me?” He grins stupidly, his mood shifting wildly as he rubs his phone on his sweaty cheek as if to send her affection.

“No more than you do for me. How’s Freydis by the way?” The bitterness in her tone was enough to bring him down from whatever high he was feeling. Ivar scowls, shifting the phone back so they were now directly looking at each other. He blinks, trying to clear his head again. Freydis. He forgot about her already. And he didn’t really care anyway.

“Clingy bitch,”  He muttered his words from earlier, “I don’t wanna talk about her. I wanna talk about you.” He almost laughed when she pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“What about me, hmm?”

“I dunno,” He shrugs, his eyes searching hers through his fingerprint covered screen before passing them over her visible form again. She was wearing that one t-shirt she favored, the comfy one with the large neckline that always slid down enough to expose one of her smooth shoulders. Her messy hair and tired eyes reminded him of the many nights spent together tangled under his sheets. It made him swallow thickly as he brought a hand down the center of his jeans to ease the growing ache. Fuck, he needed to get his shit together. Still, in their silence he conjured up images and ideas in his head that he certainly shouldn’t at that moment, but fuck it. He licks his lips, feeling the sly grin stretching across his face at the words his brain had given to him, ready to spill from his mouth, “Maybe I just want to talk about the way your back arches under my hands, or the sounds you make when I-”

“Ivar,” She stops him immediately, her face blooming that pink color he loved, “Kindly shut the fuck up.” She looked like she was about to say something more, something much harsher and meaner, but she stopped herself. Instead, she takes in a breath, rubbing her eyes, and suddenly, she didn’t seem all that tired anymore. “Did you like the flowers?” She asks instead.

“Huh?” His eyebrows curve in confusion as his hazy mind tries to decipher the meaning behind the question. What was she talking about? Flowers? What flow-Oh. Right.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

He sighs, leaning his head back against the tiled wall. He could hear the transition of trap music out in the bar to some basic pop he hadn’t heard on the radio in years. He was in no mood for Kesha.

“I hated them.” He mutters truthfully. The wilted daisies made his heart sink. He’d never felt that way before. Was that how he made all those other women feel? He chews the inside of his cheek, ignoring the pulse behind his eyes and the ache in his head. Finally, the nausea kicked in and his stomach churned for the inevitable. He swallows thickly, running his hand through his messy hair, her eyes following his every movement trying to read his expression. Even in his intoxicated state, he made it hard for her to read him.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He says miserably. Why does he fuck everything up? If he had never gone to that stupid party in the first place, he would have never met her, and he wouldn’t be feeling that way he does now. Like complete trash.

“What a shame,” She says, cocking her head to the side, her ponytail brushing against her cheekbone, “Just take your own advice, and try not to fall in love.” She gives him one last look before she hangs up, having him stare at his screen for a few seconds to understand what just happened. He remains seated on the dirty bathroom floor for a few moments longer, continuing to ignore his churning stomach and the tightness of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Heahmund bursts in through the door, immediately grabbing hold of Ivar’s arm and helping in lifting him up to his feet, “You’ve been in here for 20 minutes. Freydis left in a cab.”

“Good for her.” Ivar grunts, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He pushes Heahmund away, going back to stand in front of the mirror. He looked sick, sweat building up near his hairline.

“What’s wrong with you, hmm?” The older man questions, crossing his arms and using that tone on him as if he didn’t have 4 fucking older brothers already.

“Being a fucking idiot, that’s what.” Ivar says, closing his eyes as his chest burned with that familiar sensation.

“Finally feeling bad about what you did, huh?” Heahmund questions, “You know, no amount of fucking flowers and alcohol is gunna fix anything or make you feel better. You needed a reality check. She gave it to you.”

“And you call yourself my friend, traitor?” Ivar managed to say before pushing past him and into a stall, heaving out all the contents from his tequila filled stomach.

…

The Tune ship exhibit was coming together.

The fragments of the ship were strategically pieced together to form the remains of the ancient ship to its former glory. Well, most of it anyway. It was a fraction of what it once was in the past, but it was still an impressive archeological find, and although it wasn’t as massive as the Oseberg or the Gokstad, it was still considerable in length. She felt like a speck of dust standing beside it despite its lack of framework. She observes the rotted wood and the grooves within each ancient plank, wishing she could reach out and touch it; to feel what they must have felt like a thousand years ago. It’s been 2 years since she began working at the Viking Ship Museum and she still found herself in awe at every artifact that entered their exhibits. She supposed it was the bookworm in her. Ahh fuck. That’s what Ivar calls her.

She immediately frowns, her face twisting in displeasure. Somehow, her thoughts always went back to him, and that irritated her greatly.

“Hello?” The unrecognizable voice echoes throughout the empty exhibit. She looks over her shoulder at the intruder, her gaze gravitating to meet the clearest blue eyes of a boyish young man. The blackest hair she’d ever seen frames his blushing cheeks and the tips brush softly over his shoulders. She blinks at him, cocking her head.

“Uhh, hi?”

“I’m sorry,” He lets out a nervous chuckle, looking around the unfinished exhibit to avoid meeting her eyes from his embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He had a gentle voice, a hint of shyness in the undertones. And extremely British.

“No it’s fine,” She approaches him, sticking out her hand to greet him with a handshake and a small smile, “You must be Mr. Kent’s grandson. I wasn’t expecting you so soon…?”

“Alfred,” He answers, grasping her hand and offering her a timid smile back, “It’s a pleasure.” 

...

@a-daydreamers-day @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff​ @syrenak @soleil-dor @walkxthexmoon​ @zuxiezendler @homeyzeus @redenzione​ @mariaenchanted​ @laricebabe @hecohansen31

There are some of you that Tumblr won’t let me tag! They are in bold. I’m sorry 😭

#ivar #vikings #vikings ivar #alex hogh andersen #ivarfanfiction #vikings fanfic #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless

[baby-grayson]

Kind Stranger| Part 2|GBD

Read Part 1 Here

 Word Count: 2.8k (teeny tiny)

Trigger Warning: quarantine talk Tags (Thank you to the amazing dumpling that taught me how to do this!!): @evergreendolan​ @someonetogray​ @vintagedolan​ A/N: Thank you to everyone who gave me their thoughts on the first part. Please let me know what you think on this one, I love getting any kind of feedback. 

Grayson opened his eyes as the earliest rays of sunlight trickled in through his window. He pushed himself out of his bed and began his morning routine in a daze: half asleep as he brushed his teeth and found a clean pair of underwear. His consciousness awoke during his daily piece of avocado toast, which he ate while enjoying the view from their kitchen window. In his groggy state, he left the plate at the table when he went to put a load of laundry in the washer. He took the liberty of moving Ethan’s clothes from the washer to the dryer and starting it for him.

Grayson retrieved his phone from his nightstand, opening twitter for a brief scroll. He and Ethan published their video about Ethan’s acne yesterday; twitter was not very pleased with them. Grayson’s jaw tightened as he read the accusations about him and his brother. Grayson forcefully planted his phone back on his nightstand. He ran his hands through his hair, thinking back to the long nights on the couch where he wrapped an arm around Ethan’s shoulder and consoled him through his journey towards self-love. Without opening it again, Grayson shoved his phone in his pocket before grabbing the keys to the van from on top of his dresser. Walking out of the house, he quickly scanned the entryway and living room. He stopped and went back to place his avocado toast plate into the sink, reminding himself to wash it when he got home. He scanned again, not seeing anything out of place. Silently, he wished Ethan sweet dreams from across the house and slipped out the front door.

His breath left him when he reached the shore at his favorite morning beach. His lips turned down, jaw tightening as he noticed that her footsteps laid in the sand before he arrived. “Of fucking course,” Grayson groaned softly before collapsing down to the ground. It wasn’t enough that his brother was being accused of ugly things by strangers, but he missed crossing paths with Kate for the first time in the two weeks since their nearly silent friendship started. He laid back on the sand, feeling thousands of tiny, jagged pieces creep under his shirt and into the waistband of his shorts.

For a fraction of a second, Grayson thought about grabbing his phone from his pocket and looking again at the comments. He stopped himself quickly. Taking a deep breath, he knew the best way to deal with this feeling was with Ethan by his side. Ethan grounded him. Ethan tethered him back to Earth. Ethan was the cautious, practical mind to Grayson’s own idealistic, fanciful one. Grayson thought about Ethan, at home and laying in his bed. He hoped his brother slept well and long. Poor Ethan was going to wake up to the same storm that greeted Grayson.

No, he’s not going to think about this, Grayson decided dwelling on this topic was no use without his brother. Grayson sat up, his eyes followed Kate’s footsteps all the way to the right and then all the way to the left. Why was he so excited to see her? She was just a girl. A pretty girl, sure. But Grayson had met lots of pretty girls over the years. Damn, Ethan was right…maybe Gray was getting desperate. Next thing you know, he would be writing love letters to the old lady at the grocery store check out counter.

Damning Ethan aside, Grayson was genuinely excited to see Kate. She had crossed his mind more than once during his morning drive. He didn’t know anything about her. Grayson looked down at her footprints again, the only sign that she had already crossed the shore. He squinted.

One footprint was deeper than the other. Odd. He reached over with his own thumb to make sure his eyes were not tricking him. Yup, one foot was a whole half-thumb deeper than the other. Maybe she wears weird shoes. He didn’t think long on this before kicking some sand into the footprint. He swung his shirt from his head and rested it beside him. He laid back. If he couldn’t surf, and he couldn’t talk to a pretty girl, the least he could do was work on his tan.

The sun felt good on his skin. His breathing slowed, and he found a serene inner quiet. On that early Thursday morning, on a secluded beach in Malibu, Grayson found a moment of peace. 

“You’re late” He grinned, feeling his face get warm.

“I thought you already left,” he opened his eyes to be greeted by her smile. “You do realize I have to walk back to get to my car right?” she chuckled and kicked off her sandals. She laid her purse in the sand and dropped to sit beside Grayson. He noted a sweet, citrus scent as she settled down on the sand.

“I guess I didn’t think about you having a car, you kind of just appeared here every day” “That’s fair, I’m probably just a figment of your imagination.” If it wasn’t for her laugh, Grayson would have considered that a possibility. “That is a possibility,” he chuckled, “why do you come out here anyways?”

She paused for a moment. Grayson noticed the sea breeze lift her dark locks from her shoulders. “I’m new to town,” she decided on. “Being stuck in my apartment during a pandemic, when I don’t know anyone around here gets real boring, real quick.” Grayson nodded in agreement. “What about you? I’m surprised you’re here without your board.”

Grayson sucked in a soft breath against his teeth, “I like being here. I mean, I like the beach. It’s a good place to get away, have a moment.” “Wow, that’s deep dude.” She looked at him with a glossy look in her eye and her lips pursed. Grayson looked back, feeling his cheeks get warm again. She threw her head back and let out a loud laugh. “I’m sorry. Sarcasm isn’t nice,” she said with a warm smile. Grayson shook his head softly and smiled at her, “I’m down with it.” Was that cringe? It sounded cringe. “But no, I really love the beach. I guess it’s my space to not have to think about the rest of the world.” “Hm..how California boy of you,” Grayson chuckled along with her this time. She was cute, the way she poked gentle fun at him. She was silly. “So you said you’re new here? where are you from?” She started “West Philadelphia born and raised, on the playground is where I spent most of my days” Grayson joined in “Chilin out maxin relaxin all cool, shooting some b-ball outside in the hood” They shared a warm laugh. Grayson grinned as she flashed him one of her bright smiles. “But really, where are you from?” He probed. She laughed, “West Philly, born and raised. Weren’t you listening?!” They giggled together.

“That’s cool,” he responded as his smile grew wider by the second. “I’m from just over the river in New Jersey.”

“Oh, so you’re not a native California boy. So tell me— how long do I have before the water gets to me and I turn into a blonde, Instagram goddess?” There she goes again, soft pokes. Kind of like kindergarten.

“I’m not sure. I’ve been here five years and I have yet to turn into a goddess if that means anything”

She laughed, “Well it’s good to know time is on my side.” She played with the brown leather band of a simple wristwatch. She looked down at the watch face and mumbled, “shit.” She started to gather her purse and sandals from the sand and stand as she said, “I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late for…something.” She wrestled her sandals onto her feet.

Grayson felt a wave of awkwardness wash over his body. Should he offer to walk her to the car? No, that’s too much. Should he ask what she’s going to be late for? Maybe that’s a little creepy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She pushed her hair behind her ears, looking down at Grayson on the ground. “Yeah I’ll be here tomorrow.” Grayson smiled shyly, more aware of his body language now than he had been for the past half hour.

She started to walk up the beach but looked back at him, “Don’t be late! Bye Grayson” His name sounded good coming out of her mouth.

”Bye Kate!” Shit, I should have asked for her number.

Once she was out of earshot, Grayson groaned out loud and threw a rock into the ocean. He watched the tiny, smooth thing pierce through the rough, complicated ocean surface. Grayson wiped the sand off his body as he stood up and started to walk back to his van.

When Grayson arrived home, he found Ethan at the counter, in his underwear, eating some cereal and dairy free milk. “You see twitter?” Ethan commented as Grayson put his keys down. For a small moment, Grayson had forgotten about the video fiasco. For a second, he had forgotten about every part of his place on the internet. His tough but clearly upset brother brought him back to reality. Grayson moved toward the counter and wrapped a familiar arm around Ethan’s shoulders.

 ***********

As Grayson settled into bed, later that same day, his mom called him. His mother asked if he and Ethan were willing to fly out to New Jersey to spend the weekend with her. His mother told him that his sister was coming for the weekend and she wanted all of her kids under the same roof for a few nights. Grayson told his mom that he and Ethan would make it out to Jersey for the weekend, wished her a good night, and said he loved her. Grayson used his phone to buy two plane tickets for Friday evening: tomorrow evening.

He thought about Kate. What if he doesn’t show up on Saturday and Kate thinks he’s not interested? Or mean? Or weird? Or a flake? And deep down, in a place he wasn’t ready to touch yet, he wanted more of her. He found solace in how different she was, so grounded and natural compared to his LA lifestyle. His own slice of New Jersey on a California beach.

He wanted to go back and talk to her every day, all day, until they both lost their voices and had to draw pictures in the sand to communicate. He had yet to separate these deep feelings from his general loneliness, it had been over a year since he was more than anyone’s ‘Netflix and Chill’. Ethan had taken to calling him desperate and urging Grayson to audition for the Bachelor. He pushed these thoughts aside, not having the emotional bandwidth to process this all right now. He was going to ask for her number. People still did that right? Maybe it had been too long for Grayson…

 **********

The next morning, Grayson felt the beach winds move through his loose muscle shirt. He ran a hand through his hair, still getting used to its new short form. He decided against sitting on the sand since he was not intending to be planted on the ground today.

The decision not to sit started his anxiety. He was changing their routine, what if she wasn’t okay with it? Why didn’t he think of this earlier? How long were they going to spend together? What if she was just being nice? What is it that she called herself? Yeah what if she was just being a kind stranger?

Once more, he ran a hand through his hair. He plunged both of his hands into his pockets to prevent any future hair touching. He took a deep breath in, listened to a wave break on the shore, and released the air from his lung. When he looked up, a dainty, happy figure was walking toward him. “Good Morning” she said sweetly. “Good Morning,” Grayson smiled and took his hands out of his pockets. Oh no, did he just mess up his outfit? “Would you believe this is the first time I’ve seen you standing up?” she placed a hand over her eyes to look up at his face against the light of the sun. “I promise I don’t usually spend a lot of time on my ass” Was that funny? That was supposed to be funny..

She took a moment to look him up and down. Her eyes locked on his. “I thought you’d be taller”

Grayson laughed heartily while she smiled with an accomplished look on her face. He quieted down and found a moment when they were just standing there, looking at each other. A happy Grayson let the moment hang in the air before saying, “Can I join you? I’m curious to see where this beach leads.” A half-truth. Kate smiled and nodded “Yeah, come along. But don’t be disappointed, it just leads to more beach.” Grayson already knew that, but he nodded along anyway, “Still, I feel like a walk” The pair started along the shoreline together. Grayson smelled her familiar sweet, citrus scent. He felt the sunshine down on his arms and the exposed parts of his back, energizing his entire body. Her bright eyes met his and they shared a smile. From a few yards away, they heard a peculiar, gulping noise. Grayson looked up while Kate pointed and laughed at a seagull attempting to eat an entire banana.

Once again, on that Malibu beach, early in the morning, Grayson found a rare moment of peace. He looked down, seeing his large footsteps align with her tiny ones. I should say something, I should say something. Grayson felt his face go hot again. Grayson gulped down again, shaking his palms subtly to dislodge the sweat coming to the surface of his skin. He looked down at her face, beaming brighter than the sun on that Friday morning.

Grayson looked down at their feet, watching her walk along the sand. He saw her right leg dig deep into the sand, gracefully holding her body up. Then, he saw her left leg meekly touch the surface of the sand before trading off duty to the other leg. The footprints…

“Did you hurt yourself?” Grayson gestured down to her left side.

She stiffened. Her shoulders fell back like a toy soldier; small and inviting but erect and ready. Grayson’s eyes wandered to her lips; her full pink mouth sat pursed above her chin. She let out a small breath before replying. “No…I have a bad leg.” Grayson heard the period at the end of the sentence. She was curt with her words, but not harsh.   “Oh, I’m sorry…” Was he sorry for asking? Or sorry that she had a bad leg? Well, he was sorry for both, so it didn’t really matter.

She nodded softly. Silence hung in the air around them. On one side of them, the ocean crashed into the shore. On the other side, an eerily quiet LA hid behind the cliffs. “Speaking of injuries,” she broke the silence, “how’s your foot?” “It’s doing better, “Grayson noted, “I’ll probably be back on my board by Monday.” Or maybe Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday… “well if you came out looking like that, I would hate to see the other guy,” she smiled sweetly at him, “even though he’s a pebble” she held in a small giggle. “Funny you say that, I’m leaving tonight to spend the weekend with my mom. I’m worried that I might meet a mean pinecone and injure the other foot,” Grayson joked. “I’ll be here if you’re in need of anymore emergency medicine” she quipped back. “Thanks for the offer,” he chuckled. “But I’m actually going home to Jersey for a few days, so I’ll be too far away for any in person care.” Grayson swallowed hard in his throat. “Could I have your number?”

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Was that funny? Did she like it? Did she like him? Was she just being polite? Was that okay? It probably wasn’t okay. He hadn’t done this for like a year and a half. Do people still use phone numbers? What if she says no, how does he play it off? He felt a single bead of sweat dance down his neck and meander its way down his back.

She looked at him. She really looked at him. She saw the diamond embeds on his canine teeth. She saw the silver chain on his neck, sparkling in the reflection of the sun. She saw the tattoos covering his legs. She saw his muscles bulging through his tank top. He was so LA, so very LA and yet he wasn’t. And that part of him that was so not LA, made her say “Yeah, of course you can.” A/N: Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it! I would love to get feedback on the length. I prefer to write in short pieces but edit them heavily before I post them. I can write longer parts but it will take more time. Also, I know the pacing is a slow so tell me how you do/don’t like that.  Thank you again for reading bb <3

#grayson dolan #graysonbailey #graysonxoc #grayson and ethan #dolan twins #fanfic #fluff #fluffy #ethan #ethan dolan

[def-initely-soul]

hi there and happy spooky season! 🎃 can I have a smol fic with jimin and the prompts "please don't touch the human remains" & "of course, the graveyard at midnight is super sexy and not creepy, let's go there" from the supernatural list? thank you!!

hey to you too!! of course baby, hope you like it 😊😊

pairing: jimin from bts x reader (f.)

prompts: "please don't touch the human remains" & "of course, the graveyard at midnight is super sexy and not creepy, let's go there"

genre: supernatural au; f2l au; fluff; PG-15

warnings: mature language; suggestive themes

words: 2.1k

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“Come ooooon, we’re gonna miss it and then it won’t work!” you pout at your best friend as you drag him deeper into the dead of night. It’s Halloween, too late for anyone to be out at this hour and you bask in the stillness of the dark. It brings an almost serene smile to your face, knowing you’re about to show your best friend the one thing you could never tell him until recently.

You’re a witch.

Jimin didn’t know, obviously, and you never told him as one young witch should never reveal herself to a human. But just a week ago, he stumbled upon you practising a spell. Not much could be told from your part to convince him it was all fake. Not when he saw you floating.

And now, after escaping an extremely boring Halloween party, you promised him you’d show him your powers one more time. For good measure.

It’s the perfect setting for you; in the middle of the night, under a new moon and on holy grounds.

That’s why you’re headed for the cemetery.

“You know, when I said “of course, the graveyard at midnight is super sexy and not creepy, let's go there”, it was sarcasm, I didn’t actually mean it,” Jimin explains slowly as if talking to a child and you roll your eyes. His ass is so uptight.

“God, you’re such a scaredy-cat, you wanted to see some spell-casting and that’s what you’re gonna get!” you turn to throw a wink to his direction, one that has him choking on whatever smartassery he was about to spew. Satisfied by his lack of response, you begin walking again.

Finally, the graveyard comes into view and you can barely conceal your squeals. You see, you’re not simply gonna perform any kind of spell to make him believe you, no.

You have a plan. A plan which if successful could change your lives.

“Okaaaay, sit here…” you instruct him towards an empty spot between the graves and Jimin’s wide eyes are dancing through the space, shaking ever so slightly as he pierces his lips. Something that really is in contrast with what he’s wearing.

He came as Geralt of Rivia, dressed in a black shirt with the arm, neck and shoulder pieces, the matching vest, gloves and black leather pants. Of course, his blonde hair isn’t long enough as the character’s but it’s just long enough to be gathered in a makeshift bun.

Honestly, he looks mouthwatering and you can’t stop imagining what he’d look without the assembly on the top.

“Hey, wake up,” Jimin snaps his fingers on his face and with slight embarrassment, you realize you were lost in your thoughts. Thoughts about the contents of his torso.

“Right, yeah…” you resume as your eyes fall to your satchel bag, once again urging him to sit down.

Jimin cocks an eyebrow at you, but does as you say nonetheless.

“Okay, so what are you gonna do? Float again?” he jokes but his wavering eyes show you he’s not quite comfortable yet.

So you reach out your hand to cover his palm as his stare returns to you in surprise.

“It’s gonna be fine, okay? I’m here…” you comfort him with a kind smile and his eyes gleam with something before he releases a heavy breath.

He chuckles nervously, drawing his eyes away from you but his hand doesn’t abandon your own. “Okay, yeah…” he replies before taking another breath. “I trust you…” his eyes are once more on you, but they’re steady and certain as his plump lips give you a soft smile.

It’s your turn to swallow down your nerves.

“Good!” you say, entirely too cheery to be considered normal but Jimin doesn’t comment on your demeanour, thankfully. After realizing your hands are still touching you drag yours away quickly, mentally cursing yourself as you turn around to go through your bag for what you need.

“No, wait!” Jimin yelps, the sound too alarming in the calm silence stretching over the cemetery that it makes you jump in your spot. You turn to look at him with furrowed eyebrows and at least he has the decency to appear sorry.

He points his finger behind you and you see you almost let your hand fall through the hole to an open grave.

“Please don't touch the human remains…” he cautions and you giggle at his adorable demeanour. You thought you wouldn’t be able to find him cute and hot at the same time, but well. There’s a first time for everything.

He sends you a deadly glare at your giggle, staring at you through hooded eyes and, yes, cuteness is all gone.

You clear your throat before taking what you need out of your bag and assemble them on the ground between you. You don’t need a cloth for the ritual as the ingredients need to be in touch with sacred ground. You simply begin mixing your oils into a wooden bowl, adding a bit of the earth bellow you and some sage as you recount the spell you’ve come to know by heart.

Jimin’s stare on you is indecipherable, eyes intense and curious as your palms rise above the bowl. Your energy flows through your body, from where it touches the ground, up to your hands and into the bowl, making your hair move on your shoulders even though there’s no wind. Jimin’s eyes gleam as they stare at you in awe but you don’t let his stare distract you.

You recount the spell one more time and then everything is silent.

Which means it worked. 

“What was that?”Jimin asks breathlessly as you take the bowl in your hands and dive your fingers inside to gather some of the concoction to your fingertip.

“It’s a truth salve. It’s used either to reveal occasional health problems by applying it to any part of the body, as a magic detector by applying it on the lids, ears and palms or as a simple lie detector,” you answer him, showing him the thick liquid on your finger. He swallows the lump in his throat as he stares as if bewitched.

“And where do you apply it for it to act as a lie detector…?” he asks cautiously, eyes finding yours immediately and you smirk as you stand on your knees.

“On the mouth…” you almost whisper as you wipe your finger on top of your bottom lip. Jimin’s breaths turn heavy as he watches the movement with the utmost attention, instinctively licking his bottom lip.

“Do you wanna try it…?” you ask innocently.

He nods dazedly.

You drag your knees forward slowly, deliberately as you don’t let your eyes abandon his. Jimin watches your every movement entranced as if he physically cannot take his eyes away from you. Instead, when you crawl on top of him, he makes more room for you, removing his hands from his lap as your legs rest on each side of his own, trapping him beneath you.

Your knees are digging into the ground, your flimsy dress doing very little to ease the pain but you don’t mind at all. Not when the look in Jimin’s eyes only encourages you further, not when his palms are rising to rest on your thighs, dragging your dress in their wake.

You suck in a breath, as your eyes finally rest on his feature that needs the most attention.

His lips are plumpy, soft-looking and shiny, and when he bites his bottom lip in what seems like anticipation, you can’t help the shaky exhale that escapes you.

You gather yourself immediately, gathering more liquid on your fingertip before raising it towards his mouth. Jimin’s eyes seem to ignore the digit, instead focused on you, making your heartbeat rise.

You let your finger rest at the corner of his mouth for a second. And then you drag it slowly, tenderly across his plush bottom lip. His mouth opens slightly to help you but then his tongue peaks out. You can barely see it, just barely, just enough to see the tip of his tongue run across his upper lip.

You swallow down your nerves as you reach the other corner of his mouth and then you drag your finger away.

Now that the salve is applied there’s no reason for you to remain seated on his lap and yet you make no move to abandon the warmth of his body. Jimin doesn’t push you away either and if it’s possible you feel his grip on your thighs tighten.

“Okay, so...” you whisper, momentarily distracted by his lips pressing together as he tastes the salve. “I��ll ask you something you haven’t told me and you’ll be forced to tell me the truth…” you continue and you practically see him bracing himself.

You take a breath.

“Why did you punch Johnny Martin?” you ask quickly, not wanting to ask him something that’ll make him lose his trust in you. He’d told you it was because Johnny Martin picked up a fight with him cause he was drunk, but you didn’t believe him. Because at that time, you and Johnny Martin had just broken up because he was jealous of your friendship with Jimin. You’ve had an inkling it was about that and not some stupid drunken fight.

“He called you a slut because of me,” Jimin replies quickly and he’s eyes widen before he curses, his grip on you tightens.

Your heart makes a funny thing at his answer but you push that feeling aside for later.

“Okay, now that you know that this spell is no joke, I have to tell you something and you can’t, in any way, doubt the sincerity of what I’m about to say…” you say with resolution and severity. Jimin’s brows are knitted in a frown but nonetheless, he nods.

You take a long breath, although if you’re honest with yourself you’d want it to be a longer one.

Okay. It’s now or never.

“I think I’m in love with you. No, scratch, I definitely know I’m in love with you cause I’ve been thinking about you that way ever since we met in high school. And it’s driving me insane when you talk about other girls, or when you kiss other girls because I want to be them but I know I can’t, or I think I can’t? There’s some confusion over it and I really need to hear your thoughts on this so I can finally put my “what if” thoughts to rest,” you say rushedly and out of breath as Jimin stares up at you in shock.

“So…” you catch your breath, eyes wide and full of equal parts dread and hope. “What say you?”

Jimin stares back stunned, eyes glued to yours and blown wide in astoundment. His hands don’t leave your hips though and for some reason that makes the hope grow.

He swallows slowly, and you see the calculations running through his mind.

But then his eyes fall to your lips.

And then his lips do too.

You close your eyes once you feel the gentle touch of his mouth on yours. You abandon the bowl to wrap your arms around his shoulders as his fingers guide you forwards until you’re entirely seated on his lap. His lips are soft on yours, moving tenderly in sync with your own as if you’ve done this a hundred times before. For what you’re certain is that you’ll certainly do it for a hundred times more.

You’d expect his kiss to be rough, judging by your position, but it’s anything but. It’s soft, warm and loving, the way his lips move across yours, the way his tongue swipes at your bottom lip to taste you, the way he moans when your grip on his shoulders tightens.

You want to stay like this forever. To kiss him endlessly until he’s the only thing you can taste.

After a while, he stops to breathlessly rest his forehead against yours as his fingers draw circles on your back. You didn’t even remember them moving, the only thing you felt was his lips.

He opens his eyes to look at you through his eyelashes and then he licks his lips to savour your taste.

“Me too…” he replies softly and it takes all your willpower to not smile like crazy right now. Although judging by his joyous matching smile you’d say you were unsuccessful.

“Now, can we please go somewhere else so we can finish what we started...?” he mumbles, his tone entirely different now as his words sents shivers down your spine while he presses an open-mouthed kiss below your ear.

You smile wickedly at him before you nod.

#kwritersworldnet #btsguild #95line.net #jimin #bts #bts jimin #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin scenario #jimin fluff #bts fluff #bts jimin fluff #halloween themed #halloween #jimin halloween #bts halloween #halloween requests

[strings-have-been-cut]

✩

The Ultimate Relationship Tag // accepting

See under the cut for the Regverse;;

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Reg

Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Neither

Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Data has physically attempted to leave on a few occasions in the middle of a disagreement, but only if he needs time to process or he believes he is putting Reg in danger.

Who trashes the house? Neither

Do either of them get physical? Nope

How often do they argue/disagree? Not very often at all. The few times it has happened, Data got too anxious almost immediately and could not hold his own argument.

Who is the first to apologise? Data - he usually apologizes right away and during the argument.

Sex:

Who is on top? Usually Reg, although they switch.

Who is on the bottom? Is this a trick question? Usually Data...although they switch.

Who has the strangest desires? Reg has a backlog of fantasies that he thinks about...and several that seem to pop up randomly in different situations. He's very creative.

Any kinks? Data enjoys being tied up.

Who’s dominant in bed? Reg

Is head ever in the equation? Yes, often.

If so, who is better at performing it? They're both enthusiastic, but Data has the advantage of not needing to breathe and not being able to choke, so...

Ever had sex in public? Yep

Who moans the most? Reg

Who leaves the most marks? If Data was human, Reg would have likely torn him to pieces by now.

Who screams the loudest? Reg.

Who is the more experienced of the two? Data, but it's not a positive.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Mmm...both. Both is good.

Rough or soft? It usually starts soft and ends rough. Or starts rough and ends rougher.

How long do they usually last? Not long, but Data can go forever, and Reg has a surprising amount of stamina.

Is protection used? Nope.

Does it ever get boring? Nope.

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? The maintenance closet on the Enterprise? Or the beach.

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? Yes, two. Rhea and Nikael.

If so, how many children do your muses want/have? Data brings up having a baby at the worst possible times every few years.

Who is the favorite parent? Reg.

Who is the authoritative parent? Data...unless it's Nik and he does that Look.

Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Data

Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Reg - he lives on that stuff himself.

Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? Both!

Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Both!

Who changes the diapers? Data, but Reg will if he needs to

Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Data, but Reg gets anxious if they cry, so he usually gets up anyway.

Who spends the most time with the children? They spend the same amount of time, most likely.

Who packs their lunch boxes? Data - he plans and packs them ahead of time.

Who gives their children ‘the talk’? Both, but they need a lot of support from Deanna. In the Nemesis verse, Reg does it by himself.

Who cleans up after the kids? Data cleans constantly. Nik cleans up after himself starting at age two.

Who worries the most? Reg

Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Reg

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? Both, but Reg is a master at it

Who is the little spoon? Data

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Reg

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself? Reg

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? F o r e v e r

Who gives the most kisses? Reg

What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Probably cuddling. Or bathing together.

Where is their favourite place to cuddle? Bed. Or the bathtub.

Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Reg

How often do they get time to themselves? Fairly often before Nik is born and then not as much.

Sleeping:

Who snores? If both do, who snores the loudest? Reg, and it's adorable

Do they share a bed or sleep separately? Share

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? No matter how big the bed is, Reg is glued to Data, usually sprawled out on top of him.

Who talks in their sleep? Reg, and Data did not know what sleeptalking was the first few times. Alarming.

What do they wear to bed? Usually pajamas, at Reg's request, but sometimes nothing. Data prefers nothing - he does not see the point of PJs.

Are either of your muses insomniacs? Reg is not a good sleeper, and sometimes Data will sing him to sleep or drag him to bed and insist he try.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Sometimes a hypo is needed, but Data prefer to simply bombard him with comfort.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? They tangle all up in a complicated manner, usually pressed all up.

Who wakes up with bed hair? Reg

Who wakes up first? Usually Data wakes with his internal chronometer and then spends a ridiculous amount of time trying to wake Reg up.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? Data for Reg

What is their favourite sleeping position? This one, with Data on the bottom is Reg's. This is Data's.

Who hogs the sheets? Reg

Do they set an alarm each night? Data has an internal clock that is never ever wrong. He is the alarm.

Can a television be found in their bedroom? There's a viewscreen. Sometimes they watch movies.

Who has nightmares? Reg, more often.

Who has ridiculous dreams? Data

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Reg

Who makes the bed? Data

What time is bedtime? No set time, but they don't stay up tremendously late.

Any routines/rituals before bed? Once Rhea is activated, there is the 'bedtime' procedure. Bath, brush teeth, put on PJs, read story, sleep. She grows out of it quickly, but Nik continues this long after Reg and Data stop doing it with him.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? REG BARCLAY

Work:

Who is the busiest? They are both very busy, but Reg is more chaotic and involved in dealing with it.

Who rakes in the highest income? Starfleet, baby.

Are any of your muses unemployed? Nope

Who takes the most sick days? Reg - Data doesn't get sick, but he tries to take off to take care of him when he is sick.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Reg has a tremendous amount of trouble getting out of bed in the morning...and then getting out of the shower.

Who sucks up to their boss? Data...and probably Reg too.

What are their jobs? They both work on the Enterprise - Data is second officer and Communications officer and Reg is a Systems Analyst. Reg later transfers to work for Starfleet Communications on the Pathfinder Project and then a professor of Engineering at Starfleet Academy. Data becomes a professor of Cybernetics at the Academy after transferring from the Enterprise.

Who stresses the most? Reg

Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? They enjoy them for the most part! Although they leave the Enterprise because there's just too much...trauma.

Are your muses financially stable? Starfleet, baby!

Home:

Who does the washing? Data

Who takes out the trash? Data

Who does the ironing? Data

Who does the cooking? Reg if there's real food, but the replicator usually.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? DATA

Who is messier? Reg

Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Reg

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Reg

Who forgets to flush the toilet? Reg is the only one who uses the toilet...

Who is the prankster around the house? Reg

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? If they had a car, probably Reg

Who mows the lawn? If they had a lawn, probably Data

Who answers the telephone? Either Reg would make Data do it

Who does the vacuuming? Data

Who does the groceries? Both?

Who takes the longest to shower? Reg will never leave if he doesn't have a reason to

Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Reg has more of a reason to be in there

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? Nope

How many cars do they own? Zero

Do they own their home or do they rent? Provided by Starfleet

Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? On Earth, Coast. AU on the colony, countryside.

Do they live in the city or in the country? On Earth, city - San Francisco. AU on the colony, country.

Do they enjoy their surroundings? Depending on the point in the timeline, sure yes.

What’s their song? Their first Valentine's Day, Data sang 'Can't Keep My Eyes Off You' to Reg. He associates that song with him.

What do they do when they’re away from each other? Call each other. Data tries to keep busy with things so he does not worry or get too lonely. So many horrible, strange things have happened that he likes it better when they are together. The few weeks (or years depending on verse) when Data is on the Enterprise and Reg is on Earth are hell.

Where did they first meet? They worked together on the Enterprise. Data was second officer when Reg transferred from the Zhukov.

How did they first meet? Data often haunted Engineering because of his friendship with Geordi and his love of the work. He would often comment on things Reg was doing, as he did with most people on the ship, if they interested him. He also found Reg was the only one who was interested in his love of cats.

Who spends the most money when out shopping? Data - he likes to buy presents

Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Neither

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Reg, probably. It is not often Data trips. Data would just be concerned for his safety.

Any mental issues? They both have anxiety and difficulty managing their emotions.

Who’s terrified of bugs? Neither

Who kills the spiders around the house? Either

Their favourite place? In the house? The bath. In the universe? The bath. Although Risa was nice.

Who pays the bills? Neither

Do they have any fears for their future? They both fret over the fact that Data will not age and die naturally and Reg will. There are several conversations about Reg growing older.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Data surprising Reg. He loves making a fancy date night at home.

Who uses up all of the hot water? Reg

Who’s the tallest? Reg

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Both. It is rare they ever shower alone before the kids are around.

Who wanders around in their underwear? Data

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? Reg

What do they tease each other about? Reg teases Data about how absolutely clean and neat everything has to be, and Data teases Reg about how messy he is.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? They both have horrible fashion sense. Data wore exclusively uniforms before Reg taught him what 'comfortable' clothing was, and now they wear horrible geometric sweaters that they share.

Do they have mutual friends? Most of their friends are mutual friends.

Who crushed first? Data

Any alcohol or substance related problems? Nope

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Reg has once or twice by accident. They both hated that.

Who swears the most? Reg on occasion and it turns Data on so fast

#reg barclay #headcanon #about data #ltbroccoli

[confusedhalfofthetime]

Dhawan!Master x reader: "is there a reason why you're blushing like that" + kiss on the top of the head. Please?

Thanks for your request! I rather liked writing this one, hope you like it!

Warnings: none. It’s just a lot of fluff

The ballroom was incredibly crowded. You had never liked parties, this kind of party less than any other. Of course, it hadn't been your idea. You would have never chosen such a way to spend your time with the Master. When he said he had "big plans for the day!" you thought he was referring to blowing something up or using one of his new weapons he was so proud of. Certainly not this.

"Come travel with me, he said. It'll be fun, he said" you muttered under your breath adjusting your corset. You grumbled, looking around the room.

Where the hell was he?

Luckily, you saw him coming toward you with a glass of champagne in hand. At least, it looked like champagne, but since you were on an alien ship, during an alien party, you couldn't really tell.

-You took your time- you said taking the glass from his hand and chugging the liquid down.

The Master smirked slightly at you before moving his glance toward the room. Everybody was dancing and seemingly having a good time. There were a few species you recognized and some you had never seen before and some you knew as extremely dangerous.

That wasn't what was bothering you, though. You were bored out of your mind and you still didn't understand the purpose of all of this.

-Having fun, my dear? - he asked like he didn't know the answer.

-Mh, let's see.- you started. -You brought me on an alien ship without letting me on any of your intentions; there are aliens everywhere and most of them are looking at me like they wanna eat me alive; I'm wearing a dress from the 17th-century god knows why and it's itching me everywhere. Oh, and the food sucks- you finished giving him a sarcastic smile and crossing your arms.

The Master kept smiling smugly and you swore you never wanted to strangle him more than right now.

-Well, first of all, I did tell you what we were doing here. It's a party I need to attend. Keeping in touch with powerful people can always be useful- he explained still scanning the room. -Second of all, they look at everyone like they want to eat them alive. That's just their faces. Third of all,- he leaned toward you to whisper. -You look lovely- You rolled your eyes and shoved him away lightly.

-Besides, as you can see, the theme of the party is the 17th century. Keuk is quite fond of human customs- he pointed out.

Keuk belonged to the species of the Fendahl, dangerous, cruel warriors. He was the organizer of the party and the owner of the space ship you were on at the moment. He hadn't made an appearance yet though.  You looked around the room. The Master was right. The whole place was filled with baroque decorations and even some replicas of well-known paintings; the cloths on the tables and the heavy curtains were richly embroidered with gold drawings and even the ceiling presented a fresco of huge proportions. It was all a little too much, really.

The Master didn't seem too bothered by it, but you could tell by the way his wrist flicked from time to time that he was as bored and frustrated as you were.

-Alright, I understand what you're doing here- you resumed. -What I don't get is what I am doing here-

-Exactly what you always do. Keeping me company-

You gave him a look as to say "cut the bullshit" and he sighed.

-The invite said to bring a guest and Fendahls consider singlehood to be a sin-

You blinked a couple of time, processing the information.

-So I'm here as your...-

The Master glanced at you from the corner of his eye and then kept looking ahead. He straightened his back and cleared his throat.

-My partner, yes-

You stared at him in silence before turning around and grabbing another glass from the table behind you. You had no bloody idea you had to pretend to be his girlfriend! You were totally unprepared for that.

-Keuk! It's so good to see you- you heard the Master exclaim.

-Master, long time no see- Keuk's voice was deep and hoarse and you didn't dare to turn around.

-Thank you for inviting me- the Master said with a pleasant smile.

-I expect you didn't come alone- Keuk's tone became serious.

-Of course not! -

You felt his warm hand on your waist and you almost coughed out all the champaign in your mouth. You somehow managed to gulp it down and turned around, plastering a fake smile on your face.

-This is my other half, Y/N- his grip was tight and you felt the warmth of his skin despite all the layers.

-H-hi- you stuttered.

Keuk took your hand and kissed it. His mouth felt like paper on your skin.

-It's a pleasure meeting you Y/N. Where do you come from? -

-Uhm I'm from Earth-

You could see his little dark eyes widen. -Excellent! Earth is one of the most interesting planets of the whole galaxy-

You smiled and shifted on your feet, feeling a bit uneasy at the attention.

-I didn't know you had contacts with Earth, Master. How did you meet? - he seemed genuinely interested and the Master kept a pleasant and polite demeanour.

-We...uhm...-

-I was having a working trip on the planet and she helped me out with her incredible knowledge of human traditions. Then one thing led to another and...well, let's say I couldn't stay away from her-

You felt your cheeks heat up at the comment and the way the Master's body got even closer to yours.

-You've been very lucky, Master. The human race is extremely interesting-

You felt Keuk's eyes roam over your body and you looked away. You felt like a piece of collection more than a guest.

-She certainly is- said the Master.

At that, you turned to him and were met by his soft eyes. You felt a warm sensation in your chest and averted your gaze. He never looked at you like that, did he?

-Well, I hope you enjoy your stay- said Keuk giving you one last glance and a mischievous smile before leaving.

-Well, that went well- he said, letting his arm fall from your waist. You could feel his gaze on you.

-Is there a reason why you're blushing like that? - he asked with an amused smile on his stupid, perfect lips.

You felt your face burn even more.

-Shut up- you muttered.

He chuckled. -I'd say Keuk has a little bit of a thing for you already. We can play it in our favour-

-I'm not gonna be your bait-

-I would never use you as bait-

-Oh no? What about that time I had to be followed by those angry rhinos? -

-Jadoons...-

-Or when those Foam...something-

-Foamasi-

-...almost shot me in the leg so you could get that stupid talisman? -

-Come on that was fun-

You sent him a burning glare.

-Alright alright- he raised his hands. -But not this time-

-Why should I believe that? -

-Because this time it's different-

Suddenly, his expression became much more serious. There it was again, that softeness in his eyes you couldn't explain. You opened your mouth to reply but you didn't know what to say.

-Come on now, let's dance-

The corner of your mouth raised in the hint of a smile and you took the hand he was offering.

You danced around the room on the notes of a classical piece you couldn't recognize, but right now, it sounded like the best music ever.

After a couple of hours more, the Master sent you back to the TARDIS.

-I'll be right back, I just have some business to discuss-

You obliged and waited for him in the control room. It hadn't been a bad day after all. You had the chance to pretend to be the Master's girlfriend and to dance with him. Not to mention he looked divine with that beige jacket and those tight trousers.

You shook your head and went to change in some more comfortable cloths. 

It didn't take much for the Master to come back and you greeted him with a smile and wet hair from the shower you just had.

-So, how did it go? - you asked.

-Exceptionally well- he said closing the doors and walking toward you. Your smile faltered when he took that one more step closer than necessary.

-And that's thanks to you- he said softly.

You held his gaze and hoped he couldn't hear the sound of your heartbeat.

-He actually offered me a good amount of credits to have you-

Your eyeborws shot up and your eyes widened.

-Excuse me? -

-Yeah he was really interested in buying you. I have to say I was tempted.

-Master! - you scolded him hitting him with the towel in your hand.

He laughed and moved his hands forward for protection.

-Calm down, I declined-

-Of course you did, I would have killed you! -

He was having so much fun teasing you. But his laugh was so rare and so good to hear you let him.

When his fit of laughter stopped he smiled sweetly.

-Seriously, you have been amazing darling-

He placed his hands on your cheeks and left a soft kiss on your forhead. You tried your best not to faint at that.

-Right, now, I think you'll love our next destination...-

You didn't really hear anything else after that but if that was the outcome, you hoped he was taking you to another party.

#doctor who #the doctor #master #the master #dh!master x reader #dh!master #dhawan!master imagine #dhawan!master x reader #sacha dhawan #dhawan!master #jody whittaker #13th doctor #fluff #request #prompts

[ddaenggtan]

from eden | myg + jhs

you've been in the dark a long time, overworked and exhausted. the only bright point is your gatekeeper, hoseok, your closest friend and the man you love but can't have. you've accepted that loneliness is inevitable for you. when a voice calls to you, though, and moves you so deeply that you rip open the earth to help them, you meet a mint-haired boy that changes everything you thought you knew about your prison. | monsters and gods pt 1 (masterlist)

pairing | yoongi x reader x hoseok

genre/warnings | greek god au, hades!reader, thanatos!hoseok, persephone!yoongi, fluff, angst, smut, mild depictions of violence, mentions of blood (well, blood equivalent, bc gods), pining, depictions of abusive parenting, v v brief panic attack (seriously, I don’t go into a ton of detail, but it’s enough, pls don’t read this if that triggers you at all), love triangle (kind of), polyamory, , mutual masturbation, oral (female receiving), face-sitting, fingering, dick-riding, double penetration, unprotected sex (gods can't get sti's but u can! Wrap it b4 u tap it!), creampie, everyone hates Zeus but what's new, demeter sucks and is the literal worst

word count | 15.6k | cross posted to ao3  monsters and gods masterlis

a/n | hello! i’ve renamed this fic at least ten times, but it’s here!! the first part of monsters and gods!!! i keep seeing hades!yoongi (who i LOVE, don’t get me wrong, seriously you should check out @/seokoloqy’s hades yoongi fics because they’re PHENOM) and while I love hades yoongs, I also keep seeing him in flower crowns and being soft and sweet and, as we know by now, I am ultimately a slut for soft bangtan. so this happened. and then i thought ‘wow this mc is dark af i need some contrast here’ and that’s how thanatos hobi happened, also i couldn’t stop thinking of his Judgement Face, which is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and how fast he switches between that and his smile, plus.....sope, I mean. c’mon. sope. and then it all kinda spiraled into a whole series of fics, only one other of which is even started tho its close to being finished whoops lmao so yeah!!!! pls tell me what u think, i’m not used to writing angst at all, so it may not be suuuuuuper prevalent in this, but i tried!!! also i really recommend listening to hozier while you read it bc i had his first album on repeat while writing it and from eden fits this pretty well imo!!!

It's dark when you open your eyes. You've spent so long down here, you're used to it, but the shadows always seem to make the air colder than it should be. Though you suppose the land of the dead isn't supposed to be warm.

You stretch and wince at the crick in your spine. Another night sitting at your desk, greek fire burning through the hours so that you can scratch away at the papers in front of you. Your siblings always enjoy doing whatever they want, using mortals and throwing them away however they please, cleaning up after each other whenever they can spare the time.

No one ever seems to think about you, nor do they remember the chaos up top only worsens your constant migraines.

No, instead they start their wars and slaughter their enemies and are absolutely oblivious about the fact that the Meadow is at 80% capacity as it is, with more souls arriving each day. Thanatos did well at his job, as did Charon, and you were always sure to be thankful to them, but you wish, not for the first time, that there was someone - anyone - to help with your work.

Your brothers have the naiads, the winds, and the lesser gods to help them with their oceans and skies. Gods of vengeance and retribution help with war, while the fertility goddesses and the muses aid the lovelorn.

And yet here you are, still alone after all these years. Millenia, you've been stuck down here, forced to live out your days in the cold darkness and manage the dead mortals. You've always been introverted, even before you drew lots with your siblings, but never like this. You've tried to leave, of course; at first making short visits to Olympus or the mortal realm, just to speak to another living soul again, someone else who understands what it's like to be trapped in your own life. It seems like every time you came back, though, the underworld had gotten smaller and smaller, nearly suffocating you in an attempt to keep its claws in your skin. And then, of course, came the curse.

You haven't felt the sun on your skin in nearly a thousand years, and while you've always been one for the shade, you miss it. You miss the smell of the flowers in the temples, you miss the sound of the river as it babbles past, you want to feel the warm summer breeze ruffle your hair as you stand in the middle of a marketplace. You're tired of the Fields, you're bored of walking the streets of Elysium with the weight of their stares at your back, sick of standing at the steps to the Isles and wondering if it is, truly, euphoric and if any mortal would ever find out. You don't wear your sandals around the palace anymore; you don't want to hear the footsteps echo. It's just a reminder that you are, truly, alone.

Even the other deities in the Underworld have stopped calling on you. The aura that surrounds you is enough to wilt most any plant, unnerve most every animal, and the gods are no exception. The only exceptions are Hecate, who makes it her personal mission to bribe you into visiting the Meadow if only for a moment, and Thanatos when he can slip away for longer than a moment to distract you from your work. They rarely succeed, but it's the thought that counts, you suppose.

You muse on this as you walk, bare feet skimming lightly over the soil of the Meadow as you make your way to the Gates. You could probably just shadow-walk, if you wanted, you do enjoy giving your Thanatos a fright, but you figure the walk would do you good. There’s no one to bother you as go, thankfully. The dead wander aimlessly around you. There's no acknowledgment as you pass; there's never any recognition of anything in the Meadow, the price mortals pay for being so utterly inconsequential and mundane.

You smile when you see that your friend is busy, and you give a silent command to Cerberus not to alert the man to your presence. The dog whines a little, but sits back on his haunches, shaking the ground as he does so. You're silent as you move up behind the judge.

"You wanted me to tell you my judgment and I have," Hoseok says firmly. "You could have gone straight to the Asphodel Meadow and existed in relative peace for eternity, and instead you request a hearing, and then have the gall to question my decision?" You grimace slightly; perhaps putting Hoseok in charge of judging the souls was not the best idea, but he has yet to be wrong about someone.

"Please, sir," The mortal whimpers. He's on his knees, suit crumpled and dirty where he sits. "I was only doing what I thought was best, please, surely that matters."

"You used children!" Hoseok says in shock. "As slaves! It's 2019 and you had nearly a hundred seven-year-olds sewing clothes together in a cramped warehouse with one bathroom. You seriously expect me to give you leniency because you thought that was best?"

"Their families would have starved without that money," The mortal says. He's on the verge of tears, which has always made you uncomfortable, so you stay hidden for now. "I kept them all fed and safe, didn't I? What would they have done without me? Gone to work in some factory, with dangerous machines and cruel managers, whipped every time they needed to eat?"

"You used children as nearly free labor, barely allowed them time to piss, fed them once every twelve hours, and you expect that to be okay because they could’ve had it worse," Hoseok says. Disgust drips from his voice and you’re inclined to agree with the sentiment. "I respect your opinion, but you are to be punished for your deeds fittingly." Hoseok snaps and two of the Bones come over. These two are in desert camo, one barely tall enough to be an adult judging by the skeletal build, but their grip is unforgiving as they cart the mortal off to the Fields. You don’t even need to mold together a punishment for him; the warehouse you sent others who’d done the same wasn’t quite crowded enough yet.

"Well, that was fun," You call, and delight at the way Hoseok jumps nearly a foot in the air. He glares at you as he turns and you don't bother to hide the smirk on your face. "Child slavery, huh? In this day and age?"

Hoseok tsks. "I know we used to allow some crazy shit back in the old days, but you'd think that people would know better by now. Using children like that, kids…” He trails off, still fuming, and you nod.

“I know.” You pull a piece of lint off his suit with a wrinkle of your nose. “You made the right decision if it helps.”

“I know I did,” He says with a smirk. “I always do.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, watching the lines of souls head through the gates to their eternal blandness. It's the best way to hide the flush he brings to your cheeks. “What brings you out here, though? Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important?”

“Don’t I wish,” You mutter. “All I’ve got to do is figure out how to expand the realm again without Zeus’ approval.”

“Wait, he didn’t approve the expansion?” You shake your head and step closer to where Cerberus is laying, all three heads focused entirely on you as you rub his middle nose. “Where does he think we’re going to put all of the souls, up your ass?”

“Clearly,” You spit.

“I know it’s not exactly great down here and that they would all rather be thrown into the Pit than visit, but they need to sometimes. If only to see what it’s like. I mean, honestly, what do they expect us to do, just toss everyone in the Meadow and call it a day until there are so many that they’re tripping into Elysium? What the f-”

“Thanatos,” You say quietly, and Hoseok stops. It’s not often that you call him by his title rather than his name, preferring the familiarity of his friendship over the detachment of your positions. “Even here, the gods have ears. You know better than to criticize them like that.”

He huffs but nods his head. You press a kiss to Cerb’s middle nose and coo at him until he starts wagging his tail. When you turn back around, Hoseok is stumbling to keep his balance on the shaking ground. You laugh, which he does not appreciate, but before he can say anything in his defense, another soul is escorted to him by a Bones. The guy is already pleading with Hoseok, who’s returned to the stony mask he usually wears. The silver aura that surrounds him always brings you comfort, reminding you of the moonlight that bathes the surface world, but it has turned colder and is as deadly as mercury. You envy the way he can switch back and forth between his professional mask and the bright, loving man you know; if only it were that easy for you. Without so much as a wave, you weave the shadows around you once more, ignoring the soul's cries to you for mercy, and let yourself disappear into the darkness.

When you emerge from the shadows, you settle at the base of your garden tree. The only living thing that would grow down here, the sole reminder of the world above. Its branches show that it should be close to the harvest soon, maybe a month away at the most. You reach up, weaving through the darkness to pluck a pomegranate from the tree. You don't even like pomegranates anymore, you think as you inspect it. Ripe, juicy, and utterly disgusting; the gods' idea of a joke. The thing that brought about your isolation, your solitude, yet it continues to be the only thing that grows in this wasteland.

You laugh bitterly before tossing the fruit up in the air, letting it fly through the shadows to land beside Hoseok, whatever he's doing. He always appreciates your little gifts, the only real thing you can do to show that you aren't cross with him and are glad for the work he does. He's long been stuck here with you, but the fruit doesn't turn to bile on his tongue the way it does yours. Perhaps the willingness he had that first time made a difference.

Please.

You glance around, looking for the voice that suddenly echoes around you. It's soft, a memory of a whisper. It's not rare for you to hear the voices of the dead in your realm, but this is different. This one strikes you to your core, for this…

This one sounds hopeful.

The prayers that make their way to you are never hopeful. They are sad or angry or scared, always filled with tears and regret and more than a little hesitancy, but never do they have any shred of hope in them.

You stand, eyes narrowed as you look through the darkness for whatever soul may be calling to you.

Please. I don't want to go back. Don't let her take me.

Without thinking, you reach into the shadows. The blackness swirls around your fingers, unsure where you're trying to go. You don't know yourself, and you wish you did. You aren't sure why you're doing this; you rarely answer prayers, least of all the ones that don't mention you specifically, but something in this voice calls to you. It resonates in your chest, shakes your very being because you remember that feeling. You remember the way it felt to be free, standing in the sun and clawing at the earth as Gaia dragged you back down to your post, tears mixing with the dirt as you pleaded, begged her not to take you back down there.

With a jerk, you pull the shadows apart, and the ground quakes above you. You watch, anxiety pooling in your gut, and it's only the intensity of your focus that lets you see it: a figure, falling limply through the earth that you've opened. The string of curses you let out would make even Ares blush, and it's with a rush you haven't felt in millennia that you weave the shadows together into a net and toss it upwards. The figure falls into it with ease, shadows wrapping around the body to glide gently downwards until they can deposit the person with ease at the roots of your tree.

Your breath catches in your throat as the darkness recedes, revealing soft mint hair with flowers woven into it, pale green robes that are sliced nearly in half at the back and caked with mud. The man is beautiful and soft and bright, every inch the antithesis to your own black and grey clothes. You hesitate to even look at him, too afraid of dulling that sun-kissed skin with the death you carry on your fingertips.

His brow furrows and he winces, though his eyes remain closed. You blink owlishly before guiding the shadows around him once more; when you're sure he's secure, you pull him along behind you until you reach the only spare room you have in the palace. You situate him on the bed there, fluffing pillows and smoothing blankets until you can almost pretend he fell asleep there of his own accord. With pursed lips, you assign three of your Bones to watch him; one just inside the door and two outside of it, just in case whatever he was running from attempts to come for him.

You don't want to leave him, but you have work to do, and the land of the dead cannot rule itself.

It's dark when he opens his eyes. There is Greek fire in the corner, and shadows dancing on the walls around it, but he cannot make out much else. When he sits up and slides his feet off what feels like a bed, he hisses. The marble is cold and unforgiving against the bare skin of his feet and he doesn't know of any feeling like it. He's too accustomed to the dirt and grass from his mother's domain, and even the white marble of Olympus was warm to the touch. This is different. Alarming. New.

He eventually works up the nerve to stand fully. Looking around, he doesn't see any kind of light sources other than the brazier in the corner, so he grips one of the coals in his palm and uses that bit of light to find the door. The fire tingles against his skin, but he's long since grown used to holding fire in his palms for his mother. The warmth is comforting for a brief moment before the image of his mother flashes through his mind. He flinches at the memory of her face, twisted with wrath, and the stone drops out of his grip before he can catch it.

The marble of the wall is cool against his back as he slides to the ground, knees brought up to his chest and his eyes screwed shut against the darkness. There's a vice around his chest and he can't breathe and he can't see and he doesn't have any idea where he is or if he's even alive or if she's stuffed him somewhere he'll never be able to escape and the thought makes his head spin as the air catches in his throat and gods don't even truly need to breathe and yet he can feel the cold claws of death tighten around his throat and all he can see in his final moments is the horrifying face of his mother's anger and he can feel the vines and roots around his ankles once more and-

"Who the hell are you?"

He looks up, pushing the sweat-covered hair out of his eyes. There's a man, in the darkness, who exudes a faint silver light around him that illuminates the walls and black marble floor. The man doesn't seem angry that he's there, or even all that surprised; just curiously resigned. There are so many questions on the tip of his tongue, so much he wants - needs - to know but only one makes it past the rock lodged in his windpipe.

"Am I dead?"

The man frowns and shakes his head. "I seriously doubt it, since you didn't cross the river." The man looks him over, taking in the flushed skin and sweat beads and the purple robes he donned the moment he decided to run and seems to decide something. He crouches down so he's eye level, poised on the balls of his feet with his elbows on his knees, and even in a full suit, he looks impeccably put-together. "I'm Thanatos. You can call me Hoseok. If you'll let me, I'd like to take you to someone who probably has a better idea of what you're doing here." All he can do is nod, and Hoseok extends a hand, which he uses to bring himself to a shaky stand.

"I'm Yoongi," He says, hesitant and quiet. "Um, I'm Kore. Or, Persephone. Either one."

"I think I'll stick with Yoongi," Hoseok says. His smile lights the hallway that Yoongi stands in, and it eases something inside him, though he isn't sure what. Hoseok doesn't let go of his hand as he guides Yoongi through the corridors, and talks to him the entire time. He speaks of his duties there, souls he's judged that day, ones he wished he could do more for, comforts Yoongi when a walking skeleton in Roman armor passes him and explains that those are the security force of the palace. By the time they make it to a large room, lit on each side with braziers of Greek fire that give the room an eerie glow, Yoongi has a fairly good idea of where he is, and who Hoseok is taking him to see.

The large ebony throne at the end of the room and the black-robed figure sitting atop it only confirms his fears.

When Hoseok enters the throne room, you're only slightly surprised. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to take a break from his judicial duties, and so long as there were plenty of Bones to watch the gates, you had no issues. Years would sometimes pass before Hoseok needed to return, relieving the judgment council once more and returning them to their own afterlives.

To see him shadowed by the mint-haired boy you pulled through the earth, however, is a shock.

You set the papers you'd been writing at to the side. Your robes, woven from shadows and dipped in the Styx, swirl around your bare feet as you move to sit correctly with your back straight instead of lounging as you'd been doing before. The darkness you’d brought forth to cushion your chair, plump and fat and soft underneath you, shifts as well, keeping the hard edge of the marble from digging into your skin. Hoseok stifles a smile at the sight and you narrow your eyes at him. You wish he'd say something about it, the punk.

"What can I do for you, Hoseok?" You eventually ask as he and his companion reach the steps just below your throne. Even now, you can barely bring your eyes away from the boy behind him; he's radiant, the light in the room seemingly drawn to him despite the way he's slouched into himself.

"I was just wondering if you knew how this young man came to be in the underworld, my lady," Hoseok says. Your eyes dart back to him and you can't help the way your heart softens at the soft silver shine around him. You look to the mint-haired god again; his eyes dart around nervously as if he expects something to jump out at him, and he's close enough to Hoseok that if the other were to step back, they'd both likely fall to the floor.

You lean forward in your throne, doing your best to project a calm and friendly air to the shorter of the two gods. "Do you not remember?" You ask quietly. Your eyes don't leave his big brown ones, and you can see the moment the panic sets in. "It's fine, you don't need to answer me. Just know that you're safe here."

"Yoongi?" Hoseok says quietly, drawing the boy's attention. "Hey, it's alright. We're not gonna let anything happen." It takes several minutes but eventually the boy - Yoongi, apparently - nods. He hasn't relaxed at all, but he doesn't seem like he's about to bolt out of your throne room, so you consider it a success.

"You were praying," You tell him softly. "You asked for my help, so I gave it, as best I could. I don't think you meant for your words to reach me, but they did." Yoongi frowns ever so slightly as he takes in the knowledge. There's a hint of anxiety in his face, his brow furrowed adorably, but he doesn't startle when Hoseok rests a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, though, and the two of them seem to have a silent conversation. Something settles in your stomach, seeing the ease with which Hoseok interacts with him, and you swallow down the lump in your throat. It's ridiculous to feel anything like this; Hoseok is your subordinate and friend, and you've hardly known Yoongi for five minutes.

"He can stay here, right?" Hoseok asks. You look to Yoongi, wondering if he even wants to stay, if he even wants to be here at all or if he wished someone else had answered his prayers. Hoseok calls your name softly and your gaze flicks to him. "Can he stay?"

You find that you're debating with yourself. Yoongi clearly doesn't belong here; he is soft and sweet and gentle and completely at odds with the harsh, depressive atmosphere that lingers in your palace. He looks terrified even now as he takes in the room, eyes lingering on the bones that were fused together to make your throne. And yet...you cannot escape the fear and hope that had echoed in his prayer, the sheer desperation that someone would help him. He had been running and terrified, which could only mean that he was being chased by something or someone, and you couldn't force him out if he was in danger.

"If you would like to stay," You say after a moment too long, "Then you are, of course, more than welcome to do so." You rise from your throne, shadows dissipating as you do, and take a couple of tentative steps toward the pair. He doesn't shrink back in fear, which you take as a good sign. "The guest quarters will be yours to do with as you please. Hoseok can show you around the palace and grounds, so you don't get lost, and the Bones can bring you anything you require." You move to press a hand to Hoseok's arm, and you level him with a careful look.

"Of course, my lady," Hoseok says. He turns to Yoongi with a radiant smile. "And you can leave whenever you'd like."

"Of course," You agree quickly. "Hoseok can take you back and forth across the river as you wish. Charon can be quite fussy about it." Several times, your guests have been stuck on the wrong side of the river until someone brought your ferryman his payment. Yoongi looks slightly less terrified, and in the emerald glow of the fires, you notice how wide his eyes are. "Oh! You're from the surface, of course, I forgot."

With a snap of your fingers, the sconces along the walls light themselves, and the candles ringing the large chandelier in the center of your throne room surge to life as well. Yoongi startles a little, stepping closer to Hoseok.

"Ah, I forget you surfacers can't see as well down here," Hoseok mutters. "We'll get you a candlestick as well, just in case." He nods to you, Yoongi copying him in a most adorable way. They're halfway out of the room when a thought occurs to you.

"Yoongi?" You call after him. He turns, and the green halo around him makes your heart falter. "Don't eat the pomegranates. Not even the seeds." His brow furrows in confusion but he gives a hesitant nod before he turns and hurries after Hoseok.

As much as your chest aches for him, you won't subject him to this life. You watch him go and wonder how long he'll last in this hellscape.

When their shadows have long disappeared from the walls, you turn and retake your seat on the throne. With a wave, a small team of Bones appears in front of you - the same uniforms, with the same unit numbers, stamped on their dog tags, and the same haunted look where their eyes once were - and you do a quick count. Ten should do fine for what you need.

"Scour the earth. Do not speak to anyone. Find out what he was running from, and if it still searches for him. Don't let anyone see you, and don't let anyone know why you're looking. Return if you're in danger. Report to me immediately." They salute, and you watch their forms slowly disappear, becoming more and more transparent until they glide upwards and through the cracks in the ceiling.

You sit back and wonder how long it will take for you to get answers, and if it will be before or after Yoongi realizes he's too good for this place.

Yoongi is quiet. That's the first thing Hoseok notices about him. He doesn't initiate conversation, really, instead content to listen to Hoseok talk about the various souls he's judged and the occasional escape attempts someone has made. At first, when Yoongi speaks, he's quiet, like he doesn't really want - or expect - to be heard, and he always looks pleasantly surprised when Hoseok answers his question or responds to his comments.

It makes his heart ache, and he wonders what exactly Yoongi has gone through to make him so shocked that anyone would actually listen to what he has to say. It takes weeks for him to warm enough to Hoseok to start speaking more often, to ask questions about his day, to actually request specific things. The day Yoongi asked Hoseok, soft and hesitant, if he could show him the Meadow and the tree, Hoseok almost cried. Yoongi was so obviously ready to be told no, fully expectant for Hoseok to decline such a simple request, and it only reinforced Hoseok's need to give the god everything he could ever want.

"What are you doing, Yoongi?" Hoseok asks when he looks up. They're at the gates, Hoseok in the usual position, eyes roving over the lines of souls slowly shuffling forward, and Yoongi sitting nearby. Cerberus is curled up behind him, dwarfing the god with his massive body, all three heads snoring and slobbering as they sleep haphazardly on top of each other. Yoongi glances up at Hoseok as he grabs another flower from the basket beside him.

"I'm making Cerb some flower crowns," Yoongi answers as if it was obvious. Hoseok frowns.

"Flower crowns?" He echoes. "What's a flower crown?"

Yoongi gives him a disbelieving stare. "It's a bath salt. What the fuck do you think it is, Hobi? It's a crown made of flowers." Hoseok is caught off guard by the sarcasm, as he has been every time Yoongi has spouted off some kind of sass to him. He strides over and crouches beside the mint god to watch him.

Yoongi's fingers are sure and steady as he weaves the stems of the flowers together. It's already half-dozen, Hoseok thinks, the crocus blossoms blending together prettily and not straying in the slightest from where he places them. Hoseok hasn't ever seen anything like it, and he's entranced by the way Yoongi's fingers move and the way the flowers seem to just do whatever he wants without much coaxing on his part.

"I had the Bones bring me back a basket from their last excursion," Yoongi says. "Since none grow here." He stops with one last crocus and eyes it critically before apparently deciding it was good enough. Hoseok can't take his eyes off the thing, enraptured even as Yoongi sets it gently on his head. Hoseok can feel his eyes widen and his cheeks flush red.

"Thanks," He says after a second, one hand darting up to steady the crown as he shifts his weight. He smiles, unable to help himself and poses. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

"Ugh, you wish," Yoongi says. Hoseok can see the smile in his eyes and is satisfied with the mirth threatening to bubble past Yoongi's lips.

"Y'know," Hoseok says after a while, hands in his pockets as he watches Yoongi make the second crown for Cerb. "I bet if you planted some seeds near the pomegranate tree, they'd grow." Yoongi's hands stop moving, his eyes drifting up to look past Hoseok. Something similar to excitement hides behind his eyes, and Hoseok wants nothing more than to bring it out to shine. Yoongi cocks a brow as if to say 'really' and Hoseok nods.

The gummy smile he gets in return, full of hope and light that the underworld hasn't ever seen before, is well worth the potential scolding you may give him for suggesting Yoongi fiddle with the tree's courtyard. And the way he keeps the flower crown nearby, hanging off a hook on the gates long after the blossoms have wilted and died, is worth the shy smile Yoongi gets every time he sees it.

You don't see Yoongi for the first few weeks he's there. Not really. You catch glimpses when he passes through the palace halls with Hoseok, and he sits with Cerberus while you visit Hoseok at the gates, but he makes no effort to seek you out, and you respect that distance. You can't bring yourself to force your company on him. You're an acquired taste; Hoseok has been in this realm for so long that he's accustomed to the darkness that follows you, the aura of death and despair that usually surrounds you. He's been surrounded by the dead almost as long as you have, so you know he can't be affected by it. Yoongi, though…

Yoongi is life. He's the springtime blossoms in a summer breeze, he's the sound of birds chirping in the treetops, he's vibrant and fresh and lovely and you cannot ruin that. You can't watch him wither away like a winter garden, you can't watch the color drain from his skin until he's just as much a ghost as the souls that wander the Meadow, you can't let him become just as dead as everything else in this cursed place.

So you leave him be. You offer curt nods when you see him with Hoseok and polite waves because giving any more of yourself to him without letting yourself get closer would be too dangerous. Even with the distance you keep, your chest tightens with every smile that graces his lips, you ache to hear his voice even just once, and it's too much. It's too much for someone you haven't even had a real conversation with. Someone who looks at you with apprehension and anxiety, yet brings undeniable joy to the man you've always held in your heart.

It's too much for you to feel like this for someone who makes Hoseok smile as if he's seeing sunlight for the first time in thousands of years. You love Hoseok too much to stand anywhere near them.

You've been avoiding both of them for days. You can't bear to see Yoongi's gummy smile and Hoseok's adorable dimples as they gaze at each other, and you're busy enough to make a decent excuse for it. Expansion isn't difficult, but keeping it quiet is. Plus you've been on the hunt to figure out what had been after Yoongi with such ferocity that it sliced right through his robes and had him praying to anyone who would listen.

You had a few helpful leads, but nothing concrete, and it was more than a little frustrating. Which is why you find yourself stepping out of the shadows of the pomegranate tree, hopeful that it could help to ease even just part of the emotions rolling in your gut.

The sight of Yoongi surprises you, even more so when you see that he's on his knees beside the tree with dirt covering his hands and a smidge of something on his cheek. He looks absolutely wondrous, like everything you've been missing from the world above, and it would bring tears to your eyes if you let it because he's so far out of your reach.

"Hi," You say after a long debate with yourself. Yoongi's head shoots up and he fixes wide eyes on you. He reminds you of the ones who come to you with no memory of what's happened to them, scared and alone and about to get the worst news of their lives. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," He says immediately. "I didn't mean to, not really. You just said not to eat them, and I'm not, so I thought it would be okay. Hobi suggested it and you two are so close that I figured he'd know if you'd be upset."

"I'm not upset." Your voice is as gentle as you can make it. "I'm just curious. Hoseok didn't mention anything to me, and no one really comes here."

"Oh." The relief is palpable as it courses through him, and he looks back down at the ground in front of him. "I'm just planting some flowers so I can make more crowns for Hobi and Cerb. The others died so fast, and I don't want to keep sending the Bones out to get more if I don't have to."

"Oh, you made the flower crown for Hoseok?" You'd figured as much. No one else in the underworld knew how to make them, and Yoongi was the only consistently around him. "He showed me that, it was gorgeous."

"Obviously, it was made by me, after all," Yoongi spouts. You gape at him, and he gives you a contrite grimace. "I'm sorry, my lady Hades, I forgot who I was with for a moment. It won't happen again."

"It should," You say before you can stop yourself. He glances at you curiously. "I don't mind if you're relaxed and casual around me. I've never been one to enforce the rules that Olympus has. Hoseok is proof enough of that. And you can use my name, I don't mind."

The way he whispers your name, almost as if he's practicing it to himself, makes your heart flutter in your chest. It's so dangerous to be around him like this, relaxed and casual; it's so easy to forget that it's Hoseok that gets this, that deserves this small piece of sunshine.

"Well," Yoongi eventually says. "In that case, you can get to work. I've got an entire basket of seeds left to plant around this thing, and I can only work so fast. Plus I'm getting hungry."

"Oh. Okay, show me what to do." You don't hesitate to mirror his position, robes bunching under your knees in the dirt as he points at the small holes he's carved out of the dirt with the trowel and rake the Bones nabbed for him.

Yoongi is patient, you learn. Not extremely so, but he walks you through what you need to do with clear directions. The seeds are small in your hands, which amuses you to no end, and there's an odd delight in packing the soil around them and dripping water down onto them after. You're smiling for the first time in...you don't know how long, and the feeling of Yoongi's hands around yours as he shows you how to use the trowel is something akin to paradise.

His hands are rough; calloused and weathered and wonderful against the softness of your own. You start to talk freely to him, asking him about each seed you plant and what they are and how they look. He tells you about each one, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. He rolls his eyes at every joke you make, despite the way he smiles, and hits back with several quips of his own. He listens as you tell him, voice shaking, about the pomegranate tree, and how it curses anyone who eats its fruit to stay trapped in the underworld forevermore. He talks and listens and jokes and laughs and it's only after you've made a particularly ridiculous joke that you realize your mistake.

"You've spent too much time around Hobi," Yoongi says. "He made the same joke yesterday." He's looking down at the last few seeds, plotting where in the courtyard to put them, and doesn't see the way the smile dies on your face. You'd forgotten. For a brief time, you'd forgotten that this is just pretending.

You don't get to keep this. You don't get to stay here, in this courtyard, with Yoongi and his rough hands and the mint hair that falls in his eyes and his gummy smile. This isn't yours. You don't get flower crowns and jokes and soft kisses, no matter how much you want them, just like you don't get Hoseok's bright grin or his dimples or his long fingers intertwined with yours. Your heart aches for these two beautiful boys, both of them everything you could ever want in so many different ways. And yet you have neither of them, you don't get either of them. They are each other's, and there is no room there for the death you bring in your wake. You kill everything you touch; the mortals whisper about the cold grip of your hands on their neck as they pass over.

You look back over the seeds you've helped Yoongi plant and wonder how many you've killed before they even lived.

You stand and brush the dirt off your robes. "Well," You say, careful to keep your voice level. "I've got some things to do. I trust you'll be alright on your own." You can't bring yourself to look at Yoongi, can't bear to see the dirt that smudged along his cheek, can't stand to see the way the orange robes drape along him and remind you of the way the autumn leaves looked coating the grass in the meadows.

He doesn't even get a response out before you flee, but you feel his eyes on your back long after you've hidden in the shadows and sunk down onto your bed.

It's astounding, you think as you rinse the dirt off your hands later, how a single afternoon planting seeds with someone can be so detrimental to the walls you'd put around your heart. Tears blur your vision and your fingers are trembling, but you keep scrubbing until the phantom slide of his hands against yours is gone and there is no more evidence of the planting you'd done. When you finally stop, your skin is raw and throbbing, and there are tears running down your face.

You had long accepted that Hoseok could never be yours. You were in two different positions, and he was much too bright to want to be with someone like you. Your shadows would have suffocated him, so you resigned yourself to being his friend. Friend is safe. Friend is good.  

You’d known the same when you met Yoongi. Bright and colorful amidst the darkness of the underworld, you wouldn’t dare to get any closer to him, too familiar with the fluttering of your chest and the jumping in your stomach every time you saw him. Just being friendly was enough, ensuring he is safe and happy is fine with you.

But this? Watching the two of them grow closer and closer, able to love each other so wholly while you stand alone in your darkness, watching their bright smiles and soft looks, all directed only at each other, for eternity? This was too much for you to bear. Being hopelessly in love with one man you can’t have is bad enough, but two of them…

You wish for the first time that you were not immortal, but a meager human upon the surface, unaware and blissful in your ignorance.

He never expected this. Not from the moment he woke up, not when he was sprinting through a forest to escape his mother, not for a single heartbeat could he ever imagined everything that has happened to him since he arrived in this cold land.

He’s been alone for so long, hidden away in his mother’s garden with only the rare visit from Artemis or Hestia as he learned how to do anything and everything his mother wished. He’s never had friends before, he’s never had the subtle inside jokes that he shares with Hoseok, familiar enough that even just a quick glance can have them both bursting with laughter. He’s never known a goddess like you, able to weave together the darkness into something tangible, something useful, something real. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen, and Hoseok’s uncanny ability to bend the environment around him and use his silvery aura to turn almost invisible to the naked eye never ceases to amaze him. The two of you are so powerful, so utterly awe-inspiring, and every single thing his mother had told him is so far from the truth that it almost hurts.

Neither you nor Hoseok is standoffish, really; he can see the hesitant friendship in every smile you send his way, and Hoseok’s primary concern at any moment is making sure he’s happy and safe. It warms Yoongi in a way he could never explain, not even in a million years, simply because he’s never felt this way. In all the books he’s read, the plays he’s seen, every mortal he’s watched, he’s seen this.

He’s seen how they turn red with just a look, how their hearts stutter when hands brush, how they smile, soft and private when they think no one is looking at them. He’s seen this feeling, the bubbling in his chest that he gets every time Hoseok laces their fingers together while walking and the moment you step into the courtyard and see the kaleidoscope of colors that you helped plant. He never would have guessed that he would feel it, though, too isolated from the rest of the world until he came here. Until you pulled apart the earth itself to help him escape, without even knowing why or who he was.

The feeling grows inside of him, thorns pricking into his every breath because he knows it can’t last. He’s seen how you and Hoseok look at each other when you think no one is watching, can feel the pull between you and the years upon years of familiarity that lie between you. The two of you are closer than he could ever get, two sides of the same coin, and more suited to each other than he would ever be.

And he can’t stay.

That’s the worst part. He knows it, knows that she will find him before long and wrap her claws around his throat and drag him back into that gilded cage she calls a greenhouse just to leave him. It’s for the best, my dear, she’ll say, it’s to keep you safe.

Yoongi doesn’t want to be safe, though. He wants to be happy and free, and he’s found that place here, surrounded by death even as he carves out his own little area of life. With Hoseok’s warm grin across from him and your own cool fondness beside him. With flower crowns atop his head and Hoseok’s, and the small buds are woven into your own crown of bones and grief as a small reminder that even in death, there is life.

But she will find him. She always does. And though he cannot bear the thought of leaving you, he will, if only to keep you safe.

Yoongi's been there almost a year when you summon Hoseok to dine with you. By the time he gets to your office - a very understated term for the sprawling library - you're already sitting at your usual desk, food pushed aside and forgotten in lieu of the papers stacked in front of you.  Even with your head bent low and bags under your eyes, you're the most beautiful person Hoseok has ever seen.

He remembers the first time he met you when Zeus had assigned him to be the gatekeeper for the underworld. You were so young, so skittish and worried that you were going to be a terrible ruler as if the dead could be disappointed in you. You'd been beautiful then, too, but not in the same way. You've grown into yourself since then; you're no longer afraid of being a bad queen. You know that you're competent and capable, you know you can do this, and you frequently prove wrong any Olympian who says otherwise. You're mature now; strong and confident and brilliant, and even with the bags under your eyes and the shadows that lick lovingly against your skin, you are absolutely radiant.

Hoseok is so in love with you that it physically hurts him, and every time he looks at you, he is reminded of how you are just out of his reach.

He clears his throat and you look up. The tired smile that graces your face warms him, and he settles into a chair on your left with practiced ease. This isn't the first time you've asked him to dine with you, and it won't be the last.

"What's the occasion?" He teases, delighting in the way you roll your eyes and gesture to the food and nectar that sits in front of him.

"How is Yoongi?" You ask. It doesn't escape him that you don't answer, but you always have your reasons, so he doesn't call you on it.

"Well. He wanders around on his own and doesn't seem to jump at the slightest sound anymore. He came with me the other day when I judged and managed to pick fifteen people for Elysium in a row." An expression passes over your face that he can't decipher. He continues anyway. "He still won't talk much about what happened, but he also doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry to leave. I imagine he'll get bored eventually, and we'll need to give Cerb extra treats when he does, but I'm not concerned just yet."

You nod and Hoseok starts to eat as you rifle through a few more papers. "You know he's Persephone?" You ask, and Hoseok nods. He'd forgotten to share that knowledge with you, but clearly, you had your own way of finding things out. "So then you're aware that his mother is Demeter."

Hoseok pauses for a minute. He swallows the food in his mouth and really looks at you for the first time since he sat down. The bags under your eyes are more prominent, and you're wearing your Hades expression. The one that stays professional and controlled and tells people nothing of your true thoughts. Well, people that haven't known you for more than a thousand years.

"Hoseok, he can't stay here forever," You eventually say. "She's been looking for him everywhere. The humans' crops are ruined, ice and snow have covered the earth, more people are dying than we can hold right now. She won't stop."

"And that means we kick him out?" Hoseok hisses. You close your eyes and he can feel the sigh you're holding back. "You said yourself that he could stay as long as he wants. You can't just rescind that because some wheat goddess is going on a rampage. We still don't know what he was running from, or if it's still out there, and I won't watch him-" He stops, frozen by the way you're pressing your tongue into the side of your cheek. It's the only tell you have and he rarely sees it, because you rarely keep things from him. "What do you know?"

You don't answer, and he repeats the question, louder this time, as he surges out of his chair.

"I was running from her," Yoongi's voice echoes through the library. You and Hoseok both turn to see him standing in the door, and Hoseok's heart swells at the sight. He's in soft, muted pink robes that Hoseok knows he made himself. His cheeks are rounder, and he's no longer curled in on himself. He looks stronger. Confident. Unafraid. "I was running from my mother. That's what you found out, right?" Hoseok looks to you, and the regret in your eyes just confirms it.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi, I was only trying to make sure you were safe, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," Yoongi says as he moves to run his hand along your cheek. "I know." He smiles at you. Hoseok looks between the two of you - Yoongi's hand resting lightly on your cheek and a soft smile on his lips while his eyes crinkle with rare happiness, your own eyes wide and full of what can only be described as pure, unadulterated love - and his stomach rolls violently. Even after all the time Hoseok has spent with you, and with Yoongi, and the times he's entered a room to find the two of you in comfortable silence, he never expected this. He should've, he realizes; the two of you are a perfect match, complementing each other to near perfection, each fault being smoothed over by the other's strengths.

How could he have thought you wouldn't fall in love with Yoongi? Soft, kind Yoongi, who had just enough snark inside of him to make every word out of his mouth an unexpected joy. Yoongi who braids flower crowns with the flowers he's started to grow in the courtyard, surrounding the pomegranate tree with the beautiful blooms. Yoongi, who encourages Hoseok to judge more and more souls, ones that don't request it, who can somehow pick the good people from the bad just by looking.

And how could he have ever expected Yoongi not to fall for you? Strong and intelligent, determined and kind. You who opened your home to him in his most vulnerable moment and never expected anything in return. You who did everything in your power to find what was chasing him, and find a way to stop it. You, with your lonely smile and your bare feet. You, who Hoseok himself has been in love with for tens of thousands of years.

How could he have expected either of you not to fall in love in the months that you have known each other when Hoseok couldn't even stop himself?

“I’ll go back to her,” Yoongi says softly, finally dropping his hand from your cheek and turning the radiant smile on Hoseok. “She’ll have no reason to continue this if I return.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Yoongi,” You say immediately. ““You were desperate to get away from her, and...what she almost did to you, that’s unacceptable.”

“Let her rage,” Hoseok agrees. “You’re safe here, no one can get to you without getting through the two of us first, not to mention Cerberus and the Bones. No nature goddess will last in this place, not with our full force around you.”

“Thank you, Hobi, but no. I can’t ask you both to do that, not when it could end so badly for you. You don’t know what she can do, it’s not-”

“You aren’t asking us,” You say. Your voice is as quiet as always, but there’s a firmness there that Hoseok recognizes. It’s usually saved for the throne room when some mortal has been particularly annoying or stubborn, and it’s a shock to see it directed at Yoongi. “We are offering. Let us protect you, Yoongi. At least let me speak with Zeus about this. I may be able to convince him to intervene.”

Yoongi hesitates, the indecision is written all over his face, and Hoseok leans to lace their fingers together. It’s a familiar gesture, done so often to prevent Yoongi from getting lost that it’s second nature at this point.

“Please,” Hoseok pleads when Yoongi looks at him. “Please, Yoongi.”

The reluctant nod is all the confirmation needed. You’re already scribbling out a summons for Hermes to carry to the lord of the gods, and Hoseok is halfway through the halls to reinforce the gates and ensure Cerberus knows his task. He tries not to think about the way Yoongi lingered behind, one hand on your shoulder as he watched you write and the other caressing the flower-riddled braids he’d made earlier that day.

He doesn’t think about it, because in the end, it doesn’t matter. Hoseok is so deeply in love with the two of you, so grossly enamored, that he would go to the end of time itself if it meant keeping the two of you safe and happy. Even if that meant watching you love each other and not him.

“What do you mean, he won’t help?”

You massage your temples without looking up from the letter Zeus had sent back with Hermes. He was, unsurprisingly, not helpful. Hoseok had appeared not long after the messenger had left, and is, also unsurprisingly, irate.

“According to him, he has no dog in this fight, because Yoongi isn’t his son, he’s Demeter’s, and if he were to get involved, he’d side with her since the humans are dying so quickly, which isn’t exactly good for worship numbers.”

“Are you kidding me? He seriously said he’d take her side in this?”

“Not in so many words, but yes. And I get it, Hobi. His job is to keep the peace between everyone in Olympus, and without actually coming here to give me an audience, all he has is Demeter’s side of the story.”

“Which is?”

“That I kidnapped her son and am currently holding him captive in a dungeon down here.”

“That’s absurd. He’s not captive at all, he’s happier here than he ever was up there, and you didn’t kidnap him!” You give a slight nod to show that yes, Hoseok, you’re aware of the truth. “Does he know what she does to him? How she treats him?”

“Hoseok, please,” You mutter. The weight of Zeus’ words is like a blade against your throat and you want nothing more than to help Yoongi. Clearly, the Fates have decided against that. “You know how he is. Do you honestly think he’d care? She has a claim to him, despite what he wants, and unless we find a way to get Zeus down here or go there ourselves, our lord won’t be able to hear any other side of this story.”

“Then we’ll...we’ll go there! We’ll make them listen! You could talk sense into him, make him see that he needs to help.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hobi.” Hoseok flinches, as if just remembering that you are as captive here as the souls you keep. You’re glad, not for the first time, that Death Itself cannot be contained, so that Hoseok, at least, is free to come and go as he pleases. “And before you say it, no, we can’t ask him to go. It isn’t safe. The second he sets foot outside this realm, she’ll pull him back. We’re lucky that he hasn’t already told her where Yoongi is.”

Your statement is punctuated with a muffled thud, and the anxiety that runs through you is mirrored in the look Hoseok gives you. Another thud echoes through the palace, the ground rumbling under your feet, and you stand.

“Where is he?” You ask, already pulling the shadows around you.

“Just past the gate, walking through the Meadow. If we hurry-”

“Go.” You disappear into the blackness, never more glad that Hoseok can sense the living in your land. When you step away from the shadows, Yoongi is there, confusion written across his face and fear in his eyes. “You have to run.”

“No,” He says. “I’m not going to keep running from her. I’m staying here, she can’t take me back.”

“Yoongi, please,” You beg. He’s too vulnerable here, too open, too easily seen with his spring green robes billowing around his feet and flowers woven into a crown atop his head. He takes your hands in his and pulls you close, and you’ve never seen a fire like this in him. It burns hot and strong and it makes your chest ache for what could have been.

“I won’t let her hurt you while I hide away like a coward,” He whispers. His thumb wipes away tears you didn’t know were there, and determination floods through you.

"Please, Yoongi. Let us help you. Let me help you. I-" The words choke in your throat, but Yoongi nods as if they made it out.

"I love you, too." His voice is soft, barely audible over the shaking ground and the deafening sound of hooves slamming into your gates. You feel more than see Hoseok land beside you, and his hand rests on the small of your back without hesitation.

"Take him," You tell Hoseok. "Go to the palace. You'll be safe there. Don't let him leave."

Hoseok's eyes are fire-bright as he wraps an arm around Yoongi's waist. The god's protests fall on dead ears, even as you let your hands brush over the softness of Hoseok's ink black wings. Just one moment, that is all you want, just one single second to pretend.

"I'll see you after, my lady," Hoseok says firmly. You don't have the heart to correct him, nor the time, so you just nod. Yoongi's screams echo in your ears even as you turn, the blackness that lingers at every corner of your realm swirling around your feet and ready to be whatever you need. You let one last year fall from your eyes as the gates crumple, and the furious eyes of Demeter fixate on you and the black-winged figure carrying her son away.

Hoseok flies faster than he ever has, determined to get Yoongi into the palace and relative safety. The god sobs in his arms, still struggling to get back to where you stand in the Meadow, the massive form of Demeter towering above you, but Hoseok doesn't relax his grip. You gave him an order; he hadn't disappointed you yet, and he isn't about to start now. Not with Yoongi caught in the middle.

He doesn't hesitate when he touches down in the palace, wings retracted and brushing ever so slightly against the black marble floor. He turns to the nearby Bones and orders them to the doors, summoning as many others as he can spare from the gates and Fields to help barricade the palace from the goddess.

"Hobi, you have to go, you have to help her," Yoongi sobs. "She's gonna...I can't, Hobi, please, you have to keep her safe."

"I have to keep you safe," Hoseok replies. He's got a vice grip around Yoongi's arm as he pulls him deeper into the palace, doing his level best to avoid any window or door to the outside. "That was the order she gave and that's the order I shall obey."

"How can you say that?! Don't you care that she could-"

"Of course I care!" Hoseok spits, rounding on the shorter god the second the words leave his lips. "Do you think this is easy for me, Yoongi? Do you think I enjoy choosing between the two of you like this? Because I don't. I want nothing more than to be helping her right now, but I can't...I can't leave you alone here. It's too dangerous."

Hoseok isn't stupid; he knows exactly how he feels about you, and Yoongi, and he's not oblivious to the way the both of you look at him. Still, the two of you are powerful deities, worshipped and loved, feared and prayed to. He's just a guardian, content to sit in the background and watch for threats. Yes, he loves you, with every fiber of his immortal soul, but he also loves Yoongi, and he knows you love Yoongi, and you gave him an order.

"Hobi," Yoongi whispers, eyes wet and red and beautiful. "Hobi, please, you have to help her. She needs you. I can manage, I can hide, but she needs you. No one else can help her."

The fact that he's even considering this shows just how easy it is for Yoongi to manipulate him. Hoseok understands now, what you meant all that time ago. Yoongi's voice is rough and lingering and fearful but it carries so much hope that it digs into Hoseok's skin like a hook. He curses and bundles Yoongi into the corner.

"Stay hidden. Don't make a noise. You can't let her find you." Hoseok hesitates for a split second before pressing a quick kiss to Yoongi's forehead. "I will see you after this."

"I know."

It's never been harder for him to turn his back on someone, but Hoseok manages, with only one last look back before he takes to the air and surges forwards to where you stand, keeping Demeter back with every piece of your power.

Yoongi runs. He runs and runs and runs, the bare skin of his feet silent on the cool marble. The braziers have long since gone out, but he stopped needing them months ago. He knows where he is, even as he tucks himself into a small, nearly invisible niche in a corner. He hardly dares to breathe, too scared that the sound will alert his mother of his location. The palace is silent, not a single sound in the entire thing, and it's deafening in the aftermath of the rumbling screams that signaled your battle with her.

He isn't sure how he managed to convince Hoseok to leave him, whether it was the obvious love the god felt for you or the sheer desperation in his own eyes, but he could only pray the two of you made it out. As gods, you're all difficult to kill, but it's not impossible. Not for other deities.

Come out, little flower.

Yoongi stifles a whimper, panic coloring his vision white for a long while before he can breathe again. Memories flash behind his eyelids and he pried them open just to stare into the darkness.

You can't hide forever, little flower. You know that.

Her voice echoes against the marble. It makes her sound like she's everywhere and nowhere at once, able to find him even as he hides. He clenches his teeth and reminds himself that you and Hoseok are the only ones that know this palace better than him.

You're making me very angry, little flower. Why do you run? I only want the best for you, and you insist on causing such a fuss.

The sound of her sandals reaches him, reverberating off the walls and telling him that she's far too close. He slips silently out of the niche and pads across the floor on the balls of his feet. He doesn't make a sound, something he perfected in his time with her, and just as she slips around the corner, he's darting down another hallway.

Look at what you've done, little flower. All this mess, and for what? Do you like it when I'm angry? Do you enjoy this game of ours?

He slips into another hall just in time. Exhaustion has made him slow. The marble of the wall is cool against his heated skin, and he wonders where you are. Where Hoseok is. If you're alright or if you're laying in the Meadow, golden ocher pooling around you. The thought enrages him, and for the first time, he can feel power at his fingertips; real power, not the simple gardening magic she taught him as a child. He's ready to use it, he thinks. He's so tired of running, so tired of being afraid, and he's so fucking angry that the people he loves have had to fight his battles for him.

Found you, little flower.

Warmth circles his ankle and pulls before he can jerk away. Her nails are sharp than before, like sickles at the end of each long finger, and he scrabbles uselessly at the smooth stone floor. She's speaking but the sound of her voice - wind whispering through a field of wheat, a brook babbling in the summer - is drowned out by the blood pumping in his ears.

"No, I won't go back, you can't make me," He hisses, kicking at her hand with his free leg. He doesn't feel the cuts on his soles, doesn't register them at all until he sees the gold dropping onto the floor; the adrenaline masks the pain. She says something else and he stops kicking, though he doesn't know what she's said. He isn't listening, too busy thinking of a way out of this.

It comes to him, all at once, and he relaxes in her grip. His chest heaves in a sob, because he knows exactly what he has to do, and you will never forgive him for it.

"Alright," He says flatly. Demeter stops in her monologue. "I'll go with you. Just leave them alone." The smile that splits her face is more grotesque than any corpse he's seen in the Styx, but the way she releases his ankle is a blessing. He keeps himself hunched and downtrodden as he pushes himself up, into her waiting arms. The hug is bruising and brings vile to his throat, but it is necessary.

It's with a flash of green as he pulls away from her that he makes his move. The flower crown previously atop his head has morphed, grown into thick, thorny vines around her arms and keeping her in place.

Yoongi is gone before she can so much as screech, sprinting as fast he can through the halls to the one thing that can help him. He feels it when she rips through his flowers, his very soul shaking at the pain that rips through him, but he's determined. He's made good ground, he only had a little further to go.

The vibrant colors of the courtyard have never felt so welcome. He's halfway through, blossoms crushed under his feet as he tears through the carefully tended flowers, when she catches up. The blade of her scythe rips through his back, but the adrenaline masks the pain. He's bleeding, he knows, but he can't bring himself to focus on anything but the way the bark feels under his grip, branches reaching down to help him reach his goal.

She tears him out of the tree violently, no longer wearing the carefully sculpted mask of love. The scream that she unleashes when she sees him shakes the entire realm, soft pebbles falling from the ceiling of the cavern miles above his head, but he doesn't care.

The pomegranate is ripe against his tongue, juice tinting his lips pink, and the weight of it against his chest has never been more welcome. Demeter screams for what could be centuries, but Yoongi does not care, because he has won, and he has never tasted anything so sweet in his entire life.

"Come to bed," Hoseok pleads, not for the first time. You look at him with a sigh. His wings are gone, hidden away until he needs them again, and his arm is free of the bandages he's been wearing. It has taken so long for him to heal, and you still aren't sure he should be up and about. There's a small, barely perceptible scar along his forearm, the faintest reminder of what the two of you survived.

"I have to finish this before he returns, Hobi," You tell him, also not for the first time. Hoseok scoffs and comes around the desk to stand behind you, eyes roving over the documents in front of you.

"It's been over six months," He whispers in your ear. "Zeus has approved your expansion requests. I'm fine. You're fine. Yoongi will be back from Olympus soon."

"Hoseok," Your tone is warning despite the way he whispers your name. You deflate, falling back in your chair and letting him rub your shoulders. "I just miss him."

"I know. I do too." You're both quiet for a while. It has been six months since Demeter crashed into your world and rampaged through the Meadow to find Yoongi. You remember it so vividly, the way you struggled against the unbridled fury she had, the way Hoseok screamed as she broke his wing, the pain in your chest as you'd crawled to him and just held him in your arms until the Bones had made it to the two of you and carried him to the palace.

You had been, and still are, vastly proud of him and Yoongi for fighting back, but that didn't change the fact that they had both put themselves in immense danger by doing so. Even with the - admittedly brilliant, if stupid - plan that Yoongi had come up with, things never really worked out for you. Hoseok had been bedridden for weeks, unable to even more because of the pain in his wing. Hermes has helped with the healing process, which you were unendingly thankful for, but Yoongi had been carted off to Olympus almost immediately for negotiations.

Zeus, benevolent leader and incompetent moron that he is, had decided on a compromise: Yoongi would stay with you in the underworld after the harvest was finished, free to do whatever he liked, but until then he had to stay in Olympus. The letter had mentioned something about reparations to the mortals for the utterly obscene amount of crops they had lost - which was ridiculous really, they were doing their level best to kill the planet and you are gods, since when do gods pay reparations to mortals? - that Yoongi was required to use his abilities to help with.

You'd sent Hermes back with several colorful threats of what exactly would happen to the billions of dead you kept here should Yoongi return in any way other than utter perfection, and you've been anxious for days to find out whether you get to follow through on them. It only worsens when you remember that you have a decision to make when Yoongi returns. You remember the way he looked when he said he loved you, returning words you couldn't bring yourself to say, and you remember the elation and subsequent depression that came after the battle at the realization that you could have had him, were he not gone for half the year.

And yet you also distinctly remember the way Hoseok looked, wings splayed over several tables to hold them in place as they healed, vulnerable and shy as he told you that he was sorry for disobeying you. You won't ever forget his face as he explained, the way his lips formed around your name when he told you he couldn't beat to see you hurt, not after so many years spent loving you. The feel of his lips against your skin is like a phantom even now; Hoseok had waited until he was healed to do anything more than press chaste kisses against your knuckles, and even still you've not felt him the way you want, but it hasn't stopped him from trying.

"Come on, my lady," Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Just for a while." You grumble under your breath - you really do have work to finish before Yoongi arrives - but you allow Hoseok to pull you from your chair and lead you down the hall to your bedroom.

So lost in your own musings, you don't notice the figure lounging on your bed until he speaks.

"Six months and I don't get even so much as a hello?"

Your eyes shoot up and your breath hitches in your throat. Pale green robes lined in the most beautiful black and silver embroidery pool around him, matching the braided crown that rests atop his head. You didn't know flowers like that existed, let alone that they could look so wonderful on someone.

"I didn't know you were back," You breathe.

"That's the point of a surprise, my love," Hoseok says from behind you, hand tightening around yours. Guilt begins to grow in your chest and Yoongi tsks at you. He rises and comes to stand in front of you, brow furrowed.

"That's no way for a queen to look, is it? What has you thinking so hard?" His thumb smooths the space between your brows and you can't help the glance to Hoseok.

"I can't...I don't want to hurt you." Your voice is barely a whisper, and the familiar sting encircles your heart once more. You couldn't choose between the two of them, not if you tried, not even if it meant getting out of this place.

"You won't," Hoseok tells you with a familiar grin. "Yoongi and I have already talked about what we feel for each other, and for you. The only question now is if you'll have us. Both of us."

Months ago, you would have called them crazy and had them exiled for fear they'd gone mad. You never imagined you could have one of them, let alone both; you had been ready to tell them both that you had been mistaken because having one by your side while your heart still yearned for the other was far more cruel than anything you could put in the Fields of Punishment.

Now? Now you know what the Isles must feel like. It is Yoongi in front of you, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek while Hoseok's warmth is steady behind you, one arm encircling your waist and keeping you steady.

"Both of you?" You echo. Yoongi nods.

"You don't have to," Hoseok says from behind you. "But we know how you feel about us, and we're sure in how we feel for each other. There are stranger pairings in the world, aren't there?"

"Only one of you could be king." You aren't sure why you say that, can't remember why it even matters when Hoseok trails his lips over the shell of your ear.

"I never have looked good on a throne," He says. Yoongi's chest rumbles in a laugh, and you could cry at the sight of that familiar gummy smile.

"Please," Yoongi eventually says. "Please say yes." You search his eyes for any hint of indecision or regret, and when you find none, you turn to Hoseok. He has a soft, encouraging smile on his face, and he holds your crown in his free hand. The cool black metal is harsh against his tanned skin, but what draws your eye isn't the way the bones are fused together or the etchings of historical scenes across each. No, it's the soft pale green blossoms woven in among the metal, a stark contrast to the harshness of the bones, and the silver thread twined around all of it, dipping in and out in various places but clearly noticeable in the light. It's a perfect representation of the three of you and it makes your chest swell.

"Yes," You breathe. They don't move, and your eyes dart between them. "Yes, absolutely. I can think of nothing I have ever wanted more."

Yoongi surges forward, capturing you in a long-awaited kiss. His lips are soft as blossoms against yours, warm and gentle as the hands that cup your jaw and draw you closer. You're aware, distantly, of the soft clink of metal on stone as Hoseok sets your crown to the side, though his arm never leaves your waist.

Hours could have passed with Yoongi kissing you. You aren't sure. Time runs together and blends, a dizzying whirlwind of slow drags of his lips across yours followed by quick, messy bursts of his tongue. You can barely focus on what is happening, mind split between the absolute euphoria of kissing him and the heat that comes from Hoseok's fingers dancing along your waist and shoulders, his breath ghosting over your neck as he watches. When Yoongi finally detaches from your lips, he ducks down to suck at the exposed skin of your collarbone, and Hoseok turns your chin so you face him.

"May I, my lady?" He asks. His voice is rough and deeper than you're used to, affected by the sight of you and Yoongi. His fingers twine with the strings holding your robes together and you give him a nod. It doesn't even take a full breath before the black material is pooling at your feet. Hoseok stifles something that sounds suspiciously like a moan behind you, and you think Yoongi actually purrs. They both run their hands along your skin, basking in the goosebumps that they raise and the shivers that crawl up your spine.

"Absolutely ethereal," Yoongi mutters. You pull him into another kiss, one hand coming up to rest against his shoulder while your other tangles in Hoseok's hair where he's doing his level-best to leave his mark on your neck.

"Please," You murmur. "I want to make you happy."

"You've already done that, my queen," He says. His smile is soft and the glint in his eye is sharp. You huff a little and tap twice at Hoseok's neck; when he pulls away, pouting but compliant, you push Yoongi until he's falling back onto your bed. He goes with no objections, one hand twining his fingers with yours and you crawl up to straddle his hips. "Let me please you, my queen. I've been waiting six months to taste you, and I don't want to waste another moment if I don't have to."

Your breath hitches as Hoseok steps up behind you. The bare skin of his chest is a shock as it presses against your back, and he slides his hands along your sides before beginning to tease your nipples. You stifle the moan, emitting more of a whine than anything, and you think you nod. All you know is the heat between your legs and the knee-deep ache to make them happy.

Yoongi's between your legs in a flash. You can't be sure how exactly he moved so quickly without jostling you, but the thought is all but shoved out of your mind as he swipes his tongue against you for the first time. You're glad Hoseok is behind you because your legs are already trembling where they're curled under you and your head drops back to rest against his shoulder. As merciless as Hoseok is in his torment of your chest, Yoongi is doubly so.

You imagine a man starving and dehydrated in a desert wouldn't be this invested in a sudden banquet laid in front of him; Yoongi worships you, circling your clit several times before dipping down to dart teasingly in and out of your hole. He laps up every single drop of your arousal, dutiful in his mission even as Hoseok begins to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. The heat of his breath has you closer to the edge than you want to admit, but the sheer love that radiates from his words at the same time Yoongi rumbles out a heavenly moan straight into your folds, tongue buried inside of you, is what drives you over the edge.

You aren't surprised when neither of them stop; you get the sense Yoongi is thoroughly enjoying himself between your thighs, based on the growing tent in his robes. Hoseok grinds against your ass, and his own hardness presses against you with every painless thrust of his hips. A pang of guilt shoots through you and your hands drop. It's a bit of an awkward angle, but you make it work as you glide your hands over him. He's thick, that's for sure, and nearly as long as your forearm. How you're supposed to take that inside of you is anyone's guess, but as Yoongi brings you to yet another orgasm with his mouth, you realize that's exactly what they're preparing you for.

The whimper comes unbidden, walls clenching around nothing at the thought of them filling you, and they both shudder. "Please," You gasp, "Please, I need you. Both of you."

Yoongi graciously lets you rise off of him, and when you settle on your back, he sits up to smile at you. His lips and chin are absolutely coating in your slick, the sight erotic and exciting. The feeling is doubled as Hoseok grips Yoongi's chin, turning the mint-haired god to face him.

"How does she taste, my flower?" He purrs. You don't hear Yoongi's response, just the deep thrum of his voice, but you see the way Hoseok runs his thumb across Yoongi's lips, collecting your juices, before sliding it into his own mouth. You moan at the sight, Hoseok's eyes falling closed as he relishes in the taste of you. Yoongi strips out of his robes while he can, and he doesn't seem to miss the way your and Hoseok's eyes watch hungrily.

"Tell me what you want," Hoseok says, pulling you closer as Yoongi settles behind you. "We're here for you, my queen."

"I…" You falter. You aren't even sure what you want now; you've spent six months trying to figure out how to tell both of the men you love that you can't be with either of them and now you have both of them naked in your bed, waiting to please you. You can hardly think, can't focus beyond the feel of their skin against yours and the heat of their gaze, but you know one thing.

You need them to know how desperately you love them, and with the fire burning between your thighs, there is exactly one way you can do that.

"I need you inside me, Hobi," You tell him. "I need to feel you inside of me. Yoongi, too. Both of you." Hoseok's cock twitches and something in his jaw clicks. You don't wait for more of a response, choosing instead to slide across the sheets to straddle Hoseok's hips. His hands rest lightly on your hips, tentative now, and you smile at him. His hands are gentle now, soft as the smile he gives you in return. His cock is dripping and red, a warm heat in your palm as you guide him to your entrance.

The look in his eyes, the small moan he releases, the hitch in Yoongi's breath behind you as you slowly sink down onto Hoseok will forever be etched into your memory. You're so full that you could cry; he feels absolutely perfect inside of you, and it only gets better as he guides you carefully up and then back down onto him. Your moan is felt more than heard and it only gets louder as he speeds up. His fingers are marble against your his, unmoving and firm as he slides in and out. He doesn't look away for a second and neither do you; all the years you've spent thinking about him, the millennia you've ached to love and be loved by him, it has all led to this. Your hips moving against his, connected in a way you've never been before; if it were possible to read his thoughts, you think you could at this moment, because they must be a mirror of your own.

"I love you," You whisper. Yoongi's warmth presses against your spine as he slides a finger between the two of you to rub slow circles into your clit, and you gasp. "I love you, Hobi, so much." The words are a mantra on your lips, and you think there may be tears in his eyes but you can't be sure because you're coming again, shuddering on top of him, and Yoongi is gently pulling you off.

Hands turn you, and now it's Yoongi between your legs, cock red and throbbing where it sits against his stomach. He isn't as long as Hoseok, but he's wider, and you clench again at the sight.

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him with a soft kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth. You slide down onto him, welcoming the slight burn that comes with the stretch. It takes two breaths for you to become impatient and begin to move, grinding your hips down against his. Yoongi isn't as loud as Hoseok, soft pants and whines where Hobi is echoing moans and groans, but it's just as attractive. He moves his hips in tandem with yours, and the muses themselves couldn't have created a better rhythm. The words fall from your lips again; it's easier, now that you've said them to someone, to let them go. They don't ball in your throat, aren't a lump to swallow down anymore, and you revel in the feeling.

"I love you," Yoongi returns, thumbs ghosting over the skin of your thighs. "So much, both of you. Saved me, can't fucking...fuck, can't tell you enough." You nod and loose another moan when Hoseok slides a finger in alongside Yoongi's cock.

"Do you think she can take us both, my flower?" Hoseok asks. His voice is raspy in your ear and you shudder as you orgasm again. There's a moment when you wonder just how many times you can come from the two of them, but it's gone the second Yoongi speaks.

"I think she could," Yoongi responds. "She's certainly wet enough. Absolutely soaked, aren't you, my queen? Do you want that? Both of us in here, filling you up?" He punctuates every word with another thrust of his hips and you nod. You don't think you've ever wanted anything more.

Hoseok is careful as he fingers you, working you open with one, then two, then three fingers as Yoongi slides in and out. You'd commend them both on their stamina if you could spare a single thought to anything but the feeling of them. Yoongi looks wrecked, covered in sweat with swollen lips, panting and desperate as he writhes beneath you.

When Hoseok finally decides you're ready, he slides his fingers out and asks you again if you're sure. You barely have the presence of mind to nod, too close to coming again, but it's enough for him. He slides in, and all three of you are moaning. You can't be sure what it feels like for them, but you're in absolute bliss. Hoseok peppers your shoulder with chaste kisses, murmuring encouragement as he sinks deeper inside. His cock drags against your walls and Yoongi's dick, and the thought makes you clench around them both. You're so full, you may explode, but it's perfection. When Hoseok bottoms out inside of you, you're all still for a while, just getting used to it.

"You're perfect," Hoseok whispers into your skin. "Both of you, you're both fucking perfect. Fuck, can I-?"

"Yes," You interrupt. You're already grinding down onto them, desperate for any kind of friction. "Please, Hobi." He grunts as he starts to move, and Yoongi does the same. They get a steady rhythm after a while, one sinking in as deep as he could get as the other drags outward, only to slam back in at the last second.

A sob builds in your throat, the sheer pleasure rolling through your body too much to handle as orgasm after orgasm slammed into you. There are hands everywhere, two on your hips keeping you steady, two roaming your body and teasing your nipples, on one Hoseok's neck to keep him close as another rests lightly against Yoongi's throat. You aren't sure which are yours, can't tell where you end and they begin, too fucked out to be able to think beyond the drag of their cocks against your walls and the growing ache inside you.

"Please," You gasp. "Please, need it. Fill me, please, need you both to fill me, make me yours, forever. Mark me. I'm yours, always, please, fill me with you." They both groan at that, and their pace speeds up. They're hitting harder and deeper and brushing against the spot inside of you that makes your vision turn white. Something gushes down your thighs as you spasm around them wildly, hips jerking of their own accord, and you feel it as they come together, hot seed spilling inside of you as you ride out your highs together.

You're panting and sweaty and hot and still, you don't think you'd trade this for even a moment of sunlight. They slide out of you and their cum seeps down your legs before you can stop it. You fall to the bed beside Yoongi, chest heaving even as he wraps you in his arms. A wave of your hand creates a small fan near the bed, shadows churning out cool air that feels like ambrosia on your skin.

Hoseok reappears with water for you both, and you thank him. Your voice is nearly gone, but it's worth it, you think. You pat the space beside you and Hoseok climbs in. His skin is hot against yours; the three of you are essentially a furnace at the moment, but you can't bring yourself to care. You can't count how many orgasms you had or how long you spent with them; it could have been minutes or hours or even days. It doesn't matter to you, really. Sprawled between an already-sleeping Yoongi and a Hoseok that's tracing invisible designs onto your skin, you have everything you could ever want.

Later you sit atop the shadows near your bed, chin in your hand as you admire the card between your fingers. Yoongi and Hoseok are wrapped around each other in your bed, lightly snoring as the sheets rise and fall against their naked chests. As you watch them, Hoseok’s brow furrows and he lazily stretches his arm to pat against the bed in search of you. He snuffles a little, and Yoongi nuzzles deeper into the crook of his neck until they’re both quiet again.

Silver foil glints in the light and you look back at the card in your hand. There’s a stack a hundred high beside you, all of them identical to the next save for the curling letters that make up the recipients, but this one is special. This one is your favorite. If you didn’t absolutely have to send it off, you would frame it and hang it above your throne; ultimately, though, you’d rather bask in the aftermath that’s sure to come.

With a small smile, you set it atop the others and wrap the bit of twine around them all. It’s gone with a wave of your hand, no doubt appearing wherever Hermes is. You wish you could see the look on his face when he realizes what they are, but he’s not the one that you really wish you could watch.

The raspy call of your name brings you back to the present, and you look up to find Yoongi watching you, lids heavy with sleep and eyes dark. “What are you doing?” He asks.

“Nothing.” You grin and stand, letting the shadows underneath you fall away. “Just sending out a quick notice.” You slide in beside him and Hobi, the latter still asleep but turning to wrap his arms around you nonetheless. Yoongi presses kisses to your knuckles and you pull a stray flower petal from his hair.

“You’re gloating, aren’t you?” He mutters. There’s a smile behind his eyes, and it warms you.

“Maybe a bit.” You lean over and kiss him, gentle and tender and you hope that it conveys everything you can’t put into words. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No,” Yoongi answers after a long pause in which he moves to straddle Hoseok’s hips in order to get close enough to suck marks into your neck. His lips are slow against your skin, tired and lazy from sleep. “I think I enjoy this side of you, actually.” “I, for one, am very much enjoying this side of you.” You grin at Hoseok’s words, smiling down at him. He’s half-hard again, hands resting lightly on Yoongi’s hips and eyes fixed on the bruises that bloom on your neck. “I thought we were sleeping.”

“We were,” You tell him. “You can always go back to sleep if you want.”

“You wish,” He mutters. Yoongi groans against your neck and you look down to see Hoseok palming him, working him up to fullness as Yoongi fucks into his hand. You wrap one of your own around Hoseok and return the favor; the way his moan echoes through the room is better than anything the nine muses could have created.

It’s slow and tired, each of you already spent from your earlier activities, but when you eventually drop between them, chests heaving from your orgasms and already half-asleep again, you think it’s worth it.

When you wake later and find a card sitting on the flower-woven throne - a new addition to the hall, one most welcome - crumpled and half-torn with a thorn sticking out of it, you know it’s worth it.

#bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #hoseok fanfic #jhope fanfic #suga fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #hoseok smut #bts fluff #bts angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #fic: from eden #ddaenggtan #jhope x reader #suga x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #reader insert #kpop fanfiction #bts fanfiction #greek god bts #persephone yoongi #thanatos hoseok #hades reader #greek god reader #olympian bts #series: monsters and gods

[moonlit-raven-haven]

Chapter 1: Dreams

A/N: Hey everyone, this is the first chapter to a John Wick fan fiction. I haven’t written anything this long in a few years so sorry for any typos or alternation between present and past tense. I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: some angst

Word Count: 2,586

Dreams.

The ability to enter another world. A world of fiction, the world of the past, and if you're lucky enough, the world of the future.

Blair is in a dream, a dream of red. She is falling, falling, until she lands with a big splash into warm, thick liquid—the blood shed of her past, and her future. She is drowning, but no one moves to save her as blood pours from the sky, so she sinks deeper into a red eternity.

A sudden knock on Blair’s door wakes her from her slumber and startles her, despite it being four in the afternoon. Her first instinct is to grab her gun, but she is unable to do so due to the lack of air in her lungs. The dream felt too real; after gaping for air for what felt like hours but was only a few minutes she composes herself. Blair is in the safety of the Continental, no gun is needed, but she brings it with her anyways as she rolls out of bed, her feet hitting the cold floor. The varnished wood feels smooth underneath her feet as she glides across the floor, not making a sound and going up the single step leading to a platform and the door. She opens the door, gripping her gun in her hand, but when she sees it's none other than Charon, her grip on the cold piece of metal loosens.

"Good morning Miss Havoc, sorry to wake you, but Winston would like to meet with you."

"It's okay Charon, thank you for informing me." She speaks with a calmness to her voice, smiling at him and nodding curtly before going to close the door, which is stopped by Charon.

"Opening the door with a gun by your side is not necessary here in the Continental Miss Havoc."

"I'm aware, but I'm afraid there's people who are willing to break the rules of the Continental." Her voice is quiet, making Charon nod curtly in understanding before walking down the hall, disappearing out of her sight.

Blair closes the door, sighing softly as she walks to the small hotel closet, running her fingers over the different materials and clothes. Finally she settles for one of her many black dresses; short sleeved, tight around the waist, turtle neck, and just below her knees. She leaves her hair curly hair as is, only pinning the sides back and applying some mascara and red lipstick. She grabs a pair of black pumps and her small leather purse with a gold chain—giving herself once last glance in the mirror, she walks out of her room, locking the door behind her.

Blair walks down the hallway, the sound of her black pumps clicking on the inexplicably expensive tile made of marble. She reaches the elevator and presses the button, waiting for it to descend from wherever it's currently at.

"Winston asked to meet with me." A frown falls on her face as the thought runs through her mind. A meeting with the owner of the Continental could either mean good news or bad news. It's always difficult to tell which one it would be. While he isn't too intimidating due to his age and appearance, he holds the power to the hotel. He could easily revoke her privileges right there and then, but he is kind, and would be unwilling to do so without breakage of a rule. Yet, she can't help but feel fearful of the older man.

Ding.

The elevator finally descends from its previous location and arrives at her floor. The silver doors open in front of her, revealing a dimly lit elevator with red wood walls and the same marble floor that lies throughout most of the hotel. She steps inside and turns around, her face facing the hallways as she presses the button below the number one. A few seconds pass and the elevators close shut, now lowering her to the lobby of the Continental.

Ding.

The elevator comes to a halt and the doors open to reveal the palatial lobby of the Continental. She steps out of the elevator and takes it all in, despite being her almost all her life, it never ceases to amaze her. The marble floor is adorned by brown carpets leading to different entrances and the reception counter where Charon stands in the lobby. The carpets are the same but nonetheless mesmerizing with their different shades of brown and design that reminded her of seashells. Each carpet is trimmed with a darker brown which is filled in with three sets of vertical lines that form an incomplete triangle. There's blue seats on either side of the lobby, each one with a white trim, in front of the chairs is a clear glass table, outlined with black metal. Her eyes wander to the tall cement pillars that connect to gorgeous cement arches, finally leading to the even taller ceiling that's adorned with black, candle lit chandeliers. She looks over to the reception counter made of marble where Charon stands, typing away at the computer. Behind Charon two grand black gates stand behind it all, blue curtains adorning them from behind where a brown wall can be seen, a large piece of two Earths hanging above the dark brown wood.

Blair looks away and begins to walk, her black pumps clicking against the marble floor. She glances at the other people in the lobby, all wearing custom clothes and sipping coffee, others typing away on their phones, some reading magazines, and some talking in quiet whispers. As she walks towards the door that leads to the lounging area, she notices people look her way and whisper to each other. But she pays no mind to it, in her line of work, people will talk.

Blair reaches the door and twists the gold door knob, opening the brown door and closing it gently behind her. She enters the dimly lit room adorned by dark colors, taking in her surroundings. The staircase is black, and simple, but elegant all at once. There's a great big window to her right side, covered by deep red curtains and black chandeliers, different from those in the lobby, hanging down from the ceiling. She takes a few steps forward and looks down where others are sitting at the bar, some drinking by themselves after an exhausting job, others lounging around, enjoying their drinks. Her eyes move up to the black tables, chairs, and leather couches where some people where eating a meal, others enjoyed a drink, and some simply enjoy the peaceful atmosphere of the lounge after a long day.

Blair’s eyes move to the corner of the lounge to Winston's usual spot, but instead of seeing a table covered in papers and a working Winston, she is met with him talking to another man. Her brows furrow slightly before returning to their normal position as she begins to walk down the black stair case, her heels clicking with every step. She reaches the bottom of the steps and begins to walk towards Winston, once again hearing the others look her way and whisper to each other, but she shrugs it off, deeming it as nothing. - reaches Winston's table and he smiles at her endearingly, stranding up and holding his hand out to her.

"Miss Havoc." He says smoothly as she reaches out and shakes his hand firmly before pulling it away. She glances at the man sitting across from Winston before looking at him again with questioning eyes. Winston clears his throat.

"I'm sorry Charon had to wake you, but I'm afraid this couldn't wait much longer." He says as he looks at the man still sitting down at the table, gesturing for him to stand up. The mysterious man stands up and turns to face you, and suddenly, she couldn’t help but feel stupid for not recognizing him sooner. John Wick. Her breath hitches in her throat, she hadn’t seen him in five years, and now, here he was again. She felt her blood boil, but her heart eyes soften at his form. He looked the same as he did five years ago. His black suit tailored to perfection and his hair perfectly slicked back. There were a few cuts on his face and he looked tired, worn down, as if he had seen more in recent days than he ever had in his life as an assassin.

“Johnathan.” Her voice was cold, not letting any trace of emotion settle within it. She could see him wince at her coldness, but she couldn’t help it. He left and didn’t even bid her a goodbye. She pulled out a chair next to his and across from Winston, wanting to get whatever it was over with so she could leave and not see John. The two men sit at their previous places, Winston looking inbetween both of them. To Winston the situation was quite amusing, but he knew he had to keep it professional unless he wanted to cause an argument, or even murder between the two.

“Why are we here?” John was the first to speak up, his eyes boring into Winston. Blair can’t help but shiver at his voice, she hadn’t heard it in five years, and just like back then, it was music to her ears. A song she could never get tired of hearing despite how angry and hurt she felt by him.

“I have a contract for the both of you.” Winston states as a waiter comes by, pouring wine into their glasses as Winston picks his up and swirls it around. John’s face goes pale. He came back to get vengeance for his dog and his car, but in the process he got sucked back into the underground life of being an assassin, and with Winston’s words, he knew it was official. Blair glanced over at John, seeing his face pale and she couldn’t help but worry, but she simply picked up her glass of wine and took a long sip. The cool bitterness hit her tongue, being pleasant to her taste buds as she put the glass down.

“Why both of us? I’m sure Jonathan is more than capable of doing it himself.” Blair said as she crossed her arms. She had no reason to be here. John Wick was the best assassin in the world, Blair Havoc coming in as second, but, he could handle the hardest contracts in his own.

“I’m afraid this specific contract is going to require two assassins. Specifically, the two best assassins in the world. Each of you will get $100,000.” Winston stated as he answered he leaned forward to the pair.

“Fine. I’m in.” John simply grunted in response. As he took a long sip of the wine. He needed something stronger. He wasn’t doing it for the money nor to talk to Blair, he needed the thrill of spilling blood; at least, that’s what he told himself.

Blair was taken aback by his response. She would choose to take this contract and work with John, plus get paid a very good amount, or she could opt out and take smaller contracts. She didn’t need the money, and she didn’t want to have contact with John, but for some reason, the words left her mouth.

“I’m also in.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. What was she getting herself into? 

“Very well, tomorrow we will meet here at the same time and discuss the details of the contract. In the meantime, I think you two have some things to discuss in private. You are dismissed.” Winston waves his hand and dismisses the pair. 

Blair gets up quickly, wanting to not see John unless necessary, but John is quicker than her, getting up abruptly from his seat and following her closely before grabbing her arm with a gentleness that no one thought John Wick could have. She finally stops walking and turns to face John, looking directly into his eyes with an intensity that burned him. They were getting stares from the other assassins, but then again, who wouldn’t stare after hearing the story of their past. 

“I think we should talk, in private.” John muttered into her ear as he finally looked away from her gaze to all of the staring people. The girl simply nodded her head in agreement and removed her arm from his grasp as she swiftly moved up the stairs ad back into the lobby where she was greeted by Charon.

“Miss Havoc, Winston said you’re having a rough afternoon. I’ve sent up one of our finest bottles of bourbon.” His voice was soothing an reassuring, one of the many things she’s come to love about the Continental. 

“Thank you, Charon.” Blair answers with an appreciative smile as John appears.

“Good evening Mr. Wick.” Charon now turns his attention to John, his face turning into an amused expression as her demeanor changes to dark. 

“Good evening Charon.” John says with a nod as he quickly follows her into the elevator which she was now in. The ride up the many stories was silent until they reach her floor. She quickly exits the elevator and goes down the long hallway to her room, unlocking the door and stepping inside, leaving it open for John. He walks in, and closes the door behind him, looking a the varnished wooden floor beneath him before looking up and taking in the room around him. 

It is gorgeous just like every room at the Continental, but unlike the other rooms, this room is bigger and feels like home. As he walks across the platform and down the single step leading down to the actual room, he takes in everything in his sight. There are pictures hanging on the frame of the mirror, others around the dresser and nightstand. The closet is open, but instead of a small closet, its a walk in closet with its own lights and shelves. There are arrays of clothing and shoes of all types. A small vanity arranged with lights is littered with makeup and jewelry of different colors and styles. The bathroom door, slightly ajar, but leaving everything in his sight, is arranged with different conditioners, shampoos, lotions, soaps, and hair products. There is even a small kitchen with a small silver stove, sink, refrigerator, and a beautiful counter top made of probably one of thew finest marbles in the world. A queen bed adorned with red comforters lies in the room, a small couch at its foot.

His heart breaks at the sight. the girl who once said she wanted an out of this life has settled down in it.

“You wanted to talk?” Blair finally speaks and walks over two John, two glasses of bourbon in hand as she sits on the small couch, motioning for John to sit next to her. Despite the hurt and anger she felt towards the man at the moment, they new there were things they had to get out of the way in order to work together in  a life or death situation. 

“Do-” John starts but cuts himself off, seeming to hesitate about his next words. The John Wick is hesitating. She can’t help but snicker at his action as he spins the glass of bourbon around in the crystal glass before chugging it down. 

“Do you still love me?”

If this was a dream, she wouldn’t have answered the question, but this wasn’t a dream.

•

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[thisislizheather]

July Jiffs 2020

This was me all month.

The key word being was. We bought an air conditioner! We’ve been an A/C-free family for some time now, but since we’re spending so much time at home, we figured now was the time to be cool. In other news, everything still blows! What a shock! Here’s how I spent July.

I didn’t even know another Halloween movie was being made but of course I’ll go see it even if it turns out to be trash, you gotta support classic horror franchises, that’s just basic horror etiquette 101.

This is the most basic, boring-sounding sandwich on planet earth, but it tastes incredible I promise you (I didn’t add bacon, but I did add fresh mozzarella) and whatever bread you use, it’ll still be great. I find myself constantly forgetting about the greatness of mayo because I, my dear, am an idiot.

I ordered a bunch of new address labels on Zazzle because they were having a Christmas in July sale, so I bought some seasonally inspired labels to use over the next few months. If you’re not seasonally co-ordinating your return address labels, are you even living?

I’m still doing Nathan’s podcast on Patreon incase you’re interested. (You can find more clips on his Instagram.)

I attempted to watch the new Baby-Sitter’s Club on Netflix and it’s really not meant for me. I was never into the books or the movie or any of it, I never liked the idea of kids caring about making money, it seemed too sad to me. “Just be a kid!” I’d always thought.

Speaking of childhood nostalgia, I have started to watch reruns online of Sweet Valley High, which I loved as a kid. It’s no Breaker High, but it’s still pretty great to rewatch. God, Jessica really was an absolute bitch.

Some other things that I’ve rewatched: Con Air (practically a perfect movie, will always love, *Nic Cage forever* might be the only tattoo I’d ever get), Supermarket Sweep is on American Netflix and I was so excited (for about three episodes) then I moved on with my life, Sleepless in Seattle (still a very nice, average, reliable movie), Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure (actually a really great summer movie, will always be a fun time to watch, will forever be a huge Keanu fan, I just feel like I could trust him??), and Dick Tracy (will always love this movie even if it has eight million too many montages, the set design is gorgeous, and this one outfit that Madonna wears makes me question… everything).

Some new movies that I’ve watched: Always Be My Maybe (so, so great! How did it take me so long to see this! So many good scenes, such a good movie), The Karate Kid (insane that I hadn’t seen it before, kids were uncomfortably mean in the 80s, favourite part was when Mr. Miyagi beats up the children, great movie), The Stepfather (pretty fun time, so happy we’ve starting watching horror movies again), Eat Pray Love (ugh, I don’t know, I do love movies about women just leaving and doing fun shit alone and abandoning their lives, but this was pretty lame, I hated James Franco’s character more than life and truly didn’t understand how Julia Roberts was even briefly into him), and finally the original The Hills Have Eyes (which I loved weirdly enough despite being incredibly tense the entire movie, I just thought it was so well done and scary and incredible, the rape scene is of course awful and I shut my eyes for that part, but that was the only thing I hated, it doesn’t make sense that I liked this movie so much).

I don’t know how to word this, but something is off with the reasonably priced (and almost too cheap) parmesan sold at Trader Joe’s. It melts weird. It doesn’t taste like normal cheese. Something is afoot and I won’t buy it any longer. I’m truly dreading and equally anticipating the day that all of Trader Joe’s secrets are exposed. Be warned.

That being said, obviously I’m in love with the seasonal summer candles that TJ just released. We have a complicated relationship.

I made this gruyere mac and cheese with caramelized onions (I used almond milk and it still came out good) and can every recipe just include caramelized onions? The world is ending, let’s just put sweet, tiny, brown onions on everything and call it a day.

Ennio Morricone passed away last month and I find myself listening to the Cinema Paradiso soundtrack on repeat.

Read this great piece about summer blockbuster movies which also has just some great ideas for movies to rewatch right now.

I have to remember that Essie’s vibrant colours just f-ing suck. Only their muted/bland colours are good. They should really just stick to those. And if you’re looking for loud colours that stand out, the summer collection at Urban Outfitters is my go-to (and there’s always a 3 for $10 sale with them).

I listened to Taylor Swift’s new album and so far my favourites are definitely: the 1 and this is me trying.

Ugh, Astoriaaaaaa, DO BETTER.

I’ve been thinking about cancelling my Ipsy subscription again (because I think I don’t care about makeup at this current moment in time) and when I logged on to cancel, they let me choose one of the items being sent next month as if they knew I wanted to leave! So I chose a Sunday Riley product (because any sample I’ve tried from them, I’ve loved) so maybe I’ll cancel next month?

I tried a sample of Drunk Elephant’s shampoo & conditioner (which smelled so lovely) and my hair did seem softer the next day. There’s something about this brand though, I feel like they might be tricking us with their beautiful packaging and minimalist persona.

I bought and tried the ancient Biore Strips and I have absolutely no idea if they did what they’re supposed to do. Are you supposed to see the blackheads or whiteheads come off onto the strip? It felt like it just tried to peel my face off. No idea what’s going on with these.

I have been in love with the Peter Thomas Roth Correction Pads, I use one pad before bed each night and I think they’re doing something good because I always wake up with no new pimples. It has even started erasing all of the redness I’ve been experiencing lately from the summer heat and sweat and mask-wearing. At this point, I can definitely see myself rebuying when I run out, and if I do then I’ll definitely not get them from Sephora because you can get them way cheaper at other online retailers.

I’ve also started using this Dr. Dennis Gross All-In-One face cleanser and I think it’s a good one. It’s hard to tell because I started using it the same day at the correction pads I mentioned above (yes that was a bad idea but here we are), so maybe they’re working together to make my face good? We’ll revisit this. 

I finally opened up this Belif set I bought a few months ago and it’s really nothing special. I think the face cream is probably the best item in there because you truly don’t need to use a lot to feel moisturized. But the face cleanser? Meh. I don’t think it does very much, it definitely didn’t help any redness. And the toner? Don’t get me started on how I kind of think toner might be a scam. And the “eye moisturizer”? Seems superfluous. My eye area is plenty moist, thanks.

Perfect summer soap scent: Fresh Rainfall. If I can’t travel this year, I will escape into this scent. (Send help.)

Very excited to hear about Lindy West’s new book.

So I heard that Lady M now ships their cakes to Canada and I was able to scream in excitement for approx. four seconds before looking into it and seeing that it’ll cost you over $100 to get ONE cake sent. THE GALL, I tell you. THE GALL.

I briefly looked into the app Sweatcoin after hearing good things, but it really just seems like an app where its main goal is to track you. And yes, your phone already does that whether you’re aware or not, but I think I’ll pass on the extra tracking.

I heard that the upcoming Halloween Bob’s Burgers episode will “follow the kids as they try to deliver a burger to the hotel on their street.” It’s such a sad little bit of tiny information, but I love their seasonal episodes so much that I’ll take any crumbs available.

Actually helpful tips on how to clean your home efficiently.

Christ, why do I keep forgetting that Bareburger is absolutely nothing special? Why in the good fuck is it taking so long for a Shake Shack to come to Astoria?!

I ate on the patio at Hoja Santa in Astoria and the tacos were nothing to write home about. The service, drinks and chips were outstanding though, so I may have just ordered badly.

New favourite beer alert.

Best tweets of the month over here.

I tried Thai iced coffee and it was so wildly sweet and too aromatic, I probably wouldn’t get it again. And I also tried a Vietnamese iced coffee and it was the perfect level of sweet! What’s the difference between the two, you ask?

I finally tried the katsu sandwich at Hi-Collar as takeout in the East Village and it was absolutely nothing special. No idea why people are so into it.

I haven’t been to Bite in so many months, so it was nice to get takeout earlier this week. God how I’ve missed their ciabatta bread. They use it on their sandwiches and it comes from Balthazar each morning and it’s always heavenly.

I have found the perfect, light summer blanket and I’m trying not to focus on the fact that it came from Amazon.

I tried a grapefruit shandy and holy shit, it might be my favourite new summer drink. 

I ate on the patio at L’Artusi since it just reopened and good god, that carbonara will change you. So psyched to see they have the wagyu steak tartare on the menu now, too. The burger, the panzanella salad and the charred corn were all great, but that carbonara was the standout.

Some things I’d like to do this month: I’d love to try this tomato toast with blue cheese mayo, I’m going to start using a new clothes steamer I just bought with the hopes of getting rid of my iron & ironing board, I rebought a tube of Revitalash because of how great my lashes were looking when I used it a few years ago so I’ll start using it on August 1st and track my progress to prove how great this product is, I can’t wait for Moesha to be coming to Netflix this month, and I am waiting waiting waiting until I can find time to return to Lilia (on the patio) to eat this incredible tomato focaccia & garlic butter (shown below).

If you’ve got any interest in reading last month’s roundup, you can see what went down in June over here.

#monthly post #this is liz heather #Liz Heather #July 2020

[ineffablefool]

Some meditations on being a fat human being, in the era of Good Omens series fandom.  Not n//sf/w, really (hi my name is Jack I’m ace and supremely uninterested in sexytimes), but really personal and also long, so I’ll stick it behind a readmore.  I suppose if another fat human being had thoughts they wanted to tack on, they could reblog to do so, but I don’t expect this to be a particularly rebloggable thing.  Just thinkin’ out loud (via clickety fingies).

I have been... okay, more or less, with how my body looks, for a while.  (Minus all the things about it that make me get “she” and “her” and “ma’am” everywhere I go, with exactly three glorious exceptions in the ~4 years since I realized that those weren’t right.  That is a whole ‘nother bucket of bears.)  I’ve been on Tumblr over on my main account since 2013, and the entire time I’ve been immersing myself in fat positivity and in fat activism by wonderful accounts like ok2befat and bigfatscience and thisisthinprivilege.  So I’ve been basically okay. 

It sucks how hard it is to find clothing that I like which doesn’t completely exclude my particular set of proportions.  It sucks that my saint of a boss had to literally fight our HR department to change the company policy on flights for business, because the previous policy would have forced me to fly 18 hours in an economy-class seat much smaller than I am when I visit India in a couple months.  It sucks that my body is still the “oh, is this disgusting thing a dealbreaker for you” question on dating websites, and that it’s still the butt of every third Trump joke.  It sucks.  But I’ve gotten better over the years at the skill of seeing my body as not the problem, but an innocent bystander in everyone else’s bullshit.  Clothing and plane seats and humor don’t spring from the earth to be harvested and consumed raw.  People decide how to make them.  People can decide differently.

Anyway.  I’ve been pretty much okay with Body.  Body’s fine.  It’s a good pal.  It gets me where I need to be, and it lets me run around in little circles pretending to be an airplane when I’m bored.  I spend some time with it in partial states of undress now and then (I’m too much of a germaphobe to ever be a naturist, let’s put it that way), just so I can keep myself familiar with what it really looks like.  Y’know how the horror movie monster is really scary up until they actually show it?  Same thing, except fewer blood squibs.

But here’s all this Good Omens stuff.

A lot of the fandom has embraced the slight pudginess of Michael Sheen’s Aziraphale, and a lot of artists are putting that into their work.  And a blessed wonderful few aren’t stopping there.  They’re drawing Aziraphales that are more than just a tiny bit pudgy, sometimes that are just plain fat, unquestionably, not just “a little larger than the very thin rendition of Crowley” or “wearing a lot of layers” or “the clothes are just cut that way”.  Really, really adorable renditions of fat angels who are clearly loveable and clearly loved because look, the artist drew them together, Crowley is right there and he doesn’t have that look on his face by accident.

(There are book renditions floating around too where people have headcanoned a fatter Aziraphale, but I’m still talking miniseries right now.  Also, there are plenty of sort of... cartoony/stylized/silly renditions out there with fatter Aziraphales, but I’m not really talking about those either.  There’s a sort of area of artwork where the style or the scene being depicted is such that my brain is surprised when any of the characters is fat, because this is a pretty drawing of two people kissing or whatever and therefore obviously they have to both be thin.  Obviously.  Internalized fatphobia nonsense.  But that’s the kind of artwork I’m thinking when I type all these zillions of words.)

And that’s a choice, to say “I’m an artist and I’m going to draw this character who is worth being the recipient of a 6000-year-long love, and that character is fat, and that’s just how it is”.  And to keep doing it in one piece of art after the other.

speremint was the first artist I noticed doing this, drawing an Aziraphale who is loved by Crowley (the sacred apple tree art still cracks me up, poor Crowley) and who is definitely fat and who is adorable, and if you’ve read the notes on any of my fics you know that she singlehandedly changed how I picture my headcanon’d Aziraphale.  Then I discovered that dotstronaut and lonicera-caprifolium and toastedbuckwheat are out there too, giving me lovely art to shove into my eyeballs and extend my lifespan potentially indefinitely.  I bet there’s more I haven’t noticed yet.  I want there to be like a hundred more I haven’t noticed yet.

And this all ticks over into the second half of what’s apparently a manifesto at this point, boy it’s a good thing I’m a fast typist, which is the fact that in addition to being a fat human, I am also romantically and aesthetically attracted to fat humans.  It’s something I’ve pretty much literally had no opportunity to ever express, because in my Real Life I don’t really admit to having feelings per se and also I am... not the type of human who is the recipient of romantic thoughts from others.  Or who would ever act on my own unless the other party said something first.  (Which nobody ever has since 2006, you guys.  Supremely not the recipient of romance over here.)

So there’s this fandom environment where a fat character is being celebrated and loved, and I started writing fanfiction for the first time this century, and all of a sudden there’s a place for me to express feelings that I’ve been sitting on since I finally realized in about 2001 what it was about that one guy in high school that made me want to hug him, even though I also couldn’t stand his attitude.

Going through my fics from oldest to most recent, it is clear that I am getting more and more comfortable with that expression.  It’s getting ridiculous.  At this rate, in three weeks’ time I’m just going to be writing “Aziraphale is fat and beautiful and I just want to cuddle his belly forever” over and over again for five thousand words at a stretch.

But that means Brain is thinking a lot about how Aziraphale is fat, and beautiful, and perfect exactly how he is.  And then Brain looks down at Body and is like “hmm.  Same hat.  ineffablefool is fat too.  Therefore, [insert math lady meme here]”.  And I will be, like, “okay, so if Crowley were to put his hand on Aziraphale’s belly, what would that feel or look like?  How would his internal narration describe it?  Well, there’s a belly right here, let’s do some science.”  And then the thoughts that I start associating with the experience of my own body are completely good thoughts, all of them, because they’re going to be going in Crowley’s head.  And my written Crowley is never going to be anything other than madly in asexual romantic love with my written Aziraphale, and is never going to see him as anything other than perfect, physically, no matter what he looks like.

And it’s just being a really good positive feedback mechanism, I guess is the tl;dr version.  External validation (via art, via others’ fics, via comments on my own fics, btw if you’ve left any of those then you are also helping extend my lifespan, especially the people who come back to comment on each new story, yes I recognize you and I do a little happy dance every time a familiar name pops up, please rejoin me on Monday I’m going to post my dickwheelie letters fic) is all well and good.  But the mental loop of “own body can be used for realistic descriptions of a fat body -> descriptions based on own body are all lovingly positive -> own body is therefore described by self as lovingly positive” is... it’s nice, is what I’m saying.  It’s very nice.  Last week I expressed, out loud in a group of coworkers, my desire that something be more size-inclusive.  Do you even know how many deaths I would once have suffered rather than say something like that in mixed company.  But why shouldn’t I say it!  There’s nothing wrong with my being fat!  In fact, it’s within the realm of possibility to see it as a positive thing, so let’s just all admit that we have eyes and then move on!  Geez!

So those are some of my thoughts on being a fat human being, in the era of Good Omens series fandom.

now if I can just score a hot fat ace Ineffable Significant Other out of this fandom, I’ll be set

#ineffablefool original post #if you want to give me any bullshit on any of this then Please Don't #i am well acquainted with ignoring trolls on my non-GO account #and am equally capable of applying that skill over here #but if you don't have any bullshit or but-what-about-health or but-my-tax-dollars then i'd love to conversate #ineffablefool is on about fat bodies being lovely again #i don't know why i keep forgetting that tag it's a very important tag #ineffablefool does some Deep Thoughts