#anything else i can think of to tag this in hopes that the charity does better with more people stumbling over it

[unwanted-animal]

Fate Makes Fools - A FirstPrince Soulmate/Omegaverse AU

Tags: Canon Divergence, AU, Soulmates, Omegaverse, Fluff, Smut, FirstPrince, RWRB Movie, cunnilingus, fingering, blowjobs, oral sex, knotting, throat knotting, knotting, breeding, vaginal sex. Henry Fpx Has a Breeding Kink, Now Alex Claremont-diaz Does Too, Lingerie

Chapter Two: Becoming (3912 words)

Moving from the rewrite here, I still hope I captured the sweetness and softness of their first time - Because the next time is going to be debauched as all hell ✌️✌️

You looked incredible in your interview tonight. 

You were watching?

Of course. I miss you. 

I miss you too, Henry. 

There’s this charity polo match in Windsor next month that my mate Percy’s foundation organizes. I was wondering if you might want to be my guest?

Oh, uh.

I don’t know how to play polo.

Damn. 

Well, I suppose that will be alright, seeing as you won’t be playing. 

I will. 

You’ll be watching on the sidelines.

Great! That’s probably safer for everyone. 

Not that I wouldn’t mind seeing you in the uniform.

Or taking you out of it.

Alex grinned. He closed his laptop and made his way over to the bed. Dropping down onto his back, he considered how to answer. Flirting wasn’t new to him. The bond between Henry and him even made it a little easier - it gave him instincts, feelings on what Henry might enjoy. At the same time, however, an anxious little ache in his mind worried he’d push Henry away, or scare him off if he came on too strong. 

Dost thy Royal Highness attempt to sext?

You are the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. 

Hey, I like that you take charge. I’m not complaining. Just teasing a little. 

You do love to tease me. 

What are you wearing right now? It’s gotta be late there, right? You’re like five hours ahead of me.

A dressing gown and little else, other than my panties.

Are they anything like the pair you left with me?

Unfortunately not. These are plain. For comfort. 

You’re bad at this, you know that?

I’m trying. I promise. 

Okay. Let’s try something else. What would you do if I crawled into bed with you right now?

Fill my mouth with your throbbing cock again. I enjoyed feeling full of you.

“Okay, I can work with this,” Alex muttered to himself. He licked his lips and began to type. 

You’re so eager. I like that too. Did you like it when I pulled your hair?

I adored it. I wish you would have fucked my throat though. Used me properly.

Do you like being used?

I like the idea of being used by you. 

I’ll remember that for Windsor. 

My turn to ask a question. 

Shoot. 

If you could do anything to me, what would it be?

I’d wrap your thighs around my head and eat your ass. 

Really? Why?

It’s perfect, and firm, and I bet it’s soft too. I think I could make you squirm. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m good with my mouth.

Oh I’ve noticed. Most people I’ve been with couldn’t find my clit if I planted a flag on it. Your experience is very much my luck. 

Some time, I want to taste you without your hormones. Just Henry. I would love that. 

I want to test something. Tell me if you feel anything, okay? 

Yes, Alex. I will. 

Alex raised his arm and stared at the purple words that glowed against his skin. He leaned in and dragged his tongue over them, letting out a soft moan. A few moments later his phone chimed.

I felt something wet and soft on my mark. What did you do?

I licked it. Holy shit, Henry. We could do so much with this. 

Why do I have the feeling you’re going to make my life hell until the polo match?

Because I am, baby. 

------

The revelation that they could feel through their marks only made waiting harder. Henry would be in a meeting, or at the hospital visiting, or doing some dull ribbon-cutting, and he’d feel heated skin slide against his arm. Or the curve of a knot. Or a hot spatter of cum. Sometimes Alex would kiss it and Henry would melt, lost in the gentle touch of his lips.

But he gave as good as he got. 

Vibrations ran along Alex’s arm as he sat in class. The teasing flick of a tongue danced up his skin. Now and then he felt the caress of satin or cotton as Henry dragged pairs of panties over his mark. His slick was the hardest to deal with. Alex swore he could smell it, the lingering memories of the dinner party making his head swim. He always found a way to excuse himself, heading for the nearest bathroom or private area to ease the desire threatening to swallow him. A quick jack off always helped. It made Alex feel the perfect amount of filthy. The sex talk with his parents didn’t exactly cover the possibilities of soulmate connections - likely because it was too much for a teenager to handle. 

But he was an adult now, and fuck , it was the best discovery of his life. 

The day of the polo match, Alex behaved himself until Henry was finished playing. It was hard not to stare. He looked gorgeous in his uniform. Red really suited him, far more than the monochrome suits and tuxedos he wore to other events. After leaving the field, Henry invited him to the tack shed under the guise of showing off the equipment. He followed, eager to get his hands on him. Before he could, though, Henry shoved him against the wall and kissed him. Alex groaned and kissed him back, losing himself in the warmth of his mouth. He wrapped him in his arms, pulling Henry’s body against his. Breathless, he chased Henry’s lips and walked him back toward the table. As soon as they reached it he helped Henry hop onto its surface. Their lips were never apart for more than a second, both starved for the taste of the other. After all the teasing and the texts, they needed contact - even if they had precious little time to do much. 

Alex undid Henry’s pants and yanked them down his hips, bringing his panties with them. He dropped to his knees and Henry grabbed his dark curls, gripping him tight as he swung his thighs over Alex’s shoulders. With no ceremony whatsoever Alex buried his face between his cheeks. Henry gasped as his tongue slid over his muscle, squeezing his thighs against Alex’s head. He tilted his hips forward to give Alex better access, head falling back in pleasure. Henry fucked himself on Alex’s face, letting out breathless noises as he worked his tongue inside him. Alex loved the way he tasted; clean and coppery, with the faintest salt of his sweat from riding in the heat. He loosed a needy growl, sucking at his hole while his tongue curled inside him. 

“Mmn! Alex!”

Hearing him come undone was exhilarating, and Alex loved it. He focused on Henry’s pleasure, ignoring the heat that pooled in his stomach. He nuzzled against his cheek, breath hot against Henry’s skin. Alex ate his perfect ass until his jaw and tongue began to ache.

Henry tried to warn him, but he couldn’t speak fast enough. He came, squirting slick onto Alex’s hair and face as his thighs clenched against him. Alex kept eating him through his orgasm, until he was a wet, trembling mess begging him to stop. 

“We’ll get caught ,” Henry panted, pushing Alex away. “Come on! Let me get dressed!”

Alex grinned and bit his thigh as he finally pulled back. 

“Yes, your Royal Highness. I suppose I can let you rest…”

As they left the tack room, walking beside one another, Henry glanced over at Alex.

“Are you hungry?”

Alex smirked and continued walking. 

“I could eat,” he teased. 

Henry grinned and matched his pace. Alex was incorrigible - and he adored him.

------

Come to Paris with me.

Paris? What’s the occasion?

A vacation, of sorts. I saw you had no upcoming appearances, and I have a free week…

You know my schedule now?

Amy informed me. I asked very nicely.

I’m sure you did. 

Yes, I’ll come to Paris with you.

It wasn’t a request.

But good.

Oh? Was it an order , your royal highness?

Of course it was. Your mum may outrank mine, but I outrank you .

You pulling rank is pretty hot. 

I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Alex. Wear something without too many buttons.

Alex received an email from Henry with the hotel information, cc’d to Shaan and Amy so they could organize defenses. He chuckled and replied to the whole chain with a kissy face and an eggplant emoji. They already knew about his and Henry’s fling, after all - he could have some fun teasing them. 

Fling . It didn’t feel right to call it that. For soulmates bonding was all part of the process, but he felt pulled toward Henry with a constant, consistent force. He occupied Alex’s thoughts, his dreams, his fantasies. Every day apart from him was torture. They stole time where they could, but nothing as long as the week Henry had suggested. It would be their first time together without having to rush since the dinner. No prying eyes, no cameras, just privacy. Time to explore their connection. 

Time to explore each other . 

He wasted no time in packing his luggage and getting on a flight, eagerly awaiting meeting up with Henry.

Paris glittered like a jewel before him. Alex stared out the window with a drink in his hand, admiring the view. Their room was situated so the Eiffel Tower dominated the landscape, bright and golden against the dark sky. It was beautiful. Breathtaking. A sight he knew he’d never get used to. 

The door opened and closed quietly behind him. Henry, joining him at last. He could smell his cologne from across the room. His cologne, and something else. Henry smelled different . The usual hormones that dulled his scent and allowed him to pass as a Beta seemed less present. Before he could turn toward him, Henry was at his back, sliding a hand between his shoulder blades. 

“I think we should make love tonight,” Henry said gently, resting his chin on Alex’s shoulder. 

“… Oh,” Alex replied, brows raised. “I, I mean. Yeah.” Fuck, he sounded like an idiot. 

“I’m down.”

He chuckled softly, nerves getting the better of him. He wanted this, he wanted Henry , that was the whole point of their vacation. Still, it was uncharted territory for him. Would being soulmates make the sex different? Why did Henry smell different? 

Alex wasn’t a virgin. He slept around, everyone knew that. He always kept things casual, though, and this… What he shared with Henry ran far deeper than a casual tryst. He found himself anxious - and babbling. 

“I mean, who says ‘make love’ anymore? Are we gonna, like, listen to Lana Del Rey when we do it?”

“Alright, alright,” Henry laughed, letting him get it out of his system. He kissed Alex, cutting off the free-flowing thoughts with a show of tenderness. 

“Mmn, it’s just - this is different,” Alex said the moment their lips parted. “You’re different . If we do this… If we make love, you may never get rid of me.”

“… Maybe I don’t want to be rid of you.”

Henry took his hand, meeting his gaze. They stood there in silence, just looking at one another, letting their breaths fall into sync. 

“You smell different.”

“I’m not taking my hormones,” Henry replied, a small smirk spreading across his lips. “Surprise. In a few days’ time, I’ll have my first full heat in, oh, over a decade? And you, darling, can do whatever you want to me.”

“Oh my God,” Alex groaned. He dropped his head onto Henry’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I’m so not playing this cool right now. That sounds incredible, Henry, holy shit.”

Henry rubbed his shoulders, still grinning. 

“I thought you might enjoy that. And that isn’t the only treat I’ve prepared for you.”

Alex turned his head into Henry’s neck to speak.

“It’s not?”

“Of course not. If I’m to win you over, I need to put in an effort, don’t I?”

“What about me?”

“I’ve been yours for years already. You should have noticed.”

“When did you start to…”

“Fancy you?” Henry asked. “Melbourne Climate Conference. First night party.”

“Really? I thought you hated me.”

“I hated how good you looked.”

Alex raised his head and smiled. 

“Wow. You had a lot going on that night.”

“Shut up and unwrap your present,” Henry teased, pushing him away. He took several steps back and waited for Alex to approach.

“Start with my jacket.”

Piece by piece, button by button, Alex stripped Henry of his layers. His broad hands slid along his skin at every opportunity. He laughed and kissed Henry, pulling him close by the waist. 

“How much do I need to unwrap?”

“All of it. Every piece, until… You’ll know where to stop,” Henry answered. 

Alex draped his jacket and shirt over the nearby chair and knelt down to undo his fly. He unbuttoned his pants and drew the zipper down, sliding the fabric down his thighs.

A surprised little grunt slipped from his throat at the sight that greeted him. 

Henry wore a harness of pearls that glimmered when he shifted. Connected to soft leather straps that hugged his hips, one strand ran between his lips and cheeks. Two other strands hung stylishly over his thighs. Alex growled and peered up at him, dark eyes blown black with lust. 

“What is this?” He whispered. 

“Your present, darling,” Henry purred in response. “Hand-made by the finest and most discreet jeweler in London, with the assistance of a hobbyist leatherworker I know. Do you like it?”

Alex took hold of one of the pearls and pulled , watching it rub against Henry’s clit. Henry grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back. 

“Did I give you permission to touch me yet?”

He licked his lips and stared up at Henry.

“Do I need your permission? You said it was my treat.”

“Of course you do. Ask me nicely.”

“May I please touch you, your royal highness?”

Henry pretended to consider his request, scrunching up his nose. 

“Well… alright, darling. You may touch.”

He still gripped Alex’s hair, keeping him from using his wicked tongue on him - at least at that moment. Alex took hold of the pearls once more and pulled them up between his lips, rubbing the beads against his nerves again. They were already slick, Henry’s body wetter than usual without the hormones to hold it back. He was more sensitive, too, from the way his thighs trembled. He tilted his hips, rocking with the strands, rutting his pussy against them as Alex watched. The muscles in his stomach tensed and flexed as he moved, shadows catching the curves and giving them a deeper cast. His lips were parted as he stared down at Alex, plump and inviting. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful, not in his entire life.

“You are… incredible,” Alex breathed. “I want to taste you next. Please, Henry?”

“Mmn, not yet. You can, you can taste me after you fill me,” Henry chuckled, his cheeks flushed. “When the pearls are an absolute mess. I expect you to suck every single bead clean.”

“Oh, of course, sir,” Alex replied, grinning up at him. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“Now, I want you naked too. We can leave these on, but I want to savor this. Promise me you’ll go slow?”

“Of course,” Alex assured him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can go slow.” 

He pressed a lingering kiss to Henry’s pelvis before standing. As Henry watched, dressed in only his pearls, he stripped his clothes and tossed them on the growing pile on the chair. Bare before him, he closed the distance between them. Henry reached out and guided his soft fingers along Alex’s strong arm, tracing the prominent veins that snaked beneath his skin. His eyes trailed along Alex’s body, and Alex couldn’t help the shiver that jolted down his spine. It was as if he was pinned in place, a specimen for Henry to inspect and study. The thought thrilled him to his very core. He looked at Henry through his long, thick lashes, smiling. Henry smiled back, his own eyes heavy-lidded with lust. 

Their gazes lingered for a moment before they couldn’t stand being apart any longer. Alex kissed him, guiding him back toward the bed. They fell onto the mattress laughing. He slid over Henry, his body hot and heavy. Henry’s smile shone up at him, his eyes glimmering. They kissed again, slow and deep and hungry . Neither was a blushing virgin, but this was a step they could not come back from. A soulmate’s bond was stronger than that of an Alpha and their mate. Would things change between them? Would the world see them differently? 

As they savored the lips of one another, Alex reached down and slipped the string of pearls to the side. Henry placed a hand on the small of his back and pushed , urging him forward. Henry’s control made Alex weak. He didn’t hesitate. Shifting his hips, Alex guided his aching cock to Henry’s cunt. He slipped inside slowly. Henry exhaled as his body adjusted to the size of Alex, stretched and swallowing him inch by inch. Alex let out a soft gasp as he buried his cock in him. He took him well, easier than expected, right to the very hilt. A small bulge on his pelvis hinted at just how full Henry really was. 

“Fuck…” Alex purred. “You… Mmn.”

“I what?”

“You feel exquisite . Like you were made for me.”

“… I was,” Henry whispered. “I’ve been yours since the day I was born.”

It was true; fate decided for them long ago that they were perfect together. 

“Tell me when to move, baby.”

Baby . Henry’s heart raced at the simple term.

“Now. Make love to me, Alex. Make me yours.”

Alex slid a hand up Henry’s thigh, pushing them forward and hooking them over his hips. He rolled his body, muscles taut and controlled as he drew back and filled Henry again. Steady. Slow. Nuzzling their noses together, Alex’s lips parted in pleasure as the wet heat of Henry’s pussy enveloped his length. Henry moaned and rocked with him, squeezing his hips tight with his thighs. Their breathing synced. Their hearts beat in the same rhythm. Ecstasy flowed between them; they could feel the other’s pleasure as easily as breathing. The sensation was nearly overwhelming. Sweat rolled down their skin. Alex fucked him slow and deep, gazing into Henry’s eyes. It felt right. They felt right. Their bodies and souls were becoming one, melting together with a blur. Every moment of their lives led them there, to fingers laced with each other, to the hushed breaths shared between them. Gasping, Henry placed a hand over his pelvis. Each thrust raised the bulge, and when he pressed against it his vision went white. His head swam, a strangled sob of pleasure slipping from his throat.

“Baby?” Alex asked, slowing his hips. “You okay?”

“Don’t. Don’t stop,” Henry managed to mumble. “Alex. Love. I need you to keep going.”

Alex claimed his mouth once more, nipping at his lips as he fucked him gently. Their bodies came together again and again, trembling as they released months of pent-up lust. Alex’s long lashes caressed Henry’s cheek as he dropped his head. His gaze was too intense, too open - Alex could get lost in Henry’s eyes and damn the world around them. Henry smiled and kissed his temple. Alex’s key dangled between them, swaying with the rhythm of their bodies. Light flashed off its surface, glimmering between them like a beacon. It was all too much, too perfect. Alex wouldn’t be able to hold back for too much longer. His hips stuttered in their rhythm as heat built in his gut. 

“Henry…”

Henry could sense Alex’s orgasm approaching. He carded his fingers through Alex’s dark hair, keeping his head close. With one careful adjustment he turned Alex’s head so his voice could reach his ear. 

“ Breed me, love,” he whispered. “Breed your mate like a good Alpha should.”

“F-Fuck,” Alex gasped. “Fuck, baby -“

Those words pushed him over the edge. He forced his cock into the hilt as his knot swelled, spilling thick seed inside of Henry’s cunt. He kept pumping, urged by some dark biological need, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Henry clenched and pulsed around him as he came, his slick blocked by the swollen knot stretched inside him.  Alex peppered his face with gentle kisses, smiling at him as if he were the sun itself. Henry was perfect, a mixture of demure and demanding that drove Alex wild. 

And he was his. All his.

They lay together beneath the sheets, limbs tangled, bodies pressed close together. Henry ran his fingers along Alex’s skin, tracing from freckle to freckle with lazy caresses. 

“Do you feel any different?” he asked. 

“Mmn. I feel… whole,” Alex replied. “Complete in a way I’ve never felt before.”

“I do as well. There’s a warmth in my heart that radiates outward, filling me with light, that I never experienced before I met you.”

“Like you said, baby - we were made for each other,” he chuckled, nuzzling Henry. “This is right. There’s no one for me who could compare to you.”

“… Promise?”

Alex cocked his head. 

“Yeah. Henry, I promise. I want to be with you. ”

“We may not be able to live together. You have your duties, I have mine… it will be difficult at times.”

“Anything worth having is.”

Henry smiled at Alex, and Alex pressed chaste kisses to the freckles framing his lips. 

“How long until your heat? You said a couple of days?”

Smirking, Henry grabbed a pillow and smacked it against Alex’s arm. 

“You are a horndog ,” he laughed. 

“Hey, you knew that coming into this,” Alex teased, trying to grab it away from him. “I’ve been very open about wanting to fuck you.”

“You just did!” 

“No, baby. That wasn’t fucking. You’ll get to enjoy that when your heat starts.”

“Oh, is there a difference with you?”

Alex pulled Henry on top of him, still grinning.

“You wanna know?”

“The anticipation is killing me, yes.”

“C’mere. Lean your ear in close.”

Henry did just that, turning his head so he could hear Alex better. 

“Making love is slow, and soft, and tender,” Alex whispered. “When I fuck you, dear Henry, you won’t be able to walk afterwards. Your pussy will ache, these sheets will be ruined, and you will beg me to do it again.”

Henry shivered and buried his face in Alex’s chest. 

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“I won’t beg,” came the muffled reply. “Princes don’t beg . Besides,” Henry added, raising his head again. “I don’t think you can do it.”

“What, fuck you?”

“Mhm. You’re just going to have to prove it. Now. My darling. I believe you have a mess to clean up?”

Alex licked his lips. 

“I do. You’re absolutely right. Come here, baby. Why don’t you sit on my face and I’ll get to work?”

Henry scooted onto his knees and moved forward, slowly lowering himself over Alex’s head. He straddled his face and rolled his hips, teasing Alex for a few moments before finally pressing all the way down. 

“Mmn… this is the only throne I need,” he said with a smirk. “Get to work. I want the pearls to shine when you’re done.”

Alex began to lick them - and Henry - clean, half-hard and eager to coax those sweet little sounds from his prince. 

#rwrb #firstprince #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #rwrbedit #jwrites #jgifs

[soft-bellied-tannies]

Chubtober Day 24!

Today’s post is going to be an idea draft for the OG Chubtober list - Beers and Brews. I have a busy work week so I’m going to try to write when I can, but it might be a lot of idea posts this week!

—-

Both Jungkook and Jimin are children of chaebol families. They drink and party in college, but they also have time to work out.

Alpha Jungkook gets a role in the family business after graduating and omega Jimin “takes care of the house” as all chaebol omegas do even though they have house staff.

Jimin does charity work and has many hobbies including teaching a Pilates and a spin class.

Jungkook’s role contains many things including meeting new clients and business partners so he’s always taking people out for drinks which also leads to bar food.

It starts to seem like Jungkook is drinking beer what feels like every day and they usually get some sort of food with it so they don’t return to their respective offices tipsy.

A bad combination with all that beer and carb-heavy, greasy food is that Jungkook doesn’t have time to workout anymore.

On top of that routine, Jungkook also gets a lot of takeout at the office and people are always bringing in donuts or celebrating an office birthday with cake. He can’t be rude and pass so he always takes something.

Jimin notices a small beer belly start to pop up on his alpha’s middle, but he doesn’t say anything for a while. He just appreciates it and continues being a good house husband like all chaebol omegas do.

Jimin sees that Jungkook’s button downs are growing significantly tighter and is starting to think the alpha hasn’t noticed since Jungkook hasn’t said a word.

Jimin makes a point to size up his shirts and suit coats, hoping that it will both help Jungkook’s comfort and willingness to talk about the gain.

The noticeable change in his clothes fitting with more room and having a bigger size on the tags hits Jungkook that he can’t hide it or ignore it anymore.

The alpha thanks Jimin first, a bit embarrassed but concerned about his omega’s reaction considering that Jimin is a fit and toned fitness instructor.

Jungkook also shyly asks Jimin if he could size up his pants too since his shirts and coats are so much more comfortable, but that is the farthest the conversation goes.

Jungkook finally says he has to stop taking people for drinks and do something else instead when he gets home one night. He had taken two groups out that day instead of one and felt completely bloated and a little too tipsy for someone getting home from a day of work.

Jimin tells him to keep going until he gets promoted so he “doesn’t disappoint the family” even though Jimin knows Jungkook could get away with whatever he wanted in his parents’ eyes.

What went unsaid by the omega is the fact that Jimin is really starting to love his warm and soft yet sturdy and solid alpha.

A month or two later, Jungkook hits another wall.

He spills some sauce on his shirt while out at a client lunch where the alpha admittedly has one too many beers and more than a few too many chicken wings.

Grabbing one of his backup shirts from his office closet is the logical step, except Jungkook forgets that he hadn’t sized those clothes up yet.

All his backup office suits are old ones that he hasn’t worn in at least a couple months and he is absolutely shocked and mortified when he can’t get his shirt fully buttoned.

The top three went with some gentle pulling, but as soon as Jungkook reaches the crest of his full and bloated belly, those buttons didn’t have a chance of closing or staying closed if he somehow managed it.

Jungkook goes home and even surprises himself when he has to hold back tears as he explains the humiliating moment that happened that day.

Jimin, as the alpha should have expected, is nothing but supportive and loving. He tells Jungkook he is still handsome as ever and something like his weight would never stop him from loving him.

Jungkook showers his mate with love, so thankful for his pillar of support. The alpha also shyly asks Jimin if he could help him make better choices with food and maybe do some workouts together.

Jimin agrees without hesitation, but he also tells Jungkook that the alpha doesn’t have to lose a single pound unless he wants to because the omega loves him as he is.

Jungkook appreciates the sentiment, although, still adamant that he wants to try loosing some weight and cutting out those client lunches.

The alpha gets two weeks into working out and making better choices, losing a couple pounds, when his entire plan is derailed.

His father tells him that they have three more months of client recruitment meals and outings scheduled that Jungkook has been requested for and needs to attend to before they can find someone else to take over his role.

Jungkook just can’t let his father down and Jimin is more than supportive of him maintaining his responsibilities so the beer and bar food continues.

When Jungkook reaches the end of that three month schedule, his father tells him that he can finally be done with those client meetings because Jungkook will be named CEO in just six weeks - his father’s retirement a sudden bomb dropped on him.

The alpha then turns to a couple beers each night when he gets home as a stress reliever, of course, paired with the loving touch and tender words from his mate.

His plans to work off his weight piled on over the past couple years is completely gone.

By the time Jungkook takes over as CEO, he is rocking a full-on beer gut and he says he’s going to start losing weight again.

However, the plan is yet again derailed when Jimin announces that he is pregnant just weeks after the alpha’s promotion. Jungkook is over the moon with joy and is so excited for their new journey as parents.

His friends take him out for drinks, their families spoil them with dinner parties, and his employees bring gifts of baked goods and bottles of wine and beer that are left to Jungkook as Jimin cannot partake in the drinking portion of celebrations.

Even though Jimin is still working out and maintaining his balanced meals with just a few unhealthy cravings, Jungkook’s sympathy weight tacks on instead of losing anything.

Jimin still is supporting and loving, but the omega can’t help but tease his alpha - always patting and pinching his mate’s round belly, telling Jungkook that he’s perfected his dad bod before the baby even arrived.

#soft bellied tannies #chubby bts #bts weight gain #bts abo #chubby jungkook #supportive jimin #sbt chubtober

[liladiurne]

2022 - My year in Fic

Thanks @danpuff-ao3 for the tag!

I probably haven't written as much this year as most of you guys have, because I don't generally write much any given year (due to my horrible snail-paced writing speed 🤣) but there's been a few goodies this year, so I thought I should share! And feel a certain measure of success?

January

Certain Dark Things - (Snarry, E, 50k) Written for Adopt-a-Prompt fest and posted quite late... Based on the prompt: AU. Harry never lived with the Dursleys. He was adopted by the reformed Malfoys as an infant. He is secretly in love with his father's best friend, Severus Snape. Or In which Severus takes a trip to Italy, thinking he'll have a quiet time at the Malfoys' villa, but Harry has other plans. Or... just an excuse to write something loosely based on Call Me By Your Name...

I was wounded. I had suffered irremediable damage. I had seen something sacrosanct that no mortal was meant to lay eyes on, and I was being punished for it. I was like a man possessed, haunted, filled sporadically with a force greater than myself. I wanted to be good, decent, and strong. I wanted to resist the call of his body. But I also wanted to worship him with every fibre of my being. I began to understand the religious fanatics and the zealots. Had I known him when I was a teenager, I would have favoured him over the Dark Lord. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth, built temples in his honour, committed atrocities in his name.

What I felt for him was so deep and so raw I could not quite call it love, but I didn’t know what else to name it.

February

Compulsory Figures - (Snarry, E, 6k) Severus is a four-time Olympic gold medalist and a figure skating legend. He's also a heartless bastard who uses his fame and influence to bed as many pretty young skaters as he can. At eighteen, Harry has just begun training for his first Olympic Games. And he's exactly Severus' type.

The boy has a lot to work on. There are flaws, a considerable number of them, and yet Severus is not surprised that he’s made it this far. Because when he’s on the ice, there is no prying your eyes away. What he does well, he does perfectly, naturally. As easy as breathing. Seamlessly, with such emotion it makes something tighten in Severus’ chest.

He stares darkly from the shadows.

He was not that good at eighteen. He did not have a gift. He’d had to work his arse off just to get to this boy’s level.

He is jealous. And it only makes him want the boy more.

May

An Escape - (Snarry, E, 2k) - Birthday present for my dear Danni. A good excuse to write some filth. A Muggle AU where Severus is a dirtybadwrong Chemistry teacher taking advantage of an abused Harry.

“You must understand that you’re putting me in a very difficult position,” Severus says softly.

“I know,” the boy mutters.

“And if anyone were to find out, I could lose my job.”

“Sir, please. I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I’ll do anything.”

Severus sighs heavily, reluctantly. But secretly his heart is thumping in anticipation. “Very well. Get on with it.”

There is a pause. A few shaky breaths again. Potter’s eyes dart up, look around the empty lot, either to ensure that there is no one around to see, or perhaps hoping for a way out, an escape. But there is no escape, Severus has made sure of it. He’s worked hard for nearly a year to make the boy understand that he is the only escape.

Miraculous - (Snarry, E, 15k) - Written for Snarry-a-Thon. When Severus finds out that the gorgeous and charming young man Lucius set him up with, the one who's accompanying him to his mother's charity ball, is really a hired escort, he is furious and disappointed. At first. But then he realises he can use this to his advantage. After years of celibacy, he's finally found someone he connects with, someone who understands him. And this time, Severus actually has the means to see him again. Or the money. But if money's what it takes to spend time with Harry, then he's more than willing to drain his family's fortune. In an unexpected twist of faith, he might not need to.

What a fool he was. What a bloody idiot. As if a young man like this one, this Godric, could ever willingly want to have anything to do with him. He should have known, if only from the way Godric didn't recoil when he first saw him or didn't find an excuse to leave at once, that he wasn't just someone Lucius had come across and thought would be a good fit for him. Because he is, just like Lucius said, exactly Severus' type. And that's what made him suspicious in the first place, what made Severus believe that there must be more to this than some clever matchmaking. Because not once in over forty years, no matter how much money and prestige are to his name, has Severus ever been able to get anyone of his type. It seemed too perfect to be true. It seemed… nearly miraculous.

August

A Strange Fate - (Snarry, M, 4k) - A birthday gift for my dear Nina. An excuse to write something super artsy. Based on the myth of Pygmalion. Severus is a brilliant but lonely sculptor who falls in love with the beautiful marble statue of a young man he has been working on diligently for years.

The first thing to emerge, from the gaping hole he had made, was the curve of a shoulder. He worked it and polished it right there, in the middle of the opaque block of stone. A delicate shoulder, which he caressed gently afterwards. It looked so out of place and yet so absolutely perfect. It was as if it had always been there to begin with, underneath all the excess marble, and Severus had merely uncovered it. 

It wasn’t the last time he had this impression either. It was so every time he unveiled something new, every time a bit of limb, a glimpse of a muscle came to light. It was so easy. Severus barely felt like he was working at all, merely chiselling at the right places, dislodging the right bits of stone. Whatever was underneath was simply being revealed. 

He wondered sometimes, with a mix of disbelief and elation, whether he was a  sculptor or an archeologist.

And then I started school again and lost all my time for writing... I guess I did update Brighter Than Bright this year, which is a win. And recently started posting a translation, which I'd been meaning to do for a while.

Hopefully I'll have more to share next year!

#tag games #lila posts #lila fics #snarry #snarry fics

[koipalm]

Hi same anon who is enjoying your live reaction (I’m shy but interested in your thoughts)

1) I SEE YOUR TAGS IN YOUR REPLY TO MY FIRST ASK 👁👁👁 JON IN A MAID DRESS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I’M ON MY KNEES

2) I see 👁 you have finished :) How are you feeling? How ya’ doing? Are you insane? I’m still insane and I finished it over 7 months ago :) (Genuinely, I’m curious to hear your thoughts but only if you’re comfy/want to!!)

3) Now that you have finished: can I just say how refreshing it is to see the “What the fuck what the Fuck WHATTHEFUCK” at the whole ending ahaha…. Ha…. Haaaaaaa…… Glad to see I wasn’t alone in how conflicted it (the last two episodes) made me feel

Hope you’re doing well! Welcome to the After show of Somewhere Else! Also! Did you know Rusty Quill has a bunch of soundbites of the VAs saying things in character for charity! Like! Elias saying “Pika Pika” and “Like, you know, Nyah?” And Jon and Martin being sappy! You can use it to distract you of the pain of Not Knowing (while also loving Not Knowing)!

oh man dont worry all my favorite characters get the maid dress treatment. its practically tradition at this point

YES I FINISHED.... i thought it was going to end at the "i love yous" and i am. so glad it did not.... i think the ending was perfect for the kind of tragedy it was but MAN. do i feel bad for jon. tma is just a compilation of "feel bad for this sad guy" moments. i do know that i will be going back to all the content that i ignored so as to try to not spoil myself.... of course that didnt work out completely but i didnt know how it all went down so im glad for that... seriously what i wouldnt give to have gone into this not knowing ANYTHING.... the ending though does give me the PERFECT setting for my ideas of jon meeting the old archives crew as well as this jon being able to meet people even further back from before he was the archivist, like gerry and oliver... i really wanted to have something like "jon is still the archivist and meets the other people but BEFORE jon even became head archivist" and time travel doesnt really work if he returns to his original body.... i really like the idea of the other avatars meeting jon in his new ascendant form.... ANDDDDD MY WHOLE IDEA OF THE AVATARS GETTING TOGETHER TO ALL MEET and someone being new to it and hearing of all of these terrifying people and then hearing of The Archivist.... the mystery, and the most powerful one that no one else crosses because he probably pulls more strings than the web.... I MEAN REALLY. THEYRE JUST GIVING ME ALL THIS CREATIVE FREEDOM. THEYRE REALLY HANDING IT OUT. THEY EVEN SET THE STAGE FOR ME I DIDNT EVEN HAVE TO. god. i am about to have so much fun with this.

man i kept pausing just to take in how badly it was going. tma is a tragedy because jon doesnt get his own FUCKING decisions despite being preached to that it was all because of his decisions.... my poor guy. im super glad they did address a lot of what i was worried about though! not necessarily jons particular issue with the guilt of having to end the world and then being pushed to maybe possibly end countless others..... tch. tch. tch. dont get me wrong it all works narratively it just sucks. not even martin is really able to let jon have this... because of what it would do to jon i know, but it still fucking sucks. also im still frustrated that martin slapped jon like twice. tch. whatever martin has COUNTLESS world to make all of this up to him. AND IN EVERY SINGLE ONE HE HAD BETTER

YEAHHH ive heard some? of the fluff tapes but im pretty sure theres a lot of content i missed.... my favorite that i have heard so far is jons "i am very small, and have no money, so you can imagine how i feel" LMFAO

#tma spoilers #ask #sad ending? yes. however it does provide me this sparkly creative license #AAAAANDDDDD JON DOES GET TO BE PARADED AROUND OTHER WORLDS IN ALL HIS ARCHIVISTIC GLORY WAHOO #I FUCKING WINNNNNNN #thank you my friend i am going to have so much fun with this universe. new sandbox for me and my blorbos

[gothreigen]

*looks at job hunting websites*

#i realised i only have £25 savings per month after i pay for medical stuff + phone contract + spotify #and like i could remove spotify and phone contract thats only like £16 lol #so if i want to buy clothes or like gifts or literally anything that isnt food (bc my parents buy the food 4 everyone in the house) #i immediately end up dipping into my savings which explains why my bank account has been stuck at under £200 for like. 6 months lol #its dumb that its taken me this long to realise it i just wasnt including my prescription charges in it oop #anyway the point is that i was looking for a job pre pandemic but obv stopped for a bit... and now i checked again and there are TWO #recent listings. everything else is pre pandemic listings #i was supposed to learn to drive right... in the Before Times so i could look for jobs further afield than the local bus route #I JUST GOOGLED IT AND DRIVING TESTS ARE CANCELLED... makes sense but rip was starting to think abt finding someone insane to teach me #so anyway * that post which is like wow i picked a really bad year to get my shit together * #might try applying to the supermarkets which are the two listings but dont have much hope #at least i can use this time to get my shit together... i thought of some people i can get to sign my deed poll which is epic #and maybe i can get a new drivers license? and get buff? #i will continue having to wear the same 4 shirts until the charity shop reopens though fdgfhgjhghfd #i could probably ask my parents to help out w/ clothes but 1. it will cause drama. it always does omg #2. its a choice i dont want to support fast fashion + tbh almost all my best clothes are hand me downs or thrifted #transition tag #30/05/2020 #sorry for the long tags

[erodasfishtacos]

Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k 

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow. 

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek. 

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison  to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.” 

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.” 

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all. 

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

**

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.” 

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound. 

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

#Wow #here you go #sat on this for a hot minute #still not sure about it #yolo #deaf!harry #harry styles #harrystylesfanfic #harrystylessmut #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #Harry styles x you #harry styles x reader insert #harry styles fic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles recommendations #harry styles masterlist #harry styles writing request

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing | drabble i. | m

WARNINGS. jealous jk, jk's gf is hot and he's not the only one who thinks that, jimin and tae as instigators, i swear jimin and jk love each other, fucking in public spaces aka a car in a parking lot, jk luvs his gf, appearance of perpetrator jin!

NOTE. i missed this couple 🥺oc is living her hot girl summer life and jk does nawt know how to deal with it Lol. hope u enjoy loves!!!!

WORDS. 3k+

“I’m okay,” Jungkook murmurs, eyes fluttering shut as he repeats his own personal mantra. “I’m good. I’m fine—I’m chill. Chillest person ever. I’m good—”

“He’s not okay,” Taehyung snickers.

Jungkook blocks the negativity out, purposefully and intentionally. Nothing could ruin his day—not on his watch, especially as the sun shines over bodies across the beach while the waves break into beautiful fragments that he’s yearning to dip his feet into.

Personal affirmations came first.

“I’m good, I’m fine, I’m okay,” he chants like a crazy person, definitely earning some form of side-eye from the people next to him but he can’t be bothered. Another person thinking that he was insane wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him—not when—

“You should open your eyes,” Jimin says, “How are you going to fight them if you don’t know thy enemy?”

Immediately, Jungkook’s peace is disturbed by the mouth of Park Jimin, who painfully reminds him of why he’s got into the entire personal mantra and affirmation thing. He used to think it was redundant, unnecessary. How could the universe return your wishes just as you’ve uttered them into the atmosphere? It didn’t seem logical to him.

But right now, that didn’t matter—not when he had bigger things to be worried about.

“Don’t disturb my peace,” Jungkook snaps.

“They did it first,” Jimin retorts, cocking his head towards the flock of people at a certain part of the beach, specifically towards where the water meets the shore.

Jungkook’s eye twitches. His peace is disrupted, his happiness is compromised and it’s all Park Jimin’s fault. He spent a good amount of time getting into his zone, reaffirming himself that he was in fact, fine, good—he was okay! But now, he feels all his resolve dissolve when he realises he can’t even see the main thing that was responsible for his dilemmas.

“You’d think a celebrity was on this beach,” Taehyung snorts.

“Not helping,” Jungkook says dryly.

“So isn’t your crazy person chanting,” Jimin points out, “but yet, here we are—listening to you reciting your own version of a biblical verse.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook grits for the umpteenth time, and no less is his assertions any more convincing than it was a moment ago. The flicker of his irises towards to crowd is enough to prove that fact. “I’m just enjoying my day at the beach with my friends and my girlfriend.”

“See, there are two false statements in that,” Taehyung tilts his head downwards, offering a smug smirk that Jungkook wishes he could shove into the sand beneath him. “You’re definitely not enjoying this because I can see the veins protruding out of your neck at how hard you’re clenching your jaw, and”—the older boy makes the effort to taunt Jungkook further by letting out a low whistle the moment the crowd seems to grow slightly bigger—“you’re partially right about the friend part. Your girlfriend though … where is she?”

I’m good. I’m okay. I’m cool—

“Oblivious, as usual,” Jimin sighs, plopping back onto the beach towel beneath him while shooting Jungkook a pointed stare. “It’d be sad if you only called her your girlfriend for six months when you’ve been in love with her for seven years.”

“Okay that’s it. I’m going there,” Jungkook declares, huffing as he pushes himself off the ground while Jimin makes an effort to grab at his ankle, halting the younger boy from causing any damage and potentially getting them banned from ever returning.

“Not with that temper you aren’t,” Jimin snaps, “Sit your ass down. God. Can’t you take a joke?”

“A joke?” Jungkook splutters, abhorred. “You literally just said she’s going to break up with me!”

“I said that it’d be sad if—”

“Same fucking difference,” he hisses, rubbing a hand across his face before he kicks Jimin’s petty grip off his ankle while levelling him with a menacing glare. Jungkook’s eyes slowly drift to the side where you finally enter his vision, still smiling like the soft and sweet person you were as you help Namjoon with whatever crab hunting mission he had.

See, Jungkook’s mature enough to know that you and Namjoon were good friends, great ones, even. The two of you were smart and clicked well, and if anything, Jungkook was more envious of the fact that the two of you shared such a wholesome and meaningful friendship than anything else.

The fact that Namjoon used to have feelings for you didn’t bother Jungkook anymore, not when he knew where your heart truly laid. He also trusted Namjoon with his entire life and his firstborns (not that he’d ever tell you that, and God—did he hope that day would eventually come when it came to you). But still, Jungkook was mature—he did some growing up, and he was proud of that.

But Jungkook’s human, a flawed, ever-learning and constantly improving human. A human who’s crazy in love with his pretty girlfriend that he’s longed for years—and a human who isn’t blind. A human who can’t ignore the fact that, apparently, he wasn’t the only person that was trying to keep himself in check at how stunning you were. Every day—and especially today, with how your dainty yellow bikini drapes over the curves of your body.

Jungkook nearly cries. Yellow was his favourite colour. You wore it for him.

Not for—

“Maybe you should head over,” Taehyung murmurs, snapping Jungkook out of his love-filled mind as his eyes clear, immediately catching what his friend was referring to.

Some dude. Talking to you. Smiling at you like you carried all the answers to all the world problems as you giggle a tune comparable to birds chirping. Maybe Jungkook was exaggerating but it always sounded like you were singing his favourite song even if you were just explaining economical concepts to him like a soothing e-book.

“God, why couldn’t she have been ugly,” Jungkook groans.

“You wouldn’t have dated her otherwise,” Jimin retorts.

Jungkook gawks, affronted as he gives his two friends a scandalised expression as he places his hands over his chest to indicate the offence he took to that statement.

“I’m not superficial,” he huffs, “I fell in love with her because of her—”

“Personality, yada yada,” Jimin mocks him in a lower tune that has Jungkook glaring at him. “Yeah, okay. But don’t tell me that her being pretty doesn’t help you bust a nut every once in a while.”

Jungkook flushes.

“Well, yeah, but I’m her boyfriend—”

“Thank you for reminding me that you are in fact, still a boy,” Jimin rolls his eyes, “Men. Mansplaining everything, really.”

Jungkook’s jaw slackens as his eyes briefly land on Taehyung’s figure who doesn’t look too bothered with how the conversation turned out as he shrugs in response.

“How about you do the typical manly thing of being a jealous prick and go over there and stomp over all her fan club members,” Jimin says sarcastically, resting his arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

There’s a brief rustle from where the sand meets the towel, and a relatively long period of silence while the only thing that permeates the air is the sound of waves with laughter coming from a family a distance away.

“He did exactly that, didn’t he.”

“You need to stop giving him ideas,” Taehyung sighs, plopping a grape into his mouth before occupying the space next to his friend. “Should we find another beach to frequent?”

“Really?” you laugh, “That’s so cool! I’m actually planning on landing an apprenticeship there over the summer.”

“Oh?” The man is leaning way too close to you for comfort, but you’re unfazed. Jungkook doesn’t even want to know where the hell Namjoon had gone, leaving you with this broad-shouldered, terrifyingly handsome man. “I could definitely put a good word in for you if you’d like.”

You beam, appreciative rather than brazen. But Jungkook thinks the man doesn’t know that.

“I don’t think I can accept that, Seokjin.”

And of course, you knew his name.

“Why not?” Seokjin smirks, and Jungkook knows that it’s definitely done him justice in other situations. “For a beautiful—”

“____,” he interjects, smoothly (or not quite) sliding next to you as his arms wrap around your waist before his glare rests on the man before him, who looks both shocked and unbothered at his appearance. “Who’s this?”

You jump slightly at Jungkook’s arrival but relax when you realise that it was just him and not some other beach weirdo.

“Jungkook, this is Seokjin! He actually attended our university—”

“Really,” he says dryly, “That’s nice.”

“Is this your …?” Seokjin looks Jungkook up and down before settling with a rather unimpressed look. “Do seniors usually bring their shadows out for playdates?”

Your eyes widen at his patronising tone, and before can even think to correct him with a tilted frown, Jungkook’s fingers dig into your waist, a precursor to his jaw that clenches while he engages in his own version of a staredown with the man before you.

“Boyfriend.”

Seokjin raises a brow.

“Me,” Jungkook blinks, unnerved and quite frankly, tired. He’s crossed this bridge enough times, and it’s always the same. Some older dude who thought that you were doing charity work by having Jungkook tag along with like some puny little brother. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Jungkook—” you start, softly reaching to grip his arm.

“Interesting,” Seokjin says offhandedly and Jungkook knows it’s anything but. “Well, my offer still stands.”

He’s directing it to you as you peer up at him with your notoriously innocent eyes. Jungkook hates that this douche is still unaffected by his blatant declaration of the fact that you were—taken.

“I—that’s fine, Seokjin,” you say softly, lips curling into a thankful smile before he nods.

The look he sends Jungkook is nothing short of unimpressed, and Jungkook’s thinking of clamming the dude into the sand and quite literally, bury the hatchet with him. Sure, he was handsome and broad, and undoubtedly ripped—but Jungkook trained to benchpress twice his weight so he could beat up assholes who tried to hit on his girlfriend.

Right before he leaves, Jungkook calls for his name—intentionally calling him Seokmin—noting the way his face drops into a scowl.

“You’re not her type.”

He scoffs.

“And you are?” he throws back, brows raised as a challenge.

“That’s why I get to hold her and you’re walking away.”

With that, Seokjin doesn’t bother responding to Jungkook, especially in the way that you gawk at your boyfriend’s blatant warning to the older man.

He titters off, and it’s effectively just you and Jungkook standing by the shore while you briefly see the way Namjoon stutters before deciding to return to where Jimin and Taehyung lays.

Jungkook’s still seething in his rage, clenching and unclenching his fists even though he got the last word. It wasn’t that he thought you’d elope with Seokjin and leave him—he trusted you wholeheartedly and vice versa. He knew you loved him and so did he.

It had more to do with the fact that Seokjin saw you, and eventually, him—and thought that Jungkook wasn’t fit to be your boyfriend. That he saw a gorgeous girl on the beach and expected her to be single, and if not—to be with a boyfriend that had his shit together and not … not Jungkook.

“Jungkook?” you say quietly, tugging at his elbow while you peer up at him with wide and apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry.”

It’s no good, the fact that you’re apologising. As if you were responsible for his insecurities when you’ve done nothing but shower him with love and support ever since the two of you started officially dating.

“Don’t apologise,” he says stiffly, though his heart isn’t angry—he can’t help the way his words get out. “It’s not your fault.”

“But—”

“If you apologise then you’re gonna piss me off, baby,” he says lightly, peering you down with a small smirk as your eyes widen.

“I—okay,” you say weakly, and before he knows it, you’re intertwining your fingers with his, eyes suddenly twinkling in a way he’s grown all too familiar with.

“You have the keys?” he murmurs softly.

You nod, blind and in love as you sigh.

“Take care of me?” you ask sweetly, and Jungkook forgets all about Seokjin when he has you right in front of him.

“O-Oh, fuck—Jungkook—ngh—”

Maybe Jungkook really was a crazy person, but he’d argue that you were equally as crazy to oblige to indulge in his lewd fantasies. He was crazy, for you and your cunt that was like nirvana, and it’s proven further when he fucks into you at a brutal pace, uncaring whether or not the car shakes with the exertion of the activities that were taking place in it.

It could be the fact that he had a decade worth of fantasies to play out, but he knows that he plays a huge part in opening your sexual nature and he couldn’t be happier about it, especially when you unabashedly throw your head onto your chest, whimpering with the dirty squelches of his thrusts that echo in the vehicle.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he growls, hand wrapping around the back of your neck to force your glassy eyes to look at him.

The look on your face is enough to get Jungkook even more riled up, your flushed cheeks and swollen lips while you nod your head manically, crazy—and his.

“Y-Yours,” you whimper, and just about then, Jungkook brings your hips down with his free hand and meets you with a sharp thrust that has your mouth dropping open and your face scrunched up in pleasure. “F-Fuck, J-Jungkook.”

“No one gets to fuck you like this,” he hisses, pressing a hot kiss to your neck as you whine, hips involuntarily swivelling to meet his fast pace. The car is shaking and it’s all too risky, Jungkook knows that—but his rationale is clouded with the antagonising face of Seokjin. “No one gets to see you like this. Only I do.”

“Y-Yes!” you sob, clutching onto him as he feels your pussy tighten viciously around him, the walls of your inner linings spasming as Jungkook hisses at the feeling. “Only you K-Kook. Only ever want you.”

Jungkook believes you, especially when you desperately hold onto him as he feels himself slowly reach the edge. He knows you are too, especially when your whines get higher in pitch, and your tugs against his shoulders get tighter. He knows because he’s learnt about your body as your boyfriend—and he’s the only person that will ever get to have you like this.

The thought, paired along with the risk of your situation only fuels his determination to get you off, his strong arms immediately wrapping around you to root you into place as he shoves his cock deeper into you.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he croons as you mewl in pleasure, breathless whines turning more desperate as your eyes flutter shut. “You wanna show me how much you want me?”

You nod manically, your pussy fluttering around his length as he grunts in exertion.

“G-Gonna—pleasedon’tstop—fuck, I-I’m cumming—!” you cry, tugging your face into the crook of his neck as Jungkook bites his lips in focus, all ready to accept your hot pleasure and his own.

“Come for me,” he encourages, lips hovering over your earlobe as you obey his orders, head thrown back as he watches your mouth drop wider and your eyes roll to the back of your head, pussy tightening around his length.

Jungkook thinks you’re beautiful. On days where you don’t feel like you do, but he may be biased to say that he thinks you look absolutely stunning for him like this. When he knows that he’s the one responsible for your reddened cheeks, the way you so desperately cling onto him whenever you’d orgasm (the only person that would ever know this fact about you), and the way that you’re left breathless, satiated and with that hazed expression after his resolute efforts.

Jungkook cums shortly after, with those exact thoughts plaguing his mind. He was so whipped. He really only had to think of you and he would get hard, and having you right above him, soft and warm with your arms draped loosely over his form made his heart all mushy and soft despite the way his cock stands erect.

You mewl in oversensitivity although you don’t complain. You never do, whenever Jungkook cums after you. Even now, when Jungkook comes down from his high with pants of his own, his own mind-clearing while his cock softens in you—you remain patient. Patient like the ever-loving, wonderful girlfriend that you were—one that Jungkook wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Wow,” you giggle, forehead resting against his as you return from your own post-orgasmic bliss. “I can’t believe I let you fuck me in a parking lot.”

Jungkook flushes, reality sinking in when he realised that the two of you weren’t hidden from plain sight. While the idea of being caught was definitely arousing, Jungkook knew he wasn’t too keen on having anyone see you delirious, even if it was all for him. He was lucky enough that your bikini top remained on the entire time, but both your sweaty bodies were enough of a dead giveaway.

“I just,” Jungkook tries to explain, words slurring in embarrassment as you raise a brow at him. “You look really pretty today.”

You stare at his forlorn expression as if admitting that pained him. Jungkook feels slightly embarrassed at how he reacted, and if you notice this, you don’t point it out—yet.

“Wore this for you,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to the mole under his lip. Jungkook’s heart soars at your admission even if he knew that. “You know it’s only for you, right?”

Your question is purposeful and Jungkook shamefully looks to his lap, and even then—you’re still connected. He slowly pulls out, wincing when his cum threatens to pool out of your pussy, but before he can pretend to clean you up, you’re putting your bikini bottoms back in place and clamping your hands over his cheeks so that he’d look at you.

“Jungkook,” you say sternly.

He sighs.

“Yes,” he groans, feeling a lot like a child who’s being berated. “I just—God. He was such a prick.”

“I know,” you say gently, fingers combing through his hair while he melts into your touch. “There are a lot of pricks out there, but you know that I only love you, right?”

Your confession is the same as the one you’ve made six months ago, and just last night before the two of you fell asleep—but it’s a confession that Jungkook never grows tired of.

“I know,” he mumbles as you giggle at him. “It’s just that … he really thought he had a chance with you, and when he saw me it was like—”

You frown, finger pressed against his lips to stop his rambling as he peers up at you with doe-eyes.

“None of that,” you chide lightly, “I don’t care what people think. The only person I care about is you, and no one will change that, okay?”

Jungkook feels himself relax into your touch, especially when you lean forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss that isn’t set to lead anywhere. He remembers. He remembers the times where you were unsure and all too worried of the words of others—and here you were, with him and with your gentle and loving soul, the embodiment of comfort as you tell him the words he’s always known but needs to be reminded of.

“I love you,” he says quietly as you grin widely at him, “Sorry for—you know.”

You roll your eyes, lifting your leg to get off his lap as you wince at the cum that threatens to escape your lips.

“I mean, it was kind of hot,” you shrug with a small smirk.

“God, I’ve created a monster,” Jungkook snorts, looking over at you when you shoot him a devious grin.

“You love it,” you throw back cheekily, leaning into his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you with a sigh.

He does. And he knows that he’s the only one that you’ll love back.

#bad boy good thing #bbgt #bts #bts fics #bts series #bad boy good thing drabbles #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x oc #bts fanfiction #jungkook scenario #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook

[marauderundercover]

The Strings that Bind Us: Chapter Two

AO3

Prev

Marinette dances around her apartment, feeling lighter than she’d felt in years. She had dinner on the stove, a movie on the table, and her boyfriend of two weeks coming over in ten minutes. Honestly, she couldn’t remember a time when she’d been happier. She grins when she hears the knock at her door. Quickly pulling the pan off the heat, she rushes over to the door, nearly falling on her face in her rush. Without even checking the peephole, she throws the door open and grins widely at Bruce. He smiles back at her and she kisses his cheek quickly.

“Hey, dinner’s almost ready.” She says, tugging him in and closing the door.

“You really didn’t have to cook tonight, we could’ve ordered in.” He says, and she turns to him, wrinkling her nose.

“Bruce, I’m honestly worried that all you ever eat is takeout.” She says flatly. He just laughs, and shakes his head.

“Mari, I can assure you I don’t always eat takeout.” He says, snaking his arms around her waist. She raises an eyebrow, giving him a softer version of her Ladybug stare. He just grins and leans down, kissing her gently. She instantly melts into the kiss, standing on her toes to try and deepen it. Just as he lifts her up, the timer goes off and she groans.

“I’m going to throw that damn thing out the window.” She gripes, giving him a quick peck before jumping down and pulling the pan with the steamer off the heat. “Could you grab some plates?” She calls over her shoulder, focused on moving the dumplings out of the steamer. She smiles as she does, the familiar feeling of working closely with someone she cares about washing away all of her worries. She grins as she feels Bruce’s arms wrap around her waist again as he nuzzles his head into her neck. She just hums in content, dishing out the dumplings and veggie stir fry. She could honestly get used to this.

---

Marinette blinks sleepily as she sits up on the couch, trying to figure out when she fell asleep. Glancing around, she smiles tiredly at Bruce.

“C’mere.” She says, reaching out for him. He chuckles.

“I’ve gotta go, Mari.” He says softly and she whines.

“No, don’t leave.” She asks, smiling in success as he sits back down next to her. She leans up against him, almost back asleep when he says:

“I have to go love, but I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” Well that’s not gonna happen. She pushes herself back up and forces her eyes open, frowning at Bruce’s laugh.

“If I sleep, you’re gonna leave.” She says with a pout. Bruce kisses the top of her head and she melts into his touch, eyes fluttering shut and- NO. Stay awake.

“How about I come back in the morning and we can have breakfast together?” He suggests and she sighs, leaning against him again.

“Fine, but I’ll get you to stay sometime. The nightmares always stay away when you’re here.” She says sleepily. He says something, but she doesn’t process it before she’s asleep again.

---

“Bruce, hi?” Marinette says, blinking in confusion at her boyfriend.

“Hey Mari, you didn’t forget about breakfast, did you?” He asks with a teasing smile. She frowns, as she tries to remember when they scheduled that. Her eyes widen when she realizes he definitely asked her last night. When she was half asleep. And had no filter.

“Oh my god, please tell me I didn’t say anything too embarrassing last night.” She begs, hiding her head in his chest. He chuckles.

“You mean besides the proposal?” He asks. She gasps and jumps away.

“No, I didn’t- did I-” She stammers out, pausing when she realizes he’s barely holding back a smile. She narrows her eyes. “You are an absolute ass, Bruce.” She says, glaring at him. He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry love, it’s just so easy to tease you sometimes.” He says, leaning in to kiss her. She huffs, but kisses him back, the butterflies exploding in her stomach. After a few more dizzying kisses, she pulls back, taking a deep breath.

“So is there a reason for our random breakfast date?” She asks, trying to decide how she should dress as she was still currently in her pajamas.

“I actually thought we could talk about a few things.” He says, with a small wince. Her heart drops.

“Are you breaking up with me?” She asks, terrified of his answer. His eyes widen and he shakes his head frantically.

“No, oh god no, Mari, I- I just wanted to tell you some more things about me, let you decide if you want to get out now.” He says, and she lets out a sigh of relief before jumping forward and wrapping her arms around her boyfriend’s neck.

“As long as you aren’t secretly a super villain, you couldn’t get rid of me.” She assures him, sighing as she feels him relax. She steps back and grins at him. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I thought that maybe we could drive through somewhere and grab something quick, then go to my place?” He suggests, and though it sounds simple enough, she can see his nervousness.

“Bruce, if you don’t want me to-” She starts, but he shakes his head.

“I want you to be in my life. I’m just worried that you’ll see me differently.” He says and she kisses him quickly.

“Well let me go get dressed so that we can go and maybe reassure you that I’m not about to run for the hills.” She says softly before rushing back to her room to get dressed. Her mind runs through a million different scenarios as she gets dressed, but she honestly can’t think of one where she would just leave him. Minus the whole villain thing. That was the only deal breaker she could think of. Shaking her head, she grabs her purse before walking back into the living room and grinning at Bruce. He smiles back and grabs her hand, but she can practically feel how nervous he is. She raises an eyebrow as he opens the car door for her.

“Do you not like it?” He asks, and she snorts.

“Bruce, honey, I have no knowledge on cars except this one is shiny. And a different one than I’ve seen you use before.” She says, grinning as she manages to make him blush slightly.

“Oh, uh, well. I like this one more, and thought it would help with the conversation.” He says and she raises an eyebrow. How would a shiny car help with a conversation? She just gets in the car, frowning at the person across the street taking a picture of them. Once Bruce is in the car, the person walks away and she narrows her eyes.

“I don’t mean to alarm you, but that person definitely just took a picture of us.” She says, surprised that instead of getting angry, Bruce just sighs.

“Marinette, how much do you know about the Wayne family?” He asks.

“Well, I know that they own Wayne Enterprises and that Wayne Enterprises owns a lot of Gotham. And they do a lot of charity work, but that’s about it.” She admits, grinning sheepishly. She’d meant to look into it more after Bruce told her he works at Wayne Enterprises, and especially after she heard a customer talking about a recent attack on the building, but she’d forgotten and now she felt like an idiot.

“My last name is Wayne.” Bruce says, and she just shrugs.

“Okay, so you’re related to the Wayne Enterprises people?” She asks, and he sighs.

“Mari, I am the Wayne Enterprises people. I’m Bruce Wayne, CEO of the company.” He says and she suddenly understands. It’s just like when she was in lycée and Adrien got nervous around people who knew he was an Agreste. Her amazingly sweet, smart boyfriend was worried about what she’d think about him now. She reaches out and grabs the hand that he had left between them, squeezing it tightly before smiling.

“And my last name is Dupain Cheng. My parents own one of the most successful patisseries in France. I adore you, mon cher, because you’re you. Not because your last name is Wayne.” She reassures him, he smiles at her softly and she laughs. “Look at the road, Bruce. I’d rather get where we’re going in one piece.” She says.

“There’s something else, Mari.” He says. She hums and raises an eyebrow. “I have two sons.” For a moment she panics. She didn’t know anything about being a mom, the most she’d been around kids was when she babysat throughout school. Before she can let herself spiral, she takes a breath. He wasn’t asking her to be a mom all of a sudden, he was just telling her. He was opening up.

“How old are they?” She asks, grinning at the wide smile he gives her in return.

“Dick is 18 and recently moved out. Jason is 13.” He says and Mari frowns. Was Bruce a teen dad? He hadn’t mentioned their mom, did he do it all on his own? That must’ve been extremely stressful. It couldn’t have been easy. And the company? It- “I can see you panicking, love. What is it?” He asks, frowning.

“You must’ve been a teenager when Dick was born! Did you do it all on your own? How in the world could you run a company and be a father so young and-”

“They’re both adopted.” He says, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“I was so concerned for little you!” She exclaims. “I felt so awful that you had so much responsibility so young.” She admits and he chuckles.

“Trust me, even if I had been a teen parent, I wouldn’t have been alone. Alfred would have been there for me.” He says.

“Alfred?” She asks.

“Technically he’s the Wayne family butler, but he’s more like a father to me than anything else.” Bruce explains and she grins.

“He sounds amazing.” She says and Bruce smiles awkwardly.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I wanted to introduce the two of you. Today.”

Next

Tag list: @maribat-october-rarepairs @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess @ashbrea381writings 

#brucinette #maribat bruce wayne #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat #maribat fanfiction #maribat ao3 fic #ao3fic #maribat ladybug #maribat batman #MaribatHalloween21 #maribatoctrp21

[kaunis-sielu]

Schoolyard: 7

You go out into your living room. “We’re going home.”

“What?” Sif asks looking up from her phone.

“The hospital won’t allow me to work until Thor and my annulment is over so there’s no point in being here.”

“You don’t want to see any family?”

“My dad is still working, he and my mom are in Japan so I wouldn’t see them anyway. Jane was the only other person I really wanted to see and you saw how that turned out.”

“We can go whenever you want. The jet is at the airfield we just have to call in the crew.”

“Will you please? I want to go as soon as possible.”

“Call Thor.” Bryn says and you frown, “honestly he’s driving me crazy. Please just call him.”

“Fine!” You go back into your room and drop down onto the bed then video call him.

“Hi Elskede.” He says softly, he looks like he’s just woken up and when you look at your watch you realize for him it is nearly six am and that Bryn is a liar.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve waited. I forgot about the time difference.”

“No it’s okay. You look upset.” You nod then promptly burst into tears. “Oh Elskede.” He soothes and it just brings on more tears. You spill everything, how horrible Jane was and how it made you feel like such a shitty friend even though you’d done your best to reach out. How Peter had made a huge deal about you and Thor being married and practically screamed it to the paparazzi who you’re sure are going to sell it to the rest of the world. Then you tell him about work and how all you wanted to do was take care of sick kids.

“What can I do to help?” Thor asks as you finish explaining the last 24 hours to him.

“When I get home I really want a hug.” You tell him and he laughs softly.

“Elskede, that’s the least I can do. Anything you want.”

“Honestly that’s it. You’ve let me vent and cry and now all I want is one of those bone crushing hugs you used to give me.”

“Nothing else?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” You tease your mood already brighter. Someone knocks on your door, “come in?”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Sif says, “the jet can be ready before midnight.” You glance at the time and nod.

“That works for me.” You tell her glancing over at your almost completely packed bag.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay longer Elskede?”

“Positive.” He nods and you lay back on your pillow. You’re still chatting with him when a loud noise from out in the living room catches your attention.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” You lay the phone down and climb off your bed then open your bedroom door.

“Is everything okay?”

“Dr. Foster is attempting to gain access.” Bryn tells you, you notice the gun in her hand but don’t say anything.

“Why?”

“We don’t know.” You sigh and move toward the door but Sif stops you.

“Are you sure you want to do this again?”

“Yea.” You pull out the stop then open the door.

“What the hell. Why wouldn’t the door open.”

“Didn’t know if you told Peter where I lived or not and if he had a key.”

“What?”

“He came to my work Jane. Screamed about how I was married to a prince and how you’d told him everything. Just loud enough for the paparazzi to hear.”

“And I’m sure that’s all my fault.”

“Hell yea it is! I asked you to keep that to yourself!”

“I don’t keep secrets from my boyfriend.”

“Just your best friend then huh.” You snap and she glares at you.

“I just came to get some of my shit.”

“You know what? Just keep the fucking place. Thanks to your boyfriend I don’t have a job here anymore and Asgard and Thor already feel more like home than this fucking city does anyways.” You sneer before turning on your heel and heading back to your room. You grab your bag, shove the few things you took out back into it then grab your phone.

“I’ll call you back.”

“Elskede.” Thor starts before you hang up on him.

“Lose my number until you lose the shit attitude.” You tell Jane before blowing past her Sif and Bryn hot on your heels. When you get downstairs you’re horrified by the amount of press outside your place.

“Can we take you to the embassy now?”

“Fine.” You agree and the two women flank you on either side then hurry you out the door. The paparazzi start screaming the second they realize it’s you but you keep a passive face, you don’t look at them and you follow Sif and Bryn’s directions to the car. When you pull away some of the paparazzi follow you but Bryn easily loses them.

When you pull up to the embassy it Bryn hardly slows down. The gates swing open for you and slowly shut behind you while two guards block the drive. When the car stops Sif opens the door and you climb out then follow her into the embassy.

“Your Highness, welcome! I’m Tyr, the ambassador. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He’s a burly older man with a long white beard and shoulder length white hair.

“Thank you for allowing us to spend a couple of hours here. It’s much appreciated.”

“Of course your Highness. Is there anything I can get you?”

“No thank you.” You tell him as your phone starts to ring, you’re not surprised to see that it’s Thor. “Excuse me the Crown Prince is calling.” He nods and you step away putting the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Just wanted to check in. Did you make it to the embassy okay?”

“Yea, I’m just ready to be home.”

“It’s been weird without you here Elskede.”

“Can we do a long weekend when I get back? Before Spain?”

“That should be fine, where do you want to go?”

“Surprise me.” You tell him and he hums softly.

“I have to go though Elskede. I’ll see you when you get back. Have a safe flight.”

“Okay, bye.” You hang up then join Sif, Bryn and Tyr again.

“Everything alright?” Sif asks and you nod.

“If you have things to do you don’t need to host us. We’ll just be here for a couple hours.”

“Are you sure Your Highness?” You nod, “is there anything I can get you first?” You glance over at Sif and Bryn but both shake their heads.

“We’re good. Thank you.” He nods again then leaves the three of you in the sitting room.

You read for a couple of hours then head back out to the car and to the airfield. You sleep for most of the flight then take a quick shower and change just before landing. The ride to the palace feels like it’s hours long but when you get there Thor comes bounding out of the building and yanks open your door. You scurry out of the car and into his waiting arms. Thor holds you tightly to him, his chin rests on the top of your head and you let out all the tension you didn’t know you were carrying with a long slow breath.

“I’m so glad you’re home safe Elskede.” He murmurs into your hair.

“I’m glad I’m home too.” You tell him not moving from his embrace as people move around you. “I knew that this was exactly what I needed.” He chuckles softly but doesn’t move, god you’ve never felt so content, so protected, safe and happy.

“We have a meeting with the judge tomorrow then we can go on our trip.” The judge. The annulment. That shouldn’t fill you with so much dread but it does.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” Thor tells you and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Fine.” You finally release your grip on him then his hand ends up in yours, like it always does, and you head back inside.

“Mother wishes to speak with Doodle.” Loki says as they walks past you with their bodyguard Laufey behind them. “Alone.” They add and your eyes widen.

“I told her what happened with your friend. I hope that’s alright.” Thor tells you as you start for The Queen’s rooms.

“Oh, that’s fine. Do you think that’s why she would want to speak to me?”

“I don’t know. I’ll bring you there. We have a charity event at a hospital tonight, will you be alright to go?” As you make your way toward Frigga’s rooms.

“Yes, I don’t want anyone to think they broke me.”

“You have nothing to prove Elskede.”

“I know. I won’t have them think they won. Besides, you’d be so bored without me.” You tease and he chuckles softly.

“I’ll have some dresses sent for you.”

“Thank you.” You tell him as you come up to Frigga’s door. He nods, presses a kiss to the side of your head then leaves you to his mother.

Tag list:

@abschaffer2 @dsakita @dramadreamer14 @thesassmisstress @eralen @andahugaroundtheneck @loving-life-my-way @thefridgeismybestie @killcomet @dumblani @im-just-another-monster @mywinterwolf @scuzmunkie @biskwitmamaw @geeksareunique @paintballkid711 @lumar014 @also-fangirlinsweden @connie326 @inkedaztec @valsworldofcreativity @gaitwae @blackwidownat2814

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[theskywaslookingback]

tma fic recs please ? 🤲🏽

Oooooo yes! I never get asks like this, thank you!

[my tumblr fic recs tag is here for browsing]

I had to put it under a cut because it got...entirely too long barely half an hour into making it, sorry.

Under 5k

means of cartharsis by orphan_account [G] [965]

“You’d think – you’d that at this point nightmares would be second nature for me, hm?” Martin says, forcing a smile even as he tugs the blanket tighter around his trembling shoulders.

It’s meant to be a bit funny. Instead of laughing, though, Jon frowns.

“No,” he says simply, and matter-of-factly wipes the moisture from Martin’s cheeks with a tissue like he’s a crying child.

A Proper Sleepover by Goodluckdetective (scorpiantales) [T] [1.4k]

In a different world, one where Elias is not waiting for them outside the Lonely, everyone has a chance to savor a moment of respite. As much as they can get these days. If only to talk about things that long need to be spoken.

“Basira says we should all sleep in the same room tonight,” Jon says without looking up. “Safer. So we can keep an eye out for intruders and also each other.”

“So we’re having a proper sleepover then?”

Jon scoffs. “Technically we’ve been having a proper one for months.”

where i go, when i go there by rainny_days [T] [1.7k]

Martin wants Jon to hold his hand. Martin doesn't want Jon to hold his hand.

It's complicated.

all the other ways by AptlyNamed [G] [2.2k]

Jon loses his first soul mark when he is eight years old.

a palace from ruin by bibliocratic [G] [2.2k]

"What're you sorry for?” Martin asks.

“I should have asked,” Jon says finally. “I'd never.... you were always so private about him, so I mean, at first I wasn't sure he was even yours, but then – when you, when you went with Peter, and I – he was so small, and I thought he was h-half-dead. S-so I picked him up and I carried him. And I'm sorry.”

interiors by doomcountry [T] [2.7k]

In the doorway, he fumbles with his keys. Their sound is loud in the silent stairwell. You don’t remember getting here.

searching for a light (for a right) by Kalgalen [T] [2.7k]

Some people make the mistake of assuming he's naive about sex, for the simple reason he hasn't dated in a while. Tim has called him a prude, at one point, and implied that he was somehow afraid of the intimacy required by the act; he wasn’t entirely wrong, but this definitely isn’t the reason for Jon's disinterest and general bafflement toward what most people seemed to consider as "what makes them human".

Jon simply hasn't found the right person. That is all it is: high standards, and a reticence to let people in.

(In which Jon finds out society is wrong about what a romantic relationship should be.)

how to plant a garden in rocky soil by treeprince [T] [2.9k]

Sometimes you just need a good pair of hands to work out all the kinks in your life.

Good thing Martin has two.

A Weather In The Flesh by cuttooth [G] [3k]

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

*

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

I'll bring the motion by callmearctus [T] [3.1k]

A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.

Martin helps.

A Bread Made In Heaven by Againstme [G] [3.3k]

Martin moves over and watches how his boyfriend handles the dough. He's awkward with it, tentative and gentle, as if he's scared of hurting it somehow.

"Is this, uh, am I doing this right?" Jon asks, still slowly stretching out the dough and folding it onto itself.

"Well," he says shifting closer to Jon again, "you could be applying more pressure. Here, let me help you out, dear."

Martin moves fully behind Jon, and reaches around him, putting his hands on top of his boyfriend's. Jon inhales sharply, but doesn't say anything else, just lets Martin's hand rest on top of his.

Martin's hands are bigger, but not big enough to entirely envelop the other's hands, and Jon's hands are much, much warmer than his own are. To see what they're doing, Martin moves his head to look over Jon's shoulder. Though he can't see his boyfriend's face from this angle, he can see how it is slowly growing red at the edge of his vision. He decides not to tease him on it, instead content with letting a smile spread across his face and slowly guiding their joined hands in the proper motion.

Or, Martin teaches Jon how to make bread.

stumbling and spinning by lady_mab [G] [3.3k]

“Things happened,” Jon says demurely, trying to untangle Gerry’s fingers, but it only results in him getting pulled in so Gerry can kiss him properly. “It’s not all that bad.”

“I suppose not,” Gerry says with a sigh, sitting back upright. “You somehow managed to snag an incredible boyfriend out of it.”

It takes a solid few seconds before realization clicks in Martin’s brain. “You mean me?” [...]

“You have to admit, Jon has great tastes,” Gerry teases.

nothing sweeter than local honey by beeclaws [T] [3.4k]

So Tim is content, one arm leaned into the spray, waiting for the water to warm, enjoying the feeling of homecoming underneath the gentle fuzz of jetlag, when he hears gasping, panicked breaths coming from the other room.

Tim and Jon, in the aftermath, relearning how to be okay.

When Words are Inadequate by Mugatu [T] [3.8k]

Meals and the preparation of are, for want of a better word, informative. Fact gathering. A place where they can fill in the gaps of their knowledge of the other.

Jon cooks for Martin, and they learn more about each other.

go softly by doomcountry [T] [4k]

And there is nothing else besides this.

Imago by cuttooth [T] [4k]

“Jon?” he asks tentatively, tightening his grip around the poker as it slips against his sweaty palm. The antennae twitch, and suddenly Martin knows that it’s Jon, the knowledge sliding into his mind in a surge of desperate affection, the same profound love he felt that first time he truly saw Jon in the fog of the Lonely.

“Oh,” he whispers. “It really is you.”

*

Jon changes, but he’s still the same to Martin.

shoreline by bibliocratic [G] [4.1k]

“Martin," Tim says kindly, tipsily, only mildly slurring. "Dearest, dearest Martin. You're wankered, babe. Last train to Stockwell fucked off hours ago because it is now piss off o'clock in the morning, and there's a sofa with your exact name on it at my place. Thought you said you wanted some handsome fellow to take you back to his tonight?”

Or: The OG Archive crew go drinking, Martin comes out, and gets some well deserved TLC. In that order.

get your epitaph right by bibliocratic [G] [4.2k]

Martin's daemon has tried on the shape of dogs and lizards and snakes and horses, and even – once, when he was younger and Mum took him to the seaside, a fish.

Martin's never seen his soul in the dressing of a spider before.

i've known the warmth of your doorways by beeclaws [T] [4.2k]

'I’m always in pain, Jon wants to say, even as he dismisses the thought as melodramatic. Between his growing collection of old wounds and scar tissue, the supernatural hunger for statements that hasn’t been truly satiated in months, and the unpredictable aches and strains his body threw off day by day long before he ever set foot in the Institute, some level of pain and discomfort follows Jon wherever he goes now. He is used to being in pain. He’s not used to someone holding his hand as he suffers through it.'

Jon catalogs the comforts he receives, and wonders how long he will be allowed to keep them.

lay down your weary head by Zykaben [T] [4.6k]

Jon has been running himself ragged, searching for every scrap of information he can possibly find about the Unknowing. He's exhausted and sleep-deprived but he can't bring himself to take a break, not now.

Luckily, Tim and Martin are there to make sure that their boyfriend gets the care and rest he needs.

only the sweetest words remain by bluejayblueskies [T] [4.6k]

This isn't how things are supposed to go, right? Jon remembers those ratty paperbacks from the charity shops, dime-a-dozen romance novels with broken bindings and yellowing pages and words that spoke of love and passion and sexuality in prose that was more than a bit too mature for someone whose age hadn’t yet reached double digits. Stolen glances turn into dinner dates turn into passionate kisses turn into…

Well, he’d never actually read those parts of the books, because it had all seemed so deeply uncomfortable and gross. But he got the picture.

Or, Jonathan Sims, on being loved

5k-20k

and they keep not letting go by Marianne_Dashwood [G] [5k]

It’s an electric feeling, something strange and new and familiar all at once, even though he has been holding Martin’s hand for most of the day. His stomach swoops, like he is standing on the edge of the precipice of realisation and staring into the void of unknowing. But at the same time, he does know. In this instant of contact between them, the last few years of cups of tea and small smiles and momentary glances, of panic and fear and only feeling safe with Martin’s solid presence in the room, despite his paranoia, rush into him, and oh, oh oh.

ready to call this love by yewgrove [G] [5.6k]

How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99 [T] [6k]

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

This Must Be The Place by cuttooth [T] [6k]

“You said – you said we were going home,” Martin says softly.

“I did,” says Jon, and is grateful that Martin doesn’t comment on him calling the Archives home. “I – I don’t really know where to go. I, uh, I don’t have a flat anymore, I don’t think. We could find a hotel?”

“Let’s go to my place,” says Martin. His hand squeezes Jon’s, more gently than before. Most importantly, Jon notes, he doesn’t let go.

*

Jon and Martin go home for a little while.

Small Things, Simple Acts by ZaliaChimera [T] [6.6k]

Even after leaving London, Jon and Martin are not free, not really. Maybe they never will be.

But for now they can be themselves, and maybe in the end, that's enough.

house by tomatoes [G] [9k]

Martin can take care of himself.

roses, roses, roses by acetheticallyy (judesstfrancis) [T] [9.3k]

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

a deeply annoying child by ajkal2 [G] [9.6k]

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

Inseparable by voiceless_terror [T] [10.3k]

“You can stay.” The voice interrupts his internal panic, and he looks over to find Jon studiously avoiding his gaze, staring hard at a neighboring bush. Martin wonders what caused his sudden change of heart. “But you have to sit on the other side. And don’t talk to me.”

Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood meet as children. Some things change, others do not.

i'm almost me again, you're almost you by gruhukens [G] [12k]

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite [T] [15.8k]

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Over 20k

The Kindness of Strangers by TheOestofOCs [M] [23k]

It was easier to treat Jon like a monster when he wasn’t shivering against his back, brokenly humming—wait, was that…

“Are you trying to do ‘Hey, Jude’?” Tim demanded.

Jon stopped, stiffening. “Mm hrmh mm mmh hm,” he said defensively.

“You really can’t hold a tune, can you, boss?”

*

It was just an ordinary walk to a restaurant. Tim had insisted that if they were going to talk, there would be no tape recorders or weird Archives ghosts listening in. A bit of fresh air wouldn’t kill him, Tim had said. What could go wrong?

By the time Jon spots the white delivery van, it’s much too late.

The Stranger kidnaps Jon. Tim comes along for the ride.

Misjudged by ShastaFirecracker [T] [36.5k]

Martin's been a longtime listener of What the Ghost, so when Georgie gives a shoutout to her flatmate's Twitch channel during a Q&A, he checks it out - only to discover that her flatmate is also his most terrifying coworker at his new job. The first time they crossed paths, Jon yelled at him for incompetence. But on the streams, Martin sees an entirely different person - someone fun and relaxed, engaging and unfairly attractive. Over time, Martin begins to find that Jon buried inside his dour, awkward coworker. He also learns to live with the fact that his crush is painfully one-sided... or is it?

if we make it through the night everyone is gonna hear us (Series) by skvadern [Ratings Vary] [42.4k]

In which Sasha survives the NotThem (with a little help from a certain Distortion) and she and Jon spend s2 working together to try and make sense of everything that's happening to them. It goes...interestingly

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic [T] [49.7k]

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

it's only forever by lady_mab [T] [50.9k]

“The castle at the center of the labyrinth,” Jon breathes, recalling again the words from one of the past conversations with Martin. “He’s there.”

“Turn back, Jonathan,” the Goblin King says, and Jon is surprised to hear a slight edge of desperation in the tone. “Turn back before it’s too late.”

“I can’t,” Jon answers with the same tone. “You know that I can’t.”

The Goblin King’s grin is gone completely, and he regards Jon with a degree of pity before that melts into resignation.

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey [T] [53.3k]

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

A Home For What Loves You by TheWrongShop [T] [151k]

It was completely fine that Jon was following up on this very normal, non-supernatural statement at midnight on a Friday. He was going to find nothing at all, and then he was going to go home and sleep for fourteen straight hours and feel absolutely no qualms about moving case #0150409 directly into the filing cabinet marked "discredited".

Or; Jon and Martin end up investigating Carlos Vittery's basement and finding the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.

RATED E *MINORS DNI*

A Look And A Voice by cuttooth [E] [6.9k]

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Jon asks bluntly, and for a second Martin can’t breathe.

“It - it doesn’t matter what I - ” he begins valiantly, before Jon interrupts him.

“Because I want to have sex with you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you think it’s for the wrong reasons. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. The only thing that matters is if you want to as well.”

*

Martin meets a guy in a bar and takes him home.

Warms The Coldest Night by cuttooth [E] [11k]

"Flame that warms the coldest night Bring to us the waxing Light, Be with us on Solstice Night." Gypsy - Bring Back The Light

There is mistletoe hanging in the doorway to the Archives when Jon gets in.

Curiosity by ShastaFirecracker [E] [11.6k]

“You know that conversation we had the other day about how one of the most important things for queer youth to learn is that it's okay to change their minds, because identity and self-discovery are always fluid?”

Behind him, Martin slipped oven mitts over his hands and pulled open the oven door. The scent of garlic and rosemary flooded the kitchen. “Yeah?” he said.

“I, um... I'd like to revisit the topic of sex.”

At the Interim (Series) by Rend_Herring [E] [41k]

A Measure Outside the Lines and The Residuum

triptych (Series) by Stacicity [E] [44.9k]

A collection of Jon/Tim/Martin fics

a steady hand, a delicate man by callmearctus [E] [52.8k]

Martin is the proprietor and manager of a very discrete and fairly exclusive brothel situated between Belgravia and Chelsea. Blackwood House excels at special requests and pleasing any client.

Except for Jon, who probably has never been pleased a day in his entire life.

Despite that, he still comes back. It eventually begs the question: how do you solve a problem like Jon Sims?

#statement ends #anonymous #fic recs #save #((this took me like two hours lmaooooo))

[funkymbtifiction]

hi charity, i hope this question doesn't bother you, i am an enfj, as i accepted while reading your book (never felt so called out in my life, lol), but i can't decide whenever i am a 1w2 or 2w1, what is the key difference between them, especially in an enfj? thank you so much for everything you do and your precious help :)

I'm glad, it means I did my job and wrote it accurately. ;)

Since both are dependent and 'should' types, it can be easy to mistake them; but 1s carry tension in their bodies and their minds, they are rigid and have strong judgments about everything. They care more about the evident rightness of their position than the emotions or relational dynamics involved; when they have 2 as a wing, those are still secondary to their motives. They aren't coming at things from a personal place so much as a place of black and white, right and wrong, gut-instinctual energy. As gut types, they feel battered by a world that wants them to violate their consciences, and they refuse and fight back against it by repressing their reactions, denying how angry they are (yet it's visible to others), and being far more critical of everyone else than of themselves (the outward focus of a 1 is on everything around them, compared to the inner criticism of a 9w1, for example). 1s don't want to feel in the wrong, or see themselves as being wrong, inappropriate, or bad, so they tend to turn most of their emotional reactions into anger. 1s struggle to express their positive feelings, though they let people know their negative ones. Under stress, they become more emotional, and feel persecuted and misunderstood or alienated (moving to 4); when they are healthier, they learn to stop being so rigid and pursue pleasure without a sense of guilt about it (moving to 7).

2s are one of the most emotional types (compared to the relative firmness and stoicism of the 1); they are easily touched, easily emotional, and easily able to feel what others are feeling and want to do something about it. They want closeness more than anything, and can be gushing and affirming in how they reach out to people. They care less about black and white morality than they do meeting people where they are and fulfilling their needs. They want love more than anything, to be selfless, compassionate, kind, and see themselves as benevolent and needed. They need to feel needed, and won't feel fulfilled with anyone who needs nothing from them. They tend to be more self-critical than the 1w2, because 1 tags along, judging their mistakes within relationships (their main focus). They typically hide the things about themselves that they think others will not like, or reject things out of fear of rejection themselves, whereas a 1 does not alter themselves to be liked; they are firm in their stance against the world. 2s move to 8 in anger and become forceful, aggressive, and even controlling; in times of health, they move closer to 4 and learn that they can nurture their own interests, and be truer to their authentic opinions, without fearing others will abandon them.

1s will not take on a sudden fascination with a topic that has never interested them before, in order to grow closer to someone they want to love them, but a 2 will absorb their interests and hobbies in an effort to build a deeper connection.

#question #enneagram #enneagram 1 #enneagram 2 #1w2 #2w1

[rosyfingereddawnn]

That’s The Way (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Warning(s): Jimmy and Y/N falling in love at first sight🥺, nsfw insinuations in the beginning but nothing bad, language

Author’s notes: It’s Jimmy time, mates! I’m so sorry for making you wait so long! Slow burns can suck like that sometimes. I hope you’re enjoying the plot so far, and that it wasn’t what you expected! There’s so much more drama to come, though, so I hope you’re excited for that😂 As usual, please enjoy, happy reading, and send us messages if you have theories, comments, music recommendations for the playlist, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

------

Y/N’s train ride home from The Yardbirds’ hotel was a constant swirl of what the fucks booming in her mind: what the fuck just happened, what the fuck does this mean, what the fuck am I doing, what the fuck is Jim doing, what the fuck will this become?  

Out of all the things on God’s good, green earth he could have wanted, he wanted her to kiss him. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Y/N thought when she initially heard the request. Then, when she questioned it, he escalated it to a blowjob since she thought a kiss was “too tame.” Y/N eventually did kiss Jim, as he wished. She was pretty sure that he still wanted her to kiss him after his little upgrade, and boy, was she right. ‘He called me a princess’, she remembered...what the hell was that supposed to mean?

As contradictory as it was, her mind was racing with so many thoughts, yet, at the same time, none at all. She was in overdrive, unable to think straight. Y/N forced herself to come to her senses as the train neared her stop, since her parents could not see the sheer bewilderment in her eyes and facial expression as she walked into her home. They would ask question after question, interrogating her as if she had committed a crime they had to get to the bottom of. She had to admit, reluctantly, that this was exciting. The star-studded aspect of it, the secrecy… It was a rollercoaster ride, yet Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to get off anytime soon. In the back of her mind, though, she knew this little dalliance wasn’t going to lead to anything serious.

Jim, however, currently sitting at the foot of his bed in an empty hotel room, was in a complete daze. He couldn’t comprehend that this was reality. The most beautiful girl in the whole world had just sucked him off, and then kissed him! She was completely obedient yet willing, and adorably shy, blushing every two seconds. But the kiss. It was dizzyingly soft, sweet, and passionate on her part. To Jim, this meeting of lips was perfect. Addictive. Devastatingly addictive, like a drug. He wanted more. Her lips were something else to taste and feel. He wondered if she would ever come back to him with intimate intentions. Perhaps even to spend the night, or something even more serious. By the way she so often smiled in a bright and enthusiastic way, Jim thought she just might. He had come to the conclusion, after continuously replaying what had happened just minutes ago in his head, that he was falling hopelessly in love with this girl. His Y/N.

Jim had never felt like this before.

And he didn’t know what to do about it.

~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later...

Y/N’s mum had sent her and her brother Charlie by train into London to go grocery shopping, and perhaps to visit Carnaby Street, Portobello Market, and the Oxfam charity shops to get some new clothes for themselves. Pushing the cart around the supermarket, Y/N and Charlie looked intently at the handwritten list their mum had given them.

“Alright, what do we need next?” Y/N asked, her head tilted to see the small piece of paper.

“Uh, we still have to get oatmeal, eggs, and some fruits and vegetables,” Charlie replied, mirroring Y/N’s position as he gazed down at the list in his hands, which was slowly being painted with black ink. They were making good time, all things considered.

“Let’s go to the produce section then, so we can get everything all in one go,” Y/N decided, starting to push the cart in that direction.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Charlie’s nod served as confirmation, and the two walked on, gazes captured every-so-often by the gaggle of people passing by.

Once the two siblings reached their desired destination, Y/N began inspecting the clear clamshell containers of assorted berries as Charlie went to fetch a bag of broccoli florets and a variety of potatoes. As Y/N began placing the fruit in the cart, she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

She turned around to see a very domestic-looking Jeff Beck, pushing around a grocery cart, just like she was. It was odd to see him going about his life as though he was just an ordinary working-class man, especially being the revered guitar god he was. Y/N laughed at the sight as he came over towards her.

“Hi Jeff,” Y/N greeted, walking over to give him a hug.

“Hello darling,” he responded, tilting the girl back and forth in the hug, long arms cradling her against his chest. “How are you doing?”

Y/N looked at him with a small grin after pulling away. An exhale passes through pursed lips as she replies. “As well as I can be, I guess. How ‘bout you?”

“Can’t complain,” he smiled, which then turned a little more solemn. He reached out a hand to place on her upper arm in solace. “I’m still really sorry about Sam, love. I wish I could’ve told you, but he swore me to secrecy… and I don’t want to lose my job just yet.”

“Don’t worry about it, I completely understand. It’s not your fault.” Y/N’s chuckle chimed through the air, much like the birdsongs that seemed to fill the space around them, and she paused, “I’ve done quite a bit of soul-searching recently, and I don’t think I truly loved him...the situation was all so new and exciting, that it made me believe I did. But now, I realize I didn’t.”

“I’m glad you found the light at the end of the tunnel, kid. But that’s life, Y/N. You win some and you lose some.”

“Thank you, Jeff. Really. For being so supportive,” Y/N said in gratitude, as Jeff flashed her a toothy smile.

“Ah, don’t mention it...actually, it’s funny I ran into you because I was actually going to call you, but I… may have lost your number.” A sheepish hand ran through the short hair at the nape of his neck, and Y/N giggles at the man’s hesitancy.

“That’s okay. Here, I’ll write it down for you,” Y/N grinned as she took out a spare piece of paper and a pen from her bag, “what did you need to call me for?”

Jeff watched Y/N’s hands as she scribbled down her number. Her handwriting was neat, soft spirals decorating the ends of her letters. Playful, yet full of grace. Just like her, Jeff thought. “There’s a May Ball at Queen’s College in Oxford on the 18th, and I was wondering if you’d like to come. It’s outdoors, and it should be a nice day.”

As Y/N handed Jeff the piece of paper, he continued. “More importantly, a good friend of mine is attending, and I thought you would like to meet him. You two are pretty similar, so I think you’ll hit it off really well.”

“Do you mean that this meeting is supposed to be a sort of… romantic proposition?” Y/N tilted her head in playful confusion.

Jeff smirked. “Not necessarily. He’s friends with the rest of the guys, so it’s only fair that you meet him, since we consider you a part of our inner circle.”

Y/N grinned at his statement, shaking her head, a chuckle tumbling past her lips. “Well, for the record, Jeff, I’m retired from dating for a while,” she admitted, “the whole thing with Paul shook me up a bit, and I need time to trust again, y’know?”

“Yeah, I understand. But my friend is a nice bloke, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much, or put up a front. If you’re uncomfortable, of course we can—”

Charlie came running up to Y/N’s cart and placed the bags of broccoli and potatoes inside. He then stood next to Y/N to see this stranger that she was talking to. Jeff noticed the little boy who suddenly appeared next to Y/N, and smiled warmly. Pointing to the boy, and changing his voice to be a bit gentler than usual, he asked, “Who’s this, Y/N?”

“This is my little brother Charlie,” Y/N said, softly putting her hand on her brother’s back, bringing him to the forefront. Charlie widely smiled at Jeff, baring his childish grin that was missing a couple teeth. Charlie couldn't wait until they grew in, because it would “finally make him look like a real man”, as he exclaimed so often at home.

Jeff crouched down to Charlie’s level and stuck out his hand to shake Charlie’s. “Nice to meet ya, mate. I’m Jeff, a friend of your sister’s.”

Charlie’s eyes widened as he recognized who this man was. “Jeff Beck?” Charlie asked hopefully, “as in the guitar god, Jeff Beck?”

Jeff chuckled as he looked up at Y/N. “Is this the shit you’ve been feeding him?” Y/N nodded and laughed.

“There’s an ounce of truth in that statement, isn't there, Beck?”

“Yes, I’m Jeff Beck, but I’m just the lead guitarist for The Yardbirds. The guitar god title goes to Hendrix, or Scotty Moore,” Jeff explained. What a humble change of pace for Jeff, Y/N thought.

Jeff stood back up and walked with Y/N and her brother throughout the store, pushing their carts in sync and grabbing food as they went. He asked her about what she was up to musically, and she talked about how she was polishing up some Debussy and Rachmaninoff pieces, as well as fiddling around with some old Fats Domino and Everly Brothers records. Charlie and Jeff bonded over their love of cars, which made Y/N very happy.

~~~~~~~~

18th June 1966

The day of the May Ball came. Y/N was excited for the show, but she didn’t want a sour encounter with Paul to ruin her good time. Jeff had called her earlier in the week to give her instructions on what to do upon arrival, and how to access the backstage area safely.

The backstage area was a white tent with the sides covered. Inside, there were multiple long tables of different distinguished people, such as Mama Cass and Graham Nash. Alcohol and little finger foods littered the tables, served in such abundance that it seemed no one was going to see tomorrow.

Y/N walked over to where she saw her friends, and upon spotting the girl, they all waved and said their cheerful hellos. Y/N walked over to sit with them, and ended up taking a seat between Chris and Jeff, crossing her legs and folding her hands in a sophisticated manner, always the lady she was taught to be. She chose her seat at the table very carefully, sitting very far away from Paul Samwell-Smith.

As everyone chatted away, she noticed there was a tall, thin young man with short, dark wavy hair who sat down in a seat between Jeff and Keith, delicately holding a flute of champagne. He was looped back into the conversation immediately, as if he had known the band his whole life. When Y/N saw him, her heart stopped.

This new boy was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He looked like an English James Dean; with the kind of attractiveness that anyone, male or female, completely swooned over with a single glance. This stranger could get anything he wanted at the drop of a hat, with his gorgeous looks and his graceful countenance. He had a sullen, mysterious edge to him, but he also looked gentle and sweet at the same time. He had eyes as green as a forest full of lush deciduous trees, flawlessly framed by dark, bushy eyebrows and accented by long, thick eyelashes. His nose was adorable, petite as it was, and his lips were full and pouty. His smile and laugh made Y/N melt on the inside, his perfectly straight teeth illuminating his porcelain face.

For a moment, Y/N thought she was in love. She was pulled back from her daydream quickly, though, because Jeff realized that now was the perfect opportunity to introduce his two friends.

“Y/N, this is my friend Jimmy, who I was telling you about,” Jeff said, getting Y/N’s attention. Y/N grinned as she refocused on the situation.

Jimmy turned towards Jeff when he heard his name, and that’s when he saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, sitting right next to Jeff. Lucky bastard.

His breath hitched in his throat upon sight of this girl. She was perfect; she looked like an actual angel. The way her hair, soft-looking and slightly wispy in the light summer wind, cascaded down her shoulders; her doe-eyes seemed to twinkle in the dimming light of day, pulling him in like the strongest of currents. Her  pillowy, supple lips encased a perfect smile, slightly crooked. It was, like the rest of her, completely endearing.

It was then, looking at this beautiful woman, (Y/N… Jeff had said her name, hadn't he?) that Jimmy remembers he was taken. His girlfriend, Jackie DeShannon, was waiting for him at home, but he only had eyes for the girl in front of him, and it would stay that way, it seemed.. He had to get to know her.

Jimmy snapped out of his hypnosis in the nick of time. He softly smiled at Y/N, a smile that made Y/N’s insides lurch, holding out his hand for her to shake as he turned on the charm. “Jimmy Page,” he initiated, his voice being softer and more calming than Y/N expected.

Y/N shyly smiled at him, a dark pink flush gracing her natural complexion, as she reached out to grasp his hand. “Y/N Y/L/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Jeff has told me about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Jimmy chuckled.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Y/N beamed, a feigned contemplative look on her face.

“How do you know Jeff?” Jimmy asked, turning his body towards her, now fully invested in getting to know Y/N.

“I met him...a year ago I wanna say? Is that right, Jeff? At a Yardbirds gig at the Marquee,” Y/N asked for clarification. The last thing she wanted to do is lie about Jeff to Jimmy, even if it was something as insignificant as this. In addition, she wanted to use Jeff as a temporary crutch in the conversation. Jimmy’s beauty was making her feel shyer than she already was; she felt as if she was curling into herself.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jeff intervened, “but she didn’t just meet me, she met the whole band.”

Jeff immediately noticed that the band was leaving the table to get ready to go on stage. Jimmy and Y/N didn’t even notice the table’s departure because they were so wrapped up in each other’s presence and words. Jimmy even moved a seat over to get closer to Y/N, although he said it was an attempt to “hear her better since the room was so loud of drunken buffoons”. Y/N had giggled at that, and it had sounded like music to the man’s ears. Jimmy was completely taken with her, as easy as it was to see.

“Wait, so how do you know Jeff?” Y/N asked curiously.

“I've known him since I was… gosh… thirteen or fourteen? We bonded over the guitar and blues. Indian music, too,” Jimmy grinned, taking a sip of his warming champagne.

“You play the guitar too?” Y/N gasped. Jimmy nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Oh jeez, I should’ve known! No wonder you’re tight with the Yardbirds,” she giggled.

Jimmy’s eyes twinkled at her now-flustered demeanor. “You’re okay, Y/N,” he chuckled, placing a hand gently on her forearm. Y/N felt her entire body break out into chills.

“I’m a session musician, actually,” he began, his hand lingering on the girl’s arm, for what seemed like a millennium to Y/N. “I’d hate to simplistically explain what a session musician is to someone like you if you already know what it is.” It sounded like he was holding back a bout of embarrassed laughter. “You must be quite intelligent, especially in matters of music, if Jeff has stuck by you for all this time.”

Y/N smiled bashfully. He’s so sensitive, she thought dreamily. “Yes, I know what a session musician is,” she giggled, “I’ve been a piano player all my life, so I know a thing or two about what you blokes are talking about when it comes to music.”

Jimmy’s heart began to thump a little faster as his smile widened. “Wow! That’s brilliant. Are you classically trained then?”

“Yes, but I do know quite a bit of blues numbers.”

“Oh, so you really know what you’re talking about! I have to admit, although I am a session musician, I’m not particularly good at reading music. Maybe you could teach me a few things about sight reading and we can jam some time?”

Y/N blushed as her lips pursed together in a grin. “I would love that. We’d have so much fun!” The way that Y/N’s full lips twisted together in a smile looked so damn kissable to Jimmy.

“My girlfriend was actually supposed to teach me music theory, but we never got around to it, unfortunately,” Jimmy continued.

“Ah, okay. Well, if you give me a time, date, and place, we can definitely make it work,” Y/N beamed.

“Wonderful!” An awkward, pregnant pause filled the space, and Y/N cleared her throat, unconsciously sliding closer to Jimmy. There was almost a magnetic pull to him, and Y/N was caught up in it.

“So, what’s it like being a session musician? I’m sure you get asked that all the time,” Y/N laughed.

Jimmy smiled. “It’s quite grueling, brutal at times, but I find it fulfilling. One mistake, and you’re fired, so it’s a lot of pressure.”

“Oh wow! That must be horrible to deal with.”

“Yeah, sometimes the pressure can really settle into you, but for me it dissipates once I’m in the booth. There’s three sessions a day, five days a week, so I don’t have much time for leisure. It’s been getting really dry lately since all I’m playing is rhythm guitar. I love experimentation and stretching out on lead guitar, so constant rhythm is getting quite annoying.”

“I understand where you’re coming from then, from a creative standpoint. How long have you been a session player?”

“Four years, roughly.”

“You must be quite dedicated then!” Y/N exclaimed, “who have you played with?”

“Oh gosh,” Jimmy exhaled deeply, calloused fingers raising to land on his chin. Slight stubble shadows it, and the sharp scent of aftershave wafted towards the girl. Lost in the scent, Y/N nearly missed his reply. “The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, Donovan, The Who, Petula Clark, Jackie DeShannon, Carter Lewis and the Southerners, Neil Christian and the Crusaders, Herman’s Hermits, Marianne Faithfull… just to name a few.”

“Wow! What a resumé!” she gushed, “That’s incredible. You should be so proud, Jimmy.”

“Thank you very much, love, I appreciate it.”

Suddenly, an announcer’s booming voice cut through Jimmy and Y/N’s conversation as he introduced the Yardbirds to the stage. As the five men walked on, Jimmy stood up from his chair.

“Come with me to the wings so we can see and hear them better,” he smiled, holding out his arm for Y/N to take. Y/N agreed, standing up and linking her arm with Jimmy’s as they walked in sync to the side of the stage.

The first few numbers were played perfectly, and it was clear that the audience (and even the road crew) were enchanted by the spectacle. Y/N knew from past shows that the next song would be “Train Kept A-Rollin’,” and she knew that they always knocked that one out of the park. It was always stimulating and explosive.

Jeff and Chris began the opening riff, the low E, G, and A notes thundering out of the monitors melodically. Just as Keith sang “got a train” on his cue, he fell straight backward and hit his head off Jim’s bass drum. Jimmy and Y/N’s jaws dropped in shock as a loud gasp echoed through the air from the audience. The music abruptly stopped as the rest of the band crowded around Keith’s fallen figure to see if he was alright. Murmurings of “fucking hells” were all that were spoken from the road crew as they tried to redeem the concert.

“He was drunk,” Jimmy whispered to Y/N giddily, “he was completely out to lunch and wobbling as he walked onstage.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Y/N replied quietly with a grin, “that definitely explains all the empty bottles and glasses on the table.”

Momentarily, Keith got back up and motioned for the band to restart “Train Kept A-Rollin’” and they finished the song without another mishap. The rest of the set was completed smoothly, and everything sounded sonically incredible. Jimmy and Y/N stood close together the entire time, Jimmy sneaking glances at Y/N from time to time. He lost his breath with the way her eyes were almost aglow in the fading light, and her soft-looking lips parted in childlike wonder as she watched the live music.

The Yardbirds came off the stage, begrudgingly making their way into the backstage tent, where Jimmy and Y/N had situated themselves. No one looked happy, especially Paul. Jeff had his usual stoic look, but he was rushing around for any alcoholic beverage he could find to ease his nerves after what could have been the worst possible scenario.

Everyone took a seat at the table where they were before the show. Jimmy and Y/N sat next to each other as they took in the distressed expressions of the five other men. Jeff was slumped in his chair, next to Jimmy, taking swigs of a beer he’d found. Jim and Chris just stared at the ground, drink in hand. Paul just looked royally pissed off, to the point that it almost scared Y/N. Keith, however, was still totally out of it in his drunken stupor.

“Hey, Jim,” Jeff said quietly to Jimmy, “look, you know, I’m really sorry about the gig. I’m sure you aren’t interested in joining the band now…”

“Oh no,” Jimmy chuckled, “that was amazing! Absolutely brilliant! I loved it.”

Y/N’s interest piqued as she heard their whispers of new information. “Wait! Jimmy’s joining the band? I thought there were only supposed to be five live Yardbirds,” she whispered.

Jeff leaned over Jimmy to whisper back to Y/N. “Oh yeah! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this already. Paul is probably going to leave the group...and I think it might be sooner than we thought, especially after the whole Keith fiasco...Jimmy is going to take his place on bass, and hopefully he’ll take on dual lead guitar at some point. Then Chris will do bass,” Jeff’s eyes diverted to Paul, who was sitting with his arms crossed and face angry, staring off into space. Jimmy and Y/N followed Jeff’s line of sight mischievously.

“Oooh! Great plan,” Y/N smiled.

A little smirk creeped across Jeff’s face as he quietly counted down, “3...2...1…”

At the very prompt “1,” Paul abruptly stood up from his chair very loudly, capturing everyone’s attention.

“You know what? I’m done,” Paul exclaimed, stepping away from the chair as he pushed it in under the table.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Jim began, standing up from his own chair, “what do you mean ‘you’re done’? What the hell does that mean?”

Paul sneered at Jim. “What do you think I mean? I mean I’m done with this bullshit. I’ve had enough of the horrid travelling, not being noticed, and this drunk-off-his-ass bastard,” he exclaimed angrily, pointing at Keith.

“You need to relax, Sam,” Chris said gently, “look at everything we’ve accomplished over the last three years. You want to give that up? You’re losing your shit over one bad performance.”

“It’s been on my mind for a long time now, Chris. I fucking hate it,” Paul continued, anxiously running his hands through his hair, “and you know what? Y/N hanging around all the time has made it worse. She’s just here to be our fucking groupie. She’s only eating off our clout to be friends with famous people.” The entire table went silent, looking around nervously.

Y/N’s eyes widened at Paul’s awful accusation. “Are you serious?” she shot back coldly, “I knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“Oh what, you think I don’t recognize that that’s your motive?” Paul said condescendingly.

“If you think that being absolutely obsessed with you all is my sole hobby, my motive, whatever that means... you are sadly mistaken,” Y/N responded, her eyes closing to slits and her lips pressed together in disgust.

“You’re probably sleeping with Jim or Chris now for all I know!” he shouted, arms flailing in the air.

Y/N was fuming now, standing up from her own chair facing Paul. “How dare you make me seem like I’m a whore for the Yardbirds! Even if I was sleeping with Jim or Chris, that would be none of your business because you pursued me when you were fucking married, you dipshit.”

Paul’s maddening countenance grew. “You’re just an insecure little girl who needs famous musicians around her to validate her and make feel better about herself. You’re a fucking nuisance, like a gnat that just won’t fly away even when you swat at it again and again.”

Y/N gasped, the sound drowned out by the screech of metal against tile, as Jimmy stood up from his chair. He was distraught, upset at the antics between the two bitter exes, and stepped in front of Y/N to protect her from the horrible verbal blows served by Paul Samwell-Smith. Jeff beat him by a second, as he started to berate Sam for his little episode.

“You listen up, you wanker,” Jeff started, wagging his index finger in front of Sam’s face, “you’re just being a butthurt little bitch because Y/N found out that you were married. If anyone’s the whore here, it’s you. Y/N is our friend, even Jimmy’s now, and she takes care of us and makes us happy. She’s not just some whimsy, disposable groupie like the way you used her; she’s an intelligent, sweet, pretty girl who has our best interest at heart. And we have hers. You have to be a fucking idiot not to see that.”

Paul was taken aback. “I write, produce, and play bass for this group. All you do is play lead guitar. Trust me, Beck, I’m not the idiot here.”

“Well, your goddamn head isn’t screwed on straight, then,” Jimmy added, “I’ll be taking your place, thank you very much. And you will never mistreat Y/N on my watch. Ever. I’ve known her for about an hour, and she’s already absolutely magnificent.”

Y/N’s throat felt clenched, but some of the tension was relieved when she realized how protective Jimmy was being over her. As mad as she was, butterflies filled her stomach at his warm ways.

“I’m out of here! You all suck anyway. Have a nice trip to hell, all of you,” Paul said as he walked away to the road crew to get his belongings, flipping the people at the table off.

Y/N sat back down in her chair once Paul was out of sight, slouching and holding her cheeks with her hands as she blankly stared at the edge of the table. Jimmy and the four Yardbirds dragged their chairs closer to a saddened Y/N, who was determined to fight off the tears that threatened to roll down her fury-flush cheeks.

Jeff frowned at the state of his friend, starting to softly rub her cardigan-clothed back to console her. “I’m so sorry about Sam, Y/N. His behaviour was absolutely horrendous, and I can assure you, none of the things he said about you were even close to being true.”

Keith, still a bit drunk, stood up and walked over to Y/N, planting a peck on her cheek. “We’re so glad you’re here, dear. Truly. That belligerent little asshole can suck a fat one.”

A close-lipped smile found its way on Y/N’s lips. “Thanks Keith,” she chuckled.

“I’m going to go get you a cup of water, alright love?” Chris said as he stood up to walk over towards the bar.

“Thank you so much Chris,” she called after him. Chris flashed her a kind smile as he walked away.

I guess Mum and Dad were wrong...they really do care about me, Y/N thought happily, they really, truly do.

~~~~~~~~

After the May Ball was over, and the sky was growing darker with the coming evening, Jimmy and Y/N walked around the grounds of the venue together, talking about anything and everything and sharing laughs.

The lighthearted mood took a drastic shift at one of Jimmy’s followup questions.

“So, Y/N, if you don’t mind me asking, what was the whole row between you and Sam about?”

Y/N flashed a sad smile, but it quickly faded as she took a deep exhale. “Well—”

Panicked, Jimmy took this as a cue that she didn’t want to talk about it. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I get it because of how heated it was. I’m just worried about you, is all,” he interrupted.

“No, it’s okay. Really. I trust you,” she replied with a pursed lip-smile. Jimmy returned the sentiment, internally relieved that Y/N had already seemed to take a liking to him.

“Alright, so about a year or so ago, I went to a Yardbirds gig at the Crawdaddy Club, a few months after I met the band for the first time. Paul asked me out after that show, and nobody told me he was married, so naturally, I accepted.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, love. What a shitty thing to do, especially to someone as wonderful as you,” Jimmy replied with a little flush, giving the girl a little rub on the small of her back.

Heat rippled throughout Y/N’s body at his touch. Regaining her composure, she sighed. “Thank you Jimmy. That means a lot. More than you know, actually.”

After a short silence, Y/N continued. “We went out for about eight months...and in retrospect, it now makes sense why I could never go over to his place. But anyway, I found out about it before the band played on Ready, Steady, Go in February. Keith, Jeff, Jim, and I were all talking at the front of the stage before rehearsals and it slipped.”

“Who ended up telling you?”

“Jim, but it was purely an accident.” Suddenly, all of the events that had happened between her and Jim guiltily flooded her mind. Now with Jimmy beginning to infiltrate her mind and cloud her vision, how was she supposed to genuinely enjoy the secrecy? Ah shit, she thought, here we go again.

“After the show, I confronted him about it,” Y/N continued, “and he was blaming me for our time together, a-and for ‘tempting’ him into asking me out just by being… me?”

“He seems like a right wanker, I can tell you that for sure,” Jimmy muttered, sliding his hand from its resting place on her back, to her shoulder, squeezing it lightly in solidarity. Y/N met his eyes then, tears filling her gaze, and Jimmy frowns. No one as lovely as her should be feeling this way. He smiles at her, and to Y/N, it is filled with comfort and appreciation. Some emotion… something akin to love, perhaps, lit a fire in her chest, and she looks away. The evening ambience does nothing to hide the traitorous blush that painted her cheeks.

“It’s getting quite dark out, love. How did you get here?” Jimmy asked, stealing another glance at a girl as she looked down at her ballet flats once more.

“I took the train, actually,” Y/N replied.

“Oh, so did I! Here, I’ll walk with you over to the station then.”

Y/N grinned at him. “That’s so kind of you, Jimmy. Thank you.”

“No problem, love. What’s your stop?” Jimmy asked as they began to make their way over to the station.

“St. Alban’s. How about you?”

“Epsom. I still live with my parents, I’m afraid,” he chuckled sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay!” she laughed with him, “so do I. It’s nice though, to still live with your parents… home-cooked meals and laundry and all. Plus sleeping in your own bed, and using your own bathroom, of course.”

“Those are very good points,” Jimmy agreed with a chuckle.

The two boarded the train once they got to the station, only waiting on the platform for a few minutes. They continued to talk all the way to St. Albans, where Y/N got off to walk home.

“Say you’ll see me again sometime soon, Y/N,” Jimmy half-asked, half-declared as she stood up to get off the train.

Y/N grinned at him. “I definitely will, Jimmy. It was so nice meeting you tonight...I loved getting to know you.”

“The feeling is mutual, love. Please stay safe and take care of yourself, okay?” he reached out his hand to grab Y/N’s, shaking it a little and smiling at her. Y/N nearly swooned at the gesture.

“I’ll try my best. You do the same as well. Have a good night!”

“Thank you, you too!” Jimmy waved as Y/N walked out the train’s doors. Her scent, a delicious mixture of vanilla with a hint of laundry detergent, lingered in the air as she passed by, weakening him both physically and his rational judgment.

He had a lot of thinking to do on the ride home.

————

Taglist: @blood-on-blood @reincarnated70sbaby

#that's the way #jimmy page #the yardbirds #led zeppelin #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfic #classic rock fanfic

[writerofthecourt]

ushijima, sakusa, iwaizumi, and shirabu being protective of their mute!girlfriend

warning: some bullying and harassment, very slight time skip spoilers, slight mention of injury and blood

a/n: for you, anon! i hope you guys enjoy

EDIT: this is a reupload because tumblr kept deleting me from the tags

ushijima wakatoshi

honestly, you guys were a weird couple

ushijima’s a man of few words, while you’re a person of no words

tendou was 100% convinced that you guys had some weird couples’ telepathy going on

(no one tell him that it’s just text messages and a pen and paper)

for the most part, everybody at shiratorizawa was cool with your relationship

everyone except for ushijima’s fangirls

“i don’t know what he sees in her. she’s not even that pretty”

“maybe he likes charity cases”

you ignored the two girls as they followed after you, your indifferent attitude only further fuelling their anger

“oi, [l/n]. don’t ignore us. you really think you’re too good for us just because you’re dating ushijima-kun?”

“he’s probably just taking pity on you since no one else would want your mute self”

their insults didn’t stop, not even as you approached the gym

“why does ushijima-kun even bother with you?”

“yeah, he would be so much better off without you”

it was at this time that ushijima had just returned from refilling his water bottle and happened to overhear the conversation

“i’d have to disagree with you,” your boyfriend proclaimed

“u-ushijima-kun, where did you come from?” one of the girls stuttered

“[y/n] is a wonderful person, and i’m lucky to have her,” ushijima continued unwaveringly. “i don’t agree with your comments. apologize to [y/n] at once”

at this point, the two girls knew that there was no winning in this situation

they exchanged a nervous glance with one another before hastily throwing out an apology. “s-sorry, [l/n]”

you tried not to smirk as the two girls quickly walked away, embarrassed that their idol had seen them in such a bad light

you sent your boyfriend an appreciative smile before he happily took a hold of your hand and led you towards the gym

in conclusion: no words were needed when the two of you were together

sakusa kiyoomi

when news broke out that you and sakusa were dating, sakusa was livid

not only was it an invasion of privacy, but the fact that it was atsumu’s fault made sakusa even more mad

the idiot forgot to crop you and sakusa out of the background of his stupid selfie

#sakusaandmysterywoman started trending online before sakusa had to eventually tell everyone the truth

“[y/n]’s my girlfriend. leave us alone,” was all sakusa tweeted before social media caught on fire and exploded

like with any celebrity dating scandal, there was some backlash from the fans, especially from the crazy ones who accused you of stealing away their precious omi-kun

eventually, everything settled down, and the fans became a lot more supportive of you and sakusa’s relationship

this led sakusa to being more comfortable about sharing pieces of his relationship with you online

although he was clearly happy, this didn’t stop his overzealous fans from constantly insulting you

“why does [y/n] never say anything when omi-omi gives her a compliment?”

“ngl [y/n] seems kind of rude. i feel like sakusa deserves better”

“omi-kun should be with someone who’s actually worthy of him. [y/n] ain’t it chief”

the only reason why sakusa didn’t respond to any of these people was because you told him not to, and he wanted to respect your wishes

it wasn’t until an especially concerning tweet about a fan “paying you a visit” that sakusa finally had to put a stop to all of this nonsense

“to anyone insulting or even going as far as to threaten my girlfriend, just stop. if you can’t support my decision, then i don’t need you. you are not a ‘true’ fan. i love [y/n], and i’m happy with her. to all of you who have been supportive of my relationship with [y/n], thank you. i don’t say this enough, but i truly appreciate you guys”

after sakusa’s tweet, #omi[y/n] started trending in support of you and sakusa’s relationship, which finally put a stop to all of the online hate

in conclusion: blame atsumu

iwaizumi hajime

when iwaizumi asked if you wanted to go see a movie with him on the weekend, you were over the moon

you knew just how busy your boyfriend was with volleyball practice, so you weren’t too pushy when it came to dates

you made sure to put a little extra effort into your outfit and appearance that day because you wanted to look cute for you boyfriend

unfortunately, this also caught the eyes of guys other than iwaizumi

“hey, cutie. you by yourself?” a flirtatious male close to your age asked. “i wouldn’t mind keeping you company”

you tried not to blanch as you took a step back and shook your head, indicating that you weren’t interested

this did nothing to dissuade the flirtatious guy, as he offered you a charming smile. “you can pick the movie if you want to. come on, it’ll be fun”

you were about to walk away when an all too familiar arm securely placed itself around your shoulder in a protective hold

“leave her alone. she’s not interested,” your boyfriend scowled

“says who?”

“says me. got a problem?”

“w-whatever, man. you can have her”

as the flirtatious guy began to walk away, the harsh glare on iwaizumi’s face soon transformed into worry as he turned to look at you. “sorry i’m late. are you okay? you’re not hurt, right?”

you nodded your head in reassurance while offering iwaizumi a gracious smile

your boyfriend smiled back before placing a gentle kiss just below your eye

“i’ll always be there to protect you, okay?” iwaizumi reminded you

you nodded your head once again, never doubting him for a moment

in conclusion: don’t mess with the seijoh arm wrestling champion

shirabu kenjirou

for the most part, you liked being the manager of the boys’ volleyball team

the shiratorizawa players were always chaotic and funny, and you were proud to call yourself a part of the team

although, if there was one thing to complain about, it would definitely have to be some of their fans

you were in the middle of bandaging shirabu’s injured finger when a chorus of high-pitched cheers rang out from near the gym doors

“[l/n], go deal with that,” coach washijo grumbled in annoyance

you sent your boyfriend an apologetic smile before signing to him to continue applying pressure in order to stop the bleeding

grabbing your pen and notebook, you wrote down a quick message before walking over to where the three girls were standing

please keep your voices down, your note read

“we’re just cheering on the players," one of the girls said

"yeah, what’s wrong with that?” another girl remarked

you’re distracting the players from practice

“well, must be easy for you since you can’t even seem to speak at all,” the last girl replied mockingly, followed by the laughter of her two friends

shirabu, who had been listening to the conversation, immediately got up from the bench to go stand next to you

“you three have been nothing but nuisances this whole time, and everyone agrees with me,” shirabu snapped furiously. “if you can’t be quiet, then leave!”

after shirabu’s angry outburst, the three girls promptly quieted down

you’re too nice, your boyfriend signed after the two of you returned to the bench

well, you know what they say. opposites attract and all that

oh, shut up

you only smiled in response as you finished bandaging shirabu’s finger before pressing a light kiss to the back of his hand

“stop mocking me with your cute couple-y-ness!” tendou screeched from across the court, having just witnessed your adorable exchange

“tendou! five laps around the school!”

in conclusion: stop yelling in the gym!

#ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #shirabu x reader #shirabu kenjirou x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #sakusa kiyoomi #iwaizumi hajime #shirabu kenjirou #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu reader insert

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin. 

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had. 

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard. 

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian. 

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain. 

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting. 

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know. 

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying. 

“Konechno.” Of course. 

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again. 

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death. 

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman. 

My father is an arms-dealer. 

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy. 

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t. 

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty. 

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people. 

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly. 

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer. 

“Starik,” I tease. Old man. 

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York. 

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise. 

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase. 

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital. 

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait. 

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details. 

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé. 

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored. 

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him. 

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option. 

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room. 

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature. 

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more. 

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest. 

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name. 

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now. 

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected. 

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello. 

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield. 

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello. 

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction. 

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave. 

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck. 

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys. 

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official. 

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual. 

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it. 

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

Tags: @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @masstrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #acosf countdown #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acosf fanfiction #a court of mist and fury

[minisoysquares]

As fun as the events and ideas you posted about 19days would be, wouldn’t it also just bring in more negative stuff - like fandom in general has become a field of land mines and I fear that something that’s supposed to fun will turn into some sort of battle. Like how some people get extremely heated over any other ships outside of their fave ship and they cannot possibly have other ships except theirs, etc. The last thing anyone wants is for content creators to be targeted simply for making something they thought would be fun

(This ask and answer is about this post.)

First of all thank you so much for addressing such a big and valid concern. I agree that that has indeed happened in certain fandoms - I can say I've been in the thick of it and witnessed quite the warfare - but in others it has also brought fans and readers and content creators together even closer and tighter in a wonderful thriving community.

I have the feeling this'll get quite long so please proceed under the cut with that in mind.

I believe all things are potential harbingers of both discord and harmony. There will always be people who feel entitled and who want - even demand! the audacity! - authors and artists to create for their ships and their ships alone. And there will also always be people who can appreciate the writing and the art without judgemental treatment regarding the pairings/characters depicted, no matter their preferences.

All of that happens and will continue to happen, whether we go forward with these events or not. And yet authors will still write what they want to write, artists will still draw what they want to draw, graphic designers will still make the edits they want to make as well. What we could do, in this small and close knit fandom, is take in our hands this powerful rich opportunity and try our best to make a model of positivity out of it.

In these events, there would be no bashing or shaming allowed. The content created would be to be enjoyed by those who are attracted to it, and those who do not have a taste for that fanwork in particular would be asked to remain respectful. (As it should always be.) There would be no ship wars in these spaces. Discourse, hate-speech or anti-behaviour would not be tolerated by the moderators of the event.

Creators who indulged in it would be immediately disqualified. Any unnecessary commentary or complaints from the audience would be deleted and reported as spam. Anyone instigating conflict would be only painting a target on their back, really. Because most of us - I dare say - are only here to appreciate the brilliant artwork and fanfiction woven and crafted by the talented people who share it with us.

If it came to it and it escalated, this hellsite has several tools that can be put to use to that regard. Accounts could be blocked and/or even reported. They wouldn't be able to interact with the blogs created to run these events from then on. We would be able to create a black list and post it publicly so everyone else who wished to could simply block those unruly pesky accounts and remain at peace and free to enjoy themselves to their utmost.

Let us not forget that this is all fiction and it's all for fun. Everyone's allowed to have their own opinion, likes and dislikes. There simply is no need to step on anyone else and their interests to elevate them.

Let's exemplify, for the sake of clarity:

Do I personally ship A with B? Imagine I do not. I do not search for it. If I come across it? I scroll past it. Once or twice, I may even like - and even reblog - if it happens to catch my attention and it's well written/drawn! (I have tags along the lines of 'I don't ship it but' and 'look at this beautiful art' or 'drown in the power of these words.')

It's so easy to interact amongst ourselves without coming with pitchforks at one another. Know what actually needs effort? Being a meanie and a party popper! Who in their right mind wastes their time on things they don't care for? Dum dums, that's who! Of course, we're all dummies at times... and that's okay! Let's just not harass people or crash their fun while we're at it!

If nothing else: you wouldn't like if others did this or that to you, therefore don't do it to others. It's a simple concept to grasp.

Very important: in these events, every single piece would be explicitly and properly tagged and warned for right at the very top of each post, so there would be absolutely no excuses for anyone being nasty.

We would just have to be open to the experience. Enjoy our ships and let other enjoy theirs. We do not have to all like the same thing. That would be just boring. But we can cohabitate devoid of trouble in fandom. Each one of us just has to be respectful. No need to even be nice. No one has to compliment something they don't like. They also don't have to step on what others do.

Don't like a ship/character/theme? Don't read stories focused on it. Don't put down authors who write it or readers who enjoy it. Same for art. No need to shout about how awful it is just for the simple reason that it does not fit into your personal shipping preferences. It can still be still be a tasty and wonderfully baked cake, it's just that you're not fond of vanilla or strawberries. It's okay. There are all kinds of cake for everyone's tastes!

Further examples: If a ship happens to be a NOTP for me or I don't care for the character(s)? I filter the tags. All of them. Any and every tag I can think of. It's very easy to protect ourselves on Tumblr from content we do not wish to see. (My own list is huge and just as effective.) Filtering is incredibly important.

So go ahead and filter out the ships you can do without! Filter out porte-manteaux like Tianshan, Zhanyi, Qiucheng, Tianxi, Tianyi, Lishan, Litian, Liyi, Shantou, Polydays, (...) Filter out any ship tag that doesn't strike your fancy like Q x MGS, HC x JY's mom, (...) Filter out characters that aren't your cuppa tea like HT, HT's dad, SL, JY's mom, XH, (...)

Make it safe for yourself and for others. That way you won't rage at the sight of your NOTP, won't feel the compulsive need to trash the people who ship it, no one is hurt and everyone is happy!

There are many steps we could follow to prevent rotten eggs in our coop. And many more actions we could take to throw them out if need be. I firmly believe, however, that if we're all of the same mind everything would go well and with very few bumps along the way.

If we only ever feared the possible negative consequences of our actions, never taking the risk for the possible positive ones, we'd never get anything done. I say let's not let our beloved fandom stagnate or dry out. Let's incentivate and motivate and inspire! Let's share! Let's have fun!

Think of it in these terms: it wouldn't be a competition at all but rather a charity event. Performers and spectators coming together for a common good, raising content and spreading joy! There would be no winners or losers or prizes. What would matter would be good old-fashioned participation, both by providing content and/or consuming it.

It could also a good way to get people to express themselves more. Many content consumers tend to lurk or keep to themselves even if they like the content posts. (I used to be one myself and only a couple months ago started to come out of my shell.) I myself advocate for reblogging instead of liking - if you have to choose one or the other, I mean, why not do both? - and leaving a word on every single post I like and/or reblog. Sometimes I go nuts commenting, sometimes I leave a small note in the tags.

It doesn't matter how. Even if you're shy or introverted (*raises hand*) or don't know what to say I guarantee a single emoticon or a string of disordered letters symbolising incoherence will make the creator's day all the same. Getting feedback is so important and motivational for creators and also a great way for fandom members to keep in touch and support each other.

Additionally, if a person would like more of a certain type of content here are some healthy actions they could take: a) commission a creator and pay for it if they can; b) politely make a suggestion to a creator with an open ask box; c) post a prompt publicly for possible interested creators to use; d) do it yourself and share it with others!

This turned out into more of a "behavioural guidelines" thing than I'd have liked. I am not in any way whatsoever telling anyone what to do. This is what I do, and it works wonders for me. I stay completely out of toxic arguments and in on all the goodies. I'm able to fully enjoy my fandoms. And isn't that what we all want?

Thank you again for sharing your thoughts with me. And I apologise for the long rant!

Of course, this is only my personal stance on the issue. I did go for a survey first exactly for this end, to get their opinions on the subject and see if it would be worth a shot. I shall hope many other people will think as I do, but I will wholly respect those who don't.

#answered asks #19 tian #19天 #19 days #old先 #old xian #zhanyi #qiucheng #tianshan #jian yi #zhan zheng xi #he cheng #qiu #brother qiu #he tian #mo guan shan #she li #cun tou #xiao hui

[listentothelittlebird]

I was looking through some drafts and I found this - I think it’s my first attempt at writing Burning Iceberg. Here, Damian tagged along with Jason when he went off for training!

Word Count: 2942 words 

enjoy!

It’s Talia who sends him away.

“Training,” she says, but there is something in the way that she moves, the way that the base is silent and waiting with bated breath right up until they leave. 

Jason leaves alone. Talia watches him go, her posture too unnaturally relaxed for anything not to be amiss. 

He gets one day away from the base before he realises he has a tail.

“Damian?” 

The young boy scuffles out of the shadows with a haughty sniff. “Took you long enough to notice me, Todd,” he huffs. Given the boy’s night clothing - the one’s he wore to sleep - Jason guessed that he had just arrived.

“Why’re you here?” Jason asks, curious. Sure, he had talked to the kid, had trained with the kid, but why was he here?

Damian glanced at Jason, then glanced away. “You were going alone,” he declared stiffly, “I would think that you would prefer company.”

“Mother agreed, and sent me after you,” Damian added, not at all convincing. Talia would never allow Damian out of her sights, especially with the tension in the air back at the base. Something was definitely up, but Jason let it slide and gestured for Damian to come closer. “You hungry, kid? I’ve got enough food for both of us until the next village.”

He knows that Talia might come after him. There’s no way he would let Damian disappear, just like that. For the moment, however, Jason could care less.

He had never asked for a big brother, and he had never asked for a little brother, but he was definitely willing to risk his life for the eight-year-old beside him. 

-

“Where are we going?” Damian asks, quietly. They’re stowed away on a cargo ship headed for the South Pole.

“I want to find a bender,” Jason replies, “The North pole is more connected to the world, and there’s more people to worry about. I’d think that a bender would hide in the South, where there’s less people.”

Damian scrunched up his nose. “Your skills are not adequate to face a bender, Todd.”

Jason pauses, then snorts, “I’m not gonna fight the bender, D. I just want to… talk to them.”

Damian eyes him with a skeptical look, but otherwise says nothing.

-

They’re riding through a brutal storm when Damian loses his grip and tumbles towards the railing.

Jason follows, one hand gripping tightly onto the metal rail and the other holding onto Damian as he flailed. For once, the kid looked genuinely terrified.

A wave crashes into them, and pulls them over. 

-

Jason is surprised to wake up. He tried to gauge his surroundings, but nothing really added up. He was under a fur blanket, a fire crackling near him. Someone was shifting beside him.

“You’re awake,” the voice murmurs, “I thought you’d sleep longer, but it seems not.”

Jason, carefully pulled himself up, narrowing his eyes as he gazed around the igloo. It was sparse, but large enough to fit him, the new man, and-

“Dami,” Jason breathed, headless of the man’s presence as he jerked out of the furs and toward

 his brother’s still form. He pressed two fingers to the boy’s neck, and his heart only calmed when he could feel the steady thrumming for a full minute.

“You’re welcome,” came the dry remark. Right. Jason turned back to the man, assessing him silently. He wore a blue parka, and was currently wearing the hood low over his face. 

“The two of you washed ashore last night,” the man explained, without prompting, “Your friend was barely breathing, but he made it through. You were surprisingly fine once the threat of frostbite was removed.”

Jason glanced again at Damian. 

“Thank you,” Jason stated, before his voice hardened, “But can we trust you?”

The man sighed. “Figures that two kids running around in the Antarctic wouldn’t trust a stranger,” he mused to himself. His amused smile was the only thing that Jason could see, the fire and the shadows obscuring the rest. 

“We are a long distance from the nearest village, but I can take you there. I can send the two of you on your way the moment that your friend feels better.”

-

“You know that you’re safe here, right?” Jason stated quietly. Anuk had left them in the igloo and went hunting by himself. He claimed that he worked better alone.

Damian looked up from where he was curled up in a corner of the igloo, his back pressed tightly against the icy wall. He wrinkled his nose, but there was still apprehension in his eyes. Jason sighed.

“Look, if this guy meant bad, he’d have done something already,” Jason reasoned, spreading his hands along the icy ground. He was glad that his resistance to low temperatures had survived the pit, even if his bending had not.

“Your trust will get you killed,” Damian murmured. Jason winced, “Yeah, well, it kinda already did. But that’s besides the point,” Jason rushed to add, “Just- trust is dangerous, sure, but can you really live your life without trusting anyone?”

Damian was silent. Jason, taking a dive, spoke up, “Do you trust me?”

Damian jerked his head up, staring at him with wide eyes. Then, quietly, “Yes.”

Jason nodded, and pressed, “Talia? Ra’s?”

Damian hesitated. Jason moved on.

“Listen. I know you just wanted to tag along for my training, but we’ve been under the radar for at least a month.” They had arrived on a full moon, and that night was a full moon, again. 

“Even Talia would have to admit to Ra’s that she thought we were dead somewhere in the Antarctic. Firebenders hate the two poles - they won’t be sending a search party for us, much less coming to find us themselves. You don’t have to go back to them.”

This time, Damian glared. “Where else would I go, Todd?” he spat, and Jason realised that the kid had already thought of this, had already considered this, “Where else am I supposed to go, if I do not return to my home?”

Jason pursed his lips, and despite the green raging inside him…

“Bruce would take you in,” Jason admitted, shoving the green away, “I can’t say the same for myself, not when I’m done with him, but… you. You’re his kid. He’d definitely take you in.”

Jason grinned, “He’d love you. Hell, he already took in the Replacement, what’s one more?”

Damian shifted. “Why won’t he take you in?” he questioned.

Jason stilled. “It’s not-” Jason started and stopped, and shook his head. The Joker was still alive. He had adopted a new kid. He wasn’t needed, hell, he wasn’t wanted. He really had just been a charity case. He breathed, trying to push the green down.

“It’s complicated. I don’t know if I can forgive Bruce, and I don’t know if I can stare at him without wanting to put a knife to his neck.”

That was what scared him the most. That he would lose control. He hated Bruce right now, hated him for what he had done, what he had not done, but his nightmare was his vision going green and fading to a Batman bleeding out from a knife in his grip.

Damian looked confused, so Jason tried to explain. “Bruce is… not a perfect man,” Jason sighed, “But he’s all Gotham has. And the Robins - what he does for them, that’s good. Even if-” Even if it gave him false hope for a rescue that never came. He swallowed that down.

“For all of his faults, he did give me some of the best memories.” Not that he remembered many of them. The pit took that away, too. “I hate him, but I loved him, too.”

-

“You’re ready.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at Anuk. “Ready for?”

“The full moon,” Anuk explained, not really explaining at all. He pointed towards the sky. “Tonight should be a full moon. We’ll set out onto the ocean at midnight, and you can perform the traditional water-bending stances for Tui and La. If nothing else, it is a tradition that I practice, and as my student, I want you to practice it as well.”

Jason sighed, but went along with it. He still had no bending - sometimes he thought that the water would move just so, but most of the time, there was nothing. He diligently learnt all of the water-bending moves, but Anuk was probably lying when he said that he was “ready”. How do you tell if someone knows their stuff if they don’t even bend?

-

The night was quiet. Serene, silent in the way that Gotham never was. The League had been silent, too, but not in this way. There was tension in the air, in League bases, sounds controlled and quenched before they could travel. Here, there were only expanses of snow and ice to echo back each scrunch of their boots.

Anuk bended a gondola made of ice, and Jason hopped on, not willing to show his own hesitation. Anuk waved his arms and the gondola moved out onto the calm Antarctic sea.

“According to my Gramps, we used to have big ceremonies on full moons,” Anuk started conversationally, filling the cold silence with soft murmurs. Jason realised belatedly that they should have brought a lamp, or at least a torchlight, but it seemed like Anuk knew where he was going, even in the dim moonlight.

“I live in the South pole, but my Gramps hailed from the North. He says that the late princess Yue gave her life to keep the moon spirit, Tui, alive. The Northern water-benders would present their bending on full moons to pay homage to Yue and her sacrifice.”

The gondola slowed to a stop, and they were left bobbing softly on near-silent waves. Anuk stretched his arms out and pulled, and a square platform of ice froze before them. Anuk stepped back and looked towards Jason expectantly.

Jason had grown used to the icy tundra, enough so that he did not immediately slip off the icy block when he hopped out of the gondola. He took his place at the centre of the ice block, glanced up at the moon, and started to run through his bending forms.

Nothing happened at first. Jason felt kind of stupid, actually, bending without bending at all. He nearly slipped a few times, but he managed to keep his balance, and powered through the basic forms into the more advanced attacks.

Then, something shifted.

“Jason,” the wind whispered, and Jason stumbled. His foot slipped, and he ended up on all four as the ice block rocked, waves pushing over the sides and washing over his hands and knees. The voice sounded like Bruce.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” came again, and it really did sound like Bruce. Jason blinked into the moonlit ice and nearly gasped. 

It was a bird’s-eye view of the Batcave. He would know that cavern anywhere. Batman was stooped down beside a glass casing, positioned at the centre of the cave.

The vision zoomed in. The casing had a blood-stained Robin uniform, burned and tattered, way too destroyed to be repairable. Jason realised it was his suit. The one he had died in. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” Bruce was saying, and Jason could only watch as Bruce absolutely bawled his eyes out in front of the casing, still wearing his batsuit, only having pulled the cowl down.

Just when the sobs died down, Jason heard, “I left Joker in the helicopter. I knew it was going to crash, but I- I thought he didn’t deserve to live,” Bruce admitted quietly. Jason’s breath hitched.

“He survived. Of course he did. If I keep going after him, he’ll just keep surviving, and… I have to stop, before I can’t. Before I lose myself in a world that took you. I’m sorry,” he choked out, and the tears continued to flow.

The scene changed.

“Why?” Dick’s voice screamed, raw and so full of emotion that it jarred Jason to the bones. “Why did you let him live?”

“We can’t be the dictators of who lives and who dies,” Bruce started, but Dick cut him off. “This is the Joker we’re talking about, B!” Dick yelled, somehow louder than the previous shout, “Joker doesn’t care who lives and who dies! He definitely didn’t care when he-” Dick cut himself off with a sharp exhale.

Bruce waited as Dick took measured breaths. “I just don’t get it,” Dick whispered, “A man like him? B, why did you save him?”

Silence. 

“We fight for justice,” Bruce rumbled, steadfast and sure compared to the crying mess in the last vision. Confident, like he had worked through his thoughts and come to a conclusion. “We can’t just kill people as we see fit. Not even if we hold a personal grudge. Not even if we want revenge for our own.” 

They both glanced towards the casing.

“I still want to kill him,” Dick stated bluntly. Jason thought Bruce would reaffirm his rules, that he would cook up a convincing argument and strike down Dick’s motives.

Instead, Bruce only answered with, “Sit on it for a few days. Don’t make an impulsive decision you’ll regret.”

Dick sighed harshly, and left the viewing range of the vision. Bruce turned back to the casing.

“I never got to apologise to you,” Bruce murmured, “For accusing you of pushing Garzonasa.”

“I was worried for you. Nobody should have to live with the guilt of taking someone’s life. I’m sorry if I came off as distrustful. I should have done more. Been better.”

One last scene. A young kid, black hair and blue eyes, looking up at the casing, fiddling with a new Robin suit that Jason had only seen through grainy newspaper prints.

“You were my hero,” the boy said, and checked his empty surroundings before he continued, “You were… awesome. You had so much energy and spunk, and-” he huffed, a small smile on his face, “-much more fire than me. Which is ironic, to say the least.”

Jason watched as the kid produced a photo from his gauntlet. It was a photo of Jason and Nightwing, on the rooftops, laughing and joking around. 

“I always wanted to be your friend,” he admitted, “I never wanted to replace you. I just knew that Batman needed a partner, and I guess nobody else was gonna do it, so. Here I am.”

The photo slipped back under his cape. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to be like you, but I’m trying. I… I know I shouldn’t miss you, because technically I never knew you, but. I do.”

Timothy Drake looked up at the suit for a long minute, before turning and pressing his domino mask across his eyes. “I’ll do my best to make you proud,” he whispered to the air.

The vision disappeared with the pull of the tide. Jason was suddenly aware of the ice block he was still on, as it tipped against the slightly-larger wave. A combination of water and ice made him slide right off the block’s edge. 

Anuk’s yell was drowned out by the freezing water rushing to meet him. It was the very opposite of being dipped into the Lazarus pit. The water was a dark blue, and he could still see the moonlight piercing through the water’s surface. The light bent above him, and he blinked, because it almost looked like a face. A young woman, with long white hair flowing around her serene smile.

The light pulsed, and suddenly he could feel the water around him, moving and flowing, pulsating with its own energy. He could feel the water turning and churning around Anuk’s gondola as he steered towards him. He spread out his arms and pushed-

-and shot out of the water, landing with a slight stumble back on Anuk’s gondola. The boat rocked slightly, but Jason smoothed his palms downwards and the rippling waves ceased.

 “Tui and La,” Anuk cursed to himself, “You were under there for quite a- oh.”

Jason tilted his head. “Oh?” he prompted, still reeling from how alive he felt. He was surrounded by his element, and he almost wanted to dive back under just to soak in his renewed bending.

Anuk produced an ice mirror, angling it to catch the moonlight. It was hard to make out, but there was definitely a patch of hair that was no longer black, dangling right in front of his eyes.

His eyes were blue, like the colour he was born with.

“Yue’s blessing,” Anuk breathed. “What?” Jason questioned, looking up from where he was scrutinising his new hairstyle. Anuk had his head tilted reverently towards the moon.

“Princess Yue lived because Tui gave her life,” Anuk recounted, “Her hair was a stark white because of this. When Tui’s mortal form was killed, Yue gave back her lifeforce to revive Tui.” Anuk chuckled, “It’s why most people from the poles don’t bother dyeing their hair.”

Jason himself eyed the moon contemplatively. He closed his eyes, and realised with a start that the green was gone. The pit’s effects - the murderous rage, the unnaturally-green eyes, the blockage of his bending - they were gone.

Anuk had taught him a traditional bow used to start and end water-bending fights, a sign of respect for the opponent. Jason bowed towards the moon, and hoped he was doing it right.

“Thank you,” he breathed quietly, “Yue, Tui, whatever you prefer to be called. Thank you.”

The moon shone on the ocean, and he swore he could see Yue’s face once more, smiling.

#Gotham's White Lotus #I think I did the weird present tense turned past tense thing again #ew #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #fanfic #I honestly forgot I wrote this but man it's neat #crossover #moon spirit yue #I got 100 followers recently which is cool #I'm honestly just vibing so it's nice people seem to like my stuff