#man... I am so sad... square is so dumb...

[kayrockerqog]

imma compress all my td2023 season two thoughts into one post, so spoilers below particularly for the final four/five episodes

Okay so, I can't be the only one who's super tired of Caleb by the end of the season, right? Like, no, I don't dislike him as a character necessarily, hell, we didn't have much to go off of for a GOOD while, and I'm certainly glad they actually gave him some substance. But like...really? Putting him in the FINALE? Extending his arc so long that it keeps PRIYA in until the final FOUR?? It just makes them both feel like they overstayed their welcome, especially when people like Damien, Zee and Raj got shafted in favour of their plotline, which was ultimately super exhausting compared to others. It also just felt a little...off, especially for Caleb's teammates in the finale basically being "Team Not Julia," that just felt...so sad. And not in a way that was really earned since he was super wishy-washy for the latter half of the game, especially after Damien was eliminated. Like girl how can you go from having nothing to having too much?? What is this, rags to riches? And just to get all of the kinda low points of the season IMO:

Damien was just straight up robbed, and his elimination left a bit of a bad taste in my mouth?? Like there ain't no way DAMIEN would be dumb enough and/or not paranoid enough to NOT take the idol with him to elimination, like, ON HIS PERSON. I don't care that it was hidden at the campfire, there is no way anyone with his personality, especially after saying he moves the damn thing like four times a day, would NOT KEEP IT ON HIM DURING THE CEREMONY!! That's just an unnecessary risk and it got him taken out. Also, Priya voting him out made DOUBLE no sense, like I get Wayne and Raj being sentimental and all but why would Priya vote him over someone else?? I'm still not over Zee's elimination either. Like, yeah, I get why, he spilled a bunch of tea about everybody, but did they just FORGET THE FIRST AND ARGUABLY MOST IMPORTANT BIT OF TEA??? THAT CALEB WAS FUCKING WITH PRIYA'S HEAD??? Why did they spare him of that? Caleb should've gotten more fucking consequences for not updating Zee on the development, especially when you made him PROMISE NOT TO SAY ANYTHING!!! However, there's a lot of good stuff too that I absolutely adored about the later episodes:

MK and Julia's farewell felt really fitting, even if I felt MK should've stayed over her, plus the hug??? the mutual respect??? Chef's commentary???? real. Raj and Wayne continue to be completely endearing, both with Raj's elimination and Wayne's obvious love and care for him even when he's not there. I mean FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, his worst fear at the time was having to compete AGAINST Raj instead of with him!!! How precious is that?? Plus the HUG????? RAJ'S FAREWELL?????? EVERYTHING ABOUT IT HAS ME SO GIDDY MAN!! "Bowie, get your dancing shoes!" me, being buried in a pile of the hearts swirling around my head and also just, Bowie in the finale being an icon, as usual, even if he isn't competing. His friendship with Wayne as a result of his relationship with Raj and how he's adapted to their ways of thinking is SO!!!!! GAH!!!!!! HE LEARNED THE HOCKEY TALK!!!!! IM WEAK!!!!!! And everyone on Wayne's team being so genuinely happy to support him, especially those I genuinely would not have expected to be there (Axel, Ripper, Chase) but when I think about it, it makes PERFECT sense, and I'm just,,, AGH!!!!! And while the final three and winner may not have been my first choices, I am ultimately pleased with the ending. Wayne winning makes up for the exhaustion of other plotlines in the season, and really, he played fair and square and won. Much as I wanted Julia to win, I'm glad he did.

now that ive actually seen all the episodes I'm gonna be,,, insane and reblog so much td stuff because obviously, so,, AND IF ANYONE WANTS TO ASK ME MORE QUESTIONS FEEL FREE!!! I WOULD LOVE TO TALK MORE IN DEPTH ABOUT MY THOUGHTS OF THE SEASON!!

#total drama #total drama 2023 #td 2023 #td 2023 spoilers #td raj #td wayne #td caleb #td julia #td damien #td mk #td zee #total drama stays winning #total drama 2023 spoilers

[loungemermaid]

Posting the newest chapter of The Loneliest Time because of the whole ao3 thing

Chapter Five: Fade Into You

Word count 3k, rated teen for dumb Katniss pining

Katniss pov

We are living together. There is (slightly) more touching. There is no sex. Nothing even really close to it, not since our deep kissing in the woods the other day. He keeps me quite literally at arms length. I may be wrapped in his arms or sprawled across his chest when we settle down for bed but by the time morning, lilac bright, streams in, he’s halfway across this absolute ocean of bed. Laying on his stomach, or back to me.

Maybe I’ve misunderstood, misinterpreted him. Maybe he’s less um, physical, that way. Maybe we will never have sex. Which is fine. It’s just unexpected. Kisses he takes and gives freely. His arms are never too far away, if I need to be tangled up in them. He sweeps me up and sets me on his lap often, but if my hands start to roam or linger, he catches them and holds them to his chest. His own (big, strong, delicate) hands are never not firmly on my arms or my waist, as far away from my breasts or my hips as he can get. Maybe he’s just as uneasy with all these things as I am. I appreciate the space but I. I notice other couples. I notice other mens’ hands, caresses, shrieked giggles from other women. I remember things my parents did. I want that. And I might be very sad if it isn’t ever like that.

I take to writing all my desires in a notebook. When he asks I tell him it’s journaling. Private. Things about the Games, things that haunt me in dreams. Which is not altogether untrue. His chest, the tiny flashes of hip, his thighs do haunt my dreams. They too send a thrill down my spine. Just for entirely different reasons. Mmm. The broad expanse of his back.

There are other things I imagine. Things I have to create out of wholecloth, because I’ve never seen them. Peeta’s coloring is all in one theme; dawn. He is all white puffy clouds, golden beams of light, dusty pink, lilac. I wonder if the theme continues. If he’s rosy anywhere else other than his lips. If his heavy golden curls, bright as breaking light, blanket him anywhere else. The hair so thin on his arms and legs, and he’s never not wearing a shirt. I wonder how much is on his chest, if any. I don’t remember any in the Arena, but that’s been months. And Peeta’s grown since then.

He is impossibly more broad. The line of his jaw is sharper, his arms wider, his shoulders more square. I say impossible for two reasons. One: we have not been doing any exercise. Our walk the other day, our failed attempt at a picnic, has been the closest we’ve gotten. Unless he’s leaving the house and hauling bags of flour without telling me. Since he still needs his cane sometimes to balance, I doubt it. Not that he wouldn’t have the strength to, just not the footing.

The other reason is he’s still only sixteen. I don’t know when his birthday is (when I asked he only replied in summer, so I suppose I missed it this year) but it’s a young sixteen. I’m wracking my brain to remember if Rye or Soren were this big at his age, but I wasn’t particularly interested in the other Mellarks, so I don’t have either one of them memorized the way I have Peeta. Gale is still taller, but much thinner built. Up and down, as they say. Straight up and down. Peeta is shorter but he already looks like a man. Like the pen and watercolor illustrations of lumberjacks or blacksmiths you’d find in those types of books, the ones passed around the housewives of the Seam, with dogeared pages and underlined passages and plain covers. Prim always wanted to read them, she didn’t understand why she never could. Hazelle read them plenty, why didn’t we? My mother made some excuse when the question came up, which helped because it always left me stammering. I didn’t read them either, but I’d seen them left open a few times, felt my face burn clear to the next day at the lurid words inside. As I chew on my pen, waiting for Peeta to get out of the shower, I realize I might as well be writing my own plaincover novel. Not that anyone but me will ever see these words.

We’re preparing for Soren’s birthday party, and we’re avoiding family. Avoiding isn’t really right. Just…not inviting conflict. Soren is only a little less than a year older than Peeta, so this party won’t be very big, I’m told. Nothing like a nineteenth birthday party.

No matter which side of the tracks you’re on, that’s the one birthday everyone celebrates. Your birthday of aging out, of freedom, of cheating death. They can have a sort of dark theme to them. Lots of images of skulls and bones. Peeta tells me in Town there’s flowers that symbolize death and life, usually weaved together into a crown. Not unlike a Victor’s crown. When I was younger, I must have planned my Nineteenth half a dozen times. After my father died, I didn’t have the taste for it. And now I’ll never have one. Not really. Oh I’m sure I might have a get together, maybe even a cake or something, but it won’t be a Nineteenth. Neither will Peeta. We’ll have to plan something extra special for the others, then, for Soren’s and Prim’s.

Gale’s is, of course, sooner. But I don’t know where to go with that, how to navigate it. Today is Saturday. If things were normal, I’d be seeing him tomorrow. But I don’t know if he wants to see me after last week. I don’t know if I want to see him. I file it all in my brain to chew over later. Worrying about it right now won’t do, so I’ll just worry about it later. I tuck my diary under my pillow, set about redoing my hair. This braid didn’t quite turn out right.

Peeta opens the door, hair curling up, robe slightly damp at the collar, steam swirling all around him. He’s sighing deeply, nearly panting, and the sound is absolutely delicious, sending shivers down my spine. Sympathetic vibrations; sometimes when you sing at a glass, you can break it with just your voice. Peeta’s sighs can break me. His skin is flushed sunset pink, and he heaves another sigh(my heart vibrating along with it) as he collapses on the bed, fluttering his eyes closed and just breathing. “I’ll never get tired of havin’ unlimited hot water.” He pants out as he scrubs at his face again.

I am absolutely transfixed, frozen as if caught in hovercraft beam, just staring shamelessly. He’s completely covered, but just by that thin flannel. Flannel that’s sticking to his thighs and chest because of the water. The water that was so hot Peeta’s skin is still steaming from the contact, minutes later. He rolls his eyes over at me. “Um, Katniss.”

“Yeah?” My voice catches in my throat.

“I need to get dressed.”

“Uh huh.” I’m chewing my pen again.

“Katniss.”

“What?”

“Please leave the room so I can get dressed.”

“Oh!” I scramble for my journal and pen, which both fall out of my hands approximately five times. “Sorry!” I call as I run down the stairs. What had come over me?

The walk down to the party is, well. Excruciating. My skin feels like static, everywhere, and I can’t look at Peeta. I can’t look at him because he’s wearing a navy blue shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves cuffed up. He’s using the cane today, sleek polished dark wood with a gold handle. The Capitol wouldn’t want anything less than pure elegance, even when it came to basic necessities like a mobility aid. His hair is perfectly touseled, having wriggled free of the gel from our walk. He tries once or twice to smooth it back but gives up shortly. “I need to cut it. It’s getting long.” He says with a chuckle, and it’s only then that I realize that I’ve not only been staring down the road, I’ve been doing it in pure silence.

“I like it. Long. But I also like it shorter. It’s your hair and you should do what you like with it. But I like it longer.”

That rambling, stuttering mess earns me another one of the increasingly common looks of absolute confusion he’s been giving me as of late. “Okay.”

I wince all the way to my toes and I have to shake it out of my fingertips, shake out that feeling. “Sorry. I. Sorry.” Another shudder hits me and I have to shake it out again, shake my head to clear it. I have to stare at my shoes to calm down, have to shove my hands in my pockets. It’s a pretty dress, what I’m wearing. Orange and brown plaid, down to my knees with a full enough skirt to dance in. For once I’m also wearing enough underskirts with it, so it flows from my hips. The top is sleeveless, and quite revealing, so I’ve paired it with a thin cream turtleneck, along with stockings, of course. I think Cinna would be pretty proud, though he’d hate that I’m still wearing my boots with them. I can’t help it, I can’t walk in those pretty shoes he sent, not all the way to town and then go dancing after. These are about to give up the ghost. I’ll have to talk to Delly about some new ones. Again, I could have some top of the line, machine stitched boots from the Capitol, but these are my hunting boots. To hunt in boots from the Capitol would be like hunting in a sequin dress. Besides, it’s good to spend my money in town.

We walk near silently the rest of the way, and I can’t help but wonder what I did wrong.

The party is in some little patio, from some restaurant that went under before I was born. There ain’t many in town; there’s no need. No one has any money. Mostly they’re for the very few Capitol tourists that scurry around come Reaping Day. Not exactly enough to sustain a business. Every once in a while, someone might go to one to celebrate something, but even then, that’s Townie kids. So, when this one went under, apparently no one rushed to take its place, and it has, according to Peeta, become the official unofficial place for teenagers to get drunk and dance. Shortly after we arrived, a glass was placed into my hand, a glass I’m still nursing. I’ve been holding up this little corner of the brick wall for a while, watching as everyone flits about, the conversations overlapping and rushing like a waterfall, Rhett Galbraith’s fiddle barely able to keep up. My eyes keep flitting around, because surely this isn’t legal. In fact, I can think of about three reasons why it ain’t, but then again, if I can manage to pay off Cray with a few turkeys, I’m certain a few kids could scrounge up something to make the peacekeepers look the other way for a birthday party. I should relax, but I’ve never quite known how to do that, especially in a crowd, especially when I’m the only non blonde. Well, except for Rhett and the band, but they were probably hired to be here. I take another sip of my drink and wrinkle my nose. It is, by only the most generous of definitions, a fruit and honey wine, made by Pepper Brookshire from the fruit that doesn’t sell at the grocery. It tastes awful, but she’ll get there, probably. It’s only her third batch, and she is only seventeen after all. She might make a decent outlaw yet, once she learns to balance her spices. I’m just about to go up, talk to her, offer to forage for her when Peeta catches me again. “There you are. Been looking all over for you.”

I stuff my free hand in my pocket again, rock back and forth on my heels, resolutely staring at a spare bit of straw on the ground. “I’ve been here.” I say, and it sounds meaner than I meant. I try and soften. “Did you get to catch up with some of your friends?”

“Mm.” He takes a sip from the jam jar serving as his wine glass, tries to hide his distaste of it, and I can just about pick out his real thoughts then. That the distaste isn’t just Pepper’s melomel. It’s that none of these people have been by a single day since we got home. Not to chat, not to ask if Peeta wanted to hang out. I’ve occasionally been over to Madge’s, but not a soul has come over to visit Peeta. “A little. Been wanting to talk with Delly but she looks…busy tonight, so.” He flicks his eyes over to Delly and Soren, who are caught up in the most awkward kissing I’ve ever seen, and that’s counting the replays of my own kissing.

I bite back a laugh. “That’s. An interesting development.”

Peeta smiles. “Mmm-hmm. They uh, signed their contract earlier today, apparently. A two year engagement. They’ll be married the July Fifth after their Nineteenths. Guess they’re getting used to each other.”

“I always thought that-” and I stop myself from following that line of thinking, because the look Peeta tells me both confirms it anyway and tells me it’s best not spoken about. I take another sip. Right. I can’t help it though, so I try and ask discreetly. “So, they both are?” I whisper, and Peeta only nods, and only once. “Better that way, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” He whispers. “It. No. It’s much better this way.”

Technically, legally, no one is supposed to mind who marries who. We all have the freedom to marry who we choose, or not at all. But that doesn’t mean everyone is going to like your choices here. Whether that’s intermarriage between Town and Seam or same sex marriage. Delly might be alright, not a ton of Town families mind their daughters being lesbians. Saves on dowries, I suppose, and it’s built in childcare. A lot of townspeople send their children to stay with their lesbian aunts or neighbors before school(that’s actually how Peeta and Delly met. Peeta’s aunt Rooba married Sutton, a family friend of the Cartwrights, and they babysat them both for years). With boys it’s different. Maybe because they’re expected to carry on the family business, maybe because it’s seen as unmanly, whatever the reasons, it always causes a stir. Another reason I’m becoming more grateful I grew up in the Seam. You might get some old people saying it ain’t right, or that it’s a waste, but honestly it usually works well for gay couples in the Seam. It’s not uncommon for a gay couple and a lesbian couple to share households, pitch in everything together, save up money for their nieces and nephews, and not have to work nearly as hard as other young couples just starting out do. It’s something I’ve considered once or twice before, but I couldn’t do it. I don’t have the heart for it.

But the reason Peeta told me to hush wasn’t because of society at large, it was because of his mother. If she found out that her favorite son was gay…well. It wouldn’t end well. I wonder if she’d actually kill him. That’s happened before, once rumors started to spread about someone, next thing you know a “wild dog” had gotten out, or they’d died of “fever” or some other equally thinly veiled excuse that no one believes. For the Mellarks it’d be almost too easy. They have pigs. All it’d take is one good push while Soren was out feeding and that would be that. A tragic accident that no peacekeeper would ever think twice over. I shudder into my drink, look into Peeta’s eyes. Yeah. A lavender marriage would be best. I set my drink down, not really wanting to pretend to drink it, and maybe it’s because of the music, or the way the kerosene lamps make Peeta’s hair shine like gold, or maybe it’s the slight chill in the air, or the tree frogs and mockingjays singing in the distance, or maybe it’s just because I can’t stop thinking of how he looked out of the shower, but I stick my hand out. “I know it ain’t proper, me being the one to ask, but do you wanna dance?”

He blushes like sunrise, like the first gentle rays that peak out and burn the sky bright pink. “I think I can let that go, just this once. Yes, I’d love to dance.”

And we do. It’s not perfect. It’s probably not even very good. I only know fast dances and Peeta is still a little unsure of himself, a little unsteady. But it feels good. It feels like the parts that have been missing, it feels intimate and close, like more of our hearts are stitching together. I’m humming under my breath before I know it, this song I haven’t heard in years. It’s more Town than Seam; they prefer older songs usually. Classical music, songs before the Dark Days, before the Fall. It’s slow, repetitive, and I think it’s supposed to be a woman that sings it, but Rhett’s brother is doing a good enough job at it. I know people are looking, and I don’t care. I want so desperately to be closer to Peeta, for him to quit this pulling away, to stop all these chaste kisses and put his hands on me. To touch me. To stop holding back. I nuzzle my nose in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent and feel the warmth enrobe me in fondness. “Fade into you” I sing, my voice crackling like fireplace embers, because I want this moment to just be for us, but it’s not, because there’s people around. Always someone around, always people watching. But I can’t help it. If I don’t say(or sing, in this case) it I’ll go mad. “Strange you never knew.” And I’m begging. I’m begging he gets what I mean by that. I’m pleading with the universe that he feels what I’m trying to say, the things I don’t have words for. That I could just press all this emotion from my chest into his and he’d just know.

But he doesn’t. He drops my hands and runs off, and I don’t follow him. He leaves and I don’t follow him because I can’t stop the tears running down my face. He leaves and I run the other direction because I love him and for some reason, we can’t ever talk about that.

#mer.txt #the loneliest time #fic tag ig #everlark fic #mutual pining #katniss being oblivious #autistic katniss #misreading social cues #brief mentions of homophobia

[hiddenwashington]

                                       we are the april fools

welcome to the brain cell of the admin team working! we love a good bit so, here is a compilation of our bullshit for your memeing pleasure. enjoy!

**tw for nsfw, drug mention, alcohol mention, swearing

‘ fuck off you fucking gremlin ’

‘ mister mistoffelees is my cat boyfriend ’

‘ one is a kink, one is a crime ’

‘ i live for chaos you gotta feed me ’

‘ i’ll continue being an asshole for your amusement ’

‘ i’m ready, bring on the anxiety ’

‘ hey bro, what the fuck ’

‘ we’ll scar ourselves for valentines day ’

‘ and then she wrote me a novel about his cocaine addiction ’

‘ sponsored by ritz cheese crackers, absolute shit ’

‘ you have no legacy, your legacy is to be disappointed all the time ’

‘ you’re like some sad soccer mom that came for the wine instead of your kids soccer game ’

‘ karen can choke i would never forget the sangria ’

‘ your moms dead, i’m your problem now ’

‘ it is i, the mullet of your dreams ’

‘ you cannot mention pornhub! this is why you’re not hr ’

‘ i’m on the clock to knock your lights out ’

‘ i’m livin la tiddy loca ’

‘ she was hot, i don’t know what to tell you ’

‘ righting the world and the economy one karen at a time ’

‘ you can fight my brain and my anxiety sis we’re having ✨a terrible time✨ ’

‘ i’m on it drag that bitch to denny’s i’ll take her ass out ’

‘ can god stop vibe checking me ’

‘ today i learned that cocaine could be an antidepressant if the government weren’t cowards ’

‘ i had five shots of espresso, even god can’t stop me ’

‘ ted bundy is up first i will square up ’

‘ one day i will have the pleasure of going to hell and murdering freud ’

‘ i will not face consequences for my actions. you can not make me ’

‘ i can accept that i have a flaw or two. that’s it though, just two ’

‘ i know you try very hard, but you are very stupid ’

‘ let’s go straight, a thing we’ve never said before in this groupchat ’

‘ you better be ready to sleep with moth man - hi dad! ’

‘ that’s like the saddest uwu i’ve heard in my life ’

‘ i just want the thrill of rejecting a god ’

‘ you really think you could take on the kool-aid man and take no damage??? ’

‘ i don’t have a foot fetish, i’m just autistic ’

‘ i haven’t even learned multiplication, how am i supposed to know what a pyramid scheme is? ’

‘ do i look sexy while dying? ’

‘ have you been watching too much youtube? ’

‘ fucking ipad kids, man ’

‘ i can be sane about this i promise but not today ’

‘ i’m a catch and i can also sleep with a younger man ’

‘ how do you milk an oat ’

‘ fuck my dad ’

‘ sometimes you just need to start swinging ’

‘ i just watched a cat girl walk out of thin air in a starbucks ’

‘ isn’t that that furry thing people are into ’

‘ i’m gonna go on The Google and see if i can figure anything out ’

‘ am i high too? ’

‘ fuck off bambi ’

‘ since there was no warning and i make the rules here ’

‘ you’ll go where i say you’ll go ’

‘ does a - mother fucker ’

‘ gonna play chase the emo ’

‘ we love biting dilfs….? ’

‘ optimistic nihilism, right? none of us matter ’

‘ it’s kinda cringe to be kidnapped ’

‘ you rolled a 5, stfu this rabbit’s coming to brand you ’

‘ is he immune to KNIVES?? ’

‘ alright – now to kill this dad ’

‘ if you think garfield is going to stand against me in court, you’re out of your fucking mind ’

‘ no offense but you have like no mom vibes ’

‘ i think i got threatened by a furry ’

‘ speak of the cat lady and she shall appear ’

**shotguns frappuccino** ‘ there’s many ways to drink a drink ’

‘ these hands are magic, baby ’

‘ are you saying naruto is jesus?? ’

‘ your pride is going to get us killed ’

‘ you look like you could fit under a bush ’

‘ y’all test me… ’

‘ it’s your reward for being a dumb bitch ’

‘ i am SO GLAD you didn’t get vored by a cloud ’

‘ did you get so high/drunk you circled back to sober? ’

‘ try to crowd surf the third graders! ’

‘ some things are better off unknown , the phrase will haunt me but… ’

‘ we’ve summoned satanic tennessee ’

‘ what’s a chakra? i didn’t bring anything with me ’

‘ hey lady, did you give me crack ? ’

‘ there are no nutrients in my body, only spite! ’

‘ i’m here to be fun and cute! not smart! ’ 

‘ i don’t joke about setting timers ’

‘ eggs aren’t meat... yet ’

‘ this is being run by a bisexual maniac ’

‘ maybe nessie’s lonely, maybe nessie needs to get laid! ’

‘ biting is my kink ‘

‘ don’t worry, i will slowly eat away at you until you are a husk of a person ’

#meme day #long post tw #featuring the hits from two dnd campaigns and nightmare comments in the admin discord

[barnabyseyelashes]

2024.. we finished moving into our own home yesterday. we bought a place in a mobile home park i’m a trailer park gay now. leaving the dogshitpisshell we left in 2023. and we have the duckies!!

i’m still so. tired. but i’m happy. i didn’t realize i was so miserable for so many months. like summer and on.. it just sucked. we felt obtrusive, like burdens, and couldn’t cook anymore.. like living with a woman i have known since middle school? fine. living with her, her mid 40s bf, and his three fucking kids? in a 3bd, 1 of which we rent? hell no lol. they never even introduced me, it’s been months but i don’t know those kids names. living with drunks esp drunks with children and dogs.. no. no. friday there were 6 separate dog shits in the bathroom that used to be ours and it’s like 6 sims tiles, including the tub.. it’s mad disgusting. so happy to be done. sad my “friend” is such no longer, hasn’t been. she has seemed unhappy this last year and well like hm maybe you shouldn’t let a man 10+ years older than you just raise his 3 kids like 1 week into dating. just a thought. but whatever, she has a broke dumb shit man to drink with and 3 kids who ain’t hers to mind. (they don’t mind them—the abject neglect was so painful to watch. imagine being under 10 years old and your family gives so few fucks about you, you can stay up watching yt until 4 am. on a school night. this was a regular occurrence. there was one day she wasn’t home and her bf didn’t even change his kids into pjs. they laughed. we were horrified.) quite sad, she could have been a much better, different person. she was my first romance when we were 14; it didn’t last long, we were too different. so i shouldn’t be surprised we are still too different to be friends. (still thinking about how she said it would be so embarrassing to be on tumblr these days). there’s still old pics of me and a bday card i made her in the old place from high school. they were there before us, and only they shall remain.

our new place is great, one town up from mine, and smaller. more average people here. no blue lives matter flags. it’s gonna be $$$ to keep it, lot fees alone are rent for apartments in other parts of the country, but she’s ours.. 1600 square feet, 2bd, 2ba. backyard big enough to keep the duckies as emotional support animals. it’s 70s but reno’d, roof is new, porch turned into an extension. vaulted ceilings, carpet only in the bedrooms, full size kitchen !! huge closets. we will set up the extension with art and craft tables, wife will have room in the main living space for an office. it’s gonna be really nice to unpack for the first time in 2 years. come visit !!!

most importantly is we don’t have to mask at home anymore, and the bathroom is accesible so i’ll be able to get my hysto done. i need it too, jesus i was so skinny post covid and now i’ve chunked back up and then some. like i just want my fucking clothes to fit and stop cramping and breaking out and having mood swings. so that will be good..

sláinte agus áthas to you all in the new year 🙏✨💕

#gross mentions #child neglect mentions #health mentions #weight mentions #🖋️🦓 #🖋🦓

[slow-burn-sally]

Evolution of my thoughts on Dream Of The Endless in Netflix’s Sandman

Me: Wow, what a silly, pouty emo man. He’s so stupid. His hair is stupid and his face is stupid, and he’s just lying there, all naked, trying to be sexy in that glass fishbowl. What a dumb character.

Me: Well, I mean... even if all he does is pout, he’s kinda cute. His face does some neat stuff I guess. Like when his raven got killed he looked genuinely sad. Maybe he’s not so ridiculous.

Me: OK, his voice is banging. He has a good voice for this role. I barely remember the comics, but damn. That’s a good voice. 

Me: Oh my god his face can do so many things! He has a lot of subtle nuance going on with his expressions actually. And, if I’m totally honest, he’s not bad on the eyes. Bit of a square jawed pretty boy... not really my type but, there’s no denying he’s a cutie and he’s really good in this role. 

Me: OH HOLY SHIT HE’S THE PRETTIEST THING ON THE PLANET. HIS FACE IS SO AMAZING. HIS VOICE IS SO COOL. HE DID SUCH A GOOD JOB OF EXPRESSING SUCH A WIDE RANGE OF NUANCED EMOTION IN THIS SHOW. HE IS SO SO PRETTY I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM. AM I IN LOVE WITH TOM STURRIDGE? I THINK I MUST BE.

#dream of the endless #morpheus #the sandman #tom sturridge

[millennialdemon]

Upon finishing Cleopatra: Queen of Sex, I am left with one simple, rather frustrating question to have at the end of any movie: What was the point?

I can’t help but compare it to Belladonna of Sadness, the film following this one in the Animerama trilogy, and lament Cleopatra’s apparent lack of purpose or narrative vision. Because while Belladonna of Sadness is quite a troubling movie to me personally – I simply cannot call it feminist, and I find it harder and harder to not just admit it is really, very misogynistic despite Eichii Yamamoto’s attempts to grapple with feminist ideas therein – I cannot say it wasn’t trying to impart a meaning, or even that it didn’t succeed in doing so. It was very squarely, definitely, about something. I came away from Belladonna of Sadness shocked, sad, and sympathetic – even if that sympathy was and is still conflicted.

On the other hand, Cleopatra: Queen of Sex left me puzzled and somewhat disgusted, and I don’t even think it was on purpose. And yes, I’m a 28 year-old harpy woman feminist whatever, of course I took umbrage with a 70s cinemax porno anime movie, what did I expect? But that really didn’t even turn out to be my main complaint. In fact, that didn’t even make it into the Top 3 problems I have with this movie, which are as follows:

3. Cleopatra, kind of like Jeanne now that I think about, didn’t actually have much agency and just sort of reacted to the story unfolding around her, despite being the main character. This is exacerbated by having her actions be controlled by another, much more wicked older woman throughout who is doing all of the planning for her.

2. The time-travel framing narrative was completely nonsensical, unnecessary, and went ignored for the vast majority of the movie.

and 1. The ending of the framing time-travel narrative is in complete opposition with the preceding 1 hour and 40 minutes of the story.

Now, I said that the time-travel framing narrative went ignored in the majority of the movie, but that isn’t technically true. If you must know, the time-travellers passively sitting inside of the brains of the ancient people – and a leopard – did contribute One thing to the story throughout: raunchy, absurdist humour. The man inside of Cleopatra’s pet leopard seemingly kept his consciousness somehow, since he was a perverse dunce that facilitated bestiality jokes, just as he did before he got stuck inside the body of an ancient leopard. What a blessing. Thank you Tezuka, for showing me various images of a wacky cartoon leopard trying to have sex with human women.

The other time-travellers ended up in the bodies of humans, a roman slave and a young woman who was a close friend of Cleopatra’s. They, for some unexplained reason, were not consciously controlling the bodies they are inside of, nor were they able to investigate anything despite that being the main conceit of this journey. The roman slave is able to craft explosives and, ridiculously, a handgun, but he has no idea how he knows how to do these things or why he is compelled to. He says vaguely, “someone in my heart is telling me how to do this” and “I made this on impulse, I have no idea how it works”. The young woman does not feel any similar impulse or have access to hidden future knowledge – she may as well have never been possessed at all. Her life goes on exactly as we would assume it would had she not been.

All of the things these three characters do, whether they had been possessed by time-travellers who do nothing anyway or not, could have simply not been done at all and nothing in the story would be very different. History would have played out the same way regardless if the roman slave won his coliseum battle by shooting his opponent with a handgun, and other similar absurdities. Cleopatra steals that handgun afterwards and threatens to kill Calpurnia with it for stealing away Caesar, but Calpurnia convinces her otherwise by showing her that Caesar doesn’t love her, so Cleopatra doesn’t even end up using the gun to change the outcome of history. And need I even explain how whether or not the leopard wants to hump various women doesn’t matter at all, beyond facilitating crude humour, the same way the imagery of a roman slave holding a glock facilitates absurdist humour in this movie?

And it was still not necessary to include them even for the sake of just facilitating humour. There are tons of elements in this movie that are purposely “out of time and place” for the sake of absurdity. All the montages of fine art parodies from around the world, the scene of the various famous statues that have Caesar’s likeness forced onto them after he becomes emperor, Caesar’s assassination playing out like a Japanese stage play. Caesar literally returns to Rome with Cleopatra in a red sports car. This movie never claimed to be aiming for any sort of historical accuracy – we even got a disclaimer about that right off the hop! – we didn’t need any reason for the roman slave to be able to craft a gun, or for the leopard to be horned out of his mind, or the girl to do… nothing…

Functionally the only thing the time-travel framing narrative did was render this movie meaningless in the end. The reason the time-travellers went to the past was to figure out why an alien race on an alien planet called Pasateli, which Earth is trying to conquer, have named their plans for rebellion against Earth “The Cleopatra Plan”. They watch the real Cleopatra’s life unfold in ancient Egypt, and return to the future saying that they now understand what the “The Cleopatra Plan” might be.

The aliens of Pasateli have been sending beautiful women to Earth to seduce the earth men and then, when they are vulnerable, kill them. Upon discovering this, earth launches missiles to Pasateli to destroy it, and the movie ends.

But Cleopatra was not a conniving, wicked woman trying to destroy mankind – this movie does not present her as such. She was being guided and pressured by Apollodoria, and even so, she resisted her demands and fell in love with both of the Roman leaders she had been tasked with assassinating. For an hour and 40 minutes we watch this story about this poor woman who cannot bear to kill the men she loves, not even for her beloved Egypt. Even when Caesar betrays her love, she does not plot revenge or kill him where he lay – she runs away in sorrow. And after Antony dies in his battle against Octavian, helped by Apollodoria’s meddling and poisoning, Cleopatra tries to run away and live in solitude, saying she wants to go back to the way she was before and live a normal life. But Octavian chases her down, helped by the vengeful Apollodoria, and Cleopatra dies when her desperate final attempt to assimilate with the Romans for the sake of survival fails against Octavian, who is immune to her charms because he is gay. (And by the way, in this mess of a story, what is that supposed to mean?)

Similarly, the Egyptians of the movie were clear victims, analogous with the aliens of Pasateli whom Earth was trying to conquer. After Cleopatra committed suicide, faced with being captured and executed by Octavian and having no choice but to do so, the young Egyptian woman one of the time-travellers ended up inside of screamed and cried and begged for the Romans to leave Egypt. That is how the story that takes place in ancient Egypt ends, with an Egyptian woman begging for the conquerors to leave them alone. And then we hard cut to the future and the time-travellers just glibly say, Oh, the Pasateli are trying to destroy us by seducing our men, just like Cleopatra did! Even though in this story, she didn’t.

It is awful. It is insanely misogynistic. It is weirdly conspiratorially racist and brings to mind the bogus “great replacement” theory that neo-nazis insist is definitely real and happening (it isn’t). It makes no sense.

I could try to spin it differently, and try to make a bold claim that this movie is actually about how humans never learn anything from history. How else can you justify none of the time-travellers, particularly the woman who had resided inside of the mourning Egyptian, not pausing and asking: Wait, are we the baddies? Are we the Roman conquerors that drove the titular Cleopatra to desperate measures and an early demise? Are we the villains incapable of witnessing and understanding the violence we are perpetuating even when it is staring us directly in the face?

But that’s a hard sell and one I cannot actually endorse, because this movie did nothing to earn that interpretation beyond have bafflingly bad writing that forces you try to make sense of it. And because there is a comedy scene wherein Egyptian women band together and plot to exhaust the Roman soldiers in Antony’s army with sex prior to his battle with Octavian’s army, ensuring he loses. And it works.

So was this time-travel framing narrative worth witnessing for the sake of laughing at the horrendously rotoscoped anime heads atop live-action actors in a kitschy sci-fi lab? Not in my opinion, no, even though I do love to see animators experiment and I do love feeling like I’m going insane sometimes. And while I can appreciate the artistry of this movie – and there is a lot of it to enjoy! – I have a big problem when a story like this is so contradictory. And no, it being an experimental adult movie from the 70’s doesn’t absolve it of having bad, confusing writing and being dissatisfying.

4/10 for some compelling visuals and a lot of experimental animation that kept things fresh, but it was majorly dragged down by a story that was a little too careless to just be dumb entertainment.

#:Cleopatra #cleopatra 1970 #cleopatra: queen of sex #Octavian did slay the entire house down every time he was on screen but alas. He could not save this movie #readmore because I ended up typing 1673 words about this -_-

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

@onihcinimkcin said before we started it that there was a good movie inside shang-chi and the legend of the ten rings trying albeit not very hard to get out and i think that's true. i think in that better movie awkwafina and shang-chi are closer to true co-leads than they are here, and also the beginning of the movie does more work to set them up as these kind of sad losers lying to themselves about how much they're enjoying their lives. highlight awkwafina's fear of failure thread more strongly from the start, and make shang-chi more obviously fucked up and someone who is kind of frozen in this stasis and isolation outside of that one friendship. simu liu plays him basically as an affable everyman and it works fine up at the start but casts an increasingly weird lens on the film as his backstory of trauma piles up to eventually reveal that not only did he run away from home at 14, but he was raised to be a child assassin, and oh also on top of that he watched his mom get brutally murdered by his father's enemies when he was like seven and then his dad made him watch him brutally murder all those enemies a couple days later and then when he was 14 he killed the man who killed his mom. like. WHAT. this man is NOT dysfunctional enough to be carrying that kind of baggage around. so in the other movie he's more obviously a fuck-up sort of numbing himself out and running from his capabilities or the possibility of doing anything ever, and awkwafina who i know has a character name and i actually thought was pretty good in this but has such a distinctive voice even now that she's dropped the blaccent that i can't not call her awkwafina, she is basically doing the same thing but with much smaller stakes. and then the movie is still a big dumb fantasy adventure but the human core of it is a movie about two young kinda-adults facing their fears of growing up, which are really fears of failure, of trying, of being their whole selves, which means their weaknesses but also their strengths. the outline of this concept is inside the movie but the movie doesn't actually do anything with it. it's like a paint by numbers but only the outline and the numbers. i'm not asking for revolutionary filmmaking but i feel like they should at least paint the numbers themselves.

in this better movie i think also a really easy improvement to make to the last face-off scene with his dad is that when shang-chi squares off with his dad again ready to be an actual threat this time, we drop the strings & brass and bring back the hip hop adjacent beats we got earlier in the movie, which was like the best thing this movie had going for it - that bus fight is one of my favorite marvel fight scenes ever and it's not because it was much better than they usually are, it's literally just because the soundtrack slapped - and which would also be a way of being like, "i'm not my father's terrified son anymore, I Am My Own Person, Who Checks Out Mozart While He Does Tae-Bo Listens To Hip Hop While Doing Whatever Cool Shit Michelle Yeoh Taught Me Like Three Scenes Ago"

also a better movie has way more clarity on how sympathetic it wants his dad to be because this one went from "you have always been afraid of me" / "you raised me to be an assassin" to "your family needs you dad" / [heroic sacrifice]... too quickly. i'm not inherently opposed to deathbed redemptions and think that the guard sacrificing himself in thor ragnarok is one of like 5 genuinely powerful moments the mcu has ever had. but that happened too fast.

i mean in a perfect world also the movie would not look like shit all the time and the martial arts inspired fight scenes would not just remind me that there are literally hundreds of movies that have shot martial arts to look cool as hell while this movie refuses to ever look even a little bit cool and also there would not be SOMEthing i can't articulate going on in the directing where by the third act big marvel battle scene even the actors seem over it and nobody at any point seems to care that much about anything and at one point tony leung and michelle yeoh are facing off and it's totally dead air with no dynamism or intrigue and you're like ok i'm a film idiot who doesn't know movie words but there has to be some reverse movie magic going here in the directing or editing or cinematography or SOMETHING because i know that these two actors acting at each other SHOULD be a lot more intriguing than this. but like. we can't have it all and i'm trying to be realistic. this is why i also did not mention that this better movie would not descend into mind-numbingly stupid-looking and bafflingly inert aerial combat in the third act, because like, again, i know who i'm dealing with i know kevin makes them agree to it when they sign their contracts.

anyway. i liked the karaoke scenes, having non-english dialogue scenes in a marvel movie, awkwafina's green pants which were the only thing in this movie that did not look ugly or tacky as hell, and the bananas idiotic yet delightful return of TREVOR, who was already one of the best ideas in the very best movie (iron man 3) and who i can't believe they brought back here to be a weird goofy plot device but i'm glad he's cleaned up and is in his own way thriving. also as far as CGI critters go i did enjoy morris, a fuzzball with two butts and peacock-colored wings. solid concept, no notes.

#flim #what was the marvel movie i had a really good fix for #oh far from home #yeah. far from home could have been a great movie and instead it sucked so so so so bad that i refused to see a marvel for like three years #i guess i've seen three of whatever phase we're on now though so maybe i'll watch the rest #although god eternals looks boring

[a-method-in-it]

Gender is the word for sex roles. Sex roles are your cage. You're gilding your cage. Patriarchy defines womanhood by gender. You are a misogynist. You are a white supremacist. You are a dumb homphobic bigot.

Hello anon! I'm assuming this was also you?

If it wasn't I can't be fucked to answer this twice so we're consolidating.

I considered giving you the level of response this argument deserves which is some sort of pithy, dismissive instruction to take your feminist theory back to 1986 when it would already be outdated, but on the off chance that you are open to learning, here goes:

To say that "gender" is only a tool of oppression; is only about sex roles; and is only a cage is not just a shitty thing to argue it's also just...demonstrably not true.

Like actually, literally you can just look out at the world and see that this is objectively false.

I mean, if all that gender is or can ever be is oppression and sex roles, then how do you explain women who adopt masculine gender presentation but still very much consider themselves women? How do you square someone rejecting female gender presentation but not rejecting womanhood?

You can say that he/him lesbians don't exist, I guess, but also in the real world they do and have for generations--as have any number of other gender non-conforming people. So, you know.

Obviously something internal is going on here, something that goes beyond socially defined rules. That thing is called gender.

So no: Gender is not just the word for sex roles. Socially defined gendered expectations are part of gender, yes, and much of our society's (rather bad) understanding of gender revolves around biological sex. But when people talk about gender in this context, they mean something else.

The easiest way to explain it, to me, has always been this: If you switched bodies, science fiction-style, with someone who had a body of a different biological sex than you, would you still think of yourself as the gender you are now? Or would you immediately think of yourself as a man now/as a woman now? Would it be just that easy?

I cannot speak for you, but I personally would not think that. I am a woman. If I was Freaky-Friday-ed into a male body, I would not stop being a woman because being a woman is a part of who I am as a person. It is how I perceive and interact with the world. It is how I see myself. It is interwoven into my whole being.

And also, incidentally, I like being a woman. I don't like sexism or misogyny or patriarchy, but I like womanhood. If given the opportunity to be something else, I wouldn't take it.

Moreover, if sexism and misogyny and patriarchy ended tomorrow, I would still be a woman.

Like, I don't know fully what that world would look like, but I know who I am. I would still be a woman in the absence of oppression.

And to be honest, it's kind of shitty--and not a little misogynist--for you to say that all womanhood is is oppression and misery. Fuck off with that shit. Is that your idea of where womanhood starts and stops? That is so impossibly bleak and sad, I can't stand it. That is a level of woman-hating that boggles my brain.

If you really hate being a woman that much, I don't even know what to tell you other than go to therapy.

I will be over here, not hating women or myself, having a party and also a much more logically consistent feminist theory that isn't disproved by simply spending 12 seconds at the Queer Liberation March.

I'm not even going to get into the part where you called me a misogynist and homophobe and a white supremacist and a religious conservative and also dumb. Because very obviously none of that is true, and it deserves even less than a pity response.

I know who I am. I like who I am. That fact seems to upset you, but I am afraid I cannot be bothered by that.

I hope you actually do consider therapy.

#method speaks #i don't get enough anon hate to dislike it tbh #it's honestly kind of fun #though watch now I've jinxed it #i'm going to start getting hundereds or something now #i also considered talking about the white supremacist thing #considering this whole view relies on a very #VERY #eurocentric understanding of the gender binary #but it was long enough as is #you're welcome

[oldgooddaysoldgooddays]

182 / LAST HURDLE pt 1

Wednesday is the final leg of my wedding and social politics overdose. I can’t believe my whole excursion has only been 7 days, because it feels like weeks since my last emotionally authentic interaction. Then comes lunch with J and N, one I feel I strong-armed them into, and largely about my transferring J’s belated wedding gift to him and his spouse. I sleep late and J finds me smoking and blogging outside Washington Square Diner. Apparently he was at the previous night’s party but left after ten minutes. Wise. N arrives fresh from therapy and feeling jilted by her own lack of invite. And we know why, her Cold War with K being what it is. When we are safely seated at a booth near the restrooms, N bursts into tears. In my solipsism, I forget that N too experienced all of New Orleans’ madness PLUS she has an 11 year old child and bread to win for her whole family. She is under-slept and finding fault with herself at a spectacular rate. J and I grip her forearms and reassure as much as we can that the dissonance between her opinion of herself and that of literally any other person is very, very stark. Somehow we order and a tuna melt and soup and saltines arrive. I stab at a Greek salad the size of a small child and have a half-conversation about Kendrick Lamar with J while N steels herself. I try to quote one of V’s homemade adages about the cruelty of life - that in your 20s (which I am) you look amazing and feel like shit, and in your 40s (which V now is) you look like shit and feel amazing. N reminds me at this point that she is 46 and tells me to go fuck myself. New tears appear, and I almost have to laugh at how dumb I am A man hides in the restroom behind us and stashes what we assume is a bag of drugs or money there. The bag then goes missing, and the man accuses the diner of stealing the goods, calls the cops. The NYPD enter and try to pry him from the bathroom, and when I become excited having never really seen American police in action before, J says “they’re cracking the case!!” I imagine they are after a complimentary meal, and remember the diner menu yesterday had an “NYPD salad” We part ways and I am so full of remorse and love for N who might have one of the worst inner critics I’ve ever encountered. I don’t know if anybody should live in New York who isn’t a natural socialite or from family wealth. The city is more disgusting and sad and sadistic than ever. There’s talk of a dead body lying cold on the street in Chinatown. Also they add too much ice to all beverages, the heating is too on, the food is all poison. But try shit-talking New York to those who run themselves ragged to remain here. I have already kicked my friend while she’s down enough The afternoon is spent with B, a mutual killing of time before he plays basketball in a bad part of town and I head to G’s wedding party at Indochine. We pick at fries at Fanelli and marvel at a woman who we both suspect is pretending to wait tables. She takes dozens of orders and seems never to bring anything. “I like your hat”, she says to B, “mine has lights on it. For when I’m the woods”. B tells me his apartment belonged previously to somebody Kanye once employed and has beefed with publicly. There is a mysterious letter to this person in B’s mailbox, with deranged platitudes and instructions on the front. It is also the first time B and I have discussed other romantic engagements outside of our own brief thing. It is a relief, it is weird. I am harrowed by how many menthol cigarette butts I have generated in such a short time

[pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow]

Things that have made me cry in the last 24 hours:

A comic about a photo booth that shows you a picture of you in 20 years

A comic about a house with little words hidden inside

A comic about the first human

The Falling Problem (also a comic)

That one thing w/Death greeting different people and encouraging the last one to live that's been drifting on Tumblr for years now

The fact that I know a song about a man who is upset that his flight is delayed, a song where a woman is complaining about flying, a song about a guy waiting for the bus in the rain, a song about a man getting stuck on the MTA, a song a married couplings about them traveling long-distance in their search for the sublime, and it's such a dumb thing that so many people across different times and places had in come, that there was something mildly funny and annoying and wonderful about travel and they write songs about that.

That one fucking picture of two people touching fingers and a light connecting their brains. You know the one.

The realization that the reason I keep crying at these things is because I am sorely lacking in catharsis and getting it from purely sad things only fuels my depression and doesn't really help, but getting catharsis from hopeful and bittersweet things helps me find a balance between my amped up optimism and my spirals into depression.

The fucking square comic from Tumblr.

#anyways I recommend getting your catharsis from these things too

[bakuthedeku]

their everyday game

Read on AO3

Words: 3,000

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Things Midoriya Izuku is: A student, a sugar baby, a boyfriend, a brat.

Things Midoriya Izuku is not: Patient.

Or: Izuku wants attention from Kacchan and he is going to get it.

A commissioned fic for @insinirate !

Clack clack clack. The room is silent but for the steady breaths of its occupants and the rhythmic beat of fingers on plastic. Clear, wall-to-ceiling windows wash the sun’s gentle light into the room, and reveal a picturesque view of the sparkling city, looking like something straight out of a magazine.

Izuku glares at the extravagant view. He bets Kacchan is writing another one of those stupid reports of his.

Buzz. The clacking halts and Kacchan glances at his work phone for but a moment before the typing resumes.

Izuku takes a deep breath. Holds it. Puffs out his cheeks.

He slumps over in his seat and sighs obnoxiously.

God, he’s so damn bored.

Kacchan said he had to get one more hour of work done, and then he’d take a break. That had been almost three hours ago. ‘One hour’ had turned into two when Izuku left Kacchan to get ready for their lunch date and had foolishly gone straight to the cafe instead of meeting up with Kacchan at the office first. He’d waited all of ten minutes at their usual table before calling a company car and returning to find Kacchan still working in his office.

If not for Kacchan’s genuine surprise at the time and his gruff, yet sweet apologies, he would be a dead man already.

But Izuku still isn’t satisfied. Kacchan needs a break, and Izuku needs attention, stat. There’s only one solution: Izuku’s gonna annoy the shit out of Kacchan. So Izuku sucks in another breath and pouts at the ceiling. “Kacchaaaaan!”

Kacchan sighs, but he doesn’t respond. The silence in the room grows thick with expectation; Izuku’s long-perfect attention-seeking tone signals the start of the game they play every day.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clack of keys and occasional buzz from Kacchan’s work phone. Izuku wriggles against his plush seat, making the leather squeak obnoxiously, and clears his throat daintily, earning himself a glance. “Kacchan, I’m hungry…” Izuku peaks at Kacchan from beneath fluttering eyelashes.

Kacchan shifts his eyes back to his computer and types another line, pointedly loud against the room’s still silence.

When they play this game, whoever breaks first (or whoever wants whatever they’re after more) will relent and go to the other, so this can go one of two ways; Izuku will pull himself from his lounging position to drape himself over Kacchan, or Kacchan will pull himself from his work and lavish Izuku with the attention he deserves.

Today, Izuku takes it upon himself to move things forward—Kacchan is in one of those moods where it could take hours to break him down, and Izuku needs results now.

So with an impatient, gusty sigh pulled deep from his lungs, Izuku heaves himself up and slinks over to Kacchan’s grand desk, stalking up from behind him. When Kacchan makes the mistake of glancing at Izuku from the corner of his eye, Izuku pounces.

Izuku wrenches Kacchan’s chair around and jumps into his lap, laying himself over Kacchan as well as the plush arms of his chair. Kacchan grunts out a quiet oof at the sudden weight but wraps an arm around his waist nonetheless.

“I’m working, Deku,” Kacchan says dryly.

“Actually, Kacchan, I think you’ll find that you’re cuddling me and giving me attention right now, and I can’t imagine why you’d want to stop.”

Kacchan exhales quietly and wrestles down the corners of his lips—it’s not quite a smile, but it’s a good enough start for Izuku. “I have a lot to do, so as much as I’d love to keep giving you all the attention you desire, I really do have to get back to work.”

Izuku wraps an arm around Kacchan’s neck and pretends to think, then shakes his head solemnly. “Unfortunately, it’s a no from me. I’m hungry and I want lunch.”

“Then go get lunch.”

Izuku gives Kacchan a look for being deliberately obtuse.

“I’ll order in for you, then,” Kacchan offers.

Izuku huffs and pushes himself away from his comfortable spot against Kacchan’s broad chest. “Not good enough, Kacchan! We organised a lunch date, so I am getting a lunch date. Now.” Izuku sticks out his chin and dares Kacchan to say no.

Eyes lock. Izuku stares with determination, burying his will into impenetrable crystal red and steadfastly ignoring their alluring pull. Kacchan makes an aborted noise in the back of his throat, as if he was about to say something stupid but thought better of it, and finally sighs.

“Half an hour.”

Izuku smiles sweetly. “Two. You’re late, so you’ve accrued interest.”

Kacchan decides to focus on their negotiations over Izuku’s mockingly business-like tone: “Forty-five is the best you’re going to get from me.”

“An hour, not including travel time, or I’ll get our contract from your room and tear it up myself.” Izuku juts out a petulant lip. He’d never do it, but it gets his point across—Izuku isn’t budging on this.

Kacchan stares hard for a moment, then sags and rests his head in the crook of Izuku’s neck. “You’re such an annoying little shit,” he murmurs, warm against Izuku’s skin.

Izuku hides his smile in Kacchan’s hair and holds him tight. Another victory secured.

/-/

The cafe is a relaxing, familiar space for Izuku. He’s been a regular since before his arrangement with Kacchan began, and when it breached the confines of Kacchan’s highrise office, it was only natural Izuku would drag Kacchan to his favourite little spot.

After enough of their regular visits, the staff have stopped staring at Kacchan and his crisp suits and shiny Rolex watches, and they interact more or less normally with the pair when they stop by.

They place their orders, as usual, and Kacchan pays, as usual, before they settle in their favourite corner, waiting for drinks and food.

Izuku relaxes into his plush chair. He breathes in happiness, the scent of sugar and coffee and Kacchan’s handsome cologne, and breathes out his worries. He’s already plotting ways to extend the hour he was so graciously granted.

On the table before him is a generous slice of cake, which is ‘not a meal,’ according to Kacchan, but Izuku wanted it and he doesn’t care what Kacchan has to say about it. Kacchan is still waiting on his own food; some kind of salmon dish, which is about the fanciest thing he might be able to get his hands on at a casual place like this.

Before Kacchan can grouse at Izuku further, Izuku digs into his treat with no regard for manners, or as Kacchan calls them, “basic fucking social etiquette.” Whenever Kacchan attempts to spout this particular kind of bullshit, Izuku rather enjoys pointing out the hypocrisy of Kacchan of all people criticising other people’s social graces.

Izuku glances at Kacchan and licks his lips before he fills his mouth with fluffy, sugary goodness, making eye-contact with him as he lets out an exaggerated moan. “So good,” Izuku takes care to lick his lips and smiles, warm and sweet like molten honey.

Kacchan rolls his eyes, but he swallows like his mouth is dry. “You’re a damn menace, you little brat,” he says hoarsely, despite the way his eyes have been stuck on Izuku’s lips since he licked them.

“Hey!” Izuku kicks out with all the gentleness of a fussy toddler, landing a solid kick on Kacchan’s shin. “Don’t be mean. You would’ve missed our lunch date altogether if I hadn’t dragged you here.” Izuku tilts his head and gives an Oscar-worthy kicked-puppy pout.

“Deku…” Kacchan obviously misses the point of his pouting by a mile, because now he just looks sad, and that is not what Izuku was going for! “I’m sorry I forgot, baby. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you, it’s just...”

“You’re busy,” Izuku finishes for him, and leans across the table to (affectionately) swat his dumb boyfriend’s head. “I know. I’m not mad, but I do want your attention right now, so cut out the sadness and shower me with compliments like you’re supposed to.”

This earns a snort of laughter from Kacchan, who finally catches on and plays along with their usual game. His whole face brightens with his smile. “Ah yes, of course, dear. How could I spend even a second not overwhelming you with compliments?”

Izuku nods seriously. “Exactly. I’m just so shocked. You should know better than to neglect me by now,” Izuku winks, “Daddy.”

Kacchan makes a point of rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling broadly now, all teeth and crinkled eyes. “Alright, you’ve made your point, asshole. Eat your stupid cake already.”

/-/

Once they’ve eaten, and the redundant alarm Kacchan had set goes off, they return to the car. It’s time for Izuku to execute his plan.

Before Kacchan can put his belt on like the square he is, Izuku swings a leg over his lap and wraps himself around his boyfriend. Kacchan raises a questioning eyebrow before Izuku makes his demand: “Take me shopping.”

Kacchan smacks his head back against the headrest dramatically. “You have my card. I’ll have the driver drop you off wherever you want to go, okay?”

“I said take me shopping, not send me. You have to be there or there’s no use! Kacchan needs to come with me.”

Kacchan looks sad, then, and the stupid man has apparently learnt a thing or two from Izuku, because he’s got the bestest, heart-wrenchingest puppy-dog eyes without even trying. Resting his forehead against Izuku’s, Kacchan sighs softly against his lips. “You know I spend as much time as I can with you, baby. I can only ignore my work for so long, for you.”

Izuku aches, sudden and raw. “Oh, Kacchan… I know you’re busy, you work so hard! Kacchan really is amazing. But sometimes I want to be selfish and snatch up more of your time. You put too much pressure on yourself at work. You have so many employees so you don’t have to run yourself in the ground.”

“There are things my employees can’t do-”

“Like stopping you from working yourself to death? Right, that’s my job.” Izuku wiggles in Kacchan’s lap and captures his lips in a whisper-soft kiss. “So let me take care of you.” Izuku flutters his eyelashes and pulls his trump card. “Please, Daddy?” he asks, words sugar-sweet on his lips.

Cheeks glowing a suspicious strawberry red, Kacchan huffs and grabs Izuku by the waist, easily picking him up off his lap and depositing him on the seat next to him. He waits patiently for Kacchan to break, all the while butterflies dance in Izuku’s belly at his Daddy’s casual display of strength.

“The hell do you need so badly anyway?”

Truthfully, Izuku has no idea what he would wish to buy. Spoiled as he is, there are few things he’s wanted through life that he doesn’t now own, thanks to Kacchan. “I saw this gorgeous lingerie set and I just have to try it on before I buy it. And I need you there to tell me how good it looks,” Izuku states matter-of-factly.

Kacchan clears his throat and pinches Izuku’s cheek. “Fine. Let’s go look at this lingerie, then, baby.”

/-/

Izuku drags Kacchan out of the car by his hand and refuses to let go even after they’ve made it inside the shopping center.

“Come on, come on, I wanna see what this store has!” With Kacchan in tow, Izuku makes a beeline for his favourite lingerie store.

Izuku chatters away as he makes his way up and down the store, fluttering about pretty displays and shiny, luxurious lingerie sets hung up on the walls. He semi-consciously gives Kacchan a consistent stream of observations, rhetorical questions and mumbled postulations about what Kacchan might like best. He picks out half a dozen sets in just a few minutes, handing each one over to Kacchan for him to judge and/or hold like a handsome sentient display rack.

Soon enough, Kacchan flags down someone from the store to do the grunt work for him as he follows Izuku around the store like a loyal dog, face warring between fondness and annoyance.

Izuku is quite certain that the fondness far outweighs the annoyance, though. Izuku is, after all, impossible to hate.

After completing one circuit of the store, Kacchan interrupts Izuku before he can begin on a second. “What happened to the ‘one’ set you wanted, huh?” The man crosses his arms like a brute, biceps flexing handsomely as he pours disapproval into the question.

Izuku tuts at him. “There’s nothing wrong with browsing. Just look at how pretty this one is!” Izuku pulls out the dainty belt and harness set he was looking at, wiggling it around for Kacchan’s judgment.

“Mm,” Kacchan acknowledges, carefully collected as he judges the set. With his nod of approval, Izuku gleefully adds it to his soon-to-be-towering pile of things to try on, heedless of the fact that Kacchan immediately passes it off to the poor retail worker trailing after them.

Kacchan crosses his arms. “Don’t think I don’t realise what you’re doing, baby boy.”

Izuku ought to feel sheepish at being caught out so easily, but it’s to be expected when he’s trying to con Kacchan. Instead, he tilts his head and bats his big, round eyes, the perfect picture of innocence. “But Daddy, what exactly are you going to do about it?”

Kacchan crosses his arms, but Izuku’s got him there. Kacchan wants to see Izuku in this lingerie just as much as Izuku wants to try them on. And if all of this has the bonus of Izuku keeping Kacchan to himself for a little longer, then they don’t need to talk about that, really.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Kacchan says, and Izuku giggles, wrapping his arms around his Daddy’s neck.

“I can think of a few reasons,” he laughs. “Now come tell me how pretty I look in these!”

/-/

The driver has to help them get everything into the car. As soon as they’re in, Kacchan orders the driver to start the car and get them back to his work quickly.

It’s cute that Kacchan thinks they’d be going anywhere near his office if not for Izuku allowing it.

“Are you satisfied now, brat?” Kacchan asks, pulling on his seatbelt only after the car has started moving (ooh, rebellious).

Izuku hums. He takes a long few moments to rearrange the copious amount of bags around him, just because he can. He pretends to think very hard about it before nodding exaggeratedly. “Yes, I think I am. For today, at least.”

When Kacchan groans, Izuku shuts him up with a kiss, and they smile like kids in love against each other’s lips.

/-/

Deku seems to have tuckered himself out during their shopping trip, which is understandable considering the sheer amount of clothes he insisted he try on before making Katsuki buy everything for him. He spends the car ride back draped over Katsuki’s side, giving a docile little mumble every now and then when he sees a dog on the sidewalk or a pretty flower that apparently reminds him of Katsuki’s eyes.

(How can the fucker get even cuter than usual just because he tired himself out being a whiny brat all day? How is that fair at all to Katsuki’s heart? Not to mention his wallet...)

(It’s not like Katsuki can’t afford it, but damn, lingerie is surprisingly fucking expensive.)

Katsuki carefully shakes Deku awake when they arrive, because he has learnt the hard way that if he leaves Deku to doze or wakes him too quickly, there will be hell to pay. So he accepts Deku’s blindly groping hand into his own and leads him into the building, where Izuku says something vague about harassing his friend in reception and stumbles off, bleary-eyed.

Katsuki has some interns come down and transfer Deku’s things into his private car so he can attempt to get some work done before Deku makes it upstairs. Deku usually settles down after a few hours of monopolising Katsuki’s time and attention, but with the mood he’s in today, Katsuki doesn’t like his chances of getting anything else done.

He’s gotten as far as opening up an email from a partner company when the door clicks open and Deku sashays in like he owns the place.

And, okay. Katsuki owns the place, and Deku has him wrapped around his pinky finger, so he does own the place in every way but name. But only Katsuki is allowed to know that, god damn it.

“You look like a bumbling fawn like that,” Katsuki informs him, just to see Deku’s sleepy eyes flash with indignation, and watch his cheeks glow a pretty, flustered pink.

Deku’s response doesn’t disappoint, and his nose even scrunches up like a disgruntled bunny, but Katsuki’s gone and shot himself in the foot because now Deku is stomping up to him in a way that says he means business. Deku collapses heavily and claims the space of Katsuki’s lap, steadfast in the fact that it is his and his alone.

Deku slaps him petulantly on the chest. “Meanie,” he mumbles, and curls up on Katsuki’s lap, nestling his head beneath his chin and settling against him, a puzzle piece slotted perfectly in its place. “I’m tired,” Deku says, as if that isn’t obvious already.

Kastuki huffs, presses a feather-soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Just rest, idiot.”

“‘Mkay Daddy…”

Katsuki strokes his fingers through the softness of Izuku’s hair and cradles him as Deku’s body relaxes into Katsuki’s own. “Good boy,” he murmurs.

Pressed tenderly together, Deku continues babbling quietly to fill the peaceful sunset air. Katsuki nods along and holds his baby securely in his arms until he floats off into sleep.

Clack clack clack. With a watchful eye on Deku, lovely and sleep-soft against his chest, Katsuki quietly gets back to work.

#bakudeku #katsudeku #bnha #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #sugar daddy AU #my fic #commissioned writing #commission #post #long post

[idreamofplaid]

Whiskey and a Cabin

Square Filled: Skinny Dipping for @spnkinkbingo; Free Space for @spnfluffbingo; In Vino Veritas for @spndeanbingo

Characters: Dean x Reader; Sam mentioned

Rating: Explicit

Summary: The right mood, the right place, the right woman, and some whiskey help Dean realize the truth about what he wants. 

Word Count: 3628

A/N: It took me weeks to deliver the fluffy Dean smut I promised to everyone who voted for it. Life intervened. My muse left, and then she returned. So, here it is.

Whiskey is not my friend. I mean, yeah it’s gotten me through some tough spots. Hell trauma, an apocalypse or two, and boatloads of guilt. But last night, it turned on me.

This wasn’t the first time you helped Sam and me on a case. You’re the best damn psychic I’ve ever seen, even better than Pamela. You’d think I’d learn after what happened to her, but there’s no denying your kind of skills are helpful.

It was just a celebration of the end of another case and everybody still alive. That’s all. A few beers that turned into a few shots. Sam bowed out, like he usually does, after a couple of drinks. I should have known when I gave him the car keys, and sent him back to the motel, that I’d wake up in your bed. Hell, who am I fucking kidding? I did know. I knew, and it’s exactly what I wanted. 

This is the hard part. It’s time to leave town, and I don’t know when I’ll see you again. This could have happened before. I’m surprised it didn’t. Well, I’m surprised I didn’t try. I’ve gotten hard more than once watching you move, and thinking about the way you moved with me last night is making me hard again. 

I can’t do this. I can’t think about wanting to see you again. I can’t think about those sounds you made while I was buried deep inside you, and your body was tightening around my cock milking every single drop out of it. 

I stuff my hands in my pockets, and my fingers hit my cell phone. Damn it. I at least want to hear you again, maybe set something up for the next time I’m in town. I scroll through my list of contacts and stop when I get to your name. My thumb hovers over it, and I remember the way your hair smells like strawberries and flowers. I tap the phone against my forehead a couple of times. 

What the hell am I doing? My life is on the road with Sam killing monsters. There’s no room in that for a girlfriend. What woman in her right mind would sign up for that? I fling my cell phone on the bed and get up to finish packing. 

I’m shoving my shaving kit into my duffle when there’s a knock at the door. I zip my bag up, roll my eyes, and head for the door. “C’mon, man, you gotta do better than this. You’re slippin’ Sa…”

My mouth probably fell open. I’m pretty sure it did. It’s not my brother standing there; it’s you, and you walked into the room like you belonged there, like you’d been invited. I mean I would have asked you in, but….you were already there.

“Don’t look so surprised, Dean.” You got right up next to me, so close I could smell the sweet fragrance of your skin.

I watched you run your fingers straight up the center of my chest and play with the top button on my shirt before you let it go and dropped your hand. “Did you think I was just going to let you leave without even a good-bye after last night? And I know you would have. Don’t try to deny it. I’ve known you too long.”

I didn’t know what to say. Words usually just roll out of my mouth around women. Sometimes it’s too easy, but I had no idea what the hell to say to you. I couldn’t just stand there looking like an idiot though. I didn’t want you to think I was dumb.

I ran my hand through the hair at the back of my neck. “I wasn’t gonna just...leave. I was about to call you.” You smiled at me, nodding your head in that silent “Uh, huh. Right.” kinda way. “I was, Y/N..because I want to see you again.”

You sat down on the bed next to my duffle, looked at it and ran your hand over the canvas. When you turned back to look at me again, you had that irresistible flirty smile on your face. “Are you saying that because I took advantage of you last night, Dean?”

I swear I felt the beginning of a blush making my cheeks warm. “You...you didn’t…’take advantage’ of me, Y/N.” If there was anything left that I could have pretended to pack, I would have, just to give my hands something to do, but you were too close to the bag.

Last night was a little hazy, but I remembered all of it. I could pretend I didn’t remember, but I doubt you’d let me get away with that, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to pretend that things weren’t the way they were between us, like I wasn’t the happiest I’ve been in a long time. Maybe it was the happiest I’ve been ever.

There was no flame burning in the fireplace, but the logs were still there. We were deep enough into spring that it wasn’t cold enough for a fire anymore, but it was still nice sitting on the floor in front of it with you. The logs might not be burning,  but I could smell the earthiness of the hickory. I liked it. It made this place you’ve created for yourself seem even more like a home somehow.

You poured more whiskey into my glass, and the bottle clinked when it touched the rim. The sound seemed almost festive, if those kinds of things happened in my life. For me, it was a little sad. It reminded me I didn’t have moments like that, couldn’t have them.

I let my mind wander for a second, longer than I should have. You looked so pretty sitting there on that rug that I know you picked out special just for this spot, just so the floor wouldn’t be bare. Uncovered floors felt temporary. They were as is. Nothing about them said “I’m going to stay here. This is my home.”

Being in a place that felt like this, like it had some roots, and being here with you, was making me feel things I usually kept buried deeper than the bones in the graves me and Sam dug up, but I couldn’t salt and burn this feeling away.

I should have stopped drinking, but it felt so good being here with you. It felt comfortable, and all those things together were enough to get me to start talking. You asked an open ended question, the kind I usually deflect in a heartbeat, but I didn’t this time.

“What are you thinking, Dean?” I watched your lips close around your glass as you took another sip of your whiskey. It was the Crown Royal kind you like with some flavor in it, but I didn’t even care that it was something I’d never drink, and why do I remember the kind of whiskey you like?

“Dean?” You were smiling at me and I was way too lost in this moment for my own good. “I asked you what you’re thinking”

I smiled back at you. It felt good to be smiling, for real, not pretending to be okay or trying to be funny to make myself think I was okay. This really felt good. “This is nice.”

It wasn’t the most original thing I’d ever said, but it was true. The next thing I said was better. It was so much better. I opened up that vault inside me where I keep my more complicated life feelings locked up and let them pour out.

“You’ve really made something for yourself here, Y/N. It’s the kind of place a  guy could picture himself staying for awhile.” You didn’t say anything. If you had, that might have stopped my grand confession, but you didn’t; and I kept going.

“I think about being somewhere like this, a lot.  I think about having a home and somebody to share it with. Somebody like you.” My eyes found yours, and for the first time I noticed just how pretty they are. I mean, I knew. You’re a beautiful woman, but I don’t think I’d ever seen you before like this. You weren’t just a potential one night thing, or at best a string of nights. 

I’d never thought before about waking up beside you for something really wild, like a whole week, because I was never anywhere long enough for that, much less something, permanent. And I knew, even though I never admitted it, that permanent was something I wanted. It was something I wanted, and right now you were making me ache for it.

You put down your glass and scooted closer to me. The way you were biting yur bottom lip made me want to taste it.

I tasted your lips last night and most of the rest of your body too. The memory of just how sweet you are is still on my tongue if I think about it, and it makes my mouth water wanting more of you.

I swear you can read my mind. That look in your eye, it’s like you know what I’m thinking. Not that it’s all that hard to figure out. I hope you’re remembering last night the way I do.

You lean over to the nightstand between the two beds, open the drawer, and pull out the motel’s notepad along with the pen they provided. Then you start to write something on the top sheet. That’s one of the things about you that makes me absolutely crave you; I never know what you’re going to do next.

I move a little closer, trying to see what you’re writing. Finally, I give up and ask, “Who’s the note for?”

You keep on writing while you answer me. “It’s for Sam, so he knows I’ve taken his brother for a couple of days.”

When you finish writing, you hold the pen and notepad out to me. “Now, tell him you’ll see him back at the bunker.”

I look at the page and what you’d written there. “Sam, Dean’s going to be staying with me for the weekend. Don’t worry. He’ll be well taken care of.” Y/N.

That last sentence was making my cock twitch. I took the pen and wrote: See you back at the bunker, Sammy.

You tore the sheet off the pad of paper and put it on top of the table where Sam would be sure to see it. We both knew it was rare for my little brother to miss anything. I stood there not moving, a little in disbelief about what was happening.

The smile on your face was indulgent and a little amused. You were enjoying this, enjoying me not quite knowing what to do. You closed your hand around my chin, fingers on each side of my face, and kissed me. I could still feel the warmth of your mouth on mine after you pulled away.

You gave my ass a pat as you walked by me on your way to the door and said, “C’mon, lover, I’ve got plans for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your house is off the main road, surrounded by trees with a lake out back. It’s a cabin, but not like any cabin I’ve ever been in before. You’ve got a real kitchen with real cabinets, instead of rough shelves some hunter nailed to the wall just to be functional. There’s a place to eat in the kitchen too. As in, there’s an actual table where you have home cooked meals, instead of something just dumped out of a can.

Your bed is like a dream. You don’t sleep on cheap motel sheets that can be more accurately described using the word threadbare than thread count. Add you, naked and beautiful, to the mix; and it’s better than a dream.

I’m still lost in memories and possibilities of what we could have here together when you walk up behind me, put your arms around me, and rest your hands flat on my chest. I feel you lay your cheek against my back for a few seconds before you turn your head and put a kiss on my shoulder blade.

I turn in your arms and pull you up against me; it feels like you’re even closer than when you were behind me. Maybe because my cock is more than a little interested in resuming last night’s activities when it’s pushed into you like this. I lean down to kiss you, knowing exactly where I want this to go.

The way you kiss me is warm and soft, but there’s fire behind it. You’re everything I want, even the things I don’t let myself think about. Sex is the easy part, but you make me feel. You make me want to hold you always, and that’s a dangerous thought.

You’re the first to break the kiss and take my hand in yours. “C’mon, Dean. I didn’t get to show you the deck last night.”

I follow you outside, and the view out there is unbelievable. It’s hard to believe you live here; you get to see this every day. This is your life.

Your hand is still in mine, and I can picture us sitting there on your deck, sipping a couple of beers and watching the sun go down. Something else is on your mind though, and I don’t have the first objection to that.

You push my flannel back off my shoulders and drag it down my arms. It falls to the wooden floor behind me. You’re looking me up and down, making a big show of licking your lips.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Dean.” You pull at the front of my t-shirt, and I get the hint. I strip out of it, and you make a point of running your eyes over my naked chest. “Still too many clothes.” You say it with a certain gleam in your eye that I’ve seen there before.

I look around, feeling self conscious, like I’m expecting people to appear out of the trees. There’s nothing but pines and water. This is a private show.

I take off everything I’m wearing until there’s not a stitch left on my body. You run your hand down my side. As it gets lower, you move it around to my back so you can cup my ass and squeeze.

My body likes that. It likes that a lot. “Are we going to do this right here?” I ask you.

“Yes, Dean, we absolutely are.” You bite your bottom lip. You’re being all flirty and seductive with me, and I love it. Your teeth let go of your lip, and your tease your fingertips across my chest. “Just not yet,” you say.

I watch you taking your clothes off while my cock gets harder. You’re going to make me wait, and that’s hot. I’ll wait to come for you. I can’t believe I just said that, even in my own head.

You take my hand and lead me down the wooden steps of the deck. When my toes hit the grass, it feels good; but not as good as you look. Your hips curve just right, and your ass is so full and round; I can’t wait to get my hands on it. The way you walk, almost like you’re drifting over the ground, is so graceful. Fuck, but you are beautiful.

Just watching you has made me completely hard by the time we get to the lake, and I follow you into the water. It’s warm enough that my dick and my balls stay full and heavy. When we’ve reached a place where the water is up to my chest and lapping at my nipples, making them hard too, you stop and turn to me. 

The water has completely covered your breasts so I can’t see them anymore, but I can feel them. I cup them in my hands below the waterline and flick my thumbs over your nipples. The sound that comes out of you is breathy, needy, and one of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard. It makes my dick bob in the water.

“Kiss me, Dean.” You say it through those beautiful hot moaning sounds you’re making. I wouldn’t deny you anything, and this is such an easy thing to give you. I want you so bad right now. There’s nothing but the feel of you in my arms as my lips close over yours, and the warmth of the sunshine on my shoulders.

The taste of your tongue is sweet on mine, and the deeper the kiss goes, the more I want you. You jump up and wrap your legs around my waist, and I grab your ass with both hands to hold you up. Your kisses are getting more intense, and I want you so much now, my cock is throbbing. I’m sure I’m leaking a steady stream of pre come, but it’s impossible to tell. You grind your hips against my aching cock, and I let out a groan louder than I meant to, but who’s going to hear us? We can make all the noise we want.

You’re kissing along my jaw and squeezing your thighs around me. “Take me, Dean. Right here. Need to feel you inside me, stretching me open.”

“Baby girl, you’re gonna make me crazy if you talk like that.” I’m almost gasping for breath at this point, at least if feels that way.

“Then stop talking,” you tell me. “Fuck me right now. Here. Under the sky with nature as our witness. Do it, Dean.”

I lift you up higher; you take my cock in you hand and position me at your entrance. Then I lower you down onto me. You’re so tight and feel so good I could almost cry from the relief and rightness of it.

I’m lifting you up and down, helping you ride my cock, while the water sloshes around us. You reach down between our bodies to stroke your clit and throw your head back, urging me on the closer you get to coming. “More, Dean. Harder.”

For once, I’m glad Sam nagged me about using the gym in the bunker. “We have it” he kept saying. Right now, I’m damn glad I wandered in there on a few occasions. I need all the balance skills I have to navigate the uneven bottom of the lake while I thrust up into you for all I’m worth.

Your pussy is grasping at my cock, choking it, challenging me to last a second longer. I will because you’re gonna come all over me before I let myself go. When I feel your walls start to clench around me and your nails start to tear at my back, I know I’ve got you.

“That’s it, baby. Mark me. Show me how good it feels.” I drag across your sweet spot and push into you as deep as I can. Your body shakes in my arms when you come.

The sound of you saying my name while you come undone is more than I can take. I fill you up, shooting my load inside you; and when I’m done, I drop my head onto your shoulder. “Y/N...that...you...are incredible.” I’m talking into your skin because I haven’t raised my head yet.

Time passes, I don’t know how long, with us wrapped around each other just like that. The next thing I’m aware of is your fingers combing through my hair. Ilift my head to kiss you again, and I can feel something shift inside me. It clicks into place.

Everything I said last night is the total truth, but there isn’t a drop of whiskey in me now. I could stay here with you, want to stay here with you. With that thought in my head, I walk out of the lake carrying you all the way back to the deck.

When we get there, I notice the folded up quilt and the pillows stacked beneath one of the windows. You had this planned all along. “Can you stand, sweetheart?”

Your head has been laying on my shoulder, and you turn it to kiss me right beside my neck. “I can make it,” you answer softly. 

My body has been separated from yours for awhile now, but when I put you down to spread out the quilt and pillows; I feel the loss of that contact in my gut. I need to hold you again.

I get things set up as fast as I can, sit down on the quilt, and pull you down with me. You lay back and put your head on a pillow first, and I can only hope you’re as eager as I am to feel our bodies wrapped around each other again.

It’s probably been less than two minutes since I let go of you, but that still seems like too long when I take you into my arms again. For a little while, my life is perfect. The warm sun overhead dries our skin while I run my fingers lightly up and down your back. Your head is on my chest where it belongs, and a bird singing is the only sound. I want to freeze this moment forever.

“Dean?” I kiss the top of your head.

“Yes, baby.” My fingers are still moving on your back while I wait for you to ask your question. “Do you think Sam would be okay in the bunker by himself for the next week?”

I feel a big smile spread across my face. “Oh, I know he will.” This is definitely the start of something. 

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @logical-princey @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library @thinkinghardhardlythinking @petitgateau911 @calaofnoldor

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja @coffee-obsessed-writer @adoptdontshoppets @ellewritesfix05 @weepingwillowphoenix

Voters: @just-call-me-kim @siospins @jamzm @deandaydreaming​

#spnkinkbingo #spnfluffbingo #spndeanbingo #dean smut #dean fluff #dean x reader

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

It Had to be Witches

Dean and Sam are on a hunt at Rowena’s request. When Sam is out of commission, Dean has to work with you.

Warnings: Unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!) male oral receiving, fingering, mention’s of witchcraft, brief mentions of ritual style murders, brief mention of animal sacrifice, Dean is a sad boy.

Word count: 3567

All written and proofread (poorly) by me. All mistakes are my own. Please don’t copy or repost my work. Likes are great and I’ll love you forever if you repost and comment. Thanks for reading.

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Sam and Dr. Philips examined each of the women’s bodies. Carved into their limbs were runes consistent with the ones Rowena described. She said she was sending an expert who lived in the area but the boys hadn’t made contact yet.

“The other agent who was just here asked the same questions. Don’t you guys talk to each other?” Dr. Philips covered the bodies. Some of the women he knew personally.

“Different departments. You said he was just here? How long ago?”

“She. Her name is Diana Luna. She’s down at the evidence locker. All the women had the same necklace. She went to check it out.”

Sam thanked the doctor and set off to find you. First he called Dean. “Looks like Rowena’s story checks out. Her expert was just here. The bodies were marked with runes and all of their tongues cut out. And, get this, they all had the same necklace. Maybe a coven?”

“Of course. Of course it’s witches, Sam. Look, don’t go far. I’m on my way.” Sam was sitting on a bus bench reading coroner's reports when you approached him. Due to the nature of the case, Rowena insisted the elder Winchester carry out the task at hand. “Use Sam as bait.” she instructed.

“Agent Cornell? I’m agent Luna from the Lansing office.” You extended your hand. “Director Macleod sent me.”

“Yeah, I bet she did. Bring me up to speed.”

“Sure. I’ve got what you’re looking for right here.” You blew a very potent powder in his face knocking him out. You put the lankier Winchester into your truck and sped back to your house. Getting his dead weight up the stairs was a task but you did it. “Sweet dreams, Sam.”

Dean searched the entire town square for Sam with no luck. He tried his phone again and it was going directly to voicemail. Sam could hold his own against any witch but Dean was still worried. As he unlocked the door to the Impala, he heard you call his name over his shoulder and turned his head to see who was speaking. You blew the dream dust into his face rendering him unconscious.

He was heavier than he looked. You shoved him into the back seat and pried the keys from his hand. Baby growled angrily when she started but you had her purring for you in no time. You drove him back to your house and dragged him inside where you intended to tie him up. Rowena coached you on all their tricks. You took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and divested him if anything sharp. With his wrists and ankles bound in a pretty decent slip knot you splashed his face with water to wake him.

“Morning, handsome.” he smirked as you wiped his face.

“Big mistake, sweetheart. I’m guessing you’re the one we’re looking for.”

“Pretty and dumb. Rowena was right and you would be guessing wrong. Her name is Teresa Wilson. She came seeking asylum with our coven a few months ago. Said her whole order was obliterated. Turns out, she wasn’t exactly who she said she was.”

His face split into a cocky grin, “They never are. What do you want with me?”

“You need to help me find her. Rowena gave me a locator spell. When I cast the spell, I’ll need your fancy bullets. Problem is…”

He laughed heartily, “Problem is you can’t touch ‘em, am I right, sweetheart?”

“You would be correct.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

You took a step back just out of his reach just in case, “If you help me I’ll let your brother live.”

He strained against the ropes veins bulging in his forearms. “If you touch one hair on his head I’ll rip you apart myself. You hear me, witch?”

Your nails dug sharp into the meat of his cheeks so he would look at you. “Relax, baby. Your brother is safe. He’s asleep upstairs dreaming of puppies and rainbows as we speak. But if you don’t help me, he’ll never wake up. And, Dean, when I kill someone, it sticks. No resurrections for Sammy this time.”

You’ve never seen a human man snarl before. It was pretty cute. Rowena warned you not to be mesmerized by his sweet face and his Disney Princess eyes but you couldn’t help it. The man looked like he would, in fact, rip you apart. And, Hecate help you, you wished he would. You traced a finger along his sharp stubble covered jaw. His eyes turned up to look into yours, throwing daggers at you. “Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you’re angry?”

“All the time. Get to the spell so I can take my brother out of here.” he growled.

“It’s not time. If I untie you, are you gonna be a good boy or do I have to hit you with my knock out dust again?” You couldn’t take your eyes off of his perfect lips smiling at you.

“Sure, mommy, I’ll be a real good boy.”

You knelt in front of him and parted his knees slightly to undo the first knot. “Such a smart ass.” He growled low in his throat when you peered at him through your lashes. His dick grew painfully hard against his jeans as you slid your hand up his legs to maintain balance. Of course you noticed though he tried to squeeze his thighs together to hide his arousal. “Do you like me like this, Dean?”

Of course he did. You were just his type. A little bratty but you had a good heart. Rowena told them about you. The little warrior for the Grand Council. They constantly sent you to do their dirty work and you did so without question like a good soldier. No wonder Rowena paired the two of you. You were the female version of him. “Like what?” His voice was low and dripping with need.

“On my knees for you. Looks like you do.” You winked at him but he looked away embarrassed.

It had been a long time since he felt a woman wrapped hot around him. Everything in him wanted to follow your siren song and happily crash. He couldn’t do it. This story always ended bloody. “You couldn’t handle it, sweetheart.” He peered down at the bulge in his pants. So did you. Your core heated at the thought.

“Is that a dare or a double dare?.” He spread his legs and licked his lips inviting you to take what you wanted. You shook it off and focused on the task at hand. “Well in any case, I made you dinner. Pot roast, potatoes, peas and carrots. Eat if you want.”

It did smell amazing. His stomach growled remembering that all he had was coffee this morning. The living room and kitchen were well lit and warm. He felt at peace in this place. More so than the bunker where it could sometimes feel clinical and cold. “You got a pretty nice place here. You all alone?”

A sly smile played on your lips, “Just me.” You sat the plate down in front of him with a cold beer and a bottle opener. The oven timer dinged and, when you opened the door, the aroma of cinnamon and spice wafted through the air.

“That pie?” He sounded choked up.

“Apple. I have an orchard in the back. Rowena filled me in on how to keep you happy.” You sit it on the windowsill to cool while you ate. “I can’t have you bashing me over the head and running off before we kill this bitch.”

He shoveled a fork full of potatoes and gravy into his mouth humming in appreciation. “Why me? You had Sam here. He’s much better at this witch stuff than I am. Why drag me out here?”

“You’re more reliable when making difficult decisions. You’re what I need. Another beer?” He nodded breathing in the soft floral scent that wafted off of your skin as you moved.

You didn’t offer any further information and Dean thought that was probably for the best. If he got in his head about the situation he would lose his nerve and that can’t happen. That’s how people die. As of late, Sam has had a lot on his mind. Dean would have to shoulder this burden. At least Sammy was getting some rest.

The two of you shared a comfortable silence only marred by silverware hitting ceramic. “Well that was delicious. Thank you….umm…I don’t think I caught your name.”

“I didn’t give it to you. I’m Y/N. But I wouldn’t mind if you kept calling me sweetheart. Pie?”

Dean's heart beat hard in his chest at the thought of calling you sweetheart “Maybe a little. So when do we do this thing?”

“Eat your pie then meet me outside. I have to prepare.” You slipped out the back door down a dimly lit path to your cauldron. You threw in the mandrake and tobacco. Last was the chicken that you had to slaughter. You grabbed a hen from her coop and stabbed her with your athame. It made a terrible sound which sent Dean flying through the back door ready to fight.

“What the hell was that?”

“Chicken.” You allowed the rest of its blood to drain and discarded the carcass. “periisti. lates. Ego te quaero. I vestrum adprehendet vos.” You chanted over and over until a glowing beacon appeared. “We have to follow it.” The orb circled the two of you then floated towards the Impala. You retrieved his keys from your pocket and started off for the car.

“Whoa whoa whoa. What are you doing?”

“Following the orb.” He grabbed your arm as you started to slide into the driver’s seat.

“No one drives my baby but me. You sit shotgun.” He impatiently waited for you to scoot over. When you reached for the radio he slapped your hand away. “Are you serious?!”

“What? There were other decades besides the 70’s.” He bit his lip and flared his nostrils letting out an unsettling growl. “Driver picks the music.”

“You are a child. Just drive. The spell won’t last forever” you huffed.

“So, just you huh? No boyfriend? Girlfriend?” You didn’t answer keeping your eyes trained on the orb. “Yeah me neither. Maybe later we can grab a drink.”

“My god. Can you keep it in your pants until we’re done? It took a left!”

He sped up taking off after it, “I see it. So that’s not a no.” That was all the invitation he needed. The truth was you would have given it up the moment those green eyes stared into your soul.

“It’s not a no. Let’s focus.”

Baby ate up miles of dirt road before reaching the highway. A couple of miles ahead the orb sped for an exit into town. You were led to the motel where the boys were staying. The door to their room was wide open and there Teresa stood bathed in the light of the orb. You bid it a job well done and sent it on its way.

Teresa, caught off guard, quickly muttered a spell pinning Dean to the wall, sending the gun skittering away. You faced each other down while Dean struggled. “She’s a kid!” he groaned in pain.

“I’m nineteen thank you. You don’t have to do this Y/N. Come on. We’re sisters. We share the same DNA. Let’s take them on together.” Tears welled in your eyes. You may have been blood but you weren’t sisters. She grew up far out of the Grand Council’s reach while you were their trained lap dog.

“Only half little sister. You’re hopped up on enough stolen magic to power the entire city. The Grand Council sent me to take you down. Adiuro te in nomine Hecate. Adiuro te in nomine Dianae. Tuae vires cum luna decrescant.” you chanted. She fought back but the binding spell was powerful. She didn’t have enough magic to hold Dean and fight you so she let him go. When he regained composure, he dove for the gun.

Without warning, Teresa gained the upper hand. She held out her arm and used all of her might to pull you towards her. Blood stained tears fell from your eyes as you struggled to breath. With every last ounce of strength you had you doubled down on the binding spell long enough to hold her so that Dean could put her down. The blast of the shot filled the small motel room filling your ears with a high pitched whining. You collapsed onto the floor where Dean scooped you into his arms.

“Hey, Y/N. Wake up. Stay with me. Shit.” He carried you to the car and gingerly set you down next to him. The drive back to your house felt long. When he got you inside he placed you on the couch and called Rowena.

“Is it done then?” she asked in her thick Scottish brogue.

“Yeah but your girl’s unconscious. She’s breathing but she used a lot of magic. A lot. I don’t think you’ll be calling on her anytime soon.”

“Keep her warm, Dean. I’ll be there soon.” The line went dead. He sat on the floor in front of you and brushed your hair from your eyes.

“Sweetheart, you need to wake up. We were supposed to grab that drink, remember?” He pressed his lips to your temple lingering there for a moment when he heard Rowena’s laugh trill behind him.

“I should add matchmaker to my long list of talents. Out of the way, Dean. I’ll get your girl fixed right up.” She patted his hand and pushed him aside.

His face flushes hot burning all the way to his ears. ”She’s not my girl.”

“Of course. Now, what seems to be the trouble, dear?” She placed her hands on your head. Her eyes glowed as she spoke over you. Your lashes began to flutter and you woke up. “There she is. Good as new.” You and Dean exchanged a look. “That appears to be my cue to go check on Samuel.”

“Thank you, Rowena.” your voice was hoarse barely above a whisper.

“Not at all, dear.”

Dean pulled you into his lap rocking you gently, “You scared the hell out of me, sweetheart.”

“I had to stop her. She hurt too many people.” You felt guilty for ending her but even guiltier for letting her go as far as she did. Guiltier still for not pushing harder to be in her life. “It was my fault.”

“Hey, no it wasn’t. What? You think you should have been a better big sister? You didn’t lead her down this path, Y/N.” You rested your head on his shoulder “All these years and all the stupid fucked up shit Sam and I did, I blamed myself. I took on that burden. Alone. It’s a lonely awful place to be. I’m begging don’t do that to yourself.” He held your face in his hands forcing you to look at him. He wanted to kiss you. You would have let him if he leaned in. Instead he brought you back down to his chest just to hold you. He saw so much of himself in you. You were headstrong and self righteous but your intentions were altruistic.

You melted into his arms so lost in him that you didn’t hear Sam and Rowena slip out. Dean offered his brother only a small nod to let him know you were ok. He had several texts from Eileen anyway. Happy to see his brother didn’t have to spend another night alone, he went back to the bunker.

You sat in silence for a while when you started yawning. “Shit. What time is it?”

“After midnight. I should get outta here.” You untangled yourself from his grasp but didn’t stand. His hands stayed respectfully at the small of your back. You locked eyes with him. Your core tingled as he brushed errant hair from your forehead.

“Or you could stay. We haven’t had our drink yet. Though, you don’t need to get me drunk, handsome.” You kissed his jaw and down his neck working your way to his collarbone. A soft moan escaped his lips when you nipped at his neck. “I mean you enjoyed me on my knees and all.”

“As pretty as you looked,” his voice was low and gravelly, “And, I mean you looked gorgeous. We really shouldn’t.”

You genuinely pouted your lips backing off of your ministrations, “Why not? I want to. And you clearly want to. You’re a fucking legend, Dean. Show me just how legendary you are.”

He arched a brow at you and smirked in the way that only Dean Winchester does. “Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart.” Finally his lips were on yours. The force of his kiss took your breath away. It wasn’t predatory or greedy. It was slow and sensuous bordering on hunger. His whole body was hungry for you. Dean Winchester was hungry constantly looking for something to fill the hole inside him. For the moment, that was you. He felt like he was floating and was suddenly very warm. If he stopped kissing you he knew he would just stop breathing. He couldn’t bare the thought.

“What are you doing to me?” His chest heaved. “I feel like I’m on fire.” Surely this must be a spell or enchantment. He pulled you back in for more but this time his hands strayed from your back. They traveled to your hips then under the hem of your shirt to feel your flesh warm against him. He had to feel you. To be inside of you. Deft fingers unbuttoned your jeans. Without breaking the kiss he stroked your clothed core working up a rhythm that flooded you with arousal.

“Touch me, Dean. Please” you cried. Pushing your panties aside his fingers explored your dripping pussy. His pace is maddening. Your hips snapped fucking back hard. “Fuck, Dean. So good. I need your cock. Want you to split ne open.”

“You’ve got a filthy mouth, Princess. Come for me and I’ll give you what you want.” And so you gushed around him moaning like a witch on fire. When your heart slowed to a normal rhythm you stripped naked. Before he could get undressed he took a moment to kiss and touch every inch of you. If this was only for tonight he wanted to savor you. “God you’re beautiful.”

“So are you.” You pulled him up and undressed him, never once breaking eye contact. His cock was red and weeping just aching to be touched.

On your knees in front of him you took the whole burning thing in your mouth. To Dean, you were the most stunning creature to exist. You swirled your tongue around the head while you hollowed your cheeks sucking him in deeper still.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Fuck that feels good.” His hands grasped the back of your head keeping you steady while he fucked your face. It started feeling too good like he would blow his load in your mouth. He had to feel your sweet cunt. “Let me feel you, baby. Fuck I need you.” You pulled off with a pop and climed into his lap. Both of you whimpered when you sank onto his length. The stretch was exquisite. Your pussy held him so tight. You ground your clit over his pubic bone while he fucked into you with a brutal pace. “You feel so good. M’not gonna last. Come for me, baby. I need it.” Your twat fluttered around him, milking him for all he was worth. You kissed once more fighting to hang on to the last tendrils of tenderness and warmth that you could.

“Stay. Please. Just for tonight” you whispered.

He tightened his grip on you. “Of course, sweetheart. All night.”

He hated to leave you but the sun rose like a beacon calling him away. If he didn’t leave then, he wouldn’t have ever left. Last time he stuck around and fell in love, he had to learn the hard way that he could never have this. Maybe he would call you the next time he swung through town. Maybe you’d spit in his face for bailing. He brushed the hair off your forehead and kissed your temple. “Bye, sweetheart.”

You woke when you heard the Impala roaring to life in your driveway. He left a square of paper with a phone number scrawled in pencil “I’ll always answer. -DW” You put on your robe, went down to your cauldron and threw it in with a few bundles of sage and some witch hazel to sever any feelings. On the next full moon, you’d do a cord cutting to make sure it sticks.

“See you around, handsome.” In his eleven hour drive back to the bunker, any feelings that you have would slowly fade. The two of you would go back to being too afraid to feel and far too afraid to fall in love. Dean wouldn’t hear from you again. He wouldn’t really remember where you lived. But, every time he drove through Michigan, he’d feel a twinge in his chest. And, no matter how many rituals you did, you’d feel him too.

#sam and dean #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester smut #Dean Winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x witch reader

[seattlesea]

Lorien Legacies Characters as Things My Family and I Have Said (Part Three)

John: Am I cute

Six: Whatever makes you happy

--

Marina: Where’s my perfume?

Eight: I drank it

--

Nine: *squeezes bread* I just really felt like doing that

Five: I feel like doing that to you

--

Eight: Use your bread you fucking heathen

--

Five, tucking Maggie and Ella into bed: Night night c*nts

Maggie and Ella, in unison: REEEE

--

John: *attempts to do something but fails*

Nine: Bitch thought

John: Shut up

Six: Bitch thought

Five: Bitch thought

One: Bitch thought

Eight: Bitch thought

Adam: Bitch thought

John: I hate you guys so fucking much

--

Eight: Is eating this much cheese even healthy???

--

John: Raise your hand if you love dogs

Adam: I would but I’m eating goldfish

--

Five, on an Omegle video chat with a knocked-out Sam and Ella: They're dead

Nine, on the other end of the call: Tell them to get up

--

Six: Men are dumb. Fuck men. You know, what? To all the ladies in the chat, here's some advice.

Six: Become a lesbian

Six: Adopt a cat

Six: Plant a garden

Six: Live in a forest

Six: Destroy the patriarchy

Six: Travel the world

Six: Fuck shit up

Six: And do it with a smile and a piña colada *bites chip*

--

Marina: I was gonna wear a cute pink flower crown with my outfit but then I thought fuck that, I'm going low-key cottagecore, not Ohioan frolicker or Idahoan horse girl

--

Adam: Dude, are you high?

Sam: What? No

Sam, suddenly remembering he rode passenger while Nile smoked weed on their way home and has gotten high off second-hand smoking weed before: OH SHI-

--

Five: Why am I even up at four in the morning with chips and Mountain Dew???

Marina: I mean, it could be from insomnia rooting from your depressio-

Five: Depression? BITCH PLEASE that shit is so 2019

--

Adam's teacher: I know it's Monday, but if it's any comfort, today is the first day of the last week of April!

Adam: What the FUCK did you just say to me-

--

Eight, mimicking an old man: gEt OfF mY lAwN

Sam: *puts face in bowl and laughs*

--

Nine, knocking on the door: Let me innnnn

John, sitting against the door so Nine doesn't come in: No, I'm still mad at you

Nine: Ok ok I'm sorry, I'll pay you fifty dollars

--

Five, trying to be compassionate with Nine: Remember when we used to match hairstyles, you fuck?

--

Literally anyone: *laughs*

Eight: Giggles

--

Hannu: No sad, just ball

--

Six: fight me fight me fight me fight me fight me fight me square up square up square up sqUARE UP SQUARE U-

--

One: Can I use your headphones?

Adam: Sorry, I'm using the-

One: Shut up you dumb fuck

--

Eight, talking to himself in the mirror: Oh my god look at you in your big, baggy flannel you look sO CUTE you're adorable don't let anyone tell you differently, including you you dumb fucking insecure little bitch

--

Daniela: What would happen if a woman took penis enlargement pills?

Adam: Hey no offense but what the fuck is wrong with you?

--

John: What even goes on in your mind?

Nine: Tarot cards, money, Cotton Eye Joe on loop, applesauce, lighting a house on fire, jumping out a second-story house to see if my ankle is durable or not...

John:...

Nine: But mostly Cotton Eye Joe on loop

--

Five: Some people identify as she/her. Some people identify as he/him. Some people identify as they/them. I identifty as a fucking disappointment.

--

Marina: Hey, can I ask you a question?

Eight, naked in a bubble-filled bathtub with lit candles, a wine glass full of apple juice, and IceJJFish playing: Do I look like someone with the fucking time?

--

John: Hey, are you gay?

Adam, sitting on the ground blasting Ariana Grande with an iced almond milk latte and wearing a baggy flannel shirt: BITCH-

--

Six: *opens her online-shopping package*

Marina: Uh, those are going to make you look a little emo, aren't they?

Six, putting on her thick chain choker and leather gloves: that's the poINT-

--

Sam: *dances like a crab to the Crab Rave* Crabby Rave make pain go away

--

One: 'oH i DoNt HaVe PrOnOuNs'- what the fuck are you then, a toaster?

--

Random celebrity: Wow, fangirls are so sweet and dedicated, they really should get paid for all the promotions and hard work they do!

Six: Ok pay me then

--

Maggie, crying: All I wanted was some fucking chicky nuggies

--

Sam, walking up to Nine in public: Hey bestie-

Nine: I don't know you

Sam: Bitch-

--

Ella: I'm gonna send a celebrity a meme everyday until they reply to me

Marina: Why?

Ella: Why the fuck not?

--

Five: Yeah, I'm depressed *laughs*

John: Why'd you laugh?

Five: It's a coping mechanism

--

Maggie: I don't want a boyfriend or a girlfriend or a partner I wants the three D's

Sarah, horrified: The WHAT

Maggie: Dogs, donuts, and diamonds

--

Hannu: So there's this philosophy theory-

One: I will fucking drown you

--

Six: If you are male and you have a flat ass, don't speak to me. I need guy friends who match my level of THICKNESS

--

One: Oh my god she's so cute

Adam: She has a girlfriend

One: Sharing is caring

--

Five: If ONE MORE BITCHASS WHORE comments on my clothes and shits about how feminine I dress I swear I will be gOING TO JAIL

Five: JUST SAY YOU ARE JEALOUS YOU CAN'T WORK BOTH AND LEAVE BITCH

--

Nine: So I have this problem where I hate myself but I still think I'm better than everyone else

John:...

Nine: Like I'm trash but I'm QUALITY trash, I'm trash from the garbage bags of Louis Vuitton, I'm recyclable, reusable trash, I'm the trash no one wants to throw away

John: Um...

Nine: If Gucci made a limited-edition, 24-karat gold garbage bag, I'd be that garbage bag

--

Maggie, holding a nerf gun to Adam's head: Gimme all your fucking money

--

Sam: I don't know, I've just been feeling a little down lately

Six: No

Sam: What?

Six: That's not allowed

Sam: Wha-

Six: *smacks Sam in the face with a pillow*

--

Maggie: BESTIE. YOU ARE A BAD BITCH. DON'T LET ANYONE TELL YOU DIFFERENTLY. WORK IT QUEEN

The pigeon on the sidewalk:

#lorien legacies #garde #mogadorians #cepans #i am number four #back at it again with the lorien legacies content #i love this series #my family is chaotic #one #maggie hoyle #two #hannu #three #four #john smith #five #cody #six #maren elizabeth #seven #marina #eight #naveen #nine #stanley worthington #ten #ella #adamus sutekh #adam sutekh #sarah hart

[drabbles-mc]

Hear You Now

Angel Reyes x Reader

Warnings: angst, language, Angel being a very sad boy

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Why do I always make Angel sad?? Why do I always give him commitment issues?? I don’t know. I owe him a happy fic or two. 😂 If you’re curious, this is 110% inspired by the song Hear You Now by Old Dominion.

Angel Taglist: @mayans-sauce @helli4nthus @angelreyesgirl @starrynite7114 @queenbeered @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @appropriate-writers-name @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @multiyfandomgirl40 @sillygoose6969 @beardburnsupersoldiers​ @louisianalady​ @gemini0410​ @paintballkid711​

You were walking through Merchant Square, hand-in-hand with your fiancé. You laughed as you leaned your head against his shoulder for a moment as the two of you walked through town. It had been a long time since you had been back to Santo Padre, and you wanted him to see your hometown. He had asked on more than one occasion because he wanted to see where you grew up, but you hadn’t been ready to face the ghosts that you knew still haunted those streets. But now you were engaged, and you knew that there was not going to be any more running away from anything.

It was refreshing to walk through town, and your heart wasn’t as heavy as you thought it was going to be. Not too much had changed and you liked how there were so many aspects of the town that would always be frozen in time. You tugged him into a bookstore, and he followed you with a knowing smile—it was nearly impossible to ever get you to pass up the opportunity to find something new to dive into. Almost every wall in your house had a bookshelf built into it or pushed against it. Eventually you told him you were going to buy a whole separate house and make it your library.

You were perusing the aisles, dragging your fingertips along the spines of an endless sea of titles. Your fiancé was a couple rows away looking for a few books of his own. There was a comfort in the mild hustle and bustle of the little book store. The aisles were close together and it all felt so cozy.

You stumbled upon the hardcover edition of a book that you had loved for years, and your eyes lit up. You snatched it off the shelf and went to find your fiancé. You quickly walked up to him and nudged his shoulder, “Look what I found?”

He looked at the novel in your hands and a knowing smile crossed his face, “You definitely have that one already. I know I’ve seen it.”

“Yes, but look,” you shook the book in front of him, “Hard cover! I’ve never seen a hard cover edition anywhere! I need it,” you pleaded.

He laughed, “How am I ever supposed to say no to you?”

You kissed him quickly on the lips, “You’re not, that’s the whole point!” you laughed.

Angel’s ears burned from the opposite side of the store. He would know that laugh anywhere, even from a million miles away. He never thought that he’d hear it again. He turned and tried to look around the store for you, and his heart instantly sped up when he saw you standing in the checkout line with a book clutched tight to your chest.

He started to walk over to you, but as quickly as his heart sped up, it nearly stopped when he saw another man walk up behind you and wrap his arms around you and place a kiss to your temple. He saw the way you melted back into him with a smile, and his stomach turned into a knot. His grip on the book in his hand tightened and he couldn’t force his feet to move in one direction or another. He didn’t know if it was worse to have to take in the scene in front of him, or to have lived with never seeing you again.

After paying for your book, you turned to leave the store, and that was when you saw him standing there. Your heart sank inside your chest—it had been years but that was definitely the Angel Reyes that you had known and had loved. You wanted to walk out of the store and not open up that box of memories, but something impulsive inside of you burst through.

“Angel?” you said, causing your fiancé to look up from the book that he had bought and was skimming through.

It got Angel to finally force his feet to move, “Hey, Y/N,” he cleared his throat as he walked up to you, “It’s been a minute.”

“Yea,” you laughed nervously, “Oh, shit, where are my manners? Angel, this is Jordan, my fiancé. Jordan, this is Angel. We grew up together,” it was the understatement of the century but you weren’t going to air out that laundry in the middle of a book store.

You could see Angel’s heart break at the word fiancé, but Jordan didn’t seem to take any notice of it as he held out his hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he shook Jordan’s hand and nodded, forcing a small smile, “You’re a lucky guy.”

Jordan laughed as he pulled you against his side, blissfully unaware of the tension that was beginning to build, “You’re telling me. Can’t believe that this one said yes.”

You chuckled and leaned your head against his side, trying to let the familiarity of his touch and scent comfort you in this situation. It half-worked, but your mind was still racing, trying to figure out what Angel was thinking as he stood there and watched you talk about a forever life that didn’t involve him.

“I had no idea you were back in town,” Angel looked at you, eyes soft as he tried to memorize every detail of the woman he hadn’t seen in so long.

“Yea,” you shrugged, “kind of flew in under the radar. I was gonna see if I could find you and your brother while I was here,” it was a lie, but it sounded nice.

Jordan gave you a light squeeze, “Do you want to catch up? Don’t let me stop you—I’m sure I can find something to do for a couple hours or so.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you shook your head, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not just going to ditch you on our trip together,” you smiled up at him.

He pressed a light kiss on your lips, “It’s fine! You guys go grab coffee or something and catch up and I’ll find somewhere we can go to dinner.”

“You sure?” you wanted him to stay with you, but one of the things that you loved about being with him had always been that you were your own separate people just as much as you were a cohesive unit as a couple. It was just this particular situation that made you wish that that wasn’t the case, that made you wish that he was a little more possessive.

“Positive. I love you,” he kissed your forehead, “Give me a call when you’re done,” he reached and shook Angel’s hand again, “It was nice meeting you. Hopefully I’ll see you again before we leave town.”

Angel nodded, “Yea, for sure.”

Jordan walked out the door of the bookstore and there was a long stretch of silence between you and Angel as the two of you stood there. You wanted to step in and hug him, but you knew that you couldn’t. You eyed the novel in his hand, “You buying that?”

He had completely forgotten where he was and why he was there. He shook his head as he set it down on one of the small display tables, “Nah,” he cleared his throat, “So, I guess we’re getting coffee?”

You chuckled, not able to hide the awkwardness that you felt, “I guess we are.”

The two of you walked down the street in silence. You gripped your book, pressing it tight against your chest. There was a small café right down the street from the bookstore, another place that seemed to go untouched by time. Angel held the door open for you and told you to grab a table and he’d grab drinks for the both of you. You set your book down on the table, nervously tapping your fingertips on the cover as you waited for him to come back over.

He sat down across from you, handing you your drink. There were a few beats of silence and you desperately wished for the power to read minds so you could know what Angel was thinking that was making his eyes look so sad.

All Angel could think about was the fact that every day, for years, he thought about you and wondered where you had gone off to. He wondered if you were safe, if you were happy, if you had found someone else. He wondered if he was ever going to have a chance to see you again, to make things up to you, to win you back. He wasn’t expecting to get the answers to all of those questions within the first fifteen seconds of seeing you again. Reality had hit him like a freight train and he was still trying to recover.

“I see you’ve upgraded from Prospect,” you nodded towards the secretario patch on his kutte.

It snapped him out of his spiral for a moment and he managed a smile, “Little bit, yea. EZ’s sporting the Prospect patch these days.”

Your eyes widened, “Seriously?”

He nodded, “Yep. Patch-in vote is coming up in a couple months.”

“Holy shit,” you shook your head with a laugh, “How things change.”

“Yea,” he tried to push the words down but he couldn’t, “I’ve missed you.”

Your heart hurt at the sound of him saying that. The heartbroken girl that you used to be wanted to say something snarky, to rub a little salt in the wound that he had been carrying around with him. But you worked so hard not to be that girl anymore, and the better-healed part of you wanted to comfort him. You couldn’t meet his eyes, “It has been a while,” you traced your fingers around the edge of your cup, “hasn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he’d been sitting on those words for years and he couldn’t keep them in anymore, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You shook your head, “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Angel. We were kids—we were young and dumb.”

“I was young and dumb,” he corrected you, “I should’ve listened to you. Things could’ve been so different.”

You nodded, not having it in you to lie and say that he was wrong. Your mind was taken over by a tirade of memories, of arguments that ended with screaming and slamming doors, with you crying alone at the kitchen table trying to figure out how to force the puzzle pieces to fit. You had begged him for just a little more, just a little bit of commitment, and he could never give it to you. Eventually you had gotten fed up waiting for something that was never going to happen, and you left. It hurt, and you spent a lot of days crying as you packed up and bought a plane ticket, but you never looked back. You changed your number and completely detached yourself from the person that you had been.

“You always said I was gonna fuck around and hurt someone,” he pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment as he shook his head, “Just didn’t think it was gonna be me.”

“Thought it was just gonna be me?” it came out more bitter than you had intended, but there was no taking it back.

It caught him off-guard, “I…yea…I guess,” he stared at the engagement ring on your finger, “He is a lucky guy. Seems nice.”

You nod and a smile passes over your face for a moment, “He’s a good man. I never thought that I’d find someone as ready as I was for the whole settling down thing. I thought men weren’t ready for that until they were in their forties or whatever,” you chuckled, “I guess I just got really lucky.”

“So did he.”

“You seeing anyone these days?” you asked, genuinely curious to the answer.

He shook his head, “Nah, not really,” he laughed despite the aching in his chest, “But I’m guessing that’s not surprising to you.”

You smiled and sipped your coffee, “I dunno, people can change,” you waited for him to look you in the eyes, “You’ll find someone, Angel.”

“I already did,” it came out before he could think better of it. He reached across the table and set his hand on top of yours, “I should’ve been better, Y/N. I should’ve listened.”

“Maybe,” you nodded as you pulled your hand away and let it rest in your lap, “Maybe you should’ve. But it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? Guess you’ll just have to listen a little better to the next girl.”

“If you hadn’t laughed in the middle of that bookstore, I might’ve never known you were here,” his eyes were getting glassy with tears, “But I’ve heard that laugh inside my head so many times for so many years. I thought I was going insane. But then it was really you.”

“Angel, please, don’t do—”

“Please, just let me get this out,” he waited for you and once you nodded for him to continue, he did, “I spent so much time thinking that you wanted me to be a different person, and I was so angry about it. It felt like you didn’t want me to be who I was. It wasn’t…it wasn’t until you left that I realized that all you wanted was more of me. It was never about me changing, not really. It was just about me getting my head outta my ass. I spent so much time fuckin’ around and wanting to be free that I completely missed the fact that that freedom had nothing to do with you leaving. I hate that I never really heard what you were trying to say until after you left.”

You were fighting back tears, “Maybe there was just a little too much noise with me around.”

“You told me that one day I’d be sorry,” he couldn’t peel his eyes away from your ring, “And fuck are you never wrong.”

You laughed humorlessly as you blinked back tears, “I never wanted to be right, Angel. I just wanted to be happy, to be yours. But it just…wasn’t right I guess.”

“What you have now,” he stared down into his coffee cup, “that’s right?”

You slid your fingers along the band of your ring, and nodded, “Yea, it is.”

Those three words felt like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover from it.

“I don’t think you should keep beating yourself up over what happened, Angel,” you looked at him, “I think we’re different people now.”

“Are we?”

You chuckled, “Maybe not. Maybe that’s all the more reason not to worry about what happened. There’s no way to make it turn out any differently.”

There were a few beats of silence before Angel took a deep breath and managed a smile, “Damn. This is not what your fiancé thought he was signing you on for, huh?”

You laughed, and for a moment you caught a glimpse of the Angel that used to drive you around on the back of his motorcycle in the middle of the night. The same Angel who could get you to laugh when you showed up at his place in tears. You missed that, but you knew that going back wasn’t going to do anyone any good.

“Poor son of a bitch,” you laughed, “One day he’ll learn,” you paused for a moment, “I know it’s hard, Angel, but I am glad I got to see you.”

“Me too,” it sounded a little insincere, but you knew it was the heartbreak making it sound that way.

“Keep taking care of yourself, alright?”

Angel’s heart sank, knowing that this was the start of another goodbye that would last a very long time, “You too.”

You reached and put your hand over his, your finger tracing lightly over his knuckles, “I’ll see you around, Reyes.”

“Yea?”

You smiled, “Well, maybe.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #angel reyes #angel reyes x you #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes angst #angel reyes fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[cinnaminsvga]

🤬 | seokjin

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ frenemy!seokjin ft. e2l and the magnificent get-along sweater | 2K words → a/n: this is dedicated to my homie @jincherie​ who has been, as they say, wiping her ass everyday only to shit again. i can’t really do much to actually alleviate your circumstances except maybe making you smile, so i hope this can be your tiny ray of sunshine amidst the crap. this fic literally makes no sense because i wrote this within one hour so i’m sorry but pls know that ilysm!!

“Where’d you even fucking get this abomination?” you growl, struggling fruitlessly against the coarse fabric. In your fidgeting, your elbow knocks into Seokjin’s broad chest, causing more damage to your weak joints than anything. Even so, Seokjin grunts overdramatically, stepping on your toes in retaliation.

“Yoongi-chi, you know that I love you very much—” Seokjin seethes, his teeth clenched almost painfully as he fights to restrain himself from ripping the sweater in half, a la Hulk style. “—but I will not hesitate to stab you once I get out of here.”

“Not my fault that you both are acting like a bunch of toddlers,” Yoongi snorts, hip jutted out in contempt like the homosexual that he is. “And to answer your other question, I bought that sweater online after your last fight, when you two were literally wrestling on the kitchen counter. I didn’t know whether I walked into some intense BDSM play or a WWE ring.”

“You bought a fucking get-along sweater for us? What are you, some sort of Christian camp counselor?” you growl, kicking your legs out in an attempt to hit him. The slimy twink bastard jumps away gracefully, landing onto the loveseat opposite the couch that you were sitting on. He crosses his legs, opening his arms wide when your traitorous cat jumps onto his lap, looking to all the world like a terrible Bond villain from the 80s.

“If I was Christian, I would not put the two of you into a sweater together,” Yoongi says. He strokes your cat, who purrs loudly before pointing a contemptuous glare back at you, as if she was enjoying your torture too. Dumb cat. You never liked Miko anyway.

Yoongi continues, “Anyone would two eyes knows that you both are just one brawl away from fucking each other into the next dimension. Lord knows that your sexual tension could power the entire city.”

It’s Seokjin’s turn to snort, who has been relatively quiet in comparison to you. He’s also less fidgety, but that might be because he at least has the advantage and comfort of occupying 90% of the sweater space due to his oceanic shoulders. You once described him as “horizontally imbalanced,” which he did not find slightly amusing.

“I would rather place my balls into a panini press and feed them to Miko than to ever fuck Y/N,” Seokjin fake-gags, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. “It would be less hot for me to actually grill my penis than for me to sink into her hell-ish cunt. I swear, you could bake bread in there with how much yeast has accumulated from—“

You headbutt his chin before he can finish, squawking indignantly. The satisfying sound of his teeth clacking together in pain is momentary but worthwhile. “Excuse you, but it’d be an honor to fuck me! I’ve got that S-tier pussy! If my pussy was in a gacha game, people would spend thousands of dollars just to roll for my mystical coochie!”

Yoongi smirks. “So you admit that you do want Seokjin to fuck you!”

“What the fuck! No! That is—what the—I don’t!” You stammer, face flushing as you struggle to regain your footing in the conversation. Yoongi’s eyebrow raises, intrigued by your slip-up. “That is totally not what I meant, and you know it!”

Yoongi picks at his nails, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, I don’t speak hetero. Prithee, explain thy peculiar mating rituals to one who does not walk the straight and narrow path.”

You slump back against the couch, forcing Seokjin to follow and fall backward with you. His shoulder hits you square in the boob, causing you to groan in pain. “Yoongi, just let us out of this thing before I lose a limb to this walking inflatable tubeman,” you plead, ignoring Seokjin’s glare.

“I resent that,” Seokjin inputs, but no one pays him any mind. Your attention is focused solely on the smirking kitty man in front of you, who grows smugger as time ticks on.

Everyone in your friend group is aware of the weird relationship you have with Seokjin. Ever since you met him in your freshman year of university, things were never peaceful between the two of you. It was always constant bickering, squabbling, competing… everything. Even Jungkook, Seokjin’s other sworn enemy, doesn’t argue with the elder as much as you did.

For three years, everyone just assumed it was your weird kindergarten schoolyard way of showing affection for each other, and at the beginning, it might have been. You and Seokjin, both of whom have never dated in their lifetimes despite being moderately popular while growing up, are unsurprisingly emotionally stunted and never learned how to just be nice to people you like. Affection who? Compassion where? To the both of you, physical connection can only be achieved through hair tugging and nipple pinching, and not even in the sexy way.

But at a certain point, things were starting to get tiring. Your arguments only grew larger in scale, to the point where it was getting hard to differentiate whether the bruises on your neck were from pinches or something else.

“I just… Ugh… When are they gonna fuck, hyung? I’m actually getting tired of their constant fighting,” Namjoon had lamented one afternoon, just a day after your last altercation with Seokjin. It had been a big one, where Seokjin nearly lost a tooth when you had landed a neat uppercut squarely on his jaw after he called your toes ‘a foot fetishist’s worst nightmare.’

Yoongi’s boyfriend had been staring listlessly into his bowl of soup for the past hour, and he was honestly starting to get worried when it looked like Namjoon had started muttering to himself in a foreign language. Yoongi almost thought he might have been scrying for a prophecy, begging for an answer to their most pressing question.

“What do you want me to do about it? Lock them in a room and let them out only after they’ve done the deed? Mixed bodily fluids? Performed the monkey dance to its climax?! No thanks, I don’t wanna be near them when that can of worms finally explodes,” Yoongi grimaced, shivering at the thought.

Namjoon shook his head quickly, face paling with him. “Heaven forbid. Maybe you can keep it PG? How about getting one of those get-along sweaters or something. I think they used those in kindergarten.”

Yoongi sighed. “Yeah, but the question would be how I’d get them into it.” He flaps his noodle arms around in demonstration. “I’m not exactly in the running for world’s strongest twink. Plus, years of fighting each other means they’re both stronger than I am.”

Namjoon shrugged. “Easy, just dare them to wear it. Make it into a competition. Nothing gets them more riled up than when they’re trying to outcompete each other.”

And so, that’s how the two of you had gotten stuck in a 3XXL Hello Kitty sweater that Yoongi had bought from Ebay. It has yet to be decided whether spending $40 on expedited shipping was worth it.

“Look, Yoongi-chi. We both promise that we will stop fighting once you let us out of this,” Seokjin says, smiling sweetly at him. Had Yoongi been younger and much more prone to the alluring temptation of the Straight Man™️, he might have caved. But Yoongi is older now, plus he knows when Seokjin is lying better than any polygraph test.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, waving him off. “Fat chance. You’d probably stop fighting for approximately three hours before getting mad about mint chocolate ice cream or something.”

“Hey! Give us some credit. We both agree that flavor is abhorrent, so we would never argue about that,” you retort, with Seokjin nodding furiously in agreement. You glance at him. “And I feel like we’d last at least six hours without fighting. What was our record again?”

“Five hours and twenty-two minutes,” Seokjin says.

You hum thoughtfully. “Okay, I can promise at least five hours and thirty minutes. Maybe.”

Yoongi groans, rubbing his temples in frustration. His souring mood even makes Miko jump away in fright, and the two idiots trapped in a sweater can immediately feel the dip in temperature. Uh oh, here we go!

“I am absolutely sick and tired of the two of you dumbasses fighting all the time! It’s embarrassing as hell trying to bring either of you anywhere in public because everyone mistakes your little catfights for strange foreplay or whatever,” Yoongi glowers. The two of you shrink into your seats, ashamed.

“We’ve only gotten kicked out of one Costco—” Seokjin defends. 

“But we did get fined for public indecency at the beach when I pulled your trunks down, which was totally unfair, by the way,” you mutter. 

“You literally threatened to, and I quote, ‘Suck the soul out of Seokjin’s dick until he dies.’ How the hell is that unfair?!” Yoongi exclaims. 

“It was a death threat! I would’ve accepted a charge for attempted murder, but that was not going to be a sexy blowjob, I assure you—”

Yoongi holds up a hand to silence you. “Face it, you both like each other. Whatever! Sure, you guys are the token straight people in our friend group, but that doesn’t make you bland as hell! Well, actually, it does but…” Yoongi pauses, wondering if it was worth lying. It takes a second for him to refocus. “Where was I? Oh right—“

Yoongi clears his throat, starting again. He heaves a deep breath, shoulders sagging tiredly as he puts on the sincerest face he can muster. “Listen, I just want to say that I care a lot about you, okay? And it sucks seeing the both of you hurting every time the other person says something really mean that neither of you even mean! If anything, will you please stop for me? If you really cared about our friendship, will you do it for me?”

There is a heavy pause as Yoongi strives to get his breathing back in check, his impassioned speech causing his fragile grandpa heart to race. He can feel his cheeks darkening in embarrassment, unused to using his “hyung voice” on Seokjin or you. Separately, the two of you are very reliable, never really needing him to scold either of you. Together, however… that’s a different story, but as the next eldest hyung, it really only fell to Yoongi to fix his friends’ mess of a relationship.

Screw age hierarchy. Yoongi would love to see Jungkook try to get Seokjin and you to fuck. Would absolutely pay to see the twerp squirm as he tries to even say the word “penis.”

After a while, Seokjin and you share a look. Yoongi watches with bated breath as he waits for either of you to speak, but he can sense some unspoken conversation happening between you. Perhaps, after years of exchanging blows, you had somehow knocked brain cells into each other and now share a weird psychic connection. Or, more likely, the two of you actually like each other and understand each other on a deeply personal level, so personal in fact that you could probably finish each other’s sentences, like—!

“We refuse,” you both reply in tandem, your joined voices echoing throughout the apartment. You both had said it so in sync that Yoongi might have imagined the other person speaking, but no—you both really did just say that to his face. In front of Miko. In front of his goddamn imaginary salad.

“Excuse me?” Yoongi squeaks. He cleans his ears with his fingers but finds no cotton there. These bitches! How dare they just throw his speech to the gutter! That shit took brain cells to think of, and he is not in the business of wasting his precious minutes by using them for productivity.

You shrug, leaning against Seokjin’s shoulder. He can see the ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s confusion. “You heard us. We’ve made the executive decision to double our efforts, actually.”

Seokjin nods, not even shoving you off his shoulder like he normally would whenever you made contact with him. What? “Exactly. Honestly, we’ve been fighting for so long that we’ve kinda been just doing it for the bit at this point, and the fact that it annoys you so much is just the icing on the cake.”

Yoongi stares at them. His brain doesn’t feel like it’s connecting to his body at all; he feels like he’s floating. “So. What you’re saying is—“

“We know we like each other. Whatever. But we also like fighting, so who gives a shit if we’re having fun at the end of the day?” you shrug, pinching Seokjin’s cheek for good measure. As per usual, the elder retaliates by grabbing your finger with robot-like accuracy, before biting you there like a ravaging beast.

“And before you ask, no, we aren’t really dating. Yet. We kinda just wanted to piss as many people off before actually becoming official. We honestly didn’t think that you’d be the first one to crack.” Seokjin says, your finger falling from his mouth. The imprint of his teeth marks on your skin are plain as day, but you don’t look remotely bothered by it. In fact, you’re practically cooing at his ‘baby teefies’ like a psychopath.

“I—“ Yoongi stutters, at a loss for words for once in his life. He stands from the chair, but his knees give out from under him, causing him to tumble to the carpeted floor. He holds his head in his hands, shell-shocked. “So… That means…”

“Yeah, we’re kinda just freaky, I guess.” You muse before laughing hysterically when Yoongi begins to sob. “Hey, you’re right! We did make Yoongi cry! Do you think we could make Namjoon piss himself in rage when he finally confronts us too?”

Seokjin cackles, shaking your hand underneath the sweater. “If anyone can do it, I know that we can.”

And so, the two of you stand up clumsily to your feet, not bothering to escape the ridiculous sweater as you both waddled out of Yoongi’s apartment. From outside his door, Yoongi hears the sound of a new fight commencing, your shrieks resonating down the hall and for all the world to hear.

#btsghostie #bts scenarios #seokjin x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts humor #e2l #kim seokjin #seokjin scenarios #jin scenarios #bangtan #bts fanfic #the sleep deprived series