#i love how whenever her hair gets messed up she gets more unhinged it's like a mood indicator

[funnywormz]

janeway moments that make me go nuts. she was like "oh u don't wanna talk? ok. die."

#i love how whenever her hair gets messed up she gets more unhinged it's like a mood indicator #the more messed up her hair is the less fucks she has to give #kathryn janeway #voy #star trek

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

What do you think Katniss and Peeta’s unexpected turn ons are? Like a small innocent thing about the other that drives them wild just because they really love them so much? And makes the other one go “really? 😉”

This was way too much fun to answer and got out of hand. I could probably think up a thousand more of these if I had the time.

<3 kdnfb

Canonically, Peeta cannot lie to Katniss and look her in the eyes. When she figures out that he still can’t post-mj, she uses it to her advantage. She can always tell when he’s trying to fib his way out of accidentally revealing an innocuous secret or a surprise he’s planning, like what he’s getting her for her birthday. And it drives her a little insane. Like “either look me in the eyes when you try to lie to me or take me to bed right now, since you won’t give me my present right now.”

Katniss is a consummate caretaker, to an almost annoying degree. Fortunately for her, she husbanded someone with a caretaker kink. That boy was dying of blood poisoning, raging with fever in a deathmatch arena, and he was still laying down the lines and making her laugh. Every time she fusses over him or bosses him around when he’s got a minor injury or just a little sniffling cold, that man is in full on flirt mode and dragging her into bed with him. “I’ve got a surefire way you can make me feel better.” “If we have sex, will you stop whining and get up so I can wash the sheets afterwards?” she sighs in exasperation as she’s stripping off her clothes and crawling under the covers with him.

Meanwhile, Katniss goes feral whenever Peeta gets a little protective of her. Some whackadoo from the Capitol comes out to Twelve to check on the progress of the new medicine factory and brings a limousine with him on the train, but the roads in Twelve are not made for cars like that and the idiot almost runs people over. So of course, Peeta wraps his arm around his wife and bodily lifts her out of the path. One second she’s walking through town, reciting her shopping list, the next she’s pressed up against a storefront with Peeta’s body caging her in and some idiot driver is careening past, honking his horn. And if you think Katniss doesn’t almost climb him right there and he has to toss her over his shoulder to drag her home before she tears his clothes off, I cannot help you.

Both of them become unhinged morons whenever the other one is a complete mess. 

By this I mean Katniss comes in from tending the garden, her shirt all sweaty and clinging to her. Her hair’s a mess and she’s got a little sunburn on her nose and cheeks and Peeta’s already naked, demanding she take him on the spot. 

Similar response when she comes home a little disheveled from a hunt. “At least let me put the meat in the freezer first, Peeta.” Nope. She gets railed up against said freezer and can’t keep a straight face when they have to invite Haymitch over to eat all this meat because they had to cook it immediately after or it would’ve gone bad.

Peeta starts coming home from the bakery deliberately a little messy. Flour in his hair, sugar stuck to his neck. A random smear of frosting on his arm. Why? Because Katniss starts squirming the instant she sees him and honestly, he really likes it when she mounts him in the hallway because she couldn’t make it the five extra feet to the bedroom.

He’s lost count of how many times they’ve had sex because he didn’t get all the paint washed off his hands before a meal or before bed. And he almost never notices the smear of paint or pencil dust that winds up on his left temple because he brushed back his hair at some point while he was painting/drawing and why is that so hot? She has no clue, all she knows is that she wants to bathe in him. Usually, she manages to wait a little while for that one, mainly because she wants to see what he was painting before she jumps him. What he was painting often dictates the flavor of their sex.

He doesn’t paint the Games as much, after the first time she tells him “Real,” but when he does, the sex is tender and usually happens in the art studio itself, on a paint splattered sofa or on the floor, rolling around on his floor tarps so that both of them are smeared with paint afterwards.

If he’s painting her or other people that they love, they’ll make it up to the bedroom before clothes start flying, laughing and teasing each other the entire way. Katniss will be laughing so hard she snorts while she’s moaning and coming at the same time. Peeta lives to make her snort laughing while she’s coming, btw. Huge turn on, switch flipped to feral mode as soon as she's done coming, and Katniss feels like she won’t be able to walk straight for a day after he finishes inside her.

He uses her as a canvas? Well eventually he's gonna wind up covered in paint too. They go until the paint starts to dry and by then, they're sleepy and content and can barely move anymore.

Painting landscapes and nature scenes? Absolutely feral pig sex where the neighbors worry about them and ask each other if they should… knock? Make sure everyone is still alive in there? Katniss really can’t walk straight for a day after that, but she’s not complaining. Instead she’s demanding her husband carry her around, because he did that to her, after all.

Sadly for Katniss, Peeta carrying her around is something she absolutely loves for the tenderness and silliness of it, but also at times it turns her into a raving madwoman "take me to bed and throw me on it then fuck me this instant before I pull out all my hair, husband!"

And ho buddy, when the two of them come home all sweaty and gross from rebuilding the district? Round one on the floor in the entryway. Round two with skin squealing on shower walls and borderline screaming moans echoing off the bathroom walls. Hair pulling, biting, clawing sex. Let me inside your skin, ten minutes later we’re still actively sweating well damn it that shower was fucking pointless in terms of getting clean sex.

Katniss eats her pie backwards, crust first and Peeta doesn’t know why, but for some reason, he thinks it’s adorable and needs to have her instantly. Haymitch wonders why he no longer gets pie on nights when he eats dinner with them. There’s always dessert… but no pie. So Peeta starts baking Haymitch his own pies and dropping them off, because he’s not giving up his absolute need to toss Katniss on the table and eat her out like he’s a dying man whenever she eats her pie like that.

Peeta looks like he’s solving all of the world’s problems when he’s brushing his teeth. So serious. Sometimes, Katniss will throw small objects at his prosthetic until he notices and giggles when he does, looking at her like she’s an annoying brat. Sometimes, she sneaks up behind him and makes faces at him over his shoulder until he laughs and spits out the toothpaste. Other times, her hands on him are incredibly naughty and the next thing he knows, he looks like a rabid animal in the mirror while he’s bent over the sink, holding on for dear life with her hands on his dick, unraveling him one caress and stroke at a time. But whatever she does, it ends with their sheets an absolute wreck and both of them naked and sweaty and staring at the ceiling going “Wow. So that… happened…”

Katniss bites her nails when she’s nervous and Peeta fixes it by snatching her hand and kissing her from her fingertips up her arms to her neck… where he blows a raspberry until she’s laughing. Do smutty things happen after that? Depends on the setting.

Peeta still flirts with her. Like blatantly, let's see how red I can get my wife’s face flirting with her over the bakery counter or in the town square, in front of literally everyone’s salad. And Katniss just melts like a loon but is secretly plotting how to get him naked asap. She’s not against throwing him against the nearest tree if only there weren’t so many people in the district. Oh but she’s absolutely savaged him against several trees in the woods because he was flirting.

Peeta whistles when he’s working in the bakery. Katniss thinks it’s adorable and sexy as hell. She sings in the shower and Peeta never misses the show, sitting on the toilet or just standing against the sink just to hear her sing. It’s the only time he manages to move silently.

Katniss cannot keep her hands out of Peeta’s hair. Girl is obsessed. And Peeta finds it at turns, adorable, adorably annoying, a mild turn on, or holy hell hot. Like “pull my hair again when I make you come” hot. Conversely, she absolutely loves it when Peeta brushes and braids her hair for her. He’s trying to have a tender, loving moment, and she’s often “are you done yet because as soon as that hair tie is on, i’m gonna be all over you.”

Both of them absolutely love it when the other one laughs. It’s not always a turn on, per se, but when it is… lord have mercy they broke a whole ass bed one time because Peeta laughed at something Katniss said.

Peeta wearing loose, soft pajama pants or the like. Katniss is all hot and bothered and “i’m not that big you can definitely fit me in there with you…” Peeta looks at her like she’s lost it, but they actually do try it once or twice. Numerous pairs of pants have been ripped and sewn back together in this pursuit, and not because she couldn’t fit in there with him.

He’s long since accepted that if they’re dressing up for some occasion, he has to get dressed two hours early. To give Katniss enough time to rip it all off and have her way with him and still have time for them to shower and get dressed again so they’re not late.

Anytime Katniss wears one of his shirts, sweaters, etc, he’s pretty sure he’s going to die unless he gets his mouth or hands on her and then his cock inside her because half the time, she’s not wearing a bra or pants with them, just panties, and he just… has to have her. NOW. While said garment is still on her body. Especially a particular red sweater he was wearing the day they had sex the first time and she wore it the morning after.

She absolutely has a sunset orange nightie that nearly gets removed (or not removed) every time she wears it, but removed or not… either way, Katniss can’t feel her toes after Peeta makes her come as many times as he can whenever she wears it. 

#well aren't you a spicy anon #post mockingjay #everlark #anonymous #look at that ask

[rollinouttahere-writes]

More Little Lucky AU prompts because I want to get these written down so I don't forget them

During the time between encountering Laboon and getting to Whiskey Peak, Lucky follows Vivi around on the Merry while fawning over how pretty her hair is. Vivi almost has a heart attack when Lucky says she "looks like a princess".

Lucky trying to pick a fight with Bellamy because he was mean to her friends.

Kaku straight up kidnapping Lucky when he goes to survey the Going Merry because he got possessed by paternal instincts upon seeing a battered child. Internally panicking on the way back because oh no he did not think this through at all.

Garp being extremely concerned about Lucky being mixed in with a bunch of pirates and his unhinged grandson. He tries to get her to call him grandpa only for her to say no because he beat up Luffy and she's mad about it. Garp is devastated by the refusal.

I have lots of ideas for the Whitebeard Pirates

Marco tells her that Whitebeard isn't supposed to be drinking any alcohol, so whenever she sees him drinking she gets this sad look on her face and asks him why he's drinking stuff that makes him more sick. This doesn't stop him entirely, but he does avoid drinking when she's likely to catch him because her kicked-puppy face makes him feel bad. Marco spoils her a bit every time she says something because this has been a critical success in his book.

Thatch loves cooking/baking with her and teaching her how to make new things. He makes a big deal about every new thing she makes to hype her up and keep her interested. By the time the timeskip is over and the Straw Hats get her back, she has noticeably improved her skills and Sanji is seething on the inside over someone else teaching her.

Izou, bless him, tries so hard to style her hair. Unfortunately, small children are not good at sitting still for extended periods of time so he's fighting for his life trying to finish any complex hair style. Even when he can finish, Ace typically messes it up within the hour with his roughhousing.

Lucky does have her own room on the Moby Dick, but it's debatable if she even knows where it is. She's so used to sharing a room with others that she hates sleeping by herself. Ace's room is her main go to, but she has sleepovers with her other uncles too. Never Whitebeard though. She's afraid he'll roll over and squish her.

Whitebeard really enjoys having a kid so young on board again, he'd almost forgotten how fun that age was. Lucky climbs all over him like a human jungle-gym and he just lets it happen while trying to maintain his tough guy facade.

#lucky break #little lucky au

[deldeldel90]

traitor Blaine au where he was always worse but in a wet cat sort of way. greyden vibes, where he's just like really mentally ill and just. Going Through It.

so he runs away after the final battle, lives in destitute, doesn't take care of himself AT ALL. he's basically just stewing in his own failures, becoming unhinged and generally unwell, doesn't sleep, doing Really Bad.

and he's trying to come up with a plan. to get revenge, because like,, he's lost everything. he's lost Father, and he still hasn't uncovered how much abuse his dad put on him bc he has zero (0) emotional awareness. he's coming up with revenge because it's the only thing that's keeping him stable and keeping him from absolutely breaking into a million pieces.

so… after a few months of planning, and not taking care of himself, becoming sick every few days and forgetting to eat and not sleeping, he has the Perfect idea. he pretends to be helpless in order to sneak into their club.

(he is helpless, but not like he’ll ever admit that.)

“i don't have a curse,” he tells them, pretending to be ashen-faced. there's blood on his fist from where he had to work his ass off in order to get a meal. it was the first one he'd eaten in about three days. “but.. i heard this place can help for more than that. is it okay if I…” he feels his throat stir. “if I can-” he stumbles over his words. his face burns in very real embarrassment.

“of course you can join,” prez says immediately. she takes his hands, cold to the touch, and puts them into her warm ones. “let's get you inside. you're all damp.”

blaine doesn't own anything better than about two pairs of outfits and a raggedy cloak. he doesn't have anything. everybody hates him, after all. he doesn't want anything. he just needs revenge.

this is what he needs… to make Father proud. to be loved again.

he tries to pry into their secrets. they force him to eat a hot meal instead. he tries to get curtis to tell him where he keeps different keys. curtis insists he gets a bath first—”and wash your hair,” he says, kindly, offering to help him do it, if he's unable to do it on his own.

“i’m fine,” blaine hisses, wondering why everyone's being so… nice to him. he ends up needing the help for his hair. his body feels so weak. his sharp mind has fog all around it.

“do you have the flu or something…?” syrah demands to know, rolling her eyes as she sets up a board game in blaine’s makeshift bedroom. “c'mon. this game’s called ‘fashion roll-two’. saff and abbi are getting the snacks.”

and more instances like this. they keep taking care of him, he keeps trying to get information and sabotage them. it won't stop.

blaine does not understand what's going on.

the cpc smile at him at every breakfast and offer him more of those sugary waffles.

here's the twist: THEY KNOW BLAINE IS LYING!!!! they know he's a trickster little bunny rabbit!!! a snake. a thieving cat, if you will. they know it all. they just see him and go, “damn bitch you live like this?”

but they see him– hurting, actively in pain, destroying himself, all while trying to hide it under a mask of pure hatred. but he cares too much.

(he always has.)

he teaches abbi the way of the sword- from what little he knows. he paints makeup onto syrah's face. he paints flower pots and gardens with saffron. he reads poetry with prez on the quiet nights. he helps curtis with the cleaning whenever he can. he plays requested songs at the piano for the club during the days where it's raining too hard outside to spend it by the campfire. he remembers all the names of the girls nobody else really looks to. he gives gwen his jacket after she made a mess of herself in the kitchen and can't help but understand why she's everyone’s little sister. aurelia and him have cat fights but he looks out for the younger girl, making sure her food is always chilled.

he tries to take revenge. tries to keep a distance and make himself hateable, tries to keep others away from him. tries to self destruct.

but they don't let him.

au name: “to befriend an enemy” or something like that :3

#cursed Princess Club #cpc blaine #cpc au

[here2bbtstrash]

look down on me like that - 5 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 11.4k (you're welcome 😌)

contains: ~explicit sexual content~ !! *deep breath in* YES THERE IS ACTUAL FUCKING HAPPENING - EVERYONE REMAIN CALM. also i promise this is the most unhinged reader gets lmao. alright let's go: one night stand/stranger sex, semi-public sex (bathroom of a bar), fingering, spanking, a truly gratuitous blowjob, orgasm denial, a smidge of dirty talk/namecalling, finger sucking?, protected sex, semi-awkward sex lmao, the hatefucking is HERE 🙌🏻 plenty of alcohol mentions as always,, so much alcohol. this chapter also features a couple fun cameos - kihyun of monsta x and wonho 💜

A/N: hope y'all enjoy this absolute CHAOS!! i have so many lovely friends who cheered me on while i was writing this, far too many to name, but i fucking adore you all 🥺🥺 and i do want to specifically shoutout @kiestrokes because the ~spicy twist~ in this chapter would not be HALF as good if it wasn't for her and her big beautiful brain. srsly she took a half-baked idea i had and made it insane. god i love that woman. ALRIGHT ENOUGH BABBLING - ENJOY!!!!!

read on AO3!

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

~*~

“Try this.” Jimin yanks an emerald green dress off the hanger and chucks it over his shoulder, nearly hitting you.

“Ugh, I hate this one,” you groan as you hold the offending item up for inspection, pinched between index finger and thumb. “The fabric is so itchy.” 

Your best friend whips around, hands on hips, when you question his taste. “I’m sorry, did I just hear you going back on our agreement? Is that what this is?”

You groan, flopping over onto your bedspread, doing your best not to mess up your hair. Jimin had, understandably, been pissed when you’d called him immediately upon leaving the office last night, hands still shaking as you cradled the phone against your cheek. You think you have permanent hearing damage from the anguished wails your best friend made as you finally admitted everything you hadn’t told him. And you certainly could have done without the appreciative noises he made after he forced you to describe Suga’s dick in explicit detail. 

It’s not like you aren’t constantly thinking about it, anyway.

Especially now that Yoongi has specifically told you everything, everything he wants to do to you. The words swim back to you in pieces whenever you aren’t actively trying to suppress the memory. Finger that tight little pussy. Spank you until you bruise. Fuck you like the slut you so clearly are.

God. You’ve been horny for 24 hours straight. This can’t be good for your health.

Jimin had nearly disowned you for letting secrecy infiltrate your friendship for the first time in over a decade, but then he’d realized how truly distraught you were as you just kept babbling into the phone about Suga, too far gone to make any sense.

“Jesus fucking christ, it’s not the end of the world!” He’d finally interrupted with a frustrated groan. “You really think Suga is the only man in the world who can fuck you senseless? He was probably overselling it anyway. Having a pretty dick doesn’t guarantee he knows what to do with it.”

At this point you’d stumbled onto the bus home, and you remember smacking your forehead against the cold glass of the window with a whine at the words pretty dick, your mind already departing on another Yoongi spiral.

Jimin’s peal of laughter rang in your ears. “I’ve never heard you down this bad in my life, good god girl! We just need to get you laid so your fucking brain can work right again.”

“Please,” you’d grunted.

“Alright, I’m coming over tomorrow, and we’re going out.” He’d paused then, and you knew there was more even before he continued. It was like you could hear his evil smile. “And I get to pick your outfit.”

You’re snapped out of the memory as a second dress is tossed your way, this one hitting you square in the face.

“Either the green or this one. You’re still in the doghouse, ma’am,” Jimin reminds you.

You pull the second option up to examine it, already grateful for the softer feel of the material. Jimin loves to put you in shit that you’d never wear— usually dresses that he bought for you, or bullied you into buying. You think you already dress pretty racy when you go out, but Jimin likes to take it to another level, always encouraging you to show more skin, more tits, more ass. He’s definitely responsible for this number even being in your closet: dark burgundy in color, it’s tight, short, and the cutouts leave very little to the imagination.

You whine softly despite yourself. “Do I have to? I’m going to freeze to death.”

Jimin has already moved to sit at your desk, examining his hair in the mirror you use to do your makeup. He’s in one of his favorite going-out shirts, one he claims “makes even the straight boys look twice”, a blue and white striped button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He doesn’t even bother making eye contact with you as he peers at his reflection, fiddling with the silver hoops in his ears. “I dunno. Depends on whether or not you value my friendship.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics. “I can’t stand you.”

“Will you shut up and put your damn freakum dress on already?” He rummages through your makeup bag without asking until he finds what he’s looking for, a tube of Fenty gloss that he dabs in the center of his bottom lip.

“That is not what freakum dress means,” you say with a laugh as you stand to strip out of your sweats, but he’s already reaching for his phone that’s connected to your Bluetooth speaker, another requirement for the evening in order to keep your friendship intact. Beyoncé starts to blast as you pull your shirt over your head and suck in for dear life.

“So, what exactly is the plan?” You ask as soon as you swallow down another shot, nearly shouting to be heard over the noise of the bar. Jimin made you do a couple in your kitchen before you left, and though you haven’t even been out for an hour, you’re already straddling the line between tipsy and drunk.

He shoots you a look. “Don’t act so innocent, like I haven’t personally seen you go home with random dudes.”

Your gaze flits over the mass of bodies out on the dance floor. “I mean, yeah, but…” You shrug, grimacing slightly. “I don’t know, it’s been a while. And we’re not in college anymore.”

“What about him?” You look back at Jimin and he nods his head behind you. You do your best to be subtle as you glance over your shoulder to see two guys a couple of tables away.

“Which one?”

Jimin makes a face like it’s obvious. “Are you kidding me? The absolutely built daddy with the red hair?”

You examine them more closely, scrunching your nose up a little. He’s cute, big as hell, and you certainly notice his bubble butt in those tight pants. But it just doesn’t feel right. “I don’t know that he’s my type.” When your gaze lands on his friend, dressed in all black, dark hair skimming over his eyes as he leans in to say something, your heart flips in your chest. Now that could work.

Turning back to Jimin to say as much, you realize that he’s already brushing past you. “Well I’m not stupid,” he scoffs, and you scramble to follow after him as he stalks confidently across the room.

He’s already talking to them when you catch up. “Hi boys. Care for some company?”

They glance at each other, and you can tell Jimin’s presence is clearly unexpected but not unwelcome. He wasn’t wrong: nobody can resist him in that damn shirt.

“Sure,” red-haired daddy says with a shy giggle, and you have to bite back a smile. You were not expecting a guy that built to react so softly, and you already know your best friend is going feral on the inside. There is nothing Jimin loves more than a man he can fluster. Especially one who can make him pay for it.

His friend flags down a server and orders a round of shots for the table, then gives you a small wave as Jimin takes the liberty of giving his name and yours. “I’m Kihyun.”

“Hoseok,” Jimin's target is clearly squirming under his intense gaze. “But my friends call me Wonho.”

“Can I be your friend?” Jimin purrs. You’re nearly laughing at how quickly he lost the plot of trying to get you laid, but he’s also such an intense flirt that it nearly works as a wingman maneuver, in its own weird way.

You scoot a little closer to Kihyun as Jimin and Wonho disappear into their own conversation. Up close you can really admire how attractive he is, full lips and a wickedly sharp jawline.

“Hi,” you say with a smile, surprised to find yourself slightly nervous despite the alcohol coursing through your system.

“Hi,” he says back, and he looks like he’s about to say more when the server reappears with a tray of four shots.

“Thanks again for these,” you say as you reach for one, and he waves it off. You glance over at Jimin and Wonho, assuming they might want to toast as a group, but Jimin is already hooking his elbow around Wonho’s ridiculous bicep and making a not-at-all-subtle comment about how big he is, intertwining their arms before they each throw the shot back.

You look at Kihyun again, who is biting his lip nervously, and you can feel your face heat up. You’re no Jimin, so you settle for gently tapping your shot glass against his. “Cheers.”

He echoes the sentiment and you down your drinks simultaneously. You shiver a little as you swallow, but you’ve had enough that you don’t even feel the burn of the alcohol.

“So,” Kihyun’s eyes flit over to Jimin, then return to you. “Do you two come here a lot?”

You shrug. “We rotate. Jimin likes this place more than I do. You?”

He laughs softly. “Not really. Honestly, we’re both homebodies, but we try to get out every so often. Always nice to meet new people.” It’s so quick you nearly miss it, but you swear his eyes jump down your figure and back up again.

You try to ignore the little voice in your head reminding you of another pair of eyes; dark, calculating, wandering over your body. Not now.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you say, because it’s true: a new person is definitely what you need in this moment.

Before you can ask a follow-up question, you hear Jimin, talking loudly so that he’s audible over the music. “Your thighs look so good in those pants!” You have to resist the urge to smack your head against the table when you look over to see him attempting— and absolutely failing— to wrap his small hands around the circumference of Wonho’s leg, who is giggling like a schoolgirl.

You glance back at Kihyun, who is equally enraptured. “I’m so sorry,” you say quietly. “He is unfortunately always like this.”

“You know where else those thighs would look good?” Jimin’s voice lowers as he asks the question, and you watch Kihyun’s eyes go wide.

“Do you want to dance?” You say quickly, and he nods so fast you think his head might fall off. You start to break away from the group, his hand slipping to your waist, when Jimin smacks the table so loud that it makes you jump.

“Hey!” He yells, and you turn back, but he’s pointing at Kihyun, who instantly looks terrified. He leans in, as if to divulge confidential information, and Kihyun takes a tentative step towards him.

“Just so you’re aware,” Jimin starts, and you know it’s going to be bad. “She needs to get dicked down. Severely. Hope you’re ready.”

You close your hand around Kihyun’s wrist and drag him towards the dance floor, eager for a distraction to keep you from murdering your best friend.

Now that you’re actually in motion, you can feel the last couple of shots quickly catching up to you, the room blurring slightly at the edges. At the center of the dance floor, the thudding bass is loud enough to make it hard to think, which is exactly what you need right now.

You’re grateful not to have to force any more conversation, both of Kihyun’s hands slipping to your hips as you start to move in time to the music. It gives you free reign to admire him up close, and damn, he really is gorgeous. He’s only a little taller than you in your heels— probably about the same height as Yoongi, though his frame is slighter, smaller. You watch as his dark hair falls into his eyes again and he reaches up to sweep it off his forehead— Yoongi’s hair is a little longer, and he certainly has much better hands, but other than that—

You have to squeeze your eyes shut when you realize what the fuck you're doing. The whole point of this encounter is to stop thinking about Yoongi. Not pick apart this absolute stranger in comparison to him.

You desperately wish you could get another drink, but you know that would push you all the way into “drunk” territory. As much as you hate admitting it, Jimin was right: you really need to be able to consent to sex tonight. You’re gonna have to get through this the old-fashioned way, with sheer fucking willpower.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes flutter open to meet Kihyun’s concerned gaze. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just, uh. Thinking about work.” Not a complete lie.

“Well, don’t,” he says with a soft laugh. “It’s the weekend. You should enjoy it.” His hands press a little tighter, pulling you close until your body is flush with his. His breath ghosts over your neck as you hear his voice in your ear. “That dress looks really good on you.”

A different voice echoes in your mind before you can stop it. Spread your legs for me. Show me what’s under that dress. You can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to literally go insane, and then you grab Kihyun’s face with both hands and kiss him in a desperate attempt to not think anymore.

You can feel him freeze, clearly not expecting it, but after a second his mouth starts to move against yours. His hands slip further down towards your ass, and fuck, it occurs to you that you are still incredibly horny. You need this to happen as soon as possible.

Pulling away and sliding your hands to Kihyun’s shoulders, you tilt up to speak into his ear. “Do you live near here?”

His eyes go wide for at least the third time tonight. “Y-yeah, not far.” You see his tongue dart out to lick his lips.

“I don’t know how to say this politely,” you admit with an embarrassed smile. “But my friend wasn’t wrong. About… what I need.”

He pauses for a moment, and your stomach twists as you prepare for rejection, the reasonable reaction considering you basically jumped this man like a crazy person. But then he smiles, leaning into you so he can keep his tone soft. “Come on, then.”

You follow Kihyun as he guides you towards the exit, keeping one hand pressed to the small of your back. It’s hard to miss the other half of your group making their way through the crowd— Wonho is large enough that people quickly shrink to get out of his way, but his gaze is entirely transfixed on Jimin’s ass in front of him. You nod in their direction and Kihyun follows as you push past bodies to reunite.

“Are you leaving?!” Jimin asks, and you can only nod. His eyes jump to Kihyun. “I told you, you better give it to her!” He shouts it so loudly that people standing behind him glance over their shoulders, but he is fully unfazed, now brandishing his cellphone. “And I always have her location on, so if you murder her, I will come find you!”

With a roll of your eyes, you lean across the circle so that Wonho can hear you. “Take good care of him, okay?” When you pull away, you swear he’s blushing as red as his hair, and he nods sheepishly.

You turn back to Kihyun. “Ready?”

The door to Kihyun’s apartment barely has time to close behind you before you find his lips with yours again. He presses you up against the wall of the entryway, and you waste no time in moving your hands over his body. His shirt and pants hit the floor in quick succession.

When he reaches for the hem of your dress, you cover his hands with yours to stop him. “Do you— is it okay if I keep it on?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, breathless. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses you again and you let him guide you backwards through an open door into his bedroom until you feel the mattress hit the backs of your knees. You perch on the edge of the bed and glance around the room, taking it in. It’s clean, if minimally furnished, and your stomach flips when you see a nondescript work desk tucked into one corner.

You look at Kihyun when you feel his hand gently rub your thigh, encouraging you to spread your legs.

“Kihyun?”

“Yeah?”

Your gaze jumps to his desk, then back to him. “Do— uh… Do you think you could bend me over your desk?”

He seems a little dumbfounded, and takes a second to find words. “Wh— I— yeah, yes, I can do that. I just—” he clears his throat. “Do you need, like, foreplay, or…?”

You stand up again, knees shaking slightly. “I’ll tell you what to do, does that work?”

It must, because he kisses you, eventually starting to move towards the desk. When you’ve gotten far enough, you feel him tug at your hips, encouraging you to spin around so your back is flush with his chest. His hand slides up to your shoulders to gently press you forward, and you brace your forearms on the desk, already breathless.

“P-pull my dress up,” you manage to instruct. His hands caress over your thighs, then move to the hem of your dress, pushing up until your ass is fully exposed for him.

Get a good look at that ass you were tempting me with, the voice in your head finishes for you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on this moment, this man. Not any others.

You look back at Kihyun over your shoulder in an attempt to stay present, spreading your legs a little wider. “Touch me.”

He slowly moves a hand from your thigh up towards your core, and you feel his fingers just barely brush over the fabric of your underwear. The rush of contact after so much anticipation is enough to make you shiver slightly, but his touch is so light, so gentle.

Gentle is not what you need right now.

Keeping yourself held up on one arm, you reach the other behind you to forcefully tug your panties to the side. “Your fingers, Kihyun,” you hiss.

You tip your head forward and swallow down a whine of relief as he presses a digit into you and starts to rub circles. “How’s that?” His voice purrs in your ear, and you whimper as you nod.

It feels good, especially when he adds a second finger, but it’s not enough. He’s too soft, too tentative.

You look back at him again. “Can you spank me?”

You’ve officially lost count of the number of times you’ve surprised this man tonight. “I— what?”

“Like, smack my ass?”

“Like this?” He asks, but you barely feel it when he brings his hand down over your ass.

“Harder,” you say almost instantly, realizing after the fact that you could probably stand to be a little nicer to this random stranger. “Please.”

Kihyun’s second attempt is better, enough to make you groan softly as the sensation of the sting mixes with the movements of his fingers pressing against your front wall. He does it again, harder still, and you wiggle your ass back towards him— you need more, more than his hands can give.

“Kihyun,” you gasp, “want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? I’ll fuck you right here,” he grunts. At least he seems to be genuinely into it, you think to yourself gratefully. He smacks your ass a final time and you bite down on your lip as he withdraws his fingers. “One second.”

You hear the sound of him opening a drawer somewhere in his room and retrieving a condom, and you let your eyes flutter closed until his hands brush over your hips again.

“Ready?”

“Yes, Kihyun, please,” you beg, your head dropping down onto your forearms. “Please fuck me.” Desire is wound up so tight inside you that you can’t think about anything else; you need this so fucking badly.

He makes a strangled whine as he presses into you, and you move your hips back onto him, gasping slightly at the stretch. “Fuck.”

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Kihyun groans, and he starts to roll into you with steady thrusts that brush the head of his cock right over your g-spot. You push backwards, matching his rhythm, and he’s not wrong: it feels good.

But it’s not enough.

“Harder,” you groan, your voice muffled in the crook of your elbow, and you hear Kihyun grunt as he picks up the pace, hips snapping against your ass. Better, but somehow still not what you need.

“Please, Kihyun,” you encourage again. “Fuck me like a slut.”

“Jesus,” he breathes, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve finally broken him. But then his hand cracks over your ass, hard enough to take you by surprise, and he starts to thrust even faster.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, and his voice is tense, almost angry; something about it makes your walls start to flutter. Your orgasm is so frustratingly close, yet somehow beyond your grasp.

And then you hear that all-too familiar voice in your head. I want to make you come so hard that your legs shake. Before you can help it, you moan a little at the memory. The way Yoongi leveled his gaze on you as he spoke so calmly, in a way that had you believing every single word. You can feel your core starting to tighten at the very thought, and once your brain realizes that’s what will get you there, it’s like the fucking floodgates open.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, and you can hear him grunt in agreement, like he’s close, too.

You’re helpless to stop it now, too desperate to come. Yoongi’s voice, his face, his tongue, his hands, his cock. It’s all you can think of. You gasp as everything inside you tightens and starts to pulse.

“Shit, shit, I’m gonna come,” you whine. So hard that you have no choice but to scream my name as I wreck you, the voice in your head finishes, and you dig your nails into the desk beneath you as you reach your climax.

Your back arches, pleasure washing over you, and you cry out. “Yes, Yoongi, yes!”

There’s a moment where his hips stutter, and then he pushes all the way into you one last time with a grunt of effort as he comes, too. Your heartbeat starts to slow.

And then it occurs to you that the man fucking you is absolutely not named Yoongi, and you smack a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you say softly, voice muffled, and you remove your hand as you start to straighten up. You can hear Kihyun still breathing heavily behind you, but he’s otherwise silent as he releases his grip on your hips and slides out of you.

“Kihyun,” you turn to watch him cross the room to the en-suite bathroom, where he briefly disappears to dispose of the condom. Face burning with embarrassment, you awkwardly maneuver to readjust your underwear and pull your dress back down over your ass.

When he reappears in the doorway, you try again. “Kihyun, I am so sorry. I—I don’t—” you fumble for what to say, knowing full well you don’t have a good explanation. At least not one that doesn’t make you sound insane.

“It’s cool,” he says, but he’s clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, you know. Shit happens.”

You glance around nervously for your phone before realizing it’s back on the table in the entryway where you tossed it in the throes of passion. You shoot Kihyun a weak smile. “I should— let me call Jimin. I can get a ride home.”

Kihyun laughs dryly. “Yeah, I’m gonna take a wild guess that he might be a little busy. I can take you home. It’s not a big deal.”

As much as your pride wants to refuse, you don’t exactly have a backup plan. “I would really appreciate that,” you murmur.

The drive is silent and painfully awkward, Kihyun turning up the music just loud enough that you get the indication that he doesn’t want to talk. As the lights of the city stream by, you can’t help but wonder how everything got so fucked up.

When Kihyun pulls up to your apartment complex, you indicate where he can drop you off, and he reaches over you as the car slows to a stop to politely open the door.

“Have a good night,” he says firmly, and you can barely manage a word of thanks before you slip out of his car and head up the stairs to die of embarrassment.

Jimin shows up at your door late Sunday afternoon, a takeout bag of haejangguk tucked under one arm, gushing incessantly about the various ways Wonho threw him around all night. It feels like he babbles for an hour, until he finally takes a break to sip from his own container of soup, and prompts you with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Your turn. Was your mission successful?”

You keep your gaze firmly planted on the floor as you recount what happened.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

~*~

Jimin decides that you’ll try again next weekend, promising he’ll be less distracted. You’re not positive you’ll survive that long. You preemptively text Jungkook asking to take the week off from boxing class - your stomach is such a fucking bundle of nerves that you barely sleep at all Sunday night, and you know the next five days spent in constant fear of running into Yoongi is only going to make it worse.

Those same nerves creep up into your throat when you unlock the doors Monday morning, Jungkook waiting patiently behind you with his hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack.

Dread blooms inside of you as you move to place your purse on your desk, and then you make a split-second decision, spinning back to face Jungkook.

“Hey, JK?” The nickname is unplanned, just sort of comes out, but you see him visibly brighten. “Are there any open desks on your side of the office? I think I need a change of scenery.”

He nods, eyes wide. “Yeah! I’m actually all by myself right now. Sunye is on maternity leave for the rest of the month. You can use her desk.”

You gesture for him to lead the way and he does, heading past the break room and walking backwards down the hallway to keep talking to you. “Is there something wrong with your normal desk? We can always put in a work order.”

“Uh, no,” you scramble, trying to find a good excuse. “It can just be a little distracting, you know. People coming in and out all day. I’ve got a lot of stuff I need to be heads-down on this week.”

The excuse sounds flimsy and false to you, but he seems to buy it. “Yeah, makes sense! I’ll try not to distract you too much.”

He does a full 360-degree spin on his heels as you turn the corner at the end of the hall, and it’s enough to make you laugh softly despite yourself. There’s a small alcove with a desk pressed against either wall, and you don’t even have to ask which one is Jungkook’s. The standing desk is dotted with tell-tale signs of Baby Star Candy: an empty shaker cup, a mini tub of protein powder, several fidget toys tucked beneath his monitor. A small collage of polaroids is taped to the wall where you see him smiling with friends, throwing up a peace sign in nearly every single one.

Sunye’s desk is mostly empty, save for a few framed photos of her with her husband and two young kids. You drop your purse down and take a seat as Jungkook chucks his backpack under his desk, both of you reaching to retrieve your laptops.

Outlook hasn’t even loaded before he’s turned around and talking to you again. “So how was your weekend?”

You grimace reflexively at memories you’d rather forget, and Jungkook misinterprets the look. “Oh, sorry, no distractions. I’ll be quiet.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “It’s not you. My weekend was fine. What about yours?”

He laughs, looking a little embarrassed. “I mean, honestly? I’m super addicted to this new mobile game that just came out. I feel like I blinked and lost two days.” He’s already reaching for his cellphone. “Want to see?” You roll your chair across to his side of the room as Jungkook leans over to show you the little island world he’s nearly 500 levels into. After a few minutes, he seems to remember himself.

“Shit, you specifically said you came here to focus. I’m sorry, I really will leave you alone now.”

You bite down on your bottom lip. “No, it’s okay, JK. I— honestly, I wasn’t being entirely truthful when I said that. I don’t mind the distraction at all, actually. It’s kind of complicated, but… it would be nice if I could hide out here for the foreseeable future.”

He looks at you, clearly surprised. “Of course. Whatever you need. Is everything okay?”

You wince a little, with no idea how to answer that question.

His voice drops. “Is it Suga?”

“It’s complicated.” You repeat with a sigh.

An unfamiliar emotion flashes in Jungkook’s eyes. You’ve never seen him angry before, but you’d guess this is what it looks like. “Hey, seriously, if he’s being aggressive with you, we should do something about it. Report it or something.”

You have to suppress the urge to laugh in his face. Like Yoongi being aggressive with you isn’t exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about for days.

“No, it’s not like that,” you reassure him. “I think we’re just two people who are better off kept apart from each other. That’s all.”

Jungkook nods slowly, and it’s clear from his expression that he wants to pry more, but is forcing himself not to. “Okay.”

There’s a heaviness of unasked and unanswered questions in the air, but the two of you manage to lapse into corporate smalltalk as you roll back over to your desk and dive into your workday.

Jungkook eventually has to peel off for a few virtual meetings, and watching him work is its own source of entertainment. If it’s a meeting that requires his focus, you can tell because he leans in close to his monitor, staring at spreadsheets or data visualizations with a look on his face like he’s using every single brain cell he owns. 

You can also tell when he’s put on calls where he clearly isn’t needed, because he’ll spin in a full circle at his desk with a glazed over look in his eye. There are even a few times where you glance up to see him silently doing what you vaguely recognize as TikTok dances, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from outright laughing.

The day rolls on, and you’re neck deep in drafting a communication when Jungkook’s voice breaks your concentration. “Do you like ramyeon?”

Your head snaps up to see him lean down under his desk to grab his backpack. He unzips it to retrieve two containers of instant noodles, and when he offers one to you, you give an approving nod. “I usually bring two in case I get extra hungry. I’ll make it, come meet me in the break room when you finish what you’re doing.”

You genuinely believe him on the first day, but when he just so happens to bring a second lunch on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, you start to get a little suspicious.

Friday has you stuck on a working session straight through your usual lunch hour, and Jungkook disappears without a word, returning as you’re pulling your headset off with two to-go salads in a plastic bag.

“I ordered one, and they gave me two. Crazy, right?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him to signal that you don’t believe a damn word, but you still thank him as you follow him down the hall to the break room.

“You’re coming out tonight, right?” He asks over lunch, and it takes you a second to remember the planned happy hour your boss has scheduled for the office. You’re torn between never wanting to see the inside of a bar again, and the overwhelming desire to drink as much as you can on the company’s dime. Ideally enough to obliterate the brain cells that store your memories of last weekend.

In the end, your cheapness wins out. Plus, given that it’s a social work event, you’d bet your entire salary that Yoongi will be nowhere to be found. You figure it might actually prove to be a good distraction. “Sure, yeah. At least for a couple drinks.”

“Cool,” Jungkook smiles a little as he spears a piece of chicken on his plastic fork. “Let me know when you’re done for the day, we can head over together.”

As much as you’d like to blow off early, a phone call that was supposed to take fifteen minutes ends up lasting over an hour. You mute your headset briefly to give a loud sigh, and shoot Jungkook a silent pout in apology when he meets your gaze, but he just flips his phone around to show you the progress he’s making on his island. At least he’s good at keeping himself entertained, you think with a smile.

Finally the person leading the call seems to come to the extremely delayed realization that no one is going to make any more progress on the issue after 5 PM on a Friday, and things wrap up pretty quickly after that. You and Jungkook gather your things and head for the front, and the office is a ghost town.

Your eyes drift down the opposite hallway towards the Genius Lab, your pulse quickening a little. You’ve checked the lab every evening this week and have luckily only found it empty, but you’re nearly an hour ahead of schedule today. And you don’t exactly have a great track record with Yoongi when it comes to Fridays.

“I should probably…”

“I can do it,” Jungkook cuts in softly. You’re hit with the automatic urge to say no, to shield him from this chaos in any way you can. But it would be really nice to not have to deal with Yoongi for one fucking day.

“I would appreciate that,” you reply, and Jungkook is already striding down the hall. You pretend to busy yourself on your phone as you hear a knock, then the electronic beeps of him punching the code into the door lock. When you glance up, you see him push the door open and stick his head inside, then promptly close it again.

“He’s gone. Let’s get out of here.”

The bar your boss has chosen is only a few blocks away from the office, and Jungkook holds the door open for you to enter first when you arrive. You don’t see your group right when you first walk in, and you have to round a bend in the layout of the building before you spot the long table of familiar faces.

You move to take a step forward, but Jungkook nearly imperceptibly brings a hand to your elbow to stop you. He says nothing, which is unlike him, and you start to ask a question.

“Wh—” the words die in your mouth when you see Yoongi smiling politely into a glass of whiskey, seated at the table next to your boss. His gaze flickers up to meet yours. Your stomach twists as you watch the smile immediately drop off his face. 

“We can go,” Jungkook says quickly, but you know you can’t give him the satisfaction.

“It’s fine,” you say, and it comes out a little more harsh than you mean it to. “We don’t have to sit near him.” Jungkook follows your lead to the opposite end of the table. When you take your seats, he almost immediately gets sucked into a conversation with some of the audio engineers. You do your best to at least act like you’re following along, but it feels like the room is spinning despite the fact that you’re entirely sober.

That absolutely needs to change, you quickly determine. You’re sitting at the corner of the table, so it’s easy enough to slip out and get to your feet. Jungkook glances up when you do.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, and your tone must be direct enough that he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions or offer his company. Which is fine, you think to yourself as you cross the room. You’re perfectly capable of walking to the bar and ordering a drink on your own.

At least it feels that way until you sweep your gaze across the room, waiting on a bartender to acknowledge your presence, and realize Yoongi is headed straight towards you, empty glass in hand.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You set your jaw, determined not to let him smell your fear, and renew your conviction to flag someone down and get a drink as fast as possible. When Yoongi takes a seat at the barstool next to you, you will your face not to react. But you’re not quite fast enough to remember to tell your mouth to stay shut, too.

“What are you doing here?” You snap, refusing to look him in the eye.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, voice even, and you blink hard. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. “I figured an event with free alcohol was a good place to start. Let’s hope no one wore their good shoes tonight.”

Setting your jaw has turned into fully gritting your teeth, and you’ve never been more grateful to see a bartender when one approaches. You order quickly, and see Yoongi silently lift his empty glass as a request in your periphery.

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

When he hums and doesn’t respond right away, you glance over to see him running a finger around the rim of his finished drink. Just his fucking hand is enough to send a shiver up your spine, and you tear your gaze away.

“Well, for one, I honestly have to say I was surprised when HR didn’t personally escort me out of the building Monday morning.”

Your head snaps up to look at him again as you parse out his meaning. “Really?”

Yoongi’s gaze meets yours, his brows slightly pinching together as if he’s surprised that you’re surprised. “Uh, yeah.”

You’re so shocked it takes you a minute to form words. “I— I mean, it’s not like it was unprovoked.”

He makes a face as if he’s considering it, shrugging a little. “I suppose.”

As you drop your gaze to the wood grain of the bar, you can’t help but wonder if that was meant to be an apology. You barely have time to process that thought before the bartender returns, setting your drinks down, and you reach for yours like a woman dehydrated. When you take a sip, it’s strong— exactly what you need in this moment.

You’re already halfway off the barstool, very ready to get back to your seat at the table, when Yoongi speaks up again.

“Do you want to hear a funny story?” Something in his tone makes you pause, and he keeps going.

“I heard from an old friend a few days ago. We used to be really close, but lately I don’t think we’ve talked in…” He shakes his head in disbelief, like he’s trying to think. “God, probably years. I’ve been so focused on work. You know how I get.”

You physically recoil at his strange candor, how comfortable he suddenly is with implying that you know him. Your stomach is already starting to turn, though you can’t put a finger on why. It just feels like he’s playing with you.

Yoongi rolls his glass between his palms as he continues. “So you know, we catch up, ask how life is going, all the usual shit. And then my friend— Kihyun, that’s his name— Kih starts telling me about this crazy hookup he had last weekend.”

You nearly drop your drink as your blood runs cold. Yoongi continues the charade, pretending like he’s telling you something you don’t already know first-hand.

“He said he got approached by this super hot girl out of nowhere, and that she was fucking desperate for it. Barely said two words to him before she was asking him to take her home. And once he did, he said the sex was wild. I mean, it definitely sounded great to me when he gave me the play-by-play.” He pauses for a moment, and when he speaks again, there’s a new tone to his voice, almost aggressive. “Straight out of one of my own fantasies, really.”

You take a nervous gulp of your drink in hopes that it might help cool down your burning face— whether it’s from shame or rage, you can’t tell.

“And get this.” Yoongi’s voice is grave now, all pretense of telling a funny story gone as he turns to fully face you. “You’re never gonna believe whose name she cried out when she came. Because it sure wasn’t Kih’s.”

The shock of his words, at the fact that he knows this, is enough to freeze you where you stand. You’re nearly shaking with the chaotic storm of emotions swirling in your brain, and it takes every ounce of willpower you can muster to keep your voice steady as you fix him in your gaze. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business who or how I fuck, Yoongi.”

“Oh, I think it’s absolutely my business when you’re calling them my fucking name. And I don’t understand why you’d settle for imitation when you could have the real thing.” Despite how livid you are, you don’t miss the way your pussy flutters at the smug look on his face.

“Maybe it’s because your friend doesn’t come with all the strings attached that you do.”

“Strings?” He quirks an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on dating you, sweetheart.”

You can’t believe how dense he is, and you slam your drink down on the bar. “No, Yoongi, but you’re my fucking coworker. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘don’t shit where you eat’?” He chuckles dryly into the rim of his glass. “It’s a bad fucking idea.”

He examines you as he takes a sip of whiskey, then finally speaks again. “Here’s the way I see it. We are both sane, consenting adults, very capable of being rational about this.” You scoff in disbelief at how calmly he can say such a thing as you take another long pull from your drink. “There’s obviously a lot of pent-up feelings going on. I’m not saying we have to be friends. Hell, we don’t even have to like each other. Sometimes it’s more fun when you don’t.”

Not expecting that commentary, you nearly choke on the ice in your glass. Yoongi gives you a moment to recover before continuing.

“It seems to me like we could establish something that would be mutually beneficial. Get some of that energy out. If anything, I think it might help both of us actually focus on our work, and that would in turn benefit everyone. It’d certainly be a lot better than the two of us running around like a couple of horny teenagers the way we have been lately. It’s not a purely selfish thing.”

You hate that his stupid logical argument makes sense to you. You hate it so much that you finish your drink in one swallow.

“Look, I’ll make it easy for you,” he says, eyes locked on you, his voice dropping into a lower register. The tone immediately takes you back to the last time you were in his lab. The things he said to you. The things he wanted to do to you. Heat pools in your belly before you can tell it not to.

“I’m going to head back to the group. You get yourself another drink, come join us, and take some time to think about it.”

He leans in to speak the next part directly into your ear, his voice quiet. Every nerve ending in your body lights up at the feeling of his breath against your neck. “Then I’m going to get up and go to the restroom. I’ll give you three minutes to discreetly excuse yourself and join me. If you don’t show, I’ll drop all of this and leave you alone. Promise.”

Yoongi pulls away, shooting you that trademark smirk, knowing full well that he doesn’t have to explain what will happen if you do decide to join him. He already has. Then he slips off the barstool, glass of whiskey in hand, and strides back towards the table.

When you order the next round, you ask for a double.

You do your best to act like the world isn’t ending as you return to your seat at the table. The conversation continues around you, without you; you can only stare dumbly at the empty space between two of your coworkers as you take a long swig of your drink. You’re vaguely aware of discussions of upcoming mixtapes and the Grammy’s, but your brain can’t process anything over the roaring in your ears, the pounding of your heartbeat in your gut— and a little lower.

You feel insane, enraged, and deliriously aroused.

You have no concept of how quickly time is passing, no clue if it’s been an instant or an hour when you see movement from the other end of the table out of the corner of your eye. There’s no self-control left in your system to keep your jaw from going slack, to keep you from unabashedly watching as Yoongi gets up from the table and strides confidently across the bar toward the restroom. He doesn’t so much as glance in your direction.

“Are you alright?”

You whip around at Jungkook’s voice, having completely forgotten there was anyone else in the room. It takes a second for you to snap your mouth shut, and then you realize you have to open it to answer his question.

“I— uh—” You can barely string a sentence together. “My drink is really strong.”

“Do you need some water?”

When you nod, he’s up in a flash, heading towards the bar, and you realize as you watch him disappear that it might have been a bad idea to let yourself be left alone. Because now you have no distraction from the way every cell in your body is screaming at you.

It’s obvious that there is a right choice and a wrong choice here. And you’ve tried so hard, for so long, to be smart. To deny the truth, to say no and go home, to channel the energy out in any other way. But none of it has worked. You still want this terrible man to do terrible things to you, maybe now more than ever. And you’re so fucking tired of making the right choice.

So tonight, you resolve with a final sip of your drink, you’ll make the wrong one. Fuck it.

You slip away from the table before Jungkook returns, following the same path Yoongi did towards the back of the bar. When you reach for the handle of the restroom door, your pulse is racing, enough that you nearly jump out of your skin when the door swings open before you can even touch it. You glance up to find yourself face-to-face with an equally shocked looking Yoongi.

“Your three minutes are up,” he says dryly. Rather than bother with a response, you bring your hand to his chest and firmly shove him back inside the single stall room. You hear him laugh a little as you follow after, pulling the knob and turning the lock into place behind you.

When he takes a step toward you, there’s nowhere for you to go except flush against the door. You watch his eyes drop down your body and back up, taking his time, shameless. His gaze lingers on your mouth.

“Didn’t think you’d really do it,” he murmurs, eyes glinting.

“Call it a lapse in judgment.”

There’s something about the situation that makes you feel like Yoongi has the upper hand— like he expects every part of this to go according to his plan. That, you decide, simply will not do. And then you drop to your knees in front of him.

“Oh my god,” Yoongi breathes, taking a small step back to give you room. “You’re a whore.”

You do your best to shoot a death glare up at him. “I don’t have to do this.”

He smirks. “I meant it as a compliment, honestly. Respectfully.”

That’s it. You’re determined to suck that smug fucking look off his face. “Hands to yourself,” you say firmly. “If you touch me, this all ends.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be giving any orders. But then he nods, raising both hands in the air as if to indicate compliance. You lower your gaze and realize he’s already straining against the fabric of his joggers, which do nothing to hide how hard he is, the thin material clinging to every inch.

In one swift motion, you tug both his pants and boxers down his hips, and you have to actively suppress a soft sigh of appreciation. Yoongi’s ego doesn’t need any more feeding, but damn, his dick is even better up close: long, pale, and pretty.

Glancing back up at him, you maintain eye contact as you lean forward to teasingly trace your tongue along one of the prominent veins that runs the length of his shaft. His eyes are dark with lust as he watches you. Despite being on your knees, a thrill of sheer power runs through you when you see him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple jerking in his throat.

It occurs to you that you are extremely ready to torture this man.

When you reach the tip, you just barely slide your lips over it in an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock, your tongue swirling in sloppy circles. You can hear Yoongi breathing now, clearly trying and failing to suppress his shaky exhales at your work.

Tilting your head to find the right angle, you take more of him into your mouth, then bring a hand to his shaft to guide the head of his dick to one side. You don’t miss the quiet groan you elicit from him as you let him press against the soft wall of your cheek to create a bulge. He makes the same sound again, louder, when you rub your tongue firmly along the underside of his shaft while you do it.

His hips jerk under your touch as you start to move the hand wrapped around him in slow, deliberate strokes. You recenter him in your mouth and bob your head along his length in time, now sucking firmly. Yoongi’s breath catches on a moan as you keep your tongue pressed tight to his shaft and match the movement of your head to the deliciously slow pace of your hand.

The sound only encourages you, and you lean forward to take even more of him until his cock briefly brushes against the back of your throat. You hold him there for a second, then swallow.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses. You can feel him twitch a little in your mouth, taste it as he leaks precum onto your tongue. You tip back for a few more shallow thrusts, just tormenting him, then repeat the action, humming this time as he hits your throat. His knees nearly buckle.

You glance up at Yoongi as you pull back again, lashes fluttering, and you have to keep yourself from laughing around his cock at the look of pure distress on his face. Now that you’re watching him, you realize his hands are flexing desperately at his sides— it’s clearly taking everything in his power to follow your no touching policy.

Good, you think, and then you lean forward to swallow him down and keep him there, taking as much as you can until your nose is nearly flush with his pelvis. You bob your head, guiding him up and down your throat, choking slightly but too determined to stop even as your eyes start to water.

“Oh my god,” you hear him groan, and your eyebrows raise at the sound of a loud smack. When you look up, still working him in your throat, you realize that he’s helplessly banged a fist on the bathroom door and is now bracing himself against it. You watch as he rakes his other hand through his hair, his head tipping back with a gasp as you increase your pace in response. His hips shudder as he starts to buck softly into your mouth. “Y-yeah, keep doing that, oh fuck, fuck—”

At what feels like the last possible second, you pull off his cock with a soft, wet pop, swallowing down the precum in your mouth. You wipe at the corners of your lips before getting to your feet, legs shaking a little more than you’d like from how long you’ve been on your knees. As you meet his gaze, now at eye-level, it seems you’ve certainly achieved your mission: Yoongi’s usual smug appearance has been replaced with a look of frustrated desperation, courtesy of one denied orgasm.

“Why should I let you get off that easy?” You ask simply, and he makes a noise low in his throat, something between a groan and a laugh.

“Fuck, you are such a bitch.” He advances towards you, and you find yourself backing up, this time until your ass is pressed against the countertop of the bathroom sink. He’s staring at your mouth again, looking at it with what seems to be a little more reverence now that he knows what it’s capable of.

“Am I allowed to touch you yet?” His voice is so low, his mouth so close to yours, that it makes your core ache. The noises you sucked out of him have unfortunately only turned you on even more. “Or are you going to make me beg?”

As much as you’d love to see that, the desperate throb that’s been steadily building between your legs has now overtaken your desire to tease. “Yes, Yoongi, you can touch me.”

The words have barely left your mouth and his hands are already on your hips, firmly spinning you around. You have to clutch the edge of the countertop just to stay upright, but you only feel yourself getting that much wetter at the rough way he handles you. You shiver as he shoves the hem of your dress up to expose your ass, and you can’t help yourself, leaning forward to give him the best possible angle, too desperate for anything less.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, and you’d swear he almost sounds appreciative.

You don’t even have time to process that thought before his hand cracks down over your ass, so hard that it nearly knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You inhale a shaky gasp, your mind reeling in its attempt to catch up, but Yoongi is already pulling your panties to the side, perfect fingers sliding between your folds. There’s no hiding how drenched you are; your upper thighs are starting to stick together with arousal.

Without warning, he presses two fingers firmly into you, and it’s enough to make your jaw go slack. You outright moan when they find purchase against your g-spot, rubbing in tight, expert circles. He could make you come right now if he wanted to.

“You’re so wet for me,” Yoongi’s voice is low and smug, and you don’t need to see his expression to know that cocky smirk has returned to his face. “Been ready for it all night, huh?” You whimper a noise that isn’t disagreement.

“Good,” he says firmly, pairing the word with another smack to your ass. You’re too far gone to try and hold it back now, not with the way his fingers are working inside you, and you moan again. “Because we can’t take too long,” Yoongi continues. “Don’t want anyone getting suspicious. Which is really a damn shame, because there’s so much I want to do to you.”

When he smacks your ass one more time, even harder, and couples it with an insistent press of his fingers against your front wall, you have to grip the edge of the sink for dear life. Your cunt squeezes around him; the noise you make is practically a sob.

He huffs a laugh as he withdraws his fingers, and you glance up to see him retrieving a condom from his pocket and tearing it open. “Wrecked already? And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You try to compose yourself, but just watching the way his hands work as he rolls the condom over his leaking cock has you aching, clenching around nothing. You really are fucking wrecked— nothing has ever come close to this.

Yoongi’s hands come to your hips, pads of his fingers digging into your skin, and you feel the head of his cock against your entrance, sliding lazily through your folds but purposefully not pressing into you.

“Yoongi,” you whine. You’re too far gone for this teasing.

“You have to tell me what you want,” he says, his voice dark.

You can barely even think a sentence, and you try to push back on him instead, but he keeps you held firmly in place, hands squeezing into the flesh of your hips. “Tell me,” he insists.

“I want you to fuck me,” you manage, and you look up to meet his gaze in the bathroom mirror.

He licks his lips, and you realize that he’s having just as hard a time restraining himself. “That much is obvious,” he says, and you can hear the unsteadiness in his voice now. “How would you like to get fucked?”

You’ve had enough alcohol to brazenly tell the truth. “Like you hate me.”

It may be the first genuine smile of his you’ve ever seen.

“Gladly,” he replies, and then he thrusts all of himself into you at once. You collapse forward on the countertop, crying out at the feeling.

“Yeah,” Yoongi grunts, a little breathless. “You like that?” He pulls nearly all the way out and slams into you one more time, pressing his hips flush with your ass until you feel overwhelmingly full. Then he starts to properly thrust, moving at a pace that can only be described as ruthless.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head dropping down as you scramble to brace yourself against the counter. You practically yelp when his hand cracks over your ass again.

He leans forward; you can feel his chest graze over your back, his hips still snapping into you as he grabs your jaw with one hand and forces your gaze up to look at him in the mirror again. You watch as he runs two fingers along your bottom lip in an unasked question. You let your jaw go slack to allow him to slip into your mouth.

When your lips close around his fingers, you find yourself a little grateful to have something to keep you grounded to reality. Your eyes flit up to Yoongi’s face, and his gaze is piercing, eyes totally fixed on you.

“You look so good like this.” His voice is hoarse, strained from effort, and he continues to drive into you, never slowing. Your own hip bones dig into the bathroom counter, shocks of pleasure-pain rippling through you with each thrust. Little moans and whimpers spill out from your mouth around his fingers at the sensation, and you can feel your climax starting to build.

Yoongi withdraws from your mouth, that same hand moving down your body to slip into your panties and circle your clit, earning a gasp from you. His other hand keeps a death grip on your hip as he thrusts, and he straightens up again, the head of his cock now rubbing so perfectly over your g-spot that you hiss.

“Did Kihyun fuck you like this?”

The question catches you off-guard. “N-no,” you gasp, and the hot coil of your arousal tightens in your core. Yoongi’s cock stroking into you, his hand working your clit, the feeling is overwhelming, dizzying. “Oh, god.” Your head presses into your forearm as you give yourself over to the pleasure. You can only distantly hear Yoongi’s voice continue, somewhere between coaxing and demanding.

“I didn’t fucking think so. So why don’t you say it? Tell me who fucks you right. Tell me who you fucking hate.”

The fingers on your clit are unrelenting now, and your edge approaches fast and hard.

“Y-Yoongi,” you breathe, and it feels too good to say his name and mean it. “Yoongi, fuck, Yoongi.” A loud moan rips through you as your legs start to shake. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, “I’m coming, fuck, yes—” You nearly sob as your climax hits you hard, and your walls flutter around Yoongi’s cock over and over in what feels like an endless orgasm.

The pleasure rolls through you, and you look up in the mirror to see Yoongi grit his teeth as he picks up the pace of his hips. A look of desperation paints his face, not unlike the way he looked when you were blowing him, and you know he must be close.

“God fucking damnit,” he grunts, each word punctuated with a thrust, and then he tips his head back and pushes all the way into you with a moan as he comes.

For a moment he pauses like that, gazing up at the ceiling, chest heaving with effort as his dick twitches inside of you. “Holy shit,” he breathes, and then he starts to laugh softly in what appears to be disbelief. “Fuuuuck.”

You haven’t fully recovered, so you can only watch, still gripping the countertop for dear life, as he slips the condom off, chucks it into the trash can, and pulls his boxers and pants up. He gives his reflection a once-over in the mirror, running a hand through his hair, and you’re amazed at how quickly he’s put himself back together. The only indication that he was literally just railing you is the way he’s breathing heavily.

Yoongi notices you watching him and gives your ass one more firm slap, hard enough that you flinch a little.

“Wait a minute or two before you head out,” he instructs, and you nod dumbly. He crosses the room, opens the door, and slips out, all before you can even so much as think a coherent thought.

It takes several more minutes for you to get your shit together, but you eventually manage to readjust your underwear and smooth your dress down, though your legs are certainly still unsteady when you make your way back to the table. You can’t help but shoot a glance over at Yoongi as you pass, and you’re shocked to see him laughing and chatting it up with the group of coworkers seated around him. You see clear expressions of surprise on their faces, too— because he’s never like this. Except, apparently, mere minutes after fucking you.

You don’t even bother to sit down, instead grabbing your purse off the table and slinging the straps over your shoulder.

“Wow, there you are,” Jungkook’s voice drags you out of your thoughts, and the look of concern on his face just makes your stomach turn. You genuinely have no idea how long you were gone for. “Are you okay? Your face looks flushed.”

You don’t know how to answer his question, so you don't. “I think I’m gonna go home.”

“Do you need a ride?”

You shake your head quickly. “I’ll call a friend.”

Perched on the curb outside, you clutch your phone for dear life as you pull up Jimin’s contact to call him. The line rings and you realize you’re shivering; you don’t think it has anything to do with the weather.

You don’t even give him a chance to say hello when the call connects. “Can you come get me?”

He groans on the other end of the line. “Why? I already took my pants off for the night.”

“Baby mochi, please.” You whine, but you know only the full explanation will get him out of bed. You drop your voice a little. “I just hatefucked Suga in the bathroom at the company happy hour. I need you to come pick me up immediately.”

Jimin’s apartment is a ten minute drive away, but you swear he makes it in five.

“Well, well, well,” Your best friend’s voice is smug as you slide into his passenger seat. “If it isn’t the company whore.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jimin.”

~*~

Come Monday morning, you’re racing down the hallway to the conference room, quietly cursing yourself for being late. You’d seen the email from your boss moving the usual Tuesday pull-up to first-thing Monday, but then you’d gotten so tied up with other projects you’d forgotten about it entirely. It was only once you were in the break room, trying to get your caffeine fix in, that you’d glanced up at the wall clock and realized it was already ten after.

Focused as you are on getting to the meeting quickly— and just as importantly, not spilling any of your coffee— you’re completely unaware of your surroundings until it’s too late. You nearly smack directly into Yoongi as you approach the conference room simultaneously.

He smirks as you jump back in surprise. “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen him since Friday; you’ve been hiding out in Baby Star Candy’s corner all morning. “We’re late,” you say, flustered enough to state the obvious, and he shrugs like he can’t disagree.

“I got distracted.”

Yoongi must notice the way your eyes start to widen. “With work,” he clarifies quickly. He reaches around you to place a hand on the conference room door, and you hear his voice low in your ear. “Amazing how much easier it is to focus today, huh?”

Straightening up to put some space between you, he pushes the door open and gestures for you to go first. You swallow hard and try to keep your composure as you enter the room, briefly apologizing for being late. Yoongi follows behind you silently, slumping into the open seat across the table. You take a sip of your coffee to settle your nerves, which turns out to be a horrible idea when your boss speaks.

“There they are, perfect timing. You’re the very two people my next announcement concerns.”

You just barely manage to keep your drink in your mouth. When your gaze flits to Yoongi across from you, he looks similarly shell-shocked. You can’t help but wonder if you’re about to get fired in front of the entire team.

“We’ve managed to secure funding for the Grammy’s at the end of the month,” your boss says brightly. “We’ll be flying Suga out to do a press circuit as well as attend the award show and surrounding events in-person. We think it will be a great opportunity to network with American artists, try to get his name out there and work on our international appeal.”

“And of course,” your boss’ gaze lands on you, “we all know that our Suga isn’t the most extroverted, or good with schedules, for that matter. We figured he needs a wrangler, and who better than our very own admin?”

You swear your heart stops beating. Your boss keeps going, reminding the team to connect with you about temporarily taking back any deliverables you’ve been handling while you’ll be out of pocket for Grammy’s weekend and subsequent travel time, but you barely process a word. This can’t be happening.

An entire weekend of forced professionalism, in Los Angeles, with the man you just hatefucked in a bathroom. What could possibly go wrong?

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

#yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #look down on me like that

[the-phantom-author]

okay so all of these are taken from diff episodes, sometimes i clarify sometimes i don't, had so much fun listening to the paywalled episodes, that podcast has become my jam so fast. anyways here are the tidbits, enjoy!

they started sing alongs at one point where will was singing and qt picks a random word from his singing to sing a different song but before they were able to do that, austin sneezed hella hard and they all started clowning him

austin: sorry i sneezed

will: REALLY? I MISSED IT

austin: your brother and i have a special bond (talking to hasan about murat)

  qt: i don't even know if he likes you to be completely honest

at the end of an episode, hasan's dad randomly slides the door open a little bit while wearing his bathing suit and hasan scolds him in turkish immediately while everyone dies laughing, took me out personally, had to rewind that moment so many times

 the "electric chair drop" episode is golden and the paywalled version is even more so bc the first half is just random unhinged sex talk and the second half is chaotic chill where hasan and will are messing with their ears with instacarted meds while austin blasts italian music, i couldn't stop laughing

austin wanting to be in one of qts shows/plays and his pitch is "lights, camera, *pause followed by dramatic flailing of hands* austin show" with will and qt giggling at that proposal

i love moments whenever will is exasperated with austin or qt and he just turns to hasan with the wtf look at his face and hasan sighs like an old man and rolls his eyes (not restricted to the paywall, happens a lot as is but still worth mentioning)

will pointing the "gun" at qt and qt holding up her toy otter in return and hasan yelling "NOT THE OTTER" 

austin randomly fixing his hair and looking at his reflection on his phone while hasan is walking around making sure little kaya doesn't make a mess and looks at austin and goes "wHat are you doing?? wHat is he doing??" while being in a disappointed dad stance

qt talks about a challenge she had on a streamer camp: get out and earn as much money as you can like selling water bottles, lemonade stand, etc. this convo ensues:

will: how would you guys make money on a street if you had to?

austin: i would just start sucking dick

hasan: you went there SO FAST WTF

cue everyone laughing and hasan having the dissapointed dad stare hehe

austin drops the fake gun on his crotch and hasan IMMEDIATELY goes "you deserve it"

austin calling ludwig and asks if he can suck his dick

 random but i love whenever will laughs quietly and tries to hide his laughter by hiding his face in his shirt, it's so cute lol (also not restricted to the paywall)

hasan's dad thinking that austin is poor bc everytime he sees him, austin is wearing the same shirt, and he was even considering buying austin four new shirts and austin goes "aND HE IS RIGHT, I AM POOR"

honestly in the nutshell, you pay $5 to see all of them munch every episode, it's like a mukbang podcast without intending to be a mukbang podcast, it's so funny

in the anniversary episode, austin and hasan went down the slide that was the background with will chanting "RIDE THE SLIDE" obv hasan looked comically huge on the little slide hehe (while wearing sunglasses while going down the slide, obv very fashionable of him)

also kaya being present during that episode for all good of 11 minutes was so sweet, i love that dog a lot

also that episode is golden lol like hasan and will beefing with qt and being like YOU DIDN'T INVITE US TO THE TAYLOR SWIFT IN COLORADO

qt: you all would've made fun of me like 'oh qt cried at all too well, so cringe'

austin & will: we would NEVER do that

hasan: i would definitely do that (while looking straight at the camera

apparently hasan doesn't do luggage with wheels when traveling and it makes will confused a lot

here ya go, if tumblr eats this, murder will occur

-💎

!!! The fear& exclusive is here. Thank you for sharing. 🩵🩵

I love when they all choose to gang up on one person, it's a personal favorite trait of Fear& for me.

There is something so Austin about him confidently stating that Murat likes him, when everyone else is just like mmmmmm, I don't even know if he knows you

Hasan dad continuously is one of the best people I've heard about, even if we only know very little. I need Hasan to talk more about him.

"lights, camera, Austin show" needs to be his slogan from now on.

Will and Hasan having o parent QT and Austin, is not what I would expect that dynamic to be but it's very entertaining.

"NO THE OTTER" 😭😭 I can only imagine how it sounded.

Hasan and Little Kaya. Not the "what are you doing? What is he doing?" I must not think of dad!Hasan I must not think of dad!Hasan

I have seen the clips of Austin saying he's going to suck dick on he streets and calling lud. Both are 10/10 moments.

Will is such babygirl. I have headcanons for him I promise the just not will Neffing yet and arn't done

Not Hasan taking his dad out of buying Austin new shirts, I wanna know what he would get him.

Big man, tiny slide. Love to hear it.

Why do you mean Hasan doesn't do wheeled luggage, that so dumb of him. It's also not canon, you sit on luggage and he wheels both it and you around the airport. Sorry, I don't write the rules.

#hasanabi #hasanabi x reader #💎

[svampira]

For Brooklyn and Elias, n.35, what inspired you to create them?

(Asking bc their designs are literally so cool. I would love some insight on that cause I am OBSESSED)

ask game (🥺)

Hiii ty for the question

This is interesting because out of all my ocs they're the ones where I'm less sure about where my inspo came from🤔 especially when it comes to Elias he very much developed as my art improved 👇 here's his earliest design (tw old art...)

By drawing him over and over and using blueish tints over my art all the time he got pinker and pinker and he ended up getting a design that's a little more sleek and cohesive. My main inspos for him were the vtmb toreador fledgling (because he used to be my toreador pc until i decided i liked him being a fledgling too much and changed it so he's the childe of the og toreador fledgling) and with time i ended up getting more and more inspired by other media, for example mahito from jjk, someone's nsfw oc that will go unnamed lmfao, and i started referencing irl people when drawing him to get a feel for proportions and to make his design more consistent. My main inspo is fernando lindez (though they rarely end up looking very alike) and what I try to replicate in Elias are his eye shape and his general facial proportions, i like how all of his features are close together in a way that feels kind of feminine and pretty.

When it comes to Brooklyn instead my inspos are more clear though her design kind of came naturally with me just messing around while practising how to paint darker skin tones. She is also a vtmb fledgling redesign (this time the malkavian one) and one of their clan stereotypes is that they usually get heterochromia. I didn't like the idea of just giving her different eye colors (though that's what ended up happening LMAO) and i looked into like. Pretty pictures of eye trauma😭 examples down here nothing graphic imo

This is not exactly what i had in mind at the time but it's similar so. Just kind of randomly evolved into her whole eye being white as i messed up painting. When it comes to her general design I wanted an excuse to draw lots of fun hairstyles without going against vtm canon (vampires are stuck w the same appearance forever) and whenever I design characters i like to steer kind of minimalistic, so i often end up with making the eyes and hair the same colours because I dont want them to get too busy or overwhelming. I can't even point out specific inspos for her because it's just a very common trope (tempest, yue from atla, 5000 different ocs) but when it comes to irl influences i was inspired by Anok Yai because I'd seen her in an interview and fell in love with her + a lot of other dark skin black super models. That's the main thing with brooklyn she has to give supermodel and very put together which kind of contrasts with her personality being. Completely unhinged. Anyways I don't really reference her much anymore because Brooke's features just kind of fit very nicely with my same face syndrome but here's Anok Yai for fun ^^

#thank yeeww #oh and her name was inspired by fuego in ny/bn and brooke lynn from dr/ag race😭 elias instead i took from that horror podcast i dont like #i think its a greek name. which is fine cause elias is ethnically greek but i dont put any thought into picking names #one of my most plot developed ocs is named yuri hard d/icks cause its a joke in italian. its a videogame character im fine #<the joke is that it means hard difficult times are coming #um. what were we talking about #i ended up making my reply very design focused but if i misinterpreted it/missed anything feel free to ask!! #even outside of ask games i love getting oc questions you are more than entitled to my endless ramblings #ask #<i dont have an organised tag for them yet i need to go back and fix it

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 2 of ?)

read part one here!

a/n: hey loves! i'm finishing up school rn, but i had to get this out and i'm about to start working on a tommy request immediately after i upload this. anyways, i'm so excited to post this series, it's incredible and i can't thank my bestie @stxdyblr-2k enough. she is a fucking genius :)

prompt: you can't get john out of your head. lo and behold, here he is.

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut, angsty af, soft john (ugh my heart)

Despite your best efforts, you'd been unable to stop yourself yearning for John Shelby. Your pokey flat now often lay empty; you were far too busy to mope at home due to your career as a personal assistant to a local solicitor who was allied with the Shelby's, attending rallies and lectures with Ada and the drunken nights you'd spend at various mansions, galleries and club openings with the "razor chasers" you'd become friendly with due to their refusal to leave Ada alone. Yet still, in those odd seconds of calm you seized over a cigarette, the first seconds after a bump of Tokyo, when you carefully applied your makeup, styled your hair or bathed, you'd think of him. The way the pads of his fingertips felt on your skin, how he’d muttered in your ear how pretty you looked.

But this was different to when you were dreaming about John at 15; he was no longer the allusive older brother of Ada who had a string of beautiful girls on rotation. He wasn’t a fantasy anymore. He was true flesh and blood, and for a moment he had wanted you.

It would be delicious if the whole situation hadn't left a bitter taste in your mouth. Of course you came back to Brum to only immediately fuck it up. The first night, and already you were so close to ruining everything? Looking back, now that you were so close with Ada once more, now that you knew who John had grown to be, that night was cringe inducing. Luckily, no one had seemed to catch on. Luckily, you thrived in the Small Heath rumour mill once again. All the gossip about you was mainly about your substance use, the lads you were seen curling up with outside nightclubs, your intelligence, your helpful nature, sometimes your questionable politics but that was all. John's was far darker, stories of blood, death and gasoline. Recently, the tales of his conquests had quietened, but only due to the lurid delight taken by the factory workers in talking about the recent blinding of some poor fucker who'd crossed the wrong person. Obviously, a lot of the detail had to be exaggerated for shock value and to boost the Shelby status, solidifying them as notorious throughout Birmingham city and its rural surroundings. There were murmurs everywhere about the violent John Shelby: ruthless, cocky, vengeful. It seemed impossible that the same man who cracked shit jokes just to see you smile, kissed you with so much desperation, and prioritised getting you off first could cause such harm without an ounce of guilt or shame to slow his swagger.

Whispers of war were far more constant, but then again, people would say anything for a reaction. You didn't bring it up with Ada. You refused to (openly) partake in mindless gossip on principle, yet you were hungry for information about him.

***********

You'd long forgotten whose wedding you were at. Some loyal blinder, a close friend of the Shelby's, the occasion calling for a large white marquee to be built onto one of Tommy's gardens, fully staffed with the best chef and service team money could buy (from a London restaurant at short notice; when Finn told you the extortionate figure Tommy had paid, your jaw had dropped). The cake, dress and decorations were stunning; you weren't sure exactly what the groom had done for the Shelby's but you could only assume the worst for what they'd splashed out on him.

However, thinking like that only spoilt your night: you'd realised at your fifth club takeover, now you repeated it like a mantra constantly. You'd quickly learnt every excess the Shelby's granted to those outside their circle were due to some perceived sacrifice for being associated with them. Well, that's what you chose to believe after John had sent a junior blinder to your office with a bouquet, the Monday morning after he turned you down. So, it was best to smile and take the shit, get paid, and get out as soon as possible. You were to keep your head down until then.

Yet, keeping your head down was difficult tonight. Ada had treated you to a shopping trip to London for the occasion this morning, Arthur forcing the junior blinders to tag along next to you on the train and trailing less than two metres behind you for hours. You missed the days when it was just you and Ada. It was far more simple without the stares whenever the two of you stepped out. Ada had gotten used to it, she'd devised her own methods of being completely alone; complex plans involving leaving a window open, knotting sheets into a rope and twisting her ankles. Not that she minded, she reckoned the suffocation of being a Shelby was much worse than a few bruised ankles.

You were wearing a clingy emerald green dress from some fancy French boutique you couldn't even pronounce, the diamond necklace sitting along your collarbone and the jewels dangling through your ears were on loan from Ada. You felt eyes unpicking you the moment you entered the after-party. Your arm was linked through Ada's as per usual, she looked equally stylish in a peacock blue number that set off her eyes, her delicate features perfected with makeup.

You'd quickly found your gaggle and began drinking and dancing the night away. Whispers about snow arose from your table, people disappearing to the toilets to rail a line on the bathroom counter, then to the dance floor or to the lap of the poor fucker who'd hold back their hair while they vomited in just a few hours. At least the Blinders were polite about it. Isaiah would kill them if they weren’t. You'd let your arm be tugged on various bathroom trips, treated among your group like secret missions although you weren't entirely subtle about it.

What you weren't aware of was across the marquee, you were being watched by the three men in your life who you'd never want to see you in this state: the Shelby's.

"Looks like Finn's taken your spot, John." Arthur yelled in John's ear over the loud music, gesturing to the youngest Shelby sat at the table next to you who was staring up at you in complete adoration as you chatted across him to Michael, seemingly arguing with him. By the looks of it, you were winning.

John pulled a face at Arthur. “Fuck off, old man. That'll never happen. Finn’s too young for her." He immediately regretted the words that had fallen out of his mouth, revealing far too much for his comfort.

"It's not impossible."

"He's just not right for her, yeah?"

"And you are?"

John didn't bother to bless him with a verbal response, instead flipping him off and downing the rest of his whiskey. "It's not like that."

"What's it like then? Because from where I'm sitting, it's pretty fucking clear, John." Arthur slurred, glass of whiskey sloshing onto his sleeve.

"You're too gone to even know you're chatting shit." John sneered, standing up, "I'm off for a smoke and some fresh air. Try not to fuck anything in my absence, both of you."

His brothers cursed him out as he left. John took a second to figure out his route, purposefully having to cross your path, gesturing for you to follow him subtly. He was surprised you came trailing after him, telling Michael that you weren’t done yelling at him and you’d be back. When you were both only metres from the marquee, he knew you were fucked. You were instantly bored, begging him for a cigarette, which he lit for you, shaking his head at your state.

"You're a fucking mess, love." He said, mouth sloping attractively to one side.

"Takes one to know one, John-boy. Where are we off to, then?"

"Somewhere fucking quiet, can barely hear myself think. Plus, you need to sober the fuck up, lass." He said, softly, as he walked across the dew soaked grass. You followed, heels in hand, holding your dress up as not to ruin it. He sighed, taking the shoes from your hands and wrapping his blazer around your shoulders, linking your arm through his for stability. He kept the distance respectful, but there wasn’t any denying the thick tension in the summer air between the two of you. Ahead, there was a small stone bench sat at the foot of one of Thomas' manicured gardens, and John offered his hand to help you sit. You made small talk and caught up on each other's lives, and you noted John only seemed to glow when you asked about his kids. He talked at length, the drink seemingly unhinging his jaw. There he was again, the John you knew and had admired for so many years. You could sit here forever, watching his blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Yet, it just wasn’t meant to be. You wished you could stop time just for a bit, give you enough moments to memorize the freckles on his skin.

"You know the night I first came home?" The alcohol and snow had loosened your lips. You were teetering on the edge of your boundaries, but you couldn't care enough to hold back.

"The night where absolutely nothing happened?" He joked, raising an eyebrow at you, cautious that you'd randomly brought it up in your state. "Sweetheart, this can wait."

He was warning you. For a second you managed to bite your tongue, but curiosity tipped you over the edge.

"But something nearly happened, right?"

"Y/N. Don't." He warned, his tone icy, suddenly distancing from you, hiding between an emotional boundary which he didn't wish to explore.

"John, it's just us. Can't we even talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, though. You were off your face then, and now. That's fine. We know where we stand. It can't happen."

"I wanted to. I do want to."

"You don't. Trust me. You need a nice lad who'll marry you and look after you. Just need to keep your nose clean long enough yeah?" He teased, trying to lighten the mood, blue eyes begging you to move on.

Your head turned to face him, your face contorting in a mixture of confusion and irritation. "You don't get to tell me what I want or need. The last thing I want is to marry any lad, nice or not."

"I didn't mean it like that, right? Look, I just meant you deserve better than Shelby scum. You're going places you know? Don't settle for Small Heath." John responded with a pained sigh. He didn’t want to get into it with you; not here, not like this. He'd thought about it, naturally. You were constantly on his mind, yet only problems ever seemed to appear, never solutions. It was best for him to avoid you. Why the fuck did he drag you out here? Horrible idea.

"Your family isn't scum. Where the fuck did you get that from?" Your face was screwed up in genuine rage. "I-"

"Y/N, fuckin’ leave it."

His face had hardened completely now. He'd snapped at you. His voice hadn't raised, it was just the power he spat his order out with. You held up your hands in mock surrender, pointedly taking a cigarette from his front pocket and light it silently, not saying a word.

"Why are you so bothered, anyways?" He asked, breaking the silence like you knew he would. John always had to ask questions.

"Fuck off with that, John. I'm not in the mood."

"What do you mean?" He looked completely lost.

"We nearly had sex. Just sex, nothing else right?"

John remained silent.

"Would it be the worst thing in the world?" You asked, your voice wavering. It was hard enough to get the words out, let alone imagine the response.

"You're far too wasted to chat about this, love."

"John, I’m not-"

"I'm serious. You're fucking mashed like my brothers aren't you? Like all those other fuckers in there." He sounded genuinely angry. In the glow of the sunset he looked so much younger, so hurt and lonely. Why hadn't you noticed before?

He turned to you, eyes widened and shocked at his own outburst. "You're not the only one gone yeah? Ignore me, I'm fucked, sorry."

You reached out your hand and linked your fingers through his in silence, the warm evening wind ruffling your hair and dress, blocked from your skin by John's suit jacket which was wrapped around your shoulders. Not that anyone would notice or care. As long as Ada wasn't with you, you could disappear for hours without any alarm. There you sat in the tranquil last few moments of the day, your hand linked with John's, both beyond tipsy. You weren’t thinking properly but it felt right. You felt safe. You didn't want to have to return to the chaos of the party, to have to catch up on who your friends were currently trying to screw. None of that seemed to matter anymore.

Was it too much to ask for something to be simple? Maybe you didn't have to fuck him. Maybe just these small moments were enough. You laughed at the thought when it crossed your mind; neither you nor John were known for consistency or stability in relationships, you being admittedly rather inexperienced, only having been with a few men, and he had his fair share of escapades. But he was just so different. You wouldn't admit that he'd gotten your attention in any way than purely sexually (which surprised you to admit) and for fun, but you genuinely enjoyed his presence.

He was right though. It wasn't a good idea at all to hook up. There was far too much baggage for both of you to make it worth it.

Just once?

You glanced over at John. He rolled his eyes at you, but the edges of his lips were slightly upturned, his dimples faintly peeking through his defined cheeks.

Just once couldn't hurt.

***

The sky was streaked with shades of gold, amber and blood. John could feel the friction from your knee barely knocking against his, the pressure putting him on edge. In fairness, he had drunk heavily, and that's what happens when you let your guard down around beautiful women. He couldn't believe you had told him you wanted to have sex with him still. He'd chalked the whole situation down to a drunken mistake that would have progressed into a far more significant drunken mistake. Ada would never forgive him if he went for another of her mates. Especially Y/N. No matter if he said that Y/N could be different, that you wasn't just another conquest. But who'd believe him?

Far better to keep his mouth shut.

Far better to play safe.

As you were called back to the party by the gaggle of girls John vaguely recognised from hanging off the arms of other blinders, he realised (despite his state) that you were right. Having sex with you wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it might be one of the best.

Just once?

He watched your figure disappear back into the marquee, waiting for you to turn back and look for him. You do. He would have done the same if it was him.

Maybe just once wouldn't hurt.

***

to be continued!

#john shelby fluff #john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #john shelby reader insert #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

I love bully shiggy, but i love shiggy angst more, so could you write some bully shiggy angst where reader goes to live somewere else or just...dies or something? I need the bully to suffer of a broken heart hehehehe thank you!

your wish is my command. TW: death, violence, slight mentions of past noncon and past dubcon, angst, drugs

Most, if not all throughout his life, Shigaraki has always gotten what he wanted. Rich parents helped. His absurd talent for computer science helped, and when his parents were being especially annoying and threatening to cut him off-well thank god his crypto is going to the moon.

No, he couldn't say he was happy. But he wasn't sad either. Objectively, he knew he had a good life. Happiness is foreign to him, but thrills aren't. Mindless enjoyment isn't. He smokes skinny Korean cigarettes, snorts cocaine off glass tables, places acid tabs under his tongue, and fucks girls when he's high, sober, coming up, or coming down.

You were happy though. You were the kind of girl to be very grateful to live, the kind of girl who walked through life like the sun was shining on her, the kind of girl he hated and wanted to crush under his thumb.

No, that's a lie. He's never hated you. He could never hate his favorite toy no matter how many times she misbehaves.

So when you fucking died, of course, he didn’t believe it. Not at first. Not fucking possible. Not until he saw your fucking body, all twisted into grotesque angles because you were trying to save a stupid kid who was on the road when he shouldn’t have been. Fuck, out of everyone, at least you deserved a peaceful death.

And it’s so like you to throw yourself into oncoming traffic, trying to save other people. Always other people. The complete and utter opposite of him. He wasn’t even aware he had a heart, the metaphorical one that felt emotions because his real beating heart was a jumbled-up mess of pounding and vessels.

But all that adrenaline is gone now and there’s a hole where his heart is. A you-shaped absence imprinted on his body and mind. He was already so so numb but the flashes of feelings, the memories hurt. He smells your perfume in the scent of wildflowers and it drives him insane.

His drug habit had gotten exponentially worse. Days and nights blurred into frenzied chaos. How could he sleep when your voice on discord wasn’t the last thing he could hear before shutting his eyes? The cocaine has probably burned off the inside of his nose, and acid flashbacks wouldn’t be so bad if the patterns didn’t spell out your name.

How dare you leave him alone? How dare you? You were supposed to die whenever he dies. Your existence was meant to be alongside his.

His last straw is when he finally shows up to school and everyone looks at him with eyes of sympathy. It doesn't click until a reassuring hand is over his shoulder, “It’s okay, Shigaraki. We know you were good friends.”

He can’t stop laughing. Laughing and laughing until his jaw is going to unhinge itself. Everyone looks uncomfortable, perplexed by the sudden onslaught of never-ending laughter. A know-it-all voice chirps in the background, “...normal traumatic response.”

He excuses himself to the bathroom much to the relief of his classmates because they were not used to a manic Shigaraki, the boy who was usually cold and aloof. He grips the porcelain sink, laughing. He wonders why there are water drops falling into the basin. He wonders why he’s crying. And once the first few drops fall, the dam breaks. He’s sobbing.

How brain dead does everyone have to be to think you guys were friends. Yeah, Shigaraki was a great friend to you as he forced you to jerk him off. He was a great friend when he threatened revenge porn if you didn’t break up with your doofus boyfriend. And he definitely was a great friend, when he stumbled into your house high as balls, fully knowing you’d be alone that night and fucked you until you bled on your sheets. Victory tasted like your virginity on his dick that seemed like it would never soften.

Was everyone that blind to what you were going through? How much he hurt you? He wondered what you’d say if you here right now. You’d probably laugh too, wouldn’t you? Laughed until you cried and couldn’t stop crying.

Dabi and Hawks tried. They did. But they weren’t friends who sat around talking about their respective traumas despite being well too aware of how fucked up each other’s home lives were. But Shigaraki’s grief was different. Dabi tried to put himself in his blue-haired friend’s shoes. If Natsuo or Fuyumi died, he probably wouldn’t take it so well either. Still, he couldn’t fathom why Shigaraki would be so sad over some pussy, however tight it may be. Hawks especially could not understand, girls being replaceable him too like model cars—infinitely less valuable of course. The golden-haired boy had no frame of reference, but he did crash his Audi R8 which was his favorite car. Maybe that’s what Shigaraki is feeling, the loss of something very precious. (Maybe Hawks wasn’t too far off. Shigaraki did treat you like a possession.)

He visits your grave often, every day if he can. It’s beautiful, encased in obsidian and marble, gold lettering announcing the tragedy of your short life. He never learned what your favorite flowers were so he returns with a different bouquet each time. Today’s were pink carnations.

Much to his surprise, there was a figure already standing there. Your father, he recognizes. “You come at a time when no one else does so it’s hard to get a hold of you.” That was on purpose of course. He didn’t want to complain to you with an audience.

“I’m sorry I don’t know who you are but the way you come here every day with flowers, spending hours at a time you must have loved my daughter very much.”

His throat closes. He doesn’t know what to say.

Shigaraki cries more when he goes home, an avalanche of memories saturating his brain. Memories of your smile, your sarcastic quips, how he could never shut you up when you were talking about your favorite manga.

There’s a revolver in his desk. He could do it. Shoot his own brains out. Be where you are. His hands are shaking. Is he this much of a coward? You don’t care right, you wanted him to die right? For all the shit he did to you? You told him you had nightmares, that when you closed your eyes, all you could see was him.

But you were a bleeding heart. You’d never wish that upon anyone. Shigaraki looks out the window, wondering that if he could do it all over again, whether he’d be kinder to you.

No, he wouldn’t be.

[greensaplinggrace]

What Is There To Celebrate About the Darkling? (Part 4)

1 2 3 4

He’s calculating but impulsive. Gentle yet firm. Stubborn and adaptive. Just a real mess of contradictions that makes him all the more interesting.

He loves nature. He loves the forest.

Fond of luxuries and nice things. After growing up as he did, I think he deserves them.

Very socially awkward. Introvert just trying his best. Anything that isn’t manipulation and therefore something he’s planned in his head is just a social train wreck waiting to happen.

The way he pushes up Alina’s sleeve when they first meet. This man had zero compunctions about acting completely unprofessionally in front of his soldiers and I think that’s very sexy of him.

He’s constantly tired and exasperated with the people around him.

The way he says “quiet” with the softest voice imaginable and a room full of laughter instantly goes silent.

He had no interest in Elizaveta even though she was utterly obsessed with him and I think that’s hilarious.

Elizaveta: I have a plan to resurrect the Darkling Everybody Else: Oh the Darkling is so evil for trying to come back! The Darkling, who just wants a nap and is sick of this mortal bullshit: Why am I even here? This is such a pain in the ass. I should have killed Elizaveta when I had the chance.

How he asks if Alina “will have” his name like a man proposing.

Has his bedroom attached to the war room.

Constantly checking up on Alina just to know how she’s doing. Never pushing her beyond her limits as she’s training.

Very creative with his shadows and the extent of their abilities. So many of the ways he uses his powers are genius.

His ending in RoW is a tragedy and an injustice. He deserves better.

This old man pouting at Alina in episode seven as he says “please, I just want to talk to you 🥺”

There is a black kefta made for Alina after like two days in the Little Palace. He really was already planning their entire immortal futures together as Mr. and Mrs. Starkov wasn’t he?

His bed is covered in maps and notes when he’s plotting how to find Alina. Also before that, the way he’s poring over the notes at his desk and giving orders is 👌🥵

Him acting like a real General at all is simply amazing.

The fact that he trusts Luda with his life. That they have a whole intimidation routine set up around him purposefully getting himself fatally injured knowing she’ll heal him.

He looks like a vampire in the show and a fae in the books.

His favorite ABBA song is probably “Lay All Your Love On Me.”

Looks composed but that’s only a façade. Is actually an unhinged feral terror of pain and misery.

That scene where he tells the king she will remain in the Little Palace to train undisturbed and he puts his foot down. ON THE RED CARPET. the king’s carpet. and uses a commanding voice that’s just on the edge of an order…I’m surprised he didn’t get flogged for that. IMO nothing conveys the fine line he walks with those in power while wielding his own like this scene. Literally he should just be celebrated for this alone.

“‘Why won’t you leave me alone?’ I whispered one night as he hovered behind me while I tried to work at my desk. Long minutes passed. I didn’t think he would answer. I even had time to hope he might have gone, until I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Then I’d be alone, too,” he said, and he stayed the whole night through, till the lamps burned down to nothing.

Trapped a bunch of Saints in the Shadow Fold like a true amoral disaster villain. What an icon.

His barely concealed amusement and half hidden smile when Alina comes to put his kefta on. The way he finds Alina utterly hilarious and tries so hard to act like he doesn’t.

That small amused smile when Alina jokes about finding Volcra hilarious. Please he’s so adorable 😭

“‘I know what you feel when you’re with the tracker,’ he said. ‘I doubt that’ He gave a dismissive wave.” - My Malarklina obsessed self, vibrating at the edge of my seat: but what does it mean?!?

Mal and the Darkling’s entire fight in the Fold: dumbass on dumbass violence.

The way he stands with his back turned to Alina when she enters his tent the first time they meet and then does the slowest Godfather turn in history. 1999/10 - points removed for a criminal lack of cat petting.

“I may lead the second army, but the king is still the king.” - the delivery of that line. the implications, the history behind it and also the foreshadowing for his plans.

That slow turn face reveal in episode one though. Like okay we get it you’re pretty alkjsdflkj

Confused Old Man Face™ whenever Mal or Alina do anything remotely defiant in his presence.

How he tells Alina to come closer and she only takes the tiniest step and he doesn’t even react.

His little head cock whenever someone says or does something that just doesn’t vibe with him.

Darklina tumblr has now convinced me that the Darkling is a cat in human form.

“You’re an amplifier,” she said. He glanced at where Sylvi was pouncing on another helpless tree, oblivious, and gave a single, frightened nod. How could he have been so stupid? He would have to tell his mother now, and she would insist that they leave right away. If word got out, they’d both be in danger. Amplifiers were rare, hard to find, harder to hunt. Their lives would be forfeit. Even if they got away, word would spread. He could already hear his mother’s voice: Foolish, careless, callous. If you don’t value your own life, show some concern for mine. Annika touched his sleeve. “It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t tell.” Panic crowded in. He shook his head. She slid her hand into his. It was hard not to pull away. He should. He was breaking his mother’s fundamental rule for keeping them both alive. Never let them touch you, she’d warned him. - 😥 I just want to give him a hug all the time.

His strangled shout when Mal tackles him off of the skiff.

His smile when he’s summoning the sun. The expression on his face when he does so. Like I know I’ve mentioned this before but damn. If you ever needed a reason to celebrate him, this would be it.

“Shame, I’ll have to give that speech again now.”

The way he flips Mal over his shoulder in the Fold after Mal attempts to strangle him.

His little lecture on the Small Science to Alina when they’re going to meet the King. Info dump.

“You make it sound so easy.” “A bird makes flight look easy. But it was born to do so.”

When Alina looks at him for guidance on whether or not to remove her veil and he gives her a small nod.

The handhold in the throne room after Alina’s demonstration is absolutely precious, but it’s in a room full of people he should be keeping up a façade for and it’s so unwarranted and yet he does it anyway, I’m-

The way he says “welcome home, Ms. Starkov,” in the most tender voice I’ve ever heard and then goes “ok that’s enough emotions for one day” and then just straight up leaves without even a goodbye.

He has his symbol?? Sewn into Alina’s kefta??? bRo???!?!

Disaster Simp never gets tired of introducing Alina to other people or talking about how she’s the best thing that ever walked this earth.

The Darkling lying: honestly

“I have devoted my life to undoing the great sin of my forebearer, but I am never seen as the solution. Only as a reminder of the problem.” Sasha you were literally the problem. What a manipulative little shit. We love to see it.

The way he closes his eyes and kisses the coin before he makes a wish at the wishing well.

“I think the Grand Palace is the ugliest building I’ve ever seen.” - I love him your honor.

This man has the most intense lines for Alina. Like straight up I would have booked it when he said “you and I are going to change the world”. But then the head grab?! “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.” He’s so intense like sir can you tone it down a bit please I am begging you.

“I shall be right by your side.” / “We can do anything. Together.” / “For us.” / “You cannot do this on your own. And neither can I” / “I want you to know my name. The name I was given, not the title I took for myself. Will you have it, Alina?” - WEDDING VOWS

That scene in the war room when Alina comes to find him and he instantly drops his guard and lowers his arms and welcomes her with a soft voice.

“Am I bothering you?” “Not at all.” - girl you could be stabbing him in the chest and you still wouldn’t be bothering him.

This whipped disaster sounds like the proudest man on the planet when he talks about how much more his enemies fear Alina over him.

His shadows react to his emotions.

“YoUr’E nOt IvAn.” asjlkdfjs god he’s so embarrassing.

Local Dark Lord Sasha offering Alina the throne after she literally tries to kill him.

He gets so jealous of Mal.

Has a great relationship with his soldiers and his men. His men trust him implicitly and believe him to be an amazing general.

When he turns around after Alina puts the kefta on him and looks flustered/has to take a breath because she’s a lot closer than he expected. The way he’s breathless and literally can’t string a sentence together because he’s so distracted by her closeness.

His jokes are absolutely terrible.

GF: *jokes about throwing herself down the stairs to get out of an event* Sasha “no thoughts head empty only Alina” Morozova: haha I’d just have my healers heal you right back up again.

How genuinely touched he is by Alina admitting to wanting to help Grisha and Ravkans.

That scene in Demon in the Woods when he notices the intricate details of the politics in the Grisha camp after one meeting with the Elders. He has the Ulle pegged almost instantly.

Born to be a leader. Born to take care of others. Born to protect. Even in Demon in the Woods he’s protecting people. Even in Demon in the Woods he’s leading them and caring for them.

The way he cups his hands around Alina’s face when they’re kissing.

This man gets so starstruck by Alina walking into the Fete that he doesn’t even excuse himself from the King’s side to go to her.

Long haired Aleksander rights!

Ok I know the wig was kind of ugly but he looks pretty with long hair and I think it would look very good on him naturally.

The way he slams his hands together in the Winter Fete scene and instantly turns the room pitch black.

Literally any times he summons shadows is a blessing and we should all celebrate him for it. They are so beautiful. On god if I ever saw his shadows in real life I would be awestruck.

He asks Mal if he’s okay when they first meet.

The pure, barely contained fury directed at the Conductor for daring to harm Alina and kidnap his Grisha.

He always has to make a grand entrance.

This man is like a bloodhound when it comes to Nina. He is very invested in finding her and I feel like that’s never really talked about.

“I know exactly how she felt. The King’s soldiers treated me the same way. Because they knew- they knew that I was more important than any of them.” - the way he says it, like it’s something he has to remind himself of in his head constantly. a justification for the way he’s been treated, the fear he evokes in others. a way to protect himself from the hurt of being ostracized and reviled. arrogance and conceit as a defense against emotional harm.

Also the way his face instantly changes after that, like he’s said too much. vulnerability. lowering his eyes. shifting his eyes. literally just everything about this scene makes me love him all the more.

Dark carriage rides up to the Crows’ hiding place. Grisha circle the area as Aleksander steps from the carriage slowly, dressed all in black, floofy cloak high on his shoulders. Villain Entrance™

Him slowly pulling a knife out of his chest like it shouldn’t have killed him is hot as fuck and also totally badass. Big dick energy.

“I’ve had enough of your lies.” “And what lies are those?” - Alina, pulling out a fifty mile long scroll of grievances: Well, for starters-

This man is literally just an Alina Starkov compliments machine.

He cares so much about the Grisha and their protection. He loves Ravka and his people so much.

He had an entire cult dedicated to him.

“They would approach him. They always did. But he felt more anxious than usual. He’d stopped trying to make friends in the places he and his mother visited—there was no point when they moved on so quickly. Now he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.”

Save a Villain. Murder the King.

Openly admits to staging a coup like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He speaks so slowly. He moves so slowly. Everything he does has to have Purpose and Gravitas.

Theater Nerd™

He knew Nikolai for years and yet couldn’t recognize him as Sturmhond. We do stan an oblivious icon 💕

The Darkling after he gets his ass whooped in Siege and Storm: Mom can you please come pick me up? I’m scared!

He’s here to manipulate sun summoners and murder cities. And unfortunately he’s all out of sun summoners.

Would absolutely get drunk on real alcohol. This man thinks kvas is strong liquor.

Has his wrists exposed exactly one time in the most skin he’s shown all season and it’s when Alina visits him at night in the war room. WHORE!

Was too emotionally slutty and fell for Alina. RIP.

He’s passionate and cold and beautiful and hurt and twisted up in ways nobody could ever hope to understand and he’s stunning.

I would literally kill for this man 🖤✨

#shadow and bone #sab #grishaverse #aleksander morozova #the darkling #darklina #leigh bardugo #the grishaverse #alina starkov #alina x darkling #sankta alina #ruin and rising #siege and storm #alina x aleksander #alina x kirigan #grisha netflix #darkling slander sunday #the grisha series #the grisha trilogy #sab meta #mymetas #myramblings

[emerald-echeveria-plant]

Bro I gotta stop making these ocs 💀

Name: Jeremiah Cassidy Shih

Name pronunciation: jeh-ruh-mai-uh Cas-si-di Sh-ih

Personality: non-talkative, hot-headed, secretive, hides his true emotions, and violent

Age: 15

Species: Human

Sexuality: Unknown

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Looks: brown hair, blue eyes, white skin, and freckles

Backstory: (Dis is loooooong) Before getting in his past, we first have to talk about his mother, Anne Larson or as her actual birth name Chenguang Shih. Chenguang was the daughter of the notoriously known unhinged pirate, Baozhai. Baozhai ended up having Chenguang completely by accident after she had a one night stand with one of her crewmates. She decided to keep the baby, wanting to start a long line of pirates like her. Baozhai had the baby girl just around when her torment was finally being taken seriously by the royals. Unfortunately, Baozhai ended up passing away on her boat when a cannon caused it to come crashing down. Luckily, Chenguang was safe as she had been taken by Baozhai's right hand man, Ironbeard with her. He did his best to care for the girl, holding up the legacy his captain would've wanted. Yet, he was a wanted criminal along with the other crewmates that survived the crash, so taking care of her was very difficult. But Ironbeard still pushed through.

Unfortunately, Ironbeard and the other were caught by a couple of guards and locked away. A judge sentenced them to be publicly executed by hanging the next. As for baby Chenguang, she was taken away and raised by the captain of the guards. Her full name being changed to Anne Larson just a few days later. When the day arrived for Ironbeard and the others be hung, the guards were surprise to see that they had escaped during the night. Ironbeard swore revenge for his captain and that he would one day return. As for the baby, he couldn't find her and gave up as the guards were on his tail. He regretted to not have fulfilled Baozhai's wish and those guards were going to pay for what they had done.

As for Anne, she was raised to never know of the events that took place. Her adoptive father, also known as Maxwell Larson, had told her of Baozhai and how she was a psychopathic murder that deserved what she got. So, Anne grew up hating Baozhai despite the fact she was actually hating her own biological mother. As she grew, Anne became educated and sophisticated. She quickly rose up to be one of the smartest students in her class. Getting all A's and being presented with awards for her achievements. Anne was asked to join a university of astronomy which she gladly accepted.

While she was attending, she ended up meeting a handsome young man by the name of Aaron Brown. Aaron was the typical bad boy that would rather get into trouble then be in class. He was charming, funny, and very attractive... Aaron easily charmed Anne which made her fall in love with him. Instead of focusing on her studies, she'd often daydream about him. Anne just couldn't get him out of her head. Eventually, Aaron asked her out and they went on a date. Which spiraled into several dates... Which turned into them dating each other. Anne would often ditch class just to be with him. This caused her to fail her class. Maxwell was angry at her for this. He demanded she'd retake the year and to leave Aaron. Anne was too far in love with him and didn't give into what he wanted.

Instead, Anne ended up dropping out of the university to further pursue her relationship with Aaron. They got married a few months afterwards and left their home planet. Anne decided to work as a weaver as Aaron became a marine. A year into their marriage, it all came crumbling down. Anne became severely depressed as she realized she gave up her dreams of becoming an astrologist. Aaron no longer found her attractive and began to pursuing other women behind her back. They argued a lot more than usual and it began to get physical. Finally the rose tinted glasses came off and they began to see how bad their relationship was. Anne wanted to save their marriage because she couldn't bare the thought being alone. Aaron still wanting the good things that came in a relationship while secretly having side pieces, decided to work with her on their marriage. The two came to a conclusion that having a child would be the best way to solve it.

Six months later, Jeremiah was born. Surprise, surprise, their relationship didn't get any better. Poor Jeremiah was now thrown into the picture of a broken marriage. Aaron became abusive towards Anne and didn't allow her to leave the house without his say. She'd get hurt if he didn't listen to what he said. Jeremiah wasn't safe from his abusive nature also. If the lad dared to bother him, he'd be met with a smack to the face. For five straight years had Anne and Jeremiah endured the abuse of Aaron. Anne finally decided to break from Aaron's abuse when something terrible happened to Jeremiah. One night during a drunken rage, Aaron put his hands on Jeremiah and tore out his left eye with a broken bottle. The event made Anne realize how horrible the situation was getting and it wasn't going to change unless he did something about it.

So during the night, she grabbed whatever she could carry and escaped with Jeremiah. Anne went back to her home planet where asked a place to stay with her adoptive father. Maxwell would've turned her away but when he saw the situation she was very distressed. He quickly let her in, where she explained what happened to her over the course of the years she's been gone for. Maxwell decided he would help her get back on her feet and get her son some needed medical attention. With his connections, Anne was able to earn a job as an assistant for an astrologist. She began to focus on her mental health which got better overtime. The same couldn't be said for Jeremiah. His worsened.

The abuse of his father caused major trauma in him that he wasn't able to get over. He became quiet, easily angered by others, and had thoughts about violence. Since he only had one eye now, he was bullied by the other kids once he was able to go to school. This aggravated him and he'd often get into fights because of it. Anne decided to pull him out of public school and into homeschool because things were getting out of hand. Jeremiah was taken to several doctors to see what was wrong with him. Each time, he refused to say anything. Anne stopped trying to help him since he was refusing to help himself. Yet, he was just a child. A child who wanted help but didn't know how to say it. Maxwell, decided to take over for trying to help him. Or what he thought would help him. He sent Jeremiah to a boot camp where he'd be straightened out for his bad behavior. Jeremiah loathed Maxwell for this and promised himself he'd get revenge. Life at the boot camp was utter hell. He was pushed to limits that caused him to have mental breakdowns in private. Jeremiah didn't have any friends. This caused him to be the target of the bullying of the other boys there. Throughout the torment, he was able to find comfort in the tales of well known pirates. His favorite being of the insane pirate captain Baozhai. Something about her unhinged, eccentric personality and her cruel brutality against others whenever the messed with her, manged put a smile on his face. (Baozhai in an old photo: *tearing someone's guts out.*

Jeremiah: 🙂)

At fourteen years old, Jeremiah made surprising a discovery that he was biological related to Baozhai. He had overheard Maxwell chatting with another guard about how he was glad Anne never grew up knowing that she was related to that maniac. Yet now that Jeremiah knew, he was angry that this knowledge was withheld from him. Why would they do such a thing? He tried telling his mother about this... His mother called him crazy... crazy... crazy...

That was the breaking point for Jeremiah. For a majority of his life, he was told that there was something wrong with him and that he needed help. Often being titled mentally ill or not alright in the head... Despite knowing he was, he was just tired of being treated like one.

Jeremiah ended up running away from his home planet by hiding on a cargo ship. He wanted to start somewhere fresh, where he wouldn't be as well known. He also wanted to know more about Baozhai, since most books didn't have enough information about her having a child, other than speculated rumors. For a while, he traveled around places, in search for more knowledge about his grandmother aka Baozhai. That's when he walked into a small tavern. He tried to figure out where else he could ask about her. An anonymous figure in the corner asked why he was wanted to learn about these things. Jeremiah, in the best way he could, explained that Baozhai was his grandmother. The tavern exploded into laughter after hearing him say that. They mocked him for a bit until the anonymous figure silenced the entire tavern by shooting a random person. They stood up and recounted the tale of Baozhai's fall. How she wanted the death of the upper class to continue. It was originally her plan to make a line of pirates to be like her. Then it was all ruined because of the guards. How he admitted that he failed because he wasn't careful enough... It was Ironbeard recounting all of this. He decided to continue with what she would've wanted... If Jeremiah wanted to join him. Jeremiah quickly took the deal, seeing as there was nothing holding him back now. On the outside, it didn't seem he was all too excited but on the inside, he was thrilled to finally be apart of something... And that he'd get to be just like his idol.

Likes: sharp objects, creepy bugs, reading, drawing, smoking cigars, and cats

Dislikes: his left eye, being told he's crazy, others trying to get close to him, physical affection (even though he sorta wants it), and long conversations

Other: Jeremiah doesn't like being called Jeremy or Jerry or literally any nickname to his name. If someone calls him "Jeremy" he would literally rip out their tonsils.

#tw: abuse #i feel like I made him too edgy... #what do you guys think? #oc insert #tw: long post #this baby boy just wants wants to be loved and told that there's nothing wrong with him 😞🥺 #Jeremiah

[therenlover]

Gimme Swayze (Part 4.5 of Till Forever Falls Apart, A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Synopsis: Now that the issue of Y/N leaving is out of the way, and Peter has finally kissed her, he falls into the motions of learning how to love someone for the first time. It’s easier than he thought it would be.

Tags: Fluff, Dancing, Gratuitous Dirty Dancing References, Love Confessions, Insecure!Reader, Minor Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Language

Word Count: 2600~

This has been cross posted as the first chapter of the fic Cry To Me on my Ao3!

--------

“Dance with me, Peter?”

Y/N stood in the middle of the floor holding her hand out to him, hair mussed and wild with cheeks still streaked from tears shed earlier in the night. There, in the lamplight, she looked ethereal. Peter could imagine her as she was then in some grand Viennese ballroom. Every man, woman, and child would want to be seen on her arm, fully disregarding her casual clothes and the unhinged fire in her eyes, but she was choosing him. Something in his heart told him she always would.

With a smile and a groan, he pushed up off the creaky old plush couch and stretched his arms. “Are you gonna put on some music or are we gonna have to make our own?”

Peter didn’t miss the way Y/N’s breath hitched as she rushed over to the record player near the window. Her fingers skimmed over the knee-high stack of records at the base of the machine, searching through for something specific. After a moment she let out a small victorious noise. She pulled out the item she was looking for, a plastic-wrapped vinyl sheath, before holding it out towards Peter with a grin. Outside, the rain had slowed to a gentle pitter-patter on the concrete.

The paper cover was plain white, but it had a large title scrawled across the front in black magic marker: Y/N’s Ultimate Romance Mixtape.

“You put a mixtape… on a record? How much did this thing cost you?” Peter asked, walking to Y/N’s side to give the vinyl a closer look.

“Not just any mixtape,” she groaned, motioning for him to flip it over, “Our mixtape!” There on the back of the record, just as she promised, was a tracklist. Upon first viewing, by any average person, it would look pretty normal. To Peter, though, it was like looking down at a list of the top hits of his life. Time In A Bottle, Strange Magic, Born to Run, Sweet Dreams ...

“How did you-”

“I just started finding the songs I saw you listening to more than once, one day,” Y/N replied. She was staring at the floor again, wringing her hands. Was she… embarrassed? “I know it’s kinda weird and creepy… okay, it’s really weird and creepy, but I didn’t have anything else to do. It was just me in the Paris apartment back then and I still technically wasn’t a real person in the eyes of the government so I couldn’t work. What I’m trying to say is it was a nice way to pass the time, waiting for the newest song on the list to release, sitting patiently in the record shops hoping to hear a snippet of a melody I heard you humming along to in a vision...”

As she spoke, Y/N’s eyes seemed to glaze over. By the time her stream of consciousness had turned into less of a pour and more of a drip she looked halfway caught between the world and a dream. Peter could only imagine that when you’d lived as long as she had sometimes the past could seem like a dream. He’d been around for about 31 years, 67 if you included the years he lost between dimensions, and even he found himself looking back on parts of his childhood as if they were someone else’s. What would it be like in 10 more years? 20? 30? 100 didn’t even seem plausible.

Peter was only snapped from his internal monologue when Y/N snatched the record out of his hands and held it to her chest protectively. Her dreamy look was gone, replaced with one much more defensive.

“What?”

“If you’re just gonna gawk at it, I’m not gonna show you,” she said, carefully setting the record down on top of the closed player before turning her attention back to Peter, “I know it’s a little odd-”

���It’s cute!” Peter was quick to respond. He held up his hands, giving a small gesture of goodwill, before moving in to wrap her in his arms. She accepted, however stiffly. “Really, babe, it’s cute! I promise,”

With what seemed like a great amount of effort, Y/N relaxed into his touch. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just a little nervous… I’ve never done this before,”

“Oh, come on,” Peter’s mouth was almost against her skin now. His hot breath tickled the sensitive curve of her ear as he rocked their bodies back and forth on the balls of his feet, half calming and half comedic. “You don’t have to be nervous, Y/N. It’s just me,”

“That’s the problem!” Y/N was floundering in earnest now, her little heart pounding hard enough that Peter could feel it against his own chest. “With other guys it was easy! I knew they weren’t the end goal, and I knew… well, I thought they’d die long before you ever came into the picture, but now you’re here, and you’re you, and I’m so fucking terrified of messing everything up,”

Peter moved his hands to loosely grip her arms, rubbing calming circles into her flesh. “Babe, newsflash, I really like you. Like, stupidly like you. Head-over-heels type shit,” he paused to laugh, “and hey, I’m not the one who sees the future or anything, but I don’t see this going bad anytime soon. So take a deep breath, put on our mixtape, and just… let go,”

Y/N let her eyes find Peter’s, peering up through heavy lashes. “What if I fall?”

He kissed her softly on the forehead before he answered, “Baby, I have super speed. You can’t fall faster than I can catch you,”

The softest of smiles graced Y/N’s face before she pulled away, turning back to the record player and grabbing the record off the top as she opened it. She paused for a second, pensive, and Peter thought he might have to bolster her again before she turned back to him.

“Side A or Side B?”

Peter shrugged. “Whatever side you like the most,”

“Side B it is…” she smirked as she set the record on the table and got it spinning, dropping the needle gently onto the edge of the vinyl with a practiced hand, “That’s my side,” Under the sounds of the gentle rain and the city, the opening notes to a song halfway familiar began to ring out through the old bones of the apartment. The ancient wood seemed to creak its own melody under Y/N’s feet while she started to sway. Peter tried to follow along as best he could.

“I hope you know I can’t dance,” He mumbled, swinging his hips to and fro as Y/N giggled at him.

“Oh, I know,”

“Then why did you ask me to?”

“Just because you’re bad at dancing doesn’t mean I don’t wanna dance with you,”

“That’s so cheeeeesy, Y/N!”

She threw her head back as she shimmed into Peter’s arms across the floor. “And you love it,”

When she was finally in his arms again, they swayed loosely to the tune. There was no real rhythm to it, all clumsy feet and breathless laughter as they bumped their way through Y/N’s greatest hits, but it came from the heart. There were no doomsday clocks ticking in the background, no expectations of what to was to come. It was just the music around them and the rain in the street and the jerky unnatural movements of Peter Maximoff doing his best to internalize the beat as The Mamas and the Papas slowly drifted into Solomon Burke. Y/N hummed thoughtfully, pulling away from Peter’s arms as it began, bringing her arms up above her head as she shook her hips. Peter just groaned.

“You actually put the song from Dirty Dancing on the mixtape?”

Y/N didn’t respond, instead bopping her head along with the beat.

“I can’t believe it. You’re not even gonna answer me,”

She gave a wink and continued on.

“Really? The silent treatment?”

“I’m not saying another word until you embrace the Swayze, Peter,”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep inhale, and then stared daggers into Y/N’s eyes as he shrugged his shoulders. “You want Swayze, baby? You really want Swayze?”

“Oh, I wanna see some Swayze, Peter,”

“How’s this for Swayze?”

With a burst of superhuman speed, Peter raced across the floor, snatched Y/N up by her midriff, and lifted her above his head, delighting in her giggles and shrieks while he spun her. He may not have been the best dancer or the best mover, but Peter was good at a few things; things like utilizing his surprising strength and speed.

He kept Y/N aloft for a moment before gently returning her to the floor. There she stood, slightly dazed, as she got her bearings back, gripping the sleeve of Peter’s t-shirt for balance. To put it simply she was a giggling mess.

Peter loved watching her like this, carefree and loose, unbound from the tethers of trauma and time for a few brief moments. It made his heart soar higher to know that he made her like this. He was the one who threatened to toss her in with the seals at Central Park, which made her laugh so hard she almost yakked up her hotdog. It was him who sat with her on the couch throwing popcorn at the fuzzy TV screen whenever she suddenly froze up at the sound of a scream, distracting her enough that she could enjoy the movie till the end. His hands were the ones she grabbed whenever she saw a cute dog on the street and wanted to get close fast enough to pet it. He was a part of her joy, a minuscule blip on her radar making waves in her life for the better. Peter didn’t know if there was anything else he wanted to be in life that could mean more than that.

When Y/N finally got her giggles under control, she looked up at him with wet eyes and whispered. “That was pretty Swayze, babe,”

The second it left her lips she was in stitches again, her knees buckling as she collapsed to the floor, whole body wracked with her laughter. Peter joined her this time, settling himself down by her side and allowing the hysteria to wash over him like a pleasant wave. Once all was said and done, he and Y/N laid shoulder to shoulder on the antique sitting-room rug, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes and soft smiles. The record, all spun out, sat forgotten on the turntable.

“I know I’ve told you this already,” Y/N said, eyes glued to the rotating fan above her, “but I love you, Peter. I love you and I love who I am when I’m with you. You don’t have to say it back, I mean, I know this has all been ridiculously fast, but… I dunno. Even without the whole fated to cross paths thing, I think I’d love you now anyways, you know?” She bit her bottom lip, groaning, “Sorry, sorry, I know things are moving way too quick-”

Peter shushed her gently, rolling onto his side to look her in the eye. “Babe, you’re talking to the fastest man alive. Quick is literally in my name. Don’t worry about it,”

“Yeah. I guess it is, huh?”

“And for the record,” he took a deep breath, steeling himself, “I love you too, Y/N. I have for a while now. It has to have been since… well all the way back when Dr. Strange had me tied up at your work. I was so sure that I had screwed everything up with you, that you were gonna let him drag me to superhero prison and wash your hands of me, but you didn’t. You came in there guns blazing, even when you knew I had fucked up big time and accidentally tried to steal some real spooky shit, and from that second on I never once felt like you would ever be willing to get rid of me just because I’m annoying,”

She nudged him with her shoulder. Not hard, just enough to jostle him. “You’re not annoying,”

“Have you met me? Annoying is literally my middle name,”

“No,” Y/N’s voice got soft, “No, your middle name is Django. Your favorite color is blue, but specifically bright teal-ish blue like the blue moon ice cream your mom used to buy you on vacation back when you were a little kid. You can’t dance but you have surprisingly good rhythm, and even if you’re not proud of your voice you should be because if you weren’t the world’s fastest man you could be touring as a singer with your guitar. You always sleep on the right side of the bed, your favorite season is the weird limbo between summer and fall, you can’t stand the James Bond movies, and if anybody asked you’d say your favorite food is Twinkies but it’s not. Your favorite food is pierogies, specifically the cheese and potato kind from Nana Dudek’s in Polish town because they remind you of your Nana the few times you remember going to see her. All of that is true, and so is the fact that you love me,”

She went quiet, eyes watching the blades of the ceiling fan in their lazy rotations. Slowly, she reached out her hand, interlocking her pinkie with Peter’s own without even having to look down and find it.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that,” Peter whispered.

Y/N let a huff of air out of her nose, a silent laugh at a joke only she knew.

“You’re not supposed to say anything. I just wanted you to know,”

“Know what?”

“Know that even if you can never build up the courage to tell me you love me again, I’ll be just fine, because I know, and you know, and that’s all that matters,”

Something in Peter’s heart, however small, shattered at just how vulnerable Y/N sounded.

Both of them were jaded in their own ways. They had seen bloodshed and torment and the roots of human suffering. It wasn’t always as simple as saying ‘I love you’. Sometimes the world left you a broken pulp with little faith and saying three little magic words just wasn’t possible. There’s no place for love in the heart of a person at war, nor is there any guarantee that they’ll ever be able to express that forbidden weakness again. It’s a commodity, like hope, that came in rare supply to people like Peter and Y/N. That being said, in the safety and warmth of the sitting room with the cozy couch and the antique rug and the ceiling fan and the record player, neither of them were at war, and Peter would be a damn fool if he didn’t take advantage of that.

He rolled onto his side once again, waiting there in silence until Y/N rolled onto her side to greet him, and then, with all of the feelings he had hidden in his heart since the moment he ran at top speed for the first time he kissed her.

Without hesitation, she kissed him back.

-------

a/n: Sorry this took so long to get out! It’s short, but I wanted it to be long enough to be it’s own mini chapter, so our minor friends can enjoy the sweetness without having to lose any of the story in the spicy bit. That being said, the spicy bit comes next lol. My shift bar is being fussy, and I need to sleep, so I’m signing off for the night, but thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, let me know!

Please do not post my work to any other sites, thank you ! <3

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #fanfiction #quicksilver #quicksilver x reader #marvel fanfiction

[whenwordsmakesense]

Day 6: Realisation | Day 5: Cake

@pridewrite2021 

Here’s my masterlist for this event if you want to check this out <3

Spoiled

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Ships: Peter Hale × Chris Argent | Derek Hale × Stiles Stilinski

Words: 2k

Summary: Chris is a hunter. An Argent. His sister burned down his entire family—Peter shouldn't care for him.

And he doesn't.

He doesn't care for the hunter with sharp, calculating eyes, the ex-husband of another hunter and a father to a hunter-in-training, never mind mind that two of them are pack-adjacent.

He cares for the young boy with the soft, clear blue eyes, mind filled with all the ways to ensure peace between hunters and the supernaturals, conscience free of guilt he shouldn't have but does.

Peter is still in love with his best friend from his childhood—the Chris that'd been nothing but another boy in his class, someone who knew the truth about who he was and had matched and mended and marched into Peter's soul, his heart.

Can be read on AO3 or here. 

Warnings: Swearing, innuendos. 

>> Starts from here. 

The wound on Chris' side is glaringly purple, mocking him, and it's taking every ounce of control in Peter to not crowd the human against the counter of the Argent's kitchen and just do the goddamn dressing himself. Is it really that hard to dress wounds? Peter doesn't know, because he's a healthy, alive werewolf who heals in seconds, unlike Chris, who is human and still decided to jump in front of him to prevent Peter getting shot—and it wasn't even wolfsbane.

Peter could smell. Rather, he couldn't. Which was really naive of the hunters—kids, really—and now he has to suffer through this.

“You can go.” Peter snaps his eyes up, and into Chris' mess of a hair. It's worse than Scott's shaggy hair that he had last year.

“But I am enjoying the show,” Peter says easily. It's not a complete lie. Chris is fine. A total DILF if there ever was one. But right now both his wolf and his hea—mind are more focused on not losing control. He hates that the human got hurt, and now he can't even tease his nephew about the same. That's a shame. And Stiles bruises so easily, too. That boy should really just spell himself to be not clumsy, it would give Derek another ten or twenty years before he gets grey hairs.

“You can enjoy it with Melissa. I don't need a babysitter, Peter.”

The sudden anger that's emanating from Chris finally pulls his thin mockery of control away, letting his unsheathed claws be exposed to the keen eyes of the veteran hunter, who straightens immediately at the sight.

Chris is a hunter. An Argent. His sister burned down his entire family—Peter shouldn't care for him.

And he doesn't.

He doesn't care for the hunter with sharp, calculating eyes, the ex-husband of another hunter and a father to a hunter-in-training, never mind mind that two of them are pack-adjacent.

He cares for the young boy with the soft, clear blue eyes, mind filled with all the ways to ensure peace between hunters and the supernaturals, conscience free of guilt he shouldn't have but does.

Peter is still in love with his best friend from his childhood—the Chris that'd been nothing but another boy in his class, someone who knew the truth about who he was and had matched and mended and marched into Peter's soul, his heart—and that...

He can't be here.

“Maybe I'll go and bother Melissa, then.” He says sharply, and Chris nods, sharp and precise.

Peter hates seeing Chris hurt. Especially for him. But Chris has hurt much, much deeper than that bullet could have ever done and yet... He loves him.

***

“I love you,” Chris says, and Peter stops breathing. He chances a glance at the other boy, who looks so earnest and just a little nervous, the basketball in his hand twirling without any real effort.

“Like—like a friend?” He asks, because he isn't supposed to have good things. He might have realised he's in love with his best friend weeks ago, but his life isn't a fairy-tale. The two of them can never be together. It will only end in blood and death.

And Peter would rather have Chris alive and hating him than dead.

He can't see Chris dead. That would be a fate worse than death.

***

The meeting—that's supposed to be a pack meeting about progress on the unhinged witch—ends up being a movie night. Stiles corrals everyone into staying, even if the Sheriff and Melissa leave halfway through because of their demanding jobs. Chris itches to leave, too, and it's more than just not being the only other adult—as much as Derek is the Alpha, he's still a kid—than Peter, who has been inconspicuously absent from his house since that day two weeks ago, when he'd told the 'wolf to leave in anger.

Anger he didn't know he could still feel. He'd believed he was long past that. But apparently not.

And he now has a bullet hole on his side to remind him.

As Chris watches Allison slink closer and closer to Scott, he sees his excuse.

“Stiles, I know pack bonding is important, but I'd rather be home than watch my daughter and her not-boyfriend being all snuggly.”

Scott, who'd been sipping on his glass of coke, chokes, and Allison blushes furiously. Chris feels pride in the fact that his daughter can easily take down people twice her size whenever she wants, and still be the same adorable little girl she's been since birth.

“Uh,” Stiles, and the others, seem to be half-mortified and half-amused at his jab at Scott and Allison's relationship, which is worse than Ross and Rachel's arc on friends, and just as that thought pops in his head, he searches out Peter in the crowd of a now laughing teens. The moment he does, he can see the mirth in those blue eyes he'd once spent ages trying to dive into.

It feels like the old days when they share the small smile, remember the study sessions turned F.R.I.E.N.D.S. binge, and just like that, the moment is broken.

Peter isn't the same anymore.

He isn't the same anymore.

His sister—she killed Peter's family. And Peter had played dolls with her, more than once.

He feels tears threating his eyes, and because this is a pack of wolves, they immediately catch on to the change in atmosphere. Even the non-wolves pick up on it fast.

“I—I need to go.” He says, voice broken.

He's remembering the last time he and Peter had been together, in their room, his basketball in hand and arguing over theories of how the show could complicate Ross and Rachel's lives more.

He leaves without a second glance.

Derek follows him down to his car, where he's only just reached the handle, and says, “He still loves you, you know.”

Chris shakes his head. “He never did,”

Derek's frown deepens, like he's thinking of how to explain some fundamental thing to a child. Like Peter being in love with Chris is just a fact that he's known all his life, and it's a fact that's as permanent as the Earth revolving around the Sun.

Chris doesn't know how to feel about that.

“When was the last time you saw me lose control?”

He sighs, but he knows he won't get out of this without answering. The Hales have always been stubborn, and Derek is no less.

“When Stiles got hurt.” Because of the lacrosse game. It wasn't even life-threatening, for a change, but Derek had, like every single other time Stiles has been hurt, gone ballistic. Chris is just glad Isaac, Boyd, Jackson and Scott all had been there to stop the poor kid—Greenburg might have been his name—from being killed.

“Peter couldn't control his beta shift two weeks ago.” Derek says, and then he's gone.

Chris frowns after him, remembers seeing the claws that day when Peter had followed him home, and remembers feeling as if Peter lost control because of him.

Like he used to think when they were young. When he thought that Peter was falling for him just like he was falling for Peter.

Maybe he wasn't wrong about that.

Just maybe, Peter did fall for him.

***

Stiles finds Derek in his bedroom, just like he has for the past six months. Ever since Peter and Chris got together—after being in love for decades, and hadn't that been a shock for everyone—the loft is apparently “bad for my nose and my brain,” according to Derek.

They settle in their casual rhythm of banters and snark and sass as he completes his homework and Derek reads the latest book that has caught his interest, and it's hours before either of them moves.

From the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Derek perk up, the way all the 'wolves do when they smell someone coming. Stiles finds it adorable on everyone, and whenever he catches Derek doing it his heart just triples its beat at the cuteness of it all.

He's falling for the older man and he doesn't know what to do. Especially when everyone in the pack—including his dad and Melissa who have each other—have found someone to be with. They've literally all coupled up, even Isaac—Cora literally... No, that's Peter... Cora metaphorically came back to life just to couple up with Isaac—which, by default, leaves him with Derek.

It's not all bad, he gets to be with Derek more times than not, and he enjoys their time together, but it's also... Hard. Being so close yet so far.

He can't believe Peter and Chris lasted so many years without dying of heartbreak.

“Peter and Chris.” Derek informs him.

“I thought they were having—”

“Don't!” Derek puts his hands on top his ears, and it's just. So. Adorable. Stiles can't help but laugh, even though he knows he's just digging himself a bigger grave.

And then five minutes later, Peter, Chris, him and Derek are sitting on the dining table looking at two cake boxes.

Stiles is confused. So is Derek.

“What?” He asks, because what?

Peter grins, one hand pushing the white box towards Derek, while the other rests on Chris' shoulders.

Chris pushes the other box towards him.

“Just open it.” Chris instructs. Stiles shares a look with Derek.

“It's cake,” he says, and then opens his black box.

And freezes.

Peter looks at his cake. “Oh, this one is for Derek.” Before Stiles can make his hands grab the box, Derek is peering down at it, too.

Stiles wishes to be killed by the damn gnomes. Where are the supernatural problems when you need them? Fuck his life.

“Uh...” is all Derek says as he reads what's written on the cake.

It says, “Stiles loves you, nephew.”

Stiles buries his head in his hands.

Chris pushes supposedly Stiles' cake towards him. “Open it,” he urges, softly.

Stiles chuckles hollowly. “That one has my real name?” He wouldn't put it past Peter. Especially since last week he'd pranked the 'wolf with the old shaving cream trick.

Dude looked funny with the white beard. Also, it's really easy to get a jump on post-sexy times sleeping Peter Hale.

Chris just pries open his fingers from his eyes and shoves the open box in his face.

This cake says, “Derek loves you, little Red.”

“Uh...” is Stiles' response to that.

“Now, we'll be off. Do us a favor and get rid of the UST.”

Peter saunters off, Chris in tow, who is giggling softly.

“Noah has a double-shift,” the hunter adds, and Stiles' immediate reaction is to shout at Peter.

“You've spoiled him!”

Derek thinks this is his chance to strike, because he comes in Stiles' field of vision with a small, shy smile. His shoulders look far more relaxed than he's ever seen them, like a big weight just got lifted from them.

“If you want, you can be spoiled too.” He says seriously. Stiles loses it.

“Oh, buddy, if you think that... You need to be taught a couple things, honeybuns. I'm the Alpha in this relationship.” It's true, too. Everyone has called them out on it. And that's when they're just friends.  

Derek sighs, resigned. “Don't call me that,”

Stiles just grins and hugs Derek tight.

Who knew the realizations of two middle-aged men and their craptastic schemes with cakes would give him a truly, completely happy Derek Hale, laughing the most freely that Stiles has heard from the Alpha in the two years that he's known him?

Not Stiles, that's for sure.

#pridewrite2021 #petopher #sterek #day 5: cake #day 6: realisation #my fic #whenwordsmakesense #peter hale #chris argent #stiles stilinski #derek hale #alternate universe - canon divergence

[hesesols]

Dreamer’s Disease

Day 10 of Ichiruki month 2020

Summary: It takes her the fourth- or maybe the fifth sleepover to admit that she’s catching feelings from him- Ichigo Kurosaki, her sort-of friends with benefits from Physics.

And for the love of God and Chappy, it is not a revelation that she takes well to.

Rating: MA

FF/ao3

.

Newton's 3rd Law: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

.

The morning light is blinding.

Rukia wakes up to his mouth pressing incessantly against her skin, dropping fervent kisses and the occasional nip or two as she blinks blearily at her surroundings. Sometime during the night she shifted and they ended up in a mess of tangled limbs- hip pressed against hip, his hand woven into her hair, her legs wrapped around his waist. His unspoken invitation to fill an ache that is equal parts of a want and a need earns him a lazy moan- heavy with sleep but he takes it anyway.

It becomes reciprocal enough when she slants her mouth to his and digs her heels into his lower back.

Languid muscles stretch and she maps his body like a canvas, tracing the outline of every bump and scar that she could lay her hands on. Warm hands grip at her hips, spreading her thighs apart as he settles himself between them. Fingers leave their temporary perch at the back of her knee to coat themselves in her warmth, pumping, curling- leaving her with the need for more as he tests her slickness.

The euphoria that she feels flooding her veins is entirely visceral when he sinks into her.

She cries out- in pain, in pleasure. His teeth are sharper than expected, drawing blood when she yields and bares her neck to him. Tentative licks follow but he's too far gone to be entirely gentle with the gesture when his mouth envelops her tender tit and clamps down on her nipple.

She feels limbless and unbound, pliable in his hands as he takes her into his arms and throws her legs over his shoulders. He moans her name, drawing the syllables out, punctuating each one with a hard thrust of his hips.

She gasps.

The new angle hits her just right and the world is beautiful in the way light streams through barely open blinds- the way it gilds him, hits his jawline perfectly and leaves him bronze and golden and a hundred thousand adjectives she can't quite string together as her mind hazes.

The want in her unfurls- feral and a little unhinged in her desperation. She tugs at his hair, hears him hiss when her nails dig a little too harshly into his skin. He pays her back in kind with the near painful nip on her lower lip- a little of a punishment and a warning but Rukia is unrepentant.

Violet eyes burn into his as she gives him a challenging look by way of the defiant tilt of her chin, daring him to do his worst, welcomes it even.

"Brat," he growls, tightening his grip on her thighs and the curve of his lips is almost sadistic as he withdraws- slow and purposeful enough to make Rukia whimper in response only to slam back harder into her.

Her vision swims, body shuddering as he holds her in place, frantic thrusts pumping in and out of her slickness. The sounds their bodies make with each other, her quick, shaky breathless sighs in contrast to his grunts and curses- deep, groaning voice straining, steeped in his ache—

"Look at me."

His hand cups her jaw, husky voice harshly demanding her obedience and she struggles to keep up. Her eyelids flutter but it's too hard, she thinks. And entirely unfair that he's there coherently stringing along full sentences albeit struggling in some parts while she's lying on her back, her pussy stretched out and filled up, too rawed to find her voice.

"I want to see your eyes when you come."

She starts to protest, wants to tell him that it's too hard but the tug on her hair is sharp and sudden and her eyes widen in surprise, blinking away the tears.

She sees him.

Him with his pretty eyes, the hungry gleam behind them and his devastating smirk, the veins in his neck stretching, the bob of his Adam's apple; the shameless way her body responds to his, the squelch of their naked sex as their bodies come together only to fall apart in each other's arms.

She's a lost cause. Her walls clench and she climaxes with a scream that has him tumbling down the abyss after her.

Coming back down from the high is always the hardest part.

Her body is sore and satiated, mind still a hundred miles away as he peels off the used condom and throws it away.

His heat is delicious and when he leans in to plant lazy kisses on her still flushed skin, she's almost tempted to start something else.

She doesn't of course. Class starts in an hour and everyone knows Kurotsuchi is a sadistic motherfucker who likes to sweep in at least 15 minutes earlier and declare whoever that comes in later than him as a latecomer and bar said 'latecomer' from attending the lecture.

.

.

"Do you want your eggs scrambled?"

She nods, gives herself a mental pat on the shoulder when she doesn't whimper or reach out for him when he picks himself up- butt naked still and really he knows what the sight of his ass does to her- pads over to the kitchen.

Her brain is screaming at her to leave. She's getting too attached to him- too used to the idea of sleeping over with breakfast served when they both got into the arrangement knowing full well that things were supposed to be fun and casual- read: no strings attached friends with benefits.

Catching feelings for her fellow classmate who may have won the genetic lottery when it comes to bedroom eyes and to-die-for jawline, is the last thing she needs.

But then the aroma of food fills her senses and her stomach rumbles in response.

She sighs. Did she mention that he cooks too?

Rolling over to her side, Rukia tells herself to consider the facts: that Ichigo's flat is only 10 minutes away from campus (6 really if they run), that he's already cooking her breakfast and it would seem so horribly rude if she couldn't even stay after he went through all that trouble- she bites her lips, and reasons that maybe she can stay a little longer.

.

Like two responsible adults and upstanding citizens in the making, they end up missing the lecture.

A quickie in the showers somehow turns into another thing and this other thing leads into her fucking his brains out- cow girl style (her way of saying thank you for the meal and multiple orgasms among other things) and then by the time she comes to… well- is there really a point to attending lectures or doing anything for that matter when her knees are so wobbly she can barely walk in a straight line?

When she finally leaves his place, it's already the morning after and Rukia knows she has a problem when she can't even bring herself to care about her attendance record.

.

.

.

That was weeks ago.

Now she's avoiding the hell out of him. Ducks into the girl's toilet whenever she sees even a hint of orange coming her way and makes up excuses or straight up ghosts him when he texts her to come over.

Anyone with eyes could see that she's avoiding him and when even the ever-so discreet Rangiku Matsumoto makes it a point to ask you about it- you know you're in deep shit.

So she makes up some half-assed excuse about catching up on assignments. She is an Engineering major- the work is supposed to be gruelling, and it should hardly be a surprise to anyone if she deigns that she's in need of a sabbatical break from the drama and just focus on good old-fashioned scholarly stuff.

Or at least that's what she keeps telling everyone (herself included), however unconvincing they may find her excuses to be.

Of course, it's still entirely possible that he would seek her out himself. It just isn't a possibility that she entertains much given their limited history together- they just share Physics together, united by their mutual dislike of the teaching professor and early morning lectures, they don't even have the same major for crying out loud! The whole sharing bodily fluids business was nothing more than an unfortunate case of alcohol intoxication, human biology and the age-old curse of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

The subsequent decision to be friends with benefits was clearly the culmination of a series of bad decisions and just as impressive alcohol poisoning.

.

.

.

Rukia hurls the contents of her breakfast into the toilet bowl. Her throat burns and the taste of bile lingers so badly that mouthwash is needed.

Weakly, she creeps out of her bathroom- more crawling than actually walking at this stage and calls Renji.

Her childhood best friend answers on the third ring and judging by his unusually high-pitched voice, was anxious to the point of hyperventilation.

"Where are you, Rukia? Classes started an hour ago! Our presentation is up next!"

She groans. Her stomach does a little flip at the thought of public-speaking and she thinks she's due another visit to the porcelain god.

"Renji, I'm sick."

"Seriously? How?" he screeched.

"Bad sushi," she offers by way of explanation. They got a little too carried away with Nanao's twenty-third birthday last night and decided to splurge. The menu said it was an all-you-can-eat buffet and the sashimi- her face turns green; oh it was definitely the sashimi, she pigged out on them and among the girls, she seems to have it worst. When she finally regains her ability to keep food down and walk like a normal person again, the first thing she is going to do is give the Japanese restaurant a one-star review on Google.

Renji seems to be talking gibberish on the other end and she hisses at him to calm down.

"Sorry, I'm just freaking out right now. You're supposed to be giving the presentation. And you know that I'm not exactly on speaking terms with Shuuhei right now because of you-know-what."

She sighs, ignoring the way her hair is plastered to her forehead in cold sweat. Boys are stupid and their topics of heated debate infinitely stupider. It's something to do with sports, beyond that Rukia doesn't really understand. Nor does she particularly care.

They're both such drama queens. Never again, she tells herself, is she ever going to partner with either of them for a group project.

"Just read out the discussion part. You'll be fine."

Renji has the charisma of a natural-born leader and the confidence to boot, as long as he doesn't freak out from stage fright- they'll be fine. Rukia proofread the report twice. Their maths is sound and the theoretical component to their project, flawless.

"Ok. But are you sure you're going to be fine? I'll drop by after lecture with some soup."

"Ok. Just leave it outside the door. I might not have the energy to open the door to let you in."

"Alright. Sweet corn soup ok?"

She scoffs.

"Cheapskate. You can do better than that," She's due a bit more by way of compensation. As the hard-carry for the team, Renji owes her that much at least. "I want steaming hot chicken and ginger congee with spring onions and a side serving of pickled cucumber."

"Well how am I gonna get that?"

She shouldn't have thought about food. The churning in her stomach is starting again and she dives for the toilet, barely making it in time.

"Figure it out, dumbass!"

.

.

She is woken up by the hard thumps on the door. It takes her a while to gain her bearings and get up from bed.

She almost wishes that Renji would stop knocking so loudly. It is making her head pound and the room is spinning until her hand catches on the door knob and twists it open. The breath of fresh air and sunlight on her skin makes the sickness a little more bearable and for the first time in the hours since she's been puking her guts out, she is finally feeling something other than nausea.

"Yo."

She blinks, desperately trying to rub the sleep away from her eyes because she could have sworn that it's Ichigo standing outside the door, arms laden with groceries and food stuff.

Rukia almost slams the door shut in his face. She's suddenly feeling all sorts of self-conscious about her appearance, about her messy knot of hair, her poor sickly complexion, and the fact that she can barely stand upright without holding onto the door.

Clad in her old high school jersey that doubles as her nightie, it takes her a whole minute of standing at the door, gapping like an idiot at the sight of him to realize that she's braless underneath it and Ichigo is staring at her breasts and oh god, she thinks she's going to be sick.

She lets go of the door knob and it's the mother of all bad ideas when she notices that her head is suddenly much lighter than her feet and she's falling—

Strong arms grip at her waist and she is so glad that he's not wearing any cologne as she clings on to him by his shirt. The smell of clean laundry and body warmth- a hint of peppermint from his aftershave, soothes her enough that her stomach stops churning.

"Woah. You're literally falling for me here, Kuchiki. Have some tact. We're still in the hallway. What will the neighbours say?"

Rukia snorts- retort half-forming at the tip of her tongue that he shouldn't be flattering himself but manages only to shoot a baleful glare at him. The lack of a proper retort is proof enough that she truly isn't feeling herself.

His amusement morphs into a look of concern, eyebrows furrowing as he tightens his hold on her.

"You're really sick, huh?"

A weak nod is all that she can manage. When he presses a cool hand against her forehead, it takes her all the self-restraint that she can muster not to whine or whimper. Clammy skin notwithstanding, her body feels hot and she thinks she's had enough of standing up now. He purses his lips, taking charge of the situation as he ushers her indoors and shuts the door behind them.

"Let's get you settled into bed."

.

.

He's still there when she wakes up.

The sun has only just set and the glow of her table lamp casts him in hues of soft yellow. She wants to believe that it's something more than pity in his eyes when he locks gaze with her.

"Hey," she calls out weakly.

There's a wet flannel on her forehead and a blanket thrown over her. His weight settles comfortably next to her on the mattress, keeping her warmer still. With his help, she manages to prop herself to sit upright and grabs the glass of water on her side.

"Right back at you, sleeping beauty. Feeling better?"

She nods. The water is refreshing against her parched throat and she finishes it in seconds.

"T-Thank you."

He grunts in response, tucking her back into bed and when she protests, silences her arguments with a firm and sound reply of 'I'm a doctor's son. I know what I'm doing'. Rukia is too weak and her brain too sluggish to come up with a proper comeback, so she begrudgingly obliges.

"I better get going. There's some congee for you in the thermos flask when you wake up. And there's a tub of pickled cucumber in your fri-"

Her hand grabs at his, a weak tug by all accounts but his body stiffens and he stills. Soft brown eyes are staring back at her and it renders her defences futile. This is her at her most vulnerable, stripped down to something that predates her Kuchiki upbringing, before she even knew to arm herself with a tongue sharp enough to cut and wound.

"Stay?"

She's overstepping and pushing boundaries that he's not comfortable with. Wincing when the words ring a little too desperately in her ears and her pride balks at the blank look on his face, she tries to take them back but he beats her to it.

"Scoot over then."

His voice is gruff but he's drawing the blanket up and sliding under it. His warmth presses comfortably to her back and her eyelids flutter shut, letting out a contented sigh when his arm drapes across her middle.

Belatedly she realizes that at this stage maybe they're more than just casual fuck buddies to each other. For starters, he didn't have to come to her door and he most certainly didn't have to stay when she asked him to. Sex isn't even on the table and she's reeling from all the implications.

Does he want them to be something more? Does she?

Is it something that—

"Just go to sleep. I promise I'll still be here in the morning. We can talk then."

Her mind halts at the sound of his voice whispering so tenderly into her ears. She relents. If he's still here in the morning, curled up next to her maybe they'll have the dreaded grownup conversation then.

It's a promise that she holds him to.

FF/ao3

Review, reblog, like, comment or even ask to send some love my way.

#ichiruki #IRmonth2020 #ichirukimonth2020 #day 10: just friends #fanfic #mine #dreamer's disease #these dorks are bad at feelings ok? #do NOT be fooled by the soft-looking cover this story opens with a sex scene #you have been warned #just friends (with benefits)

[myaekingheart]

126. Hopelessly  Devoted

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

               “That’s it, I’m never drinking ever again” Sekkachi announced, slumping into a booth at the dango shop. Rei paused mid-chew, blinked, swallowed. Sekkachi tightened her ponytail in frustration and flagged down Amai, the waitress. “Two taiyaki, please.”

               “Wow, what the fuck did you even do?” Rei asked once Amai skipped away. “It must be really bad if you’re ordering taiyaki.” And saying please, Rei mentally added. It was no secret that Sekkachi had a very limited diet of anything bland and rice based. True, she often treated Hiretsuna to taiyaki after routine doctor’s appointments but she never ordered any for herself.

               Sekkachi reached across the table and took a long swig of Rei’s drink. “I made a big fucking mistake, Rei. I’m losing my mind here” she replied. It was the most jittery and unhinged Rei had ever seen her, and it almost even made her anxious herself. “I just have one question for you: when we were at the bar, do you remember me, I don’t know, flirting with anyone?”

               Rei scoffed and shook her head. “I barely remember what I did that night, let alone you” she replied. Sekkachi’s thirtieth birthday had only been five days ago and Rei still found herself suffering from the aftermath of it. Her voice was scratchy and sore for days afterward, a consequence of having not formally practiced her last-minute metal screaming, and sometimes she swore she could still feel the sharp sting of alcohol at the back of her throat. All in all, her extended hangover did not bode well for her work performance. She didn’t even want to think about how terribly her last few ANBU missions had gone. She didn’t particularly want to think about the ANBU at all, though, to be honest.  

               Snapping Rei from her daze, Sekkachi shook her head and looked out at the street. “Maybe I should just go rogue. Disappear completely” she mused. “I don’t think I can ever show my face in Konoha ever again.”

               “Oh, come on” Rei whined. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not that bad. Can’t be any worse than anything you’ve already done.” A few choice blunders came to mind: one night stands with unsuspecting girls she broke the hearts of, that one time she got high and jumped in a fountain at the park, then subsequently ran from the Uchiha police force. They had to put her under a genjutsu just to get the cuffs on her and even then, she resisted. There were also the many times she’d put salt on Rei’s cookies at lunch in the academy. Sekkachi was nothing short of an anarchist so her getting into trouble wasn’t even surprising.

               Unamused, Sekkachi glared at Rei across the table and replied, “No, believe me, it’s way fucking worse.” Motioning with her hand, Rei made an impatient expression and silently urged her to explain. Sekkachi buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Apparently we ran into someone at the bar that my dumb ass decided to not only flirt with but exchange phone numbers with, and now I’ve got to clean up a mess I didn’t even want to make in the first place.”

               Rei gasped in mock shock, asking in hushed tones, “Oh god, was it…a man?”

               “No, it was not a man, you idiot!” Sekkachi shouted, reaching across the table to slap Rei on the arm. “I may be dumb but I’m not that dumb!” Rei couldn’t help but laugh, even though she knew deep down the situation wasn’t all that funny. After all, if Sekkachi was this upset, it must be really serious. Amai scurried over with the taiyaki, insisting to Sekkachi that it was on the house, then offered Rei a refill of her water, which she quietly accepted. Once the waitress had scampered off yet again, Sekkachi finally gave a solid explanation. “It was…Mikazuki. You know, that bitch in the ANBU with you.”

               “Oh?” Rei asked, cocking a brow. This was definitely an interesting turn of events. Rei was not blind. She saw the way Mikazuki looked at Sekkachi, the way her cheeks blushed whenever word broke of the blue-haired kunoichi. “So? What happened?”

               “Nothing happened!” Sekkachi replied. “I just woke up the next morning to a goddamn voicemail from her stupid little hushed voice. Rei, I’ve made a massive fucking mistake. How the hell do I get out of this?”

               “Why do you want to get out of it?” Rei asked, taking a sip of her drink. “Mikazuki is a sweetheart, I’m sure you guys would have a good time together.” Nevermind the fact that she’s taken, Rei thought to herself, but she didn’t dare bring that up. She didn’t even know how serious her and Tenzo’s relationship was to begin with. What she said about crashing on his couch, the night Tenzo got wildly drunk, still stuck in the back of Rei’s mind.

               Sekkachi rolled her eyes, ripping the head off of her taiyaki and taking a frustrated, barbaric bite. “Because I want nothing to do with her!” she countered. “If I could go the entire rest of my life without having to see Mikazuki Zazen ever again, I would be incredibly grateful.”

               “She’s really not that bad” Rei protested, but Sekkachi was already on a rampage. There was no changing her mind.

               “She’s bland and she has no fucking backbone. She’s into all that weird tarot stuff which you know I don’t give a rat’s ass about it—it’s all just a bunch of fucking bullshit. Doesn’t mean anything, like how the fuck can you actually sit there and let a bunch of dumb little cards dictate your life? Her haircut is stupid and that third eye freaks me the fuck out and I can never understand a damn thing she’s saying because she’s always whispering and stammering like she can’t even make a proper fucking sentence. It’s absolutely ridiculous, I can’t stand her!”

               Rei blinked, having not expected quite so passionate an explanation. What exactly did Sekkachi have against Mikazuki in the first place? What did Mikazuki ever do to her? Rei understood that her comrade had her faults but she found it hard to believe that there was any reason to truly hate her as much as Sekkachi seemed to. Rei took an uncomfortable sip of her drink, her eyes scanning the dango shop, when she locked eyes with an all-too-familiar face standing at the counter. Oh no.

               “Mikazuki’s really not that bad, you know” Rei stammered out, trying to save face. Mikazuki herself was staring right at them and based on the look on her face, she had heard everything. Her peridot eyes went glassy with impending tears, her lips pursed as she tried to restrain herself but her red cheeks gave her away. Sekkachi either didn’t seem to notice or didn’t seem to care. She couldn’t afford to.

               Amai skirted around the corner, producing a box of petit fours from under the counter. Mikazuki barely looked at her as she took the box, slapped some money on the counter, and ran out of the dango shop. Rei considered running after her to make sure she was okay, but she had no idea what to even say to her. If anything, she was sure she would only make things ten times worse. Either way, she would have to deal with it anyway when she went into work the next morning. She didn’t think she had the strength. Defeated, Rei merely sank down into her seat and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “You know, Sekkachi, maybe in this new decade of your life you can practice watching what you say.”

               Mikazuki raced down the street, hugging the box to her chest. At this point, she didn’t even care if she crushed the damn things. It wasn’t worth it anymore. When she felt she couldn’t maintain composure any longer, she ducked into an alleyway and broke down in tears. She should’ve known it was all a lie. She should’ve known Sekkachi would never be soberly interested in her. After all, what was there to like? Sekkachi was right about everything. She was meek and strange and bothersome. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and shook her head, trying to remain positive. At least she had Tenzo. He cared about her. He appreciated her company. Perhaps that was something she had been taking for granted all this time. Perhaps she had been so preoccupied with what her heart was yearning for that she wasn’t giving her full attention to what her heart already had. Mikazuki looked down at the little cakes through the plastic window of the box, decorated with swirling yellow and pink icing. From now on, things would be different. From now on, she was no longer going to hope and wish for things she knew were not meant for her. She had Tenzo, and she loved him. She was sure she did. He deserved more than what she had been providing but no longer. From this point forward, she would devote herself to him completely. She would love him the way he deserved and they would be happy. She would make sure of it.

#rei natsuki #sekkachi fumeiyo #mikazuki zazen #kakashi x oc #the scarecrow and the bell #naruto #naruto oc #fanfiction

[thebest-medicine]

Mind over Matter

submitted by anonymous:

(Hello I'm sending in another K/A fic as I've been SUPER inspired lately and gaaaHHHH I just love these two so much they're such fluffy dorks and I can't get enough of them ;w; I thought it would only be fair if Korra could get some revenge on Asami (and to be fair, Asami deserves some loving tickles every now and then.) writing this fic was very fun and I hope you enjoy it!) 

“Hey Asami, can you come help me with this?” Korra calls. She hears footsteps coming down the hall and into the spare room, where Korra currently is. It isn’t long before Asami enters the room.

“What’s up?” Asami asks. Korra gives her a lopsided smirk.

“I uh…well, I’m having trouble ironing one of my shirts.”

“Really?” Asami scoffs, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms, “All four elements and you can’t iron a shirt?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault!” Korra says, “You’re the one who wants me to have crispy clothes.” Asami lets out a giggle.

“Korra…I said crisp, not crispy.” Korra looks confused as Asami bursts into laughter.

“Don’t make fun of me!” Korra pouts. Asami continues laughing.

“I have to, I’m sorry!” Asami laughs. Taking a deep breath, she continues, “You’re such a dork!” Korra can’t help but laugh too. “Are you looking to eat your clothes?”

“What’s it to you if I am? They’re my clothes! I can eat them if I want.” The laughing fit continues between them. Asami makes her way over to Korra and puts a hand on her shoulder to keep herself standing upright. As the laughter dies down, Asami gives Korra a swift poke to her side, and Korra giggles, twisting away from Asami’s fingers.

“H-hey ! Don’t do that while I’m holding the iron!” Korra says, a smile still evident on her face. Asami wiggles her fingers at Korra and she immediately puts the iron down, taking a few steps back.

“Oh, you see? You just made it safer for me to unleash my attack!” Asami yells, darting towards Korra, who squeals and twists past her, running out of the room. Korra runs through the apartment, unable to hold back her smile and nervous laughter as she attempts to escape her mischievous girlfriend. She makes it into the bedroom when Asami’s hands wrap around her waist and tackle her to the bed.

“No!” Korra all but screams as Asami wiggles her fingers all over her sensitive torso, sending the mighty Avatar into an uncontrollable laughing fit. Korra writhes around, unable to get away from her girlfriend’s death grip on her body. Her back is facing Asami’s chest, and Asami hugs her tightly as her fingers tickle her belly and sides. Tears begin to form in Korra’s eyes as she laughs loudly.

“What’s the matter, Avatar?” Asami teases, “Too ticklish?”

“I’m NOT, STOP IT!” Korra shouts through her laughter. Asami’s fingers creep down to her hips and begin to pulsate, causing Korra to squeal and thrash in Asami’s grip. Asami tucks her head into Korra’s shoulder to avoid being hit by her moving girlfriend.

Just as Asami is about to change to one of Korra’s many other (incredibly) ticklish spots, Korra flips herself over in her girlfriend’s grip, grabbing Asami and turning them so that Korra is straddling Asami’s waist, and Asami’s back is to the bed.

“I said,” Korra says triumphantly, if not breathlessly, “stop.”

“Forgive me, great Avatar,” Asami teases with a smug smile on her face, “I can’t resist the temptation of messing with you. You’re too easy!”

“Am not!” Korra pouts, grabbing Asami’s hands as her fingers start to wiggle again, and putting them under her knees.

“Are too!” Asami says, grinning at Korra. Korra grunts.

“Yeah? Well let’s see how you like it then!” Korra declares, digging her fingers into Asami’s sides. Asami stays still, not reacting to Korra’s tickling, but rather staring at her with a smug smirk.

“Oh wow, I like this so much,” Asami scoffs.

“No way. I know you’re ticklish; we’ve had tons of tickle fights! This isn’t fair!” Korra hisses, bringing her hands to Asami’s ribs and scribbling her fingers along them. No reaction. “How are you doing this??”

“You want me to tell you a secret, Korra?” Asami asks, still smug. “It’s all mind over matter. I’m exercising self-control- something you clearly lack- and using it to my advantage.” She shifts a bit under Korra’s weight.

“That’s a load of crap!” Korra says. Her eyes narrow- Asami knows that look all too well, but decides to continue teasing Korra.

“It’s true, you can’t g-” Asami can’t continue her sentence, because what comes next is loud, uncontrollable laughter as Korra switches from lighter tickling to landing rapid, firm pokes to the front of Asami’s ribcage.

“Aha!” Korra shouts, “I’ve got you!” Now that Korra has broken through Asami’s defenses, she’s able to take full advantage of her girlfriend’s new vulnerability. Korra stays on Asami’s ribs for a few more seconds- she knows that this isn’t as sensitive an area as other parts on Asami’s body- in order to assure that she won’t be able to raise her defenses again. Korra’s fingers shoot up to poke rapidly at Asami’s collarbone, and she squeals. All she can do is twist her neck in a futile attempt to cover her ticklish collarbone. Quickly, Korra moves her hand to tickle Asami’s belly.

Asami’s belly is particularly sensitive, and Korra knows this. Whenever she’s not being a butt, it’s rather easy to get a strong reaction out of her when her belly is tickled. Korra turns to feathery light tickles all over Asami’s sensitive belly, and Asami laughs more desperately. High pitched squeals have now been incorporated into her laughter, and she squeezes her eyes shut, perhaps trying to block out the ticklish sensations.

“Korra, PLEASE! MERCY!” Asami squeals in between fits of laughter. Korra kneads her belly, sending Asami into a spasm. Asami bucks her hips and Korra has to shift her weight in order to keep Asami from breaking out of her ticklish prison.

“Hmmm….” Korra says, her fingers moving closer and closer to Asami’s bellybutton. Asami’s laughter raises a few pitches, her wriggling becoming more desperate. “Nooooooooope!” Korra says slyly, digging her index finger into Asami’s bellybutton, sending her into hysterical laughter.

“KORRAAAAAAAAA!!!” Asami squeals, shrieking with laughter, her hair becoming a disheveled mess.

“If you want me to stop, you’re going to have to admit justtttt how ticklish you are, Sami!” Korra teases, smirking. She moves away from Asami’s bellybutton and leans back, tickling her girlfriend’s knees and thighs. Asami attempts to kick up at her but it’s no use- Korra  has too good of a grip on her.

“Never!” Asami shouts, barely making the word out through her laughter. Korra switches tactics, moving her hands to squeeze at Asami’s inner thighs. Asami squeals once again, struggling to bring her hands out from under Korra’s knees to return the cruel, tickling torture. Again, she is unsuccessful.

“That isn’t the answer I’m looking for,” Korra teases, “You know, it feels awesome to be able to get you back for all the times you’ve teased me about being a dork, or short, or ticklish…it seems like you’re just as ticklish as me!”

“No, I’m-“ Asami gets out, before being overtaken by a fit of laughter, throwing her head back as Korra’s fingers skirt in between her thighs, squeezing and skittering and creating an unbearably ticklish sensation for her.

“What was that? I didn’t catch that.” Korra says, moving her fingers again to attack her sides. Asami squirms under Korra’s body, the tickling overwhelming her senses. She’s been very ticklish for her entire life but has learned to manage it. She will partake in tickle fights with Korra, but usually keeps her ticklishness at bay (to an extent), letting Korra tickle her plenty, but never to the point of becoming unhinged in favor of winning the tickle fights. However, that’s changing quickly.

Korra turns around then, quickly so as not to let Asami break free from her grip, and leans over her legs, wrapping an arm around Asami’s calves.

“Last chance, Asami!” Korra says teasingly.

“Korra, wait!” Asami shouts as she catches her breath.

“Yes?” Korra asks, poising her fingers on the sole of Asami’s right foot. Asami curls her toes, preparing for another attack.

“I….still think you’re a huge dork.” She states, and squeals with laughter as Korra’s fingers swiftly skitter along the soles of her feet.

“Wow!” Korra says, tickling harder and being unable to help but laugh along with her girlfriend’s squeals of ticklish laughter, “you’re wayyyyy too ticklish to be talking to me like that!”

“I’m-“ A squeal from the captive Asami, “not!” Korra just tickles harder, not ready to let Asami win by giving up.

“Admit it! I can do this all night- can you?” Korra asks, bringing her fingers up to the ball of Asami’s foot. Asami shrieks with laughter once again- her feet are another incredibly ticklish spot. “Gosh, you are too cute!” Korra teases as she continues tickling. Asami wiggles her feet but to no avail, completely trapped by the Avatar. Finally, she loses the ego and shouts.

“Okay! I admit it! I’m really ticklish!” She squeals in between laughter, and Korra finally stops tickling. Asami takes a deep breath as she regains her composure. Korra sits up. Asami rips her hands from their pinned state under Korra and pushes her girlfriend off of her. Korra can’t stop laughing.

“Wow!” Korra laughs, turning to face her girlfriend. Asami fixes her shirt, and then her hair. Her face is flushed from laughter. “Glad I finally got you to admit it!”

“You knew I was ticklish, Korra! This wasn’t fair.” Asami says, feigning anger but smiling.

“Yeah I knew, but I didn’t know you were ridiculously ticklish! You keep it under control so well!”

“I need some way to win our tickle fights!” Asami chuckles. Korra scoffs.

“Yeah, like how you totally won this one.”

“Please, I let you have this one.”

“Sure you did, all that hysterical laughter was very generous.”

“You’re welcome.” Asami laughs, and Korra laughs as well.  

“And the adorable begging? You’re too cute.”

“How dare you.” Asami smirks, “I’d be happy to teach you some of my tricks, if you want to learn.”

“Really?” Korra asks.

“Hmm…Nope. I like having the advantage,” Asami teases, reaching over and pecking Korra on the cheek. They pull each other into a hug, enjoying each other’s embrace, before the fire alarm goes off.

“I may have forgotten to turn off the iron and it may  have lit something on fire.” Korra whispers, pulling away from Asami and running out of the room. Asami laughs, not worried about the little crisis in the spare room. However, she follows Korra. It seems as though her clothes will be crispy after all.

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